They had agreed, Yuna and him, to stay out of Shane's relationship. No advice. No helpful hints. Nothing unless asked. Which, given Shane's history, wasn't likely.
But, given Shane's history - was perhaps necessary.
Ilya's house in Boston was lovely. He'd been all puffed up, showing them around, sending sly glances at Shane when Yuna complimented the design and asked after the builders. It was also...very open. Cavernous. Echo-y, even.
David's hand twitched toward the tv remote and Yuna tutted. She was listening intently to the play-by-play behind them, almost drowned out by the clatter of dishware.
Almost.
They were holding back remarkably well, for a first-couple-fight. Or maybe a first-fight-in-front-of-the-in-laws.
"Keep your voice down!" Shane snapped for the third time.
Yuna ticked a finger up. She was keeping count. And judging.
This had to be a first-couple-fight. They hadn't quite learned how to do this yet. Either of them. Shane was getting worked up in a way that didn't bode well for the cabinetry and Ilya, well. It seemed like Ilya was just letting it happen.
"No one knows how to argue anymore," Yuna said under her breath, "I should have taught him," overshadowed by Ilya, just a little too loudly telling Shane that whatever it was, wasn't a big deal.
"Mistake," David muttered back.
"Well you only make that mistake once," Yuna bantered like a sports commentator and David smiled helplessly at her.
"C'mon, Yuna. Don't you remember the first time your parents had me over for dinner?"
Yuna snorted, "You were so scared. You let me hen-peck you the whole meal."
He had. But then, it had been awkward, intimidating. Yuna had refused to let him meet her parents until they were engaged, and given him a game plan of exactly what to do at that meeting. Bring gifts. Be respectful. Speak when spoken to. Agree with everything my father says.
"Remind you of anyone else's first impression?" David raised his eyebrows. Ilya had relaxed somewhat with them over dinner. Not enough though. There were obvious silences where Shane would shoot him a look, like he was expecting something. And he still stood like a guilty kid waiting in the principals office. Upright. Hands together.
It had been a relief to see how comfortable he was here, in his own space. Making room for them. How Shane clearly knew his way around.
"He wasn't that bad," Yuna said.
"At least his father-in-law isn't going to imply -"
"My dad didn't mean it like that," Yuna cut him off. She was still keeping tally but her attention was more present now, shoulders less tense.
"He said you had to find a," David huffed and accepted the knee Yuna knocked into his as given. Otousan had been so proud of his English, and so willing to insult him in Japanese. Years after the mans passing and David was still laughing about it. "gaijin to marry because only Western men were weak enough to let you walk all over them."
"First impressions last," Yuna said, as she always did. "And you did!"
"Do I?"
"Well," She leaned close enough their arms touched, which was as good as fireworks from her. "maybe not all the time."
A slam jolted them apart and David counted it lucky that Yuna had put her wine down to keep score.
"Shane."
Yuna's head whipped around so fast David near got a mouth full of her hair. "Settle down, ref - that's not a penalty yet," he whispered. Though it was certainly more forceful than they had ever heard Ilya speak. Not in interviews, not when mic'd up, and never to Shane.
"What?" Shane, at least didn't sound shocked by the tone. He sounded angry. Voice tight in the way he got when he was upset at his own performance.
"Come here."
"Yeah, no. I'm fixing this -"
"Come. Here."
A slam. A squeak of those weird house shoes on tile.
David was familiar with house slippers. House shoes were different. Still, they were comfortable, and it was kind of Ilya to have them ready.
"What?" Shane snarling too loud in the confined space.
"What is this about? Hm? You're yelling about a fucking dishwasher."
"Your dishwasher -"
"Our."
Yuna's eyebrows curved, pleasantly surprised. A finger on her right hand went down.
"If it's our dishwasher, what is the big fucking deal if I re-load it?"
"Fine! Fuck! It's not about the fucking dishwasher, Hollander!"
"Yes it is! Because it's not our dishwasher, it's your dishwasher, in your house. Like. God, why did you even ask me for a list if you weren't going to get anything I put on it? What's the point?"
"What is the point of what, hm? This is about groceries, now? "
"I would have gone grocery shopping. I like grocery shopping."
"So I got, what, wrong groceries? That is why you acting like shit and barely ate dinner? I got wrong groceries?"
"Ilya I have a diet plan -"
"Awful one, yes."
"It already restricts what I can have, so excuse me if I want to get the brands that actually taste or feel right!"
"You tell me this now? Instead of when I ask, or when we cook, or any other time? I'm mind reader now?"
"I don't want you to read my mind - I want. I -"
Something else slammed, and Ilya's voice fell so soft David could barely hear the buzz of it. More shuffling. Quiet, before Shane burst out - "I want to go grocery shopping with you. I could have just got the right things the first time, or argued with you about it then. Do you know how many times I've heard my parents argue and make up in the grocery store. Dad once got organic produce and mom didn't talk to him for 5 aisles because he clearly didn't listen when she was talking about how organic is just good PR and it's more expensive for no reason. We don't get to have that. And I know -"
"Shane. We'll get there."
"I know. This is the plan. I know that."
"Yes! And for now, I don't know, I'll be the crazy person talking on my fucking airpods in the grocery store while you rearrange our kitchen. Okay?"
The sharp tones faded into their normal cadence of bickering, the rough burr of Russian and Shane's hesitant picking at the language. Ilya apparently calling him a little teapot.
Because he was steamed. Right.
Yuna twitched and, unthinkingly, David grabbed her hand, folded her fingers down and brought her knuckles to his lips. He kept them there for a beat too long. They were red and raw, the way they always got in winter because she'd forgo gloves to keep her hands free for texting. "Aisle 6 make up," he muttered, "works every time." Just to feel the way his wife shook with suppressed laughter.
Behind them, the clatter of dishes being done picked up. David almost felt comfortable enough to reach for the remote again, but ticking the volume up now felt. Exposing.
"I feel crazy." He heard Shane sigh. "I want this to go well."
"Yes. I want that too."
"Do you?"
David winced. Shane and that lovely habit of his of sounding so judgmental while asking a genuine question.
"I just mean," Well, at least he learned to catch himself. "You're so…"
"What?"
"Nice! You're like a pod person. You're not giving me shit or teasing my mom for being worse than me at turning it off,"
"Well," she huffs.
"Don't start," David said, squeezing her hand.
"Or calling my dad boring,"
"Well," he said, just to make Yuna laugh.
"Yes. Obviously, I want this to go well, Shane."
"Oh," Yuna whispered. He nudged her, but she shook her head, looking a little lost. "Later."
"I want them to know you, Ilya. The real you."
"No, you don't."
He hadn't realized he'd edged forward until Yuna pulled him back, tapping her thumb against his wrist. "Easy, coach. Shane's got this."
"Don't tell me what I want. Stop being an asshole, Ilya. I just. They're going to love you - I know it. Just fucking. Let us love you."
A glass clicked too hard against the stone counter top. "Laundry's done."
"Ilya." There was the tone back.
"Shane." Passed and returned. "You wanted to have fresh sheets in the guest bed."
"Fucking. Fine."
Quickly, Yuna took her phone out and David leaned into her shoulder, pretending to stare at her screen in a way Yuna only rarely let him because she hated people hovering. Hilarious, as she was practically a professional hover-er in her own right. Usually, if she wanted to show him something, she handed him the phone and watched him read it over his shoulder, or told him about it while he read.
Often, he reminded himself it was her passion that made him fall for her in the first place.
It was only when they heard the dryer slam shut that Yuna relaxed, slightly. "Okay. Rozanov's good for him."
"Ilya," David corrected absently, "and we knew that already."
"Yes, but before, we knew he was good with him, now we know he's good for him. I like him, for Shane." Yuna looked smug. "He knows how to talk to him."
He loved that look on her. The way she settled content, like the cat that got the cream, when everything was going to plan. "And next step is we like him for him, right?"
"Exactly - once he settles a bit with us and we prove he can trust us, I think he'll fit right in."
Smothering a laugh, David pressed a kiss to Yuna's hair. "Divide and conquer, you go get Shane. I'll go to the kitchen."
"Are you sure?"
"I've got this."
And Yuna's wine glass could use topping up. Two birds, and all that.
Ilya barely moved when he came around the corner. His face was doing the Russian-thing. Cold and remote. "I'm sorry you heard that," He said, stilted. "We don't fight, usually. Not off the ice."
Absently, David noted that his English was perfect again. No missed articles or dropped contractions. "No, it's good. All loving couples argue, you know?"
"No. That. Uh, it has not been my experience."
"Ah. Well, it's reassuring, honestly. Shane is Yuna's son through and through. Once they get something in their head and a plan in place," he blew out a breath and mimed something taking off.
The smile that burst on Ilya's face was so wide and fond, it changed him entirely. Boyish. A little silly. And so very much in love. "Oh, I know how he gets."
"I would hate to overstep, Ilya. You've very kindly opened your home to us and we appreciate it."
Smile dimming, Ilya tucked his hands into his pockets, shoulders squaring. "But?"
Ah, damn. David wasn't good at tip-toeing. Never had been. Which was funny, in retrospect. When they'd met, all those years ago, he'd asked Yuna on a date before the end of their first conversation. She told him later that if he hadn't asked her out, she'd have never forgiven him. He just - he knew. David liked her so much and something told him, keep this. Hold onto this. He'd proposed too soon, as well. There'd been some gossip, but Yuna? Yuna was just excited to bring him home.
Her mother always told her, you only bring a man home if you're going to marry him.
"No, I just - " needing to make himself useful, David grabbed a dish towel and I moved to the small things Shane had clearly hand washed at some point. "I wanted to share some advice my father-in-law gave to me before I married Yuna."
Ilya took that neatly on the chin, and David had to watch his reflection in the kitchen windows as he turned away. "Okay." His voice sounded suspiciously thick.
"Sometimes, it’s better to let your wife be wrong in her way than for her to do it your way." David quoted, the quiet, strong inflection on the words was seared into his brain.
Ilya laughed, like David hoped he would, and his eyes were suspiciously bright when he turned back. "Wow."
"I know that's maybe not the most applicable," David started.
"No, no. It's perfect." Ilya grinned, coming over with his own cloth and shooing David with it. "I'm going to tell him this all the time. Go, sit."
"You cooked," David smiled. "And it was delicious."
"It's my house, you're a guest here, your Canadian manners mean nothing to me."
"Is it not our house?"
"Oh! Shane gets his sneaky jokes from you. I see this now."
One day, David thought, he would finish the quote. Otousan had clapped him on the shoulder then, and said, in his deep grave voice.
GEVĪ [BEAUTIFUL] Aemond Targaryen x F!Sister!Reader
This work contains mature acts, Minors DNI. 18+ Only.
Two dragons, hatched from the same womb, nurtured by the same hands, yet bestowed with different fates— how do you, rekindle your love for Aemond after he has left you to pursue your mother and brother’s wishes? well he will show you how.
Words counted: 7.2k
Content include: 18+ MDNI! Targcest (canon incest practice of the Targaryen house), Smut, Sex, Oral sex (F receiving), Heavy corruption kink, breeding kink, Slight exhibitionism (Sex next to window), Choking, Claiming of maidenhood, Manhandling, Slight degradation, Reader has the attributes of the Targaryens (silver hair, purple eyes etc), Mention of blood (nothing graphic), Slight angst (mention of fidelity and arguments nothing heavy), Mention of usurping the throne (half-canon), LOTS of pet names (i’m a sucker for those).
Hello! this is my second HOTD character fic, yes this one is smutty too lol, its a filler i wish to post before posting the completed requests, this is NOT BETA’d, because i’m slammed with work so I apologize, however, a friend of mine will try to beta this soon (so it’ll be revised). Remember that english is not my native language so bear with me. My request is always open for HOTD characters. Enjoy and let me know what you think! thank you my loves.
Masterlist
The soft pitter patter sound of your nieces and nephews makes you giggle in delight, their tiny puffy hands clutching the dragon figure, making gestures of flying them around, as they make sounds to imitate the giant beasts. Jaeherys and Jaehaera were playing on your personal chambers, as you hand invited your older sister, Helaena, to have a chat. You have always try and take care of Helaena, even when she is the older one, you hold a strong contentment to make sure she is alright, especially knowing her hardened path with that of your older brother, the King himself.
“Do you have a name for this one, sweet Prince?” You tenderly asked Jaehaerys, taking one of the dragons on the soft fur carpet up ahead of his line of sight, “Sunwyre!” Jaehaerys exclaimed excitedly, making you throw your head back and laugh softly, his mispronunciation have always warmed your heart, the innocent nature of children, their pure conscience, not yet tainted by royally duties, nor know the taste of power, their world filled with imaginary tales, and make-do creatures.
“Your father’s dragon hm? and what about… this one?” You hold another dragon figure now, a bigger one than the last, this one has the color of dark green, oddly reminding you of a certain someone’s dragon. Ah. “Vhagaw!” it was Jaehaera’s turn to answer, a shy quiet little girl just like you once were, but bright and intelligent nonetheless. Your lips curled into a warm smile, eyes crinkling at the adoration of your niece and nephew. You had hopes for them, even through this impossible times, that they uphold the values of their mother, Helaena, more than they do that of your older brother, Aegon.
“Vhagar? uncle Aemond’s dr—“
“Hm, the most powerful one, isn’t that right, Jaehaera?”
Your head snapped backwards as you heard his velvety voice, gulping quickly at the moment you caught sight of his figure, standing tall, leaning against the entryway of your chambers, head tilted, eyes darted to you, and lips stretched in a knowing grin.
“Aemond…”
It has been awhile since you saw him last, having been too angry to bid him farewell when he went on his way to propose a marriage deal between he and one of Lord Baratheon’s daughters. He sought you out for hours leading up to his leave and the days afterwards, yet you always manage to elude him, breaking your regular routine of breaking your fast with him, and retreating to your chambers at the earliest convenience, even strictly telling the guards stationed at your door to never let anyone in, even the Prince himself, not that they can say much if he insisted, but you know if he heard of your hardened resentment, he would never push you. No, not his little sweet sister, the delight of his days, the beacon of his visions, the only decadent part left from his viscous life.
You had spent your days crying inside your chambers, for you know it was selfish of you to be mad at him for doing his duty, but the pain had eaten its way through your heart, gnawing ever so brazenly through your sanity. You had refused to talk to your mother, only limiting few chosen ladies of your maids to be of assistance to you— once telling Alicent that you have no desire with entangling yourself in her business to Aegon’s crowning.
You see, Aemond and you were always inseparable, from the day you were born, he had been so infatuated by the small babe cradled by his mother, someone other than Helaena that he saw his mother doted on, he admitted that he was jealous of the treatment both you and Daeron received, something he never felt from his own mother, but alas your soft velvet nature is incredibly difficult to resist, not by his mother and well, certainly not him. A pretty little thing you are. Always so gentle, docile, never fuss much even as an infant. He would always play with your babbling lips when you talked about your lessons, or how you have dreamed on claiming a dragon of your own.
Your silver locks of hair as the curtain to your beautiful supple face, eyes alike his— lilac with tinges softer, your pink dewy lips… oh the stuff of dreams to him, curve of your neck which usually adorned by the various jewels your mother sought out for you, your enticing figure— growing into a grown Princess that bewitched him beyond belief. You are the epitome of everything he was not and never will be, an angelic dew scented nymph, to his raging soulless dragon.
Growing up with you alongside him was what made his life bearable, even through all the bullying he has suffered by the hands of his own brother, and nephews as well as the petulant ignorance of both of your parents, you made it all somehow possible. You would tend to him, fill his days with the stories and knowledge you have learnt from your Septa, blabbering about the story of the Conquerer’s war in the Dornish region, and fluttering his heart when you speak of your pious upbringing, obviously influenced by his mother.
It was you who cleaned his wounds when Aegon had pushed him too far, it was you who always listened to his heart’s content— during his darkest depleted epoch, it was you who wiped his tears after he was presented with a pig by his brother and nephew, sweet you— who have claimed yourself a dragon, one gentle hatchling when an egg was placed on your cradle. He was wary then, that you too, would cast him away, make him feel small— but alas he had judged you too quickly, for you never do any of his blackest imaginations, instead you would warm him up to your little dragon, a gesture which granted him confidence to later tame the beast herself, Vhagar.
But he had left you. For some other Baratheon girl. He left you to crawl into your hole of despair and insecurities. Damning yourself on what had you done for fate to be so cruel to you. What had you done for the Gods to banish his hands away from your own.
“Sister…”
His tone had been gentle, you looked away as you could not even peer into his eyes for you know he would be able to see the looming tears on your gentle violet eyes, one he had seen in his dreams each night since his return back to the Keep.
“Here, Jaehaerys, how about you play with Sunfyre, hm?” Your voice was shaky, eyes fleeting everywhere but at him, you are desperate to run away, anywhere but here, “Jaehaera, come, accompany your brother with Vhagar, yes?”
“Yes, auntie.”
“Good girl, Jaehaera, my sweet princess.” You kissed her temple lovingly, feeling saddened that you had to pry away from your niece and nephew so soon, but you had to go away, “Helaena, I must go, I shall catch you later during supper, yes?” Your eyes met that of your older sister’s distant ones, who just hummed, as she continued to draw some sketches on her brown paper. You were always grateful for her inquisitive mind, now more-so. Pecking a small kiss to her temple before standing up.
“Little one wait—“ You felt his hands graze the peeking flesh underneath the slit of your gown, the touch was— exhilarating, igniting that dragon fire inside of you once more, yet you paid it no mind, not now, you thought. Heels walking past him, making a beeline towards your reading chamber, the only place where you can escape.
Sighing softly, your eyes shut tight, the memory of his voice, his touch, his look, and even the feeling of his breath so close yet so far away, it makes you shudder. Gods, you think. Even after leaving you astray for days, he still leaves such an imprint on you, as if he had claimed you from inside out, and you have naught but a small grasp on your will to deny him.
You moved aside, setting yourself beside the door as you slowly drop to your knees, head thrown back against the wall— heart beating way too quick for your own comfort, what in the Seven hells—
“I thought I’d find you here…” You jumped slightly at the sound of your chamber doors opening as well as the sound of his voice again, of course he’d find you here, you thought, he was the one that had begged your mother to designated this place to become your safe haven in the first place, he always found your love for Old Valyrian literature to be as magnificent as you are, and had wished to accommodate you with all there is to know— a tutor, the ancient tomes, and the room itself.
“I do not wish to see you.” You stilled your gaze to the balcony far ahead of you, distracting yourself from his overwhelming presence— his voice, his tall lean figure, his musky smell that strongly resembles home for you, and his oh so devoted attention. “You do not mean that…” There’s a pang of guilt when you heard the softness of his voice, yet you ought to scoff and bit your lip instead.
“You know nothing of my wants or desires, brother.” You cringed at the shakiness of your own tone, scolding yourself at your constant reverie of him, making you lost inside your own thoughts, with tongue too numb, and throat too tight, “Why don’t you fly back to your Baratheon girl on Storms End? you ought to be excited to wed her, are you not?” Venom laced your voice, nails digging onto the soft lilac ensemble you had worn today. He chuckled.
How dare he.
“Little one…” He trailed, crouching down beside you, his thumb and index finger reach out to grip your chin softly yet demandingly all the same, you struggled against him, “Ah ah, do not fuss now.”
“Let me go.”
“Look at me, sweet girl, please?”
Sometimes you wish that the Seven could just curse your brother out for a bit, so that you do not have to be subjected to your own weak will against his own domineering charm, you looked up at him albeit reluctantly, oh how have you torn him to pieces with that look alone.
Your eyes are glistened with unshed tears, lips flushed and slightly pouty just as you used to do when you were a child— begging him to stop studying history and to play with you instead, Aemond does not know how does one capable to hold his life in the gentle crook of their palm, but here you are… his precious little sister, the core of his being.
“There you are, pretty princess..” He gently trace his knuckles across your cheek, then down your jaw, neck, and move to tuck strands of your silver locks behind your ears, softly caressing your hair, “What is it that makes you so restless, hm?” You scoffed at his pathetic attempt to sound dumb to your dilemma, knowing he is far too smart to not know.
“You left me, lēkia.” Brother. Your eyes darted away again before he tuts and tugs at your chin once more, “You know I only do what is asked of me, gevī, to help Aegon secure his throne…” Beautiful.
“Yet, you could not have proposed a better deal?” Your gaze sharpened at him, heart tugging tight at your ribcage, suddenly remembering his promise to you when you were once only seven, and then again during every single one of your name day.
I will never leave you, dōnus ñuhys, you are destined to be my queen, for all the Seven can never deny us.
“Tis’ my duty, sweetling, you know I—“ You rolled your eyes at that, tugging your chin free from his hold but remain your gaze at his own, “So it seems that you have chosen your duty over me then, brother, I should have known I was never more than a vessel to fill your desires with.”
“Left you for a few days, and you run your tongue as you please hm?” You shivered, flush heat spreading through your skin, down to the apex of your thigh, Gods, “Do you deny it, Aemond?” You gulped down your nerves, eyes finding his lips tilted in amusement, his little endeavor has left his sweet girl went feral, it seems.
“A vessel for my desires, you say… little one, how can you be just that when you have me wrapped around your little fingers—“ You were about to retort back, “Ah ah, let me speak.” He grabbed your fingers in his, tilting his head like how he did when you were kids. “All of this, I do for you, as to keep you safe, if that takes me to wed some girl to put you on the throne as My Queen, then tis’ a sacrifice worth my lifetime.”
“How come you do this for me if we shall never be together?” A tear fell from your eyes at last, unable to form other ways to express your distress, “If it is the throne that takes you away from me, I never want it.” You averted your gaze for you know that your brother has always desired Aegon’s throne even before it was bestowed upon the eldest, and he will do whatever it takes go get it as it was his birthright.
“Pretty girl with such pure wishes, you are.” He mused, both hands come up to cusp your jaw, directing your eyes back at him, clicking his tongue, “I will not let you get any less than what you deserve, the realm at our feet with you by my side.” For sure you could never conclude which is sharper, his stare that makes your spine tingle, or his words— full of high promises, one that is dangerous to talk aloud, one that would grant him a harsh slap on the cheek from Mother, one that can cost him his tongue.
“But… Aeg—“
“Do not let that worry your pretty head, little one, just trust me like you always have hm?” His promises were too sweet to resist, the temptation to breach what is beyond the comprehension of your family is too ripe for the taking, you are sure that if either your grandsire or mother have heard of this, you both will never set foot in King’s Landing again, but alas your childhood fairytale always clung to him, his words are inescapable… and well, if he will be damned as the consequences, then you may as well join him, for the world is a dull one without his devotion.
You crack out a tiny smile, one he always cherishes, once it was the center of his boyish infatuation, then it became the only thing other than Vhagar rumble or the promise of the cold hilt of Blackfyre that enlighten his youth, then it became his end goal, your smile— your beautiful oh so sweet saccharine smile. Fuck.
“You know I will always tru—mm!”
The declaration has yet to leave your lips, barely through your tongue when suddenly his breathing fawns over your cupid’s bow, the feeling was exhilarating, his lips—warm lips engulfing your own, gentle at first, like how he had kiss you once, twice, thrice when you were younger— the last one being the night before your sire had died, a day before he set out his proposal to the Baratheons, oh how you’ve missed this— him.
His palm hold a strong grip on the side of your neck, making you gasp and bringing you back slightly down to earth, you didn’t even realize you were floating in the bliss this whole time, “Aem—“ Your sweet voice, he thinks, so soft whimpering his name that the sound is enough to make his breech tighten. Aemond cuts you off by kissing you harder this time, tongue prodding against your lips so you may grant him an entrance to your wet cavern.
When you showed a little resistance through your teasing giggle he bit the bottom of your lip— now red and raw from his ministrations, you mewl deliciously, as he takes his chance to slip his tongue inside, oh, you think, the pressure is so immense, the swirl of his tongue tangling with your own overwhelms you. Aemond explores every inch of you, his thumb grazing at the pulse point on your neck, making you shudder and slightly arch your back to reach out for him, before he parted you both.
“Uh what—“
“Stand up, Princess.” He commanded, holding his hand out to help you up, you tried to stand as steady as you could but there is no mistaking the way your knees wobbled ever so slightly— damn him for making you so weak, Gods.
He spared you no time to muddle with your thoughts before pressing you to the wall beside the door, you whimpered at the sudden force, but he is careful on placing his palm behind your neck to protect your delicate head from the intrusion with the wall. “Aemond, what are we doing?” You asked, eyes glimmering with adoration, admiration, love, lust, fear, anticipation, and everything in between.
He smiled at you, scorching hot sent right to the core on the apex of your thighs, his eye flutter shut before pressing his forehead against yours, his nose also nudged into your own, lips flushed against your quivering one, “What we should have done a long time ago, sweetling.” Aemond moved his fingers to graze against the column of your neck, “Making you mine, in every sense there is, wholly.”
You trembled at that, if it weren’t for his strong grip on your hips and neck, your knees would have buckled and fell then on, you take a deep breath— closing your eyes before entangling your hands around his neck, pressing your lips back to his awaiting red, now tongue and teeth battling in the midst of pure pleasure, hot white whines, and mewls escaped your throat.
Aemond’s arms slipped from his grip on both your neck and hips, crouching down slightly— lips still interlocking with yours ferociously, he hooked them up under the back of your knee before pulling you towards his hips, you moaned through his lips, “Ah!” Wrapping your legs around his back, he effortlessly carry you to the nearby table— places you on top of it, one that so conveniently sat beside the oh so grand window overlooking the surrounding area of smallfolks outside the Keep.
“I have waited years to do this, riñītsos.” He grunts against your lips, you claw at his neck seeking him closer and closer to you, for any space between you felt like a void of infinity— fearing that it, too, will take him away from you again, “to devour you as I please…” He trailed, lips canvassing your skin with heated marks, first the corner of your lips, then to your jaw— oh and your most sensitive part, on the column of your neck. You shivered and let out a wanton whine. Little girl.
“To take you as I want to…” His teeth graze against your pulse as you arch your back, eyes sewn shut, pretty girlish pink lips parted with melodic whimpers escaping them, your skin heated— hands grabby for him, “To make you mine, my little petal.” You gasped as he bites down at the exposed skin, “Aemond!” Your cunt is surely drenching your smallclothes by now, but you spared it no thoughts, for you are too meddled in your blissful paradise.
“When the time comes,” After making his mark, albeit the color is a gentler one than he’d hoped, he grazes his fingers along the silk of your white dress, right atop of where the fabric seal the supple flesh of your breasts, the delectable bud that begs to be caressed, sucked, and worshipped, “Will you let me, hāedar?” His eye glinted at you, so gentle yet ravenous all the same, “Kessa, lēkia.” Yes, brother.
He passionately grunted, pressing his forehead against yours as his nimble fingers unlaced the intricate details of your dress, you are glad that you wore a rather relaxing dress today, for it is not so hard for him to loosen the laces and let it gently fall from your body— the silk pooling at your thigh against the desk, “Gevī.” He muttered as his eyes scanned through your ever so soft skin, from the way your neck is slightly arched backwards from your heavy breathing, your exposed collarbone, to the oh so mouthwatering swell of your breasts. He can feel his breeches tightening to the point of painful tugs, not that he cares much. Beautiful.
“Kostilus, Aemond…” You whimpered when his lips ghosted over your collarbone, “Ah ah, quiet, Princess.” His deep amber voice rattles your spine like no other, “Let me taste you.” He whispered, fingers moving to tug a gentle grip at the reddened and darkened bud on your breasts, “Mmnh!” You moaned delicately, arching your back with your palm flat against the desk behind you, your figure enticing and inviting him even closer. Please.
You bit your lips hard— harder than you should when Aemond engulfed the blood filled buds up to his lips, he goes gentle at first, suckling like small babe would but then he grows ferocious— “Gods!” You yelped as he bit at the hardened flesh, causing you to shiver once more, bucking your hips to try and assuage the building pressure at your cunt, now wet and weeping to be filled. Him… by him.
Aemond did not dare stopping his ministrations, one hand tugging on the other one as he continues to suckle on your nipples greedily, your nails dug through the hard material of the desk but you have naught care to it, for your brother is keeping your nerve ends alive— lit with fire and blood.
“Your purity has always been mine to corrupt, little one…” He trails as he moved to crouch down, his lips also trailing a soft kisses path down your tummy, to your navel before tugging at your dress a tad bit forcefully, as it fell to the floor below, he makes a quick move to release you of your smallclothes, wasting no time to stare intensely at your now exposed fluttery soaked cunt, “My my, Princess… look at you…” He groaned, making you mewl.
“S-stop looking at… me like that.” Your hand moved downward in a shy attempt at covering your now exposed flushed mound, which he clicked his tongue at— as if he is scolding you, and grip your wrist tightly, “You will not deprive me of seeing what is mine, sweetling…” He keeps a hold of your wrist, as you wiggle about, “Your cunt is mine, to taste, fuck…”
“Aemond…” You can no longer hold the wanton sounds originating from your bewildered state, body so flushed with heat and desire that your mind has reduced to blank fuzzy space of just him, him, him.
“Mine to own.” His other thumb move closer to your heat before pressing it softly against the throbbing bud that is your pearl, “I— ah! w-what…” Mix of confusion, thrilling pleasure, and indescribable rush flows through you when you feel the blissful pain from his fingers that had pinched your pearl, you desperately try to keep your moans and tears at bay, however, that proves to be fruitless when Aemond decided to replace his fingers with his mouth. You were done for.
“Slow down! mmnh!” You writhe in his hold, feeling his tongue slide from the fluttering of the silky entrance of your cunt and drags your sweet nectar up against your pearl, the bud thrumming in attention, relishing in the licks and suckle of his sinful lips, “Seven hells, riñītsos…” He let out an sadistic chuckle against your dripping petal, making you shudder, “You open up so beautifully… for me, tastes better than any Westerosi wine.” You clench tightly on nothing, he hummed at the sight. Little girl.
“Please please!” You begged, your body folding, grasping his silky locks on your hand, Aemond looks up at you with so much vigor as he continue working his tongue and lips on your cunt, the constant ah-ah-ah leaves your mouth, filling his ears. Aemond pushes a finger past your flushed opening, “Relax, sweetling, let me in.” He said with faux gentleness.
“I—oh!” Your peachy lips drops and your tongue lolls out at the intrusion of his index finger, curling it up as he inches in, your cunt is tight, tighter than anything— and you are not just any maiden, he thought, you are his sweet little maiden of a sister, “Syz riña.” He hummed against your nub, continuing his earlier work of suckling on your pearl as his finger eases in and out of you. Good girl.
You can only gasp and let out strings of mewls at the feeling, it’s so good, you think, so so so good— it feels better than being intoxicated in goblets of wine, it feels better than any gifts you have ever been given as a Princess of the realm, it feels better because it is given by Aemond, you concluded.
Your lips curled in pleasurable tandem, feeling your cunt clench like blooming flower around him, his lips leave you no choice but to submit to both him, and your upcoming peak. There is a strange yet powerful tugging at the base of your tummy, something about to snap— “Aemond.. I.. Gods, I think—“ You mewled desperately.
He looked up to you then, smiled and chuckled deeply, “Tis’ okay, little one, peak for me.” He urged you, mouth suckling around your peal, biting at the nub almost mockingly, combining with how the tip of his finger right on the spongy part inside you, curling them with purposeful jabs— your only response is a high pitched scream of his name followed by strings of girlish pet-like mewls as your cunt gush around his fingers.
“Good girl, my good Princess.” Aemond cooed, his tongue greedily lapping up the sweet saccharine nectar from the now fluttering oversensitive tightness of your cunt, “Mmh.. c-can’t..” You wiggle from his hold, shaking your head as your body shake with the aftershocks of your heightened pleasures— the feeling is akin to that of when you rode your dragon, Valyx, the majestic red winged creature that bonded with you.
“Shh, I know, too much hm?” Aemond hummed, releasing his finger out of you as your opening winked at him— what a petal of a slut you are, made just for him, pure and ever so decadent—“What did.. what happened, Aemond?” Oh you looked at him so so softly, demure and skittish, shy. Just like a kitten would. He suppressed the way his cock is begging for release just at the sight of your corrupted flushed face, and shivering body.
“You peaked, sweetling.” His voice deepened considerably, as does his lilac eyes, “Peaked? oh… like..” Your hands went to cover your face as you heated up, only for him to click his tongue and grip your wrist tightly, “Ah-ah, no need to be shy, little one. It felt good, didn’t it?”
“Yes but—“
“But no, Princess, from now on you should expect to feel like that from me, understand?” His voice is soft, although strained by lust and his desire to just fuck you then and there, he had to wait though, anything to make you feel more at ease with your body and the pleasure he brings to you. His innocent little sister.
“I suppose that’s okay…” You whispered timidly, which causes his heart to flutter, Gods, he will give you the fucking moon and rebuild Old Valyria from its ashes if it so pleases you, “Did you— did you do that to Floris too?” You asked, eyes are darted to anywhere but him.
He sighed, “Poppet, what are you talking about hm?” You shrugged, oh his sweet angel, always such a possessive little thing you are, knowing what you want yet restricted by your gentle nature, “I have not and shall never give that to anyone but you, my sweet, t’was a deal I myself never planned on following through.” He said, looking up at you— his eyes glinted with nothing but honesty and love for you, you’d know because of the numerous time he had lied on not being in pain after the torment he had suffered at the hands of your own brother and nephews.
“But what about Aegon, and mother?” You whispered, now looking at him, “Won’t they be furious if they knew? wouldn’t it be… treason?” The word leave an acid feeling on your tongue, it feels like you’re accusing him, Aemond knows you better than anyone else though, he knows you mean no foul— it showed you care for him.
“They can voice out their complaints to me when I am King, little one, it matters not.” Your wyes widened at his implication, excitement and thrill oddly runs through your blood at his declaration, Gods, you have no more care for formalities or ideals, not when he is here— not when this is what you can have.
“Brother…” Both of your palms come up to cusp his face, your finger gently peel the eye patch he wears— the movement has his eye fluttering, yet he bears no resentment to your action, only affection, “I want you, take me as you wish.” You are many things, hesitant in your steps— that innocence shines through most of the time, but none came when you said that, only truth and love. Solely devout to him.
Something animalistic flashes through the glint of his eyes, something feral, so driven by passionate affection, devotion, and lust—eternally for you, “As my Princess’s wish.” He muttered before standing up fully to his height, making you crane your head up to look at him. You watched as he tugs his coat and sleeves off, your eyes danced on his pale skin— his sapphire that taunts you with promise of unnerving fealty, and overwhelming dominance.
Exposing his upper body to you, your finger trail a feather light touches to his skin, a tad of your innocence apparent in the way you felt him yet you’re also teasing him with how you press on certain spots, in which he only smiled and chuckled at you—his wanton little slut wrapped in a saint goddess bodice of a Princess— admiring the way his muscles tense, the way his masculine musk penetrated your senses— so his, so so his.
Aemond then tugs his breech loose, letting it drop to the stone floor below— there he is, permeated by the sun shining through the slit of window, all in his naked glory— so enticing, your mouth waters as you gazed him fully— mouth agape, a loud gasp slipped from your mouth as your eyes focuses on the throbbing length of his cock, oh you almost cooed, he is hard—length so full with blood and tension, it looked like it was going to burst, the veins protruding on his shaft, darkened and angry, his tip is flushed a reddish color— thick and inviting, with the opening dripping with his arousal— oh how you would so easily taste him.
Your fingers swiftly went down to grasp his length, thumb about to swipe away the spend on his tip before he holds your wrist—you looked up at him like a child would, he was vastly reminded of a face you’d make as a little girl when he had taken away your lemon cakes just for fun— oh your pouty raw and bitten lips, your puffed out cheeks, your eyes that radiates want want want, silently begging him, Gods, you’d be the death of him.
“Aem—“ You whined like a spoiled little brat you are, oh he’d have so much fun taming the living soul out of you, later though, he thought, “You will get your taste later, little one—“
“But!” You and your stubbornness, he thought, oh but he’ll relinquish in the joy and thrill to break you fully— mould you just for him, “Ah ah no, behave, sweetling. Pouty mannered little girls will not get anything other than denied of their peaks, you do not wish for that, do you? hm?” Your spine shivered at the tone he used, so mocking, making you so small, especially with his fingers on your wrist and the other on your chin— scolding a child—yet the only sound that escaped your pouty lips are soft desperate mewl and whine.
You are so fucking sweet, he was ready to come then and there.
“N-no Aemond… I will be good for you.” You whispered, eyes glassy, lips trembling, he breathes heavily, “Oh sweet dove, shh you will get what you want.” He hummed, moving his fingers to gently run through your luscious silver hair, lips leaving an oh so sweet peck to the crown of your head.
When you nod to his words, he leaned in to kiss you ferociously, his palm move to your hips, bringing you to the edge of the desk as your tongue dances in a fiery battle— well less of a battle when you consider that he dominates you— “Uh!” You moaned as his thick shaft touches the soft pulsing wet folds of your cunt, you’re incredibly soaking the table beneath you by now.
Aemond groaned at the way your cunt is opening up to him, fluttering around the very top of his tip as if inviting— daring him to just slide in, though he restrains himself because this is your first time, he will go gentle, there’re plenty of times to break you later, he mused. “Syz, riñītsos.” Aemond purred deeply, “Ready?” He sweetly gaze down at you and your quivering form, pressing a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose. Good, little girl.
“Mhm.” You nodded, voice naught but a small whimper, one of Aemond’s palm reach down to grasp yours in his, intertwining your fingers to his— his other hand grip the base of his throbbing length—You let out a loud gasp as you feel him breaching your wet entrance with a swift motion, the tip is in and you cried.
“I-it hurts…” Tears dropped down from your eyes, “Shh, doing so well for me, sweetling.” Aemond cooed gently at you, holding him back from indulging in the feeling of your unimaginably tight tight tight warm wet flowery cunt grasping the tip of his cock— Gods has to reward him for his resilience for he can wait little longed than to come right then and there, you’re intoxicating, too sweet for him and way too fucking tight.
The Prince kissed your lips gently, lovingly as if to ground both you and him, the softness of his lips bringing you back to earth slightly— but mayhaps it was to distract you for what comes next, you wailed loudly as he pushed in more of his length, your cheeks now drenched with tears, chest heaving, and cunt clenching around him ever so torturously, both of your fluids mixing below you, feeling the wetness help him to push in yet more inches, filling you to the brim.
“Full Aem… so full, too big…” You truly ought to send him to an early grave, he thought, “You can take it, my sweet girl taking her brother’s cock like the perfect girl she is.” Aemond cooed against your ear, the praises consuming you whole, the pain from your core gradually subsides as you feel him waiting— you heart warmed at the gesture— he’s waiting for you to be comfortable.
“Please… please continue.” You whimpered, craning your head backwards as he pressed his thumb against your swollen pearl to relieve the pain, “I-ah! fuck me, Aemond.” Your comment might’ve been brazen but he doesn’t miss the way your body shivered at your eyes drooped, lips curled just as you did whenever you revert back to your girlish demure self. Oh his sweet little girl, being brave just for him, his little dragon.
He shushes you all at once, both palms on the either side of your hips as he slowly experimenting by moving his hips backward so that only half of his length is inside of your tight haven, before thrusting back in, deep deep deeply, you both moaned loudly at that, the feeling of his cock in and out, in and out, in and out of you is heightened— you can feel his veins against your walls, clenching tightly— holding him in a vice grip.
“Fuck, you’re so tight.” Aemond grunted, his hips faltering a bit but keeping a nice steady pace as you mewl, cunt gushing his cock with the pain now dulled and replaced by pure white pleasure, you swear you can feel your ear rings, “Perfect little cunt for a perfect little girl.”
“For you! ah!” The plethora of moans and whiny gasps that left your lips has his head spinning, “Gods made you for me, to be mine.” He possessively growled, increasing the pace of his thrusts as he leaned down to capture the sensitive part of your skin just below your ear and leave a reddish purplish mark.
You can do naught but to take the way he thrusts thrusts thrusts in and out of you, his curved tip always hitting that spongy spot inside you, making you dizzy and drunk— cockdrunk and dumb on him, your lips agape as he continue to nibble marks on your skin, you could care less on how you will conceal that later, too wrapped up in bliss of his grunts and the feeling of his cock inside of you.
“One day you will bear me an—fuck! heir, you hear me little girl?” His thrusts are borderline mean now, hips rutting inside you as if you’re his drug and he cannot deprive himself from your sweet intoxicating cunt, “Yes! Gods yes! as many as you want.”
The sound of the skin slapping inside the room will for sure frighten anyone, especially guards outside the door, but you had hoped that mayhaps someone from the council might able to hear, so that they know Aemond is irrevocably yours— and so that they know you will bear his babes, heirs— none of that arranged marriages for political gains, just you and him, thrumming with the strong bond of Old Valyria, the dragon’s blood danced and merged.
Aemond pulled away from your neck as he looked at you with eye full of love love love, lust lust lust, and adoration, like he would worship the ground you walked upon, and even you knew he would if you asked. At one of your loud mewl, he bring his thumb to rub harsh circles on your pearl making you grip him as you soak him and your thighs even more.
“Mmh Aemond…”
“I know, close aren’t you, Princess?” He taunts you, all the while you do not have the strength anymore to care, for you are so so so close to reaching your peak, utterly desperate for it, “Uh huh, please please please.” Oh you sweet sweet dove, begging him like that, how can he ever refuse you? his beautiful little sister? he might be mean but not so mean to deny you of your peak.
“Shh, little one, I know what you need, you trust me don’t you?” His tone is sickly sweet, mocking and genuine at the same time— your mind having been too fuzzy to comprehend it only let out a muffled whimper, “Mmhm..” He laughed at that, finding you so unbearably cute, just his little dragon wanting to come so bad, it makes him wanna fuck his seed into you more.
“C’mon my sweet, i know you can do it.” He urged you, all of it— the hot breath against your skin, the nibbling, the way he circled your pearl so sinfully, the way his cock impaled you open— all of it is just too much, addictive. “Peak for me like the good little whore you are, hm?” His voice is rough, hips faltering in his pace— obviously holding himself back from releasing into your womb.
“Nnmh, not a- not a whore.” You hiccuped in a high pitch, oh his sweet little girl, he chuckled at you— looking at your pathetic teary eye, cheeks drained— as drained as your cunt is soaking his length, “My little princess, the purest of maidens, the finest of whores, mine, nobody else’s.”
“I- ah ah ah! Aemond!” You clenched your cunt so tight around him as something snap inside of you, the dam broke and once more you can feel yourself hitting that plethora of pleasures— brain fuzzy, only Aemond, only him him him. You peaked— body trashing, and flushed all over for you are unable to control the movement of your limbs and muscles anymore— too drunk on his cock.
“Good girl, shit, my good fucking girl.” Aemond cooed but the harshness of his voice indicates that he, too, is close, “Gonna come too now hm? want that little one? my seed inside you?”
“Yes yes yes, uh huh, give it to me please.” You begged him so sweetly, how can he refuse? after all you’re his little sister, his Princess, he never gave you less than what you deserve, even that one time when you asked to take the remaining berry tart that he wanted so bad yet he let you have it, or that one time you begged him to show you the tunnels inside the paintings, the one that holds Balerion’s skull knowing he’d have to evade Ser Cole, or that last time you asked him to kiss you before he went to Storms-end, anything for you. Everything for his Queen.
“Fuck! Gods you’re perfect, going to make you my fucking wife, I swear it.” He possessively muttered, or more like babbling now— too obsessed with the way you hug him so tight like he’d disappear, or the way your cunt clutch him in a come come come motion. “Give it t’me.” You pleaded, voice so soft it makes his head heady— He simply can’t resist you, “Seven fucking hells.”
Aemond shuddered as he released his spend inside of you, the tip of his cock right against the opening of your cervix, enough to make itself known but not enough to hurt you, never to hurt you, not when it does not bring you pleasure. “Thank you thank you thank you…” Your voice is barely a whimper now, your eyes fluttered shut, your mouth parted with your lips lolling out. Sight to behold indeed.
“Shh good girl, my good little girl.” He hummed against you, looking at you with adoration as he slides out slowly— you whined at the loss, already accustomed to being stretched by him, he shushes you one more time as he hold you— seems like you’re a bit gone inside your fuzzy little head.
“My little dragon, so good for me, hm?” He cooed at you, one hand holding you close to him, as his other palm cups your cheek, rocking you slightly, “Come back to me, little one, c’mon, I’m right here.” He whispered, grounding you back down as you hiccuped slowly.
“Aem…” Your voice is barely there but its there, it’s you, and Aemond smiled knowing you are alright, “Here, Princess, did so good f’r me.” He kisses all over your face, making soft pecking noises that has you giggling softly and make an attempt on nudging him away, “Stop.” You whined adorably like a little cat, which he laughed at, “There’s my girl.”
By the way you smiled and blinked at him, he just know that he would give you all 7 realms if you asked, make you his Queen, and demolish all your enemies, so that you shall rule with him— as it always meant to be. The dragons that lived through the dance.
m: wonwoo
wc: 0.4k
genre: fluff, bf! wonwoo being a nerd, mature concepts, no smut
making out with wonwoo was always fun. but when you are straddling his hips, your legs spread over his thighs, and you know sexy times are ahead, then making out got upgraded to a whole new degree. just as you were about to suggest that both of you move to the bedroom, wonwoo’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he scrambled to check the notification. whatever he saw made sheepishly ask to be excused while laying you down gently on the couch. still out of breath and aroused, you didn't realise that he was not even in the same room as you until a few minutes passed. at that point, you were beyond pissed. what was so important that he had to leave in the middle of getting you off? you swore to yourself that if it was not an emergency company thing (half of seventeen getting food poisoning again from leftover ramen), wonwoo was going to be banished to the couch for a whole week. getting yourself back into your skinny jeans (you loved how your ass looked in them) was a workout and a half which you were adding to the list of crimes your boyfriend committed against you (yes, there is a list. there is always a list). however you would have to find said boyfriend in order to get your revenge. after looking through the whole house thrice, you were convinced that wonwoo actually had to go out because of something important. however a muffled scream inside the linen closet caught your attention just that moment. and what did you find? your loving boyfriend who has closeted himself (literally) to play a match three game. specifically the new game he helped develop for carats to cope with his enlistment. it took you more than an hour to wrap your head around the fact that puzzle seventeen was more important to wonwoo than having sex with you. unbelievable. it did not help his case when he explained that the ‘heart recharge rate’ was too slow and he wanted to prove to his fans that this game was not too hard to complete without top-ups. slamming his door off, you told yourself that you won’t date a gamer boy ever again. ever. you were done. (it’s a lie. you forgave him when he came to your place later with sushi and a promise to make you cum at least three times that night)
Here we are again - posting the first chapter because I'm tired of not having it out there for you guys! I've hit a wall writing, so I'm just posting what I have until it's done. Enjoy!
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Chapter 1 (August)
Being married was easy. It was easy because no one except Ravi (and in extension, the Grants) knew. He called Ravi, drunk on love and tequila - and May overhears his rambling. He didn't volunteer details of his relationships as much as he used to when he was 26, and at 33, he didn't feel the need. Being with Tommy again was personal, and this time he wanted it to be private.
Getting married to Tommy was a no-brainer - after they both realized they wanted to be in each other's lives again. For real this time. After dating for a few months, they fly to Vegas for a wedding for Tommy's cousin, Danny. But that's not the wedding he remembers from that night. The snippets he remembers around his wedding were dripping in sequins, overlaid with Elvis and strobe lights.
Filled with wedding joy, eloping was spontaneous. Buck sighed, leaning on his hand, his cheeks warm with alcohol. They were watching Danny and Eliza twirling around the dancefloor as the night was winding down.
Tommy hiccupped, chuckling, giving away how much he actually had to drink. "You want to get married, baby?"
Buck pouted, "Don't say it if you don't mean it." They've briefly talked about it before, but it's too early. Everyone would think it's too early.
"Hey now, who said I didn't mean it?" Tommy clarified, a furrow in his brow, clutching his invisible pearls. Buck whipped his head to him, eyes wide.
"You want to? Right now" Buck couldn't contain his smile. Tommy reached for his hand, taking one last swig of his beer. He's not sure they'll remember much in the morning, they're just this side of drunk that making bad decisions sounds like a good idea. They ran out into the night, flagging down a taxi toward the nearest chapel.
It ended up being the best decision they've ever made.
Now they just had to tell let everyone else know.
…
(last March)
After Bobby's funeral, moving out of Eddie's house, and finding a new house thanks to Ravi at late notice, Buck was on his own. His place was his - no remarks about "bucking" something up or couch-hopping. He chose how he wanted to decorate, where to put the furniture, and what he wanted to bake. It's a fixer upper, but it gives him something to do on his down time. He debated for a while whether he wanted to tell the others where he moved, but he ended up just keeping it to himself. While he disagreed with Maddie's thought about learning to be alone again, there was a partial truth to it. Eventually he would tell them.
He wanted to find what made him happy, first.
Walking the beach one day, he was reminded of how he loved to surf, and chose to take classes to meet new people. His love for surfing and bartending brought him to Club Bahia, a small bar and dance hall, also known as "Stud Country" on the south-side of LA. He met the owners in his surfing class, and they offered an opportunity to bartend again if he wanted. He didn't work often, giving him the option to volunteer to work whatever events he wanted, since his schedule at the 118 was his priority. He didn't keep up with a lot of his friends after moving to LA, and he wanted to start fresh. So he agreed to bartend once or twice a month when they needed additional hands, even going so far as to be a part of their line dances. He's not really a dancer, but it's amazing to meet people who are so open and choosing to have fun. He wanted to have fun again.
Trivia Nights on Mondays also became a staple in his life, thanks to Lucy Donato. Being friends with her was a surprise - despite not always having the best relationships with women after flirting or breaking up, especially when she left the 118 to move to the 217. It was welcome. She's witty, sharp-tongued, and genuine. And he know has another friend who talk about what it means to be bisexual.
But something was still missing. He was still thinking about Tommy.
Thoughts of - 'Tommy would like this recipe', or 'Tommy would sit there with his coffee', especially 'Tommy would try this version of cinnamon rolls' bounced around in Buck's head for weeks.
But nobody knew that. With Eddie back at the 118, things have been different between them all. Less time spent together with Eddie playing video games, and less time talking off the clock. He would see Chris every once and a while, but after their last fight, Buck realized Eddie wasn't really his friend. So, as much as it hurt, he stopped trying to reach out. Not unfriendly, but he didn't want to be taken advantage of anymore. Eddie was partners with Hen on the EMT front as well, in his new role. So he let him and Chris settle into their new routine now that they were back in LA.
Chim and Maddie also had their hands full with their new baby, and he helped out when he could, but they were settling into a family of 4 - 2 kids under 5. As Captain of the 118, Chim was dedicated to filling the shoes that Bobby left behind. So they were adjusting.
Hen, Karen, Denny, and Mara were also settling into being a family as well. No fear of state politicking or DCS lingering anymore. Which was a good thing, and Buck didn't want to intrude on their family time either.
He did have a standing night out with Ravi every week on Tuesdays though, getting drinks and catching up on life outside of work. Even though they say each other every day as partners, it was nice to leave work at the door of the firehouse. They would talk about Ravi's relationship with May, navigating Athena's overprotectiveness, and his investments and realtor ventures. Buck would honestly say that Ravi is one of his best friends now. Ravi would jokingly say he's annoying, but that he loves him anyway. He's like a brother he never had.
…
After a usual Wednesday on shift, no crazy calls, saving not one but 4 cats, and sitting at his locker - Buck realized he wanted to see Tommy. He wanted to date him, hold his hand, and just watch him tinker on his cars in his driveway, so he held his breath and pulled up Tommy's text thread typing,
"If you're not dating anyone, would you be free Thursday morning for coffee? I want to apologize and clarify some things."
Buck exhaled, tapping his phone on his knee. As he nervously waited for a response, he watched Chimney, Hen, and Eddie finish putting their shoes on to head home for the evening.
"Hey Buck, we're doing a cook-out for the 4th of July at my place. Karen wants everyone to get together for dinner. You coming?" Hen said, looking at Buck as she put on her jacket.
Eddie and Chimney were talking about hot dogs and what sides they would bring, and Chim was sharing something Jee said about Robby that had Eddie bent over laughing. But as he got ready to respond, Buck saw a blinking ellipses from Tommy, and distractedly said, "Sure, sounds great!" He got up to walk out with them to the parking lot toward his Jeep. Hen gave him a time and they all parted ways for the night.
Sitting in his Jeep, he read Tommy's response with bated breath,
"I'm not dating anyone, Evan. If you have to apologize, so do I. I'll meet you at 8a?"
Buck grinned and texted that he agreed, pulling out of the parking lot and driving home.
I fully blame @dark-lord-of-awesomeness for the worms I got after they posted their worms and we went insane about it in the comments here.
===
"Ah. I appear to be bleeding out. Unfortunate." Stanford sagged against the wall a little more, his sweating face paling further even while he applied pressure to the wound. Stanley was kneeled beside him, fear blurring his thoughts with static as he scrambled to fight the churning in his stomach.
"What do I do?" he asked, shaking hands hovering over the quickly-spreading wet patch on Ford's trenchcoat.
"Ideally, get me to a hospital. However, given both the nature of my injury as well as the current road conditions-" Stanford's breath caught, and he hissed in pain. Stanley scooted closer. "I-it seems that I won't be able to make the journey in time."
"Don't say that-" Stanley said. He moved to grab his discarded jacket, pulling at the tears across its back panel until he had a wad of cloth, which he used to press into the wound after he'd moved his brother's hand out of the way. "Just hold on. We- I can get you there, my car's a dream in bad weather-"
"The snow drifts are too high, Stanley," Stanford admonished him.
"I can't sit here and do nothing!"
"There is one thing you can do…" Stanford quirked a wry, sheepish little smile, and Stanley felt his stomach drop.
"No. Absolutely not."
"It's our best option. And it's not as if I h-haven't considered the risks." Stanford swallowed thickly, twisting his eyes shut as if to collect himself. "Not to mention I've, ah. Been preparing for such an occasion. In advance."
Stanley stiffened as his brother glanced at him.
"Not all of the vampire blood I've been collecting has been for you."
He shook his head. Felt his brother's blood seeping through the makeshift bandages under his fingers, too-warm and sticky. "Ford, I can't- I can't do this-!"
Stanford spoke quickly and breathlessly, like he was trying to fit every word in the English dictionary into the span of one chestful of air. Like he knew he didn't have much time to say anything. "Well, of course you can! All you have to do is exsanguinate me. The quickest way would be tapping into my carotid artery, which is right about here on my neck," -and here he moved Stanley's fingers just to the side of his adam's apple, and there was a weak thump-thump, thump-thump of living blood, getting weaker by the moment- "Although you should aim to avoid piercing my trachea with your fangs. I'd rather not have to deal with suffocating in blood before the transformation. Oh! And try not to drain me from the jugular- that pumps blood away from the brain, and though the total difference in time would be negligible I still think--"
Stanley yanked his hand away and clenched his fist. "No, you knucklehead, I meant I can't murder my own brother!"
Stanford blinked at him. "We don't have time to debate semantics, Stanley. I'm going to die either way."
"We don't even know if I can turn anyone-- I'm not a regular vampire, I haven't bitten a human, and I can barely remember any of the times I actually ate someone, I can't--"
"You can. And I want you to." Stanford's breath was slow and heavy. His eyelids drooped lower and lower, like he was struggling to stay awake. "I'm not afraid, Stanley. I trust you."
Stanley sniffled wetly. Stanford's hand reached out and squeezed one of his own with gentle firmness.
"Okay. Okay, I can…" He twisted his eyes shut and bared his teeth. He could feel his canines lengthening, unsheathed from his gums as he breathed in the thick scent of his brother's blood. It didn't smell quite right to him- human blood always smelled as it had when he was alive, all salty and metallic and much too warm- but there was a new undercurrent of familiar, rotten sweetness to it now that it was on the wrong side of Stanford's body. The sluggish pull of that blackened, congealing unlife against his hind brain said drink, drink, drink, even as his heart rebelled.
"Just... hold on, Sixer."
He set his fangs to the soft meat of his brother's throat and bit down.
[When Stanford properly comes to himself again, it is after his first meal. His brother's hand is rubbing circles into his back. There is something cold and wet and refreshing dripping down his chin. Beneath them both, there is a desiccated vampiric cadaver with two sets of fang marks on either side of its neck. It flakes into ash and collapses into dust in its own clothes as he licks his lips and sits back, fully satiated. Stanley does not tell him who it was. He does not need to ask.]
Steve had never been to a concert with moshing, but after a few moments of assessing the situation while trying to protect Dustin, he got the hang of it. There seemed to be one main focused clump of violence and then the edges where people were taking hits but not giving them. Steve instinctively knew this was where he was meant to go, so he positioned himself between the moshers and his charge. Dustin, unfortunately, seemed completely clueless and kept trying to get around Steve to get in on the fun.
Upon closer observation, Steve noticed that the pit, while chaotic, wasn't actually as violent as he first thought. If someone went down, everyone around them pulled the person up. No fists were colliding. It was wild and bodies were slamming into each other, but it didn't seem life-threatening. So Steve looked at Dustin and said, "once around and then back here," before stepping aside and letting Dustin into the chaos.
Steve's eyes tracked Dustin's progress around the pit while he continued to take the hits the people behind him clearly didn't want to take. Bodies slammed against him, but there was something about it that was starting to be fun. There was a sort of camaraderie to the whole thing.
The moshing was moving in a sort of slow clockwise rotation, seemingly without anyone consciously choosing to do so. But then a guy slammed into Steve from the opposite direction, swimming against the stream, as it were, laughing and smiling. He looked at Steve and then did a double take.
"Hi," the guy said, now standing still within the mosh pit, unphased by the bodies slamming into him from all angles as he took Steve's hand in a slow shake, staring at him with huge dark eyes and a wide smile.
"Hi," Steve responded.
"I love your hair!" The guy said, still holding onto Steve's hand.
"Thanks, I love your vest!"
"Thanks, do you-" he started to ask but was cut off when the pit started to speed up and everyone started slam-dancing in a faster rotation. The guy was swept away into the circle and Steve lost sight of him.
Steve blinked. Then he saw Dustin, whose loud shirt was much easier to spot at a distance, and yanked him out of the circle pit. He could sort of see the guy every once in a while but the pit had him now so Steve continued his barrier duties of protecting the general crowd from the moshing and Dustin continued enjoying the raucous music.
As soon as the song ended, the guy popped back up next to Steve.
"I love your energy, by the way. I haven't seen you at any shows around. I'm Eddie," he said, flirty, taking Steve's hand again, not really shaking it but more formal than the typical holding hands.
"I'm Steve. Ow, and this is Dustin who I babysit because he is an immature little child," Steve said, rubbing the back of his leg where Dustin had kicked him.
Dustin was glaring.
"Dude, you don't have to call it babysitting, I'm fifteen."
"Don't worry, little fella, maybe your hot babysitter will invite me over some night he's watching you so we can hang out without you after your bed time."
"Ew. Also, he makes out with women, he likes women," Dustin proclaimed.
"And more," Steve shrugged, still staring and smiling at Eddie.
"More, huh? Well I am most definitely more."
Steve had never gone after a guy before, but he couldn't deny the appeal of someone so obviously really attracted to him. His inability to tell if he liked someone or if he liked that they liked him had caused him issues in the past and it sure wasn't showing signs of stopping any time soon, so he just embraced it. He was always willing to give it a shot and see what happened.
So, with that in mind they exchanged numbers and then got to chatting. Dustin got bored and snuck off back to the mosh pit and Steve decided he could deal with whatever consequences he ended up with, which later turned out to be a bunch of bruises and a bloody, but unbroken, nose.
But in the meantime, Steve and Eddie discovered they were both in Chicago for the concert and were actually both from the same town, though about as far away from each other as they could possibly live while still being in the town limits. They made plans to hang out at the Hideout the following weekend just in case they lost each other's numbers, and then they were rudely interrupted by Dustin turning up with blood pouring out of his nose. Eddie grabbed them some bar napkins and Steve decided they'd better call it a night.
"Here, little man, we can trade shirts so you don't have to jumpscare your parents with gore. I like Weird AL and I don't mind being covered in blood. That sounded weird, don't take that the wrong way, Steve."
After some grumbling, Dustin and Eddie swapped shirts. Steve thanked him for being so considerate and kind by pulling him in by the hand and placing a small kiss on his lips, which Eddie eagerly reciprocated and the two made out hot and heavy for a moment until Dustin yelled at them and dragged Steve away.
Eddie just stood there smiling and watching his future husband get pulled out of the club by a disgruntled teen now rocking a Corroded Coffin shirt. After they were out of sight, he sighed wistfully and then headed back into the new circle pit that was just forming.
It’s been six months since Buck and Tommy had their first disastrous date, and it’s not a coincidence that Buck chose Micelli’s for their date tonight. The last week has been rough for them both, and Buck thinks that maybe revisiting where they started could do them both some good. It’s a reminder, if nothing else, that they weathered one storm and they can weather this one too.
It had started with an offhand comment, and before either of them knew it, it had snowballed into their first actual fight. Buck has had arguments with girlfriends before, but something about this one felt different, it felt real, like the stakes were somehow higher than they were in his previous relationships. Eventually, when it was clear that they weren’t getting anywhere, Buck had taken off and found himself at Eddie’s with a pack of beer and a bag of Eddie’s favourite Doritos.
“I just don’t get what his problem is,” Buck says, and then cracks open a bottle. “It’s like he saw the-the lease renewal papers he just – he just…”
“Just?” Eddie prompts, stuffing his face with chips. Buck decides against telling him about the crumbs and Dorito dust stuck in his moustache, figuring he’ll discover it eventually and in the meantime, Buck can quietly laugh about it without Eddie knowing. He deserves some form of entertainment after the night he’s had.
“He asked me to move in with him,” Buck grumbles before grabbing his own handful of chips just to have something to do with his hands. He ignores the way Eddie’s eyes go wide at the admission. “It was out of nowhere a-and I don’t know what to do with that, Eddie. I-I panicked and I said some things I probably shouldn’t have… and then I took off.”
“If you’re not ready to move in with him then just say that,” Eddie says, as if it was that simple. It wasn’t that simple, was the thing, and Buck doesn’t know how to articulate that to his best friend, let alone to Tommy. Buck must take too long to respond because when Eddie continues, he’s looking at Buck with a thoughtful, borderline suspicious expression. “Unless… you’re not-not ready?”
Tapping his knuckles on the wood of Eddie’s table, Buck looks everywhere but Eddie as he gathers his thoughts.
“I-I shouldn’t be ready, right? I mean, we’ve only been together for six months, that’s way too soon.”
“So, it’s not that you’re not ready, but that you think that you shouldn’t be ready?” Buck nods, feeling a little helpless as Eddie looks at him like he’s an idiot, and Buck sighs in frustration. “Okay, I don’t get it. What is this about? Because if you’re ready, and Tommy’s ready, then I’m not sure I see the what the problem is.”
“I just-it just…” Buck pauses, forcing himself to take a breath before continuing. “It came out of nowhere and it just seemed so sudden and I…”
It doesn’t matter that he can’t seem to get the words out, because Eddie has a look of understanding dawning on his face as if he’s suddenly just realized what this is about and Buck lets out a sigh of relief. He can always trust Eddie to understand what’s going on with Buck, if no one else.
“Taylor,” Eddie says, before taking a long draw from his beer.
“Taylor,” Buck repeats in agreement. When Tommy had asked if he’d like to move in, Buck had felt a sudden rush of excitement and he’d almost, almost agreed without thinking. But that excitement had quickly changed into the sharp sting of anxiety as he’d thought about how quickly he and Taylor had jumped into that milestone, and then how quickly it had all fallen apart. Standing there, looking at Tommy, he hadn’t been able to stop worrying that they had an expiration date, and that this move would be the first step towards the end just like it had been with Taylor.
“Listen,” Eddie starts, and Buck knows that tone, it’s the same tone he used when telling Buck not to give up on something before he’d even known what it was before encouraging him to call Tommy. “You and Tommy are not you and Taylor, not even close. And if you’re really not ready for that step then that’s okay, and you need to tell Tommy that. I’m sure he’d understand. But if you are, and you’re just not letting yourself because of a previous bad experience then you need to figure out how to let that go before it hurts something that could be really good for you.”
He’s right, and Buck knows he’s right. He and Tommy have been doing so well together and Buck hates to admit that there’s been this part of him all along that’s just been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Tommy to come to the decision that maybe they’re just better off as friends. “You don’t think it’s too soon?” Buck asks quietly into his drink.
“I think that what’s too soon for some people is just right for others, and only you and Tommy get to decide what’s right for the two of you.” He’s speaking from experience, and Buck experiences a sudden pang of guilt at the reminder of Marisol and what led to Eddie blowing up his life.
Agreeing to give it some more thought, Buck decides to change the topic as a bit of sadness creeps over Eddie’s face. Without another word, Buck moves their location to the living room and puts on one of the telenovelas Eddie likes, and they both settle in for the night.
Eventually, Buck and Tommy had spoken, and had agreed to table talks of moving in together for the time being. Tommy hadn’t understood why Buck had reacted the way he had, and Buck wasn’t sure how to explain that thoughts of moving in together exhilarated and terrified him at the same time. He especially didn’t know how to explain that it’s thoughts of his ex-girlfriend that have him feeling so anxious.
But now that some distance has been put between the fight, and Buck’s had some time to think things through, he knows what he wants. And while things still weren’t quite back to normal between them, Tommy having pulled back slightly since the argument, they’re still them and Buck wants to celebrate that.
“Brings back memories,” Tommy quips once they’re settled into their table. When Buck made the reservation, he’d specifically requested this table, wanting to recreate their original date as much as possible. Hopefully with a much different ending this time.
“Yeah, uh, that’s why I chose it, actually.” Buck feels his face heat slightly at the admission as he glances up at Tommy. He hates that Tommy still looks a little guarded around him, hopes that he can erase that look with what he plans to say. “I thought maybe we could, I-I don’t know, paint over the old memories with new ones?”
That gets him a fond smile before Tommy looks down at the menu, shaking his head before he looks back up. “You’re adorable,” he says, voice soft and fond and Evan feels himself relax slightly at the glimpse of warmth there.
“You said that last time.”
“I meant it then, too.” Another smile, and Buck feels himself melt a little more.
The waiter appears then, and they put in their orders. Instead of sharing a pizza this time they order individually; Buck orders himself the gnocchi, and Tommy choosing the Chicken Parmigiana. Conversation is light as they wait for their food, Bobby is finally back in the captain’s seat which means that Buck is happy to talk about the goings on at the 118 and Tommy is always happy to listen. Tommy tells him about his last shift in turn, about the helicopter rescue of the missing hiker that could’ve gone wrong but didn’t thanks to Tommy and Lucy’s quick thinking, and for the first time since their fight, Buck feel sat peace.
This is what he wants, he thinks as their food arrives, him and Tommy. Whether they’re at a fancy restaurant or lazing about on Tommy’s couch, Tommy is where he feels content and happiest. There’s only two other people who’ve ever made him feel truly at ease and one of them is his sister, and the other is Eddie, and that he gets to count Tommy among that group fills him with so much warmth Buck thinks he could burst with it.
Only you and Tommy get to decide what’s right.
Eddie’s words come back to him as silence settles over the table while they dig into their food. He’s right, six months, twelve months, whatever, they’re all just arbitrary numbers and Buck is tired of letting his past dictate what feels right, right now. They’re nearly finished their meals when Buck sets down his fork with a soft clink, deciding it’s now or never.
“Tommy I uh, I wanted to-”
“—Wait, let… let me go first Evan,” Tommy says, cutting Buck off. “Look, last week I put you on the spot and that wasn’t right.”
“No, Tommy, I-”
Tommy raises a hand, as though silently asking Buck to let him finish and Buck’s mouth snaps closed. “It wasn’t fair to you, is what I’m trying to say, and neither was my reaction when you weren’t ready for that conversation.” He lets out a weary sigh and Buck wants nothing more than to reach across the table and pull him in for a tight hug, but he can tell Tommy has more he wants to say and thinks that maybe he wasn’t the only one who has been stewing on the events of last week. “When I saw that your lease renewal was coming up I just – I knew that I didn’t want to have to wait another year for you to move in with me. I got ahead of myself, and when you didn’t seem on board, I let myself get in my head about it, and I took it out on you and I shouldn’t have.” Tommy pauses there and takes a sip of his wine before continuing. “You’re incredible, Evan, and I think I just got so caught up in how quickly we’ve tackled every other stage of this relationship that I assumed this would be the same, but it’s okay if it’s not. I love you, and you needing more time before we consider that step doesn’t change that, okay?”
Once finished, Tommy reaches across the table to cover Buck’s hand in his own and Buck feels himself let out a long, steady breath. There’s so many different things flying through his head that he struggles to grasp onto one coherent thought. Eventually, he’s able to settle on the one that matters most, which is that he loves this man, quickly followed by the fact that he’d almost said yes that night, before he’d let his fear get the better of him.
“I didn’t renew my lease,” Buck blurts out, knowing that he should’ve started with literally anything else but that’s what came out and he can’t exactly take it back now.
“Evan,” Tommy says, eyes wide, and a memory of Tommy saying his name in that exact same tone flashes through Buck’s memory, only that time they’d been outside and Buck had gotten Tommy’s coffee order wrong.
“I um, I wanted to say yes, when you asked,” Buck starts, picking up the fork that he’d previously put down and fiddling with it as nervous energy rushes through him. “I was going to, a-and then, well, I got in my head a little too? The last person I moved in with, it um, it fell apart, and we’d moved in sort of early in the relationship and I just… I got scared.” He’s talking to his plate now, face heating as he feels Tommy’s hand squeeze over his. “I love you,” he says, turning his hand palm up underneath Tommy’s and squeezing back. “I loved her too, o-or I thought I did, at least, and it still fell apart. I just didn’t want that to happen with you.”
“Evan,” Tommy says again, slightly breathy as he looks at Buck with a warmth that Buck sometimes thinks is reserved just for him.
“But I-I realized that I can’t let that stop me from having what I want now, and what I want, Tommy, is to be with you.”
“Evan, are you sure?” Tommy asks, sounding a little disbelieving, and Buck can’t exactly blame him after the abrupt one-eighty he’s done.
“Yes, I am, i-if the offer is still on the table.” He really hopes it is because he wasn’t lying about choosing not to renew his lease. He could probably talk to the landlord if needed, they have a good relationship, and Buck is sure he’d prefer to keep things as is over having to search for a new tenant. But still, he’s really hoping he won’t need to do that.
“Of course it’s still on the table,” Tommy says emphatically, looking a little dazed.
Before Buck can answer they’re interrupted by their waiter checking in on them and offering dessert. Neither of them has to think very long about it before they’re ordering a slice of carrot cake to share. He feels giddy as they exchange excited glances over their shared cake.
“So, about my couch…” Buck says when they’re about halfway through their cake, trailing off as he lets the sentence hang there. They’d been discussing the finer points of Buck moving in with Tommy but had yet to address furniture.
“I seem to recall you making a big deal in the past about my couch being your favourite,” Tommy responds with a grin. “But-” he interrupts Buck before he can retort, holding up a hand, “as you already know, I have been working on finishing the basement. If you bring your set over, then that just means we won’t need to buy new furniture. Win-win.”
“I like the way you think,” Buck agrees. Grinning, Buck takes another bite of cake, not missing the way Tommy eyes his mouth as he slides the spoon out from between his lips.
Tommy takes a bite of his own, and then gives a mournful look to the near empty plate. “We should have ordered two slices,” he says with a mournful sigh.
Laughing, Buck pushes the plate towards Tommy, offering him the last of it. “We could always just order another to go,” he suggests. “There was an apple spice cake that sounded really good.”
Tommy seems to seriously consider it as he savours the last bite of their shared carrot cake before he shakes his head and looks up at Buck. “Mm, no, I think I’m going to be hungry for something else when we get home.”
Buck feels his breath hitch at the low tone coupled with the sudden heat of Tommy’s gaze. And well, Buck can definitely get on board with that, is always up for it the second Tommy so much as looks in his direction. But still- “Tommy Kinard? Turning down cake? It’s like I don’t even know you,” he teases, unable to help himself.
“Baby,” he says, voice husky as he leans forward over the table, “I think you’ve misunderstood. No one said anything about turning down cake. I’ve just decided I want an entirely different variety… one not offered on restaurant menus.” He gives Buck a wink before he sits back and flags down their waiter for their check and Buck… Buck thinks he’s going to have trouble walking out of this restaurant without embarrassing himself. Tommy eyes him as he pays the bill, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smug smirk as he stands from his seat. “You coming, babe?”
Not yet, he thinks, but definitely later. “I um, yeah, yes,” he says before clumsily getting out of his seat, hip knocking into the sharp corner of the table. Tommy’s laugh fills the space between them and Buck wishes he could bottle it because it’s quickly becoming his favourite sound.
As they leave the restaurant he looks over at Tommy, who’s grinning back at him and has the realization that he gets to have this. The laughter and the belonging and the bone deep love that he feels, he gets to have it, it’s his to keep if he’s brave enough to take it.
Ichor was never meant to mix with mortal flesh. It burns and eats mortals into nothingness, unless it comes in contact with a mortal already carrying blood of the gods by birth. Even trace amounts.
When that happens, a reaction occurs. A godling is made. But there's nothing Poseidon can do, pinned to rock by his very own weapon. So he's forced to witness, can do nothing but agree as the magics of spilled god, trace amounts of divinity, and the power of the deal merge. Create a god fueled by hate.
Distantly he realizes this is why divine beings were never meant to lay with mortals, yet here they are. Sure, Zeus may banish the new immortal, but there's nothing they can do to kill him now that he's become one of them.
