notes: i just finished watching born again a couple days ago and did not plan to write for dex this fast but teehee i started thinking of this while watching diner scene edits and... yeah. formatted somewhere between headcanons and a fic because my brain is just brrrr right now. anyways, hope everyone likes this!
I just can’t stop thinking about DEX becoming absolutely obsessed with the pretty waitress that has just started working at his usual diner.
He noticed you right from the start. Beautiful thing like you, with your pretty little skirt, taking an order just two tables away from him? How could he not? He is always alert, always vigilant, but even if he wasn’t, there was just no way he could have ever not noticed.
His foundations shifted and his stars were redrawn the first time you asked for his name. And he laid his claim, quiet and fervent, when he gave you it.
It seemed like a coincidence at first, at least to you, how he would always be seated somewhere along the section you were waiting for on any particular day. And along the way, it was easy to see just how he had become your favorite client just after weeks of starting at your new job.
He would always greet you with a smile, and he would always be kind, and he would always be respectful. He never tried to peek under your skirt, or talk to you like you were less than him only because you were re-filling his coffee cup, and he always left a good tip on his way out.
He was so unlike all other men that came into the diner, that it was just natural for your smile to always be a little brighter whenever you looked his way, and DEX reveled in your attention the same way an apex predator would on easy prey: never getting his fill, licking his whiskers, readying his beak, hunger rising from his stomach at the mere thought of having more.
He did not want to scare you away.
He wanted your attention to remain on him because you wanted to keep it there, and did not mind waiting for that to translate to being the holder of your affection as well. he was patient. He did not believe in second chances, and he did not believe in salvation; he believed that good things took time, and you, with your sweet smiles and your pretty little laugh, would be the best of them all.
And that was how, a couple months after your friendship started, he offered to help you carry in the produce boxes your boss was so adamant you hauled into the kitchen.
Because, well, DEX was your friend by now.
Somewhere along the way, he began staying for a little longer after eating so you could join him for a cup of coffee during your break. He started walking you home whenever he arrived to the diner later during the day and finished eating just at the same time you were finishing your shift. After all, it was just such a coincidence, but it was still the right thing to do.
And DEX, because he was such a good friend, was not about to let you hurt yourself only because your boss was too much of a bum to get off his ass and haul the boxes inside himself. And if that had somehow translated into him finally being able to feel your lips against his skin as he pressed you back against the wall of the deserted alleyway at the back of the diner?
Well, that was just a reward for his patience.
Because, God, it had been worth it.
Months of aligning his schedule to yours so he could come in just when you were free, and months of watching you from a distance to make sure you were still just his, and months of beating other patrons up in the very same alley whenever they smiled at you for a little too long.
Yeah, it had all been worth it.
Because now he's on his knees, with his head buried under your pretty little work skirt, as he pulls your panties to the side and licks a stripe down the expanse of your sopping pussy.
God, you're dripping for him.
Your tight hole is clenching around nothing as he sucks on your clit, moaning against your mound when he realizes you taste just as sweet as he had imagined.
He has his hands wrapped around your thighs, pulling you closer against his face, his fingers pressing deliciously against your soft, supple skin, and he wonders if they will leave a mark. He wonders if that will have you thinking of him when you're by yourself tonight. And he wonders if you will look at them when you’re touching yourself, thinking of him.
He knows he will.
So DEX lays his tongue flat against the bud, pressing against it, and then leans back just a little until he can spell his name with it on your clit.
He does it once, twice, and your thighs are shaking around his head, and your slick is dripping down his chin. He's marking you as his, laying his claim, moving his hands up your legs until he's squeezing your ass under your panties, and spelling his name over and over until you're panting and writhing and moving your hips against his face, matching the rhythm of his tongue.
He realizes his dreams have never compared.
"Oh, my sweet girl," he mumbles, words slurred and sloppy when he speaks them directly against your cunt. "You taste just as good as I had imagined. made me work so hard for it, mhm? Such a sweet, sweet prize for me.”
He presses his face further in-between your legs, moving down so he can use use tongue, oh so long, oh so warm, inside your pretty little hole.
His nose brushes against your clit every time he moves his tongue against your walls, and moans, and pants, and has to restrain himself from beginning to hump your leg when they begin to flutter around him. He wants to fuck you. Oh, how he wants to take you back to his place and lay you back on his bed, spread your legs wide, and split your cunt open with his cock. He wants it so, so badly, and he merely figures he will have to work a little harder for it.
“You like it when I eat you out like this?" he grunts, hot and wet, and a lick points out every word. “Mhm, can tell. Droolin’ so much for me, aren’t you? Drippin’ down my chin, sweet thing.”
He lands a slap against your ass, kneading at the skin after the contact, and returns his other hand back down to rest on your thigh. He spanks your ass again, harder, and his other hand caresses the skin of your thigh, softer.
God, you're so perfect. You're so, so perfect, and you're his, you're just his.
"Dex, 'm gonna—"
“Gonna cum, mhm? Gonna soak me? Let me taste this perfect cunt properly?" he breathes out, and moves back up so he can spell his name against your clit again, just one more time. Please, just one more time before you cum, just—
Your eyes are squeezed shut as your orgasm has your cunt gushing into his mouth, and he takes it all because this, after all, is his prize. A broken, breathless moan breaks past your lips, and you move your hips harder, faster against his face, and he lets you take, and take, and take as much as you need.
It’s his honor. This moment—This earthly bliss is just his to revel in.
And so DEX smiles and uses his fingers, long and lithe and rough, to lower your panties down your beautiful, shaking legs until they pool around your ankles. He's grinning with all of his teeth, content, satisfied, when he straightens and smoothes your skirt back into place, pressing a kiss to your forehead and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
And then he pockets the lace while holding your gaze, and knows, just knows, that he will always be the only one you smile so, so beautifully for.
Synopsis: Your relationship with the girls is strained after yours and Giselle’s argument. With graduation close by, you wonder about your new priorities, and the whether or not to move on with your life. Was it still worth spending so much time and energy on the famous band who barely seemed to acknowledge you?
Warnings: angst. soft smut. nsfw
Word count: 9.1k
Notes: part 4! ning's turn and last of this series <3
pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4
—
Idols were much like puppies: products made for the entertainment industry. As much as they may express strong opinions and feelings, they still thrive under validation. It’s the reason they do it, after all. Exhausting their bodies for the desire to be seen, to be somehow perceived.
They yearned to be liked, loved, and adored.
Aespa was no different.
“She's still acting so fucking weird,” Minjeong muttered with annoyance, approaching Karina with a rigid posture. She waited until the leader looked in your direction to add, “You better fix it now, Jimin. Or else I'll talk to Y/n and solve this madness right now.”
Even after you had argued with Aeri, you were still showing up to Aespa's schedule, although with frequent absences you failed to notify them. As relieved as they were that you were still updating their content on your fansite account regardless of your disagreement with the band, the distance you insisted on maintaining drove the four girls insane. It consumed them, kept them up at night, and made them stare at their phones relentlessly, waiting for a message from you like old times.
Whilst they refused to apologize or acknowledge the issue, you kept silent, not sparing them such thing as a quick stare— instead acting like setting up your camera's tripod for their recording was the most important thing you've ever done.
You were all too stubborn to recognize your mistakes.
The day was cool, and the fact that the chosen place for their photoshoot had been a lake area wasn't helpful either. As always, you came prepared: wearing a cool, thick lilac sweater that was perhaps too much for the weather, you weren't bothered by the sudden temperature drop.
Being sensitive to the cold was something the girls had always teased you for: they'd mock your trembling and pinch your nose bridge as you smothered them with hugs and cuddles, claiming it was necessary to warm yourself up.
They miss such warmness, now. It's all gone, along with your stare of adoration, one they thought would never be lost. You've always been impatient, ironic and lousy to everyone; to them, though, you were extra attentive, sickening sweet.
Now, it seems like their existence alone irritates your guts. Any attempts of reaching out have you rolling your eyes and answering sharply, eager to end the conversation and move on with your tasks.
There were others, naturally. Other groupies who spent 24/7 trying to gather their attention, following the band around and making sure they were noticed— whether through their clothing choice or endless praises. Still, none of them were interesting enough.
They haven't been there from the start, when they were just a nugu band traveling around the country in a small car with barely enough money to pay for their staying. They weren't you.
“Fine.” Karina asnwered, reminding herself of that. She sighed deeply before handing out her blanket to Minjeong and walking towards you with confident steps. “I'll do it.”
By the time Karina reached your spot, you were too engrossed with your phone to notice her strong presence. It drove her mad— who could you possibly be talking to? They were all here. You didn't need anyone else. Now, you became distracted, jumpy like you were allowed to keep secrets from them.
Like everything you did wasn't their business.
Instead of grabbing your phone and throwing it onto the lake like she so wanted to, Karina grunted. It works: you looked up, startled as you kept your phone on the back of your jeans.
“Oh, hey.” You said, giving her a weak head shake, much to Karina’s dismay. You shouldn't stare at her like she's a stranger— not after everything you've gone through together. “Everything cool?”
Obviously not. Why the fuck haven't you apologized? It's been too long. You have to come back to us. She wanted to scream, shaking your shoulders until you realized how difficult you were being.
Since it wouldn't be the friendly approach she was aiming for, Karina sighed, fingers twitching aggressively as she hid them in her shorts’ pockets.
“Can we talk?” She asked, with a soft voice. Karina couldn't help put peak at your phone, which hadn't stopped vibrating ever since she arrived.
Your hands traveled to your hair, picking at your split ends as you bit your mouth, thinking about it. As upset as you were with the girls, it was still Karina, after all. You couldn't ever deny her anything. “I have to go now... But don't worry, I'll set up the recording and ask for Anna to turn it off once you're done with shooting your promo content so I can make a video and upload it on YouTube.”
“What?” She shot, tapping her foot on the ground. “You can't go. We've barely started.”
What could possibly be more important than them?
You went silent for a few seconds, wondering whether or not to say anything at all. In the end, you decided to be honest, even if you didn't owe the leader any explanations.
“I can do whatever I want.” You tried to keep a low tone, despite the leader's demand striking a nerve as you tilted your head. Still, you took a deep breath, explaining, “Saerom unnie is playing at Music Station's festival soon. I have to rush or else I won't get a good spot to record her band's performance.”
As if the leader was in place of making such demands.
Karina was seeing red. She couldn't believe your words, or how insolent you were being. “Why are you doing this, Y/n? What the hell? You already have our attention, there's no need to be whoring around just to piss us off.”
You huffed, surprised by her response. Is this what she thought— what they thought was all about?
“Karina.” You took a deep breath before answering, to avoid jumping on her neck and knocking some sense into her. “I have a life of my own. I don't do things simply for any of you. Stop being a bitch and grow the fuck up.”
Minejong walked in between them before Karina could argue back. Despite being smaller, the blonde has always managed to look down on you, somehow. Like you were a bug on her clothes, annoying and deliberate.
You could also throw her a punch or two, so she'd get back to reality. It was so irritating, how all of Aespa's band members thought you still gravitated towards them like years ago. That was long gone; you were too busy with other aspects in your life to follow Karina, Winter, Ningning, and Giselle around like a puppy.
Things have changed, yet they still struggled with seeing past their self-centered persona. The girls believed you still lived and breathed for them, so clueless it had you scratching and biting yourself to keep from releasing your frustrations upon them. Now, your only wish was to throw them all in the lake they were soon shooting on, as a cure for their cluelessness.
Instead, you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms on your chest as Minjeong continued, with a bored tone, “So, did you two talk?"
“I don't have time for that.” You gestured to the improvised parking lot, where trailers, food trucks, and vans were parked, impatient. “I’ve gotta ru—"
“No.” Minjeong cut you off, raising her hand to interrupt. “We are going to have a conversation, Y/n. This desperate act of yours ends now.”
The argument's noise was starting to attract attention. Aespa's other fansites— stuck-up assholes whom you despised, failed miserably in sneaking glances and whispering to each other, attentive to the drama that was supposedly about to enroll.
If there was something you hated, was other people getting into your business. You've always been a private person, regardless of Aespa's loud persona.
The fact that the girls were now famous enough that other people chased them like you used to do, long before their fame, was something not at all pleasant to you. Fuckers, all of them. Karina, Minjeong, Giselle, and Ningning, specifically.
You couldn't help but gloat back, shooting a bored look in hopes of intimidating the other groupies and fansites so they'd go away.
Karina of course, noticed how distracted and jumpy you were, along with the glances you sneaked to the sides every so often.
“Are they bothering you?” She asked, waving to the group nearby without actually waiting for an answer. “Come, we'll go somewhere more private.”
Grabbing your hand, Karina dragged you directly to the small decorated deck where their photoshoot would occur, with Minjeong hovering behind like a plague. Blankets lay on the wooden space, along with light modifiers that had been previously installed. You couldn't help but sigh as Giselle and Ningning joined, too.
Everything was always some kind of spectacle, with the four of them. Of course, the rockstars make sure to turn every small thing into a big issue to be handled. So annoying of them.
You turned to Karina to tell her just that, but the leader had other plans. Cupping your face, Karina placed her lips on yours in a chaste, gentle kiss that immediately washed your anger away. It was so easy to forget everything and just give yourself to her, whenever she held you, and touched you with such care.
Still, you know better.
“They'll be gone in a second if you want them to,” Karina assured you, pointing to the groupies and fansites who were now further away. “Just say the words, and I'll give you whatever you want, Y/n. But you have to let me know. Let us know.”
I just want you to care.
Wasn't it obvious? They were all so blind, so stupid. How was that even possible? You've seen how brilliant they were, writing lyrics and creating concepts and elaborating deep, complicated lore for their albums. Yet they were completely oblivious to your feelings.
Whenever you thought further about it, you realized you were in no mood to keep having this conversation over and over. They'd never understand.
“I have to go.” You repeated, trying to brush past Karina so you'd finally leave.
Instead, Giselle blocked your way, smiling like you haven't been ignoring each other ever since she visited your favorite cafe, weeks ago.
“We have something for you, actually.” She said, with her phone in her hands. Behind her back, Minjeong made grand gestures while gesticulating in a heated phone call.
They were peeking your curiosity, but you couldn't disappoint your friend another time. And their insistence was starting to piss you off. “Later. After Saerom's perf—"
“Please?” Ningning asked, battling her lashes at you as she used Giselle as support to stand on her tiptoes. Now at your eye level, she pouted. “Just listen to what we have to say, Y/n. It'll be super quick. Then you're all free to go handle whatever it is that is more important than us.”
The maknae has always been your weakness, the sweetest girl you've ever met. And she made good use of how much you loved to spoil her rotten.
Because of how adorable she is, you sighed, nodding and taking a step back to listen. “Okay then. What is it?”
Surprisingly, it's Giselle who comes to you first. She hands you her phone, unlocked with a long document. A contract, you realize.
They thought you were upset about working for free and were offering you a spot as a part of their team.
Instead of being happy, like they were anticipating and wishing for you to be, you only felt trapped.
“Is that what you think this is about?” You gulped, scrolling through the contract's pages with a scowl. “Money?”
The band members frowned at you too, confused by your reaction. They'd imagined you would've been jumping excitedly by now, hovering and being clingy like you always did after things went your way.
It's like they don't know the person standing in front of them. Which they probably don't.
“What is it, then?” Minjeong asked, with a mocking tone. Her patience was weary thin, as was yours. She didn't soften, not even after Karina elbowed her in the ribs as a warning. “If not for the money. Are you just a petty ass bitch? Have you been acting like yourself this entire time?"
“We figured you were upset for putting so much effort into us for years without getting anything back,” Karina added, giving your shoulder a gentle caress before you could curse at Minjeong properly. “And you were right. You've always been part of our team, anyway.”
“It's only a matter of formality. Everything will stay the same.” Ning assured you, smiling excitedly.
Her words haunted you. Everything will stay the same.
It was the last thing you wanted, to have them keep taking from you while giving nothing back, as if you were nothing more than a puppet, an acquaintance. You've already done so much for the band to be treated like that.
There was no way you were allowing such treatment anymore.
With your muscles tensed, you shoved Giselle's phone into her chest. “This isn't about fucking money. God, you're so fucking clueless. So stupid, all of you.” Tears started to cloud your vision, so you gulped hard to push them away. “I've been following you around like a fool for too long, now. It's time to move on with my life. Once I graduate, I'll have no time for this. I'm just a fan, nothing else.” You told them, sighing deeply. At last, you finished, with a dreary tone. "If you'll excuse me, now. You can keep your money, since it's all you care about. You Sick whores.”
This topic always left you in a train wreck, in a need of clearing your thoughts.
Thankfully, none of them tried to stop you as you walked away, aggressively brushing the tears that insisted on rolling down your cheeks. They always did that: took until you were exhausted and had nothing else to give. Of course, you thrived under their praise and at the slightest glimpse of validation they gave you— which was what motivated you to keep trying your best for the band, but still.
Nowadays, it wasn't enough anymore.
In the end, you were just like all idols: you craved Aespa's validation, their sweet touches, and attention. Although deep down you knew you were nothing more than another fan for them. A pretty groupie and fansite, as they've proven to you so many times.
It should be enough. A blessing, even, to get to know and support your idols from day 1 and have such a close relationship with them.
Only you weren't cut off for that anymore. At this point, you were too codependent on the four girls who’d never be able to give you what you truly needed. To them, you were probably just another one of the thousands of Aespa-obsessed fans.
It's highly unlikely that you'll be able to look presentable at Saerom's Music Station performance. Not when you've started to cry so hard hiccups join on your frenzy, as you got into your car and pressed your friend's contact in the screen's dashboard, hoping she wasn't warming up or rehearsing already.
Thankfully, she answered on the third ring. Saerom's joyful voice filled up the space, comforting you just by existing as you drove fast in hopes of making it to her performance on time. “Hello? This is Saerom.”
"Hi, Saesae! It's Y/n.” You sniffled, trying not to sound as miserable as you were so she wouldn't worry. “I'm a bit late, but I'll get there. Tell me, are you done with rehearsals or is it still going to take a while?”
“Oh, hi Y/n!” You could picture her smiling at her phone, always so adorable. “We're actually… uhm, not going to perform anymore. I was just going to call you and let you know about it.”
“Wait, seriously?” The car next to yours honked loudly as you lost the sense of direction, too surprised to focus on the road. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“Yes, we're all okay.” She reassured as you breathed in relief. “No one knows what happened, Y/n. We were all ready to go on stage for sound-check, and suddenly the staff was telling us there had been a change of plans and we weren't performing anymore.” Saerom's voice sounds irritated while adding, “It seems like we've been replaced by ILL-IT, for some reason.”
Oh, Saerom must be fuming. Her shitty company was always sabotaging her band, Fromis_9, somehow, as if they weren't their only source of money. The CEO and managers made sure to make her duty as leader a living hell; you're amazed by how she keeps advocating for her band's rights even after so many years of mistreatment and neglect.
“What the fuck?” You muttered a few more curses under your breath, not driving so fast since you weren't running late. “Why would they even do that?”
“Like hell I know.” The girl likely rolled her eyes, sighing once again. It was only then that she seemed to notice your quiet sniffles. “Are you okay, Y/n? How'd it go with the girls? Did you tell them you're leaving?”
Your grip on the wheel tightened. “Yes, we talked. It was… well, you know how they are.”
Truthfully, you already spent so much of your time focused on Aespa the last thing you wanted to do was talk about your issues. It was frustrating and tiring— Saerom was always so pissed about it, too. About the way they treated you, your complicated relationship… You didn't want to voice it out, at the moment. She'd tell you to just quit everything, like always.
And you so wished you were able to. Why did indulging the girls’ every will make you feel so good? It was wrong; they were nothing but self-entitled assholes. Not that you were an angel, either. It was the reason you got along with them so well: you were all exactly the same.
Hot and rotten.
“Of course.” Her experienced voice reverberated through your car. For a few moments, everything went quiet; none of you daring to say a thing. “You always think too much, Y/n. You need to stop that for a while.” Seconds linger before she finally adds, with her voice barely in a whisper. So hesitant, not at all like your best friend. “Maybe you should go home. I can meet you there and help you with that. What do you say?”
You weren't stupid. The lust in her voice made her offer impossible to misunderstand. Saerom wanted you.
Perhaps she was right: you have lived strictly for Karina, Giselle, Ningning, and Minjeong for too long. It was time you thought about yourself, for once.
Being cared for was a feeling you haven't quite experienced before. Yet there was your best friend: beautiful and eager to do so for you.
“I think you're right.” Your tone was even lower than hers, as you took a turn to make your way home. The venue where Music Station was being held was on the opposite side of Seoul, so you had a long way back. “I'll wait for you, Sae.”
For once, the girls weren't the ones clouding your mind and trapping you in worries. The only thing you could think was how your friend tasted a thousand times better than the sweetest kind of strawberries, and the way her touches ignited fire wherever they traced their way against your skin.
Saerom's care made sure you couldn't think of anything other than her glorious mouth for the entire night.
—
It was a vicious cycle.
You'd hit your pillows in frustration, scream, and complain about Aespa’s members for the entire time you weren't with them, only to show up the next day and hover over them as you've always done. Fancams, vlog editing, extra content, tiktok challenges… You were in charge of all of it, even if the band already had proper staff to handle such matters. They still requested for you to do all of those things. Like an idiot, you relented, melting under their superficial praise.
The four girls will always be your weakness. It's a fact that irritates you like nothing else.
Such inability— or perhaps unwillingness of yours to assert boundaries and clear limits was the reason you sat on a random Venue's marbled sink, praying it wouldn't fall off as you rushed to hide the marks on your neck.
For someone as collected as Saerom, she sure knew how to make a mess. You sighed, applying concealer over the dirty-looking hickeys that adorned your once pristine skin. Endless messages and phone calls bombed your phone, making your tardiness pretty obvious. Still, you took your time, doing your usual makeup routine while four very impatient girls were surely fuming on the upper floors.
What you didn't expect, though, was for the devil to be wandering around unsupervised.
“What is that on your skin?” Minjeong barged in on the restroom, unsurprised by catching you leaning on the unstable piece of marble. Her tone reeked of poison, as her hands went straight to the area you've spent so long trying to perfect.
As if it was the most natural thing she'd ever done, Minjeong's lean fingers closed around your neck, pressing at your pulse point with just the right amount of strength to make you slightly dizzy. It was so easy for her to take over and hove all over you.
You both know you'd let her.
Instead of moaning and begging for her to touch you further, you stayed quiet. It was only 8 AM, and you didn't want to argue with any of them yet. Even if the first member of the band you met for the day was Minjeong, the nightmare in form of blonde hair.
A metallic taste invaded your lips as you ducked and pushed Minjeong away with all your strength, fearing your next words if she kept pressing herself onto you like that. “I burned my neck with a curler. Not that it is any of your fucking business.” Your feigned disinterest got just the desired reaction: Minjeong's eyes grew darker, filled with annoyance. “What are you doing here, anyway? You're supposed to be at hair and makeup. Get out, you creepy weirdo.”
As always, Minjeong ignored your harsh words, taking a step forward. With a smirk, she curled her hand around one of your thick curls and tugged, with such strength you nearly fell on the floor.
“Minjeong, what the fuck?” You huffed, massaging your scalp.
“Wanna try again?” She asked, looking at you through the mirror with her hands interlocked on her chest. Such a whore, always so self-entitled and demanding you could— “Your hair is already naturally curly, idiot. You never use any source of heat.”
Her words shut you up immediately. How could she know? The band was always too busy getting ready to notice whatever you did in the meantime. There weren't any witty remarks you could add to your banter. Your curses died in your mouth, leaving nothing but a bitter taste.
“What I do in my free time isn't any of your business, Minjeong.” You ignored her, focusing on your reflection as you applied mascara to your eyes. Thankfully, the band member's evil, negative presence wasn't enough to have you stop with your makeup routine. You were nearly done, now, and would be able to escape Minjeong's interrogation and go back to a place where you wouldn't be the center of her inquiry. “I'm allowed to have fun whenever I want to.”
Too bad she'd never let you go. Minjeong walked to you with careful steps, this time. She waited for your reaction, quietly reaching out until her head rested on your shoulder and you both stared at each other, through the mirror. For a moment, neither of you dared to breathe, afraid the brief, peaceful moment provided by the blonde's careful move would be broken.
After what seemed like an eternity, she spoke. “Tell me it was Saerom, Y/n. Say it.”
You sighed, nudging her away as you looked for a brush to spread some color over your face.
“It's not any of your business, Minjeong.” Was all you offered. You'd keep repeating yourself until she listened. “Get fucking lost and stop being stuck in my ass.”
Minjeong stomped her feet, walking back and forth in the medium-sized restroom. The place was floors away from the crowded space where the rest of Aespa's members were to be found having breakfast and preparing their voices for the variety show they were soon to shoot. It had been carefully chosen for you to get ready quietly and with peace, preparing yourself for the hushed day ahead.
Clearly, the blonde girl who acted like you've ruined her morning just by existing was keeping you from all of that.
“It is my fucking business, Y/n.” She scowled, clenching her jaw as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to regain control of her rapid breathing. Almost naturally, her hands made their way up to the back of your neck, scratching your skin without meaning any harm. The blonde girl's grounding techniques always required physical contact, and you've always been so eager to volunteer for help. “If that useless whore you call friend has touched my toy, then I'll have no choice but to destroy her life.”
You took a deep sigh, unable to look at her face. For a while, you let Minjeong feel the depth of her promise, peacefully collecting your makeup bags and supplies, even though your chest rested a rapid mess. Once you were done, you walked to the exit with slow steps, leaning on the door so she'd listen clearly.
The bassist looked so hot, especially when she was acting insane. You hated yourself for wanting her even more like this: looking so sloppy in only a simple flannel and oversized sweatpants, no makeup on her face, and creamy, yellow hair that desperately needed some hair dye.
A single touch was all it took for you to be all over her, gripping the sink as you chanted Minjeong's name and promised to do whatever she wanted if she made you cum on her fingers. A simple command, a phrase, and you'd drop on your knees and crawl to her.
Instead, you muttered. “If you touch Saerom or do anything to harm her career, you might as well never talk to me again. Disgusting fuckers, all of you.”
Fuck their schedule, you decided. For the first time in so many years, you left without explanations or apologies.Aespa's members weren't worth any effort.
This time, you'd set yourself free.
—
The girls didn't reach out after your period of absence. The MAMA award ceremony was right around the corner, making it easy for the members to ignore the issue regarding your absence by drowning themselves in work. For a while, Karina, Minjeong, Ningning, and Giselle forgot about the absence of a certain groupie that seemed to be even louder when you weren't there with them.
Meanwhile, you were pretty busy yourself. Your graduation ceremony would occur on the same day as Aespa's MAMA performance, which you thankfully didn't have to deal with. The days were filled with fittings, rehearsals, and the anticipation of finally getting your diploma. You couldn't wait— after all, you were an entire semester late due to your absences.
When the day came, you were all excited; It felt nice to have the spotlight for once— receive gifts, flowers, and balloons for your big day. The front row of the crowd was occupied by your family and two of the friends you managed to make throughout your academic journey. Saerom sadly wouldn't be present, as she was supposed to attend the award ceremony with her group, but she sent you a beautiful note, along with a huge bouquet of roses.
You're a superstar, Y/n. Shine bright, always <3,
Kim Saerom
You were glad to have her in your life.
The ceremony was simple yet sophisticated. It ran smoothly, with long, thoughtful discourses and a nostalgic feeling of fulfilling such a big accomplishment. You didn't cry, although so many of your classmates did. They've surely made good use of this university— made friends, explored the campus, worked on their networking, and expanded their views regarding their majors through classes and extra official events.
None of which you've done. Not when you were always so busy with Aespa. The band has always taken so much of your time— nit that you regretted it in the slightest. The lessons you've learned with the girls and through their choreographers, lyricists, photographers, and concept developers were ones you would've never been lucky to experience otherwise. As you sat through and waited for your turn to get your diploma, warm feelings filled your chest.
Looking back, you realize you wouldn't have it any other way.
When it came to your turn, you searched for your mother's incessant flashes, so you'd look at her camera and get good shots of the moments, just as she spent so long nagging you about.
It wasn't her pair of eyes you found, as soon as you looked up.
Four familiar faces stared at you, in a mix of feelings. Karina smiled, her eyes nearly disappearing as she clapped excitedly; Minjeong rolled her eyes, but bowed at you in acknowledgment; Giselle screamed your name, with her hands cupping her mouth so her strong voice would echo through the place; at last, Ningning jumped so energetically you feared she'd get scolded anytime. Your girls: possessive, annoying, unnerving… but yours anyway. They knew how important this moment was to you, and came.
Regardless of the arguments, busy schedules, and hectic rockstar lives, they were present. For you, they showed up.
You didn’t waste any time wondering. As soon as the ceremony ends and you've all launched your caps to the sky, you squeezed through the crowd toward the Aespa girls. None of you spoke, for a moment. There was only anticipation, as the four of them bit their lips and stared at you, looking for any signs of anger or disgust. They'd leave in a heartbeat if you wished so, this time.
It was your night; your turn to be in the spotlight. They'd never deny you of that.
All of which was nonsense. There was nothing you wished for more but to have the rockstars by your side. With a broad smile, you threw yourself into Karina's arms. It didn’t take a second further for the others to join, in a big hug that deprived you of air— not that you complained. If anything, you only held onto them further, desperate for their touch after so long.
“What are you doing here?” You huffed, looking at each of them with furrowed brows.
They shared a knowing giggle before allowing their leader to take a step forward and explain. Karina caressed your arm, “It's your graduation, Y/n. We had to come.”
“Your big day.” Giselle nodded, with her hands on your waist as she brought you close. The girls touched everywhere they could reach, starved from being apart from you for so long. You hadn't realized how much you craved it, missed them until they were stating the same thing. “Congratulations, Y/n.”
You smiled even brighter if it was even possible. Before you could even express how much you've missed them, Ningning turned with a heavy, grand vase in her hands.
It was nearly her size, and the maknae sighed deep in relief once you retrieved it. “It's a protocol to bring flowers to a graduate. But, well, you've always fussed so much over the ones we get from the fans…”
“You won't have to bitch around about how they've been cut from the roots and are soon going to die. See?” Minjeong said, pointing to the vase. “This one will grow out if you take proper care of it. Which I don't know if you can, given your limited QI—” Her bickering was interrupted by Jimin, who pinched the blonde girl's arm. “Hey? Fuck, Jimin!”
Laughter filled the place as you looked further into your gift. A green, beautifully grown orchid rested on your hands; your favorite flower, which you didn't remember ever mentioning to them. Still, you didn't question, too enamored to care.
“Orchids light up a room,” Karina said, adjusting the cap on your head with soft, delicate hands. “They're imposing, difficult to grow, yet incredibly delicate.” With a quieter voice, she added. “Like you, Y/n. We love you.”
The leader's voice, trapped in a quiet confession, was enough to silence all the other lousy sounds in the ceremony. It all ceased; there was only the two of you, as Karina's big eyes stared at yours with such love your legs grow weak.
“Hey, sis.” Your brother broke the moment, grabbing your shoulder as he mildly turned you around and gestured to where your family was waiting. “Congrats.”
Your family, of course. They certainly wanted a word. “Sure, Gyu.” You gulped, straightening your posture and waving him away. “I'll be there shortly. Just give me five more minutes.”
Time was up. With a sigh, you prepared to say goodbye to the girls. Surely they'd have to rush like lightning, to get into MAMA on time. The most logical thing would be to come to your ceremony with their hair and makeup done, saving time. Yet, they looked so… normal. Not at all like they were attending one of Korea's most prestigious events so soon.
“Thank you for coming.” You bowed, avoiding their eyes. It was well known you wouldn't beg for them to stay. You'dnever beg for anything. “I appreciate it so much. And for the flowers.” With the elaborate vase in hand, you turned around to look for your family.
You barely managed a step before being stopped by Giselle. “Don't worry, Y/n. There's a rumor of an after-party with some cake and music to celebrate the new graduate around. We'll see you in a few.”
It was true. Your mother had insisted on holding a celebration dinner, along with a big party at your house to show off your— or better, your parents' newest accomplishment. Despite making a few decisions about the event's color palette, you hadn't done much for it to happen. And it most certainly wouldn't be possible for them to attend, not with them being the award ceremony's most expected band to perform. So why was she saying such nonsense?
“You're going?” You raised a brow, ogling your eyes at them. “But what about MAMA?”
Minjeong rolled her eyes, picking on invisible wrinkles in her suit. “Come on, Y/n. Don’t be stupid.” For the first time, she sounded sincere, straight to the point as she muttered. “This is more important than any award. You are more important than any award.”
Your hands gripped your gift with unnecessary strength. Beomgyu rushed you away before you could even say anything back, pushing through the crowd as you were caught in between your family members, being complimentedand making as much small talk as you could.
Not once did your thoughts waver from the four girls waiting next to the door, wondering what could they possibly be up to as you smiled and made small talk with your relatives.
—
It didn't take much wandering around your house to find them. The four girls stood on the garden deck area, each contently holding a glass of champagne as they smiled and chatted politely with the other guests. Despite your lack of enthusiasm for the event, the deck had been carefully decorated for the after-party: a warm set of lights had been hung on the trees, whilst the usually bland white seats and marbled tables had white and gold stripes attached to them— your university colors. The pillows and blankets that rested on the seats were changed to match the theme for the night, as well.
“Hey.” You said, keeping your hands behind your back. It was awkward, but you didn't know how to act around them by now. It wasn't like the five of you were exactly on good terms, so a quiet tension hung thin in the air.
Although there seemed to be a collective agreement on ignoring the obvious uneasiness going on, by the way they all smiled brightly as soon as you reached them.
“There she is,” Karina said, stretching her arm out so you'd come closer. Still quiet, you did as expected, leaning on the railing to hear them out. The leader's voice was soft, and calm like they had all the time in the world. “We have another gift for you.”
You didn't enjoy receiving gifts that much. Usually, people would just pick mindlessly, buying something your picky, rigorous self didn't particularly like and was set to forget or throw it away anytime soon. However, it had always been different with Aespa's band members. They knew of your likes and dislikes, sometimes better than yourself.
It was one of the few times you noticed their care. Whenever they'd get some plushie of your favorite color or a bracelet in the shape of your favorite animal. Small, simple things, yet you cherished those more than anything.
“Should I close my eyes?” You asked, playfully. It was only when they kept looking at you in expectation that you realized. “Oh. Okay.”
With your hands leaning through the air, you waited for their cue. Instead of your gift, steady hands scratched the center of your chest, pointy nails searching for something that hadn't been with you for a long time, now.
“It seems like you've lost your necklace.” A raspy voice said, with a tad of resentment. Giselle's, naturally. “What a shame. It looked pretty on you.”
You smirked, tensing your muscles to keep from reaching out and interlocking her fingers with yours. “I threw it away. There was no use in keeping it when you were acting like such annoying cun—”
Another set of hands gripped your mouth, harshly trapping your lips so you wouldn't speak. You felt a light weight on your hands, and some more fingers brushing your eyes. “Don't ruin this, Y/n. Open your eyes.”
The box wasn't flashy; not that you paid it much attention. Inside rested a golden necklace, with a solitaire sapphire resting in the center.
Simple and elegant. You couldn't have picked it better yourself.
You looked up to find Karina, Minjeong, Giselle, and Ningning wearing four matching ones. The small gems shone brightly against their skin, looking like they'd always belonged with them. More than stunning, they looked like every bit of the successful women they were.
“It's…” You whisper, but Karina cut you off, nervously squeezing her hands against each other.
“We're sorry, Y/n.” Her words seemed to lift a weight on all of your shoulders. It was instant: you felt lighter and less upset. “For not realizing how upset you were, before. Fuck, Y/n, we do care so much about you. Our band wouldn't be what we are without your help ever since day one. Without you. We're nothing without you.”
“You were indeed kind of creepy in the beginning, stalking us when we were nugus, getting into fights whenever someone made negative comments about us— being a possessive freak,” Minjeong muttered, shaking her head. Surprisingly, you all laughed, not taking her seriously. She then added, with a cautious tone, “But… Jimin's right. We are lucky to have you by our side. And it fucking sucks that it took us so long to acknowledge that, Y/n. We really are sorry. You are someone important to us.”
Giselle chimed in, twisting her necklace around her neck, “How could we not have fallen in love with you, Y/n? You’ve got a terrible habit of running your mouth, being loud, bossy, unapologetic and so possessive… just like us. We're the same, and maybe that's why we love each other so much. So yeah, we care. We care about the way you're terrible at waking up in the mornings, how you never charge your phone, how you're scared of heights,” She clocked her head, examining you from head to toe. “You're extremely protective of the ones you care about. You're kind, fierce, and selfless. You'd do anything for the people you love. Fuck, Y/n, you spent months ignoring us and we can't even go a week without your presence. So yeah, we care.”
At this point, you couldn't face them anymore; You focused on the ground, trying not to let any tears fall off. Small arms hugged you, offering comfort through the best caress. Ning hummed, still smiling brightly even if you could see her eyes sparkling, too. “We know it's something you show through actions and not words. Don't worry, Y/n. We'll show you just that.”
“We are one,” Karina said, at last. At her cue, they all followed, touching their necklaces with a faint smile. “There's no Aespa without you, Y/n. We've known that from the start. This necklace is for us to never forget that. All of us.”
Karina, Minjeong, Giselle, and Ningning are such important figures in your life. There's nothing you wouldn't do for them.
“We are one,” You repeated, holding yours in your hand as you sealed the promise, kissing each of them with care. “No more distance, no more stupid people getting in the middle of us.”
“Deal.” The four of them declared, in unison. As you shared another strong hug, you couldn't help but feel peaceful, and so loved.
It was so freeing to know they felt the same way about you, too.
—
“I refuse to close my eyes again.” You said, laughing with Ning as she guided you to the dining room. It was nearly empty, with the table and the chairs being moved outside to accommodate the guests. Strangely enough, a single chair lay forgotten in the center, which Yizhuo guided you to sit with confident steps. “Also, you seem unsurprised by the haunted chair in the room, which I'm pretty sure wasn't here before since, well, Mother made me and Gyu drag everything outs—”
“Y/n!” Ningning snapped her fingers in front of your face, trying to get you quiet once and for all.
“Sorry.” You straightened your posture, smiling excitedly at the exasperated girl. “Go on with my third gift of the night. How lucky am I, hm, to have Aespa's Ningning is right in front of me.”
The maknae rolled her eyes, shaking her head in disapproval. “If you keep talking, I'm just going away and leaving you behind.”
“No, no!” You shook your hands, signaling you'd do as told. “I'll behave, promise. Please continue, Ningie.”
She was suddenly shy, then. Tugging at her shirt, Ningning bounced back and forth, “When I was practicing for my solo, I ended up writing this song, and… well, I kind of thought of you while producing it. It won't make it to the album— Kenzie and I picked up another one instead. But Gigi got so excited when she listened to it, we made up a silly choreography. I'd like to show you. Only if you promise not to judge my dancing skills, though!”
You raised a brow, curious. “Never, Ning. You're amazing at everything you do. Please show me what you've been working on.”
Ningning nodded, turning on the song on her phone's speaker as she closed her eyes to focus for a moment.
It wasn't the cute, baby girl Ning you knew who turned around. The girl who swayed her hips confidently along with the melody was much different.
Her performer persona wasn't unknown to you, but having Yizhuo messing her hair as she turned around and showed you her perfect arch was a vision not even your dirtiest, most perfect dreams would do the right justice. The music'slow, sensual pre-chorus led Ningning to put her arms up, freeing herself from her shirt before lowering herself on the ground and crawling her way to you.
By the time the last lyrics of the song were up, Ning stood in between your thighs with half-opened lips and rapid breathing, smiling at you with breezy eyes. “So… what did you think, Y/n?”
“Stunning.” Your answer came immediately, as you urged her up to your lap. Ningning's hands went to the hem of your dress, making sure there was no fabric keeping her from touching your skin. “You're perfect, Ning. Looked so pretty and talented, too.”
Neither your hands assaulting her tits— twisting and pinching her nipples as your mouth grew dry, nor the way you kept pressing your thighs onto her sex, encouraging the maknae to rock back and forth against your skin seemed to bother her. If anything, Ningning only pressed further, humming faintly onto your neck as she gave you small, wet kisses.
“Did I make you wet?” She asked, pouting. As innocent as she looked, her fingers had no good intentions as they traveled down to your panties. Ning made no move to get them out of the way, caressing your pussy with a single finger.
“Guess.” You said, rolling your eyes as you opened your legs so she could get better access to your sex. Ning giggled, finally pulling your panties to the sides so she could get a taste of your wetness.
A frustrated moan left your mouth just as Ningning's fingers refuse to enter your needy cunt. Instead, they ghost your entrance, definitely not thrusting enough as she brought them to her mouth, licking her fingers clean.
“You taste so good, Y/n.” She commented, pulling you in for a kiss almost immediately. “Even sweeter than usual.”
Kissing Ningning felt much like her personality: calm, slow, and a tad messy. Saliva drooled from your mouth as you tasted yourself on her lips, content with having such a pretty girl on your lap. The absence of her touches was driving you crazy. Your skin was already burning; and your cunt was hot and bothered, soak waiting for the maknae's touch.
“I'm not going to beg.” Your warning came soon as you both parted, gasping for air after nearing devouring the drummer.
To your surprise, Ningning laughed, letting her head fall behind her.
“Don't worry, Y/nnie.” She promised, spitting on her fingers as they finally entered you. “It's your big day, after all. Besides, pretty girls always get what they want.”
You gasped, carving your fingers on Ning's shoulders in a silent ask for more. Thankfully she was fast to keep up with it, fingering your pussy at a hard, fastened pace. The familiar feeling that built up deliciously on your lower abdomen deepened, sending waves of pleasure through all of your body. Ningning's thumb went to your clit, rubbing it in circles with just the right amount of pressure.
It felt so good— Ningning always knew the right places to touch you. You curled your toes as she did the same with her fingers, fasting her pace on both your hole and your clit. The tingling sensation spreading over your body only depended, as did your breathing. Ningning seemed attuned to that, too, since her fingers then made scissoring motions on your pussy as you kissed once again.
“Cum for me, please, Y/n. I want to make you feel good.” She pouted, but you kissed it away.
Ningning sucked on your neck, using her free hand to brush against your clit even harder and faster. The stimulation sent you over the edge: your orgasm was deliciously good, erupting pleasure throughout your entire body as you chanted the drummer's name over and over. You were quick to pull her hand away, closing your legs and clenching your fingers to avoid the overstimulation.
The maknae seemed to have other plans. Almost immediately, Yizhuo dropped to her knees, forcing your legs open as her tongue licked your pussy without any rush.
“Ning…” You whined, grabbing her hair but not yet pulling it. “Later.”
Laughing at your trembling thighs, Ningning laughed, pressing small kisses to your inner thighs instead of sucking on your clit like she wished to. When her smiley eyes looked up to meet yours, her pretty mouth glistened with your juices.
“Relax, Y/n. I'm just making sure you don't leave like a mess.” You smirked back at her answer, shaking your head as Ningning helped you up and pulled your dress back down, kneeling so you'd get your panties on properly. Only then, Ningning grabbed her shirt, covering herself as she winked at you. “It's still your big night, after all. You must look pristine.”
You laughed, interlocking your arms as you both left the room with giggles and loud jokes. Back to Karina, Minjeong, and Giselle, who loved and adored you wholeheartedly. In your own possessive, twisted way, you understood each other perfectly.
Dream/George | Explicit | 5k | Getting Together | Omegaverse
Excerpts:
Dream's eyes seem to darken as he commands, “Lie on your stomach, George.”
George swallows as he does just that. He takes his shirt off for a good measure too. He senses Dream's eyes trace down towards his happy trail while doing it. He feels exposed like this. His nipples harden when Dream puts his hand on the back of George’s neck and pinches it. “Stay still.”
George lets out a whimper, his dick starting to throb in his shorts. He can feel Dream’s hands on their journey down his back, covering his skin with sunscreen and massaging, splayed wide on his waist.
“Look at you,” Dream chokes out. “All good for me like this.”
For @i-hope-this-is-a-phase for @dnfity fic exchange! thank you so much to @minecraftdog for beta reading!
a/n: !! michael! ik most of the fandom loves him (at least from what I’ve seen?? 😭) and u know what. so do i. i decided this would be a fun first post cuz it has a lot of space for content!
you can imagine him as pre-scooper michael or if u want u can do post too.
p.s I forgot that I could literally just call him Mike until half way through lmao
warnings: mentions of food, angst on some letters, implications and some elaborations of trauma (mike’s), self destructive habits
A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)
Michael isn’t really the best in terms of verbal affection. He leans more toward subtle actions - hooking his pinky with yours and not saying anything about it, giving you snacks with no context and leaning on you whenever you’re near enough for the two of you to press against each other’s sides.
B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)
Generally, Michael doesn’t...make friends. You’d definitely have to be the first to approach, or both of you would somehow have to be forced to interact. He can come off as a bit rude and cold, but the more you get to know him the more willing he is to really interact and listen to you. Michael doesn’t really know how to care for people (not after spending so many years alone) but he tries. He likes asking you about your day and sending you things he thinks you’d like.
C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)
Michael likes cuddling to an extent - he has his off days, but for the most part he appreciates feeling soft blankets pressed against his back, and your body heat seeping into his from where you’re curled into his arms and laying against his torso. He finds himself running his hands up and down your back, an action he remembers faintly from his childhood.
D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)
Michael doesn’t know how to cook - between a bad home life as a child and no one to teach him once he grew up, he’s spent his life depending on cup ramen and microwave-able foods. Occasionally he’ll have to put something together, but he couldn’t name the last time he had anything made from scratch. He’s also never really been present enough in his own home to make much of a mess - every room beside his bedroom is decorated blandly, dust settling on them. Still, with you in his life he learns to try harder. He cleans his spaces dutifully, and helps you with the dishes when you cook. He’s never imagined having a family, to afraid to be like his father, though with you showing him how to really care for someone, he thinks having more people to care for and coddle wouldn’t be so bad.
E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)
Michael coming to terms with your relationship not working out is a brutal and silent inner-fight. You find him growing distant, now and bitter whenever he interacted with you. He became almost uncaring about your feelings, avoiding you at all costs and acting like he couldn’t hear you when he came home. When he finally tells you that you two are over, you’re not surprised. Still, you’re hurt. he could’ve saved you the heart ache. You understand it was his walls coming back up, trying to protect him after he realized he was unhappy, but you can’t help but feel bitter. You didn’t deserve feeling like nothing but dirt because he had a realization. When you finally move out, that’s it. You never hear from him again. It’s like the time you two spent together was gone, insignificant.
F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)
Given his father and watching his parents when he was smaller, he doesn’t like what marriage means. As he gets older he of course realizes that his family wasn’t exactly healthy, but the point still stands. Marriage does not equal happiness to him, and he can’t help but be skittish about it. He understands that it is an important symbol to most, but he cant bring himself to officially marry you, as much as he loves you. His fear of becoming his father is irrational, he knows, but just thinking about it sends him into a dark place.
G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)
Mike is as gentle as he can be physically. He’s afraid of hurting you, so his touch is always light and caring, despite his heavily scarred and calloused hands. Emotionally, he has a hard time understanding what boundaries mean at first. You’ll have to be very clear to him on what he can and cant do/ say. He’d hate to hurt you, but emotional vulnerability is something he hasn’t practiced in a very long time. It’s a process, just like every other relationship.
H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)
HUGS! Mike at first is super hesitant, barely touching you in fear of you flinching or pushing him away. He quickly learns that your response is just to melt into him, wrapping your own arms around him and shoving your head into the crook of his neck or into his chest. he doesn’t initiate often, but he gladly complies when you open your arms and come closer to him. He likes hugging you close, feeling your heartbeat thrum against his body and letting his hands soak up your warmth.
I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)
He thinks it more than he ever says it. The first time he says it to himself is when you smile nervously down at him, having woken him up while trying to drape a blanket over him from where he had fallen asleep on your couch. He’s too groggy to understand your whispered apologies and explanations, he only pulls you to him gently and hugs you to him, forcing you to meld against him. You still your flustered twitching quickly, and as he sinks back into the couch, eyelids heavy, he registers the unfamiliar warmth in his chest. He really does love you.
J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)
Michaels jealousy stems from insecurity. It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes he’ll catch himself grumbling about how much better you must like the friend you’re out with right now. When you get home, he hugs you and pouts silently, moping in your embrace.
K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)
Oh he’s an absolute sucker for kisses. He likes pressing soft pecks on the crown of your head or on your forehead, mostly while hugging you. Pecks on the cheek still fluster him, and he likes slow, soft presses against each other’s lips when you two have the time to lounge. He’s very soft for kisses pressed to his shoulder area, relishing in the warm short press of your mouth on his shoulder blades.
L = Little ones (How are they around children?)
Mike hasn’t really been around kids ever since his siblings...passed. He doesn’t trust himself around them, either. He doesn’t want to hurt them, god no, but he also hadn’t meant to hurt others. He learns to indulge them, though. As awkward as he is, he tries his best to make children feel safe around him when he can.
M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)
Michael, as a result of heavy insomnia, is not a morning person OR a night person. On the nights he does sleep, he wakes up horribly ; it takes him so long to blink the sleep out of his eyes, and even longer to process that he’s alive and has things to do.
N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)
Michael doesn’t really like night-time. To dark for him to know where everything is, but he can’t afford to keep the lights on all night either. He often does not sleep, but nights with you go differently. While you can’t do much about his Insomnia and night terrors, you can keep him company while he calms down, and bring him his comfort items.
O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)
Michael most definitely takes some time to open up. He’s an acquaintance for a VERY long time, until he starts to open up just a bit more. He offers facts about himself easier, lets himself lose tension in his body around you, etc.
P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)
Mike doesn't get angry easy. He gets peeved, and he doesn't have the LONGEST of fuses, but when he does get angry it's cold. His face goes blank, voice tight and void of any emotion. His room is littered with plaster stains from having to repair holes he'd punched in the walls, but he had never once hurt you. Those were old anyway - results of rages he had when he was newly an adult, hurting and with no way to make it stop.
Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)
Mike does not know a single allergy of yours or your blood type but he knows your favorite club penguin puffle.
R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)
Mike often thinks about the first birthday you two celebrated together. You had been late, the clock striking 9 pm and no sign of you. It had worried him, but he consoled himself as best as he could. It was raining; there was probably some traffic, he reasoned. When he finally hears keys jingling from outside of the front door, he swings it open before you could wiggle the key into the slot. Your smile was tight, lips thinned sheepishly. You were absolutely drenched, coat heavy on your shoulders and sneakers glistening with rainwater.
“Hey, Mikey. I know i'm late, I'm sorry. There was so much left at work and then I got a notification on my phone so i had to go to the store and then there were like four car crashes so i took the longest route home in the rain," You huffed, clearly annoyed. Mike listened, relief flooding through him. You were shivering, but over-all safe and that's all he really wanted.
"But, anyway,"You continued, shrugging off your soaking backpack and letting it slump against the wall beside the front door. You stuck your arms out, and Michael realized you were holding something. “Happy Birthday, Michael!" You cheer lightly, mimicking a victory horn in place of a party horn. Michael stared blankly, hands finally coming up to grip at the offered package.
It took him a second longer to realize what it was. He felt himself grin...when was the last time he had a birthday cake? He couldn't remember...
He mouthed thank you, though he wasn't sure the movement was pronounced enough for you to recognize it. You stripped off your coat and shook off your shoes, Mike doing little but watching.
“Give me a second to shower and then we'll give you a birthday song alright?" You grinned, looking back up at him. He blinked, nodding gently. You cock your head curiously, smile dimming.
“You okay, Mike?" You asked, stepping closer to him. He nodded again, shifting the cake to one hand so he could yank you into a hug. You yelped, crashing into his frame. He whispered a thank you into your neck, nuzzling into your hold. You pat him gently, a hand coming up to comb through his hair.
"Michael, you're all wet now,"
He only held you tighter.
S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)
hahah security guard Michael's lived with the people his father has screwed over trying to get to him his entire life, so he's quite paranoid. There's a total of four locks on his front door, and he doesn't think he's ever cracked open a window (who knows what who could crawl in at night).
Admittedly he's a little over protective of you. He likes knowing where you are, though its not something he requires of you. Letting him know when you're going out and having an idea of when you'd be back is enough.
Sometimes Mike gets a weird sense of fear, and he despises having you home. The pure thought of someone being able to hear everywhere he goes, every movement he makes freaks him out so much that he lays in bed, curled in a ball and tries not to breathe. You learn to find something to go buy, or to find a friend to randomly catch up with when you hear his presence in the house practically vanish.
T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)
Mike's horrible at remembering dates, so there's definitely been a few anniversaries he's missed over time. He tries his hardest to remember birthdays though. he gets you little trinkets, nothing huge but something to "remember him by", as he says. Everyday tasks get hard sometimes, regardless of him insisting that he's fine. Helping him out with tiny things, like putting stuff back where it goes or closing the cabinets he leaves open by accident is something you take up to make him feel just a bit better.
U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)
Michael picks at his skin a lot. It's been a habit he's carried for years, and it's not uncommon to see his face or fingers littered in bandages to hide the ache-y bleeding spots where he picked too deep.
V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)
Concerned...wouldn’t be the right term for it I think. Mike's only real concept of self-care for a very long time was showering and that was it. He wore dark colors to avoid any real effort that comes with style and occasionally he shaved his scraggly beard. His hair got quite long sometimes, and when he could bring himself to look in the mirror he'd hack at it until the strands at the back of his head were short enough to tickle at his fingers when he ran his hand over his hair.
W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)
Yes. You’re a very big part of who he is — he loves totally, relishes in the affection he feels for you. He can handle being apart, of course, but the thought of you leaving him (whether by choice or not) hurts. He doesn’t like thinking about it.
X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)
Michael likes origami. There I said it. You find random fortune tellers/cootie catchers around the house, and paper planes are all over your kitchen counters. It helps him with how stiff his hands are after work, it’s a nice, almost mind numbing activity after a long day.
Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)
He doesn’t like being lied to. No one does, of course, but it’s a genuine deal breaker. Trust is a big thing to Mike and the thought of you not caring to tel him the truth or believing that he doesn’t deserve the truth hurts him.
Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)
Michael hums. I don’t make the rules. It’s almost creepy at first, cuz you think he’s awake at three a.m., but eventually it’s just another fun thing you know about him. (No, you never tell him. You don’t think he knows.)
— WHEN YOU CALL MY NAME, IT'S LIKE A LITTLE PRAYER;
cw: smut (+18, MDNI!). canon divergence, modern!au, age difference (baelor is in his late 40s and reader in her late 20s), erectile dysfunction, oral (male!receiving), titfuck (?). | wc: 2.153k
modern!baelor targaryen x female!reader.
thinking about how BAELOR is older than the men you usually date.
you had matched with him on an online dating app: skimming through the frat bros, and the men holding fishes in their profile pictures, and the guys failing to mask their commitment issues behind a "thoughts on going 50/50 on a first date?", only to find yourself swiping right on him. on a man who, despite handsome, was a year short of turning 50, head of his own architecture firm, and painfully interested in tolkien's bibliography.
the result was just as interesting as the discovery. he used proper capitalization but did not try to make you feel dumb for not doing so yourself, made questions that held an actual meaning and took what you answered with genuine interest, and, most importantly, did not hit you with the accursed "u up?" as soon as midnight stroke.
it was refreshing. it was unusual. and it kept you waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering just what made a man like that spend his time swipping through profiles on an online site like all the men half his age that only seemed to be there in the efforts of wasting women's time.
it felt, frankly, too good to be true.
and the truth is, BAELOR was, at first, just as confused as you were.
he was a divorceé, and had hastily set up his profile after some goading from his sons about, in their words, "needing to put himself out there again." he did not want to waste anyone's time because he did not want anyone wasting his, and was barely learning his way through the app when he matched with you.
you were younger—probably closer to his sons in age than to himself. you were beautiful. you were smart, and funny, and, god, you deserved better than a man who was twice your age, tragically addicted to his work, and, quite frankly, lonely as fuck. not to mention he couldn't even seem to get it up—not that he'd had to for anything else than his own hand for the last decade, but still.
the thing is, he's not even that old. he's not fifty yet. and he's healthy, too: religiously jogs every morning, doesn't drink beyond an occasional wine glass when having dinner with his brother, and follows a healthier diet than the one he kept for half his life.
he's just stressed.
yes, that's it. his firm is supervising a housing development contract that keeps turning into even more of a nightmare with every passing day, maekar is a pain in the ass, and now, to top it all off, he's trying to get back into dating as if he were not a man that has already built a happy, successful life of his own. so yes, he's stressed.
he's stressed, and he's taking pills so he can sleep, and yeah, he's old—he’s old, and both his beard and his hair are speckled with grey, and his back cracks when he gets up from his bed in the morning.
no wonder his dick doesn't get hard as fast as it did when he was twenty-seven.
and, god, you're twenty-seven.
you’re young and bright and lively—you’ve just finished a phd in applied mathematics and (still) think going out to concerts is fun. you smoke while drinking your afternoon coffee and meet with your friends every friday to discuss your book club pick over a charcuterie board and an aperol spritz.
and you said yes when he asked you out to dinner.
you had, in fact, also ordered an aperol spritz during your date. that, wild mushroom risotto, and white chocolate mousse. you told him you’re a vegetarian and baelor did not crack a joke; he took the risotto bite you offered and made a comment about needing to find a similar recipe so he could give it a try at home. you shared half of your desserts with each other and then agreed to continue the date at his place.
and now, you're on your knees, at the foot of his bed, wearing the prettiest red dress he's seen in a long, long time.
you're on your knees, in a short, tight, pretty red dress, and you have his cock inside your mouth. warm, tender, wet—and fuck, he's still soft.
he had, of course, told you about his struggles. somewhere along finishing dessert and ordering coffee, he had confessed in hushed words that even if he took you back to his, he would not be able to perform the way you're probably used to. you had insisted you didn't mind, and had told him you wanted to suck him off regardless, and he had agreed, and god—
you close your lips around his tip, flicker your tongue over his slit, and he allows himself, just for a moment, to think of the what ifs.
what if he was your age, and his dick still worked, and he could have you bent over the kitchen counter? what if he was at least ten years younger, and again, he could get you on a mating press, or a headlock, or anything that was not this. anything that meant he's making you feel good, anything that would not have him feeling the slightest bit of the shame that threatens to swallow him whole.
fuck, he should have eaten you out first. he should have fingered you until you came.
"mhm," you hum, looking up through your lashes, one hand fondling his balls while the other grips the back of his thigh. "that's it. doin' so well for me, hm?"
he wants to. oh, how he wants to do well for you. be good for you. he wants to run his tip down your slit, coat himself in your juices, and bury himself to the hilt inside of you. he wants to have you on your back, or your belly, or on top of him, or in any position your body wants to be fucked in, splitting your pretty pussy open with his cock.
but you’re on your knees. you’re on your knees, and you have his cock inside your mouth.
you shift in your position, slipping the straps of your dress over your shoulders, pulling the hem down until your tits are spilling out of your dress, and BAELOR hisses. there's blood traveling down alright, and you take him in your hand, harder than he was a minute earlier, and push yourself upwards to tap his tip once, twice, three torturous times against your stiff nipples. he knows he would've busted all over them already, painted them in a mess of a hot, thick white ribbons, if only he were fucking—
"that feels good, yeah?" you breathe out, quiet, aware. "you like 'em? want me to let you suck on 'em later, mhm?"
"fuck, pretty—"
"mhm, that's a yes, isn't it?"
BAELOR smiles, biting on the soft, supple skin of his bottom lip, and he feels like he's on fire. you do it again, tapping his dripping, leaking tip against your tits while you part your lips to let a single ribbon of spit fall over his tip.
his breath catches in his throat.
it looks debauched, dirty—he's seen this in porn, when he's lying on his bed late at night and he's trying to will an erection that will not come, and god, he had never thought it would feel like this.
"yes, it's a—a fucking yes, pretty," he mutters, slipping the word through clenched teeth.
he’s not hard yet, not by a mile, but his cock weighs a different kind of heavy in your hand. your thumb runs in circles over his tip, redder, starting to pulse, and pleasure begins to build at the bottom of his stomach before you've even taking him in your mouth again.
"yeah? and you like that, mhm? telling me what you want to do to me?" a smirk, and a pump up his cock. "you want to talk me through it? tell me how you'd fuck my tight, wet cunt?"
he knows what you're doing: you're stroking his ego just as much as you're stroking his cock, and there's an easiness to your movements that lets him know you're doing it for you just as much as you're doing it for him. because you don't have to stroke his ego, and you don't have to play it up, and you run your tongue across your lower lip when the thought settles in your head.
it feels easy. it feels comfortable.
it feels like going home with a man that was respectful, and attentive, and considerate, since the very first message you exchanged with each other. it feels like going home with a man that spent the entirety of dinner listening to you—genuinely, interested, uninterrupted—instead of saying whatever he'd thought would make his shadow look bigger when he turned around. it feels like going home with a man that thinks of you, your pleasure and your comfort, first and foremost, even when he gets to have his dick inside your mouth.
and so you set your eyes on his once more, and BAELOR feels slightly longer, slightly thicker, slightly stiffer, when you wrap your pretty lips around his tip once more.
"i want—fuck, i want—i'd have you on top of me," he says. "you'd be straddling me. and my, mhm—oh, just like that. yeah, do that thing with your tongue again, pretty girl. please. that... yeah, that thing. 'm just—just not as young as i used to be."
you moan around his cock, tongue at his slit, and he shivers. you look up at him again, pupils blown out wide, eyes hazy with want, and he surrenders to the blissfulness of the moment.
his hand, big and rough, finds the back of your head and pulls you down until your nose kisses his navel. a streak of silver marks the place where his happy trail begins right over the edge of his tummy, and BAELOR’s fingers, long and lithe, wrap around your hair, clenching into a tight fist. the burning at your scalp makes your hole clench around nothing.
"i'd be buried inside your warm, wet pussy," he continues, eyes glued to where his cock disappears inside your mouth, feeling his pleasure grow, and grow, and grow, and he's about to succumb to it all. "and you'd be gripping me so, so tight. and you'd be rubbing your clit as you ride me, and you'd let me suck on your pretty tits, and—oh, mhm, 'm gonna—"
you pull him out of your mouth with a wet pop, and he shudders at the loss of your heat. his cock, still limp but now pulsing red, plops obscenely against your hand, and you pump him faster as you keep your eyes on his.
"gonna what? gonna cum?" you tease, tone resting somewhere between a moan and a mewl, and he almost misses the way in which you're clenching your thighs together as you speak. "gonna paint my face? or—oh, you're gonna cover my tits, huh? suck 'em after?"
and god, you're turned on. you're turned on for him, because of him, and he didn't even need to be hard to have you clenching your thighs together in search of friction, dripping down your thighs in anticipation. oh, he's going to eat you out so, so well after this. he smells your arousal from where he sits and imagines its sweetness when he swallows the knot forming in his throat, and he's—
"mhm, just like that," you mewl, pumping his cock from base to tip as he spills all over your chest in a mess of white.
he moans, loud, unrepentant, humping upwards against your hand as his eyes threaten to roll back against his skull. his thighs tense, muscles clenching as his orgasm ravages through his body. it travels up his spine, making him shake, wrecking him down to his bones, pulling him apart just so you can put him back together.
and you keep pumping his cock, still soft, still leaking, and he feels like it's his heart, hot and bloody and pulsing, that you're holding in your palm instead. he'd let you. he’d present it himself, tear it out for you, bare it clean in open palms if you so wished for it.
he breathes in, breathes out, rhythm frantic as his chest rises, as it falls, and he lets out a long, deep sigh as he lets his head fall back against his shoulders. and he, just like you, feels at ease.
“well, i think he does likes me, after all,” you say, words slipping past swollen lips and melting into a giggle.
and BAELOR rolls his eyes back, still panting for breath, and the corner of his mouth rises into an easy, lazy smile. "brat."
summary: they had thought the northern cold would tame a dragon's fire. they had forgotten that wolves, too, are creatures of appetite.
themes and genres: smut (18+) MDNI!, established relationship.
word count: 3.02k
content warnings: unprotected sex, p in v, bottom!aerion, creampie, slight hair pulling, tit sucking, aerion and his lady wife being freaky as a general warning.
author's note: hello! i have not written fic in years and this has not been beta'ed so please forgive me if it is a little rusty. i do not know just how often i will write for aerion as i am too baelorpilled at the moment, but this came to me as i was listening to sextape by deftones and i couldn't not write it. i am obsessed with the idea of aerion being pathetically wrapped around his wife's finger even if he tries his best not to show it, though, so i might be writing another part to this. do let me know what you think, please! anyways, without further ado, i hope you all like this!
— header gif made by me, featuring mihály von zichy's romantic encounter (1864) | masterlist | crossposted on ao3.
Deep within the expanse of Winterfell, a dragon broods over a late summer’s snow.
His predicament is not out of the ordinary, for the North is often unwelcoming to those unfamiliar with its ruthlessness, but the reason behind it is. He is, after all, a prince of the realm — his lady wife should have journeyed to him, not the other way around! Alas, his father had not listened to his raging, and had merely sent the newly-wedded couple on their way forth to Lady Stark’s childhood seat on the morrow following their wedding feast. Blessings and condolences upon Winterfell, Maekar had muttered. The utter nerve, the blatant gall! Dragons were not meant to thrive in the depths of winter, and yet, he is required to try. No. He is the Brightflame, the dragon made flesh. He is expected to succeed.
“He’s all but sent me away like you would a misbehaving child,” Aerion mutters under his breath. “As if I were not the blood of the dragon.”
He has been like this since departing Summerhall: he mopes, he sulks, and on occasions, he rages. You would think he would have tired of it already if you did not know him as well as you do. Eight moons have passed since, after all.
“Perhaps he merely thought the cooler weather would favor your spirit,” you reply, your voice so delicate and composed he cannot help but compare it to the first falling of snow: gentle and certain, and yet painfully aware of the power that lies beneath. “You must not think of it as a punishment, my prince.”
“Except he is punishing me, wife,” Aerion answers. He grits his teeth, willing his tongue not to loosen too much in his lapse of annoyance. “He has been doing it ever since we came back from that Gods-forsaken tourney in the middle of nowhere. It has been years. Besides, it was me who was wronged, and it was not my fault my uncle was injured. You know this.”
A breath passes before you answer. You had only been betrothed to Aerion for a few moons before the tourney that almost witnessed the death of Baelor Breakspear, and it was all still a whirlwind inside your head. You don’t think you can remember much of the whole ordeal, in truth. Northern houses rarely bothered with southern tourneys, and you had only journeyed down to Ashford Meadow to join the royal entourage and meet the man you would soon wed. You witnessed the results of his fury instead.
“I do, husband. I simply meant that I, for one, do not think of our union as a punishment. Much less so of you staying here,” you say, words meant to appease.
Aerion frowns, his lips pursed into a thin line. He weighs on your words for a moment before he speaks. “That is not what I meant. I have made clear that I consider you to be an appropriate companion.”
And you know it. But allowing Aerion to dwell too much upon the actions of his father (or what he thinks them to be) has never ended favorably. So instead, you simply smile, and allow your fingers to tread down the sides of his torso. Your husband lets out a content hum, and lets his shoulders relax as he leans back against the smoothed stone of the bathtub.
The hot springs had become Aerion’s favorite feature of Winterfell not long after arriving. It had been one of the first places you showed him upon journeying back home, and he had soon found solace from the cold inside the underground caverns. He does not mind spending the majority of his days cooped up in mere candlelight, and would not admit to his appeasement when you finally join him, but it had become easier and easier for you to read your husband with each passing of the moon.
You are the only ones in the bathhouse tonight. Aerion had retired early after dinner, not caring much about socializing with the people of Winterfell. It is all the same to him, and in his mind, he would not even have to if only his father had not but kicked him out of Summerhall as soon as he had found the chance. He had eaten the stew and drank the wine, and then excused himself from the Hall with a squeeze on your thigh. An hour later, you had known where to find him, and joined him inside the water as you normally would.
It is a curious thing. There are times, just like now, where the man in front of you seems so unlike the man in your head, that you have to ransack your brain while thinking of dualities. The steam from the water rises in thin, delicate ribbons all around you, wrapping around his skin in a form that seems otherworldly. His hair, silver and always so meticulously arranged, now drips droplets of water onto his face, almost resembling liquid gold as it catches the candlelight. And his eyes, so sharp and cunning, shine like starlight when your gaze meets his. Oh, how beautiful he is. Oh, how the most dangerous of creatures sometimes wear the prettiest of masks.
You break the silence with a giggle, and adorn your words with a smile. “Did you know, husband, that the smallfolk believe there to be a dragon sleeping under the castle?”
Aerion opens his eyes, lazily, and fights back a smile of his own. “That is nonsense.”
His fingers find yours under the water, and he brings you closer with a tug. Your bodies move out of their own accord, as if on second nature, and your legs wrap around his waist as you settle over his lap.
“Well, that much is clear,” you reply. Your arms move to rest over his shoulders, with your fingers drawing shapes upon the soft skin of his back. “But they do, truly. They believe it is its breath that warms these springs.”
Your husband hums, content, a deep groan traveling up his body and culminating in a sigh. He will say it was caused by temperature. You know it to be a result of your touch.
“It is still impossible,” Aerion laughs, quietly. It is a low, grumbling sound, and for a moment, it reminds you of the roaring of a hearth. Wild. Uncaring of what burns in its wake. “For the blood of the dragon is ours alone, my precious wolf. It is not Winterfell’s to claim. Do not speak what could be mistaken for treason.”
You refrain from rolling your eyes at his words, and lean forward, pressing a kiss upon his collarbone.
“Treason?” You hum along his skin. “When I serve my Lord husband just as nicely?”
“Perhaps this is how you mean to ensnare me,” he mumbles, his eyelids once again fluttering closed. A breath breaks past his lips and betrays his efforts at masking his desire. “With pretty words, devious touches, and your deliciously warm cunt, like a properly cunning wife.”
Your lips travel upward, teeth raking up his throat, and his manhood begins to wake at the brazen contact.
“Gods above, you’ve caught me,” you laugh against his skin, amused. You press a kiss upon his jaw, then trace down the shape of it with your tongue. “What a clever dragon you are.”
Aerion’s hand finds the back of your head, lithe fingers curling around the strands of hair at the nape of your neck. He pulls, and you whine. His cock swells at the sound, growing harder under the water.
“Do you toy with me, wife?” He grumbles, his free hand finding your hip. He pulls you tight against his form in a single motion. “I cannot decide if I find it foolish or enticing.”
“Then I suggest you dwell on it no longer,” a whisper, followed by a kiss on the sweet spot under his ear. “For tonight, I only mean to feed into your fire.”
He smirks.
“I am a dragon. And dragons do not bow down to wolves,” Aerion mutters, amused. The tip of his cock throbs against your center as he raises his hips in a teasing motion. “But I suppose I will permit you to take as much as you want, if only for tonight.”
You smile against his skin, and Aerion leans back slightly. The hand on the back of your hand travels lower until it meets the bottom of your back, and he grabs at the roundness of your ass to make you gasp against his cheek. You laugh, and press your palms upon his chest. You push, and he replies with a sound of his own. The reaction surprises him as much as it does you, but for once, Aerion finds no need to pretend. He will, no doubt, claim it is the steam making his mind soft. You grind down against him, and the hardness of his cock, however, lets you know it is pure want.
Aerion’s mouth finds yours half-way, lips meeting in a kiss that steals all the air out of your lungs. It is a messy, desperate thing, the result of two hungry creatures fighting for dominance. Your tongue meets his inside his mouth, and for a moment, he relents. He lets you cup his jaw with your hands as you suck on his tongue, raising yourself just enough for his own hands to find the apex of your legs under the water, and trails his fingers down your cunt. He circles your pearl with long, skilled fingers, teasing your warmth as you moan into his mouth.
“You are more dangerous than you let on,” Aerion says, quietly. The moment is yours alone, voice not exactly tender, but lacking his usual bite. He finishes his words by biting on your lower lip, just as he presses softly into your pearl with the tip of his thumb. He relishes in the sound you produce, breathless and hoarse. “They are such fools, thinking this marriage would ever tame me. You may not be made of fire and blood, pretty wolf, but you burn all the same.”
You answer by fisting the hair at the back of his head, pulling back just enough, and he stares up at you through half-closed eyes. His pupils are blown wide with desire as he smiles, lazily, eyes glinting mischievously. His hand moves down along your cunt, sliding a finger inside your heat, and you tug on his hair again.
“See?” He mutters, voice dripping with something that rests somewhere between brazen arrogance and fervent devotion. “No one else would ever dare to tread as dangerously as you do. No else could ever bear to. It is us alone who can burn in this fire.”
A grin curls up at the corners of your lips, and a shiver runs down Aerion’s back at the sight. He drinks you up, little by little, and meets a thousand small deaths in each and every one of your warm touches. He lets his finger dip inside you a little deeper, curling up ever so slightly, and steals a moan from your mouth. He drinks it in, slipping a second finger inside your cunt before he pumps then in and out, repeating his motions as your walls flutter around them.
His smile widens, ever so slightly, as you reach down with one hand to fist his cock while the other remains gripping his jaw. He does not speak, but as your hand brushes past his mouth, his tongue darts out to trail the side of it. He presses a wet, fleeting kiss into your palm, just for the fun of it; just because he is a dragon, and you are his to please.
You give his cock a slow, teasing pump, and he hisses. The look in his eyes sharpens, and he tightens the grip on your hip. His pupils widen ever so slightly as he retreats his hand from your cunt, bringing his soaked digits up to his mouth. He parts his lips and sucks on his fingertips as if he were feasting on the sweetest nectar.
“My clever dragon,” you hum, saccharine smile hanging on your lips as you line his cock with your warmth. He hoists you up, mouth parted just the slightest bit, and moves the hand that was toying with your cunt back to rest upon the swell of your ass. “You were always meant to be here, with me.”
Aerion does not answer, eyes set on yours with an intensity that threatens to burn you where you stand. The look on them is tender no more, their shine no longer mirroring the stars upon the midnight sky. You look at him, and as you begin to sink down upon his manhood, can think of nothing but wildfire.
“You were always meant to be mine,” you say, voice slightly breathless as your own pleasure begins to consume you. The stretch of him, entering you inch by delicious inch, has you moving your free hand back to rest upon the nape of his neck. A hoarse, breathless moan slips past your lips as he’s sheathed in fully, and you cannot help but tug upon his silver strands again. “And I was always meant to be yours. This is proof.”
Your husband hisses, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip before both of his hands move to grip the bottom of your thighs. He waits for a moment, caressing the supple skin under his fingertips while you revel in the stretch, and then decides he has waited enough. His hips buckle up as if with a mind of their own, and your lips crash against his once more as you begin to move. Aerion’s digits press upon your skin, his tongue brushing past yours as it enters your mouth, and he feels like he’s on fire.
“Such a perfect cunt,” he whispers into your mouth, voice breaking and dripping with pleasure. “She’s the only one that could ever take me so well. You — fuck, wife. Gods be damned, this is the only heaven I will ever need. The other seven of them can rot, for all I care.”
You don’t reply, breath quickening, lifting your hips to allow him to thrust into you as he wills. Your breasts brush past his mouth for the briefest of moments, and he attaches his lips to a stiff, sensitive nipple before you can move back down. He flattens his tongue upon the bud before he teases the tip of it with his teeth, your eyes falling shut as a whimper breaks past your lips. He licks, sucks, and teases, holding you tight against him as you move down to match his rhythm.
“Such perfect tits, too,” he mumbles against your breast, and his nails dig into the skin upon where his fingertips rest. “Is this not just as it should be, my pretty wolf? That I get such a perfect wife, all to myself? It is but what I deserve, after all.”
The water ripples furiously around you, crashing against the edges of the bath like waves upon the shore. Aerion’s breath hitches, inhaling sharply as he lets his head fall back against the stone. His mind is spinning, bliss overcoming his senses, and you’re all he can see. All he can feel. He closes his eyes, exhaling, his hands caressing your skin as he thrusts up in search of his pleasure. You ride him in a slow, sensual rhythm, counteracting his furious pace with one much more measured. He pants, low whimpers leaving his lips before he can make of them.
“This pleasure is ours alone, husband,” you mumble, breathless. “Ours alone to revel in.”
He groans, loud and hoarse, and you don’t bother with pretending you do not hear it. Your lips collide once more, hungry for each other’s closeness, teeth clashing and tongues meeting. You move faster, mind blurry, overfilled with the need of release. Your pleasure builds, growing at the bottom of your stomach until it threatens to swallow you whole. You’re so close to your peak, back arching slightly, Aerion’s hands moving upwards to rest on the small of your back to pull you even closer.
Steam continues to rise, the candles continue to burn, and one of your arms wraps around the back of his head until your fingers meet his hair one more time. Your eyes are closed in bliss, and you pull Aerion flush to you as your cunt begins to clench around his cock. His head falls to rest over your shoulder, mouth open and eyes clamped shut. It is all too much, far too much, and it is in the depths of Winterfell, buried under the summer snow, that Aerion Brightflame, forged in fire and blood, meets something akin to salvation.
“Wife, I’m —,” he pants, and then chokes on his words as it all crashes around him at once. “Gods.”
Aerion lets out a moan, a wanton sound, pressing an open-mouthed kiss that is more teeth than lips upon your pulse-point. He stills, cock pulsing inside you as he fills you with his spend. It all but burns, seed flooding you in a warm, abundant torrent, making you feel whole. You move for a couple seconds more, the warmth coating your insides finally pushing you over the edge. Your cunt tightens around him as you meet him in his bliss, your own orgasm ravaging through your body as a sob leaves your lips. You’re lost in your own pleasure for the moments to come and take a long breath, warm steam filling your lungs as your husband’s cock begins to soften inside you.
Neither of you move, however, and he keeps you flush in an embrace that would seem tender if only you did not know him better. No. He is a dragon, laying claim on his prize. He feels the base of your stomach kissing his, your womb so full of him and standing as a promise for the future, and allows himself to smile against your skin.
Fools, all of them. The dragon’s fire has never burned brighter.
— the sky above, the earth below, and a taste of the divine (m);
modern!baelor targaryen x fem!reader.
summary: lights, camera, action! baelor targaryen has the best numbers of the business, and finally, also has you under him or; some thoughts of what filming with pornstar!baelor would be like.
themes and genres: smut (+18, MDNI!). modern!au, pornstar!baelor, pornstar!reader. age diference relationship. co-workers to ?, he's yearning!
word count: 1.30k words
content warnings: canon divergence. age difference (ages not directly stated but baelor is implied to be in his late 40s and reader in her mid to late 20s), mentions of oral (fem receiving), pinv, unprotected sex, belly bulging, squirting, creampie, he's sooooo pussydrunk and i'm obsessed with him.
author's note: well! i've been in a little writing slump for the last few days, and somehow started thinking of this while working on a sequel for my latest maekar smut. don't know how that happened, but i still had a lot of fun writing! listened to the summoning by sleep token while writing, in case you like rock and want a bit of reading ambience lol. it's short, quick, pure filth, and definitely not my best piece of work, but i hope you like it as well!
part two | crossposted on ao3.
Filming a video with pornstar!Baelor, who, despite being the top performing artist in his company, is still sweet, and gentle, and mindful of everyone he records with.
Baelor, who started filming when he was a young man: fresh out of resigning from the family business, tired of holding the world on the palm of his hand, and wishing for a life that did not come with expectations. Who never settled down, never listened to the noise that came with the crashing of the waves he stirred, and was never shamed for living a life that was shaped by his hand alone.
Baelor, who chooses his partners and vetoes his scripts, and always films with his co-star's pleasure and comfort as a priority. Who never behaves in a manner that is not professional, setting firm, clear boundaries for himself and always respecting those of others.
Baelor, who believes in communication, and manners, and behaves like a gentleman even when he does not fuck like one.
Filming a video with pornstar!Baelor, who’s (finally) got you, the one performer he’s kept an eye on for months, with your legs bent tight against your chest, eyes closed shut and head thrown back in bliss as he fucks you silly in the meanest mating press.
"God, pretty girl, just like that," he whispers, softly, barely loud enough for his words to be picked up by the microphone that hangs above. "Gripping me so fucking tight. 'm I fucking you good?"
He keeps your arms locked above your head, holding them together with one big, veiny hand, while he uses the other to reach down and caress your clit. Leaning back, he opens his mouth, and lets a ribbon of spit fall directly over your swollen pearl before he circles it with his thumb again. He’s already made you cum twice: once with his fingers, once on his tongue; but the script calls for him to do it a third time, and so a third orgasm he will give you.
Baelor angles his hips as he thrusts into you again, gaze glued to where your pretty, puffy pussy lips stretch around his cock as he dives in and pulls out, repeating the motion with enough force to pull a whimper out of your mouth with every thrust. And when he gazes upwards, where the outline of his cock, painfully long and unbelievably thick, becomes visible at the bottom of your tummy? Oh, he all but has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from blowing his load forty minutes into what is meant to be an hour long video.
"This is how a real man's supposed to fuck this pretty pussy," he spits from between clenched teeth, voice low, rough, ragged. "You feel that? My cock's all the way up your belly, hm? Making this tight cunt gape so perfectly for me."
And you do not need to play it up for the cameras. You do not need to fake a moan, or force out a whine, or pretend to be submerged in the woes of pleasure. You’ve done it before; after all, one does not acquire the stats you have without being able to successfully sell an orgasm that does not always come.
But there is no need for that at the current moment—Not when Baelor's cock is stretching your tight cunt wide open, pounding into you hard, and deep, with his big, heavy balls slapping obscenely against the plump of your ass.
He’d read through the script and rehearsed his lines. He'd memorized his role, prepared as thoroughly as he did every time he filmed something new. The studio specifically asks him to be vocal whenever he films, but you’re moaning so beautifully, drooling at the corner of your mouth while you throw your head back against the mattress, and he swears his mind goes blank.
He doesn’t remember a fucking word—You’re supposed to be playing his, what? His best friend’s young, pretty daughter, or something of the sort? Yeah, he doesn’t have a clue.
Not when he can still taste your pussy on his lips. Not when he can still feel the sweetness of your nectar coating his tongue. Not when he makes you sees stars and your cunt, tight, and hot, and downright delicious, starts squirting out jets of clear, warm fluid all over his torso as you come undone around his length.
Not when he’s throwing his head back, breathing heavily, thrusting his throbbing cock into your perfect pussy. And God, you’re gripping him so fucking tight, walls clenching as you ride out the bliss of your orgasm, and he blocks out everything that is not you.
"Oh, I'm gonna cum—Gonna make me cum, hm?" He groans, punctuating his words with quick, sharp moves that have the edge of his happy trail slapping against your throbbing clit. "Squirting all over me like that? Good girl, gonna make me—mhm, gonna stuff you full of me."
Filming a video with Pornstar!Baelor, who blocks out the cameras, and the crew, and the lights, and lets himself think that he is not merely playing a false role in the middle of an artificial studio.
No. No, for a moment, he lets himself imagine. He moves, snapping his hips against yours as tears form at the corners of your eyes from how good it feels to be pounded into the mattress by him, and he lets himself think of a different world.
One where he’d fuck you after a first date, perhaps. One where he would have taken you to a nice restaurant, paid for your meal, and then scrunched your favorite dress up against your hips as he took you on the backseat of his car. He'd make you squirt then too, he thinks.
Or, maybe, in this other, perfect world, you'd already be his girlfriend. Maybe he'd be eating you out after coming home from work, with you spread out beautifully on a couch you'd both picked out when moving in together, and he'd be on his knees, thrusting against the linen cushions until he came in his pants.
He lets himself imagine of a world where you'd be his young, pretty wife, even. He would have cooked you dinner to celebrate your wedding anniversary, and it would have been your favorite, and he would have made a joke about how the dessert would be even tastier. He would have opened a bottle of wine that costed the same as a month's mortgage payment and gifted you some equally extravantly-priced piece of jewelry. And then, afterwards—After kissing you slow, and loving, and tender, he'd be taking you in your shared bed, cock stuffed deep inside your pussy, with a stunning rock of a ring adorning a finger on your left hand.
He imagines having the real thing, even if for a second: complicated, unpredictable, sharp. And so, so perfect. He lets himself feel all of it.
And, fuck, he cums like that.
He does not stop the moan that slips past his lips—rough, and raw, and unrepentant. He does not care about the cameras. He feels his cock explode with thick, hot ropes of cum, flooding your tight, pretty cunt with his seed, and he does not give a fuck about anything that is not that feeling. He does not care about anything that is not you.
He gives himself a moment. You're panting under him, a thin layer of sweat covering your body while you try to regain your breath, and he thrusts slowly, lazily, aware that the tape is still roling and the lens is zoomed in on where he's fucking his cum back inside your clenching hole. And then the cameras cut out.
Filming a video with pornstar!Baelor, who pulls out, cock spent and leaking a mixture of cum and squirt, and breaks character to press a soft, gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth.
