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pinksunshine34 · 2 years

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El freak y la chica del upside down

Parte 4

Summary: Los Padres de Olivia.

🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻

-Relájate Edward nadie te verá-explico Liv manejando rumbo a Michaelsville, era la ciudad que quedaba mas cerca de su casa. A solo 15 minutos, viendo todo lo que ocurría en Hawkins por el momento necesitaban no pararse por allá he ir para el lado opuesto.

-A ti no te busca la policía Olivia- explicó. Los dos no eran fans de escuchar sus nombres como debían ser, preferían acortarlos o un sobrenombre, aún así parecía que les encantaba molestarse con eso.

Alzó los hombros-Antes me buscaban las personas del Laboratorio y la CIA pero me desarrollé y mi cabello creció. No creo que me reconozcan más-

Era la mañana del día siguiente. Eddie fue el primero en explicarle todo lo que ocurrió, paso toda la noche hablando acerca de Steve, Dustin, Lucas, Max y todos los demás. Hablo de cuando presenció la muerte de Chrissy y del amigo de Jason y la razón por la cual creían que el era el asesino. También de cómo querían acabar con Vecna y el plan de separarse para hacerlo. Después de su muerte el sabía que algo malo había pasado por cómo quedó Hawkins, esos datos aún no los tenía pero esperaba pronto encontrar a Dustin y que esté le dijera lo demás. Todo la información que el sabía le contó, incluso un poco Once pero tampoco era mucho.

Mientras Eddie hablaba le ayudo a Olivia a preparar la cena. Algo de pasta la cual el chico devoró pues vivir de puro suero no era suficiente.

Aunque la platica no era algo placentera los dos congeniaron bastante bien, Munson no había tenido una cena en casa desde hace mucho. La chica de verdad lo escucho y entendió lo que querían hacer sin juzgar.

Liv tenía años que no hablaba con alguien de su edad, Eddie tenía veinte y ella dieciocho pero no era mucho la diferencia, los dos estaban en la misma sintonía.

Se dieron cuenta que era muy tarde y la chica prometió en contarle su vida la mañana siguiente. Liv quería que el siguiera descansando en su cama pues no había ningún problema, hasta que se sintiera mejor pero Eddie lo rechazó como un caballero. Después de todo lo que hizo ella debía dormir ahí, el prefería el sillón.

Ninguno mencionó el hecho de que Liv era hija de Vecna o más bien Henry pues ese era su nombre de humano. Quería escuchar su historia pero en ese momento ella no parecía cómoda, esperaba que en el transcurso del siguiente día hablara.

-Me alegra que escaparas de ellos pero yo no he crecido así que tratare de ocultarme- se puso la capucha de la sudadera y escondió todo su cabello en ella.

-Podrías cortarte el cabello...-le dio una solución a su problema.

-¿Estás loca? Se que aún no nos conocemos bien pero eso sería como si me pidieras cortarme un brazo-explicó indignado.

-De acuerdo-rio-lo siento no sabía. Mira no te preocupes ¿si?, si alguien te reconoce simplemente borro ese recuerdo-se estaciono a un lado de la calle.

-Explicate, ¿Como funciona eso?-pregunto con interés, sabía que no mentía pero no la había visto mover nada con su mente ni controlar a alguien.

-Es simple-lo observó-¿Recuerdas a la Señora Carter?, solo la mire a los ojos y suavemente le dije que Eddie Munson era buen chico, que no había matado a nadie. También no quería que preguntara sobre las mordidas y cicatrices, solo le dije que las ignorara-esperaba que entendiera.

-Como un vampiro-ella no supo a qué se refería-ya sabes, los hipnotizan. Caen en un trance y los obligan a hacer lo que ellos quieran, Y ahora no recordarás que estuve aquí- hablo con un falso acepto de vampiro mientras tronaba los dedos frente a ella causando que soltara una carcajada.

Eddie también río.

-No lo había pensado pero si, como un vampiro- abrió la puerta de su auto y lo miro por última vez-tu cabello aún se ve- tocó su fleco tratando de ocultarlo entre la capucha. El chico se puso algo nervioso y agradeció en un murmullo- nadie te va a reconocer, solo vamos por lo que necesitamos y regresamos-

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Habían caminado en la calle y pareciera que nadie se percataba de el, Eddie decidió acompañarla pues ya no había víveres en la casa y también se le hizo una buena idea que el encontrara algo más que ponerse. No iba a estar con esa sudadera y pantalones para siempre, incluso los zapatos que tenía no eran suyos. Olivia los había encontrado en una caja en el closet.

-Liv no creo que sea buena idea robarles-explico pues la vio utilizar la hipnosis en el supermercado para tener la comida sin pagar. Debió haber dicho algo cuando lo estaba haciendo pero ya estaban en el carro de nuevo metiendo las bolsas en la cajuela.

La chica lo miro con ingenuidad, puso su mano en su hombro ya que el era bastante alto y no pudo pasarlo alrededor de él, lo hizo que observara el centro de la ciudad para después explicarle la situación.

-Eddie, he vivido aquí por unos años y aprendí muchas cosas de este pueblo. No merecen tu simpatía. La mayoría son racistas, supremacistas blancos, antisemitas y machistas. Es como si la peor escoria de la humanidad viviera aquí-señaló su carro, era un Camaro negro de los años 70s- le quite este auto a un señor que golpeaba a su esposa y después lo obligue a ser su fiel sirviente por el resto de su vida-Eddie asintió, había escuchado que ese lugar no era tan bueno pero no que fueran de esa manera- créeme, se que suena mal cuando lo hago pero solo lo utilizo con gente que se lo merece. A la señora Cárter solo le dije eso para que me pudiera ayudar y no desconfiara. Nunca lo he usado de mala forma con alguien que no lo merece- parecía que quisiera que le creyera, tenia poderes pero no era un monstruo ¿verdad?.

-No te preocupes Liv, lo entiendo.-sonrío amablemente-Ahora que me dijiste todo eso ¿Podemos conseguir algo de ropa?, no quiero usarte y te pagaré en cuanto todo esto se solucione...-

-No tienes que pagar nada ¿de acuerdo?. Va por mi cuenta, me agradas- le dio un pequeño golpe en brazo.

-También me agradas- le dio un golpecito en el hombro.

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-¿Que te parece?- pregunto Eddie modelándole su atuendo, Liv río pues parecía un niño pequeño mostrándole su ropa nueva con emoción.

-Se nota que tú color favorito es el rojo-dijo sarcásticamente pues todo lo que llevaba era negro. Tenia una camisa con el logo de Judas Priest, una chamarra de cuero con pantalones negros rasgados y unas botas. También unos accesorios como anillos y una cadena. Era exactamente como ella lo había imaginado, toda su personalidad era exactamente como su atuendo-Te vez bien Edward-

-Te agradezco Olivia-sonrío-creo que tengo todo, puedo sobrevivir con esto- se puso una gorra negra que no combinaba mucho con su atuendo pero no quería ser reconocido en la calle.

Los dos se acercaron a la puerta pero antes de que pudieran salir unos gritos los pararon.

-¿A donde creen que van sin pagar?-dijo un hombre alto de barba y cabello blanco.

-Oh cierto lo olvide-expresó Liv sintiéndose algo tonta.- Por que no te adelantas yo me encargo de esto-

-¿Enserio dejarás que tu mujer te mande?- hablo el señor, burlándose de los pocos pantalones que tenía el chico.-¿No tienes pelotas?, dale un golpe. Que sepa quien está cargo-

-¿Disculpa?- Munson estaba furioso por ese comentario se acercó al hombre pero Liv puso una mano en su pecho.

-Ignóralo, solo es un idiota- Expresó esperando que se calmara, no podían llamar tanto la atención.

-¿Qué eres marica?-pregunto riendo-¿Quieres que te enseñe a ponerla en su lugar?- se arremangó la mangas.

Eddie se puso delante del Liv empujando el poco hombre y haciendo que cayera-tu la tocas y yo te mato-lo amenazo.

Al parecer el hombre no le gustó eso pues se levantó esperando dar el primero golpe pero la chica lo paró sin siquiera tocarlo. El la volteo a ver pues no podía moverse y estaba asustado por eso.

-Olvidaras que estuvimos aquí y...-pensó en otra cosa-correrás por toda la ciudad desnudó hasta que te atrape la policía- se quito de la puerta y el hombre obedeció.

Los dos rieron al verlo tratar de quitarse los pantalones en medio de la calle y casi tropezarse con ellos.

Salieron de la tienda y siguieron su camino sin hablar. La chica podía con el desde un principio pero le sorprendió que Eddie la defendiera, nadie hacía eso por ella. Se sentía raro pero lindo.

Al llegar entraron a su auto pero antes de que arrancara Liv decidió agradecerle.

-Gracias-dijo el chico antes de que ella pudiera hablar.

-¿Por qué?-pregunto. ¿Tal vez la ropa? pensó, pero ya le había agradecido por eso.

-Debi decir algo antes pero creo que estaba en shock por todo, a lo que me refiero es que gracias por revivirme.-rio porque se escuchaba algo extraño-no tenías que hacerlo, se que no fue fácil. Te dolió mucho y sangraste. Se que las cicatrices están desapareciendo-señalo el rostro de la chica pues ya casi no se le veían-pero aún así no tenias por que lastimarte-observo sus ojos que lo miraban como un cachorrito-Gracias Liv, te lo voy a agradecer por toda la eternidad y tratare de siempre recompensártelo-

Asintió y miró el volante frente a ella-No tienes que agradecer, solo trataba de ayudar-

-Lo se pero ¿Por qué no solo seguiste tu camino?-

Sonrío como si recordara algo-Por que mi mamá hubiera querido que te ayudara. Ella era muy linda y siempre ayudaba a todos-Eddie cambio de posición para escucharla y verla mejor.

-¿Puedo saber qué pasó con ella?-

-Claro, es mi turno de hablar-la chica también cambio de posición para verlo frente a frente-Mi mamá se llamaba Lily, ella comenzó a trabajar en el laboratorio cuidando a los niños que eran como Henry, los demás experimentos. Ahí se conocieron y comenzaron a hablar, se enamoraron y en algunas partes no había cámaras entonces pasaban el tiempo en esos lugares para que el Dr. Brenner no se diera cuenta. Mamá me contó que pensaban en huir pero nunca pudieron ni siquiera tratar. Cuando Lily tenía como un mes de embarazo le dijo a Henry, nunca me dijo cómo reacciono pero los dos sabían que yo tendría algún poder gracias a él, entonces eso significaba que me iban a separar de ellos. Antes de que el Dr. Brenner supiera de mi existencia mi mamá huyó y vino a parar a Michaelsville. Crecí aquí por cinco años y fue lo más normal que mi vida pudo ser pero fue lo mejor que me pasó. Nací con el poder de revivir a cualquier ser vivo pero nunca trate con una persona, solo con animales o plantas.-toco la pulsera de mariposas que tenía jugando con ella- me dio esto para que siempre estuviera conmigo y me dijo que cuando lo necesitaran ayudará a todo ser por que todos merecíamos una segunda oportunidad. Creo que ya sabía que algo iba a pasar por qué nos encontraron y los hombres de Brenner la asesinaron frente a mi. No pude ayudarla porque me sedaron y me llevaron al laboratorio-se estiro tratando de explicar lo siguiente- después conocí a Henry y se presentó como mi papá....- 🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺🔺

#stranger things #eddie munson #fanfic español #eddiemunson x reader #wattpad español #stranger things español #eddie x reader

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by-sunn · 13 days

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A mí Klau, perdóname, perdón por no poder haberte enseñado cálculo, pero si se puede te poseere cuando necesites hacer un examen. Te amo mucho, Klau, eres una de las personas más maravillosas e inteligentes que conocí, y gracias por todo, por la esperanza, por los sueños, por las noches que compartimos, por lo que pude enseñarte, gracias.

A mis hijas, perdón por ser una figura paterna más que les falla, desearía haber sido un mejor padre, pero sepan que siempre las amé porque elegí amarlas, porque amarlas es fácil, e incluso cuando no lo es, yo elegí hacerlo, no crean lo contrario nunca. Son niñas maravillosas, mi amada Ace, mi primogénita; mi adorada Liv, mi segunda hija; mi querida Lila, la mayor y al mismo tiempo la más pequeña. No acepten nunca menos amor del que yo profese por ustedes, se merecen más, se merecen un amor tierno y gentil y que las haga felices.

Marina, perdoname por no haber acudido a ti, te amo mucho, y espero que eventualmente puedas dormir.

Melina, Mer, preciosa, no te enojes, hago esto porque me duele la vida, y me duele más saber que te hago daño, pero no me odies, por favor, te amo mucho.

Aime, vuelve a matemáticas y termina, por favor, que el grupo necesita un matemático. Te amo, loca.

Valentina, te adoro con toda mi alma, espero que te mantengas en terapia, por favor, no abandones y lucha por ser feliz

A Sara, mi corderito rosa, perdona por abandonarte, es mi dolor, pero mi lucha era muy grande. Espero que algún día encuentres paz y el amor que te mereces, te amo con toda el alma, y si pudiera seguiría contigo, pero no soy capaz, no soy tan fuerte.

José, perdona, bonito. Perdoname toda la vida y sígueme perdonando después, cuida de Liv y de Ace, por favor.

A los demás del rol, los quiero mucho, a algunos más que otros, perdón por irme, cuiden a mis amadas hijas, vendré a jalarles las patas si me entero que les pasó algo.

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pyreshegone · 2 years

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Liv Laugh Love, Saturday Night Liv, Livvy la Vida Loca, Livvy: Live From California, MTV Livs - all used by Scout

“ you’re so weird. ”

give her nicknames

#she loves her :/

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xdestinyisall · 4 years

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❤️

Mutuals send me a ❤️ & I’ll compliment you.

No se ni por donde comenzar contigo pero vamos a comenzar con un secreto que tengo que nunca te dije haha no me odies. La primera vez que te conocí cuando entraste al rp pensé que eras hombre hasta que Angie me dijo que eras chica HAHA lo siento, además siempre pero siempreee decía mal tu nombre y por eso luego solo lo terminaba por abreviar a Sam pero nunca me enteré que lo escribía mal hasta los últimos meses y eso porque Dannie me dijo. Ponía Samuel y era Samael HAHA. Lo se, soy un desastre. Te amaré por siempre por darme uno de mis ships favoritos del mundo, neta que con Dannie eres LO MEJOR QUE ME PASO EN BROKEN. Tal vez nunca te lo dije pero tu eras quien mantenía a broken vivo. Admiraba mucho mucho como diario sacaba sacaba a tus hijos. Me quedaba de :o ¿Cómo lo hace? ¡Quiero ser como ella! Y lloré mucho con Rebekah y Dante, nunca ni en un millón de años me los espere pero los ame demasiado. Me encantaban tus personajes, toditos, toditos, desde la tía consentida de mi Lizzie hasta el guapo lobito de Noel o el humanito mal humorado. Siempre creí que decías: Mira estas locas, ya tomaron otro personaje jaja. Me sigo igual riendo de Aurora con Dante jaja o el esposo con Noel jaja, ya bye. POR CIERTO, ¿Te acuerdas de Enzo x Liv? Los shippeaba, BYEEEEEE. Creo que lo que más me dolió de broken fue dejar de rolear contigo y por eso quise buscarte, no dejarte ir porque te volviste alguien bien importante en mi vida. Y ahora que estás aquí creo que nos volvimos más unidas que nunca. AMO pero neta AMO hablar contigo y odio que te cambien tu horario, me gustaba el de la noche porque estabas todo el día haha. Aunque era horrible para ti, bien pesado. Literal podemos hablar de cualquier cosa tan fácil o a la par terminamos inventando más cosas, Pues AMOOOOOOOO tus personajes, todossssss, like todoooos. Me encantan como salen ships que ni planeamos, o simplemente la relación de Sabrina x Elijah porque me encantaaa que lo moleste hahaha. Sophie y Angelo me dan muchos feelings o como Jade x Angelo de bff, ¡LOS AMO! skdhs y Lucy x Elijah skdh ah hasta extraño a Nadia x Elijah, LOL. Y luego tenemos mil cosas y se que tendremos más, mi parte favorita del indie es rolear contigo porque AMOO rolear contigo, gracias por todo NETA GRACIAS POR TODO. Por darme mis otps sdhds, por todo lo que tenemos porque lo amo demasiado, por venir a decirme tramas y por estar aquí. Gracias por siempre escucharme y estar ahí para apoyarme, eres una excelente amiga y te amo mucho, ¡Gracias por tanto! Por mil años más juntas, por siempre y para siempre. Algún día iré a España a verte. *la abraza con fuerza y no la deja ir*

PD. Quiero más plots HAHAHA 8) *lo dice la que literal creo que debe todo*

#ooc: TE AMO UN BUEN; SOY BIEN FELIZ DE TENERTE EN MI VIDA #nuneautnunquam

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barbieaemond · 4 months

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Lykirī

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

WARNINGS: loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), handjob, we ride him bitches, dom/sub tones if you squint

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

Author's note: an early Christmas gift for those who celebrate!! For those who don't, just a regular smutty piece. This was based on a request where wife!reader rides Aemond. Merry Aemondmas :)

MASTERLIST

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee

"You are to marry the King's second son. Prince Aemond Targaryen."

Those were your father's words. Your sister had looked at you almost with pity and a hint of relief since that fate had befallen you and not her. You had simply nodded, accepting the fate decided by your father, just as thousands of other daughters before and after you would have done.

Your mother had come to comb your hair before going to bed, and without much ado, she had told you what would happen after the wedding, after the banquet.

"All you have to do is try to relax your nerves, and I promise it will be less painful.”

The thought had stuck in your brain until the wedding day. And the aura emanating from the prince didn't help. He was stoic to the point of looking like a statue, his posture rigid as a spindle, and there was something unsettling about him that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand when he took your hand to recite the wedding vows. Fear, but also a foreign giddiness prickling your skin upon feeling his calloused fingers around yours.

The banquet had not helped either. Prince Aegon had behaved like a court jester, drinking to the point of wondering how he could stand upright, poking his brother with cruel jokes about his eye and a whore who had made Aemond a man many years before.

You didn’t know what kind of unpleasant memories your good-brother had just summoned in his brother’s mind. That woman and her cheap perfume, that way it had clung to his skin, to his thoughts for days after his only ever trip to Flea Bottom.

Then the elder Prince had approached you with his breath stinking of Dornish and it was then that Prince Aemond broke his icy silence, standing up abruptly and looking down at you. "Come, wife. It is time for us to retire."

Prince Aegon had clapped his hands as if in front of a hilarious show, saying "Finally some fun! The bedding!"

The entire crowd present at the banquet had escorted you to the prince's chambers. The servants had removed your dress, leaving you in your underskirts; you had unconsciously covered your chest, crossing your arms to hide from the greedy eyes of the men peering in the doorway, Prince Aegon in the front row with yet another cup of wine clutched between his fingers.

Master Mellos invited you to lie down on the bed, and you obeyed, swallowing, while a host of servants shielded you from view as the Maester made his humiliating inspection.

"All is in order, your Graces," the Master informed the Prince and Queen. And that was enough for Aemond to completely slip the iron mask off his face and go straight to the door. "The show is over. Get out."

"Oh, come on, little brother. Let me watch, at least. I could give you some tips."

Aemond had towered over his brother, and from your seat on the bed, you were able to see the eldest brother shrinking by the moment. "This is not some common whore you're speaking of.” Aemond seethed “She is my wife, and you will owe her the respect she deserves. One more lewd word from your mouth, and I will rip your tongue with my bare hands. Am I being clear?”

"Gods, brother, are you already so cunt-struck?"

He never got an answer, only the door being slammed right into his face.

You stood in the middle of the room, torturing your hands as he looked at you from the door. He seemed unsure of what to do, until he cleared his throat and took a few tentative steps in the room.

“You could have some wine, if you wish. It may…help you.” He said, but as he said this, he seemed to regret his own words, given how his mouth twitched as if he had just tasted something sour. Memories could come just like that, sudden and sour.

“You must relax, my prince. Have some wine, maybe? No need to worry, I will take care of you just as a prince deserves to.”

“I’d like to keep my mind clear, my Prince.” You said, keeping your gaze down, hearing his fast and deep sigh. “Fine.” he said, straightening his back as a soldier. After all, wasn’t this just another duty?

It wasn’t just that though. You were his wife now, the future mother of his children. It was his duty and his right to claim you as his own.

“Lay on the bed.”

With your heart pounding in your ears, you did as you were told but when the mattress dipped under his weight, you did not expect to see him with his clothes still on, the eyepatch firmly in its place. More so, you did not expect the harshness of his gestures as he held your waist to turn you around. The air hitched in your throat as your face met the mattress and a strange sorrow gripped your heart. Did he not want to look at you? Did he not like you?

“Try to stay still and it’ll be over shortly.” he said. He was trying to sound reassuring, but his voice came out cold and flat. His fingers latched on your underskirts, hiking them up, filling you with embarrassment as you grow completely exposed beneath him.

Aemond knew what to do. He may not have been as depraved as his brother, but he was still a man. And once in a while, when his hands would not suffice, some maid or servant girl would’ve had to bear, quite keenly on their part, his intimate attentions.

As his hands began to glide on your thighs, you shivered and said “Wait…”

Slowly your head turned to look at him, cheeks red and breath slow and anxious. “Am I not allowed to look at you?”

Your words seemed to stun him for a moment. The mere thought of you wanting to look at him made him realize how wrong he was behaving. You were his wife, not a common whore to bend over and have his moment of bliss. He had even told Aegon. That was not his intention, but there was a gap between how he felt and how he acted, a limb severed by years of pity looks and feelings trapped in his mouth and swallowed.

Almost gently, he made you turn but once you were facing him, he pinned your wrists on the mattress, unable to touch him even if you had gathered enough courage to do it. You tried to brace yourself for what your mother had told you. But she had not told you that he would touch you there, that all your senses would go numb except for that one brand new feeling between your legs. But he seemed enthralled by it just as you, his mouth parting to let out slow puffs of air as you grow wet and swollen against his fingers.

Your breath was labored, coming out in soft pants that made your cheeks purple. More so because he kept circling his deft fingers on your core while looking straight into your eyes, reveling in the way you were answering to his call, in the way he was shaping your need, your desire.

“You never touched yourself, did you?” he asked in a husky voice.

You barely shook your head and his eye glinted with something dark as he brought his face close to yours “Good. I shall be the only one inside you.”

He swallowed your shaky breath with this mouth, kissing you for the very first time, apart from the shy, almost prude peck exchanged after the wedding vows. Your lips moved shyly, trembling with the coiling pressure between your legs. And just when you thought this heat, this delicious aching couldn’t grow more unbearable, he sticked a finger inside you, spilling a loud moan right against his mouth.

One of your wrists twisted in his harsh hold, willing to touch him, to grip on something, but he didn’t let you. “Easy…” he blew on your lips “Relax. It’ll feel good, I promise…”

It surely felt good to him, to feel the tightness of your cunt squeezing his finger. He curled it and you squinted your eyes, choking a gasp that made him smirk proudly against your jaw. “Gods, you’re so tight…” he breathed as he kept rubbing slowly against your walls.

“It’s—it’s too much—“ you cried out with pain and pleasure running together, breathing his scent of ash, leather and a hint of something minty.

“How will you take my cock if you can’t even take my finger?” He whispered with benevolent cruelty, moving his finger faster and deeper.

Certainly your mother had not told you of the obscene wet sounds you would hear, of the uncontrollable moans coming out of your mouth, of his soft growling next to your ear when his breeches became too tight.

He had lined the tip of his hard manhood to your entrance, catching your breath away as tried to still your nerves, but the pain came altogether. You felt like he was cutting you from the inside. Tears filled your eyes, squinting for the painful stretching. You knew he was restraining himself; he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already was. And you almost felt affection for him, most men would not have bothered.

Then he had started to move, you felt that stranger body rubbing over and over against your walls, and finally the pain soothed, but not completely. You could tell he was enjoying it, his ragged breath and faint moans told you so, as well as the curses hissed through his teeth in a language you guessed was Valyrian. And then he had stilled completely, gripping your hips hard and firm while you felt a hot wave pulsing through your core.

The next morning, you could barely sit down for breakfast, and your aunt had looked at you with concern and a hint of amusement in her eyes. She was a veteran at court, a long-time widow, and quite happy to be so. It was her who suggested your betrothal to the Prince.

"How are you feeling, sweet niece?"

"Awful." you said promptly, shifting your weight on the seat.

"Well, this is the kind of anguish all women must go through."

"I thought that was giving birth to another human being."

"Oh Gods, no. That is the ugly part. This is the good one," she said with a sly smile "I suggest you enjoy it as much as you can."

At the time, you didn't really understand what she meant. The first night with the prince had gone...well, you thought. But he certainly enjoyed it more than you.

The second time was better. Your muscles were still sore, but the pain was but a faint discomfort compared to the pleasure you felt for the very first time in your life.

The third time he went down on you, bringing you so close to the edge only to deny your release, with cruel enjoyment on his part, making you whine with shame at the loss of his mouth and tongue on your folds.

The fourth time he bent you down on the breakfast table, all things falling in a mess of cutlery. He had pulled up your skirts and lowered his breeches just enough to thrust in, unraveling a special spot deep inside of you that had you mewling like some primitive beast.

The fifth time he had you writhing in bed, hair stuck to your head with sweat and hands clenching the sheets while he had you peak three times in a row.

It was then that you started to think your aunt was right.

That was indeed the good part.

“Are you afraid?” he asks, with a soft taunt on the tip of his tongue. You drag your eyes away from the gigantic beast before you and almost scoff. That is enough for him to laugh, quietly, but still not quietly enough for you to not notice and wonder at the view.

It’s been merely one moon since you’ve been married to Prince Aemond, and you could count on the fingers of your hand the times you have seen him laugh. It was eerie at first, you feared all the things you heard about the One Eyed Prince were true. That he was cold as stone and just as hard. And he was. But the more you spent time together, the more you were able to make cracks, and let light through.

“I’m equally afraid as any little mortal of right mind would be in front of the largest dragon in the known world, my dear husband.”

His lips stay quirked up, but his eye widens, as it always does when you call him that. He steps close to you, a few of his long strides are enough for him to tower over you, and the ground below your feet shifts.

“Come.” He says, taking your hand, “I promise she won’t eat you.” This time you deliberately glare at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Do you need some other kind of persuasion to trust me? Perhaps like the one I used this morning?”

The early afternoon sun makes his face almost hurting to watch, or maybe it's just his bold gloating that makes his appearance so exhausting.

“That was not persuasion.” you remark, hiding the tinge of red on your cheeks “It was coercion.”

“Hmm. You didn’t seem so hostile when I made you come twice before breakfast.”

"I was hostile to the chance of the maid assisting with what we were doing."

"The maid should know better than to enter while my wife is undressing."

His eye roams over you just as he had done that morning, hunger clouding it, making your insides shrink. "Perhaps it's best if she knew. Someone must be aware of how cruel my husband is." there's a soft tease in your tone—something you are still learning, but true nonetheless.

He had ripped your nightgown with his bare hands when the maid entered to help you dress. She fled hastily, but you barely spared a glance at her, already lost to the fierce claim of his hand between your legs. He had taken you, twice, and then ordered you to dress, forcing you to have breakfast with the Queen and the Princess with your thighs still sticky with sex, sticky with him.

And he had been there, sitting just in front of you, with a piercing and delighted gaze.

He pulls your hand, and you follow, getting closer to that living relic that is Vhagar, Queen of All Dragons. She raises her monstrous head and looks straight at you with her amber eyes.

It is the first time you step so close to her, and even if you thought about it a lot, your heart is pounding fast, and your breath comes out slow and labored. She's a dreadful wonder.

She flares her nostrils and smells you, making a low rumble which results in a gust of hot wind that ruffles your hair and skirts.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond says quietly “Issa ñuha ābrazȳrys. Kostā pāsagon zirȳla.”

You look at him questioningly, and he answers. “I told her you are my wife. And she can trust you.”

You cast a curious look at the dragon and then back at him “Is that all it takes? You tell dragons to trust you, and they resist the urge to turn you into their meal?”

Aemond curves his lips and makes you step closer, standing behind you and guiding your hand on the old green scales. “It takes much more than that.” he whispers in your ear “You have to surrender to them, completely. A dragon is no slave.”

You feel the heat beneath your palm, but it’s not that that makes you swallow; it’s the heat of his breath on your neck, right into your ear, scorching his way into your brain and inflaming every thought.

“What does Lykirī mean?” you ask, and you hate how your voice cracks on the edges.

He smirks because he knows, he always does. But he does not answer. Instead, he pulls your hand again, and you follow, circling the beast until stopping before the intricate ropes that lead to the saddle.

“Aemond, I don’t think—”

“You are my wife and you will ride with me on dragon back.” He said, commanding.

Truthfully, you gladly want to obey; there is just a slight difference between picturing riding a dragon and doing it.

Even the climbing to get in the saddle is a challenge on its own, but he helps you until you firmly seat yourself in it. Aemond sits behind you, and you look around with widened eyes, as if you are looking down from the highest tower ever built, except this is a living one, made of fire and breathing fire.

He leans over you to grab the reins, and you tense, waiting with bathed breath.

“Dohaeras, Vhagar. Soves!”

She lets out a loud screech that makes your ears hurt, but you have no time to even register it because she's already moving. You grip Aemond’s arms and brace yourself against his chest when Vhagar lurches onward and opens her huge wings to take flight.

She goes up and up, above the clouds, and your head is dizzy, with fear, with euphoria, until you are laughing like a child, like you never did in your entire life. Aemond lets go of the reins and laces his arms around you, angling his head to look at you, his silver hair violently ruffled by the wind. “How does it feel, my sweet wife?”

There are no common words to describe it. Now you know why they say Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. No man could claim a dragon or rule the skies.

“I feel like I’m close to the Gods.” you say, and he tightens the hold on you “Dragons do not answer to Gods.” he says, burying his nose in your hair “Where does this leave us?”

You turn your head to look at him, and you feel like you are looking at one of them. And yet he looks like he’s beyond any God.

“Above them. Above the Gods.”

“Hmm.” He croons, breathing your scent through his nose, and then his right hand grabs your skirt and dips underneath, until you feel his cold fingers grazing your skin. “I will make you feel like one.”

He cups your core through your small clothes, and you whimper, gripping his arm harder. He feels your heat through his palm, hotter than Vhagar’s own fire, and he sets the fabric aside to properly touch you. “My sweet wife.” he whispers, sliding a finger between your folds “Always so ready for me.”

“Aemond.” You say, holding your breath, trying to oppose but your voice cracks, and your body with it, already answering to his call. You see clouds before your eyes, but it’s all a blur, all your senses are enslaved by his touch, rubbing lazy circles on your bud. Too slow for your liking, for your need. Your hips arch and buck, chasing his hand for more friction, and he laughs, darkly. “What is it? What do you need, sweet girl? Tell me.”

He takes your chin with his free hand and forces you to turn your head and look at him. His hold is ruthless, but his tone is almost pleading. “Tell me.” he orders and you feel like he’s smothering you, sweeping away all the air from your lungs. “I-I need more…”

“More of what?” he asks, stopping altogether. “Show me.”

You look him in the eye and swallow, heat inflaming your cheeks, but there’s no place for shame, not here. It is just a faint ghost passing through you, and then it’s gone. Your hand pulls the gown up, and you place it on his, like a feather. “Here.” You breathe on his mouth “Inside.”

The howling wind does nothing to muffle his growl, and then he’s kissing you, harshly, teeth clashing and biting your lips as he accepts your plea, sliding a finger inside of you.

A strangled moan escapes you, and he swallows it, darting his tongue in every corner of your mouth. He releases your chin only to grab your leg to further open them and then he adds a second finger, moving them deftly until reaching that special spot. Your head falls back on his shoulder, gasping loudly, digging your nails into his hand.

Your breath is ragged and fast, and you uselessly try to stifle moan after moan even if there are only the skies to hear.

“Don’t.” he says grazing your lobe with his teeth “I want to hear you. I want you to scream for me.”

Your mind goes blank, as does all your restraint. You feel the tide coming to crash you, hips moving on their own accord, chasing and chasing. And then you’re drowning in it, mouth falling open and flesh and bones clenching and trembling.

He grunts softly when your nails scratch his skin and his fingers slip out, glistening; he raises them to his lips and tastes every drop of you. Still panting, he takes your chin once more with his sticky fingers and licks your lips, so you taste yourself on his tongue.

Your head is still dizzy when Vhagar lands in a clearing in the King’s Wood, but this has nothing to do with altitude. Your limbs are heavy when he helps you dismount, your legs buckle. There is a tautness knotting your bones, itching your fingertips.

You wish to touch him, because you have never, not as a wife would touch her husband, not as he has done with you.

It is only a moon and yet he has taken you almost every night and every day. He has touched you everywhere, he has molded you to his liking, and you let him do it with giddiness, undoing yourself like clay in his hands. He had put his mouth on you, and you have discovered he particularly enjoyed it, because he has done that at the most inopportune times, even in some dark corner of the corridors.

And you wondered if you could do the same with him—not because you have to, but because you want to. You want to claim him just as he claims you, relentlessly.

And he really is. He is relentless, he doesn't give you the time to wander with your hands, to discover, to touch. Fire burns him quickly and you are ashes before you realise you are burning with him.

“I didn’t know my wife had claws.” He says at one point, while you are going back to the Keep.

You wake from your thoughts and turn, watching him raise his hand to show the red marks on the back of his hand, and the sight makes you almost proud—proud to have left a mark of you on him. But you want more, and he wants more. You know it; it takes a brief look at his breeches to know that he wants more.

You dart your eyes around, but there's no one. So, you stop. Trying to gather all the boldness you never had, you step closer to him and take his hand in yours. Your eyes look up slowly, glinting with uncertainty and bravery. "Then let me soothe your pain, husband."

Aemond’s eye widens, and the air around you turn heavy, forcing you to open your mouth to breathe. You take one more step and bring the back of his hand to your lips, kissing it gently while your eyes stay fixed on his face. The other hand goes tentatively to his chest and then slides down, and for once, just once, he’s the one answering your call. His eye darkens and his lips part when your hands bashfully grab the laces of his breeches.

But you should have known better. Targaryens and their desires. Doomed to take whatever they want, whenever they want, answering neither Gods nor men.

You barely blink and he grabs you by the wrists and forces you to the ground. Cold grass and bushes stinging your back make you gasp, but Aemond is already on you, watching you like a century-long thirsted man who takes a glimpse of a water spring, as if you could evaporate from his sight at any moment.

“Aemond, please.” you beg “let me—“

But his tongue is in your mouth, hot and scorching you alive. Your eyes flutter shut, and he hikes your skirts up, taking hold of your hips. You feel his bulge against you, hard and ready, and you can do nothing else than wait, pinned down like prey, all bravery a distant memory.

Suddenly he lowers himself down, lifting your skirts with haste until you’re completely bare half down. “No—Aemond, please I want to—”

“You want what?” he asks with a wolfish grin “Deny me your sweet taste? Iksā ñuhon, ābrazȳrys.” He said that already, you know what it means. You are mine.

“You belong to me. And this…” he swears placing your legs on his shoulders while looking at your aching core as a man who found the greatest treasure in the world. “This belongs to me as well.”

He runs his tongue up and down your wet folds, humming with delight as he tastes you and sees you squirm, arching your back on the stingy bushes. You moan loudly when he slowly swirls his tongue, not able to keep track of your hips starting to move on their own, thrusting into his mouth and the sight of you like this, makes him even wilder, pushing him to open his mouth and put it entirely on your cunt, sucking harshly until anything before your eyes becomes blurred.

Your legs on his shoulders begin to shake and curl, caging him further against you, but just when you are about to come straight into his mouth, he pulls back. A weak sob leaves your mouth as your hips keep bucking against nothing and he smirks at that, untangling your legs from his shoulders, running his tongue over his lips, to taste what's left of you on him. You look at him through dazed eyes and a tinge of annoyance for the denied release. “What?” he has the boldness to ask with a sly smirk “Did you not enjoy it?” he runs his thumb on his glistening chin and swiftly licks it. "Hmm. I most certainly did."

“Aemond, please.” you claw desperately at his shoulders and forearms, forcing him to lie on you, feel something that could soothe the aching between your legs. He seems keen to grant you this mercy, molding his crotch against you so you can feel how hard and desperate he is.

“Please.” you beg in a thin voice.

“Speak it plainly, my love. I want to hear it from your pretty mouth.”

You look at him straight in the eye and what you say next is not a request nor a plea. Your mother would be ashamed of you, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You are not begging. You are demanding. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t need more than a few moments to get his cock out of his breeches, and not a moment later he’s pushing inside of you, your back arching on the bushes and your throat fighting for breath. He groans and starts a relentless pace, lifting his weight from you just enough for him to look at his cock going in and out, the sight only pushing him to thrust harder and harder. “Look at you.” he croons, sweet and rough “You were born to take me, to be mine.”

Your face twists with pleasure, teeth biting your lower lip while he takes you higher and higher, higher than any sky a dragon could ever take you.

He soon becomes messy and sloppy, cursing under his breath, but you can barely hear him. Your mind is sluggish and everything comes muffled: him, the birds chirping on some tree, your wet flesh slapping against his in the lewdest and most blessed way.

He curses some more, and then he’s spilling inside you, his arched mouth opening and his eye closing like a man absolved.

And yet, he does not stop. He has not claimed enough.

“Māzis, dōna ābrazȳrys. Come for me.”

Your hand clutches something on the ground, something with thorns that pierces your skin with pain, but you can’t even feel that, because you are falling, legs trembling around him, and heart stopping for an endless moment of pure breathtaking bliss.

“Gevie.” he coos with his lips on yours, falling with his body on you, still clenching and pulsing around him. He stays right where he is, nesting inside of you, and now it is the only chance you have been granted to touch him. You put an arm around his shoulders, catching your breath, and look at the skies above, thinking you are indeed above them.

It was easy to explain the dirt and grass stains on your dress. It was a little less easy to explain the twigs in your ruffled hair when you and Aemond returned to the Keep only to meet the Queen Mother along one of the corridors. Alicent merely smiled at you with a tight smile and did not spare from giving a look full of daggers to her son.

"Seven Hells" you mutter when you go back to your rooms and catch a glimpse of the mess you are in the mirror.

Aemond stays on the threshold to close the door and grins, or rather, gloats.

You step out of your muddy shoes and start to pull the laces of your dress.

"What are you doing?" he asks, and you playfully glare at him. "Am I allowed to take a bath now? Or do you want me to go around all sullied? I fear there are no believable excuses for the state I’m in."

"You can tell them the truth." he says, walking to you and replacing your hands with his to help you pull the intricate laces.

You smile softly with your back turned before raising an eyebrow, asking "Which is?"

He keeps his eye focused on the dress, a slight furrow in his brow, and stoically serious, he says "That your husband fucked you in the King's Wood."

"I could tell the maid. I'm sure she won't be stunned after what she saw this morning."

He makes you turn so you can look at him, and the sight before you makes your heart sing. His eye roams on your face softly, a rare sight on him, always stoic, always sharp, like all the angles composing this beautiful sculpture of black glass.

You always thought of marriage as a strategic deal for men, and a way for women to prove their value to the world, giving those same men sons and daughters. But you care for him. And he cares for you. That look on his face is enough for you to know that he cares for you, not merely as a brood mare.

“Gevie.” he says, quietly, and he touches your cheek, softly, making you wonder how those same hands can be so delicate and yet so merciless at the same time.

“What does it mean?” you ask, even if you are sure he will not answer. You observed that when he speaks in High Valyrian he does it almost to himself, as if to protect something he does not wish the others to know.

But this time, he meets your eyes and lowers his hand. “Beautiful.”

You look at him with your heart pounding in your throat, and then you stand up on your toes, crashing your mouth against his, almost catching him by surprise. But he is all too deft at turning the game on his side, and a few seconds later, his hands are gripping your hips and his tongue is licking the roof of your mouth.

When the door suddenly opens, you pull back, spotting the same maid from that morning who, this time, can do nothing but suffer the Prince's wrath.

"Can't you just fuck off for once?!"

You hold back a laugh against his chest and the poor maid flees in a hurry. But when he pulls you to him, tilting his head to pick up where he left off, you step back and say, "I'm afraid the Queen has requested your presence. You should go, my dear husband. I promise that by tonight I will be completely clean."

"Tonight?" he asks, raising his eyebrow. "What is happening tonight?"

You shrug your shoulders and hold back a smile. "Innocence doesn't suit you, my Prince."

"Neither does you."

"I'm afraid this is your fault. You are sullying my soul as well as...everything else."

"You won't be of the same mind when you have my child growing in your womb," and he smirks, looking at you as if he's taking a sacred oath, and then walks away.

You finally manage to take a bath and change clothes, and then you go to visit your aunt. She spends most of her time alone, sipping tea in the gardens, partly because she can't stand the other court ladies, partly because the court ladies can't stand her. Truthfully, you cannot blame them, your aunt speaks plainly—too plainly at times.

You sit down with her for tea, which you end up swallowing like salt, because your aunt takes it with a whole squeezed lemon, and no sugar.

"I saw you with your husband earlier. I may be too old for new fashion but mud on your skirt and twigs in your hair seem a bit too brazen, even for me."

You stifle a smile, recalling what happened. If only she knew he was brazen enough to have you utterly undone on dragon back, thousands of feet up.

Your eyes go distant while you fumble with some tablecloth threads, but your Aunt stares at you piercely, and grabbing her cup of tea she says "I love that look on you."

"What?"

She sips the sour liquid and puts the cup down. "That look. The I'm in love look."

"I am not!" you counter, cheeks going red.

"Of course you are. I've watched you two. I dare say he's falling way faster than you."

You look at her puzzled. Many things have changed in a moon. And you are sure you are utterly infatuated with him. But you did not know what to think of what he actually feels for you, if he even feels something. You know he cares for you, you know he loves spending time with you. You know he's passionate, possessive, almost soft at rare times. But in love? That seems too soon to consider, or to hope for.

"It is too soon to talk about love."

"In fact, I did not, my sweet niece. Falling in love and love are beasts of different species. Why do you think we say "falling"? You can't stop from falling. To love a person is an entirely different matter. Love is a choice."

You let those words sink but you prefer not to question your heart right now. There is a reason you have come here to talk to your aunt, even if you don't know how to address the matter without melting from embarrassment.

But in the end, who could you ask for advice? Your squeamish maids? The Queen Mother? Definitely not.

"Listen, I...I wanted to ask you something..." you start "It is uhm...a matter of somewhat intimate nature."

"Ah, my favourites." your aunt says, beaming "I am all ears."

You shift uncomfortably in your chair and swallow another sip of that dreadful tea "My mother...she explained to me what would happen between husband and wife to...consummate the marriage. But she didn't tell me...well, everything else."

Your Aunt is quick to raise her eyebrow "I gathered that your marriage had been consummated by now. Thoroughly."

"Y-yes, of course. But I...discovered...that there are other ways for a husband to please his wife...and I was wondering if...if I could…do those same things to please him."

Your aunt looks utterly puzzled for a long moment, and then, almost stunned, she says "Oh Seven Hells, child. You are telling me you never sucked your husband off?"

A few court ladies walking near turned their heads, going white as sheets, while you, on the contrary, take a nice purple shade.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, prissies. We all did it eventually." she dismisses them, waving a lazy hand, and looks back at you. "You should do it, if you wish. Men love it. Your uncle used to ask—"

"I don't want to hear that, auntie, I'm begging you." you say squinting your eyes.

"Listen to me, child. Men love to think they rule everything, everywhere. But it is not always like that. And if you want to rule your husband's heart, you must rule in his bed first."

That evening, Aemond wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room with his wife and forget all the hateful political talk he had had to endure at dinner.

You had not attended, and that had bothered him. Never would he have thought of marriage as anything more than a duty, yet there he was, wondering where you were, who you were with, and why you weren't in his rooms when he set foot in there.

"Where is my wife?" he asks the maid, and she keeps her eyes glued to the floor, saying "The princess spent the evening in the library, your Grace. She told me that she would be—"

"I am here," you say, appearing behind the young maid.

You see his chest sag as if a weight is leaving him, and he casts an icy glance at the poor maid "Out."

He is rarely kind to servants, but you can tell by his tense shoulders that something is wrong.

"Aemond, what is the matter?" you ask as soon as the door closes, walking up to him with a hand behind your back.

"Where were you? Why weren't you at dinner?"

"I was in the library."

"For four hours?"

"It was a tough read—"

He grabs your arm, gripping hour wrist harshly, and you flinch. "Aemond, I swear to you.” you say watching his eye on fire and a sneer twisting his mouth “You can ask Maester Mellos."

Suddenly he lets you go, and looks down, closing his eye for a moment. But he doesn't apologize, he never does, and not because he is a Prince. It's just the way he is. He doesn't apologize, he doesn't say thank you, he doesn't say please.

"Aemond, what's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it now. In fact, never. Not here."

You watch him carefully, and you nod as he moves to pour wine into a cup. You watch him gobble it up greedily, which is unlike him. So, you get close and move your hand from behind your back and say, "Anyway, I wasn't lying. I really spent four hours in the library...trying to decipher this."

You show him an old book, and the title catches his eye, cup held in midair. "Tales of the Dragonlords?" he asks frowning. "This is in High Valyrian."

"It is." you confirm as you move closer, and you steal his cup before saying, "Would you read it to me?" and you take a sip, of wine and courage.

He watches the liquid flow down your throat and then accepts the invitation, taking the book—the one he has read so many times he can recite it by heart. He opens it to the first page, but you say "No. Page 72."

There is a slight imperative tone in your tone of voice, and it thrills him, given how his eye glints under the candlelight. He drops it on the table, looking at you from head to toe, and says, "I'll read it to you later, sweet wife."

He steps closer but you back away saying, "Fine, then. I'll tell you what I understood so you can correct me or not." and at the same moment your own hands go up on your corset and you start pulling on the laces.

The gesture catches his eye like a moth to a flame and he stays silent as you pull all the laces and then slip off your dress, remaining in your underskirt. His gaze roams over you slowly, and with a soft smirk, he decides to play the game.

“Page 72, you said. How Dragonlords claimed Dragons.”

“Yes.”

"And why did it capture your interest? Do you wish to do it? Do you wish to claim a dragon?"

"I wish to conquer, not claim."

He comes closer and looks at you, breathing through his nose, restraining, always restraining, and then he's raising his hand to reach a lock of your hair falling on your shoulder, but you stop him, air as heavy as moss.

"The Valyrian sages say a dragonlord must surrender himself completely to the dragon. But it works both ways. The dragon must submit his will to their rider."

He looks at you without blinking, and you take his arms, guiding him closer until you turn and push him lightly on the bed. He sits and you slowly climb on his lap, knees caging his hips, heart is pounding in your throat like a hammer. You hear him taking a swift breath and pride pools in your bones because for once you have caught him off guard.

You can feel his crotch hardening by the moment, but the look on his face is not one of hunger or lust. It is pure and blessed devotion.

You wonder at the view, and your eyes roam on his face until...

"Can I take it off?"

There's no need to say what. His face goes hard as stone, eye looking away with discomfort, with shame.

"Please, Aemond." you whisper. "I want to see all of you. I want you to bare yourself to me as I did to you."

"It is not pleasant."

"I don't want pleasantness. I want you."

He stares at you for an eternal moment and then he caves.

A flash of sparkling blue catches you completely and you can do nothing but watch with lips parted, while he keeps his eye down.

You wrap an arm around his shoulders and lean your head against his to breathe one single word in his ear. "Gevie."

His arms are all around you, holding you so tight you might gasp for air. Instead you are smiling, breathing through his long silver hair. You are not sure if you aunt is right, if love is indeed a choice. You can't bring yourself to care because you are doing it already.

And then he's kissing you, seizing your tongue with his in a fierce consuming way. He slightly hikes up your hips, and his hand tries to slide between your legs, but you lace your fingers around his wrist, breaking the kiss with panted breath.

"No." you whisper, and he looks at you almost questioningly, mouth open and chest heaving.

"Lykirī."

His eye widens and you smile, secretly. "I know what it means now."

He smirks at this and does not miss the chance to be the ever diligent scholar. "But you said it wrong. The R is hard."

“Lykirī.” You say again, following his lesson, and in the same moment your hand leaves his wrist and goes down to his breeches. He dips his chin to look at it, at your hands unsure, and he too looks unsure.

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to.” You say, and your voice comes out firm and clear. “Please, Aemond. Let me…let me touch you.”

He realizes now that in all the times you have been lying together, you never managed to lay a hand on him. He likes to keep people at distance. Too many wrong hands have been on him. The Maesters’, inspecting, debating, healing without healing. That whore, taking what it was not hers to take, not yet.

But he wants you to touch him. He has dreamed of it, in any way a man could dream of a woman’s touch.

He looks at you for a moment, chest rising slowly, and then, without taking his eye off you, he pulls the laces of his breeches and guides your hand around his cock. You look down, exhaling a long breath at feeling his hard and hot flesh already pulsing.

He knows you don’t know how to do it, so his hands guide you at first, going slowly up and down, and the air comes out of his mouth slowly and labored. You look up at him, his eye is pitch black, lid growing heavy with pleasure, and your core clenches, desire pools in your belly and flows down.

He must hear the call of your body, because he releases your hand, still stroking him, and goes right between your legs. You gasp loudly, and he hums, delight dripping from his voice just as you are dripping on his fingers. He starts to pump his fingers and you can do nothing but moan, clutching his shoulders with your free hand, the other still around his cock, but the act is growing lazy, your mind can’t focus properly on what you are supposed to do.

“Listen.” he orders you, fingers moving faster and faster, and you do listen. Your soaked flesh coming undone at his scorching touch. “Who else has you like this?”

But this is a question he’s asking himself. Because no one else will ever have him bare like this.

“You. Just you.” you say hoarsely, eyes closing and hips rocking on their own accord.

“And who am I?” he whispers just as hoarsely, and yet his voice is like a whip on all your senses.

“My husband.” you cry, feeling the wave ready to drown you “Ñuha zaldrīzes.” My dragon.

You cannot care less about how you said it, because then your mouth falls open, nails digging into his shoulder while your trembling hips keep riding his fingers, clenching them like a vice.

Your head falls onward, leaning against his forehead, and you try to catch your breath. You watch his wet fingers go straight into his mouth while he looks at you, humming with pleasure. “You look so pretty like this.” he says with the ghost of a smile on his lips “I should fuck you in Throne Room with the whole court watching, so they know how pretty you are when you come for me.”

You laugh with your cheeks flushing, and he slides an arm around you, and you know he wants to pin you down on the bed and fuck you until you are muffling nonsense in the pillow. But this is not his game. This is yours, and even if you don’t know how to play, you will win.

“No.” you say, climbing down from his lap, and he looks at you with hunger and a tinge of thrilling curiosity. “It is my turn to claim.” You say with all the bravery you possess.

Not a moment later, you are going down on your knees.

Another small victory, because his eye widens as he had never done before, and you can see that this, the sight of you on your knees before him, is something he has been craving for, even dreamed of it.

His breathing is slow, and you are not even touching him.

You place yourself between his knees and you lean closer and closer, anxiety twisting your insides, but you want to do this. “Lykirī, nuha zaldrīzes. Surrender.” you take him into your hand, tugging slowly, and your lips linger on the tip, heart pounding in your ears and eyes fixed on him. “Lykirī.” You say one last time and then you are swallowing him.

He hisses loudly and his lips part, hands clutching the covers until his knuckles go white. He’s like burning metal inside your mouth—hot and hard. At first, you just taste him, running your tongue over the head, and he’s cursing under his breath. His hands twitch on the covers, restraining and restraining, but there’s no need. You take his hand while looking at him and you release it from your mouth to say “Teach me.”

It’s like you have just poured fire on more fire. His eye goes wild, he takes hold of your head and starts to guide you again, making your mouth engulf him once more and deep down to the base and then up to the tip again, filling the room with a wet gagging sound. You get the gist of what you’re supposed to do, so your head starts going up and down and up and down, and he actually moans for you, head falling back for just a moment before looking back, he can’t help but watch as you fiercely claim him.

You watch his chest heaving fast and your jaw is starting to hurt but you don't care, you are too absorbed by the view before you. You are too thrilled by the fact that, for once, you have made him speechless.

He's always so bold in the bedroom, so cruel in deciding when and how to give pleasure, and now he's utterly speechless. He can only curse without breath, and gasp and groan.

“Kelītīs.” he manages to say at one point, voice all husky and cracking. You don’t know that word, and you have no time to ask because in a blink, he’s slamming you onto the bed and he’s hiking up your skirt, but you get on your elbows pushing him on his back and climbing on him.

“I’m not done, valzȳrys.” you say feeling his hard length inflaming your core, so you lay your hips on it as firmly as possible. “I claimed, but I did not conquer.”

“You are fucking torturing me.” he points out, bucking against you.

“Conquests could last for centuries, dear husband. You above all should know that.”

“All I know now is that I need to fuck you.” he says placing both hands on the sheets to pull himself up.

“No, I will.” you promise, rocking your hips once more “This is my conquest, not yours.”

You keep rubbing your drenched core on his length until a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, and he's so hard he's leaking from the tip. "You are twisted, wife." he says with a dazed tone and you smile even if you can't take it anymore, but you rock some more, saying "I'm a quick study. And I'm learning from the best."

Finally, when you are so wet you are dripping on him, you raise just enough to slide his cock inside of you.

You gasp together and you brace on his shoulders to start moving. You both know you are not going to last long, so you start rocking your hips slowly, taking him to the hilt until you struggle for air.

“Move…” he orders but you just take the opposite road, slowing your hips in a delicious torturing way. “Do you know what else the Sages said? A rider must know their mount, feel their heat below them.”

But Aemond does not have a single drop of blood in his head right now to give you an answer, let alone play your game; he's just fire that burns and burns and burns and just like the Sages said, you can feel his heat, burning below and inside you. He grips your hips and starts to thrust inside you like the wild beast you are supposedly claiming, until you are moaning so loud your throat hurts.

“Yes—” he growls as you bounce on him “Just like that—you’re gripping me so well—fuck"

You both turn sloppy, a mess of sweaty limbs and teeth biting, clutching at each other with bruising grips, pulling at the roots of his hair when you’re about to fall from the highest sky.

"Come on, my sweet girl. Let go for me." he breathes into your mouth, forcing you to move even faster "Let go fro your dragon. Seal your conquest." And you do.

He follows right after, spilling inside while digging his teeth into your neck like fangs on a prey, muffling his loud groaning.

And you are smiling like a fool, a lovestruck fool, but most of all, a conqueror.

Thank you so much for reading!! 💞💞

#likiri #liv(in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond x wife reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x wife reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond fic #aemond smut #hotd fic

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tarditardi · 4 years

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Le star della Praja di Gallipoli (LE): tra luglio e agosto ecco Ludwig, Andrea Damante, Jimmy Sax, Ana Mena, Vida Loca, Gabry Ponte, Dj Antoine, Gianluca Vacchi

15/7, 10/8 Ludwig @ Praja - Gallipoli (LE) by Musicaeparole

Romano, classe 1992, è uno dei protagonisti della scena trap italiana. Ha iniziato a far musica a soli 15 anni. Si è esibito nella festa di fine anno 2019 del liceo romano Giulio Cesare, la scuola frequentata e cantata da Antonello Venditti. I testi delle sue canzoni sono spesso ironici. Grande comunicatore sui social, dove racconta e mostra tutta la sua vita, è ormai una star musicale di prima grandezza. Tra i suoi più grandi successi, "Domani ci passa", uscita nel maggio 2019

16/7, 27/7, 10/8 Andrea Damante @ Praja - Gallipoli (LE) by Musicaeparole

Andrea Damante, dj e personaggio ormai celeberrimo. Nato a Gela il 9/3/1990, è cresciuto a Verona, Damante vive da solo dall'età di 19 anni, si definisce pignolo, preciso e testardo e tende a voler avere sempre tutto sotto controllo. Non è più solo un personaggio mediatico. Oggi infatti fa ballare i migliori locali d'Italia. Con oltre 2 milioni di follower su Instagram, i suoi dischi vengono pubblicati da label di riferimento come l'americana Ultra.

18/7 Jimmy Sax @ Praja - Gallipoli (LE) by Musicaeparole

Il vero nome di questo artista del sassofono è Jim Rolland. Oltre che un grande strumentista, è anche un grande intrattenitore, capace di mettere insieme i generi musicali: improvvisa come pochi a ritmo di house, deep, electro e non solo. La sua versione di "No Man No Cry", il capolavoro di Bob Marley, su YouTube ha totalizzato qualcosa come 70 milioni di visualizzazioni. Si è esibito live con tante star tra cui Earth Wind and Fire, David Guetta, Quincy Jones, Cerrone, Bob Sinclar (...)

19/7 Ana Mena @ Praja - Gallipoli (LE) by Musicaeparole

Classe 1997, è una vera icona musicale in ambito reggaeton & dintorni. Deve in Spagna la sua notorietà alla partecipazione come attrice nella serie Marisol, la película. Con Fred De Palma, nelle due ultime estati, ha messo a segno due importanti hit come "D'estate non vale" e "Una volta ancora".

20/7 Vida Loca @ Praja - Gallipoli (LE) by Musicaeparole

Finalmente Vida Loca, musical pop da ballare e da guardare, torna a far emozionare chi ha voglia di far tardi godendosi un mix vincente di pop, urban, & house, coreografie interpretate da ballerini professionisti, video proiezioni, effetti speciali che sanno stupire... Ma cos'è Vida Loca? E' prima di tutto una crew di artisti (dj, artisti, ballerini) che sanno lavorare insieme con l'unico scopo di creare show ed entertainment di livello assoluto. A dare maggiore risalto agli artisti e al loro talento c'è una squadra di tecnici di valore assoluto e tecnologie che di notte di solito non vengono utilizzate: il risultato è che chi balla o beve qualcosa con gli amici, in certo momento, non può che alzare gli occhi e lasciarsi coinvolgere… Vida Loca, più che una semplice festa da discoteca di successo, un format o uno show notturno, è uno spettacolo che segue un "canovaccio" sempre simile e mai uguale... Perché ogni interprete si prende un margine di libertà e improvvisazione, ogni notte.

23/7 Gabry Ponte @ Praja - Gallipoli (LE) by Musicaeparole

Gabry Ponte è uno dei pochi veri top dj italiani. Attivo da tempo, è riuscito a diffondere la dance music nel mondo, con composizioni melodiche dal suono scatenato. Con i suoi Eiffel 65 ha messo a segno tanti successi assoluti, tra cui "Blue". Il risultato sono ben 15 milioni di dischi venduti in tutto il mondo. Tra i suoi dischi di maggior successo ci sono "Time To Rock", "Geordie", "La danza delle Streghe" e tanti altri. Sul palco ha un sound irresistibile che mette insieme brani italiani, internazionali ed un sound irresistibile. La sua label, Dance and Love, è tra le più attive in Italia e non solo in ambito dance.

25/7, 3/8, 22/8 Dj Antoine @ Praja - Gallipoli (LE) by Musicaeparole

Il top dj producer svizzero Dj Antoine, una superstar della scena dei fashion club europei e non solo. Dj Antoine infatti è una vera star. In carriera ha venduto oltre un milione e mezzo di album e ricevuto quaranta dischi d'oro e decine di dischi di platino e multiplatino. E' molto legato all'Italia, parla un buon italiano e non per caso ha remixato pure "Laura non c'è" di Nek. Grande performer e non solo dj e produttore, DJ Antoine negli ultimi anni ha proposto veri e propri inni che hanno conquistato i giovani di mezza Europa. I suoi dj set sono performance sorprendenti, in cui salta continuamente e coinvolge il pubblico in uno show che non dà respiro e mette sempre e comunque il sorriso. Da "Welcome To St. Tropez" a "Ma Cherie", da "House Party" a "Bella Vita" e Sky Is The Limi, il suo sound colorato e divertente è perfetto per chiunque abbia voglia di muoversi a tempo.

26/7, 26/8 Merk & Kremont @ Praja - Gallipoli (LE) by Musicaeparole

Italianissimi, negli ultimi anni i ragazzi hanno ottenuto enormi successi e riconoscimenti come DJ e produttori, partendo dal mondo della dance internazionale grazie al supporto di mostri sacri come Avicii, Steve Angello, Hardwell, Nicky Romero, Bob Sinclar, Zedd e il loro leggendario connazionale Benny Benassi, che li segue dal loro esordio. Da più di 5 anni , Fede e Joe (i due Merk & Kremont) portano in giro per il mondo il loro fiammeggiante DJ set, potendo vantare di aver suonato su alcune delle console più prestigiose del mondo - come Pacha (Ibiza) e l'Ultra Music Festival e Liv di Miami – nonostante la loro giovane età.

28/7 Gué Pequeno @ Praja - Gallipoli (LE) by Musicaeparole

Gué Pequeno, pseudonimo di Cosimo Fini, classe 1980, ha esordito nel 2000 con il collettivo Sacre Scuole per poi affermarsi con i Club Dogo. Il suo precedente album "Sinatra" è uscito due anni fa e ha ottenuto molti riconoscimenti tra cui disco di Platino per l'album. Tra i singoli in esso contenuti "Trap Phone", "Modalità aereo", "Borsello" e "2%", più un disco d'Oro per il pezzo "Bling Bling". A pochi giorni dall'uscita, sulla pagina Spotify di Gué Pequeno tutta la top ten dei brani più ascoltati appartiene al nuovo disco "Mr Fini". Il brano più ascoltato è "Immortale (feat. Sfera Ebbasta)" e supera abbondantemente i 3 milioni di ascolti.

1/8 Gianluca Vacchi @ Praja - Gallipoli (LE) by Musicaeparole

In console durante l'estate 2020 alla Praja di Gallipoli (LE) arriva pure lui, Gianluca Vacchi, Mr. Enjoy". Personaggio internazionale e ormai dj di successo, ha pure scritto una autobiografia in cui racconta delle sue origini ma anche di seduzione e tatuaggi, lifestyle e attività fisica, eleganza e ironia... non manca neppure qualche episodio di follia che hanno contribuito a farlo diventare un fenomeno mondiale.Tra le sue passioni, oltre allo sport, la musica, il ballo e i dj set nei locali più esclusivi, come è ovviamente la Praja...

MEDIA INFO MUSICAEPAROLE: http://lorenzotiezzi.it/musicaeparole-club-eventi-festival-puglia-basilicata-tour/

Tutti i party della Praja di Gallipoli (LE), uno delle decine di locali gestiti da Musicaeparole, una realtà che da circa vent'anni fa ballare e divertire il Sud Italia e non solo, sono invece disponibili a questo link: https://bit.ly/prajagallipoli2020

Tutti i party della Praja - Gallipoli (LE) by Musicaeparole https://bit.ly/prajagallipoli2020 https://www.instagram.com/prajagallipoli/

Praja - Gallipoli (LE) Lungomare Lido San Giovanni info 348 629 7999 https://www.facebook.com/prajagallipoli/

special adv by ltc - lorenzo tiezzi comunicazione

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 18 days

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💐🌷spread the love to the people you’re glad you’ve found in this corner of the internet 💐💕💕

Ty Liv 🥰🥰♥️ ily2

#lovely moots 💕#ask liz #liv(in la vida loca)

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youraverageaemondsimp · 5 months

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💌 Send this to the twelve nicest people you know or who seem to have a good heart and if you get five back you must be pretty awesome. 💌

love you Mae 🫶

LOVE YOU TOO LIV 💓💓💞💞

#liv my luv 💞#liv(in la vida loca)#moots 💞#asks

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derrytownrpg-blog · 5 years

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Audición para Hudson Boyd (Tyler Young)

¡Hola, Hudson! Luego del ajetreado papeleo, finalmente nos complace darte una muy cálida bienvenida a Derry, un lugar donde vemos por el bienestar de cada uno de nuestros residentes y nos esforzamos por brindarles también la mayor seguridad posible, aunque con frecuencia resulte complicado. Un lugar donde la paz que puede apreciarse a simple vista se trata solamente de una pantalla que los mismos pueblerinos se han encargado de mantener, en un intento por aminorar el creciente temor que ha comenzado a esparcirse como hiedra venenosa entre las calles, pues el pasado que sin mucho problema decidieron olvidar ha vuelto para acecharlos nuevamente. ¡No olvides el toque de queda! Tal vez, si procuras regresar a casa sano y salvo antes del anochecer, tu nombre no acabe en la sección de personas desaparecidas del periódico local.

¡LIV! A partir de este momento, cuentas con 24 HORAS como lapso límite para enviar la cuenta de tu personaje. De llegar a necesitar más tiempo, no dudes en pedírselo a la administración. Reiteramos una vez más lo agradecidas que estamos por el interés que le has dado al proyecto y esperamos que te diviertas durante tu estadía con nosotras.

información ooc

NOMBRE O SEUDÓNIMO: Liv.

EDAD: 21 años.

PAÍS/ZONA HORARIA: México, GMT-5.

NIVEL DE ACTIVIDAD: 7/10.

¿TOLERAS CONTENIDO 18+?: Sí.

¿ALGÚN TRIGGER?: Incesto, pedofilia.

CONTRASEÑA: removida

información ic

NOMBRE COMPLETO: Hudson “Sonny” Boyd.

EDAD: 19 años.

FECHA DE NACIMIENTO: 29 de Agosto 2000.

OCUPACIÓN: Estudiante.

FACECLAIM: Tyler Young.

PERSONALIDAD:

(+) positivos: inteligente, astuto, leal, divertido. (-) negativos: narcisista, temeroso, desconfiado, exagerado.

DE TRES A CINCO PUNTOS RELEVANTES ACERCA DE SU VIDA:

triggers: muerte, ansiedad.

I. Hudson nació en Sharbot, Maine. Nació un día de Agosto, un mes un poco más lluvioso que el resto. Según le dijeron, fue un niño que dio batalla a la hora de dejar el vientre. Dieciséis horas de labor de parto sólo para que terminara siendo cesárea. Parecía que se resistía, que no quería; era como si de algún modo, dentro del preconsciente, supiera, de manera clara e inexplicable, que el mundo era un lugar muy peligroso y que estaba abandonando su único refugio, el último lugar donde se sentiría seguro; así que, si querían que lo abandonara, tendrían que arrancarlo de ahí. De la mujer que le dio la vida sólo quedan viejas fotografías guardadas recelosamente en el último cajón de la oficina de su padre. De ella no recuerda casi nada, ni siquiera su aroma o el color de sus ojos. Murió cuando él tenía un año. De cáncer. Un tumor cerebral. Estuvo ingresada un año y medio y sufrió tanto que enloqueció y tenía que estar todo el día drogada. A pesar de ello, no se moría. Al final, murió. Para ella, la muerte fue una especie de eutanasia. Una muerte terrible. La memoria es algo extraño; Sonny es incapaz de recordar bien sus ojos o la calidez de sus manos, pero recuerda lo mucho que sufrió y lo terrible que es estar enfermo; su tía y su padre lo recuerdan todos los días. II. Con la enfermedad de mamá, en casa se quedaron sin dinero. Hubert Boyd no tenía bolsillos sin fondo. Hubert era enfermizo; siempre una gripe, siempre una fiebre o un dolor de huesos. Nadie parecía creer que Hubert tuviera algo más que enfermedades imaginarias; en especial su jefe, quién después de la doceaba ausencia del mes, tuvo que dejarle ir. Así fue como llegaron a Derry. En Derry vivía su tía Betty, la hermana menor de Hubert. Betty tenía un carácter autoritario, mucho más que el de su hermano, lo mangoneaba y lo mandaba a su antojo, siempre con un aire de superioridad inquebrantable. Betty cuidaba de Hubert, pero sobre todo, cuidaba de Sonny. Quizá demasiado. Era aprensiva, sobreprotectora, y le infundía un miedo terrible sobre el mundo, sus peligros y sus enfermedades. Pero le quería, claro que le quería. Decía que nadie podría cuidarlo igual que ella. III. Cuando tenía seis, estaba un poco cansado de repetir tantas veces el Sidur y no salir a jugar con los otros niños. Cansaba que fuese la tía Betty su profesora, quien le enseñaba los quebrados, los sustantivos, y la peligrosa fragilidad de la vida humana. Pero es que no podía salir de casa ni para ir a la escuela, era débil, era pequeño, y pescaba muy rápido los resfriados, debía tener cuidado. La cortina detrás de la que se escondía, no dejaba entrar al sol, así que para los niños del vecindario Sonny era algo así como un misterio, una leyenda, y los rumores corrían sobre él. Había de todo. Algunos decían que estaba enfermo, muy enfermo, y que era contagioso y peligroso, otros decían que estaba loco; y los más descabellados, decían que ni existía, que era un fantasma, una ilusión, un invento de la loca mujer y su hermano que vivían ahí. Sonny quería comer helado los veranos y hacer angelitos en la nieve en el invierno. Quería rasparse las rodillas — aunque, no mucho… Mejor, ensuciarse los pantaloncillos. Un día se hartó y aprovechó el descuido de la tía Betty para ir rumbo al escuela. Y así lo hizo el día siguiente, y el que siguió de ese, y la semana entrante… Y por fin, se sintió un poco normal. IV. Sonny creció y siguió siendo la misma libélula que fue cuando niño. Delgado, no muy alto, y con unos ojos enormes. Se ganó algunas burlas en la escuela, idas al retrete y encerradas en el casillero, pero nada le rompía el espíritu ni la lengua suelta que tenía. La tía Betty jamás se casó, y papá tampoco volvió a hacerlo. Algunos dicen que ahora mata sus instintos con prostitutas; ni Betty ni Sonny quieren saber nada al respecto. Se graduó de la Academia St. James éste verano, aplicó para un par de universidades, pero los resultados jamás llegaron al correo, y está bien, quizá el mundo exterior sea aún más cruel que Derry. Mata su tiempo libre viendo películas viejas en el garage o tomando fotografías. El mundo es menos peligroso a través de un lente.

#audición aceptada #audición: tyler young #user: liv

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gilded-warrior · 6 years

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Tag Game yeeeeee

Alright so I was tagged by @everyday-imfangirling and @operaofthephantom to participate in the tag game. Thank you to both of you, y'all are the sweetest humans out there and I love you 💗💗

Name: Olivia, actually, but I do go by Liv or Livy.

Height: About 5'4", a little shorter than it maybe.

Star Sign: Taurus.

Middle Name: Lois. Its after my great grandma I believe.

Put you music on shuffle, the first four songs that come up are:

Livin' la Vida Loca by Ricky Martin

Sweet Dreams ( are made of these) by the Eurythmics

Wild Horses by Bishop Briggs

I Choose You by Timeflies

Grab the book next to you and turn to page 23, what is line 17:

What?

( This was a very short and boring line rip)

Ever had a song or poem written about you:

Nope, I'm quite boring and shy so it would be a quite boring poem 😂

When was the last time you played air guitar:

Embarassingly enough it was just earlier this afternoon. I was listening to Jessie's Girl and I was jamming hardcore 😶

Who is your celebrity crush:

Oh gosh, its hard to pick just one but if I had to pick just one I would say Dave Franco.

A sound I hate and a sound I love:

I hate the sound of people chewing gum. It irritates me so quickly. Overall, it just makes me quite upset. A sound I love would be the sound of storms. Its so comforting to me and just makes me feel so peaceful and content.

Do you believe in ghosts:

No I don't. Its kind of funny because I have had paranormal experiences but I still don't believe in them.

How about aliens:

I'm indifferent on it. I know they probably exist. The universe is too vast for there to not be another form of life somewhere. But I'm not a firm adment believer in it.

Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed:

Yes I do. I've been driving for four years now. Thankfully, I have not been in a car crash. I have anxiety which is triggered when I drive my car. Because of that, I've always driven very carefully so something like that doesnt happen

The last book you read:

Paper Princess by Erin Watts. I read it about two days. It was addicting, smutty and overall the perfect summer read. I would totally recommend it.

Do you like the smell of gasoline:

Yeah I do. I have no idea why but I really dont mind it at all

What was the last movie you saw:

The Hangover. I honestly love that movie, its fucking hilarious.

Do you have any obsessions right now:

Of course. Poto is one for sure, love the movie and the Broadway show. Another would be Panic! At the Disco in regards to music. I love love love their music and Brendon Urie 😊. Sebastian Stan and Halsey would be celebrities I'm loving right now. I'm also really loving sour patch kids 🙏🙏🙏

Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong:

I really try not to but I do. It has a lot to do with trust and stems a bit from being bullied when I was younger. When I get into a friendship or anything, I put everything into it. I would do anything for that person and trust them completely, which is my greatest hamartia. So when someone wrongs me and completely betrays that all, I feel completely hurt and betrayed. So I might forgive but I always hold a small grudge, try as I might not to. Its something that I'm still working on.

In a relationship:

Nope, never have been. I would love to be, I want someone that makes my heart beat a bit faster and make my smile a bit bigger. I'm a huge romantic at heart so I crave the emotional intimacy that comes with a relationship. I'm just a big softie when it comes to that stuff, I could gush about it for so long but like I said, I'm a huge romantic at heart

Again thank you so so much to Meg and Maria for tagging me in this. You two are absolute angels 💗

I tag: @operaghost-phantom @hedwigthelegend @phantomsopera @coatntails @madiamazing @darkchocolatemusicvibes @drxgony @atalierose and whoever else sees this and would like to participate

#tag games #liv posts

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maybeifyouwereedsheeran · 6 years

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Celos y Capitanas

Olivia tenia secretos, más que tu normal adolescente de 18 años. Uno de ellos la llevó a mudarse a mitad de semestre a una nueva escuela, otro la llevó a enlistarse en una clase de artes marciales cuando tenia 15 y otro la llevó a trabajar de mesera en el Dinner local todas las horas que no estaba durmiendo o en la escuela. Pero el que llevaba enterrado en lo más profundo de su cabeza era la que hizo que fuera el lobo solitario de la secundaria. Su padre había sido un mal nacido que le gustaba pasarse, y su madre recibía los golpes en silencio, tratando de distraerlo lo suficiente como para que dejara a Olivia y a su hermana menor.

3 años después y aquí estaban, su madre haciendo turnos matadores en el hospital y Olivia encargándose de Liz a pesar de ser una chica de 17 años. Si no fuera por el amor y compromiso de darle una vida normal a su hermana, Olivia hubiera tirado la toalla hace mucho tiempo.

Pasaba la marea de estudiantes con facilidad, ya acostumbrada a las miradas y susurros que la procedían, llevaba solo 2 meses aquí, pero los rumores aún no morían. La misteriosa chica del jeep destartalado y chaqueta desgastada decían, la que no se hace ver mucho a parte de las pruebas de sóftbol y notas perfectas, la que desaparece a la hora del almuerzo y nunca responde al coqueteo de los chicos. Olivia no le interesaban lo chicos, nunca le habían llamado la atención, y honestamente su padre solo había disminuido las posibilidades de disfrutar el toque de uno. Y no, es en era un secreto, era una de las cosas que estaba más orgullosa, pero nadie se había tomado el tempo para preguntar nada. Así que nadie lo sabía.

Olivia no le gustaban los grandes grupos de personas, por eso se escabullía a su lugar de trabajo todos los días, un pequeño restaurant que quedaba a una cuadra de la escuela, y gracias a su amistad con la pequeña mujer mayor que era la dueña, almorzaba una hamburguesa con papas gratis cada día. Aunque Olivia siempre dejaba una propina bastante alta.

Ese día se sorprendió al ver a la melena rubia y piernas largas que era Maggie Perez, la capitana del equipo de sóftbol y una muy buena vista para Olivia cuando se ponía el uniforme.

“Matthews” saluda con un guiño cuando se sienta en la butaca al lado de Oliva, quien se tensa, no era a primera vez que Camille hablaba con ella, pero usualmente era sobre el entrenamiento o simplemente algo relacionado con el equipo “Perez” responde sin perder la tensión en sus hombros.

“Así que aquí corres todos los días eh?” Maggie pasa una mano por sus rizos rubios y una media sonrisa “Diablos Matthews me haz hecho perder mi dinero” Olivia la mira con una ceja alzada “Que significa eso?” Pregunta “Signifuca que la apuesta que el equipo lleva de donde diablos te metes en los almuerzos ha sido por fin aclarada, honestamente yo pensaba que te encontrabas con tu chico ta misterioso y sexy como tu” el guiño vuelve y Olivia se alegra de su autocontrol porque si no fuera por el estaría muy roja en estos momentos “Pues siento mucho que hayas perdido tu dinero, pero no deberías apostar en la vida de los demás, especialmente la mía.” Gruñe y dejando su almuerzo a medio comer le da una sonrisa a Martha, la linda mujer dueña del restaurante y deja un billete arrugando en el frasco de propinas. “Wow wow, no te molestes Olivia, solo era un poco de diversión” Maggie se había levantado y ahora se paraba en frente de Olivia evitando que sifiera caminando “Me sabe a mierda tu diversión Perez, no te importa que haga o deja de hacer, y maldicion, no me importa que eche a perder tu linda cara. Pero si no sales de mi camino la hare pedazos, lo cual sería una verdadera pena” Olivia había dado un paso adelante y estaba invadiendo el espacio personal dela otra chica, estaba molesta. Y si esto fuera una caricatura podrías ver humo saliendo de sus orejas. “Piensas que tengo una cara linda Matthews?” Los ojos obscuros de Maggie se clavaban en los verdes de Olivia, quien dejó salir un resoplido y con un choque de hombros se aleja. Ignorando los latidos des corazón.

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“Liz, sabes donde dejé las llaves?” Olivia se encontraba en casa, era viernes. Lo que significas que tenia un juego. “Al lado del microondas Liv” Olivia rueda los ojos para su misma, tenia que ser más organizadas “Eres increíble Lizzy! Te debo una!” Le grita a su hermana “Estamo a mano si me llevas al juego” Responde, Elizabet nunca había ido a un juego, usualmente se quedaba en casa para que cuando su madre llegara, tuviera alguien quien la recibiera y una comida caliente. Pero hoy había llamado para avisar que llegaría varias horas más tarde. “No hay problema Lizzy, pero creo que tus pijamas no son ropa adecuada”.

Las hermanas Matthews eran como el día y la noche. Olivia era castaña, con ojos verdes y alta, había salido a su padre, pero Elizabet... ella era la viva imagen de su madre, pelirroja con pecas adornando toda su cara, no ta alta como su hermana, y lo único que compartían eran los ojos. Olivia y Elizabet no van a la misma escuela, mientras Olivia asistia a la pública, Lizzy había anotado una beca en una escuela privaba del estado. Hacia a su familia orgullosa, y Olivia no podía ser más feliz por su hermana.

La misma ya había bajado las escaleras, y portaba la camisa de entrenamiento de Olivia y una gorra, con unos jeans y converses “Y quien te dio permiso para entrar en mi closet?” Le dice Olivia “Cállate Liv, nunca puedo ir a tu juegos, y esta es la oportunidad perfecta para mostrarle a tus gruppies quien es tu verdadera fan número uno” Liz toma el bolso de entrenamiento de su hermana Olivia la sigue “Yo no tengo grupoies Elizabet” “Estas de broma? Alguna vez te has pasado por literalmente todas tus redes sociales? Nadie qe no sea popular o mínimo conocida, tiene esa cantidad de seguidores y comentarios de cuan sexy eres, es asqueroso” Liz arruga la cara y hace ademán de vomitar, Olivia serie y atraca el auto.

Al llegar al estacionamiento de la escuela muchas cabezas se voltean cuando las hermanas Matthews llegan. Olivia las ignora como de costumbre, pero puede sentir que su hermanita se está sintiendo algo cohibida, le da un golpecito con el hombro y le sonríe “Valos Lizzy, las gradas están por allá, necesito empezar a practicar” “Vale Liv, Pero no me vuelvas a decir que no tienes Gruppies que te vas a ganar un golpe” Elizabet se despide con un beso en la mejilla y un grito de suerte.

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Los vestidores se quedaron callados cuando la Peli negra llegó, frunció el sueño pero no dio señal de darse cuenta, aún estaba molesta por ser el objeto de la apuesta de sus compañeras de equipo y se había vuelto más callada de lo normal y a pesar de que aún se le iban los ojos con Maggie nunca estaba de humor cuando la capitana la buscaba para dios sabrá que stupides más. Así que cuando la capitana se le para en frente mientras se estaba atando los zapatos, con los brazos cruzados y una cara de malas pulgas se sorprendió un poco, la mayoría de las veces que la chica se acercaba era amistosamente, nunca con esta hostilidad.

“A buena hora llegaste Matthews, el equipo te necesita en el campo no en dios sabe donde” El tono de voz era tan hostil como su cara. Olivia se levanta, era considerablemente más alta que la rubia, y nuevamente invadió su espacio personal, no dijo nada, solo la miro fijamente por unos segundos y siguió caminando, no gastaría su aliento con ella.

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Era su turno en el diamante, es e final del juego y su equipo va perdiendo por 2 carreras. Habían 2 chicas en segunda y tercera, sudor corría por su frente y tenía el corazón acelerado, antes de ponerse en posición dio un respiro y volteó a las gradas, Lizzy estaba levantada gritando como loca, gorra en mano y su pelo rojo en un moño por el calor “Venga Liv! Sácala del stadium!” Olivia puso dos dedos en su corazón y apuntó hacia ella, Lizzy le respondió el gesto y Olivia bateó.

El homerun le dio la victoria al equipo y hasta Maggie había dejado su cara de culo a un lado para felicitarla, pero la cara volvió cuando Lizzy entro al campo y le brincó a su hermana en la espalda.

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Habian pasado unas 2 semanas desde el juego y las cosas con Maggie iban de mal en peor, las prácticas eran tensas y Olivia no tenia ni idea del porqué, ya se le había pasado el enojo cuando el equipo le pidió disculpas por la apuesta, y hasta había hecho un chiste de que no había forma de que se estuviera encontrando con un chico misterioso porque lo gay se le salía por los poros.

Pero todo cambio un sabado por la madrugada cuando una una llamada despierta a Olivia. Contesta con voz manchada por el sueño “Que?” “Oliviaaaa” la reconocible voz de Maggie sonó por el otro lado, claramente borracha. Olivia se sentó en la cama y restregando sus ojos vio que eran las 4am “Que pasa Maggie?” “Que pasa? Tu pasas Olivia Matthews” se notaba que estaba bien pasada de copas “Tu y tu talento en el campo, tu y tu estupidos ojos, y tu estupida personalidad y tu estupido cabello y tu y tu maldita indiferencia” la mente de Olivia corría a mil por segundo. No lo entendía y el estado de sueño que poco a poco se le estaba pasando no la ayudaba. “Espera un momento Mags, donde estas? Me necesitas?” Se ríen del otro lado “Me preguntas si te necesito... Ay Liv, no sabes cuanto, y estoy en ese club gay de Michigan con Stanford, pero tu tranquila Olivia, unas muy amables señoritas están interesadas en llevarme a casa, bye bye”

La línea murió después de eso, y Olivia tomó las llaves, se pudo su suéter de Batman y los primeros zapatos que encontró y salió por la puerta.

Al llegar al club prácticamente saltó del Jeep, y con paso de trote entró. La abrumó la música tan fuerte y el olor a alcohol, buscó el cabello rubio de Maggie y luego de unos minutos la encontró recostada de la barra con otra rubia sobándole la pierna. Algo en Olivia se ensendio y encajó la mandibula con rabia, no podía creer que este prototipo de Barbie estaba tratando de aprovecharse de alguien que claramente no estaba en condiciones para tomar deducibles sensatas. Se les acercó y no pudo evitar la satisfacción que sintió cuando Maggie prácticamente se colgó de ella. “Oliiiii” chilla y Oliva la sostiene para que no se caiga, sus mejillas se sonrojaron cuando sintió la piel caliente de su cintura, tenia un crop top y jeans negros que le sentaban... muy bien “Hey” Olivia lo dice con cariño, encontraba la aptitud borracha de Maggie sumamente adorable “Es hora de ir a casa vale?” Maggie presiona la cabeza en el cuello de Olivia y se alegraba de la borrachera de la otra chica porque el rubor era extremo “mmm casa... eso suena bien, adioosss Birtany muy amable tu oferta pero mi hermosa chica aquí me llevará a casa” Olivia no es tan expresiva, solo le manda una de esas miradas, de las que te dejan los pelos de punta y ayudo a la rubia hacia su auto.

“Donde vives Mags? Necesitamos llevarte sana y salva a tu casa” “Mi casa no, mi madre me matará si me ve así” Olivia suspira y decide que a la mierda todo. Irán a su casa.

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La subida de las escaleras es lo mas difícil. Pero cuando entraron a su habitación Maggie se lanzó a la caña y se acurrucó con una almohada. “Cómoda?” La rubia asintió y morón le ofreció un vaso de agua “Venga Linda, toma esto te sentirás mejor” “Me encanta lo de linda” responde cuando termina con el agua. Estaba considerablemente más sobria, pero mucho más atrevida de lo normal “Quédate con la cama que yo acamparé en el piso” Olivia siente como le toman la mano y la jalan, haciendo que pierda el equilibrio y cayendo sobre Maggie. “No. Es tu habitación, quédate aquí” verde contra café. Y honestamente, no quería nada más que quedarse “Vale, hazte a un lado” lo hizo y con el corazón acelerado. Ambas se quedaron dormidas.

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Olivia sintió un peso extraño cundo despertó. Trato de moverse pero el peso extraño gruñe y se acurruca en su cuello.... Todos los acontecimientos de ayer volvieron a su memoria, y honestamente. El claro crush que tenia en su capitana se había incrementado considerablemente y Maggie sentía algo por ella también, porque no era estupida. Todas sus acciones llevaban a creerlo.

“Creo que deberíamos levantarnos Mags” Le dice en voz baja “Mi hermana se volverá loca si nos ve así y ella tiene la mala maña de pasarse por mi cuarto los domingos, tradición” Maggie se movió y pasando una mano por su cara se termino de despertar “Uhg, esta bien. Y desde cuando tienes una hermana?” “Desde que tenia 1 año, no la recuerdas? Estuvo conmigo en el último juego” Algo hizo que la cabeza de Morgan se disparará hacia arriba, y allí estaba ella mirando a Olivia co ojos como platos “La pelirroja es tu hermana?” Se levanto de golpe y Plivia frunció el seño, pensó que eso era obvio “Uh, si?” “Por el amor de Dios! Soy una maldita idiota” Dice enterrándo la cara entre sus manos “una completa y absoluta idiota” Olivia se le acerca y toma las manos de Maggie entre las suyas, a la mierda lo sutil. “A veces eres idiota, no te lo niego” bromea con una sonrisa y Maggie bufa, pero su cara se suaviza cuando nota lo cerca que están. “Pero necesito más contexto linda”. “Me encanta lo de Linda” susurra Maggie, Olivia se ruboriza pero no aparta la mirada. “Uh, tal vez toda la escuela haya tenido la impresión de que era tu novia... no se parecen en nada por cierto. es adoptada o algo así? En fin, por eso he estado actuando como una perra estas últimas semanas, lo siento mucho” Oliva arruga la cara por Dios, en serio?! Su hermana?! “Asco! No Dios no! Esto no es Juego de Tronos y nosotras no somos la versión lesbiana de los Lannister” algo más atraviesa el disgusto “espera, pero porque te molestaría que tuviera novia?” Maggie le aparta un mechón de cabello dela cara y le dice “Pues pensé que eso estaba claro Oli, me tienes loquita desde el día en que te pusiste toda molesta en el dinner en el que trabajas esa tarde” Olivia no dice más y la besa. Con fuerza y hambre y todo lo que siente. Maggie se monta en su regazo y pasa las mano por el cabello... todo es perfecto.

“Oh Jesús Olivia! Si tienes a una de tus supuestas no-gruppies en la casa al menos tranca la puerta!”

#gay #lesbian #oneshot #story #cute #softball #captian #español #lesbianas

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