#[ god he's so full of himself he deserves it ]

[anaid-queen]

Things I Love About This: a probably incomplete list

the bears look SO cute

and the magnets!! forehead kiss | full kiss | CHOKE- i can't

lil chibi Stone trying to drop hints ('someone special 😊😊') featuring TINY PURPLE HEARTS AS HE GAZES AT HIS DOCTOR WHERE HE CAN'T SEE

the jealous rage as Ivo pictures a faceless figure getting all that love 😭😭😭😭

Stone doesn't even flinch when he gets yelled at and his request denied my heart!!! HE JUST MAKES A CARD HIMSELF. seriously not only Robotnik does not deserve him NO ONE IN THE WORLD DOES!!!!!

and then a million thoughts instantly as HE becomes the anonymous figure.... everything opens up before him and i just caaaaaaan't 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[i will not judge the Badniks but i will ignore that bit almost entirely because otherwise, i'd straight-up cease existing from sheer cuteness aggression] instead i will focus on

THE KISSSSS aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!!! no matter how many kisses of theirs i see i can't get enough, especially the way you draw them is just !!!! THE LOVE & THE DOMESTIC I SIMPLY FUCKING CAN'T

little hearts and a blush at the hand touch Stone sameeee

'yours are better' HHHHHHHHHH

that thing with his face. yeah i bet that annoys you so much doesn't it Ivo!! that stupid feeling in your stomach right there that's DEFINITELY JUST ANNOYANCE sucks so much right???? catch me cryscreaming fr. [EYESSSS]

energy charge explanations.... HAND HOLDING..... charging up without coffee (how mysterious!!)...... THIS IS THE KIND OF CUTENESS THAT'S JUST SHY OF TOO MUCH & THAT I COULD RUB MY FACE IN ALL DAY!!!!!!

(absolutely nothing but tears for the next pic & its caption both)

a logo t-shirt and a jacket with hearts over it. how about some arrows pointing to the fact that This Is the Place For A Certain Egg To Get Loved???!??! AT LEAST HE KNOWS AND TAKES IT. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

why did i think that one apron was leading to Stone washing up with Robotnik nuzzling him from behind. not that you haven't drawn that already!!!

if he doesn't obey him it must be bad oh GOD 😭😭😭 WHAT IF I JUST CRIED.

kisses make everything better yes yes yes YESS!!! very scientific and very very very good!!!

(once more i have only tears for the entire 'Gerald manipulates Ivo through Stone' story concept / the concepts. well-written that could be the most fucked-up delicious thing with a painful but glorious payoff [a fix-it, ofc]. hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. i need it!!!!!!!!!)

Guess I'll post Stobotnik doodles once again.

Stobotnik but theyre the little mistletoe magnet nose bears I had when I was a kid. With some extra magnets for funsies. (I dont think my bears had tails but... I love a good orb tail on a bear plush)

I know Doc looks more like candy corn but hes supposed to be like egg colored! I know I coulda went with just another shade of yellow but hes also a redhead so... I thought the orange would look nice and it does... but it also looks like candy corn.

Ivo gets jealous of the birthday boy (spoilers: the birthday boy is him. He forgot.)

Hes better at Valentines day. Sorta. Stone has been trying to make homemade coffee chocolates but Shadow and Ivo keep eating them (or trying to eat him in Ivos case) and the Badniks keep plucking them off the counter to 'eat them' too (they just keep them in their carapace. They just wanna fit in. Do not judge them.)

Symbiosis.

Ivo gets back from almost exploding and decides Stone must be within reach at all times. (Stone certainly doesnt mind. Hes very warm and comfy.)

Makin sure your boss knows that you care by literally spelling it out for him.

The text was just gonna be Ivo telling Stone to get and stop fucking around... and then when Stone disobeys his orders hes like '..oh shit it must be bad.'

Doctor expected there to be unexpected results... he just didnt expect Stone to get hurt real bad. He then experiments with the theory that kisses will make someones booboos feel better. Results inconclusive. More extensive testing required.

Stone gets along with Ivo, I made an AU with him bonding with Maria....

So what about Gerald. Honestly missed opportunity to not have Gerald fuck with Stone a little. He was clearly pleased that Ivo broke up with Stone so he mustve known Stone was a boon of some sort despite being a base-line human... I mean I guess hed probably would have seen Stone being a badass on a motorcycle and thought keeping him as far away as possible was for the best...

But like Gerald could have easily tried to manipulate Stone thinking Stone was just using Ivo like everyone else and Gerald is stronger/smarter/would have more power so maybe could have tried to use that but not recognizing Stone actually DID love Ivo cuz who would love his dumbass grandson? Not even HE loves his dumbass grandson.

Alternatively he DOES recognize Stones love for Ivo very quickly and uses Ivos blind loyalty to his family and THAT newly exposed weak spot that makes it so easy to hurt his Grandson as a weapon to keep Stone in line.

IDK Im rambling but I never see anyone with AUs involving Gerald and Stone. Together they could make an even more fucked up version of that SU song 'Do It For Her/Him'

[clementine-thedestroyer]

Hello! I was wondering if you were able to write more about racoon hybrid! Reader. I have an obsession with racoons as you can tell from the profile pic lol and I am already obsessed with their relationship I thought it was wonderful ❤️❤️

I’ve been hiding from this ask because I didn’t have quite the right thing to say to it but I need you know I’m obsessed with raccoons too. They’re the cutest little chaotic neutral thing nature gave us and I wish they were like cats and would enjoy living with humans.

As far as writing, all I really have is this little snippet- my brain’s far too strung out to piece anything more than a few paragraphs together, but I’m still gonna share them, naturally.

It’s a lot of adjustment for John- having you around, that is.

After misinterpreting your courting gifts as junk and part of a prank (then calling them as much to your face) he couldn’t just… tell you no.

Seeing how your eyes filled with hurt after he referred to the item’s you’d brought him as “crap” had pained him deeply. He couldn’t bring himself to crush your hopes just like that.

When he’d ushered you into his den that night, he’d had genuine intentions of turning you down. He’d planned on inviting you in, getting you out of the cold and all warmed up, and letting you down gently.

And he had tried that, to his credit, but you were a persistent little bugger- just wouldn’t let it go.

John had told you that night that while he was flattered, he couldn’t in good conscience accept your advances. He’d tried to explain that he just wasn’t right for you, that someone as young and full of life as you deserved a mate who could match that- not some grumpy old bear you found in the middle of the woods.

But then he saw the tears in your eyes and oh god- he couldn’t take it if you cried. Everything inside him was already screaming at him for turning you down, and he felt a pit form in his stomach at the thought of being the cause of your tears.

Why are you letting them cry!? Why are you hurting them!? Look at them! They’d be such a perfect mate! They’d been courting you so well, proving they could hunt, proving they could scavenge - why on earth would you turn them down!? That’s our mate!!

John took a deep breath, his hands gripping his knees. It wouldn’t be so bad to just let them stay the night, would it? He thought to himself, looking down at your disappointed face and struggling to keep his instincts from affecting his decision making, yet also knowing they very much so already had.

So John had you stay the night, citing the weather and concerns for your safety as reason enough and feeling immensely relieved when you agreed. He’d slept on the couch and given you his bed, assuring himself that you’d be on your way out first thing in the morning.

Then that one night turned into two when, the very next day, he’d caught found you leaving another one of your gifts in front of his den. This time, it was an assortment of nuts, washers, and bolts strung together to make a preciously clunky wind chime.

But rather than leaving it on his doorstep and sneaking off, you’d knocked on his door and boldly presented your gift to him with the biggest grin…. And how could he say no to that when you looked so proud.

So he took your little wind chime and hung it delicately in his kitchen window, knowing that by accepting your gift and putting it in his den he was essentially accepting your offer of courtship, but unable to bring himself to do anything but exactly that.

Though John continued to make a token effort at resistance, he knew that after that, you would be staying. He couldn’t bring himself to make you leave again, and he knew that even if he did, you’d just be back the very next day.

But having you around was a big adjustment. The last time he’d had someone else in his den must’ve been years ago, and it was always casual, rarely lasting more than a night and more often than not being a hook up. But now, with you spending practically every night with him, your presence is increasing becoming a constant in his life.

Your routines integrate and become fused with his own and before he knows it, he can’t imagine his life without you.

How had he’d ever enjoyed his morning coffee without you slotted beside him on the couch? With your fluffy grey ears twitching each time you turn the page to your novel and his arm wrapped loosely around you to keep you close.

How had he ever managed to sleep without having you curled up against his chest? Because these days it seems that’s the only way he can. And how had he ever taken a shower without you squeezing in beside him, a cheeky grin on your face as you ask him to help you rub shampoo and conditioner into your long, fluffy striped tail? With both of you knowing full well it’ll end up with him doing the same for your hair and the fur of your ears too- and also knowing that if he’s not in a rush, it’ll end up with you and him sitting on your bed as he brushes out and gently blowdries your hair and the fur of your tail.

Even when he finds you up at the odd hours of the night and has to drag you back to bed, he has only love for you. It’s not your fault you’ve got the instincts of a nocturnal creature, but he’s still going to toss you right over his shoulder and cart out back to bed if he has to.

It’s not even a year after brining you into his den that the two of you are right and proper mates, and John wouldn’t have it any other way.

He loves having a mate who loves to tinker and take things apart, and he loves that his den is filled with little traces of you throughout. Trinkets, pretty shells, and shiny rocks fill his shelves, and every day you bring him something new to add to the collection is a good one.

And for once, winter actually becomes something John begins to look forward to. Hibernation becomes less of a chore and more of a cherished chance to curl up with his mate in his den and do nothing but sleep and cuddle his mate. What could possibly be better than that?

[doctorsilverhead]

How about a first intimate night for OP (bayverse tlk) and his f!human lover? If possible.

Steel and Skin (Bayverse TLK X Fem!Human Reader)

The night was quiet. Too quiet.

It was a rare thing, peace. The battlefield had long since faded behind them, and yet, war still raged within Optimus. It had been months since he had returned to Earth—since he had been freed from Quintessa’s grasp—but the echoes of Nemesis Prime still clawed at his mind. The guilt. The shame. The loss.

And yet… here you were.

Soft. Warm. Human. Everything he was not. Everything he had sworn to protect.

You sat beside him in the secluded Autobot outpost, your fingers trailing absentmindedly across the cool metal of his servo. It was a touch he never thought he could have, never dared to dream of. But when you looked up at him, eyes full of something so gentle—so unwaveringly devoted—he felt his carefully constructed walls begin to crack.

"You're thinking too much again," you murmured, shifting closer.

He exhaled a vent of warm air, the soft rumble of his spark echoing in his chassis. "It is difficult not to."

A sad smile played at your lips. "You always carry everything alone."

"I must," he whispered.

"No, you don’t."

You reached out then, pressing your palm against the center of his chestplate, where his spark pulsed faintly beneath layers of metal. He stiffened at first—fragile, human hands touching something so vital, so sacred—but he did not pull away. He couldn't.

Because for the first time in centuries, he felt wanted.

And that terrified him.

"I don't deserve this," he murmured, optics dimming. "Not after what I've done."

"You do," you countered, firmer now. "You’ve fought, you've suffered, and you still chose to protect. You still chose to come back." Your fingers splayed wider, tracing the subtle pulse beneath the plating. "Let yourself have this, just once."

Something inside him broke.

His massive servos trembled as they came to cradle you, as though you were something too precious—too fragile—to be held by hands that had known nothing but war. He lifted you with reverence, bringing you closer, pressing you against the unyielding surface of his frame.

His frame tensed beneath your touch. A battle unlike any he had fought raged inside him—a war between restraint and the overwhelming need to feel you. To touch. To take.

"You are fragile," he rasped.

"And you are careful," you countered, moving closer. "I trust you."

A sigh escaped your lips as you nestled into him, your warmth seeping through the cold metal, thawing something deep inside him. He turned his helm, pressing the tip of his noseplate to your temple—a touch that, for him, was as intimate as any kiss.

His voice was hoarse, reverent. "You are my light in the dark."

Then he kissed you.

Or, at least, as close to kissing as a Cybertronian could. His lips were too rigid, too alien—but Primus, he tried. His mouth pressed against yours in soft, deliberate movements, his vents exhaling heated air between each kiss. His servos tightened around your waist, his massive frame shaking as he struggled to contain himself.

But you didn’t want him to.

"Optimus," you gasped against his lips, fingers gripping the seams of his faceplate. "Please, don’t hold back."

A deep snarl rumbled through him, a sound of raw possession, and then suddenly, you were beneath him—pinned gently against his plating as he devoured every whimper, every gasp you gave him. His mouth trailed lower, pressing heated kisses along your collarbone, over the thin fabric of your shirt. His servos, massive yet infinitely careful, slid along your thighs, parting them just enough for him to fit between them.

Your skin burned under his touch, electricity crackling in the air between you. A Prime. A warrior. A god among machines. And yet, here he was, unraveling for you.

"Tell me to stop," he growled against your skin, though he prayed you wouldn’t.

You pulled him closer, arching into his touch. "Never."

His optics flared, and the last of his restraint snapped.

And when he spoke again, it was no longer as a Prime or the last of his kind.

It was simply as Optimus.

And tonight, he was yours.

[marichive]

𝐖𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒

A collection of prompts from Wuthering Heights , by Emily Brontë. Adjust gender / pronouns / wording / etc. as needed.

❝ He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. ❞

❝ If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger. ❞

❝ Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! ❞

❝ I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free. ❞

❝ May you not rest as long as I am living. ❞

❝ You said I killed you--haunt me then. ❞

❝ The murdered do haunt their murderers. ❞

❝ Oh, God! It is unutterable! ❞

❝ If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years as I could in a day. ❞

❝ I have not broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine. ❞

❝ She burned too bright for this world. ❞

❝ Terror made me cruel. ❞

❝ What were the use of my creation, if I were entirely contained here? ❞

❝ He's always, always in my mind. ❞

❝ If you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you, I would be your slave. ❞

❝ I gave him my heart, and he took and pinched it to death; and flung it back to me. ❞

❝ I have dreamt in my life, dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas. ❞

❝ You teach me now how cruel you've been - cruel and false. ❞

❝ Why did you despise me? ❞

❝ Why did you betray your own heart? ❞

❝ I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this. ❞

❝ Yes, you may kiss me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears: they'll blight you - they'll damn you. ❞

❝ You loved me - what right had you to leave me? ❞

❝ I have to remind myself to breathe -- almost to remind my heart to beat! ❞

❝ It was not the thorn bending to the honeysuckles, but the honeysuckles embracing the thorn. ❞

❝ It is hard to forgive, and to look at those eyes, and feel those wasted hands. ❞

❝ Honest people don't hide their deeds. ❞

❝ May she wake in torment! ❞

❝ She's a liar to the end! ❞

❝ You said you cared nothing for my sufferings! ❞

❝ Heaven did not seem to be my home; and I broke my heart with weeping to come back to earth. ❞

❝ He wanted all to lie in an ecstasy of peace; I wanted all to sparkle and dance in a glorious jubilee. ❞

❝ He shall never know I love him ❞

❝ A person who has not done one half his day's work by ten o'clock, runs a chance of leaving the other half undone. ❞

❝ Treachery and violence are spears pointed at both ends; they wound those who resort to them worse than their enemies. ❞

❝ You know that I could as soon forget you as my existence. ❞

❝ ❞

❝ Why am I so changed? ❞

❝ I am now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town. ❞

❝ A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself. ❞

❝ Time brought resignation and a melancholy sweeter than common joy. ❞

❝ Had he been in my place and I in his, though I hated him with a hatred that turned my life to gall, I never would have raised a hand against him. ❞

❝ You may look incredulous, if you please! ❞

❝ The moment her regard ceased, I could have torn his heart out, and drunk his blood! ❞

❝ If you don't believe me, you don't know me. ❞

❝ I'll be as dirty as I please. ❞

❝ The entire world is a dreadful collection of memoranda that she did exist, and that I have lost her. ❞

❝ I hate him for himself, but despise him for the memories he revives. ❞

❝ The thing that irks me most is this shattered prison, after all. ❞

❝ I’m tired of being enclosed here. ❞

❝ I pray every night that I may live after him; because I would rather be miserable than that he should be. ❞

❝ That proves I love him better than myself. ❞

❝ How cruel, your veins are full of ice water and mine are boiling. ❞

❝ Existence, after losing her, would be hell. ❞

❝ I have lost the faculty of enjoying their destruction, and I am too idle to destroy for nothing. ❞

❝ She was a wild, wicked slip of a girl. ❞

❝ You must forgive me, for I struggled only for you. ❞

❝ How can she love in him what he has not? ❞

❝ Your presence is a moral poison that would contaminate the most virtuous. ❞

❝ Your cold blood cannot be worked into a fever. ❞

❝ Good words, but deeds must prove it also. ❞

❝ Remember you don't forget resolutions formed in the hour of fear. ❞

❝ Why does my blood rush into a hell of tumult at a few words? ❞

❝ Make everything stop and stand still and never move again. Make the moors never change and you and I never change. ❞

❝ As different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire. ❞

❝ It’s no company at all, when people know nothing and say nothing. ❞

❝ I never told my love vocally; still, if looks have language, the merest idiot might have guessed I was over head and ears. ❞

❝ He might as well plant an oak in a flowerpot, and expect it to thrive, as imagine he can restore her to vigour in the soil of his shallow cares! ❞

❝ I have no pity! ❞

❝ It would degrade me to marry him now. ❞

❝ Hereafter she is only my sister in name; not because I disown her, but because she has disowned me. ❞

❝ In secret pleasure — secret tears, this changeful life has slipped away ❞

❝ Thoughts are tyrants that return again and again to torment us. ❞

❝ I begin to fancy you don't like me. ❞

❝ I wish I could hold you 'till we were both dead. ❞

❝ I care nothing for your sufferings. Why shouldn't you suffer? ❞

❝ Will you forget me? Will you be happy when I am in the earth? ❞

❝ Would you like to live with your soul in the grave? ❞

❝ I'm not going to act the lady among you. ❞

❝ You'll be ashamed of me everyday of your life, and the more ashamed, the more you know me; and I cannot bide it. ❞

❝ Any relic of the dead is precious, if they were valued living. ❞

❝ Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves. ❞

❝ Nonsense, do you imagine he has thought as much of you as you have of him? ❞

❝ This lamb of yours threatens like a bull! ❞

❝ I'm mortally sorry that you are not worth knocking down. ❞

❝ I have neither a fear, nor a presentiment, nor a hope of death. ❞

❝ I could not help wishing we were all there safe together. ❞

❝ He’s not a rough diamond - a pearl-containing oyster of a rustic; he’s a fierce, pitiless, wolfish man. ❞

[scho17]

“It's all Dick can do to not imagine himself in Danny's shoes. Clutching a rescued Jason as they sobbed together. But Danny got to her in time. Dick didn't.”

oh that was wicked work just OW OWWWWWWWWW MY FEELINGS WHAT THE FUCK. I feel like I got sucker punched, granted, I really did ask for it and God, did you deliver.

Tim, in the bg who has absolutely no idea who these two are or what's going on but can really only infer based on what he can barely make sense of/hear over the unintelligible dialogue through the rain: So. Human trafficking?

Neither Danny or Ellie can exactly say no because well, yes, but it's government funded and sanctioned and, well, for it to be considered human trafficking that would imply them to be considered human, sentient, something of that realm which the governing body obviously does not think them capable of being.

DEATH DEFYING!! 🔥🔥🔥 It happens later down the line and is slow going. Alfred feels like he's watching Harvey and Bruce 2.0 because here are these two incredibly intelligent witty young men who do nothing but yearn for each other and it's so clearly obvious to anyone with eyes BUT THEM. It's truly painful to watch.

Punching the air. It’s Dick watching Danny’s retreating back, Ellie in his arms sound asleep with a soft but longing smile. It’s Dick babysitting and not knowing what the fuck he’s doing but doing it anyway and it’s all worth it after he hears either of them laugh, even if it’s at his own expense. It’s Dick learning to cook and take care of himself again after Jason’s death because while his passing shattered a piece of himself there are othes who need him too. If he can’t help even himself then what use is he as either Dick Grayson or Nightwing?

Fast forward to a couple months to a year or two in the future and Dick is sitting on their shared apartments couch, staring at a photo of Jason. It’s a photo of them at a fair, Dick only about seventeen in it with an arm around the shoulders of a barely thirteen year old Jason Todd. Both of them carrying cheery twin grins on their faces as Jason held out a large floppy teddy bear for the camera. Dick had won it for him at one of those scammy ladder climbing games and Jason had smiled so hard Dick’s cheeks had ached in sympathy.

He can’t help but wonder if Jason would be happy for him. He wonders if he has the right to have any of this when his little brother who deserved so much more will forever remain fifteen. Alive only in photos.

But Dick will only grow older. He's got a father and while they're never completely on the same page, he's there. He's got two younger brothers, one in the ground and the other still flying across the grimy Gotham midnight sky, both work like Atlas, and both 60% genius and 40% scheming little shit. Dick’s got a darling boyfriend and a little girl he thinks of as his own and it's good. So, so good. 

He wonders if his parents would approve. Dick thinks they'd be happy for him. He would like to think Jason would be too. 

For all that Bruce had called him irresponsible for bringing Danny into the fold in the beginning Dick could never regret it. Not when it lead to all of this. Their apartment feels so full and homely in a way it hadn’t when it was just him alone. 

AGH OH AND THEN JASON COMES BACK. Guys. Guys. I can be. Good. Normal actually. Wait guys how do we feel about dad friends Roy and Dick because I have. Thoughts.

There are crayon drawings plastered all over the fridge, letter magnets and cartoon ones pinning them in place. A throw blanket over the couch cushions, a rack holding shoes by the door - something Dick would have never thought to buy - there are tapestries and posters hung up and an eclectic variety of plates, bowls, cups, and utensils with residency in their cupboards because their little girl flat out refuses to use the forks that have too-long prongs or spoons with broad handles (“It’s just bad vibes Pa!” “Okay, well what about this one?” “No! That ones too heavy and it has patterns on the handle,”).

In some fucked up way it was kinda funny. 

Guy on the run goes to Bludhaven to keep a low profile and catches the attention of a vigilante. The universe is laughing at him, surely. 

Everything was fine up until a month ago. Really, it was. Danny had obtained his own shitty apartment and yeah, maybe his dead end job made him want to eat dirt more than usual but everything was fine. There weren’t any eyes on him and now there were. A certain bird didn’t know how to leave him alone.

“Can I help you, Nightwing?” Danny says in a flat tone, leaning his forearms against the rails of the fire escape. He isn’t a cigarette type of guy but if ever there were a time this would be it.

“Mhum. I want names, same as always.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “We both know I can’t tell you anything.”

“But you could.”

“I could,” Danny acquiesced with a shallow nod. “And then what? When they can’t get to me, they’ll get to you.” He sighs, feeling infintely tired “in any case, the big bad bat isn’t known for leaving things he doesn’t understand alone, and I’m not really looking to be a lab rat again. Zero out of ten do not recommend. Turns out being vivisected fucking hurts, man.”

“Why won’t you let me take them out for you? Besides, I’m not weak. I can hold my own just fine.”

And thats the million dollar question, isn’t it? Dannys gaze fixes upon the ill looking moon, pallor as he peers through the smog of the dingy city and into the sky. “Because he told me to wait.”

“Who?”

Clockwork. 

Clockwork told him to wait. To do the one thing he hates more than anything in the world. To do the unforgivable - to sit idle when they had Ellie. As much as he’d love to spit venom and recite every reason why the GIW needed to be taken care of much sooner rather than whenever Clockwork had in mind, he can’t. He’s - and Ancients, he’ll never forgive himself - scared. He’s scared.

Logistically, he knows he’s strong. Stronger than anyone in any of those facilities compounded. Stronger than Vlad in terms of raw power if not in wiles, he’s stronger than Pariah Dark. Danny has tested his mettle against the worst of the worst and came out on top but he’s still fucking scared. Isn’t that something? Crown prince of the Infinite Realms is scared. 

There’s no one to magically make it better. No one to lean on because he’s the strongest, he’s it. And if the strongest can’t stand up because they’re too busy having a panic attack at the sight of a lab coat then really, what use are they?

“I can’t tell you that.” He glances down to the alleyway below them. It’s filthy. Wet newspaper plastered to the pavement, old gum cemented in place like spots on a dalmatian. It looks a lot like how Danny feels most days.

Nightwing frowns. “I can help you,” he says. It sounds painfully earnest, like he believes he really, really, could. 

“That's a nice offer, Nightwing, but I can’t take it yet.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

There he is. That’s the boy the bat raised. “Can’t.”

*

The next time Dick sees Danny it isn’t in Bludhaven. 

It’s months later in her sister city, Gotham. Crime Alley, to be specific. It was during the tail end of a joint patrol with the newly minted Robin, Tim, whom he had sent back to the cave early. His eyes snagged on the figure of a young man carrying a child in the middle of the wet season, a thin thoroughly soaked through navy blue sweater clinging to him like a second skin. It was pouring down like the heavens didn’t know how to stop grieving. 

It seemed as anguished as Dick was in the immediate absence of Jason. He blinks tiredly and washes the thought away. There’s a little girl cradled in Danny’s arms with hair just as pitch black as his own, burrowing her small face in his neck, tiny arms clinging as the man himself runs his hand soothingly on her back, murmuring apologies into her hair. “I know, I know, I’m sorry Ellie, I’m sorry. It’s okay, it's- We’re out. We’re okay.”

It’s a painfully private moment, one that he feels guilty for witnessing. The girl - Ellie, sobs into Danny’s chest. It isn’t his place to watch, to witness this. All the same, he wishes he could comfort them somehow. 

[dronepikachu]

Love and Deepspace Evol Management Tier List

okay so, love and deepspace has been occupying my thoughts ever since i got back into the game after about a year

i've been looking into more of each LI's management of their respective evols from their myths/main storyline, anecdotes, etc and i think i can safely rank them from best to worst evol management

before i continue, this is just my personal listings for all the LI's evol control. if you have a different take on this theory, please feel free to comment/reblog with your own thoughts! i'm curious on what you all have to say about it :D

ALSO SPOILERS FOR WHOMEVER HASN'T SEEN THE MYTHS/MAIN STORYLINE!!!

first, at the very bottom of the list:

Zayne:

(now hear me out-)

we all have seen him as Foreseer, right? a demi-god who was gifted god-like powers by Astra to carry out his rule.

he defied Astra ONCE by looking into the MC's fate, which was intertwined with his own, and he was punished by his own ice abilities. and it caused him an incredible amount of pain.

in the current timeline, whenever Zayne overuses his evol, his arm and part of his face become encased with ice and frost, which causes him partial pain as well as temporary immobilization of whichever arm.

we can also see scarring on both of his arms from the aftermath of this over-usage. in hindsight, he's still cursed with this instability and there's essentially nothing he can do about it.

okay, let's move on to the next one before i start sobbing-

Xavier:

now, we all have seen his exceptional skills with a sword combined with his light evol, but he doesn't seem to be in complete control of it in terms of his full strength.

remember our first meeting with Xavier? when he shot up to protect MC from a few wanderers, there looked to be some form of a digitized collar around his neck which turned red before ending the wanderer.

to also factor in that he's from the future, so he's already quite limited with how much of his power he can utilize without it messing with the entire timeline.

but, i think in a separate memory of his (not sure of the name, please let me know!), he mentioned something about his "last 214th spring", which i believe meant that he was growing weaker from his future self remaining in the past for so long.

now, i'm unsure as to why he supposedly betrayed MC, but during the kindled scene of the memory, he seemed to be either in a hazed state or partially possessed by his evol.

he was mumbling to himself about "a place that uses to survive doesn't deserve to exist", and only when MC resonated with Xavier did his evol finally subside.

so yeah, Xavier definitely has potential in unleashing his full power, but he remains incredibly restricted due to his position in time.

now, for one that balances the table just right.

Rafayel:

i feel like Rafayel is a perfect balance of the scale. he shows incredible skill over the flow of his evol.

he's able to fully utilize his evol while in combat or even in mundane situations. we see that he's able to complete darken a fully candlelit room with a simple flick of his wrist and vice versa.

along with his fire evol comes his sea god abilities.

while we haven't really seen much of his sea god powers in the main storyline (and admittedly in his myth story), i'm willing to assume that there's a lot of potential with this form that Rafayel hasn't had the time to dive into.

with the ocean essentially becoming a desert, he might never learn how to hone into that form's true power.

but, from what we can see from the gameplay, he shows the same level of mastery to that of his evol. i would love to see him use both of his powers further down the story. however, all we can really do is speculate until it happens..

okay, the next two LI's truly had me struggling where to place who because these two both show incredibly mastery of their evols..

but, i have to place them somewhere, and here's what i have.

Sylus:

okay okay wait, i can explain this one-

now, we all know that Sylus was a dragon fiend in his myth story (i almost lost it while watching through the memory ;-;), but when we see him in the current storyline, he seems to be fully aware of his previous life as a dragon.

so because of that heritage, along with his energy evol, he's got vast mastery of his abilities, and to list a few of them:

he can materialize a fully loaded gun with just a simple thought, is able to lift up and immobilize several individuals with a wave of his hand, teleportation, some form of memory projection (when they first met, Sylus began to use his right eye to project his memories into MC, causing her to gain a headache in the process), immortality for obvious reasons and perhaps many more we don't know about.

hell, some could say he reached his full potential, but i believe there could still be room for him to grow stronger, so for now, he's ranked 2nd here

now, for number one...our newly added LI;

Caleb:

i think we can all agree that anyone with the ability to manipulate one's gravity is incredibly powerful...and dangerous.

Caleb fits both categories.

first of all, he's shown complete mastery over his evol. he nearly includes it in mundane life, he also heavily includes it during gameplay (which i find absolutely incredible and aesthetically pleasing).

Caleb even uses his evol to essentially immobilize someone either by a limb or their entire body.

so, i was curious about him so i went through his character anecdotes and i noticed something interesting in one of the sections...

while he was training to become a pilot, there was mentions about a mental health assessment they all took and...Caleb was recommended to some psychological evaluations.

now, this might be me speculating a bit too hard into things, but the fact that he can basically generate an entire black hole...that truly frightened and enlightened me about how that happened..

now, i might have 2 theories on that; he either gained the ability when he was receiving that upgrade, or maybe from how mentally unstable he grew, it conjured up into the ability to create a black hole at will.

so, in conclusion, Caleb is not only an individual with an equally powerful evol, but due to his poor mental health, it essentially turned him into a lethal one-man army.

imagine a 1v4 with Caleb and the others...that sure sounds like a battle to behold...but i will admit it'll make me worried just how far they'll all push themselves...

WHEW that was a lot of typing!! to whomever stuck around until the end, i highly appreciate it :)

and like i said above, if you have your own tier list based off of this concept, don't be afraid to share it, i'm always open to different takes!

[florxdexcerezos]

@amomentxofhappiness wanted a bite of this man too

It had been a long day of doing....nothing. He ate, mused, breakfasted. He was a man of leisure. Blessed enough to be able to pursue his wants and not his duties, Olivier took advantage of every moment. Clothes were for the socially confined. His body was one to be looked at, adored, immortalised in the finest oil paints one could buy. People deserved to observe the view so why bother with billowing shirts that bared so little? Pitiful pieces of fabric.

He was in the middle of painting when there was a knock on the door to his apartment. Setting down his palette, he stepped over the sheet and other various supplies before answering. He poked his head around the door and broke into a grin before opening the door wider to reveal his paint splattered chest.

"Hello, Teddy~ Looking for me?"

[razberrypuck]

saw a few clips from quackity's stream today and oh my god qquackity what did they DO to you. how badly did they treat you.

[hauntingblue]

21st century "et tu, brute" moment

[chuluoyi]

✎ a birthday to remember

- gojo satoru x reader

what is the so-called grand surprise does your husband prepare for your birthday?

genre: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—massive fluff, comfort, pregnant!reader, (cough) pregnant sex

note: hi peeps it's been ages since i last wrote gojo :') and love entries on that matter *sobs* but here it is... my birthday has passed too but here's to any of you whose birthday is near!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

“Sensei— happy birthday!”

This year, your birthday happened to fall on a workday.

If it were up to you, you would have taken the day off. However, Satoru had been assigned to Osaka and wouldn’t be returning until weekend, so taking leave and staying at home would most likely make you feel lonely.

Not only that, with you entering the fifth month of pregnancy, you figured it was better to stay active. And by the end of the day—you didn’t regret coming in at all. The students were all so sweet, they even chimed in to get you a pretty maternity dress to wear. You couldn’t wait to tell Satoru about them tonight.

You skipped happily toward the parking lot, but right when you turned the corner, suddenly—

“Wifeeeey!”

“Oh my god!”

You let out a loud gasp and took a step back, taking in the view. A sea of colorful balloons, with a man in suit standing right in the middle of it—

Your husband. In flesh. You blinked once, twice— thrice.

“Satoru...?”

He poked his head out of the string of balloons, a beaming, million-dollar grin lit up his face at the sight of your shocked expression. “Wifeeey! Happy birthdaaaaay!”

Before you could even process his sudden appearance, he had you in a chokehold, engulfing you in a bear hug and nuzzling his face against yours with childlike enthusiasm, the faint scent of his cologne filling your senses.

“What are you doing here?!” you half-shrieked, the surprise spilling from your voice.

He pulled back, frowning dramatically. “Ehhh? You don’t want me to be back?”

“Yes—”

His eyes widened as if you’d just committed the gravest betrayal. “You big meanie!”

“No,” you quickly retracted, trying to hold back your own smile at how comically dejected he was. “I mean… aren’t you supposed to be back on Sunday?”

“Heh heh, nope! I lied~” Satoru chirped, his grin returning in full force. “It’s my wifey’s birthday—how could I not come back for you?”

In that moment, your heart fluttered. He was probably saying it for no reason, but the fact that he really did fly back from Osaka just to meet you for your birthday meant a lot to you.

His big, warm hand then gently caressed your visible baby bump, his grin widening when he got a kick. “Ah, right… Hello to you too, baby! Did I startle you too? Sorry~”

You rolled your eyes, retorting, “He is terrified.”

Satoru leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper directed at your belly. “Don’t worry, baby. Papa’s here now, and he’s got balloons. That makes everything better, right?”

“...how long have you been standing here with these balloons?”

“Hmmm, not long. About an hour, maybe?”

“You shithead—why didn’t you just come inside?”

Satoru’s gasp of mock offense made you laugh despite yourself. “And ruin the surprise? My wifey deserves the full dramatic effect!”

Being Gojo Satoru’s wife certainly came with its fair share of patience-testing episodes, and sometimes you wanted to return him to Yaga for additional lessons of discipline.

But it was candid, over-the-top acts like this that reminded you just how lucky you were to have him.

Satoru brought you to a high-end restaurant for your birthday dinner before the two of you finally returned home.

And the moment you opened the door, you were greeted by countless balloons floating on the ceiling and the ground, the fairy lights illuminating the room in a cozy glow.

You were taken aback, mesmerized by the sight. “When did you even have the time to decorate the house?”

He grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. “I have many little helpers—”

“Don't tell me it's Ichiji and Nanami? Satoru, you—!”

“I promised Nanami I wouldn’t make him blow up balloons! Though I might have heard him grumble something about being above this…”

"You're unbelievable..." You let out a resigned sigh, yet still smiling as you stepped further into the living room, now bathed in the soft, golden glow.

Satoru observed you with a quiet smile. His pretty wife, and the small life within you. He adored you the most out of everyone else in this twisted world.

Click! Click!

"Huh?" You turned to him when you heard the distinct sound of a camera shutter.

Satoru was holding his phone, an amused glint in his eyes. “Just capturing the moment, you know. You, the lights, and baby. It's perfect.”

You giggled. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

He shrugged, that signature grin returning. “What can I say? You’re beautiful.”

Later, you'd find out that one of the photos would be his lock screen from now on. It would be the first thing he saw every time he unlocked his phone.

Satoru brought out the box he had prepared, handing it to you with a sly grin. “Look, sweets, before we go to bed, I have one more gift for you—and you have to wear it now.”

You arched an eyebrow, curiosity piqued, as you took the box from his hands. The moment you opened it and pulled out the contents, you froze.

“—?! Satoru!”

A scarlet lingerie set. The bra features intricate lace trim along the edges, and the matching panties are equally bold, with a sheer lace overlay. Your cheeks flushed as you glanced at Satoru, who was watching you with an winning grin, clearly pleased with his choice.

“What?” he challenged. “They'll suit you, c'mon.”

“You're absolutely shameless.”

“But you love me anyway~”

You let out a defeated sigh, glancing up at him, already realizing there was no way out of this now.

“You’re lucky I’ve hit my head somewhere and married you.”

. . .

He was right. It fit you perfectly.

The moment you got out of the bathroom, Satoru could feel himself getting hard already. You looked like a vision, the deep red seemed to highlight your every curve, turning you into an effortless seductress.

And not only that, you were adorable too— fiddling with your fingers and touching your rounded belly, barely hiding how self-conscious you were.

"Don't just stare at me..." you mumbled, glaring at him.

He reached out, gently brushing his fingers against your cheek, his touch tender despite the fire in his eyes. “You’re making it hard to look away, you know.”

His hands then trailed down, skimming the sides of your body, each touch lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. It was almost as if he was unraveling you, piece by piece, and you weren’t sure whether to pull away or pull him closer.

And wait... was it just you or were the space between your legs indeed getting hotter and wetter?

As if reading your mind, suddenly two of his fingers touched your barely clad pussy, and you gasped. That's right— there is indeed a hole in this freaking lingerie!

"Are... we...?" you swallowed, your gaze meeting his.

"Can I?" he asked back, voice husky. His crystal clear eyes burning with lust as he assessed you— from your eyes, lips, and then the inviting sight of your cleavage.

Did you want this?

Of course you were. Your birthday was still far from over, and you missed him too.

In response, you pushed his already hovering fingers inside you, making you hold your breath. From that point on, Satoru knew what you wanted.

Without another word, he rubbed soft circles around your clit, and you let out an unabashed moan at the contact, clinging to his shoulders for support. "Ahh..."

He teased you for a while, before slowly entering his fingers into your throbbing folds, and you were close to collapsing if it weren't for his secure hold over you.

"You're so, so damn naughty..." he whispered lowly in your ear. It was taking everything he had not to lose it right then and there. He wanted you to be as comfortable as possible, but the sight of your writhing face and that baby bump was damn distracting and ignited the beast inside him.

He made you pregnant already, but there was just this primal desire— wanting to mark you more...

His fingers slowly pumped in and out of you, dragging them deep but just not deep enough—

"Please..." you scratched his back unwittingly, frustrated at his shirt that got in the way. "I-I... want... you..."

How sweet. Satoru relished in your titillating breaths and chuckled, vigorously continuing his dirty ministrations.

"Say it louder," he growled in your ears. "Can't hear you."

The bastard. You yanked his hair and made him catch your teary gaze. "I... want you..."

Sinful desire flared to life at your words. "Your wish is my command, missus."

Satoru suddenly pulled out his fingers—ignoring the whine you accidentally let out for being empty all of a sudden—and admired the sheen, sticky whiteness on them.

"I barely did anything and you're this wet already," he snorted, tasting it. "They're right about the pregnancy hormones."

He placed his hand on your waist, pressing a kiss on the firm skin of your belly, before undoing his belt and trousers and pulling out his hardened member.

The sight made you actually gulp, especially when he pumped it. He pulled you to his lap and guided his pride to your sopping entrance. The moment he inserted himself, he let out a groan of relief, while you arched your back and hissed, "Ngh!"

Satoru captured your lips, his hand pressing against your aching spine. He pulled you closer, urging you to take him completely.

"Ahh— ugh... mrgh!" you sighed against his neck as soon as you did, trying to even your breath. This was something you had done so many times before, but why was this time felt like an awakening of some sorts?

"Most beautiful," he breathed in your ear wickedly. "Don't worry, leave everything to me."

He rocked his hips against yours, one hand on your back and the other gripping your thigh. With each salacious thrust, you mewled and he panted, keeping you steady all the while.

He could feel your baby bump rubbing against as his toned abs, going along with the rhythm. Satoru grinned proudly, noticing how much it had grown over the past few months. The baby must be healthy in there, huh?

The relief somehow spurred him into pick up his pace, thrusting you more deeply than before. You almost squealed.

"You know what?" he grunted, mind hazed. He didn't really realize what he was saying to you, to be honest. "You're the prettiest when you're like this— round and full, with my kid."

You only caught the lewdness in his words, but you weren't able to ponder about it as he suddenly buried his face into your supple breasts.

"Look at them, getting bigger too— these days..." He sucked on the sensitive skin and you gasped in pleasure, crying out afterwards when he fondled them with both hands.

Your senses were overly heightened and you knew you wouldn't last long. Satoru too knew he was nearing his orgasm as he tore your new bra and sucked on the mound, furthering your never-ending moans, causing your eyes to roll back as the blinding pleasure overtook you— pushing you to cum right then and there.

In the next second, he pushed you into him impossibly deeper, and his hot release gushed inside your womb. You writhed at the sudden fullness, before getting limp and collapsed into him, not even realizing that you had squirted all over his lap and dress shirt.

Your husband glanced at you, in disbelief himself at the messy scene, but utterly satisfied as his bright eyes twinkled. "Heh..."

You were awoken at three in the morning, and the first thing you noticed was that you were in Satoru's warm embrace.

His arms were wrapped around you securely, holding you close as if he were protecting you even in his sleep. You must have passed out afterwards, as all you recalled was the numbing exhaustion.

Yet you knew for certain that Satoru had cleaned you up, dressed you in your pajamas, and even placed a heat pad on your hips to soothe you.

(He remembered the one time you woke up with cramps right after a raunchy night before)

Your husband was a cheeky shit, but for you, he was willing to go extra miles. It was an overlooked fact sometimes due to how unserious he was, but each time he did and you were reminded of it, your heart always soared.

Looking up, you found his peaceful sleeping face, and not for the first time, you couldn’t help but marvel at how truly handsome he was. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you gently caressed his face.

"Hmm...?" he frowned adorably, and you almost giggled. But when he cracked his eyes open, you almost regretted it—oh yes, he is a light sleeper.

"Sweets...? Can't sleep...?" He turned to you, voice thick with sleepiness. "Anything wrong?"

"No, I'm just watching you." You smiled, poking his cheek. "Go back to sleep."

"Really? Nothing's amiss?" His hand gently slid to your belly, giving it a reassuring rub. "You have to tell me if anything’s not right..."

"Hush, I'm fine."

After making sure you were indeed fine, Satoru tightened his arms over you and pressed his eyes shut. You wrapped your arms around his back in response, feeling his steady warmth. Right in this moment, you were overwhelmed with this gentle, soft feeling— love, the kind he gave you so freely and candidly.

Your birthday had passed, but if there was one wish only he could fulfill, surely you could still ask him, right?

"Satoru..." you muttered, feeling the cool breeze of the air conditioner lulling you back to sleep. "Will you stay with me... forever?"

A smile curled on his lips at your question, his eyes still closed. "Silly girl, it's your bedtime, so why ask that?"

You thought he wouldn't answer it as he didn't say anything more. But right before you drift into deep sleep, he pressed a sweet kiss to the crown of your head, giving you his promise— one that felt truer than anything else he had said to you before.

"I will... so you must stay with me too, got it?"

[crescenthistory]

hi! i have this really cute idea for regulus x fem! reader. so reader is a animagus and it’s winter time so sometimes she’ll shift into a their animal form, preferably a cat, and goes seek out warmth. but reader is also besties with remus and knows he’s a werewolf, his body temperature runs a lot warmer then anyone else so she goes to room to cuddle. when that happens, regulus immediately knows they reader is with remus and, begrudgingly, goes to gryffindor to steal reader back.

when he gets there, sirius is pouring and complains to reggie that “your girlfriend is stealing my boyfriend” and regulus snaps back by saying “well your boyfriend is stealing my girlfriend” and reader and remus are amused but their bickering but don’t care.

anon. anon. i am giving you the BIGGEST kiss, you don't even know. this is perhaps the best idea i've seen in a while and so i love you. i will be thinking about this throughout all of winter, thank you.

Words: 3k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, references to previous black brothers angst, disgusting amounts of fluff, best friends can cuddle platonically regardless of gender i will fight you on this, background rosekiller and wolfstar, childhood best friend!remus, implied gryffindor!reader, sirius pretends to be jealous but is not

Note: read more about cat!animagus!reader's shenanigans with regulus, wolfstar and james in Sweet Like Honey; Karma is a Cat & Padfoot vs. Whiskers

When Regulus accepted Sirius’ attempt to mend their relationship, he had expected to get his big brother back in full and no more. The person who understands him best, the boy he needed to lean on – it was all he wanted to get out of it. Perhaps he expected to have to grown tolerant of his brother’s friends, but that was something he dreaded, if he at all thought of.

What Regulus had not expected was to be introduced to and fall head over heels in love with you.

Remus’ childhood best friend, the more reserved one of the bunch that he had always seen floating around with them, but whose voice he had never had to roll his eyes at, thus never interacted with. It bewildered him now how he once upon a time barely thought of you, regarded you.

Now he knew you were delightful, and Regulus was positively smitten.

It had been exactly what Regulus had never thought he would get – an easy love. Like your friends, you were open and honest and loyal to the bone, and it spilled over like honey into your relationships with those around you. Once you caught a glance of his clearly lovestruck eyes, you melted, and the puddle was caught delicately in his hands.

Since then, that is where he has held you. In the palms of his hands, close to his heart. He learned more than he perhaps wanted to know about himself during the process of opening up to you, and you showed him a patience he still is not entirely certain he deserves. But you gave him your time, your moments, your touches and your lips, and he received and received without complaint.

When the two most important people in Regulus’ life – one a fervent, natural devotion, another a sassy, passionate rivalry – were in the same hazardous circle of loud-mouthed Gryffindor friends, he eventually had to capitulate that he could no longer just tolerate them. They were family.

God, what love has cost him.

Regulus walked into his dorm room where you have spent more days than not for the past few months, and sighed defeatedly when all he finds there is Barty laying on top of Evan in some odd position that cannot possibly be comfortable.

“Hello to you too, Black. Thrilling to see you.” Barty’s voice was laced with sarcasm, but there was no menace there as of yet.

“Yeah, yeah,” Regulus grumbled as he threw his bookbag onto his bed and sat down. “You seen Y/N lately?”

“You mean since you were all snuggled up this morning? Nah.”

Regulus rolled his eyes painfully hard at his oldest friend, murmuring a soft sod off before tossing whatever was closest – his pyjama t-shirt – in Barty’s general direction, missing by a good metre. He is a seeker and not a chaser for a reason.

“What of it, Reg?” Evan mumbled, but it was distorted by Barty’s elbow being more or less shoved into his mouth. He could never sit still.

“Just figured she’d be here, ‘s all. She finished class before me.” Regulus falls down onto his bed, curls spilling onto the emerald sheets as he stares at the ceiling, picturing you there and then immediately kicking himself for being that down bad. Then reminding himself with the therapy-speech Sirius has been teaching him, love is a strength not a weakness, it’s good to feel your feelings. Yada yada. "It's been a long day."

“Maybe she got tired of your sorry ass.” Barty laughed at his own joke only to be smacked by Evan’s finally-freed hand.

“Or yours, you sod.”

“Nah, Treasure absolutely adores me.” Barty propped himself up to flash you both a grin. “See, unlike you, I’m fun.”

“Interesting word to substitute insufferable with.” Evan said, leaning his face up from underneath Barty, as if to intimidate him.

“You love me,” Barty drawled before kissing the blond soundly.

“Would you guys please stop flirting?” Regulus’ voice was closer to a groan than anything else. He pressed the backs of his hands to his eyes, seeing stars and thinking of you. Stupid poetic feelings.

“Just because you can’t keep track of your girl doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy ourselves.” Barty pointed an accusatory finger at Regulus. “I would classify that demand as rude.”

“Bite me.”

“Only if your girlfriend says yes.” This time it was Evan’s turn of tuning into Regulus’ torture.

“And she would.” Barty winks at him.

This time it’s a pillow Regulus throws at them, and it lands perfectly, smack in the middle of Barty’s face.

“Oi!” He calls as he throws it back. “Either you quit it, or you throw me your jumper, it’s freezing in here.”

“You’re literally in bed, Barty.” Regulus looks at him, unamused. “Just–”

He trails off, gaze falling from Barty to the wall behind him as he pieces the puzzle together and realisation dawns on his face. The other boys seem to have caught on as they both cock their heads curiously at him. 

“Of course,” Regulus whispers, first in marvel and then it morphs into something between exasperation and disgust. “Of course.” At last, he gets a determined look on his face, slapping his palms on his knees as he sits up from bed and grabs his jumper to go.

“Excuse you, what just happened?” Barty says, increasingly louder throughout his sentence as he realises Regulus is headed for the door, thick wool jumper tucked under his arm. “Hey!”

Regulus throws the boys a look over his shoulder, smirking at them and shaking his head before shutting the door and walking off. He barely catches Evan’s “shush, you baby, I’ll warm ya” before he is out of earshot.

A man with a purpose and half a plan stalks off, beginning the treacherous journey from the Slytherin dungeons to the Gryffindor dormitories.

What is the single thing Regulus knows can keep you from him when you’re otherwise attached at the hip? The cold.

What is the one person you go to for anything and everything, especially dealing with the cold? A certain ragged boy with a wolfish smile that he knows is to be found only behind the portrait of an increasingly annoying woman.

“Password?” The Fat Lady asked, quirking a brow ridiculously high as she regards Regulus with a mutual disgust.

“Catulus leonis.” Regulus does not bother holding back the eyeroll at the ridiculous passphrase.

She looks at him a moment or five longer than she needs, almost as if considering not letting him in despite his answer being perfectly correct, before she finally swings open the door wordlessly.

Regulus mutters a harsh thank you, Pureblood upbringing having knocked some politeness into him he is just not able to forego, no matter how severe his beef – as Sirius says – with the woman is.

When he finally approaches the offending dorm, the door opens fast enough to knock some wind across his face, and he is met with a set of black curls and a superfluous frown that both match his own.

“Regulus. Thank Merlin.”

“Good to see you too, Siri. How'd you know it was me?”

"Recognised your footsteps. Now, c'mon."

Regulus pushes in past his brother and his eyes immediately find Remus Lupin’s bed. To the unaware, it would just look like the scrawny boy was innocently laying on his bed, head propped against a mountain of pillows and reading another one of his paperbacks.

However, Regulus knew better and could see the perfect girlfriend-shaped lump underneath Remus’ jumper, shielded by his arms as he held his book over his stomach.

Or, at least shaped like this rather specific form of his girlfriend.

“Hello, amour, I’ve been looking for you.” Regulus’ voice is addressed to the bump on Remus’ chest, but he looks up at him with a quirked brow and a smug smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

“Didn’t know we were on a pet name-basis, Reg. Good to know.” 

“Absolutely not.” Sirius and Regulus chorus at the exact same time, and Regulus fights back the wince at how painfully similar they are in this moment.

“Reggie,” Sirius finally whines. “Your girlfriend’s been stealing my boyfriend for the past two hours. Do something!”

Despite having a very similar sentiment settled in his own chest, Regulus gives his brother a pull yourself together look as he comes up to stand beside him, near the occupied bed. “I’m fairly certain your boyfriend has stolen my girlfriend equally as much,” he tuts.

“Whatever, just do something.” Sirius waves his hand towards Remus’ still very relaxed state with something a bit too close to a pout forming on his face.

“There’s no need to be jealous, Pads, the poor girl’s just cold,” Remus chides, with a teasing glint in his eye that clearly shows he knows his boyfriend is being dramatic for the bit and not actually upset. "Gotta help 'er out."

“‘M not jealous. I’m needy.” Sirius’ deadpan stare is not affected by Remus’ laughter nor Regulus’ barely-contained snort.

“Glad you admit it,” Regulus says slyly, patting Sirius on his shoulder twice, who immediately shrugs his hand off with a scowl.

“Like you’re any better, you slithered all the way up from the snake pit to fetch her. At least I’m open about it.”

Before Regulus has the chance to retort, Remus puts his book down in his lap and reaches out a hand for Sirius, which he immediately takes. “I told you you could come lay in the bed with us, love,” Remus murmurs and swipes his thumb over the back of Sirius’ hand.

If he did not feel the same way, Regulus would have given Sirius hell for how he seemed to absolutely soften in the sunlight of his boy. “Yeah, I know, Moons, I’m just being theatrical.”

Remus laughs once more, and this time his chest rumbling results in a distinct prrrt! coming from the inside of his jumper. Up through the collar, cheek smashed against Remus’, comes the tentative head of beautiful grey-and-white fur and slow-blinking yellow eyes, still riddled with sleep. 

“Good morning, amour,” Regulus coos, ignoring Sirius’ snort as he drops down to squat beside Remus’ bed so his face is lined up with yours.

You pur, stretching beneath the fabric, a single paw escaping beside your head through the collar as you roll over onto your back. Your eyes remained trained on Regulus, and though he knows cats can’t actually smile, he swears you were smiling at him.

“Sorry to wake you, princess,” Sirius drawls as he looks down at you from where he is leaning on the bedpost beside Remus. “But have you seeped up enough warmth for me to get my boyfriend back yet?”

You make a faux hissing sound before ducking your head down, so it’s just barely hidden by the collar.

Remus laughs heartily, setting his book completely away this time so his hand can come up to rest on your cat-form, petting you through his jumper. “It’s alright kitten, take your time.”

The exposed paw lightly hits Remus’ cheek in retaliation, and this time it is Sirius and Regulus’ turn to laugh at his expense. “Ow! I share my warmth with you and this is what I get in return?”

From the movement beneath the fabric, Regulus assumes you’re nuzzling your head against his chest in apology.

“Amour, I brought your favourite jumper of mine and promise to make you so much hot cocoa if I can steal you back. We can be in your dorm room instead of mine, it’s warmer in there, right?” A smile remains consistent on Regulus’ face as he talks to you.

Sirius pats him on the back, murmuring something about you’re so whipped that he doesn’t bother to pay attention to. 

More movement beneath the fabric, and then suddenly your ears are poking out of the neckline again – because why would you make it easy for yourself and use the big exit, when you can squeeze your way through a tight opening? You’re a cat after all.

Remus seems to be thinking the same as he laughs while you attempt to climb out beside his head, soft fur brushing against his skin and making up for the occasional claw you use for traction. 

Regulus attempts to bite back the coos as he sees more and more of you, recognising your movements as sluggish with sleep, no doubt coaxed into it by finally being comfortable.

“Thanks for today, see you again tomorrow, same time?” Remus teases, head turned towards you as you headbutt him lovingly, finally fully escaped from his jumper and standing on his shoulder. He nuzzles you back and scratches your head in goodbye.

Another prrrt! escapes you in greeting as you saunter your way across Remus and plop onto the small strip of mattress on his side where Regulus’ hands are open and ready to receive you. 

“Hi, sweetie,” he whispers as you allow him to scoop you up into his arms while he’s still squatting beside the bed. He holds you like an infant, tight to his body and securely supported. You immediately begin to purr loudly, nuzzling your head even further into his neck and shoulder.

Regulus does not bother to hold back the slight giggle as your caresses tickle him. 

“Good gods, are you two sappy,” Sirius groans, but when Regulus looks up, there is a wide grin on his face. A slightly teasing one admittedly, but a grin nonetheless.

Then, Regulus recognises where Sirius is grinning at him from – properly cuddled up besides Remus on the opposite side of the bed, arms beneath his jumper, soaking up the leftover warmth from you.

“Wait– how did you get there so fast?” Regulus’ voice is almost incredulous, stopping his greeting of you – earning him a harrumphing meow – to narrow his eyes at his brother. “I didn’t even notice you move from beside me.”

“What can I say; I am a dedicated man.” Sirius nuzzles into Remus’ cheek, not much unlike how you were mere seconds ago, albeit his involved a tad many more kisses.

“You’re weird, that’s what you are,” Regulus laughs as he stands up with you in his arms.

You turn around to look up at him with those big, slitted eyes of yours. When you extend your neck further towards his face, Regulus lifts you higher so you can give him the cat-kisses you so evidently wanted, his lips curling at your touch.

Sirius lifts a brow at the two of you. “Yeah. I’m the weird one.” 

Regulus scoffs at him, but when you continue to caress your furry cheeks against his lips and chin, it is difficult for any menace to remain serious.

“Thank you for your deviant supernatural warmth keeping my girlfriend alive, Lupin, but I’d like to steal her away from you now.” 

“By all means, Black, you’ve already stolen her from me once,” Remus harrumphs, pretending to be some scorned faux older brother but his eyes betray his facade; he is happy for you.

Regulus chooses to ignore it nonetheless.

“Brother.” He nods at Sirius. “Soon to be brother-in-law.” He nods at Remus. “We bid you goodnight.”

“Try not to undo all of Moony’s hard work by freezing her right back up with your freakishly cold feet!” Sirius calls after him as he heads towards the door. He then promptly gives out a soft yelp that indicates Remus corrected him in some physical way.

“Goodnight love, goodnight Reg,” Remus calls instead.

“Yeah, bye, doll!” Sirius adds, whispering more to himself, “he’s mine again now.”

You give out a tired meow that is so cute it makes Regulus’ heart clench with endearment. You cuddle properly up into the crook of his neck as he carries you out, softly closing the door behind him with a smile.

He shifts you in his grip so he can look down at you more carefully. “You are so unbelievably predictable. And even cuter than that again, which is saying something,” he murmurs to you and you respond with quiet meows.

He looks at you curiously. “Are you going to remain in cat form the whole night?”

Your tail twitches teasingly, your only other response is a quiet prrt as you close your eyes into the warmth of his neck again. He laughs, covering your feline body with his hands as he carries you, to keep the warmth in.

He sneaks into your dorm – thankfully often unoccupied as Marlene is with Dorcas and Mary is with Pandora – and settles you down onto your plush mattress and pillows. He undresses and gets ready for bed, while you’re resting your head on the pillow, observing him, but just before getting under the covers, he slips on his jumper.

“It’s so soft I could cry, Reggie,” you had whispered to him when you cuddled up to him when he wore it around you for the first time. “I fear I can never let you go now.”

Regulus slides under the blankets with a knowing smile, opening the hem, allowing you to creep under, chest against chest with your head poking out of the collar to rest at the bottom of his neck. 

“I'm no werewolf, but I’ll keep you warm with my love, amour,” he whispered to you in the dark, one hand combing through your fur protectively underneath his own jumper.

He swears, he could hear the little cat snort against his skin.

Regulus fell desperately deeper in love.

[lokisgoodgirl]

Like a Queen [Loki x Reader]

A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Just a dirty, praise-filled railing. Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Loki x Female Reader. Mirrors. Language. Established relationship. Smut. (w/c 1.2k)

"Urgh, gods..." Loki slurs as his head falls back.

A year. It's been a year. But every time you see that face lost in the pleasure only you can give it's like the first time. In the mirror at the foot of the bed, the hard angles of Loki's jawline set like an anvil. He tips his chin to the ceiling and sinks so deep, so slow, it's like he never wants it to end.

Your best lingerie clings to damp skin, the modest slit in your crotchless panties tugging against Loki's thick cock. Slow, liquid thrusts slip against your walls and slurp when he circles his hips; hands guiding your ass against him. He teases himself at the entrance while you moan his name before easing back in with a groan.

"What did I do..." he breathes as his sex-drunk face falls forward and he meets your eyes in the mirror. "What did I do to deserve this sweet, perfect cunt?"

You clench your fingers against the bedsheets, swaying on all-fours. Loki slips his cock from your pussy and slides it against your throbbing clit, still swollen and humming from the worship of his mouth.

He watches with dark fascination as you start to squirm at the halt of his movements, knuckles whitening. “Well?” he asks again with playful menace.

"I'm just made for you I guess," you sigh as his large palm skates down the ridges of your spine, settling at the base. There’s no getting any sense out of you at times like this; he should know that by now. And he does.

"You are,” he growls approvingly, rubbing the curve of your ass. “Made to take me like a Queen. Made to take my cock like a Queen; made to fuck me like a Queen.” Queen.

The word sends a thrill down your spine that blossoms new fire in your pussy and you clench tighter around the tip of his cock. Loki pushes back in just when you’re tightest. “Norns,” he gasps, half-lidded eyes smouldering down from his station.

There’s something about when he fucks you from behind that’s utterly primal. Like he’s mating you. Like you’re a bitch in heat and he’s powerless to resist the scent he craves; the urge beating through him like the drums of war.

He’s not a god in moments like this. He’s just a man that wants to shake you up and fuck you out and love you harder with every filthy, curse-laden groan from his throat. “Talk to me,” you plead as you sit back against him, inhaling the fresh sweat clinging to his hair, his cock never leaving the grip of your cunt. Where he belongs. Your fingers skate up his cheek. His heartbeat thumps between your shoulder-blades, the flat planes of his chest and stomach pressed tight to your back. Your thighs spread as he readjusts on the mattress, guiding you down to the root of him with a rumble of pleasure. Loki moves hair from one side of your neck, placing a messy kiss on the curve and pulling the flimsy strap of your lingerie between his teeth. It stings your heated skin with a tight thwack.

“You love when I talk,” he goads low and filthy in your ear. “You love when I talk, and you love when I fuck.” “Only me,” you whine. Loki chuckles darkly. “Only you, my Queen.” His thrusts make your body rise and you lose yourself in the fullness of your walls fluttering to the rhythmic lilt of his hips. Loki’s hands massage your breasts, palming upwards, pinching your pebbled nipples as he does it. “No one,” he groans as you reach between your legs and graze his balls, “no one has ever carnally eviscerated me like you can.” They tighten beneath your gentle touch, drawing lazily against the velvet skin.

“When I fuck you… all realms cease to be,' he chokes, 'Only b-burning worlds and…f-fuck, erupting galaxies when I…”

He jolts against your ass, a hiss searing between his teeth. “When I see you trussed up for me like a gift,” he pants, tugging at the flimsy lace cupping your breasts, “when I feel your pussy grip me like wax on a finger.” A wet groan erupts from your mouth into his and Loki’s fingers move to your clit, rubbing slow, wet circles just the way you like it. His kiss is hungry and dark and dangerously loving. He still tastes like your cum. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he mutters as climax tightens in your belly, tensing your thighs, “is your face when you come undone for me.” You whimper, the hand wrapped around his neck clutching at long waves of his sex-damp hair. “Yes, my beautiful queen,” he praises, unable to keep the tremble of impending orgasm from his voice as his thrusts become heavy. “Take me, use me; use my cock like no other in the nine realms can. Give me what I need.” “Not yet,” you beg and he smiles against your cheek. The mirror shows what the two of you are: sweaty and unbearably perfect together. He’s huge behind you; a colossus of muscle and lean lines and luminous skin. His dark hair hangs against your shoulders, his exquisite profile nuzzling into your neck. The god of mischief works one expert hand between your legs, the other grasping against your chest like you might vanish as his powerful thighs pump slowly beneath you. Obsessed. He’s obsessed. Another threat of orgasm rises in your centre. Loki groans loudly and his shoulders tense as you clench, feeling the thick vein running down his length throb. “I think you may take me a little too well,” he chokes as your grip on his hair tightens.

A series of feral grunts burst from Loki’s throat at the smallest increase of speed against his cock. He's ready to burst. Wetness coats the inside of your thighs, his knuckles, his mouth, your fingers. You cover the hand working against your clit, feeling his fingers while they lightly strum you over the edge. He knows your body like it's his own. “Loki,” you moan like a whore, head falling back to his shoulder.   “I’m yours,” he whispers, breath catching. The hand cupping your chest flies to your stomach and he pulls you closer with a stuttering gasp. The flat of his abdomen curls to your back: sweat sticking, curses thundering, stars bursting in front of your eyes. He erupts with a long, guttural groan that shakes the bed. The swell of his cum is immediate; squeezing against the tight throb of his mighty cock and the final, fluttering spasms of your cunt. You see it glistening in the mirror, dripping down the thick root still buried inside you and pearling at the curve of his balls. Loki’s mouth fastens to your cheek like he’s trying to eat you - and maybe he is. His pants are hot against the skin as he slides down your face, top lip dragging before his forehead comes to rest. “What did I do to deserve…?” he pants quietly as he feathers weak kisses along the angle of your jaw. You silence the impending question with a kiss, pulling him closer. “I’m your Queen,” you say with utterly feigned humility. Loki bites his lip, glancing to the mirror. His eyes drop to the sight of him still sheathed deep in your pussy, a thick spindle of cum dangling to the mattress. “You are,” he whispers lovingly in your ear, eyes nailed to yours in the reflection. "Always."

♥️x

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

A thousand times yes! This gave me so much to think about. Specifically, your point about how his name represents his old self/identity is very interesting to me, given what we see from him with Cosette towards the end of the novel.

I find it striking that Valjean tells Cosette to refer to him as "Monsieur Jean," out of all things. It makes sense that, because of his conversation with Marius and their belief that he must be cut out of Cosette's life, he wouldn't allow her to call him "Father." And, even though he literally has a full, sobbing breakdown in front of Marius when it seems like Cosette will find out about his past (the only time we see him cry in front of someone else, I'm pretty sure?), he doesn't go by Fauchelevent to her. Cosette likely would've found that less unusual, since we see her refer to him as "my father Fauchelevent" quite naturally, and it would make sense that Valjean would want to minimize her suspicions. But his great denied desire, as he expresses to Marius, is to be a part of a family; that's exactly what he felt he couldn't do as Fauchelevent. Keeping that name would mean he would always be worried that "the mask would suddenly be torn away," and he would be driven out as a monster. He wants to be accepted and loved for who he truly is, and while this isn't by any means complete honesty, in confessing to Marius and dropping the alias with Cosette, maybe he feels a little closer to what he's longed for.

There's also the social and metatextual significance of having Cosette call him "Monsieur Jean." First, in dropping his alias (which supplied Cosette's maiden name), he further severs any perceptible social tie between the two of them. "Jean," as you mentioned above, is a homonym of gens, which is fitting, since JVJ views himself as having become "just another person" to Cosette. And yet, calling him by his first name indicates some level of familiarity; social norms at the time meant that formal address used the last name. "Monsieur Jean" is oddly straddling the line between distant and personal (as Valjean himself is attempting to do).

Maybe most interesting of all is that, as many have noticed, Hugo almost exclusively refers to JVJ by his full name, Jean Valjean. This is one of the only instances in which the last name is dropped, which is part of why it stood out so much on my readthrough. It feels noticably more intimate, but also incomplete. And I think it ties into what (as you mentioned above) his last name means: "voilà Jean/gens": "behold the man." He's not ready for Cosette to know the full truth about who he is, so narratively, it's fitting that the withheld last name (which would allow her to learn about his past) is one which itself references a full and raw perception. It was first used of the suffering Christ, naked and humiliated and condemned and innocent; Valjean, in his fear and self-loathing, does not allow that revelation of himself.

Les Mis Hidden Name Meanings: Jean Valjean

Every Les Mis character’s name is either a pun or has some deep symbolic meaning– or both at once! Jean Valjean’s name has a ton of layers so let’s dive in.

When we’re first introduced to him, Hugo tells us that his name is quote “a contraction of voilà Jean, or “here is Jean.”” We’re told that he was named after his father, and that his family name probably began as a nickname.

The word “Jean” in french sounds like the word “gens,” which means “people.” So his last name is a pun meant to make you think “viola les gens”/ “here are people.”

The most obvious layer to his name is that Jean Valjean is basically John Doe. He is the anonymous Everyman. His sister’s name is Jeanne, so she’s basically Jane Doe. They aren’t special or exceptional or unusual; they’re just behold! The regular people.

In fact his name is so common-sounding that it's a plot point. Champmathieu, the man who is mistaken for Jean Valjean, has a name that the police connect with his. Javert theorizes that "Champ" is a version of "Jean" in a specific accent, while Mathieu was actually Jean Valjean's sister's maiden name. ("Champ" is also the French word for "field.") The fact that Jean Valjean is a peasant everyman makes it easy for others in his position to be conflated with him.

But the other layer is that this is all an elaborate pun biblical reference!

When Pontius Pilate presents a bound Jesus Christ to the crowd before his crucifixion, he says the words “ecce homo” or “Here is the man!”/”behold the man!”

“Voila Jean” or “here is Jean!”/”behold Jean!” is meant to be a reference to that.

During his death scene Jean Voila-Jean even references the “Ecce homo” line explicitly, gesturing at a crucifix and saying:

“Voilà le grand martyr.”

Which Isabel Hapgood translates as “behold the great martyr.”

At another point in the same scene Marius says to Cosette:

“He has sacrificed himself. Viola l’Homme. Behold the man.”

But more references to that biblical moment appear throughout the novel; Jean Valjean is associated with it constantly, all the time. It’s one of his defining biblical allusions. He’ll be trying to live anonymously, or under an alias– and then suddenly his true name and criminal past will be revealed, he’ll be revealed to be ‘the man,’ and some great horrible act of martyrdom will follow.

Sometimes Jean Valjean is the one revealing his own identity, but sometimes Inspector Javert is put into the role of Pontius Pilate. Javert himself explicitly makes that comparison– Jean Valjean as Jesus, Javert as Pontius Pilate– when he’s contemplating suicide.

And this ties into one of the largest differences between the book and the stage musical.

In the musical, “prisoner 24601” is the name that represents Jean Valjean’s dehumanization–while “Jean Valjean” is the name he uses while standing up for his own humanity. He will be called 24601, and proudly declare that “my name is Jean Valjean” to assert he’s still a person.

And while this is a great storytelling choice, it’s almost the opposite of how the name “Jean Valjean” is handled in the book.

Because in the book…. Jean Valjean IS the name that dehumanizes him. Jean Valjean is the name that he’s running from. The name that Javert uses when he’s insulting him, the name that bigots use when they’re threatening him, the name that ignorant people use when they’re mocking him – it’s not 24601, it’s Jean Valjean.

And there’s a special kind of agony to that.

The name that is being used to torture, humiliate, and dehumanize him isn’t 24601– it’s his name.

He thinks of it as a “fatal name,” as a punishment. Living under that name is living in hell. When Jean Valjean is living under one of his aliases, concealing his identity, he thinks:

That which he had always feared most of all in his hours of self-communion, during his sleepless nights, was to ever hear that name {jean Valjean] pronounced; he had said to himself, that that would be the end of all things for him; that on the day when that name made its reappearance it would cause his new life to vanish from about him, and—who knows?—perhaps even his new soul from within him.

It’s no wonder that he ends up internalizing the way society views him, and developing so much fear and hatred of himself. He’s grown to see his name as just….well, ecce homo, behold the man. His name is just the two words people say before they violently punish him.

Names and namelessness are a major theme in Les Mis, and he’s the character who has the most complex relationship with his own names. He has a legal name, but it’s used to torture him, and he has a series of false names he uses to escape torture.

If I were to describe Jean Valjean– one of the most complex characters in all of literature, in one word, that word would be “grief.”

The criminal justice system takes everything from him, including things he wasn’t aware he was able to lose. His name, the last connection he had to his family and his old identity, gets warped into this thing needs to view with fear and horror. The thing society despises isn’t 24601, isn’t a number they’ve placed on him – the thing they despise is Jean Valjean, some intrinsic inherent part of himself. He isn’t hated for what he did, he’s hated for what he is, and that is something he can never escape.

{But speaking of complexity we’ve actually barely scratched the surface of how Jean Valjean reacts to names, because he spends most of the novel living under a series of nicknames aliases. And guess what! Each of these names also has some elaborate symbolic meaning! If you’re interested in more posts covering his different aliases, feel free to leave a comment in the replies!}

[thanks for reading! For more in-depth analysis, check out the @lesmisletters readalong or join our discord server!]

[dwaekkicidal]

Oh my god I beg for some mean skz smut 😔😔

hmmmm ok but what are we thinking for the hyung line?

is it about meanie channie who snaps after you slut yourself out in the studio when staff was in there- along with the rest of 3racha who you know has a little crush on you hehe. he barely waits for them to walk out the door before shoving you towards the door, forcing you to lock it before shoving his cock into you while you're pushed up against the door- mind you with minimum prep because "You don't deserve it. after that shit." his cock is soooo much thicker like this!!!! >.< and he manages to make his thrusts prove his anger? hips smacking into yours so harshly that it feels like the soundproof door isn't enough to drown any sounds out

what about brat tamer minho who forces you to sit between his legs and watch him jerk himself off? you have a pretty little vibrator thats connect to your clit and your g-spot simultaneously, and he has the controls on his phone that rests in his free hand. he fucks with the controls so much... maybe even teasing u by drawing his full name- in english AND korean- before setting it to the highest setting and leaving it like that until you're cumming at least 3 times.

my sweet binnie who's only mean if you beg him to be or if you reaaaaally push his buttons- maybe throw in a dig or two about how theres another man out there thats better than he is (spoiler: theres literally negative of them). your punishment (reward) is always the same! one of those those sexy ass arms around your neck and squeezing as he fucks into you so roughly that your whole body is jumping forward, your moans cutting off from how aggressive he gives it to you!!!

ok but what about lover boy hyunjin who is actually one of the meanest doms you have ever seen, 99% of the time it being unprompted as well??? the first time you push him to get rough in bed, you're in for ittt~ he ties your wrists up and connects you to the hook in the ceiling, leaving just enough rope for you to be on your tippy toes (also the same hook he previously told you was for painting... yeah, my fucking ass) and speaking of asses, yours is sooo sore from the big handed smacks he leaves there >< he'll always stop if you want it, but otherwise he has no plans to until you submit to him completely <3

whats on the menu for the maknaes today?

definitely munch hannie who ties you up with the most random shit that works- any ties he has laying around, your panties, and sometimes he'll straight up rip his shoelaces out for it?? but it's all so that he can show off the shibari he secretly learned- the main one being a series of knots that tie your arms to a leg each, forcing you wide open for him all the while he eats. and what a messy fucking eater!!! your last 3 orgasms worth of cum dripping down his jaw as he nibbles at your sensitive spots <3

"angel boy" felix me thinks.. who makes you fuck yourself onto him in doggy, refusing to put any effort because he's the "angel" who deserves to be worshipped (yes but...) if you falter even slightly or move to his disliking, you're getting a series of mean smacks- ones that leave a pretty little heart shape in its wake from the pretty pink paddle he insisted on buying (OR HIS INITIALS IF HE GETS A CUSTOM PADDLE OMFFF)

ohhhh but owner seungmin who fucks your brains out with a pretty little collar around your neck <3 (maybe even one also with his initials engraved hehe) he tugs at it to fuck you back onto him, not even need a leash when he slides his finger through one of the loops. huffs and puffs about how tight you are while he actively works to make you tighter, from squeezing your legs together to overstimulating the hell out of you all the while he disallows himself to cum for as long as he can handle, all so when he finally busts theres so much and its all getting fucked right back into you

and god... toy fiend jeongin... the second you let him know you're ok with toys being brought into the bedroom, you're almost regretting everything!!! he's SO fucked up about it >:( he keeps one of those big hands around your throat while the other slides a vibrator as deep into you as it physically can go without causing you pain... and when you squirm around and your legs squeeze together, he's either digging his fingers into your thigh to push them apart or he's biting whatever he's closest to- your thighs, your calf, your shoulder, or (his favorite) your nipples <3

hnnnnng....

Taglist (red=can’t be tagged):

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @bubblerizz

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess @kittycatkrissa

@nicora04 @chuuyaobsessed @moonlightndaydreams

@aeri-skzver

[randomdragonfires]

I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm [One Shot]

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

SUMMARY | Flowers come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage.

WARNINGS | 18+; Mild Smut.

WORD COUNT | 9.6k

A/N | Yet another repost, yay! This one was written based off an ask sent to me by @wonderbias and beta read by the loml @humanpurposes

Their union began as a fragile, delicate one.

By all accounts, Aemond Targaryen was a fine man that any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be proud to be with, should he– a skilled dragonrider, a scholar, a respectful man of honor, a prince worthy of his name and blood– choose to take her to wife. 

If only he was not so stoic and dull, they said. The very jovial little lady of Highgarden will be bored of him in moments!

‘Twas the first of many whispers he heard of his apparent inadequacy with regards to his impending nuptials and marriage, and even though it killed him, he could not bring himself to disagree. The woman that he was to marry – the beautiful, kind, ladylike wisp of a girl that was to be entrusted to him– was a fair maiden who lit up any chamber she graced with her presence, a stark contrast to how he seemed to darken those that he stalked into.

Charming girl like that, she will hate him, they said. The poor thing is probably scared.

Every lady dreamed of chivalrous knights and charming princes, and Aemond knew very well that he was far from being either. They dreamed of charming men who would immortalize them in song, whose looks could thaw the hearts of the coldest women in an instant. Aemond knew very well that the Gods had refused him the chance to even try with her– what with their allowance of his mutilation at a tender, young age. 

Even with just one eye, he saw many possibilities but to his dismay, he did not imagine any outcome would be favorable to him. With the scar he carried on his face and the weight of the world on his shoulders, Aemond was never meant to be the man that his intended deserved. 

And so, he decided that he would keep her at arm's length and in consequence, save his pride. He'd reject her before she rejected him. He may not know it now, but matters of the heart are fickle– and to the utter disappointment of his pride, his little lady rose was very easy to love. 

He would not be caught dead pathetically pining after a woman who would soon be his. He would not.

And so, their courtship remained devoid of romance and scandal. His family was made privy to each of their highly appropriate conversations, with them taking turns in chaperoning their walks through the gardens. 

There was nothing that he wished to share, for he did not want to lose too much. He did what was expected of him, and she did the very same. Soon, there was respect, admiration, and a whole host of burgeoning feelings that Aemond tried hard to suppress - feelings that he clearly did not see in her eyes as she dared to look into his.

How could she feel anything for a stoic, dull, one-eyed man like him?

As he draped the red and black cloak over her shoulder and pledged to be her man of liege and limb, he told himself that he would not try. He would not give into fantasies, only to be met with rejection from a woman who was too good for him; one that may realize it soon enough as well.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. He would feed himself to the dragons before admitting to someone else being better than him, let alone be rejected by that same person. He was certainly not going to woo her, not when he knew that he would only be met with contempt and disgust.

It did not matter how badly he wanted to. He would not allow himself to succumb to such idyllic daydreams. He would not.

When night fell and the wedding feast was in full swing, his new good-father was the only one who could give his brother a run for his money with how deep he was in his cups. It was obvious how the wine-induced stupor affected the fat lord Tyrell as he bellowed for his daughter and his new good son to take the lead and join in the dancing and merriment.

Aemond was ready to retch at the thought, but what stopped him from making his irritation  clear was the possibility that she may want to dance. His wife. He had seen her dance before– as graceful as an otherworldly swan. She had a better grasp at frivolous courtly affairs than he did. 

His wife may want to dance. His wife, his wife, his wife. A little rose, his.

He shuffled his feet under the cloth-covered long table and allowed his one eye to train over his clothed boots. In spite of all the dancing lessons he had taken with Helaena, Aemond had never indulged before– and now, he was expected to entertain his bride each time a song played. The thought made him want to press his feet into the ground further than he already has, in hopes that perhaps the ground would swallow him whole.

His view of the dancing crowd had been taken from him by half along with his eye. Without the luxury of complete vision, he could not dance without bumping into everyone that was on his blind side. Now, he would have to– if she wanted to. 

He thought he could say no, but he feared that if he were to look her in the eyes, he'd never be able to. Perhaps that was why he had refused to even look at her throughout the ceremony, despite her many admirable– yet failed– attempts to catch his line of sight and share a smile.

It was her meek, mouse-like voice that brought him out of his nervous trance. “We do not have to," she said, the words falling out of her lips like a song.

“You like to dance, my lady,” he said.

“But you do not, my prince. It takes two.” Her surprisingly understanding words were followed by a timid smile, one that threatened to rip through his defenses and get to him.

In the crowded throne room, as his new bride sets aside her happiness to accommodate his preferences, Aemond worried that his self-imposed distance from her may not last too long if she kept offering him kind glances and sweet smiles– no matter how forced and dutiful he knew them to be.

He had much to lose; his pride, his heart. He would not risk it, even if she was seemingly easy to love. He would not. He would not. He would not.

After all, Aemond Targaryen had his pride. 

Soon after, her drunk nuisance of a father had called for the bedding. Aemond did nothing as his trembling bride was ushered away by the handmaidens and ladies, each of them wriggling her jewelry off as she stumbled in her steps before they carried her off.

Should he have asked for a private bedding? In hindsight, he believed he wronged her by throwing her to the mercies of the court in her vulnerability. Equally, he did not want to attempt a show of compassion– not when she may not even welcome it from the one-eyed fiend of a husband that she was stuck with.

When he walked into the chambers in his loose linen shirt and breeches, his breath hitched in his throat. Helaena had once told him that the Septas refer to women’s maidenheads as flowers. “Beautiful, ripe and ready for the plucking,” she had said, keeping her nose pointed upward in her imitations. He'd never given the words much thought. 

Until now.

There she was. His wife, his flower, his rose, ready for plucking, in her translucent white shift and now untamed hair, like a fae in a dream. How could she possibly be his? How could she possibly be happy with a man as monstrous as him for a husband? 

Her eyes, wide and fearful, flittered about his face, in his mind an expression of her repulsion. It pained him to think she did not even give him a chance.

But she was accommodating about my not wanting to dance… 

Perhaps she did like to dance; just not with him. 

These unsaid words and subsequent misunderstandings plagued their wedding night. Both believed the other did not desire them. 

That night, she offered her flower to him– as is her duty– and he took great care in taking it from her. He made sure she was pliant, so that when he took it, she would be as glad and thrilled as he was, regardless of how well-hidden his happiness was. 

He may have grimaced in disgust at Aegon's vulgar demonstrations and lessons about the pleasures of the marital bed, but he was thankful as he heard her moan out his name in a silent scream while she convulsed around his fingers. The silent sounds of her choked out moans and the heat engulfing his fingers may have very well been enough for Aemond to find release, and he reminded himself quickly that she will not want him when they're done. How could she, deformed as he was?

And so, he stopped wanting to be good for her, and simply endeavored to get it done with.

She was only more than willing to allow him to take her flower. If he was not so preoccupied with his own insecurities, he may have seen that it had gone past duty for her. Her loud moans proved the fact, and left little room for dispute (or doubt, in the minds of the prying ears that stayed close to the doors of their chambers, and the sharp eyes of the council who were now shuffling out of their seats).

He inched into her, and her tears and turned face only seemed to make it harder for him. Was he so beyond hope that she could not even look? What was it? Had he hurt her? He did not ask, lest he risk finding out that he was a disappointment. So he lost himself, drowned in his own head as he mechanically moved in and out, in and out, in and out. 

Duty. Duty. Duty.

If he had not been so preoccupied with tearing his own being to shreds in his mind, he may have heard her moans as the bright pink tip of his cock hit a rough spot in her, allowing her pleasures and experiences she did not believe she would ever know. He may have known that she desired him, just as he did her.

His self-deprecating thoughts couldn't have been farther from the truth– he may not have realized it that night, but he would soon enough.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the first ever flower she gave him– whether she chose to see it that way or not– came to him on their wedding night, in the form of her maidenhead.

Tourneys were a time of celebration for her.

There was something to be said about the romance of watching men ask women for favors and fight with all the might and grace that they possess. She had often dreamed that a dashing knight or a courteous prince would perhaps approach her for her favor, and then perhaps crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. If she was lucky, the man would court her too.

The man she married was the antithesis of all that she hoped a tourney would bring.

Her husband was not a bad man by any means– no. He was a good and respectful husband, slightly removed and isolated for her outward nature, but she did not mind. There were worse men to be married to, and even if he never went out of his way to be there for her, he certainly treated her well when they were in each other’s presence.

She tried with him, Gods bless her. 

She would try to catch his eye at the supper table, or watch him train in hopes that he would meet her watchful gaze once or twice. She would watch in a sleepy haze as he woke early in the morn, long before she had the strength or consciousness to wish him a good day, hoping he would turn to do the same. He never did.

More often than not, a curt nod and a wavering glance was all she’d get.  Still there were brief, hopeful moments that kept her active in her pursuit to build a friendship with her husband.

She would have done something absolutely obnoxious— acts that would have him sneering if it was someone else– and she’d see it. That little hint of a smile, waiting to bubble through the surface, just by the corner of his pink lips, that she would have missed if she blinked. Each time there was a tenuous beginning of a hesitant smile, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

He was not so intimidating to her now as he was in the initial days of their union– no. In a little corner of her mind, she acknowledged that fact– that is what helped her find his hand and hold it tight in nervousness, before she could even comprehend the intimacy of the act.

The knight who had just taken a harsh tumble from his horse was carried away by servants, with his head beaten bloody and hands hanging limp by his side. If she did not know better, she would have thought him dead.

The champion then raised his hands up in victory. Thunderous clapping sounds overshadowed all else around her, but she could not bring herself to join. She was still stunned by how the other knight had fallen, and was yet to let go of Aemond’s hand.

She felt the bile rise in her throat, so she brought her other hand to her chest and bowed her head down, a feeble attempt at keeping the vomit at bay. It was awhile until she managed to catch her breath again, and by then the celebrations had moved on from celebrating the champion to the crowning of his Queen of Love and Beauty.

The eldest Lady Baratheon smiled coyly as she received the wreath of winter roses, followed by a chaste kiss to her cheek. The crowd gasped at how brazen the act was, with neither of them being married, but the high of winning makes men do the most peculiar things, she supposed. In the back of her mind, regardless of how uneasy she felt, she wished– desperately. 

How she wished it was her. 

A childish fantasy really. What was a publicly gifted crown of flowers worth in the face of what she had? She was a Princess of the realm now, married to a skilled dragonrider from a family of illustrious history and blood. Any children they may have will be immortalized in the annals.  Nothing. A crown of flowers was worth nothing when compared to what she had– or at least, that is what she would tell herself.

And yet, she craved the romance. She had always enjoyed the idea of being loved and cherished. Her husband respected her, and if she was feeling bold, she’d say he liked her– but he certainly did not love her. That much she was certain of. When she naively wished that he’d crown her, she asked if he was going to enter the lists. He had sharply turned so quickly that she feared she had angered him.

“I don’t give a sh…” He had sighed before speaking again, as though he felt tested. “I do not care for tourneys.” The sharpness in his voice had hurt her, and she did not speak of it again.

Their marriage was a decent one– but it held none of the love she hoped to have, despite all her attempts.

Did he find her so disagreeable?

All of a sudden, his hand felt cold to the touch and she let go of him like he burned her. The heat came back to her hand just as it showed on her cheeks, and his had turned cold from having lost her touch so abruptly.

“I’d like to get some fresh air, husband,” she said, and rose before he could even ask if she needed him to accompany her.

Her quick walk took her to the tent where the court ladies had been sitting, and she had stepped in right in time to hear them gossip– about her husband.

“Well he must keep it on while they… you know! It can be jarring to look at, I’m sure it is!”

“It must be terrible to see it up close all the time. I can hardly look at him from across the chamber!”

He is certainly unnerving. It does make you wonder though, do you think they actually…” the woman lowered her voice to match the vulgarity that was to follow. “Do you think they actually fuck? She cannot possibly want to, and she is not with child either…”

“Well, does it really matter if she wants to? He’s a Prince, and her husband. He’ll take his pleasure regardless.”

Regardless of where she and her husband stood, she would not stand for their marriage to become fodder for court gossip. If she stayed quiet for any longer while these empty-headed women berated her husband, she would be insulting him herself.

“Might I ask what is so amusing?”  she said with sharp eyes and a tilted head. The sweat on their faces upon her arrival was apparent, and so was their nervousness.

“My Lady, we were just–”

“Princess,” she corrected.

“Yes of course, Princess. We were just–”

“Making presumptions about my marriage?” 

“No… we just…”

“Don’t deny it,” she seethed, anger looking completely foreign on a soft, comely face like hers. Her nostrils flared and her nose went red in her current state, but there was no way she could stop now. 

“The next time you feel the need to comment on such matters , perhaps you will all learn to remind yourself that he is a Prince of the realm and I am his wife! There will be suitable punishment, and you will all be dismissed from court at my pleasure, disgraced and husbandless. Now, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her words were cutting and sharp, and they had the younger ladies bowing their heads in fear almost immediately.

“I’ll have you all know that unlike the other men of the court, Prince Aemond’s scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. His bravery only makes him more handsome to me.”

She then fixed her attention onto the married lady of the bunch and delivered a questionable blow that she would certainly feel bad about later. “If you’ve been led to believe that the man takes his pleasure from his wife even if she does not want to, then perhaps your marriage is a lot worse than I thought. Your husband must have no regard for your wants, unlike mine. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

She did not wait for them to respond as she gathered her skirts and walked out of the tent, feeling largely annoyed and satisfied to an extent. But as she began her walk back, the fear of news of her anger reaching her husband hit her like a harsh and heavy wave.

Would he call her insolent and disgraceful? Has she damaged her marriage more than it already has been?

She did not have to wait long for her answer, for Aemond had been just a few steps behind her, watching the entire scene unfold. The angry flush on her face left her as quickly as it had come, replaced by a skittish nervousness that led to her shuffling her feet as she stood before him, at a complete loss for words.

She swallowed the spit gathering in her mouth, throat bobbing as her head remained facing down to the floor, awaiting a scolding from him for her absolutely inexcusable behavior; her husband was a man who knew his courtesies, after all. He could not possibly be happy with how she carried herself and disappointed him.

“You do not look well. Let me walk you to our chambers,” was all he said before he led her away with a hand on the small of her back.

She remained worried that he was perhaps leading them to privacy and silence so he could punish her while being undisturbed. She could not have been farther from the truth.

She expected him to scream at her, forget all the courtesy that he had shown her and throw his words at her without care. What she was not prepared for, was for him to hold her chin between his thumb and index fingers, pulling her face up to meet his.

He curiously inspected her, almost as though her little show of anger thoroughly amused him. She would not be surprised if it did– she had never been so outward in her anger in the two months that they had been married; this was a completely new side to her that he was now privy to.

“What was that, wife?” His words were measured and cut. 

“They…” She was stunned to find that, despite her tongue becoming loose in moments of anger,  it was hard for her to speak right now. So, she chose to gulp once more and tried to look someplace else. The uncertainty in his sharp, one-eyed violet gaze was becoming too much for her to bear– but Aemond did not give up easily. He kept her head held in place as she desperately waited for the words to come to her.

“They were being crude, and insulting you.”

He looked at her for a moment, his sharp gaze refusing to waver as the sunlight pierced through the glass windows of their chamber. He then let go of her, and handed her a goblet of wine to calm her clearly unsteady senses. He watched as she took little sips from the chalice, the restless turning of the wheels in his mind apparent on his face. 

Soon after, he made up a sham of a reason about having to leave when the cheering crowds became louder and louder. She nodded and continued to sip, completely oblivious to the change of heart that her husband was having as she wondered why he brought her back to their bed.

She did not know the thoughts that now ran fast and surely in his mind. She did not know that he thought his eye had cost him a chance at a happy marriage with her. She had no idea of knowing how conflicted he felt at the new realization, for his sculpted face gave nothing away.

He turned to face her with a hand on the door.  “Thank you,” he mumbled.

She nodded and smiled meekly while he stalked back to the festivities.

He held his hands tightly behind him as he tried to make sense of how light his heart felt in comparison to the rest of him. 

Back in the chamber, she blushed. For all her worry that he may have been disappointed, she had been completely floored by how he had responded– he was thankful. She berated herself for not considering the possibility– and smiled at the realization that for all her husband’s prowess as a warrior, in times like these,  he needed a champion too. 

That night, Aemond burned the midnight oil while reading in the library, trying to still his racing heart and make sense of how it leapt at newfound thoughts of his little wife. 

Across the Holdfast, in the soft candlelight of their shared chambers, she sat on her husband’s dear chair, looking at her handiwork– an embroidered silk tourney favor, with a little rose.

Her husband may not care for tourneys, but making the favor allowed her the luxury of thinking that should the possibility of him willingly entering the lists come around, he would do so with her gift on his lance. Mayhaps he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty too– the thought makes her blush.

She would give it to him should he ever choose to partake someday. Until then, it would be safely hidden away in her shelves, amidst her gowns and other possessions.

Flowers have came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the second flower that was intended for him– despite the fact that she was yet to give it to him– came to him on the day of the the twins’ name day tourney, in the form of a rose, embroidered onto a tourney favor. 

They have come to enjoy each other's company.

Her coming to his defense while expecting nothing in return had lit a fire in Aemond that he could not seem to quell. What he believed she had rejected him over, she had actually taken to being proud of. What he had believed was his one big, obvious and visible fatal flaw, was something that she had taken to holding in high regard.

I’ll have you lot know that unlike the other men of the court, his scar came to him along with the largest dragon in the world. And his bravery only makes him more handsome to me.

Her words rang in his mind like the definite tolling of the Great Bell at the Royal Sept. With each chime, her assertiveness on the matter came back to linger in his thoughts, he had fallen for her – bit by bit. 

Feelings had always been a conundrum to Aemond, one that he did not entirely understand or even want to. But now, with a wife who warmed him and his heart slowly but surely, with her lovely smiles and nervous face, he found that he would like some certainty in the face of all that was uncertain in his heart.

He did not know if he loved her just yet. But what he did know was that, at the pace that she had set for them, it may be a very short while before he does. His wife. His wife, his wife, his wife. 

His, his, his.

Coming to terms with having a wife that actually desired his company– and him, surprisingly enough– had spurned his attempts to bring some sort of intimacy to their marriage. Gods knew that she had tried, only to be rebuffed rudely by him in the initial days of their marriage. It was a time that he now felt deep regret and shame for, one that he would not rest until he had made right. 

He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

He did not know how to be the charming prince from a bard’s songs. He did not know how to make women laugh like Aegon; be as sweet and kind as Helaena; or as chivalrous and perfect as Daeron. 

But what he did know was respect. Aemond understood respect as something that was earned by everyone around him, but to his wife, it should have been unconditional. It should have come to her the day he had cloaked her and made her his– but it did not. Now, he intended to make it right.

He needed her to see that he wanted to try– which is how he found himself with her on his arm, as they walked hand in hand through the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast towards their chambers. Ah yes, hand in hand. Another one of the little joys that he savored like it was his last day alive. 

Their initially cold marriage had also been fueled by his blatant refusal to simply be near her, much less touch her. Why would she have wanted to be touched by a one-eyed monster, such as the likes of him? 

But the moment he realized that she did not consider him so– not in the least– led to a warmth seeping through his blood, making him crave her so much that his heart hurt. If she did not mind it, why must he not exercise his liberties? And if there was some joy to be derived from it, why would they not want to indulge?

And so he had begun. A stolen touch here, a featherlight graze there. 

His huge, calloused hand, seemed to be always holding her dainty one as he accompanied her throughout their time in the castle; on the small of her back as they maneuvered through feasts and dances; around her waist as they closed the distance between each other in their sleep, with her back to his chest; clutching onto her thigh to keep her in place for when she turned around and draped her tiny leg upon his waist.

His hands, all over her.

It was not just these fleeting, quick touches that Aemond had grown to enjoy. With their bond growing stronger with each passing moment, he had realized that their marital duties were simply not duties anymore. They had gone from believing that the other had tolerated their presence, to trying their level best so that the other would know how much they desired them. The growth of their marriage was evident in how their carnal indulgences had evolved.

Where he had held himself to hover over her so as to not facilitate any unnecessary touches, he had now taken to covering her entire being with his own. His hands around her hip as he pounded into her; her hands on his chest as the tip of her fingers grazed and pinched at his nipples. His hands in her hair as he mouthed at her heaving breast; her hands around him as she held onto him as tightly as she could, never wanting to let him go. His hands on her cunt as he drew peak after peak from her before thrusting himself into her; her hands around his cock as she pumped him before impaling herself by straddling him, just the way he liked. 

Their sounds of pleasure had been held back and muffled in the beginning, but now they were uninhibited sounds taken by the wind, made with the intent of being heard and making desires known.  

Oh yes, their marriage had grown. 

This is what Aemond had been pondering as he led her through, with servants making their way for the young prince and princess as she held onto her husband with one hand, and a piece of rolled parchment and some charcoal on the other. He enjoyed their touches now, and it made his heart soar that he did not have to doubt her want for him either. 

Yes, they could make something out of this.

“How was your time in the gardens, wife?” It made him happy that with the growth of their marriage, she had taken to exercising her liberties. So, when she had come to him requesting charcoal and bound parchment so she could begin drawing again, he was only happy to oblige. 

“Good. I managed to sit and watch the flowers flit about in the wind for a time, and I drew a bit as well. Then the court ladies came to join me as they…”

Aemond listened to his wife as he sat himself on his chair by the hearth, most intently, and with the utmost concentration that he could muster. He could not bring himself to make selfless romantic declarations of love, or speak to her more than he was able. But he could listen, and that is what he would do. 

Not a word unheard, not a moment missed. He needed her to see that he wanted to try.

She prattled on and on about her day, and how the court ladies had gossiped about each other when they thought the other wasn’t listening. He listened to the way her voice heightened when her recollections were happy, and he noted the way she frowned when she was in disapproval. He observed how her eyes widened at shocking narrations, and how her hands seemed to move like they had a life of their own. 

He kept observing, losing himself in his newfound knowledge of her, her, her… and it was not until she stood close to him, her body slotted between his legs as she held her hands behind her back that he realized she had stopped speaking.

“Go on.”

He did not expect to be given something, not when his name day had just passed. But that is exactly what happened. 

“For you,” she said. With her raised eyebrows and coy smile, she managed to place  a parchment roll into his hand. Aemond made note of how her head faced down and her feet shuffled as she stood in wait for his approval.

He unrolled the parchment, careful to not cause even a stray tear at the edges. His eyes raked over the drawing, one of clear skill and years of training of the highest level– one befitting a lady.

“I shall treasure it, thank you.” 

She smiled at his acceptance, and he nodded. He was not a smiling man, but he hoped that she knew how much he appreciated these gestures. He hoped that their marriage had grown enough for her to notice his quirks, just as he had made note of hers.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the third flower that she had given him was a charcoal sketch of a rose, into which she had poured her heart and soul.

As the days passed, their mornings became brighter.

While she had hoped that the initial days of their marriage would have some semblance of love, and if not, at least affection to some extent, her hopes had been quickly dashed with the closed off and curt behavior that her husband seemed to have made his own. Neither did he ever wish her a good morrow upon sunrise, nor did he kiss her goodnight like in the songs.

But now, there was more.

Where there was coldness, there was now warmth. It was not heat, not like wildfire, no– it was warmth, like from the calm blaze of their hearth. She might not have awoken to a smile, no– her husband was not a smiling man– but she always woke to an arm snaked over her breasts, pressing into her. Where there was distance, oceans between them, there was now a shared intimacy, one that they had both been quietly happy about. She was not put to sleep with a kiss, but whenever she slept on the chaise waiting for him to arrive, he now ensured that she was put into comfortable clothes and carried to their bed with care. 

He may not have cared for her in the beginning, but she knew he did now. Her husband was not a romantic man, but his small gestures were enough to make her feel happy and content.

The shift in their dynamic was not just visible in their daytime activities, but in the passions of their marriage bed as well. On the first night that they had coupled, he had been careful, experimental, doubtful. But as the days went by, he had become surer, rougher… insatiable.

She enjoyed this new side to him. She enjoyed being the woman that belonged to a fierce prince, the one that he so clearly desired. She enjoyed being held by him as he moved her up and down his cock, his head buried in her breasts as he breathed in the heady smell of sweat and sex. She enjoyed being impaled by him, her small body being split into two, all while having him whisper words of appreciation in her ears. 

My little wife, my little flower. Made for me… only for me, he would say. Tell me who this cunt belongs to, he would growl, hands slapping her little nub over and over until she caught her breath, found her voice again and appeased him.

You! Gods… to you, my prince, she would whine, holding his hand in place, hoping he would fuck her with his fingers once more, just the way she liked.

It came as no surprise to her that ever since they had become welcome to each other’s affections, they had been a lot more active in their marriage bed– so much so that the lewd moans and loud curses had become court gossip.

When she had addressed the matter with him once soon after they had fucked, Aemond had smiled, albeit darkly– the only kind of smile that suited him. Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, he had said. His insinuation that she was now a dragon too, all while his warm breath fanned her neck and his large hands squeezed her backside, was all she needed to quell her worries.

And of course, as was the natural order of these things, she was now with child.

She had been overjoyed when she had found out, and a tad relieved too. The court ladies whispering about her womb was not something she appreciated– their assumptions about her being barren, even less. So when she found out, she insisted that she be the one to break the news to her husband– her time as an expectant mother would never completely be her own, given the station she had now married into. 

But this, this moment could be hers and his. It would be theirs alone.

And so, she sat in wait at the training grounds, watching him as he expertly maneuvered his sword and slashed at his mentor, Ser Cole. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge, slash. Dodge, lunge–

Ser Cole had bested him, having noticed the predictability in his movements. Aemond of course, being the headstrong man that he was, refused to give up. The anger in his face at being won over in a fight did not escape her, and she would be lying if she said it did not awaken desire in her once more. Before she could think further however, one of the lords in the audience had piped up. 

“Perhaps the Prince would benefit from a token of luck from his dear lady wife!” He said, and the watching crowd around them seemed to agree as they cheered and whistled. Aemond was flummoxed, not knowing how to cope with being faced with the topic of his wife while in the middle of a fight. It was only then that he noticed her, red-faced and smiling as she was– before he could say anything, she had taken the lead.

“I’m afraid I’ve come empty handed, my lord. I’ve nothing to offer him right now!” She quipped with a smile. It had warmed him to know that she was jovial enough for the two of them, allowing him the luxury of staying quiet as she became his champion during situations like these.

“Ah well, he knows you’re here now, Princess! If that does not add to his fire, I do not know what will!”

Perhaps it was her presence, or it was his own prowess as a swordsman. But Aemond was quick to come through this time around. The crowds cheered for their Prince, and so did the man who had taught him to be all that he was.

“Well met, my prince,” Ser Cole said. He patted her dragon prince on his shoulder and walked over to where the swords were arranged. Aemond quickly followed in reverence to his teacher, one that he did not freely give to most. Soon after, the crowds had dispersed, and she watched as his slender, tall form stalk towards her.

“Since when do you frequent the training grounds, wife?”

“Can a wife not seek her husband out when she wants to?” 

She could not have imagined rhetorics like these tumbling out of her mouth in the initial days of their union. But they were now closer than they had ever been, and she had discovered that it would not hurt to take initiative, especially given how quiet of a man her husband could be.

He was not the charming prince from the books or the songs, but she certainly loved who he was– inquisitive, considerate and respectful.

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Their walk back to their apartments was a slow and quiet one, with her knowing that he preferred his moments of quiet soon after his training. They soon settled into the solar, with the food spread out for them to break their fast.

As was his habit, Aemond stripped himself of his clothes as she checked the water in the tub with the tips of her fingers, water rippling as her hands moved. He was quick to step in and let his hands rest on either side of the tub, his legs ramrod straight but slowly loosening up as she ran a washcloth over him with a gentle softness that is most unlike him.

Her hands glided over his chest, arms and he caught hold of her when her hands moved to clean his neck, beckoning her to come closer. “My dutiful little flower, hm? Come to assist her husband and answer his every beck and call.”

“I am nothing, if not dutiful.” She said, playful smile teasing him as her breasts threatened to spill out of the neckline of her dress– causing his cock to half-harden at the sight. She kissed his cheek and set the washcloth down, hands traveling to his alabaster hair as she ran her fingers through it, allowing her wet hands to trudge through. When she was done, he was quick to pull at her hand from his side, causing her to bend to meet him, eyes to eye.

“You have a council meeting to get to, husband. Now is not the time.” 

She knew very well what he wanted. It was what she wanted too– which is precisely why her own protests meant absolutely nothing to her as she gave in, dress riding up to her thighs and billowing wet in the water as she straddled him. Her cunt was already soaked for him, and he was hot and ready from all the energies that training seemed to have put into him. She rocked her hips forward and backward, adjusting to his girth, while sighing and breathing at the feeling of having him in her. It did not matter how many times he’d taken her, she would never get used to feeling so full. 

Soon enough, he had her held harshly by her waist in a bruising grip, his teeth nibbling at her sensitive nipples as he moved her up and down, up and down, up and down. The water crashed out of the tub like waves crashing onto shore and she was quick to fall apart in a mix of pain and pleasure, moaning his name in her broken voice, followed by a silent scream. His release followed soon after, cock twitching in her as he drew her closer, closer and closer still. When she felt his cock soften after a time, she got up and he let her, following close behind. 

“You fought well today, husband.” She said, in a feeble attempt to coerce a conversation from him as they sat at the table. He was a man of silence, and she was not. He did not prefer it, but she would try anyway - because there were times when he indulged her.

“Hm. Thank you.”

The smell of cut fruit was intoxicating to her, more so than usual. She had heard of women craving peculiar kinds of food during their time as expectant mothers, so she supposed that this may have to do with the little dragon that she now grew in her belly. The rest of their time eating moved in a swift silence– a comfortable one. The only sounds they heard were of the servants in the corridors and the birds chirping from out the window.

When they finished, the trays were taken away and he got up, ready to leave to sit in on the council meeting that his grandfather had called him for. He was halfway out the door after nodding to her when she took his hand, and he stopped.

Her hands held onto his as tightly as they could, and she was skittish as she continued to look down at the floor. By now, he knew her quirks well enough to know that she did that only when she wanted to say something.

“Go on.” He urged her as his other hand reached for her too.

She drew in a sharp breath as she bit her lip. “I… I am with child, husband.”

She did not know what to expect from him of her news– but his silent sigh and slight smile as his hands reached down to cover her belly in his hold is enough of a reaction. “Thank you,” he said, his gratitude and happiness made obvious– to her, even if not to anyone else. She did nothing but smile as his forehead met hers in a soft touch– their touches were always passionate and rough while in the privacy of their chambers, so it was peculiar for her to be treated this way. She found that she enjoyed it, just as much as she enjoyed being roughly handled by him.

She then stretched the fingers of one hand, revealing a little silk patch, a little tourney favor with a rose stitched on it. A flower, from his little flower.

“I know you do not prefer tourneys, but… it is my hope that you would at least keep it with you while you train.”

His hands ran over the soft silk, fingers tracing the intricate patterns that she had clearly taken her time with. He was quick to smoothen it out and pocket it, following it with a kiss to her lips. 

“Thank you, for everything.” 

The favor was only meant for the training grounds. But a week later, when she found it peeking out of his pocket while they walked around the gardens, she smiled. Soon, she found out that he kept it with him all day.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fourth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of a favor with an embroidered rose, one that he kept on his person at all times.

There was something to be said about the comforts of silence.

Her husband was not a smiling man, nor was he an ardent conversationalist. Being a woman who leaned towards being both, she had begun their marriage with the intent of treading lightly, lest she annoy him or risk having him dismiss her halfway through. And she did try; Gods knew that she did. 

Royal marriages were a sacred duty– those held in its sanctity would have to hold themselves to a higher standard, no matter how much it hurt them. With that being said, she was eternally thankful for Aemond understanding her preferences and trying to meet her halfway. She had been prepared for a man who would coldly dismiss her and her wants, but she had not been prepared for one that would actually want her.

One of the greatest pains of being born a noblewoman, she supposed, was that happiness in itself, was a privilege– one that she wished was not as such. She wished for it to be an easy thing to have, and as such, understood that she had been blessed with a quiet and peaceful marriage - one that did not take from her more than she was willing to give. It did not matter how many times she thought it over– she never failed to be as grateful as she was at the first realization, many moons ago. 

These were her thoughts as she accompanied her husband in the library. Aemond sat opposite her, on the other side of the table with his finger running over the texts of the Summer and Winter Annals, deeply engaged in the knowledge that the book had to offer on the now lost Kingdom of Sarnor, once a famed trade partner of Valyria. 

The fresh assortment of flowers lay haphazardly on her side of the bench, while she worked towards entwining them all onto the coir to make a crown. She often stole a glance at her husband as she repeatedly adjusted herself on her seat, one that was bigger than her usual one - to accommodate her, and the babe that she now carries. 

An heir, a royal heir. There is dragon blood in you now, he had said. 

She felt it, what with her babe’s constant reminders - boy or girl, the kicks were hard and swift, and it never failed to take her by surprise.

Aemond was a very fast reader, she gathered. His pages turned a lot faster than hers did, and his eyes never stuck to one part of the parchment for long - they flitted about and were restless, aiding him in his desire to learn as much as he can in the least amount of time. They have been married for half a year by now, and yet she manages to learn something new about him every day.

Her deft fingers worked through the stems of the flowers, piercing the sharp ends of the coir through them. In and out, in and out, in and out, she went - establishing a pattern that she ended up memorizing, whether she was cognizant of it or not.

Aemond stood up as he noticed a guard waiting near the doors, summoning him on behalf of the King. Her crown was now completely done, and she admired her handiwork as she twirled it in her finger and smiled. Aemond was now speaking to the guard as she ran the tip of her fingers over the petals. She brought it closer to her nose to smell them - the flowers were not as fragrant as they were once before, but there was a faint scent that she adored. 

He nodded, and she could not help but smile again as he approached her. It struck her harder with each moment, how the Gods had blessed her with him - him with his infinite knowledge, calm disposition and otherworldly beauty. She wondered if the babe she carried would look like him - she hopes, hopes and hopes that they would.

He took the crown of flowers in his hands and handled it with the same care that she put into making it. It looked thoroughly out of place, yet so at home in his hands - much like herself.

A mildly happy lift at the edge of his lips caused a sharp dimple - one that made him look harsh, content and menacing at the same time. She may have wished for a Prince from the songs all the moons ago - but right now, she could not help but think that she had been blessed with someone greater, even if she knew that he did not believe it himself. 

He placed the crown atop her head, crowning her. She remembered wishing he would crown her Queen of Love and Beauty at the twins’ name day tourney - but at this moment, as his fingers glided over her smooth hair to set the crown of white roses into place, she was happier than she could have ever been at any tourney.

“Escort the Princess safely to our chambers,” he ordered, after rubbing her growing stomach and giving her a kiss on her temple before going to meet the King. She stood slowly, and noticed that one unused and withering flower had been left behind. The air from outside the castle gushed through the windows, and it was purely by instinct that she grabbed it by the stem and placed it inside the pages of Aemond’s book before the pages flew - so it would be marked and he could begin where he left off if he so wished.

Long after her exit, Aemond came back to his bench after finishing his meeting with the King. He noticed the protruding stem, and he could not help but feel the warmth coarse through his chest as he opened the tome and found the withering flower pressed inside.

Flowers came to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the fifth flower that she gave to him came to him in the form of a dried rose, one that he kept tucked safely inside his favorite book.

It was moments like these that made Aemond believe in anyone but himself.

Being able to love someone blindly was not a gift that Aemond ever found himself capable of giving. Ever since the loss of his eye, he had grown to be full of spite and resentment, believing that having his dragon was enough to make the loss of company around him worthwhile. Nobody knew how to speak to him anymore– how does one comfort a boy who could only see half the world around him?

And then, she came to him. His wife.

With her free smiles and open heart, she had made her way through into the center of his. He found that he preferred her there, where she belonged. She had made her home in his heart, and he marveled at how despite not matching up to her in any way that mattered, she had found it in herself to allow him to take shelter in hers.

It brought him shame to think of how they could have fallen in love much sooner if he had been open to her affections and not been so wrapped up in his own presumed fallacies. But with time, he learned that in a world where marriages remained cold until the bitter end, a late bloom of happiness was a gift that he should learn to treasure.

It is a girl. Do not ask me why I believe so, husband. I simply do, she had said.

The tomes say a bigger belly is indicative of a boy. I read it, he had countered then.

He stood corrected. Aemond would tell the entire realm that his worldly knowledge did not stand a chance against his wife’s intuition– the little girl he held in his arms was enough support for his claim. 

She slept soundly in his arms as he sat in his chair by the hearth. His wife, tired from her taxing labors, had taken to sleeping through most of the last three days, and he had not left his daughter’s side, not once.

He held her head as his mother carried her for the very first time, eyes shining in joy as she thanked them both for making her a grandmother once more. There were very few things that gave Alicent Hightower joy, and watching her children have babes of their own was one of them.

He rested the tip of his fingers over her smooth and frail silver hair as his grandfather took a good look at her, allowing himself a moment with his guard down. Aemond had not seen his grandfather look at anyone with such  reverence, not unless it was Helaena, Jaehaera or his own mother. And now, Aemond suspected that his grandfather, for all his cold demeanor, did have a soft corner in his heart for the women of his life.

He had towered over the crib as the twins took turns gawking at her, after spending hours begging to see their new cousin. Aemond brought them after they promised to not make too much noise– both mother and daughter were fast asleep. Jaehaera had asked him if she could braid her hair when she grew some, and Jaehaerys poked at the new babe's nose (her mother's nose) with his thumb in curiosity. Aemond laughed, for he was intrigued by her too– only, it was better contained.

He held her tightly to his chest with his hand over her head as Aegon came to meet his newborn niece– completely sober and bathed, upon Aemond’s threats of murder if he came anywhere near his babe with his foulness. He smiled as he dropped the little dragon toy in her crib, looking over at the exhausted mother who could barely keep her eyes open. Aemond’s one eye followed his brother’s then, and visibly softened at the sight of his wife. Aegon laughed and quipped, “I never thought I’d say this brother, but I suppose you do wear the lovestruck look well.”

He had rocked her in silence as Helaena cooed at her, elated at the thought of becoming an aunt to a niece. This family is in dire need of more women, she had mumbled absentmindedly once. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered and Aemond enthusiastically agreed. 

She is beautiful, and she is his. His own daughter, given to him by his own wife.

In the nights, when he was left alone with the women around whom his entire world now revolved, Aemond let tranquility take him. And it was in moments like these, that he learned to love them both with all that he had– blindly, and unconditionally. 

It was in moments like these, that he learned to believe.

Flowers have come to Aemond in multiple shapes and forms throughout his marriage, and the sixth flower that she gave to him, came to him in the form of his little daughter. A little flower, from his flower.

The flowers kept coming to him throughout the many years that followed, and he valued every one of them– for they had all come from her, and they were all a part of her.

His flower. His wife. His very own.

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MASTERLIST

[hwallazia]

HOT TO GO – 김홍중

⋆ synopsis. during a xmas eve dinner with your family, your best friend disappears. concerned, you search the entire apartment complex, only to stumble upon him watching porn alone. unable to resist, you decide to tease him a bit about it.

pairing. best friend! kim hongjoong & fem! reader.

wc. 2,9k

warnings. smut (mdni!), F2L, soft dom! hongjoong, suggestive language, cussing, liquor consumption, getting caught obviously, teasing & flirting, porn watching (this whole thing is porn but wtv), auralism?, getting interrupted ughhh, hongjoong comes on reader’s face and tits, praise, dirty talk, nicknames (pretty boy, pretty, attagirl & more), blowjob, implied cum eating but not explicitly written, an awful attempt at comedy in the end.

nic’s notes ⋆ second of the event & december’s already ending, i knoww (ᵕ—ᴗ—) i’ll finish the event in january i promise !! i really don’t like how this came out, but i couldn’t leave y’all without a christmas gift! merry xmas, loves <3

living room, dining room, bathroom, backyard, even inside the fucking oven. you had searched everywhere for hongjoong, and yet he’s nowhere to be found.

just an hour ago, you were enjoying some drinks with him, the strong alcohol of the tequila burned your throat deliciously, and the surroundings only caused the liquor to impact you even harder. small bright lights provided dim and comfy lighting to the room for those who were under the influence already — which were probably your uncles, who actually were spending a lovely time playing some drinking games. your mother and her sisters were chatting pleasingly near the kitchen aisle, your aunt looking for a new bottle of red wine only meant that the conversation was going to last longer than what anyone could predict, whereas your grandma was nowhere to be seen — she probably headed to her bedroom to get some well-deserved sleep, your mother had already forced her enough to stay awake past midnight.

“so yeah, that’s pretty much it. never met up with that bitch again, she prolly moved to somewhere far from here since i never heard from her again either. or well, at least that’s what i’m manifesting.” you summarized, chuckling at the end before you chugged another sip of tequila. hongjoong stared at you intently, one brow up, as your throat bobbed up and down with one smooth gulp.

“you sure are going hard on that tequila,” he said whilst glancing at your drunken irises. the way you frowned your brows and cringed almost made him laugh. how cute.

“excuse me, you’re the one who hasn’t drank one sip.” you deadpanned, a low laugh escaping his lips unintentionally as he covered his mouth with the back of his hand; his body rocking forward, driven by habit. “c’mon, let’s get you a drink. a cocktail for starters.” you said without giving him a chance to defend himself, grabbing his forearm as you led him towards the kitchen, where an exasperating and almost unbelievable collection of bottles, full of any kind of liquid you could imagine. your mind was already scheming what to prepare for your dear best friend; some vodka mixed with any energetic drink that you could find in the fridge seemed like an excellent idea.

but you could never fathom what your dear friend’s mind was envisioning, nor what held his eyes so intently. while you walked him whenever you were taking him, your cute ass was swinging, side to side in a smooth motion that had him going nuts. actually, if you held a gun against his head and asked him if he had thought about anything else that night, he’d let you shoot him, because he could never fathom the thought of you finding out how much of a pervert he was. but it was true though, the way that black, tight, and short dress hugged your figure made him salivate all over himself like a dog, the nastiest one. your curves were to die for, and hongjoong would gladly prove it — just so you know. god, what wouldn’t he give for just one night with you—to hold those hips with his own palms.

but that’s his secret. so shush.

hongjoong just couldn’t handle the view anymore. he halted you when he sank his heels onto the wooden floor, and with a deep sigh, he crafted the best excuse he could muster. you gyrated your head and let go of him when he began speaking. oh here we go. “wait, i actually have to go to the bathroom.” you glared at him, not believing a single word that was coming out of his mouth. “it’s an emergency!” he yelped in a surprisingly high-pitched voice, quite amusing to hear.

“fine. i’ll just pretend that you actually wanna go to pee and that you’re not a pussy that can’t handle a round of drinks with me.” you scoffed in a teasing manner, an almost invisible smirk showing up on your lips as your hand positioned on your hip.

“i’ll take the blame.” he sentenced, putting relaxed hands in the air as if he was being accused of committing a crime — and to be honest, he was just about to commit one.

after that, he headed towards the bathroom, your eyes followed his figure as it disappeared into the large, bright lighted corridor. with a sigh and an unopened bottle of tequila in your hands, you made your way back to the kitchen, determined to join the endless conversation that was taking place in its aisle. you aunt jessica looked in your direction, and when her blue irises landed on the delicious tequila that you had with yourself, she couldn’t help but let out a squeak sharp enough to shatter glass, immediately inviting you to participate in their talk with a smile plastered on her face.

you had to do something while hongjoong was gone after all.

but an hour had passed, and the conversation had turned rather depressing, your maternal aunt’s marriage problems overshadowing the happy, joyful christmas vibes. you needed to find hongjoong; otherwise, this conversation would only fry more brain cells than it already had. you exhaled as you rose from your seat, a glass of red wine resting in the palm of your hand gracefully — or you also could call it the other reason why you’d wake up with a mind-scattering headache.

“excuse me, i’ll go upstairs real quick,” you announced to the six ladies that you had just chatted with.

“darling!” your mother stopped your movements. “where’s hongjoong? haven’t seen him in a while now.”

“i don’t know. i was wondering the same thing just now.” you paused briefly. “i’ll go find him.”

normally, you’d find him in the backyard, playing with your younger cousins — to be honest, he nailed the role of the cousin way better than you. but strangely, he wasn’t, which only led you to do what you’d normally call research because at this point, the man had either gone invisible or was aiming for the world record in the longest game of hide and seek. at least, ten minutes passed and he was still missing.

you dragged your feet towards the bathroom, the tiredness of being in a tight and rather short dress and high fucking heels with your best friend missing as a bonus started to hit you. as you made your way to the guest bathroom, you passed by your bedroom, but something odd happened to catch your attention. a weird light was coming out of your room and you were absolutely sure you had turned everything off and closed the door—you didn’t want any babies sleeping in your beloved bed, for god’s sake.

your feet moved backward in a quite amusing motion, your body now standing in front of the semi-open wooden door. with a cocked brow, you peeked through the crack in the door and saw hongjoong’s figure laying on your bed; back facing the door. as the gorgeous, lovely, and very funny best friend that you are, the only idea that came to your mind was to surprise him. little did you know that he was the one who surprised you.

with slow, cautious steps you approached his lying body. you noticed he was watching something on his phone, the bright white light from the device illuminating his face, yet his shuddering pants were the thing that caught your eye.

and one or two steps were more than enough for your eyes to finally and fully take in the scene unfolding before you.

your best friend was jerking off while watching porn. in your own house, in your own bed, in front of your goddamn eyes. and fucking hell, you could clearly see his dick grazing your blankets in a slow, sluggish tempo.

now, in this situation you have two options: either get mad at him and yell at him for being a pervert and a lunatic, and never speak to him again for ruining everything up only because of being an idiot for doing that in such an inappropriate place and situation and day and just everything,

or

help him.

“well hey there.” you purred as you grazed the sides of his undone pants, his hand flew away from his hardened cock as well as his phone, which glided through thin air; a heavy and rough thud reverberated through the walls—a crack on its screen is guaranteed. wide open brown eyes stared at you, a pinkish, tender blush creeping up his cheekbones. “i was feeling kinda lonely out there, y’ know?”

your velvety tone tickled his spine, delicious goosebumps creeping up his limbs. “yn, w-what’re you doing here.” a breathless hongjoong spoke, trembling hands trying to put his dick back inside that wrinkled, damp, and surely uncomfortable fabric.

“that’s what i should be asking, don’t you think?” a little chuckle penetrated hongjoong’s mind, it took everything from him to not grab you by the arms and kiss the shit out of you. at this point, the poor man is delirious—thankfully, your soothing, reassuring hand calms his nerves down when you rested your palm over his. well, sort of. “heeeyy, already cutting the fun short? don’t tell me you’re that much of a wet blanket.”

you got on your knees greedily before your hand glided over his dampened length, first rubbing his girth and then his cocktip smoothly. hongjoong hissed before cursing under his breath. “why’re you doing this.” he couldn’t help but ask, though it wasn’t as if he had any intention of stopping now. if you were going to start something, you’d better see it through. he adjusted his position, finally sitting properly whilst giving you enough space to do your work.

you chuckled as you glanced up at him, doe-eyes stabbing daggers into his heart, mind, and soul. “is it so bad that i don’t want you to go back there with a boner inside those pants?”

a low, growly fuck was shot into your eardrums when your thumb slid over his now leaking tip, trembling fingers almost digging holes into your sheets. “i could do it on my own—nguh” a gravelly moan sent shivers down your spine as soon as you swirled your tongue around the trail of precum his tip was spreading over his hard-on.

“y’ sure you could?” he couldn’t compete against your seductive voice and teasing touches. matter of fact, he couldn’t compete against you at all, not when you were so kind, sweet, sexy and just fucking stunning. the way this man was wrapped around your finger is fucking comical. with a deep sigh, he gave in to you.

“fuck no.”

“that’s what i thought.”

no other words needed to be said for you to swallow his whole length, his tip tickling the back of your throat. hongjoong’s head tilted back as he placed his right hand behind him for support, while the other rested gently on top of your head; fingers provided soothing massages to your scalp. you didn’t expect his moans to be so heavenly sweet, yet low and masculine, and they were impacting you in the most pleasant way; thighs started to rub together incessantly, in search of some friction, some relief.

“oh fuck thaaat’s it. you’re so sweet for doing this, so—ugh, fucking gorgeous.” dead eyes stared down at you, following your every movement, every gesture, every breath. his irises casted shadows over you, and a dark fire sparked within them.

and being totally honest, you were more than ready to lose yourself in them.

after some minutes of just pure sinful, wet sounds, your jaw was starting to hurt, causing you to get some of his girth out of your mouth unintentionally.

poor you, ‘cause hongjoong was already way too into it.

you felt how his palm applied light pressure down the crown of your head “oh c’mon pretty, you were doing so good before, what happened?” he cooed at you, a devilish expression ruling his eyes.

and did that smirk drive you over the edge. “i—“ his hand glided over your neck and pushed you all the way down, making you pathetically choke on his cock. tears filled your vision and soon began to stream down your cheeks, ruining your mascara—not that you were concerned about that, your red lipstick was all smudged anyway. spit dripped from the corner of your lips, a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips with some hairs of his pubic zone.

what a view, hongjoong thought.

“attagirl.” he purred in a silky tone. all pain was gone in just a sec.

hongjoong could feel and hear everything. and when i say everything, i mean every fucking thing. the way your tongue danced over his tip, how it enveloped his length greedily and lapped at every bit of precum it could collect, or how you would whine when his cocktip hit that spot of your throat, how you’d gag around him and just how fucking sinful you sound and look with his dick in his mouth.

“you’re seriously gonna—ah be the death of me.” he heaved, that familiar coil was starting to form in his stomach and he was more than happy to give you every last drop of his load.

even though this may not be his ultimate fantasy, he’s more than content with what he’s receiving. he’d die happily when he gets to come inside you while in mating press. but let’s not get too excited.

“fuck—c’mon, joong. cum all over my face, i know you’re close.” you popped his cock out of your mouth so you could jerk it off properly, at a fast pace that had him seeing stars.

“god you’re—that gonna make me— shit!” he cussed as he jolted beneath you, under your control and intoxicating ministrations. with your poisonous irises and vicious manners, he came completely undone for you, because of you. tensed, muscly limbs and a deliciously arched back formed the scene that surely won’t leave your mind for the next two weeks. a satisfied moan of yours accompanied the melody of grunts that were escaping helplessly from his swollen lips—too reddened from biting them so harshly.

his hand replaced yours and began doing the same motion, but now angling his dripping tip towards you. “show me that pretty face and those pretty tits, cutie.”

what a pervert, you thought. and naturally, you wouldn’t have done so. but god, you were so fucking blissed out that you didn’t even think twice before popping your breasts out of that dark, fitted dress and presenting your face to him — totally surrendered to him like a slut.

the remaining white shots of cum spurted all over your face, a sinful string of that white essence connecting your lashes with your cheekbone, whilst a brief load of his seed painted your tits.

“fuck you’re kinky.” you deadpanned, giggling.

“guess you kinda have that effect on me,” he smirked, breathlessly. fuck, you want him to fuck you right now.

you smiled as you stood up just to push him onto the mattress, easily straddling his naked lap. “so, tell me.” dangerous grins were plastered on your faces. “why would ya be watching porn over here, behind my back…” your manicured nails traced scribbles on the exposed skin of his forearm, slowly shifting in an upward motion. “… when you have me.”

“well if i’m being honest, i had you,” he explained, confusion filling your mind. he chuckled at your tilted head and cocked eyebrow. “that specific pornstar has a similar voice to yours, and whenever she moaned…” his eyes drifted from your eyes to your lips. “she just sounds exactly like how i dream of you moaning.”

and that pushed you over the edge.

you pressed your clothed crotch against his unintentionally, your instinct to seek friction overpowering your senses. his dark, low chuckle penetrated your mind. he straightened his back as he sat correctly and enveloped your torso with his strong arms. with one deep, endearing look into your irises, he whispered with a honey-dripping voice. “can i fuck you, yn?”

“thought you’d never ask.”

a harsh knock at the door made both of you jerk. “yn! i know you’re in here! come on, we gotta take some pictures with the family! get outta there, you got two minutes.” the high-pitched, squeaky voice of your mother sentenced as if she was the goddamn FBI or something.

with a profound exhale, you stared at each other. “well, i don’t know about you, but i personally don’t want to fuck with a time limit. it’s not like i’m able to make you finish in two minutes. i don’t even know if i can finish in two min—“ you grabbed his lips with your fingertips, shushing him immediately.

he glanced at you with puppy dog eyes. “would you shut up for once?” you giggled. “okay, pretty boy, we’ll get there. now, let me clean myself up and change into some new clothes so i can go take the damn pictures before my mom splits me open.”

you sighed, unlike hongjoong who smiled like a little kid. “i’d like to split you open.”

you chuckled as you threw the nearest pillow to him. a muffled awh was heard and your heart sank a bit, in the most tender way. that foolishly in love kind-of smile just could not leave your face. “shut up, you romeo.”

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