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dyingswanpavlova · 22 days ago

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"Your girl" - Part 5 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: You tell him about your traumatic past and he has a proposition for you. Could the man, who's slowly destroying your life, also be the one to repair it?

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, hinting at depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

Author's note: This chapter has a great focus on sexual abuse (not rape), so I'd just like to put an extra trigger warning here (That's also the reason I didn't manage to check the text for spelling errors, I just wrote it down and left it at that, so I apologize in advance if there are any mistakes.) And what I'd like to add at this point: If anyone is struggling with anything in that regard, I hope you find a way to deal with it. Please talk to someone! And my inbox is always open. I love you all!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

There was not much you could do. But the waiting was slowly driving you insane.

You remembered his words very well. They kept repeating in your head like a broken record and why wouldn’t they? Each and every one of his words was something between a gentle caress and a stab wound right in the middle of your chest.

A proposition, he called it. A proposition.

Doesn't one need free will to accept a proposition?

“Tell me who it was.” He had said. And you felt your insides clench and tingle unpleasantly once more.

“Don’t you remember what happened just twelve hours ago?” You nearly snapped. Of course it wasn’t really wise to speak to him in a tone that was anything besides timid, gentle and careful, but something bigger took your thoughts and your tongue hostage. “I don’t want to talk about it! I can’t! You saw what it does to me!”

You grasped the way he almost rolled his eyes, but decided against it. Instead he leaned closer, resting his elbows on the kitchen table. The way his sleeves were rolled up made something inside of you tighten. He was so handsome. So terribly handsome. What a bittersweet, sick thought.

“If you don’t talk about it”, he said slowly, “you won’t get over it. And if you don’t get over it, then I can never fuck you. And I want to fuck you. Soon.”

You didn’t understand how he spoke of such wicked things without letting a single muscle in his expression twitch. You couldn’t even say the words. You couldn’t even think them.

“I…”

“For God’s sake, just tell me who he was!” He called out impatiently. “Your father?”

“No!” You gasped out in horror. If there was one person in the world who had respected you and loved you unconditionally, it was your father. God, it had been the happiest five years of your life, back when he was still alive. And after his death, everything crumbled down to shit. Your life became your personal hell. On some days, when things grew particularly heavy on you, you had trouble not blaming him for dying. For leaving you alone. For ever getting married to your mother and having you. How could he have missed what kind of monster she was?

Did he even miss it?

You quickly pushed the thoughts away. In your head, your father had no idea. He was kind-hearted and good and it was going to stay that way.

“No, it wasn’t my father.” You murmured, unable to look up from the kitchen table.

He sighed, growing more and more impatient with the minutes. His tone stayed almost gentle though. Which was probably the most terrifying thing about the whole situation. At least, while he was angry you knew where you were at. Whenever he acted kind and calm around you, you expected him to suddenly lash out and knock the life out of you. Who knew? Maybe one of these days he would. You were growing too comfortable around him, denying him answers, talking back and all that.

“Who was it?”

You closed your eyes. “Please, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

He sighed again. “Let’s pretend this isn’t for the sake of me fucking you.” He said and tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. God, his eyes were so pretty when they were soft and calm like that.

Soft eyes.

Another thought for you to quickly dismiss. He hadn’t mentioned anything about him caressing you or begging you to come back to your senses, as you hadn’t either. And you surely wouldn’t. Because that never happened. That was what you kept telling yourself, for the sake of your own sanity.

It never happened.

You were growing far too comfortable around him.

You had a plan here. Play along, get him to trust you, get the hell out of there. And if that meant having to sleep with him, well, to you that sounded like a rather small price for your freedom and your life.

“What would that change?” You murmured.

“Pretend I’m someone you trust.”

These words surprised you and you looked up with a frown. Was it another test? To see if you trusted him? Oh God, would he pull the gun out again?

But no, nothing happened. He just stared at you with this…this calmness.

“And then?”

He sighed deeply. Obviously he wasn’t as calm as he made it seem. “And then we’ll talk about it. Listen, what was your plan anyway? Going through life for the rest of your days avoiding men and sex?”

You looked down at your hands. Yeah, that sounded accurate.

“Look at me.” He said in a soft tone.

It wasn’t your fault. It was your mother’s, again. And that part of you she had genuinely messed up.

Like every other innocent creature you had no idea of what sex meant, why some things felt good and others didn’t, what was allowed and what wasn’t, who was allowed to touch you and who wasn’t. She never mentioned any of that, because she, herself, was too ashamed to speak about it. Which was probably the cruelest trick she pulled on you.

You had no idea who was allowed to touch you and who wasn’t.

So, when he touched you, you didn’t say no, because you didn’t know.

“It was our neighbor.” You heard yourself whisper. A wave of disgust nearly made you shudder and your jaw hurt by how tightly you kept it clenched. Your nails dug into your palms and you took a slow breath.

In.

And out.

“Your neighbor.” He said in a whisper. Like he was afraid he might break your fragile composure. Which was very well possible.

“What did your neighbor do?”

You took a deep, shuddery breath as you kept staring down at your hands.

“He…”

You closed your eyes. All the pictures ran through your head like a camera roll. Except for the ones which were hidden away neatly, too deep imprinted in your mind and so your mind locked them away for you. How incredibly considerate.

“You can say it.” He said with a gentleness that surprised you. For a moment you almost forgot who he was and what he did. It felt like talking to a psychiatrist, a friend, a lover.

A lover.

“It…He never raped me.” You immediately said, almost like you were defending him. You always did that in your own head.

He didn’t rape me. It wasn’t that bad. I’m overreacting.

“He didn’t rape me.” You said again. “It wasn’t like that.”

“What did he do?” He asked slowly.

You tried to think of it as a band aid. Just pull it off.

Just spit it out.

“Sometimes he’d wear no more than a towel. Then he pulled me on his lap.” You whispered, unable to open your eyes or unclench your hands. “On other days, my mother made me bring him some leftover food. He’d open the door, fully undressed. I never saw him naked, like...frontal. I just caught a glimpse of him walking away, undressed.” You choked out.

It got harder with every word, but you forced yourself.

Spit it out, spit it out.

“He always called me his mouse.” You croaked out.

God, how you hated that word. If someone called you that, you were sure, you’d straight up punch them. Disgusting. What a disgusting word.

“Always said, we’re friends. Friends. Friends don’t have secrets. Friends are there for each other. One time, I hardly remember it. I just remembered it recently. He kissed me on the lips. Just a peck. But it were my lips.”

Now, that you had begun, you couldn’t stop.

“I remember the smell in his flat. I remember how much I hated it. There was always a cauliflower somewhere. He had one of those old computers. Sometimes he gave me money to buy myself something sweet.”

And by now, your hands were shaking. You couldn’t look at him and you had no idea what his expression looked like.

Horrified? Surprised? Bored?

“But the thing that weighs the worst on me”, you whispered, “the thing that haunts me the most, is the way he touched my waist. Whenever I was on his lap, he’d slowly slide his fingertips along the bare skin of my waist, creeping under my shirt. Sometimes I swatted his hand away. Sometimes I didn’t. I felt uncomfortable. I always felt uncomfortable. But he didn’t rape me.”

You opened your eyes. The look in your eyes was crazed.

“He didn’t rape me. I’m overreacting.”

The look he wore was like nothing else you had ever seen on him. He looked equally as disgusted as he looked angry. His frown was deep and his eyes far away and thoughtful.

He took a slow, long breath to sort out his thoughts and then slowly placed his hand over yours.

“He didn’t rape you.” He said slowly. “But you still realize that it was abuse, right?”

You stared at him, no words on your tongue and no thoughts in your head. You opened your mouth and closed it again.

It was?

You had never perceived it as such. Mostly for one simple reason. He didn’t rape you.

After your mother found out something was off, she did something that was entirely unexpected of her.

She got angry.

No, she was furious.

She didn’t allow you to go anywhere near his door ever again. She didn’t truly talk it out with you and she was most likely aware that it was her fault to the greatest degree.

But she protected you. From then on, she did. At least when it came to other people.

To men.

She never protected you from herself.

Instead of answering his question, you murmured: “I hated being looked at for years.”

When he curiously raised his brows, you continued.

“No one was allowed to look at me. I never understood why. When I changed. When my shirt rode up the tiniest bit. I hate revealing clothes.”

He hummed softly. “I could tell as much.”

“I hate when someone touches me unexpectedly. I hate when someone touches my…my waist. I hate when someone touches me from behind without my knowledge. It makes me feel ticklish. But not in the way it makes me laugh.”

He looked at you with the same thoughtful frown.

“I hate when someone calls me mouse.” You hissed out.

He raised his hands in surrender. “That word is as dead as Latin in these halls.”

You took a deep breath to calm yourself.

“Alright.” He said softly. “How do you feel now?”

For a while you simply thought about it. You felt…better. Safe, somehow. What scared you a little was the fact that all up until now you never realized you’d been abused. You needed someone else to tell you. You were so much worse broken than you first assumed.

“Lighter.” You finally whispered.

He nodded slowly and ran his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Good.” After a beat, he added. “What about the other thing?”

You exhaled through your nose and averted your gaze again.

Of course you knew why you were so ashamed to speak about it. Sex was non-existent while you grew up. She never spoke about it to you. It was shameful. It was no subject for a mother to tell her daughter about.

It was shameful.

And now you were stuck here, in South Korea, unable to say the word penis out loud.

“I can’t speak freely.”

He frowned in a mixture of amusement and confusion. “Because we’re being spied on or…”

“Because I just can’t!” You snapped again. “I can’t…My mouth, it…The words won’t come out. The dirty words.”

That made him smile, but not in a mocking or even an amused way. It seemed almost fond. Like he found you cute. It was probably the first genuine smile you had seen on him. It confused you more and more.

“Try to describe it in your own words.”

You exhaled again. God, this conversation only ever got harder, it seemed.

“Alright.” You said quietly. “It’s just…”

He waited patiently. That made you feel safe enough to continue on your own. “I never told this to anyone. It’s…It’s the thing I’m most ashamed about. You’ll look at me differently.”

Oh God, what did you just say?

Your eyes widened and you quickly added: “I mean, you’ll think I’m a freak. That I’m twisted.”

That wasn’t even close to a good save. You had just admitted that you cared about his opinion and why in the world did you care about his opinion?

Because you realized it was true. You cared. But you tried to keep these thoughts hidden away.

Play along. Get his trust. Get out.

His smile widened, almost teasingly. “Oh, sweet girl.” He purred. “If you think your desires are twisted, there’ll have to be a new word for mine. Go on. Just tell me. No matter how horrible you think it is. For every twisted thought you have, I’ll have three worse to go.”

Your eye brows shot up and you found yourself mumbling: “Really?”

He raised a brow as if saying, do you mean this question?

“Yes. Really.”

Alright.

“Alright.”

You took another deep breath, then you began. Slowly. Quietly. And carefully.

“I realized pretty early on in my life that my fantasies were a little…dark.”

He said nothing.

“When I was younger, I was…” The words died on the tip of your tongue. And so did your composure. Tears welled up in your eyes and you wrapped your arms around yourself, tightly.

His smile slipped and he frowned again. Was that a hint of concern?

Don’t be an idiot. You’re his pet. His toy. His girl.

“I was…”

You choked down a sob and buried your face in your hands. Your body was being shaken by your sobs, faster and faster, until you were sobbing frantically.

You expected him to get angry at your emotional outburst, but you neither heard the clicking of a gun nor a belt.

Instead, and that was really weird, you felt…

You felt…

You let out a loud, surprised gasp, when he pulled you into a tight embrace. It felt like being struck by lightning or getting hit by a bus.

And waking up in paradise.

He felt warm against you and his perfume was so subtle, yet you caught on it. You felt safe. So safe. It felt amazing. You didn’t want it to end.

Ever.

But after a while, long after your sobs died down, he slowly pulled away.

He didn’t need to say it. You could tell, he wanted you to continue. And so you did. Forcing down a new flash of ashamed tears, you did.

“I needed to think about him when I…”

He nodded in understanding.

“That stopped, fortunately. After a while I forgot about him. I barely ever thought about him again and never again during those moments.”

And then you told him everything. Things about being used, called names, hurt.

Things about things about things which you didn’t understand yourself. Not in the slightest.

But you were forced to think about them, whenever you felt the nervous twitch in your lower body.

Normal things did turn you on.

Or well, the thought of normal things. You couldn’t tell for you hadn’t experienced either.

Neck kissing was good. Oral sex was good. Any way of worshipping your body was good.

But to cross the finish line, you always needed to think about those sick, twisted things. And you didn’t even get the time to properly cross the line, because the shame kicked in faster than you could.

“Is that all?” He finally asked, his expression unreadable and his tone of voice calm.

You nodded.

His lips curved up into a delicious smile.

“I have a proposition for you.”

Hours later, while you sat in your bedroom, digging your nails into your palms in your nervousness, you kept thinking about his words in all your dizziness.

And you got more and more nervous by the second.

He’d be here in a while. And then there would be no way back. If you did this now, then you did it. And nothing could ever change the course of things back to how they were before.

Were they really that much better before? You asked yourself. But again, you forced the stupid-as-hell thoughts away and focused on his words again.

“A proposition?” You had asked in a soft whisper. “What kind of proposition?”

He leaned ever closer to you and looked at you with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Your first time will be magical.” There was it again. That silken voice, the one that felt like a gentle caress. “I’ll make sure of it. The whole night. Everything is going to be perfect. I’m going to worship you in ways you can’t even imagine. I’ll take care of you. I’ll guide you. I’ll hold your hands. Look into your eyes. I’ll whisper in your ear and I’ll kiss your neck. I promise you, I’ll make you feel better than you ever felt about yourself. I’ll make you happy.”

For whatever reason, that last remark was what got to you the most. Everything sounded incredible obviously (it also sounded far too good, to be honest, but you decided to trust him when he said this), but when he said he’d make you happy, it nearly made you cry again.

Oh, was that a tear? You couldn’t tell, he wiped it away already, all the while you stared at him in stunned silence.

“And?” You heard yourself whisper. “What then?”

His smile didn’t waver. “Your first time will be perfect, my sweet girl, I promise it. I’ll make you feel loved.”

The words were as sweet as they were cruel. If only he had punched you again. Hit your face. Make you lick the floor clean, if it pleased him. But no. He had to say the one thing that tore at your heart like nothing else, the one thing you longed for, the one thing you burned for.

Love.

Hope was such a dangerous thing and especially for you. Which was why you quickly shut your thoughts down and this time for real. You couldn’t afford to have such thoughts and desires.

These were the real twisted desires.

No amount of blindfolds and handcuffs could get close to that.

“Your first time.” He said, his tone growing more serious. “But only the first time. And from then on, I’ll have you any way I want. Whenever I want. Wherever we are. However you feel. You’re sick? I don’t care. You’re in pain? Good. I’m too rough? Finally. You can’t take no more? Shut your fucking mouth and swallow it.”

You knew that something like that would follow. As you already thought before, it had been too good.

And yet, you couldn’t help yourself.

God, you knew it was stupid.

It was crazy.

It was sick.

And yet, and yet, and yet.

“Okay.” You whispered.

“No.” He said firmly. “I want you to think about it. Truly think about it. You can’t just agree, because later on you can’t back out. Do you understand that? I want you to grasp the severity of your agreement. If you do this, you belong to me. More than you already do. Entirely. I’ll be fucking you, sweet girl. I’ll be fucking you for what could be a month, a year or the rest of your life.”

You took a deep breath. Did you even have the chance to say no? What would happen if you did?

And what did the rest of your life mean? A few weeks, months, years? Until he grew tired of you? Or until fate decided it was time for you to go?

All the things wrong with you combined gave way to the worst thing you could ever do.

“It’s a deal."

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Author's note (2): First off, I want to thank each and everyone of you for your support, your kind words and all your messages and generally, anyone who takes the time to read this story! I cannot begin to describe how much this means to me. I'll be honest, I've been writing a lot when I was younger, but at some point in my life I stopped because I got really depressed and the things I enjoyed once suddenly became unbearable and impossible. I felt like I forgot how to write. But this story and all of your kind and sweet support has reminded me that I really, really loved to write once and I still do. So, I'm thanking you. Everyone. Thank you. You gave me back the part of my soul that was missing for a long time. Much, much, much love!

Tag list: @mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3

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thewritetofreespeech · 1 month ago

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First Bite

summary: after the incident at the brothel, Aegon sends his brother a gift to make amends. but who would want an apple after someone has already taken a bite?

tags: aemondxf!reader, fingering, hand job, m!oral, virgin bedding, brothel worker, aemond being kind of a bully but it's just aemond really, references to madam sylvi, mild references to voyeurism.

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You weren’t sure what you were supposed to be doing. Should you lay down? Sit alluringly amongst the furs? Should you be sitting at all?

It was your first time doing this, which seemed unbelievable for a woman who worked in a brothel. But everyone had to start somewhere, right? It had to be the first time some time. Yours was supposed to be some weeks from now. Madam Sylvi selecting your maiden bid date and starting to pass the word around to her most loyal, valued customers that you would be on the docket soon. The chatter was quite electric. Maiden bids, to be a lady’s first time, were highly sought after. Even in brothels. It had been sometime since the Madam had had one for a new girl; or a girl that was untouched.

Yet, despite the anticipation, the Madam appeared in your room one night and let you know that your services were needed. Next thing you knew you had been dressed in some of your finest attire and whisked away into the night for parts unknown. Coming to realize after your blindfold was removed that you were in the palace.

In the quiet dark you sit patiently. Picking at the sheer fabric of your dress. An odd whisper of cloth that covered yet left nearly all revealed. It was meant to be enticing and did nothing for the chill in the air. Perhaps you could wrap yourself in a blanket quickly. You could look alluring in a blanket, right? Surely blue skin was not appealing at all.

Suddenly, the doors open. The loud bang of the heavy wood startling you as your pulse quickened. The rush of adrenaline warming you up quickly.

A man came into the room as the doors closed behind him. His pace slowing as his gaze landed on you, the stranger in his bed. “How are you?”

“I…I uh…” You forget your own name for a moment as you stare back at the hard, fierce looking face of Aemond Targaryen. You recognize him from his visits to the Madam. Suddenly recognizing the gravity of the situation of her sending you here and what personal request might have had you brought to him.

Quickly, you remember your name and give it to him. Along with a note the Madam had given you before your departure.

The prince studied you for a moment with his single sharp eye, before he stepped forward quick to snatch the note from your hand and read it. “A gift from my brother.” He summarized with a sneer. “An apology. He sent you to me?”

“I…I don’t know…” Truly, you did not know until this moment under what circumstances brought you here.

There was a sharp, quick sound of heavy boots across the floor, and suddenly your face was in Aemond’s large hand. Gripping it hard as he turned it up towards him. “And I am supposed to be impressed with this? Thrown his scraps and say thank you.” His fingers dig into your cheek hard enough to cause tears to prick at your eyes. “Who would want an apple after someone has already taken a bite?”

“N-No on has taken a bite, your grace.” Your words are muddled through the forced pucker of your lips, but the prince seemed to understand enough to let you go. You look up at him cautiously before explaining further. “Madam Sylvi selected me specifically for that reason, your grace.”

Aemond examined you again. Seeming to look for any hesitation or tick of a lie. “She did, did she?” You nod your head fervently. “And no one has touched you?” You shook your head.

He examined you again. This time more than just your face as he looked you up and down. His face was placid. His expression hard to read as you were taught because he barely had any. “Alright.” He finally said. “Turn around.”

You blink in confusion but then slowly turn your back on the prince. You stare at the intricate design of the headboard in the dark as you hear the rustle of clothing & buckles behind you. The bed shifts. You force yourself to stay put and cautiously to look over your shoulder to see what was going on. Stiff and frightened, as if looking back might turn you into a stone.

It does not, however, and the prince is now sitting beside you in the bed. His back against the headboard and pillows. His eye patch gone to reveal his sapphire catching the low light in the dark. Naked. “You are untouched but not untrained, I take it?” You nod again slowly. “Well then, get to work.”

You gulp softly and slowly crawl over to the prince’s side of the bed. Aemond was correct. You were untouched but not untrained. Madam Sylvi would not send her girls out into the world unprepared. Their safety and her reputation depended on client satisfaction. You had been trained in all manner of ways to please a man. Conversation, music, and of course your body. Every man is different, she told you once, what they need can change as quick as the wind blows. You must be prepared, she said.

As you get closer, the prince parted his legs, and you can tell what he needs now. Carefully you reach out to grasp him. Shy and tentative. His cock was limp but stirring at the touch of your hand. It was warmer than the marble phalluses you had to practice on. More malleable too. “You really are untouched, aren’t you?”

You turn to look at the prince at his question, that was not really a question, and blush in shame. “Am I…not doing it right?”

“No.” Disappointment filled you at his harsh criticism. “Your hand is clumsy, and too soft.” The prince sighed through his nose and pushed his hair back. “Try your mouth.”

Your blush deepened and eyes went a little wide at the blunt request. But you had been trained for this. You should feel lucky that he even asked instead of just shoving your head down there like some clients did with the girls.

Grasping the partially aroused shaft at the base you adjusted yourself down until you were eye to eye with it. The first cock you would have in your mouth. You gulp again and carefully flick out your tongue to lick the tip. Nothing happened. You do it again and again, nothing changes. So you wrap your lips around it fully and give it a suckle.

“You’re clumsy at this too.” Aemond criticized again by the time you fit most of it in your mouth. “You probably can’t even take all of me. And you don’t even know what to do with your teeth.” You whimper pathetically. Feeling ashamed and embarrassed. “What manner of whore will you make if you can’t even do this?”

You pulled back from the prince’s member. All wet and breathy. Not nearly as demure as the other girls made it look. “Do you wish me to stop…your grace?”

He looked at you for a long moment. His head lulling to the side to look at you with his good eye. “I didn’t say that.”

There was a flutter in your chest and stomach. Something that shouldn’t be there for a woman whose manner of profession this is, but you couldn’t help it. You lower your mouth back down on his member and get to work again. “You need practice.” The prince told you. His hand reaching out to brush the hair from your face. Pushing it to the side so he could get a better view. “But you’re not…terrible.” The small hitch in his breath as he spoke filled you with glee. Almost as much as the praise.

Joining your hand with your mouth you continue to work over the prince’s cock. It was incredibly hard now. Much like the marble you had practiced with. You taste salt and musk on your tongue, which you have been told is a sign a man is near climax, and you weren’t sure what to do. Were you supposed to pull back? Just use your hand to keep going. Should you ask?

It was a moot point as not long after the hint of salt hit your tongue the full wave burst against it. Your mouth quickly overloaded with cock and cum. It caught you by surprise. You weren’t sure what to do, so you just swallowed.

“Did you swallow that?” The prince asked as you pulled away from his cock. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Well…it seemed rude to spit it out, your grace.” Aemond scoffed at your bashful honesty but smirked.

“Lie down.” You do as you are told, and the prince came over to your side of the bed now. Looming over you in the dark. “Spread your legs.” You do as you are told again. The sheer fabric of your dress falling between them before Aemond pushed it aside and exposed your apex. “Sylvi taught me a few things as well.” Your breath caught and back arched a little as his fingers brushed against you. Soft at first. Then one long, thin digit sliding in.

“You really are untouched, aren’t you?” The prince seemed surprised as his finger worked inside you. “You can lie about your skills and be a poor actor, but you cannot lie about this.” You whine as another finger slid inside you to stretch.

“I…I wouldn’t lie your grace…”

Aemond scoffed. “Please. Your profession is lying.” You whimper and squirm as his thumb brushed against the bundle at the top of your sex. “But you cannot lie to me.”

His fingers continued to please you. The wet slick of your sex running out. Your breath quickening. Your nipples hard and pointed against the sheer fabric. You dare not look at the prince as your eyes twisted shut in pleasure. “Spread your legs wider.”

You force your eyes open. Looking at the prince and his hard body between your knees. The terrifying hard lines softening in your mind at the warm feelings swirling in your body to think of alabaster in the light. You shift your legs further apart and Aemond slid further into them. “Don’t be afraid.” He told you. You weren’t sure why. Maybe because so many people were afraid of him.

The head of his cock kiss your entrance, then pushed in past your opening. It hurt, but Madam Sylvi had prepared you for this. It hurt much less than you expected since Aemond had opened you; a blessing most women at their first did not receive. Still his member was much larger than his fingers and there was a burning stretch as he entered you fully.

“You’re a woman now.” The prince told you once he was fully seated in your cunny. “How does it feel?”

“G-Good…” Men liked to hear that it felt good.

“Liar.”

The prince pulled back and thrust into you. You yip at the pain of the movement, but it continues. A burning pain but not entirely unpleasant. The longer it goes on the less of the pain there was. You grip on to Aemond’s shoulder and try to roll your hips back against him. It was clumsy, like the rest of your practice, but he at least groans. “How does it feel now?”

“Good…” You weren’t lying this time or playing it up for his benefit. “Good your grace.”

“Good.”

He kissed you, which was not something you were supposed to do. Kissing was for lovers. Brothels were for sex. That was what you were told. But when a prince wants to kiss you, you have to abide, right? What the client wants after all….

You let go of Aemond lips with a moan as you felt his fingers on your nub again. “Have you ever cum before?”

“Y-Yes…mhm!” Part of your training was to be versed in your own pleasure. Though you were untouched there were other ways you could make money for the brothel. Self-pleasure shows were quite popular with some men. Eager to watch and pleasure themselves with their own hands.

“Has a man ever made you cum?”

“N-No.”

“Then I will be your first for that as well.”

His cock and fingers continue to ravage your sex. Overwhelming you with pleasure. Your writhe and buck against Aemond despite yourself. Awash in ecstasy before the seas finally crash on your body as you tremble violently. “My prince!”

There was a grunt from Aemond before his hips finally stopped. In your fog you feel something warm & wet spill out of you onto the fine bedding. His seed inside you. Would you get pregnant? You heard there were girls in the past who his brother had ruined this way. That they were carried off to parts unknown with their Waters. You were suddenly afraid. Would that happen to you?

“Do you know how you are getting back?” Aemond suddenly asked you.

Your thoughts return to the present and you realize that you are done. The prince sat with his legs off the side of the bed with his back partially towards you. His good eye on the opposite side.

You nod but realize he can’t see you. “Yes, your grace. I do.” There was a panel outside the hall you were to return to. Your escort was to be waiting there for you to take you back to the Streets of Silk and back home to Madam Sylvi.

The prince gave a grunt and sat there for a moment before he stood. “See to it that you are gone when I return.” He then walked naked into another room through another hidden panel, and you were alone again. The room suddenly felt colder than it had before all this.

Gathering yourself, you come off the bed with a little hop and wince at the pain between your legs. Nothing you couldn’t manage but noticeable. You then make your way back towards the secret panel, let yourself be blindfolded, and escorted home. When the blindfold was removed you were back in the warm low light of the brothel with the Madam standing there in front of you.

“How was it my dear?” She asked as she handed you a warm cup.

“It was…fine.” You tell her. Taking the cup and drinking it.

“Good girl. Discretion is the better part of our service.” She told you. “Now, drink your Tea and get a bath. You will have the morrow to rest and prepare. You will be on the docket come six suns pass.”

As you looked into your tea cup you now realized this was your life. Taking men into your service. Taking men into your body. You knew that before you came here but it all seemed so real now. You felt overwhelmed. You felt you might cry.

“Madam.”

The lady in question turned when a new man appearance in their enclave. Dressed as a pauper but doing a poor job of it. He handed the Madam a note and then left as quickly as he had appeared.

Madam Sylvi read the note, scoffed, and then seemed a little miffed as she turned to you. “Well, it seems your training was not all for naught.” She told you. “Prince Aemond has requested that you be his private paramour moving forward. How nice.”

“Private?”

“It means you will be the highest paid, least working woman in my employee, girl.” The Madam clipped and crumpled the note before throwing it into the fire. “Just don’t forget who got you here.” She then left with a flourish of her cloaks. Leaving you alone with your tea and a bath and presumably to get some rest.

You just stood there dumbfounded.

You were to be Aemond’s private paramour now? All of a sudden? The only one you knew him to frequent was the Madam herself, hence her ire. You grip your teacup and down the rest of it fully. While your stomach still had the nerve.

A tenday later you were dressed in another fine, sheer garment, waiting in a private room of the brothel when the prince arrived. “I’ve come to further your training.” He said as he took off his belt. “Let’s get started.”

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thebluester2020 · 4 months ago

Text

[GI] Kinktober Day 10: "Exhibitionism"

Summary: After your stunt with Tartaglia, you are forced to deal with the repercussions of Capitano's not-so-well-hidden jealousy.

Warning(s): Reader is fucked in front of an audience, Dub-Con, Degradation, (Probably a whole slew of other warnings that I can’t think of rn).

Side Note(s): Okay so—I switched it up last minute to exhibitionism because I realized that I get confused easily between that and voyeurism (+ I have more of a love for exhibitionism anyway).

Also, this is kinda an unofficial pt. 2 to the "Sharing" fic I posted? I mostly kept to the same "storyline"(?) because it was easier on the brain for me.

Your relationship with Capitano has been in a...weird spot, to the least, ever since that day between yourself, Tartaglia, and Capitano.

At the end of it all, the men didn't even get what they had originally wanted. You were far too fucked-dumb to even decipher who was who, much less come up with enough letters capable of yelling out a name. But, for the sake of being tired himself, Tartaglia had admitted "defeat" and carried on his merry way! Eventually, he left Capitano's war band and continued on his own personal mission, leaving you behind and working for Capitano permanently like you were originally supposed to.

But it's been awkward.

Capitano was curt with you, only speaking to you when he needed to. If you were caught taking a moment to relax, you began to pray that Capitano wouldn't happen upon you, he'd only immediately order you to get back to work!

No longer did he greet you warmly and no longer did he seem to care about your well-being. When the entire war party moved, he no longer expected you to be by his side, nor did he constantly check to see if you were! You could've been at the very back of the party and he wouldn't have given a single damn.

You had a mind to call your boss out on his behavior, pull him aside, and ask what the issue was and...whether or not there was still something between you both.

Although, you already had a mind to think that any feelings that may have started to blossom had long since been crushed underneath heel and foot.

Until today that is, when you were in your tent and finishing up some reports.

. . .

You quickly rose to your feet when Capitano suddenly entered your tent, bowing your head as you murmured a respectful 'Lord Capitano' in greeting.

He responded with a gruff noise of acknowledgment. "There will be a feast held tonight," Capitano said.

Your brow cocked, a feast? You hadn't heard anything relating to a feast at all. "Our efforts and missions have been going smoothly, I figured it's overdue to reward everyone in this camp. Even you." You bit the inside of your cheek at the cold way he addressed you. Had you known that accepting Tartaglia's offer—that rogue ginger-headed charmer—would lead to such an awkward tension between you and Capitano, you would've never allowed Tartaglia to trick you!

"...That's...that's kind of you." You said before sighing.

He nodded his head before turning to leave, prompting you to quickly stop him. "M-My Lord," You started off. "About that day...are you still—"

"I'll be taking my leave,"

"Lord Capitano!" You said more firmly this time, walking around your desk and beginning to close the distance between the two of you. "You can't continue to avoid me, n-not to mention treat me as I—" You stopped in your tracks when the first harbinger turned his head to look at you. And although you couldn't see his eyes, nor his expression behind that dark mask...the danger that oozed off of him. It made you audibly gulp as you took a few steps back.

You bowed your head in silent apology. "...You will come to my tent before the feast officially begins." Then, he walked out. A cold bead of sweat dripped down your neck at the vague order. Either it would be nothing aside from more work, Capitano deciding to kill you, or...hopefully, he'd finally get over his attitude and talk to you.

You couldn't stand how things were at the moment.

So, when the time finally arrived and the feast was ten minutes away from the beginning. You found yourself in Capitano's tent, your hands resting neatly in front of you as you stood at the entrance of his lavish tent. "My Lord, the feast will begin soon." You gently reminded him. "Shall I alert the soldiers of anything before it begins?" You continued.

You didn't receive a response until Capitano emerged from the covered part of his tent, adorned in the usual attire he wore when he appeared during important Fatui functions or battles. "No," He answered. "Simply follow me." Your brow rose as he walked past you, but nonetheless, you dutifully followed after him outside and back into the steadily warming air thanks to the bonfire that had just been set up.

As the soldiers began to gather, however, Capitano clearing his throat before he broke out into an, admittedly, very admirable speech as he thanked and showed gratitude towards his soldiers. Certain things started to stand out to you as your eyes washed over the crowd. Such as...the doctors and nurses of the camp weren't present, surely they deserved some praise and appreciation too? Too many times have soldiers or even your boss himself had come into the camp injured from head to toe! They'd quickly patch them up and almost seem to perform magic, you've heard soldiers state that one doctor in particular was good at numbing the pain!

There were none of the cooks, blacksmiths or even the younger soldiers that were fresh into the party, tasked to simply stand aside and watch.

All this boiled down to this "feast" being composed of nothing more than the more experienced soldiers, simply leaving you with a number ranging around the hundreds.

As pieces started to merge together although...a heavy hand placed itself on your shoulder, and then, you tuned back into the conversation. "...You will all bear witness as to my secretary learning who she truly belongs to, hopefully with an audience, she will learn not to be so easy for others."

What had just happened?

. . .

"Apologize." Capitano gruffly ordered you as the loud sound of your squelching cunt echoed through the camp. Not even the whistling winds could muffle your desperate panting as Capitano fingered your soaked cunt, taking special care to not knick you with his claws. "Apologize for being such a desperate whore..." He hissed out, loud enough for everyone to hear. "...for being so easy to fuck, not even having the courtesy to quiet yourself down despite being in a camp full of my soldiers."

Your cheeks burned with shame as you could feel hundreds of eyes on you. You didn't know whether you wanted the soldiers to be disgusted at the sight and turn away or if...you preferred this in a sick way, although there were some women amongst the crowd, the heavy sound of panting amongst the men made you clench around nothing, your slick beginning to drip and run down from your cunt and onto Capitano's lap.

Something that the ever-vigilant Captain didn't miss.

"You shameless whore." He snarled in your ear, your body shuddering at the feeling of his sharp teeth grazing the skin on your ear. "You're getting even wetter at being watched?" The harbinger nearly had a mind to laugh at how your legs twitched, as if you wanted to curl into yourself at his cruel words. He almost allowed himself to feel bad, until he smelled how your arousal grew at his words.

Oh...so you liked this.

Well...that explained everything.

Slowly, he took his fingers away from your cunt, a string of arousal still connecting him to you as he brought them up to his face. "So that's why you fucked my fellow harbinger." He sneered, opening and closing his index and middle finger, playing with your slick.

"H-Huh?" You moaned, both in disappointment and confusion. Despite the cold, your body burned with desire, one that grew more potent by the passing second as you felt Capitano's obvious hard-on behind you. You were grateful for your tears blurring your vision, for as Capitano continued to let you sit in his lap exposed to his soldiers, you at least could fool yourself into thinking that no one was paying attention.

But only for so long.

A scream tore from you as the Captain's fingers returned to your sex, his fingers dipping into your pussy before they had quickly found your g-spot whilst his other hand wrapped around your torso to begin flicking rapidly at your clit. All the air in your lungs were nearly knocked out of you at the rate of how quickly you were approaching your climax, your hands fruitlessly clawing at Capitano's forearms as drool started to dribble from the side of your mouth, your eyes starting to roll into the back of your skull.

"C-Captain..." You moaned. "O-Oh Archons...!" You keened.

He didn't relent. "Take it," He ordered as if he were ordering a soldier. "Considering you've taken me and Tartaglia at the same time...you should be used to the pleasure." He chuckled gruffly.

He tightened his hold on you as you squirmed. "Slut," He spat. "Quit squirming."

It was only when Capitano suddenly bit down on your shoulder were you pushed off the edge, your mouth falling open in a silent scream as your body stilled and your vision turned completely white. For a long while, you drifted on that cloud of sheer bliss...until you were brought back down by the feeling of something hard slapping against your cunt, snapping you back to reality before you were face to face with the harbinger's cock.

Starting off at a lighter color at the base before turning into a dark purple towards the middle and upwards at the tip. You shuddered when you remembered that Capitano's cock was inside of you...not even a whole two weeks prior! The ridges along his dick were intimidating, especially with the way it twitched and oozed pre-cum.

You gasped when he parted your cunt wider with his fingers. "If you won't apologize with your mouth..." He started off before he lifted you a little, as easily as he would carry a sack of flour before the tip of his cock pressed against your opening. "...Maybe you'll be more apologetic with your pussy."

. . .

Capitano didn't waste any time to wrap a hand around your mouth, although, the sheer size of his hand nearly engulfed your entire face. As he pressed you impossibly closer to him, he made sure to get really close to your ear as he spoke to you. "Make sure to look my soldiers in the eye as you apologize to me with this cunt of yours." He said before he slowly pushed himself into you.

Immediately, you broke his command, your eyes threatening to roll into the back of your head. Something that Capitano quickly corrected with his free hand slapping the side of your thigh. "Look at them." He reminded you. As more of his dick sunk into you, your eyes blurry and struggling to focus as you looked at the soldiers before you. You accidentally made eye contact with one of them, all before...your eyes glimpsed at his noticeably hard cock.

In fact, you noticed how all of them were hard.

Your cunt clenched tighter around your boss' dick at that realization. "Fuck—" He whispered. "You must've noticed, hm? How they all yearn to fuck you? My secretary." He continued.

When your pussy twitched at his words, he lightly pinched your side in punishment. "Greedy pussy...still eager to take more cock despite having me inside of you?" A muffled yelp resounded against the harbinger's hand when the rest of the Captain's dick was suddenly pushed into you. More moans followed suit as his fat tip began to poke and prod at your sweet spot, deep inside of you. "Don't worry, I'll curb your greediness soon." He whispered, the sheer possessiveness in his deep voice making goosebumps pop up all over your skin and down your spine.

More than you cared to realize, you loved when your boss was possessive over you. And that love only grew more when he started to move, his balls slapping against your skin as he took up a brutal pace almost immediately. You tried your best to keep your moans quiet when he suddenly released his grip over your mouth for it to take up stationing itself on your waist, aiding in pulling you down faster and harder against his pelvis. But it was so fucking hard to be quiet when he was fucking you like he was afraid of loosing you. As if you'd be gone the second this was all done.

"C-Captain..." You groaned. "F-Feels so good...!" You continued to cry out, blissful tears running down your face as you lost yourself in the feeling of his cock. Delicious sparks ran up and down your spine at the feeling of the ridges alongside his cock rubbing against your walls, your arms coming to loop themselves around the back of the Captain's neck as his groans started to become more and more audible.

His cock was touching all the right spots inside of you, making you see stars behind your eyes. "Fuck—" He snarled. "Archons...your cunt is squeezing me so tightly." He groaned, his head coming to bury itself in the crook of your head before he whispered more words you were too cock-drunk to decipher. You whined when he sped up the pace of his thrusts against you, your cock-drunk babbles turning from moaning to pleading for him to go easier on you, much to the harbinger's amusement. "Too much?" He mocked, faking sympathy as he fucked you harder in turn. "That's too bad. You wanted this, so you're going to fucking take it." He growled.

He was suffocating you in the best way possible as each time his cock slid into you, it practically punched the air from your lungs, the scent of sex in the air making it feel like it was hard to breathe. But you loved it. You assume that's why your second orgasm snuck upon you so suddenly, the presence of people watching your boss fuck you silly on his lap...the degrading words he whispered into your ear in combination to the pleasure. It was all making your mind spin. "You're fucking tightening up on me..." Capitano grit his teeth together, his claws beginning to dig into your skin.

"Gonna cum?" He asked before he kissed the side of your neck, lightly nipping it as he felt his orgasm begin to approach as well. "Cum all over my cock then." He cooed, the feeling of his twitching dick battering against your cervix making you let out a few more strangled moans before you froze again him with a loud cry.

"Fuck...fuckfuckfuckfuck." He groaned, fucking you through your orgasm for a few more thrusts until he stilled against your still twitching pussy with a loud hiss of his own. You moaned softly as you struggled to come down from being dicked down, a dopey grin plastering itself onto your face as you looked behind you with both a happy expression and a shy one.

The harbinger, although dazed and hidden behind his mask, smirked confidently, the way he moved to run his fingers through your hair shockingly gentle.

He doubted you would want to go and find someone else to fuck after tonight.

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mattysprincess · 1 month ago

Text

Love me like it’s the last thing you’ll do.

This is the prequel to this Drabble

SMUT! MDNI!!

It’s not proofread so if you find any mistakes don’t be shy to DM me!! And I’m always open for criticism and tips!

You and Mattheo had been dating for around 1 month, you kept your relationship Private for now because as much as he loved you… he was still scared of others viewing him as weak for actually having feelings, for being in love.

For the record, Mattheo Riddle has never been in a relationship nor romantically involved with any girl ever, it was all hookups and one night stands and so you understood that he wanted to take it slow, understanding his worries and fears.

The problem with that however is that you can’t show affection to eachother in public, leading to others thinking you’re single and free to hit on… which Mattheo can’t seem to handle very well.

Mattheo shoots you a quick text after some overly confident Gryffindor tried flirting with you.

‘My dorm. Now.’

That doesn’t sound too good… You immediately make your way to his dorm, not bothering to knock, as always, you slowly push the door open revealing a frowning Mattheo pacing in his room. “Why were you so close to him?” He immediately shoots and his tone confirms your bad feeling. “Mattheo-“ “Why the fuck were you even with him? Did he make you laugh? Is he better? Did you flirt with him-?!” “Mattheo.”

Your firm voice cuts through his questions and he looks at you as you step closer, standing right infront of him now. “Will you let me speak?’’ He runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated but nods. “Thank you.. no, I did not flirt with him, no he didn’t make me laugh and no he isn’t better than you. He came up to me and tried to flirt but I told him I’m not interested and to use his awful flirting skills with someone else.” You cup his cheeks, rubbing your thumb back and forth gently. “You know you’re the only one I allow to flirt with me…”

Mattheos expression soften at your words and touch, feeling guilty for even thinking you would. “I’m sorry I just- I don’t know… I hate when guys think they can flirt with you and have a chance with you.” He lifts one hand to cup yours that’s on his cheek, squeezing lightly. You smile at his little gesture and apology, letting out a soft breath.

“It’s okay Matty… just next time let me speak first, yeah?” you chuckle softly, leaning up to press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose, making him let out a chuckle under his breath.

“I don’t deserve you…” he mutters lowly, looking at you like you’re the most precious living and breathing thing. You feel a light pink dust your cheeks, yet a frown finds its way to your lips. “Matty… you do deserve me.” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper and he just shakes his head. “Baby… you’re everything I never will be. You’re soft, delicate, sweet… you’re like a ray of sunshine wherever you go. You make people happy just by smiling at them, your voice brings others comfort and warmth. You’re every good thing bundled up into a person and I'm-" he sighs and sits down at the edge of his bed, looking down "and I’m me.” he murmurs.

The frown on your face stays as you walk up to stand between his legs, cupping his cheeks to coax him to look up at you. “look at me please my love..” you say softly, so much warmth in your tone that he can’t help the way his heart flutters, the way he looks up at you so willingly. He’d do anything if you’d just asked with that sweet voice of yours, one word, a simple syllable is enough to make him forget about everything else. “Mattheo you’re you and that’s what makes you so special.” you whisper, like sharing a secret with him “you say you’re not sweet, kind nor soft… but when you touch me it’s like I’m made out of the finest porcelain, when you talk to me I feel like I’m floating, you go out of your way to do anything that might make me crack a smile and you always help me with everything even if I keep telling you I can do it myself.” You smile at him, stroking his cheek and he smiles back lightly “I know you can do it yourself.. but I’m your boyfriend, I want to do it for you. You shouldn’t have to lift a finger when I’m around.” He takes one of your hands that’s on his cheek and brings it to his mouth, brushing his lips against your knuckles. “This is why you deserve me Mattheo… me and so much more.” You whisper, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips.

The kiss, supposed to be sweet, quickly gets deeper as he tangles one of his hands in your hair and his other pulls you onto his lap, pressing you flush against him. He nudges his tongue against your bottom lip, asking for entrance that you grant him so willingly. He pushes his tongue into your mouth, tasting you, exploring you like he’s done countless of times yet it still feels different. Softer, gentler, more passionate and like he’s pouring all of his love and affection into a single kiss. It’s making both your heart swell with love as well as make your pussy throb with excitement and desire and you know Mattheos feeling the same because the second you grind your hips down onto his you feel his bulge pressing flush against you, the only thing separating you being his pants and your panties.

“Fuck… baby I need you.” He murmur against your lips, his hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt, thumbs striking the undersides of your breasts as his mouth moves down to press hot opened mouthed kisses from your jaw down to the column of your throat.

“Then take me, Matty… I’m only yours to take.” You breathe out, Mattheos eyes darkening as the words leave your mouth. “That’s right… mine.” He murmurs against your skin and lifts your shirt up and over your head, leaning back to admire you. “Merlin… you’re beautiful. My beautiful, beautiful girl.. all mine baby.” He says under his breath, more to himself than to you.

His hands roam your body, squeezing and caressing whatever he can, all the while whispering sweet nothings against your skin. You let him, sitting in his lap all soft and pliant and patient, just letting him feel you and worship you however he wants. His hands reach your thighs, going up and under your skirt, his fingers playing with the hem of your panties. “You gonna be a good girl and let me worship your pretty little body, baby?” He murmurs against your neck and all you can do is nod as your stomach flutters in the best way possible. “So perfect, such a perfect girl for me hm?” He grins, pulling your panties down your legs and patting your thigh, silently telling you to stand so you do. He pulls them down completely, then slowly unzips your skirt, letting it drop and pool at your feet. You stand before him, bare as he finally unclasps your bra and removes the last piece of clothing that’s preventing him from seeing all of you. He stands, towering above you as he grabs your waist and lays you down on the bed. “You’re beautiful… fuck you’re so perfect, baby, I could look at you forever and never get bored of it.” He whispers under his breath, looking at you with soft eyes yet you see the hunger behind them, the simmering heat of desire he’s only ever had for you. You reach up, fingers tangling in his curls before coming down to cup his cheeks “I wanna see you too, Matty… please.” The second you utter please, whatever it is, Mattheo will always give you. So he leans down to peck your lips, a lingering kiss, before leaning back and taking off his shirt. Now it’s your eyes roaming over his body, unashamed desire on full display as well as admiration for his trained and scarred body. His hands go down his belt, undoing it quickly and then unzipping his pants, kicking them off and leaning back over you. “That needs to go too.” You whisper with a smile and point to his black boxers, he grins back at you amusedly “someone’s impatient.” You raise a brow at him “as if you want to wait any longer?” He chuckles at that, pressing kisses from your forehead to your cheek and then finally to your lips “I wanna take my time with you tonight, Angel. Let me show you I love you… how much you mean to me.” Your lips part slightly as you look up at him, he sounds so vulnerable and genuine… you could never deny him anything, not that you wanted to anyways so you nod, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m yours, Mattheo. Tonight, tomorrow, always.” He closes his eyes for a moment, heart beating dangerously fast and a smile graces his lips “and I’m yours, Angel. Tonight, tomorrow, always.”

With that he starts pressing open mouthed kisses down your body, taking a nipple between his lips as he reaches your breasts, making you moan as he swirls his tongue around it, sucking, licking and kissing while his hand is caressing the other bud. Your hands tangle in his unruly curls, tugging slightly as he gently bites you, not being able to resist it. He releases your right nipple with a pop, blowing cool air on the wet bud and making goosebumps raise on your entire body. He moves to the other, giving it the same attention before moving further down to your stomach, kissing and licking whatever he can. When he gets down to your hips, he sucks a hickey right above where your panties would be.

He moves lower and lower but right past where you need him most, making your squirm slightly and he smirks. “Be patient, baby… I’ll give you what you want, just be good a little longer.” He murmur against the inside of your thighs, biting you there gently and making you yelp slightly and tug at his hair. His tongue goes over the spot he bit gently, soothing the sting and saying sorry. He litters your thighs in hickeys and bite marks until your legs are clenching and trembling from the heat that’s pooled right between your legs. “Matty please…” he chuckles slightly, looking up from between your legs “such good manners for me…” he licks a long stripe up your pussy, making you moan out as your head drops back against the pillow.

He eats you out like a man starved, his tongue reaching whatever it can. He lifts your legs over his shoulders, his arms wrapping around your hips, one hand sprawled over your stomach possessively. Moans and whimpers tumble from your lips, his name on your tongue like a prayer as he devours you whole. The only thing on his mind is your pleasure, how to make you feel good… how he wants to be the only one to ever see you or make you feel this way, driven by those thoughts the dives in with even more fervour “I can feel you clench angel… cum for me, right on my tongue like a good girl.”

Those words push you over the edge, your whole body tensing up as you clench your thighs around his head and he swears he’s in heaven. He laps up your release, making you twitch and only when he’s made sure he’s got every last drop he lifts his head, crawling back over you and licking his lips “I might just need to give you a new nickname… you taste so sweet, fuck I’d give up every meal on this planet if it meant I got to eat you for the rest of my life,” he murmurs with a smile and you look up at him, chest heaving with pants, small smile on your lips “so what will you call me?” He grins at that “I think sweetness would fit you quite well, wouldn’t it?” That tears a small giggle from your lips, making Mattheo grin wider.

After calming down a bit, you tense up again as you feel his dick prodding at your entrance “oh you didn’t think we’re done, did you?” He grins “I’d be disappointed if we were, Matty.” And with that he slowly pushes in, making sure you feel every inch of his rock hard cock as he splits you open. You gasp, clawing at his back, it was always difficult to take him but with his gentle words and soft coos it somehow seems so much more intense then all the times before.

“Shhh I’ve got you angel, I’ve got you… relax for me, can you do that? Can you be a good girl and relax for me?” He coos softly on your ear, making you want to do whatever he asks without question so you try your best to relax for him. He feels your walls unclench the slightest bit and smiles, peppering soft kisses along your face and jaw once’s he’s fully inside you. “So good for me… you’re doing so good, I’m so proud of you.” He whispers against your skin and you can’t help but clench around him again, making him groan.

He lets you adjust for a couple seconds before he pulls back until only his tip remains and pushes back in, making you let out a loud moan. He grins and does it again, setting a slow rhythm, each thrust hard and deep, you swore you could feel him in your stomach. He grunts above you, small hisses and pants leaving his lips and it’s the hottest things you’ve ever experienced.

He slowly picks up the pace, grabbing your hips with one hand while the other goes to your neck, squeezing lightly which oddly brings you comfort. “Matty..!” Your breathless voice rings out and Mattheo cant help but go harder, almost pounding into you before pulling out completely, a whine slipping from your lips. But before you could get any word of protest out he grabs you and turns you around, hands and knees digging into the mattress as he slips back inside on one long thrust. “I’m gonna take you like this and you’re gonna love it, okay?” He leans down, his chest pressing against your back as his one hand slips down to press against your stomach while he moves in and out of you. “F-fuck… Mattheo oh my god..!” You feel him deep inside you, so much more intensely then before and your face drops into the sheets as he pounds into you from behind.

“Fuck you’re amazing… I love you much, can you feel how deep I’m inside you? No one will ever get that deep because You. Are. Mine.” Each word is punctuated with a hard thrust, your eyes roll back and in that moment all you think about is him, how he makes you feel and how you’ll only ever be his for the rest of your life. The hand on your stomach reaches down, playing with your clit as he pounds into you impossibly faster “come with me, sweetness. Come on my cock while I come inside you.” He breathes into your ear and you all but comply, clenching around him tightly and coming for the second time that night with a loud moan of his name.

He rides out your orgasm, his thrusts growing sloppy and with a few more his body jerks and he sheaths himself deep inside you, filling you up with his hot cum as you twitch from the feeling. You fall onto the mattress and he rolls you over onto your back before collapsing on top of you, his head buried in your neck as you both try to catch your breaths.

“I love you…”

Im so sorry for being inactive guys, I’ve been a bit stressed lately. Take this as an apology and happy New years! Love all of you <3

~Princess

Taglist: @revesephemeres @ur-local-wizard

#slytherin #slytherin boys #harry potter #hogwarts houses #mattysprincess #mattheo riddle oneshot #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo smut #mattheo imagine #mattheo riddle

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astro-stars · 12 days ago

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can your horns be used as handles (TWST

The dimly lit, atmospheric common room of Diasomnia was alive with the faint crackle of a magical fireplace. Yuu sat at a table strewn with notes, quills, and books, working diligently on a project with Sebek. Well, Sebek was working diligently, his handwriting precise and his focus unwavering. Yuu, on the other hand, was half-distracted, their mind wandering as they stared at the intricate patterns of the dorm’s decor.

It wasn’t until Malleus entered the room, his regal presence as commanding as ever, that Yuu’s thoughts crystallized into a single, burning question that had been lingering in their mind for weeks. They glanced at Sebek, who was muttering about the importance of proper formatting, and then at Malleus, who had taken a seat on the nearby couch with Lilia and Silver.

Without thinking, Yuu blurted out, “Hey, Malleus, can you feel your horns?”

The room went silent. Sebek froze mid-sentence, his quill poised in the air as if someone had just declared open war on the Thorn Fairy herself. Lilia’s lips curled into an amused smile, while Silver blinked slowly, clearly trying to process the sudden shift in conversation. Malleus, for his part, tilted his head slightly, his expression one of mild curiosity.

“My horns?” Malleus repeated, his deep voice tinged with intrigue. “What an unusual question, child of man. May I ask what brought this to mind?”

Yuu flushed but pressed on, their curiosity outweighing their embarrassment. “I’ve just been wondering. Like, are they sensitive? Can you feel them the same way you feel your hands or something?”

Sebek’s face turned an alarming shade of red. “HUMAN! How dare you ask such a personal question of the Young Master?!” he bellowed, his voice reverberating through the room. “Have you no sense of propriety?!”

“It’s fine, Sebek,” Malleus said calmly, raising a hand to silence him. “I find the question rather intriguing.” He turned his attention back to Yuu, his emerald eyes gleaming. “To answer your question: Yes, I can feel my horns, though not in the same way I feel my hands. They are part of me, but their sensitivity is… limited, shall we say.”

“Huh,” Yuu said, nodding thoughtfully. “That’s kind of cool. So, theoretically, if someone were to, I don’t know, use them as handles, would that… bother you?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Sebek looked like he was about to faint from sheer outrage, while Lilia burst into laughter, his voice ringing out like bells. Silver sighed, rubbing his temples, as if wondering why he even bothered to stay awake for these conversations.

Malleus blinked, his expression unreadable for a moment before his lips quirked into a faint smile. “Handles, you say?”

“Yuu!” Sebek shouted, his voice cracking. “That is utterly disgraceful! Apologize to the Young Master at once!”

Lilia wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. “Oh, Yuu, you truly are a delight. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Sebek this close to imploding.”

“I’m just curious!” Yuu defended, throwing up their hands. “It’s not like I’m actually going to try it or anything. I just… wondered.”

Malleus regarded Yuu for a moment longer before nodding slowly. “I see no harm in curiosity, as long as it remains respectful. However, I would advise against using my horns as… handles, as you put it. They are still a part of me, after all.”

“Fair enough,” Yuu said, grinning sheepishly. “Thanks for answering, though. I’ve been wondering about that for a while.”

Sebek groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Why does the Young Master tolerate this insolence?!”

Silver patted Sebek on the shoulder, his voice calm. “Relax. It’s not worth losing sleep over.”

Lilia leaned back in his seat, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Well, this has certainly been the most entertaining study session I’ve witnessed in years. Carry on, Yuu. You make life in Diasomnia much more lively.”

Yuu laughed nervously, returning to their project. They made a mental note to think twice before letting their curiosity get the better of them again—though they couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit proud for making Malleus smile.

TAGLIST: @soramcduckahyucky

BORDER: me!

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hisfavegirl · 1 month ago

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Fallen Loyalties - Aemond Targaryen x TwinSister!Reader

Summary : Now, all that remains is the echo of the lies Aemond told and the weight of the betrayal he never saw coming. And as the consequences unfold, he realize—it’s too late for apologies, too late for redemption. The loyalty you once shared is gone, and what’s left is nothing but the ruins of what you once were. The price of betrayal is always paid in regret. And now, he am paying it with his heart.

Aemond Masterlist.

Being born as Aemond Targaryen’s twin sister meant your fate was sealed from the moment you took your first breath. From the very beginning, your life was entwined with his, bound by blood, secrets, and the unyielding honor of House Targaryen. But your bond with Aemond had always been more than mere siblinghood. There was something deeper, darker, something no one dared to name aloud.

After the birth of Maelor, Aegon’s son, your marriage to Aemond was arranged without question. It was destiny, they said—a union that would strengthen House Targaryen. You accepted it with your head held high, even as your heart swirled with fear, confusion, and curiosity about how your life would change.

Now, you are carrying your first child. Years have passed since your marriage, and while you’ve grown accustomed to Aemond’s stern and controlling nature, the unspoken tension between you remains.

In your chambers, Aemond stood near the window, gazing at the flames burning in the distance. His silver hair flowed freely down his back, catching the warm glow of the candlelight. He turned when you entered, his sharp eye immediately locking onto yours.

“How are you feeling today?” he asked softly—a rare gentleness in his voice.

“Fine,” you replied briefly, your hand instinctively resting on your growing belly.

Aemond approached, his steps deliberate and measured. Despite his calm demeanor, his intensity was palpable. He stopped in front of you, his gaze fixed on your stomach as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

“He will be our legacy,” he said quietly, his voice filled with conviction. “We will ensure the blood of the Targaryens remains pure and unbroken.”

His words stirred unease within you, but you nodded, choosing not to challenge him. You knew that beneath his gentleness lay a darkness you had no desire to provoke.

As the night deepened, you wondered if your life with Aemond was truly destined by fate or if you were merely trapped in the power games of your family. But when he gently pulled you into his arms, you couldn’t deny the feeling that, for reasons you couldn’t fully understand, you were meant to be his—forever.

Loving Aemond was not something you could ever dream of letting go. It was a bond forged not only by blood but by something far deeper—something dark, consuming, and impossible to escape. You knew the kind of man he was, knew the fire that burned beneath his icy exterior. And you knew that when he was angry, even you, the one person he held above all else, could not control him.

The tension had been building ever since word reached you about what happened at Rook’s Rest. The whispers of what Aemond had done to your brother, Aegon, sent shivers down your spine. They said Aegon barely escaped with his life, and though the details were murky, the truth was clear: Aemond had crossed a line no one dared to confront.

When he returned to you, his presence was as commanding as ever, his single eye gleaming with a cold determination that made your blood run cold. He acted as though nothing had happened, as though the events at Rook’s Rest were just another necessary step in a long and bloody war.

But you knew. You had heard the screams of guilt in your own mind, the horror at what he had done to his own kin. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say a word.

You sat together in the quiet of your chambers, the firelight casting shadows across his face. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. His calmness unsettled you.

“Is something troubling you?” he asked, his voice low, his gaze sharp as it turned toward you.

Your heart leapt in your chest, your hands tightening in your lap. For a moment, you considered speaking, considered asking him about what happened at Rook’s Rest. But the image of his fury, the cold, ruthless man you knew he could become, stopped you.

“No,” you lied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Nothing.”

Aemond watched you for a moment longer, his gaze piercing, as if he could see straight through your soul. Then he crossed the room, kneeling before you. His hand reached out, brushing against yours with a surprising gentleness.

“You would tell me if there was, wouldn’t you?” he asked, his voice softer now, but with an edge that sent a chill down your spine.

You nodded quickly, forcing a weak smile. “Of course.”

He studied you for a moment longer before standing, his fingers lingering against your hand for a second longer than necessary. “Good,” he said simply, turning away and walking toward the door.

As the door clicked shut behind him, you released the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your mind raced with the weight of the secret you were keeping, the fear of what might happen if you dared to confront him.

You loved Aemond with everything you had, but you also knew the danger that came with that love. And in the end, you were willing to bear the burden of silence, knowing that to challenge him might mean losing him entirely.

The morning sun bathed the gardens in a soft golden glow as you walked down the stone pathway, Aemond by your side. The air was cool and crisp, the scent of blooming flowers mingling with the faint saltiness of the sea breeze. Your hand rested lightly on your swollen belly, and with every step, Aemond’s presence beside you felt as steady and unyielding as ever.

He had been named Prince Regent in Aegon’s stead after your brother was left bedridden, unable to rule. The weight of responsibility now rested on Aemond’s shoulders, and while others might have buckled under such pressure, he seemed to thrive in it. His sharp mind and ruthless determination were exactly what the realm needed in these uncertain times.

As you paused near a marble bench, Aemond stopped beside you. His gaze softened as it shifted from your face to your belly. Without a word, he reached out, his hand warm and firm as it gently stroked the curve of your stomach. The simple gesture, filled with an unexpected tenderness, made your heart ache.

“You should rest more,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “The child needs you strong.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing against his hand. “And you? Do you not need rest as well? The council takes so much of your time.”

He smirked, a rare flicker of amusement crossing his face. “The council is full of fools. I don’t need rest to deal with them.”

His confidence was unshakable, and while it sometimes frustrated you, it also reassured you. He would not falter, not for anything or anyone.

Aemond leaned down, pressing a fleeting kiss to your forehead, a gesture so brief it might have been missed by anyone watching. Then he straightened, his icy demeanor returning as he prepared to face the day’s challenges.

“I must go,” he said, his voice returning to its usual sharpness. “The council awaits.”

You nodded, watching as he turned and walked away, his black cloak billowing behind him. His steps were purposeful, each one echoing with the authority of a man who knew he was in control.

For a moment, you lingered in the garden, your hand resting on your belly. The child within you stirred slightly, as if responding to its father’s touch. Aemond might be a man of fire and ice, but in these fleeting moments, you saw the softer side of him—a side he reserved only for you and the life you carried.

As you made your way to Aegon’s chambers, your steps were slow, burdened by a weight you couldn’t shake. The corridor was quiet, save for the faint rustling of servants going about their duties. When you reached the heavy oak door, you hesitated for a moment before pushing it open.

The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to shield your brother from the harsh morning light. Aegon lay motionless on the grand bed, his face pale and drawn, a stark contrast to the once vibrant and arrogant man you had known. The faint scent of milk of the poppy lingered in the air, a reminder of the only thing keeping him from the agony of his injuries.

You stepped closer, your heart twisting with guilt as you looked at him. His chest rose and fell in steady breaths, his face peaceful in his drugged sleep. For a moment, you could almost pretend he was simply resting, that nothing was wrong. But the bandages wrapped around his body told the truth you couldn’t deny.

You sat down on the edge of his bed, your hand trembling as it hovered over his. Finally, you let your fingers brush lightly against his, a silent gesture of comfort he wouldn’t even feel.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. “I’m so sorry, Aegon.”

Your throat tightened as you fought back tears. You knew you couldn’t say these words to Aemond, couldn’t confront him about what he’d done to your brother at Rook’s Rest. But here, in the quiet of this room, you could let your guilt pour out.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” you continued, your voice shaking. “He… Aemond… He doesn’t see things the way we do. He believes what he did was necessary, but I—” You stopped, the words catching in your throat. “I should have stopped him. I should have done something.”

Aegon didn’t stir, his slumber too deep to be interrupted by your whispered confessions. But somehow, speaking the words aloud made the weight on your chest feel just a little lighter.

“I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive him,” you murmured, tears sliding down your cheeks now. “Or me. But I swear to you, Aegon, I will make sure he doesn’t harm you again. I won’t let this happen again.”

You sat there for a while longer, your hand still resting lightly on his. The guilt still lingered, but so did the resolve. You would find a way to make amends, even if it meant standing against the man you loved most in the world.

You spent hours in Aegon’s room, sitting quietly by his side. The book you held was one you thought he might enjoy—something light, perhaps even amusing, to ease his troubled mind. You knew, deep down, that Aegon had never been one for books. He had always preferred action to words, the thrill of battle to the quiet comfort of a story. But today, you read anyway. It was more for yourself than for him, a small act of solace amidst the heavy silence that filled the room.

As your voice softened and you turned the pages, you could almost pretend everything was as it should be. But the weight of the situation lingered, and you couldn’t escape the gnawing guilt that still tugged at you, the guilt of what had transpired at Rook’s Rest.

Just as you read the final lines of a chapter, the door to Aegon’s room creaked open. You looked up, surprised, as your mother stood in the doorway, her posture regal and unyielding, yet there was something soft in her expression as she observed you. Behind her stood Aemond, his figure just as imposing as always, his presence a shadow in the doorway.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. You quickly closed the book, your eyes flicking between your mother and your brother, knowing exactly what this visit would mean.

“Mother,” you greeted her, rising from your seat. “Husband.”

Your mother gave a small nod, her eyes softening briefly as she looked at you. “How is Aegon?” she asked, her voice full of concern as she walked over to the side of the bed, her gaze landing on her eldest son.

“He is still asleep,” you replied softly, your voice betraying the exhaustion you hadn’t realized you were carrying. “The milk of the poppy keeps him in a deep sleep.”

Aemond’s gaze never left you, his single eye narrowed slightly, as though scrutinizing every movement, every word. There was something unreadable in his expression, something far colder than the warmth your mother radiated.

“How long do you intend to stay here?” Aemond’s voice cut through the silence, his tone sharp, though there was a hint of something else beneath the edge—something like concern, but harder to place.

You met his gaze, your stomach tightening. “As long as it takes,” you replied, your voice firm but weary. “He’s my brother, Aemond. He needs me.”

Aemond’s lips tightened into a thin line, but he said nothing. His silence spoke volumes—he disapproved, no doubt. But then, a flicker of understanding passed between you, a silent acknowledgment that you were doing what you believed was right.

Your mother placed a gentle hand on Aegon’s forehead, her fingers brushing his hair back as she gazed down at him with love and worry in her eyes. “He’ll recover,” she said quietly, though there was doubt in her voice. “He’s strong, like his father.”

But you knew, in your heart, that Aegon’s strength alone might not be enough to recover from the wounds he had suffered—not just the physical ones, but the emotional scars that lingered from the events that had torn your family apart.

Aemond stepped forward then, his presence filling the room, and for a moment, you wondered what his intentions were. Would he seek to further distance you from Aegon? Or perhaps, you thought, he might simply leave, as he often did when the situation was less than ideal.

“You should rest,” Aemond said to you, his voice softer now, though his eyes remained distant. “You’ve been here long enough.”

You wanted to argue, to remain by Aegon’s side until he awoke, but you knew your body was exhausted. Aemond was right in his own way, and you couldn’t deny the exhaustion that weighed on you.

Your mother looked between you and Aemond, her gaze shifting uncomfortably. “I will stay with Aegon,” she said softly, offering you a small, reassuring smile. “Go rest, dear.”

You hesitated, but nodded in the end. “Thank you, Mother.”

Before you left, you cast one final look at Aegon, your heart heavy with worry and regret. As the door closed behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was changing—and that nothing would ever be the same again.

You stood by the window, the soft light of the fading afternoon casting shadows across the room. The quiet was almost suffocating, the weight of the day pressing down on you. Your thoughts were scattered, tangled in the webs of what had happened, and what might yet come. Aemond’s presence had become both a comfort and a source of tension, and tonight, you felt the pull of it more keenly than ever.

The sound of the door opening barely registered at first, but when it did, you knew who it was without needing to turn. Aemond. You had grown so accustomed to the sound of his footsteps, the way the air seemed to change when he entered a room.

He didn’t say anything as he stepped inside, the silence between you stretching out in a way that felt both intimate and fragile. The tension that hung in the air was almost palpable, but still, you didn’t turn to face him. There were no words between you—no greeting, no acknowledgment of what was unsaid. Just the soft rustling of his movements, the quiet anticipation that only seemed to grow as the seconds passed.

Then, as if driven by some invisible force, Aemond stepped closer, his presence suddenly surrounding you. You felt the brush of his hand before you even knew what he was doing—his fingers grazing the curve of your belly from behind. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, but it carried the weight of something unspoken. Something too deep to name.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not yet. Not when the room felt too small and your heart too heavy with the knowledge of what had been, and what still was. His touch was a reminder of everything—your connection, your shared history, and the future you were both bound to, whether you wanted it or not.

Aemond’s fingers lingered on your skin, and for a moment, the world seemed to fade away. It was just the two of you, standing in this space where love, anger, and regret coiled together. You felt the warmth of his hand, the subtle pressure of his touch, and despite everything, you couldn’t deny that it still affected you. It always had.

His voice, when it came, was soft but laced with a certain edge. “I feel him,” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. “Our child. He grows stronger every day.”

Aemond’s words were not a question, but a statement of fact. You could hear the tenderness in his tone, the quiet pride he felt as he spoke of the life you both created. It was a side of him you rarely saw, and yet, it was the side that seemed to matter most now.

Still, you remained silent, your gaze fixed on the view outside. You couldn’t bring yourself to turn, to face him and acknowledge what lay between you. You couldn’t decide if you were afraid of the man he had become, or the man he was still capable of being.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Aemond’s hand withdrew, but the room remained heavy with the unspoken words, the shared history that neither of you could ignore. You still hadn’t turned to look at him. Still, you knew he was there, watching, waiting.

The silence in the room grew thicker as you finally turned to face him. Aemond stood there, his features cold, his posture rigid as if he were carved from stone. You could feel the tension in the air, a simmering undercurrent that seemed to pulse between you like a living thing. The distance between you both felt vast, though you were only a few feet apart.

Your heart beat faster as you swallowed the lump in your throat, the question you had been holding in for so long finally spilling out.

“Is all of this truly worth it, Aemond?” Your voice trembled, a mixture of anger, fear, and sorrow. “Is it worth the cost of what we’ve done to our family? To Aegon?”

Aemond’s jaw tightened at the mention of your brother’s name. The silence that followed was thick with an intensity that made your chest ache. His gaze didn’t waver from yours, but the darkness in his eye began to surface. His fury, barely contained, was a palpable thing, swirling in the air around you.

You didn’t look away, even as you felt the shift in the room, as if the very temperature dropped with his growing anger. “Do you think this… this revenge, this destruction of our own flesh and blood, will make you whole?” The words spilled out before you could stop them, a dam breaking under the pressure of years of pain. “Does it satisfy you to see him broken, to know you’ve taken so much from him?”

There was no immediate answer. Aemond didn’t speak, but you could feel the weight of his anger pressing down on you. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eye narrowing dangerously. For a moment, you thought he might lash out, his fury spilling over into violence as it had so many times before. But he stayed still, like a predator at the edge of a hunt, waiting.

“You speak as if you don’t understand,” Aemond’s voice was low, almost a growl. “As if you don’t know why this had to happen.” His tone was dangerously calm, but it was clear that something inside him was breaking, something you had no control over. “You ask if it’s worth it—do you think I want this? Do you think I wanted him to lie in that bed, broken and helpless?” His words were sharp, his anger barely contained. “No. I did what had to be done. And you should know that.”

You felt the heat of his words burn through you, the cold fury in his gaze like a slap to the face. But you didn’t flinch. You refused to be cowed, even as your heart ached with the reality of the situation.

“He is our brother, Aemond,” you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of your emotions. “And he has always been loyal to you, even when you didn’t deserve it. Was this truly the only way? To break him, to break us all?”

The tension in the room became unbearable as Aemond stepped closer, his presence looming over you. His gaze softened, but there was a hard edge to it now, a warning you couldn’t ignore. He reached out, his hand grazing your cheek with unexpected tenderness, though it felt like an unspoken threat behind the touch.

“Don’t question me, my wife,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “You are mine. And I will not tolerate you doubting what I have done. Not now. Not ever.”

A shiver ran down your spine, but you stood your ground. His anger, the fire that burned within him, was something you had known all your life. But now, it felt different. More intense, more consuming. And still, despite the fear gnawing at you, you held his gaze, refusing to back down.

“I’m not questioning you, Aemond,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “I’m questioning whether this… this destruction is truly the only path we can walk. If we have any other choice, any chance of finding peace.”

Aemond didn’t answer immediately. His fingers brushed against your skin one last time, and then he stepped back, his posture rigid once again, though there was something unreadable in his eyes now.

“You will understand in time,” he said quietly, the coldness returning to his voice. “When you see the truth for what it is, you will know that I did what needed to be done.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there in the silence, a thousand questions swirling in your mind, but no answers to grasp.

Before Aemond turned to leave the room, his words hung heavy in the air, each syllable a promise of more distance between you and him. He paused by the door, his back to you, but his voice—so cold and matter-of-fact—was unmistakable.

“I am going to Harrenhal,” he said, his tone steady but devoid of any emotion. “I will take control of it. It is time to solidify our position.”

A shiver ran through you, a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. You were silent, waiting for him to say more, but he didn’t. The way he spoke, with such finality, made it clear that his departure wasn’t just for a short time—it would be a while before he returned, if ever.

“You need not wait for me,” Aemond added, his voice soft but laced with a cool detachment. “It will be a long time before I return. Stay here, if you wish. But do not expect my presence.”

His words stung, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You felt a pang of frustration, anger, and—despite it all—a strange sense of longing. The emptiness his absence would bring was something you weren’t sure you could bear, but you knew better than to ask him to stay. You knew better than to push him, not when his mind was so set on his course.

You stood frozen, watching him, but you couldn’t find the words to stop him. What could you say to make him stay? What could you say to break through the walls he had built around himself?

Without a final glance back, Aemond left, the door clicking softly behind him, leaving you alone in the room with nothing but the hollow echo of his absence.

You wanted to scream, to ask him why he had to go, why everything seemed to be spiraling out of control. But the silence that followed was more deafening than any argument. You could only stare at the door, your heart heavy with the knowledge that, for the time being, he would be gone—lost to his plans, his ambitions, and his unyielding determination.

And you? You were left standing in the ruins of what had once felt like home, wondering if you would ever truly find a way to reach him again.

It had been more than a week since Aemond left for Harrenhal, and the ache of his absence grew heavier with each passing day. The weight of your pregnancy was becoming unbearable, both physically and emotionally. Your child could arrive any moment now, yet Aemond had not returned. The silence he left behind was deafening, a constant reminder of the distance—both physical and emotional—that now lay between you.

You sat by the window of your chambers, the same place where you had stood the night he told you he was leaving. Your hands rested protectively over your swollen belly, your mind swirling with thoughts you couldn’t escape. Every kick, every movement of the life within you only deepened your longing for him, for his presence, for the reassurance only he could give.

And yet, he did not come.

Your heart ached with regret, the memory of that fateful night replaying in your mind over and over again. If only you hadn’t questioned him about Aegon. If only you had stayed silent, accepted his actions without challenge. Maybe then he wouldn’t have left so abruptly. Maybe then, he would be here now, by your side, where you needed him most.

Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them away. You couldn’t cry. Not now. You had to be strong—for your child, if not for yourself. But the pain in your chest refused to fade, a constant reminder of how fragile everything felt without him.

The maesters and midwives had warned you to rest, to save your strength for the labor that could begin at any moment. But how could you rest when your heart was so heavy? How could you find peace when the man you loved, the father of your child, was so far away?

The thought of giving birth without him filled you with dread. You had imagined him there, his hand in yours, his voice steadying you through the pain. You had imagined his first glimpse of your child, the way his cold exterior would melt at the sight of new life. But now, those hopes seemed like distant dreams, fading with each passing day.

You turned your gaze to the horizon, where the faint glow of the setting sun painted the sky in shades of gold and crimson. Somewhere out there, Aemond was waging his battles, securing his victories, unaware—or perhaps uncaring—of how much you needed him. You whispered his name softly, a plea carried on the wind, though you knew it would never reach him.

“Aemond,” you murmured, your voice trembling with sorrow. “Please… come back to me.”

The room grew quiet again, the stillness wrapping around you like a suffocating shroud. And as the first stars began to appear in the darkening sky, you could only hope that he would return before it was too late—before your child arrived, before the distance between you became something that even love couldn’t mend.

The next morning, the news reached you, carried on hushed whispers and hesitant glances from the servants who dared not meet your eyes. Aemond had sought the warmth of another, a bastard girl named Alys Rivers, in Harrenhal. The words struck you like a blade to the chest, the pain so sharp and immediate that you couldn't breathe.

Your mind refused to process it at first. No, it couldn't be true. Not Aemond. Not your Aemond. He had promised himself to you, bound not just by duty but by the bond you thought you shared. The very idea of him seeking comfort elsewhere while you carried his child felt like a cruel, twisted joke.

The room began to spin, your vision blurring as the weight of the betrayal crashed down on you. Your breaths came shallow and fast, panic overtaking you as the world around you grew faint.

Without realizing it, your hands had gripped the edge of the table in front of you, your knuckles white from the strain. A sharp pain in your abdomen made you gasp, and you looked down to see the crimson trail beginning to stain the hem of your gown. Blood. It was pooling beneath you, dripping onto the floor in a rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart.

The world tilted, and you swayed on your feet, your body betraying you as the weight of everything became too much to bear.

"Princess!" a servant cried out, rushing to your side as you began to collapse. Their hands caught you, but the panic in their voice only made everything worse.

"Fetch the maester!" another voice called.

"Quickly!"

You clutched your swollen belly instinctively, your heart racing as fear and despair collided within you. The child. Your child. Was something happening? Was your grief for Aemond harming the one thing that mattered most?

You tried to speak, to ask for help, but no words came. Tears streamed down your face as you were lowered onto a chaise, the cold sweat on your skin making you shiver despite the warmth of the room.

"Stay with us, princess," the servant urged, their voice trembling. "The maester will be here soon."

Your mind raced as the pain intensified, each stab in your abdomen a cruel reminder of everything you were enduring. Aemond. The betrayal. The child. The blood. It was all too much, too overwhelming. You closed your eyes, focusing on the life within you, clinging to the hope that it wasn't too late-that you hadn't lost the one thing you were holding onto.

As the maester arrived and the chaos around you grew louder, one thought consumed you: Aemond had to return. If not for you, then for the child. If not now, then before everything truly fell apart.

You lay on your bed, your body trembling as wave after wave of pain surged through you. Sweat coated your brow, and your breaths came in shallow gasps, each one a battle to keep going. Your heart clung to the fragile hope that the approaching footsteps outside your chamber belonged to Aemond. Surely, he had heard of your condition. Surely, he had returned.

The door creaked open, and your gaze snapped toward it, desperation shining in your eyes. But instead of Aemond, it was your mother, Alicent, who entered.

Her face was pale, her expression a mixture of panic and deep concern as she hurried to your side. “Oh, my sweet girl,” she whispered, kneeling beside you and taking your hand in hers. Her touch was warm, grounding, but it couldn’t erase the ache in your chest or the agony in your body.

“Where is he?” you asked, your voice weak and trembling as tears welled in your eyes. “Where is Aemond?”

Alicent hesitated, the question clearly cutting into her as deeply as it did you. She didn’t answer, but the look in her eyes was enough. He wasn’t coming. Not yet.

“You must focus now,” Alicent said gently but firmly, brushing the damp hair from your forehead. “The maester is on his way. You must save your strength for the baby. For your child.”

Her words barely reached you through the haze of pain and despair. You wanted to scream, to cry out that it wasn’t fair, that you couldn’t do this without him. But the next contraction tore through you, stealing your breath and forcing you to clutch your belly.

Alicent squeezed your hand tightly, her own fear barely concealed behind the mask of composure she wore for your sake. “I’m here, my love,” she said softly, her voice steady. “I won’t leave you. You’re not alone.”

But you felt alone. Aemond’s absence was like a gaping wound, and the betrayal that lingered in your mind made the pain all the worse. The thought of him with another while you endured this moment alone was unbearable.

Your grip on Alicent’s hand tightened as another contraction wracked your body, and you let out a strained cry. Alicent’s voice was soothing, her touch unwavering as she leaned closer, whispering words of comfort.

“The gods have given you the strength to do this,” she said, her tone resolute. “You are stronger than you know, my daughter. And you will bring this child into the world, no matter who stands beside you.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you nodded weakly, her words offering a fragile thread of resolve to cling to. You had to do this. For your child. For the one part of Aemond you still held onto, even as your heart broke in his absence.

You gripped your mother’s hand tightly, your nails digging into her skin as another wave of pain coursed through you. Alicent didn’t flinch, her other hand brushing your damp hair from your face as she murmured soft reassurances.

The maester stood at the foot of your bed, his voice calm but firm as he gave you instructions. “Now, my lady, you must push with all your strength. The child is almost here.”

Your breathing was ragged, your entire body trembling with exhaustion, but you nodded. Summoning every ounce of strength left within you, you bore down, crying out as you pushed. The pain was unlike anything you’d ever known, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

“You’re doing so well, my love,” Alicent encouraged, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. “Just a little more. For the child. For yourself.”

Her words lit a fire in you, and you pushed again, tears streaming down your face as you gave it everything you had. Every thought in your mind focused on one thing: bringing your child into the world.

You thought of Aemond. Of his face, his voice, the way his hand had rested on your belly before he left. This child was his, a piece of him, and they deserved to meet their father. Even if he wasn’t here now, you clung to the hope that he would return.

With one final, agonizing push, the pressure released, and you heard it—a sharp, clear cry that pierced the room and filled your heart with overwhelming relief and joy.

“It’s a boy,” the maester announced, his voice carrying a rare note of warmth. He quickly wrapped the baby in a soft cloth and handed him to Alicent, who brought him to you.

Your hands trembled as you took him, his tiny body fitting perfectly against your chest. His cries quieted as you held him close, and for a moment, the pain and fear faded, replaced by pure, unadulterated love.

“He’s perfect,” Alicent whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she stroked your hair. “You’ve done so well, my sweet girl.”

Tears spilled freely down your cheeks as you gazed at your son, his silver hair glinting in the dim light. You kissed his forehead gently, your heart swelling with pride and protectiveness.

“Aemond,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “He’ll want to meet you. He’ll need you.”

But Aemond wasn’t there, and the ache of his absence returned, even as your son’s warmth filled your arms. You swore to yourself, in that moment, that no matter what, you would protect this child. You would give him all the love and strength you could, even if his father remained distant.

Still, as you cradled your newborn, a faint, desperate hope flickered within you. Aemond would return. He had to. For your son. For the family you had created together.

The relief of holding your newborn son in your arms was short-lived as another sharp pain gripped your body, more intense than before. You winced, gasping as the sensation spread through you, making you clutch the bedding with trembling hands.

“What’s happening?” you whispered, your voice weak and laced with fear.

The maester, who had been tending to you, looked up sharply. His expression grew grim as he examined you again. “Princess,” he began carefully, “it appears you are carrying twins. The second child has yet to be delivered.”

The words hit you like a thunderclap. Twins? Another baby? You glanced at your mother, Alicent, whose face had gone pale with worry.

“But there’s… something else,” the maester continued hesitantly. “The second child is positioned breech.”

A fresh wave of panic swept through you, stealing your breath. You turned to Alicent, your eyes wide and filled with terror. “Mother…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Alicent leaned closer, her hands gently cupping your face as she tried to calm you. “I’m here, my love,” she said softly, though her voice shook with worry. “We’ll get through this. You’ll get through this. Do you hear me?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded weakly, though fear still clawed at the edges of your mind. You knew the risks of a breech birth. You had heard the stories whispered in the Red Keep, of women who had suffered greatly in such labors.

The maester spoke again, his tone steady but firm. “Princess, this will be difficult. You must gather your strength and push when I tell you. We will do everything in our power to ensure both you and the child survive this.”

You swallowed hard, clutching Alicent’s hand tightly as the pain began to mount once more. The child you carried deserved a chance at life, just as much as the one already in your arms. No matter the fear coursing through you, you had to see this through.

“Mother,” you murmured, your voice cracking. “I’m scared.”

Alicent’s gaze softened, tears glistening in her eyes as she pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You are the strongest woman I know,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “You brought your first child into this world. You can do it again. I’m here with you, and I won’t leave your side.”

Her words gave you a flicker of strength, and you nodded, bracing yourself for what was to come. The maester gave the command to push, and with Alicent’s hand in yours, you bore down once more, fighting through the pain and fear for the sake of the life still waiting to meet the world.

The maester’s voice rang in your ears, firm and steady despite the chaos in your body. “Now, princess. Push! With everything you have!”

Tears streamed down your face, your body trembling with exhaustion as you gripped the bedding tightly. Alicent held your hand, her other hand brushing the damp hair from your forehead as she whispered soothing words. “You’re so close, my love. Just a little more. You can do this.”

Summoning every ounce of strength left within you, you bore down, crying out as you gave it your all. The pain was searing, the effort monumental, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Time seemed to stretch, every second dragging like an eternity until, finally, the pressure eased, and the room was filled with the sound of a newborn’s first, piercing cry.

“It’s a girl,” the maester announced, his voice softer now, almost reverent.

Alicent’s face lit up with relief and pride, tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked at you. “You did it,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You’ve done it, my darling.”

The maester carefully wrapped your daughter in a soft cloth before handing her to Alicent, who brought her to you. Your hands trembled as you reached out, cradling your daughter against your chest. She was so small, so perfect, her silver hair already glinting in the dim light.

You stared at her in awe, your heart swelling with love and gratitude. “She’s beautiful,” you whispered, your voice breaking as tears of joy spilled down your cheeks.

The little girl’s cries softened as she settled in your arms, her tiny hand curling around your finger. You leaned down and kissed her forehead, your tears falling onto her soft skin.

Alicent stroked your hair gently, her own tears still flowing as she watched the tender moment. “Two perfect children,” she said softly, her voice full of pride. “You’ve given the realm a miracle, my love.”

Despite the exhaustion weighing heavily on you, you smiled through your tears, holding your daughter close as your son rested nearby. In that moment, the pain and fear faded, replaced by a profound sense of peace.

You had brought your children into the world, and no matter what challenges lay ahead, you knew you would protect them with everything you had.

Your body felt heavy, every breath shallow and labored as you lay back against the pillows. The world around you blurred, the edges of your vision darkening, and the voices of those in the room sounded distant, muffled.

Alicent’s voice broke through the haze, frantic and trembling. “Stay with me, my love. Please. Stay with me!” She gripped your hand tightly, her tears falling onto your skin, but her words felt far away.

Your lips trembled as you struggled to speak, your voice barely a whisper. “Mother…” you murmured, your gaze flickering toward her. “I’m… sorry.”

“No, no apologies,” Alicent cried, her voice breaking as she leaned closer. “You have nothing to apologize for. Please, just hold on!”

A single tear slid down your cheek as your thoughts drifted to Aemond. “Tell him… I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice faint and weak. “Tell him… I loved him.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, the weight of exhaustion too much to bear. Alicent’s panicked cries grew louder, but you could no longer focus on her words. Your breaths grew slower, more labored, until they faded entirely.

Alicent’s scream filled the room, raw and desperate. “No! She can’t be gone! Do something!”

The maester stepped back, his face pale and grim as he shook his head. “The blood loss… it was too great. Her body was too weak after the second birth.”

Alicent collapsed to her knees beside your bed, her sobs shaking her entire frame as she clung to your lifeless hand. The room was heavy with silence, save for the soft cries of your newborn daughter and the muffled cries of your mother’s heartbreak.

Your children were alive—two perfect children with silver hair and the Targaryen legacy flowing through their veins. But you, their mother, had given everything to bring them into the world, leaving behind only memories and the deep ache of loss for those who loved you.

When news reached Aemond, it would be a blow that no sword or fire could rival.

Alicent sat silently in the Sept, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as her tear-filled gaze remained fixed on you. Draped in white, you looked peaceful yet unnaturally still, your once-bright eyes forever closed. The candles surrounding you cast flickering light across your face, a stark contrast to the grief that consumed the room.

Her tears had not stopped flowing since your passing. You had been her strength, her light amidst the darkness of court politics and family betrayals. Now, all that remained was an unbearable emptiness.

The heavy creak of the Sept doors broke the stillness, drawing Alicent’s attention. Her breath caught as Aemond stepped through, his expression unreadable. His strides were slow but purposeful, his eye fixed on you as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

He stopped before your lifeless body, his tall frame trembling. His face was pale, his jaw clenched tightly as his hands curled into fists at his sides. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, as if time itself had stopped.

Then, slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against your cold cheek. “Wake up,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, almost pleading.

There was no response, only the deafening silence that had haunted him since he first heard the news.

Aemond’s breaths grew heavier, his eye glistening with unshed tears as he gently shook your shoulder. “Don’t do this to me,” he said, his voice breaking. “Yell at me. Tell me I was wrong. Curse me, fight me—but don’t leave me like this.”

Still, you didn’t move.

He sank to his knees beside you, his head bowing as his hand gripped yours tightly. “I thought I had time,” he murmured, his voice filled with anguish. “I thought I could make it right.”

Alicent watched her son in silence, her heart breaking anew at the sight of his pain. She had seen Aemond’s coldness, his strength, his unyielding resolve. But this—this raw, unfiltered grief—was something she had never seen before.

“You were everything,” Aemond whispered, his tears finally falling as he rested his forehead against your still hand. “You were my other half, my twin, my wife. How am I meant to go on without you?”

The Sept was silent save for his quiet sobs, the sound of a man who had lost not just his wife, but a piece of his soul.

Alicent stood by the alter, her grief-stricken face hardening with sorrowful anger as she looked at Aemond. His presence, his raw pain, was almost too much to bear. She knew how deeply he had loved you — as your mother, she had seen it from the moment you and Aemond had been betrothed. And yet now, there he was, crumbling in the face of the consequences of his own choices.

“You heard, didn’t you?” Alicent said softly, her voice laced with both sadness and reproach. “You heard the whispers. The truth of what happened. That you, my son, betrayed the woman who gave everything to bring your children into this world.”

Aemond’s head shot up, his face twisting with anguish, as though her words had struck him with the force of a dagger. His lips trembled, but no words came. The guilt gnawed at him, sharp and unforgiving.

“You did this,” Alicent continued, her voice low but piercing. “You sought comfort in another woman—Alys River—and now, here we are. Your wife is dead. My daughter is dead. You killed her, Aemond. Not with your hands, but with your heart. And it tore her apart.”

His body shook, and for a moment, it seemed as though he might collapse under the weight of the realization. His eye, usually so fierce and cold, now appeared hollow with the depth of his self-loathing.

“I never meant for it to be like this,” Aemond whispered, his voice cracked with pain. He wiped his face with his sleeve, but it did little to stop the tears. “I didn’t want to lose her. I… I thought I could fix everything. I was wrong. I killed her… I killed her with my betrayal.”

Alicent’s expression softened ever so slightly, her eyes flickering with maternal compassion despite the anger still in her voice. “You were too late, Aemond. Too late to save her. And now you’ll have to live with the consequences of your choices.”

He fell to his knees, his hands clutching his head as if trying to tear the thoughts from his mind, but they remained. His voice, a broken whisper, echoed through the silence of the room.

“Curse me,” he murmured, his hands trembling. “I deserve this. I deserve every bit of this pain. I will never forgive myself for what I’ve done to her… to us.”

Alicent turned her gaze away for a moment, the depth of her sorrow for both of you—her daughter, gone too soon, and her son, destroyed by his own remorse—overwhelming.

“Forgiveness is a long road, Aemond,” she said quietly. “But you must find it for yourself. Because it’s your future, your children, and the legacy of House Targaryen that remains. You can’t change what’s been done. But you can choose to live for them. For her.”

Aemond’s body heaved with silent sobs, and the weight of his actions, of his guilt, became the heaviest thing he had ever carried. The room was still, save for the soft cries of your children, unaware of the tragedy that had unfolded, of the terrible loss that would forever shape their lives.

And Aemond, broken and drowning in the sorrow of his mistakes, could only wish for a world where time could be rewound, and the love he had so carelessly broken could be mended. But in the end, he knew that would never happen.

Tag list : @danytar @zaldritzosrose @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @julessworldd @giirlinblack @callsignwidow

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pullupinarari · 2 months ago

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just thinking abt grace snitching on lewis keeping a stash of your chocolates he always steal in her bedroom.

"grace, no thats supposed to be our secret"

a/n: I literally giggled while writing this one, it’s so sweet 😭 ps: this isn’t proofread, so I apologize for any typos in advance ‼️ hope you enjoy this, babes!! 🩷

You know that your husband is a sweet man. So sweet, that sometimes you catch yourself wondering if that has anything to do with the fact that he has the sweetest tooth you’ve ever met.

You couldn’t complain, though. Sharing your life with him has always been a blessing - hearing his giggles echoing through every room, watching him play with your daughter, his eyes shining every time he looks at her.

On the other side, you’re that kind of person that always craves a sweet after dinner, and it seems to be the miraculous cure of your insomnia - a square of chocolate that slowly melts on your tongue, adorning your insides, fulfilling your cravings for the night, helping you fall asleep.

So, every time you go grocery shopping, you make sure you have your favourite chocolate to complement your night.

But, no relationship is absolutely perfect, and your marriage with Lewis has this problem: most of the times when you would open the kitchen counter, looking for your chocolate bar, it would already be gone by the time you would crave it.

If you were in a good mood, you would ignore his antics, relying on another sweets that you would have around the house - even stealing one of Grace’s kinder chocolates sometimes.

But tonight, you feel grumpy. You can sense a migraine growing through your skull, punching your brain a countless amount of times - and Lewis knows it, he heard every single complaint of yours during the day.

Your husband made sure to take care of dinner tonight, trying to ease your suffering as much as he can by handing you the medicine to help your headaches, letting you rest on the sofa as your daughter softly caresses your forehead, hoping her mummy will feel better soon.

The little girl already had her soothing bath, and she’s wearing her favourite pink pyjamas - something that Lewis decided to take care of as well, knowing very well how your migraines can make you feel absolutely awful when they hit.

After dinner, you reach for the counter - specifically for the door where you always keep your chocolate bars.

Peeking inside, your eyes widen when you realize that the sweet that you had saved for tonight, is nowhere to be seen. Your hand reaches to try and grab it somewhere, only to be met with the emptiness of the place where the bar used to lay.

To say that it has awakened your bad mood was an understatement. That was the only bit that was left of the sweet, and you desperately needed it now. Thinking for a second, you realize that you don’t have any more chocolates left - you didn’t go grocery shopping, and even Grace has had her last kinder chocolate already.

Turning around with a closed facial expression, your eyes could send bullets straight to your husband’s chest.

- Lewis Hamilton. Did you eat it? - it’s all you ask, knowing that he knows damn well what you are talking about.

The sight of him cradling your baby in his arms, kissing her cheek nonstop while keeping eye contact with you, makes you sigh: you can almost see the engines in his brain turning, trying to find a way to escape this topic.

- No. Nope. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. - the man lies with every tooth in his mouth, a compromised look all over his face while he can still taste the sweet flavour of the candy lingering in his mouth.

- No? Are you sure? - you insist, only to be met with a nod of his head.

Your daughter looks at the both of you in silence, her big brown eyes travelling back and forth, from your face to Lewis’ and vice-versa.

- Okay, then. - you sigh, turning your back to him as you exit the kitchen, slowly going upstairs to your room, wanting nothing more than to meet your pillow now.

You know Lewis loves sweets and you know that he has been like this for the long years that you’ve been together, now. But today, you’re annoyed. Today, your head hurts, your body feels exhausted and you just wish he could control himself a bit more, knowing how desperately you were going to need that square of chocolate before bed.

It’s stupid that you are making a huge scene because of a candy, but you’re letting your emotions take over you, not even thinking straight anymore - and everyone is allowed to act a bit over something stupid, sometimes.

You hear footsteps coming upstairs, only to be met with your husband, carefully placing your three-old daughter on the ground, so she can come running to her mummy.

You hold your child, the light of your eyes, the only one that can compensate for your lack of sugar now.

Lewis climbs on the bed behind your kid, reaching to land a kiss on your shoulder, that you make sure to brush off. The annoyance keeps creeping through you, and you don’t plan on giving in so easily.

- Come on, love. Don’t be like this - Lewis tells you, a hint of humour in his voice that you don’t like at all.

Ignoring him, you turn your attention to your daughter, talking to her instead, your fingers caressing her hair and cheek now.

Little Grace is still very quiet, looking at her daddy with a guilty look on her face, as if the poor girl is trying to decide what’s the best thing to do in a situation like this.

- Mummy, I need to tell you something. - the toddler says, hiding her head on the crook of your neck as she hugs you, now.

- What is it, love?

She never stops looking at her daddy.

- Daddy has this place in my bedroom where he keeps a lot of chocolates - the little girl whispers in your ear, and you have never felt the need to control your emotions so much, and Lewis can definitely thank his daughter for that.

Your eyes widen, not a single word leaving your mouth as you turn to look directly at your husband, both of you staying silent while you share some glances.

- Daddy, don’t be mad. But mummy needs her chocolate and you keep so many in your secret place! - the girl pleads, trying to reason with her dad.

- Grace, that was supposed to be our secret! - the man finally says, the humour never leaving his tone and a smirk playing on his lips, because there’s no way he will take an argument about chocolate this seriously.

- So, let me see if I got this right: you keep a stash of chocolates in our daughter’s room and you still feel the need to steal my candy? Is that what this is, Lewis Hamilton? - your mouth is slightly agape while looking at the man that’s lying on his stomach, his face giving you the biggest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen.

Letting out a giggle, his eyes crinkle in his face as he can’t control his laughs.

- What can I say, I am a man of many talents! But you’re forgetting one thing - he pauses, his hand reaching for the pocket of his sweatpants.

- I always have chocolate with me - he hands you a kinder chocolate, a soft smile playing on his lips as he continues to find the situation super humorous.

You take the chocolate, relief washing over you as you realize that you can finally have your nightly dose of sweetness.

- Yeah, don’t need to thank me or anything. Having a three year old kid and a wife that’s addicted to sugar makes me carry them with me all the time - Lewis shrugs, hiding his face on his pillow as he continues laughing.

- Oh absolutely, it’s definitely not because of your own sweet tooth, Lewis. Not at all.

And with a chuckle leaving your lips, you break the kinder chocolate in half, dividing it with Grace. Soon enough, a whine escapes your husband’s throat, noticing how he won’t get to have a taste of the candy.

- Maybe you can have just a little square, daddy - your daughter breaks her own half to give it to him, earning a ‘thank you princess’ and a forehead kiss from her daddy.

And in the middle of that moment, you realize that some things just never change. But it’s okay, as long as your husband keeps a chocolate in his pocket to share with his girls.

#asks 💌#thoughts about lewis #lewis blurb #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton blurb #lewis hamilton

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gatitties · 1 year ago

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Can I get a one punch man saitama genos and garou accidentally saving a female reader from a villains or monster attack and the reader becomes madly in love with them and like stars following them and clingy to their art etc

─Saitama, Genos & Garou x reader

─Summary: You think that the person who saved you needs all the love in the world even if it was an accident.

─Warnings: none

─ In this world of heroes and villains you consider that you have a superpower, the superpower of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

─ Somehow you find yourself involved in battles that do not concern you, being just another civilian who is rescued, it has happened to you several times, but you usually go unnoticed and flee from danger before someone decides to use you as a hostage.

─ It didn't happen like that when Saitama saved you, although he didn't even see you, he destroyed that huge stone that was going to crush you when defeating a villain, your eyes could only look fascinated at the shine of his bald head and his bored expression.

─ You thanked him in different languages and he just gave you a thumbs up without knowing how to respond when he didn't even notice you in the first place.

─ He was certainly happy thinking that he had gotten a fan, but you went a little too far.

─ You went crazy looking for information about your now favorite hero and love, you sighed every time you saw him knock down enemies with a single blow.

─ Saitama met you more times a day than he did with Genos, and he lived with the cyborg.

─ You always tried to start a conversation with him, no matter how brief, you love the simple interaction.

─ Saitama will run away from you, seriously, he appreciates your letters and gifts but you are reaching an extreme, the man wants to lead a fairly peaceful life and you are a whirlwind of emotions.

─ Genos got a taste of his own medicine when he prevented a pile of rubble from falling on you, he hadn't noticed that you were the only person there, he just diverted the pieces of building for a battle strategy.

─ You didn't need anything else, once he realized that there were civilians, he apologized and helped you get to the nearest hospital to check if you had any injuries.

─ You were creating imaginary scenarios with the cyborg throughout the medical checkup and immediately sought to have more interactions with him.

─ It's difficult for Genos to reject some of your offers once you manage to establish some kind of friendly relationship, although he feels that you are being a little suffocating with your affection.

─ Appreciate your enthusiasm and affection, but seriously, relax a little, his brain will short-circuit from the amount of love you show him.

─ This boy has zero experience in romantic relationships so he is a little lost when it comes to reciprocating at first.

─ You will take care of that as long as he ends up accepting you as a partner, since he is still confused by your sudden appearance in his life, especially when he has such clear life goals, he doesn't know if you could distract him from his occupations.

─ He doesn't want to make you feel bad so he won't ignore your signs of affection like Saitama, ironically he has more heart than his bald friend.

─ In general he is a good boy and he will accept your love bombing, but he also has clear goals for himself, and he lets you know if you really want to be part of his life.

─ This idiot surely saw you and he was even the one who planned to use you as a hostage, but someone beat him to it and put a knife against your throat before he could do anything.

─ Fuck everything, the cheap villain was his priority now and he forgot about you, no one would take away a target even if it was a hostage, speaking of capricious boys…

─ Of course the whim of fighting your captor indirectly saved you, although he didn't look at you when you fell to the ground or help you after he broke the other guy's face, but your heart experienced an instant crush.

─ Garou had the feeling that someone was after him after that day, he thought that some rival was after him only to find... you with a love letter in your hands?

─ You looked at each other in an uncomfortable silence and he decided to leave without saying anything, but your spirits did not falter, you tried by all possible means to spend as much time as possible with him to establish a relationship.

─ The man simply got used to having you by his side, ranting about anything or receiving compliments for any little thing he did.

─ He was so embarrassed, not only because the sight of him as a villain would be destroyed, but because he was not used to receiving so much praise and affection.

─ You may have a rather negative reaction towards your love, he doesn't feel confident enough to start something and you also came out of nowhere, but now that he knows you a little more he won't kick you out of his life either, at least for now…

─ Don't expect any signs of affection from him, he's a tough guy and has to look tough.

─ He constantly reminds you that he's not a good person and what his goals are right now, but he gives up when he sees that the look in your eyes clouded by love, won't scare you away so easily, although he might like that.

#opm #one punch man #request #one punch man x reader #saitama x reader #sfw #genos x reader #garou x reader #hcs #hc did #opm hcs #reader insert #opm x reader

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robinbuckleyluvr · 3 months ago

Text

⊹˚˖⁺ our childhood is gone - steve harrington

masterlist | requests

pairing: steve harrington x platonic fem!reader

summary: reader and steve end tied up in the secret russian base, where the reader turns to anger and finally confronts steve after he threw out their friendship just for popularity.

warnings: none

notes: i love angst long live angst

word count: 864

⸻⊱༺ 

When she first walked into her new job and saw Steve Harrington, she could not believe it. How could Steve, the most entitled and pretentious guy at Hawkins, end up with a crappy job at an ice cream parlor?

A bit hypocritical to say, seeing as though she had the same job.

They exchanged a polite ‘Hello’ that first day, but no words were spoken. There was no acknowledgement of their past, of their friendship they once cherished, ever since they were 9 years old. High school had completely turned Steve into a jerk, and she resented him for it. Him and his ‘friends’ would stare and laugh when she’d walk by, just like they did with anyone they deemed ‘uncool’.

What hurt most, was making eye contact with him.

She never once saw an apologetic look from him. Not then, not now, not ever.

Scoops was a dead-end too, as she pretended not to know him, and he did the same.

How they ended up in an underground Russian base, tied to chairs sitting back-to-back with each other, was a question neither could answer. They sat in silence, waiting and fearing whoever was due to come in the room to question them.

“So…” Steve began, attempting to light up the dreary mood.

“So what?” Y/N snapped. Not a single bone in her wanting to be kind to him.

“I just, you know… quite the situation we’re in here.”

“Cut the shit, Harrington. Don’t act like you want to make small talk with me right now.”

Steve sat quiet. They both did for a few minutes. Taking in the gravity of the situation they faced, and the uncomfortable silence that filled the room.

“You know,” Y/N laughed, sarcasm lacing her words, “You really are the same person you were back in high school. When I first saw you here… I cannot believe I really thought you’d changed. But of course, you didn’t. You’re still the same douchebag you used to be… pretending not to know me. You’re an ass.”

Steve was at a loss for words, “Oh, don’t act like you’re a saint,” He snapped, “You ignored me too. I guess you’re a douche too, then.”

“It takes one to know one. I wasn’t the one who went prancing around to the ‘cool’ kids as soon as we entered high school just because I wanted to be ‘someone’.”

“At least I was someone.”

“Harrington, I think you’ll be happy to know, making fun of people doesn’t make you ‘someone’. It just makes you an asshole.” She shot back.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” He muttered under his breath.

“You are fucking unbelievable.”

He rolled his eyes in response, “For the love of God, I’m sorry, okay?”

“You don’t even know what to be sorry for, Harrington.” She hissed, “A half-assed apology won’t get you anywhere after the hell you made me go through these past 3 years. You know, when I first started high school, I foolishly thought ‘How cool! I have my awesome, cool, friend, Steve Harrington in the grade above me! What could go wrong?’”

Steve laughed, “You did not say that–”

“Of course not, asshole, I was being sarcastic.” She sighed, “I still did not think you and your fucking ‘friends’ would make it hell to walk through those halls. Never had a single day of peace. If you weren’t making fun of the books I carried, it was the way I walked. Or the way I wore my hair. How does doing that to so many people not haunt you, Steve?”

He stared at the floor. His expression dropping with each word she spoke, hurt and sarcasm never leaving her voice.

“Do you not regret it, Harrington?”

They both reflected on the words exchanged, the minutes dragging out before they spoke again. Their minds raced and dwelled in the hurt and regret filling the air.

“I do. I never thought it was going to go that way. I never thought…” He paused, “I never wanted to hurt anyone. But I sat with them on my first day. And suddenly I was part of it, I finally… belonged somewhere. I started playing basketball with them, and before I knew it, I was in too deep. I never planned to make fun of people in the halls, but when you stand there with them, careful not to laugh too loud and… they turn to you and wait for you to make a comment, you just do. ”

“Please,” She huffed, “You’re not getting any pity from me with that fuck-ass story. You threw away years of friendship to make fun of people and shoot balls up at the ceiling? Fuck you.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve responded quietly. “You’re right. I was a coward, an asshole, and a douche. Everything you said,” He sighed, “You are correct about it all. I hurt a lot of people, and I do wish I could un-do that damage. I wish I hadn’t thrown our friendship away either.”

“You were my best friend,” She spoke, her voice breaking, “I wanted to believe in the 9 year old Steve I once met. But you made me feel invisible.”

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stardust-moth · 4 months ago

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In order to fully understand why it was so hard for Mike to express how deeply he loves El, and why his speech at the end of season 4 was one of the biggest, most important moments for his entire character, we need to look at not just who Mike is as a person, but also everything that has happened since he met her.

Every single time he opens up his heart to her, something horrible happens to her or she's taken away from him almost immediately afterwards.

1x08; he's an awkward little ball of feelings that are way too big for a boy so young. He makes a nervous attempt at confessing and asking her out on a date; when he can't find words that she'll understand, swoops in for a kiss instead. She lights up immediately and smiles. It's a brief moment of hope and pure happiness. Maybe they can have some semblance of a normal life and be normal kids after this is all over.

Minutes later, all hell breaks loose-- they're almost shot, El pushes herself too far until she can barely move, she's almost taken away by the Bad Men, the Demogorgon appears, and she uses the very last of her strength to sacrifice herself to save him and their friends.

He has to watch helplessly as she disappears.

He spends a year caught between believing she's dead and hoping she's still out there somewhere (but if she is alive then why won't she talk to him anymore...?). Kept silent under threat by the lab, he can't confide in anyone or even acknowledge her existence, not with anyone except those involved... but everyone else is keen on moving on and pretending it never happened. He can find some solidarity in Will, at least, who is in a similar kind of emotional turmoil... but it's not the same and it's not enough.

2x9; he is finally reunited with El, and she runs into his arms like she missed him too. She tells him that all those nights he called out to her, she heard him; she was there reciprocating his feelings the whole time.

In a burst of emotions that he's been forced to suppress for an entire year, he lashes out at the reason they've been kept apart (Hopper), screaming and sobbing. It's a massive catharsis for him, and for once an adult is understanding enough to hold him and not punish him for it.

Minutes later, she is going to go headfirst into a pit of monsters, the place where Mike had just firsthand witnessed dozens of people (if not more) get ripped to shreds only hours earlier, and she is going to attempt to close the Gate-- a feat that he knows may take every ounce of her power, just like last time. He cries. He can't lose her again. She promises he won't, and before she can seal that promise with a kiss, they're pulled apart again.

He has to watch helplessly as she drives away.

3x1; all seems to be okay now. He and El are happily together, and he feels comfortable enough to be playful, romantic, and intimate with her. It's the most emotionally open we've ever seen Mike thus far.

For reasons he can't understand (bc there's no way Hopper explained himself beyond "I'm in charge so do as I say or else"), Hopper is angry about it and threatens to never allow him to see her again: the one thing he fears most.

He panics big time and fucks it up in the process by lying to her. During a frantic attempt to apologize while also abiding by Hopper's rules, he runs into her at the mall. He panics again-- if anyone finds her here, and knows that he was here too, it's all over, and Hopper surely won't hear reason. El dumps him cold on the spot, spurred on by Max and her rebellious attitude (and without any context of course). He isn't given much opportunity to respond. He knows he's in the wrong for lying to her, so what could he even say...?

He has to watch helplessly as she drives away.

It's a hard blow, and he retreats back into himself, unable to get any joy out of playing D&D (which he clearly hasn't lost interest in), back to the deadpan sarcasm and accidentally snapping a little too harshly at anyone whom he feels would take El's place.

3x6; no one seems to understand the danger El is putting herself in. Everyone is berating him for worrying about her safety. He's seen firsthand what these monsters do to people, he's seen firsthand how El pushes her abilities too far. No one is listening.

The words "I love her and I can't lose her again" burst out in his desperation, perhaps before he's even had a chance to realize how deep those feelings run, despite whatever protective walls he's tried to build around his heart to keep it from getting broken again.

Soon after, all hell breaks loose. El is nearly killed several times over, her leg is ripped open, she pushes herself so hard that she breaks herself and loses her powers completely. Her father is taken from her. She's shattered by all of this, and there's absolutely nothing he could do or say to make it better.

She tells him that when he admitted he loves her, she heard him, and indeed she loves him, too... But now she's leaving.

He has to watch helplessly as she drives away.

4x1; they've been apart for a few months, and write letters back and forth to each other. El's letters paint a picture of an ideal new life: she and the Byers family are doing well; she's starting school and it's going well; she's made new friends, she likes her new home, everything is going well. She seems to be thriving. She sounds happy, maybe even happier than she had been living in Hawkins. Maybe Max was right, maybe she's better off being her own person without him, and maybe the respectful thing to do is step back... It's a small insecurity that creeps up subconsciously. In his replies he holds back, afraid of clinging too hard.

Though there's little logic in it, he's afraid that if he tells her he loves her again, another disaster might strike and this lovely happy life she's finally found might get taken from her. After all, that's what always seems to happen when he does.

4x2; after months of waiting, they can finally see each other again. He wears her favorite colors, picks a handful of flowers for her, and falls happily back into step with how they used to be. Soon that same day, however, reality becomes clear and the facade crumbles. People he was told were her friends show up to torment and publicly humiliate her. She had been lying. She isn't happy here, she hasn't healed, she is right at the edge of a breaking point that he doesn't see coming at all. He can't believe she would lie to him, she's not the kind of person to lie... especially not about something like bullying, something that she was always so understanding about with him.

On that logicless subconscious level, he wonders if it's all his fault-- he should have known somehow, he should have been there for her. She protected him from his bullies, he should have protected her from hers. He tries to come to her rescue. She runs away from him.

He's helpless to save her, again.

4x3; after a night to process everything that happened-- and deciding that the betrayal he feels from her lying to him is nothing compared to the turmoil she must be going through right now-- Mike approaches her in the gentlest way possible, wanting to listen and trying to understand. El, however, isn't receptive at all to his attempts at reassurance. She is at an all-time low, she's given up. She believes she is unlovable, irredeemable, a monster, just a thing that doesn't even have those superhuman abilities to compensate anymore. Mike can't believe what he's hearing-- doesn't she know that she's always been so much more than her powers? She's always been so much more than what she lacks in quote-unquote "normalcy"... None of those things matter, they have absolutely no bearing on whether she's worthy of being loved, because he loves her, completely regardless of any of these things. He always has...

El starts flinging his restrained words back at him, the products of his insecurity and trauma-induced fear. That fear takes hold yet again, and he stumbles, afraid of saying too much or not enough, because surely both could result in pushing her away-- she's retreating, hearing none of it; nothing he tries to say consoles her.

Moments later, local police come knocking. She's taken away in cuffs, and she's so broken inside that she won't even look at him when he chases the police car down the street and promises he'll get her out somehow...

Once again, he has to watch helplessly as she drives away.

4x8/4x9; after days of driving through the heat and dryness of southwest desert, having narrowly escaped being shot at with military-grade assault rifles, witnessing the death of and burying a man whose last words were that El is in danger... After watching dozens of people get mowed down by a sniper in a helicopter, and watching that same helicopter be smashed into the ground in a ball of flames...

There she is. Just as powerful and beautiful and alive as she's ever been. When he runs to her and embraces her, she looks at him like she can't believe he's real. She's beaming a smile right from her soul and it's like all the insecurity and self-doubt that have plagued them both just vanish from existence now that they're in each other's arms again.

Like always, however, the universe comes crashing down soon after. Max is marked for a gruesome death and all of Hawkins is in danger. They're miles away and helpless, and the only possible way for El to save everyone is if she goes in alone. She's stronger than ever, but so is her foe. Once again, she descends to face all the demons of hell on her own, and Mike can't do anything.

She's losing. She's choking. She's dying. He's helpless.

He must be cursed. He must be. Being with her, loving her, allowing himself to admit he loves her, it always brings only pain and suffering and loss. His heart is so full that it's aching, it's bursting out of his chest, and he can't contain it any longer.

She's going to die and it's going to be all his fault, because he fell in love, and it's cursed her.

Just before it all crumbles into utter despair, the earnest support from his oldest and dearest friend-- one who's always shared and understood his feelings of helplessness-- sparks a light of hope in him: "You're the Heart." You're not helpless. You can save her.

The words that come spilling out of Mike's mouth are truer than any he's ever dared to speak before, and it's the most terrified he's ever been, but he has enough courage for this moment. Despite all of the fears that have been building, stifling, choking him to death for years-- fears that the light of his life will inevitably disappear again, and there's nothing he can do to stop it-- despite it all, he pours out his heart to her.

He loves her. He's always loved her. He loves everything she ever was, is, and could be. He can't imagine a world without her in it. She saved him, in every way a person can be saved. And he needs her to live. He believes in her.

And it works. It's music to her ears.

#stranger things #mileven #mike x el #mike wheeler #mine #mileven fuels my soul #'you can only have 30 photos at a time in one post' alright fuck you tumblr #had to collage the first set to fit everything in lol #but ohhh godddd i am so emotional about this dude #he doesnt struggle to say it because he has doubts. its not about whether or not he has feelings for her.#it is 100000% his own personal struggle with himself and his traumas #grabbing screenshots for that last scene though. GOD i was in tears AGAIN #SOMEBODY give Finn every goddamn award under the sun for that performance #the way his VOICE BREAKS!! he sounds so SCARED and VULNERABLE but also so COMPLETELY EARNEST #'i don't know how to live without you' in particular #i will never get over this ever in my whole life tbh #it was so beautiful #also i need there to be more discussion about the parallels between mike's and hopper's internal struggles #because it is almost exactly the same.#the black hole analogy... 'they didnt need me. i needed them. i'm not cursed I am the curse'#like... biggest of ouches #okie dokie ive spat my bars and dropped the mic now its time for B E D #edit days later: i very much regret not brightening the images. goddamn its dark af here

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tinytinyblogs · 20 days ago

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Punishment time darling

They give you everything you could ever want, but crossing them is a mistake you’ll never want to make.

Hyung line, Maknae line

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Han

Ghosting you, giving you the silent treatment—that’s Han’s specialty. He doesn’t need to yell, argue, or raise his voice; his silence is far more effective. It’s deliberate, calculated, and utterly consuming. Han knows exactly how to make you squirm, how to make your mind spiral into doubt and guilt. After all, he’s spent so much time being the perfect partner, the sweetest, most thoughtful person in your life. A sudden shift in his behavior is enough to make your entire world feel like it’s crumbling. When Han is upset, it’s not chaos that you face—it’s an eerie calm. He doesn’t reply to your texts, doesn’t meet your eyes, and acts as if you don’t even exist. At first, you might think he’s just distracted, maybe busy with something else. But the longer his silence stretches, the more uneasy you become. Han thrives on that unease. He loves the moment when panic starts to creep in, when you begin questioning every little thing. What did you do wrong? Did you hurt him? “Han, please, talk to me,” you plead one day, your voice trembling with desperation. He glances at you briefly, a flicker of something dark in his eyes, before turning away without a word. That single look says everything: you’ve disappointed him, and now you’re going to pay for it.

For Han, this isn’t just punishment—it’s a game. He’s a master of control, and his silence is his favorite weapon. He knows how to create a void that only he can fill, making you desperate for his attention, his approval, his love. The more he pulls away, the more you scramble to win him back, playing right into his hands. Days pass, and his sweet, doting persona feels like a distant memory. The warmth that once made you feel safe is replaced by a chilling detachment. You try everything to get him to respond—a heartfelt apology, small gestures of affection—but nothing works. That’s exactly what he wants. Han relishes your helplessness, watching you crumble under the weight of his absence. Finally, when you’re on the verge of breaking, he speaks. His voice is soft, almost kind, but there’s no mistaking the menace beneath his words. “You think I’m being cruel? No, love, this is what happens when you forget your place. I give you everything, and you repay me by disobeying? How ungrateful.” Then he leans in, his smile chillingly sweet. “Don’t make me do this again. You wouldn’t like what I’m capable of.” Just like that, you’re reminded that Han’s control over you is absolute, leaving you no choice but to obey.

Felix

Felix greets you with a smile as bright as sunshine, his voice gentle and soothing. “It’s okay, love. Mistakes happen. Just make sure you don’t do it again,” he says, his tone full of warmth and reassurance. It feels like everything is fine—like his words are an embrace meant to ease your worry. But slowly, almost imperceptibly, Felix begins to change things around you. For your own good, or at least, that’s what he firmly believes. The next day, you notice your phone is nowhere to be found. You search every usual spot, but it’s simply gone. When you ask him about it, Felix smiles sweetly, his expression as warm as ever. “You don’t need that, sweetie. I’m here, after all,” he says casually, as though it’s the most logical explanation in the world. His words are laced with affection, but there’s something about the way he looks at you that leaves you uneasy. Then comes the moment you try to step outside. The front door is locked, and the key is nowhere to be found—not in its usual spot or anywhere nearby. You turn to Felix, confused, only for him to greet you with that same sunny smile. “Where are you planning to go, love? No, no, just stay. There’s nothing important out there,” he says cheerfully, his tone almost playful. Yet the underlying message is clear: you’re not leaving.

As the days go on, it becomes harder to ignore the changes. His cheerful demeanor makes the situation even more unsettling. It’s not that he’s openly angry or upset. Quite the opposite—Felix is all smiles, his soft voice and kind words wrapping around you like a blanket. But that’s what makes it so unnerving. He doesn’t need to yell or punish you in obvious ways. Instead, he controls your world bit by bit, taking away your freedom one small step at a time, all while keeping that ever-present smile. Felix, the smiling punisher, ensures that every move he makes feels peaceful, even as he tightens his control. He’s convinced that it’s all for your own good, leaving you powerless to argue. You don’t know if he’s upset or not because he never shows it. He keeps smiling, as if everything is perfect, even when you feel the walls closing in around you. And in the end, that’s what Felix loves most—the way you eventually stop resisting. Under his ever-cheerful facade, he knows he’s succeeded when you no longer have the ability to disobey him. For Felix, it’s not about breaking you with force—it’s about molding you into someone who wouldn’t even think of defiance.

Seungmin

Seungmin is far more dangerous when he’s mad. He doesn’t lash out physically, nor does he lose his composure entirely. Instead, he wields his words like weapons, knowing exactly how to cut you where it hurts the most. For Seungmin, this isn’t just anger—it’s calculated, deliberate punishment. And in his mind, you deserve every bit of it for daring to upset him. His tone is calm, but the edge in his voice is sharper than any blade. “I trusted you,” he begins, his eyes narrowing as they pierce right through you. “But maybe I overestimated you.” Those words hit hard, striking the very insecurities you try so desperately to hide. It’s not just what he says—it’s the way he says it. That look of disappointment in his eyes feels like a weight pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. Seungmin doesn’t need to shout or raise his voice. He doesn’t waste his energy on dramatic outbursts. Instead, he lets his cruel words do the damage, each one carefully chosen to break you down. “You think you’re clever enough to deceive me?” he sneers, his tone dripping with disdain. The way he stares at you, unflinching and cold, makes you feel small and insignificant. As he continues, the tears well up in your eyes. You try to hold them back, but Seungmin notices immediately.

He always notices. And instead of softening, he doubles down, exploiting every vulnerability he can find. It’s like he’s taking inventory of everything you’re insecure about, everything you’ve ever been afraid to admit, and using it against you with precision. He doesn’t just stop at your tears. No, he takes them as proof that his words are hitting their mark. “It’s good you understand,” he says finally, his tone a mixture of finality and dismissal. “I don’t want to feel this way, but you leave me no choice.” His cold rationality feels even more crushing than outright anger would. Seungmin sees the way your shoulders slump, the way your gaze drops to the floor, but he doesn’t stop. For him, this isn’t about comfort or reconciliation. It’s about control. He believes you need to know your place, and in his mind, the only way to achieve that is to make you feel small enough that you’ll never cross him again. “You’re lucky I’m even giving you a chance to fix this,” he mutters, his voice soft but biting. “Next time, don’t make me regret trusting you.” Even as he walks away, leaving you alone, the weight of his words lingers. Seungmin doesn’t need to break you with force—he’s already broken you with silence, calculated remarks, and the deep scars left behind by his cruel, deliberate punishments.

Jeongin

Jeongin, with his innocent demeanor and soft smile, seems harmless at first glance. But beneath that sweet exterior lies someone far more dangerous than you could ever imagine. Jeongin knows how to wield his knowledge like a weapon, turning your deepest fears and darkest secrets against you without hesitation. His calmness when you make a mistake isn’t a sign of forgiveness—it’s a sign that he already has the upper hand. “Ah, do you need me to remind you who owns you?” he asks, his voice light and almost playful, but there’s no mistaking the edge beneath his words. Jeongin doesn’t need to shout or rage. He simply lets his actions speak for themselves, and those actions cut deeper than any punishment could. Jeongin’s obsession with control is rooted in knowing everything about you. It’s not just a pastime for him—it’s his greatest pleasure. Every secret you’ve tried to bury, every moment you’ve wanted to forget—Jeongin uncovers them all, keeping them locked away until the moment he decides to use them. He’s like a collector, carefully curating the parts of you you’d rather leave hidden. One morning, you wake up to find a small note placed neatly on your nightstand.

Your heart sinks as you notice the picture attached to it—a snapshot of a memory you’ve tried so hard to erase. The blood drains from your face as you pick it up, your hands trembling. You don’t need to ask who left it there. The message is clear, and the signature scent of Jeongin’s cologne lingers in the air. Moments later, he steps into the room, his usual soft smile playing on his lips. He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, “Darling, if it weren’t for me, the whole world might already know what you’ve been so desperate to keep hidden. I’m the one keeping your secrets safe. Don’t you think it’s easier to just listen to me? To do as I say? That way, we can live peacefully together?” The casual tone of his words contrasts sharply with the weight of his threat. It’s not a plea for obedience; it’s a reminder of the power he holds over you. Jeongin thrives on the fear in your eyes, the hesitation in your voice as you nod. For him, the game isn’t just about control—it’s about watching you realize there’s no escape. He enjoys the slow realization that you are entirely in his grasp. And through it all, he keeps smiling, his innocence a mask for the dark intentions lurking beneath. To the outside world, he’s perfect. To you, he’s a master of quiet destruction.

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korereapers · 1 year ago

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I collaborated with the amazing @laxi0v0 for a cute little event we made in the scriddler server. This is Laxi's art about the fic I wrote, and HONESTLY HONESTLY i couldn't have asked for a better and more supportive partner. Her art is way better than I would ever dream on writing and honestly, Laxi, I'm so glad it was you bc we vibe a lot about our tastes w this ship.

The fic will be on ao3 later, but here, for you guys, before anyone else:

Jonathan takes a sip out his mug, nicely decorated with a pumpkin, the recipe of the pumpkin spice coffee perfected by him for decades. It’s warm, it tastes like fall, and it’s the start of what Jonathan considers to be the best time of the year.

It started like a small tradition for him, when he finally left home and started studying to become the psychologist he wanted to be. Halloween was to be celebrated, especially for freaks like him, abhorrent creatures that made great-granny’s skin crawl. He was proud of that, in a way. It was his moment, it still is, after all of these years, because he is still a freak, he belongs to this weather and these colors more than he belongs anywhere else. He belongs between ocher leaves and the smell of fog, the rain starting to fall over Gotham, only to leave when it’s summer again. The start of his kingdom, of the time he rules over.

Or it would be, if Edward wasn’t so adamant about going to freaking Starbucks.

He doesn’t get it, not really. A malnourished child from Georgia, surrounded by overworked kids that serve them with the most forced smile when Edward asks, yet again, for the infamous Pumpkin Spice Latte. With ice. Oatmeal milk. Whipped cream.

Jonathan wants to die.

“How is this even supposed to be spooky?”

Edward rolls his eyes, green contact lenses barely moving, as if they were starting to get glued to his irises. Which should be a bad sign, but Jonathan is, yet again, not his boyfriend’s keeper.

“Not everything has to be spooky when this time arrives, Jonathan.”

He kind of dislikes it, when he calls him by his full name. He calls him Jon when they are alone, when they are intimate, when their bodies or their hearts are entwined. He doesn’t like when he calls him Jonathan, because that means that Edward thinks he is being too bitter, complaining too much, a complete prick.

It’s not that he dislikes the stupid PSL, either, but it feels like desecrating one of his oldest traditions, and he feels as if he were betraying himself.

“Don’t you like my recipe, then? Do you dislike it so much we have to come here every single week?”

The cashier smiles at them awkwardly as Edward pays for their order, tipping the young lady generously.

“Do you have to take everything personally? I started getting here when I finally had my own money to spend. Is it that hard to just enjoy it, when I want to share it with you?”

Oh. A tradition. Jonathan distractedly drinks from his thematic glass, but says nothing.

They are really different, Edward and himself. To Edward, spending time and money like this… is almost a love language. It’s a lifestyle that he works hard to keep, having dinner in expensive places, getting coffee every time he can. Sharing it with him, because Jonathan is important to him.

Jonathan may be unable to feel fear, and his brain may be as damaged as Edward’s heart, but guilt still crawls its way into his psyche. It still makes him feel uneasy, because he cares, because he understands the feeling, because he wants to share his recipe with Edward because of the exact same reason.

He touches Edward’s hand when they sit, an apology he doesn’t utter but that can be felt in his irradiated orange eyes.

“I like it when you share time and nourishment with me.”

Edward’s expression softens, a glint of blue under the bright green contact lenses.

“Wow, when did you get emotionally aware?” his mouth says instead, and for a moment, Jonathan understands the Bat and his compulsion to punch him in the mouth.

“I’m a psychologist, Edward.”

“... right,” he mutters, his voice cheeky, still clearly a little mad, his thoughts loud. Jonathan loves that about him, his expression when he is deep in thought, when he is trying to understand something. A puzzle, a new riddle in their lives. “That recipe of yours is really important to you, too, if I’m guessing correctly.”

Jonathan nods, his eyes still on Edward’s, who seems to be feeling a little bit too shy to look at him, knowing that they are having an emotionally vulnerable moment.

“It is. I made it myself and… I want to share it with you.”

Edward does smile a little at that, his voice softer when he speaks.

“Let me try it later. I want to give it the thought and recognition it deserves.”

Jonathan’s thumb caresses Edward’s hand, his smile contagious. Like a well concocted virus.

“I would love to.”

—-------------------------------------------

Edward is pretty sure that he is (very unluckily, by the way) dating the man with the poorest taste in the world. Jonathan seems to think that he is hilarious, dressed in his usual costume, even the needles oozing toxin as he sits quietly on the couch.

There is a thing about him that Edward has always loved: how he becomes a different person when the mask is on.

They used to talk about it, back in the day, when they used to share a room in the Asylum. Jonathan felt naked without his mask, his expression dull and almost tense, devoid of what made him himself. Edward, at least, has managed to make those expressions change, the real Jon emerging from behind whatever aloof façade he tries to put on to protect himself, to pretend he is a regular human being and not the freak that makes his heart melt.

He must surely be smiling behind the mask, then. Edward can almost feel him vibrating in excitement, like a small child, and in a way, he kind of is. A reclaimed childhood, the enjoyment of a joy he wasn’t allowed to feel. He can understand that.

Still, the poorest fucking choice of a Halloween costume.

“Really, Jon? The most original idea, I have to say.”

Jonathan looks at him, and he can feel his piercing eyes even behind the mask, the expression of a predator, so dangerous it makes his face flush a little. Birds of a feather, both of them. The Scarecrow sighs, deeply, the sound distorted behind the mask. It’s creepy, he has to admit, which is probably… kind of the point.

“Like you’re one to talk, Herlock Sholmes.”

Edward gasps, indignant. His Poirot costume is nothing to be laughed at.

“Excuse me?!”

He can almost feel the smile behind the mask, because Edward knows him, he knows Jonathan is an avid reader, he knows the difference between Agatha Christie and Arthur Conan Doyle, for fuck's sake. He is doing this on purpose, to rile him up. He always is.

Edward's mind goes somewhere else, somewhere private. Somewhere where he is indeed riled up, and Jonathan touches his cheek, looking up at his face from behind the mask, Edward sitting on his lap, while long, dangerous hands go up his thigh, eyes hungry-

The doorbell rings. Edward goes back to reality, Jonathan's eyes on him as he moves towards the entrance, the tips of his ears surely blushing.

When he opens the door, he has to look down, because damn, kids sure look tinier these days. He cannot remember to be this short, this innocent, this…

Happy.

He feels Jonathan's chin on his shoulder, almost jumping in place because the man is silent like a ghost, no matter how eager he is to take part in the holiday.

One of the kids is wearing a Batman costume, and Edward tries his hardest not to roll his eyes, with better or worse success. Another kid is dressed as Harley Quinn, what makes him wonder if these parents are in need of any kind of psychological help. The youngest, a child dressed as Wonder Woman, looks at them with badly hidden mischief, and Edward feels tempted to just close the door.

"Trick or treat!" They ask in unison, and before Edward can answer, Jonathan drops a bag in front of them, full of who knows what, but the kids don't ask.

Such blissful ignorance.

"Thank you Mister Holmes! Mister Scarecrow!" The girl dressed up as Batman says, and the one dressed as Wonder Woman purses her lips in disgust.

"Poirot's moustache isn't like that. You're a fake."

The kid dressed as Harley Quinn laughs in response, taking the bag of candy and running away with Wonder Woman. The one dressed as Batman follows who Edward believes to be her sisters, and he blissfully thanks that they don't have any children.

"Please tell me the bag is full of drugs."

Jonathan chuckles a little, his arms around Edward's waist.

"Hershey's," is everything he says, his sudden lack of malice and evil intent a headache for Edward.

"Oh, Jon. Are you going soft on me?"

Jonathan's smile can be felt in the air, a predator, a killer awaiting their next victim.

"Me? Oh, darlin'..." he whispers against Edward's ear, his distorted voice making him shudder in anticipation. "Never."

#scriddler #my stuff #and laxi's #dc #riddler #scarecrow #edward nygma #edward nigma #edward nashton #jonathan crane #i love you laxi.... really

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nyoomerr · 1 year ago

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For the drabble request, I can never get enough shixiong!SY bingqiu. But only if you're up to it :)

ok it turns out i'm fundamentally unable to write a drabble as short as theyre meant to be, so here's over 4k words of shixiong!sy for your perusal 🤡 (+ a decent helping of cranky peak lord sqq and his wayward head disciple sy)

---

Shen Yuan… has possibly let himself become a bit too relaxed, since he first transmigrated. He used to spend every day on high alert: every cute little kid might be the protagonist, every mistake he made might have been logged somewhere for a petty revenge side plot later. He wouldn’t dare miss anything plot relevant, not when it might cause his doom. After all, ‘Shen Yuan’ wasn’t even a named character within PIDW - he was well and truly canon fodder!

But then, ah… Then Shen Yuan was accepted as a disciple on Qing Jing, and then he was a personal disciple of the notorious Shen Qingqiu, and then -

Well, not even Shen Yuan can keep up that sort of hyper vigilance all the time, okay!! He’s the scum villain’s head disciple - basically a henchman! If he lived in fear for every moment he might be condemned, he’d never have a second to rest!

It isn’t Shen Yuan’s fault that the best way to relax in this world is to go on years-long expeditions off peak!

…It might, maybe, be just a tiny bit my fault, Shen Yuan thinks, staring at Luo Binghe with horror. How does he manage to take such a long vacation that he misses the protagonist’s arrival onto Qing Jing? What kind of fake fan is he, ah?!

Luo Binghe has not introduced himself as such, but there is no way he can be anyone but Luo Binghe. His hair falls into perfect curls around a face so cute and round Shen Yuan wants to squish his cheeks until they turn pink, and he’s wearing an expression so determined and focused that it puts Shen Yuan to shame as the head disciple.

And he’s chopping wood. That’s the most recognizable part, obviously.

Shen Yuan forces himself to step forward into the small glade he found Luo Binghe in, clearing his throat awkwardly. Luo Binghe whips around, and Shen Yuan nearly cringes at the nervous apprehension on the boy’s face.

“Ah, I didn’t mean to startle you…” Shen Yuan trails off. Luo Binghe stares at him and says nothing. Shen Yuan’s perfectly nice and friendly smile starts to slip. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before…?”

“Apologies to Shixiong, this one will be sure to cut wood further away from the main peak buildings, so Shixiong doesn’t have to see me again.”

“Wha - wait, wait, that’s not what I meant!” Shen Yuan cries, becoming increasingly concerned about just how long he’s been away from Qing Jing.

For Luo Binghe to already be this wary of any Shixiong who looks his way… ah, Shen Yuan has basically already failed every single one of his loose plans to keep Luo Binghe from blackening! He wasn’t even there to witness Luo Binghe’s initial perfect white sheep days, let alone keep him out of the warpath of bullies and bitter Shizuns!

“This Shixiong is Shen Yuan,” he says, taking a few slow steps closer to Luo Binghe. Somehow, he gets the feeling that he has to be ready to catch Luo Binghe by the scruff if he tries to run off or start a fight while Shen Yuan is just trying to introduce himself, ah!

“This one is Luo Binghe,” Luo Binghe replies, dipping into a perfunctory bow.

“Yes!” Shen Yuan says. “I mean - well, it’s a good name.”

Luo Binghe’s expression only grows more wary.

“And ah, how long has Luo Binghe been on the peak?” Shen Yuan asks, even though the look Luo Binghe is giving him makes him want to slink back off into the bamboo forest. He has to know - if he’s lucky, it’ll only have been a year or two, and Shen Yuan can -

“This one has been a disciple of Qing Jing for over three years, now,” Luo Binghe says.

“Hm!” Shen Yuan says, because what he really wants to do is yell but he can’t do that with this customer service smile plastered on his face.

Inwardly, he allows himself to monologue out a list of swears that would’ve gotten his old online accounts temporarily locked. Over three years is too long!! The blackening has already started!! Luo Binghe has already started damaging his meridians by following that cursed fake manual, has already started training under Meng Mo, and most importantly has already given up hope of being accepted here and started farming resentment instead!

Shen Yuan is fucked!! What sort of half-assed blackening prevention plan starts this late!?

“Ah, so Luo-shidi must already be 15, or nearly there,” Shen Yuan says aloud, laughing nervously. “Are you, um, sure?”

Please, please tell this pitiful Shixiong of yours that you just misspoke!!

Luo Binghe looks at him like he’s an idiot. Shen Yuan can feel nervous sweat beading along his forehead.

“It’s just - well, Luo-shidi is quite small, for being 15,” Shen Yuan says, and then nearly bites his tongue in an attempt to correct himself. Who is he to call the protagonist ‘small,’ ah!! “Not quite small! Only a bit! Only - uh, only slightly smaller than I’d expect! It’s only that I’m already 19, and Luo-shidi is much - I mean only a little! - shorter than I am, so -”

Shen Yuan makes himself shut up. You’re making a fool of yourself in front of the protagonist, you idiot!

“This one will be sure to train more to get bigger,” Luo Binghe says, though it sounds a bit like he’s talking through gritted teeth.

“No, no, you’re training plenty!” Shen Yuan rushes to say. “Uh, that is - admittedly, I’ve been off peak for some time now, but when I was Luo-shidi’s age, things like chopping wood were a group chore, so if you’re managing it all by yourself, surely you’re… big and strong…”

Shen Yuan shuts up again. Luo Binghe stares at him some more, but there’s something in his expression that seems more considering that it had been just a moment ago.

After a long stretch of awkward silence, he seems to come to some sort of resolution, and takes a hesitant step towards Shen Yuan.

“Forgive this one’s ignorance,” he says, slow and careful. “The other Shixiong said it was a chore best done alone to build strength. Is that wrong?”

“Very wrong,” Shen Yuan says, nearly beside himself with relief.

Good, very good! Luo Binghe hasn’t lost all hope for his time on Qing Jing Peak just yet, after all! Given the chance, he’ll still try to carefully raise the issue of his bullying to a responsible Shixiong to take care of!

Shen Yuan can so be a responsible Shixiong that takes care of reports of bullying for Luo Binghe!!

“Oh,” Luo Binghe says, edging even closer to Shen Yuan. “Then what does Shen-shixiong think I should do?”

“Luo-shidi doesn’t have to do anything about this,” Shen Yuan says firmly. “This Shixiong will take care of finding out who’s meant to be sharing this chore with you and make them do the rest of it.”

“There might be multiple people,” Luo Binghe offers, still speaking with a caution that makes it quite clear how likely he thinks it is that Shen Yuan’s assistance will vanish as soon as Luo Binghe complains too much.

“Because Luo-shidi has been made to do this chore alone for many days, now?” Shen Yuan asks.

Still looking a bit wary, Luo Binghe nods. Shen Yuan sighs, having expected that answer, and takes the final steps needed to get within arm’s reach of Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe watches him closely, his hands curling tighter around the ax he’d been using to chop the wood.

Moving slowly so as not to spook him, Shen Yuan raises one hand to place gently on Luo Binghe’s head. He really is too short for 15, but Shen Yuan knows all the details of ‘why’ - having to work too hard with not enough rest, having meals withheld from him or being served with spoilt ingredients - any kid would be a bit small, when under those conditions.

Luo Binghe had gone stiff under Shen Yuan’s touch, and Shen Yuan takes a moment to pet the top of his head for a moment before saying anything else, hoping to get Luo Binghe to relax again.

Ah, I really did mean to try and keep you safe, Shen Yuan thinks to himself, feeling regretful. He’d come to Cang Qiong with the intention of finding Luo Binghe early, after all, and had worked as hard as he had in order to be ready for Luo Binghe when he came.

But then he had worked too hard, and Shen Qingqiu had promoted him to head disciple, and suddenly Shen Yuan thought he might go insane if he wasn’t able to get off Qing Jing Peak and stay off for as long as he could possibly get away with, and -

How stupid of him. Luo Binghe must have been taken in during the disciple selection the very same year that Shen Yuan had taken off on his extended field trip. How very, very stupid of Shen Yuan, to think that things wouldn’t go upside down the second he looked away - this is Luo Binghe’s story, after all, and it’s always been a bit of a tragedy.

“Then this Shixiong can only apologize to you,” Shen Yuan says softly, with perhaps just a bit too much sincerity. “And in the future, if you’re given this sort of work again, I’ll chop wood in your place.”

Under his hand, Luo Binghe peers up at Shen Yuan with wide, hungry eyes. Shen Yuan gives him a final pat before withdrawing his hand, and plasters his friendly smile back on his face.

“Now, why don’t you get cleaned up, hm? I’ll meet you again later - this Shixiong of yours still needs to report back to Shizun that I’ve returned from my trip.”

Luo Binghe nods, still watching Shen Yuan with an intensity that would feel more at home on an emperor than a scrawny 15 year old, and Shen Yuan beats a hasty retreat.

Despite all the pretty promises he made to Luo Binghe, he’s going to have to think of something clever to actually be able to fulfill them.

After all, not even all of his meta knowledge combined would be able to save Shen Yuan from his Shizun.

---

Shen Yuan has been pacing outside Shen Qingqiu’s bamboo house for ten minutes now. Nothing he can think of is good enough to convince someone as petty and stubborn as Shen Qingqiu.

Once, at the start of his time on Qing Jing Peak, Shen Yuan had tied his disciple robes wrong, unused to wearing anything quite so complex. Shen Qingqiu had sneered at his mistake in the moment, and then for every major event in the next five years straight he’d made a point to comment snidely on how well Shen Yuan has managed to dress himself.

That’s the sort of mean streak this man has!! If he doesn’t like something, he’ll keep harping on that one thing for years, even after that thing isn’t around to bother him anymore! How is Shen Yuan supposed to coax Luo Binghe out of the jaws of a man like that?

Ah, forget it, forget it! Shen Yuan would just - he’d come back another day! Greeting Shen Qingqiu wasn’t really necessary, Shen Yuan could just -

“I was under the impression that Shen Yuan was a head disciple returning from field work, not a child trying to avoid bedtime.”

Shen Yuan whips around, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end like a spooked cat. There, kneeling elegantly on his front porch not ten meters from Shen Yuan, is Shen Qingqiu.

“Shizun!” Shen Yuan cries, trying to force his grimace into a nice, polite smile. “When did - I mean - this disciple means -”

Shen Qingqiu closes his fan with a harsh snap, and Shen Yuan shuts his mouth so fast he almost bites his tongue.

“Well?” Shen Qingqiu asks dryly, and Shen Yuan hurriedly drops into a bow.

“This disciple greets Shizun!” Shen Yuan shouts, his ears burning with embarrassment.

Shen Qingqiu hums, and Shen Yuan risks peeking out from his bow to look at him.

He does not look especially pleased.

With all the elegance of a wild cat, Shen Qingqiu unfolds himself from his kneeling position on the porch and glides over to Shen Yuan.

“Too low,” he says, slapping at Shen Yuan’s wrists with his fan. “Or was Shen Yuan hoping there would be a replacement head disciple waiting for him by the time he came back from his trip?”

“Ahahaha,” Shen Yuan wheezes, carefully correcting himself into a bow of a slightly higher ranked disciple than the one he’d originally slipped into. “Of course this disciple is honored by the position and very very grateful for Shizun’s benevolence in leaving it to him even during his absence…”

“What advice does Shen Yuan think his Shizun has for him?” Shen Qingqiu asks sharply, and Shen Yuan winces.

“‘Talk less,’ Shizun,” he recites dutifully. It is advice that Shen Qingqiu has given him many, many times.

Shen Qingqiu sniffs haughtily and walks a slow circle around Shen Yuan, inspecting him. Shen Yuan tries not to sweat too profusely. He really had been hoping that Shen Qingqiu may have forgotten about Shen Yuan in his years away, ah!

Finally, Shen Qingqiu completes his inspection, stopping once more in front of Shen Yuan.

“What sort of pathetic creature has Shen Yuan carved the bones of to make his hairpiece?” He asks, using his fan to prod at Shen Yuan’s hairpin.

“A Hundred Year Crystal Tortoise, Shizun,” Shen Yuan answers.

“And the leather of your belt?”

“A Golden-Footed Acidic Bear, Shizun.”

“And did you even bother to remove the -”

“- the needle hairs beneath the Bear’s skin before treating the pelt,” Shen Yuan interrupts. “Yes, Shizun.”

Shen Qingqiu scoffs. “How bold you’ve gotten, interrupting your Shizun.”

“...Sorry, Shizun,” Shen Yuan mumbles, deflating a bit.

“Still,” Shen Qingqiu sighs, and Shen Yuan peeks back up at him again. “You did decent enough, I suppose.”

Shen Yuan perks up, half-standing up out of his bow. “Thanking Shizun -!”

Shen Qingqiu whacks him over the head with his fan. “If Shen Yuan’s trip had been only a single year, instead of nearly four!”

Shen Yuan very quickly gets back into the proper deferential position.

“Fleeing so quickly after being promoted, only to stay away for this long - I hope Shen Yuan is comfortable sleeping on the ground, because I’ve long since given up keeping the side room in my house for an absent head disciple. I filled it with cursed artifacts and dusty books two years ago.”

“Shizun -!” Shen Yuan protests, starting to stand up again. He’d liked that little room, damn it! It was the one decent part of being promoted to head disciple in the first place, even if it meant sharing a roof with this asshole!!

Shen Qingqiu whacks him again, and Shen Yuan obediently shuts up.

“Foolish boy,” he scolds, before promptly turning on his heel to stalk back to the bamboo house. “Hurry up, then,” he calls behind him, “I want to see if you still make tea as dreadfully as you did before.”

Shen Yuan makes a face at Shen Qingqiu’s back. Without looking behind him, Shen Qingqiu uses his qi to send a single leaf flying to Shen Yuan’s head, slapping him on the forehead right over where Shen Yuan’s brows had bunched together.

Shen Yuan smooths his face out into a perfectly polite smile once more. This asshole, he curses inwardly, he really is scum!! The lowest of the low!! A bully!!!

“Tea, Shen Yuan,” Shen Qingqiu calls once more, and Shen Yuan hurries to catch up.

---

Later, after Shen Yuan has dutifully given a retelling of his adventures over the last few years, and after Shen Qingqiu has grilled him on every mistake he made and how stupid that was of him and how shitty his tea still tastes, Shen Yuan finally manages to bring up Luo Binghe.

“This disciple met someone new this morning,” he says, pouring Shen Qingqiu more of his apparently awful tea.

“Was Shen Yuan sure they were new? Perhaps it’s been so many years your brain has started to forget the faces of the idiots here in favor of whatever foolish beasts you’ve been studying.”

“Someone new,” Shen Yuan confirms, pretending to ignore Shen Qingqiu’s very pointed glare. “He was a disciple even younger than Ning-shimei, and you only picked her out the year before I left.”

“Ah,” Shen Qingqiu says, and all of a sudden Shen Yuan thinks that perhaps his Shizun has never been truly irritated with him in the past, because this expression is far more acidic than anything Shen Yuan has seen before.

“A-ah…?” Shen Yuan says, stupidly.

Shen Jiu sets his cup down with a harsh clink. “Shen Yuan should ignore that little beast. He won’t bring you any good news.”

“Shizun, this disciple likes beasts best,” Shen Yuan says. “Is he so bad?”

“Ignore him,” Shen Qingqiu repeats frostily.

Shen Yuan swallows. This… there’s no way that he’ll be able to convince Shen Qingqiu to give Luo Binghe an honest shot in this one conversation. He can’t bet on being able to eventually wear him down, though, either - even if he does eventually convince him, if it takes a year to do it, that’s also not any good. Shen Yuan needs to be able to help Luo Binghe now.

Okay. This is fine. Shen Yuan has - he has so many very good ideas, all of them very well thought out and full of strategic benefits. He can use any one of these very good and smart ideas.

“I understand, Shizun,” Shen Yuan says, “That beast won’t be a shidi of mine, then.”

“Good, now -”

“But what about as a pet?”

Shen Qingqiu stares at him. Shen Yuan stares back.

“A pet,” Shen Qingqiu repeats.

“A pet,” Shen Yuan agrees. “Shizun, I already said that I like beasts best - if I can’t raise Luo Binghe to be my shidi, can’t I raise him as my pet instead?”

“Don’t be foolish,” Shen Qingqiu snaps. “Beasts aren’t for keeping.”

“Sometimes they are - Cang Qiong has a whole peak dedicated to such a thing,” Shen Yuan points out. Shen Qingqiu’s scowl grows more fierce.

“Qing Jing is above such dirty work,” he spits.

Shen Yuan swallows again, his hands clenched tightly in his lap. He’s already started down this path; he may as well place all his bets on making it through.

“Then perhaps Qing Jing is not for this disciple after all,” Shen Yuan says, trying to keep his voice steady. It still comes out a bit reedy, but at the very least, his voice doesn’t crack over the words.

Shen Qingqiu’s eye twitches. “Speak plainly - Shen Yuan has already spent several years neglecting his duties. How much farther do you intend to stray?”

“Shizun so graciously held the position of head disciple open for this one,” Shen Yuan hedges. “On that topic, isn’t it possible for head disciples to choose to spend a decade or so on a different peak of their choice, to encourage diversity in education and cross-peak relationships before the head disciple becomes beholden to their peak as a lord? Perhaps I could take in a pet on a different peak, with such a method.”

“That’s a custom reserved for older disciples,” Shen Qingqiu spits, “intended to benefit them in the years directly leading up to their ascension as a peak lord, not when the head disciple is just a little whelp with a century ahead of them before they can wear a lord’s crown.”

“No such rule is written anywhere, Shizun.”

“Then I’ll write it,” Shen Qingqiu hisses. “Shen Yuan, you’ve had your fun these past years - now you are to stay on this peak.”

“Then I want a pet,” Shen Yuan says, tilting his head up defiantly. “It’ll benefit Shizun, too: you won’t have to feed or clothe him anymore, nor train him to be a cultivator.”

Not that you were doing any of those things for Luo Binghe before, ah!! Shen Yuan thinks, trying to focus on that feeling of indignation. If he just thinks about that - about the horror of coming across Luo Binghe in that clearing earlier, too scrawny to be 15 and yet wary enough of the world he may as well have been an adult - then Shen Yuan can hold his ground.

If he just thinks about Luo Binghe as a neglected kid, and he just thinks of Shen Qingqiu as that child’s abuser -

If he just thinks about that, then Shen Yuan can meet the eyes of the man who has taught him and promoted him and housed him in the side room of his house, and he can demand this one thing.

“With what funds would Shen Yuan be able to feed and clothe his pet?” Shen Qingqiu asks sharply. “With what free time would he train him not to bite?”

“This one is the head disciple of Qing Jing Peak,” Shen Yuan says. “If a head disciple couldn’t manage that much, they certainly couldn’t deserve to ascend as a peak lord in the future.”

Shen Qingqiu falls silent, unfurling his fan and raising it high up his face until only his eyes peered out the top of it, watching Shen Yuan. Shen Yuan’s hands twist in his lap, but he keeps his gaze steady.

“A head disciple does not run away from the position,” Shen Qingqiu says.

“Nor does a master run off from their pet,” Shen Yuan agrees.

There’s another moment of quiet as they both watch each other. When Shen Qingqiu speaks again, his voice is firm, like someone reciting basic peak rules and not the terms of the most batshit insane agreement Shen Yuan has ever brokered.

“You will stay on Qing Jing,” Shen Qingqiu says, “and you will accept the head discipleship position without fuss.”

“Yes, Shizun.”

“No more trips. No more pretending to forget to introduce yourself as my head disciple. No more pushing your pathetic disciple brothers at me with paperwork that you clearly filled out in some sort of foolish scheme to have me consider them over you.”

Shen Yuan winces. “Yes, Shizun.”

“You will not receive any additional allowance, for any reason, outside of the funds normally provided to a head disciple. Any pests you pick up will not sleep in my house, nor will you be allowed to request room in the dormitories for any such creature. Those resources are for disciples, not beasts.”

Shen Yuan hesitates. Luo Binghe can’t sleep in the rundown woodshed forever, and he wants to protest the idea that the dorms are for disciples, as if Luo Binghe was ever allowed in there in the first place.

Shen Qingqiu taps one finger on the table. “Answer, Shen Yuan.”

“This disciple agrees under one condition,” Shen Yuan says. “Using his personal funds, this disciple would like to request permission to make moderate renovations to a peak structure in order to improve the quality of kept wood.”

Shen Qingqiu scoffs. “Disciple Shen Yuan’s personal funds will be drained by feeding an animal - you will not be able to afford the standards that Qing Jing exacts for renovation projects.”

“This disciple has been collecting favors from An Ding. They will be repaid, and this disciple will be able to afford the project.”

“Shen Yuan had best not be caught collecting any such favors forcibly,” Shen Qingqiu warns, which is very distinctly a ‘don’t get caught blackmailing people’ warning and not a blanket ‘don’t blackmail people’ one.

“Of course,” Shen Yuan agrees. “This one is the personal disciple of Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu - how could I get caught in such a way?”

Read: you’ve made sure I understand how to not get caught when doing something shady, at the very least!!

Shen Qingqiu waves his fan once, twice - he’s irritated, but doesn’t necessarily disagree.

“Fine,” he says at last. “Permission for a renovation to that ugly woodshed is granted. And Shen Yuan’s answer to all other stipulations?”

“This disciple agrees.”

Shen Qingqiu slaps his fan closed in one palm. “Then Shen Yuan is allowed a pet. I won’t interfere further.”

Shen Yuan nods. He expected as much; Shen Qingqiu won’t egg on any further bullying, nor will he stop Shen Yuan from taking any measures he pleases when it comes to Luo Binghe, but he won’t help Shen Yuan dissuade the current bullying.

That’s fine - already, this is enough to help Luo Binghe.

“Thanking Shizun,” Shen Yuan says, bowing his head slightly. “This disciple will not disappoint.”

After all, how hard could raising the protagonist be? This world revolves around Luo Binghe; all Shen Yuan needs to do is make Luo Binghe’s everyday life a bit less miserable, give him just one person he can trust. Luo Binghe will manage the rest himself, by nature of being who he is - what he is.

Yes, this - this is the best way.

---

Outside the bamboo house, crouched beneath a window so still his muscles ache and his head feels woozy from how shallow he’s kept his breathing, Luo Binghe listens to his Shizun and Shixiong move on to discuss cleaning out the side room now that Shen Yuan has returned to the peak.

A pet, he thinks, his eyes blown wide, his fingers digging deep into the ground beneath his knees. He can feel dirt caking the underside of his fingernails, and the scars he leaves in the ground are very much like an animal, indeed.

A pet, he thinks again, over and over on loop in his mind, his pretty Shixiong’s voice fading to background noise. He thinks of Shen Yuan gently patting his head like one might coax a dog, and he thinks -

Yes, a pet.

#please forgive any grammar/flow issues w this if i tried to edit it i would have come to you w a 6k oneshot instead of a 4k one LMFAO #i'll probs clean it up and post it on ao3 after rent a bingge is done! for now tho enjoy uwu #svsss #bingqiu #scum villain's self saving system #fic drabble

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