#I love this self righteous little guy so much

[aughost-arting]

Some character design commissions for a friend of Rue/ Miss Fortune the changeling rogue. These are some of their secondary forms they take on in daily life.

In order, we have Lady Fortuna, Miss Luck and Ruel.

[caitlinbueckers]

told you so.

kate martin x reader

2.9k

woooooh this is a fucking doozy guys. literally received one (1) anon and then i blacked out for an hour and a half soooo here’s this ! realized during this journey that kate martin means an unfathomable amount to me and it’s like . Actually concerning 🔥🔥

ANYWAYS it’s giving Kate martin’s controversially hidden girlfriend that goes lowk public at the wnba draft like SHUT UP

18+ AS FUCK

“babe, quit looking at me like that.”

if there’s one thing you know, above the fact that you were certain there was gonna be an unsuspected draft tonight, was that kate martin could be such a bitch in the morning.

not that this was new for you, in any sense— you’d been more than used to it since the dawn of your relationship, learning all the little things about her that made her tick. whether that was her favorite to least favorite foods, or teams, even her obsession with fucking hot sauce.

you knew she still slept with her childhood blankie, the one currently curled under her chin atop the hotel comforter because she’s ridiculous, and because nobody has ever and would ever disrespect her blankie game.

and above all, you knew how much she wasn’t a morning person.

“you’re so dramatic,” you snort, pushing yourself up onto your elbows with a tired, but mocking voice as she emits a slow groan, turning to shove her face into the pillow, her body curling away from yours in an act of indignance that only makes you laugh.

you were far too used to her acting like a baby, so the action only made you sit up on your knees, slinging a leg over her so you could straddle her sides, leaning down to pepper kisses against the side of her face as she lets out a string of groans that turn into halfhearted chuckles, until her hands are planted firmly against your thighs, bare due to the oversized IOWA shirt that she insisted on you wearing.

‘for good luck,’ you remembered her snickering, something you knew was really just ‘easy access’.

her voice is still hoarse from sleep, quiet and raspy and tinged with that midwestern accent that you’ll never give up on bullying her for, when she whispers, “dude, you’re so annoying.”

of course, she proves it by hoisting you off of her, onto the bed, simulating something like a WWE smackdown moment as she rolls over onto you, mumbling something that you really can’t decipher due to her face in your neck, your chest, basically every place she knows will pull that hysterical, annoyingly high pitched laugh out of you, that for some reason, she loves.

“can’t believe you made it here.” she murmurs quietly against your cheek, lips moving lazily against the skin before she lays a smacking kiss there, and it’s almost gross, how much saliva she uses, but you snicker anyway, hand coming up to stroke through her blonde strands.

in all honesty, you couldn’t really believe it either. it had been soemthing close to hell trying to get it all straightened out, from clothes to hotels, to transportation and getting from des moines to brooklyn, not to mention just how fucking exclusive it had been to even get a seat open with all the hype surrounding women’s college basketball, the posterity that the final four teams had brought to the sport— not to mention, the fact that you and kate weren’t public in the fucking slightest, so having to account for that definitely sucked.

of course, it was a huge accomplishment, one that would definitely go down in the history of sports in general, so of course it was a huge fucking honor that your girlfriend was apart of it—

but also, you just thought it was hot.

in fact, the thought makes you smirk to yourself, corners of your mouth curling upwards in a self righteous grin as you turned your head, bumping noses with her to whisper, “can’t wait to see you all dressed up, baby,” she snickers at that, and you kiss her lips once, twice, three times before continuing, “and, i can’t wait to see where you get drafted so i can buy myself a plane ticket.”

the subsequent groan you receive is expected, but it doesn’t deter you even slightly, “and to watch you play on a professional fucking team, like, kate, i’m basically wet thinking about it right now.”

that makes her laugh out loud, and it warms you just a bit to hear it.

it’s not like kate has been super confident about it recently, usually choosing to not speak or avoid talking about how bad she wants it— especially considering the night being mainly for caitlin, an old teammate of yours from school and one of kate’s best friends on the squad, and arguably, one of the best players in the league (next to kate, of course).

still, it didn’t change your focus, or the unyielding hope you had for the possibility of kate getting drafted— no matter how late in the draft it could be.

“babe, quit selling yourself short, okay? you’re a legend. it would be literally, fucking stupid to pass you up, okay?” she doesn’t respond at first, her eyes closed and lashes brushing her cheeks, before she flutters them open just a crack, blue peeking through as you offer her a grin, one that she only rolls her eyes to, but kisses you regardless. you knew how much she hated to talk about it, but it didn’t matter.

you knew you were right, anyway.

“mmmiloveyou.” it comes out in one smushed whisper against your mouth, before you nip at her bottom lip, hand sneaking under the sports bra she wore to bed to brush your thumb across her ribcage, “get off of me and get ready, okay?”

—

caitlin was top draft pick, which was heavily speculated and yet still unexpected to a degree as you stood from your seat with a cacophony of shouts and hollers from around you, pride swelling thick in your chest. you’d known the girl since you two had been in middle school— seeing the same tall little girl that had hated losing in an elementary school gym turn into such an infamous champion was something alike to a parent watching their kid go off to college or something, you’d swear it.

but, to say it was nothing short of nervewracking would somehow be an understatement, and as much as you felt the impending pressure with each name called, you could only imagine how kate must’ve felt.

it wasn’t hard to tell— the way her molars steadily worked the inside of her cheek, the way her tongue would dart out to wet her lips again and again. her hand, jittering too much to be held stationary within your own, drumming along your bare thigh beside your dress— ‘self soothing’, she’d explained in a whisper, a halfhearted, almost weakened smile on her face when you’d given her a lifted eyebrow at the hand placement considering the amount of cameras that surrounded you, but somehow, despite the rush of adrenaline, decided you didn’t care either.

thankfully, you both weren’t anywhere too accessible, but it still made you wonder whether kate had been bullshitting just how anxious she actually had been the whole time for her to need your touch so badly, and for an aching moment of tenderness as you glance at her, you want to kiss her, hard, rub the tension between her eyebrows, relax the trouble in her eyes.

still, gabbie and jada were good eyes too, considering anytime the camera would so much as even pan past you two, jada would hit you with a solid elbow, one to remind you that your poker face was shit, and perhaps you’d have to try just a little harder to pretend you weren’t totally, irrevocably in love with the woman beside you.

but slowly, it was all starting to click into place.

the cameras began panning to kate more and more, your own eyes flickering to the set and noticing how everytime you’d look, there’d be an official looking right past you, right at kate. a surge of excitement rose within you, one that had the words bubbling from your mouth in an urgent whisper,

“baby, i think—“

until an official, dressed in black with a wireless pair of headphones in each ear and a smile, touched kate’s shoulder.

“ms. martin, we’re gonna go ahead and have you and your party move down the aisle just a bit— there’s been a slight seating issue, if that’s okay with you guys?”

jada elbows you extra hard this time, and for some reason it solidifies that feeling you get, one that makes your heart leap as you all nod, getting to your feet without argument, only as kate turns to give you a look that’s supposed to be scolding, but fuck, you can see the glimmer of hope in it that makes your chest constrict, your eyes burn in pride.

“you’re giving me eyes, and for what?” she hums, the teeth against her cheek working overtime as you all settle into the new seats, kate at the end of the aisle, and a fluttery feeling in your chest, “no reason.” you say it almost smugly, as if you know something she doesn’t, and you don’t, but god, you can feel it.

the names fly off, left and right, number 16, and kate’s knee starts bouncing slightly, number 17 and your heart feels like it’s going way too fucking fast, number 18, and jada peers around you to glance at kate, and then…

las vegas, aces— kate martin.

if watching caitlin win had felt like a parent watching their child, this must’ve been adjacent to winning the fucking lottery.

you’re on your feet in mere seconds, the tears that had built finally dripping down your cheeks, a fact you’d only come to find embarrassing once you realize how visible they are on the playback, but fuck it, your girl was going pro.

she wastes no time in wrapping you up, her face ducking into your shoulder as your arms twine around her middle, thinking subconsciously of how you know you shouldn’t risk it, but kate doesn’t seem to mind, only releasing you with a single arm to embrace jada, and then gabbie, before she’s back to you.

of course, it doesn’t occur to you in the moment, that it’s a hard launch— no, it doesn’t really sink in until she kisses you hard against the temple before she’s breezing down the aisle, the subsequent eruption in applause leaving you starstruck, in silent awe.

after that, it’s somewhat of a blur— she takes her picture and accepts her jersey, the newscasters going off on some spiel about your girlfriends work ethic, her attitude, her endurance, everything you already fucking knew, had known for so long, that she’d finally have a chance to prove.

the moment she’s back beside you, it also doesn’t register to you that she must’ve been just as accepting about the reveal, because it’s only a second that she’s in her seat before she plants a soft kiss to your mouth, the dark lipstick you’d been steadily biting off in anxiety sticking to hers and she’s grinning, bigger than she had all day, and for a moment, you think you might actually collapse because god,

you love her. so fucking much.

“told you so,” you make out between the tears, smiling through the tightness in your voice that makes you sound warbled, whimpering even as she just laughs at you, her thumb careful to wipe beneath your eyes, “guess you did.”

of course, it’s only customary that after such a good night, everyone must get fucked up— so, that’s exactly what happens.

you get to gush to caitlin— hugging her tight around the neck and congratulating her a million times, to which she reciprocates when it comes to you and kate, garnering a blush on your already alcohol flushed cheeks, rolling your eyes as you punch her arm.

“whatever, fever.”

“whatever, ‘ace’.”

you pretend you don’t notice the quotations she puts around it, and give her a friendly middle finger instead— if kate was an ace, that meant you basically were too, at least by proxy.

“hey money,” you call to kate affectionately, seeing only the back of her head as she talks to gabbie, your arms sliding around her waist to hold her tight from behind.

“my love,” she greets with a smile, looking over her shoulder to pucker her lips at you, expecting a kiss that you so easily return. it feels fucking terrifying, in all honesty, to be so open, but you can’t find it within you to care enough to give it up— not when she’s this happy.

“dude, you totally knew, didn’t you? there’s no way you would’ve started crying like that unless you knew.” she’s drunk, chattering at a volume level beyond what’s needed considering you were right behind her, hand sneaking beneath her blazer, but you can’t help the way you shrug, “i’m always right, huh?”

later that night, she shows you just how right you are.

it’s past a decent hour to still be tugging off clothes from the night prior— the clock read four in the morning, but the windows spoke of the twinkling lights that surrounded, the city not quite awake, but never asleep.

“you’re a pro,” you hum against her mouth as you tug off her blazer, hands making quick work of the belt that kept you from exploring, smirking at the look she gives you, daring and all too fucking sexy, “it’s so hot to think about.”

“yeah?” her fingers hook beneath the straps of the dress until she’s dragging them down your shoulders, “you want me to show you how professionals do it?”

the next thing you know she’s between your legs, nothing but a white top and her slacks on, unbuttoned, as she hikes a leg over her shoulder, kisses along the inside of your thigh with an intensity only comparable to how she is after a really good game.

“fuck—!” it leaves your mouth in a sound that’s almost unrecognizable, the realization that you’d been pleasantly and uncomfortably horny ever since the draft had ended making itself known considering just how much kate had been unrelenting during press— hands on your hips or on the inside of your thigh, toying with the hair on the back of your neck or grasping the inside of your elbow to lead you along.

she knew it drove you crazy, you knew she’d make it up to you later.

her mouth makes easy work on you, tongue long and flat as she laps against your cunt, rough in all the ways that she knew you could handle— thumbs pressing fingerprint bruises into your skin, breath hot and heavy against your clit, hips moving on their own accord as you gasp out a string of incoherent whimpers. “shit, baby- just… just like that.”

it wasn’t like kate had ever failed at getting you off, but tonight, she performed as if it was her last game, greedy almost as she drinks you in, making sure to not leave one bit of you unchecked. her tongue is almost sinful in the way it makes your voice careen, high and whining, your hand finding a permanent tangle into her already mussed hair.

but she’s cocky tonight, presumptuous right before you orgasm as she raises her head to kiss your thigh, biting the skin before she’s climbing onto the bed beside you, too tall to be graceful, but you’re too fucking horny to even spare her the laughs you usually give.

“up, c’mere.” she’s breathless still, but she doesn’t let you rest for even a second, leaning across you to curl her fingers around your thigh to tug you up from your laying position, rousing you from the hazy, almost delirious state of mind as you push yourself up, letting out a shaking breath when she’s sliding your leg over her chest, hands grazing up the back of your thighs until she’s pulling you, right over over her mouth.

“kate, wha- you’re so— fuck.”

any semblance of words or sense seem to leave you in one second, as she flattens her tongue against the wetness that’s collected, the friction almost unbearable when her head tilted upwards, nose brushing hard against your clit in a way that pulls a cry from your lips. she’s unfaltering, diligent, unabashed in the way she’s moving your hips, the way she pairs each grind against her nose with a curl of her tongue, and really, it’s over before it fucking starts.

her mouth is glossy, damp when she’s done, and she smiles and it’s arrogant as she’s sliding you back down to sit you against her hips, the mere control she had of your body making you bright red as you pant pathetically, reduced to fucking nothing by her mouth.

it makes you throw your head back with a whimpering sigh, “don’t fucking look at me like that.” you complain, legs still open, thighs still trembling as she races her hands along them, “tired already?”

funnily enough, you were far from fucking tired.

“actually… was thinking about showing you some celebrity treatment?” you muse softly, as she peels off her own top, eyebrows raising, her thumb swiping along the edge of her lip before she’s placing it on the bottom of yours, pressing until it dips into your mouth, the heady taste of what you knew was yourself finding a place on your tongue.

she smirks, tongue poking between her teeth as your stomach fucking turns almost, arousal prickling unforgivingly at you once again.

“ooh,” she muses under her breath, eyes laser focused on the thumb she’d placed between your lips, voice coming out in a whisper, “i like the sound of that.”

she’s smirking though, because sex between you two have never been anything completely serious— that’s just not how kate operates, “ace money martin’s got a ring to it, huh?”

“shut up.”

“make me.”

so, you do.

[kitten4sannie]

ᴀ ꜱᴍᴀʟʟ ᴀᴅᴊᴜꜱᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ

ᴀɢᴇ ɢᴀᴘ/ᴀᴜʀᴀʟɪꜱᴍ ➠ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ

pairing: personal trainer! yeosang x fem! reader

genre: pure smut

summary: you love your weekly visits with your personal trainer. he always stretches you out just right.

w.c: 2.4k

warnings: mean(ish) dom! yeo, sub! reader, 15 year age gap, seduction, teasing, sir kink, dirty talk, praise/degradation, pet names/name calling, auralism, groping, half dressed kink ig?, cumming untouched, oral (receiving), fingering, squirting, brief deep throating, unprotected sex on a yoga mat, creampie

a/n: i done lost it guys TT just imagining having messy sex with mean dilf yeo somehow adds and takes off ten years of my life at the same time like some pemdas shit aughhh… i hope you enjoy this filthy mess <33

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ᴘʀᴇᴠ | ꜰꜰꜰ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴇxᴛ

“What do you mean you’re breaking up with me?” you gasped into your phone, holding a hand against your chest, personally offended that your boyfriend of six months would suggest such a thing. “And what about my personal trainer? He’s like fifteen years older than me. Baby. You really think I would do that to you?” 

“Y/N, I’ve seen him with my own eyes. I know you’re fucking him, and I’m over it. It’s over,” your boyfriend repeated into your ear, just ripping the bandaid off then and there. 

“You can’t do that. We’re not breaking up,” you scoffed, wrapping a lock of your hair around your finger, your lips forming a pout. “Babyyy, come on, you’re being so dumb right now.” 

“Goodbye, Y/N,” he quickly said, before hanging up. 

“Ugh.” Pissed off, you tossed your phone onto your canopy style bed, knocking one of your limited edition plushies off and onto the carpeted floor in the process. You turned to your full length mirror, glaring back at your scrunched-up face, your hands formed into fists near your tiny tennis skirt. “If he thinks I’m fucking my personal trainer, then I’ll fuck my personal trainer, alright.”

And so, your petty, self-righteous plan of spiteful revenge was set. You were a smart girl. You knew exactly what to do to get your ridiculously sexy personal trainer to break his professional and moral codes. All you had to do was wear something impossibly tight without anything underneath and moan a little louder when he was stretching you out. It was as simple as that. Right? 

࿏࿏࿏

Yeosang was everything a woman desired, all the way down to his persistent ability to respect them. He respected you, almost too much in your opinion. Here you were bent over in a ‘stretching position’ right in front of him, wearing a too-tight pair of gray leggings and the tiniest sports bra known to man, knowing damn well he could see the way you had your tits all pushed together for his viewing pleasure in the mirror, yet his eyes remained on yours. 

“How does it feel, Y/N? Are you tight anywhere like last time?” Yeosang asked, his voice, like dripping honey, filled your body with a comforting warmth. He studied your stretching form, one hand resting comfortably underneath his scruffy chin, the other on his hip. 

Your knees trembled slightly underneath you, urging you to return to a resting position, eventually sitting on your knees. You looked up to him, your eyelids lowering slightly, a pout on your glossy lips. “Really tight, yeah. I think I need help, Yeo…” 

“Then, I need you to lay down on your back for me,” he replied in a soft, though stern tone that made your cunt pulse, getting down onto his knees beside you with a small grunt. “Show me where, Y/N. You can do that, yeah?” 

Just as you laid down on the yoga mat, a fresh wave of slick slipped out of you. Damn him. He should be getting worked up over you, not the other way around. How would it be an act of petty revenge if you were soaking wet just from hearing your personal trainer’s absurdly sexy voice? 

“Nnngh, it’s right here…” you exhaled, feeling out your stiff hips, looking up at him past your lashes. “I need some stretching out, I think.” 

“Mm, I see. Well, let’s get you taken care of,” Yeosang nodded as his lips curled up into a somewhat mischievous smile, positioning himself so that he was in between your spread legs, wrapping his hands around one of your thighs and gently pushing it down towards your body, causing you to gasp. “Just relax for me, sweetheart…that’s it…” 

You were about to lose your mind, trying harder and harder not to let out a pornograhic moan the more Yeosang pushed his body weight onto you, your lower halves practically flush together. You wondered if he could feel how wet you were through your leggings, knowing there were no panties to catch your slick. “Yeosang…fuck…” 

Yeosang pushed down a little further, nodding his head apologetically. “I know, sweetheart, I know it hurts, but it’ll be worth it,” He gave you a charming smile, his fingers squeezing into the flesh of your thigh, pushing you down further, until the ache of your muscles matched the ache inside your cunt. “Still hurts?” 

“No, it feels good now, keep going, Yeo,” you sighed out, your eyes glazing over with lust, gently running your hand over his, sensing a hint of desire when it began to peer through Yeosang’s own lingering gaze, his hands moving towards your other thigh, beginning to give it the same treatment. 

“That’s a good girl,” Yeosang praised innocently enough, pressing your other thigh down against your body, leaning his body weight on you just enough to drive you mad, you cunt clenching around nothing. His other hand slipped around your opposite hip, expertly massaging it around with his calloused fingers. “Mm, you’re almost there. Just a little more…” 

“Yes, sir,” you sighed out, swearing you heard Yeosang’s breath get caught inside his throat just as soon as you felt something hard and heavy forming against your lower abdomen, hoping you weren’t just imagining it with your overheated brain. “I’m still so tight, Yeo…be gentle…” 

Yeosang bit into his bottom lip, coming to terms with your current shared predicament, wondering if you were both on the same page, but not fully knowing if he should cross several professional boundaries or not. Regardless, here he was, already pressing his stiff erection into his very young, very horny client’s cunt through her soaked leggings. What did he have to lose? His license maybe, and the respect of his peers perhaps, but it was worth the risk, especially now that most of the blood in his body had left his brain and filled up his heavy cock.

“Gentle, huh?” he chuckled deeply, pulling back slightly to admire the sight of your soaked cunt through your slick-stained leggings. “Sure you don’t want it rough, considering the way you’ve been dripping for me this entire time?” He ran two fingers down the legging seam that separated your puffy folds, rubbing them into your clit, making you let out another gasp. “Thought you could hide this from me, did you? I could feel how wet you were getting…”

“Fuck– Nooo, Yeo, I just wanted you to see it for yourself,” you answered whinily, spreading your legs open just a little wider, grabbing at the waistline of your leggings to make the shape of your cunt more pronounced, your pout returning. “Do you like it, sir?”  

“Jesus, of course I do. My slutty little client shows off her wet cunt and thinks I wouldn’t like it? Huh? Did you think I would be able to hold myself back?” Yeosang shook his head out of disbelief of his insane luck, taking his time running his calloused fingers up and down your clothed slit, admiring the way the material formed to the shape of it. 

Fuck it. You were too desperate now to reclaim any semblance of control over the situation, your act of personal revenge long forgotten, your mind only having enough space in it to think about Yeosang and getting used by him.

“I did it because I want to be your slut, Yeo. Please? Can I? I’ll be so good for you.” You began to move your hips along with his movements, in desperate need of more friction, more pleasure at your disposal, begging him with your glistening doe eyes. 

“Of course you can be my little slut, princess. You already are. I mean, just look at you, whoring yourself out for your personal trainer like this,” Yeosang groaned out, just as he lifted your ass up into the air by your hips, licking his lips. “I’ll make you mine, sweetheart.” And with that, he tore your leggings open just enough to expose your leaking cunt, leaning down slightly to take a deep inhale of your warm, flowery scent. “God, you’re completely soaked for me, Y/N. You’ve been wanting this so bad, haven’t you? Just dreaming about my tongue inside this tight hole of yours, huh?” 

“Yess, oh my god, please eat me out, Yeo, I’m begging,” you squeaked out from below him, already teary-eyed, ready to beg on your knees for the older man’s attention if you had to. 

Yeosang took an experimental lick up your cunt, already collecting enough slick inside his mouth for him to swallow down happily, idly working your clit with two agile fingers. “Do you play with your little clit like this and think of me before you go to sleep at night, Y/N?” he asked huskily against your cunt, beginning to lap at your leaking hole, teasing it with his tongue. “Huh? Do you think about me stretching you out with my tongue? With my cock?” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you moaned, just as Yeosang’s tongue fully slid inside you to rub at your inner walls, tongue-fucking you in a ravenous manner, his fingers still flicking at and squeezing your clit, your juices dripping down the lower-half of his face. “Fuck…! Yeosang…!” 

“Uh-huhhh…” he moaned into you, sending pleasurable vibrations through your cunt, eventually replacing his tongue with two more fingers, fucking you so quickly, you couldn’t even get a chance to breathe. “That’s it, baby, you’re so close, aren’t you? Going to squirt for me, yeah? Is my slut going to cum all over my face?” 

“Yes–fuck, Yeo–” you could barely call out, your muscles tightening suddenly, your lower half pulsing more and more until you let out an involuntary cry, clear liquid squirting out of you and pouring onto Yeosang’s face, spilling onto the yoga mat, and soaking into the material of your torn leggings, some dripping along your abdomen.  

“Oh my god, that’s a gooood girl, look at you…” Yeosang praised shakily, gently slurping up your squirt from your twitching cunt, moaning into it, his softening cock resting against his cum-covered inner thigh. “What a good little slut you are, Y/N.” 

“Good enough for cock?” you simply asked from below, reaching up to spread your cunt apart further for him, all while gazing up at him with barely open eyes, still swimming in your post orgasm bliss. “Wanna be stuffed, Yeo. Please?”  

Your adorably filthy behavior alone made Yeosang harder than he’s been in a long time, making him want to join in on the fun. He wasted no time positioning himself so that his knees were on either side of your head, slowly lowering his joggers until his long, veiny cock sprung out in front of your face. “I think you should drool on my cock for me first, princess. Maybe take it down that pretty throat of yours. Sound good?”

“Yes, sir,” you obeyed, opening your mouth wide enough to take what you could of Yeosang’s impressive length inside, gagging immediately when he began to fuck into your throat, dribbles of spit leaking down your chin. “Mmmfff…” 

Gutteral groans routinely escaped Yeosang’s throat, continuing to pump himself into your mouth, unable to release himself from the tight, warm confines of your now bulging throat. “God, you’re taking me so fucking well, princess. Wish I could watch you swallow my load down…” He suddenly pulled out, resting the tip of his heavy cock on your saliva-streaked lips, letting you lazily lap up the beads of pre-cum that spilled from it. “Gotta fuck you, though. I know that slutty cunt needs to be filled with cock.” 

“Fuck, yes, sir, give it to me,” you purred against his cockhead, sucking and slurping on it like it was candy, only stopping when he pulled away to lower himself down your body, until his cock was slowly pressing into your willing hole instead. 

“Doesn’t matter whose cock, huh?” he asked in his low, honey-like voice, wrapping his fingers around your hips, massaging into them like before, only this time he was sliding you onto his pulsing length little by little until he had completely bottomed out inside. 

“Mm-hm. I love cock, especially yours, Yeo,” you admitted breathily, the shame you felt only increasing your arousal, barely able to hook your thighs around his waist when he began to quickly pump himself into you, your hole swallowing his thick cock up each time.

“You’ll let a–fuck–older guy…someone who’s your personal trainer…nnngh…use you like their own personal cum dump and–” He pulled out suddenly, only to plunge himself deep into your cunt, making you cry out. “–pump you full of his cum as long as you’re getting stuffed and bred. Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Uh-huh…!” you cried, unable to keep yourself from moaning and whining each time Yeosang slammed himself into you. “Fuck me like the slut I am…Please, sir…” 

“Oh godd, I’m gonna fuck you so hard, Y/N, gonna fuck your goddamn brains out,” Yeosang gruffed out in between brutal thrusts, resorting to grabbing and holding your wrists down so that you couldn’t get away from him, drilling his aching cock into your squelching hole like he was getting paid to do it, which he technically was. Life was good for Yeosang.

Yeosang did indeed fuck your brains out. He fucked you until you didn’t know which way was up or down. The only thing that brought you back to reality was something warm and thick gushing inside you, Yeosang’s calloused hand holding your own down against your abdomen, his nasty words barely reaching your hazy mind. 

“You feel that, princess? All the cum I’m filling this whore-hole up with?” he asked you softly in between harsh pants, a few beads of sweat sliding down his sharp chin and landing onto your flushed face. 

You could hardly move, let alone form a coherent sentence. “Yes, yes, yes…” 

“I want to see it…Want you to see what I’ve done to you.” Yeosang slowly pulled out of you, milking the tip of his cock, groaning softly, leaving a few more spurts of his load on your puffy cunt, a few drops of it getting onto the torn hole inside your leggings. 

He gently turned you around, so that you were facing the mirror on the wall, reaching past your spread thighs to spread open your cunt with his thumbs, laying his lips against your ear, “Look. You got cum leaking out of you, your leggings are all torn up, and you got squirt all over the mat too...Do you see what a mess you’ve become for me, Y/N?” 

“Yeah, I see, Yeo. I love it…” You gazed at his hazy reflection in the mirror with hearts in your eyes, wishing you had seduced your personal trainer at an earlier date. 

Inhaling your flowery scent once more, Yeosang pressed a kiss onto your cheek, nuzzling it. “That’s my girl.” He tilted his head to the side, his hands rubbing into your sore hips. “Same time next week?” 

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[melankkholy]

understanding the kennedy

✎ sadly, leon isn’t the most optimal guy to enjoy the time with cause he is the bluntest man out there, but your time spent together and your adventures in the process of survival prove just how cuddly and sweet he can be… in an elevator, preferably with his hands on your body.

cw: fingering, leon being an ass, tit play, dirty talk bc auugh i love his voice, mentions of gore? kinda, fem! reader, idk if i should add anything else bc my mind is not minding, MDNI

You’re about to throw up, no kidding. Your dubious gaze flies between Leon and Ashley, bouncing between two blonde heads. Okay, so how did you end up in this situation? Let’s recap. First things first, you’re an agent with an orderly and strict life under the rules of the government. Being good at your job is what pockets so much trouble plus fresh green dough, which you deserve to earn to the bitter end.

Let’s proceed to the second reason.

When the President’s daughter suddenly disappears and an anonymous tip comes in that she’s been sighted in a village in Spain you’ve never heard of, the President himself appeals to two names he can rely on with his very life.

You and Leon Scott Kennedy.

As crystal clear as it is that you’ve heard his name before, pretty much every ear in this business you’re in has heard of this man at least at one point in time. The funny thing is that this may be exactly where things get tricky. People only know a name, Leon, but nothing about the personality or the story behind his name.

You’re very much aligned with this category of people.

Yes, and in the middle of the mission, not to mention how crucial it is, you don’t exactly expect to playhouse with Leon Kennedy, granted. Still, it’s not entirely flattering that the man projects himself to you with nothing more than a short nod.

He certainly doesn’t like to talk, albeit occasionally overhearing him talking to himself or cracking one-liners to infected villagers that makes the skin chapped and dry in winter, paints a much different picture of Leon in your mind.

He schemes on his own and rarely consults your point of view when he takes the matter elsewhere, which naturally leaves you feeling inferior. The sour grimace on your face is always preceded by a wisecrack, conveying the image of a self-righteous and, conversely, insecure man.

Is this what the infamous Kennedy is like?

“Psst, amp up your game, agent.” A laconic tone, a haughty flow to his voice, as if to say, ‘I know best around here, and you don’t.’

In a riot you never expected to stumble upon, the villagers clogged with armaments composed of pitchforks, axes, and hacksaws, your life is miraculously salvaged by an anonymous clarion call of a bell.

Now you are looting a random house in the village for Leon’s ridiculous reasons, or rather, he’s the only one doing the looting because there is no way you would ever touch anything of these ailing locals.

“Hunnigan warned that the sooner the better, herring brain.”

“Herring brain?”

His back is turned to you, so you can’t quite see what sort of emoticon is hanging on his face. But the inflection is the same. Sarcastic as hell.

He jams his elbow into the glass of the vitrine, and it’s not hard to discern whether he’s pivoting to protect his prissy face or to prove to you how pinched his frown is. Definitely the former one, even though his face is too pretty to harm.

Putting a grenade in his gear as though it will be enough to slaughter the entire village because it certainly won’t be enough, he tosses another curt retort back at you—not that you weren’t born yesterday.

“Oh, nice.” He’s woven with acrimony and malcontent. Seriously, where does his assertiveness stem from?

“We need to get to the mill straight away.” You try again. Nothing that can’t be solved with a little more civility, right? It’s worth a try.

The soles of his boots crunch on the chunks of broken glass as he trudges forward in front of you. Okay, Mr. Vanity.

All humor aside, his gaze is unnerving, as if there are vines tied around your ankles holding you in place, so much so that you can do nothing but loiter in his presence, bunglingly.

It’s as though for a moment you forgot about his previous ’joke’, mainly about playing bingo (?) and his usual goofy mentality—how dare you be demeaned in front of him?

Seriously, this guy is a nonentity for his sheer size; he has a giant head full of cheesy jokes and an enormous high forehead that he tries to cover with a fringe of his... perfectly bleached and conditioned hair.

Ugh, lame alert.

But… He’s still handsome, let’s face it. Could be the work of charm that these dronemen so rarely acquire.

Still, don’t give him the time of day on this one after seeing how obnoxious he’s proven to be.

You roll your eyes, undeterred, your steps already dragging you forward, and you make your way down the stairs to exit this ramshackle excuse for a house that smells of dung and blood in equal measure.

If only you could get out of the seconds you’re in now as you got out of that specific moment. It’s not that simplistic; it transpires.

“Hey Leon, there’s some armor. Bet you could use it like a bulletproof vest.”

Well, Ashley is a cute girl, and denial can be deemed as a blind existence, or deafness, whatever. But when she starts to fill up your patience drop by drop, as it has been the case ever since you reached the Salazar Castle, she gradually grows more and more friendly with... Leon, not with you.

The president’s daughter’s words are clear and concise, one hundred percent flirtation.

It’s fine; you don’t care. But usually speaking to you as if you are not the part of this mission, or sometimes outwardly ignoring you, is an aspect you don’t understand.

“Little old-fashioned for my taste,” Leon quips in the world’s blandest tone. Damn.

It’s a wonder what happened to the girlhood chumminess. Maybe Leon and Ashley are more apt to form a closer friendship, or perhaps you’re the low-key of the group, or else Leon alone spotting Ashley in the church fostered a stronger bond of trust between the two of them when you went your separate ways and found out that Leon had gutted a lake monster or something.

Absurd as fuck.

To your credit, you weren’t a fat lot of good; a few diary fragments of your findings were the remains of a scientist who had scribbled on a piece of paper about a brand new parasite: the plagas.

Anyway, back to the shit you’re in.

It’s pretty obvious that there’s nothing too serious damage to emotions here; in fact, Leon is so thick that he turns Ashley down time and time again, not in a rude way—never in a crude way—but just with his inane and arid jokes.

“Too bad. I think you’d look pretty dashing." Ashley’s chirping, but it’s no good. She gets no reaction from the guy.

You take it’s the signal for the end of their conversation, and just follow the two of them into the moonlit room, keeping silent. I mean, why join in, since watching this awkward thing going on between the two of them is frankly like a cutscene in a sit-com.

You know Leon sucks at the whole flirting thing; you figure it out, so all that bravado, all that stoicism—it’s all a veneer. Insecure, yet cute.

The romp with Luis is a very specific narrative. It’s short and abrupt, so sudden that it’s unreasonably all tied to him. The only thing you know is that Luis has the 'medicine’ to treat the poisoning of Leon and Ashley by the parasite that is probably written on the pieces of scrap paper you found and... that’s it. It’s obvious that you’re Luis’ ticket out of here, and that he’s telling you how he no longer works for Los Illuminados as a way out of this clusterfuck while ogling your boobs is extra hassle.

He‘s a completely alternative man to the intangible and abstract man Leon is. Flirting is Luis’ breakfast, lunch, appetizer, and, of course, his dinner. Like the water, he has to drink so he can exist. Like his cigarettes, you can say.

One small maneuver could stop him; you could even tell Leon that you won’t go along with his scheme to trust this guy (he, too, somehow doesn’t like the attitude Luis gives), put a bullet in his head, and take his life on the spot.

But it’s the inner attention whore fairy in you that permits Luis to flirt like there’s no tomorrow. You like the limelight. That and he’s pretty cute; his hair looks great. You can work with that.

Basically, it’s a peculiar combo. There’s nothing stopping Luis. Even when you’re underground, literally underground and trying to get back up, there's nothing stopping him from alternating between you and Leon, occasionally putting a few bullets into the infected villagers, while mostly watching you both do the work. Two hot agents wrestling their way out of the mess—what can he say? It’s hot.

When Leon asks him to assist, he just shrugs. "Hey, I’m the brains. You’re the brawn, and the señorita is the vision."

Luis, a paragon of bisexual charm, effortlessly switches his attention. But what impression does this strike in Leon’s eyes? One word: bleakness. The rest—sourness and everything unpleasant.

Trusting someone, especially someone he didn’t necessarily know, to get things fixed was beginning to become a habit of Leon’s. Yes, he wants to help everyone whenever he can, and that’s where all the shit hits the fan for him. He is, notably, reluctant to put his trust in someone (formerly!) working for a corporation that has razed a young rookie full of dreams and wrecked several lives in one simple night.

Call it survival instinct or whatnot.

Besides, it’s quite asinine for Luis to act so laid back or to think he has that luxury in the midst of so much grime and squalor.

The flirting game doesn’t cease, and Leon’s pestering you as well. Blatantly flaunting around with a flamboyant flirt would suggest that you’re neglecting your expertise and don’t give a damn about the mission.

That’s exactly what bothers him, never for any other reason. Yeah, right.

Or... how an agent of your reserve falling for Luis’ tricks and snubbing Leon might (it is a certainty, but he’ll never admit this) be playing a small part in his aggravation.

“Really? I didn’t take you had such a low standard,” he says casually in the elevator that’s now hauling you upstairs, in a rare moment when you can have some privacy. You wonder if he’s never spoken or at least ever bothered to talk to you.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You quirk an eyebrow and watch as he cocks his gun, giving it a quick once-over—an idle thing he almost always does, but one that makes your skin prickle with welcoming tingles.

What the fuck is going on? Intensifying gun kink moment, perhaps.

“WhAt is thAt suPpoSed to mEan?” He mimics your intonation effortlessly.

Hey, come on, your voice isn’t that squeaky.

It would be a challenge for him not to miss the wintry glower on your face; he’s observant, and to tell the truth, watching your face makes him feel good at times.

At times, it's the key ingredient. For after all, he had made that mistake once before of falling into the maw of the sweet trap of the woman he had known overnight in Raccoon City and in whom he had tormented his heart.

Except things are otherwise; he’s not a rookie anymore, and he even finds these traps interesting. Or rather, he likes you. And your traps.

“You need to watch your mouth, asshole.” Your voice lectures him with a sharp vibrato.

“Huh?” Quite the sport that he is.

What, was he guarding his stone-like reticence in order to torture you for hours on end? Or has he gotten over the familiarization period and is suddenly expecting you to click like best pals?

Reading men is the toughest exercise in the world; everyone knows for a fact that they don’t use their brains, but reading Leon is much more demanding. It’s a lot of strain, and it’s the kind of maltreatment that can cripple a person both physically and cognitively.

It takes a lot to tune in to the energy of the likes of Luis, a verse of assertive words for a few more ambitious words, and, well, he’s a good warm-blooded friend now.

Then Leon?

It's tricky to figure out how to stay on his good side.

“Whatever.” Your voice echoes with finality, and your follow-up answer is disrupted by the juddering of the elevator accompanied by a broken, beeping sound. Lights flicker and breaths are held in short gasps, as these things often don’t augur well. Then darkness blankets the space like the teasing gloom of a sky before the copious rain patters fall on the soil.

“Hey, I’m talking to you. Better tune your ears.”

“Wh-What?” You really do stammer.

“Come on, are you daydreaming in the middle of a mission? Man, it looks like you’re not as polished as the president thought you were.”

“Stop it,” you hiss in rebuke, to which he reciprocates with a ragged snort. There is something staggering about the fact that the man who didn’t say a word to you last night is surprisingly toying with you like a schoolboy. So much so that there can be no other conceivable answer to the vermouth tint of your cheeks.

The grin on his face provides a unique glimpse of his crooked teeth. Or his soft jawline. Up close, he’s full of his flaws, but he looks cute. You can’t lie. And you can’t just imagine being dissuaded by someone so full of little foibles. Especially on duty, in a malfunctioning elevator.

“Shy, or am I living things in my head?”

“The latter and for the first, dream on, buddy.”

“Oh, well. I shouldn’t be dreaming much then.”

None of these rejoinders are smooth; they’re frankly lame, painfully corny. Except that you have an infinite penchant for pretty-faced men and their languishing eyes, namely for Leon.

Which is why in the darkness you can’t visualize how his hand is tucked into your pants. It happens.

The sound of his fingers curling inside you is the root catalyst for the darling mantle on your cheeks, and the pilgrimage is the secondary motivator. Alongside his drenched and glove-clad hand, his other hand is under your shirt, cupping your right tit, which is sticking out of your bra with gusto.

“Tsk tsk, how long have we been on post, hm? For how many hours?”

He bombards you with queries as if you have the breath to center on his inquiry. How blunt.

Leon jeers when he sees your eyes blinking disproportionately at his. You’re a dumb blur, wet, and yes, only for him. Not for Luis, not for anyone else. It’s just a finger dipping in and out of you, and the second he sticks a second one in, you adopt a piquant pout, your lips pursed, eyes glazing over. Too pretty a spectrum for Leon.

“Let me answer that for you, sweetheart, it’s been about 7 hours and you’re getting fingered by someone you barely know.” His scratchy drawl tickles your ears like a freshly scabbed wound scratching vigorously, like he’s the only thing that will soothe the pain inside you.

“That’s what all your bitterness was for? To get me and keep me for yourself?” His questions almost never conclude, fingers pumping and scissoring the daylight out of you.

“Ashley walks out because you only want me for yourself. To be all yours?” In return, a protracted, keening whine rolls out of your mouth, your lips bruised from his previous kisses, his teeth. Ouch, so utterly ignominious.

When this is over, you will definitely remember this moment and break your sleep.

His swelling hubris, just like the twitching dick inside his pants, gives Leon a feeling of entitlement and conceit. At least he looks more appealing in that way.

“Wish I could understand your blabbering, beautiful,” he jests, his thumb darting over your puffy clit, rushed but attentive as he knows you’re inching close. The face buried in your bosom, his lashes and hair delicately brushing over your skin, shrinks the knot in your belly; warmth flutters.

Leon’s urge is stirred by the tight grip of your lovely cunt squeezing the fingers inside of you that are ebbing and flowing incessantly. A harsh and crass mark, a tiny imprint his teeth leaves on your neck, faint, purple, the kind you will carry with you tonight, on this mission and for a time being as it appears.

A seal that is almost bruising, hard enough to draw blood, and so irascible because it can’t draw blood; a brand that quickly grows purple; a sting that is the right match for the pinch it leaves on your nipple.

A brand that says you are Leon’s, for a fleeting while.

It’s absurd that it’s been so long since the last time someone fingered you that you can’t remember cumming. Guys just suck at this shit. And you never dreamed that you would just melt and cum in the fingers of a trite man like Leon.

The sight of you paralyzed in rapture is so captivating that his craving to lick and devour you is eclipsed by the sudden illumination of the elevator lights. Pulling out his two fingers, he finally succumbs to his instinct to taste you and allots them close to your lips.

In a very non-sanitary, even grossly insensitive method, his fingers are swabbed thoroughly, as if your tongue were a gauze pad when he pushes them inside your parted lips.

He’s spectating you in a blissful trance, and if he were to claim that he didn’t put his fingers in place of his cock gliding between your lips, he’d be the world’s biggest fibbing bastard, and he’s not the world’s biggest fibbing bastard—mind you.

Only at the last second does he catch your hand sliding down his hip, grabbing it by your wrist.

“Ah, ah, not so fast.” He winces in pain, and the longing to impale himself inside you eats him up, but he has some principles, and he doesn’t want to break them. So, he wipes his fingers on your shirt once they’re out of your mouth, knowing it’ll leave a big ass stain. For real? Well, ew.

“H-hey, why the hell?” Your outburst is both about the dick he’s detraining from you and his juvenile antics.

He just shrugs his shoulders and hitches up your jeans, notwithstanding that your panties are still damp and caked in juices.

“Sorry, but I’m keeping myself back for the right time. Maybe we can finish it in a hotel after the OP, yeah? That’s if we survive.”

Oh, but really? Did he really cockblock you?

“Don’t tell me you're a virgin or something.” You just can’t let him go easily; you’re grinning impishly.

“Don't tell me you are a loser cumming on a virgin’s fingers.” Message received. He's so blunt. Salty.

He reaches down under your shirt and grabs your utility belt lying pointlessly on the floor and your holster. On his knees, like a man designed to minister to you. What can you say? He knows he’s a fucking pain in the ass and he looks hot, that’s for sure.

He fastens the belt around your hips—not too tight and certainly not too loose��snaps the holster back to its original place on your thigh and adjusts the straps with a fair dollop of precision.

“There you go, agent. Ready for action and about to kick some serious cultist ass.” He pushes himself to his feet and strolls out of the elevator, as if his fingers, which minutes ago had been rearranging your pussy walls, had never been inside you.

When the elevator doors open, Luis's gray eyes greet you with a knowing look as he waves the inoculum tube in his hand.

“Finally, eh? You should have paged me, Leon,” Luis says flippantly, while Leon looks at him with a dismissive dazzle, and your insistence on biting your fingernails out of abject embarrassment is the solitary subject on your mind. Never ever again. (Lies!) It’s not like you’re here to shoot a porn video, right?

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

The Winter Formal - Modern! Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Forced to be your annoying, arrogant academic rival’s date for your university’s Christmas Formal was already a nightmare in itself. Getting drunk? Now that was just a recipe for disaster.

Pairing: Modern! Aemond Targaryen x AFAB! Reader

Warnings: profanity, angst, some talks of drunk violence, academic dumb idiot rivals to lovers, lovesick Aemond, p in v sex, degradation, face sitting (f!receiving), tiddy play, use of 'atta girl' (pls let me know if i missed anything)

Word Count: 6.92k words

A/N: hoe hoe hoe! a very merry late Christmas and Happy New Year in advance from me to you :) MAY THE AEMOND NATION PLS ARISE, bcuz this is for you guys ;)

lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics !

For as long as you could remember, you had always hated Aemond Targaryen’s guts. 

Maybe it was a hatred programmed in you since birth, but it made little sense, since your mother and Aemond’s mother, Alicent Targaryen, had been inseparable companions since high school. It was your mother who supported Alicent throughout her marriage, acting as a close, trusted confidant during her clashes with their old friend and Alicent’s new stepdaughter, Rhaenyra, and throughout her miserable marriage. They had even gotten pregnant at around the same time, your mother with you, and Alicent with Aemond, and they were sure that their children would share the same strong bond as they had. 

So, it had been quite unfortunate, and ironic, when you and Aemond ended up being each other’s number 1 enemies. 

You disliked plenty of things about him: how he always thought he was the best in the room, and actually had something to show for it - always coming in at the top of the classes you shared. History, geography, mathematics, english…bloody hell. It hurt worse when he always flaunted the results in your face. 

Got a 98 for English? Aemond would get a 99, shoot you a taunting sympathetic grin and said: “Better luck next time.” He knew you were always actively seeking a chance to beat him, and he found a certain sort of thrill in it, in taunting you. 

That little fuckhead. 

It was a nigging thorn in your side, since you always strove to be the best that you could at everything. And you were always so, so, close. 

Yet not close enough. As you were made to watch Aemond on stage every year at your school’s academic awards ceremony, a smirk on his face, looking like an overly self-righteous pufferfish as he lifted his first place trophy in the air. Like he had just won some fucking world championship. Meanwhile, you had to stand backstage, gritting your teeth and fisting the fabric of your uniform in your hands as you waited to be called on stage to receive your award as second place in your whole cohort. Not close enough as you were forced to be designated as salutatorian at the end of your senior year in high school, while Aemond shot you the most self-satisfied grin ever as he deliberately brushed past you to give his valedictorian speech. 

You swore, if your diploma was not at stake that day, you would’ve pummelled him right in his smug, grinning face. 

That year before you were due to start at King’s Landing University, however, Aemond had suffered a horrible accident in a brawl at a bar during Christmas along with his younger nephews, Jacaerys Velaryon and Lucerys Velaryon. He had come out of it with one eye permanently scarred from the glass shard of a broken beer bottle, and a colder, more sullen attitude. Despite the offer of a prosthetic eye by his step sister, Rhaenyra, Aemond had refused, instead putting on an eyepatch to hide his scarred right eye. 

When your mother had recounted to you the incident with much solemnity, you had felt a strange sense of turmoil in you. You didn’t want to feel sorry for Aemond Targaryen, of all people, but it was a tragic incident that no one deserves to have befallen on them. So you could only shift uncomfortably in your seat, as your mother made meaningful eyes at you, trying to elicit some sympathy and concern from you. 

Because of that incident, Aemond’s admission to university had to be put on hold, as the professors at the university were unsure if Aemond’s plans to double major in law and history would be impeded by the loss of his eye, and he had to take additional exams to prove that his studies would not be affected in any way. 

So you were surprised when on the first day of classes, during your first class of the day - Constitutional Law - you caught sight of a familiar figure seated at the front of the class. Dressed in an expensive black cashmere sweater and tailored trousers, his long white hair neatly bunched up at the top of his head in a bun, eyepatch slung over his right eye, Aemond Targaryen sat there with an impassive look on his face, browsing through his lecture notes. Like some dark shadow the Seven sought to inflict upon you. You wanted to groan in frustration when the only seats left at the front were both next to him - clearly no one had summed up enough courage to sit next to the imposing Targaryen. Gripping the strap of your backpack a little tighter, you stalked up to the front, taking a seat at the right of him. 

He barely looked up as you slid into your seat - a surprising change. Usually back when you were in high school, he would always greet you with that infuriating smirk on his face, one that screamed superiority at every turn. Gods, how much you had hated that. Yet, you felt a strange sense of emptiness at not being greeted. 

Ignoring that, you pulled out your own textbooks and self-made notes, tying your hair up into a neat ponytail as you began reviewing your notes. From the front, you could hear very clearly what the rest of the class were gossiping about, and the whisperings about Aemond were unpleasant. You paused as you listened to them, gripping your highlighter a little tighter as you shot side glances at Aemond - still studying, not letting anything give. Was he truly not bothered by them? When he was younger, he always had something to prove whenever someone gossiped about him, having been bullied in the past. Why was he so silent? Who was this phantom? 

“Are you going to keep staring?” Aemond’s cool voice broke through your thoughts, and you felt your cheeks heat up as you realise you’ve been caught. You sniffed haughtily, turning away. “Who said I was staring?” Aemond scoffed, not turning to look at you still, for whatever reason. “You were. Don’t try to deny it.” He paused for a while, eye fixed on a passage. 

“I don’t want your pity, you know.” You bristled, startled. “As if I ever would.” You waited for Aemond to retort with a snarky remark, but you were surprised when he kept silent, and responded coldly. “Good. keep it that way.” 

You shot him a discerning look, but before you could say anything else, the professor arrived, and all thoughts of Aemond Targaryen’s new unapproachability had vanished into thin air. 

You soon came to learn that while Aemond had ceased the taunting of your youthhood, it was like losing an eye had made him even more driven somehow. You found you and him falling into old patterns, restarting your fierce rivalry. Only this time, you managed to succeed in getting the best of him in certain modules, such as for Civil Law modules, much to your delight. It only served to make Aemond more steely, however, and the both of you often found yourself partaking in the same student committees, always competing for the top spots in planning school events. 

Like now, in the meeting called to discuss the planning of the school’s Winter Formal. 

“I think that that’s a shit idea,” Aemond’s blunt words took everyone aback, but few dared to oppose him, too intimidated by the tall man. 

And the few who dared were mostly you, anyway. 

You raised your eyebrow, tapping your pen on the planning document in front of you. “It’s a winter formal, Targaryen. And white and gold is the traditional theme used for most formals. Isn’t it nice to spruce things up a bit?” 

“You’re proposing to reinvent a winter formal that has been steeped in centuries of tradition,” Aemond remarked sarcastically, glaring at you. “Do you know how many distinguished alumni and guests are on the guest list? I doubt they would find your ‘Christmas Wonderland’ theme proposal charming in any way. Most likely, they’ll think it gaudy and it’ll reflect badly on the school.” 

You snorted, wanting to toss the pen in his fucking infuriating face. Him and his know-it-all voice. “Yes, but you forget, Targaryen, that I am the head of this project. Not you.” You turned to the other members of the planning committee, who all look like they would rather be anywhere other than here, in the midst of you and Aemond’s bickering. “All of those in favour of revamping the winter formal theme, please raise your hands.” 

Your reputation as a tenacious leader clearly had an effect, as most of the members tentatively raised their hands. Shooting a triumphant grin at Aemond, you smugly noted it down and began drafting up the students in charge of decorations. 

One for you, and zero for Aemond. At long last. 

Aemond had reluctantly gone along with the Christmas Wonderland theme, and even he had to admit, a little bit of colour certainly didn’t hurt. White and gold were such dreadfully boring colours, and many of the school’s faculty had expressed their praise for the changed theme this year, much to your delight. 

However, so busy were you with the planning of the winter formal, that you had neglected to do a few important things for yourself. 

Buying a dress and getting a date. 

You paced back and forth in your dorm in panic, two days before the night of the Winter Formal, as your roommate, Rosina, looked at you with increasing frustration. “How could I be so stupid to have forgotten about those things?” You groaned, slumping down on an armchair and putting your head in your hands. 

“The dress problem can be easily solved,” Rosina said bluntly, leaning back against her pillows. “I’ll just lend you one of mine. And who gives a flying fuck about not having a date? A lot of people don’t.” 

“Yes, but I’m the head of the planning committee for this event!” you griped, as Rosina rolled her eyes. “I still don’t see the problem, apart from your stupid fucking dignity getting in the way as usual.” Usually, you loved Rosina’s deadpan, take-no-bullshit nature, but it wasn’t really helpful now. 

“Anyway, from what I've heard, Targaryen doesn’t have a date either, so you don’t need to stress. He’s second-in-charge after you, anyway, so if he doesn’t have a date, you should be fine. It won't be that humiliating.” You slowly lifted your face up, looking at Rosina urgently. “Targaryen doesn’t have a date?” 

“Yeah,” Rosina wrinkled her nose. “He’s hot, sure. But literally everyone who had the courage to ask got rejec- where the fuck are you going?” You were putting on your bra, and brushing through the tangles of your hair. “This is so fucking stupid, but I’m going to ask him.” 

“Are you crazy?” Rosina came to stand next to you, hands on her hips as you roughly used a hairbrush to comb out a tangle. “You know you both hate each other right?” 

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” you bit out. “Wish me luck!” You blew a kiss to Rosina as you left the dorm. “Good luck, you crazy bitch!” You could hear Rosina holler as the dorm room closed behind you. 

You took a deep breath, eyes resting on the dorm door before you. Right. You didn’t know what exactly had possessed you to come here. Maybe it was sheer panic, or stupidity, or both. You knocked lightly, but it seemed no one was in, which made you come to your senses a little bit. “This was a stupid idea,” you muttered, retracting your hand, wanting to just scurry back to your dorm. 

Turning around, however, you knocked into a hard chest. “Oof! I’m so sorry!” You gasped out, before your eyes met a familiar lilac one, an indifferent expression etched on his face. Fucking hell. 

“And what are you doing at my dorm this late, little bookworm?” His voice was raspy, and you couldn’t help but shift your weight from one leg to the other. Was it too late to run? 

You were never a quitter though. And like you said, desperate times called for desperate measures. 

“The winter formal,” you reluctantly gritted out. “I wanted…to ask you to be my date.” Aemond raised an eyebrow, and for a split second, you could see that self-satisfied boy from your youthood again. “You know, you’re supposed to say please, little bookworm.” 

You bit your tongue, wanting to snark him and be done with it. ‘Calm down, calm down, you really do need him. Play nice, Y/N.’ you told yourself sternly, sighing. “Please, will you go to the winter formal with me as my date?” Aemond smirked, looking down at you. Your head was bowed, and he could hear you grinding your teeth a little. You were just too cute sometimes. 

“You should look up at someone when making a request of them, you know,” Aemond said blandly, putting his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Your mouth dropped open, was he serious right now? This dickhead- 

“You know what, fuck it,” you sniffed, beginning to walk away. “If you’re going to be a dick about it as usual, then there’s no point in continuing this conversation. Good fucking night, Targaryen.” 

Aemond watched you walk away, the smirk never leaving his face. You went back to your dorm, immediately burying your face in the pillow, ignoring Rosina’s exasperated sighs of ‘I told you so’. All night, you tossed and turned in frustration, but when morning broke, Rosina shook you awake, ignoring your grumbles. 

You got out of bed grumpily to see what the fuss was about, only to find a note sitting on the table, in a familiar scrawl. 

“Go to the address written below and pick out a dress for tomorrow. Knowing you, you definitely didn’t have time to find one. I’ve already made payment arrangements, so just find one that you like. See you tomorrow. 

Your date, 

Aemond Targaryen.” 

Rosina snorted, bumping your shoulder as you scanned the note for the third time, trying to make sure he wasn’t pulling your leg. “He so likes you.” You looked askance at her. “That’s bullshit.” Rosina chuckled, “Yeah. it’s not, and you know it too.” The conversation abruptly ended when you snatched up a stray cushion and began hitting her with it, ignoring her squeals as she tried to escape. It was impossible. 

And yet? 

A warm feeling burrowed into your stomach, and stayed there for the rest of the day. 

On the night of the Winter Formal, you were frantically scrabbling around your dorm, affixing the final pins to your hair, putting on your final touches of makeup. Rosina was still in classes, but as the winter formal started at 7:30, you, being your endlessly worrying, perfectionist self, had to go at 6 to make sure everything was in order before the guests poured in. 

A knock at the door sounded, and you yelled in response, putting on your lipstick. “Give me a second!” As you swung open the door, your breath momentarily stuttered in your throat. 

Oh dear. 

Aemond stood outside the door, looking like he had just stepped out of the fucking Met Gala or something. He was dressed in a three-piece suit, black with red lapels, with a few shimmers of silver scattered here and there, like he was coated in a layer of stardust. His suit jacket wasn’t really a normal jacket, but a sharply cut cape coat, which made him look a little imposing, but handsome all the same. It was embroidered with small dragon insignias, and you remembered Aemond’s family’s crest was a dragon or something. Of course he would find a way to incorporate that into his outfit. His family were one of the biggest donors of the university, after all. 

You gave him an appraising look, one hand on your hip as you surveyed him. “You…look nice.” Aemond smirked, tossing some of his white-blonde locks over his shoulder haughtily. “I can dress myself, you know. Don’t need to act surprised now.” You rolled your eyes, and Aemond took the chance to scan you from head to toe as well. Dressed in a gorgeous strapless gown of midnight blue, your bodice was streaked with silver as well, shining like starlight among the deep blue of your dress. The skirt flared into elaborate ruffles of tulle and black lace that were almost invisible against the backdrop of the dress, and small silver sparkles twinkled among the ruffles of your gown.

You narrowed your eyes as you realised the both of you were matching, did he do this on purpose? From the way Aemond’s eye was shining in mischief, you were most certain that he did. 

“You look…breathtaking,” his next words took you aback, and you regarded him with a look of unease, unsure of how to respond. Was this truly the Aemond Targaryen you knew? The one whose only language was taunting or disagreeing with you? You somehow managed to recover some semblance of sanity, nodding stiffly. “Thanks…I guess.” 

A self-satisfied smirk appeared on his lips again, as he offered you his arm. “Shall we get going, then? I’m sure you will want to inspect the venue and get your nose into every single little crook and cranny to make sure that it’s perfect.” 

You rolled your eyes, your arm, which were clad in silver silk gloves, slipping into his gingerly. “Spoken like someone who wouldn’t do the same.” 

The formal had been progressing smoothly so far, apart from the few drunken incidents here and there, which you discreetly handled and made a note to provide less alcohol at these events. Much to your delight, your professors had introduced you to some attorneys whom you deeply admired, commending you as one of their finest students in the year. You had taken the chance to network and mingle with them, eagerly seeking out internship and shadowing opportunities for your upcoming holidays, particularly in the field of civil litigation, and many of them had given you their contact details for you to contact them should you wish to work with them.

Aemond stood by you like a silent shadow, watching but not saying much, but your professors also praised him, introducing him to many esteemed alumnus. And once they had learnt that Aemond was from the prestigious Targaryen family, many of them immediately took to flocking Aemond, asking him many questions about his family, his plans for studies, and so on. A slight burning sensation of envy rose in your heart as you watched Aemond disinterestedly converse with them. Why wasn’t he taking it seriously? Had it been you, you would be seizing the opportunity to network with them. 

‘He's a Targaryen,’ you sighed internally. ‘Of course he wouldn’t. It’s been pretty much handed to him on a silver platter his own life anyway.’ 

Sullenly, you slipped away, making rounds around the party to ensure that everything was progressing smoothly. Still, it couldn’t curb the irritableness you were feeling, so you snatched up a bottle of whiskey from the drinks table, pouring yourself a glass. Then two. Then three. Then four turned to seven and seven turned to thirteen glasses. Your surroundings blurred as time seemed to slow, and you sighed, feeling a heady pounding in your head. 

“Are you serious?” A gruff voice interrupted you in your fifteenth? Twentieth? Glass of whiskey, and you looked up from where you had sunk into a plush armchair, a glazed over, slightly cantankerous expression on your face. 

“Well, well,” you hiccuped, lifting the glass to your lips. “If it isn’t Mr Bigshot Targaryen.” Aemond sighed in annoyance, knowing you were picking a fight again. He made a quick assessment of your surroundings, noting two empty whiskey bottles and a third one that was almost drained. Seven fucking Hells, you were drunk. 

You let out an indignant yelp as a hand plucked away your whiskey tumbler, setting it down with a definitive clink. “Hey, I was drinking that!” 

“You’re fucking drunk out of your mind, little bookworm,” he said quietly, crossing his arms. “I’m taking you back to your dorm.” You hiccuped again. “You’re not my dad, Targaryen. So why don’t you just run along and socialise with those schmoozy lawyer friends of yours, hmm? They were all eager to have a piece of you. Or have you grown tired already?” 

Aemond wanted to smack you in the forehead. Oh, this godsforsaken woman. “I may not be your dad, yes,” he rumbled, snatching away the whiskey bottle that you were reaching for and making you curse at him. “But I would be damned if I let you get drunk on your first Christmas Eve spent away from your family.” 

You gave him a confused look. “Is it Christmas Eve?” Aemond frowned. He put a hand on your forehead, to check for a fever, which you promptly batted away. “Have you lost all your senses? The winter formal was scheduled on Christmas Eve, remember?” 

“Oh.” was all you could say, lamely. “I…I was so busy. I didn’t remember.” 

Aemond sighed, taking a seat in the armchair next to you. It was good that it was late and most of the guests had already left, so the both of you had some privacy. The vast hall was empty now, save for a few cleaners. “You know, you have got to take more time for yourself. You take on too many commitments.” 

You hiccuped, snorting softly. Perhaps it was the liquid courage, but you felt a strong inclination to vent out all your previous frustrations on Aemond right now. Who the hell did he think he was, criticising you for your decisions? 

“Yeah, and it’s all your fucking fault.” Aemond’s eye widened incredulously, his mouth dropping open. “My fault? Pray tell, did I ever tell you to overwork yourself that you forget to keep track of when Christmas was?” 

“It’s because of you that I have to overwork myself!” you blustered out, a tidal wave of emotions overtaking you. “Because you’re always so fucking perfect, and smart, and good at every single goddamn thing under the sun. Meanwhile, compared to you, I’ve always had to work twice as hard. And yet, I never come close to beating you. Despite how many fucking extracurriculars I have, how many A’s I get, how much praise I get for being ‘one of the best students in the grade’, it’s never fucking enough! Because you’re always the best! And I’m so sick of it!” 

After your tirade, you deflated like a balloon sucked clean of its air, collapsing back against the armchair. You felt hot wet streaks cascading down your face, but you didn’t care anymore. You were just so tired…it wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be so perfect? 

The touch of a hand on your shoulder startled you, and the next thing you knew, Aemond Targaryen embraced you, gently stroking your hair as if you were a lost child, and he was consoling you. Despite your mind screaming at him to let go, it didn’t translate to your physical actions. You just…stayed there, sobbing in his arms. “I hate you so much, you know. You’ve always had everything handed to you on a silver platter, and it’s like you don’t even care. You always treat things for granted,” you continued rambling on, the dizzy sensation in your head gradually increasing. 

Aemond was silent for a long time. He never anticipated you to feel this way, and the shock from your revelations sent his head reeling. He sighed, how could he ever tell you that he had a stupid crush on you since you were little kids? That his attempts at teasing you, riling you up, were all so you could just look at him for a second longer, even if it was with a scowl? How could he tell you that none of his A’s or first place trophies could make him feel the same fuzzy way he felt whenever you looked at him? He opened his mouth to speak, debating on whether to comfort you, or tell you all his feelings. “Y/N-” 

With a start, he realised you were asleep in his arms as you let out a snore, body slack in his arms. He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. Wonderful. This was just the Christmas Eve he wanted. 

The sound of an alarm jolted you from a deep slumber. You flung off the blankets covering you, sitting up in bed and rubbing your eyes. “Ugh…” the pounding in your head was overwhelming, it was like there were a party of elephants having a fiesta in your brain right now. “What time is it…” you reached for the alarm clock to turn it off, only to freeze when a hand reached for it before you did. 

You and Aemond Targaryen stared at each other, wide-eyed, in the dim light of the dorm, while the red digits on the clock read, “6a.m.” 

You were the first to react, frantically struggling as you scooted to the far end of the bed. “Aaaahhhh!” you screamed, clutching the duvet closer to you for protection. “What the fuck are you doing in my dorm?” 

“Wait, we didn’t-” you looked down at yourself, noting with palpable relief that you were still in your winter formal attire, though you stank of alcohol. Thank the Seven. 

Aemond rolled his eyes, grumbling as he switched off his alarm clock. “No, we didn’t sleep together. And this isn’t your dorm. It’s mine.” 

“Then what in the name of the Seven and all that is holy am I doing here?” You hollered at him, the confusion coupled with the pounding in your head making your surroundings spin. “Ow…my head.” 

“Yeah, it’s called a hangover,” Aemond snided, taking a seat on the bedspread. “You know, for drinking nearly three bottles of whiskey last night.” 

Your eyes went wide in horror. “Last night…” You weren’t the type to forget what you did while drunk, so your memory quickly raced through last night’s events, where you got drunk, and…fucking shit. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, muttering curses under your breath as you remembered what had happened last night. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. An awkward silence had lapsed in the room, as you struggled to find words to acquit you of this predicament. ‘Me and my big mouth while I’m drunk.’ 

“I’m sorry,” you both blurted out at the same time, before breaking off, staring at each other awkwardly. “Wait, why are you sorry?” you questioned him, looking dumbfounded. Aemond sighed, smiling wistfully. “Isn’t it obvious? For making you feel that way. I…I had no idea you did.” 

“It’s fine,” you cut him off brusquely, awkwardly fiddling with your fingers as the duvet slowly slid back down. “It’s all just fucking stupid, anyway. Let’s just let it go-” 

Suddenly Aemond seized your hands, holding onto them with some sort of restrained anger. Startled, you stared up at him, as his one eye glazed over with pain and sorrow. “Of course it’s not fine. Don’t brush aside your feelings like that.” you stared at him, stupefied. What had gotten into him? 

Aemond inhaled deeply, looking down at your hands. “You know…how I lost my eye over the break last year right?” You nodded warily, not sure where this was headed. Aemond’s voice shook a little as he recounted that incident. “It was because Luke was drunk, really. He wanted to pick a fight with this guy because he had stolen his girlfriend. And then next thing we knew, his goons surrounded us. Then, I think maybe it was the heat of the moment, or adrenaline…but Luke had a glass shard in his hand, and he accidentally attacked me.” You felt your heart plummet to your stomach. “What?” 

Aemond smiled, a contortion of pain and feigned impassivity. “He was drunk out of his mind, he probably thought I was one of the goons by accident. By the time Jace pulled him off, it was a little too late.” He sighed. “You know, the drunk part I can forgive, but the worst part was that my father didn’t even care to hear my side of the story. He just said that we should’ve been more careful.” His voice hardened, “I was angry, because he just chose to brush this under the rug, pretend like we were still one big happy family, like Luke didn’t slash out my eye in a drunken rage. He didn’t try to comfort me, or understand my situation. And I just…” he shrugged helplessly. 

You bit your bottom lip, looking at his scarred eye. “I’m sorry…that must have hurt. A lot. Your dad is a dick.” 

The ghost of a smirk lingered on Aemond’s lips. “Yeah…he is. I’ve made my peace with it though, and Luke has never stopped apologising since that day. So it is what it is.” He hesitated, before reaching up tentatively, taking off his eyepatch. A gasp sounded from you as you took in the sapphire crammed into where his right eye should’ve been. “...does it look scary?” Aemond asked you, his voice small. You shook your head, unable to tear your gaze away. “It’s not. It’s…quite beautiful, actually. Even though it’s a bit macabre.” 

Aemond chuckled, gently brushing aside a strand of your messed up hair. “My point is, don’t try to just brush things under the rug, okay? It never did anyone any good, and it won’t for you as well.” You shifted, a faint sense of discomfort prickling your skin. “But why…are you telling me all this?” ‘Why are you being so nice? I hated you.’ 

Aemond barked out a rough laugh. “Isn’t it obvious? I have a crush on you, little bookworm.” 

You blinked. Once. twice. Thrice. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“I have a crush on you. Since we were kids." Aemond repeated himself, his voice light with amusement, but tender. “Did you know why I always teased you? Why I always wanted to make you frustrated? It was because I wanted your attention. I didn’t care if it was negative or positive, which in hindsight, didn’t seem like a good choice.” 

You stared at him, mouth agape. He-he can’t be serious, can he? 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Aemond said quickly, releasing your hands. “I just wanted you to know how I felt. No brushing things under the rug, you know.” Still, Aemond could feel his heart breaking a little at your silence. He had shot his shot, even though you made it clear that you disliked him. He shouldn’t expect much. “Little bookworm?” he asked carefully, observing your expression. 

“For someone so smart., you’re a real idiot, you know that?” Aemond opened his mouth to answer, but before he knew it, your lips were on his, as you launched yourself at him. Aemond’s eye widened, but then you mumbled, “You’re supposed to kiss me back, you know.” 

Then, with a choked laugh, Aemond did, reaching up to cup your cheeks and stroke them with his thumb as he returned the kiss from the girl of his dreams. Your lips moved in perfect tandem to one another, filled with tender, sweet desperation. “I’ll be an idiot, an annoying pest, anything you want.” Aemond murmured, his lips breaking away for a moment. “As long as you keep tormenting me, as long as you’re still here. I would be your anything.” 

You laughed, feeling slight tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. “You’re such a doofus, you know that?” Aemond flipped you over, making you land on your back with a yelp, as he hovered over you, smirking. “I know. But I’m your doofus.” 

Aemond continued kissing you, his hands roaming across your body sweetly, carefully. “This is probably the best Christmas of my life,” Aemond muttered softly against your lips. Your eyes widened, “Shoot, I completely forgot again.” Aemond laughed, sitting up and looking down at you with a naughty grin on his face. “Well, I actually have a present for you, you know.” 

You raised your eyebrows, looking up at him. Even in nothing but an old, faded sweatshirt and some sweatpants, he looked like a vision sculpted by the Seven. “Oh? And what might that be?” 

“Me, of course,” he said smugly, leaning down to kiss you again. You let out a few whimpers as you felt his hands slowly sliding up your dress, creeping up your thighs…into your panties. 

“Oh!’ you gasped out, as Aemond found the spot between your wet folds. He grinned devilishly, “Already wet for me, hmm?” You rolled your eyes at him, groaning as he teased your wet slit with the pad of his finger. “Just shut up already.’ 

Aemond wiggled his eyebrows mischievously, “Why don’t you make me?’ You blinked, not quite comprehending his point. “I want you to sit on my face while I eat your wet little cunt,” he delineated bluntly, looking at you hungrily. “It’s a victory for you, no? You get your pussy eaten out, and shut me up at the same time. Hell, if I wasn’t so eager for a taste of your pussy, I would’ve grumbled at the unfairness of it.” 

You stared at him incredulously, but you felt the slow rise of arousal in your abdomen as he continued looking at you challengingly whilst teasing your folds, and you decided, why the hell not? “Game on, Targaryen.” 

He grinned, putting his finger in his mouth and groaning as he tasted your essence. You clamped your legs a little tighter at the sight. “You taste so fucking good already. I can’t wait to feel your cunt on my mouth.” Deft fingers helped you out of your gown, and you tossed it away carelessly, moving to take off your underwear. Aemond’s eye trailed over your naked form shamelessly, and he planted a soft kiss on your neck. “Beautiful.” he murmured. You felt your cheeks heat up, but decided to sass him a little. “Well, are we going to wait here all day, or?” Aemond grinned, a handsome, wicked expression that made your stomach do flips. “Definitely not. I need to taste you now.” 

He laid back on his pillows, gesturing at you. “Come here. Now.” You swallowed, crawling towards him, angling your cunt to his face. “Don’t suffocate or anything, okay?” You quipped as a joke, but Aemond only smirked. “No promises, sweetheart.” 

He pulled your hips down towards him, and you let out a pleasured gasp as his tongue flicked across your clit. Moaning, you dug your nails into the wooden headboard of his bed, writhing and shaking slightly as Aemond devoured your pussy. When he pressed the tip of his nose up your slit, you let out a mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

You rode Aemond’s face eagerly, as he pleasured you without much regard for his own safety. A few times, you were so concerned that Aemond had not come up for air in so long that you tried to move your hips off his face, only for him to firmly grip you by the hips and pull you back down again. With Aemond’s insistent licking and sucking, you felt a coil beginning to form in your stomach. “Oh, god, I’m cumming, Aemond-” you moaned, but your moan was cut off when Aemond lifted you off his face, smirking at you smugly with his face coated in your juices. “Why’d you stop?” you whined, pouting. 

Aemond chuckled. Oh, you were just so adorable sometimes. “Because I want your first time cumming with me to be on my cock,” Aemond explained, looking eerily calm, like he hadn’t just nearly drove you to climax with his tongue. “On your hands and knees.” 

You gave him a scolding look, but Aemond only repeated himself, sterner this time. “Now, princess.” The nickname earned a shiver from you, and you found yourself obeying, shifting on your hands and knees. You heard Aemond dispose of his own clothing, and your legs quivered in anticipation as he came up behind you. 

He chuckled darkly, landing a few gentle spanks on your ass. “Gods, this ass is magnificent. I’m going to have to spank it someday.” You had to bite back a moan as he leaned over you, whispering sweetly into your ear. His other hand wandered to your chest, pinching and then rubbing your sensitive, hardened buds, releasing a shaky, shuddering moan from you. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? Having my hands all over this perfect ass of yours? Leaving red handprints over it? Hmm?” 

You nearly choked on your saliva as you fought to answer, “Yes, daddy.” He groaned, smacking your ass lightly for a few more times. “Good fucking girl,” he punctuated each word with such raw intensity it made your cunt ache for him. Oh, how you craved him.

As if he could read your mind, Aemond began to enter you, groaning as he did. Inch by inch, he sunk in, watching his cock disappear inside your warm, wet folds. “Gods, you are so fucking tight,” he swore, his hands gently going around to pinch your nipples. You yipped, which brought a smile to his face. How could someone be so perfect? 

Your legs were quivering at this point, and you were barely hanging on by a thread as Aemond sunk into you slowly, reaching places so deep and so pleasurable. You moaned, just how big was he? 

“All in, princess,” he whispered affectionately, stroking your hair gently. “You okay?” “Yeah…” your voice was slightly raspy from the pleasure. “Good.” Aemond kissed down your spine gently, making goosebumps rise up on your skin. “Do you want it hard and fast, or slow and gentle?” 

Biting your lip, you managed to stutter out, “Slow, please. Need to get used to you.” Aemond smiled, hands trailing down your abdomen. “Anything you want, princess.” 

Then, Aemond began to move, and the world dissolved into a fuzzy nothingness as he did. He was so careful, taking his time with you, thrusting so deep inside you it elicited the most delicious, deep sighs and moans from you. “Oh…that’s the spot,” you murmured as Aemond’s cock hit your g-spot, making you see stars. Aemond chuckled darkly, one hand moving to play with your hardened nipples, watching as you arched your back into him. “I’m going to go faster now, alright, princess?” he murmured, the other hand soothingly trailing down your spine. You barely managed to gasp out the words “yes” before Aemond began to thrust harder and faster in you, hips ramming into yours as his cock stroked the most sensitive spots inside of you. 

You moaned, panting needily as he did, feeling your ruined orgasm beginning to creep up again. “Aemond, am gonna come-” A guttural moan torn from Aemond’s throat as he heard that, his hands moving to flip you over as his movements slowed. “No.” He nearly snarled, turning you around to face him. “You come looking at my face, princess. Understood?” 

You nodded, too desperate for your orgasm to object, as Aemond wrung moan after moan out of your pliant body, mouth kissing and biting everywhere on your neck and shoulders, leaving his marks all over you. He groaned as he began laving his attention on your perky tits again, mouth sucking at them harshly, teeth grazing over the nub. You shut your eyes, too lost in the pleasure as Aemond continued pounding into you, gripping your hips tightly. 

“Eyes open, darling, or I won’t let you come,” Aemond’s rough sounding command made your eyes snap open, and he grinned roguishly as he saw your eyes fixed on his face. “Atta girl. Are you close?” 

You nodded, pleading, “Please let me come, Aemond. Can’t last much longer…” 

“I know, darling. I know,” Aemond groaned, leaning in to kiss you again. “You’re just a needy little slut for me, aren’t you?” You nodded frantically, anything to make him let you cum. He chuckled, “Thought so. It’s alright though, daddy likes needy little sluts like you, so long as they’re obedient. You’re a good girl, aren’t you, princess?” 

“Yes, yes, I am,” you cried out, hands moving to grip at the sheets tightly. “Oh god, I’m going to come, I’m coming-” 

Aemond’s fingers moved downwards, and his thumb rubbed over your clit, coaxing you towards your orgasm. With a loud cry, you came all over Aemond, eyes squeezing shut in unadulterated pleasure. Aemond’s thrusts didn’t slow a bit, as he chased his own high, groaning. “Do you want me to come inside, or…” 

“I’m on the pill, don’t worry,” you reassured him, looking up at him, smoothing his white-blonde locks back from his forehead. He looked like an angel, all sweaty, his expression filled with pleasure and hunger and affection as he looked down at you. An angel of lust. 

Aemond moaned at that, feeling his dick twitch before he spilled inside of you, hands going to grip at the headboard tightly, as he rode out his orgasm. 

Aemond collapsed onto the bed next to you, taking you into his arms. “I should probably get you cleaned up,” he murmured softly, “But I just want to be selfish for a while, and cuddle with you a bit. That okay?” You nodded, leaning your head onto his chest. A content sigh burst from your lips. “More than okay. We can just shower together later, anyway.” 

Aemond hummed in approval at your proposal, kissing your forehead gently. The both of you stayed in each other’s arms for a while, basking in the afterglow of sex and in each other’s company. 

“Hey, princess?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas, Aemond.”

Aemond General Taglist: @aiyaiy @sylas-the-grim @darylandbethfanforever9 @hc-geralt-23 @hb8301 @omgsuperstarg​ @justrybca

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thank you for reading! if you liked it, likes, comments and reblogs are always highly appreciated! merry late xmas guys 😘🎄

[nynyhaha]

Spider Themes: Partial empathy and the effects of utilitarianism

A huge Spider centric philosophy rant where I’ll digress many times(sorry)

The Phantom troupe is an embodiment of the Robinhood troupe as much as it is a deconstruction and subversion of it. https://www.tumblr.com/nynyhaha/761225991501873152/phantom-troupe-failed-robinhoods

They don’t do what they do for fame or money,but when it comes to using horrible means for noble ends,they also fail. After years of pondering the Spider’s purpose,I’ve found that seeing them as a warped version of heroes makes the most sense. Ex-child soldiers,running rampant after they’ve outlived the anticipated period of self appointed service.

After Sarasa’s death Chrollo clearly states that he sees no possibility for achieving his goals peacefully, in his eyes they never had a chance to accomplish anything while staying the good guys.

Of course he couldn’t succeed if he didn’t even try! But why didn’t he,and why is there so little stopping a person as caring,responsible and community-minded as him from turning around and betraying humanity at large,detaching himself from all the good he could’ve caused?

I love that Togashi let the not yet Spiders as well as us,the audience,see this typical hero cartoon for children where the good always wins because of the magical purity of their hearts. Where if they just believe hard enough,it will be fine.

In reality..all Chrollo can do is bring flowers to honour the graves.

It means there was always a separation between fiction and reality for him,despite being eager to watch and dub the power-cleaners story,Chrollo never believed it. Or maybe he did before he found Sarasa,after which all the illusions he might’ve had shattered.

The knows it takes a sacrifice to make great change,not just of his life but of his morals.

Chrollo shows an unusual level of self awareness for a child. In the following panel he announces he’s going to become a villain. Not a rebel with a cause,or a noble avenger,a VILLAIN. His view is so pessimistic,that it must take a villain to defeat villains. There’s no way to keep his “pure heart” and all this talk about ✨faith✨ was bullshit. To me this is a very interesting summery of Chrollo’s view of his role. It’s how he assesses it before he actually does anything,which makes it all the more fascinating since we don’t know how much his outlook changed once he actually started his plans. Or do we?

Why utilitarianism? Isn’t the regret he shows here in advance indicative of deontology?

If I was tasked with defending the Spiders and presenting them in a more favourable light,I’d pull up with the combo of

-“us vs them” -> they were defending their very marginalised community that the world turned its back on,against such horrible organisations as the mafia. Their initial mission is self defense. One might also look at it the way aot fans do,where being mistreated by outsiders justifies crimes against them.

-utilitarian principles-> even if innocent people were hurt in the process,it’s worth it in the end because a greater number of innocents are saved.

Chrollo however,simply says he’s going to kill a lot of people,not specifying if

-he will kill more people than he’ll save

-he will kill more innocent people than he’ll save

-he will only kill bad people

-he will kill outsiders for the sake of meteorians

But I assume he’s going to kill those whose lives he still values,why else would he feel bad about it? In that moment we see a person who is torn between two extremes,and chooses one whole acknowledging the other.

Chrollo in that instance does NOT believe that killing evil outsiders is a righteous quest he’ll embark on,neither does he believe that killing many,even for the sake of saving many,is justified. He still decides to do it,just not as a hero,but as a villain.

Sarasa wouldn’t want it because she didn’t live long enough to experience loss and hate,altho she did experience extreme pain so who’s really to say she wouldn’t have wanted revenge? Either way,it seems Chrollo isn’t just talking about going against Sarasa’s principles,he’s talking about abandoning his own,that the two of them shared until she died together with his naivety and innocence.

The last three speech bubbles are the most puzzling for me. Unless by “repenting” he means being held accountable and paying for their crimes,this opens up crazy ideas about those kinds of people actually feeling bad about their crimes.And the notion that legal systems are powerful enough to cause such changes in a person.

This raises the question whether Chrollo will ever repent for his crimes.The answer is yes,he did already…Before he even committed anything.💀💀

Since this post is a HxH analysis mixed with philosophy,let’s look at honouring vs promoting values.

Honouring the value of human life would mean never ever taking it(Sarasa’s alleged view)

Promoting its value in this case would mean fighting for the recognition of meteorian lives by the world and stopping the mafia from killing more kids,even if for that you’d need to kill (Chrollo’s path)

In short,kid Chrollo holds values he’s willing to break and about to abandon.

The Spider ends up operating on the two principles mentioned above,valuing the whole over individuals and acting in favour of Meteor City at the cost of outsiders.

When I say “utilitarianism” I don’t mean maximising good or happiness,but acting in favour of the goal/organisation above all else

Inheriting values:One for all and all for one

The Elder here promotes the value of life of his people,he’s willing to sacrifice 31 of them to do so. Mathematically this seems stupid at first:killing 30 more people than the one originally harmed? Couldn’t more lives be saved by inaction? Couldn’t Chrollo keep his friends rather than losing four more over the death of one?

But,consider how this incident paints Meteor City,how actually standing up for themselves in such a brutal way does a great deal of inflicting fear on the world,likely preventing it from wronging Meteor City again. 31 people may die for the message,but spreading the message will help the sum of people living in Ryuseigai. Well,it’s supposed to help,and for the sake of argument let’s say it does.

Similarly 13 people giving up their lives can help the community as a whole. Will I ever shut up about the Spiders breaking the mafia deal? No.Because by doing so,they accept the responsibility of protecting their home from any threats AND getting the necessary money(haha,it can never be enough)

If just 13 people will commit enough crime to gather whatever the mafia was previously paying the city,there won’t be any need for human trafficking AND they’ll commit the crimes on their own terms! ✨Independence✨ through 🕸Spider Scapegoats🐐

Basically,the Phantom Troupe can be the sole solution to many problems,even if they’ll never solve the core of them. That,and the immense pressure that lies on them,might lead to nihilism and loss of any motivation which drove them to start what they do in the first place.

The loss of empathy

Chrollo’s definiting character trait is his relationship with humanity and his connection/disconnection from it. He’s speaking as if he’s not human himself,and in the fight vs Hisoka he displays just how deep he’s sunk on his journey.

He uses bodies as instruments(for utility),specifically the bodies of the audience(people who might not be “innocent”but have very little to do with him). He couldn’t care less about them. The Elder used the bodies of his own comarades,but how much did he care about them if he was capable of such a thing?

The Elders remain enigmatic but my impression of them is that of a powerful but inefficient council of people whose task is so enormous it numbed them to minor things such as necessary deaths. Much like the Spiders,the Elders have to use horrible means for an end too big to achieve. They don’t even have an end,they just run the worlds biggest orphanage and homeless shelter,a “safe” oasis for anyone abandoned and wronged by the world. They’re supposed to be fixing whatever injustice there is,they’re peak philanthropists and altruists,so much so that they’re willing to kill and arguably sell out (traffic) a number of residents for the sake of the whole of them.

It’s a matter of scale for them. Or maybe not even,it might not be about efficiency anymore.

They’re not unlike normal politicians,arguing about semantics instead of taking action. At least in that way the Spiders are better,and since “nothing has changed” the chapter illustrates exactly why the Spider is needed,the Elders have apparently always held this outlook.

Yes,because they actually go deal with the problem and figure out if the transformed residents can turn back. When they can’t,we see them expressing sadness about it

We even got Fei looking sad. Sad.FEITAN.Am I hallucinating?

Once Phinks figures out a way around feeling too bad about killing their fellow citizens,the other Spiders also regain their confidence,now knowing what to do. I’m grateful for the manga because the anime wasn’t as expressive with their expressions,lol.

We clearly see them concerned for people outside the troupe,and while Phinks hates feeling pity because he sees it as dishonourable for the ones turned,it’s obvious that that’s what he experiences.

Speaking of Chrollo..Wasn’t Phinks the one arguing against going to save him?

Self dehumanising/Cog in the machine

While the strong bons between members humanise them to no end and create the cognitive dissonance (how can this silly friend group commit such atrocities?) they actually show quite well just how much they have to put on line to live as they do.

If the Spiders didn’t care as much for each other we wouldn’t care as much for them either,and we wouldn’t see what the Spider-set up takes from them.

Firstly we have Shal causally determining someone’s worth by their ability ✨😀

Next we have Shizuku calmly speaking of her death as if she’s talking about the weather

This moment especially shows how much Chrollo’s cold,tactical approach can hurt,cause I was pretty annoyed at him at that moment. He’s only being reasonable tho,wanting to avoid more deaths while Nobunaga is being emotional. Still,his friend just died and while not letting that death influence them to the point of losing more people makes sense,the way Chrollo phrases it “you were willing to die,so Uvo was ok dying but those other members are crucial so they need to live” is very cynical. We know Chrollo is far from accepting Uvo’s death and his way of coping through the requiem can only do so much,however when he needs to,he shuts his emotions off completely.

Judging each other’s worth based on ability and how strategically useful they are to the Spider runs contrary to the notion of friendship,it forces them to see themselves and each other as instruments,as mere cogs in the machine. While some Spiders hold those principles more strongly,the whole organisation operates this way.

Chrollo designed it that way,since they all went into it ready to give up their lives,he made the organisation a priority but not the individual. Still,when the time finally comes to out his ideas to the test,only several members stay true to his principles.

This is the same Phinks who acted like a girly girl with a crush,worrying about Chrollo,unable to wait. Ok,maybe losing Pakunoda and seeing Chrollo through her eyes changed him,but I don’t think that’s likely. Phinks cares about Chrollo but he cares about the Spider more.

Feitan will also break rules of negotiation and risk Chrollo’s life to find out more information. He seems to see no obligation whatsoever to play fair and obey the enemy’s rules,I also don’t believe he has a concept of 🕸honour among thieves🕸but he did max out on loyalty.

While Phinks’ and Feitan’s actions seem to just stir up trouble,once we understand their pov it all makes sense.

If you put the Spider first,why would you NOT go above and beyond to ensure you have all knowledge you could possibly get and secure the most advantageous position? He’s not doing that because he’s a sneaky little shit but because he’s operating on the principle of maximising the Spider’s strategic advantage!(im such a good advocate for my boys)

We also can’t forget that the well-being of the Spider as a whole overlaps with the well-being of the majority of its legs,which means choosing the spider in practice is synonymous with playing it safe and protecting the remaining members

As harsh and damaging their approach may be,in some way it’s inevitable. There was no right choice in this dilema,and there was also very little certainty so it was a matter of trust.

-Kurapika might play dirty and actually control Pakunoda as far as they know

-Its Chrollo’s death vs a guaranteed but unspecified number of Spider deaths

-preventing further deaths is good both for the whole and the individual members

Also Chrollo being “worthless as a hostage” might just mean he’s on a democratic standing with the rest and isn’t more important than them. He likely made this rule to prevent others dying for him just because he’s Danchou (and failed)

Conclusion: An organisation such as the troupe HAS to operate on utilitarianism if it

-serves an important purpose (guard dog of Meteor City)

-is valuable by itself and most concerned with persisting

No matter how you look at it, whether the Troupe selflessly performs acts of necessary evil for their people,or if it’s a cult/collective entity that exists without any clear reason,it’s survival is more important than the survival of its individual members. Which is a shame,because it poisons the very bonds that were formed while they fought for their cause side by side.

[pinkaditty]

hey baby... i was uh wondering....

if you could do geto x reader x gojo for me 😍

i would love it as a birthday gift !!!

mwah xoxoxo

- big daddy

Three's A Crowd (Geto x Reader x Gojo) Pt 1

*rubs hands together and does the DreamWorks face and laughs like a witch* yessssssss.... yessssssssss!!!

everyone say hi 2 my roommate (the ask) 👐🏾 love her im her biggest fan

a/n: *kills self* I AM SO BACKED UP WITH THESE ASKS BRO THIS ONE WAS DUE LAST YEAR... IT'S FAWKING JULY 😭😭 im so sorry y'all so much has happened in my life im not even in my home country rn yall... yea... the good news is that I TOTALLY GRADUATED COLLEGE EARLY WHIPPEEEEE!!! joining the dreaded workforce come August, but for now... enjoy my works. I promise y'all, I see your asks, im working on them. jus a lot going on rn but I WILL DELIVER I PROMISE!

summary: you and gojo are friends with benefits... sorta. but why's geto, gojo's best friend, paying you extra close attention lately? (basically my REALLY self-indulgent studentbodypres!geto x dom!bimbo!reader x sportyclassclown!gojo fic)

cw: MINORS DNI, fem!reader (im sorry! i had to do fem for this one,,, a gift) dom!reader (my pref + my roommate's pref 🙏🏾 she gets me fr), gojo is a sporty himbo, submissive!gojo, smut, mentions of penetration, sexual acts, gojo whimpering, reader is a bimbo bc i said so (very little dialogue so they don't talk much but just trust me), fem undergarments mentioned, some choking, NOT PROOFREAD (there may be some mistakes), perhaps slightly ooc? andddd idk what else.

NO MINORS ARE ALLOWED TO INTERACT! PLEASE RESPECT MY BOUNDARIES!!

The two of you never really hung out in public, at least not on campus. It was an unspoken rule. He was the campus wrestling star, huge class clown, but overall popular nice guy. You were the rumored slut with an enormous body count. Gojo didn’t mind, of course, but you did, fearing how your reputation could bring down his with you. So you insisted on being separate on campus. He was fine with that, if a little reluctant. Besides, not only was he the most attractive guy on campus, he was also best friends with the student class president and other most attractive guy on campus! No way could he ruin his rep by hanging out with you; or at least that’s what you deduced.

The student class president was Geto, probably the other most popular guy among college campus. He was a little self-righteous and airy, but he had his down-to-earth moments, and made an effort to be sweet when it mattered. So, of course, when running for pres, all it took was the sweet charm and he won in a landslide. You didn’t know him, not like Gojo did, but recently you had become curious about him. You’d had your fair share of run ins with him, like in the hallways, or in the cafe, even passed by him in your dorm once. Gojo had been talking about him a lot recently, and that sparked your interest. You had to admit he was strangely attractive. Not conventionally, like Gojo, but rather mysteriously. Maybe you just had a thing for guys with long hair, or maybe you liked his slim eyes? Who knows. Regardless, most of campus agreed with you.

Geto seemed to be all you could think about as you headed to Gojo’s apartment, just across the street off campus. It didn’t make sense. You’d only had a few run ins with him, but then Gojo starts running his mouth, and now he’s all you can think about? You shake your head, and decide to just wait out front; Gojo would come down soon.

It was a lukewarm night in mid September. The cool wind cut through the warm temperature and humid air. It was comfortable enough for you to wear something nice; a cute hot pink crop top, low enough to show off a leopard print bra. It matched with your leopard print boots with hot pink laces. A simple jean skirt worked today, but of course, you had a sparkly, cute pink belt to match. Not your best outfit, but cute. Besides, it was all going to be tossed around anyway.

Your earrings and bracelets make little clinking sounds as you look around for Gojo, and your nails tap against the screen of your phone as you text him. Finally, he arrives, wide goofy smile spread out across his face as he held the door open for you. He’s wearing a light blue oversized jersey with navy cargo shorts. Sorta matches, but anything worse and you wouldn’t want to be seen with him. You step inside and he leads you to the elevator.

“So how are you, Pink?” He calls you by your endearing nickname, one he very proudly came up with. You’ve been friends with him for years, and were pretty close, at that… But it was only recently when this new development happened.

You shrug in response. “Like, I'm fine. As fine as ever.” You jokingly motion to yourself exaggeratedly, and Gojo laughs.

“I can see that!” He quips, his eyes taking you in over his sunglasses. “Never a day where you aren't dressed to impress!”

You laugh and wave him off. “Whateverrrr.”

You and Gojo had met in high school, and had been good friends ever since. You were both now juniors in college, studying in your own respective fields; him in Kinesology and you in Fashion and Design. Despite such differences, his sense of humor and some shared interests kept you around. You weren’t close with him like Geto was, though… The two of you were close in a different way.

Really, it started in freshman year of college. The two of you had attended a party, gotten a little tipsy, some hidden truths were shared and after one night, it kept happening, even sober. You were just friends, as that was what was comfortable… but, the benefits weren’t ever undesirable.

As you finally reach his apartment, he lets you in with his usual dramatic flair, and you laugh at the familiarity. Upon reaching his room, you both know what you’re here for, but it doesn’t feel awkward anymore. It stopped feeling awkward after the first five times. Now, it was as normal as ever.

As soon as you step in and Gojo closes the door behind him, you set down your purse and start taking off your boots. He follows suit, slipping off his shoes as well. As you both get undressed, he asks, “How were your classes today?”

You laugh and say, “Satoru, we don’t need to catch up, like, allllll the time, you know? You’ve already heard about my classes over text anyway!” You shake your phone in hand while undoing your belt and slipping down your skirt, reminding him of how often the two of you talk in a day.

He nods, smiling. “True, true. But I do like to hear it from you directly. I prefer your voice anyways!” He pulls his jersey over his head, revealing his bare torso before unbuttoning his shorts.

You roll your eyes, smirking. “You could literally just call me, you coward.” You slip your top off, trying to pull it over your hair without ruining your style or makeup. Thankfully, your bracelets and nails don’t get caught on the fabric.

He visibly pouts, moving to pull off his black boxers. “I don’t see why I can’t just talk to you on campus… In real life… As friends do!” He complains again, kicking his boxers to the side and approaching you, his ridiculous circular sunglasses still on.

You shake your head, slipping your bra off and quickly sliding out of your panties. “You know why.” You move to approach him in turn, smiling familiarly. You reach up and pluck his sunglasses off the bridge of his nose, placing them on his desk behind you. His blue eyes gaze at you softly, and an equally soft smile graces his features. You trace your fingers under his chin and walk towards his bed, sitting on the edge. “Come on, hotshot.” You call to him, smirking. “Don’t tell me you aren’t horny after a rough week.”

He shakes his head, sighing. “Can’t deny that.” He approaches you, pressing a knee into his comforter and curling an arm behind you, trapping you on the bed. You lean back, allowing him to hover over you on the bed. “Wrestling has been tough lately.”

You fling your legs around him and grab his arms, rolling over on the bed and pulling him with you until you were positioned over him. He simply smirks, rolling his eyes. “You know, if I were to ever use my wrestling techniques, I’d win.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, sure. You have the strength advantage here. But I know you won’t do that.”

He narrows his eyes, goofy smile spreading on his face. “And? What makes you so sure that I-” You cut him off, running one of your long nails down his throat. His adam’s apple bobs under your touch as he swallows harshly, his eyes widening and breath catching. His eyes flick between your face and your nails, as though waiting for you to do something more. When it became apparent that was all you were going to do, he whines, pouting. “Come on, you can’t just do that! Totally unfair, especially when you have the advantage.”

You smirk. “Sure, but it’s not my fault you react like this every time. At a certain point, I just find it funny.”

His pout turns into a slight frown, though you can tell he’s exaggerating to get what he wants. “You’re just making fun of me.”

You decide to lay into him, biting back just as well. “Well, duh!" You laugh in his face, and he only pouts further. “It's no fun if I can't make fun of you."

You laugh, shifting position a little. As you do, he grunts, and you feel something press into your thigh. You suppress a giggle.

“Hard already? Loser."

“Shut up. You're naked and on top of me." His eyes narrow as he says this, and you can tell he's trying to look serious, but then he bites his lip, betraying himself. He huffs impatiently and grips your hips, digging his fingers into your soft flesh. You simply smirk and stay over him, waiting for him to cave. “Come onnnn!" He whines at last, twitching impatiently. “It's been a whole week…”

At his exaggerated pout, you finally relent. You stroke his cheek with your hand and with the other, you trail your long nails down his neck to his collarbone to his chest. You lean in and gently kiss him, his mouth opening excitedly the second you swipe your tongue on his lips.

You pull away and whisper in his ear, “Good boy."

He whimpers again.

------------------------------------------

You spring upwards, suddenly waking up after your deep sleep. You blink blearily a few times, making sense of your surroundings. You were not in your own bedroom, but you knew this room. This was Satoru’s room, and the soft snoring next to you was evidence of that. You turn to look at him, and there he lies next to you, oddly positioned with his mouth wide open, snoring muffled in his pillow. Shaking your head amusedly, you yawn and stretch, slipping out of bed. You were naked, but it's not like Satoru cared if you went around his apartment naked. Sunlight streaked through the windows, but it wasn't quite early morning. If anything, it looked to be noon, the sun high in the sky, bathing everything in even sunlight. You pad over to your purse, where your clothes from last night still are, and rummage around, pulling out the spares you packed. A cute bodycon dress. Maybe you'd wear this next time you came over. Satoru suddenly grunts, and you turn, seeing him twitch his arm before blinking awake and looking around for you. Upon spotting you, he plops back down on his bed, humming in satisfaction.

“Very glad you haven’t left yet. I wanted to at least give you something to eat before you go this time.” His voice is thick and heavy with sleep, and he rubs his eyes, rolling over and forcing the sleep from his limbs.

You smile at him, placing your spare clothes on his bed and heading for his shower. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too excited though, I’m hanging with friends today.” You close the bathroom door behind you, very aware that he could still hear you.

You hear some shuffling, assuming Satoru is getting out of bed. “What, and I’m not ‘friends’?”

You roll your eyes at your reflection and sigh, wrapping your hair up for your shower. “Not today you aren’t!”

A wounded sound comes from the other side of the door, and you hear dramatic stumbling and a final collapse on the bed. You bite back a laugh. “One day… One day I'll permanently be your friend.” He fake sobs for dramatic effect.You give an audible pity laugh. “Ha! Sure.”

You turn on the water and you are about to step in before you notice an unfamiliar hair comb sitting on Satoru’s bathroom counter. For a moment, you’re puzzled, until you recognize the few, barely visible black strands in the comb.

Geto.

------------------------------------------

For the rest of the day, as you hang around friends, you do your best not to think about it. But unfortunately, even the brand new pink and highly-deco’d acrylics you got with friends on your spa day do nothing to soothe your thoughts. Geto visiting Satoru was not remotely the problem. The problem was seeing Geto’s comb and having to repress the flaring heat that seared through your body all at once. You imagined him in that same bathroom, just as naked as you were, smirking at you in the mirror, alluding to the night before. You imagined him picking up that comb, watching as he runs it through his uneven black strands, smoothing it out after you’d spent most of the night pulling at it. The thoughts nearly sent you over the edge. You plop down onto your dorm room bed that night, wrapping yourself in your blankets and squeezing your legs together, trying to distract yourself from the thoughts. You hadn’t even thought of him in that way before. Why did it have to happen when you were naked, in Satoru’s bathroom? How embarrassing is that? You kick your feet and audibly groan, pulling the blankets around you tighter. This wasn’t working. You decide to go for a walk, get some fresh air, grab a snack or something. You hurriedly toss the blankets off of you and scan through your closet, throwing on a see through hot pink sweater dress and your favorite knee-high boots. You only bother grabbing your wallet and keys before walking out of the dorm, too out of it to pay much attention to your surroundings.

You notice it’s cooler than usual the moment you step outside, the cool air easily penetrating your dress. You cross your arms, wrapping your hands around your sides. Barely anyone is out tonight, besides a few stragglers. Not surprising, though. Usually on Saturday nights, everyone’s at a party or something. You walk in the direction of the campus convenience store, hoping to grab something and head back to avoid being in the cool air for too long.

As you are walking, you notice someone heading the opposite direction on the same path ahead of you. You don’t pay them much mind until they pass underneath a street light and you notice their visage looks eerily similar to Geto’s. You squeeze your sides tighter and pray to whatever higher power is listening that that isn’t Geto, and that you’re just seeing things because it’s so late. You keep walking, acting as nonchalant as humanly possible, wishing you’d grabbed your phone as a means of distraction before you left the dorm. The person slowly draws closer, and it is all you can do to not freeze in fear, trying to look everywhere except at his face. You breathe heavily, looking to your side as he approaches, and hope this will pass without incident.

“Good evening.” His deep voice greets you, and you know it would be rude now if you didn’t look at him, at least. You turn as he says it, and are almost rooted to the ground. It was indeed Geto. He was smiling at you kindly, continuing his pace as he briskly walked past you, like it was nothing.

Internally, you sighed with relief. The danger had passed.

“You’re Satoru’s friend, aren’t you?”

You freeze in place, gripping your sides in surprise. How… How did he know that? You turn around, trying not to let the fear show on your face. He was standing some ways away, turned at an angle, as though his phrase were an afterthought. Something told you, however, that he’d been meaning to ask you this in the way he looked at you. While his smile was handsome and kind all the same, his eyes were similarly kind but expectant, like he had predicted several outcomes to this conversation already. You felt seen, and not just because your dress was see-through. It was, for the first time, uncomfortable to be scrutinized. But, some part of you didn’t mind it so bad… The expectancy in his gaze almost felt like hunger, and to be wanted by Geto, student class president on campus? Well, that wasn’t so bad.

“Uh… y-yeah. Yeah, I’m friends with him.” Your answer comes out uncertain at first, and you want to smack yourself for it, but soon it comes out even as you’d planned as you gain confidence. Geto probably wasn’t here to hurt you anyway, regardless of how intimidating he seemed now. You hesitantly smile back. It was a little awkward, but you hoped the softness of it made up for it. His eyes narrow and he seems to scrutinize you further, his smile widening. Before anything else was said, he turns, and the building heat in your body dissipates as quickly as it appeared.

“Have a good night, Satoru’s friend.”

You couldn’t tell if the last part was meant to be a subtle dig, but you doubted it. The teasing lilt in his tone said otherwise.

“Yeah, you too!” You say hurriedly, watching him as he continues on his way. You wonder if he will look back, but you decide not to stick around long enough to find out. You continue on your way to the campus convenience store, still determined to get a drink regardless of your mood.

------------------------------------------

The following week passes as slowly as ever, but simultaneously super quickly. On one hand, you had to drag yourself to classes this week, your body feeling oddly more run-down than usual. Of course, that only fueled circulating rumors, and no matter how much you tried to ignore them, it just got to you this week. On the other hand, your head swimming with thoughts of Satoru and Geto as you watched them from afar made your week seem to zoom by. Not to mention the few times you passed by Geto and he greeted you with a stellar smile and curious eyes. The building pressure of it all was enough to weigh you down some. You text Satoru that Friday after class to let him know you’re coming by early, to which he excitedly agrees to shoo away anyone he may have over right now. Idly, you wonder if Geto is over, but you shake those thoughts away. No more thinking today. You just wanted to fuck Satoru silly and forget all about this week.

It’s a bright afternoon, the sun setting earlier as the days pass on. The rumbling dark clouds in the distance signal a rainy evening, which brings you some joy. Even more of an excuse to stay with Satoru. The wind picks up, as though blowing you towards your destination. You wished you had a longer jacket to protect your body from the winds, but unfortunately the cropped brown leather one would have to do. At least you wore your brown knee-high boots with it, keeping at least a part of your legs warm.

When you finally arrive at the apartment building, Satoru is there, waiting for you. He’s dressed as casually as ever, black tee and grey sweatpants, but you couldn’t be bothered to care much past that. He waves in greeting, and as you approach, you collapse forward into his arms, to which he holds you up.

“Woah,” he exclaims, one arm around your shoulders and the other steadying you by your waist. “Rough week?”

You lean into him and sigh miserably, pressing your cheek against his chest. His chest rumbles with light laughter, which brings a smile to your face. “You already know this.”

He simply chuckles and squeezes you close for a moment, before releasing you and heading inside. “Sure I do, but it’s always good to check.” He holds open the door for you, trademark goofy smile spread across his face again. “Your Majesty.”

“Ha!” You laugh at him and walk past him. “‘Your Majesty’ is a new one. Mmmm, can’t say I totally dislike it.”

“I was certain you’d like it. It suits your attitude sometimes.”

You scoff, biting your lip to unsuccessfully hide a smile and stifle a laugh. Some of your lip gloss rubs off on your teeth. “Fuck you, Satoru.”

“I’d ask when and where, but here we are.” He opens the door to his apartment and steps aside to let you in. You don’t even bother going to his bedroom. The tension had been mounting in your body since you saw him.

“Here and now, then.” You announce, dropping your bag beside the couch. You walk back over to him and grab the collar of his shirt, leading him to the couch. He obediently follows, albeit confused. You push him down on the couch, and he falls with an ‘oomph’. You give him no time to adjust before straddling his thighs and hugging him, pressing your body flush against his. You hold him like that for a while, before he clears his throat.

“Someone’s eager.” He commented, noting how quickly you’d pushed him onto the couch. “Don’t you usually like to do this in my bedroom?” There was concern laced in his voice, which you appreciated, but you glossed over it rather quickly.

“Oh, who cares!” You whine and push yourself away from him, your hands firmly gripping his shoulders. The words start before you can stop them, and you find yourself admitting more than you’d like to. “Rough day, rough week, and the walk here was cold. I don’t want to do anything except fuck you silly and stay wrapped up in your warmth for the entire weekend. Come on and pull your pretty little dick out so I can forget this week and remember how it feels to have my cervix bruised.”

He stares at you in awe for a moment, blinking rapidly. His lips part to say something, but nothing comes out. He switches between opening and closing his mouth before sighing and laughing at you. He moves his hands to squeeze your hips before reaching for his belt buckle. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He teases you, but you can’t be bothered to care.

You immediately pull off your jacket, stripping down and maneuvering around your clothes. Having gone braless today, all you do is pull up your leopard print crop top for easy access. If Satoru wasn't painfully hard already from your earlier tirade, he's painfully hard now. He pulls his pants down just enough for his dick to spring free, already twitching in anticipation. You reach down and simply lift your jean skirt and pull your panties to the side, not wanting to waste any time. He squeezes your hip with one hand, cautious. “Whoa, so early?" You get it, he just wants to make sure you're alright. But today, that's not doing you any favors.

You reach out and hold his throat with your right hand, applying light pressure on it. His eyes widen and his breath catches, his eyes rolling back upon feeling the pressure. “And who are you to question Her Majesty's judgment?"

He murmurs incoherently for a moment, whispering moans, before he straightens up some and looks back at you, hazy look in his eyes already. “Mmmm… Nothing but a mere knave, I suppose…” He trails off, biting his lip, looking up at you, his dick twitching fervently for attention and his eyes just as insistent. You can’t help but roll your eyes at him. Who knew it only took so little to get him all riled up? Not like you could say anything, though.

You play into it a bit more, teasing him. Besides, you started it. Why not continue this roleplay? “That’s right. And as a mere knave, you ought to know your place, right, boy?” You release his throat and grab him by the chin instead, tilting his head upwards to directly face you, a small whimper escaping him.

“Yes…” He murmured, shivering at the intensity of the moment. His eyes focus on you, but are glazed over. You can tell he’s already partially gone from enjoying this roleplay so much.

“Then, let me show you where you belong, bottom rung servant.” With that, you position yourself above his twitching dick, more than ready to push itself inside you.

He grips your hips, helping you steady yourself directly above him, and he glimpses up at you, eyes still hazed over. “Yes, Your Majesty…” He can’t help but roll his hips in anticipation, your soft heat only milimeters away from his aching dick. He whimpers, biting his lip impatiently and rolling his hips upwards again. When you don’t yield immediately, he whimpers a small “Please” and continues doing it, his voice whiny enough to almost shake your resolve.

Satisfied with his pitiful moans, you took it upon yourself to take up your end of the bargain. You shift closer to Satoru, perfecting your position over him. You reach out to hold his dick in place, and gently lower yourself onto it, feeling the familiar stretch. You never got sick of this feeling. Before you know it, a moan has escaped both you and Satoru, and both of you begin to move in unison: you riding his groin, and Satoru rolling his hips upwards. This particular session was impromptu and messy, so neither of you really cared. You threw your arms around him, giving him no time to adjust before you kissed him deeply. Of course, such an action was welcomed by Satoru, who only whimpered thankfully and continued rolling his hips into yours.

The two of you become so lost in your own world: nails gently scraping against partially clothed skin, lips pressed together as saliva glossed your lips and chins, hips rolling into each other with fervent need, moans loud and muffling everything else that you both fail to notice Satoru’s doorknob creaking open until it’s too late.

“Hey, Satoru. I left my-” Geto stops in his tracks, staring at the scene before him. Upon hearing his voice, the two of you snapped out of it and turned towards the door. Satoru is still twitching inside of your heat. The kiss was rudely interrupted and shared saliva coated your tongues. Your tits were out, his shirt was up, and your bodies joined together were only somewhat censored behind the arm of the couch. How do you explain to your FWB’s best friend that sometimes you screwed him? For a moment, that time he greeted you for the first time flashes in your mind. Chilly air, chilly wind, and a chilling, knowing smile. Perhaps he knew then. But, if he knew, why was he so surprised now?

Geto continues to stare blankly for a while, before footsteps down the hall snap him out of it. He hurriedly enters the apartment, securing it behind him. He stands stiffly at the door for a moment, as though nervous to turn around. After an audible gulp, he does, slowly turning to survey the situation. You didn’t want to get off Satoru’s dick with Geto present, and Satoru seems equally pleased with that idea, so you stay put, staring at him, quite mortified. Gojo stammers, and you see his eyes flicker from Geto to you, widened with panic. He can't settle on an excuse, but neither can you, staring at Geto wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. Yet and still, even now, despite your mortification, at his shocked yet curious gaze, heat flushed through you once more. You nervously tighten yourself, biting your lip as you curl your nails into Gojo's shoulders and squeeze your insides around his still hard cock. His stammering comes to a sudden halt and he moans pathetically, a tomato red blush spreading across his cheeks before he looks away from the both of you, even more embarrassed than before.

You realize it is up to you to speak.

“U-um…” you pipe up nervously, forcing the words out, and forcing yourself to maintain eye contact. Your voice is shaky and uncertain, the words you've heard it in years. You rack your brain trying to think of what to say, when Geto himself speaks, and the phrase he says makes you tighten again, reliving that chilly night.

"Hello again, Satoru's friend.”

a/n: "everybody say yippee yo or yippee yea!" *mind explodes* holy shit the AMOUNT of EFFORT i put in2 this... brace urself bbys bc im making this multiple parts as a way 2 make up 4 my lateness 💔 anyways i hope you all enjoyed! please leave a like, comment, reblog, or an ask for more content! I love when you all let me know what you think of my writing!! please do let me know if you liked it!! tbh... im not super confident in this one lol

@maruayase hope ya love it babes 💕

[wardensantoineandevka]

What classes do you think the mighty nein would play, were they to play dnd? Bonus round would they be good at dnd.

I had a post about this like back in 2020 or something that I cannot find, so I don't know if my opinions have changed since then. I don't have anyone down as DMing because I assume that even their forever DM has a preferred class.

Fjord - Cleric I don't think Fjord would like tanking that much because getting attacked makes him nervous, but he doesn't want to be a glass cannon either. I think that he would initially go for cleric because he simply wants to be useful and helpful, but he didn't necessarily realize how big of a job being the cleric is. He starts out as a just Cure Wounds dispenser, but quickly flourishes into a Holy Terror Wrath Of The Righteous Divine cleric. He loves doing that. His mechanics are solid and efficient and he's tactically astute, but he's a timid roleplayer who struggles to initiate scenes. He's solid if drawn into scenes and forgets to be self-conscious because he's got a better character sense than he thinks. Literally do not ask him what the overall plot of the campaign is because he cannot remember no matter how hard he tries; he remembers individual PC arcs though. I think he'd also like paladins, bards, and druids, and I do think he'd be willing to play some of the more involved fighters like the Knights subclasses and the cooler rangers.

Beau - Wizard She wants to be the person in the game who gets all the information, and that's usually a wizard. She wants to put her little hands all over all the lore, and also she loves having a spell list that's a billion miles long. She does not want you to know that she feels so smugly satisfied playing a character who can do the research and have the connections and know the information. She absolutely hates that this means she's made of tissue paper, so she tends toward Con wizard. Her mechanics and exploration work are really good, and she is stellar at engaging in the world in a way that's highly informed by her character class. She struggles with the roleplaying part of things a lot. She has a decent grasp of character, it's the actual RPing part that she has trouble with. If you can convince her to play a charisma caster, which she is afraid of doing, she'd also enjoy bard a lot. Also monks and artificers.

Caleb - Wizard This is self-explanatory. Caleb is a guy who plays a wizard or the full damage caster in every single game. This is who he is. He is great mechanically until you gotta discuss non-spell stuff. He did, in fact, read that portion of the rules, but it was never relevant to him, so he deleted it from his head. His spell choices and use are phenomenal though. He min-maxes but specifically for the weirdest, most niche element that is useful one time, but it is extremely clutch that one time it's relevant. He is also great at the storytelling portion, though his roleplaying can be a little dense or dry. If you can make him play something that's not a wizard, druid or bard. He will not play a healer druid or bard though.

Veth - Warlock She wants to make bad decisions in her games, and she loves that a warlock comes prepackaged with bad decisions. She has a solid grasp of her spellcasting mechanics, but also finds full casting intimidating. She loves the concept of being a wizard in theory but actually playing one stresses her out. She is a very loud and excitable player, which can be a lot of fun if, uh, loud. She fucking supports you and is into whatever it is you're doing, especially if it's so dumb to do. She is inventing the weirdest and most ambiguously intense patron relationship of all time. She also would enjoy paladins, rangers, artificers, and the fancier fighters (again, the Knights subclasses). She could be eased into cleric if a niche in the party is clear and her mechanical role is structured. She can totally handle full casting, including wizards, she just psyches / stresses herself out.

Jester - Bard I feel like people are going to be like "what about barbarian," but I think that Jester tried it once and the comparative lack of options made her really frustrated. She loves the idea of hitting things, but she hates it when 80% of her options is just hitting it. She is attracted to the charisma casters though, because she really likes the charisma skillset, and she really wants to cast a lot of spells. Out of the charisma caster options, she likes bards best because she loves being a little good at everything. She tends to be a little over-competitive about it and gets sulky when she doesn't feel useful enough. She is actually iffy on mechanical nitty-gritty, but her basics and groundwork is solid so it's fine, but she's a really great if melodramatic roleplayer and her social encounter work is great. She is deeply engaged in the narrative and is intensely invested in every NPC. Buys so fucking hard into the suspension of disbelief. She would like the fancier fighters and paladins better than a barbarian.

Molly - Bard He is playing the stereotype bard of everyone's nightmares. I will not further elaborate.

Caduceus - Ranger He does like to ask the plants and animals question in-game as well, and rangers let him do that and have a bit of magic too without being overwhelming as a class. He isn't super interested in doing complex characters; this is not being bad at D&D, to be clear, it's just a preference. He's your friend who is here to play a simple character because he just wants to hang out with you, which I think is always very sweet. That said, he is not very good mechanically. It's a lot of stuff to keep track of even with 5e being a little simpler. I think he would also like playing paladins or the straightforward fighters, or a cleric if he can decide what his niche is and stick to that specifically. He doesn't vibe with barbarians.

Yasha - Druid She is initially drawn to the class for the vibes (always a valid reason to be drawn to a class), but I think she enjoys having spellcasting options and options that aren't "hit it". She is a timid and awkward roleplayer who has a lot of trouble there, even though she has a lot of fun making up backstory and engaging with the lore and story. Her spellcasting is creative and experimental because she loves weird. She is one of the button pushers of the table and is giggling when she does it. (She and Veth are menaces, lmao, it's great.) I think she'd also enjoy bards, maybe clerics and warlocks, and the fancier fighters and rangers.

[tomurakii]

My last post about bloodweave was pretty negative (though necessarily so imo) so I wanted to talk about the little things about the bloodweave dynamic that I DO like and want to see more of in fic (under the cut).

- the orb means Astarion can't start their relationship transactionally. Gale can't give Astarion blood, and also can't have sex with him (and presumably would refuse casual sex anyway). How would the relationship develop without Astarion being able to rely on the give-and-take, forced instead to just trust Gale will watch his back? Astarion isn't a plans guy, I imagine having to come up with something on the spot (considering none of the other companions are reeaaaally an option either) would lead to a lot more emotional vulnerability as he tries to take a route he has much less experience with. Not to mention that the flirty and standoffish front isn't exactly going to endear him to Gale, who approves of the capable, loyal, and righteous. How long can Astarion pretend to be invested in Gale's wellbeing before it becomes true?

- they both have bad ascension endings, but different natural outcomes. Gale is considered the more morally upstanding one, but in their solo states (without the player's influence) Gale will go through with ascension and Astarion won't. Would they goad each other on? Gale disapproves of Astarion's ascension, using arguments that could apply to himself about the personal sacrifice and loss of the soul. Would Astarion flip them around, become defensive? Their dynamic could mean the power hungry character ending up discouraging the pursuit of godhood, or the two of them hurtling over the edge together. Or, maybe, Astarion encouraging Gale to ascend and having to trust him to return.

- they're the party members with the most life experience, and they're also both pretty well-educated (even if Astarion's law qualifications may well have expired by the events of the game). He spent his time under Cazador sewing (like Gale in his Baldur's Gate epilogue) and learning languages (of which Gale knows four). They have enduring common interests beyond their circumstances. Gale can help Astarion rediscover the latent nerd potential he lost when he died, and lord knows he would love to pick his brain for a first hand account of the mid-to-late 12th century.

- Astarion recently regained hope for his future when the tadpole freed him, Gale recently lost all of it. While act 1 is a continuous series of positive discoveries for Astarion (tadpole frees him from cazador -> ceremorphosis is held off by the dream visitor -> tadpole can be controlled), Gale's life gets worse with time as his treatment stops working. It's a dynamic that could give Gale hope, force Astarion to practise empathy, or put them completely at odds.

- Astarion's all-encompassing desire to reclaim his life could be inspiring to Gale. Moreover, I imagine seeing just how passive Gale is about his death would infuriate him. To have so little regard for his real, mortal, free life? It's a great source of angst, and also a great starting point for Gale to start wanting to live again. Because after learning about Astarion's past he would agree, he'd recognise how much value a mortal life was supposed to have. He'd think himself ungrateful or impolite for entertaining the idea of throwing it away when Astarion would give anything to have what he had. This would lead to guilt, and potentially self-loathing, unless someone was there to help pick up the pieces.

- If Astarion meets Oblodra before Gale's act 2 romance scene, (or for a fanfic plot, just before Gale is confident enough to confess) they most likely won't have sex until the graveyard scene in late act 3 (or the post-ascension equivalent). It means that rather than the fuckfest we so often see from bloodweave fics, the relationship is almost entirely a slow-burning, emotionally intimate affair. I'd really love to see that play out, the progression from semi-horny yearning on both parts as the orb keeps them apart, to two love confessions that are followed by the both of them experiencing non-sexual intimacy for the first time in years. I doubt Mystra was one to hug her chosen, after all, or hold their hands.

I just love a bg3 ship that forces the characters to take different actions than they do in canon. It makes me feel like I'm developing a broader understanding of the characters, you know?

[sillyyuserr]

A deep dive on the contrasting themes of tbhk (misogyny/breaking gender stereotypes) 🖊️

Tbhk or better know as Toilet-bound hanako kun is a manga both written and illustrated by two woman, that is semi-nonfiction-fiction. It uses themes and/or topics of the supernatural, yet taking place in an accurate highschool setting. The creators of Tbhk, AidaIro, are both presumably in their late 20s, as a past work of theirs, was made in 2011, when they were still students. if we estimate they were both 15 in 2011, they would be 28-29 years old respectively. Despite being on the younger side, and despite both being girls, AidaIro seems very traditional in the sense of norms and values. Yet, they seem open to breaking those same values.

for example, many gender norms are broken. Those being:

Akane/Aoi. This relationship trope has been set up to be the very one sided obsessed type. And it’s not very common to see the guy, be the hopelessly obsessed one. Akane, in a primarily female dominated field.

Kou. A key trait of his is that he’s always cooking or cleaning. He’s the housekeeper, he’s an incredible cook, and he takes care of his little sister. That being a primarily female dominated field.

the contrast to those being: sexism. Examples:

The woman in this manga, do practically nothing. Despite the main character being female, trust me when i say Nene did more heavy lifting in the PILOT CHAPTER.

we don’t see much individuality from any of the woman. Yes aoi’s getting some from akane but at the end of the day you can clearly see no doubt they’re still getting together. Despite all her character growth she’s still just a soon to be wife. And i hate that. I hate that so bad. She had a whole arc where she separated herself from Akane, only spoke to Nene, really stood her ground with boys, only for her to end up right back with him cut it OUTT.

And don’t even get me started on the infantilization of every single woman. I love akane but COME ON. I don’t remember exactly where it is but he’s said things like oh i’d never lay a FINGER on a girl implying he’d never hit a girl which like ok polite thank you but i feel like that shows that he don’t see woman/girls as other people, he views them as more fragile, and that its such a sin to throw a punch at a GIRL. But for guys? nahh nahh he’ll fuck up teru anyday.

Get your twig ass arm away he’s on the other side of the damn QUARRY as you guys smh..

The literal SECOND aoi picks up a sword he takes it from her fucking hands LORD

akane, my guy, that look was so warranted you lucky she’s polite i woulda beat you ass

she even said she knew how to use it he’s just so self righteous FUCK ALL OF YOU

Her ass was NOT playin!!!

Another aspect could be every female character (excluding Tiara) (duh) having a love interest.

EX. Aoi, akane

Nene, hanako/kou

fucking no.2, misaki

every mother in the story ( - Aoi’s), her husband no willing single mothers, just depressed divorced ones. No #feminism#singlemom at all. Aoi’s moms whole character is being divorced, Mitsuba’s moms whole character is being a widow, yet Minamoto’s father (despite being entirely absent) is not known for also being widowed? His wife is dead and he’s not seen as a struggling parent. The single father gets sm grace but he’s clearly having a hard time parenting his own children. Kou doesn’t even set up a spot at their table for him. He’s literally just not there.

Theres a lot more that could be said, but i’m going to just leave it here i’m tired 😭

ALSO I WAS SUPPOSED TO POST THIS WAYY EARILER ABOUT 2 WEEKS EARLIER BUT IM PREPPING FOR EXAMS and i got jumped twice

[nadvs]

Hiii love, how are you?? I usually don't send asks to writers on Tumblr, so you're the first writer I'm sending to, yayyy 🤗 I loved loved loved the ending of the Watch and Learn, I loved the entire series. Rafe's growth throughout this series was amazing, you write him so well. Because of all your series, I continue to be a Rafe girly, I thought Cam Girl was your best series but Watch and Learn took the cake and I can't wait for you to finish Both Sinners 😊

You really are an incredible writer and I'm so happy I found your blog, you're always on my most recent blogs bc I check your page sm 😅 I really almost cried when reading the last chapter because I thought back to how Rafe and reader were in the beginning and how they are now in the end 😪 They're literally couple goals, I'm obsessed. Oh gosh, I've already made this so long but while I was reading the last chapter, I couldn't help but think back to the girl Rafe hooked up with and how he had the audacity to msg reader after. If it's not an issue, can you feed my fantasies and write a small blurb on reader getting revenge on Rafe and making him sooo jealous for doing that, I'm petty like that🤣 If you can't, it's no worries but thank you for continuing to be an incredible writer and such a sweetheart and for reading the excessively long msg 🥲 Much love hun🩷 Byeee👋

HI HONEY i’m good tysm, how are you!! you are so so so sweet 😭 i feel honored to be the first writer you’re sending an ask to 🥹 thank you for reading my work and sending such a kind message!! hehe my fav part of writing the last chapter of watch and learn was def sprinkling references to all the things they’ve been through since they met and the memories they made 🤭 i am so glad that you loved it 💘

i LOVE this prompt and absolutely can feed into the pettiness hehe 😌

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

It was bad enough hearing Rafe make a girl moan through your shared wall. It was ten times worse when Rafe texted you “his bad” for the noise.

Followed by an lol. What a douche.

If he’s trying to make you jealous, two can play at that game.

You go to an on-campus bar with friends the following Friday night when you bump into a guy you recognize from one of your lectures. Once you realize he’s hitting on you, his eyes trailing down your cleavage, you feel the exciting twist of arousal deep in your stomach.

You invite him to your dorm. He seems shocked you’re giving him a chance. It makes him even cuter.

Rafe just got home from a night at the frat house when he hears you laughing in the hallway. He figures you’re with a friend or on the phone. Until he hears a male voice under your giggles.

He hears the door shut. Then music. Then… damn it. You’re moaning.

He’d be turned on by the sounds you’re making if it wasn’t for the fact that another man was coaxing them out of you.

You’re on the other side of the wall, body buzzing while he uses his mouth on you. He needs some coaching, but he’s definitely skilled.

You’re exaggerating your moans a little bit, unsure if Rafe can hear. When you hear thudding on the wall, you know he can.

Rafe’s fist is burning as he knocks on the wall, trying to get you to quiet down. He wants to say he’s just annoyed that you’re being loud this late at night, especially after you’re so self-righteous about quiet hours, but he knows jealousy when he feels it.

And this is jealousy.

When you get on top, your moans aren’t as exaggerated anymore. You feel genuine bliss as you ride him, controlling the pace, feeling his hands on your hips.

He’s not a talker at all, so you can’t help but think of the things Rafe says during sex.

Suddenly, the knocking is on your door instead of your wall. You meet your classmate’s eyes and laugh with him, taking a pillow and covering your body with it as you answer the door.

Rafe is standing in the hallway, jaw tight.

“Check your phone,” he says. “I’ve been texting you.”

“I’m… kinda busy,” you laugh.

“Yeah, I can hear,” Rafe mutters. “I think everyone on our floor can.”

“Don’t be jealous,” you tease, hoping he gives it away that he is. When he looks away with a scowl, you’re pretty sure he is.

Rafe can’t take it anymore. He tilts his chin forward, straightening up as much as he can.

“She moans louder when she’s with me!” he half-shouts into your room.

“Rafe,” you scold, nudging his arm. He smirks at you and you shut the door, shaking your head.

After your classmate leaves, you check your phone to see the texts Rafe was talking about.

Rafe: happy for u that ur getting some but chill

Rafe: he cant be THAT good

Rafe: you know i can fuck you better

Rafe: CHILL ur so loud

You laugh at the texts. He definitely can fuck you better. But he doesn’t need to know that.

[ninja-muse]

The Dollmakers by Lynn Buchanan is the most original fantasy novel I've read in a good while. It doesn't follow a familiar plot structure. It's peopled by characters rarely seen but true to life. It tackles its issues, themes, and conundrums without turning them into morals or even necessarily reaching conclusions. The magic has been done before, but also not this way. The world, while familiar in some aspects, also feels fresh and different.

Did I like it? I'm not sure. But I definitely think it's worth picking up.

Because this book is so different, it's hard to encapsulate. The premise of a young woman determined to prove herself and gain the job and status she deserves sounds like it should launch a novel of revenge, of conquest, or of an underdog—but this doesn't. A story about magical dolls designed to fight ravening monsters sounds like it should be about great battles and increasing odds—but this isn't. This also isn't a story about a stranger upending a small town, or mentorship, or political conflicts, or even a mystery. Instead, there are elements of all those things, but this novel is too character-driven to fall neatly into boxes. Shean of Pearl is simply going to do what she thinks best and we're along for the journey.

The complexity of the plot is mirrored in its characters. Shean is capable of kindness and delicacy and righteous anger, but she's also tactless and self-absorbed and unwilling to listen to reason. There are brave characters too afraid to interact with society, kind mentors who fail in their mentorship, sour but welcoming villagers, wandering scholars who hold themselves apart until they don't, rule-abiding citizens who can't value originality, thoughtful people who come to snap judgements, and a host of other people who are flawed and complicated as anyone of us might be in their place. There's nobody I can point to and say, "Here, she relied entirely on a trope."* Buchanan's character work is arguably where this book shines most.

As for the themes and issues, I've grown used to fantasy and science fiction with clear morals, clear good guys, and clear political points. Again, this isn't that sort of book. You have to get well into it before you see what Buchanan's talking about on that level and she's more interested about raising questions and pointing out problems than she is in solving anything. We and her characters are left with things to think about, and with introspection. And no, I won't say more than that. Spoilers!

This isn't to say that this book is without flaw. Mostly, on that front, I found Shean's emotional journey a little sudden and jerky at points, with greater or quicker character growth than her personality led me to expect, and there's one particular moment near the beginning that felt exaggerated for the sake of demonstration rather than being true to character. The rest of my problems, and what's holding me back from saying, "This book was amazing!", I think stem from how different this book is. Is my grumble at that minor character's reaction due to weak writing or because they're so perfectly poised within their world that of course they don't act like a "normal" character? Is this plot line wrapping up too neatly or are we being set up for a sequel? That sort of thing. I should point out this is a debut novel and these are issues I've run into with debut novels before—but at the same time, this is much, much more polished and subtle than a lot of debuts are.

As for the magic and the world, I've run on too long to cover them much, but the doll magic is lovely, the monsters are fascinating, the idea that every nation has its own entirely separate culture and magic is familiar while the details are not, and in general, it's all very strong. Buchanan has a lot to play with and I'd happily read more in this world whether or not there's a direct sequel.

To sum up: this is a very strong, very interesting, very unique debut fantasy. It's a novel to mull over and one I'll be sorting through my feelings for. If you're interested in smaller fantasy stories, fantasies that take their time, or are tired of current fantasy trends and plot types, you should absolutely give this one a look. Buchanan's going to be an author to watch, I think.

* apart from third-tier non-speaking characters, like waiters or shopkeepers

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Rollo ttsum headcanons? 👀

THIS REMINDS ME 😭 I saw a really cute doujin of Rollo + his aide and VP running into a Rollo Tsum and then deciding to take care of it for the day…

Curiouser and Curiouser…

… It’s uncanny how closely the Tsum looks like Rollo. It even has a teeny-tiny ring (can that even be removed?????), a teeny-tint hat, and teeny-tiny dark circles under its eyes. Whoa, it even has a teeny-tiny handkerchief to hold to its nose when it feels totally disgusted! o.O

If you ask Rollo what his thoughts are on the Tsum, he’ll pull out the handkerchief and make a dismissive comment about how it’s such a meddlesome creature. (Rollo refuses to acknowledge that it is cute and that he’d fight anyone that hurt it, no matter how much he is pestered to confess.)

NBC Aide-kun and Vice President-kun instantly become massive fans of Tsum!Rollo--

It’s early to rise!! Before your alarm clock can wake you up, Tsum!Rollo is already crawling on your face and bouncing on your stomach, indicating that you should wake up right now. (… The sun hasn’t even risen yet.)

Despite looking sleep-deprived, Tsum!Rollo has a lot of energy—most of it being dedicated to being mad of its far larger peers. Sometimes its anger is so great that it vibrates intensely and radiates warmth like a little portable heater.

It likes to crawl into the folds of Rollo’s hat and stand vigilant as a self-appointed lookout. He scolds it and tells it not to, but it doesn’t listen—it only listens to its own set of self-righteous morals.

Tsum!Rollo likes sitting around in quiet, peaceful places not doing anything in particular but soaking up the ambience. Be careful where you step in the Mirror Chamber or the library, you just might accidentally squish the poor little thing!!

For some reason, animals love bullying Tsum!Rollo. The pigeons chase it around, peck at it, and steal its hat for sport. Lucius hisses when Tsum!Rollo is close. Even the usually behaved Hearslabyul hedgehogs and flamingos push the lil' bean around. Something about Tsum!Rollo is just so... bulliable...

It likes flowers; Tsum!Rollo can be seen waddling amongst them on sunny days. It has a fondness for red ones, sometimes picking them in its stubby little hands to pass off to Rollo. “I see that you can appreciate the finer things in life.” He accepts it with a small smile, but inside, he’s wearing a far more wicked grin.

Tsum!Rollo glares at other Tsums and people in general; it can’t talk, so it seems to stare judgmentally at others instead. If its SUPER upset, then it’ll approach with its tiny staff and smack you with it to demonstrate its anger.

The little guy’s so enthused about bells! Hand it a sleigh bell and Tsum!Rollo will happily (and aggressively) chime it all day. The incessant sound will be forever burned into your head.

It enjoys cleaning. Because Tsum!Rollo is so small, it can’t scrub down an entire room, but it sure as heck will try to!! It’ll ride its own little scrub brush around, giving the floors and dust a deep cleaning. If it's not careful, it’ll slip off and crash into the soapy bubbles, emerging as a fluffy white yeti. You can also find Tsum!Rollo polishing any metal it comes across and washing down stone statues (the gargoyles appreciate it).

Tsum!Rollo loves grapes! (Unfortunately, its size only allows for it to get full on a single one.) It hangs around like a dog begging for scraps as Rollo eats his lunch. When it comes down to the final grape, Rollo sighs and hands it over to the Tsum. It happily absorbs the orb right out of his fingers, leaving Rollo stunned and wondering how Tsums eat without a mouth. “It must be the devil’s design…”

It tries so hard to take notes using a quill. The feather, however, being as droopy as it is, keeps smacking Tsum!Rollo’s hat or face as it bobs up and down with each written letter. Tsum!Rollo preserves though—it wants to finish this doodle of a city on fire! (“… It has surprisingly violent thoughts,” Rollo notes. He quietly approves.)

Tsum!Rollo actively refuses to enter Diasomnia. If you try to take it to the mirror, it’ll squirm out of your grasp and dash away, hiding until it has emotionally cooled off.

If it spots Malleus in public, Tsum!Rollo puffs up like an aggressive cat and rushes to tackle him into submission. (The same goes for other boys that anger Tsum!Rollo enough, but most of his rage is dedicated to Malleus.)

When Tsum!Rollo uses his UM, it becomes a literal little fireball…!

Rollo uses his Tsum!self as a stress ball (which the Tsum doesn’t seem to mind for some reason). Sometimes it inflates to a much larger size and he buries his head into it to scream in frustration.

After a long day of shenanigans, Tsum!Rollo has tuckered itself out. It lulls off into a gentle sleep, swathed in the moon and the stars of Rollo’s full-sized handkerchief. “… Silly thing,” he murmurs, holding it close to his chest. “That you are able to live this burden-free existence is truly a blessing.”

[buckrecs]

i am obsessed with husband!bucky and exhusband!bucky🖤 please help me find them ✨you are amazing! thank youuu

Husband!Bucky

masterlist | req masterlist

idk why but most of the ex husband!bucky fics are smut.. I was in the mood for some fluff so here are some husband!bucky (maybe with some smut cuz he’s hot)

here is my ex!bucky rec list so you can read some exes to lovers there :)

Story Time by @buckyalpine

Bucky tells your little one about how he fell for you.

Remnants of Life by @bi-disaster-yn

Bucky has the chance to get some of his possessions from his life in the 40s back but he needs his wife there to face it with him.

blue neighborhood by @sergeantxrogers

In a town full of self-righteous moms and their rich, suited husbands hiding secrets of infidelity, abuse and verges of bankruptcy, you felt utterly out of place. The target for all their jealous stares and mean comments, you were at your wits end trying to survive modern suburbia. It wasn’t your fault Bucky chose you, right?

Blue by @coffeecatsandcandles

Bucky reminisces your relationship when he sees you in a blue dress.

Bucky Wins His Thanksgiving Husband Card by @buckysforeverprincess

Gladly, Mrs Barnes by @itsbuckysworld

husband!Bucky gets mad when you seem to be spending more time with some other guy and not him.

The Winter Lover by @cat-scratch-fandoms

You and your newly married husband are granted a peaceful honeymoon to a ski cabin.

Video Tape by @botnasty

You don’t want to forget.

Imagine by @becca-e-barnes

Your first date night with Bucky after you have your second baby

Easy When It Rains by @lfaewrites

pure domestic fluff

swollen by @buckycuddlebuddy

evidence of the good loving you got was very visible.

small bump by @bucky-bucket-barnes

Bucky has fought literal armies, survived multiple murder attempts, and still nothing worries him like his pregnant wife.

honey, honey by @buckys-darling

You and Bucky spend your honeymoon in Paris.

Need more of that blue in my life by @foreverdreamland

Reader discovers she’s pregnant, and the reaction from her husband Bucky is not what she expected.

Blessings by @moonlight-prose

twenty minutes was all you had, so you were going to do what could to show your husband how much you loved him.

Under The Tree by @barnesmurdock

You and your husband have a picnic under a tree.

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You and Bucky spend your honeymoon in Paris.

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[shydroid3000]

OOO for the death note ask game, turning this back on you. 4, 7, and 23, again though you can pick a current favorite moment (lolol. indecision makers 😔😔) or just gimme some general misa thoughts if you’ve got em 👀

4. who’s your favorite underrated or obscure character? Okay, I'm gonna do my best to pick one that isn't too obvious, so: Sidoh! Haha. He's a weird little loser guy of a Shinigami and I love that. When he takes the notebook and touches it to the head of the one mafia guy while saying, "tag, you're it!"... or when he gets freaked out by Mello even though he himself is a literal god of death... I just find it very delightful. He's silly and pathetic in a way that really tickles my fancy lol. (The anime is much fresher in my mind so most of what I refer to will be anime-focussed; can't remember how manga version compares to anime with him). 7. was misa just as guilty as light? Ooh, guilt in relation to Misa and Light is interesting to think about. On the one hand, I do think that they're both culpable for their actions at the end of the day. I have maybe some more grace to extend Misa in terms of her having an understandable reason to go down that path, what with her parents being murdered (and almost being murdered herself). Like, that's a level of trauma that makes you go, 'yeah, I can understand why she was all-in on killing criminals with the death note, even if I don't agree.' Light, on the other hand, had this good, stable, pretty privileged home life, in addition to him being a top student, talented, handsome, etc. He's got less of an excuse, you know? The fact that Misa's drawn to Kira's ideals out of lived trauma, whereas Light is drawn to those ideals largely out of ego is sort of a meaningful distinction. (By ego I don't just mean the belief that he's exceptional, but I mean -- the way he is so desperately driven to protect his conception of himself as a Good Person. That's a tragic and heart-rending manifestation of ego, but it's still about protecting his ego). But I also think there's 'guilt' on the level of the actions and choices you make regardless of motivations, and I'd see them as more equal on that front. Misa was an enthusiastic DN user and participant in Kira's plans/ideology. She's motivated by different things than he is, but she makes her choices knowingly. I think it would be diminishing of her agency and complexity to say that she's less responsible for her actions than Light is, if that makes sense. (Also, there are things Misa is guilty of that Light isn't, and vice versa. E.g., Misa pushes Light's boundaries in a way that can be very uncomfortable; Light uses Misa/others without real regard for them).

Now, beyond all that... the question is obviously about their culpability for their use of the DN. But it also makes me think about each of their *experiences* of guilt internally, and that might be even more interesting to me. I think that their relationship to guilt is one of the things that makes them so divergent from one another. Because... running away from guilt is such a huge part of what propels Light to go all out with the Kira thing. So much of his psyche is shaped around that black pit of guilt where whispers of "I did a bad thing. If I did a bad thing I'm not a good person" come from. He diligently tries to cover over that and barricade it off. He crafts an ideology that makes his murders righteous, and commits to making a New World(tm) where the meaning of 'good/right' is reshaped around that. He makes himself a God so that his actions are beyond judgment, or at least he is, because his murders are divine - they're acts of creation, even of love and self-sacrifice. And then Misa... well, guilt doesn't seem to be as obvious a factor for her, whether as motivation or reaction. I mean, I could imagine a reading where there's some well of underlying guilt about the death of her parents and her survival -- I think that would make sense given the circumstances. But... we never actually see that kind of Bruce Wayne -esque psychology peeking through, so that feels more like headcanon territory than direct analysis. Obviously she has deep feelings about the murder of her parents, but she has a very different relationship to guilt than Light. She usually comes across as very free from guilt. She knows what she wants and what her priorities are, and she pursues those without shame. She's impressed by Kira so she becomes the second Kira; she decides she loves Light and wants to be with him regardless of whether he even likes her, so she pursues that undeterred by his response to her. It feels like Misa is always calmly pushing forward toward what she wants, whereas Light's sprint forward towards his New World is really a running-away-from. But at the same time... what kind of underlying emptiness would make someone so completely devotional in the way Misa is, wanting to devote themselves to someone who mostly loathes them, to the point of not even seeming to be hurt by that person's disdain for them as long as they can still have that person in their life? I think there's definitely beneath-the-surface stuff with Misa, but it comes across like guilt is a colour that just doesn't exist in her world. Whereas with Light, every shadow in his world is the colour of guilt. If goodness or righteousness are the rays of the sun, Light Yagami is the moon that reflects the sunlight while trying to create a reality in which those rays are his -- are him -- a reality in which he becomes the sun. And yet he's a moon, and the dark side of it that he disavows is guilt, is 'I did a bad thing', is 'what if I'm not a good boy?' (Wow, went overboard with the metaphors there but too lazy to edit lol). 23. what was your favorite moment and why? Ah, this is hard (guess it's my fault for asking you this one first haha). I'll try to pick 1 or 2 more serious moments and 1 or 2 silly ones lol. So, serious ones:

The warehouse/Light's downfall. Specifically the laughter, if I had to pick a moment. Excellent scene in both the manga and anime, but MY GOD I will never get over the sound of his laugh in the anime. I think about it every day. (Also looove the lip-twitching as he barely contains his deranged glee leading up to his "I win"). I also really like his death in both; his fear, being reduced back down to his humanity, in the most pathetic way. But the laugh moment wins out for me; the way everything that has been pent up, repressed, held back, filtered, pruned is just... unleashed. He's finally showing his real human emotion to other people in this unrestrained way, but it's so twisted as to be monstrous.

Also, the moment when L says Light is his first real friend. I know that Ohba said L is lying in that moment, but my own analytical framework doesn't prioritize authorial intention above all else. And I think there is so much complexity and richness in that moment. I don't think L is lying, but he is manipulating. And obviously even the truth within the statement is a complicated one. But I can't help but see a genuine sort of sweetness in there in that moment, amidst the mind games and adversarial context. Light and Ryuk's reactions in that moment are so excellent too. It feels like a moment where the world stops spinning, just for a microsecond. A moment where some alternate reality almost touches this one.

Silly ones (time for my sweet Matsuda to shine lol):

When L and Light are fighting during the 'date' with Misa and Matsuda calls the room to break it up, telling L some news about Misa's popularity. Then after L hangs up he's like, "Matsuda's acting stupid again." And Light is like, "well, that is his speciality." (The fact that belittling Matsuda actually does diffuse their fight LOL). And Matsuda is on the other end, his face dropping, like, "do they know we can hear them..?" haha. Just a perfect Matsuda/Light/L moment.

OBVIOUSLY the whole mattress gambit too lol

In the anime, when L reveals to the task force that he's actually all three of the world's top detectives, he says something like, "here, I'll give you this strawberry for keeping my secret." And then he holds out the strawberry he plucked from his cake and Mogi kind of vacantly takes it and puts it in his pocket LOL

Thank you for the ask!!! Sorry it took me ages to respond. It was half-done for a while but I wanted to add more thoughts to the second section and just got around to that lol.

ask game

[inner-viper]

My Opinions on Astrology Placements

Guys this is just an observation based on my own interactions on people with these signs. I think this is fun to do and it would be cool if you guys can comments on your opinions. I am not an astrologer nor do I study astrology deeply. I am an astrologer enthusiast :)

Red for Fire, Green for Earth, Blue for Water, and Purple for Air signs

Aires Rising have a youthful outlook on life. Which makes sense to me because they are the first of the zodiac signs. Aires rising are fun to hang around with but depending on what their sun sign is, they seem to always be on the lookout for a new approach or experience in life.

Venus in Scorpio love love. They are obsessive in love, they don’t have bad intentions either. It’s just their nature and it’s cute but it totally depends on how this manifest in peoples life.

Scorpio stellium, they love to pretend that they don’t care and then secretly they do care. They be acting like everyone doesn’t already know that they are “secretly” obsessed😂

Venus in Aires, as a Venus in aires. Yes, I’m obsessed with love fr. That’s why I started a whole tumblr and patreon on love/lust/sexual astrology. I love love and passion. Sometimes we can be intense in love and come off that way in relationships but it’s because they feel deeply.

Capricorn moons, they be secretly doing self improvements or moving in silence. Once you attempt to expose what they are working on, they’ll try to quickly shut it down. They like to play it off, they like to make others think they aren’t on that grind.

Leo risings are so bright. Everyone knows someone that is a leo rising that is popular. The stereotypes are true fr. They also can come off as a little bit self-righteous. They can easily make people follow them! I notice that they are able to light up a whole gloomy room. Sometimes this indicates a strong spiritual connection to their intuition.

Libra placements for seem to view all sides of an argument but if un-evolved then I see that they can come off as very defensive about their perspective.

Taurus placements are chill when they get drunk but they can go crazy when they aren’t drunk LMFAOO?

Pisces placements are the best because I am the best :) LMFAOOO. People need to watch out for pisces placements because they are manipulative asf. They pretend to be innocent and cute but they use certain words and vocabulary to undermine or counter their argument. For example, Shera the “sprinkle sprinkle” lady is a pisces and she is a witch too. Pisces are usually very connected to witchcraft and the occults

Cancer sun/moon/rising have this sad eye look to them. I don’t know how to describe it but every cancer that I have met has this sad eyes to them?? Like Lana del rey has these sad eyes too. It’s very dreamy too, very much watery.

12th house placements are so secretive. They don’t even like people knowing their youtube search history. I know this because I have 2 planets and my NN in the 12th house💀

Having the sun sign in the 12th house sucks so much. They seem to have had a loss of a father and they are constantly searching for themselves. Also, having the moon in there is hard too. They try their best to understand their emotions.