#And that made me go wait this play is made up in my dream I’m dreaming this explanation about a dreamt up play | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

elllisaaa · 4 months

Text

how seventeen would confess to you - hhu vers.

-> pairing : svt hhu × gn!reader

-> words count : 2.9k words

-> genre : svt members crushing on you, fluff

-> warnings : while make you giggle and kick your feet

-> sorry if I made any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !

-> masterlist | svt masterlist

hhu vers. | vu vers. | pu vers.

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL - INTIMATE

cuddles, cuddles, cuddles !

once he tackled you on the couch or bed and you’re in his arms, you’re not getting up for at least an hour.

watching long shows together, and you’re forbidden from watching even one episode without him, or he’ll get so pouty.

big golden retriever energy, he’s always so smiley around you.

but also big on protecting you.

he’s the type to say “dress how you want, i can fight”, and he will definitely fight if needed.

always has an arm around you, making you feel safe in every situation

since both of you are friends since as far as you can remember, he’s like another member of your family.

i can literally picture your aunts asking you when you’re gonna marry him at every gathering lmao

with all of that, the line between friendly and romantic feelings is blurred, but cheol wished he had the courage to fully cross it.

however, everyone and their mothers knew about his big crush on you, and about yours on him.

his confession would be so domestic crying because i’m lonely.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to cross paths with Seungcheol late at night. Just like you, he often got thirsty and you always ended up staying in the kitchen until the early hours of morning, and being sleepy at the family gathering. And this time was not different. Well, it was, in fact, a bit different. You had been aboard for the past year and only got back to Korea a few weeks before, so both of you hadn’t really seen each other and you had a lot to catch up on about your lives.

“- And after that, this bitch didn’t even dare to look me in the eyes for the rest of the year ! Can you believe this ?

- I don’t like to judge people I don’t know, but she’s indeed a bitch.”

Both of you bursted out in laughter, and your heart felt warmer again. It was as if you were finally complete again. Being away from Seungcheol when he had been by your side for the majority of your life was the most difficult thing you ever had to do, and feeling him slip through your fingers as he started to respond less was horrible. He apologized so many times about how busy he was, and you knew it was not his fault, but still, you just wanted to be back home, back in his arms.

“- Yeah, she definitely is.”

You landed your head on his shoulder with a smile, and Seungcheol feared that you would hear how fast his heart was beating. He was happy for you when you announced to him that you had the opportunity to go aboard for your studies, and he was immensely proud of you. But at the same time, all he wanted to do was convince you to not go and keep you forever with him. But he was only your best friend, and he couldn’t ask you to give up on your dreams for him. But he wished he could be your boyfriend instead.

“- I have something to confess…”

You lifted your head from his shoulder, looking at him as you waited for his next words. Seungcheol eyes’ dived into yours, and he just knew. He knew that this was the right time, that the particular atmosphere surrounding the two of you would certainly never arise again. He had to do it now.

“- The day you left, I came to say goodbye at the airport, remember ?”

You nobbed. How could you not ? He had engulfed you in a big hug that made you want to stay, and left you with teary eyes as you got on your flight.

“- I never told you what I did after. I drove off to the park we always played at when we were kids, and I cried on the swings for maybe two hours because all I could think about was that you were not with me. And it felt so wrong.”

Your right hand found purchase on his cheek, forcing him to look down at you as he consciously avoided your eyes since he started to tell you his little story. But your soft smile was the only reassurance he needed.

“- It felt wrong being away from you too. I missed you so much Cheol…

- Me too…”

And just like that, you both leaned in at the same time, your lips meeting in between and suddenly, everything felt right again, as if it was where you were supposed to be - in each other arms.

“next time i’m squeezing myself in your luggage, i don’t want to spend another night without you in my arms.”

JEON WONWOO - SIMPLE

i don’t know how to explain it, but I’m sure you’ll get it when I say that this man is the definition of soft.

he’s so cozy, every one of his hugs feels like a warm cocoon (that’s why you always find an excuse to get a hug).

very good at giving advice, and a good listener, he’s always there when you need a shoulder to cry on.

you were friends with the other members at first, but slowly, you started to grow closer when he discovered how sweet and lovely you were.

the more he talked with you, the more he found himself hooked.

literally has heart eyes for you (everyone and their mothers know about his crush on you) and would drop everything if you need him.

of course, he’ll be more than happy if you agreed to play video games with him, it doesn’t matter if you’re good at it or not

it’s even better if you never played, he’ll have an excuse to make you sit on his lap while he teaches you how to use the controller.

but in the end, he’s a simple guy, and he doesn’t see the point of hiding his crush for too long, but he also wants his confession to be meaningful.

The boys had organized a big party for your birthday this year, and surprisingly, they succeeded at keeping it a secret until tonight. And the past months spent trying to perfect every little detail was worth it when they saw the big smile on your face and your teary eyes when you recognized your friends and family as you walked through the room.

And even if Wonwoo couldn’t be more happy than seeing you wander around, laughing and smiling non-stop, he felt a weight on his heart. He wanted to steal you away from all these people, have you all for himself and finally tell you how he felt about you, finally tell you how glad he was to have you in his life. But he couldn’t, and he would never do that. He was just waiting patiently for your eyes to meet in the crowd, and for you to smile brightly at him. Every time you did that, his heart beat faster.

“- Finally ! I’m so happy that everyone came, but I’m exhausted !

- I can imagine, you’ve been running around the whole night.”

You sighed dramatically as you seated yourself on the couch next to Wonwoo, resting your head on his shoulder. Like a habit, he put his arms around you, bringing you closer to him, just because you were so comfortable around each other that everyone else thought you were already dating.

“- It’s the best surprise of my life. You guys are my favorites. Thank you for doing this for me.

- You deserved it, that and all the presents we prepared for you.”

You lifted your head from his shoulder, looking at him with a sparkle of curiosity in your eyes.

“- And what’s yours Wonwoo ?”

He had planned to do it later, when everyone would have left, when he’ll have a moment alone with you. But if this wasn’t a sign that he had to do it now, he didn’t know what it was.

“- It’s not something material. It’s more… Spiritual I’ll say.

- It’s intriguing, tell me what it is.

- My heart. I’m offering you my heart, because you already have it, you did for a long time now, and I wanted to let you know, just in case you were feeling the same about me.”

Wonwoo knew how emotional you could get, but he didn’t expect you to cry from his confession. Still, he wiped your tears away, waiting for you to calm down with a soft smile on his face.

“- I feel the same, I’ve been feeling the same for so long. You have my heart too.”

“I’ll take care of it, I promise. I’ll always protect you.”

KIM MINGYU - JOYFUL

100% golden retriever energy

you would often tease him along with the members (because we all know that seventeen ultimate goal is to make fun of mingyu)

partner privilege : would not get as pouty as with his members, all it takes is a smile from you and you’re forgiven.

however, when you tease him about how being so muscular but so afraid of everything is a shame, he’ll be like a child throwing a tantrum.

pouting until you compliment him (and cannot stop blushing once you do, he’s so cute someone help me).

tries to impress you all the time by flexing his muscles, showing how strong he is.

he’s so obvious please, this boy cannot hide his love for you.

follows you everywhere like a lost puppy, just in case you need him (he’s adorable).

he feels so comfortable around you because beyond all the teasing, you’re very understanding and kind.

you’re always here to remind him how amazing he is every time he doubts himself.

and because he feels so comfortable around you, his confession would slip like it was the most natural thing ever.

Mingyu always had a tendency to show off his skills whenever you were in the same room as him. Yes, he felt an incredible ego boost when you complimented him about his muscles, but what he took real pride in was how much he was able to make you laugh. He always feared that his jokes were lame, or just not your type of humor, but every time he cracked one, you bursted into giggles. And by the way you were beaming, there was no way that you were faking it.

And he always managed to make you laugh in all types of situations, chuckling and resisting the urge of kicking his feet like a teenager everytime you hitted his shoulder playfully as you tried to contain your own giggles. Mingyu was addicted to the way your eyes were glowing with joy everytime you just smiled. However, he discovered that the easiest way to get you to laugh was to tell you all the stupid things his members did. Like now, as you were crying from how funny you found the story of Seungkwan volley ball.

“- He really only discovered it when he saw that video ?

- Yeah, really ! You should’ve seen the betrayal in his eyes, it was priceless !”

And you were laughing again, your head thrown back, tears almost spilling out of your eyes. But Mingyu wasn’t laughing anymore, too lost in his contemplation, because you were literally a work of art to him. Every single detail about you was perfect, the more he discovered, the more he wanted to be yours.

“- Your smile is so beautiful, gosh… I love you so much…”

The melody of your giggles died as soon as you registered the meaning of his words. Silence enveloped the both of you as you stared at him as if you were trying to enter his mind and find all the answers to your questions. And Mingyu was forcing himself to keep his mouth shut, and not embarrass himself further, already cursing himself in his head for being so careless.

“- Wha- What did you say ?”

Mingyu was too focused on his overthinking to notice the little grin spreading on your lips. Of course, you already knew that he had a crush on you. Of course, you had a crush on him too because who doesn’t ? And of course, it was very cute to watch him stumble over his words with red cheeks.

“- I-I said that you have a beautiful smile…

- And after that ?

- Don’t want to tell you.”

You giggled as you leaned in to peck his warm cheeks, restraining yourself from going in for his pouty lips too.

“- Well, just know that I love you so much too Gyu.”

“see, you heard it perfectly ! but i’ll tell you a hundred times if you want me to.”

CHWE HANSOL - BRIGHT

he’s so random, like one minute he could joke along with you and the other he’s asking you the most existential question possible, fully serious about it.

like we say vernon is just vernoning in the most vernon way possible.

he's very chill about pretty much everything so it's really soothing to be around him.

he's your go-to person when you want to isolate yourself from the rest of the world because you could spend evenings just watching tv and not saying a word to each other

there's also times where both of you end up talking about your lives until the early hours of the morning.

your relationship feels like it's all natural, there has never been an awkward state, only comfort.

it's like hansol had known you for years because he felt so at ease every time you were with him.

you made him feel like he was special and normal at the same time, and even if he doesn't show it often, he really appreciates it.

you two liked to stay inside so it was rare for you to go out somewhere, but it was always unexpected and when it happened.

hansol knew that you liked to be surprised, and often showed up on his days off to take you somewhere without telling you.

that's why you weren't shocked when he picked you up at 5 in the morning, on a random Sunday.

“- Can I at least choose the music ?

- Go on.”

Hansol handed you his phone which was connected to the speakers of his car, letting you put on whatever song you wanted. He owed you this with how early he forced you to get out of bed on one of your days off. But he really wanted to take you to this spot he loved. He played it off as one of his random wishes, but he planned this in his mind for a long time, not all the details, but he knew he wanted to bring you there to tell you how he felt.

He watched with a small smile on his lips as you opened the window, one of your favorite songs playing as you let the wind hit your face and make your hair fly all over your face. Hansol quickly focused on the road again, seeing that he was near your destination, he asked you to close your eyes.

“- Are we there ?

- Almost.”

The rest of the way was quiet, a comfortable silence settling between the two of you. When you finally felt that Hansol had stopped the car, you heard him go out of the driver seat to get to your side and help you get out too, ordering you to keep your eyes closed. He pushed you to take some steps forward before he finally authorized you to see what was in front of you.

“- You took me to the ocean ?”

You didn’t even turn around to look at him, too entranced by the sight in front of you. And all Hansol could do was smile when he saw how parkly your eyes were.

“- I guess that I wanted you to see the sunset.”

You were rather speechless as Hansol got a blanket out of his car, leading you to the beach for you two to watch the sunrise on the horizon. He contemplated you as you ran around, touching the water to see if it was cold or not before finally sitting down beside him, your head finding his place on his shoulder, and his arms around yours.

“- Thank you for bringing me there… It’s beautiful…

- I wanted to make it special.”

Before you could even ask him what he was talking about, Hansol leaned in, his eyes fixed on your lips, and yours on his. Basking in the warm light of the sunset, he kissed you for the first time but certainly not the last, a smile spreading on his face as he rested his forehead against yours.

“i think i could get used to this.”

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my works.

svt taglist (fill in this to be added) :

@lil-kpopstan @hann1bee @iraisswiftie

976 notes · View notes

marvelobsessed134 · 6 months

Text

Bunny’s first Christmas

This is part of my 12 days of fics

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Bunny hybrid!Reader

Warnings: rough sex, strap on (r receiving), talks of breeding, pet/owner dynamics, mommy kink, squirting.

Summary: In which you spend your first Christmas with your mommy

Being a bunny hybrid can be hard. But not when you’re owned by Wanda Maximoff. Or mommy as you call her. Mommy takes very good care of her bunny. She spoils you with gifts and love. And she fucks you hard anywhere around the house.

You always walk around in the prettiest little dresses, the light pink collar with tags of your name and her name underneath with a phone number in case you get lost. You love wearing the collar. Gives you contentment that you have an owner. Lots of bunnies don’t have one. And if they do, they’re usually neglected and only are used for sex. While that’s usually why someone would buy a hybrid, they still need to be treated with love and care.

Your ears, long and brown, always standing up and on high alert. Which is why you could hear Christmas Dreaming by Laufey playing in the kitchen.

Curiously, you walked towards the kitchen to find the witch making Christmas cookies. Your nose twitched at the smell and you ran over to her.

“Hi, bunny.” She chirped, scratching behind your ears the way you like it. You hummed.

“Hi mommy.” You responded, “what are you doing?”

“Oh, mommy’s just making some cookies for Christmas. You wanna try one?”

“Yes please.” Gosh, always so polite. Such a good girl. Wanda gave you a cookie and you nibbled on it for a bit. See, you’ve never experienced Christmas before. Being in that god awful hybrid shelter. Sometimes people would donate gifts for the homeless hybrids but that was about it.

“Mmm it’s s’good, mommy.” You moaned.

“Glad you like it, bunny.” Wanda couldn’t help but get turned on at the sounds you were making. And poor you, unaware of what you were doing to your mommy.

But the redhead knew she shouldn’t fuck you right now, since she needs to bake more cookies for Tony’s stupid Christmas party. She’s never resented the billionaire more in her life.

How dare he keep her away from fucking her precious bunny when he’s not even here! She groaned in frustration which caught your ears.

“Mommy…what’s wrong?” You asked timidly, placing the cookie back down on the tray.

“Sorry baby but I’m just so stressed right now. That’s all.”

“Is there something I can do to help?”

Fuck it, Wanda thought, Starks cookies can wait.

“Yeah, actually.” She replied, “Bend over the counter.” You were taken back by her sudden demand, her voice deep and harsh. You quickly bent over the counter, you knew what was going to happen and it made you weak with arousal.

The witch roughly lifted your dress up and pulled your cotton panties down before unbuckling her belt pulling her strap out.

She tapped it against your wet folds, collecting your slick before pounding into you with no warning.

You squealed, holding onto the edge of the counter. Wanda grabbed your hips firmly as she fucked into you. “Holy fuck, you feel so good.” She was proud she was able to come up with a spell that allowed her to feel everything with the strap. She felt your sweet walls clenching around her cock.

“Mommy! Oh so good!” You moaned.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, pet. Gonna breed you so good one day.” Wanda smacked your ass.

“Ahh- oh fuck-“ you cried.

Wanda tugged on your little bushy cottontail which made you moan.

“Oh fuck honey, go ahead and cum for me.” She hissed.

You clenched around her cock, squirting out your release. She groaned, coming to her own orgasm.

Finally, the witch pulled out of you and put your panties back on. And as you stood up she fixed your dress for you.

You turned around and pressed a kiss to her lips.

“Mmm merry Christmas bunny.”

“Merry Christmas, mommy.”

#marvel x reader #marvel smut #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #bunny!reader #Wanda maximoff x bunny!reader #hybrid!reader #12 days of fics

1K notes · View notes

corpsebasil · 1 year

Text

Steal My Girl

Ethan’s roommate has the girl of his dreams, and he hates it.

You laughed, then screeched when Chad picked you up and spun you around.

“Chad put me down.” You demanded, rolling your eyes at his antics. He had a crush on you and constantly flirted, but it served more to annoy and amuse you than to win you over. “Oh my god. Stop.”

“There you are!” Chad exclaimed, still keeping you over his shoulder as he spoke to someone out of your line of sight. “Ethan, my man.” Your stomach twisted as you peered around Chad’s waist, seeing an upside down version of your friend.

“Hey E.” You laughed, waving and staring at his outfit. “What the hell are you dressed as? A robot?”

“I’m a knight.” He sighed and Chad finally put you down but swung an arm over your shoulders. “Chad didn’t give me much notice so I could get a costume.”

“Look at this snack.” Chad told you, pointing at Ethan. “I’ve been trying to find him a girl all night. Got any suggestions?”

“Ew, get off me.” You wrinkled your nose, pushing him away. “I’m not helping prostitute Ethan off on some sorority sister.”

“Suit yourself.” Chad said, grinning down at you. “Speaking of hookups, though,” he lowered his voice, playing with the strap of your dress. “Wanna go upstairs?”

“Ugh.” You moved away towards Ethan, grabbing your friend’s hand. “Save me from him. Please.”

“My heart longs for you, Y/N!” Chad yelled, making your face warm when several people gave you a curious glance.

“I need a drink.” You told Ethan, grumbling a curse under your breath.

You and Ethan had gotten tipsy fast and now stood in the kitchen, laughing as he told you a story about…what was he saying?

“What?” You asked, leaning closer to him to hear. He seemed nervous, but then he always did around girls. You thought nothing of it. “Speak up, E.”

“I was saying you look really pretty.” He smiled shyly, pointing to your outfit. “Your costume is cool.”

“It’s a dress, E. Nothing special.” You said, grinning, but still felt flattered. “I like your cardboard robo-suit too.”

“A knight. A knight.”

“Y/N.” You turned your head and met Chad’s eyes, his smile warm and friendly. Despite yourself the alcohol made you looser and you allowed him to take your hand. “Come on. I need a partner for beer pong.”

“Ask Tara.” You laughed, tugging your hand out of his grip. “I’m talking to my baby boy Ethan.”

“Your son can fend for himself.” Chad scoffed, raising an eyebrow at his roommate. “Can mommy and daddy leave you on your own, or do you need a babysitter?”

“Oh my god Chad.” Your grin was wide as you looked at his expression, his features filled with fake concern.

“I need my girl to annihilate people in beer pong. Do me a service, bro.”

“Yeah that—” Ethan glanced at you, then quickly away. “That’s fine. I don’t need a…a babysitter.” He winced and you frowned, opening your mouth to say more, but Chad was already pulling you away. You looked over your shoulder though, and saw Ethan looking dejected, before he pushed through the party and towards the door.

“Wait, Chad.” You said, pulling out of his grasp as you shoved your way through the party. “Ethan!” You called. “Ethan wait!”

He turned his head at your approach, brows furrowing as you slipped out the front door, his feet pausing on the driveway.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, panting slightly. “Aren’t you going to watch me win? You know I’m the best.”

“I’m tired.” He said, eyes sweeping across your face. “I think I wanna go home. But thanks. See you tomorrow.”

“Wait, no—” You grabbed his arm, unsure of why you were desperate for him to stay. “I’ll come with you. We can go to my place and have movie night like we used to.” Before you’d started receiving attention from Chad, you didn’t have to say. “Come on E.”

“I’m not sure if that’s—”

“Hey, what the Hell?” Chad asked, leaving the house and approaching the two of you. You let go of Ethan’s arm as he made it to your side. “You okay, man? I was just about to make you a Chad Supreme. He said, referring to his noxious concoction of tequila, vodka, Malibu, Sprite and fruit punch, a drink you secretly called Alcoholics Anonymous behind Chad’s back.

“Im tired.” Ethan said, avoiding your eyes. “Im gonna go—”

”Watch a movie with me.” You interrupted, giving Chad a wide smile. “Make me a Chad Supreme to go, will you? There’s empty water bottles in the kitchen.”

“You’re not staying?” He asked, confused. “But you..” He shook his head, forcing a smile. “Fine. Just because you’re so hot, and you know I love you. One Chad to go.” He turned and dashed back into the house as you valiantly ignored his strongly worded remark.

“Listen,” you said, glancing back at Ethan, who was watching where Chad had ran off to with a pained sort of look. “we’ll get pizza and do pickle shots and watch Stab. What do you think?”

Ethan took a moment to respond, biting his lip, before he nodded.

“I’m gonna need at least half that Chad Supreme, though.” He said, glancing at you with amusement in his brown eyes. “After hearing Chad call himself daddy I think I need a healthy blackout to make me forget.”

“Do you need a babysitter?” You teased, grinning as you reached out to flick his nose, and he caught your wrist in his hand.

“Listen here, young lady—”

“For the angel present." Chad declared, jogging up to you and passing you a bottle filled with suspicious looking pink liquid. "Keep your junk wrapped, E., if you’re planning on making moves on my girl. Y/N, are we still getting Dunkin in the morning?"

"We'll see." You responded, rolling your eyes. You still weren’t sure if you liked him calling you my girl. "Goodnight, Chad." You batted him away when he attempted to kiss your cheek and he grinned, running back into the party. "God, he's a mess." You scoffed, turning to give Ethan comically wide eyes. "Ready to go?"

You placed your head in Ethan's lap and stretched out on the couch, your skin practically buzzing. You two had split half the Chad Supreme, leaving the rest in the fridge, but you were almost certain you were going to have a headache in the morning.

"We need to chug water." You said, peering up at Ethan. He smiled and played idly with your hair, his eyes moving back to the movie. You were halfway through Stab, a pizza split between the two of you. "Hey E?" You asked, staring up.

"Hmm?"

"What do you think of me and Chad?"

His face dropped a fraction and he shrugged.

"I think he's...Chad." At your no-nonsense expression he laughed. "What? If you're happy with the ridiculous frat boy types, you do you."

"Shut up." You grinned, poking him in the stomach. But then your smile fell, and you bit your lip. "I think he really likes me. But I don't think.." You looked up at the ceiling, unsure of how to say it. "I don't like...just him. You know?"

"You don't?" Ethan asked, shooting you a surprised expression. You shook your head no, and a tentative smile pulled on his mouth. "Who's the lucky guy?"

"Ugh." You groaned, sitting up and moving off the couch into the kitchen. "Forget it. It's unimportant."

“Hey, wait, tell me about him.” Ethan laughed, following you into the kitchen. You both were tipsy as hell and he grabbed your hand, tugging you back towards him. “Come on. Best friends don’t keep secrets, right?”

“He’s—” you glanced down at his hand, your stomach twisting when he ran his thumb across your knuckles, making no move to let go. “it doesn’t matter, E.”

“I wanna know.” He insisted, his brown eyes soft and sleepy from the alcohol. “Come on, Y/N. I can keep a secret.”

Your smile was wide as you pulled away, backing up towards the fridge. He followed you every step, his brown eyes glued to your face as he subtly admired you, your indifference something like a knife to his gut. He liked you. God he liked you. And if you were going to have a crush on someone besides Chad, he wanted to at least put a face to the name he was going to resent.

“Tell me." He said again, watching as you pulled the Chad Supreme out of the fridge and took a sip. "Come on, how bad can they be?"

"Ew." You wrinkled your nose, passing him the bottle. "Drink first. Then guess."

Ethan took a swig, holding eye-contact, before setting the bottle on the counter.

"Do I know the guy?" He asked, searching his brain. There wasn't a single other guy in your friend group, nor anyone that he saw you with on a regular basis. A mischievous little smile curled on your lips as you nodded, then your eyes widened, surprised, as he moved forward and touched your chin, tilting your face up to his. "What does he look like?"

"He's...really cute." You admitted, biting your lip as you stared up at him. "And he's really smart."

"Tell me more." Ethan laughed lowly, moving closer to you and backing you up against the kitchen counter. "Would I like the guy?"

"I..." You swallowed, your hand reaching out involuntarily to clutch the fabric of his shirt. "Well he um...he's really kind. He's always there for me." Then you grinned. "But he has horrible taste in movies. I always have to pick them out."

Ethan rolled his eyes, looping his arm around your waist. Your heart was pounding in your chest, stomach twisting as he spoke, his hand moving from your chin to clasp the back of your neck.

"And do you see yourself...being with this guy?"

"I don't know." You said, searching his brown eyes for any hint of what he was thinking. You'd never seen him act so confident before. It was like every ounce of shyness had gone out the door since the moment he'd stepped into the apartment. "I'm hoping he'll make the first move."

Ethan stared for a moment, his chest rising and falling with his breathing, before he asked, "and are you...really into this guy? Like more than Chad?"

"Yeah." You licked your lips subtly, but his eyes still caught the movement. "He's all I can think about sometimes."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Ethan asked, moving closer, his jeans brushing your legs. "Tell him how you feel." His voice was low and raspy and you almost shivered. His hands slid to cup your face and you couldn't breathe; you stared at him, eyes slightly heavy, as you glanced from his mouth to his eyes.

"Ethan..." You whispered, eyes closing at his words and the feel of his hands.

“Tell him how you feel, Y/N."

"I can't." You whispered, your heart pounding in your chest. He was hardly two inches away, and the smell of his cologne was intoxicating. "I'm scared."

Ethan's breathing seemed unsteady as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, murmuring a soft, "What's there to be scared of?" As he peered down at you.

"What if he doesn't want me?" You asked, glancing up at him. Still, though, you reached out, fisting his shirt in your hands and pulling him an inch closer.

"I..." Ethan's mouth went slightly dry as he watched you. "I think he does."

You stared up at him, heart pounding, and, before you could change your mind, leaned up to kiss him, pressing your mouth to his with as much force as you dared. Ethan's fingers tightened a fraction on your jaw as he kissed you back, making a low noise of pleasure against your mouth.

"God, Y/N." He whispered, his hands sliding into your hair as he kissed you again, then again. "I've wanted to do that for way too long now."

"It's you." You whispered, chasing after his touch. "It's you I want. Not Chad."

"I was hoping you were talking about me." He laughed, resting his forehead against your own. "This was going to be really awkward if I was touching you like this and then you said you had a crush on Tanner from Econ."

You laughed and tugged his face down to yours, kissing him again.

"We still have pizza. And Chad Supreme. And Stab." You said, looping your arms around his waist. "Wanna go?"

"Yes." He said, then gave you a coy smile. "Text time I see Chad, I'm calling you my girl."

#ethan landry fanfiction #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry #ethan bailey #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry x you #scream six #scream 6

5K notes · View notes

solemnarration · 9 days

Text

𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐍? | chapter two

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: art donaldson x female!reader x patrick zweig 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve always been content being second place to your best friend tashi duncan, waiting for the day you can quit tennis. your world is upended when you meet art and patrick, and you’re forced to embrace a life in the sport you’ve been too afraid to claim for yourself. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.6k 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): challengers content warnings, controlling mother, reader wears a dress and heels, use of y/n 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: reader wears a dress and has feminine style so i’m sorry if that doesn’t match your style!! i was debating leaving any clothing descriptions out but it really helped me with writing a character in juxtaposition to tashi, so i decided to do it 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭

𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘. 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍𝐒, 𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 – 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟗, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟔

“God, this house is huge,” you commented as you entered the venue of the party Adidas was throwing for Tashi.

Since it was practically a guarantee that she’d win the Junior US Open, Adidas was justified in going all-out for their rising star. The party took place outside, boasting a dancefloor, string lights, places for photo opportunities, and Tashi’s new trophy displayed for everyone to admire. As her best friend, you were undoubtedly biassed, but you thought Tashi deserved it. She was more committed to tennis than anyone you’d ever met.

Tashi laughed. “I know, right? Still smaller than yours, though.” When you shot her an unimpressed look, she grinned and wrapped her arms around your shoulder. “I’m kidding! Your house just looks bigger because it’s so empty and lifeless.”

“That house is anything but empty,” you disagreed. “It’s filled to the brim with my mother’s dreams and expectations for me.” Tashi snorted. “Don’t forget the linen closet that holds all my wasted potential.”

“Just a linen closet?”

“Don’t worry, it’s growing by the minute. Soon it’ll take up that whole damn mansion.”

Tashi grinned and shook her head. “Alright, let’s change the subject,” she decided. She knew you liked to joke about your poor relationship with your controlling mother, but she wanted you to let loose and have fun tonight. You had played such an incredible game that afternoon. Tashi hoped you would be in a good mood regardless of the berating your mother gave you when you lost. “You look unbelievable! I think you may be upstaging me at my own party.”

You wore a blush pink Blumarine mini dress that was stunning. It had a feminine silhouette made of a lightweight fabric, with dainty sheer cap sleeves and a delicate silver sequin pattern scattered across the bust. The skirt fell to mid-thigh and had a thigh slit with a white lace trim, which perfectly matched your white heeled Sam Edelman sandals. You had styled your hair in the way that always made you feel most confident and barely had any jewellery on, letting the dress speak for itself.

Chuckling, you motioned to Tashi’s gorgeous, shimmery dark blue dress and long locks. “T, you really don’t have to worry about me upstaging you,” you assured her. “I sincerely doubt anyone’s looking at me, and for good reason! You’re absolutely gorgeous.”

The sun and the moon. Tashi’s bright-coloured dress stood out and made a gorgeous contrast with her hair and skin, while your dress was the most vibrant thing about you. As always, she shined, and you were there to facilitate her glow; you were soft and gentle, and she was bold and captivating. Your dress walked the line between playful and elegant, whereas Tashi’s dress was sophisticated and gave her a striking impression. Every choice you made to style yourself always felt like you were standing in Tashi’s shadow. Not in a negative way, but that was the natural dynamic you fell into.

“You’re gorgeous too, Y/I,” Tashi insisted. “Now come on, we have some celebrating to do!”

After the expected socialising you always did at these events, the adults finally let you and Tashi have fun to commemorate your best friend’s first US Open win. When the DJ played Toxic by Britney Spears, Tashi dragged you to the checkerboard dance floor for some well-deserved dancing. Under the lights, you twirled each other around, your combined laughter echoing over the general noise of the party as your hips swayed to the rhythm of the music. You did your best to let go of the day’s anxiety, moving with carefree abandon and enjoying your time with your best friend.

Tashi beamed at you, noticing how genuine and relaxed your laughter and body seemed. You were usually tense and anxious, but you’d thrown caution to the wind and basked in the opportunity to have fun. Your face had heated up from the dancing, and your heartbeat was elevated, which made it look like you were soaring. As you swayed gracefully on the dance floor, Art and Patrick’s eyes followed your every move, captivated by your effortless beauty. Their hearts raced in unison, breaths quickening with admiration and longing. A magnetic pull tugged them towards you, allowing their gazes to linger on you like you were the moon in the night sky, bewitching and glowing.

Feeling eyes on you, you twirled and spotted two guys with their eyes glued to you and Tashi at one of the nearby round tables. They were unabashedly leering at you two with vacant, astonished eyes as you danced together. Pressing your lips together to suppress laughter, you leaned closer to Tashi and said, “We have an audience.”

Her eyes sparkled with mirth. She lifted her arms over her head as she danced, spinning in time with the music and taking the opportunity to look at the ogling boys. “My God, that’s the opposite of subtle,” Tashi commented, entertained by their stares. “Just ignore them.”

To egg the boys on, Tashi took your hand and pulled you closer as a Nelly song started playing. When she began shimmying her shoulders to entertain you, you laughed. You spun in a circle and shimmied with her, mirroring her moves. Unconstrained and without much care for how you looked, you closed your eyes and let the music take over. Your arms swayed freely above your head, fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air as your hips swayed and feet moved with the pulsating beat of the song. You were lost in a world where nothing else mattered but this joyous celebration of your friend’s success.

Not only that, but you believed you had just played your last major Open. Once you started college later that month, you’d be free.

Patrick and Art didn’t care if you had noticed them gawking.

Your beauty had them spellbound, and their eyes were enchanted, unable to look away even if they wanted to. The rhythmic beat of the music was synchronised with their hearts, pounding with every pulse as they yearned to dance beside you. Patrick sighed happily as the slinky material of your blush pink dress highlighted your figure as you moved, revealing the sheen of sweat on your collarbones and decolletage. When Tashi put her hands on your waist and pulled you close, it was almost too much for them.

“Oh my God,” Art whispered.

“Oy,” Patrick agreed, shaking his head as he smirked. Art may have been entranced from the moment you walked out onto the tennis court, but this was when Patrick decided he had to have you.

As the song faded into the next, you and Tashi were panting. You fanned your face as Tashi asked, “Drink time?” Nodding in agreement, you followed her off the dance floor to the table where you’d left your drinks earlier.

Art and Patrick’s heads followed you as you left, bodies stumbling after you when they realised this was their opportunity to talk to you. As you and Tashi sipped your fancy French orange soda, the guys watching you earlier approached.

“Hey!” the first one exclaimed. This boy had dark brown curly hair, a blue polo shirt, and a grin that looked like he meant trouble. “I’m Patrick Zweig.”

The blond in the pink button-up added, “Art Donaldson.”

Tashi smirked at the way they were fawning over the two of you. “I know who you are,” she admitted. Her gaze swept from Art to Patrick, adding, “You’re Fire and Ice, right?”

Art stared at her. “Oh my God,” he said in a low tone.

Patrick, smoother and less easily rattled by pretty girls, happily confirmed, “In the flesh.”

“Of course!” You tried not to laugh as you eyed Patrick and recognised him. He was the one with the… unique serve. “How could I forget? Nice game today.”

You sat on one of the orange wicker chairs, and Tashi followed suit, crossing one leg over the other. She looked up at the boys through her lashes, wondering, “Which one’s which?”

“What do you think?” Patrick challenged her.

As he and Tashi shared a loaded stare, you bit your lower lip, trying not to look as amused as you felt. Guys like Patrick came and hit on Tashi all the time; it wasn’t anything either of you hadn’t seen before. Like always, you sat on the sidelines and waited patiently for Tashi to reject whoever took up her time so the two of you could enjoy your evening. You tucked your right ankle behind your left and relaxed against your backrest, watching the events unfold.

“You were fucking incredible today,” Art complimented. The words practically stumbled from his lips as if he couldn’t help himself. The blond’s deep blue gaze flickered to you. His cheeks reddened when he met your eyes, causing you to tilt your head curiously. This was new. Guys barely gave you the time of day around Tashi, which was exactly how you liked it. Art’s blatant and visible adoration was different. “Both of you. I’ve never seen anyone serve like that before,” he added.

“Thanks,” you acknowledged, lips curving. You leaned forward, placing your hands on your bare thighs and smirking. “I did lose, though,” you pointed out, teasing Art. “Don’t you feel bad for me?”

Art stammered, trying to say something clever to match your energy, and Patrick watched curiously. You weren’t at all like he thought you would be. He assumed you would be timid compared to Tashi, but that wasn’t the case. You were definitely the more guarded of the two of you, wearing a mask at all times and only letting it slip when you looked at Tashi. Mysterious wasn’t quite the right word, but Patrick thought you were intriguing.

You decided to put Art out of his misery. “I’m just messing with you,” you promised, relaxing. The Coke bottle Art was clutching for dear life loosened in his hand. Your eyes on him made him all soft and gooey, and he nearly dropped the bottle.

“It really was amazing,” Art echoed eagerly. “I mean, it wasn’t even like tennis. It was an entirely different game.”

Tashi sipped her drink. “Thank you,” she replied. “You’re going to Stanford, right?”

“Yeah! How’d you know that?” Art asked.

“Um–” Tashi chuckled– “We just accepted our offers and they mentioned you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh!”

Patrick visibly deflated at the mention of college, which you clocked right away.

“I’m guessing you aren’t a future Cardinal?” you asked, allowing him to study your expression. The affectionate manner in which you discussed Stanford surprised him, given how insanely talented you and Tashi were.

“No, no–” Patrick shook his head– “I’m just–” he cut himself off. “You guys aren’t going pro? Why waste your time playing college tennis?”

Saving Tashi from having to explain her life decisions to a total stranger, her father walked over to get her attention. “Baby, I need to steal you for a second,” Mr Duncan interrupted. “Over at the trophies.”

“Uh, okay.” Tashi stood and looked down at where you were seated. “Are you good here?” she asked, girl code for Are these losers bothering you?

“I’m fine,” you promised. “Go look hot with your trophy, okay?”

Tashi chuckled. “You know I will.” She looked between Patrick and Art, watching with amusement as you sat there, oblivious to the two guys tripping over their feet to get your attention. It was like watching a game of tennis unfold in real time, except off the court, and you were the prize. “It was nice meeting you two,” Tashi said.

“If my mother asks where I am, tell her to follow the sound of disappointment,” you called as Tashi left to join her family. With the way her shoulders shook, you could tell she was laughing. Now that your comfort person was gone, you felt out of place. You cleared your throat, getting up from your chair. “Well, it was nice meeting you both,” you said in lieu of a farewell, setting your drink down and moving to make your escape.

“You know you’re better than all those girls playing college tennis, right?” Patrick interjected before you could leave.

You raised an eyebrow. “Actually, I don’t know that. I’ve never actually played any of them before. Guess I’ll find out soon enough, though.”

Patrick chuckled. “Oh, come on. Why put off going pro when you nearly won the Junior US Open?”

“Not that it’s any of your business but I’m not putting anything off. I’m not going pro,” you confessed.

“You’re kidding,” Art blurted. At your unimpressed gaze, he amended, “Sorry, I just mean that I’m surprised. You’re incredible, you could probably be the player of our generation if you wanted to.”

As sweet as the compliment was, the thought of you being the face of women’s tennis brought an unsettling discomfort to your stomach.

You raised a shoulder, shrugging. “That’s just it. I don’t want to.” The breeze ruffled the lightweight skirt of your dress and revealed more of your thighs. The boys stared, and you sighed. “Patrick and Art, was it?” They nodded, perking up at your remembrance of their names. “Your interest in my tennis career is both endearing and entertaining, and for that I thank you. But the player of our generation is right there, taking pictures with the trophy she won today.”

You all looked at Tashi. She was a natural in front of the camera, able to charm anyone in the vicinity with a pretty smile.

Art caught your hand before you could leave. “Hey, wait a second,” he implored.

You halted, turning and watching his eyes flicker down to your wrist, where a second friendship bracelet joined the one you’d been wearing throughout the US Open. This one said Tashi’s name and had the number one beside it, celebrating her victory. When he raised his head, you felt your breath hitch as you caught his gaze. His eyes were a piercing shade of blue – and slightly brown on his right eye – that seemed to see right through you. You felt your cheeks warm. The intensity of his vulnerable eyes made your stomach flutter nervously.

Art’s thumb brushed your wrist and sent shivers down your spine. “I like your bracelets,” he said, smiling. “Did you make them?”

“Uh, yeah. I make them for me and Tashi when we go to tournaments. Or for big events.”

“And she makes some for you? That’s nice.”

“Oh, no. Tashi doesn’t have the patience or desire to do much other than tennis, so I can never get her to sit down long enough to actually complete one.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“So, nobody’s ever made you a bracelet before?”

“Nope,” you confirmed.

Art smiled. “Idiots,” he murmured. Your eyes widened in surprise. “Do you really have to go?”

Your growing desire to stay made it clear that you did. “I’ll be watching your match tomorrow,” you said, glancing between the boys and pulling your hand from Art’s gentle grip. “I can’t wait to see what Fire and Ice do when they’re up against each other. Though, I already have a pretty good idea.”

Patrick smirked. “Oh really?”

“Anyone who’s ever seen you play knows that you–” you looked at Patrick– “Are fire, and you–” you looked to Art– “Are ice.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You play impulsively and passionately. You express yourself through tennis, but not playing defensively enough can be your downfall,” you explained.

“It hasn’t been so far,” Patrick gloated.

“That’s because you play people like Art, who play it safe. That’s the only reason he’s never beaten you.” You looked between the pair of best friends. “I’m not your coach, so I’m not going to lecture you two. I’m just saying that you might consider learning from each other. It’s why your doubles matches are so electrifying, the combination works.” They both grinned broadly, focused on your praise. “I’m excited to see what happens tomorrow. But for now, I’ll say I enjoyed meeting you,” you said goodbye.

Patrick fell onto the seat Tashi had occupied, shaking his head disappointedly as you left them behind.

Art paced beside him, picking at the label of his Coke bottle. “Now what?” he asked.

“What do you mean? That was it,” Patrick retorted, dismayed.

“You don’t wanna stick around, try to talk to her again?”

Patrick frowned. “No, no, that’ll seem too desperate. We should just wait for the shuttle back to the hotel.”

“Yeah, sure,” Art agreed, gaze stuck on your retreating figure. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Patrick chimed, glancing up at his friend before dragging his eyes to where you approached the mansion. His lips were pursed in concentration, hooded eyes watching you like a hawk.

The two boys stayed rooted to the spot, their eyes fixed on you as you seamlessly weaved through the crowd. Smiling down at Patrick when he didn’t move, Art shook his head. Patrick wasn’t going anywhere without getting on your good side; that was clear.

You disappeared into the house for refuge from the people and noise. That was another reason you didn’t want to be the face of women’s tennis. You never quite felt like you fit in anywhere unless Tashi was by your side, and half of being a professional athlete was convincing the world that you belonged. After pretending to be the perfect daughter your mother wanted for eighteen years, you weren’t keen on doing it for the rest of your career to facilitate a dream that wasn’t yours.

You found the bathroom and locked the door behind you. Staring at your reflection, you meticulously adjusted your hair. Next, you smoothed the fabric of your dress, striving for an unattainable perfection that was expected from you since you were a little girl. Your eyes betrayed the sadness you always felt at tennis parties as you finished polishing your exterior. Each time you went to a party like this and put on the mask you wore for your career, you felt a piece of yourself slipping away.

“Wearing heels is like volunteering for a medieval torture device, but with more blisters,” you commented hours later when Tashi said her final goodbyes.

Your best friend laughed. “They sure do look good, though.”

The two of you stumbled down the stairs in the backyard, holding on to each other and giggling as you tried to make it back to the car so you could take your heels off.

“Carry me,” you whined jokingly, draping yourself onto Tashi’s shoulder.

“No, carry me!”

Two voices interrupted your banter.

“Hey!”

“Hi!”

It was Art and Patrick, lounging on a sofa and grinning at you like they couldn’t believe they got to see you again. Seeing Patrick made you want to laugh again – given your mother’s strong distaste for his unusual serve – and you averted your eyes to suppress a giggle.

Tashi answered for you both, “Hi.” She laughed a little, steering you towards them. “You guys are still here.”

“Great party!” Art enthusiastically replied.

“Thank you. Um, don’t you guys have a final? Shouldn’t you be, like, um, preparing or something?”

“God, I can’t wear these shoes any longer,” you mumbled beside her, dropping unceremoniously into the chair beside the boys and leaning down to take off your white heels.

Art and Patrick watched you distractedly before realising Tashi had asked them a question.

“Oh, it’s just the Juniors–”

Art was interrupted by Patrick. “I think we both know how it’s gonna go,” Patrick commented.

Amused, Tashi chuckled. “Okay, well, um, it’s cool that you stayed.”

You hummed in agreement, picking up your shoes and standing beside Tashi again. “Very cool,” you echoed her.

Art stood with you, subconsciously mirroring your body language. “Yeah!” His response was overly loud and too enthusiastic for your plain comment, but he couldn’t help but look at you like you hung the stars in the sky. “I actually wanted to ask you about your serve–”

Patrick interjected, “Hey, do you smoke?”

You grimaced. “Cigarettes?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Do you?”

That was how the four of you ended up at the beach at the end of a long night. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing on the shore lulled you into a state of happy exhaustion, each gentle breeze whispering a well-deserved rest.

“This place is ridiculous, isn’t it?” Patrick mused as you circled the house to get to the private beach.

“What do you mean?” Tashi exclaimed. “What do you mean? It’s nice!”

“It’s like a castle. Like, they wanna be feudal lords or something.”

“Oh, and what does your parents’ place look like?” Patrick remained silent. “Exactly!” Tashi cried triumphantly.

“Not like this.”

“No, it’s bigger,” Art teased.

“No! Well, I mean, yeah, technically it is,” Patrick yielded, glancing up at the mansion. The disdain in his voice and face were familiar to you.

“God, I hate big houses like this,” you mused. The breeze ruffled your hair as you gazed up at the huge house. Intrigued, Patrick looked at you and nearly sighed in delight. You were so angelic, bathed in moonlight. It was almost as if it radiated from your skin; you were the personification of a lunar glow. “Everything inside is absolutely perfect, but nobody really lives there. They just exist. Lifeless and isolated.”

“Like owning an antique chair that’s too fragile for anyone to sit on,” Patrick commented, grinning as you met his eyes. His lake-blue eyes held a depth of emotion and character that surprised you, revealing layers of his inner world without words. While Art’s blue eyes were filled with adoration, Patrick’s showed a flicker of his true self.

“Or a grand piano some famous musician once played, so now it just sits there, untouched. Even though it was made to be used, not admired,” you added, a sad ache filling your chest as you thought of your own home.

Trying to lighten the mood, Patrick asked, “What do your parents do to get a huge, lifeless house of their own?”

You chuckled like he was joking. Art and Patrick shared a confused glance before looking to Tashi for help. “You seriously don’t know?” she wondered, wide-eyed as she curved an eyebrow. “Y/N’s mom is Irina Madden. She has eleven grand slam titles from the 70s.”

Art gasped. “Are you serious? Irina Madden’s your mom?!”

“She sure is. Why? Do you want to trade?” you replied.

Patrick nearly snorted at that, all too familiar with overbearing rich mothers. “So that explains the whole Stanford thing,” he deduced as you arrived at the beach and sat down. “Good old mommy issues.”

“It takes one to know one,” you reply without any real bite. Art and Patrick chortled and lit their cigarettes, not arguing with that.

Coming to your defence, Tashi pointed out, “You know, they offer classes in college. Y/N’s the smartest person I know, she was always going to go to college and major in something difficult and thought-provoking,” your best friend mused. She smiled at you. You reached over and squeezed her hand, grateful for her constant encouragement.

“If your mom’s Irina Madden, can’t she just pay for Stanford?” Patrick observed. “Why get a tennis scholarship if you don’t even want to play anymore?”

You glanced at Patrick and tried not to let your eyes wander too much. He seemed too cocky and confident to be your type earlier, but you liked that his questions challenged you. He wasn’t going easy on you, and for some reason, that excited you. Patrick’s intense eyes, filled with a curiosity that bordered on relentlessness, made you nervous in an unfamiliar way. You liked that he never held back. It stirred something exhilarating in you.

“I like earning my place and taking responsibility for my future,” you confessed. Your hands itched to do something to settle your nerves, so you fiddled with your friendship bracelets. “If my mom just buys my way into everything then it’s too easy. Even though I don’t want to go pro, my hard work is what made me a good tennis player. I earned my spot at Stanford, but that’s the last thing I want to use my skills for. No more Opens, no more international tournaments. I’m done.” Patrick nodded, satisfied with your honesty. “What about you? When are you going pro?”

He took a drag from his cigarette. “As soon as I can,” Patrick confirmed. “Hitting a ball with a racket is a great way to avoid having a job.”

Art shook his head, leaning back and disapproving of his best friend’s perspective.

“Well, that’s also your problem,” Tashi argued. She leaned back on her hands and looked at Patrick, meeting his blue-eyed gaze. “‘Cause you think that tennis is about expressing yourself, doing your thing. That’s why you still have that serve.”

You giggled at that, finally letting yourself release the laughter you were holding in all night long. Art and Patrick couldn’t resist smiling as your joy filled the air. Your happiness was contagious and addictive, eliciting their own chuckles.

“What, you don’t like my serve?” Patrick asked you, throwing his hands out like he was offended.

“Are you kidding? It’s the only reason I know who you are! You’re on my mother’s blacklist because of it. I have no idea how your coaches never gave you shit and forced that out of you.”

With a knowing smirk, Patrick observed you. Away from the party, you were unguarded and open, something he was immediately drawn to. Beneath the jokes and playful facade, you spoke your mind freely, especially with Tashi around.

“You know, I really appreciate this new honestly behind your witty exterior,” Patrick commented happily. “But you never answered my question.”

Your lips curved, and your eyes shone. “I like it,” you admitted reluctantly.

Tashi and Art groaned at that, complaining about what an absurd atrocity Patrick’s serve was. “His ego really doesn’t need any more inflating,” Art added, dodging Patrick when he reached over to smack his arm.

“I’m just saying, it brings something interesting to the game,” you defended yourself. “Tennis is so traditional and rigid. It’s called a ‘gentleman’s game,’ which just emphasises what an elitist sport it is. I like that you’re putting your own spin on it,” you added. “Tennis isn’t a sport where people take those kinds of risks often and it’s exciting when people do.”

Patrick hung on your every word, captivated by the melody of your voice and feeling a rush of excitement course through him. His cheeks flushed, and he wished you would always be there, talking to him, looking at him; your attention made Patrick feel alive in a way he had never experienced before.

“Well, it works,” Patrick sidestepped, a little overwhelmed by your compliment.

Hiding her smile, Tashi looked away before she ruined the moment. “Yeah, but you’re not a tennis player. You don’t know what tennis is,” she argued.

“What is it?”

“It’s a relationship,” Tashi declared. You grinned. Tennis, and what it really took to be a great player, was one of the many things nobody communicated as well as your best friend.

Patrick motioned between you and Tashi. “Is that what you two had today?”

“It is, actually,” she agreed, nodding. “And not just today, but everyday, and every time we play.”

“It makes our friendship stronger,” you added, bumping shoulders with Tashi affectionately.

“In those one and a half hours, there were so many moments we were actually playing tennis, and we understood each other completely. So did everyone watching.” Tashi smiled at you, catching your eyes. “It was like we were in love. Or like we didn’t exist. We went somewhere really beautiful together.”

“You screamed,” Art pointed out. You watched curiously as he and Tashi shared an emotional look. They seemed to connect on the same level you and Tashi did, viewing tennis as more than a game or a way to avoid life’s responsibilities. “During match point, when you won. I’ve never heard anything like it before,” he added.

“Y/N’s a real tennis player. It’s easy to get swept away when playing with her.”

Art set his gaze on you. The breeze ruffled his blond hair, and he was effortlessly handsome. “If you understand tennis so well, I don’t see how you can quit,” he admitted.

You let your eyes drag across his face, the sharp slope of his jaw and the unruly curls framing his forehead. And those eyes, open and honest, made your breath catch. “I don’t see how I can keep going like this,” you replied. “Tennis demands everything from you. You need guts and heart and you can’t hold back, not even a little bit. That’s a lot to ask of yourself when it’s somebody else’s dream for you.”

Art smiled sympathetically, understanding the price to be paid if you wanted to make it as a professional. “But you love it so much,” he whispered. “How are you ever going to give it up?”

“Y/N’s always going to return to tennis,” Tashi agreed with Art. “She knows what real tennis is. You can’t just leave it behind once you’ve really felt it. Even if she tries, I don’t think she can ever let it go.”

That was your fear about playing tennis at Stanford.

Sighing, you tried to explain yourself. “I’ve never gotten the chance to actually figure out what I want to do. I do love tennis, and I think quitting will be the hardest thing I’ll ever do, but I have to do it.” You cleared your throat, looking at the city lights in the distance. “My existence came about because my mother wanted a protégé to beat her grand slam record. That way, her tennis career is extended through mine; she’ll be immortalised, and her place in the tennis world will live on. But I want to be appreciated for more than the capacity of my body. I want to be admired for my mind.”

Patrick, with his cigarette long forgotten, nodded encouragingly. “I see that for you.”

You met his deep blue-green eyes and felt a flutter in your chest. “Yeah?” Patrick opened his mouth to reply when you heard the quiet beep of your phone. You cursed, panicking as you grabbed it from the sand beside you. “Missed call from my mother,” you told Tashi with wide eyes.

She took your arm and reassured you, “Okay, time to go.”

“Are you in trouble?” Art asked, concerned.

You laughed, getting up and brushing the sand from your dress. “The only thing scarier than a missed call from my mother is an actual conversation with her,” you joked, letting him know it would be fine. “That being said, I’m afraid I’m going to have to get going.”

Tashi joined you, picking up her black heeled sandals. “I should go before my dad comes looking for me,” she added, linking arms with you. This was one of the most fascinating evenings Tashi had ever experienced. Usually, when guys threw themselves at the both of you, you would roll your eyes and brush them off, assuming they were there for her. Today, Patrick and Art actually managed to catch your attention. “We’ll see you at school, Art.” Tashi waved.

“Wait, are you on Facebook?” Patrick asked before you could leave.

“What?”

“He’s asking for your numbers,” Art explained. His hand fell limp, placed on the armrest attached to the beach chair as he smirked charmingly at you and Tashi. “And so am I.” Patrick grinned impishly.

“You both want our numbers?” Tashi echoed, amused.

“Very much so, yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Turning her head to look at you, Tashi was a little speechless. You’d entertained several guys at parties before. While they were all looking to flirt with the number one junior girls’ player, none had been shameless enough to simultaneously hit on both of you. Putting her free hand on her hip, Tashi said, “Okay, well, we aren’t homewreckers.”

“We don’t live together,” Art replied easily.

Patrick joined in on the joke, “It’s an open relationship.”

“Also, Patrick has a girlfriend,” the blond accused his best friend.

“I do not. Hey, come hang out with us later,” Patrick eagerly invited you both. “They put you up at the hotel in Flushing, right? We’re in Room 206.”

“Want us to come tuck you in?” Tashi mocked.

“What, do you need a bedtime story and a bath, too?” you quipped.

“I wouldn’t say no to that,” Patrick teased you. “But I just meant we can keep talking.” He eyed you with a new fire in his eyes, burning into your gaze like the desire in his bloodstream. “About tennis.”

You raised your eyebrows knowingly. “Is that what we’ve been talking about?” you wondered sarcastically, earning an eye-crinkling, audacious smile from Patrick.

“Good night,” Tashi said, effectively ending the conversation.

“We have beer,” Patrick called in a melodic tone as you walked away, earning laughter from you and Tashi.

“Okay,” Tashi replied sarcastically. Once they were out of earshot, your best friend snickered. “God, they want you so bad. I think they may have been drooling.”

“Oh, shut up,” you exclaimed. “They want you just as badly!”

“Do you honestly believe that?” Tashi wondered. She was in disbelief that you couldn’t see how hard the boys worked for your approval. “Patrick was practically eating out of your hand. You have those guys wrapped around your finger, Y/I!”

“Absolutely not,” you denied. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, T, but nobody ever has eyes for me when you’re around. And that’s okay, I’m not exactly looking for a guy to parade around as eye candy.”

Tashi sighed. A smirk appeared on her lips as she recalled Patrick’s invitation. “Maybe we’ll just have to go to their room and ask them.”

You laughed hard, throwing your head back and shutting your eyes. “There’s no way I’m going anywhere near their room! Not tonight, not ever.”

Oh, how wrong you were.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: idk if you guys are into fashion and know the iconic blumarine dress from 2004 that i’m talking about but just in case you don’t, here it is!! also if anyone is interested in being tagged in future chapters, please let me know in a comment or in my ask box 🩷

#challengers #art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson #patrick zweig #tashi duncan #challengers x reader #challengers fanfic #challengers fanfiction #mike faist x reader #josh o connor x reader #art donaldson x you #patrick zweig x you #art donaldson imagine #patrick zweig imagine #fic: guilty as sin?

521 notes · View notes

yumeboshi · 1 month

Text

𝜗𝜚。．． ❛ #HER NEW BOYFRIEND’S NEXT!

𐙚 synopsis。．short hcs/scenarios of jealous yandere aventurine & sunday ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

．。𝜗𝜚 cw。suggestive themes . general yandere themes, brainwashing, gaslighting in Sunday’s part, mentions of violence, mentions of scide, imprisonment, except for aventurine relationships are not established, WARNING: extremely obsessed and smitten with you, read at risk!

．。𝜗𝜚 a/n。honestly why do i think sunday will be literally the most dangerous yandere you could ask for。man has all the resources to brainwash you and lock you up pls

#SྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིUNDAY．。

。… a classic yandere obsessed over control. 。literally, he will be such a control freak. he has eyes all over penacony. he would have already kept track of what kind of soulglad you drink, when you get home, what your sleep habit is, all under the span of a week, and that’s before meeting you. obviously, as your future spouse, he is just obtaining information he needs for the future! 。will treat you surprisingly equally to his other guests when you meet, he doesn’t want gossip to get around, and he wants to make this “process” as natural as possible. 。after you are successfully within his area of control, he will start to monitor you even more meticulously- who you meet, what you do in your dreams.. he is a bit disappointed you don’t visit him on your own accord, but that will all be arranged soon! 。will casually go up to your room to ask you about “room service satisfaction” when he’s actually just busy breathing in your lovely scent and assessing your room for any “threat.” 。he doesn’t like that you’re affecting his ability to work. he’s impatient, of course, but he knows that he will have to wait for the perfect opportunity to whisk you away like a knight in shining armor. And all he needs is a little pawn to play the act of a villain- oh, your little male acquaintance will do! 。he’s like that- using people around you as puppets to his grand stage. Sunday is well-informed about morals, of course. But he won’t feel much guilt, not when he knows this is all for the ‘greater good.’ “They” will approve of it. 。and so, he starts to crack his charming facade- he will start asking you for private meetings, and he will put you in a vip room so you are isolated. He does this under the mask of ‘danger,’ saying that you have faced too many threats and he needs to ensure his guest’s safety. 。If you call your friends for help? The next day, they are mysteriously gone from penacony. You call them but your phone is out of service. 。but if you are still not charmed over his chivalry.. he’ll have to settle for easier methods.

❝ WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?”

Your demand was choked with such pleasant sobs that SUNDAY couldn’t help but slip out a small victorious smirk that quickly masks itself to a concerned facade when you fix your angry watery eyes at him.

“I know it was you,” you continue, pacing around his office while he remains nonchalantly seated, trailing his eyes to your every step. “You made all my friends vanish from penacony, you had my parents escorted away to aeons know where, you stowed me here like I’m some kind of precious little jewelry for your eyes only. What do you want from me?” The evident snarl in your words merely makes Sunday tip his head a little, staring at you with the same serene look that frustrated you.

“Oh, sweetheart, you got it all wrong.” He shakes his head in disappointment and rose up from his seat, taking silent strides to you at an alarming speed that made you stumble backwards to the door. “‘They’ have done nothing for you during your stay in the Reverie. You are always disappointed with them, but you choose not to speak up. It is such a painful sight, you are just like a bird who lost its voice.” His voice is surprisingly gentle, dangerously neutral, which scares you, and makes you doubt yourself.

Maybe you were just being stupid, Sunday was acting like it wasn’t a big deal. And your friends indeed did not do much for you here, unlike Sunday, who provided you with all this luxury without accepting anything in return. You feel safe here, almost. You blink a little- the heat that had pounded through your ears was gone, and now you feel like a harmless puppy that just barked his best at a wolf.

“It‘s natural to be mad, dear.” His hand delicately entangles itself into your locks, and you stare at him, unable to say anything as he soothingly whispers. “It is hard to understand actions for the greater good. relax, sweetheart. Everything will be better now,” he purrs, staring right into your eyes. They are endless depths of azure. They are very, very mesmerizing, you think.

“Everything will be better now,” you realize, and you sigh into his arms that seemed to suddenly be present around you. But the worry disperses, you are fine with being close with him. His embrace is welcoming and soft. You don’t want to leave it ever again.

#AྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིVENTURINE．。

。this man takes the cake for being the most jealous man in honkai 。he’s a charmer. he wins you over easily, because who could resist his charisma and his wealth, honestly. He flirts his way easily with you— unlike Sunday, he likes an impromptu plan, and rather enjoys surprises- any attempt of you trying to break up with him will not irritate him at all, contrary to the former. 。“Your attempts fascinate me. Too bad you lost all your bargaining chips. You gonna play another round with me, love? I’m more than willing to, you know.” 。he will be pleased, intrigued at how he can break you down again. he likes a little chase and gamble, he doesn’t want his prey served on his plate, he likes the thrill of hunt. 。he’d even be impressed if you escape him. But not for long, because he will bring you back to where you belong. 。this man will barely be angry over you. He won’t force any affection onto you, he satisfies himself by buying you expensive clothes instead, as if you are his little doll. He is content with you being a quiet and submissive trophy. 。what this man does not tolerate, however, is you being with anyone else. He cannot bear the thought that someone is around you more than he is, and that you rely on someone more than you rely on him. Aventurine has pride over his abilities, anyone taking you is like taking his most precious trump card. 。despite the jealousy he feels, he will still regard this as a particularly entertaining game. But he knows he will win this gamble, too.

❝ AH, IT’S SUCH A THRILLING GAME, ISN’T IT, SWEETHEART?”

You watch AVENTURINE toss the coin into the air and roll it around his fingers, his mesmerizing eyes examine the bitter look of defeat on your features.

“This isn’t funny,” you sobbed, despair dawning on you upon realizing that you truly lost everything to him. You had no more moves left in this game he put you in. He was merciful enough to spare your blood relatives, but your friends were gone- including the nice and sweet, innocent guy you shared friendly banter with for barely an hour.

“A gamble is fair and share, love.” He puts his hand on your waist, giving you a short kiss that tasted of wine. You felt nothing but defeat as he tossed the coin on the table where it flopped. “You just picked the wrong set of cards to play with.”

He is close to you all of a sudden, his hot breath tickling your skin, smelling of victory and wealth. His eyes stare right into you as he chuckles, the sadistic glint in his eyes glitter a little more when you feel a tear escape your eye. He leans to your ear, lightly biting your earlobe as he adds,

“Nobody wins with a deck with only clovers, my love. A shame that your cards were so… discardable.”

He laughs at that, watching your stunned face. He loves the look of surprise on you. It is endearing, it shows so well that you do not know how to play his game at all.

#𐙚．。articles #honkai star rail x reader #yandere #aventurine hsr #aventurine x reader #honkai star rail #aventurine x you #sunday hsr #sunday honkai star rail #sunday x reader #sunday x you #honkai star rail yandere #yandere x reader #yandere aventurine #yandere sunday #div by cafekitsune

937 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 6 months

Text

SWEET LIKE SUGAR | (05)

summary; azriel is away on a mission, and you get an unexpected visitor. when he returns, you also get an unexpected surprise.

word count; 5988

notes; fun fact!! I got confused about which part I was on because I actually forgot all about the events of this part and started writing for part six before realising!! also the way this is months late... my bad, y’all.

Slumping a little further in the plush seat, your eyes scanned across the page before you for the fourth time. Finally, you’d settled on a book, after procrastinating it all morning. Then, you’d put it off with the excuse of cooking breakfast and eating, making a cup of tea… and then another.

The house felt too big, too quiet, too light without shadows crawling in every corner.

Azriel had been gone since yesterday morning, your first overnight alone without him as he did Cauldron knew what, Cauldron knows where, out in the world. He’d left early yesterday morning while you had still been asleep, waking you with a hand shaking your shoulder gently before the sun had even risen. Dressed in those same dark leathers, strapped head-to-toe with weapons, he’d mumbled about some sudden work from Rhys, and that explanation, along with a delicate kiss on your forehead, had been all you’d gotten.

It had half felt like some kind of odd dream, until you’d woken up, and the house had been far too still without his presence.

He was due back tonight, and you were holding onto that, attempting to focus back on your book. Three hours. Only forty pages in.

You’d hardly made it two more pages, before there were footsteps on the creaky porch, your heart rate shooting through the roof, and a knock. A knock. Azriel wouldn't knock on his own front door. Matter of fact, Azriel would have likely just winnowed right to the door, not walked up the porch.

On light steps, hoping whoever was on the other side couldn't hear you, you peeked up through the hole in the door, noting Elain standing on the other side. You barely knew her, recognising her only from the first dinner you’d shared with Azriel’s family, heart leaping into your throat at the sight of her.

Clicking the door open after only a second or two of hesitation, she offered a beaming smile when your eyes met.

“Hello, Elain.”

“You remember my name!” Her smile somehow only stretched wider, and it was like the sun itself seemed to get brighter as she did. You wanted to scoff. Did it just do that, or was Lucien out there somewhere, glowing every time she smiled?

“Uh… Azriel isn’t here.”

“I know.” She waved a hand, as though that was supposed to be obvious in some way, following it up with a giggle. You wracked your brain, stumbling over every piece of information Azriel had given you on them all over the last couple of weeks. Seer. Elain was a seer. Had she seen Azriel leave and chosen this moment to approach you? “I’m here to see you.”

Apparently so. “Why?”

“I was thinking we could go for a walk in the public gardens together.”

“Why?” The word spilt out again, and she laughed, cocking her head to the side. “I’m, sorry, I don’t— I don’t mean to sound so rude. This situation is just unexpected, that’s all.”

“I know. I would have come sooner, but I was waiting for Azriel to be gone because he’s been playing defence about who gets to see you and when. He growled at Rhysand last week for asking how things were going.” Your stomach flipped at that, flopping in on itself and you rubbed a hand over your ribs slowly, hoping to steady the beating of your heart. “I’m not here for Rhysand, just to be clear. I’m not here for anyone, not even Az. I’m here for me, because I’d like to get to know you.”

“You want to get to know me?”

“Of course. You’re going to be around for a while—”

“I am?” She merely hummed, brows raising a little as humour shone in those doe-eyes, and your cheeks heated. “Seer, right. Of course. Do you want to come in for lunch or something, then?”

“I was thinking we could go for a picnic.” Nudging one delicately slippered foot out from under the hem of her dress, she nudged a picnic basket at her feet with her toes, and you shifted nervously from foot to foot. “It’s a nice day, and the Velaris Gardens are just beautiful. I volunteer sometimes, and I must say, the flowers this year are breathtaking.”

“Alright,” She was like a puppy, someone you just couldn't say no to when she stared at you with those big brown eyes, only seeming to light up more when you finally agreed. Leaving her standing on the porch for no more than a few minutes, you marked the page in your book, swapped out your loungewear for a summer dress and some sandals, and grabbed your keys.

She had been right, the two of you were barely more than a few steps down the sidewalks before the golden rays of the sun truly began to soak into your skin, warming you. It was a lovely day. Hopefully, the sun was shining on Azriel too, wherever he was.

The streets of Velaris were crowded as the pair of you ventured closer to the busier parts of the city, your workplace was packed full, the tables outside almost overflowing, and one of the waitresses you’d come to know waved as you passed by, flustered and carrying a tray of drinks.

Children were playing in the streets, darting from one side to another. Adults were wandering, lovers arm in arms, and friends gossiping. Here you were, wandering alongside Elain, who was humming a tune gently to herself under her breath. Only once you had entered the gardens, the kind old man at the front gate greeting Elain with a smile and a hug, did she speak up once again.

Her tune came to an end as the two of you were walking down the main pathway, weeping willows curtaining on either side, birds chirping overhead and fluttering between branches in the trees.

“I'm happy Azriel has you, you know.”

“You might be the only one.” Your words were bitter, harsh, and you wanted to bite them back in, still not entirely sure where you stood with Elain or to what extent you could trust her, but she only laughed again. “Apologies, that was…”

“Don’t worry.” That casual hand wave again, the metal bracelets on her wrist clinking as she did. One held a sun, another with a moon, a third gold band with an orange gem, and a fourth with a metal tag on a leather band, an engraving too small to make out. “Although, it’s not true. Nesta talks very fondly of you, and while Feyre might not speak up as often, she does not approve of the way Rhysand treats you.”

“Nesta is great. I shouldn’t have said that. And of course, I was out of turn to imply anything at all about the High Lord and Lady. I do—”

“Please, none of those formalities.” She stopped suddenly at the end of the pathway, aiming to turn neither left nor right, but instead stepping out onto the large field before you both, wildflowers cropping up, wandering across the soft ground and leaving you to trail through the grass behind her. “Rhysand can be a stubborn arse when he chooses to be, and Cassian is merely being bull-headed. Mor could be a swaying hand if she chose to, but she’s actively staying out of it, to let things play out on their own. Amren is… well, Amren.”

She had managed to coax a laugh from you, despite your wary mood, and she seemed to stand a little taller at the triumph. Finally finding a spot she liked and placing the basket down, Elain opened it up to pull out a blanket, flapping it out into the light breeze and laying it on the ground slowly. She sat on it, patting the space beside her for you to sit on, and opening the basket only when you had.

“I brought several sandwiches, because I wasn’t sure which you’d enjoy.” She began to unstack each labelled and wrapped meal portion, laying them out around you both until the blanket was covered in food and treats, a wine glass in your hand as Elain filled it with bubbling grape juice. “I try not to drink as much these days.”

It seemed the two of you had moved on from whatever conversation you’d been having, and no matter how much you wanted to circle back around to it, it felt rude to do so when she was clearly leading the chat. She was rubbing a hand over her stomach with contemplation, and you swirled the bubbly drink in your glass. “Are you… are you trying for a baby?”

Her hair glinted in the sun as she tipped her head back, eyes closed and smiling at the sky. “We’re thinking about it. Nothing concrete yet, but, I know Lucien desires children. I do too. We aren’t putting any kind of timeframes on anything, but we’re getting into some good habits and lifestyle changes now.”

“I wish you both the best of luck,”

She only hummed, again, a contemplative sound that seemed so wrapped up in mysterious and knowledge that it made your skin itch. To distract yourself, you took a sip of your drink, eyes scanning over the food options before you as she sighed and pulled herself back from whatever thoughts she had lost herself in. “My happiness with my mate now is so much due to Azriel.”

It was like a ball, bouncing back and forth between the walls, getting faster and faster as she whipped from the topic of Azriel to anything else, like she couldn't decide between acknowledging the elephant in the room or ignoring it.

“I’m happy he has you.”

“So you’ve said.” You smirk, settling on a sandwich at last and unwrapping it.

“There was a while when I thought I might be his happy ending, and he might be mine.” Your chewing slowed, and your focus fixed on her. You weren’t sure why she was saying these things, revealing things about his past or her own, whether it was some kind of game or not. She seemed to read all of this on your face, sitting up more fully to face you, legs crossing before her. “He never fought for me the same way he fights for you, though. Like he can’t help himself. What we had was hidden away and sneaking around in the dark. It was wrong for us both, I see that in hindsight, but with you, he doesn’t hide you. It’s like he wants the whole world to know you’re at his side.”

The food was like trying to swallow a mouthful of cottonwool, choking it down dry and wincing. “I don’t think what we have is the same. What you had must’ve been… well, like a real relationship. You do understand what me and Az have is more like an agreement, right?”

“Are all relationships not just agreements to be together, monogamously?”

You sipped at your drink, buying time to find a reply as she tucked into her own food, surely knowing she’d won this round. “Relationships are different.”

“In what way?”

“In every way!” You said, and she still only managed to look mildly amused, waiting for you to go on. “Relationships shouldn’t start the way ours did, for the intent of mutual benefit and gain. They’re supposed to be about passion and feelings and connection.”

“And do you not have passion, or feelings, for Azriel? Is there no connection?”

“What we have is complicated.” You didn’t know how to define it at all, everything that was shifting and changing so thoroughly was enough to make your head spin, and her mumble only confirmed that she knew she had the upper hand here. “How did Azriel help you to find Lucien if you were… together?”

“Oh, no, we were never together. We snuck around at night and shared heated looks across the dining room table. I wanted to choose my own path for once, not the one everyone was telling me I should be on. The one that led to Lucien. And Azriel, well, he just wanted someone. I wasn’t the right someone, I was just there.” That didn’t answer your question, not at all, but it seemed that if you were going to get the reply you wanted, it was in return for listening to the whole story. “We had stolen moments in dark corners, and Rhysand warned us off one another, put a stop to what likely would have ended in tragedy.”

“Seems like the High Lord is fond of telling Azriel who he can and cannot be with.”

“He had a sister once, you know.” The words struck cold, and you stiffened. Of course, you knew. Everyone in Prythian knew. Had heard of the tragedy before the first war, when the Lord of Night had lost his wife and daughter, leaving only the Prince who would soon take the throne. “She fell in love with someone who she shouldn’t have, someone who betrayed her in the end,”

“Should you be telling me this?”

“—and it broke him for so long. I had no idea about any of this until Feyre told me. He watched his sister get her heart broken before she lost her life, and watched his mate fall for Tamlin and get hurt. He watched Mor hide such an important part of herself and get hurt for centuries. He even watched Lucien pine for me while I was too blind to see him. He has watched love break and harm over the years, watched people abuse those feelings and use them for their own gain. He knows that need for touch more than anyone, and knows the price companionship can cost.”

“Elain,” The food was beginning to taste like ash, this was becoming more of a petition than a chat. “I understand that. I know he’s suffered too, I know he’s felt pain, and I’m sorry for that. But that doesn’t excuse him for his cruelty. It doesn’t excuse him for stopping Azriel from finding happiness. He cannot control everyone around him, no matter whether his intentions are good or not. Other people’s happiness is not his responsibility, and not his right. What, only mates are allowed to be together? Do you know how rare it is to find your mate? Azriel has waited five hundred years, he may never find his mate, but does that mean he should never be allowed to know happiness because Rhysand decrees it?”

She stared at you, lips pursed for a long moment, considering all that you had said. And then, instead of getting angry, or yelling, or defending them further, she smiled. She nodded her head and something passed over her face that you couldn't possibly decipher. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Azriel would have fought for me, if I had asked him to. I’m sure I could have put up a fuss about it, but when he was told to stop, he did. That rejection…”

“Led you to Lucien?”

“Gods, no. It made me so angry. Azriel just rolled over and showed his belly because Rhysand snarled. I was mad, beyond words!” Your laughter broke free, surprising you both, until you were laughing together amongst the flowers. “He would barely look at me, wouldn't talk to me at all if not for polite dinner conversation. I’d gone from someone he’d feel up in dark corners to acting like I had a disease!”

“That’s awful!”

“I know! So, I wanted out. I was so stifled. I managed to persuade Rhysand to send me to the Human Lands for a while, to track down some information. Except, of course, I couldn't go alone. I needed an escort, and who better than the Emissary to the Human Lands?”

“This was Lucien?”

“Mhm.” She rolled her eyes, slipping away into her memories, a smile forming on her face. “Gods, he drove me insane. He was there all the time when I’d just been pulled from the Cauldron, like a lost puppy. So full of adoration and love. I was expecting that, but that’s not the Lucien who showed up. The one who showed up was so… nonchalant. Like the bond between us didn’t exist, we were friends, more like mere partners on a task. I even made a drunken move on him one night in a gross tavern far from The Wall, and he turned me down! Put me to bed and left a glass of water on the nightstand for me. Acted like it never happened in the morning.”

“Oh, Gods…” Your snicker bought you a mock glare from the flowery female beside you.

“I was even angrier, then. It was like nobody wanted me! So, when I returned, I gave Azriel a piece of my mind. And he let me yell at him for twenty minutes. And then awkwardly held me while I cried for another twenty.”

“Does this story have a happy ending? Well, I guess I know it does,” You offered her stomach a pointed look, “But when do we get there?”

“Fine, fine,” She rolled her own eyes now, “To keep it short, Azriel then offered to help me with Lucien. Managed to trick Lucien into going on our first date, a blind-date set-up, and wouldn't let him leave when he tried to. He then continued to help me sneak around with Lucien behind everybody’s backs, until we were ready to come out with it.”

“When was that?”

“Two weeks before we got married.” You fell to your back, laughter like light spilling from you at that, and she continued to share the details of everyone’s reactions through giggles of her own. “I’d seen all their responses, and I wanted to avoid them as long as possible! That was the last time I ignored my visions to try and put them off. What I see will happen, it's only a matter of time. I can’t avoid it.”

“That must suck for surprise parties and gifts.”

“Maybe, but it was pretty good to see you coming.” She smiled, laying herself down beside you and staring up at the sky overhead. “We will be good friends, you and I. I’ve seen that too.”

You were preparing dinner when you finally heard Azriel arrive. The scuff of his boots on the porch, the rustle of his wings as he entered the house, and then—

Then the slam of the front door. So loud and violent that the house shook a little, trembling the trinkets in the hall that sat on the side unit. You tensed, hearing his loud huff of frustration. Shadows whipped and whirled through the house, a few even making it as far as you were in the kitchen, and you followed them, peeping around the threshold before they were all snapped back in a hurry to their owner.

You saw his retreating back, stomping up the stairs of the house, tense lines and rigid muscles, disappearing in a dark cloud from sight. Another slam made you jump, one of the upstairs doors closing with a bang.

Silence filled the house once again, far heavier and more tense than it previously had been, and you worried your lower lip between your teeth.

It didn't feel like you were welcome, like perhaps this was a moment you shouldn't intrude on. But, was this not part of the reason that Azriel had brought you here in the first place? To comfort him, and be his support?

Minutes ticked by as you contemplated the matter, before deciding that at least checking in on him couldn't hurt. If he wanted alone time, he’d say that, and you’d happily give it to him. The idea of leaving him alone in his suffering created a phantom pain in your chest, spurring you up the stairs and on a search for him.

He wasn’t hard to find, darkness flicking around the doorway of the office, idle shadows striking like dark lightning bolts in the air as you opened the door, only to find Azriel hunched over his desk, wings tense behind his body.

“Hi, Az. It’s good to have you home.”

He only murmured, a vague noise, not even lifting his head from his work as you stood in the doorway. You paced a little further inside, standing by his desk, hoping to catch a glance of those pretty caramel eyes, but he kept his head down. His pen never stopped moving across the paper, his shadows never stopped their stormy swirling.

“I’m going to start making dinner soon, if you want to come down?” He didn’t reply, just a grunt, and you gave up, despite the worry filling you from head to toe. “Alright, well, you know where to find me.”

With that, you left, a pulse of power following you from the room within as soon as you clicked the door shut, back pressed to the wood on the other side. With a couple of deep breaths, you steadied yourself. It was only a matter of time before something came up, everything had been going too smoothly, too perfectly to last. Azriel was bound to snap under all that pressure at some point, and if this was that snap, you could handle it.

Setting a chicken off to roast only took a couple of minutes, basted and seasoned and into the oven, enough of a distraction to pull your thoughts away from the warrior upstairs. It was as you were chopping vegetables that your mind wandered back, the mind-numbing task of slicing peppers and carrots made it easy for your thoughts to trail back to Azriel.

Still, he had not emerged. Not for food, or water, or even some space from that office.

Setting the table didn’t help to distract you either, laying down plates and cutlery and glasses, choosing a bottle of wine and setting it out to air, even going so far as to set down some candles, searching for matches to light them. The house was all but vibrating with power not, steady thumps that occasionally jostled the cutlery on the table with powerful bursts.

Whatever had happened today had Azriel so riled up that his power was all but leaking out, siphons doing little to control the feelings welling inside him now. You’d never known the true strength of his power. Of course, you’d heard of the High Lord’s brothers, the spymaster and the warlord, the three champions of a lethal death-match among young soldiers, who’d come out bonded stronger than ever, with power to match.

Never, though, did you expect to feel the power like this. Feel his emotions ricocheting off of every wall, bouncing through the foundations of the house. Suddenly, it dawned on you just how mighty the ranks of the Night Court truly were, a chill settling into your bones at the thought.

One bad mod, one temper tantrum, and the building could simply crumble to dust. Street lamps would flicker, and animals would scatter. Too many thoughts, too much and all of it became overwhelming as the house continued to tremble to the steady pattern of a heartbeat.

Blowing out the candles as the flames flickered precariously once again, you put them away, not daring to risk them tipping over and creating a far worse problem. You knew the scars on Azriel’s hands, he’d told you the story behind them on one of the many nights the two of you had lay in bed, wrapped in one another’s arms, seeking comfort.

Or perhaps, it had been during stolen moments in the café, when Azriel would come to visit you, sitting and doing his work at one of the tables in the back. He’d take a break only when you’d bring him a fresh pot of tea and a pastry, sit across his lap and talk in hushed whispers during the quieter parts of your shifts before you had to get back to work.

It could even have been one of your late-night walks, or early-morning strolls, while the streets of Velaris were quiet and mist-kissed. Your hands clasped together tightly, his wing shielding around you as you walked together, talking of everything and anything that came to mind.

He’d told you quiet stories of his past, of his present, of his hopes for the future. All about little baby Nyx, Nesta and her journey to finding the Valkyries, what it had been like growing up in the camps, or all the best little villages and towns he’d visited on his worldly travels.

Your heart had been doing crazy things, lately. Crazy, stupid things, like skipping a beat and speeding up and bursting with adoration for a man so new to your life. It did crazy things, like encourage you back up the stairs an hour later, to ignore the tremble in your hands or the wobble in your step, heart calling out to him.

You’d tried to ignore the urge. To sit and read your book, until you’d read the same line over and over while not absorbing a single word, and giving up with a frustrated huff. You re-basted the chicken, and added the vegetables to cook, and even set off some potatoes to boil but all the while, as your body worked, your mind and heart lay with him.

This time, you knocked as you entered, knuckles a soft rap on the door before you pushed it open. Magic thrummed through the air, calling you closer and pushing you away, and you found Azriel, still in the same uncomfortable position, working at his desk. His shoulders were locked and rigid, his head hung, hair messy from constant tangling, and you lifted a hand, brushing it slowly through his hair.

“Azriel…”

He barely even acknowledged you, nothing more than a grunt tossed in your direction as you stood by his side, and a sigh broke free from you. His lips were turned down in a frown, dragging all of his pretty features into misery too, and you hated to see this side of him. Hooking your fingers under his chin, his writing came to a stop as you forced his head to turn, to look up at you. His eyes were dull, a spark of irritation and anger bursting through them as recognition and consciousness flashed back into his lifeless form.

“Azriel.”

This time, a growl tore free, that frown becoming a snarl as he pulled back, gaze narrowing a little. “I’m fucking working. What do you want?”

You froze, staring at him, taking in the exhaustion under his eyes, the pain in his stance, the spinning thoughts you could practically see surrounding him, so much so it must be dizzying and painful. Dropping your hand back to your side, he only returned to work, not sparing you another thought as he chased to catch up with the ones already running him ragged in his head.

Silently walking away, you left his door open, hurrying away from the scene and back to the kitchen. Taking the kettle in trembling hands and filling it up, you set that to boil too, a mug from the cupboard clacking as you set it down on the counter, throwing open the doors to the tea cupboard soon after.

Your nervous fingers skimmed across the labels, searching the front of each one, and it was as you were holding two, undecided on which to choose— perhaps just brew them together?— that the air in the room shifted, and a pair of strong arms wrapped tightly around your waist, tugging you back into a solid chest.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, face tucking into the crook of your neck, where he left a kiss to your skin. His hold tightened, squeezing you against his body as he slumped down into you. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Az.” You ran a hand along his forearm, banded around your body, feeling it loosen just a fraction as you squeezed. “I’m just so worried about you, I wanted to make you some tea to help, but I couldn't decide which one.”

At that, a whine slipped free from him, nuzzling deeper into your neck, another kiss, and another. Putting down the teas on the counter, you wiggled a little, managing to get him to loosen up just enough to turn in his arms. His forehead came to rest on your own, noses brushing, a sad frown on his lips as his eyes remained closed.

“Az…”

“No more work. If I’m stressed to the point of snapping at you, then it’s too much. I’m sorry. You were just trying to help, and clearly, I needed the help.”

Looping your arms around his neck, he sighed, a happier sound as you scratched at the nape of his neck soothingly. “Stop apologising, Azriel. I appreciate it, but it’s unnecessary. I’m not angry at you, just concerned.”

“I like that you worry about me.” He whispered, deep voice running like honey as he bent enough to pick you up behind the backs of your legs, spinning you to place you onto the kitchen counter, and step comfortably between your thighs. “But you don’t deserve that kind of treatment. You deserve better. I don’t deserve you, but I don’t want to let you go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Az. I wouldn't be in this relationship if I was going to run. I can handle you, even when you’re not at your best.”

He only answered with a shaky laugh, hands smoothing up your thighs to sit on your hips, squeezing in a series of happy pulses. “We’re in a relationship?”

Elation was clear on his face, no denying it, at your choice of words, and you gave a little chuckle of your own, nodding against him as your noses came back to brushing together, heads resting on one another. Your conversation with Elain flickered through your mind once again, and you wondered if she had seen this, seen you give into her whims and silently admit she was right. If she’d seen this, you hope she picked up on your mental scowl, too. “Well, what would you call what we have?”

“I like ‘relationship’. I like it a lot, actually.”

Throwing your arms over his shoulders, they looped around his neck, and you pushed your face up a little closer to him. “We may not be conventional, Az, but I like what we have. I like our relationship. I think we’re perfect as we are.”

He didn’t need words to respond, not this time, not as his mouth sealed over your own in a gentle, tender kiss. The first kiss you’d ever shared, a timid one, his lips working slowly and cautiously over yours, giving you plenty of time to pull away.

You didn’t want to, kissing him back with just as much tenderness and affection as he was showing you, pouring every feeling you had into it, to make sure he knew just how much you cared. Your heart was beating hard, fast, racing like a drum under your ribcage as you melted into his touch. One scarred hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb smoothing across your skin, in tandem with every stroke of his lips.

You pulled back for breath, just to find yourself tangled back up in him, his tongue stroking across your lower lip, teasing the roof of your mouth as you opened up for him. A groan skittered across your tongue from him, a pant for breath, his hand slipping up under your shirt to sit on your bare waist as you tugged on the slight curls of his hair.

When he pulled back, at last, your lips were swollen, your lungs burning in the best way possible, and your head was spinning so much you could barely focus. The world felt fuzzy at your touch, glowing and glittering as you stole a final kiss from his lips, his soft chuckle breaking it.

“Am I still invited for dinner with you?”

“Yes. I’m making chicken and potatoes.” Your smile lasted only a second, before you were sitting upright. Time had melted away around you, disappearing into dusk outside beyond the windows, “Oh, no, the potatoes!”

Pushing him back and hopping down from the counter, he watched with a dazed, kiss-drunk expression as you rushed to the stove, taking off the pan lid and prodding at the potatoes with a fork.

“I amend my earlier statement. We’re having chicken and mashed potatoes, because these have gone soft. Entirely your fault for distracting me.”

“I distracted you?” He mused, sneaking up behind you and wrapping his arms around your shoulders, tugging you back to kiss at your cheeks, trailing down toward your mouth.

“You know you did.” His only response was a smile. Draining the potatoes was a challenge, what with Azriel plastered to your back like a new limb that served no purpose, and you had to elbow him off in order to finish the food.

While he waited, he tinkered with the dining room table, pouring two glasses of wine and rearranging. When you turned, he’d dug out the candles you’d put away, lighting them with a match once again, and blushing as he laid them out. “I thought they’d be romantic.”

“I like them.” Your cheeks were equally as heated, smiling to yourself as you turned away to check the food.

His distance didn’t last long, as you searched for a knife with which to carve the chicken, he was once again backing you into a counter, his mouth hungrily descending upon your own. Mutters of ‘waiting long enough’ silenced on your mouth as he dove into you, hands on your body once again, trying to tempt you up onto the counter.

“Let me cook, you menace,”

“Just a few more,” Was his barter, and those few kisses passed more and more time, his lips like a high you had to chase, until only the desperate urge to breathe could pull you apart. “Gods, I love that. I love kissing you.”

“I can tell.”

He rolled his eyes, but his smirk stayed, unashamed of his newfound addiction.

“We need to eat, you need food.”

“I have everything I need, right here.” He leaned in again, lips puckered, and you tipped your head his mouth finding the edge of your jaw, and he grunted unhappily at the action, but mouthed at your skin nonetheless.

“How about after dinner, we can go upstairs and do some self-care. I’ll show you all the fancy new creams and skincare I got. We can relax, and cuddle, and read.”

“And there will be more kisses?”

“There will most definitely be more kisses.” You promised, cupping his face and bringing him back for a final peck.

“Then I think I can agree to those terms.” He stared, pulling back just enough to fully take you in. As the urgency in his expression died down with the promise that this affection was not a one-time deal, his face took on blissfulness instead. Running his knuckles across your cheek, his face softened even further as you leaned into his touch, cupping his hand and pressing kisses to his scarred fingers. “You… You are my moon, do you know that? You light up even the darkest parts of life for me.”

His words were like whispered oaths, something too heavy for you to fully comprehend but burned into your mind regardless, and you gave him a sweet smile back. “You are my stars, Azriel.”

“Really?”

“Every last one. Glittering and perfect in the night, full of mystery and hopes and stories. You are my favourite part of the night sky.”

Your heads rested together, dinner temporarily forgotten just for another moment or so, to bask in the revelations of the evening.

Today,

today changed everything for the better.

#SLS #sweet like sugar #azriel x reader #azriel/reader #azriel x you #azriel/you #acotar x reader #acotar/reader #acotar x you #acotar/you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #a court of thorns and roses #acotar

956 notes · View notes

lauraneedstochill · 9 months

Text

Confess the longing you are dreaming of

summary: Aemond thinks the woman he has to marry is the most impudent and unsufferable he’s ever met. He’s also never wanted anyone so badly. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader (third person, no mention of Y/N) warnings: bantering and teasing, mentions of unpleasant sexual experience, praise kink (guess who’s got it), a dollop of softness, mild smut (... for starters ;) author’s note: couldn’t get the idea out of my head and spent a few sleepless nights writing this. I imagine her brothers as Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac ✨ words: ~8000 song inspo: Hozier — Better love

>>> Aemond isn’t present when the idea is voiced the first time — he has a hunch that his grandsire is to blame for that. No doubt, Otto was the one to plan it out, come up with arguments served with his persuasive tone. He’s always loved to make arrangements and strike deals, each one of them to play into his hands, and Aemond hates the thought of being just another pawn of his.

He is blindsided at the breakfast but it’s made sound carelessly mundane — as Otto puts down his cup, he throws him the proposal, the way one would leniently throw alms to the poor. And Aemond thinks he must’ve heard him wrong.

“Marry me to... Who?” the prince asks, hardly covering his surprise.

His grandsire directs his gaze at him, the old man’s mouth twitching into a condescending smile. Since Otto isn’t keen on idle talk, he tells him plainly:

“You’ve long been of age, Aemond, you know that,” his knife scratches the plate as he cuts the meat, his eyes not moving from the prince. “House Martell holds power, and we’ll be fortunate to have such allies. Besides,” he pauses to take a bite, and Aemond gets annoyed at waiting; Otto chews, then adds, “I’ve only heard good things about your bride-to-be. Wouldn’t you confirm, Ser Criston?”

The mention of the knight is unexpected to them both — Aemond turns his head to meet Ser Criston’s puzzled look. But the brunet effortlessly copes with his emotions:

“We met when she was just a kid. But I knew she’d grow into a fine lady,” he easily agrees. Mayhaps, too easily for Aemond’s liking so he makes a note to talk about it later on.

His grandsire only lets out a pleased hum. “Well, I’m under the impression she will make a good match for our prince,” and Aemond feels that Otto carefully picks each word, “She’s said to be both beautiful and smart, and known for being quite independent,” he’s usually so stingy with his praise, it’s worth its weight in gold.

But that is not what Aemond hears. The choice was made for him, and his rejection of it makes him paint a portrait less alluring — a pompous wayward woman raised in the traditions that are starkly different from his; and yet, it is expected of him to accept it freely. His wounded ego simmers at the thought.

“I’d add another word to that,” Aegon chimes in, half-drunk already, “Everyone knows the Martells to also be promisc—”

“Look who’s talking,” Otto glares at him, and Aegon shuts his mouth.

The word is left unsaid, only the meaning of it isn’t hard to guess, and Aemond feels embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and weighting down his chest. He deems himself an educated man, well-read and eager to put his knowledge to the test, but he has yet to learn of carnal pleasures. A memory is clawing out: him, ten-and-three and plied with wine, laid on a bed that smelled of sweat, a naked woman next to him. Despite her tireless attempts, he wanted none of it, and the repulsion made him sick — and then it made him hate the act itself.

He did go to the brothel through the years, tried watching, touching, looked at bodies of all sorts, only it felt like putting paint over a rotten wall. He felt constrained, and lacking in some way (perhaps, in many), and more so awfully incomplete. Not once he sensed a spark, a pleasure he would crave, and no amount of effort could help him fill the emptiness inside.

He quells the feeling, pushes in indifference instead, and glances briefly at his mother. She meets his eye but only grants him a faint smile, her own gaze lacking any protest.

“Her brothers wrote that they would visit in a fortnight,” Alicent peacefully explains. “It is our duty to ensure a royal welcome.”

“Brothers?” Helaena blithely chirps. “How many does she have?”

“Four but only two of them are coming,” Otto tells her softly, then looks at Aemond, adding in a voice more wily. “I am convinced they really want to see whom their dear sister is about to marry.”

He doesn’t spell it out but the implication can’t be clearer — Aemond must play the part and make a good impression. As if impressing just one stranger wasn’t tedious enough.

As if he isn’t vexed already by how unsuitable he finds her.

>>> Frustration grows in Aemond with each day, takes roots, and clogs up all his thoughts. Some other man would’ve been glad — he often heard that the Martells are quite the lovers. He can’t admit it to himself how much he’s bothered by his own misfortunes on the love field.

He bottles his emotions up and doesn’t utter any word of discontent, nor does he ever speak of the awaited visit. Although he makes just one exception.

“My grandsire mentioned that you knew her,” he reminds Ser Criston one day after training.

The knight nods. “I crossed paths with Quentyn, he’s the oldest. She used to come to watch us train.”

“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.

Ser Criston ponders for a minute, polishing his sword. “She was a quiet little girl, kept to herself. A lot of boys were always chasing after her, and she paid them all no mind,” he smiles at the memory. “But I remember one of them who was... particularly pesky. His charms didn’t work on her so he got offended, rude, followed her around. She tolerated him for over a month. One morning, he was hassling her in the training yard, and she just took a spear laying nearby — and smacked him with no warning,” he shakes his head but it’s apparent that he isn’t judging. “She didn’t use the pointy end but she got him good. And then she told him that next time he would think twice about his actions. She was impressive for a ten-year-old,” he muses and puts the sword away, then turns to Aemond, giving him a wistful stare. “Frankly, I think that you will like her.”

He does, for just a second, as his mind rushes to paint the image of a fearless little girl; and then he mercilessly wipes that image off. Maybe in other circumstances, he could’ve found amusement in that story, but Aemond only huffs and thinks back to the list of all her traits he prematurely made up. He adds “rebellious” to that list, and his self-doubt is a venom that clouds his judgment. He’s in no rush to find a cure.

>>> Their ship arrives a few hours earlier than planned — and after the dock watchers break the news, the bustle begins. Maids, servants, guards all run and faff about the castle, the dining hall gets filled with smells and noises, plates and dishes clanking.

Aemond is not excited in the slightest.

He dresses up reluctantly, each piece of clothes only dampening his mood that’s been already sour for the past two weeks. He all but drags his feet into the dining hall and by the time he reaches it, he looks so grim that one may think the prince’s preparing for his death, no less.

The minutes fly too quickly for his liking — they barely have time to sit, his mother nervously toying with the tablecloth already, and then the guards rush to announce the guests. Surprisingly, she’s not among them. The prince thinks he should be relieved; deep down, there is a splash of worry fizzling in him.

Her brothers walk in calmly in a cloud of servants bearing gifts. Their kinship is immediately clear — both tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired, self-confidence subsisting in their every step. The oldest is distinguished by a touch of gray in his short beard, his gaze more focused, a slight smile plastered on his face. The other one shamelessly stares at every maid his eyes can catch.

“Your grace, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Quentyn reaches their table first, and Alicent walks down to greet them. He keeps his distance and his smile, his tone is measured. “We were so sad to learn that the King has fallen sick. But I can tell the Kingdom is in great hands. And —”

“Women’s hands do have a healing touch,” Oberyn smoothly interrupts, his accent a bit thicker, his voice honeyed. “I will prefer a Queen over a King at any given day. Unless, of course, your husband can compete with you in beauty... I somehow doubt that.”

A shade of disapproval grazes Quentyn’s face but Alicent is too amazed to notice. The compliment may come off as blunt but she still takes it well, her smile embarrassed yet sincere.

“I hope you will enjoy your stay,” she tells them humbly, then looks over the crowd. “But may I ask where is the lady we’ve been waiting for?”

“She made a stop on our way to catch up with an old friend,” Quentyn answers, ready to explain, “It’s been years since we’ve met Ser —”

“Still can’t believe he is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Oberyn chuckles. “I think it’s all the armor that makes it look like he poses a threat. But you may reconsider if you see him in the nude.”

This time, the older brother glares at him with warning, and there’s a lull in their conversation, while Aemond’s struggling to hear what made his mother’s cheeks so red, his mind nervously preoccupied with someone else —

her laughter enters first.

It’s bright and joyful, a sound so lovely it might be enough to crack up his restraint. But then he spots her, and it feels like his whole body flares up at the sight.

She’s walking with her hand under Ser Criston’s arm, and Aemond’s never seen a dress that covers so much but hides so little. It’s muted orange, floor-length, made of sumptuous silk, with two long slits along the sides, curves of her thighs beguilingly seen through. Her neck and arms aren’t covered, and the material is intricately stitched around her waist to show a few more glimpses of her sun-kissed skin. The waves of her long hair fall on her shoulders and frame her face, each feature of it striking but her lips stand out the most — full, plump, and reddish. Not once before Aemond found the thought of being kissed so tempting.

She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him. She’s talking to Ser Criston quietly, and he’s engaged in conversation, unusually relaxed. Their difference in age is obvious, and the knight seems like just another relative of hers, but an uneasy feeling still leaves a bite on Aemond’s chest. He can’t imagine her so carefree — so beaming and compliant — by his side. His jealousy tastes bitter like a stale wine.

He hears his brother let out a short laugh. “It’s not like they were fucking,” Aegon carelessly notes. “Please ease your outrage before she runs away.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice,” Aemond snarls.

“You do look like you need it,” the blond comments, then goes back to drinking.

She gracefully approaches them, her voice melodic like a murmur of a river. “Forgive me, your grace, for being late, I haven’t seen Ser Criston in some time,” she tells his mother. “He was once a dear friend of mine.”

“I only helped to shush away a few of your admirers,” the knight cackles, earning a smile from her.

“I hope you are making use of all his talents,” she says to the Queen, making her face flush right away.

She delicately moves on to another topic. “It is a pleasure to have you here, you must be tired from taking such a long trip.”

“We found it quite enjoyable,” Quentyn remarks politely. “The beautiful sights along the way are worth the journey, and your city has some great views too.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard great things about your food,” Oberyn grins. “Hence why we took the liberty to bring some of our own,” he signals to the nearest servant, who runs to open one of the trunks they carried. “The dornish fruits are also my sister’s weak spot.”

“As if you don’t gorge yourself on them!” she jests, letting go of Ser Criston’s arm at last. “My brother is a glutton, your grace, please excuse his manners in advance.”

“You can call me Alicent,” his mother corrects her warmly. “Only seems fair to continue this discussion at the table,” she slightly moves away to let the girl go first.

Aemond unintentionally stiffens and only when he stands up from his chair to greet her, she finally does look at him. In contrast to her countenance, her gaze is dark and piercing, and the prince is staggered by how unreadable it is. Her brothers glance at Aemond briefly — Quentyn is pensive, while Oberyn looks like he wants to bite his head off; neither says a word.

She’s seated to his right, and she leaves behind a trail of scent — apples and plums, and he can’t help but catch the movement of her hips under the flowing dress. The words all mash and fall apart, and he can’t pick a single one to strike up a conversation.

Aegon is sitting next to her, and his patience only lasts a minute. “Never knew Ser Criston was such a ladies' man.”

“I’m sure he succeeded on that front but we are merely good friends,” she answers calmly, keeping her eyes on servants bringing fruits — blood oranges and pomegranates, robust grapes, and ripened cherries.

“You two seemed more than friendly,” Aegon presses, his tone evidently taunting.

She picks a golden apricot and runs her thumb over its fragrant surface. “Maybe it’s the wine that makes you see things,” she rebuts and takes a bite out of the fruit, a drop of juice risking to escape her mouth but she wipes it swiftly with her finger. She catches Aemond looking, and his cheeks heat up.

“We’ve never seen him in the company of a woman,” the older prince points out, filling up his cup once more.

She takes out the kernel and eats up the fruit, her mouth glistens. “Aren’t the knights of the Kingsguard forbidden to marry?”

“Never stopped them from bedding whoever they like,” Aegon remarks crudely, and Aemond is thankful that their mother is too preoccupied with Oberyn’s tireless chatting.

“Maybe some men have the decency to follow orders,” she responds, unbothered, taking a cherry and clasping it with her lips. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice and only gulps the wine and rolls his eyes. Aemond can’t look away.

“Aren’t you Martells known for not following the rules? I thought unruly was in your house’s motto,” Aegon argues, a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.

She takes another cherry, the third in a row, her lips already stained with juice. “I think you keep getting your facts wrong,” she brushes him off, and Aegon goes to object some more but spills the wine right on his shirt. The displeased cry brings Aemond out of his trance.

“He tends to do that when he’s drunk,” the one-eyed prince coolly interjects.

Her eyes flicker to him, then she fully turns her head. “So you can actually talk,” her teasing comes off soft but her gaze still burns. “It’s good to know.”

“You seemed preoccupied with someone else,” he musters an excuse.

“Do you expect your wife to never speak to other men?” her voice almost betrays her disenchantment.

“No,” Aemond quickly answers, caught unawares by how strained his thinking process is. “She— you are free to choose your friends, of course.”

“I’m flattered,” her tone suggesting otherwise, “Not that I would ask for anyone’s approval,” she reaches for a plum; he closes his eye with a sigh.

Aegon comes to stand in between them on the pretext of needing another carafe of wine: “I didn’t mean to interrupt your friendly bickering, please continue.”

“It seems like Aemond isn’t in the mood for talking,” she doesn’t look at him, the tip of her tongue darting to lick her finger. “And I am never in the mood for begging.”

“My brother’s hospitality leaves much to be desired,” Aegon takes a sip. “So I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” his hand falls on her chair. “But if you ever wish to be... well satisfied, all you have to do is ask me”.

It’s hard to tell if Aegon’s actually that drunk or merely provoking (or if he’s got a death wish, Aemond wonders).

She replies without much thought. “Well, if I ever find myself in need of...,” she trails off with a smile but her gaze gets harsh — her words then follow, “My choice won’t fall on you,” the smirk falls off Aegon’s face, and she glances straight at Aemond, adding, “I like them taller.”

But her straightforwardness is met with his resistance, with the deep-rooted unacceptance of his lurking needs. He adds “indecent” to the list, and they speak no more.

>>> Her boldness doesn’t pose a problem to anyone but him. To his surprise (or more so to his shock), his mother gives in first.

The morning can’t come fast enough for Aemond after he spends the night tossing and turning. A few hours later he rushes to the garden for a walk, overwhelmed by restlessness his training didn’t help him cope with. That’s when he sees it — a spot of yellow shining through the trees. He somehow knows it’s her without further confirmation but still, his feet carry him on.

Her dress is vivid like a field of marigolds, her hair plaited, wrists adorned with golden bracelets. He slackens pace and peers into her — and he wants nothing more than to drink her up, her whole appearance is the sweetest nectar... Until he hears another sound and realizes she is not alone, and it’s his mother sitting by her side, wrapped in her favorite green and, unexpectedly, in glee. He can’t remember when he saw her laugh like this — out loud, giggling, tears at the corners of her eyes are not from sadness but from joy.

“My dear, that is so improper! Did he apologize at least?” Alicent inquires with a smile.

“Oberyn rarely does,” she tells her serenely. “His lover looked way more ashamed. I hope each of your rooms has locks, gods know I don’t want to walk in on him again.”

Unlike his mother who is covered by the shade of trees, she’s bathing in the sun, the soft light caressing her skin, and Aemond’s eye greedily follows every ray. In barely a minute he feels warm all over.

“I hope that Aemond’s chambers got locks too,” she adds all of a sudden, a bit louder, and his chest is splashed with cold.

His eye moves to her face, and she’s already looking at him, direct and daring. He knows he’s hidden by the trees but there’s no hiding from her gaze.

Aemond turns away and steps back in haste, his abashment mixed with grievance at her implication. He believes someone like her would never lust for him, and her jokes at his expense not only hurt but prompt his resentment to grow stronger. He adds “deceptive” to the portrait of her he is so adamantly set on painting.

>>> She wins Helaena’s heart with ease. His sister fondly compliments her brooch — a little poppy made out of gold — and she gifts it to Helaena the same day. The silver-haired princess grabs at chance to show her own collection, and they spend the day looking through the jewels spread over the floor, sitting right there and equally amused.

And that’s how Aemond finds them. He only planned to see his nephews but hearing her voice coming from Helaena’s chambers makes him slow his step.

“... And this one he gave me for my latest name day,” Helaena babbles cheerfully.

“Aemond clearly spoils you,” she laughs without a shade of envy. “As he should!”

“He is very kind at heart,” Helaena eagerly assures her. “You will be happy with him, I am certain of it.”

There is a pause that makes him feel uneasy, makes him sneak up closer to the room.

“I do believe he’s not an evil man,” she finally says, “Maybe he just wasn’t made for marriage.”

Surely she can’t see him through the door but he can swear that he feels her gaze, like a silent challenge, a hidden mocking. He barges in without a knock.

Helaena beams. “We were just talking about you!”

His sister’s dress is milky blue, modestly pretty, and loosely fitted. It’s also treacherously pale compared to the liquid gold the Martell girl is dressed in. She’s sitting with her feet under her thighs, the bending of her back is bare and in plain sight. He should’ve walked away the second he heard the sound of her voice because not looking at her seems impossible.

“Oh, you came to see the twins? They are with Aegon but I can call— No, I will bring them back myself,” Helaena springs to her feet, rosy-cheeked and smiley, and leaves the room before Aemond can protest. And then it’s just the two of them.

He takes a breath and makes an effort, with his jaw tense and his blood rising, to drag his eye away from her. It feels as pointless as ignoring sunlight in an open field on a summer day. Only her beauty is more brazen — and so is her wit.

“I take it, gold isn’t your favorite color,” she speaks up with an impish tone. “Would be a bad idea to wear it on our wedding then.”

She never comes too close, always just a little out of reach, and yet he feels as if her presence grips him, weakening his will. He doesn’t want to be with her until he is — and then he has no wish to leave.

It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.

“Why did you agree to come?” he bristles.

“You are not asking about your sister’s chambers, are you?” she clarifies, and he hears her smiling.

He tells himself he only needs to cast a glance to check.

He does — he meets her gaze — her earrings catch the sunlight and cast a trail of glares — the scattering of specks play on her skin, her neck and collarbones, sneak to her upper chest — his own is heaving. His struggle only lasts a moment but it leaves him short of breath. He isn’t looking anymore, his eye trying to discern the pattern on the drapes behind her.

“Our marriage, how do you benefit from it?” he hates how hard it is to control his voice.

And how she watches him intently without giving him a clue of what’s on her mind.

“I plan on visiting my family a couple of times a year. It will be easier to do on dragon back,” she doesn’t sound spiteful when she says it but her words still sting.

He can’t stop an image flashing through his mind: her on top of Vhagar, lungs full of air, pressed to him. It’s tempting — to have her in his hands, and yet the vision is too intangible to cling to. Instead, he thinks that in just three days she learned to play him like a harp, his years' worth of self-control is merely a sand castle against the tide of her sharp tongue.

He only snickers dryly at her reply, then they both hear the sound of running footsteps. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys rush to greet him — but almost instantly abandon, the kids' attention drawn to the shining golden dress.

He thinks “unruly” suits her better than does “pompous”. He comes up with a fake excuse to leave; the image of her stays with him.

>>> He picks more adjectives as the week goes on — she’s audacious, disobedient, wanton. She moves around the castle as if she owns every room she’s in. She wears less, and even on rare occasions when she doesn’t, her defiance more than compensates for it. She never shies away from a deep neckline, nor does she feel the need to hold back her resounding laughs. Her jewelry clinks, each of her dresses is brighter than the other, but it’s her wicked mouth his eye always falls on first.

More times than not, Aemond can’t tear his gaze away, each meal for him now both a torture and a feast.

He watches as she parts her lips, puts them around a luscious grape, a cherry, or a peach, she swipes her tongue to lick up every running drop, savoring its tang — and keeps eye contact with him. He barely can taste the food he’s eating, and no wine can quench his thirst, his body flooding with a feeling he can’t define, his heart adrift.

He tries to fight it off with all our strength. He scratches off “unruly” to write down “unabashed” instead.

But then the dinner comes, and even though he’s never had a taste for sweets, he thinks he’d eat them from her lips (deep down, he wants to). The lies he tells himself are brittle like the flesh of fruits under her teeth.

>>> He comes to think “insufferable” fits her the best. That thought rings in his head while he is standing in the stable, his eye on anything but her. He was informed she wished to pick a horse, and he begrudgingly agreed to come, only to keep up the pretense.

What turns out to be much harder is for him to keep restraint. The dress she’s wearing might as well be a chemise — it’s just as light and white, and much to his discomfort, it also tirelessly risks hiking up to expose more of her legs.

Discomfort, mayhaps, isn’t the right word for it.

He stays out of her way but, unsurprisingly, he ends up looking — at how she walks, spring in her step, swinging her hips. She gives each horse a piece of apple and feeds them by hand, strokes their muzzles, and then she mounts and rides them, one by one. She grabs the reins, her foot easily finds the stirrup, and as she swings her leg over the saddle, her dress slips up, showing a few inches of her skin.

He swallows thickly, glances more intently — over her dainty ankles, bending of her knees, he notes how smooth her skin is, soaking up the sun. Her dress then billows slightly, and his eye glides higher, hungry, follows up the contour of her thighs that bounce a little as the horse gallops.

He feels it blooming — a sensation with no name that travels from the lower chest down to his very navel, then spreads and tightens all that’s underneath.

He is so deep in his enthrallment, he doesn’t hear the steps approaching until there’s someone standing next to him. Quentyn stays silent for a minute, throwing him a sideways glance.

“My sister’s always been terribly picky,” the man says out of the blue, “And usually it’s hard to meet all of her demands,” — it doesn’t seem like it’s the horses he is talking of. The vagueness of it makes Aemond focus as he takes his eye off her but Quentyn doesn’t elaborate, giving him a smile instead. “I do admit, your patience is commendable. Some other man would’ve already interfered just to wrap the process up.”

“I was under the impression she doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Aemond replies evasively.

“You guessed it right,” Quentyn titters, his tone veiled with the same unclear meaning when he adds, “The only thing left for us all is to accept it,” and with that, he goes to join his sister.

When Aemond — tamely, almost yielding — takes a peek at her, his gaze collides with Oberyn’s who clearly watched them talk. Unlike his older brother, he prefers to stay away, but the mischief in him pairs really well with danger. He grants Aemond a nod, switching attention back to her, his threats unspoken for the meantime.

For just a second, it gives Aemond pause as he finds it odd that no one brings up their wedding, and no announcements have been made ever since she came. He doesn’t mull over it for long because her laughter interrupts his thoughts (or maybe he just yearns for any chance to look at her). She rides around the yard, her hair floating in the wind, a little breathless but breathtaking, her lips enticing and her curves making his throat dry.

He tries to ground himself, to look for explanations, for some reprieve from the entrancing spell he’s under — he’s never been so close to losing reason —

out of the corner of his eye, he sees a couple of guards dropping their gaze in poor attempts to stop themselves from gawking; it reins his passion, bringing back his jealousy instead. He’s way too used to seeing himself unworthy to even entertain the thought of having her, and his denial prickles. He wants to burn his feelings out, and anger helps with that — it breaks out and engulfs him fast, hardening both his heart and gaze.

“Quentyn is the friendliest of the two, and you couldn’t hold a conversation?” Aegon appears out of nowhere, seemingly displeased despite the bottle in his hand. “Must you always be so gruff? I stayed behind in hopes you’d make it work!” he waves at Oberyn then glares at Aemond, waiting for a reply. “Are you pretending to be deaf or...?”

“Must she test my patience?” Aemond mutters, his tone not jealous but exasperated, his eye boring into her, “Putting herself out like that for all the men to see.”

Aegon being speechless is a rare sight. He cannot fathom it at first, looking from Aemond back to her, confusion sobering him up. And then he grins, realization creeping up on him; there are some things he’s always quick to notice.

“It’s funny that you say that,” he leans in to tell him and catches Aemond’s gaze, “Since it’s just you who’s staring,” Aegon pats him on the back and leaves to greet her brothers.

Aemond tries to choke it down — his irritation and his shame combined, but it’s too much for him to handle, his head and heart clearly in conflict. He doesn’t wait for her to make a choice, retiring without sparing her a glance (a fear nibs at him that if he looks at her once more, he will stay rooted to the ground).

He doesn’t leave his chambers for the remainder of the day, dining all alone and fuming all the same. He’s usually good at curbing his emotions but he is having trouble understanding them, wanting nothing more than to erase all memories of her. But even in his solitude, he catches himself thinking — about her cunning smile and swaying hips, her eyes on him, his hands wanting to roam and touch and —

Aemond shoves unwanted thoughts away and goes to bed earlier than usual. He remains steadfast in his resolve to find some peace, he makes a conscious effort to shift his focus to all the boring, random things his mind can come up with until he is too tired to care.

But then he falls asleep, and his subconscious welcomes her. He sees her right before his eye in that obscenely short white dress, there are no people in the yard, her tantalizing moves all meant for him. She hops off her black horse and walks to him without a single word — anticipation makes him drop his guard and hold his breath — and then he feels her lips on his, her body pressing into him, his hunger for her ruining his self-control, the kiss is searing, suffocating, driving him insane, his fingers pulling up her dress —

he wakes up painfully aroused.

He lays in bed, his heartbeat rushing, his breathing ragged, and vision blurred. While he’s still grasping for the remnants of his dream, he sneaks his hand into his breeches, wishing he could rip her dress off and sheath himself inside her, spread her on his bed, and drink every salacious sound she makes... It only takes him a few strokes to spill over his fingers; he can’t remember if he’s ever reached his peak so fast.

And only then, as he comes down from his high, it hits him, like lightning in the dark — in spite of her remarks, her audacity, her dresses, and every cruel adjective he’s found for her, he’s never wanted anyone so badly. Aemond sits up abruptly, his sleep gone, giving way to stubbornness that comes hand in hand with reticence. He persuades himself that he’ll suppress this — the spark, the pleasure that he craves, and he won’t be a slave to his desires.

He’ll rid himself of feelings, of this lust. Inevitably it will wane.

>>> It doesn’t.

Desire is a guest that never leaves, unwanted but demanding space, attention, time. It slips into his thoughts the moment he wakes up, it whispers in his ears, never giving up, it’s layered in between his clothes and his skin. He hides it well from everyone; it lodges deeper into him.

Desire is a cherry in her mouth, each fruit she bites in, savors, drinks the juice from. He doesn’t want to watch — he can’t take his eye off her, caught in his fervor like in undertow, the flavor of her lips the only one he truly yearns for.

Desire bruises more than does a hit, cuts deeper than a blade, and there’s no weapon he can fight it off with. His training brings him no relief, and he can’t sweat it out or wash it off him, and even while he soaking in a bath, it feels like longing only rises back with steam.

Desire waits for him at night, stands by his bed, slides right under the covers with him. He dreams of her, and in those dreams, her body sings under his every touch, trembles from his praise, his hands and mouth paint her with marks and kisses. He wakes up with his chest aflame and out of breath, and then it takes all of his willpower not to crawl to her.

It staggering how much he really wants her, and he hates himself for it.

>>> It’s been three weeks and they have barely shared a word. He does his best to cut down their encounters and avoid her, he doesn’t argue and takes no offense, he hopes that if he pulls back just enough she will give up and let him be.

Aemond spends his evenings in the study, his table piled with books, and for a couple of hours, it does help to take his mind off things. The night already steals in while he’s searching through the shelves for scrolls, too caught up in the process to pick up the creaking of his door.

Her gaze nearly scalds him. He only looks up out of surprise — and then he freezes at the spot, his heart a stone that plummets to his stomach.

Out of everything she’s worn, this dress might be the one to bring him to his knees — the cutting out the front so low, his eye falls in the hollow between her breasts; he envies fervently the golden chain that rests there. He takes in her whole body, bare arms, and flaunting forms, all clad in deep dark green. He’s never seen her pick that color (and he can’t help but think she put it on for him).

He’s brought back from his stupor when their eyes meet — and startled by the determination in her gaze.

“Ser Criston told me that you missed your training,” she stately starts walking toward him, “Quite a few times this week.”

“I found myself preoccupied with other things,” he clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back, the scrolls forgotten.

“With reading, I assume?” she almost sounds aggrieved (he wants to ask what else she’d rather have him do) but then her tone gets jaunty. “Would you mind if I join?”

“Actually, I would,” Aemond takes his eye off her, his coldness feigned. “I’d like to avoid distractions.”

And more than anything, he would like for her to leave; she’s not the one to give up so easily. “Maybe we can learn some things together?” she nonchalantly insists, and that ambiguity — deliberate or not — leaves his face suffused with pink.

“I highly doubt you take interest in the things I study,” he manages, his crudeness biting his own tongue.

She only sneers, already nearing his table. “You surely rush to judgment.”

“And I am never wrong.” (Although he’s been wrong once before.)

“That’s very humble of you.” (And she’s tenacious with her intent to prove him wrong again.)

“I am surprised you know that word,” he replies too hastily — and instantly regrets his outburst.

And his attempts to get away from her could’ve been valiant, but only left him feeling like a coward.

She’s got enough courage to spare. “Oh, my apologies, did I strike a nerve?” her hip grazes a stack of books. “You sound so displeased with my behavior,” she puts her hands right on his table, her cleavage in full view.

“You interrupted my studies,” he’s looking only at her face.

“Just this one time,” she clears up, her sly smile is a dare, “Sounds like you have quite a few complaints.”

Damned be her dress and the day he laid his eye on her. “It’s clear as day that we have nothing in common,” he hisses, her persistence molding his anger. “From your bawdy humor to your reckless behavior and your...,” he struggles to push the word through his mouth, “vulgar dresses — everything suggests that we will never make a good couple.”

He catches a gleam in her gaze but it’s not threatening nor hurt — and when the corners of her mouth curl up, her face expression actually looks amused. “I didn’t realize my presence tormented you that much,” she crosses arms over her chest, her hands under her breasts; he looks away that very instant. “So will it please you if I take my vulgar dresses and go back home and leave you be?”

He wants to say it will — he’s thought of it for days — but now he isn’t sure. The dreams he has of her will hardly be enough as every image he collected has got nothing on the real form.

“Is there anything that does?” she asks him suddenly and takes a step in his direction, and then another one.

Belatedly, he realizes that he’s backed against the wall. The air in the room heats up, and Aemond moves back to his table, fingers holding to its edge to find some balance. “...Does what?”

“Please you,” she swiftly clarifies, now standing at arm’s length.

“That isn’t any of your concern,” he wants to glance away and yet, his eye is drawn to her.

“I am inclined to disagree,” her lips stretch into a smile. “Shouldn’t a wife know how to make her husband feel good?”

“We are not married yet,” he tries to argue weakly.

“I’d like to learn beforehand,” but her assertiveness works quicker than his doubts.

The time is still, and seconds drag like hours. His heart leaps at the thought of being all alone with her, his concentration crumbling, his self-restraint already hanging by a thread.

“The way you look at me suggests you aren’t averse to the idea,” she tells him in a low voice, her eyes two glowing embers. Aemond gulps, she deftly rounds the table. “You act so cold and so collected,” she muses, coming closer, and he helplessly steps back. “But I am yet to meet a man who would deny himself the pleasure of laying with a woman,” her voice is warm and warming; his legs bump into the chair, prompting him to sit.

He hesitates for barely a moment but his quick reaction fails him because the next thing he knows, she’s standing next to him, her golden chain casting a blinding glint — he blinks — and then she’s straddling him, her thighs on either side of his.

Aemond’s mouth falls slack as he becomes aware: to lift her he will have to touch her. He glances down at her legs that sneaked out through the long slits of her dress, all bare to the very hips before him.

“I wonder if you are too spoiled by the attention of the ladies? Mayhaps you’ve got so satiated, the intimacy doesn’t bring you any joy,” she runs her fingers up his chest.

He only finds it in himself to shake his head. She isn’t satisfied with that reaction. “Or do you simply find it boring and have a taste for something else?”

Objection bubbles in his throat but he gets no chance to voice it — he barely registers a clinking sound before he feels cold steel pressed under his chin, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his own dagger. He meant to leave it at the training yard but it completely slipped his mind.

“Does this work better? I’ve heard that you Targaryens have peculiar tastes,” her other hand lands on his shoulder, his chest is stirring with emotions he can’t read.

“That’s not— No,” he mumbles, his voice raw, the weight and feeling of her body overwhelming.

She cocks her brow at him in disbelief. “No? So it’s just plain old satiation then?” she makes no attempt to press the blade but her questions do get pushy. “Must be so hard when women throw themselves at you ever since you were... What was it, ten? Twelve years of age?”

He would expect her to sound teasing — instead, he hears disappointment. That’s the reaction he is used to getting.

“My brother took me to a pleasure house when I was ten-and-three. He said it’s time to get it wet,” he forces out, “And it was...,” awful and humiliating, something he wishes to forget, “...Not what you are describing.”

Her face expression changes — first surprised, then splashed with sadness, and her every feature softens. Aemond sees her opening her mouth to speak but he averts his gaze, abasement scrabbling at him. His eye falls closed, and he keeps thinking that now she will get up and leave, and there won’t be any wedding, and he’s got no reason to get so overly upset already, and —

she sheathes his dagger without a word, the unexpected movement making him breathe out.

And then she dips her head down, and her lips fall on his jaw. Aemond inhales sharply. Her mouth feels softer than it was in all his dreams, and she plants kisses down his throat, moving to the part of it the blade was pressed to. He doesn’t know where to put his hands while hers lock nimbly around his neck.

She pulls back slowly, and he dares to look at her again, trying to catch the merest shadow of pretense but there is none.

“I am truly sorry that you had to go through that,” she tells him quietly. “Have you tried some more since then?”

“I did,” his answer comes off hurried, blank, “I... I am aware of how the act is done.”

“How the act is done? Aemond, that doesn’t sound enjoyable at all,” she pouts, then gently caresses his face, her voice a tender whisper when she adds, “But it should be.”

He stiffens, waiting for the discomfort to wake up, for the aversion to coil his guts, to trigger the jarring need to move away. None of that happens. Instead, he feels her fingers running through his hair, a calming motion bringing only comfort, her every touch relieving tightness in his chest.

“You seem too tense... We have to work on that,” she joyfully murmurs. “Unless, of course, my worry causes you distress,” her fingers stop, “Do you want me to leave, my prince?”

“No,” he rasps, he almost pleads, “D-don’t.”

She hums with satisfaction, bringing her hands down to unclasp his leather doublet, knowing she won’t meet any resistance. He should resent her for this but he doesn’t (he didn’t and he won’t). The air lays cold over his shirt, and Aemond shivers; she moves her fingers down his firm chest with an unspoken admiration.

“Tell me how it usually goes,” she inquires, one of her hands finding its way back to his silver locks. “Do you find pleasure in undressing them?”

Her warmth envelopes him, scented with cinnamon and peaches. “They come without much clothes,” Aemond blurts out, earning another hum from her.

“And what about you?” she glances curiously at him.

“I don’t... I don’t like them touching me,” he timidly avows, and saying it to her does bring somewhat of a relief.

With both of her hands, she cradles his face, thumbs gently contouring his cheeks — he all but melts into her palms. “And yet you are so responsive to the touch,” her voice praises, “So pretty.”

She leans in again, leaving a kiss at the hollow of his throat — and then her mouth travels up, ardent and steady, and he squirms in place. Not out of discomfort.

“You are not supposed to rush it if you want it to feel good,” she whispers in his ear and moves back to catch his gaze. “You never rush into fighting so why love making should be any different?”

Astonishment brightens his face, and she chuckles lightly. “I must confess, I did enjoy watching you train, even though you never noticed. The way you move and twirl your sword,” she’s recollecting breathy, “You are so lithe and fast and so resistant... An infatuating sight.”

She holds his gaze and lifts her hand — he follows it, unblinking, until it finds one of the straps — she hooks it with her fingers. “Fairly soon it made me wonder how would your hands feel... on me,” his heart jolts at her words.

Slowly, she moves the strap aside, baring her breast for him; Aemond’s breathing hitches. She takes his hand in hers, planting a kiss over his knuckles — and then lets his fingers graze her naked skin.

“It was so cruel of you to rob me of my pleasure,” she laments, but he can barely hear a thing, his eye wide as he fixes on the soft swell of her breast, on how her nipple peaks so eagerly under his touch.

She guides his hand over her chest, down to her ribs and waist, letting him brush her every curve, placing his fingers firmly on her hip. And then she reaches for his other hand and lowers the other strap; his body trembles. The layers of his reticence are all peeled at once, leaving his desire raw and undisguised, unshackled. He’s drawn to fondle, clutch at her plump breasts but her grip is tight and taunting, not letting his fingers roam free.

Still, when both his hands sink into her hips, he realizes that he’s getting harder by the second.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by her. With a controlled, torturously slow move she drags her clothed core over his straining cock. His mouth stays closed but there’s a sound — a muffled moan caught in his throat.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” she teases, lightly tugging on his hair, her lips reaching the column of his neck. “With how much you read, I hoped you’d be more generous with words,” each of her kisses weightless like a drop of rain but then her mouth finds a spot below his ear and suckles at it, pulling a whimper from his chest.

He thinks he should... his mind goes blank after another movement of her hips, and she picks up the pace, merciless and sensuous. He tries biting down his moans but only hurts his mouth. She notices, her rapt eyes on him, and puts her finger on his lower lip:

“Please, don’t be shy with me,” she coos, her gentle touch soothing his bitten flesh, “Our desires coincide,” she earnestly affirms him — and the spark erupts and drags him into pure bliss.

He feels that his arousal leaks, his breeches way too tight to hide it, his fingers dig into her supple skin, but she gives no complaints. He watches breathlessly through his hooded eyelid as she grinds against him, then looks over her bouncing breasts, her nipples pebbled, and the pressure curls somewhere down his spine. She peppers him with kisses — the angles of his face, neck, everything that she can reach, except for his desirous mouth. And yet the softness of her lips and hands, her skin that’s draped with the redolent scent, the rhythm of her hips all bring him closer to the edge.

Her forehead is pressed to his, their lips an inch away but never fully touching. “Let go for me,” she says against his mouth, “My handsome, fierce dragon.”

That does it for him. He harshly presses her to him, then shudders with a strangled moan and comes undone, his eye squeezed shut as her name quivers in his mouth. The pleasure whirls him in and leaves him drained and stunned, a little bit light-headed.

It takes Aemond a minute to recover before he finds her gaze again — and in another minute he discerns her shallow breaths, her parted lips, brows slightly furrowed. He wants to ask her if she reached her peak, if he can help her with it —

but she pulls back.

She stands up and only briefly grabs his shoulder, steadying herself, then promptly puts the straps back on, fixing her dress. He wants to lend a hand but she moves it away, leaning in to lightly caress his face. “No, you don’t get to have me yet. I want you to admit it first, to say that you want me,” her words are laced with dignity but cooling to his mind.

She steps back, cruelly fast, the only consolation is her naughty tone. “Until then, I have to satisfy myself some other way. But I will think of you while doing it, my dear prince,” she promises, a ghost of a smile on her lips, and then walks out without looking back.

The silence feels unwelcome in the room and hangs over the ceiling like a cloud, but Aemond he is too dazed to move, spent and perplexed to wrap his head around it.

Desire, it seems, has come to stay.

But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling.

✧... YES, there will be a second part, it’s already in the works! ✧ and yes, I didn’t bother to rename Pedro’s character 'cause I adore Oberyn sue me

✧ just to clarify, I usually age Aemond up to 20 (or however old Ewan looks to you ;) ✧ I got inspired after watching the video for ROSALÍA’s “La Fama” (give it a watch, she is soooo 🥵) but I only found it because of this gorgeous gifset so shout-out to OP for giving me inspiration

✧ my recent fic (couples who kill together, stay together 🔥) ✧ my masterlist

thank you @amiraisgoingthruit for letting me tag you in every silly story of mine, hope you’ll like this one (if anyone else wants to be tagged, don’t be shy)

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

2K notes · View notes

dannyricsmirrorball · 9 months

Text

fifth wheel • ln4 part 3 ੈ✩‧₊˚

ੈ✩‧₊˚ pairing || lando norris x reader

ੈ✩‧₊˚ genre || social media au

ੈ✩‧₊˚ summary || y/n is always fifth wheeling george, carmen, alex, and lily.

ੈ✩‧₊˚ a/n || final part yay! also perf in time for lando’s p2!!! not proof read.

part 1 part 2

liked by lorenzotl, patriciooward, and 762,871 others

alex_albon monte-carlo padel masters

tagged georgerussell63, yourusername, maxvertsappen1, landonorris, richardpardon

username1 max has friends?!

username2 zandvoort front two rows

charles_leclerc oh!

⤷ pierregasly it’s ok mate, we’ll play together

⤷ yourusername sorry 🥱 maybe if u brought alex and kika w u

username3 ok but how did they play if there was 5 of them, did they take turns?

⤷ username4 nah i bet y/n just sat on her phone and watched them play

alex_albon also P.S. y/n did not actually do anything

⤷ yourusername WDYM?! me and lando subbed 🧐

⤷ georgerussell63 he kept playing for u y/n?

⤷ yourusername HOW IS THAT MY FAULT, HE’S A BALL HOG!

⤷ alex_albon u forced him to play for u y/n.

⤷ yourusername this is defamation. i will not take this slander!

⤷ username4 called it

username5 maxverstappen new hyoerfixation incoming

f1 who won tho?

⤷ yourusername me ofc 😇

⤷ landonorris us*

⤷ yourusername sorry yes ofc team work makes the dream work!

⤷ maxverstappen1 but yourusername u didn’t even play?

⤷ landonorris i played for the both of us. she transferred her energy to me so i could play w our combined powers

⤷ username6 lando and y/n aren’t being hostile. we are so back!

liked by danielricciardo, mclaren, and 632,091 others

landonorris my 🌟 girl

username7 this soft launch will be the death of me.

username8 the day we find out who she is, is the day that i die

danielricciardo watch out she’ll take over lando.jpg

maxfewtrell yuck right in front of me

yourusername whipped

⤷ landonorris sns

⤷ username9 i’m sorry? is that meant to mean sorry not sorry 😭😭 they’re actual children

username10 idc how many ppl call me delusional, it’s y/n FS

⤷ username11 ok grandma let’s get u to bed

liked by romeobeckham, mickschumacher, and 97,032 others

yourusername spicy salmon nigiri u rock my world 🍣

username12 ok yeah rip my lando x y/n fantasies

username13 final confirmation we needed

username14 how long is this soft launch gonna last

landonorris gag

⤷ username15 someone sounds jealous 👀

⤷ landonorris sushi makes me sick

⤷ maxfewtrell such a baby

lilymhe gets a bf and forgets her best friends

⤷ alex_albon it’s ok lily just relax

⤷ lilymhe NO YOUVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS UR WHOLE LIFE ALEX DONT EVEN PRETEND

⤷ username16 i just know alex is so relieved that he doesn’t have share lily anymore

username17 does anyone else find it funny/weird that y/n will let rumours circle abt her and other drivers and lando will do the same w random ppl he’s talks to and they both just follow this kind of philosophy of just ignoring it bc it’s baseless but as soon as someone so much as hints to the idea of them together they go ham at squashing it

⤷ username18 maybe it’s bc they’re actually friends so they don’t want ppl to ruin it w all the rumours

⤷ username17 but that’s what i mean like they don’t mind the rumours abt their other friends but when it’s each other it’s like NO THATS NOT TRUE

⤷ username19 i will stand by that alex and george tried to set them up on that golf trip and they started taking but one of them or both fucked it up and now

⤷ username20 and i will stand by that they are actually together

⤷ username19 it’s ok to be a little delusional

liked by username81, username4, and 18,409 others

f1wags y/n with lando recently… wonder how their partners feel about this…

tagged landonorris, yourusername

username21 nah no way they aren’t dating

⤷ username22 they’ve made it so clear they’re just friends

⤷ username21 bro look at how much they’re together, she’s literally in the paddock w him

⤷ username22 they’re friends??? makes sense that they’d hang out.

⤷ username21 yeah but she’s always been friends w him but is always in either williams or mercedes merch and motorhome but is suddenly a mclaren girly

username23 what a slut. she literally has a boyfriend and he has a girlfriend.

⤷ username24 she’s just mad that she can’t use alex and george anymore bc they probably saw her for who she is and is now leaching off lando

username25 ahhhh they’re so cute 🥹

username26 nah but i do feel lowkey bad for their partners bc if my s/o was acting like this w another person…

username27 imagine being his gf tho… like he’s refusing to show her face but is parading another girl around the paddock

liked by carlossainz55, olliebearman, and 809,762 others

charles_leclerc tbt good times 🌊

tagged arthurleclerc, lorenzotl, alexandrasaintmleux, carla.brocker, charlotte2304, alex_albon, georgerussell63, yourusername, lilymhe, carmenmmundt, heidiberger, landonorris, danielricciardo

georgerussell63 …mate

yourusername party rockin 🤙🐚🌊😮‍💨🌅🏝️🏖️🏄‍♀️

⤷ username30 my girl is overcompensating bc she knows she can’t get out of this one

⤷ username31 what?

⤷ username30 i mean this pretty much confirms that y/n and lando are actually dating, like w all the photos of them and now that we know that they actually did see each other during the break

alexandrasaintmleux CHARLES what did i say abt posting w/o showing me first 😭

landonorris lol

⤷ username31 they are sweating

username32 you’re telling me that the leclerc family, all their gfs, lily, alex, george, carmen, daniel, heidi, y/n, AND lando ALL stayed in corsica together during part of the break AND WE DIDNT KNOW UNTIL KNOW

alex_albon at least i’m not THIS bad lilymhe

lilymhe charles…

danielricciardo LOL MATE

⤷ heidiberger_ don’t even danny

username33 IM SORRY BUT THIS IS SO CONFIRMATION ABT Y/N AND LANDO… I MEAN LOOK AT EVERYONES COMMENTS, THEYRE ALL STRESSING AND THIS WAS SO OBV A COUPLES TRIP

⤷ username34 i mean idk still like their comments to eachother are so passive aggressive and george, alex, and charles are really good mates w the both of them as well y/n is famed for being the biggest grid couple third wheel so maybe they were just being massive third wheels OR they also brought their partners but charles just didn’t tag them to keep it private

⤷ username35 or u guys hate to admit that y/n and lando are together and lando isn’t going to get w u 🤷‍♀️

username36 charles really came in w a bang

username37 the way charles’ silence is SOOOO loud

⤷ username38 yeah he is fs getting it in the gc

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, lilymhe, alexandrasaintmleux, carmenmmundt, landonorris, georgerussell63, alex_albon, heidiberger_

liked by georgerussell63, alex_albon, and 320,918 others

yourusername fuck it we ball

tagged landonorris

username42 OH

username43 ITS HAPPENING ITS HAPPENING Y/N LANDO HARD LAUNCH

lilymhe i knew you’d cave. all those soft launch photos i took and FOR WHAT. lasted a month 😐

charles_leclerc 🤍

⤷ yourusername this is ur fault

⤷ charles_leclerc whatttttt idk what ur talking abt

heidiberger_ i just heard danny let out an audible sigh

⤷ danielricciardo no more stress 😮‍💨

⤷ yourusername did better then i thought u would danny

⤷ heidiberger_ don’t be fooled… i think he told the entire rbr faculty

alex_albon see you’d think that this would mean they’d leave us alone…

⤷ yourusername never getting rid of us albono 😊

⤷ landonorris now why would u want that mate?! 😘

username57 the caption. she really said fuck it lets hard launch!

username58 they really squashed the slander

landonorris absolute legends i reckon

⤷ yourusername ballers

landonorris my girl 🧡

⤷ yourusername 🤭🫠

carlossainz55 finally

username34 what?! no way?! i’m shocked 😦 we are so shocked 🥱

mclaren we’ll take it from here williamsracing mercedesamgf1

team_quadrant the real boss 😌

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 570,398 others

landonorris cute.

username42 i can’t. they’re too cute.

username43 did he take her to his family home omfg 😭

maxfewtrell whippeddddd

⤷ yourusername 😐

⤷ maxfewtrell sorry y/n mb

danielricciardo cutsie

⤷ landonorris 😘😘

georgerussell63 double trouble

⤷ alex_albon god george u don’t have to say everything that comes to ur mind

lilymhe she’s so pretty

⤷ landonorris she is 😍

⤷ yourusername i love uuuuuu baby

⤷ landonorris i love u too love

⤷ yourusername oh.

⤷ landonorris oh.

⤷ lilymhe I LOVE U TOO LOVERRRR

⤷ alex_albon u get used to it landonorris

liked by yourusername, lilymhe, and 126,090 others

lando.jpg my girl

tagged yourusername

username42 god i am not ur strongest soldier

danielricciardo peep the merch 😌

⤷ yourinstagram enchante danny 😉

yourinstagram shop the look enchante 🩷

⤷ enchante 😍😍

username43 they’re everything

heidiberger_ where’s mine? daniel3.jpg

⤷ daniel3.jpg COMING RIGHT UP

username44 lando is the standard

⤷ username45 never thought i’d see the day someone described lando norris as the standard

yourusername obsessed much 🤭

⤷ lando.jpg with u? always

⤷ yourusername oh 😳

yourusername my own jpg post?! i must be special

⤷ lando.jpg the specialist 🧡

⤷ yourusername oh 🤭

username46 dead at y/n being taken aback my lando’s comments

lilymhe my girl 😍😍😍

⤷ yourusername my girl 😘😘🤭🤭

⤷ lando.jpg pipe down miss alex_albon come collect ur girl

⤷ alex_albon don’t fight it mate

carmenmmundt prettiest girl in the world

⤷ lando.jpg that she is

username47 she’s come so far from her third wheeling days 🥹

⤷ alex_albon has she?

bonus!

liked by williamsracing, carmenmmundt, and 228,460 others

alex_albon proof that it changed nothing 😐

tagged yourusername, landonorris, lilymhe, carmenmmundt, georgerussell63

yourusername boohoo 🙄

landonorris u love us ❤️‍🔥

hope u enjoyed 🤍🤍

#lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norris imagine #formula one #formula 1 #george russell #alex albon #lily muni he #carmen montero mundt #daniel ricciardo #ln4 #ln4 imagine #ln4 x reader #charles leclerc #f1 fanfic

2K notes · View notes