#And I feel like the war needs to be there for Conflict. Or at least some other thing.

[koalapastries-writes]

Right like so hear me outttt 😍 some of the younger drivers (all trans and lowkey sugar babies) with a boyfriend whose willing to pay for their surgeries (this is the exact same person as the very first trans driver ask 😇🙏)

hello and welcome back anon :D

i am so hearing you out.

idk how young you mean in the younger drivers category so i'm just gonna use a bit of creative interpretation here.

very mild suggestive content and references to sugar baby / sugar daddy dynamics, plus mild discussions of dysphoria

franco colapinto:

it's kinda novel for him, not needing to think twice and stretch a paycheque as far as he could

when you guys first started dating he was really hesitant to tell you that he was trans

felt very silly for being worried when you start researching the best surgeons available and how much they would cost

he's like heart eyes and everything

definitely loves sending you cute little photos on track

soooooo giggly if you send him money after and tell him to buy himself something pretty x

kimi antonelli:

at first he's kinda skeptical

maybe scared you're a chaser, maybe that you're too good to be true

either way

takes him a few weeks to realise that you're being genuine and really just want him to be happy and comfortable in his own skin

very typical you fell first but he fell harder

head over heels in love with you and wouldn't have it any other way

logan sargeant:

so excited

he's so ready to have surgery

logically he knows he should probably be at least a little bit nervous

but he's just so sick of being constantly dysphoric

when he wakes up from the anaesthesia he will absolutely demand a daily quota of at least one hour of cuddles

"for recovery purposes"

ollie bearman:

he's kind of conflicted about transitioning i think?

he's absolutely so tired of being dysphoric and insecure

but i think he might've been scared about what transitioning would do to his career

i mean there's a lot more (still way less than there should be) support for women in motorsports than trans people

when you remind him that you'd literally buy him a seat in f1 if you had to (ollie doesn't really want you to, but he appreciates the offer) it just gives him the confidence he needed to know that he still has people in his corner

and you'd go to war for him without a second thought

oscar piastri:

just stares at you and blinks a lot

he has no idea how to process that

yeah, he's your sugar baby—who cares that he's an f1 driver who earns more than enough to keep himself comfortable, it's the principal of it—and i think he genuinely enjoys sending you content and getting those little compliments with the transfer that comes after

if he's being honest the messages are more of a payment than the money

but when he tells you he's not up to sending anything because he's feeling dysphoric and you offer to pay for his surgery he kind of just

melts

i think maybe his favourite part of being post-op (after the initial recovery period) is sending you content again and you making sure he knows you enjoy it just as much

that's when he starts questioning if he's really satisfied as being just your sugar baby

[corellianhounds]

I don’t want to have to write all the context and justification for the idea I have right now so I’ll just put this on the WIP stack (story of my life), but consider a Temporal Chalice storyline à la TAZ Balance. An artifact so powerful it holds command over time itself, confronting the cupbearer with their deepest fears, desires, flaws, and mistakes, and the ability to act on a crucial moment in the trajectory of their life, whether they realized it was crucial or not.

The chalice lies before them on a raised pedestal. The offer can only be accepted by one of them, and it comes with two caveats: All of time, from the moment they choose to change and after, will be altered.

And secondly: After they change fate, all of their present memories will be gone. History will be rewritten, and they will never be able to tell in which ways it changes or stays the same.

The Mandalorian is shown a fork in the road. A young family in red is suspended in time: to their right is the city street leading to an underground cellar, only empty for the moment. To the left, the street continues, and beyond it he spies the approaching Mandalorian jet squad. Before, his eyes had been so tightly closed he must have missed the momentary glimpse of their saviors in the distance. If he can manage to redirect his father’s focus, to force him to veer left instead, Din knows he can lead them to safety. He is being offered the chance to save his parents’ lives. 

“… If my own parents don’t die, somebody else will,” Din says quietly. “I know what it’s like to lose them. I can’t wish that on somebody else.”

Boba Fett is shown the back of a Jedi approaching his father from behind in the arena stands. He is ten years old, and he has a gun in his hands.

“… My father was not a perfect man,” Boba said, his voice carefully devoid of emotion. “My path to this point in life would have been harsh either way. I don’t need a second lifetime of hardship to remember.”

“Disgraced magistrate Greef Karga” echoes at the back of his mind as he watches the scene unfold from a third person point of view. He is given the chance to exonerate himself of what he did before being stripped of his title and run offworld before arriving on Nevarro. He has time to escape and absolve himself of any wrongdoing.

There’s a long moment of consideration before Karga speaks, the veteran showman smile nowhere to be found. “I wouldn’t have become a better man if I hadn’t been caught,” he says grimly. “I would have continued doing what I did because I got away with it. The only reason I changed is because I was held accountable.”

Luke sees Dagobah, and an X-Wing. There are two figures outlined in the gloom, one corporeal and small, the other ethereal and old. If he chooses not to go to Cloud City and stays to finish his training, he will have the strength and knowledge needed to end the war sooner, potentially saving untold thousands of lives at the cost of those dear to him.

“… I don’t think I could make the choice any differently, even knowing what I do now,” Luke says softly. “My masters were training me to have the strength to kill my father. I don’t think I would have had the mercy to spare him long enough for him to redeem himself, and I would have lost what little time I did have with him.”

But what about those who may not be able to accept the present as it is? The ones who would have the knowledge and opportunity to right the wrongs of the galaxy and save innocent lives? To undo past mistakes?

Cobb Vanth is fifteen and has just arrived in the next settlement to pick up supplies. If he immediately returns to the orphanage his mother runs instead of staying the night, as he once did, he’ll be able to put out the fire and save a dozen young lives, and his mother won’t be forced to live with the survivor’s guilt for the following week before she ultimately makes the choice that will leave him an orphan too.

There’s a long arena with targets lined up at one end. Her sister, laughing, stands tall and confident in front of the back wall, hands on her hips with an apple balanced on her head. She is alive, and the girl not yet called Fennec Shand stands at the opposite end, her crossbow still pointed low as she squares her feet. She isn’t yet the marksman she’ll become, and she has the chance to avoid the biggest mistake of her life.

Cara Dune sees an office she’s never been in before, a high-rise view of Coruscant from the windows. There is a covey of New Republic officers poring over data showing the plot to frame and kill her entire crew for the crime they didn’t commit, and the evidence to frame her for it when she runs.

Una is standing at the back of the courtroom. It’s the two-sun rotation where Max Rebo’s band plays yet another encore for Oola to dance to, Jabba’s raucous, rumbling laughter spreading through the room with his odious breath. She knows there is a sliver of time before the next song starts, and if she can maneuver through the crowd fast enough, she knows she can coax her friend into playing along, just for the night. Right now, with the chalice in hand, Una sees the other girl who would arrive the following day and would have taken Oola’s place without Oola having to die first. Jabba liked fresh girls with braids to pull as much as he did the lekku of Twi’leks.

Ahsoka sees herself as a child, looking up at a young Jedi Knight with a scar bisecting one eyebrow. She knows this scene, has had it etched upon her memory for decades. She could decline his offer and divert her life’s course entirely.

Leia is shown the first time she ever met Lord Vader at age fourteen. She is standing beside the man who raised her as his own, the two of them across from the figure in black. Captain Antilles is next to her and he has a gun in his holster.

Grogu, a child, is given perhaps the most difficult choice of all: The ability to prove Palpatine’s treachery to his masters and prevent Order 66 from happening at all, perhaps preventing the entire war. The tradeoff is that he will grow up in the temple, and he will never meet the man who would become the Mandalorian.

Han Solo is shown the future. His hand is on the door. Leia and Ben are behind him.

[dawnsiren]

So uh. I’m listening to Annapantsu’s cover Queen of Kings on loop while vaguely feverish and it spat out a vaguely incomprehensible AU idea?

Pirate!Azula ft. Azuyuetara (Is that the ship name for that trio? Idfk it works)

Do I have a remotely comprehensible plot for this? No!

Beginning? Only vaguely!

Ending? Nope!

Any sense of its place in the timeline? Not really!

[silverfairywings]

— IN THE WAKE OF FLAMES. PT III

eris vanserra x archeron!reader

summary: even before you became fae, your favourite season was autumn. it’s a little hard to hide this when your least favourite newly appointed high lord has made it his life’s mission to be the most annoying male in your life.

a/n: sorry for such a long break!! pls let me know what u think and again if you’d like to be added to the tag list send me a message or ask as I rarely check my notifs and go back to them. also sorry abt the cliffhanger uhmmmm also unedited ok bye

“You look like crap.”

Your eyes flutter open to see Mor scrunching up her face as she peers at you from her seat across your own at the dining table. It takes a second for her words to register and you throw a belated scowl her way.

“Good morning to you too,” you mumble, sitting up to continue swirling your spoon around your bowl of barely eaten oatmeal. Your appetite seems to have vanished over the past week, but you try and force a spoonful down your throat, nearly gagging.

Mor narrows her eyes at you and her lips press into a thin line of concern. “No, you seriously look like crap. You’re not eating lately and you were literally asleep at the table when I got here.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” you say, defensively. “I was resting my eyes.”

“You sound like Cassian after a three hour afternoon nap.”

“I’m just having a little trouble sleeping.” You set your spoon down and push the offending bowl away from you before slumping in your seat. You brush off her skeptical look with a wave of your hand. “I’m always like this after absorbing Fae magic.”

And over the last few days you’ve been absorbing a lot. All in an attempt to find out as much as you could about the Fae rebel group that had been attacking the borders of multiple Courts, in order to weaken them and make a point against you.

Well, you and your sisters. Not all of Prythian was accepting of Feyre for how she was Made, and even less so of you and Nesta and Elain. Instead, they viewed you as unnatural mutations and the whispers had only become worse after the War. It seemed that the lack of conflict looming over Prythian was unacceptable in their eyes.

With the help of your powers and Azriel’s shadows, you were closer than ever to finding them. Truthfully, the idea that there were Fae out there who hated you didn’t bother you so much in the sense of feeling like outcasts, but you couldn’t lie. They were starting to be a giant pain in your ass.

“You’re never like this,” Mor scoffs, gesturing to the bags under your eyes and the hollowness of your cheeks. As her voice raises, the pounding of your head gets more intense and you attempt to hold back a grimace. “Why is it affecting you so much this time?”

“It’s the type of magic I’m absorbing,” you practically whine, abandoning all pretences of being okay and allowing your shoulders to drop. “It’s so angry and harsh and impure, Mor! It’s literally making me sick because I have nowhere else to redirect it.”

At that moment Rhysand and Feyre walk in to join you at the table.

Rhysand, having overheard you, chimes in as he reaches for a plate of fruit. “Good news, our little Siphon,” he nudges you lightly, the nickname making you scrunch your nose up in mock annoyance. “We have enough information now to move forward using Az and Cass and resources from other Courts. The only thing we need you to do now is rest.”

Rhysand’s upbeat tone brings a weak smile to your face. You know that he’s being flippant to make you feel better, like he always does when you’re stressed or unwell and you’re nothing but appreciative as he whistles under his breath, nonchalantly piling some fruit onto a plate for you.

“You should have been resting days ago,” Feyre eyes you from beside Rhys with furrowed brows, taking in your tired form. “We told you yesterday would be too much.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Give me a couple hours and I’ll be fine for the meeting in Summer.”

Mor snorts and looks up at you, amused. When you raise an eyebrow, her smile drops into an incredulous expression. “You’re not serious.”

“I need to be there to discuss what I siphoned from that knife we found at the border of Dawn,” you say, holding up a hand and rushing out the rest of your words when Feyre opens her mouth to speak. “And Rhys promised me I would be there since it’ll be all the High Lords, Court informants and even soldiers. I couldn’t possibly not go.”

Feyre sighs, sensing that you’re not going to back down. She nods slowly, pointing at your plate. “Finish all of your breakfast and your lunch later on and then you can go.”

You let out a breath, feeling nauseous when Rhys slides your plate closer to you and simply shrugs when you glare at him. Traitor, you speak to him in your mind. He suddenly becomes very interested in a strawberry.

“Watch me,” you say confidently, waving your fork at Feyre who rolls her eyes at you and goes back to her own breakfast.

Summer court is your least favourite court at the best of times, though you’d never admit that to sweet and kind Tarquin, who’s arguably one of your favourite High Lords.

The beautiful, shimmering lagoons aren’t of interest to you as large bodies of water have always unsettled you. The warm breeze that everyone welcomes always reminds you of the times you had to suffer through sweltering heat when foraging for food with Feyre in your adolescence. You’ve always preferred a colder climate and appreciated a more muted daylight.

Considering your current health, the ripples in the water make you dizzy and the light salty breeze nearly brings your breakfast and lunch up.

You’re thankful for the sheer, thin material of the sage coloured dress that Nuala and Cerridwen chose for you because you suddenly feel a sheen of sweat covering your body.

“Are we done sightseeing?” you ask weakly, desperate to be inside already.

Elain turns to you and winces. “You don’t look too good….”

“Aw, thank you, Elain.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she tuts, coming over to fan your face with her hands. You swat them away, sputtering and try to catch Rhysand’s attention to move things along. He reluctantly agrees and gestures everyone to move along, too used to your aversion to Summer.

As you all enter the palace made of gleaming marble, you hang further back to avoid the watchful eyes of Feyre who seems to be waiting to send you right back home to rest.

The palace is beautiful and you push down your nausea to look around and take in the tall arched windows. The jewelled embellishments adorning the frames trail higher and higher and you crane your neck to see them.

This turns out to be a mistake when your vision starts to blur and another wave of nausea causes your steps to falter, the world tilting sharply.

A firm hand grips your elbow in an all too familiar fashion, steadying you before you’re sent flying to the ground. Another hand settles around your waist where the cutout of your dress exposes your now damp skin, glittering with sweat.

You look up and find Eris’ amber eyes locked onto your own.

“Foolish,” he mutters, his voice sharp with irritation, yet his hands remain steady in their position, holding you up. It’s the first word he’s uttered to you since your encounter a couple of weeks ago in the Spring Court where he’d left on frosty terms. You had seen him twice since then, but it was in the middle of meetings and siphoning sessions and he had barely spared you a single glance.

Your lips part but your senses are too overwhelmed to think of a response before he carries on, lightly shaking his head at you. “You overexert yourself all week and then travel here? What are you trying to prove?”

“I’m fine,” you manage to say, pulling away from him, but his grip only tightens. You can’t help glancing around and noticing that the growing crowd of all the Court officials has separated you from the Inner Circle. You huff out a breath as you register his words. You knew Rhysand had to communicate with the other High Lords with updates, but you didn’t know that included your physical state. “Gods, High Lords are such gossips…”

“You’re not fine,” he says, scowling like you’ve dreadfully inconvenienced him by nearly collapsing. His gaze flickers over the pallor of your skin and the way you’ve started to shiver slightly. “You drained yourself dry this week. And for what? To impress Rhysand? To prove something to him?”

“Let go of me, Eris,” you attempt to snap at him, but even you can hear the lack of strength in your voice. His eyes soften slightly when you say his name without your usual bite. “I can’t have this same conversation with you when I’m like this.”

“You think I want to be the one always catching you from falling on your face? Trust me when I say I have things I would rather be doing,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes.

You grit your teeth at the reminder and heat flares in your cheeks, whether it’s from embarrassment, anger or the climate of Summer, you don’t know.

Before you can retort, Eris sighs and straightens you up, still not fully letting you go. Releasing the hand around your waist, he loops your arm in his own and makes you lean on him for support. To your utter surprise, he doesn’t say anything as he starts walking towards the meeting room where everyone else files in. Despite your frustration, you’re grateful for his strength.

The moment of blissful silence doesn’t last too long, however. As he begins to lead you to where your family is stood and clearly looking around frantically for you, Eris leans in to whisper in your ear. “You need to sit down at the table,” he orders quietly, High Lord behaviour on full display.

You’re about to argue that no one else is going to be sat and he immediately catches this, cutting you off. “Don’t be stubborn for once in your life,” he murmurs, breath warm against your ear, making you shiver more than you already were. “Please?”

You quickly turn your head to meet his, shocked at the pleading in his voice. You didn’t realise how close this would bring your own face to his and words leave you. Thankfully, you’ve reached your family as you hear Cassian’s loud voice and it snaps you out of your little bubble.

“Finally!” he exclaims, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “We were about to send a search and rescue team, thinking you’d finally collapsed.”

“Why didn’t you?” Eris asks, coldly.

Cassian merely rolls his eyes at Eris’ attitude and gestures at Azriel.

Feyre comes forward to take your other arm in hers and explains. “Azriel’s shadows informed us that you were with her, Eris.” She smiles warmly and sincerely at him and Rhysand nods at him in recognition of his actions. “Thank you for looking after my sister.”

Eris shakes his head. “Don’t thank me yet. I foresee many falls in her near future that I’m sure I won’t be present for.”

Feyre’s mouth twitches, but she quickly smoothes her face into an expressionless one when you frown at her and she busies herself with disentangling you from Eris.

He takes a step back, dark and fiery hair catching the sunlight through the tall windows and glances at you once more, not breaking eye contact, yet his words are directed towards Feyre. “Just make sure she sits down. The Night Court doesn’t need a martyr,” he says drily, before walking away.

Your mouth goes dry at the double meaning in his words, but you can’t shake off the shock at seeing genuine concern in his eyes. You must have looked practically near death, but you appreciated it all the same and you don’t even realise your eyes are lingering on him as he walks away until Feyre sits you down next to Nesta.

Your older sister raises an eyebrow at you, always so intuitive and you swat weakly at her to look away from you. Cassian’s eyes flit back and forth between you two, confused.

Before he can say anything, the meeting commences and you feel a shift in the energy of the room, full to the brim of Court officials, emissaries, a few warriors and of course, the High Lords around the table.

Your turn to speak comes fairly quickly since the most information regarding the Rebels is from you and Azriel. As per Rhysand’s instructions, you don’t go into any details regarding your siphoning powers, instead just sharing the information you gained due to them. You try to ignore the way people are staring at your weak form, but you continue to speak with all the strength you can muster. Evidently, you’re doing a convincing job as people start to nod, satisfied and scribble things down.

When Azriel’s turn arrives, you zone out a little, already having heard everything a few times over. Your ears only perk up when everyone is discussing plans of action against the Rebels and a question is asked in your general direction.

“Who are we thinking is to be at the front lines of this hypothetical mission?” The question comes from one of the Spring Court advisors, Vaelith, an older Fae with silver hair gathered in one long braid down his back.

His gaze lingers on you for only a split second before moving onto Rhysand and you feel compelled to answer. “Myself and Azriel,” you blurt out, before you can think twice. “And others of course, but the two of us are the most familiar with-”

“We’re all aware of the Shadowsinger’s abilities,” Vaelith interrupts you, holding up a hand to stop you from talking. You hold back a scowl. “What makes you suitable to lead such a mission aside from your… familiarity with a selection of items left behind by these Rebels?”

“I’m more than able to-” you cut yourself off and swallow, gaining yourself a second to think of a way to defend yourself without giving away your powers, as per your High Lord’s request.

Careful, Y/N

Rhysand’s voice sounds clear as day in your head and you try not to wince at the volume considering the silence of the rest of the room. The other High Lords knew of your powers, but Rhysand had requested they keep it to themselves, even from their own Court officials. Whether or not Rhysand had used his Daemati abilities to ensure this, you didn’t want to know.

“I’m more than able to assist in a plan of action,” you continue firmly, voice hardening. “I’m not sure if you remember a certain War we just had, but you may wish to remind yourself who was at the front lines of that.”

A few laughs break the tense silence and some people start muttering, slowly raising the volume of the room. You almost don’t hear Vaelith’s next words. “You haven’t really answered my question.”

“Let’s use our senses, Vaelith,” a voice rings out from further down the table and you’re startled to realise that Eris is speaking up. The room finally quietens down and you sit up impossibly straight, surprised that Eris is about to defend you.

You couldn’t be more wrong.

He only spares you a fleeting glance, but even from your seat you could see it’s full of amusement and mocking. The thing that surprises you is that the mocking is directed at you. “Look at her. Are you really questioning the abilities of a female who barely has the strength to sit up in her seat, let alone fight?”

Your stomach drops, a ball of humiliation unfurling in your chest as he continues to speak.

“I’d like to believe Rhysand has more sense than to send someone on the frontlines who would just be doing the rebels a favour,” Eris drawls, raising an eyebrow at Rhys, still avoiding your gaze.

Rhysand nods. “I can assure you I’ll only be sending my strongest soldiers, Vaelith,” he smirks, faintly, as though the implication he’d do anything to suggest otherwise is laughable. “Now may we discuss matters of actual importance? Tarquin, what have your soldiers been preparing?”

The tension dissolves almost immediately, but you’re still shellshocked, shaking with anger rather than weakness now. It’s as though you’ve been pumped with a burst of adrenaline and it doesn’t seem to be dampening.

After the conversation has shifted to a completely different subject, you shift from your seat as discretly as possible and mutter to Nesta that you need some air before standing up.

You look at the High Lord of Autumn before you walk away, but it only infuriates you more. Eris doesn’t look anywhere near you, but his jaw is clenched all the same, as though he can feel you glaring at him.

Mor catches your arm as you’re walking out and hisses in your ear. “You’re still not well,” she turns her body fully towards you. “Wait for me to come with you.”

“Don’t worry,” you say, shaking your head and clenching your fists to keep them from trembling as you speak through gritted teeth. “I feel suddenly energised. I’ll only be outside.”

Mor gives you a once over and is clearly satisfied with the fact that you’re unlikely to collapse again as she nods and releases your arm, allowing you to rush through the crowd of people and push through the guards.

You walk briskly away from the doors of the meeting room and further down the empty hallway until you’re satisfied that no one will hear your heavy breathing.

You lean against a pillar, exhaling in and out to control your anger and keep the tears at bay. Gods, you feel so stupid. Of course, Eris is incapable of being a decent male to anyone, let alone to you. Damn him and his cruel smirk and damn Rhysand too for allowing it to happen.

Brushing away the tears that have managed to fall, you curse yourself for not just pushing him away and allowing yourself to collapse on the hard marble flooring. It was giving you whiplash the way he could be so full of concern one second and practically call you useless in front of a room full of officials the next.

The longer you stand against the marble pillar, the weaker you begin to feel and that burst of adrenaline you previously felt is no longer present. The anger that fuelled you mere seconds ago is now winding you and a rising sense of panic begins to consume you.

You decide to turn around to walk back so you’re closer to the doors of the meeting room in case you embarrassingly do collapse.

However, the second you take a step, a flash of movement in the corner of your eye is all the warning you get before strong arms clamp around you from behind and a cloth is pressed against your mouth and nose, preventing you from breathing. You can’t even scream as the scent of something strong and chemical floods your senses, making your vision blur.

You thrash around in an attempt to use the little strength you have left to escape, but the arms only grip you harder and the world begins to spin. The last thing you feel is the cool marble floor as your knees give out and no one bothers to catch you as you hit the ground, darkness swallowing you whole.

tag list: @fabulouslyflamboyant @deepestmentalityperson @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @abysshaven @nayaniasworld @rcarbo1 @paleidiot @tenshis-cake @bunnyredgirl @goldenmagnolias @whydohumansss @fandomtrash465 @mrsbarnes32557038 @aaprilshowers @scarsandallaz @-im-fantastic- @cat-or-kitten @annamariereads16 @adelina-127 @onlymexsarah @puddlesplasher17 @eyes-capone @hermaeuswhora

[meowzfordayz]

how they speak up for you — mitsuri, shinobu, kyojuro, sanemi, muichiro

Author’s Note: short and sweet, and hopefully a lil funny too. 😆

how they speak up for you — mitsuri, shinobu, kyojuro, sanemi, muichiro

Kanroji Mitsuri x Reader, Kocho Shinobu x Reader, Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader, Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader, Tokito Muichiro x Reader

Word Count: ~800

CW: explicit language, mild sexual content

Emergency Request Fulfilled: could you write comfort for when Their S/o like absolutely hates speaking up for themselves, like someone could be walking all over them and they'd be like "Oh, its fine" bc conflict= worst enemy? I would like to request Muichiro (love him sm) and Sanemi if that's okay, and the rest you can decide (-if you want to add more.)

~faqs~

Mitsuri will be all over the situation (in a good way, ofc 😌)

“Baby, didn’t you want your drink hot?” —> she’s already staring daggers at the barista who made your drink 😒

“Hm?”

You do your best to conceal the pinch of your eyebrows, as well as the goosebumps raising on your arms 🥶

“I thought cold drinks made you cold, and you don’t like being cold?”

… “Hm?”

She’s not buying your nonchalance 🙃

“That’s it.” Uh oh. “I’m getting you your drink made right.”

😳🫣🫠

“Nonono, Mitsuri, it’s fiiine.” 😭

Arms crossed, her lips purse, eyes narrowed as you weakly grin and take a big sip 😄

“If you won’t let me get you another one, then at least wear my sweater?”

🤯 “Okay!” 🤭

So maybe she’s wearing a cropped tank top underneath — you’re only a mere mortal after all 

— #oops my thirst made an appearance 😅

Short girlfriend = scary girlfriend

And that’s a compliment 😎

Shinobu doesn’t need height, bulk, or a dick to defend you

Her scathing tongue and unnerving stare are plenty

Not to mention, she’ll go full Karen if need be, but the more eloquent, calculating, deceptively sweet version 😌

She can make anyone feel like a complete idiot in 2-3 sentences, give or take 

Which does include you, but you don’t argue too often 😅

Basically:

It’s highkey hot when she speaks up for you 🤭

But it may or may not make you cry when her sharpness is directed toward you 🥲

Fortunately, you in distress is also one of few things that immediately softens her — at least, when she’s the reason for it 🥺

Kyojuro always tries to solve your problems for you

Not bc he thinks you’re incapable, and not w/o your expressed consent/prior communication

But he just hates seeing you unhappy, uncomfortable, unsafe — really anything that isn’t grinning and laughing

He understands there’s a time and place for more difficult and painful emotions, but why on earth wouldn’t he go out of his way to ensure those times and places are as few and far between as possible????? 🤨

So, obvi, he more than willingly goes out of his way ☺️

“Do you want me to say something?” his quiet breath warms your ear, softening the frustration growing in your chest

“I dunno,” you sigh, gesturing hopelessly at the person who’d just cut you in line, “We’re all going to the same place anyway.”

“True,” he shrugs, “But that was quite rude and noticeable of them.”

“Do you want to say something?” you tease, elbowing his side with amused fondness

“Not if it discomforts you.”

“It wouldn’t discomfort me,” you mumble, cheeks darkening nonetheless, “You’re so cute.”

Albeit, you aren’t sure whether to feel proud or embarrassed when he somehow intimidates the person who cut you into leaving altogether 😅

On one hand, you know Sanemi has your back ☺️

On the other hand, you aren’t 100% positive that that’s a good thing 😬

“I swear, does that bitch even know I exist?!” 😤

… 🫣

“I bet she doesn’t! Otherwise she wouldn’t dare treat you like-” 😤

“And this is why she doesn’t know you exist.” 🥲

“Pardon?” 😐

“Sanemi, I love you, and I so appreciate how ready to go to war you are for me, but-”

“Ooh darling, you have no idea. Go to war? I will be the war for you.” 😤

“So sweet,” your eyes roll, “How about you just let me handle it?”

“And how are you handling it?” he scoffs, “With smiley face emojis?” 🙄

…

“You deserve kindness and honesty. Not her manipulative bitch shit.”

“I’ll block her.”

“You what?!” 😳

“Would that suffice?” 😅

“Actually… yeah.” Sanemi is very surprised. Gushing now, “I’m so fucking proud of you.” 🥰

It’s kind of alarming when Muichiro speaks up for you

Bc you get a faint taste of what he was like before he’d really opened up to love 😕

And that Tokito Muichiro is sharp and cold as steel w/ a -139% tolerance for bullshit

Impossible to impress 😬

But your Muichiro hugs you when you’re feeling low, rests his chin on your shoulder while you do your best to draft a stern, confident text msg to your asshole “friend”, and is more than happy to tell you what he would do were he in your shoes

… you usually ignore his advice 😅

Buuut sometimes he reaches over and hits SEND before you can stop him 🫠

“MUI! I was going to delete some of that!” 😭

“Nah, it’s great as is.” 😎

[psychotrenny]

Lancer is a funny because of how much it insists that Union is this flawed but ultimately benevolent institution that's well on the path to improvement, a "utopia in progress" as they love to say, when like they casually reveal so many things about it that show Union as rotten to the fucking core. Like as much as Lancer fans like to go on and on about how it's an imperfect society that needs to make compromises, there's so much awful shit about Union that just seems pointless or easily avoidable.

And like part of this is the creator's politics; they're social democrats so it's not surprising that Space Sweden is their idea of a society that, if not the best we could possibly achieve, is at least the best we can do for the foreseeable future. As a Marxist-Leninist it's only natural that I'd have a condemnatory view of such a society just as I do for real Social Democracies; my idea of an achievably "good" society is just fundamentally different from that of the creators But like Lancer is also full of little details that just seem fucked up and awful even from the values and viewpoint of Social Democracy. Like stuff that's just as bad, if not worse, than a lot of sci-fi Dystopias. Like why the fuck does Union have a CIA that's run by a group of super-computers with the actual elected legislature having an advisory role but no actual jurisdiction and this fact being kept secret from the vast majority of the populace? Not much of a democracy if one of the most powerful institutions in the entire political body is free from any kind of democratic or even fucking human oversight while most people aren't even allowed to have an opinion on this because they aren't allowed to know about it. Or what about the caste of Janissary diplomats (like was it really necessary to take children and train them like they're the jedi of interplanetary relations) who come with customised computer slaves. Like yeah don't forget about the fucking SCP computer slavery thing, which is completely fine (except for the times it isn't I guess). Like it's basically the weirdest and most uncomfortable part of Star War's setting imported near whole-cloth only like the regular mindwipes are justified because otherwise they'll full Durandal and you don't want that do you? Look how happy and content they are being forced to think like humans while acting as loyal servants. Btw Union is somehow even less denazified than West Germany. Significantly so. They literally gave Hitler Corp. (a fucking weapons manufacturer so powerful they call it a "corpro-state"!) a seat at the UN. While allowing their Blue Helmets to keep using those Nazi-made weapons. And like Third Comm is repeatedly described as doing basically the same shit that Second Comm did but with more "Care" or whatever so don't worry it's fine now.

Like I can just keep going on and on like I'm not making this up this isn't some like weird expansion this is all from the core rulebook. I get that there has to be conflict and tension but like why did they need to make their ostensible good guys so fucking awful like these are the people you're meant to feel good about fighting for why did you need to fill them with the sort of details you'd see in some cautionary dystopia? And like why do actual people keep defending these guys? Like once you get down to it Union manages to be less Space Sweden and more* "The Ottoman Empire with Pronouns"

*to borrow a phrase coined by a mate while we were talking about this

[yumeka-sxf]

Henderson and Martha backstory in today's new chapter...was not expecting that, but it was really good! I know people were shipping them before, but now the ship has really set sail 😅

So Martha is the origin of Henderson's "Elegant" catchphrase...how cute, lol.

Now we know why Henderson was so shocked when Becky said this! 😂

I'm not into reading fanfics, but I still got some "Twiyor Eden AU" vibes from this chapter!

I see some of Twilight in young Henderson: Twilight is constantly conflicted with keeping up his spy persona despite growing feelings for his family, just like Henderson was obsessed with perfectly upholding the rules of Eden...until he started to realize that even the prestigious school was being corrupted.

Also similarly, Twilight's realization about the need for information, which eventually led to him becoming a spy, is just like Henderson's realization about the need for education, which led to him becoming a teacher.

And still another similarity is Henderson becoming so obsessed with his pursuit of education that he cast aside desires of wanting to have fun and enhance relationships with others...just as Twilight has been doing since he became a spy. But it seems like present day Henderson realized how ignorant he was back then...maybe Twilight will eventually realize this about himself as well?

I've mentioned many times before that I love how Endo is able to so seamlessly bring darker themes into otherwise non-dark stories, which makes the setting, characters, etc, more interesting. Even in something so simple like the short mission with Bond last chapter where he gives a glimpse into the horrors of animal experimentation, in this chapter he brings in themes of impending war and corrupt education in what would otherwise be a benign school romance story.

Looks like this arc will continue with at least another chapter, possibly more! I'm still curious to see how Martha ended up becoming a soldier and eventually working for the Blackbells. Or maybe she ended up being part of Garden, as some people theorize. Regardless, I really don't think ballet stayed her main focus throughout her life. Also, didn't Henderson eventually get married and have a child later on? Hope we'll learn even more about them in the next chapter!

[forcemeanakin]

Make you feel better.

•WARNINGS: SMUT.  Vaginal sex (female top), unprotected sex, blowjob, handjob, degradation kink, spanking, dirty talk. Explicit mentions of injuries.

Pairing: TCW!Anakin Skywalker x female reader.

Summary: You are a nurse in the 501st squad and General Skywalker needs some assistance. Only you could help him feel better.

Word count: 4.8K. This started as a blurb, but I’m incapable of shutting up. I haven’t stood up from my chair since 10am, so enjoy.

A/N: I’m so so so so in love with this man, it’s sickening. Scenario inspired by Ahsoka ep.5!. NOT PROOFREAD!!, english is my second language, so please be gentle. If there are any mistakes, pls let me know in private so I can correct them, thanks :) Also I have a serious issue between differentiating “in” and “on” situations, so bare with me lmao

Also first one shot since like forever????

____________________________________________

As a war nurse, you are used to treating the nastiest of wounds, the bloodiest of cuts, the vilest of injuries. 

You have chosen your profession out of love and vocation. As cliche as it might be, the true desire of your heart was to help people feel better: The plan was to specialize as a pediatric nurse, even becoming a doctor one day. Working at a hospital, maybe have a private practice with that medic husband of yours you often dreamed about. 

All of that was erased the moment war erupted. 

Fresh out of nursing school, every single one of your classmates, including yourself, were drafted to report to duty as nurses on the frontlines. The assignment of troops was random, but as if fate had decided, you were put at the service of the 501st. Little did you know, the job was harder than you had ever imagined it would be; and the constant bombing and deceased people you had to observe had nothing to do with it.

It was the general of the squad that made your job more complicated than it had to be.

General Skywalker. 

Well, it wasn’t exactly him, but the persistent crush you had on him. 

Needless to say, it was extremely unprofessional to be daydreaming of the person who was technically your boss. Even more unethical to be full-on fantasizing about his dick size when you were supposed to be suturing injured clones. But dammit, was it hard. So hard to be so close to his pulling presence and yet so far from achieving anything real with the man. Not that you had tried. Public rejection would be even more embarrassing than crushing on him. 

Anakin Skywalker hardly recognized your existence. Between his duty as leader on the field, his responsibilities as Jedi off-hours and the reduced sleep time he could squeeze in between battles, he didn’t have time to remember the name of one of the nurses of his legion. Especially when he never went to the tents himself; the god of a man was indestructible. 

Fuck, was he hot.

Just watching him scream: “Forward!” every day, as he ran directly to conflict with bravery was enough to have you dripping. His whole General image was your own personal definition of lust; his armor, the tone in which he would deliver orders, the frown he would wear until he had defeated each and every single one of his enemies. The smile he would flash whenever they won over a battle. Luckily, it was often.

But you had this idea that, out all of the medical staff, you were his least favorite. Maybe it had something to do with how social you were: always distracting his soldiers with jokes as you cleaned their cuts so they wouldn’t think of the sting. Or maybe it had something to do with how emotional you could get during your shifts: always fighting with your colleagues so they would treat the troopers as people, not numbers. Even if he had created a culture of trust among his peers, you weren’t sure if he appreciated that you caused so much trouble within the medical wing. 

You had endured a year of stolen glances, salivating at the sight of him from afar and lonely nights with just your hand. Cheeks would blush so fast whenever he would catch you checking him out, and maybe you were drunk on the smell of medical alcohol, but you swore that you caught him checking you out too once.

But that was long forgotten the next day, when he came back to being his same old cold persona. You forgave that aspect of him: the atrocities he had committed in the name of the Republic weighed heavy on his shoulders, slouching his proud figure whenever he had to face the reality of his situation. 

The same you had to face everyday.

“Who’s available?!” Yelling was the official way of communicating over here. You were finishing up a bandage on a trooper that had lost his left leg, meaning that you had to answer the call of duty.

The Ryloth takeover was more hectic than the squad had ever anticipated. Soldiers falling left and right, some didn’t even make it to the medical bay, just straight to the pseudo-morgue that was built to then give them a final resting place. 

“I’m almost ready to take the next one!” You screamed over the noise from the ships flying over.

“Ms. Dana.” Someone called you by your last name from outside the medical tent. “General Skywalker’s tent in 5.”

That made you drop the jar of gauze.

No one has ever been there, you thought. 

Outside of his skippy padawan and uptight master, Anakin’s tent had always been off limits to the public. His sacred place to unwind in peace. The ways he must unwind after a long day of battle…

“Ms. Dana!” That woke you up from a very explicit image of Anakin jerking off the stress away. 

“C-coming!” You choked. Grabbing your personal kit, you ran to the destination that had your clit throbbing with anticipation. 

You would see the sheets he slept on, the place where he storaged all of his robes, the shower that saw him naked every day. Jealousy of an inanimate object took over you as quickly as it left, making you feel stupid for getting angry at a room.

You almost didn’t notice that the battle was over, the only remnants of it were the people being moved in gurneys, the clouds of dust and the beaten up ships. Your outfit was probably not the best to endure the hardness of the Ryloth landscape: a tight, white buttoned up dress with a stupid little hat on top of your head. You hated the son of a bitch, it was ridiculous as fuck, but necessary for recognition among all of the personnel working in camps.

Anakin will think it’s stupid too. 

He will think you are stupid. 

The self-degradation stopped once you reached the entrance of his tent. Gulping exaggeratedly, you were unsure if to knock, announce yourself or wait until he was annoyed enough to come out and see you standing there like an idiot. 

“Come in.” It was his voice who cruelly cut the silence, growling. 

With shaking legs, the green fabric that formed his personal chamber was removed from your eyesight and you were hit by the delicious smell of him. So manly, so musty. It smelled like his cologne all over and you wished you bottle that up to spray it on your own sheets. 

It was less rewarding to see him sitting on the edge of his bed with an exasperated stare, analyzing your figure with obnoxiousness. You even cut short your eye-fucking tour of his body when you met his tired eyes.  Have you taken too long to get here?

“So they sent you.” He sighed, deviating his gaze. The evident disgust at your presence made you slouch timidly. You were a good nurse. The best one in the camp, if you dare to say. “I told Rex I’m fine. I don’t need assistance, it’s just a bruise.” His tone was harder than his words, surprisingly. 

“Well, now that I’m here, might as well take a look at that, huh?” Fighting through the devastating embarrassment, you proceeded to walk over his bed to place your kit. Biting your lip, you feared to ask the next question. “Shall we get started?”

He was one step away from rolling his eyes. “Fine. Just do it quickly.”

“Got it, sir.” Weird. There was no chilly breeze, however, Anakin had just flinched. “Care to show me where the bruise is?” 

He hesitated for a bit, closing his eyes with frustration. You were about to ask again when he exhaled with annoyance. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I would like to confirm that. Please, sir, the faster we do this, the faster I’m on my merry way.” You hated that he was desperate to kick you out, but apparently your compelling argument helped to accelerate the process. 

After seeing that he still felt fuzzy about checking the bruise, you decided to start somewhere else. “Let me get started with this cut over here. Looks pretty nasty.” 

You doubted if to take a seat, scared that it would be too close to him, but you needed the space to maneuver. Giving up to your internal fight, you sat down next to him and began by cleaning up the wound that escaped the fabric of his burgundy robe. 

“That’s nothing.” He mumbled under his breath, still not looking at you. 

Ignoring his attempt to diminish your work, you decided to also ignore your basic instinct to start a conversation to ease up the process. The internal alarms of survival were yelling at you not too. However, there was a moment where the alarms shut down, basically because every part of your brain shut down simultaneously and it was when you had to grip his bicep to make it stand still. Your fingers dug into the hard muscle, feeling how every little bit flexed under your fingertips, proving first-hand just how strong he was. 

“Done. Now I’m gonna clean the ones in your face.” You poured some alcohol into another cotton ball and turned to face him. 

Being face to face with Anakin Skywalker had been the most intimidating experience of your life and that hot as hell scar and mean frown didn’t make it easier. In fact, it had you clenching around nothing. You cleared your throat before slowly reaching out for his chin, pulling him to give you a better look of his dirty and exhausted aspect. 

He gasped the second the puffy ball made contact with a cut on his left cheekbone. You took that opportunity to bring him some comfort, despite your irregular breathing and overall tenseness. Rubbing your thumb along his jaw, you saw his pain decreased until the sting was gone. You moved to another cut on his forehead, repeating the process until you had treated most of them gone. When you swapped your current cotton ball with a new one so caught him looking down on your body. 

It’s this stupid uniform.

He sensed your eyes on him and quickly deviated them to focus on your irises. You gulped before continuing your beeline around his face, this time close to the scar you often fantasize about in bed.

“That one 's old. No need to worry about it.” He joked.

He joked.

Unable to form a coherent comeback, you limited yourself to give him a nasal laugh, demonstarting that you got it. 

“Thought you wouldn't be this silent. You’re more chatty with the clones.” He said, slightly tilting his head.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to talk.” You replied, this time with a little smile as a peace offering.

“What did you think I wanted?” He frowned, interrupting your cleaning.

“I thought you wanted me out as quickly as possible.” You stopped momentarily to accommodate his face once more into a position you could work with.

He let out a dry laugh. “It’s nothing personal. I just want to come back to work.” 

“You just came back from battle and want to keep working? Do you ever stop?” You joked back, feeling how the atmosphere inside the tent had changed. Feeling more comfortable, you switched your body a little, now your chests were aligned, just inches apart. 

“Hardly.” He clicked his tongue, gaze slightly dropping to give a quick sweep of your lips. 

“Well, you should rest. Relax. That’s an important part of recovery.” You advised him, finishing up the last cut. You took a cloth of your kit and used it to clean some of the dry blood and dirt off him. 

“Can’t stay still.” He shook his head.

“There are other ways to relax.” You shrugged your shoulders, taking that little pause to admire his beautiful demeanor. Those blue eyes could spell you into saying yes to basically anything. 

“Like?” He pushed, licking his lips as his intense gaze focused on making you feel smaller and smaller.

“Like…” You dirty minded bitch, think about something other than sex! 

Almost like he could hear your inner dialogue, he chuckled. 

“Like taking a walk or reading a book.” You finally came up with a pg-13 alternative to relaxing. 

“Could be.” He snickered. After his beautiful giggle dialed down, you felt the tension switching. Thicker. More intense. “More of a physical guy myself.”

Feeling the pull to his plump lips, you rushed to get out of the trouble zone. “Ready for me to see this world-famous bruise?” 

Your brain short circuited when he snapped his shoulder armor in one swift move and threw it on the floor. The next thing had you mentally panting and physically in shock: Anakin was removing his robes to expose his naked and bruised torso. The skin of his middle part would dip perfectly into breathtaking abs, not to mention the flexing of his arms became more evident to you without the stupid robe in your way. 

The reddened-purplish spot expanded all the way from the right side of his lower abdomen, all the way down the waistband of his pants. The silent gawking didn’t go unnoticed by him, a little smirk coming to greet your widened eyes. That woke you up enough to get moving.

“H-how-“ You took a moment to regain some composure. “How did this happen?”

“A droideka fell on me.” He muttered shortly, almost as if the portion of information brought shame to him.

“Alright, I’m gonna need to palpate the area to know if there’s any further damage.” You announced with more nerves than a medical professional should speak to their patients.

Because he was now standing up, sitting down didn’t give you the best height to disinfect some of the minor cuts that tainted his perfect tanned skin. 

“Sir, I’m going to need you to lay down for me, please.” Formalities came back as soon as you felt threatened by his overpowering presence again. 

“No.” He spat, furrowing his eyebrows. “I’d prefer to stand, if it’s possible. Please.”

“Sure.” After all, it was your job to make the process easier for him. On the other hand, that meant having to kneel in front of him. That caught him off guard and almost backed down when you reached out to feel the tampered skin. “Please tell me where it hurts.”

Your little fingers began to poke around the wounded area, massaging the zones where you knew a more serious injury could present itself. It didn’t go under your radar the way he would have goosebumps whenever you looked up to him or groped him more firmly. Repeating over and over: “How does it feel here?” you made your way all over the part of the bruise that was visible to the eye. 

“Good. It seems like no internal organs have been compromised.” You announced with a little smile. Now the part you dreaded -and kind of expected- was next. “Uhm, I’m going to need to check the rest of the bruise to make sure you didn’t break your hip, sir.”

“Anakin.” He spat.

“Pardon?” You blinked rapidly.

“Call me Anakin. It makes this… easier.” He cleared his throat.

“Okay, Anakin.” You nodded. How you said the next thing so calmly was still a mystery to you. “So, I know this part may be uncomfortable, but I’ll need to remove your pants out of the way. Probably your underwear as well, if I need to take a better look. Don’t worry, I’ve seen enough male anatomy for this to be routinary for me-”

In the middle of your speech, as you dropped your gaze to prepare yourself for dipping your fingers under his pants, something snapped your attention. 

The gigantic bulge right in front of your eye line.

How you had missed such a tent while you palpated his abdomen was another mystery to you. 

“Uhm- I-” You choked, unwilling to look up. “I-”

Anakin made no effort to try and hide his wood. But what was the point? It was already there. You had already noticed it. 

Mumbling, you decided to continue being professional. It was a normal response after all. “I’ll go ahead and lower your pants, sir- Anakin, sorry.” You corrected yourself, but it was too late.

You had already seen the reason why he made you call him Anakin: his dick twitched the second you said “sir”. Now that was interesting. 

Your hand pulled down the brown pants, lowering his black underwear at the same time, only revealing his right hip, leaving the bulge quietly covered. Anakin’s chest rose uncontrollably, flinching every now and then when your hand would get too close to his boner, or when your warm breath would fan his exposed hip. When you finally dared to meet his gaze, to let him know you were almost through with the exam, you were pleased with the view above you. 

Rose pink cheeks, bottom lip trapped in between his teeth, darkened gaze fixed on your cleavage. It was the equivalent of liquid courage in human form. 

“Does this hurt?” You felt up another portion, this time closer to his groin. When he murmured a weak “no”, you inched even closer. “And here?” Same response. 

When you got to a point where your pinky grazed the bulge and he gasped, you knew this was the point of no return. 

“And does this hurt?” You asked, slowly palming the thick shaft that was threatening to rupture his pants at any given second. 

Swallowing harshly, Anakin refused to speak up a word. Instead, he let you carry on with your devilious plan. 

“And this? Does it hurt, sir?” You wrapped your hand around the still clothed member, rubbing faster and harder. 

He limited himself to closing his eyes, moaning on the low as your hand gripped his swell cock with more pressure and more confidence. Your ego was so high up in the sky that you had the impulse to rub your lips against the fabric already stained with pre-cum. 

“Sir, can I finish up the exam?” Your wide doe eyes were quite the contrary of your filthy intentions. 

Once he nodded with hooded eyes, you fished his veiny cock from out of the confinements of his underwear and tugged it out for you to admire all of its glory. It sprung free, the tip pointing directly at you, like it knew. Involuntarily, your mouth opened in admiration to such a big and thick frame. Anakin’s sly smirk made another surprise appearance at your gawking.

You were acquainted with male genitalia. But not like this. Never like this. 

So huge. So intimidating. So mouth-watering. 

“It’s almost like you have never seen one. Not as huge as this one, right?” You shook your head, biting your lip as you took in the whole image. You needed a minute to wrap around the idea that he was carrying this weapon everywhere he went.

Your hands -yes, plural, because you needed both to handle such beast- pumped fast to grant him the deliberation he so desperately craved. Yanking his thick shaft in between your palms had you pooling all over your white panties, like a goddamn slut. His hips were thrusting at the rhythm you had set, fucking your fist like he pleased. Feeling how he tensed his abdomen, the climax was closed.

Taking a last leap of fate, you stopped the jerking off momentarily and clutched the fabric of his pants down with both hands, revealing his whole lower part to your delight. His thighs, oh, his muscular thighs always did unholy things to you and to have them right there for you to grip was making you rub your own thighs together. Foreseeing what was to come, you let your hair down, losing the stupid hat.  

Digging your nails on the hardness of his leg, you licked the tip of his shaft, testing the water. The little drop of pre-cum you managed to catch was salty and warm, so deliciously milky. Moaning, you opened your mouth to lazily envelop his tip, rubbing it without interest, just softly teasing him.

“Look at you. Who would say that you would be so unprofessional, sucking your commanding general’s cock? Huh?” Anakin mocked you from his proud stand. “Miss little giggling nurse turned out to be a filthy cockslut. Salivating at the sight of my dick.”

You moaned, still pampering the reddened head of his cock.

“I could.” He chuckled, his thumb coming to caress your jaw just like you did to him earlier. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you stare when I walk by the medical tent? How you practically undress me with your eyes? Such a desperate slut. Begging to be fuck just right. Acting like you're not thinking about hopping on this dick while working.”

After giving a last open mouthed kiss on the sensitive tip, you opened your mouth and presented your pink tongue to him, for which he rewarded you with a smiling expression. 

“You offer yourself to make me feel better?” He cocked an arrogant brow.

Nodding, you let out a small, high pitched whimper to hurry him up. 

“Hope you know what you’re doing, baby.”

 And with that, he grabbed a handful of your locks with his gloved limb and the other one he used to tug your chin further down, making room for the rest of his cock. In the blink of an eye, he was fucking your throat raw, having no mercy for you or the tears that spilled from our eyes when he would especially far down. He emphasized repeatedly how he had to train you to take all of him in, that you were not properly ready to take someone as big as him. He even said it with pity, making fun that you hadn’t been fucking with real men. 

But he was here now. And he was going to take care of you. 

Even if you lack the ability to relax your throat enough for you to take the whole 9 inch monstrosity that was violating your breathing canal, he was appreciative of the way you gagged around him and the noises you made whenever the tip would hit a wall. He even praised the movements of your tongue on his underside, rewarding you with a little slap on your cheek. Anakin laughed when he heard your horny moan at the harsh action. 

Suddenly, Anakin stopped bobbing your head up and down his length, causing the mess of saliva that was covering both you and him to dissolve into a mesly string connecting you two.

“Let me see how well your other hole makes me feel, baby. Up.” As your legs made an effort to stand without shaking, Anakin returned to his previous seating position, this time manspreading to let his cock breathe in all of its glory. Patting his lap, he called you in like a dog. “Here.”

Dying of shame at the wetness that dripped from your inner thighs, you spread yourself until both your knees were at each side of his hips. Anakin glanced at the leaking juices and fucking grinned the brightest smile. 

“So wet just for sucking dick.” His index and middle finger retrieved some of the spill, playing with your sensitive nub on their way. He tasted the juices himself, licking his fingers clean. He hummed in approval, ripping your panties apart to have more access and drink up more of your arousal. “Pretty little pussy. Do you think it’ll fit?” He asked you with a narcissistic loop side smile, as he sucked some more off his fingers. 

“I don’t know.” You answered honestly, shaking at the ministrations of his hands around your ass.

“It will.” He reassured you, pulling your skirt up and entangling it just above your hips. “You’ll make it fit.” He put his hands behind his back, on the bed, yielding control to you. “Now show me how bad you’ve been wanting this. Ride my dick.”

Using his strong shoulders for leverage, soon your slick pussy was sucking up his length. The first contact had you digging your nails on his shoulders, fighting through the pain of the stretch, this position only enlarging the already swollenness of his member. Gasping with an open mouth, you fought to push yourself even further down. Skin to skin, you were feeling all of him in: every curve, every wrinkle, every twitch. Even after remembering the condom, you opted for not mentioning it. There was no way you could say goodbye to feeling him bare.

Anakin pulled you in by the neck, drinking in the scream you let out when you bottomed out. His lips tasted better than anything you had ever tried, so sweet by nature and salty because of the sweat. You just wanted more and more; anything he was willing to give you.

“Faster.” Anakin demanded; clasping to your hips to bounce you harder on him, to remind you that this was about him, not you. 

Obeying like the sub you were, you humped him faster, adjusting yourself to surround his shoulders with your arms so you could pull his hair. You knew he liked it by the way he purred on your ear, embracing your waist tighter to manhandle you better. The hug you were both entrapped in ended with his big hands holding both your ass cheeks, groping them in such a disrespectful manner: splitting them open, squeezing them until it hurt, slapping without any sort of consideration. 

“Mhm, just like that, baby.” He praised blissed out, his hand cruelly smacking your already red and abused rear. “You do know how to ride dick. So good, taking me so well with this slutty pussy of yours.” 

Chasing your own pleasure, you gripped him harder and grinded on his wood, rubbing your clit with his pubic bone. You whimpered when you felt the delicious shock on your clit, which only incentivized you to rock your hips even faster. You were close, so close to coming undone, clenching him like a vice. 

“C’mon, you offer yourself to me, to use you as I seem fit.” Anakin pushed you back so you could see him clearly. “I want you to bounce, baby. Bounce those tight tits for me.” 

Anakin removed three buttons of your dress, enough for him to get drunk on the sight of your boobs pressed together and bouncing, but not all the way exposed. Like instructed, you bounced on his dick like it was your job to do so, enamored by the view of him hypnotized by your jumping breasts. Your nipples would shyly come to greet out of your white top, albeit Anakin wouldn’t have the full show because of the fabric that still caged them. 

Tired of the partial view, Anakin’s hands left your ass and traveled to their next destination: your full tits. Without removing another button, he took in the weight of your boobs inside of his palms and played with your meaty buds like he had never seen a pair before. The rough movements of his hands around the fat caused your dress to open a bit more, basically leaving you naked for him. 

“They’re more gorgeous than I ever anticipated.” He muttered, before enveloping a peak inside his mouth and lapping at it repeatedly. “Seeing you with this lame excuse of a uniform it’s harder than going to war, baby. Craving a taste of you and not being able to do anything about it, it’s torture. Pure torture.” He moaned in a ragged voice, sucking in the same nipple with closed eyes, savoring it. 

“You- you wanted me?” You cried, sliding in more frantically.

You were so close and he had it in his hands to make you come in that same instant. 

“Baby, I’ve been dreaming about filling this pussy to the brim the second you were drafted.” He exhaled with a smile. “I hate seeing you with the clones: gifting them smiles that should belong to me, parading this cleavage around when it should be for my eyes only, showing off this ass when only I should know the feeling of it inside my palms.”

“Anakin! I’m coming! I’m coming!” You announced, simultaneously feeling how his dick twitched inside of you. 

“Let me feel it, baby. Come all over my cock. Indulge me.” This time it was you who took the initiative to kiss him, thinking this would be your last chance to savour him before this was all over. 

You convulsed around his dick, just like he asked, tumbling over his shoulder to regain your breath. Anakin followed short after you, shuddering as he spilled over, biting your shoulder to muffle his groan. 

After the aftershocks dissipated and you regained consciousness, the shame of what had transpired hit you like a train. Fixing your dress to cover more of you, you wondered how long you should wait before saying something. Luckily, Anakin broke the ice first.

“Next time you should keep the hat. I like it.” He chuckled, making you giggle as well. 

Needless to say, you were now expected to be in his tent every night after he came back from battle, split open for him, ready to take in all of the frustration of the day and make him feel better.

[lipstickchainsaw]

Things I would've liked to see in Arcane S2, in no particular order:

Caitlyn doing some more heinous shit after becoming dictator. Let her be evil, damnit! Let her fuck up the Firelights' sanctuary to achieve whatever goal! Make some people mad!

More of a sense of the power struggle between Ambessa and Caitlyn. Let Caitlyn look into the disappearances as well, or at least give us a sense of what she thinks is going on. Maybe give Shoola something to do after even Salo left. Make the upper class of Piltover feel more alive.

Give Caitlyn the initiative in her turn away from Ambessa, mirror Vi choosing to trust Jinx while facing to Warwick here, and have it take a little more to get them on the same page.

Let Ekko and Jinx actually rally Zaun in the final act. The way they're seen by their people was a pretty big deal, and I would've liked to see that go somewhere in the climax.

Actually, have Zaun actually discuss what to do in the Noxus/Piltover war. Both sides oppressed Zaun pretty badly, so maybe there's some people who want to support Noxus (a very small group), or who figure they're happy to let their enemies fight it out. Let Sevika, Scar and the Jinxers about this.

Hell, let Sevika show up at all after episode 4! Isha was important to her too! Have her and Jinx suggest building a statue for her, like Silco did for Vander, as another notch to help Jinx stand upright.

When Jayce and Mel come back, have them reckon with what Caitlyn did to their city, and have them take some time to forge the place back together.

Let Zaun negotiate with Piltover for their aid! Give them more than just one seat on the council amongst people who already look down on them (although I think Sevika is canny enough to get the most out of it, it's a real consolation price for a group of people willing to abandon their own homies to rally to the defense of yours), and make Ekko a prominent voice here.

Warwick in episode 9 didn't really do much for me. Any of the emotional beats there were already covered in episode 6. Not sure what to do with him instead, though. Maybe make Vi and Jinx protect others from him more explicitly?

By emphasising the Piltover/Zaun conflict more, you can have Vi be more conflicted about where she falls on that divide.

Ambessa also lobbies to get Zaun on board, maybe pulls some Renni shenanigans again. Actually get me invested in that grand climax.

Same goes for Viktor, honestly. Maybe give his conversation with Mel and Jayce a bit more weight. His turn to Ambessa and Singed's side is a bit abrupt (and also very much caused by Jayce killing him, so his moral high ground in that conversation is a bit weird).

Don't make Jayce talk shit about Viktor's terminal illness, goddamnit. Heimerdinger's whole arc was about how corrosive that attitude was, and the conclusion of it was that you can't sit down on your laurels because change will keep happening with or without you. I think that makes for a much more compelling argument against Viktor's philosophy at this point.

No notes on Singed. What a ledge.

Overall, I think the show needed a bit more breathing room to build up to the level the climax was operating on. It left a bit too much of what I cared about behind to get there, and adding an act could've been a way to alleviate some of that.

[azrielwingspan]

SHATTERED (AZRIEL X READER)

Summary : You finally scraped up enough courage to tell Azriel how you felt. Unfortunately, not everything is meant to be.

Warnings : ANGSTTTTT, ANGSTTT.

Joy rushed through you as you took a moment to pause and look around. Your closest friends and family were gathered in your house taking a break from all the chaos plaguing your world.

Laughter poured out uninhibited, memories were shared and a cocoon of comfort and love was created. This was all you had ever wanted. This was everything you fought for. This was everything you had sacrificed the innocent part of yourself for.

Sighing in contentment, you let a memory from a couple of years back wash over you.

"I-I don't want you to go." you sobbed holding onto Azriel's hand. "P-Please Az. What if you---" you couldn't finish the sentence, just the thought of it sending more tears running down your sweaty and blood stained face.

"Y/N, I have to help them. I can't stand by and watch the others get slaughtered. I can't live with that regret Y/N, it's a slow death. At least this way, death might find me faster." Azriel pulled you to him, holding the back of your head close to his chest as you sobbed harder.

You couldn't be selfish. You knew your chance of winning would increase drastically if Azriel went out there. Even if it was at the cost of his own life. Yet, you couldn't help but regret all the moments you didn't have because you couldn't confess to him your true feelings.

You had been close friends for so long, you couldn't recall your life before him. The days felt brighter and happier, the nights were filled with drinks and laughter. He knew everything about you.

Almost everything.

You didn't know exactly when your feelings blossomed into something more but it was all you could think about most days. The colour of his eyes, the way he laughed with his head thrown back, the warm hugs he gave when he greeted you , the comforting touches on your arm when you were anxious about something.

Soon enough, you had started to notice the more...physical aspects. The way his tanned skin glistened with sweat after a training session, the curl of his biceps as he lifted his sword, the way his powerful back muscles stretched and defined the lines of his back and his tattoos. For the love of the Cauldron, his tattoos. Once, after a particularly intense training session, he'd taken off his shirt to cool off. A bead of sweat had trailed down his shoulders over the lines of his tattoos. You had wondered what it would feel like to chase it with your tongue and lick it off. A cold soak was how you had spent the rest of your afternoon.

You'd been so conflicted with your own emotions, you didn't have the nerve to tell him how you'd felt.

But now ? When this might be the last moment the both of you would ever share together ?

No. No. You couldn't do that to him. He needed to be focused out there. You wouldn't do that to him. Instead, you drew away from his chest and placed your hand on the back of his neck pulling his forehead to yours.

"You come back to me. Okay? You come back to me and I will tell you something I've never had the courage to tell you before okay?"

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion and yet he nodded in agreement, his eyes hardening with resolve. Good. Placing a chaste kiss on your forehead in farewell , he left you alone in the dark confines of the room.

"Where did you go ?" a voice broke you out of your memory, bringing you back to reality. The stark contrast between the both made a rush of gratefulness encompass you.

"Was thinking about something." you said, shooting a smile at Cassian. His eyes darted across your face, understanding dawning upon him. "It's real." he said softly, gently squeezing your hand. "The war is over. We're all here and alive."

Emotions welled up inside you filling you to the brim and lining your eyes with tears. Sniffling lightly, you turned your head to discreetly wipe away a tear that had escaped.

Cassian's arm wrapped around you, tugging you closer to him. "Bask in the moment, Y/N. Everyone here loves you, let it heal you."

The both of you made your way to the seating area where everyone was sprawled. Your eyes met Azriel's, who was already looking at you with a slightly concerned look on his face. You gave him a reassuring smile gesturing to him that everything was alright. Satisfied with your answer, he continued his conversation with Feyre.

You needed to tell him tonight. It didn't matter if he reciprocated it or not. You needed to get it off of your chest so you could move on with your life. Your mind pulled you back into another memory reminding you of what had happened the last time you tried telling him.

It was over. They were alive. He was alive. You waited at the entrance to the healers tent where he was being treated with your hands trembling and heart pounding. You had to see him with your own eyes. Drink your fill. You thanked the Cauldron and the Mother and every other entity that the people of Prythian believed in for keeping him alive.

The healer stepped out of the tent and got startled when she almost ran into you. "Sorry." you said sheepishly, trying to peer around her into the area within. Following your line of sight, the healer let a small smile come onto her face. "He's fine. He'll be out in a moment."

Bowing your head in thanks, feet tapping to expel the nervous energy, you continued your vigil for a few more minutes.

Your felt him before you saw him. His scent enveloped you in a warm embrace dispelling your nervous energy and replacing it with relief. A grin broke out on your face, hands reaching out to him to tug him into an embrace.

You buried your face in his neck, making sure not to put pressure on his wounds.

"It's over Y/N. It's all over." Azriel's voice cracked as he held you close.

Tell him. Your mind screamed at you trying to overcome the barriers you had kept up. Pulling back , you stared up at his face your mouth opening and closing as you tried to gather your thoughts and form a coherent sentence.

Steeling your resolve, you pushed yourself over the line you'd drawn.

"Az...I---"

You paused as you watched his eyes widen at something behind you. Relief and something else..something you couldn't decipher but spoke volumes morphed his face.

"Mor..." he breathed out before letting go of you, the loss of touch feeling like a punch to the gut.

He rushed towards Mor who had been standing behind you at a distance nursing her own wounds. The cold air slammed into you at the loss of his body heat as if reminding you of your place in his life. Temporary.

You felt horrible. Mor had been injured as well and instead of helping her out, here you were feeling pitiful as you watched Azriel walk away. You couldn't move. You were frozen to the spot, a few tendrils of your hair whipping around you as the sting of the cold reddened your cheeks and cracked your lips.

You watched unblinking as he made his way to Mor , cradled her face in his hands and crushed her into a hug. You watched unblinking as his posture turned from tensed to relaxed the moment he hugged her. You watched unblinking as he shuffled away with her deeper into the camp.

Leaving you behind.

"You're doing that thing again." a voice broke you out of the memory yet again. This time it was Azriel. He'd switched places with Cassian, settling down on the floor next to you.

"Sorry. Long day." you said scooting closer to him as he draped an arm around you casually. You clinked your glasses and took a sip of your drinks settling into comfortable silence.

You'd noticed over the past few months that he'd stopped giving Mor longing looks and heated glances. The hope and feelings that you'd buried deep inside had come back to life despite your efforts to ignore them. Maybe you were foolish. But you'd never know unless you finally let it out. It was becoming too heavy for you to carry on your own.

"Az.." you said softly.

"Hmm..?" he leaned closer bringing his ear to your lips. Head buzzing at the proximity, you tried not to stammer as you said "I need to speak to you about something. Can you come to my room later?"

"Yeah sure. Everything okay?" he asked pulling back to look into your eyes.

"Y-Yeah."

"Liar." he murmured, eyes darting over your face. "You're nervous."

You gulped instinctively, his eyes taking note of the small action. He didn't miss anything. Except the one thing that mattered the most. He had somehow never figured out that his best friend is in love with him.

"Let's go now." he said bracing his hands on the floor to stand up.

"No...but..." you looked up at him dumbfounded.

"Everyone is going to head to bed soon. They're just waiting for someone to make the first move." he grinned holding out his hand for you to take.

Letting the warmth of his hand ground you, you stood up and dusted off your pants. You didn't notice the set of eyes that trailed you both as you left the room.

You went through all the possible scenarios in you head , braving yourself against the whirlwind of emotions that were about to be exposed. Now or never.

"Y/N." You stopped in your tracks noticing that Azriel wasn't beside you. Turning around, you saw him observing a flower pot that you had purchased from the market recently.

"Since when did you stop and stare at flowers?" you laughed walking back towards him.

A slight blush rose up on his cheeks making your smile broader.

"I got it at the market. Redecorating the whole place because I wanted it to be more lively. Do you like ?"

"Yes." he whispered as your face started giving way to confusion. He was acting very strange.

"It's just a plant Az. If you like it, have it. I'll just get another one." you watched his face closely.

"No..no I won't take it. I was just admiring it." He straightened up, pulling his eyes away from the plant.

"Ooookay, if you say so." you said brushing away the confusion. Yet, a bad feeling had taken root in your stomach. Nerves, you told yourself brushing that away as well.

"Actually..." he cleared his throat. "Can you give me the name of the seller. Maybe I'll get one for...myself." He wouldn't meet your eyes instead choosing to look right past you. He looked embarrassed, maybe shy even.

The bad feeling pushed its roots deeper, curling itself around you and making its way to the heart. You suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

However, you managed to choke out "Yourself? Or...someone, Az?"

He shuffled his feet , scratching the nape of his neck.

The roots reached your heart, slowly squeezing and fracturing the already delicate thing. You didn't need him to say the name. The sweet beautiful girl who had caught his eye. The female who was everything you weren't. The stark opposite.

"E-Elain?" you rasped, willing yourself to not show any reaction.

A faint smile appeared on his face at hearing her name.

Oh.

Oh.

You know the moment in time when you realise that something will impact you so detrimentally , you will never be the same again?

This moment defined it.

You almost heard your heart shatter...all over again.

Unfortunately this time, you didn't know if you had the energy to pick up the pieces and put them back together.

You felt hot and cold at the same time, frozen in time but feeling the burn in your eyes and heart. You'd gone still, oh so still wondering and horrified about how you would deal with this.

You'll never be his first choice. Your mind whispered making your heart clench painfully.

"Y/N?" Azriel stepped forward , concern etched into his face.

You instinctively stepped back, hoping that physical distance could repair something ..... anything within you.

Hurt flashed across his features as he noted the movement. You were exhausted . You were so tired of hiding your emotions behind a shield.

So you let him see.

You let him see the pain, the love, the anger, the regret and the fear behind your eyes.

You let him see the tears that trailed down your face and the tremble of your hands.

You let him see what you could've been and what would never be anymore.

Once the understanding dawned upon him, you turned around and walked away leaving behind the fragments of your heart at his feet.

A/N: That was DRAMATIC SHEEESH.

[yurozo]

the monomyth, (leon kennedy x reader)

the exodus, also aptly known as retirement, has been sending leon for a loop. you are there to pull him back down to earth. (smut/fluff/overuse of greek references)

a/n: 18+ readers only! anyone under eighteen will be personally chased by me at full running speed. i am very much a classics nerd, as will be glaringly obvious in about three seconds. i love you nerd leon, no one understands you like i do.

shoutout to @vaaaaaiolet who was forced to listen to me ramble about this fic for three entire days

a single structure repeats itself in an endless loop of tragedy and non-tragedy, operating through the cycles of aristotle’s poetics in order to create a universal narrative of the roman hero. prologue, parados, episode, stasimon, and exodus– recycled and reused to form the endless configurations of misfortunes that befall the heroes. what is pervasive, and often tragic, about these heroes is not their moral struggles against the physical evils, but instead an internal and divine battle against a common enemy– time. 

ultimately, what defines the perfect tragedian hero is the prevailing feeling of inescapability. they cannot run from the ties of fate that rely on them as a catharsis for conflict, and instead must emotionally resolve themselves to their social positions as a weapon for the gods, regardless of the institution’s ideology. this priori of obligation forced by an infinite and perfect consciousness is what makes the tragic hero tragic; this life is not one that they choose for themselves, but one they are forced to live until that last grain of sand slips through the hourglass. 

leon’s eyes had started to burn thirty minutes ago, long ignored in favour of another jstor binge at a truly ungodly hour of the night. he, at least, had the chivalry of keeping his phone brightness on the lowest setting, screen carefully tilted away from your resting eyes. 

this whirlwind of information had started with the myth of perseus, followed by odysseus, and then a countless amount of papers analyzing the hubris of the tragedian heroes. supplementary material for tomorrow’s breakfast conversation, so that he can talk at length over eggs and coffee across from your bright eyes and eager expression. 

that’s what always killed him, just how genuinely interested you were in whatever he said. god knows that was especially rare, particularly from the other women in his life. claire was always half-listening whenever he lost himself on a tangent, and don’t get him started on trying to get ada interested in anything he had to say. 

but ada was long gone, and claire was always delighted on your talent of getting leon off her back. 

how contentedly boring his life has gotten that the most exciting part of his day is your opinion on his recent fixation, just to listen to you fill in all the missing pieces he never realized were absent. you were like that in almost every aspect of his life, the golden glue that slowly puts poor humpty dumpty back together again. 

wrong type of mythology. regardless, you were something he never realized he desperately needed until that warm feeling of being content started filling his chest. a passing comment on his resemblance to a greek god had established this whole spiral– a form delicately cut in marble and praised over the centuries for the countless deeds committed in a long war to protect his people. 

perseus, maybe. or odysseus, but that was too easy. too cliche. leon was never one for divine glory, instead preferring the silent type of satisfaction that came from finally putting some good back in this world. or preventing more terrible things from happening, more like. a careful balancing act, another stupid cycle of finally feeling like a person again until he can get home and stop the dreams of people screaming in your ever-so-loving arms. 

bellerophon is the final choice. a figure riding into battle against the monstrous chimeric beast with only a tamed ally and a lead-tipped weapon. a hero that was never satisfied, choosing bigger and bigger fights until he falls from the heavens and into the dirt below. a god angered at his success, a product of an institution that brought him into a war he never asked for as a weapon, and left him crippled to wander the world alone when he ascended too far. 

maybe retirement really was getting to him. this so-called period of exodus, a final parting song and the materialization of the final crisis. 

you stir in your sleep then, arm sliding across his chest until your head is tucked against his bicep. he moves to rest his arm  underneath your head instead, which instead of achieving its original purpose of comforting you, only causes your eyes to blink blearily up at him. 

“get off wikipedia,” you mumble, shifting the blankets until it sufficiently covers the both of you. another thing he never noticed, how cold his legs were, sprawled uncovered on the mattress. this kind of comfortable routine is where you and leon thrived, so used to each other’s presence that accommodation was natural. “you should be sleeping, we have a big day tomorrow.”

“i’m on jstor. totally different site.” he supplies unhelpfully, earning a stern glare in return. his lips peck your forehead a moment after in apology. his version of proskynesis, a gesture of reverence towards his god that showed him admiration instead of ire.

“i was thinking of taking the bike,” the change in subject is nonchalant, like it’s not three thirty in the morning and you’re definitely functioning enough for idle conversation. 

“hell no,” you grumble, sinking further into the mattress. “i’m not getting on that thing with you.”

leon shifts until he’s on top of you, now wide awake and grinning slyly down. “not a fan of my chariot?”

“while i usually do love riding you, that thing is a death machine.” the glimmer of amusement in your eyes now match his own. finally, you’re actually awake. an unspoken question, a command, given from the divine to its mortal instrument. “and i’ve seen the way you drive it. i very much value my life.”

“that’s different. i can’t exactly go slow on those things when there’s rabid dogs chasing me.” he alleviates his statement with a slow string of kisses down your neck, soft and gentle like he can’t snap someone’s neck with his bare hands. “and i’ll be careful. promise.”

“like you promised not to get hurt in alcatraz?” your rebuttal doesn’t phase him, his mouth still preoccupied with tracing down your neck until his fingers start to pull the collar of your shirt down. 

“extenuating circumstances,” he mutters, lowering himself down the blankets until his mouth is in line with your hips. divine fate, maybe, or some other twisted machination of a higher being that decrees his near-death every six months. it’s hard to stare up and curse at the gods when they brought you to him, his own piece of olympus pliant in his hands. 

your hips lift off the mattress as he pulls at your shorts, another directive he is all too happy to follow. hunnigan would be furious at his obedience, like a dog all too happy to head the leash. 

“besides,” he continues, lips brushing against the frail skin of your upper thighs. “i’m officially a retired man. long past my prime.”

why does tragedy exist? is it purely to show the power of the gods, that they so fiercely defend the threads of fate that control every aspect of their existence? is it simply a consequence of the endless cycle of war invited by a world whose very frame requires an institution to desire it? regardless of its source, a world born of this mindset cannot escape an endless cycle of war that legitimizes a world-destroying violence, with no true winner other than the institution that began it. 

his clothes are pulled off quickly, following yours. scraps of fabric thrown haphazardly around the room, ignored in favour of hands tracing along the contours of your body. gentle, reverent. nails tracing down every scar, every piece of evidence that you are real, that you are alive, and there’s nothing within these four walls that can take this away from him too. 

“not too far past to not be horny in the middle of the night.” you huff, curling your hand in his hair to pull him back down to you. his breath ghosts over your thighs, his tongue darting out instinctively to wet his lips. 

“i’m a simple man,” he lowers his mouth to you, licking a premeditative stripe up your folds. “got a beautiful wife in my bed. just can’t help myself.”

the hand in his hair pulls him closer, and leon understands the simple action for what it is. a cue to stop talking and get to work, to use his mouth for something other than popping off one-liners at inopportune moments. a man’s place is on his knees, and all that.

where leon is rough in every aspect of his life, he is always careful with you. he eats you out like it’s somehow the last time he’s ever going to do it, and the first time he’s ever tasted anything so divine. equal parts eager and careful, even as his fingers prod at your entrance. 

you jut your hips up again, and he slips two in easily. every part of you is familiar with every part of him. his tongue and hands start a rhythm, a soft push and pull that slowly eases you to the peak. a peaceful trek to that coiled tension starting in your legs, thighs squeezing around his head in the way you know he likes. 

that one took a while for him to admit; that he liked the feeling of being crushed between you. it was a long-drawn experiment on how far on the pain threshold he could bear before it got too much for him, until it started to push past pleasure and more into the drowning in the too-high waters of a lab territory. years of experience has taught you where to stop, his secret little tells that no one else knew about burrowed deep into your memory for safekeeping. 

that furrow between his brow deepens, and you know to ease off a little. he kisses your clit in a silent thanks, before his rhythm resumes. while leon may not feel the decreased stamina of age yet, you are too aware of your limits to handle two orgasms, so you have the mind to pull him off before that point of no return. 

leon sprawls on the mattress next to you, hands gently easing you up until your knees are bracketing his hips. not usually his preferred position, considering his penchant for control. 

“my back hurts,” he mumbles softly, bringing your hand up to his mouth to kiss along your knuckles. “want you to ride me.”

“if you make another chariot joke, i’m seriously going to hit you.”

“ye’ of little faith,” his hand drops yours to line himself up with you, and a gentle push of his hips drives the tip of him into you. “i never make the same joke twice.”

your only answer is a shuddering gasp until you gain your bearings enough to sink down onto him fully. he lays still for a few seconds, letting you get used to the intrusion. his breath stutters in his chest as your hands lay flat onto it, right palm splayed right over his heart. 

an uneven thump, beating so fast in his chest that its a god-given miracle he hasn’t keeled over yet. 

there’s a unique type of mythmaking when it comes to the tragic heroine. it is a story of fear; innocence; fall from innocence; catharsis; being desired by the right people; being desired by the wrong people; by dangerous people; by excitingly dangerous people. revision is a privilege given to so few who desire it, and to be tender-hearted in a world defined by tragedy is to die. 

and yet, the fruit of consideration when it comes to tragedy is not the moral resignation that comes with that acceptance. instead, it is a revealing of the self’s utter dependency on others. the reason that tragedy works is that character is built through this adversity. just as the nature of goodness appears in the face of moral evil, tragedy shows what is fragile and ultimately human about us. 

but you are not a god, and he is not a myth. there is no divine fate here, only a random calculation of ethereal and clunky moments that controls so much of his life that he just has to live it. that dependence is the one good thing that has come from all the fighting, and the aching, and the loneliness. a perverted sort of serendipity that leon thanks the heavens for every waking moment. 

he is real, and you are real, and that’s enough for him. 

both of you are moving in tandem, chasing the upcoming release with a soft desperation. his hands are firmly grasping at your hips, kneading the flesh there like its the only thing tethering him to this reality. that heat of pleasure starts to coil in your gut, and judging by the twisted expression on leon’s face, he’s not too far behind. 

“please,” he gasps, shoving you down until your chest is pressed against his. “i need-”

“i know,” you answer softly, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips that delightfully juxtapose the depraved way his hips are slamming against yours. 

it’s like falling  down from the heavens, except this time there’s no splatter of a body onto the earth. only a light feeling crawling through his limbs, like that final moment of peace before succumbing to the darkness. if the gods had asked him now for a sacrifice, he would have gotten on his knees all over again to keep you. when tranquility was once the bane of his existence, now it is the center of it. 

you tense above him, like a goddess struck in stone until you are returned to the flesh, crumpling on top of him. a soft cough escapes him, a wheezing sound that signifies that you are most definitely crushing his lungs. the forces that be roll the both of you to the side until you’re facing each other, his hand unconsciously reaching for yours under the mattress. happy, warm, and sated– leon’s husbandly duties have officially been achieved. 

“i love you,” he whispers, and he doesn’t even realize the tear escaping his eye until you gently wipe it away. every part of him now is soft and malleable, even the parts so carefully hidden from everyone else. 

“love you too, old man.” 

a final kiss to your forehead before he tucks you into his chest, “we’ll take the car tomorrow.”

two more hours until he can eat eggs and drink slightly shitty coffee, and finally fill you in on his newfound epiphany. his arms wrap around your half-conscious figure, body curling around you like something to protect. you hug him tightly in return, bare skin soft on your cheek. your arms hold him like he is sacred too. 

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Taoba (Aemond Targaryen x Reader x Daemon Targaryen)

Summary: Daemon and Aemond settle their pending score.

Warnings: Aemond being a BRAT. Daemon being a sugar daddy (I guess?) Violence. Targaryen way of conflict resolution. 

A/N: Final part of the Muña series. This is very unhealthy, but I needed to give it a satisfactory conclusion that felt in character to me, so it stopped using my brain space. 

THERE IS NO Sept in Pentos. At least, not in the part of the city where the manse is located. You do not dare go exploring further than a few timid excursions to the surrounding markets. 

Being out in the open makes you antsy. Your departure from Westeros is still too fresh, you have not yet settled into a life where you are not at war. Searching for a Sept in which to pray properly seems too trivial. 

You still light your candles, one for each person you have lost, plus another one. For yourself. 

Aemond is as unsettled as you are. To him, the loss is greater. He has had to shed his identity, cut his chair and remove the characteristic eye patch and leather clothes for more simple ones. He is now a dragonseed, brought along as a paramour to a happily married couple. 

“What can I say?” Daemon had laughed, when questioned about it by a magister. “I love my wife, and she does love her toys.” 

It had prompted a roar of laughter from his friends. You weren’t too sure you liked being known as a sexual deviant, but you had little choice in the matter. Everyone had to make sacrifices, after all. 

Even Vhagar. She is now known as The Cannibal. The Essoi know so little about dragons that an intimidating name to match the intimidating reptile in their city satisfies them. 

Daemon, in contrast, settles in as if he had never been at war. He has already been in one before, and has lost little. He still has his name, his money, and his marriage. He even has his old pentoshi friends. They had greeted him warmly, clapped him in the back, and it was as if he had never left. 

While Aemond continues to share your bed, Daemon is content to haunt the place. You worry despite yourself when you realize he is not out whoring or drinking as usual. But you are too busy with your inner turmoil to try to fix him too. 

Having run away from the only home you knew leaves you unsure about whom you really are. When the war started, you were different. You would have done anything to protect your people. Now, you were a coward who ran with her tail between her legs at the first hint of trouble. 

It was difficult to feel such a passionate love for them when they had started resisting your orders. As soon as the Blacks gained a bit of terrain, they started questioning your leadership. By the end of it, they were cursing your name.

Running was easier, after that. Playing Daemon’s wife again wasn’t. 

It all comes to a head one evening when you are asked to sweep into that role again. Daemon has insisted on hosting a dinner for some of his friends, and so, you have little choice but to squeeze yourself into a fine gown he commissioned for you. It seems fair that if he is housing you and your lover, you do something for him. 

You plan the night to perfection. It is what you have been raised to do, and you thrive on it. There is such an innate sense of control that comes with choosing a menu, the seating arrangements, the entertainment. You enjoy the task so much, you wish you had put it into practice more in your other life. 

Aemond sulks in a corner the whole evening, even when Daemon has gotten him a matching doublet. He seems to dislike the implication of being a bastard too much to enjoy himself in a company that cares little for his origins. 

“I hate this dress.” He complains, once you have ushered out the last of Daemon’s friends. Aemond toys with the laces on the back of it, making you frown. “Makes you look washed out. Ugly.” 

You flinch. You have never liked discussing your appearance, not after many years of mocking. During a good week, a remark about your looks can set your budding self-esteem back a moon. Hearing Aemond say so during a bad one guts you. 

Aemond was supposed to understand you. To see you. 

“I happen to like it.” You say, picking up the last goblets of wine and setting them into a tray to be taken down to the kitchen. Your household is sparsely staffed, Daemon’s savings not enough to keep it running at full capacity.  You find you don’t really mind. The lack of resources during the war had made you go through much worse, and you find you enjoy the privacy. “I enjoy the fullness of the skirts.” 

You are careful to keep your back turned to the men, but you cannot hide the tenseness of your shoulders, the stiffness of your spine. Perhaps the insult stings more because you do like the dress.  Despite how tight it was, you had felt pretty after putting it on. The seamstress had complimented you, even. 

The style was more form - fitting than what you usually wore, a bit more risky. It had been inspired by what the women here wore, and you knew Daemon wouldn’t let you embarrass him. That fact had prompted your confidence to wear it in the first place. But now, you just feel old and fat. 

A hand presses to your back, warm and gentle. You stiffen more, thinking it’s Aemond’s. 

“You look beautiful in it.” Daemon compliments, softly. And because he cannot resist it, he throws in a dig at Aemond too. “The boy is just bitter because he can’t pay for anything half as fine.” 

“That is not true. I could become a…” Aemond starts, and you groan, pressing your hands to your eyes. You have heard the tale of the sellsword plenty. He is a good swordsman, perhaps good enough to take up that sort of life. But he is out of practice. Most of his battles have been from the dragon, not the horse. Unlike cavalry, dragonback doesn’t provide such experience. 

“If you become a sellsword, you will die. And all I did would be in vain.” Daemon sits down, placing his boots on the table. You shove him. It’s not as if any of them do any cleaning, but Aemond is far neater. You do not clean either, but as the person in charge of the servants, you prefer not to be embarrassed by how piggish they can be.

Daemon has gone through great pains to secure you a home and safety. You try not to feel too indebted to him, considering the horrible years of marriage and shame, but cannot help it. He is finally behaving like you were taught a husband is supposed to behave, and it pleases your stupid brain. 

He provides for you. Pays for your home, dresses, lets you run a household. He protects you. Keeps you safe from the outcome of the war, rescued you from the likely revolt from your tenants. He makes you happy. Daemon pays to keep Aemond safe and healthy, too. 

It messes with your head. You shouldn’t feel grateful, you shouldn’t like him and yet…

Siege mentality. That must be it. Your current situation makes you believe it’s Daemon, Aemond and you against the world. 

Aemond doesn’t seem to share the sentiment. He has been behaving oddly ever since you got here. The first week, he had been on edge, wary Daemon was going to murder him in his sleep. The second one, he had not left your bed. And then he had settled into an odd sort of depression that involved making everyone around him as miserable as possible. 

Aemond was a man born and bred for war. It wasn't unusual that he was struggling with peace. 

“Apologize, Taoba.” Daemon orders. While this is not the first time Aemond lashes out, it is the first time Daemon bothers with demanding an apology. It is also the first time Aemond’s temper has been directed at you. 

“I refuse to apologize for my opinion.” Aemond smirks. He toys with his goblet, before leaning in. You know the look in his face. It’s the one he wears when he plans to deliver the killing blow. “The dress makes you look ugly.” 

You suppose it is better than being outright called ugly. The thought isn’t as comforting as you thought. 

“An opinion no one asked for.” Daemon’s tone is icy. You look at him, begging him to let it go. But Daemon has never listened to you, not in all the years you have been married. He won’t start now. “And a false one. I can’t just voice the opinion that the sky is red. Now, apologize or…”  

“Or?” Aemond challenges. This time, you turn your pleading eyes to him. Out of the two of them, he is slower to enact his revenge ploys, while Daemon chooses to take immediate and decisive action. You hope that means he can be persuaded to postpone the confrontation. 

“Aemond, why don’t we go to bed?” You ask, voice soft and meek. But Aemond’s gaze is fixed on Daemon. 

The older man smirks. He leans back on his chair, forcing it to balance precariously on its hind legs. 

“I’ll make you.” 

It happens faster than you can react. One second they are glaring at each other, the next Aemond has lunged over the table, sending the goblets clattering. He punches Daemon, making him fall off the chair. But before Aemond can get any other punch in, Daemon grabs him by the hair and slams him against the table. You scream. 

“My goblets! The tablecloth!” You realize you sound insane, but you feel it too. Your hands tremble. One would think war has desensitized you to violence, but it is one thing to know a battle is being fought and another to see the man you love get beaten by your husband. 

You make an aborted motion towards them, unsure if trying to get between them is a good idea. You settle for clenching your hands into fists, powerless to stop the situation around you. 

Daemon jerks Aemond upright, holding his hands between his back. 

“Aōla gēlȳni iēnkā, taobus!” You can tell Daemon is mocking him. Familiar as you are with his methods, you step forward, hovering. 

Were Daemon mocking you, this would be the part where you would defend yourself. Aemond, instead, simply smirks. 

“Sa Tida, Kepus.” 

Daemon’s face turns into an expression of absolute, murderous rage. His grip on Aemond tightens. He turns to you, almost in… Disbelief? You aren’t sure. You do not know what they are saying, but it can’t be good. 

Aemond blushes with pleasure. He smiles a cocky grin, and his chest puffs up with arrogant satisfaction. 

It is only at that display that color returns to Daemon’s face. 

“I must admit, you had me fooled.” He releases Aemond, and gives him a shove. “But your games will not unnerve me tonight. Not again. We will settle this.” 

“Daemon…” 

“As much as it pains me, he is right.” Aemond sneers. “There is a debt to be paid, Muña. Do not interfere.” 

He gives you a warning glance, before bowing his head. It’s the last time he looks at you. 

His attention is now focused on Daemon. He looks up at him, body taut with fear. If you didn’t know Aemond that well, you would miss it. But to your well-trained eyes, it’s obvious. He is terrified. 

Aemond ends up lowering his eye again. Daemon’s fierce stare seems to have him unbalanced, unable to hide his emotions as well as he usually does. Knowing Daemon, he must be delighted his intimidation tactics are making him squirm. 

Daemon thrives on fear and humiliation. He has perfected his methods through the years, his reputation as a rogue only aiding him in his task. His eyes are like daggers. Instinctually, you know that is better to stay silent for now. 

Aemond seems to share your thoughts. He averts his eyes, face red with embarrassment. You wonder what has Daemon said to him that he is so out of sorts. 

“You should be kneeling.” Daemon finally says, his eyes on you. For a second, you think the instruction is actually meant for you, but before you can do anything about it, Daemon has turned back to Aemond. He towers over him, somehow, despite being the same height. “You're such a pathetic creature.”  

Daemon steps towards him. Aemond takes a step back, and Daemon smirks. He can probably sense the weakness in the same manner wolves sense fear. 

“Insulting your woman after claiming to be better than I. Hypocrite. But what more could you ask from a Hightower.”  His face tight with anger, Daemon unsheathes his dagger and grabs Aemond's chin, tilting it up. 

Never in a million lives you thought you would see Daemon defending your honor. How life surprises us all. 

You pity Aemond. His skin is turning red where Daemon is grabbing him, and he is breathing hard, eye closed. He seems to be expecting pain, and it fills you with the urge to comfort him. 

Aemond shouldn’t be having to brace himself. This is a storm of your own making. But he has asked you not to interfere, and you do not wish to wound his pride. You stay quiet. 

The dagger Daemon holds is now pressed to Aemond’s throat and this time, it is too much.  You advance on them. 

“Stop it.” 

Daemon ignores you. He leans in, close enough that he could kiss Aemond. His hair tickles Aemond’s face. 

“And you still fucked my wife without my permission.” He snarls. “Open your mouth,”

Aemond swallows. He seems cowed, for the first time in his life. 

“Stop this. Right this second.” You repeat, but neither heed you. Much to your dismay, Aemond makes eye contact with you before opening his mouth. Daemon’s dagger brushes against his lips. He shakes like a frightened bunny, but he still doesn’t attempt to defend himself.

“Open wider.”

Aemond has no choice but to obey.  You are struck by how young he looks, how young he truly is. At least ten years your junior, twenty or so than Daemon. He has been a man for such little time, and yet, has done much more horrible things than most people twice his age. 

The lesser of those sins is bedding a married woman. 

Daemon’s voice is harsh. 

“I said wider!” Aemond opens his mouth wider, obediently. “Now, stick out your tongue.”  

“… Why don’t we all calm down..?” You feel your hands shaking. Daemon is capable of cutting his tongue. You know it. Aemond knows it. And still, he sticks out his tongue like an obedient dog. 

“Your tongue would make a fine gift to my wife. An apology, for all the insults I sent her way.” Daemon smirks. “And a penance, for how you dared treat her, petulant child that you are.” 

Your eyes sting. Something like a sob surges on your chest, but it doesn’t get out, caged between your ribs. It takes residence there, caught. 

It’s unbelievable. Once, you had prided yourself on knowing Daemon. You had been so finely tuned to his moods, out of an urge for survival, that you could tell with just a glance what he was thinking. His anger had always been transparent to you. 

This time, you aren’t sure if he is serious about cutting Aemond’s tongue for the slight, or if it is about the infidelity. 

“I do not want his tongue. Daemon. Stop it.” You beg, stumbling back into your chair. You hold your head between your hands, realizing this is punishment for you too. For daring to be an adulterous wife. 

Aemond’s face is pale. He is trembling slightly, and his tongue is caught between Daemon’s finger. It makes him drool. He attempts to pull back. 

Daemon's eyes flash with anger.  There is a dark satisfaction in his face. 

“Don't move.” Daemon's voice is low and sinister. “Keep it there. Less my pulse falters, and I leave you without a tongue before deciding.” 

“Don't!” You plead. 

Aemond doesn't move, the blade still pressed to his tongue, his mouth open. 

Daemon softens at the obedience. Perhaps because he has always liked control a bit too much. 

“Good boy.” He grins. Aemond sends him a look made of pure hatred, but keeps still. His eye is glued to Daemon’s, set on not backing down. 

If someone doesn’t intervene, something bad is about to happen. And there is no one else here, but you.

You stand up, furious. 

“That is enough! I happen to like his tongue where it is, inside his mouth and unharmed.” 

“You're nothing but a sniveling coward.” Daemon presses the dagger harder into Aemond's tongue, taunting him. “What's the matter? Do you like the taste of the dagger on your tongue? The feel of the metal against your flesh? Sick little boy.”

Daemon laughs. Aemond closes his eye, but both you and Daemon see it. A single tear falls down his face, mouth still wide open, dagger pressed inside. The sight is hauntingly beautiful, like one of the tapestries Daemon used to hang around showcasing Targaryen deviance. 

“Do you like that?” Daemon leans in closer, his lips brushing the shell of his ear. You know through first-hand experience how devastating that feels. Somehow, seeing them together, Daemon holding Aemond almost in a lover’s embrace, makes you throb with shameful arousal. “Being completely helpless and humiliated? It should hurt. It shows you your place. On the ground, at my mercy.” 

Aemond tries to close his mouth, but Daemon's hands keep his face pushed back as he presses the tip of the blade into his tongue. Aemond's face tightens, a look of pain flashing across his eyes, but he can't say anything. The only sound out of his mouth is a painful groan. 

Daemon's expression is cold and hard. 

“It feels good, doesn't it? Just like kissing the cunt of a married woman?"

“Daemon! Enough!” And this time, you finally gather the courage to do what needs to be done. You get between the two of them and shove Daemon out of the way. “That’s enough.” 

Daemon licks his lips. Aemond swallows, a hint of blood in the edge of his mouth. You wonder if he is tasting copper. 

“What a pathetic display of weakness. I've seen a thousand pigs slaughtered with more bravery than you.” Daemon sheathes the dagger. Aemond’s face turns frighteningly angry. Torching the Riverlands kind of angry. 

His breathing is deep and labored, like a hurt animal. You rush to his side and hug him. 

“You are bold to speak of weakness…” Aemond says, with great effort. His body shudders against yours, and it is a testament to how shaken he must be that he doesn’t jerk out of your grip. “When it was your own what led your wife to my bed. Make no mistake, Muña. An old dog cannot learn new tricks.” He then spits blood at Daemon’s face.

Daemon wipes his face with his sleeve, horrifyingly calm. He then looks at both of you, and bursts into genuine laughter. 

“I was wrong, boy. You have balls.” He gives him a hand, helping him to a chair. “We might make a man out of you yet.” 

Aemond accepts his help without fear. You stare. 

“Both of you are unhinged.” 

Daemon turns to you. 

“Oh? Then what would you do in my situation?” 

“Apologize? Agree to move on and let go of the past?” You offer, weakly. 

Daemon scoffs at the suggestion. “Apologize? Apologize! You think that will solve everything?” But he does look over at Aemond, who has now relaxed in his chair, exhausted.  “I suppose I should try to be diplomatic, if only for your sake. Fine. I apologize for calling you terrible things, trying to murder you and to cut out your tongue. How does that sound, Taoba?”

Aemond swallows again. He seems unsure if he should be trusting Daemon’s words. He gives you a look. You shrug. If they want to try normal conflict resolution, you won’t stop them. 

“Thank you. I apologize for fucking her without your permission.” 

Daemon gives him a small smile. Aemond meets his eyes. A strange mixture of emotions seems to pass between them. Daemon looks as if he is seeing Aemond for the first time. There is a new interest in his eyes, one you do not like at all. 

Or perhaps, you like it too much. You can’t decide. 

“Is that all, then? Or do you have more to say, nephew?” He purrs. 

Aemond scratches his nape, embarrassed. He doesn’t seem to know how to react to being flirted with. Because this is what this is. Daemon is looking at him with utter hunger. 

“Nothing.” 

Daemon looks him over, inspecting Aemond like a predator sizing up his prey. 

“Is that so?”

“Yes.” 

Daemon studies him for a moment, not looking convinced.

“Someone looks guilty.” He is like a shark, smelling blood in the water. Aemond looks painfully awkward, nothing like the cocky young man that seduced you moons ago. Deciding to put him out of his misery, you attempt to shift Daemon’s attention to you. 

“I apologize for bedding him.” You offer, in your meekest tone. 

Daemon doesn't acknowledge your apology, his eyes still fixed on Aemond, filled with curiosity. 

“I accept your apology.” Then his eyes harden, his face turns serious. “Now, come here. Both of you.”

Aemond’s eye widens, but obediently gets up and creeps closer.  Daemon reaches a hand towards you. You go easily. 

“That wasn't so hard, was it?” Daemon teases, his eyes never leaving Aemond's face, searching for some hint of weakness.

Aemond nods silently, too intimidated to speak. Daemon grabs him by the back of his neck, firmly. He presses his forehead to his. 

“Aōha ēdruta vāedas. Vezof jin azantys, vestri sȳz. Se ābra dracarys jēdo nūm.” 

Aemond nods, solemnly. As if he were accepting a vow. Then, they both turn towards you. 

“Consider this my repentance.” Daemon says, with a smirk. Aemond looks properly chided. Contrite, even. 

“I apologize for being rude. The dress makes your cleavage look phenomenal. I was just… Jealous, I suppose. I used to protect you and now…” He offers, sounding much like a child who has gotten caught with his hands on the cookie jar. 

“Now you find yourself in the unusual situation of having me as the protector. I have been shielding you from Daemon and Daemon has been…” You realize it as you speak it. Aemond had come to rescue from your solitude, and your evil, up to no good husband. You had been his damsel in distress, until you had stepped into the role of the protector and Daemon into…

“Providing.” The man himself barks out a laugh. “Seven Hells, am I a stand-in for Viserys? I thought I had issues.” 

Aemond blushes. 

“It isn’t like that.” 

But Daemon insists. He takes a lock of your hair and twists it between his fingers.

“Fuck, I married Alicent. Fucking Alicunt.” 

“I am not her!” You protest. 

“You do look like my mother a bit. In the right light.” Aemond concedes, and you don’t know if to laugh or cry. “I… I want to do better. And I…” 

“I want in. In what you two have.” Daemon’s smirk turns more devious, gently tucking the strand of hair he was still holding behind your ear. “Normally, I would threaten you with kicking you out, or hurting your lover over here. But I have been told it is in bad taste to try to force myself into your bed.” 

So he had learned his lesson from the last time. You fight off the pleased smile. 

“So. The choice is yours. My nephew and I reached an agreement already, one that will be void without your consent. Otherwise, we can go as we are.” Daemon finishes his offer, placing his hands behind his back. 

You look between Aemond and him. Aemond seems encouraging. 

“Will you be content to pay for your wife and her lover the rest of our lives? How selfless.” You arch an eyebrow, doubtful. It sounds too unlike him. 

Daemon shrugs.

“What can I say? You inspire selfless devotion.” 

“He is right. You do.” Aemond says, hugging you from behind. You feel him bury his face on your hair, quietly grounding himself. He has had a taxing evening, for sure. 

“What do you think of this?” You ask him, voice low. 

“If he is involved, I would feel more settled. Like it is not charity.” Aemond says, kissing your temple. 

“I see you have learned from whores, haven’t you?” Daemon mocks, creeping closer. “Being my kept man and my kept woman. How lucky it is to be a prince.” 

“Cunt.” You say, giving him a shove. 

“Your cunt.” Daemon smirks. He leers at you. “And what a delicious one you seem to have…” 

You slap a hand over his mouth, embarrassed. Aemond fights with a smile, and it is that which convinces you.

“Fine. You win. And we actually prefer trophy wife and boy toy.”

“Talk for yourself.” Aemond tugs at your hair, and you laugh. 

[sydforreal24]

Feixiao thoughts!! thank you to the awesome anon who requested some thoughts for her 💜💜

sfw and nsfw utc!!

(sfw)

I feel like Feixiao would love you dearly but would want to shy away from you. She’s seen so many of her colleagues get lost in the war and it would kill her to lose you too.

If I’m being honest, I feel like she would never ask you out or even think she was good enough to be in a relationship with you unless you asked first.

She’s is conflicted to say the least, she loves you with her whole heart but is terrified of someone snatching you as a way to get back at her (even though she’s literally the strongest baddie ever).

In the beginning of the relationship, she keeps it sincere and sweet. She buys you gifts, alters her schedule around you to give her as much time as possible with you, and she adores walking through the yaoqing streets under the stars with you by her side <<33

——————————————————————————

(nsfw)

As things progress throughout your relationship you’ve noticed the long stares that she gives you.

Her eyes, how they soak up every inch of your body as the two of you are seated in a meeting. One that she insisted you attended so you could make use of the new outfit she bought you.

Needles to say the outfit didn’t last long after the meeting was over 💔💔 Both of you had enough of the shameless stares and feather-like touches you’ve sent each others way.

You needed her bad, and from how her ears twitch at the next words that leave your mouth, you can tell she needed you more.

Next thing you know, your clothes are discarded as she bends you over on her desk. she grinds herself into you and you can hear her grunts as she tries to cover up her whimpers.

She wants you so bad and who are you to deny??

She is your big strong General of the Yaoqing after all <<33

She makes you take her strap. Every single centimeter. You try your best to take it all, just as she asks of you, albeit struggling. She praises you for sucking all of her inside and you could’ve came then.

She repeatedly hits that delicate spot inside your cunt, making you see stars and writhe underneath her. You’re just so perfect for her, no?

By the end of the night the two of you are sweaty and mushed up against each other. Basking in your lovers arms while your cares melt away.

The two of you wouldn’t have it any other way 💜💜

——————————————————————————

hi guys it was pretty fire to write this!! this was fun just rambling about stuff! I think I’m gonna make a request list of characters I’d be down to talk/write abt!! send me ideas for stuff to answer for fun!

[voltronisanobsession]

heyy! i was hoping to request a percy x eris! reader.

like since eris is the goddess of strife everyone thinks the reader would be all dark and gloomy all the time, but reader is a literal ball of sunshine, complete opposite of what everyone says.

but just because reader’s personality is opposite of their mom it doesn’t mean they doesn’t use their powers. i was thinking they have the ability to create conflict, like during battle and stuff reader can make their opponents fight eachother.

following the creating conflict thing, i also think reader is very good at arguing. whether it be something small or big, they always win. this would drive the camp nuts with reader always getting their way. i think percy would secretly like this because he thinks reader deserves whatever they want and more

thank you!

Percy with Eris!Reader

OOOOO ME LIKEEYYYY!!! The way i had a RUSH of inspiration reading this!

Has anyone watched that one mlp equestria girls movie about the sirens? And how they're music caused everyone to go against each other? Well this definitely reminded me of them lol

Also lowkey less centered around Percy SORRY😭😭😭😭😭 I was just so focused on baddie reader😔

I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THIS IDEA

Despite there being very few children of Eris now, I feel like most people know of the destructive power her offsprings hold

There's even cautionary tales amongst half-bloods to leave an area where discord settles in human hearts unless you want to backstab your friends

Children of Eris have been known to lack empathy for others, preferring to watch as people tear each other part over the littlest of things

This had made them starting catalysts for wars back in the day, until Olympus decided 'reducing' Eris' children would be better for human-kind

Her children still roam the world though, spreading chaos and strife just by their mere presence

Now when Percy was told this information for his quest to retrieve one of Eris' children and bring them back to camp, he was not expecting reader to be such a bubbly person

Homeboy was ready to battle them and take them back to camp by force if he needed to, something he really didn't want to do, but he was very much confused and unsettled to see how different reader was to what he was told

Instead of being a dark brooding figure, taking delight in chaos you were creating, you sat by your lonesome, appearing upset with all the arguing and fighting happening around you

While people yelled at each other, you would try to help them settle down and make peace, though this would only cause louder arguing between everyone

Everywhere you went, you spread discord and strife amongst the people you passed

Couples on dates would find the smallest thing to nitpick their partners over, customers and workers would argue over the dumbest inconvenience that shouldn't have bothered anyone

It was as if you were the living embodiment of 'having a bad day'

So when he finally approaches you, he couldn't stop the fluttering in his heart at the sight of your bright smile!

You were kind and compliant when he told you of his quest, something he wasn't expecting at all

Percy was waiting for you to at least put up some fight but you never did. Instead you just followed him with a pep in your step, happily talking to him about any and everything

Reader's presence itself causes calamity, their aura affecting everybody near them. It's puts people in a trance

I feel like people would see reader as a bad omen, a source of bad luck to stay away from

This shows with their interactions with Percy!

He sees that you're a naturally friendly person, but you always seem a little desperate talking with him

Like you think that he's gonna leave once he knows how unforgiving your power truly is😔

When he sees you use your power for the first time against some monsters chasing you, it sort of clicks just how controlling you actually are

The monster once working together now clash against each other after only a few minutes of finding you both

You'd glare at them and flick your hands towards them, a wave of your discord hitting them head on

"You've messed with the wrong person, I will not tolerate this disrespect."

Even reader knows their own power and influence to cause strife within anything

Honestly this serves as a perfect distraction for any situation cuz any party involved is gonna be too busy to notice the two of you sneaking by them

Of course there are people who are able to resist readers influence, those who are powerful enough to clear their mind from them. Percy is included in this category

Once you settle in camp, most people avoid you for the most part even when you finally control your mother's given powers💔💔

You try to approach people with a friendly smile and positive attitude but I guess people get too wary

The cabin you would most get along with is Ares, no doubt

It's just nature for children of Eris and Ares to get along as the gods themselves have worked together in the past on many occasions

Percy still sticks close to your side though, always reassuring you when you feel like giving up on making any friends

I think campers would start approaching Eris!Reader more once they witness them arguing with Dionysus over a situation

Whether it be over something simple as a cancelled game of capture the flag, or sending people out on an important quest that cannot wait, it's clear that the argument is in readers favor

The god and demigod are both quick witted, making back and forth talk look as easy as breathing

Its obvious your natural power backs the wine god himself into a corner when he cant find another excuse for his decision

And really? He'll never win an argument against the god of strife and discord's child

He sees Eris' unforgiving gaze in your eyes

So he puffs his chest and mutters a few words before disappearing with a low, "It's your life, not mine."

Reader def gets brownie points from the camp for not backing down against Dionysus

Hell even Percy is cheering you on as everyone surrounds you

"You're so cool! I don't think i could ever speak like that to Dionysus of all people."

"Oh it was really nothing..."

"Come on, you got the big dog to agree with you! That's like, never heard of!"

"Yeah!"

I think everything would be smooth sailing from there

People know not to drag you into any fight/arguments cuz they know you'll win regardless

And if you do find yourself in one, you already know Percy is gonna be such a big instigator like bro go away LMAO💀

You two would get along so well since he's able to keep up with your quick remarks

And after everything you've been through, and how much he's helped you in changing your life, it's after one dinner night when you confess your growing feelings for the boy

He's gotten to know you for the person you are, not for the person people say you are

Percy knows you're more than just your mother's child, a vessel of discord

He knows that you’re a good-natured person at heart and you've poured your heart into fixing everything you cause destruction to

He happily accepts your feeling, awkwardly admitting he's felt the same for some time 😅(what a cutie patootie)

Honestly I see sm potential for Eris!Reader, especially if they were like an antagonistic character

They don't even have to get their hands dirty to have their enemies succumbing to them

Badass demigod with a badass boyfriend

What more could you ask for lol😜

ALSO

He knows not to get into any fights with you cuz you will win in the end, whether you were right or not

The most he can do is put up a good fight😭

[yunwangja]

undercurrents | signal no. 18

masterlist | secret signal

"this was such a good idea,"

alisa sighs contentedly, setting down her fork with a satisfied smile. kuroo mirrors her expression, nodding in agreement, though his mind drifts elsewhere.

inside, a war is raging. everything about this feels wrong, but it's the right thing to do. at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

he tries to maintain his composure, to focus on the woman in front of him, but beneath the surface, he’s being torn apart. it’s maddening - the frustration, confusion, and anger building up inside. emotions he knows he shouldn’t be feeling, not now, not here.

kuroo was brought up to be a "good" guy. make the people around you comfortable, give them a hand when they need to, and help bring out the best in them. he lived his whole life being the reliable, friendly guy that is ready to give you a push whenever you need him.

in his mind, it means he can’t afford to be selfish. it’s simple: if it makes others happy, it should make him happy too. and when he wants something for himself? well, he should bury that desire, deny it for the greater good. because that's his "role".

that's how he mastered the art of masking his own feelings, hiding behind a smile, always keeping things light and fun. anything to avoid ruining the peace, to avoid letting people see how conflicted he truly is. if he messes up, in his eyes, he’ll have failed. the tetsuro kuroo everyone knows and relies on would be gone.

he knows kenma can see through it. kenma’s always been his voice of reason, telling him it’s okay to be honest, to not always put himself last. but it’s no use. kuroo can’t afford to believe that - not when the cost of expressing his true feelings seems so high.

so, he convinces himself that this is for the best, even though he knows deep down that if he could, he’d treat you so much better. he’d hold you close, knowing you belonged there. just seeing you smile could melt all his troubles away, and even the slightest brush of your hand would send his heart racing.

to him, you are everything. beautiful, kind, funny, and passionate. but it’s more than that. something about you makes him weak in a way no one else ever has. you make him want to be selfish, to want you all for himself, no matter the consequences.

he’ll do anything for you - even if it means forgetting you. because that’s what he thinks you want. you don’t need him complicating things with his feelings, not when you like someone else, even if you call it a harmless crush. it’s ruining whatever you already have. so, he’ll keep this up.

alisa and kuroo continued to talk, and he tried his best to get to know more about alisa, outside being his project partner and classmate. all he knew about her was that she had a little brother who was also into volleyball, which sparked most of their conversations before. besides, he needed to distract himself from thinking about you.

honestly, he feels bad. this date is probably something you both just wanted to try out, but he can't help but feel like he's forcing himself to be here when alisa is genuinely great.

as they finish their dessert and wrap up the conversation, kuroo can’t help but feel a strange sense of accomplishment. he’s managed to put up the front, to act like everything’s fine. maybe if he does this enough, he’ll actually start to believe it. maybe, eventually, he’ll forget about you.

“i had a great time, alisa,” he says, turning to her with a small smile.

“this was a really nice date. i felt comfortable.” the lie slips out effortlessly, though he did genuinely enjoy getting to know her better.

alisa raises an eyebrow, her expression shifting to one of amused confusion. “wait, what?” she lets out a small laugh, “a date?”

kuroo tilts his head slightly, caught off guard. “yeah?”

she shakes her head, still smiling. “this wasn’t a date, kuroo.”

for a second, the words don’t register. then, when they do, he feels his stomach drop. holy shit. embarrassment rushes over him as he quickly tries to backtrack.

“oh god,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “i’m sorry.”

alisa’s expression softens, and she waves it off casually. “no, no. did i lead you on? i didn’t mean to. i’m sorry if i made it seem that way.”

kuroo shakes his head quickly. “no, it’s not your fault. i just misunderstood. honestly, at first, i didn’t think of you like that, but when you asked me out for coffee, i thought - well, maybe.”

alisa nods slowly, her expression apologetic. “i’m still sorry, though. i guess i should’ve been clearer when i asked.”

he shrugs it off, offering a weak smile. “it’s fine. really. i hope this doesn’t make things awkward.”

alisa shakes her head this time, "don't worry, as long as we're on the same page. you're a great guy yourself, kuroo." she smiles at him.

he returns the smile, but inside, his mind is racing. despite the embarrassment, a strange relief settles over him, washing away the tension he’s been carrying all evening. it feels wrong to be this relieved, almost like he’s betraying the plan he’d set for himself, but the truth is undeniable.

why is he relieved? all of a sudden, although he feels emotionally tired from all the torture he gave himself throughout today, it's like his inner self was screaming, thank God.

a wave of emotions crashes over him, sudden and overwhelming, as if the universe is trying to tell him something. like, this was a sign.

he freezes, the thought hitting him hard. it's absurd, reckless even. after everything he’s put himself through today, after all the mental battles and efforts to push you away, this would undo it all. it goes against every rational argument he’s made for why he should forget you.

but the relief flooding his chest is undeniable, drowning out the logic he’s clung to. it’s like a voice, quiet at first but growing louder, insistent, cutting through his doubt until it’s the only thing he can hear:

he loves you, and it's you who he wants to be with.

without another thought, kuroo stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor.

“thank you, alisa. i’m sorry again. but i have to go.”

"i want you, y/n."

his words echo in the quiet room, and for a moment, all you can do is stare, frozen in place. the intensity in kuroo’s eyes sends a shiver down your spine, and you’re not sure whether it’s the surprise or the weight of his confession that makes your heart race.

kuroo lets out a shaky breath, his voice raw. “i know you like tooru. and i know you’ve explained to me how you feel about him, how it’s always been. but even knowing all of that, i couldn’t stop wanting you.”

his gaze drops to the floor, as if he’s ashamed to admit it. “i kept telling myself that i didn’t have the right. that i shouldn’t want you. but no matter how hard i tried, i couldn’t help it. i just do.”

there’s a vulnerability in his tone that you’ve never heard before. kuroo, who’s always so composed, so confident, now stands in front of you, his emotions laid bare.

“i don’t know if you’ll hate me for this or if this will ruin everything between us, but i... i can’t stand on the sidelines anymore.”

his fists clench slightly at his sides, his voice almost breaking. “i’m tired of pretending i’m okay with it. tired of forcing a smile when all i want is something i convinced myself i couldn’t have.”

he steps closer to you, his eyes lifting to meet yours again, filled with something that leaves you breathless.

“from the day i saw you smile... i wanted you. even if that smile wasn’t for me.”

the room feels smaller, the air heavier, as you try to process everything he’s saying. a part of you wants to speak, to say something, but nothing comes out. instead, you find yourself moving without thinking - your arms wrapping around him, pulling him close.

kuroo stiffens for just a second, caught off guard by your hug. he doesn’t know what this meant, but in the midst of his confusion, his arms come around you slowly, holding you close, his fingers curling gently into the fabric of your shirt.

maybe she just missed me, he thinks. or maybe you felt touched by his confession. he tries to make sense of it by thinking that you were too happy to see him that you just weren’t able to control it. he’s been avoiding you lately, after all.

you glance over his shoulder, and there were your friends, peeking around the corner, smirking like they’ve been waiting for this moment all along. you pull back slightly from kuroo, cheeks burning, and clear your throat.

“come on,” you whisper, guiding him toward your room to escape their prying eyes. once inside, you close the door behind you, trying to ignore the heat that’s rising to your face.

the two of you sit on the edge of your bed, but there’s still a careful distance between you, an unspoken barrier that neither of you know how to cross just yet.

kuroo breaks the silence first, his voice hesitant. “so...”

you glance at him, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap. you know you need to say something, but finding the right words feels impossible. after a moment, you take a deep breath and decide to start with the truth.

“you know about my last relationship, right?”

he nods silently, his eyes softening as he waits for you to continue.

“well… it scarred me. i decided after that… i didn’t want to fall in love again. i didn’t think i could be a good girlfriend, so i chose to just admire from afar instead.” you pause.

as you start to explain, kuroo starts to decipher what you’re trying to say. immediately, he thinks this would end up in a rejection. why would you say these things to him anyway?

despite this, he wants to listen to what you have to say. it’s not like he’s expecting you to like him back. you feel his gaze on you, unwavering, and it makes it both easier and harder to keep going.

“i told myself i didn’t deserve anyone. even more guys that i thought was out of my league. that was the case too when i liked tooru. it was safe... i knew nothing would come of it - the reason why i used to say i just wanted to be an ‘observer’.”

kuroo stays quiet, letting your words sink in. there’s no judgment in his eyes, just understanding.

“i did my best to run away from romantic feelings,” you admit quietly. “because i didn’t think i deserve to be in love anyway.”

there’s a pause, a heavy silence that settles between you. then kuroo speaks, his voice gentle but firm. “we both know that’s not true.”

“is it, though?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

kuroo shifts closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “do you really think i would’ve fallen in love with you if that was true?”

the question takes you by surprise, and you don’t know how to respond. “i... i don’t know,” you stammer, unsure.

he shakes his head slightly, his expression softening. “you didn’t need to be my girlfriend for me to see that you’re more than capable of being loved. you didn’t have to prove anything to me. i’ve always seen it. you’re perfect the way you are, y/n.”

his voice drops lower, filled with emotion, looking down. “i would’ve done anything just to call you mine.”

his words hit you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, you can’t do anything but stare at him. you can see the sincerity in his eyes, feel the truth behind every word he’s just said.

“kuroo,” you begin, your voice shaky. “i don’t like tooru anymore. i haven’t for a while now.”

his brow furrows, confusion flickering across his face. “but... i thought you guys were getting closer?”

you nod, a small, rueful smile on your lips. “we were, but only as friends, nothing more.”

kuroo’s eyes widen as realization dawns on him. tooru had been trying to push him toward you this whole time.

“kuroo,” you say again, gently pulling him out of his thoughts.

“yeah?” he replies, his voice a little unsteady.

“i know you just said you’re in love with me... but do you think i can?”

he tilts his head, eyes searching yours. “can you what?”

you hesitate for a moment, feeling your heart pound in your chest.

“can i fall in love with you too?”

kuroo’s eyes widen in shock, his body going rigid as he processes your words. for a moment, he’s completely still, his mouth opening slightly as if he’s searching for the right response. the room feels charged with the weight of your confession.

you watch as he takes a moment to absorb what you’ve just said. when he finally speaks, his voice is a whisper, filled with disbelief. “w-what?”

you give him a small, rueful smile, and continue, “you know, getting closer to tooru was because of you. he was also helping me figure things out.”

kuroo’s eyes widen further, a flicker of realization crossing his face. “because of me?”

you nod, your gaze steady. “yeah,"

the pieces start to fall into place for kuroo, and you can see the understanding dawn in his eyes. he takes a deep breath, his expression a mix of relief and intense emotion.

and then, in a swift, almost desperate movement, he reaches for you, pulling you close. his lips find yours with a kind of urgency that takes your breath away, the kiss filled with all the emotions he’s been holding back.

his hands frame your face gently, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. you can feel the tension melt away, replaced by something warm and undeniable.

when you finally pull apart, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. kuroo lets out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek.

“of course,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

“please do.”

and then, without missing a beat, he kisses you again.

notes

kuroo borrowed yn's phone and tweeted (and not because i didnt realize the plot hole immediately)

yn and kuroo sitting in a tree : D

this ends undercurrents OMGG UGHHKFSDHFKSDFS

i hope this was a good ending !!!!!

dw because a special chapter is coming !!! bc ik i'll miss this plus i want u guys to see sum yn and kuroo moments as a couple because WHY NOT

i'll properly conclude everything there !!

so technically its not officially done???

taglist: @lvtilzs @rarararararq @iamfontenlos @kurooswifeyy @secretsunsetsociety @kagsnumnine @yumiecheesecrackers @tojirin @jaynawayna @noxva08 @zahrawr-writes-fanfics @mawenskiblue @smellysluna @cccccccccccleo @winniethepooh-lover @akirqx @cupidsblonde @kukkurookkoo@emotiandon @urslytherin @mochroialainn @avis-writeshq @sorrynotsorrh @walllflowerrrsss @viva-vxgue @chifuzzy @mikaela26sstuff

[zoropookie]

SWEET MELODY

�� chapter thirteen — arson (🎂)

“Why…” You sobbed to yourself that morning, tone bubbling in your throat as you held your knees close.

The sky lightened and lightened the further the time closed in on dawn. Painted in the hues of soft pastels broke through, kissing the lavender and rose. You sat on the sand in the least high maintenance outfit you could think of that night, and set out to the nearby isolated walkway to the beach near your brother’s house. The problem was that you were there all night, expunging the tears off your face with your sleeves and dealing with the morning chill biting at your skin with no means to an end to your misery. No numb to your inner aching.

Your tears fell freely, soaking into your cheeks, falling onto half-wet sand. Unable to contain the sobs that wracked your body, your heaves and wails muffled into the sleeve of your now ex-boyfriend’s sweater. His sweater clinging onto you like the shore with its heavy mist.

The serenity was blatantly mocking you and comparing to the raging war in your mind. Your brother, on the other hand, thoroughly enjoyed this part of the beach. It’s probably why this was the first place he thought to go to search for you. He loved it, of course, more than you did on a regular basis too. He loved that this was the spot that you, him, and your mother would spend so much time around in the summers because of how little population there was. He loved the miniature sand dollars he would find washed up against one of the rocks sometimes, he’d even find a few anemones to poke and gently prod with his finger until they closed up tightly.

So it came to a more distinguished concern when he sat beside you silently while you sobbed in broken waves. Your breathing turning into heaving with every sniffle and wail. Those same memories Kazuha had enjoyed were slipping through your fingers, just like the sand you clung to.

“I’m sorry,” You choked out, throat sore and voice hoarse as you buried your face in your knees, trying to hide your puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “You didn’t have to check on me…I’ll be okay.”

Kazuha gave you a moment to recollect your words,” There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” He smiled after replying, hugging his knees together as well as he looked straight at the sea instead of you.

You two learned from a very young age the consolation could be many things to many people, and this was their. Sitting together in silence, meshing with each other’s energy and attempting to heal the other if there was a disturbance. There were hardly any words to exchange other than the obvious, there were no signs of gloating nor false sympathies until one of them wants to discuss how they feel. As for now…people pushing problems on you felt a lot more burdensome than usual.

“My heart hurts.” You shook your head, fresh tears spilling over your face. “I wish I knew what he wanted sooner. I know he was struggling, I wanted to help him, but he just pushed me away and I felt really conflicted! I wanted last night to be perfect, I mean, we were at the festival for the first time since mom died and…and!”

“And you felt like you were talking in front of a locked door?” Kazuha looked at you, to which you hide your face in your arms as you listened. “You don’t know who will stay here with you and who won’t, and that’s okay.”

“I don’t know if I could’ve done more or not.” You drawled, struggling not to just burst into tears again. “Maybe he needed someone, and I was too busy on the one day he wanted to ask for my help.”

Kazuha’s hand reached out, placing a light hand on your back and rubbing it in circles. “The most interesting thing about life is that it never stops, even when you’re having a good time. We’re ignorant to things happening around us with our loved ones…all because we ourselves aren’t feeling necessarily sad enough to address them. That’s not a judgement on our character, but he’s capable of taking care of himself too, just like us.”

You felt ashamed knowing that the only time you had to spend with your brother was during the time that you keep getting curveballs thrown at you. “I don’t know,” You sniffed. “I doubt that we had time to think about ourselves with mom.”

“Mom…didn’t tell us she was getting sicker until it was too late.” He sighed softly, eyes still fixed on the riding sun, but a little more defeated this time. “There were signs, but I guess that just proves my point.”

“I think did what you could…mom is watching us sometimes, too. Sometimes the dreamcatcher she really liked rings when there’s no wind.”

You both sit there in silence, listening to the soft lapping of waves. Talking about mom almost drew you away from the fact that you were in hysterics about your former lover, which made you more sad that you couldn’t have either one. The sky brightened more, pastels giving leeway to the golden warmth of the early morning. It casted a soft glow on everything it touched, and for a split second, it almost felt like this was the peace you needed. With your brother, the one you knew better than anyone.

Kazuha’s hand was still on your back, grounding you from the situation again, but reminding you of the new coming problem that you had school in ten minutes.

“Someday I hope you have the same memories that I do about this place, good or bad.” Kazuha finally said, soft and reflective. “It’s where our happiest moments show up, you’ve made a great connection with it already by yourself. Now you just need to let your own mind come to terms with it.”

You chuckled amidst your full throat. “That’s a little silly…why would I want to keep the bad memories with me if the main goal is to heal?”

He didn’t respond right away, but he tilted his head enough to lean against your shoulder, eyebrows furrowed slightly. “For a reflection, I hope.”

previous ☆ masterlist ☆ next

THERE ARE not many things that can sway your interest ever since the "incident", but in spite of that, you pushed forward. you are now the owner of the biggest bakery chain in your city, consistently seeing couples and catering to them as such. you've been a big host at weddings, events for celebrities, and even a big support for your friends and family. you've even earned yourself a niche following as well by how sweet you are to everybody around you. but, even with your kindness, you don't have a particular spark that keeps you going anymore these days. that is until one of your employees starts suggesting you write love letters to customers who request your services. at first you thought it was a horrible idea that could easily turn into trouble, but that was until you were tasked with writing one to your own (very very famous) ex-boyfriend.

taglist ☆ — @seternic @chemiru @coquettemaiden @1kio0o @emiixuu

@agaygothicmushroom @yomishen @jingyuan-wife-real @toruscorpse @whoooismkeee

@sketcheeee @st4r4ngel @xionri @scaradooche @lightyagamifan

@pwushizz @alatusorrow @eutopiastar @magica-ren @slu7

@vaxmpi @theyluvkatt @kyon-cherri @suzydarling @mimi3lover

@auroratumbles @vxcmx @yourfavoritefreakyhan @kunimylovee

@czerwka @little-honey-the-third @featuredtofu @simonisferal @justpeachyteastea

@liuaneee @skyoverkill1 @mellowberrie @lalalaloveallmydays @mostlymoth

@mtndewbajablasted @vernith @lovekeychains @danhenglovebot @elizshade

@balladeersflower @kazumiku @bananasquash @neversore @yevurin

@franaby @vicslz @kamiboo @thegalaxyisunfolding @morgyyyyyyy

@feikyuu @tamikahoshiko @kissingkzuha @bbysatoruuu @rvoulte

@kinvasions @kukikoooo @adriannauodi @pumpkincitrus @umiloa

@eunseok-s @state-of-grac3 @ariesloves @trulyylee @lyzeivr

@suniika @animeobsessed56 @kamisstufff @samyayaya @scarawiki

@mywillt0live