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jamespotterismydaddy · 1 year

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Thicker Than Blood (Aemond x OC) Chapter 6

AN: I hate doing chapters based off of episodes lol. That’s why this took so long

word count: 1,652 words

Last part, next part

He sent the dress back to me and along with it, sapphire earrings, a necklace, and a bracelet.

Does he think he can win me over so easily with flattery? I don’t wish to think it but he likely can.

I put the jewellery and dress into a drawer so I can pretend it doesn’t exist and I make sure i’m all prepared for supper. Though, I hardly believe a ‘family’ meal will go very well. I can see how Aemond still holds hostility towards my brothers. I make my way down the halls in a black dress this time. Red and black, black and red; it’s all that had been packed for such an occasion. Aemond looks at me when I enter the dining room, disturbing his own conversation with his brother or rather disturbing the scolding he was giving about Aegon’s wine consumption. I take my seat next to Jacaerys and to my utter disappointment, I can see that my least favourite uncle will be sitting to my left.

It isn’t very long before the King arrives. We all stand in silence to watch him be brought in. It is the most awkward kind of quiet that you can imagine as he is placed down between my mother and the Queen. We all sit once again, shuffling into place uncomfortably.

“How good it is… to see you all tonight… together.” My grandsire starts before seeming to lose his train of thought.

“Prayer before we begin?” Alicent offers so that her husband need not exert himself anymore.

“Yes.” He breathes out.

The prayer begins normally with the words that any pious woman would speak. The part that catches my attention is when she says, “And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.” I glance up to my stepfather who looks ever so amused.

The King goes on to speak about how it is an occasion for celebration. When he mentions the betrothals, I bite my lip and can’t help but look at Aemond whose eyes are already on me. We all toast to my siblings and I control the urge to glare as Aegon leans across me.

“Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman.” He smirks at his own comment and I scoff. Jacaerys clenches his jaw and takes a sip of his wine to stifle his anger.

Grandsire toasts to Lucerys as Lord of the Tides and I smile softly as Rhaena whispers words of encouragement to him.

“You do know how the act is done, I assume? At least in principle? Where to put your cock and all that.” Aegon whispers across to me to my brother once again.

“You ought to watch your mouth, Aegon.” I speak and he looks at me now.

“You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my sister and my betrothed.” Jace retorts but Aegon ignores him and smirks at me.

“Sad you’re not the one he’s putting his cock in?” He says quietly enough so only I hear.I feel myself fill with anger and I open my mouth to speak but the King stands to make a speech.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world… yet grown so distant from each other… in years past.” He stops to remove his golden mask and I try not to gasp at the sight of his missing eye.

Like father, like son.

“My own face… is no longer a handsome one… if indeed it ever was. But tonight… I wish you to see me… as I am. Not just a king… but your father.” I am slightly surprised when his eyes fall to Aegon over his firstborn. “Your brother. Your husband… and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems… walk for much longer among you.” He drops the mask. “Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances, if not for the sake of the crown… then for the sake of this old man who loves you all so dearly.” I can see the gears turning in my mother’s head as she hears the end of the speech. She finally decides to stand.

“I wish to raise my cup to her grace, the Queen. I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood… more loyally by his side than his good wife. She had tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honour. And for that, she has my gratitude… and my apology.” She finishes her toast and sits once again and we all wait for a response from my good grandmother. I watch as Alicent thinks through her response.

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess. We are both mothers… and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.” Alicent stands. “I raise my cup to you… and to your house. You will make a fine queen.” And with that it is like a veil is lifted. 20 years of anger almost seem to be forgiven in a moment. We all raise our cups to each other. I look over as Aemond only raises his to me. I suppose some wounds take longer to heal.

Things seem to all be going well until Aegon speaks again. He is talking to me but I know his words are to anger my brother.

“He never would have pleased you anyway, niece. If you wish to know true satisfaction then all you have to do is ask.” I don’t let his words get to me but they get to Jacaerys, who stands and slams his hands down on the table.

“Jace.” Baela says softly all it takes is one word from her to calm him. He stands awkwardly for a moment before clearing his throat and I roll my eyes as Aemond stands as well.

Stupid cock fight.

I glare at Aemond. If he’s disheartened then he doesn’t show it. Jacaerys gives Aegon a playful punch on the shoulder and begins a halfhearted speech about fond childhood memories which makes me chuckle lightly at the uncomfortable situation.

“... To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles.” He grabs Aegon’s shoulder again and gives another friendly punch and the look on my uncle's face is priceless.

“To you as well.” Aegon mumbles out and Helaena mumbles something about beasts from next to him.

“Well done, my boy.” Our grandsire compliments.

“I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena.” Helaena says as she stands. “They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you… except sometimes when he’s drunk.” I hear my stepfather laugh but I mostly just feel pity for her situation, though Aegon's embarrassment is amusing.

“Good.” Otto says something nice for once.

In an attempt to move the conversation elsewhere, the King says, “Let us have some music.”

Jacaerys clearly isn’t over the situation as he whispers “Excuse me.” to Baela and walks over to our aunt, asking her to dance. I don’t miss the look Aegon and Aemond share.

For a few moments, everything is at peace. We are all jovial and joking with each other like we never hated one another. Aemond makes no such jests. Things are almost perfect then the King seems to feel the pain of his ailments and has to be lifted out of the room. My family stands as he is taken away but the Queen assures us that it is fine to sit. Things are uncomfortable once again.

I don’t notice the roast pig until it is placed on the table. I try to ignore it and Jace is busy dancing but Luke is attentive. He smirks at the sight and I give him a warning look but I don’t catch his eye. Though, my expression does catch the eye of Aemond, who looks furious. The music stops when Aemond slams his fist down on the table as he stands.

“Final tribute.” I feel nervous as he raises his cup. “To the health of my nephews, Jace… Luke… and Joffery.” Everyone notices the lack of mention of me and our littlest brothers. “Each of them handsome, wise… strong.”

“Aemond.” His mother scolds as I fight the urge to smack him.

“Come… let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again.” Jacaerys interjects.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?” I rise to my feet and walk slightly away from the table. Jace swiftly punches Aemond in the face and Lucerys walks over to help, Aegon slamming him into the table before he gets the chance. I see Aemond push Jacaerys to the floor as Baela and I pull Aegon off Luke. The guards finally get over to break up the fight and hold Jace and Luke back the first chance they get. I back off as Rhaena holds onto Baela who’s fighting for a chance to sink her teeth into Aegon.

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother. Mm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.” Aemond speaks the last part loud enough for all of us to hear it. Jace breaks free of the guard’s hold on him and lunges at Aemond again but all it takes is Daemon holding a finger up to stop his stepson in his tracks.

“Go to your quarters. All of you go, now.” Mother commands and this isn’t the time to disobey. I walk off slowly enough that I can see the silent face off between Aemond and Daemon. I’m not surprised when Aemond withdraws, following us out of the room. The evening ends up a disaster.

taglist (comment to be added):

General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies

Thicker than blood: @bellameshipper @g-cf2020 @lady-of-winterfell @s-we-e-t-t-ea

#aemond #aemond targaryen #aemond fic #hotd #hotd x reader #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x oc

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alexandia03 · 5 months

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Tell me about...

Bitter are the wars between brothers

Okay, I was actually waiting for someone to ask about this one and now I am thinking how to talk about it without giving too many spoilers (I am the kind that tells you the entire planned plot when asked because I am that excited).

Basically, Bitter are the wars between brothers is the only semi-complete snippet I wrote so far (like it has 10 pages so far) and it focuses on the main conflict of the second part of Memento Vivere (when I finally get to the IF events), namely Xaden's fallout with his inner circle after a series of mistakes and neglect. RY never talked about how Xaden's friends might feel after he becomes obsessed with Violet and it angered me a little to see that Bodhi had to return to Basgiath with a broken arm (and suffered for months from it) when Brennan was basically there and could have mended him had he and Xaden not decided that saving his energy in case Violet needed something else was more important.

And because the people on the discord server already have access to it, why not give you a little sneak-peak?

“The bones healed wrong after the battle of Resson…” Brennan begins and I bite my tongue not to scoff. Yes, that much we already knew... Anyone with eyes could tell as much. Well, most of us, at least, judging by the bewildered look on Xaden's face, as if he just found out his favorite puppy died. “… so in that regard, the fall was rather fortunate if you want to see it that way, because it reopened the wound and once he regains enough energy for it, I should be able to properly put the bones back in place. Tomorrow, most likely. The mending today took a big toll on him.” And on Brennan himself, I complete in my mind with a scowl. Garrick frowns, his grip on my hand tightening almost to the point it hurts, but I know it is unconscious – and it actually gives me something else to focus on aside from the boiling rage in my chest. “Fortunate? You mean to tell me he lived with a broken arm… for six months?!” He all but shouts, his voice taking a dangerous tone as his hazel eyes moved between Brennan and Xaden, finally understanding why it was so easy for Bodhi to fall off Cuir, why he was favoring his left side. “How could you let it happen?” “Of course, we never meant to put Bodhi in such a position, but after Resson, we had to chance his fracture healing on its own as there were more pressing…” Brennan starts explaining and there is a slight grimace on his face, a prang of guilt. But I came to understand there is a difference between guilt and remorse. “Wait!” Garrick cuts in, his eyes widening even more, but his attention is now solely on Xaden who is uncharacteristically quiet. “You knew his arm was in such a bad condition?” Xaden doesn’t even look at Garrick as he opens his mouth to answer, keeping his eyes on Brennan instead. “You never told me the wound was that serious… You said it would heal in time and there would be no issues. Had I known…”

Or maybe two sneak-peaks because I am feeling generous <3

Anger. And it is pointed towards me like an arrow aimed to pierce my heart. “Fucking traitor. I guess I should have seen this coming.” Traitor? Traitor?! He can’t possibly be talking to me, right? He is probably talking to Brennan after he stopped him… – Fuck it! Who am I freaking trying to fool? He is talking to me and I can’t even lie to myself and say that I didn’t see this coming. “What did you just call me?” I growl, my hand itching to wrap around the hilt of my dagger, but I resist the urge. No, I won’t resort to violence, it’s not the moment and it certainly isn’t worth it. At least not yet. The bastard has the audacity to scoff and roll his eyes at me. “Drop the act. You have been sneaking between me and Bodhi for years trying to push him away from me. It ends today, Imogen. Gods, I can’t believe I have been so blind until now… it’s my fault I allowed this situation to get so far.” “Oh, you are at fault here for a lot, but like always it is easier to blabber about shit than to take responsibility for your fuck ups. You want to pin it on me now that you saw you can’t do it to Brennan? Be my guest, but I can’t take credit for how much you fucked things up with Bodhi, that is all you, asshole.” I bite back, that bit of patience and restraint I was holding on to up to this point finally snapping. Gods, this is truly not the moment for this, for any of this. This is not the time for this stupid argument, not now and certainly not in here, while Bodhi is in pain in the next room. It is not like Xaden will actually listen to logic either, so it is pointless anyway. So I do the only rational thing I can do right now – I turn with the intention of going to Bodhi’s room. “Oh, the fuck you are! I am not letting you anywhere near him to poison his mind with all this vitriol you have against me! Leave him alone, Imogen, I mean it!” Xaden all but yells, shadows extending to form some sort of wall to the door.

#imogen cardulo #garrick tavis #imrrick #ao3 fanfic #bodhi durran #fourth wing fanfic #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #brennan sorrengail

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tathrin · 2 years

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This doesn’t feel nearly complete enough to be worth posting a whole entry on AO3 for, but I don’t know what else to do with it so...have another fic-snippet, tumblr folks.

This one is set in the Undying Lands shortly after Legolas and Gimli break down the doors of heaven with the power of their love arrive and is inspired by this weird idea I had once about elves and food. And also, unintentionally but unsurprisingly, by Tamora Pierce’s Realms of the Gods.

❧ Ever The Taste of Ashes In Our Mouths ☙

Legolas took a bite of the apple and was so startled he spit it back out.

"What—that—!?"

"Ah!" Angmeril looked torn between amusement and apology. "I had forgotten. Yes," she said, "things taste…different, here in Aman."

Legolas held the apple out before him and stared at it, as though it might be about to transform into some strange and treacherous shape. Gimli looked quickly back and forth between his stricken face and the fruit.

"What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

Legolas shook his head, apparently beyond words.

Gimli looked down at the plate of food in his hands and slowly, carefully, eased it back onto the long table.

"Do not be afraid!" Angmeril told him. "You can eat it. Just—perhaps eat less than you think you want, to start with? The taste can be…" Her smooth, beardless face did something complicated as though she were struggling against some terrible weight to find her words. "Overpowering," she said at last.

"Overpowering," Legolas repeated numbly. "Yes."

Gimli looked at the apple in his hand. The archer's fingers were gripped as tight upon the round red fruit as they had ever been upon his bow.

Galadriel drifted over. Gimli noticed her at once, of course; even here in the Blessed Realms, her presence was like a sunrise. He turned towards her like a flower moving to face the morning's light.

"The Queen of Greenwood speaks the truth, Lockbearer," she told him. Gimli did not see the grimace pass across Angmeril's face at Galadriel's use of her long-defunct title, but he knew it was there; it was always there, when anyone referred to Legolas's mother by anything but her own unadorned name. "Nothing here will harm you, but until you are used to the bounty of Aman it would be prudent for you to exercise moderation."

"I know not why I am surprised, my lady," Gimli said, bowing over a warm smile, "to find that the food here is different than it is in Middle-earth, when even the light itself shines so much more brightly than it ever did at home."

"Different, yes," Galadriel said. "This is almost—almost!—what fruit tasted like before the Fall of the Two Trees," she told them, and her smile held a sadness so ancient as to be almost unfathomable. "All food since then," she explained in answer to Gimli's startled look, "has tasted a little of ashes and loss to elven tongues. Even now, I can taste the trace of ashes in the fruit of Aman—but less, so much less, than that which is grown in the ravaged soil of Middle-earth. Ah, but you," Galadriel continued, cupping a gentle hand around Legolas's cheek, "you have never tasted food from before the Fall, have you child? So you would not know."

She drifted away, leaving Legolas staring after her with wide eyes.

"Well," Gimli said, "I'm going to find out."

He took the apple from Legolas's unprotesting hands and bit off a hearty chunk. He almost choked on the sudden explosion of taste upon his tongue. "This—but this—!" he cried, rather incoherently before managing to swallow. It was an apple, yes, but an apple such as he had never dreamed of before; or an apple, perhaps, that was the very essence of every dream of apples distilled to its strongest, purest essence. He had never tasted the like, and did not know if he would dare ever to again for fear of how it sent him reeling.

The sound of Hobbitish laughter helped to ground him again, and he turned to find old Bilbo walking up, his smile bright and his small eyes gleaming with mischief. "Ah, the first taste! You'll never quite forget that shock, lads," he told them. He looked up at Angmeril. "What did they start with?"

"Apples."

Bilbo's grin broadened. "Apples! That's a very good one. Apples, yes I like that. A splendid choice. Poor Sam, the first thing he put in his mouth when he got here was some of Frodo's potatoes. I thought he was never going to stop crying, thinking that Frodo had so outpaced him in the cooking department!" The old Hobbit chuckled. "It was quite a nasty trick to pull on him, although utterly unintentional of course. He can still barely eat potatoes without grumbling about it."

Gimli laughed and clapped Bilbo on the back. "Well, given that one bite of an apple was enough to nearly knock me off my feet, I'm not sure I'm quite up to Samwise's potatoes yet—but tell him that as soon as I can get myself settled, I'll be more than happy to taste his efforts and delight in them. It has been far too long since I've eaten Hobbit cooking!"

"I can see that just by looking at you, Master Gimli," Bilbo retorted. "But we'll soon get you sorted-out, never you fear. You and your longshanks there!"

Still chuckling, the Hobbit ushered the dwarf away to one of the other tables, no doubt eager to watch him sputter over some other overpowering delicacy of the Undying Lands.

Legolas turned to his mother. "I—I never realized—!"

"That the world you lived in was full of ashes?" Angmeril said gently. "Yes, my little leaf. Ashes and regrets—but joy, too. Was there not joy, too? Bright as Aman is, it has never held the sort of joy that Middle-earth did for me, ashes or no ashes." She clutched his shoulder, her worried eyes fixed on his face. "And you were happy there, weren't you? We tried so hard to see that you were happy."

"Of course I was happy, naneth," Legolas said, sounding almost indignant at the question even as he wrapped his arms around her. "How could anyone fail to be happy under our trees?"

Angmeril thought of all the stories she had heard of the Greenwood since she had been forced from Middle-earth's shores, all the grim whispers and dark tales brought over the Sea after her about Shadow creeping through the trees and driving her people ever farther from the rotten heart of Dol Guldur, the dark citadel that laired like a great and terrible spider in their woods; she thought of the steady trickle of wounded elves sailing to join her here, with their stories of constant battles against fell creatures and fouler things that her people had been forced to fight without her; the battles that her son had grown-up knowing as the only way of life there was. She thought of her Thranduil, desperately trying to hold the Shadow at bay and keep their people safe in the heart of that darkness; thought of her family left behind, beyond the reach of her love or her protection, ever fighting against the dark that had driven her from them. And she thought of her people telling her also of Legolas laughing in those dark trees, unafraid.

She smiled. "I truly do not know."

{ read more legolas and gimli fic on AO3 here }

p.s. please feel free to reblog if you liked the fic. I know a lot of folks are new to tumblr right now, but trust me: that’s not just an acceptable thing to do on this site, but a lovely one. Whenever you see a post you like, consider reblogging it to share it with more people.

#this was meant to be funny but then it got sad: tolkien elves in a nutshell tbh #legolas #gimli #undying lands #gigolas #lotr fanfiction #mirkwood #greenwood #galadriel #bilbo #samwise #angmeril #no beta we die like spiders in mirkwood #seriously this is 100% stream of consciousness enjoy the typos #my stuff #fanfiction #my writing #mirkwood in aman: story snippets #lotr headcanons

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hinatastinygiant · 11 months

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9 | Aries

Pairing: Kita x Fem!Reader

What's Meant to Be Masterlist

KITA'S P.O.V.

This is it. Y/N will say goodnight to me and then we'll go our separate way. Maybe we'll see each other again, or maybe not. Either way, we'll just have to move on with our lives.

"How far do you live?" she asks, her voice breaking through my thoughts.

"Uh, not far," I reply, a little confused. "And you?"

"Six blocks in that direction," she answers, pointing west.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" I then offer.

"No, it's okay. I can walk by myself. It's not like I'm drunk or anything," she giggles.

"Are you sure? I'd hate for something to happen."

"Yeah, I'm sure," she nods. "But I'm glad we saw each other again." She then sighs, a sad smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "But I honestly kind of wish it was different."

"Why?" I ask, taken back. "What would you do differently?"

"Well, for starters, we wouldn't have run into each other at my job," she laughs. "I'd rather be hanging out with a friend than... working, ya know?"

"You don't like your job?"

"I don't mind it," she shrugs, "it's just... feels weird for my old friends to see that side of me after so long."

"Ah, I understand," I nod. "But if it's any consolation, I don't find it weird. And we had a lot of fun tonight, I thought."

"Yeah, we did," she smiles. And when she looks back at me, I can't help but feel my heart skip a beat. Without another moment of hesitation, I wrap my arm around her lower back and pull her closer.

"Y/N, can I kiss you?" I ask her.

"Yes," she breathes, her eyelashes fluttering closed.

The moment our lips touch, a jolt of electricity courses through my body. Her lips are soft and sweet, and it's as though every fiber of my being is drawn to her. I gently cup her face in my hand and tilt her head upwards, deepening the kiss.

Finding the nearby wall to be a great support, I push her back against it, a soft moan escaping her lips. Her hands grip the front of my shirt as her lips move hungrily against mine. My mind is spinning, and all I can think about is the feel of her against me, her fingers intertwined with mine, the taste of her skin.

As her tongue glides against my own, a growl forms in the back of my throat. My hands begin to explore her body, tracing the curves of her hips.

"God, Kita," she moans, her eyes opening for a brief moment.

"You've got no idea how long I've wanted to do that," I tell her.

"I think I do," she giggles, pulling me into another kiss.

I can feel her hands slipping beneath my shirt, her fingers grazing my bare skin. A shiver runs down my spine as her touch sets me on fire.

"Fuck," I breathe. "Y/N..."

"Don't stop," she whispers, her lips brushing against my ear.

"I can't," I murmur. "If I do, I'm going to take you back to my place and fuck you senseless."

Y/N then leans back and bites her lip, her eyes meeting mine.

"Sorry," I whisper, pulling away for a moment, "was that too much?"

"No," she shakes her head, "not at all." But then, she pulls away. "I'm sorry," she shakes her head, "I can't."

I don't reply as I take a step back. "It's okay," I manage to say, the lump in my throat making it difficult. "I'll see you around, then," I say, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice.

"Wait," she gasps after I turn to leave. "No, I meant... How far did you say you lived?"

"Four blocks east, why?"

"Well," she smiles, "your house is closer than mine. It'd be a shorter walk if I went home with you. As long as you don't mind the company."

"You're always welcome," I nod, trying to keep a straight face. "Let's go."

With our hands intertwined, we walk towards my house. For the first time in years, my mind feels calm and clear. No more worrying, no more wondering, no more doubts. Just her.

My throat feels dry and I have no idea what to say. What the hell am I even supposed to say in this situation?

"So, you've moved?" she then asks me as we begin our walk.

"Do you mean since high school?" I chuckle. "Yeah, I did. But the new place isn't far from where I used to live."

"Makes sense," she nods.

"What about you? Have you moved at all since then?"

"Only once," she shrugs.

"You didn't stay with..." I trail off.

"No," she shakes her head. "After I finally got up the nerve to break up with him, I couldn't stand living in the same place where everything happened."

"That makes sense. Well, you seem like you're doing okay."

"I'm better," she replies as she shrugs her shoulders. "I'm really glad I got to see you again, Kita."

"Me too," I nod.

As we continue to walk, a comfortable silence falls between us. Neither of us has anything to say, and there's no need to. We both know what we're about to do, and that's all that matters. Besides, I don't think I'd be able to hear Y/N over the sound of my heart beating out of my chest.

Once we reach my house, I lead her to the door and take my keys out. The door unlocks and swings open, revealing my empty living room.

"If you don't want to come in, I can call you a ride home..." I say before either of us steps inside.

"Why would I want to do that?" she grins at me, "I think we should finish what we started."

"Is that right?" I smirk.

"Mhm, I don't like leaving things unfinished," she nods.

"Okay then," I smile, gesturing for her to enter the house. "Come on in."

What's Meant to Be Masterlist

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kiealer · 8 months

Note

Valentine’s Day Application

Name: Black 🌹

Age: ???

Do you like to cuddle?: Hardly. Not with the likes of Mortals. But you might be that exception.

Can we make-out?: Never without my permission.

A night in or dinner out?: Perhaps, if you are worthy of my time, Ninazu.

Whip cream or chocolate syrup?: ...Cream

Chocolates and roses?: Roses are the most divine symbol of beauty.

What makes you a good Valentine?: I am a God, well above you and your kind. I am the very best there is.

Would you cook for me?: Do you deserve the fruits of my labor?

Would you let me cook for you?: I doubt your skills are any match to my own.

Where would you take me on a date?: Anywhere that is far from mortal dwellings.

Who’s paying?: You are.

What did you get me for Valentine’s Day?: My mere presence alone is enough. I am interested in you, despite your... Heritage.

Valentine's Application / accepting

The faintest of citrus hues soon spreads like wildfire, intensifying the further she considers the package as a whole. He is, of course, condescending, curt, and rudely straightforward. Surely, this would skew her consideration in some capacity, make her think twice about his offer. Who would accept something this crass, after all?

Yet, certain answers pique her curiosity. Even in his gruffness, he knew how to make her squirm. Ignoring the various scenes that play behind her eyes (and for good reason; he can tell when she's riled), his application brings with it even more intrigue. Why he bothered to send one in in the first place, she didn't quite know, though he answers that question rather concisely in his response. I am interested in you, he said. Why does that make her heart flutter? Damn him. In truth, he doesn't have to do a damn thing to convince or impress her -- she's already within his grasp.

Half-lidded eyes fall to the floor, brows creased and pensive while her fair skin still burns a sun-like heat. She pretends to contemplate, but she knows her answer -- they both do.

❝You're willing to set aside time in your busy schedule to spend with me?❞ She sounds more hopeful, more grateful, than she expected to. So much for keeping a biting, sarcastic tongue as a ways of showing indifference; she couldn't seem to help herself. Not when it comes to him. Her arms hold one another, keeping close as though guarded, or strained.

❝Alright,❞ she takes a breath, steadying the fierce rattling in her chest. Why the idea of being in his company on such a romantic day is appealing to her, she could hardly deign to guess -- but it is. ❝I accept. I'll… see you then,❞ her eyes lift to meet his, trepidation glimmering within them but beneath that lies a glint of excitement. Before she can think to bite her tongue, she adds, ❝I'm looking forward to it.❞

And now she wishes she'd never opened her mouth, her lips forming a tight line and her cheeks becoming just that much hotter. God damn him.

#sleepytv #anemcia #║ ✰〳ic.#║ ✰〳asks.#[ YOU SURE DO LIKE TO SPOIL ME DON'T YOU #I COULDN'T RESIST REPLYING TO THIS IMMEDIATELY AND NINA JUST. WENT OFF #the entire time i was staring at this like WHY DOES SHE LIKE YOU.#i mean i know WHY she likes him but. WHY DOES SHE LIKE HIM. ]

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ominouspositivity-or-else · 2 years

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“Seeing exceptions will never cause these people to rethink the rules they make up.“ But my sister in Christ, do not these “rules” apply to the Catholic Church to an extent? The Church has certain ideals of male and female behavior, there is a “complementary”masculine/feminine complementarity” and “natural law” and “traditional gender roles” are held as the ideal. I can provide evidence of this from magisterial Church documents. I admire the Church it’s just that I have a lot of confusion regarding certain topics, gender roles being one of the biggest. I’m aware the Church is not so shallow as to say “women cannot be intelligent/men cannot be emotional” and has always educated both sexes, it doesn’t think “women are actually sinning if they aren’t doing x job exactly” but it still upholds the general trends that differentiate men and women, which logically leads to the idea “men are x and women are y by nature”. Which is true, men and women are, in general, different, both physically and psychologically . This has been an endless source of confusion for me. This is also why I wonder about how many Catholics on this site seem to reject gender roles altogether which seems antithetical to Christian history (and indeed all history, all cultures have gendered divisions of labor and gender roles). For the record I’m not a particularly “masculine” man either.. so it does affect me..

My brother in Christ, of course there are differences between men and women. Spiritual, psychological, physical. I don't? Believe? I've ever said otherwise?

But what I usually say is that your masculinity and femininity is deeper than toys, books, and clothes. It's deeper than colors, than emotions, than personality types. You're inherently male because you are a man. Congratulations. If you are wholly being truly yourself, you will be a masculine person, simply because that's what you are. Likewise, if I am truly being myself, I will be a feminine person, because that is what I am. We are both created in the image and likeness of God, meant to do different things in this world, but like.

The way you cut your hair doesn't factor into your masculinity of femininity. Whether or not you wear pink doesn't factor in.

You're a man by the virtue of being one.

And none of this is to say you don't have a role that's specific to your masculinity. Of course you do! You're made to fight and to protect and to love! You're made to be a father just as I am made to be a mother.

But what I think you may be seeing a lot of on my account is not the degradation of roles that belong to the sexes properly, because I don't believe I've ever reblogged a post about how "the wife should be in charge on the home" or how "a man should obey his wife", but rather that society's ideas of masculinity and femininity are so screwed up that we reduce our ideas of what it means to be male and what it means to be female to a simple stereotype.

Because you know what? Boys can like pink and play with dolls. Girls can like trucks and monsters. None of those things make them any less of what they were created to be.

When I was a little girl(to this day, ngl to you) I always fell more in line with my male peers versus my female peers. I've got a personality that has more stereotypically masculine standings, I've got a brutal honesty to me that some women have a hard time with. I never liked dolls in the way that my female friends did, but then again I never played with them like my brother did. I have a more masculine style of dress but I like my hair long. I don't like make-up or fashion or shopping or stuff. None of that stuff makes me less feminine. Nor does liking that stuff make someone MORE of a female.

That's all I try to say.

As far as legitimate roles for each sex to play, there is definite places for that, and it specifically in my opinion exists in the construct of the family. It's not "women sit down and bite your tongue in work meetings", it's "wives, listen to and respect your husband's for they are the symbol of Christ to you and your kids."

The gender roles exist naturally and for good reason. Makes your relationships healthier if your wife is on the same page as you and is willing to let you take the lead. Likewise it's a more healthy relationship if your husband is willing to take the lead and your advice as well, to lead the family where all of you need to go.

But that dichotomy seems to exist outside all the surface level stuff.

Your wife could cut her hair into a buzz cut and wear combat boots and a military jacket. She's still your wife, and she ought to listen to you.

Your husband could paint his nails, grow his hair out long, like pink. He's still you husband, and he should love you like Christ loves the church.

Men and women are different creatures, but I think a lot of what you're seeing, anon, is our unwillingness as a group to fall in line with the idea that there are surface level boxes on what make men men and women women.

There isn't a check list. There are things you are called to do depending on your sex, but that's deeper than how you style your hair or how often you cry. I think that's what you might be seeing.

My advice is to try to separate gender stereotypes and gender roles! Ik it can be difficult but like. Don't let society tell you what to do and who you are. Let the Lord do that!

Lmk if I didn't answer this enough, or I was too broad. Praying for you, anon! God bless!

#catholic things #thanks for the ask!

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burgers-and-french-fries · 1 year

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My God

74: “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” with Jimmy the loml?

Note: I'm so sorry this is late but I hope this sweet little fic makes up for it.

Enjoy!

P.S: The prompt is highlighted in bold at the end.

===

School plays were always the dumbest things in y/n’s eyes. She never got the point of them. To her they were just cruel ways to embarrass students, to make them feel self conscience. She hated them with a passion but because she was roped into auditioning, she had to bite her tongue. Especially since the biggest jerk in school was cast along side her, making her want to scream.

Y/N and Jimmy Keene had science class together and unfortunately she was assigned as his lab partner so now with the practice for the play and science, she never really got a break from him. Sure he wasn’t bad looking but with a personality like his, his looks did nothing for her.

“I really hate you.” Y/n mumbled as she stood at her friend’s locker as they pulled out their books for their next class.

“Me? What did I do?” They replied.

“You made audition and now I have to preform with him.” Y/n said.

“I know it’s hard to believe but Jimmy’s not that bad. He’s just misunderstood.” Y/F/N countered.

“Whatever. I gotta go.” Y/n said as she looked at her watch.

“Be nice.” Y/F/N shouted after their friend. Y/n simply waved over her shoulder.

Walking into the auditorium, y/n was met with a bunch of kids milling about. Some were sitting down going through their lines and others were doing the silliest warm ups, ones that made y/n chuckle. She rolled her eyes and found an empty chair to sit in so that she could go through her own lines.

“Mind if I sit here?” A voice said, pulling y/n from her reading.

“Sure.” She said, finally looking up and locking eyes with Jimmy. She wanted to scoff but she remembered what her friend told her. Jimmy is misunderstood.

“Thanks.” He muttered, removing his letterman jacket and plonking down with a thud.

“So, why’d you audition?” Y/n asked.

Jimmy shrugged.

“Extra credit.” He replied simply.

“Interesting.” She said.

“You?” Jimmy questioned as he looked at the script y/n was holding.

“Lost a bet.” She replied and Jimmy chuckled.

“What?” Y/n asked with amusement.

“Nothing.” Jimmy replied.

“Where’s your script?” Y/n wondered, noting Jimmy wanted to change the subject.

“I uh, I misplaced it.” He stuttered, not wanting to remember what really happened to it.

His mother’s boyfriend had caught site of it and long story short, Jimmy was now labeled as a bit of a pansy.

“I thought that might happen, so, here.” Y/n said as she reached into her bag and pulled out a script out for Jimmy that she had printed out for him in case.

Jimmy looked at her with surprise, but he tried to hide it with the macho tough guy façade. Y/n saw through it though. Maybe her friend was right.

“So, shall we start?” Y/n asked but Jimmy shrugged. She could see him closing down.

Y/n wanted to talk to him more, but the teacher spoke up and declared that practice was about to start.

After school, y/n was driving home from school when she saw Jimmy walking by himself. She knew that this was weird for him as he seemed to have a posse with him.

“Hey Keene, want a ride?” Y/n shouted through her open window.

Jimmy stopped and looked at the girl. He wasn’t sure if he wanted her to see what situation he lived in but he could see the genuine kindness in her eyes.

“Fine.” He replied as he walked to the passenger side.

He got in and belted in as she started driving.

“So, where am I headed?” Y/n asked.

“I’d rather not go home yet.” He replied after a few minutes.

Y/n nodded.

“Neither do I.” She agreed.

“Why not?” Jimmy asked, curious as to what she meant.

“Same reason you don’t.” She replied, glancing at him from the corner of her.

“You too?” He asked, knowing he didn’t have to say more than that.

“Yeah but thankfully mine is gone on a bender so it’s just me right now.” She somewhat explained.

“How about food and we go the lake for a bit?” He suggested.

“The lake? Isn’t that where you go with all your hookups?” Y/n asked, and Jimmy’s face fell.

“No, it’s where I go to think.” He told y/n.

“Oh.” She said simply.

“Look I know I have a not-so-great reputation but I’m really not as bad as they all make me seem.” He tried defending himself.

“Jimmy, it’s ok. You don’t have to explain yourself.” Y/n replied as she drove toward her favorite burger joint.

Being at the secluded lake was something y/n never thought she’d see. She had heard stories about what happened at the lake and not having any interest in dating or going all the way with someone, she was inwardly shocked that she was sitting on the tailgate f her truck with Jimmy Keene.

“It’s really pretty here.” Y/n gushed as she watched the breeze create ripples on the water.

Jimmy looked at her and smiled.

“Yeah.” He replied.

“So.” Y/n said as she took another fry.

“So.” Jimmy repeated, not knowing what to really say.

“Can I be honest with you?” Y/n asked, looking at Jimmy.

“Sure.” He replied.

“I don’t want to do the stupid play.” She admitted.

“I don’t either.” Jimmy said, huffing out a breath.

“How about this, we sabotage the play.” Y/n smirked.

“How so?” Jimmy asked.

“Well, we could always add our own twists on our characters.” Y/n suggested, piquing Jimmy’s interest.

“Go on.” Jimmy encouraged.

Y/n hopped off the tailgate and went around to where her school bag sat. She dug through until she found her script. Once she grabbed it, she returned to her spot next to Jimmy.

“Ok, like here.” Y/n said, pointing to one of Jimmy’s lines.

“Instead of saying “Who do you think you’re talking to”, you could say “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking too.” Y/n said.

“As much as I like the idea, I need to pass, or I can’t play Football.” Jimmy replied sadly, loving the idea of slipping in some colourful language.

“Damn, ok. How about this, after rehearsals each Wednesday afternoon, we come to the lake, have burgers and I’ll help you with whatever subject you need help in.” She offered.

Jimmy smiled brightly. It would give him something to look forward to and he wouldn’t have to rush home for any reason.

“Deal.” Jimmy said as he held his hand out for her to shake.

“Deal.” She replied.

Their little plan went off without a hitch and both Jimmy and y/n were able to graduate with flying colours…..not to mention, as a couple.

===

Tag List:

@geo-winchester

@elizami11s

@stilessbaseballbat

#taronegertonxy/n #taronegertonxreader #taronegerton #jimmykeene #jimmykeenexreader #jimmykeenexy/n

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anxious-sappho · 2 years

Text

here’s chapter 1 of my imagination of what happened before the ROTD episode during the whole “the doctor’s been gone for months” thing. It’s written in letters because unknowingly both the doctor and yaz have been writing to each other to cope with their distance.

* * * * * * * *

* * * * * * *

Tu Me Manques

Dear Doctor, In my life i can count on my hands the amount of people who i have met who i felt like i’ve known for years, that you connect so quickly with them. but you are so different. the day i met you it didn’t feel like this connections that i knew instantly, that feel so comfortable but rather i felt like i wanted to know every single thing about you. i was/am so drawn to you and you keep me on my toes. i’m always learning so much and that’s the thing. while you were different, you’re the first person this happens to me. while i can’t feel like i’ve known you for so long that you are like the back of my hand. every wrong turn, every wrong person led to you.

I realize now how little we know of each other. Here I am shattered beyond further repair because of someone who I don’t know that well and yet I wholly trust you with my life in your hands. I wish we got to know each other more. God I hate this, the whole past/present tense, there’s no grey area for someone who completely disappeared without a trace. You wouldn’t do that to me...or Graham or Ryan. I don’t- can’t- think of the other possibility nagging at the bottom of my brain. I can’t fathom a world, a whole universe without you. what would the universe do without you? what would I do without you? I like to think that I would feel if you were to, you know, be gone gone. As if I had some sort of sixth sense, that must be a funny joke to you. An ordinary human, unlike extraordinary you. God the things I would give up just to hear your laughter right now. How could I have the ability to know whether or not a time lord has passed on? Do you even pass on?

It’s been a month by the way. A month without you and yet I can’t live the life I lived so easily before. Now I keep coming to the thought that we don’t know much about each other. Well I supposed that’s a given because more than half the time we spend running. Running away from others and running away from ourselves. I’d like to tell you a story though, if you’d like to hear. Of course, it’s not like you can agree or disagree… but when I was a kid I was quiet. Don’t confuse that with shyness, because I was a stubborn little girl you can argue even more than I am now. I would bite my tongue in, mouth full of things I wanted to say but couldn’t because I was afraid of how much of the dam would let out of the things i bottled up so I used to sit in our garage on top of the washer machine and write all the things I wish I could’ve said, and I used to fill notebook after notebook. So here I am 13 years later sitting on the washer machine on to drown out my cries, writing the things I didn’t get to say to you. I want to release these trapped words, I don’t hope it’s not too late to say these things. That's why I’m doing this. At first when the idea came to me to write to you. I laughed bitterly, what did you care about me and how I was doing right now coping with the loss of my best friend? If you were to come back what would you want these letters? What good does it do? To guilt you? But I think I finally came to the conclusion that i’m writing these things for myself. sometimes I stop in my track thinking I hear the whooshing but instead it’s wind. Sometimes I see you in my dreams and I swear I can feel your warmth. You’re so close yet so far and intangible. . As I’m writing I feel you near me and sometimes *sometimes* it’s enough to get me through the day

Sometimes the words get so heavy in my mind, it builds such a pressure that it drags me down as they swim in my head bobbing up and down out of my consciousness begging for my attention. I have to write them down or I’ll forget. I just have to. writing has always been a way I cope, it’s the way that I could express the things that I'm too much of a coward to express. Sometimes I wish I kept these words between me and my consciousness rather than them being real on this paper. I hope that by writing ”you’re okay, you’re well”, magically it’ll come true. I can’t really doubt that because you have shown me how magic exists everywhere. I plan on writing and writing to never forget you, to will some magic over to you. Wherever you are, I hope you can feel me thinking of you. I hope wherever you are, the thought of me brings you strength to continue to fight on because right now it pains me I’m not there with you at your side, protecting you and you protecting me.

And knowing your infinite knowledge in anything and everything, this phrase from my old grade 11 french class is the phrase tu me manques means you are missing from me, and it translates to you are missing from me. and doctor, tu me manques.

When I met you, I had a hole in my heart, in my being. it’s funny how you were the exact same size as the hole just a little jagged around the edges. I feel whole around you and yet it feels wrong to have you away. But life goes on right? I miss you so much, come home soon. don’t worry about me though, I’ll write soon. Love Always, Your friend Yaz

Yaz jumps off the washer machine and walks over to her room. she lifts her mattress and shoves the letter under. Her stomach growls and she frowns- the last few weeks she hasn’t been able to stomach proper food. She’s even began to lose weight. she gets up and goes into her bathroom to brush her teeth but she stands there studying the strange person in the reflection- blank swollen eyes staring back. she nearly jumps out of fright. she begins to brushes her teeth, knuckles white as they clench the bathroom sink in an attempt to distract herself from the violent swarming in her stomach. This has been the new routine, one that makes her feel like she’s in a first person perspective in a video game- unable to feel sensation or will her arms and legs to do what she wants. Robotically, she returns to her room and lays down. Her brain begins to work double time blaring the darkest of thoughts that send her to a blinding panic. in a way it’s a sickening comfort feeling because this is all she’s known the past month. the constant thought that the doctor is dead and she can’t remember the last thing she said to her. in a desperate frenzy, shaky hands fumble for the medicine her doctor recently prescribed for the panic. It takes a few minutes for it to do its job. yaz gets dragged into a dream of a bubbling blonde woman with a blue box outstretching her through doors beckoning Yaz to come through the doors to discover all of time and space. Yaz almost thought it was real until the blaring of her alarm interrupted what once was.

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* * * * * * *

if you like what you read check out the rest of the fic in the link in my bio. if i get to 200 views maybe i’ll start writing more. I really want to. your comments, likes, shares, and feedback is much appreciated. much love my thasmin community

#disgusting desperate fic writer #thasmin fic #doctor who fanfics #thasmin #wlw fics #the doctor x yaz #doctor who fandom #proud thasmin shipper in this house #need feedback pls #thank u for reading this fic #revolution of the daleks

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bronze-bell · 2 months

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Fixing his eyes on the blackboard as he could just feel a pounding heart from the other, Frederick came to the dawning realization he had messed up. Not because of the words that were written. But rather, how they were written. His mother tongue had leaked out of him, hadn't it? Did he– had he given too much away? God, if Victor told anyone... what would people think of him?

With a shaking, unsteady hand, Frederick would remove the letter from his coat pocket, making sure he had proper reference. If he was getting the wrong words, if the words had been overwritten in his mind, he couldn't have a conversation. The things said before were at least on hand. At least could be referenced.

Slow, shaking breaths forced themselves in and out as Frederick began to talk, thumb running down the letter as he reacquainted himself with what was given to him prior. "[Right. You, too, have seen... more than I prefer to let others know, but... you're still here anyway. Hearing such constant gossip about people I do not know nor care about, the lying and sweet, honeyed words when speaking to the person they were saying such things about the week prior... it all sickens me. So knowing that you're... not telling the world everything that shows me at my weakest... it means a lot.]"

"[Even if you are not okay, wh– why should you be punished...?]" Frederick glanced towards his cane, ever so briefly, before his eyes returned to the letter. "[I have a way to defend myself, if needed. And you, as well. It's... not much, but I hope it can at least do something.]"

"[Th-thank you again, for... what you have said to me. I... am not used to such words. I've heard enough talk of my music not being enough like what was expected of someone where I came from. Enough talk of straying from what people were willing to accept. But here you are.]" Even if those words were lies, he hadn't heard such things enough. So he had to hold on to what he could get. What someone willingly gave him.

As his thumb reached that sentence fragment that caused him to break last time, he could not stop himself from gripping the paper's edges tightly, the knot in his chest forming all too quickly. What could he even say? His words, as they came out, started anxious, a clearly false smile pressed upon his face, before he could feel his body, his pretense, his everything collapse from the emotional pain of thinking about it all. "[Victor... you may be the most human out of anyone I've met. The most... real. The competition is hardly close, with so much gossip and lying and words behind backs that I've seen. I've heard too much... Of course I'd care for you, worry about you. I... don't want to lose you, okay?]"

Victor... Has to take a moment to breathe. Admittedly, he had made the same slip up with his writing, not even realising that he had repeated the language as he was turning the thoughts over in his mind. Despite kicking himself mentally, he's now definitely confident that at least his first idea, the one about it being the pianist's mother tongue, was correct.

That's not the overwhelming part, though. There's words, lots of them, and he doesn't know how to respond to it all at once. It's not like he could pretend to not understand it... So, like a letter, he will pick it apart and respond to each in turn. In English this time. He doesn't want that autopilot slip up to come out and bite him later.

He moves to almost face Frederick, starting to write his first response. The consequences of his chalkboard being small enough to fit in his bag is not much space to write.

[{I would never}] That's German again. Rewrite. [I would never share any secret spoken here. People love to gossip - know that too well. It's scary not knowing what they say about you.] He shudders at this thought. He moves the chalkboard towards Frederick, keeping one hand on it to indicate he isn't done yet.

After Frederick nods, he wipes it clean and plans to move onto the next statement, before he is reminded of Frederick saying he had a way to... Protect them. If needed. He stops in his motions, following Frederick's turned-away gaze to the cane resting against the bed. Is that what he means? It doesn't look deadly, but he's learned the hard way that it could draw blood if outfitted with even a slight spike. He swallows down the urge to press himself further away from Frederick, and writes again.

[Have you been targeted before? by them? Regardless of yes or no, the safety measure does make me feel —] He wants to say scared, but that may just make things worse. [Safer. Thank you.] There's still something else to address, and something about Frederick's tone makes him feel... Strange. It's pitiful. Scared. Why? [Why would I not be punished for failing?] He leaves it at that. He's running out of room. Present, wait, retrieve, faster than he did last time when he sees the pianist tense up a little.

[Your music is wonderful. It should be celebrated.] He imagines himself receiving praise like that about his line of expertise, and finds himself smiling at the thought. [I see no point in conforming in your line of work. You are not a postman, after all. There is no standard you need to be held to.] Present, wait, enjoy the pianist's distracted face lighting up a little, retrieve.

He grits his largely unused teeth as he erases the chalk again, thinking of how to respond to the last statement. Frederick called him genuine and he could understand why, but... Being called "human" felt strange. Unequivocally wrong. Even if he couldn't quite place it. He decides to ignore it for the sake of his sanity. [I wish you could see more people that kept secrets. I am not the only one.] He feels like Frederick needs reminding of that fact.

His brain moves categorically to the next words, and he finds himself smiling again at the reminder, that giddiness from before back. Care? He cares for Victor? Wants him? If Victor could have enough space and time to describe how he feels, it'd be a dog being given a treat, and it leaves him drunk on it much more than the more clear-headed part of Victor would ever dare to admit.

[thank you for loving me!] is all he can get down, but he imagines his joy says enough. Present, remove his hand, wait. What will the pianist say next? He's scared, but also excited, practically wagging his tail hoping for another nice word to be the plaster to what the other words will likely be.

#identity v #identity v rp #「 victor writes 💌」#identity v ask blog #idv

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vadinii · 2 years

Text

Sometimes I see people in relationships and feel a little tang of heart down with their pda and sweet stuff and it's a little heartbreaking but then I look at the fact which idk makes me realize that I am better off alone.

I see the way they talk about their partner or when they are with their partners, it's not necessarily bad or mean. But it isn't great too, they lack to see their perspective and don't appreciate their love and wisdom and grace and authenticity and don't think of their concerns as real or important and suddenly, I am hit with the fact that my love language is more than physical touch but acceptance and respect. It's the fact that you hear that I need to communicate and debate and with the belief that neither of our beliefs are facts but beliefs and that they deserve to be heard with receptivity.

That when I speak, I speak because I care, and I want to spend my energy with you and even the fact that you want to do the same, more than once is magic in itself. How in love do i have to be to spend my time with you more than once without presenting a facade or biting my tongue because I know you would get why I need to just sit in silence and cry looking at the sky or can't stand in crowd places without feeling choked or why I love God so much, or why I would never grow my hair above my shoulder length or have this invariable need to justify and look at even every horrible thing with some ounce of humanity and why I would rather ghost people than explain myself because it is not something I expect people to comprehend.

Or how I would never call anyone when I am having a bad day and not shout at you but just go in the other room and roar and cry and just come back and smile.

How much do you have to be in love with me to hear it and not think I am too much?

I don't know if others would get it but I am already in love with you and I haven't met you.

How much more do you want me to fall for you to show up?

I believe in soulmates a little too much.

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yymiya · 2 years

Text

like real people do — kaeya x gn!reader

Kaeya knows best how to garner your attention. After all, the cards are stacked in his favour.

tags: gn!reader, smut, sub kaeya, nipple play, hand jobs, biting, feelings realisation, alcohol

wc: 4.2k

ao3 link

“Goodness me, is that all?”

You scoff. This is the finest bottle of wine that you own. Still, it shouldn’t come as a shock that Kaeya finds something to scrutinise with ease, even if it’s, without a doubt, more costly than what he regularly drinks. He must be trying to irk you.

You thrust the tinted bottle towards his chest. “Don’t push your luck. I have half a mind to send you away empty-handed.”

“A sore loser. How unflattering.” Kaeya’s slender fingers wrap around the bottle despite his light-hearted teasing, much warmer than the nighttime breeze when they nudge against your own. “I won fair and square, didn’t I? It would be unfair to punish me for a victory I worked so hard to achieve.”

That, he had. What he refers to is nothing more than a drunken, needless bet between friends. Alas, Kaeya swiped the pristine Cecilia from a bard’s green hat while you were otherwise occupied, earning himself your most prized bottle. You were saving it for a special occasion, but Kaeya believes this is occasion enough.

“As fair as you usually play, perhaps.”

At last, you surrender the bottle and fold your hands behind your back. Kaeya leans a shoulder against the doorframe. “Why so doubtful?” he asks, a bright eye flickering to yours. “Must I prove myself a man of integrity for you to believe it?”

“Yes.”

He takes it in stride, pausing to inspect the label with mild intrigue. “Fine. Let’s share, hm? Not only am I being fair but rather generous, too.”

It’s a piss-poor attempt to invite himself into your home, not nearly as subtle as previous tries. Had he asked another day, your answer would have been an impolite, blunt no and a slam of the door. But today, with the dying sun setting the nearest side of his face aglow with orange light, your resolve weakens.

“If I cared about the wine, I would have drained it before you arrived and given a less valuable bottle in its place.”

“By a stroke of luck, I was actually extending the offer of my company for a measly evening. I suppose it went right over that head of yours.”

“I’m not sold.”

Kaeya clicks his tongue but makes no further effort to convince you, procuring a small dagger to cut away the foil before uncorking the bottle in a few swift movements. You’re impressed, if not acutely aware of how often he has done so. Your concern is reserved for the potential spillage of wine in your doorway, gods forbid, rather than any injury he could sustain.

“If we weren’t so close,” Kaeya begins, pausing to hum thoughtfully, “I would be foolish enough to believe you consider me no fun to be around.”

“Can you blame me? You’re a terrible drunk.”

The memories of an eventful night stretching into morning with Kaeya held up between you and Rosaria are irritating ones. Most evenings, Kaeya drinks a moderate amount—enough to fool the miscreants he pries with questions, but not enough to breach tipsy.

Still, there are times when he has to be wrangled out of the tavern with the promise of a warm bed and a snack.

Kaeya sighs whimsically. “I’m really in no mood for a night of lonely drinking back at headquarters.”

“That’s unbelievably depressing.”

“Well. The bottle is open. If I were to walk home with it, not only would I risk spilling some of your precious wine, but it would be a taboo sight—the Cavalry Captain of Ordo Favonius, wandering the streets with an uncorked bottle of wine. What in the world would the denizens think of—”

“Archons, you wretched man. Stay. Just don’t get flat-out drunk.”

He grins as you sidestep to allow him into your apartment, flourishing the bottle with a mischievous gleam in his smile. Kaeya’s winning streak hasn’t yet ended, so it seems. He moves past you and into the hallway as though he knows the layout of your home like the back of his hand.

He doesn’t. The few times he has been inside, he was rat-arsed and spent the duration snoring on your couch.

“Don’t you own a single wine glass?” he calls from your kitchen.

“No,” you lie, following the sound of his voice. The sight that greets you is one of Kaeya hunched over, the bottle tucked under his arm as he searches through your cupboards without an ounce of shame. “Should’ve brought your own if you so desperately wanted to ruin my evening with your antics.”

“My, that’s no way to treat a friend.”

“Intruder, more like.”

Kaeya raises his hands as he walks past you and into the adjacent room. “This intruder will drink from the bottle like some sort of heathen, then.”

“So long as it keeps you quiet,” you grumble, chasing him in your own home—a ridiculous notion in and of itself.

Kaeya is lounging on your living room couch when you find him, his long legs crossed and hanging off the armrest. You smack at his shins but he doesn’t budge an inch. Instead, his legs are forcefully lifted and you slot yourself beneath them, promptly slumping against the soft cushions with a weary sigh.

A moment of quiet would be pleasant, but Kaeya has no intention of allowing one.

“Don’t you want any?” he taunts and waves the bottle. The liquid sloshes against the glass, alarmingly close to tipping over the mouth and staining your upholstery. “It must be rather upsetting to part with such an exquisite bottle, no?”

You cast him a sidelong glance. “You insulted it no more than ten minutes ago.”

“I was simply… surprised, is all.”

One day you will succeed in wiping that stupid smirk from his face. You scowl and snatch the bottle from Kaeya’s outstretched hand, pressing it to your lips to take a sip.

Admittedly, it’s good wine, though the flavour is more suited to Kaeya’s tastes than your own.

It must translate in your expression because Kaeya laughs, uncharacteristically hearty and whole. It startles you, presenting an opening for him to take back the bottle and taste its contents with a pleased, although inquisitive hum. “It could be better.”

You click your tongue, jolting his thighs in your lap. You aren’t quite sure where to place your hands. “Stop it, you.”

“I’m kidding, of course. I indulge in the same drink almost every evening, so this is a welcome change. A welcome change of scenery, too. The barracks are only interesting for a year or two.”

You hum, knocking your head against the back of the couch. Kaeya is surprisingly easy to relax around, though that could instead be the lingering effects of a long day. “Is that so?”

“Typically, this is where you beg me to drop by at my leisure,” Kaeya suggests. “You know, something along the lines of ‘your presence really livens up the place, Captain Kaeya, so be sure to visit more often’ and all that.”

“Oh, how I love your sense of humour, Captain Kaeya.”

Kaeya waves his hand with a smile. It’s exactly what he does when Mondstadt’s elderly surround him in the streets, pinching his cheek and imploring him to marry quickly. “As always, I’m pleased to entertain.”

You turn to him. There isn’t a doubt in your mind that Kaeya is up to no good, though you haven’t yet figured out the specifics.

You sigh, “Be a doll and just drink your wine, all right?”

Kaeya’s tongue prods the inside of his cheek before he feigns a stellar grin. “Why, of course. How rude of me.”

The bottle tilts against his mouth but little wine floods his tongue. Much of it seeps from the corners of his lips, down his cheek and beads beneath the distinct curve of his jaw.

“Archons’ sake, don’t let it—!”

You lurch to the side. His fur collar doesn’t absorb the steady drip of wine, instead directing the droplets to smear across the skin of his chest. There are one, two, three splashes that soak into your couch cushions before you’re wiping at his skin with frenzied movements to minimise the damage, looming over him with a displeased expression.

“Having my upholstery cleaned will come out of your pocket, you bastard man. Why—”

Kaeya moves beneath you. Your foul mood hasn’t diminished his haughty grin, but made it wider, sharper. There’s a strange glint in his eye, and something stranger in his fingers relaxing around the bottle until it thumps against his chest and alcohol spills out, a quick torrent.

“Oops,” he muses.

“Kaeya,” you hiss, placing the half-empty bottle down on the floor. To think, you had only a mouthful each. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Nothing is offered in the way of a verbal answer. Kaeya grins, long lashes fluttering as he lifts a hand between your bodies. His glove saturates with wine as he trails a finger through the bitter liquid coating his chest.

He— oh.

Your face burns.

“Kaeya,” you whisper. “Gods, is anything you do ever accidental?”

He shrugs. “Very little.”

Your head hangs low yet you can’t escape the sight of his sheer blouse clinging to his skin. That blue vest has always done little to protect his modesty, yet as he writhes and the wine slinks in new directions, it digs into the musculature of his chest.

“Be a gracious host, would you?” he croons. Lithe fingers loosen his vest until his blouse falls open. “It’s improper to have the guest clean up, after all.”

The tone of his voice, smooth and sultry, sends your mind into a tailspin.

There have always been instances of something more. A brush of hands or his hair pushed behind his ear while he teeters on the precipice of a sweet dream, late-night thoughts and a deep, aching yearning that snags on tangled heartstrings.

Your friendship is far from proper.

And now, Kaeya is shifting beneath your hips, splayed out across your couch with his hair curling around him and his shirt undone and soaked through with wine, your wine, and—

He bares his chest to you as though there’s nothing he covets more than the warmth of your mouth and tongue.

You breathe, “I suppose this is an adequate apology.”

“Accept it, then. Properly.”

You tug on a strand of his hair, sweeping it away before its colour turns dark with wine. “A little patience would benefit you, no?”

Kaeya huffs, arching his back high off the couch, pushing his chest closer. All it does is send thick rivulets of wine spilling onto your cushions but that concern has been pushed to the back of your mind.

You smooth over his collarbone and dip beneath the neckline of his blouse, tugging until it gives way to an expanse of skin streaked with alcohol. You glance up, following his line of sight as it focuses on the hands pressed to his chest. Kaeya melts against the cushions with a pleased moan when you squeeze his pecs in your palms.

“Sensitive?” you ask, amused.

Kaeya’s head tilts. “It’s reasonable, don’t you think?”

You’re sticky with alcohol. You stoop down, pressing your lips against a scar splitting his jaw. “Apologies if this is overdue.”

“Oh, you kept me waiting, all right.”

You hesitate. He isn’t teasing. Kaeya’s humour, at times, may be straight-faced and dry but there’s a specific lilt he uses when teasing, a different one if he’s taunting.

His voice is devoid of any playfulness.

His chin is tilted up and you softly bite at his throat. “Have I really?”

“You haven’t a clue,” he murmurs, sliding a hand up to your nape.

“I don’t, so enlighten me.”

Kaeya meets your gaze head-on, his eye narrowed. His lips form the words that he can’t quite say, and instead he pushes you down until your nose nudges his chest. “Another time, perhaps.”

The answer will make itself known sooner or later.

For now, you pamper him. Kaeya’s skin is warm, soft to the touch, save for the long stretches of old scars and rounded burns—your lips are gentle in these areas, bruising elsewhere, cautious of tender skin. Kaeya flushes, a contented noise hitching in his throat as your tongue presses to his red-stained skin, licking a stripe between his pecs.

The wine is bittersweet between your mouth and his skin.

Kaeya’s fingers tighten in your hair. Not enough to hurt, but each unconscious jolt of his hand puts tension on your scalp and it very nearly stings. He really is sensitive. Your tongue laves over his nipples and he shudders, rutting his hips against yours in a desperate fit.

Kaeya is typically put-together. All warm, calculated smiles and carefully selected words spoken in a tempting voice that, above all else, works. Be it crooks in the tavern from whom Kaeya needs information, or yourself, Kaeya’s charms are difficult to fight.

Yet he falls apart beneath you.

He’s been pried apart at the seams like an old doll, cotton stuffing tumbling out in heaps of mumbled, incoherent words.

“Hm?” your voice is muffled against his chest, pitching upwards in curiosity.

Gods above, does Kaeya feel it. He shivers as the vibrations course through his weakening body, his hard cock pressing against your hip. Each touch furthers his lust-fuelled delirium until he’s strung tight like a wire ready to snap.

It isn’t the wine. Kaeya has been drunk. He’s loitered in the tavern until he was bleary-eyed and uncoordinated, his tongue too slow and his mind the opposite. This is different, it’s—

“Kaeya,” you murmur, grounding. Without the pressure of your lips, his chest, slicked in wine and sweat and spit, is sensitised to the cold air. You hover above, bleeding into his vision alongside flickering candlelight and the sheen of wine smeared across your cheek. “Were you saying something?”

Kaeya’s lips twitch into a reticent smile. Your eyes narrow as he speaks, “Nothing of importance, I assure you. Don’t let it get in your way.”

“Are you sure?”

He hesitates. You don’t sound at all convinced, so he thumbs at your cheek to wipe away the maroon residue, as soft as he’s capable of being. “Positive. Now, please carry on.”

“Since you asked so kindly, of course.”

With a snicker, Kaeya’s hand falls to rest on your shoulder while you shuffle further down his body, laying your mouth on his chest once more. Little time is spent on fleeting, teasing touches, and you greedily suck his nipple into your mouth. The wetness of your tongue makes Kaeya mewl, and his hand slides to the back of your head, holding you steady as you pinch and twist his other nipple between your thumb and index.

The original objective—cleaning up, as Kaeya put it—has long since been forgotten.

In his mind, it has been displaced by the heady warmth of your mouth and the cruelty of your fingers, toying with him at your own pace regardless of how desperately, how pitifully he whines for more stimulation, rubbing against you.

Each sound coaxed from his throat sets your nerves alight. You’ve spared plenty of thought as to what Kaeya would sound like, look like, be like—whether he would quietly, obediently take it, or whether having him would be a challenge despite his mind being made up.

Time and time before have you come undone with his name tangled and garbled on your tongue, harbouring the concern that he somehow, somehow knows. It isn’t impossible. Kaeya is aware of most, if not all things, both hidden and open.

Perhaps he does know, and always has.

The likelihood should frighten you, but you welcome it. If Kaeya is, by some twist of fate, in the know, he mustn't mind. Not with how he so willingly presents himself to your prying eyes.

“Kaeya,” you whisper again, garnering his undivided attention. You had it regardless, but his gaze is subtle and elusive, easily missed. “I want to get you off.”

“Goodness, how forward.”

“Of course. What’s the use in sugar-coating it when—” When there’s a chance this is a one-time occurrence, and you may never touch him so intimately again. “Well, when have I ever been that kind of person?”

He chuckles, preoccupied with the draw of your face. Kaeya is well acquainted with an expression that conceals secrets, the fractures of a well-crafted facade. He smooths out yours with his thumb, tracing over your lower lip, across your jaw and down the front of your throat.

His gentle touch enraptures you, leaving you with wide, reverent eyes that, in their own way, scare Kaeya to near death.

“A few instances spring to mind.”

“Oi,” you grumble. “I asked you a question. Do I have to beg—”

“My, wouldn’t that be pleasant?”

“—because I’d sooner kick you out.”

“Ah,” Kaeya muses before a laugh bubbles in his throat—oddly lively, as it had been before. “I’m having you on, I apologise. Do as you please. I trust that I’m in capable hands?”

You prod his side. “Very capable hands, indeed. Ones that are also after vengeance for the callous ruining of my couch cushions, mind you.”

Kaeya quirks a brow. “Oh dear. I ought to be careful what I wish for, hm?”

You laugh. He really is cute when he wants to be.

A hand slips between your bodies and presses up against the bulge in his tight trousers. “Tell me which you’d prefer—my hands or my mouth?”

“I reckon you know the answer,” he teases.

“For that exact reason, you’re only getting my hands.”

Kaeya pouts. “Oh, you’re no fun at all.”

In lieu of a reply, you fumble with his corset, untangling the strings until it gives way and you can tug down his waistband. His cock pushes against his underwear, and you trace its shape with the pad of your finger, gauging how sensitive he is here.

Kaeya trembles and squeezes his eye shut. It’s as you thought.

You wrap a palm around him, the warmth of your skin tempered by damp fabric, and Kaeya drives his hips up, forcing more of himself into your hand. Your eyes fall closed. He’s big. For a brief, hazy moment that warps and stretches, you wonder how nice it would feel to be filled by him, stuffed full of his cock, but it remains a passing thought, unspoken.

“How dare you hide this from me for so long,” you murmur instead.

Kaeya laughs, thoroughly amused and a little prideful. “If I had known you wanted my cock this badly, this chase would have ended much, much sooner, I assure you.”

Your eyes flick to his, narrowed. “Chase? I knew you were up to something.”

“When am I not?” he whispers, tapping your cheek.

You grumble in response, offering a vague noise of agreement. He makes a valid point, though you don’t dwell on it for long, pulling his cock from its confines and swiping your thumb over the slit. Sticky precum coats your skin.

“Desperate, aren’t you?”

Kaeya bristles. The thin material of his glove is smooth as he slides a hand around the back of yours, guiding you to stroke him in earnest. He’s tired of your slow teasing, it appears. “That might have been worth considering before you straddled me.”

“Stop pretending that wasn’t your goal.”

Kaeya scoffs, amused, and squeezes your fingers. A pained noise snags in his throat as your hand tightens around his cock in response, the slick noise mounting pleasure in the pit of his stomach.

His head lolls back to rest against the cushions as your hand blurs between his legs, steadily working him closer while you tease his chest with your teeth. Already, his skin has burst into smears of dark purple and mauve, indistinguishable from the tinted sheen of wine.

Kaeya wonders, belatedly, if the marks can be covered by his attire. That likely isn’t the case. Regardless, Kaeya guides your mouth higher, to the sensitive spot beneath his ear, and relaxes when you suck bruises along the length of his neck.

No, he doesn’t mind. Not one bit.

“You have such a pretty chest,” you speak into his skin, biting into the juncture between his neck and shoulder. “Then again, you’re stupidly pretty in general.”

It’s nothing more than a murmur, not the most flattering compliment Kaeya has been given, but your sincerity shocks him. Kaeya has long since grown accustomed to the prolonged but welcome stares, the occasional offhand comment… but those simply float someplace in the back of his mind.

This, however, you— you tear him wide open with a few words.

You mumble again, an aggrieved afterthought, “Handsome bastard.”

Kaeya's cheeks grow warm. Whether it’s due to the unconscious thrust of his hips into your tight grip, or that, for a brief moment, he finds himself believing you, it isn’t clear.

“The people you bed must walk away with horribly inflated egos,” he quips.

You give him a long look that he can’t quite decipher—fair, all things considered, his vision blurs once he’s close to coming. Expectations aside, he hadn’t expected you to laugh.

“I see you have some ideas about me, hm?”

Kaeya’s heart pounds. “Mmh, naturally.”

A whine is drawn from his throat as your hand stops all movement, constricting around his cock as you speak as though telling him to listen and to listen well. “I tell the truth to people who deserve it, Kaeya.”

There isn’t much he can say to that.

Still, Kaeya holds your gaze stubbornly. Only when your thumb rubs against the flushed head of his cock does he look elsewhere, moaning breathlessly and rutting into your persistent touch.

His voice pitches. “I’m— ngh— gonna come if you keep that up, gods…”

“Go on, then. Make a mess.”

“Quicker,” he gasps, arching off the couch cushions as his tact slips between his fingers, useless. “Please, please—!”

With a cry muffled into his forearm, Kaeya spills over the cusp of your hand. You laugh and press his weeping cock against his stomach, rubbing until spurts of thick cum land on his sweat-slicked chest, dripping back down to your fingers.

“There you go,” you murmur, rubbing harder. “How obedient, hm?”

Kaeya moans, loud and broken, as your warm palm smears cum across his chest, pinching his sore nipples between two fingers, all but cruel. His shoulders heave as your tongue runs through the pearlescent sheen coating his skin, a delighted hum reverberating through his slack limbs.

You’re hardly lucid, overcome with something warm and whole.

“Beautiful,” you murmur, sinking your teeth into his skin, marring it with deep indentations. “So, so beautiful. You’re beautiful, Kaeya—”

“Gods, be quiet.”

A startled noise is smothered by Kaeya’s lips—warm and plush and so fucking gentle that you could cry, could allow the palm cradling your cheek to thumb away tears.

Your fingers thread through his hair and tether him closer, twisting deeper when he makes contented, fucked-out noises in the back of his throat, slowly coming down.

The following realisation is a daunting one—that, in spite of yourself and your beliefs, all you have come to know and adore about Kaeya, a doubt wavers in your mind, an image of indifference and misaligned intentions.

You worry that he doesn’t feel the same.

That his heart doesn’t fret dreadfully at the thought of you, his blood doesn’t pulse with a fondness so slow and consuming.

You worry a lot, but he’s kissing you, isn’t he?

Perceptive as ever, Kaeya pulls away. There’s a question on his lips that he doesn’t share, but his hands are familiar, honest as they soothe your warm cheeks. You have no words anyway.

So, you kiss him again. And again.

He keeps you here comfortably for a spell of time. The glare of orange candlelight sways behind your closed eyelids, drawing constellations and merging in your mind with the soft smack of lips and the pleased sighs that Kaeya breathes against you.

“Stay the night,” you request, though it sounds smaller than you intended, uncertain. Nerves twist in your stomach at the prospect of his refusal and more words spill out. “For a little while, at least. Just a while longer is all I ask.”

Kaeya shushes you, a hesitant smile growing. “Slow down. Do you seriously believe that I would walk the streets in this state?”

You pause. Admittedly, your hand is tacky with gods know what, and the thought of stained clothes and upholstery is one you don’t entertain.

Kaeya continues, “I will be taking full advantage of your shower, thank you very much.”

“You need it.”

His brow furrows, disapproving. “Come now. What is that tone for? If my memory serves me well, the blame for this mess is yours to shoulder.”

You sit, still straddling his hips, and click your tongue. Kaeya looks right here—dishevelled in your home, his hands steadying your waist. The simple point of contact has your heart lurching behind your ribs.

“Shouldn’t have spilled my fucking wine,” you mutter.

“Oh? But look where it got me.”

“Watch it.”

“So cold,” he laments, though his chuckle betrays him. “I like to believe we share a rather unique bond, and here you are, breaking my heart.”

Your mind fizzles out as Kaeya’s fingers, purposely chilled, inch beneath your shirt. Logic warns you that he’s intent on exacting revenge, but you turn away regardless, flustered.

Kaeya laughs, all-encompassing and cosy and—

You really are fucked, now.

#kaeya #kaeya alberich #kaeya x reader #kaeya smut #sub kaeya #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #fics

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