one-shot | word count tbd
fandom | stranger things
category | 18+ MDNI, slightly angsty smut, big party, switch!steve, switch!reader, afab!reader, takes place between S2 and S3
summary: one last hoorah before graduation and while every girl is pawing to get with steve after his recent break up with nancy, you just want to spend one night with him.
based on one thing by lola young
Megumi licks his lips and tries to rationalise the fact that he’s staring, openly, at Yuuji. “Itadori,” he says, softer than he means to, “I think we should sleep together tonight.”
After a tiring mission, Megumi and Yuuji are faced with the aftermath of a blizzard that leaves them trapped in a remote, snowed-in cabin. With little space, not much to do, and a temporary living situation that proves to be more comfortable than they thought, they're forced to confront each other and their exposed emotions with nothing left between them.
my piece for the itafushi 2025 gift exhange (@itafushi-week) for @amelialawl <3 prompt was snowed in at a cabin + forced proximity.
Summary: after the infamous hair dye mishap, (y/n) changes their hair color in solidarity
Warnings: none
I woke up this morning to a loud shrieking coming from somewhere in the house.
“Roger?”
The bed next to me was empty and I got scared. What if something happened to him?
Another yell echoed through the house and I finally got up. There was an old tennis racket in the closet, which I grabbed as I carefully walked into the hall. It wasn’t gonna do much damage but at least it was something.
“Roger?” I called out again, “Are you there?”
“(y/n)?” his voice called from down the hall. Why on earth was he screaming in the bathroom at 7am on a Saturday?
I banged on the bathroom door, “Roger? Rog, are you okay? Open up.”
“I’m okay, don’t worry love”
“Then open up”
“I… I can't,” he said from the other side.
“Is the lock stuck? Hold on, I’ll go get a screwdriver-“
“No!” he sounded panicked.
“My god Roger you’re acting as if you’ve got a girl hidden in there,” I rolled my eyes before rethinking what I’d said, “You don’t, right?”
He scoffed, “Of course I don’t (y/n).”
“C’mon, then what’s so bad that you locked yourself in a bathroom?”
He paused for a few moments. “Please don’t laugh.”
The bathroom lock clicked and Roger finally opened it. At first he looked fine, still dressed in pajamas. And then I saw the atrocity he was hiding. His hair, his beautiful blond locks, that hair that everyone admired, was now a violent shade of green. His face was pulled into an almost comical frown. Despite his plea, I couldn’t help myself, the scene before me was just too funny.
“(y/n),” he whined, “You promised you wouldn’t laugh at me.”
“I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing with you.”
“Yeah right,” he grumbled.
“Aw, come on Rog, it’s really not that bad,” I said, running my hands through his newly dyed hair.
“We have a show tonight (y/n)” he said, “I have to go out there with green hair for hundreds of people to see.”
•••
We arrived at the theater at 5pm for sound check. It was a nice place, room for over a thousand people, and we all had our own dressing rooms. I loved the rest of the band, but there were only so many flying hairbrushes I could dodge.
Naturally, the first thing we heard as we made our way backstage was Brian’s, “Nice hair mate.”
“Shut up,” Roger grumbled.
“Hi (y/n),” Brian greeted me cheerily before turning back to Roger, “What on earth were you trying to do?”
Roger desperately looked over at me for help. I just shrugged. As much as I felt bad for him, it was his own mess. And what a funny mess it was too.
“I was trying to dye it blonde,” he said in a small voice.
“Blonde?” John asked incredulously, “You were trying to dye your already blonde hair blonde?”
“I wanted a different kind of blonde.”
“Roger darling, I hate to break it to you but blonde is blonde,” Freddie joked.
“(y/n) they’re bullying me.”
“Aww come here you poor thing,” I dramatically threw my arms around him, “You boys leave Roger alone. Run off and tune your instruments now.”
“You’re no fun,” Freddie replied in mock-annoyance.
But they did leave, one by one, all going to their own dressing room to get ready. The start of the show was drawing nearer by the minute and there were costumes to be donned and guitars to be tuned and eyeliner to be perfected. I too had a lot of preparing to do. There was something I had planned that might make Roger feel at least a little better about his hair.
“Is my hair really that bad?” Roger asked once everyone else had left.
Though he had laughed off the other’s comments, he sounded genuinely worried about going on tonight. I hadn’t seen him like this before a show since the band had started.
“I promise, it’s not as bad as they’re saying. You know them, they have to poke a little fun. They don’t mean it,” I reassured him.
Roger nodded and kissed me gently on the forehead.
“Am I still pretty though?” he asked, batting his eyes. He was right back to his old self.
“You’re still the prettiest boy here.”
“Reeeally?”
“Yes, now go get ready!” I laughed.
He kissed me one last time and headed off to his own dressing room.
We still had an hour left before the show, if I hurried up I would be ready just in time to go on.
•••
“FIVE MINUTES,” a voice boomed through the hall.
I looked in the mirror one last time, messing up my hair just enough to look good, and not like my hairdryer had exploded. The rest of the band was already strapping on guitars and doing last minute warm ups when I got there. Roger’s eyes grew wide as he saw me.
“(y/n)?” he asked in disbelief, “What did you do to your hair?”
Even in the dim backstage lighting, the dyed orange hue of my hair was clearly visible.
“I dyed it,” I explained, “Now you’re not the only one who’s going on looking like they’re from the circus.”
Roger shook his head, “That’s the nicest, and probably dumbest, thing anyone’s ever done for me,” he smiled, “Thank you (y/n/n).”
“Anything for you darling,” I said, giving him a quick kiss.
“TWO MINUTES,” the voice called again.
“Can I ask one thing?”
“Yeah?”
“Why orange?“ he asked jokingly before adding, “At least my green looks cool.”
“Bowie had orange hair and he looks cool as fuck,” I countered.
“I guess you’re right,” he conceded.
“ONE MINUTE.”
Roger quickly leaned over and kissed me. “Good luck,” he smiled and quickly headed over to his drum kit.
I strapped on my guitar and looked over to him one more time. His green hair clashed fantastically with his white shirt. Roger raised his eyebrows as he caught my stare.
I shot him a quick wink as the final call came, “AND… SHOWTIME!”
The last thing I saw before turning to face the crowd was Roger wink back at me. The crowd’s screams and claps were deafening, but soon enough Freddie’s voice overpowered even that.
I have found that have 0 impulse control when it comes to Danagronpa V3 or specifically Kokichi.
So while I am still looking for people for my Dr minecraft server, I am gonna prove my point by making another side blog for Kokichi as a kitsune in another fantasy type AU world (yes I am obsessed with fantasy shit. So sue me. XP) I created and am obsessed with. Others will be talked about but it will mostly focus on Kokichi being forced to live with two others.
I have wanted to make a fic based off this as well but I don’t have a concrete plot line and I just wanna do drabbles in the AU rather than a whole plotted fic.
p.s. if this gets 10 notes I’ll make a post explaining the AU
Between the two, Mattie was having a time. The twins had been teasing him for a little while now as he hides his face in his hands, feeling like he was on fire.
"Hiding and screaming already, Princy?~ We haven't done anything yet~" Dove teased.
"HHHH SHUUUT UUUP!" Mattie screeched, further burying into his hands.
Qrow gently pries Mattie's hands away and leans in to kiss his cheek.
"Alright, perhaps we'll leave you be for now." Qrow says, laughing softly.
"Booo, but fine." Dove leans in to plant a kiss on the other cheek and ruffles the flustered boys hair.
After all of that, Mattie flops over onto the couch 'merping' into a pillow.
summary: while taking a visit to the royal library, you come across aemond who seems to have a small gift for you.
word count: 1.1k
warnings: afab!reader, targcest, reader is mentioned to have violet eyes but that is the only descriptor.
a/n: this was just a little drabble I thought of. i'm trying to get back into the grove of writing after my summer hiatus.
Though King’s Landing was quite an enticing place to visit, the climate at Dragonstone seemed to accommodate her taste better. Where Dragonstone held warm air and cooling sea breezes, King’s Landing lacked such a luxury. Whenever Rhaenyra made visits to the capitol with her daughter, neither princess slept well for their own reasons. Both, however, missed their own beds and comforts of home.
Currently, the younger Targaryen princess was making her way down the aisles of the library. Particularly, she found herself in the special collection that her uncle had curated. Books that varied from philosophy, the history of Old Valyria, and even strategies of ancient wars. However, sprinkled in between were books that contained the sweetest words held in between pages. Yes, both she and Aemond held a secret bond over the lines of fine poetry.
It was a love they learned as children. Whenever Aemond was not training or being tormented by his brother and nephews, he would accompany his niece at the weirwood tree. Helaena would not be too far off either, allowing the creatures in the gardens to climb into her gentle hands.
Such a memory caused a small smile to grace her lips as she reached for a book that had been well-loved.
“Have you come to wreck my shelves?” The voice interrupted her abruptly.
She jumped away from her spot, the breath returning to her lungs when she recognized the man. Her hands went to smooth out her skirts, “Good day to you, uncle…”
The lady went to reach for the book again. Still, it remained just out of reach. The scoff sounding next to her changed her focus once more.
“Have you not considered using your words to ask for help, riñītsos?” He questioned.
Little Girl.
Sighing at his question, she moved back from the shelf. As she faced him, her eyes flicked from the book to his gaze. Though her actions were childish, she did not anticipate being denied her wish, “Kostilus…” Please.
His dismissive hum could be heard as he moved in front of her. With ease, he gripped the spine of the book before bringing it down. Aemond held onto it for a moment, eye scanning over the cover. Epics of Old Valyria.
“I see you’ve been working on your native tongue,” the prince stated nonchalantly, “Though it is still peculiar to me as to why you deem it fit to borrow from my personal collection?”
The corners of her lips dropped at his words, “And do you enjoy withholding the pleasure of knowledge?”
His violet eye slowly trailed up her height. Both of them had grown since they’d last shared each other’s company. This was evident to both parties. Her eye then met her own violet ones as a chuckle played on his lips, “Withholding pleasure is enjoyable for some people.”
Her posture straightened immediately, the innuendo not going unnoticed. She took the book from his grip, preparing to move past him and back to the security of her mother’s chambers.
The princess did not make it more than two paces before his hand shot out to grasp at her forearm. His touch was not harsh, yet there was no warm to it either, “What are you forgetting?”
She breathed out in audible frustration. Her eyes still trained toward the exit of the library, keeping her distracted from his intense gaze, “Are you not supposed to be in attendance of the small council meeting? Or has your seat been taken?”
Aemond’s jaw tightened at the taunt. However, his demeanor remained relatively calm.
Finally, she answered him properly, “Kirimvose.” Thank you.
After a pause of silence, she craned her neck to look up at Aemond. Her gaze was met with a playful smirk, “Issa daorun” You’re welcome.
However, his hold did not retreat from her forearm. Instead, he continued, “I have a little gift for you. Consider it a welcoming present for my favorite niece.”
“Careful, uncle,” Her eyes refocused on his face. The rest of the library remained at a soft focus, “You wouldn’t want to hurt poor Jaehaera’s feelings.”
His upper tip seemed to curl into a snarl at the quick-witted comment. Releasing his hold, his hands went to the pockets of his doublet, eyeing the item within it. Pulling out the piece, a finely forged Valyrian steel chain dangled from his nimble fingers. Resting at the bottom of the chain was a pendant of a singular dragon with a sapphire for an eye. The craftsmanship itself must have cost a fortune, not to mention the installation of such a fine gemstone.
“Kepus,” Her voice lulled, “Gevie…”
Without a word, Aemond moved to stand behind her. His gentle touch caressed her upper back as he moved her hair onto one shoulder. The cool pendant rested atop her bosom, sending tingles throughout her chest. The chain itself snaked around the delicate skin of her neck where he now clasped it together, “Dōna zaldrītsos,” Aemond purred.
As she turned back to face him, her lithe fingers toyed at the pendant. She quickly grew accustomed to the weight of it and the metallic feel against her skin, “Where did you find such a necklace?”
The look on his face was passive as if he could not drop his uncaring disguise, “I had it made for you.”
As her browed raised in motion for him to continue, Aemond added on, “I figured it would be to your liking.”
She took a moment, eyes flickering from the leather he wore to the steel chain at her neck.
“I see,” She nodded, “And what moved you to commission such a fine piece?”
Unbeknownst to the lady, Aemond fought an inner battle. He wished to step closer to her and reach out once more. He hated that he could easily despise his nephews, but never her… Not the girl whom he read poetry with between lunch and tea time. The girl who was now a woman grown before him. His greatest torment and object of his deepest affections.
Aemond faced her once more, bringing up his hand to toy with the pendant at her chest now, “The thought of you wearing it for me…”
---
all feedback is greatly appreciated. my ask box is open for requests.
summary: more word has arrived to you regarding your husbands infidelity. as he returns to you, you present him with a choice.
word count: 2k
warnings: drinking. strong language. angst. adultery. pain.
a/n: see end of the piece for author’s note
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
choose your own ending...
— ending 1.
— ending 2.
— ending 3.
— ending 4.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
“My lady,” Your chambermaid spoke from the doorway, returning with a fresh pitcher of wine as you had requested, “Should I see the children to bed?”
“Please do,” Your voice was soft, the words fragile in your solemn state.
“It might be best for you to rest, rather than await the return of Prince Aemond.”
Her words were gentle, simply advising you to take care of yourself. But the fires of hurt and betrayal were already lit.
“What makes you believe that I am awaiting my husband?” With words more venomous than you intended, you bid her leave.
At the sound of the door shutting, you stood and moved toward the pitcher and chalice left idly by the fireplace. You poured the deep red liquid and lifted the cup to your lips, taking a generous gulp. The dull burn allowed some relief to your heightened senses. But you also knew that the alcohol only added fuel to your fire.
Rain began to pour over King’s Landing, softly thudding against the windows and stone of the castle walls. Usually, the rain would lull you to sleep, but it seemed the thunder of the skies only spurred you to continue drowning away the ache in your heart. Your eyes flickered over the second chalice that had been placed on the silver tray with your pitcher. It seemed that the servants expected Aemond to return to the Keep tonight. You were not sure if you wish for him to return or for him to drown in the heavy rains that poured from the sky.
As if the fool perfectly timed you, you glanced out the window to see the silhouette of Vhagar descending toward the Dragon Pits. In a drunken frenzy, you pulled the curtain to cover it, instead, the velvet fabric came down at your harsh tug.
The frustration would nearly boil over, but you did not allow the simple issues to push you over the threshold. As the Queen had often advised you, it was important that a lady bite her tongue and keep her composure even when she is by her lonesome. If someone saw the illusion of a proper lady shatter, it would be nearly impossible to recover from. She even revealed to you how she had come by this knowledge, sharing with you the events that occurred the night Aemond became the one-eyed prince.
Swiftly, you moved back toward the fireplace, picking up the parcel that a raven had delivered directly to you just this morning. It appeared blank to the simple eye, but when you hovered the note over the fire, the message revealed itself. The contents of it were simple, but completely shattered something inside of you:
She is with child.
Though the news had shocked you, the existence of the other woman did not. When Aemond and Daeron laid siege to Harrenhal and the Riverlands, word had traveled through the courts regarding the princes bedding other women. At the time, you had bit your tongue, excusing your husband’s infidelity as you convinced yourself it was just something he used to relieve his stress from battlefields.
But even after the marches through the Riverlands were claimed to be successful and at an end, Aemond would sometimes fly off to Harrenhal. He would say that he was just ensuring the hold that the Greens had on the region, yet you never believed his lies.
It was said that Harrenhal was cursed, blood mixed into the stone that built it. You believed the stories true after the great fire took the lives of Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin when you were a child yourself. But now a curse had attached itself to your husband and kept him crawling back to the towers of Harrenhal.
The door cracked open, the hinges creaking as he entered, exhaustion painted over his face. Aemond was completely drenched, his hair now scrunched into waves rather than falling perfectly straight. Most of his leather overlayer had been discarded for the servants to see to, leaving him in a black tunic and pants with his riding boots.
It took him a few moments, but Aemond quickly came to realize that you were resting by the fire rather than fast asleep in your shared bed.
“Should you not be sleeping, dear wife?” Aemond called out to you while readying himself to turn into bed.
“Sleep has… escaped me recently,” You replied, eyes remaining on the fire. Only at his words did the nerves begin to spur inside you. How would he react when you told him? What would tomorrow bring? None of it really mattered, you supposed, as long as you didn’t allow your nerves to get the best of you.
Now in his proper bedclothes, Aemond began to approach the fireplace. He noticed the half-empty pitcher of wine, slightly shocked that you were partaking this late at night. Usually, you would reserve yourself to only enjoying wine at dinners or feasts, not in your marriage chambers. His eye flickered to the second chalice that sat empty on the silver platter. His slender fingers reached to grasp it, “Would this cup be for me?”
You turned your head, looking between the pitcher and chalice but never into his eye, “The maid brought it with her, probably as a formality. No one expected you back tonight.”
Aemond’s brow furrowed at the tone you spoke with, and it caught the prince off guard when you returned your gaze to the fire rather than continuing to speak with him. He poured his own chalice with wine and allowed himself to enjoy it. He stayed in place, unwavering from his position as he looked down on you.
The air went still… the taste of the wine began to sour in his mouth. He sensed something to be out of place, yet he could not pinpoint it. Usually, you would be elated to see him, but recently you were far more reserved from your husband. Aemond was not sure if he should be upset or concerned, but did not ponder on the thought too much as he allowed himself to attend to his duties rather than his wife.
With a sigh and a light cough to clear his throat, the prince finally spoke once more, “Come to bed…”
The pause settled again before your soft chuckle hung in the air. Quickly, you stood from your seated position and drowned the remainder of your chalice in one swig. You moved to the table and refilled your cup till the pitcher ran dry. Instead of crossing to your bed, you remained standing, only turned away from the man. This behavior caused Aemond to clench his jaw, subduing his urge to correct such disobedience.
“Will you not come to bed with me?” Aemond summoned you again.
Once more you chuckled at him, not sparing him any sort of look from you. Just the cruel chuckle of your acknowledgment.
“Your husband demands—”
“My husband demands me of nothing,” You interrupted him, “And he would do well to find another bed to sleep in or find himself in tonight.”
At your words, Aemond crossed toward you, attempting to snatch the half-drunk chalice of wine from your hands, “It seems you have overindulged yourself. It would do you well to sleep before—”
“Before what? Before I continue to act out of turn?” With a fierce determination, your fingers clutched down onto the chalice so that Aemond could not separate it from you. Your words dripped with poison, “Or before you return to Harrenhal and bed the whore witch?”
At the mention of Alys, both you and Aemond let go of the goblet at the same time and simply watched it fall to the ground, red liquid covering the tile floors.
“It would do you well not to speak of things you do not know or understand.”
“I understand it quite plainly that my husband is now an adulterer, just like his eldest brother and his damned uncle. It seems that disloyalty to marriage is quite a common trait among Targaryen men.”
Quickly, Aemond’s hand came to your throat, gripping the flesh to show how serious he was being, yet not hard enough to asphyxiate you, “Did you not understand my words before, my stupid little wife? It would do you well not to speak of things you do not know…”
“Oh? But I do know…” Your hands grabbed at his forearms, nails sinking into the flesh so that he would release you, “And it would do you well to learn just how smart your wife is…”
“I have known… I have known about Alys since your first rampage through the Riverlands. For moons, I remained confined to the Red Keep from your orders, and when they came to deliver news of you and your victories, I cheered. I still cheered when the maids told me the rumors between you and Alys, because I was grateful to the Seven that you were alive. Because I was still foolish enough to love you far more than you deserve.”
Tears threatened to spill over, but you swallowed them back. You would not allow Aemond the pleasure of your tears, only the fire of your anger.
“She promised me security for my life and the lives of my men,” Aemond attempted to justify himself, “I could not risk it—”
“You could have offered her gold, offered her a title, or anything else besides your body! Instead, you break your vows. And you did not stop there, because you continue to fly back to Harrenhal whenever you desire the witch’s cunt to the point where your son and daughter could not even recognize you if they ever saw you!” You huffed out, scanning his face for any sign of emotion, anything at all.
“You have allowed your lust to overcome you, disappointing your wife, your mother, and the Seven. Worst of all, you shall now have your own bastard. At least this bastard will not be raised of the Street of Silk as your brother’s bastards have.”
“How did you know?” Aemond’s voice cracked while he asked the question, “How do you know she is pregnant?”
A smirk played on your lips at the question, “It seems that the Master of Whispers is a very devoted friend of the Queen, and with the Queen being your mother, she deemed it important enough to share the news with me, your faithful wife.”
His face went pale at the realization of how many people were aware of his infidelity. While Aemond remained silent, you twisted the knife deeper into his chest. You had been tortured with this knowledge for so long that you now enjoyed the pained expression on his face.
“I have always been good to you, devoted to you. Where others cowered from you, I loved you. Despite the warnings of your blood lust and deformity, I loved you and gave you two perfect children who study just as diligently as you once did. So while you found yourself in the arms of another woman, I tried not to curse your name and assure our children that all was well, even if their father would not be present for them. But now, I look at you like a curse upon my life. You have allowed yourself to be corrupted outside our marriage, and I can no longer offer you salvation for your selfishness…”
“What would you have me do?”
You laughed mockingly at his question. Instead of providing a proper answer, you only glared further into his good eye.
“Please,” Aemond gritted his teeth, hating that he allowed himself to beg an answer from you, “Just tell me what I should do!”
“I can not simply tell you what to do. That would be to easy - what lesson would you have learned?” You shook your head and a shuddering breath escaped you.
“You have to make a choice, Aemond,” Your hand gripped his wrist, forcing him to remain attentive to your words, “Either you atone for the sin your committed and the hurt you’ve caused or you reside in Harrenhal for the rest of your days…”
“This is a choice only you can make — a wife or a witch?”
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
a/n: I am considering making a follow-up to this one-shot, a blurb about the outcome of the options that Aemond has... maybe...
