#and ever since then i've been thinking about it

[personwholoveschocolate]

Dear @zhampip soo one night I was thinking about your awesome observatory au before sleep(as one does) and this interaction popped up in my mind. I've been possessed ever since so-- I hope you don't mind. Just wanted to say thank you for this wonderful au!! And your wonderful art!! iloveyouuuuu

[makeyoumine69]

Delirium

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: During the wedding night, you suddenly ask Bruce to try for the baby because you've been thinking about it for a long time.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: NSFW, smutty fluff, body worship, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (reader receiving), fingering, breeding kink, mild size kink, trying for a baby, true love, established relationships, dirty talk, pet names, hair pulling, marking, possessive behavior, biting, belly bulge, slightly Insecure!Reader, Husband!Bruce Wayne.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 4.3k

𝐀/𝐍: This is my first time writing for Bruce Wayne, I hope you like it!💕

The night was young in Gotham City, a million stars shone in the sky like tiny shards of glass, the white sleek yacht bobbed peacefully on the waves, anchored in the harbor waiting for its owners. Mr. Wayne and the newly married Mrs. Wayne were on their way to the harbor after the fancy wedding at the most prestigious restaurant in town, but the name of the restaurant had already slipped off your mind—you were too nervous about the upcoming wedding night and the little surprise you had prepared for your husband.

As the black limousine pulled up to the gates of the private section of Gotham Harbor, you tensed a bit—the echoes of the wedding party still vivid in your mind—and hugged yourself, sensing the soft material of your white fur coat, and looked out the car window in a feeble attempt to distract yourself. You'd never been this nervous before, and you couldn't really understand why, since you and Bruce were in love, and this marriage was the most genuine thing possible. At least you hoped it was, and so did he.

"Are you ready?" The man asked you briefly, turning to look at you and placing his hand on your knee, carefully running his fingers over the smooth fabric of your fabulous wedding dress. "Believe me, you're going to love it, honey."

You knew he was right—you would like it, of course, you would. But perhaps you were still unable to believe that the world around you was real, including Bruce as your husband.

Smiling a little shyly, you craned your neck to meet his intense gaze, his warm, big palm still caressing your leg, but not really going too far.

"Yes, I'm ready," you finally replied, putting your hand on top of his, and that little touch caused him to take your small hand in his and press a tender kiss against your soft skin. "It's just," your voice fell lower with a hint of uncertainty. "I've imagined all of this so many times…"

"Hey," your husband cut you off and cupped your face, forcing you to look directly into his mesmerizing eyes. "You don't have to imagine anymore. Everything is real and we're living this moment together," his lips curled into the boyish smile that always left you disarmed, his palm stroking your cheek with unadulterated tenderness. "Just let it go and I'll take care of the rest."

How this man always managed to be so charming, always choosing the right words to make you feel better, more relaxed. In those moments, you really believed that soul mates existed and that the two of you were definitely the most real soulmates ever—that unspoken understanding, that invisible line that connected the two of you, that was the strongest emotional bond— you could just reach out and press your hand against his strong chest and feel his heart beating so fast just for you.

And most importantly, it was all real.

Without saying a word, you leaned in to peck his perfectly shaved cheek before the two of you bent your heads to press your foreheads together in a moment of absolute delirium. Bruce held your hand, fingers intertwined like your souls. Entranced, you cuddled up to his massive frame and brushed your fingertips across his tuxedo, which was as dark as the night sky.

A little later, you reluctantly pulled away from each other as everyone on the yacht waited for you, including the captain and crew, who were probably already worried about the delay. Charming as ever, your husband offered you his hand as you stepped out of the limousine, and without hesitation, the man lifted you up to carry you, bridal style, all the way to the yacht. Even when you stepped on the ladder, Bruce never thought of letting go of you, holding you close to his chest like the most precious treasure he had.

Although it was not your first time on the yacht, you were amazed by its size and the luxury that surrounded you like the ocean around the yacht. It even made you feel a little uncomfortable. At one point you wanted to tell Bruce to slow down a bit and give you a second of respite, but one of the crew members, dressed in a perfect white naval uniform, was steering you somewhere deep inside the exquisite interior of the yacht. The long hallway you were walking through was lit by small chandeliers inscribed with diamonds, the finely made carpet underneath muffled the footsteps, making them almost inaudible. As you paused at the dark wooden door, something heavy dropped into your gut.

God, why couldn't you just stop being so nervous already?

"Your suit, sir," the young Marine replied, gesturing to the door in front of you. "If you need anything, let us know on the intercom."

"Thank you," Bruce nodded and the man turned on his heels before leaving. "Are you cold, sweetheart? You're shivering."

"No, it's okay, I just didn't expect everything to be so…"

"Extravagant? Does it bother you?" He asked, pushing the wooden door aside to carry you into the room.

Hugging his neck, you took in the surroundings, immersed in the opulence of the high-tech design and expensive furniture that screamed luxury. "'It doesn't," you murmured after a pause, still astonished by the unnatural atmosphere. "You just didn't tell me we were staying here."

Smirking, he just chuckled in response and strolled across the room to place you on the king-sized bed, which was covered in red rose petals—a clichéd but romantic choice.

"I hope it's not a problem," the man remarked, helping you to take off your fur coat. "I want some privacy," Bruce tossed your clothes onto the nearest armchair before taking off his own coat and then his wedding tuxedo, casually loosening the black bowtie. "A place where no one can bother us."

Leaning back on the bed, you watched him pull up his sleeves after undoing the gold cuffs and placing them on the small nightstand with a slight thud, and you could tell the man was a little nervous, too, though he tried to hide it.

"You never told me you had a yacht," you chirped teasingly, getting up from the bed to approach him standing next to the small portable bar. Bruce was rummaging through its contents, looking for a particular drink. "What other secrets do you have, Mr. Wayne?"

As soon as you reached him, you wrapped your arms around him and snuggled up against his broad back, the white shirt clinging so tightly to his muscular body, outlining his buff physique in the most delicious way.

Bruce's throaty laugh rumbled from his chest as he caught your hands and cocked his head to the side so he could see your playful eyes. "Why are you such a tease?" The man gave you a provocative grin, his smoldering gaze gliding over your beautiful face, paying special attention to your pretty lips. "I have no secrets, you know that. I'm like an open book to you," he slowly spun around to capture you in his embrace, lifting your chin to kiss it gently at first, but as soon as he heard your muffled gasp, his mouth was already busy leaving a wet hickey on the sensitive skin of your neck. "My love for you couldn't be more transparent."

"Bruce," you whispered his name in a slightly hoarse voice as your throat suddenly felt so dry. "Could you please wait for me here? I have a surprise for you."

Confused, he stopped in his tracks and lifted his dark eyes to you, his breathing already erratic and labored. "A surprise?"

You nodded and carefully removed his clinging arms from your supple figure. "But first you have to help me with this," you smiled mischievously and turned around so that he could see the ropes on the top of your voluminous wedding dress. "Uh, I think I forgot how to breathe normally in this dress."

Your husband frowned but didn't ask any questions, his hands tracing the curve of your back with undisguised admiration before he began to carefully undo the tight ribbons that together formed an intricate ornament. Rope after rope, more of your skin was exposed for his touch to feel, for his lips to caress, for his eyes to indulge, but as soon as the last lace was undone and the tight corset squeezing your chest was about to slip down, you caught it with both hands.

"Wait," you giggled at the tickling sensation as he kissed your shoulder blade, cupping your breasts and pressing you closer to him so you could feel how much he wanted you. "Bruce, please, I just need a few minutes."

With a low groan of frustration, the man finally released you and stepped back, leaning against the wall and catching air with his half-parted lips. "I hope you'll be really quick," Bruce declared, taking the bottle of some top-notch whiskey. "I can't make any promises regarding my patience."

Embarrassed and excited at the same time, you still held the wedding dress close to your almost naked body as you quickly rushed to the bed to pick up your purse, which was made of a fine cloth woven with gold threads. Bruce followed your every move with his attentive gaze until you disappeared behind the door in the small adjoining bathroom.

Once you were alone, you rested against the cold marble wall, breathing fast and feeling uneasy. There wasn't much time, as you didn't want to keep your husband waiting, so you quickly opened the faucet and looked at your reflection in the oval mirror framed in white gold, trying to regain some composure. The gurgling sound of the water seemed to drown out all the whispering voices in your head, which was your fear talking—a fear of being rejected and denied in your suggestions of… trying for a baby.

You let out a shaky sigh and closed your eyes for a second. Maybe tonight was not the best time for such offers, but the symbolism and romantic vibes of the wedding night were too appealing to drop the whole idea. But what if Bruce would not be happy? The mere thought of such a scenario sent cold shivers down your spine and made you claw at the porcelain surface of the sink. Sometimes it could be so hard to deal with your inner insecurities, because your mind could be easily manipulated by fear, making the worst outcomes seem like they had already happened.

Anxiously, you grabbed the purse with your shaky hands to open it, and then carefully took out a small package with something weighty inside—the pearls Bruce had given you the day he proposed, the family heirloom. As soon as you placed the elegant jewelry in your open palm, you couldn't take your eyes off it for a while, regretting that you never really allowed yourself to wear it, thinking that you couldn't accept such an expensive gift. After all, you loved this man not for his money, but for his personality and his big heart full of kindness not only for you, but for all mankind.

Somehow, such thoughts helped you to relax a bit and finally focus on the main goal of why you were here. In one smooth motion, you let the wedding dress slide down your petite frame until it was wrinkled at your feet, and as you stepped out of it, you looked into the mirror to see your naked body, and the only thing left was the pair of white lace panties. Without a second thought, you took them off as well, leaving only the white high-heeled shoes on. Then you carefully put the pearl necklace around your neck, taking a little extra time to fasten it, but in the end, the result was worth it. Running a finger along the smooth surface of the pearls, you smiled at your reflection, feeling good and confident about everything you had planned for tonight—your beloved husband would love it.

By the time you left the small bathroom, which looked as if you were the first person to ever use it, Bruce was lying on the bed, leaning against the headboard with one hand folded under his head. The dark-haired man didn't even hear you coming when you appeared in the doorway—completely naked except for the necklace and the pair of shoes. It was a miracle he didn't spill his drink all over himself and the bed, but you could tell he was having such a hard time keeping his composure because his eyes were now as dark as two black holes.

"Darling," Bruce only managed to say one word under his breath, obviously confused because he definitely hadn't expected anything like this. "I'm at a loss for words," he pushed himself off the headboard and stood up to put the glass on the bedside table without even looking at it, his eyes glued to your naked form. "'Cause there are no words to describe your beauty."

You walked towards him with a mischievous grin and he did the same. Bruce's face became more and more agitated, he even had to tug on his collar as he was literally suffocating, and the second there was no distance left between the two of you, the man knelt before you to hug your hips and bury his face in the warmth of your body.

"Mhmm," you closed your eyes and traced your fingers through his tangled hair, gently massaging his scalp. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

His hot breath scorched your bare skin, making you shiver and if he didn't hold you, you could easily fall. Intoxicated by your sweet scent, Bruce rubbed against your mound, peppering the area around it with little pecks as he began his ascent to your belly, then higher to the hollow between your breasts, and when he finally cupped them, you couldn't hold back your moans.

"A-ahh…Bruce," you leaned on his shoulders, clutching them almost desperately, wrinkling his shirt, smelling his cologne as it wafted around you like a hazy mist; your legs were about to give way from the intoxicating sensation of his tongue toying with one of your hard nipples. "Please…touch me…there…again."

Nuzzling your perfectly shaped breasts, the brown-haired man looked up at your slightly embarrassed face, the way you fluttered your big eyelashes so innocently sent tingles down his lower body and coaxed his dick to throb in his tailor-made pants. But all of that was nothing compared to your sweet little plea to be touched.

Without any hesitation, Bruce crouched down again and planted a lingering kiss on your pubic bone before he spread your legs a bit wider so he could get a taste of your already dripping pussy, and the second his hot tongue ran along your folds, you threw your head back, barely able to balance yourself on your feet with the last strength you had left.

"Like this?" He managed to ask between kisses, licks, little bites along your swollen lower lips. "You taste so good, Princess."

Tipsy from your taste, Bruce easily draped your leg over his shoulder to get better access to your blushing slit as he lapped at it like a starved man, giving everything he had for your pleasure. Whimpering and trembling in his hands, you looked down to see his blissful face bathed in red, his fingers digging into the soft mounds of your hips, holding you open for him.

"Ugh… Aaah…Bruce," you had to bite your lower lip from the tight knot that was swelling in your core, and with every flick of his tongue you were getting closer and closer to exploding like a pack of fireworks. "So good…please…keep going…mmmfffp!"

Your loud scream echoed off the walls of the opulent bedroom suit as Bruce stuffed your oozing cleft with two fingers at once, skyrocketing your pleasure at making you feel so full, stretched and overstimulated as he continued to slurp between your legs, sucking your throbbing clit from time to time in the most tantalizing way possible.

"Shit…oh shit," your voice cracked every time Bruce curled his long digits inside you to rub his finger pads against the spongy spot that was like a moth to the flame. "I'm almost there…ahh…please…"

You were about to gnaw at your hand when a million invisible tingles pierced through your nerve endings, setting them ablaze, and just when you thought you were going to faint and your heart was going to jump out of your chest, Bruce suddenly picked you up and threw you on the bed. In an instant, he was back between your legs, holding them apart and using everything he had on you: his teeth, his lips, his fingers, his tongue. Anything that would help him complete his mission to turn you into nothing but a wet, whimpering mess.

"Let it go, darling," the man husked, hoisting your legs over his shoulders, his digits buried knuckle deep in your soaped pussy once more. "Show me how much you love it."

And how could you refuse this man when he was so determined in every move he made?

Your orgasm washed over you in an awesome wave that forced every little part of your body to contract, your soft inner walls clenching mercilessly around his fingers as the man kept pumping you until the very last aftershock hit your body. As you wrinkled the white sheets, you saw stars dancing in front of your eyes as you looked up at the ceiling above you, your chest rising and falling so quickly that you even found it difficult to breathe—the level of pleasure was so immense that you had to put a hand to your head as a clear sign of how overwhelmed you were. And so was Bruce, but unlike you, he was still locked and loaded, his dick so hard it hurt, but he didn't want to rush things by fucking you right away. Instead, the man reveled in the sight of your post-climax body, your pussy covered in your flavor just like his face and his fingers, and he didn't forbid himself to take a moment and clean every last ounce of your cum.

Breathing heavily, Bruce straightened up to take a proper look at you—still shaking and unable to speak. "If you could see what I see right now," he murmured, hovering over you, taking both of your wrists in one hand to pin them above your head. "So vulnerable," he nipped at your neck, using his other hand to practically sever his bowtie and several of the top buttons on his shirt. "So wet and hot…and completely at my mercy."

"Yes," you almost screamed the word, writhing beneath his heavy muscles, but not really trying to free yourself from his trap. " All of this... is for you."

"Say it again." Bruce demanded, and the next moment you heard him unzip his pants, your wrists still locked together and nailed to the mattress. "Tell me you're mine. Only mine."

Unable to maintain the intense visual contact, you closed your eyes and instinctively bent your legs, spreading them wider as you felt his hot length pressed against your dripping slit while he smeared your wetness around it, teasing your clit with barely perceptible rubs of his swollen tip against it.

Panting, you arched your back into his touch, wanting to feel more of him. "I'm all yours… only yours!"

Hesitant, Bruce wanted to say something more, but then he noticed the shining necklace around your neck—the realization hit him like a freight train. How could he have noticed it only now? The man must have been blinded by your beauty, unable to notice anything else. He outlined the roundness of one of the pearls and took a moment to contemplate, memories of your relationships flashing before his eyes as if he watched a documentary based on your lives.

"You finally wore them," he whispered against your mouth, loosening his grip on your wrists to stroke your warm cheek, the weight of his sturdy body still pressing against you like a heavy blanket. "They fit you more than you can imagine."

You smiled, barely holding back the itching tears that suddenly formed in the corners of your eyes. "Bruce," you hugged his shoulders faster than you could actually think, holding them as if they were the only anchor to reality. “I love you,” you watched him closing his eyes and leaning closer to brush his nose against yours and his hips were moving in their own momentum to keep you reeled up. "I love you so much, please, I want you, I need you!"

Those words, laced with such desperation and longing, were the last straw and Bruce couldn't resist the urge to own you here and now. Not anymore. Briefly licking his lips, the man leaned down to capture your mouth in a sloppy, almost brutal kiss, then placed a hand next to your head to lean on it, shifting his weight as he unceremoniously pulled down his pants, groaning as his dick grinded against your folds, your pelvis, the underside of your delicious hips.

"Fuck, you're literally perfection," he suddenly blurted out, giving himself several quick strokes before aligning his thick cock with your worn-out opening. "My perfection," Bruce thrust into you in one smooth motion, keeping one of your legs stretched to the side for the really deep penetration. "My wife…arghh…my love."

The bed began to crack beneath your bodies, your moans, his grunts, and the sounds of flesh meeting flesh mingled in a bawdy cacophony of pure lust. There were no barriers, just raw passion that you both experienced, you looped your legs around his lower back, sinking your nails into his skin as you sought some semblance of support in his shoulders from how hard he was fucking you. And that could only mean that Bruce had really lost control, that you had managed to push him beyond his limits, but as if that was not enough you rested both of your hands on his firm ass just to grope it with all your might.

Inflamed to the point of no return, he placed himself straight on his knees, lifting you up a bit to change the angle to hit all the hidden spots inside you as he wanted to feel you squeeze his dick in unbridled pleasure; the sight of your bouncing breasts only added to the depravity of the current situation, forcing him to grit his teeth as he felt himself on the brink of falling apart.

"Mmmh-Bruce ," you gripped his toned hips, unable to open your tear-filled eyes. "Put a baby inside me…please!"

Knitting his prominent eyebrows and slightly shocked by your sudden offer, the man did not stop pounding into you, literally impaling your body onto his beefy cock with pure abandon, as if you were going to die tomorrow. But the idea of breeding you, holy shit, could be something even hotter than that? The image of you carrying his child almost pushed him over the edge and he had to slow down a bit, leaning on the fist he was pressing against the bed.

"Do you… do you really want this?" Your husband asked in a gruff voice, wiping the sweat from his tense forehead.

Gulping, you looked up at him through your heavy lidded eyes before you took his large hand into your smaller one to press it against your abdomen. "I want you to fill me with your seed… until I am s-so full of it," you stammered as you felt the outline of his cock poking into your lower body, Bruce pressing his palm harder against your skin, feeling the same. "Until you get me pregnant with your kids."

"How can I say no to my dear wife… when she asks me so nicely?" Bruce replied through clenched teeth, literally doing his best not to cum right here and now. "Uh, pregnancy will suit you so beautifully, my darling."

Having said that, the man quickly pulled out of your pliable body to change positions, so that you were now standing on your knees and elbows, hugging the big pillow to muffle your screams as he began to fuck you from behind, grabbing your hair as he rammed himself into you without restraint. A white veil covered his vision as he was about to lose himself in this debauchery, in the way your ass jiggled, in the way you arched your back, in the way you moaned his name. Not to mention your pussy clinging to him like a vice, ready to milk him to the last drop. For a moment, Bruce didn't even realize that he was also moaning from the overwhelming pleasure, his hips snapping against yours as hard as he could, longing to bury himself as deep as he could. As soon as he felt the burning tension at the base of his spine, he leaned over you to literally bite into the wet mark he had left on your neck moments before, sneaking his hand between your legs to rub your feverish clit, and as your second orgasm crashed over your system, he was finally able to let himself go, shooting thick spurts of his fertile seed into you until it began to flow down your inner thighs, dripping onto the sheets.

Bruce was only able to find some peace after he had claimed you in the most primal way. It was such a strange feeling of tranquility, but somehow it turned out to be what he had been looking for all this time—the knowledge that the woman he loved more than anyone in the world would now carry his legacy. One day the world would be saved and he could spend the rest of his life with his family by his side, and that was something he was truly willing to fight for until his last breath.

[wannabescemo]

i'm answering these without people asking bc i'm bored

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents?

kind of

02: Who did you last say “I love you” to?

my father

03: Do you regret anything?

yes

04: Are you insecure?

yes

05: What is your relationship status?

i'm dating my beautiful girlfriend :]

06: How do you want to die?

i don't want to but since i have to i'd like to die peacefully in my sleep i don't wanna feel pain in my last moments

07: What did you last eat?

a minute ago i had a granola bar

08: Played any sports?

i did play volleyball for a bit in elementary

09: Do you bite your nails?

yes i hate it but i'm horrible at stopping bad habits

10: When was your last physical fight?

idk

11: Do you like someone?

yes my girlfriend!!

12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours?

no

13: Do you hate anyone at the moment?

no

14: Do you miss someone?

yeah

15: Have any pets?

yeah 4

16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment?

bored

17: Ever made out in the bathroom?

uh no

18: Are you scared of spiders?

yes very much

19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance?

yeah i need a tardis

20: Where was the last place you snogged someone?

wtf does snogged mean?

21: What are your plans for this weekend?

go to my aunts house again hopefully

22: Do you want to have kids? How many?

yes maybe 1 or 2

23: Do you have piercings? How many?

no :(

24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)?

english

25: Do you miss anyone from your past?

yes

26: What are you craving right now?

pasta

27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart?

no

28: Have you ever been cheated on?

no

29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry?

no

30: What’s irritating you right now?

my family

31: Does somebody love you?

yeah :D

32: What is your favourite color?

lavender

33: Do you have trust issues?

idk

34: Who/what was your last dream about?

some rando being decapitated with a sword

35: Who was the last person you cried in front of?

my parents

36: Do you give out second chances too easily?

no

37: Is it easier to forgive or forget?

forget

38: Is this year the best year of your life?

no

39: How old were you when you had your first kiss?

i haven't had one

40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked?

no? isn't there like a law for that

51: Favourite food?

spaghetti with meat sauce

52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason?

yes

53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night?

said goodnight to my girlfriend

54: Is cheating ever okay?

no wtf

55: Are you mean?

i don't think so but i worry sometimes i come off as mean

56: How many people have you fist fought?

none

57: Do you believe in true love?

i'm not sure

58: Favourite weather?

rainy and stormy with dark skies

59: Do you like the snow?

yes!

60: Do you wanna get married?

mhm :]

61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby?

i like when my girlfriend does she makes me so happy!!

62: What makes you happy?

maddi!!!! <3

63: Would you change your name?

yes

64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed?

i've never kissed anyone

65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do?

politely tell them no bc i'm dating someone already

66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around?

idk?

67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to?

my father

68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with?

my aunt

69: Do you believe in soulmates?

yes

70: Is there anyone you would die for?

my girlfriend

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[fayes-fics]

Notte D'Amore

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel to Bella Notte. Exactly one year later, you find yourself at Aubrey Hall lake again...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI. Slight exhibitionism, oral sex (m to f), cunnilingus, vaginal sex, sex underwater, orgasms. Benedict speaking foreign languages, yep, that needs a warning.

Word Count: 3.4k

Authors note: I've finally finished this sequel that I started almost two years ago. You don't need to have read Bella Notte to read this, but it helps with the grounding of the story and shows the growth of their relationship. Thanks as always to the amazing @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

An elegant grandfather clock softly chimes midnight as you pad through the hallway of Aubrey Hall. Struggling to sleep after a rousing midsummer day of Pall Mall, you decide to go for a walk to make yourself drowsy, leaving your husband and beautiful three-month-old baby daughter sleeping soundly. 

Before you know it, you are outside on the rear terrace enjoying the night air. There, you realise that it has been exactly one year since you went for a memorable night swim, just a few short days before your wedding.

Unable to resist, you drift towards that very lake, surveying its serene, moonlit beauty again. You recall with perfect clarity how Benedict stood naked with the water hugging his hips, beckoning you in. And, like so many times since, you joined him in a new adventure. 

Wandering along its edges, you eventually pause to lean against the reddish trunk of a sturdy, towering evergreen. Inhaling deeply, you savour the refreshing fragrance of the pine needles above. Staring out at the glassy surface, vividly remembering how it felt when your husband first kissed you—how your world spun. And you giggle to yourself as you reflect that; even now, all it takes is one brush of his lips, and you are just as swept away, perhaps even more so now, knowing exactly where such journeys can end, a stirring between your legs.

“It was precisely a year ago.” 

His sonorous voice from nearby startles you; you jump and grab your chest, your heart erratic from the shock. You didn’t even hear his approach, so lost in wistful reverie for untold minutes. 

“You half scared me to death!” you scold affectionately, shaking your head as he rounds closer and slides his arms around your waist. He wears a somewhat crumpled white shirt and britches, obviously haphazardly thrown on before leaving your rooms as he always sleeps naked, not something you ever complain about.

“I am so cruel, am I not, my darling?” he chuckles.

“The very worst,” you concur dryly, settling into his embrace, always your very favourite place to be. 

“I do not know how you tolerate me…” he jests mildly, his hands running soothing patterns along your spine.

“Wait! Bella!” you exclaim, pulling back a fraction, concerned about your little bundle of joy.

“She is fine,” he soothes. “Meredith is watching her sleep.”

Your nursery maid is so often a veritable lifesaver.

“Thank you,” you smile as he draws you flush against him once more, rocking you gently in his arms for a few minutes of companionable silence.

“So is this a little trip down memory lane, Mrs Bridgerton?” He asks sotto voce, his warm lips lingering on your temple.

“Perhaps...” you coquette, that kindling flame always smouldering between you.

“Mmm, it was so very memorable,” he hums, his lips tracing over your cheek until he reaches your mouth and seizes it with a brief but fiery kiss. “Do you have any idea how much willpower it took to stop when we did? I had to go back to my room and take myself in hand,” he pouts over your lips.

“Poor, poor lamb,” you tease playfully, your hand lowering instinctively to palm his stirring cock. “I would happily have helped.”

“You were so innocent then; what a change a year makes,” his breath more laboured as your hand drags insistently over his clothing.

“I know you liked me innocent, but I think you like me even more so now,” you contend, your intent unmistakable as you make fast work of the buttons on his trousers.

“You are not wrong…” he breathes as you shove the fabric down his muscular thighs, a searing need to have him inside you right away.

“Fuck me,” you demand crudely, your hand wrapping around his bare cock. “Against this tree, right now, right here.”

He groans, surging into your grip, his hands flexing on your back. You glance at the house around his shoulder, realising you are not remotely concealed from most of the East Wing. If anyone were to drift to their window, they would get an eyeful of your husband’s naked bottom at this very moment.

“I hope no one can see us….”

“Let them watch,” he snarls, tugging off his shirt and removing your hand so he can shuck his trousers, fully naked now.

It’s a sight that always has you flustered, so much lithe musculature, his skin glowing like sculpted marble in the moonlight. But you get little chance to admire or to run your hands along his contours, for he hauls you off your feet into his arms. Your robe and nightgown are pushed high around your hips as he presses you into the tree trunk; the fabric snags the rough bark. 

Then he guides his cock where you want, with no preamble, both groaning as he thrusts into you in one swift, decisive move. 

“Yesssss, that's it…” you hiss, your toes scraping the meat of his calf, your arms banding his neck tightly as he withdraws and then surges back in, your whole body rolling with the sheer force.

It’s only been three months since you had your baby, and he has been so tender with you since you started having sex again mere weeks ago. But tonight, you don’t want gentle; you want raw, rough passion, a reminder of just how much you cannot resist each other.  

‘“Harder husband,” you implore, finger digging into his toned flesh.

And he delivers, setting a fierce rhythm, snapping his hips in a way that ensures neither of you will last long. You moan a litany of encouragement, your eyes drifting to the lake, remembering how thrilling it felt to touch him for the first time. He grabs one of your legs and loops it over his forearm, opening you wide, your thighs burning slightly with the stretch, your mouth slackening as his pelvis glances at your clit.

“Oh yes, right there, do not dare stop,” you moan through gritted teeth, fighting off your thin silk robe.

“So very demanding tonight,” he huffs, bemused, but his pace never wavering as he assists you in tugging your nightgown off, now as naked as him. 

“Make me come,” you order, breathing heavily, bearing down into his upward thrusts, plunging yourself deeper onto his cock, greedily chasing your orgasm.

“Happily…” he retorts with a victorious smile.

But you mewl bereft as, instead of moving faster, he abruptly withdraws from you, leaving you pulsing and wanting. 

With you still in his arms, he takes a few paces and lays you down delicately by the water's edge. The verdant grass cushions your back as he quickly snakes down your torso, landing between your legs. You cant upwards and howl at his sudden acute suction on your throbbing clit. 

This is why you thank your lucky stars every damn day for your husband. You ask him to fuck you, and he changes it into something else, entirely other, taking you beyond. He tilts his head up, bringing your attention back to his handsome face framed by your thighs, his eyes glittering like the lake.

“I want to be out here all night, bringing you pleasure over and over. I don’t care if anyone sees. One of my family, even. I want everyone to know how good we are together. How lucky I am.” He turns and sucks hard on your inner thigh. “So give them a good show, my darling wife, scream for me.”

Your responding groan is loud and appreciative, your hands grabbing his head to direct his questing tongue.

This.

This is the Benedict you can never get enough of. When he’s all riled up, he is a force to behold: filthy poetry dripping from his sinful, talented mouth. Enchanted by his decadent words, your knees fall open wider, pushing yourself into his face.

“Yes, my love,” he encourages silkily as you lightly scratch your fingernails across his scalp; his reply muffled into your folds as he languidly swirls his tongue.

So you do as bidden. Begin to ride his face shamelessly, his nose nudging your clit as he slips lower to swirl his tongue into your pussy, murmuring words into your soaked, quivering flesh.

“Mia bellissima, mia dia…”

All you can do is shudder and hold tight, the ground dewy under your shoulder blades as you writhe upon him, toes curling into the muscle of his back as he feasts upon you, drinking your honeyed nectar. Notching you gently up that invisible ladder towards ecstasy as he returns to your throbbing clit.

“Mon vie, ma femme, tu es mon monde.”

Each word is like a precious jewel he drops onto your pearl, his tongue a glancing tease that has you begging for more. 

“Please husband…” you rasp, licking your lips, that telltale twinge deep in your belly.

His stubbled cheeks rasp your folds as he takes pity and sucks your clit hard between his lips and doesn't let up. Your pussy clenching in pulses, his strong hands grasp your thighs to hold you down as you buck up reflexively, all your muscles tensing as he takes you higher. Your engorged nub in his hot mouth, him driving you towards the edge with each roll of his muscular tongue. When he reaches up a hand to pinch one of your nipples, you are gone. Hurtling into the stars above, calling his name—uncaring if your lusty cries awake anyone sleeping in the house.

He growls encouragements as you begin to break under him, but his hold is still firm, not letting up, elongating your rapture. Making you thrash your head into the mossy verge, your pussy convulsing, leaking onto his chin as he chuckles richly, the echo seeming to travel through your pelvis. Knowing your body so well, he keeps suckling on your sodden flesh, running the edge of his teeth over your nub, holding you right in that state of mindless ecstasy for what feels like forever, a dizzying high that wracks your whole being, buzzing down to your fingertips and toes.

Just as it seems too much, and you want to beg him to stop, he relents, switching to delicate kisses on your inner thighs as you fight for breaths, your entire being tingling. 

“You were right,” you stutter, idly raking your fingers through his thick chestnut hair as you come back down to earth.

“About what?” he queries, resting his chin on your pubic hair.

“W-what you said to me in this very lake,” you sigh, head lolling to the side to observe the moonlit waters. “That I would receive pleasure from you at length.”

He smiles jubilantly and crawls up on all fours, landing a kiss on your lips. The tangy flavour of your release is strong on his face. And yet, even quaking and dazed, you are still greedy for more—for him, for this night not to end.

“I need you inside me again,” you appeal breathily. “In the water. Take me the way you wanted to that night, husband.” 

He looks out to the adjacent lake briefly, then back to you, that devastating lopsided smile claiming his features.

“You are full of wonderful ideas, my love. What a fitting tribute to that night.”

He swoops you into his arms bridal style, athletically springing to his feet and strides decisively into the lake. Your whoop of delight morphs into a shriek as the cold water engulfs your nethers. 

“Colder than I was expecting, too,” he acknowledges perkily but wades on regardless. 

You giggle to distract from the mild shiver at the sudden change in temperature. Impressed that his cock is still rigid at your hip as the ground under his feet falls away rapidly, the water quickly up at your ribs.

His hold changes as you both begin to float in the water, spinning so you are face to face. The juxtaposition of his warm skin and cool water is just as beguiling as it was that night. Your lips find each other in a languid kiss, wrapping your limbs around him as it deepens, that fire stoking within you that he always seems to ignite.

“Roleplay with me,” you beseech impromptu as your lips part. 

“What do you mean, my darling?” He queries, his face the picture of intrigue as his sizable hands slide over your buttocks, grabbing your cheeks.

“Pretend I am the innocent I was that night,” you whisper into his ear, pressing your pebbled nipples into his chest as you lightly bite his earlobe. “But do not be a gentleman this time.”

He groans, fingers kneading your bottom as his cock tip ruts into your belly button, telegraphing how much he loves that idea. You grab one of his hands and guide it between your legs.

“I ache there…. when you kiss me.” 

You employ the exact words you uttered to him one year ago, the moment, indeed the whole night, etched so clearly in your memory.

You watch his face cloud with a beguiling mix of tender nostalgia and pure seductive menace—his cheekbones and jaw in stark relief in the moonlight as his cadence slips lower.

“That is wonderful news, my love. That is how it should be; it means you desire me as much as I desire you.”

Your heart leaps as he recites, verbatim, his reply to you that night. A meaningful beat passes between you, silently conveying the poignancy. 

But then, just as you want, as you need, he flips the script. A sharp tang of desire floods through you as he curls his fingers into your folds.

“And fear not, I shall make that ache go away,” he rumbles. “I will take you right here. Make you mine. Ruin you for every other man. You will not want another for as long as you breathe.”

You pull him in for a kiss, burning from his possessive words, hitching your legs, encircling his waist—a blatant invitation. His other hand slides up your spine, dampening the strands at the nape of your neck, grasping there lightly as he continues in that resonant tone.

“I fear I cannot be gentle, for you have bewitched me.” It sounds like the very best kind of warning, his fingers teasing over your clit.

“I do not wish you to be,” you affirm truthfully, your lips ghosting his as you breathe other's air.

There is a rich groan from him, and his fingers are gone, replaced by the blunt head of his cock demanding entry. You gasp as he slips a fraction inside you, your eyes going wide as if this were unknown, even though all you feel is bliss from that now familiar stretch.

“Relax, my sweet, let me in,” he tutors, stilling, playing the part so perfectly.

As he inches in so slowly, you attempt a noise of astonishment, but it just sounds wanton, the hot steely plunge of his cock such a contrast to the cold water enveloping you. Part of you rues asking him to treat you as the innocent, for the slow pace is almost agnosing, like sandpaper rasping gradually over the needy edges of your desire. It makes you impatient for him to take you roughly, perhaps more than he ever has before, greedy for another spine-tingling orgasm. Even as you enjoy the cling of your pussy to his every contour.

“Well done, my love. You've taken all of me so well,” he praises as he reaches your hilt.

You can't help but peal a laugh; although his swagger is not unfounded, something about the moment feels both humorous and oddly sweet.

He breaks character too, chuckles warmly into your ear: “You are terrible at acting innocent, darling wife.”

“Maybe,” you concede as you swat his shoulder affectionately, clenching your pussy so he moans loudly. “But I am enjoying you corrupting me, you utter rake, so please continue,” you giggle.

There is a twinkle in his eye as he withdraws and then charges back into you, not at all how he treated you on your wedding night. 

“Be gentle; I am so innocent,” you entreat with theatrical irony as your eyes beg for him to be anything but. A ripe, pulpy sensation in your core needs relief.

“I warned you that I cannot…” he volleys back in a low timbre, quirking a brow and deploying that devastating, crooked smile, goosebumps breaking over your arms, and not just from the coolness of the lake.

This playfulness, slipping into and out of roles for each other's amusement, is why you feel so lucky to be married to him, indeed, why you love him so much. The deep, trusting bond you have built together since the last time you were in this very lake. And passion, so much passion. A mutual wish to always be joined as you are now, him buried inside you as you float together. 

“I love you, Benedict,” It falls from your lips unbidden. Honest. Truthful,

“I love you too, y/n.” His response is instant; his mien softens in understanding as if he intuits where your thoughts have slid. 

Profound emotion mutates to tart, metallic want, causing you to undulate upon him. The buoyancy of the water aids your movement, rising, then sinking back onto his cock, staring into his hazy eyes, blown wide by inky pupils. 

“Amore mio,” he murmurs, his gaze never straying from yours. 

Even if you do not understand every word when he speaks in another language, you can feel the meaning emanating from his very soul. 

The water ripples out in concentric waves, distorting the glassy reflection of the moon as you move together with increasing urgency, naked bodies entwined under the surface. He ploughs so deep into you, hitting that spot only he can reach—the one that makes you feel altered, renewed, powerless to do anything but chase that addictive, dizzying high again. Eyes rolling, caged in his arms, you hit a new joined rhythm that feels sublime, stealing kisses between breaths.

You moan his name as he plants his feet firmly on the bottom of the lake to give him more capacity—a dangerous smile as he grasps your bottom vice-like, slamming you onto him, redoubling his efforts. You throw your head back, your hair trailing in the water, moaning to the dark domed sky above, his mouth hot on your throat as you move together with increasing speed, the cool water a balm to your now fevered skin. Spurred on by the illicitly arousing thought that anyone in the house could see you out in the middle of the lake, fucking under the stars.

“Mon amour,” Benedict stutters, his voice tinged with the desperation of nudging ecstasy. 

“So close,” you pant, grabbing his jaw and kissing him deeply, lathing your tongue over his as one of his hands dives between your legs. You cry out into his mouth as he strums roughly against your swollen clit, flinging you towards bliss.

You feel that dam breaking, your whole being wound tight like a spring that abruptly snaps in a kaleidoscopic release. Your pussy clenching around his cock, an imprint you want to carry always. Fireworks behind your eyelids as a thrill races down your spine to all your nerve endings. Your fluttering pulls him over the edge, too, his body spasming then stilling as he releases into you, a bloom you feel inside as his teeth sink into your neck and he emits a wracking groan of sheer relief. 

For a few moments, you hover in the water, him still inside you, catching your breath. Chaste, pecking kisses and little words of reassurance as he slips from your body, both of you belatedly realise just how cold the water is now that your passions have been sated, giggling as you swim back towards the edge. Certainly not as warm as it was during last year’s heatwave.

After he has helped you out of the lake, you return hand-in-hand to your pile of discarded clothes under the trees, jostling into each other for warmth, staving off your shivers in the night air.

“I need you to promise me something…” you murmur, pulling on your nightgown, it turning translucent as it adheres to your damp skin.

“What is that, my darling wife?” he drawls, intrigued, pausing in the haphazard refastening of his trousers.

You wait until his gaze meets yours. “I know it is close to our wedding anniversary, but I need you to bring me here every year, Benedict. On this exact date… And take me right here, in this very lake…” 

His eyes flash, and he tugs you into his arms. 

“That can certainly be arranged, my love,” his words laden with dusky promise. “This shall forevermore be our notte d’amore.”

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[hivemuthur]

Hii! Thank you for replying. I've read five things and loved it so much I wanted to send another ask, and somehow managed to forget to send it, but never mind here it is now.

I was thinking a viktor×reader who were eachother's first everything (early academy days?) but than the reader had to move away for schooling/work, whatever, but now they're back (sometime after the beginning of hextech) and have to work with jayce and viktor. How would that dynamic look like? They didn't breakup over an argument or because they fell out of love but because that's the way life took them. I'm imagining them knowing eachother so well inside and out to the point people just assume they're dating. (Reader making viktors coffee even better than he can himself, viktor making something to fix a problem reader has but never had a solution for, anything really). And I don't know, maybe, possibly, somehow the tension gets to be too much for both of them and they're both more skilled now and whatnot... (I could live without that part tho, is you feel like it doesn't fit)

Sorry if the ask is too complicated, I've just been thinking about it for so long.

I know it's gonna be a while before you can write it but I can't wait to read all of the other requests in the meantime.❤️

~🍒

Dear sweet 🍒 Janna, hello again! Here's your fic!

Same As It Ever Was

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! a bit of everything - fluff, angst (light), smut

word count: 5,6K

author’s note: this is very freeform, an experiment, kinda? A story told in vignettes, little scenes between Viktor and Reader since the moment she came back to the Academy interwoven with their past, sex included. For this to work, I've written current events in Present Tense and the flashbacks in Past Tense.

artist on X (obsessed at this point)

—

You brace yourself with a deep breath—just as you did all those years ago. With lungs full of air, you cross the threshold, and memories come crashing back. Heimerdinger’s lectures, suspicious cafeteria food, noise complaints from your neighbours when Jayce laughed too loud in your dorm. Your dorm itself—its lumpy bed, not enough cabinet space for your books, scattered notes, and long night study sessions with Viktor.

As promised, he and Jayce are there, waiting to pick you up in the entrance hall. Jayce is as giddy as ever—stretching, chattering, busying himself with the announcement board, occasionally pointing at something to get Viktor’s attention. He looks almost the same.

Viktor, on the other hand—nearly still. He leans on a… crutch? It’s a crutch now, huh. You wince at not knowing sooner. An extra brace on his leg as well. His form is more hunched than you remember. He nods at Jayce’s remarks absently, craning his head toward the door, and his face—oh. It lights up when he sees you, just as it used to. Your heart travels all the way up to your throat.

You have to force yourself not to skip. Jayce reaches you first, nearly crashing into you with his embrace. He’s stronger than before, his shoulders broader. Either he’s gotten taller, or Viktor looks shorter. He pats your back and chuckles a mumbled hi—but your eyes are already on Viktor.

He opens his arms in an inviting gesture, and you slide right in. He still fits. He still smells the same, though there’s a lingering trace of oil on his collar. His hair is longer, and his clothes hang looser on his frame, but he feels the same. His neck is just as pretty, his hands just as strong. They go where they used to—one to your back, the other cradling the nape of your neck. You take one last inhale before he pulls back, a familiar spark playing in his eyes as he says, "Welcome back."

***

You stared at the schedule board, squinting as you tried to make sense of the messy list. You muttered under your breath, crossing out dates in frustration when the door behind you creaked open.

A voice spoke from behind, calm and precise. “Do you need assistance?”

You turned to see him—tall, neat, with a cane at his side. Pretty hair falling boyishly over his forehead, eyes the colour of liquid gold, two freckles decorating his upper lip and a spot under his eye. His voice was thickly accented, and you suddenly felt dumber than ever.

“What gave me away?” you huffed, managing a smile. “Groaning or furious scribbling?”

“Eh, a little bit of both,” he said, leaning in slightly to point at a part of the board. “Let me help?”

You handed him your notebook, and he made quick work of explaining the confusing schedule. “Looks like we’ll be seeing each other,” he hummed, studying your timetable.

Thank the gods, you thought. Feigning surprise instead of relief, you raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He nodded, the faintest smile pulling at his lips. “I’m looking forward to having class with you. I’m Viktor.”

In response, you muttered your name in one breath.

Without another word, he pressed the notebook into your hand, making sure your hands brushed, then turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, momentarily dumbfounded.

***

You follow Jayce and Viktor through the lab, eyes wide as they show you around. The space is far more impressive than you remember—equipment gleams, wires stretch across the ceiling like intricate veins, and the hum of machinery fills the air. Jayce is practically bouncing with excitement, narrating every little detail with an energy that nearly has you dizzy, while Viktor stays quieter, his gaze focused, occasionally glancing at you as though checking for your reactions.

You’re still trying to wrap your mind around everything when the tour finally ends, and Viktor turns to you with a small smile. “Is there anything you need?” he asks, his voice as smooth and calm as ever.

You consider it for a moment, then sigh dramatically. “I would kill for a coffee.”

Jayce snorts a laugh, “Things don’t really change, do they? Do you want to make it yourself as usual?”

“Of course, as you mentioned—things don’t change, which means I still don’t trust any of you with your coffee-making skills, Jayce,” you reply with a smirk, stepping past him toward the kitchenette area. Viktor watches you closely, but you don’t pay him any mind as you start pulling out the necessary ingredients. “Do you want one?” you throw over your shoulder. And Viktor nods with a smile.

You fall into an easy rhythm, just like old times. Your hands work quickly, grinding the beans, adjusting the water temperature, adding the perfect amount of milk—exactly how you know he likes it. It’s almost like your body remembers, and you can’t help but feel a strange sort of nostalgia as the familiar process comes naturally.

The sound of Viktor clearing his throat breaks your focus, and when you turn, he’s standing a little closer than you expected. His eyes are fixed on the coffee mug in your hands, and the way he’s staring at it almost makes you laugh.

You hand him the cup with a raised brow. “Did I get it right?”

He takes a slow sip, his expression unreadable at first. Then, after a long pause, he sets the cup down carefully on the counter, still looking at you, and says quietly, “Perfect.”

The fact that you remember how to make it, that you remember him—how he likes it, what he’s used to—has him speechless. You watch him for a moment, unsure of what he’s thinking, and the quiet fills the space between you both.

“Just like before,” he says, as though to himself, and you can't help but smile.

***

“Okay, coffee or death,” you whined, pressing your forehead to the desk with exaggerated dramatics. It had been your fourth hour of studying, and the letters on the page began to blur.

“I guess it’s coffee then,” Viktor stretched his legs in the chair before scrambling up to the kettle. “I have no idea how I would explain a corpse in my room.”

“I do not care what motivates your actions, I’m just in dire need of something keeping me alive, or I will fail this class,” you mumbled, still buried in the notes resting under your face. A cup set firmly by your left cheek made your eyebrow quirk, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ah, sweet salvation,” you hummed, grabbing it and taking a sip. And then—

“Viktor. What is this?”

Viktor’s voice was light as he shrugged. “It’s a coffee strong enough to keep you awake until morning.”

You winced, shaking your head slightly. “It’s so strong, it could actually solve the dead body problem you’ve mentioned before.”

He chuckled at that, his gaze still on you. “I suppose that’s one way to describe it.”

You huffed in frustration. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

Viktor only grinned, a spark of amusement in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself out of your chair and crossing the room to the counter. “Alright, move aside.” You grabbed the ingredients with a practiced hand, preparing a new brew. “This is coffee, not the motor fluid you made.”

Viktor leaned back in his chair, watching you as you worked. “That’s very thoughtful. I suppose you can always become a barista if you fail the class.”

You turned, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Just wait, Viktor. You’ll see. If I fail, I’ll open my own shop. I’ll call it ‘Professor Coffee’—I’ll make sure the brew is strong enough to wake the dead.”

Viktor’s laugh was soft but genuine. “It seems you’ve got it all figured out.”

***

You reach out, barely muttering, “Could you pass me…” before the tool is already in your hand. You glance at Viktor, who hasn’t even looked up from his work.

“How did you know?” you ask, eyebrows furrowing in surprise.

He taps his temple, a small smile playing beneath his goggles. “I have a good memory.”

***

You frowned at your workbench, trying to put a name to the tool you needed, but your mind blanked.

“Can you pass me the…” you began, unsure, your voice trailing off. You made a small gesture with your hand, hoping Viktor would somehow understand what you meant. Without hesitation, he handed you a wrench.

“No, not this,” you said, waving it off. “The other one?” You gestured again.

Viktor stared at you, brows furrowed, before passing you a screwdriver.

“Not that one either!” you huffed, frustration creeping in—not with him, but because your mind had suddenly decided to fail.

The ritual continued, with Viktor visibly amused as your hand hovered over the various tools he’d passed you. Wrenches, pliers, a hammer, and a couple of screwdrivers littered the workbench. You glanced down at your notes, trying to remember.

Viktor hummed, looking from your desk to your notes. His eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a knowing smile. “Ah. This one?”

Before you could respond, he was standing behind you, lowering the tool into your hand. His arms brushed the sides of your face, and you felt the press of his stomach against your back. For a moment, you froze, breath catching in your throat.

“A calliper,” you whispered.

“Well done, lásko,” Viktor muttered into your ear.

***

The clock announces an hour way past when you’ve expected to be home already. “Should we call it a night?” you ask Viktor, who sits opposite you, a soft smile curling on his lips.

“Some things have changed, then,” he says, tapping his crutch lightly against the floor. “You used to work until figurative death back in the day.”

“Well, I guess I’m getting older,” you reply with a grin, your tone light but laced with a touch of weariness. “What about you? Any big changes?”

He knocks on his brace playfully, lifting the crutch with a small gesture. “Besides the visible?” He chuckles softly. “Not much. Still working to the death.”

Your smile falters for a second, your gaze softening as you roll closer to him on your chair. You rest your hands gently on his knees, studying his face for any signs of deeper discomfort.

“Are you well, though?” you ask, your voice quiet, careful.

Viktor looks at your hands for a moment, then props the crutch on the desk beside him. He squeezes your palms, his grip firm but tender.

“I am now,” he replies, his voice low, almost like a confession. “Haven’t been for a while, but now I’m well. As well as I can be.” He pauses for a beat, then adds with a small smile, “And now that you’re back, I’m even better.”

You brush your fingers gently through his hair, feeling the familiar warmth of his presence, the intimacy of the gesture. Viktor hums softly, his eyes fluttering closed in response. So familiar, you think, a wave of nostalgia washing over you.

You swallow before speaking again, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I’ve missed you.”

Viktor’s eyes remain closed, his expression softening, and when he speaks, his voice heavier now when he sighs. “I know.” He pauses, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ve missed you too.”

***

You and Viktor lay in bed together, tangled in the warmth of each other’s embrace. His arm was draped around you, and the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek was a steady comfort. The room was quiet, unbearably so, when you nuzzled into his neck, inhaling deeply. His scent—rich, familiar, like the warmth of him—filled your senses, and you clutched him tighter, as though trying to memorize the feeling of him.

"I'm going to miss you so much," you whispered, your voice muffled against his skin, your breath shaky with the weight of the thought.

Viktor hummed softly in response, his fingers tracing small circles on your back. "I know. I will miss you terribly too." His words were gentle, but there was a deep sadness in his voice that you could feel even without looking at him.

He nudged your face with his nose, his palm warm as it cupped your cheek. His touch felt like a promise, though you weren't sure what to expect. "If it's meant to be, we will meet again," he said, his voice low, the words wrapped in the quiet certainty.

A pang in your chest tugged at you, and without thinking, you leaned up, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was soft, but your heart ached with the knowledge that this might be the last time you felt him close. It tasted with bitter acceptance, as you poured every bit of feeling you had into it, hoping it would somehow last, somehow hold you both together despite the distance that would come.

When you pulled away, your heart felt heavy, like it was breaking in your chest.

***

You both sit on the couch in your apartment, papers and notes scattered around you, a quiet hum of frustration bounces between you. Viktor’s hair is dishevelled, falling into his eyes, and his shirt has found its way half-out of his pants, a few buttons undone. He stares at the pages in front of him, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and determination. You glance over at him, hoping for a breakthrough.

“Any ideas?” you ask, your voice tinged with a hint of desperation.

Viktor groans and rubs his eyes, his shoulders sagging. “You know what… I think I’m getting old too,” he mutters, dropping his hand to your lap. “Can we get back to it when I’ve had at least two hours of sleep?”

He looks at you, his hand settling on your knee absentmindedly, his fingers warm through the fabric of your clothes. You stare at his hand for a moment, before looking up at him. He seems so tired, but also so… beautiful. His rumpled clothes and tousled hair remind you of the boy you loved.

“Sure,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You look at him, really look at him. He’s always been handsome, but tonight you can finally see how much time has passed. The wrinkles carving his face deeper, jaw stronger, singular grey strands shining through the chestnut hair. Eyes the same. He doesn’t look like a boy anymore.

Wordlessly, you move closer to him and his gaze doesn’t falter. You cup his cheeks and brush your thumb over his lip. And then, your mouth comes close to his, into a soft brush, trembling and tentative. And Viktor responds with a hand sliding up your thigh and a tilt of his head. He cranes his neck and closes the little distance left between you with a sigh of relief.

His free hand slides up to your neck, pulling you in as his mouth parts and tongue joins to wrestle with yours. He gasps when you bite his lower lip and hums, as his palm slides behind to cup your ass. Fully in his grasp, he press yourself more onto him, fingers tangling into his hair, coaxing small sounds out of his throat. It’s wet and slow and when you peek through your eyelashes his brows are scrunched and a blush blooms down his neck to his chest.

He doesn’t kiss like a boy anymore, you think to yourself. It comes unbidden and warms your insides up.

The taste of him lingers on your lips as you pull away just a fraction, your breaths mingling. You barely have a moment to think before Viktor kisses you back, deeply, hoarse inhale taken straight from your lungs leaves you dizzy.

***

Viktor had walked you back to your dorm after a late-night study session at the library. His pace was slow, almost reluctant, as if he was trying to figure out what to say before you parted ways. You were too tired to wait for him to find the words, your mind still foggy from hours of studying.

“I guess this is goodn—” you started, but before you could finish the word, his lips were on yours. The kiss came out of nowhere, abrupt and clumsy, pressing you back into the door behind you. For a moment, you froze, your tired mind scrambling to catch up with what was happening.

Then, the realization sank in, and the sound that left your lips transformed from startled surprise to a soft moan. You responded without thinking, hands sliding up Viktor's sides, feeling the warmth of his body as you kissed him back.

He dropped his cane, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. His touch was urgent, hands cradling your back and drawing you in as you ran your fingers through his hair. Feeling your response, he grew bolder, shut his eyes and concentrated on drawing deep breaths through his nose to not have to part from you.

Hands everywhere, as if he couldn’t decide what to do. You nearly laughed when she squeezed your butt quickly, only to go back to your waist, slide into your ribs and then to the small of your back. So feverish.

When the oxygen run out, he broke the kiss but still kept you close. “I wanted to do this for the longest time,” he chuckled into your mouth.

***

He gives himself a good-willed push off the couch’s armrest but ends up trapping your hip beneath his. His face scrunches in worry when you hiss, but the sound quickly transforms into a laugh. When your stomach shakes beneath him, Viktor feels a strange swelling in his chest. This is so familiar.

He looks at you longingly, sliding his fingers into your hair. Your laughter dies into a moan when his groin presses between your legs. His tongue grows more eager now, as if he remembers just how much he used to want you. “Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he breathes against your lips, and you respond by fisting his shirt, nearly tearing it. You try to say you’ve missed him too—fuck, how much you’ve missed him every day—but you can’t, because your mouth is full.

You brace yourself on your elbows, meeting him halfway. You’re not sure you can bear to part long enough for him to take your clothes off, so instead, you take his hands and press them to your ass. He accepts, of course, kneading your flesh in rhythm with his breath.

When you finally straddle him, your fingers move to undo the rest of his shirt. That’s when he stills. His palms come up to wrap around yours, and a quiet plea escapes him. “Wait,” he says weakly, his cock already hard—you’re sure this costs him a lot.

“Whatever for?” you ask, nosing at his face before pressing kisses to his cheeks, his closed eyelids. You untangle your fingers from his and wrap your arms around his neck.

“I should show you something first,” he murmurs, and begins to undo his shirt. You lean back to give him space to sit up, but your hips never leave his, and your eyes never look away from his face. You give him the room he needs, and feel unbearably not close enough.

***

You fought with the doorknob to your bedroom for a hot minute. Viktor, being very distracting, had completely derailed your brain from this simple dexterity task with continuous neck-licking and ear-kissing. He kept smirking against your skin, all cocky and pleased with himself, ever since the moment you’d asked, “Do you want to come in?”

You stumbled into the room together, and his fingers immediately shot to your vest. You hadn’t even blinked properly before it was undone, his hands cupping your breasts through your shirt, his cane hooked over his forearm.

Laughing and snorting at his clumsiness, you’d steadied him by the waist and let him walk you backward toward the bed.

Your hands fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, but they were small and stubborn, and you were too impatient. With a frustrated huff, you abandoned the effort and slid your hands over his shoulders instead. “Arms up,” you ordered, and Viktor chuckled as he complied.

He lifted his arms obediently, but as you dragged his shirt over his head, it caught for a moment, tangling around his face. He let out a muffled laugh, flailing slightly as you tugged it free, and the moment he was loose, he lost his balance. He tumbled backward onto the bed with an oof, propping himself up on his elbows as he grinned up at you.

You stepped between his legs, watching as his expression softened, turning almost reverent. His hands found your waist, fingers brushing deliberately over the fabric of your skirt before he slid it down, letting it pool at your feet. His lips followed the motion, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach before he rested his chin there, gazing up at you.

He cradled your hips, thumbs stroking lazily over your skin. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, his voice quiet, careful.

You nodded, eager, and leaned down to kiss him, pouring every answer he could ever need into the press of your lips.

***

“There is both more and less to me than there used to be,” Viktor says, rubbing slow, thoughtful circles up and down your thighs. His expression is pensive, and an apology lingers somewhere in his voice. You hate that he feels the need to apologise in the first place.

Your touch slides across his chest, down—down the leather ridges of a brace you’ve never seen before. It screams Jayce Talis with every bolt, every stitch, and your heart aches at the thought that you weren’t here when this was happening.

Your eyes dart between his chest and his lips before you finally nestle deeper against his pelvis, wrap your arms back around his neck, and crush your mouth to his in a kiss that weeps remorse. “You beautiful, beautiful man,” you whisper, pressing your face into his. “How are you so brave?”

You cup his cheeks, and he only smiles, covering your palm with his.

“I’m not brave. I just… survived,” Viktor says with a small shrug. Then, after a pause: “Would you like to help me take them off?”

You nod, eager, and lean down to kiss him, pouring all the fragmented pieces of yes into the press of your lips.

***

Viktor rolled with you across the sheets, his hands skimmed up your sides, warm and eager, fingers pressing into your skin like he was trying to memorise the feel of you. Your mouths met again, lips parting, tongues teasing—lazy and deep, now that you had each other finally.

He pulled you closer, your thighs bracketing his hips, and when you reached down, fingers curling into the waistband of his trousers, he let out a shaky breath. You grinned against his mouth, tugging them lower inch by inch, letting your nails drag over his skin just to hear the quiet little sounds he made in response. Finally, with one last playful yank, you pulled them off entirely, giggling when they got caught at his ankles for a moment before slipping free.

And then you saw it—his brace.

Viktor stiffened immediately. His hands twitched at his sides, and he turned his head slightly, as if he wanted to look anywhere but at you. "It’s nothing," he muttered, voice quieter than before. "You don’t have to—"

You reached out, your palm settling gently on his leg. "Viktor," you said softly, your touch firm but tender. His gaze flicked back to yours, guarded, unsure. "You are so beautiful."

He gasped, a sound so quiet you might not have caught it if you weren’t so close. His lips parted slightly, eyes searching yours like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right.

You didn’t give him time to argue. Instead, you leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his thigh, just above the brace. He shivered beneath you. Carefully, you undid the clasps, your fingers working with quiet reverence, peeling away the brace as if unveiling something sacred.

It left behind faint indentations in his skin—lines and ridges pressed deep from the whole day of wear. You kissed each one, your lips trailing over the marks with the same care you’d give any other part of him. Viktor’s breath hitched, his fingers threading into the sheets, gripping tight.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, barely above a whisper, he breathed, "You undo me."

***

You set the last metal part of Viktor aside, and now, finally—after years of longing—you see him. His legs are parted, eternal bruises marking his thigh and knee, the toes of one foot cramped closer together than the other. His ribs bear pearly little scars where the chest brace has caught against his skin.

His cock rests idly in the crease of his thigh, beautiful as ever—pink at the tip, his navel scattered with curly hair that meets in a neat line just below his belly button. His hips are sharp angles, his belly rising and falling with each breath. You take in this adult man’s body and compare it to the boy you fell in love with. And you are sure now—there is only more to him than there used to be.

You step between his legs, and his arms reach out, fingers tracing a scar on your lower abdomen. He hums, “This is new.”

“You should see the other guy,” you murmur playfully. “A machine malfunctioned at the lab. One of the energy conductors went unstable, and before I could shut it down, a piece of metal sliced me open.” You pause, watching his face tense. “I got lucky.”

Viktor brushes his thumb over the scar tissue before lowering his lips, pressing a kiss to it—slow, reverent. “My brave girl,” he mutters against your skin. Your head lulls back on your shoulders, fingers threading into his hair and you let out a sigh.

You shudder when he presses a delicate touch between your legs. His hand, more calloused than you remember, gathers the curve of your inner thigh—but oh, his fingers still feel the same. The same timid swipe across your core, the same quiet hum of approval at the wetness you've gathered for him. Then, his free arm comes to wrap around your hips, pulling you closer as he presses his ear to your belly and slides two fingers inside you.

More skill, you notice. A pang of jealousy coils in your chest—ugly, unnecessary—but you don’t let him see. He kisses your stomach, and his eyelashes tickle your skin as he moves his hand up and down and his fingers hit the spot that has you moaning out his name. “As tight as I remember,” he hums, and it lances through you how infinitely hotter he has become.

You tug at his hair to make him look at you. Two gold gems drill right through you when you say, “Viktor.” A sigh, then, “I think I really need to fuck you now.”

He smiles sweetly and kisses your stomach again. “Then it seems we are on the same page.”

***

After a lot of fumbling, adjusting, and whispered curses, you finally found what worked. Viktor propped his knee up with a pillow, his other leg hooked under yours, grounding you together. His weight pressed you into the mattress—not crushing, just enough to make you feel him everywhere, warm and steady.

He rolled his hips into you, slow and measured, his arm caging you in as he kissed you through it. The heat of his breath spilled over your mouth, his lips parting just enough to let out the quietest of moans. And even in the haze of pleasure, you could see it—the determination tightening his brow, the concentrated press of his mouth against yours. He was on a mission, and that mission was you.

One arm wound snugly around your neck, cradling you into him, while his other hand worked between your legs, fingers slick and diligent. He timed each stroke with the snap of his hips, coaxing you closer, closer—

“Oh—Viktor—”

The sound of your voice shattered something in him. His rhythm stuttered, his forehead dropped to yours, but his fingers didn’t stop, circling, pressing, working you toward your peak. You dug your nails into his back, rocking up to meet him, and then—

It rushed over you like a cresting wave. Your thighs tensed around his waist, your breath caught, and the pleasure crested so high it stole all thought. He moaned softly, watching, feeling every pulse of your release around him.

His movements became less controlled, needier, a touch more frantic. He groaned against your shoulder, muttered something in a language you barely caught, and then followed you over the edge. His body trembled against yours, hips stuttering, breath shaky as he spilled into you, his lips still parted against your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds in the room were your slowing breaths, the faint creak of the mattress, and the heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Then, Viktor finally lifted his head, flushed, sweat-dampened curls clinging to his forehead. He swallowed hard, his expression abashed but glowing with something warm and dazed.

“I hope that at this point, it is merely a formality,” he said, still breathless. “But… may I be so bold as to call you my girlfriend from now on?”

***

Your hips slot back together as if no time has passed. He fills you the same way, stretches you perfectly, and the expression he makes as he sinks in—God, it’s the same. Crushingly fucking gorgeous. Relief and bliss war on his face, his lips parting around a shaky groan as his hands seize your ass, pulling you down fully with a sharp slap of skin against skin.

He nuzzles into your neck, breath heavy and warm, licks up the column of your throat before sinking his teeth into your tendon. You gasp, moan, and pull at his hair, and the low, satisfied hum he gives in response shoots straight through you. His grip on your hips tightens, thumbs pressing into your skin as he guides you into motion, dragging you up before urging you back down. A faint roll of his own hips meets yours with every descent, his restraint slipping as the pleasure builds.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice—he’s changed. There’s more confidence in the way he moves, the way he takes from you, the way he talks to you. His voice is deeper, richer, words curling into your skin like smoke.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, dark and approving. He drags a hand up your spine, settles it at your nape, tilting your head so you do look—so you watch the way he devours you with his eyes. “You take me so well, lásko.”

Heat spreads down to your toes. You try to bite back a whimper, but he sees it, hears it, and smirks. Smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Oh, he’s so much bolder now. And you’re falling apart because of it.

It starts with the way he tilts his hips just right, the way his grip on you tightens like he knows exactly where you need him. His free hand glides down your spine, tracing sweat-slick skin before slipping between your bodies. Two fingers find your clit, and your breath stutters. He circles once, twice—slow and deliberate—before pressing down, firm and unrelenting.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, voice like silk, like sin. He rewards you with a deep thrust, dragging a broken moan from your throat. “Let me feel you.”

You do—oh, God, you do. Pleasure overtakes you, crashing through your body in waves, pulling you under. Your thighs shake around him, your hands fly to his shoulders, nails sinking into muscle as you arch and shudder and keen his name. He groans, eyes dark and reverent as he watches you unravel in his lap.

Yet still, there are things that haven’t changed. The way his breath hitches when you clench around him. The way his moans turn desperate when you lean forward and suck at his throat. The way he starts to chase the pleasure once he gets close, gripping you tighter, rutting up into you with a fervour that makes your head spin.

And the way he comes—the same shudder, the same deep, gasping moan, the same way his arms crush you against his chest as if he could pull you inside him. His release spills deep, his body trembling beneath yours, and you realise it then, as you always have.

He is grateful for this. For you.

Your noses brush as he catches his breath, and his hands smooth over your back, grounding himself in the feel of you.

“Still with me?” you murmur, running your fingers through his damp curls.

Viktor exhales a breathless laugh, lids heavy, lips parted in something like awe. He nods, shifting just enough to press a lingering kiss to your collarbone. “Always.”

[lilyrayaya]

Hi guys it's been awhile.

I've been thinking about past beasts ever since sage of truth costume came out (THAT I STILL DON'T HAVE AND I'M VERY MAD ABOUT THAT)

have my designs for them + personal hcs

Might not do Eternal Sugar and Silent Salt until there's more content on them sorry ES and SS fans, I base my hcs around canon .

[mortalscience]

i just watched the doctor-donna specials for the first time and HOLY SHIT.

for background I am the biggest donna noble stan (she and sarah jane trade off back and forth for my Number One Companion spot), I love her so fucking much and I love the doctor and donna together so fucking much, and it's because I love them SO MUCH that I was too afraid to watch the specials for a long time. because what if they did it wrong? what if they fucked it up? what if it wasn't good? that would make me too sad for words.

but I decided I missed them and I wanted new adventures so it was time to watch. however, I decided to watch series 4 first. and it's been years since I've watched, and while it was still full of the moments of the doctor and donna that I love, I saw something with fresh eyes. which is that donna was barely fucking allowed to be her own companion without the spectres of companions past hanging over her head. I think there was maybe one singular episode in the whole season that rose or martha didn't appear in or were mentioned. I feel like I was a little annoyed by it at the time but watching it now I was really fucking annoyed by it.

so that set the stage for watching the specials because I was so so retroactively upset that so much of donna's season was spent on other companions. but, the specials made up for all that, AND MORE. those episodes with the doctor and donna are a fucking GIFT!! an apology for ever overshadowing their relationship with anybody else, because they are the most soulmatey of doctors and companions (except for maybe four and sarah jane, again, they trade off!!). they love each other so deeply and completely, they are such a perfect fucking match. the POSTER children for matching each other's freaks. these episodes were a wonderful revisitation of everything that made them THEM and there was barely any mention of rose at all lmao.

and their ending in the original run was so damn tragic. I cried when it first aired. how could they do that to my donna?? but these specials fixed it!! I can't believe it! all these years later and THEY FIXED IT!!

and now donna lives happily ever after for the rest of her life with the doctor in her backyard and they go on adventures sometimes but also just sitting around having family dinners?? what the fuck! I can barely process it!! canon fix-it 15 years later undoing years of angst and trauma! OKAY!

also the episodes were really fucking good (wild blue yonder WAS SCARY OMG) and NPH showing up in doctor who dancing to the spice girls was not on my bingo card but here we are. he was delightful.

the episodes just had so many emotional moments between the doctor and donna. it was my wildest dreams come true! they love each other and it's so fucking canon, I love them, and I'm feeling very normal about it all!!

#eternal sobbing

[thealexchen]

Why Dontnod's games feel original and inspired (and why Deck Nine's games don't)

So, I've talked at length about how Double Exposure feels much more like a corporate product than a playable piece of art entertainment [My initial thoughts on the DE trailer] [My thoughts on the early access paywall] [My thoughts on the weird marketing].

But now with the release of Lost Records, I feel like I have no choice but to confront the question: were any of Deck Nine's games truly original or inspired in any way? And honestly, I have to say no.

Objectively, I could say it's because Deck Nine literally has not produced any original IP's since their rebrand from Idol Minds in 2017. Their only narrative adventure games are all part of the LiS franchise. But even their most original game, True Colors, pretty obviously follows the first game's narrative formula (young woman with a superpower investigates a sudden disappearance/death in a small town with a dark secret, has two opposite sex love interests, learns about a twist villain, is nearly murdered, and goes through a psychological nightmare in the last episode) to a tee. But oh look, there's also a LARP!

But I believe there's more to it than that, because when I look at Dontnod's games, they are always inspired by other works. Life is Strange 1 plays very clear homage to Twin Peaks with the Pacific Northwest setting and Rachel Amber resembling Laura Palmer. Max Caulfield is named after the protagonist of The Catcher in the Rye, another novel about the fleeting innocence of childhood and superficiality of society. Life is Strange borrows tropes from Donnie Darko, Groundhog Day, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, Stand By Me, and even Blue is The Warmest Color for its themes and plot points. Just take a look at its "Shout-out" page on TV Tropes. And the result is... something completely original, with riveting plot twists, memorable characters, and an ending that will make you cry.

This shouldn't make sense, right? You'd think this big soup of references would turn into an indistinguishable mess of cliches, but Life is Strange managed to be a synthesis of everything the writers loved and were inspired by, to become something completely new. Why? Because nobody had tried to take Twin Peaks, Donnie Darko, and The Catcher in the Rye and turn it into a video game before! And make it gay!

The point being, Dontnod consistently makes original material because they take creative risks. This is definitely not done lightly, since they still need to be a company that generates profit, but they still prioritize making art over selling out. Their stories feel inspired because they are inspired; when writers love what they're writing about, the result is a passion project that has loving, clever nods to all the works that are woven into it.

So perhaps a way to reword that first question is to then ask, "Have Deck Nine's games ever been inspired by anything?" And unfortunately, the answer is still no. Instead, they just copy what they hope will sell well. And a bland imitation for the sake of generating profit is never going to produce anything that feels original.

This takes me back to Lost Records, which is also clearly inspired by the same works: Twin Peaks, It: Chapter One, The Craft, The Blair Witch Project, The Goonies, Stand By Me. But again, no other game studio besides Dontnod has ever looked at these works and thought, "But what if it starred teenage lesbians instead?" Or, more specifically: "How do we capture the spirit of what made these media great and incorporate that into a new story for a new audience?" And those characters have so much thought and care poured into them too: while I've been disappointed that Double Exposure Max looks airbrushed to hell and back, I love that the Bloom & Rage girls have asymmetrical faces, acne, freckles, body hair, skin discoloration, and diverse body types. Double Exposure is marketed as nostalgia bait for fans, where Max is reduced to a prettied-up, polished-up, representation of nostalgia, not even her own character anymore, in a game that otherwise has no connection to the original. Her quips are reduced to "Hey! Remember our good ol', dad-joke cracking, dorky Max Caulfield??" and her grief is shoved aside for "Hey, look at that appealing new love interest! Because we knoooow y'all love your sapphic romance, right?"

By contrast, Lost Records has only been out for 10 days, but I already feel like the girls are some of the most memorable characters I've come across in gaming for the niche they fill. Swann seems like your typical Max-like dork, except she's also a movie buff and giddy about bugs, horror, and the paranormal; and has clearly been affected by her mother's fatphobic beliefs. Autumn is a level-headed leader who always stuck to her desire to help others, and her Blackness naturally informs her desire to feel valued and not cause trouble in a small, very white, conservative town. Nora intrigues me so much for going from a fun-loving rebel punk teen to a more gender-conforming, capitalist-leaning, influencer businesswoman. And Kat feels like an evolution of Chloe's cynicism, where her scrappy charm belies an almost unsettling obsession with the occult and a deep, tragic chasm of rage at having to confront her mortality far too young. They make sense. They feel carefully written, genuine, and like real people.

But most of all, Dontnod's games have never felt like products. In fact, most of their characters have historically gone against the grain of what traditionally "marketable" characters are. The first LiS took all these aforementioned stories about straight white men and chose to remix and retell it through the eyes of a young, queer, time-traveling girl instead. Tell Me Why is the first AAA game with a trans protagonist, and Tyler is voiced by a trans actor in all the language dubs. Lost Records decided that it would tell its story through four queer teenage girls, with women writers onboard, and fucking own it. As long as Dontnod keeps making games that stick to their creative integrity, I'll keep respecting their vision in whatever they decide to create next. Also, maybe I should finally watch Twin Peaks.

Thank you for reading!

[taeyongdoyoung]

beg for you

summary: missing your ex, you stumble upon an interesting song that brings back memories you thought you could bottle up... pairing: vernon x reader genre: angst, smut, exes to online friends to lovers warnings: mentions of past break-up, reader felt neglected and lonely, insecurities, lowkey catfishing+lie by omission, swearing, song-writing themes, some serious talks, hand-holding, kissing, spitting, eating out, fingering, dom!vernon, orgasm denial, public unprotected sex (in a café bathroom), mainly lots of emotions, idk author's note: the fic was inspired by this iconic song, in particular vernon's verse and it has some occasional references to the lyrics in bold word count: 2.6k

It's been three months since you ended things with Vernon, blocked his number and all his socials and tried your best to forget about him. The reason for your break-up was mainly because you felt like he never had time for you, his music always came first and while that was appealing at the start of your relationship, it began to infuriate you and make you feel invisible towards its end. He would stand you up and forget about your dates more than once. He would make you feel like you were always his second choice. Not being around him hurts like hell, because you'd become so used to his presence that the lack of it brings so much emptiness. And also because a part of you still loves him.

One evening, you can't fall asleep so you're scrolling through some music apps. Suddenly you discover a new song. The artist hides their face behind a mask but their voice sounds somewhat familiar. Strangely enough, the lyrics just speak to you:

I don't think I'll ever feel this type of way again (This way again; Yеah, uh, yeah) I beg for you, please (Don't let go), don't let go of me, don't let go of me All the endless conversations about us been going on in our head In the night, we dream a future together and I feel bad in your bed I beg for you, please stay, I can't go a day without No, I can't go a day without you, hoo

So weird. It's like the artist knows exactly what's been on your mind for the past three months. You shut your phone off with a sigh and attempt to get some sleep. The next day, that same melody and those words haunt you. And the following day…It goes on for a while and you've become so obsessed with it that you try to do some research on the artist. Unfortunately, it's not of much help. Nobody knows the identity of the artist, how they look or their real name. It's frustrating but it is what it is. Maybe you should drop it. But then again…you really can't stop thinking about these fucking lyrics and how well they described how you've been feeling.

You decide to do something stupid and slide into the DMs of the anonymous artist. They'll probably never see this message as they have thousands of followers, but still, you need to get this off your chest somehow.

You: Hi, you probably get this a lot but your lyrics are really relatable, like they truly spoke to me and totally represent the way I've been feeling for the past three months. You're incredibly talented and I'd be happy to hear more of your music in the future.

It's a short message, nothing too crazy. You feel a sense of relief once you've sent it. You realize it doesn't matter if the artist ever sees it. You're just happy you were able to express your feelings.

To your immense shock, about 30 minutes later, you receive a notification. This is actually so insane you can't believe your eyes. The anonymous artist…texted you back?!

RevN98: Hi, this really means a lot to me. Actually, I don't get a lot of feedback, as I'm just starting out. I'll try my best to write more music. In what ways did you relate to the lyrics?

Is he seriously…initiating a discussion? It is wild enough he texted you back but the fact he wants to continue texting baffles you. But you are not one to look at a gift horse in the mouth. So, you respond rightaway.

You: I got out of a long-term relationship a couple of months ago and even though I should probably move on already, some part of me wishes my ex begged for me to stay. I know it's probably a selfish thought, considering I'm the one who broke up with the guy, but…I miss him sometimes and I keep thinking of a universe in which he'd fought for me.

After sending that message, you look at it in horror as you realize how personal it was. Why is it so easy to open up to a complete stranger? And not to people who actually know you…

You: Sorry, that was probably a whole bunch of TMI. Anyways, I really thought your lyrics were connected to how I was feeling if that makes sense.

You double text just in case. The response from the mysterious artist comes soon after.

RevN98: It makes sense, yeah. When I was writing them, I was also thinking about my past relationship. Honestly, I kind of wish I'd begged my ex to stay. I thought that by not doing so, I was respecting her wishes and giving her space. But now that it's been a while, I can't help but think I should have expressed myself better. I really miss her, though, so I guess that got reflected in the lyrics somehow.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts and figure out what to text.

You: Aw, man. Whoever your ex is, she's lucky to have such lyrics written about her. Even if it's over, maybe there's a way she finds your music and…I don't know, reconsiders things?

RevN98: Hah, that'd be a dream come true. I don't think she likes the kind of music I make.

You: Why not? Your music is great!

RevN98: Well, the truth is I was spending more time on my music than time with her. So, I guess that's one of the reasons for our break-up.

My God. This feels…too similar to your situation it gives you goosebumps. Despite that, it's like your fingers are possessed as they keep itching to text the anonymous artist back.

You: Time changes the way people feel. Maybe if you're honest with her and how you're feeling, there's a chance for a reconciliation. Or at least some closer. You should call her!

RevN98: I'd love that but she's blocked my number.

You: Use a friend's phone, duh!

RevN98: That'd be suspicious, considering I haven't told any of my friends about our break-up.

You: Dang…you're really not over this girl, huh?

RevN98: Not a chance.

You: So…what are you going to do?

RevN98: I don't know, for the time being texting you helps to ease the pain.

You: Likewise. But just to give you a heads-up, I'm not interested in any rebound relationship.

RevN98: Great. I'm not interested in that, either.

You: So…online buddies, then?

RevN98: Sounds good to me.

It is so strange how quickly the mysterious artist becomes part of your everyday life. You text each other quite often about anything. From what you've had for breakfast to what other music you've been listening to. From where you're planning to go with your friends to…how much you miss your exes. It is truly extraordinarily easy to talk to them. You still don't know much. How they look, what their real name is, where they live…But somehow it's enough knowing they're out there making awesome and relatable music.

Until one day it isn't.

You: We should meet up!

RevN98: I don't think that is a good idea…My schedule's crazy lately.

You: What do you mean? It's not like you have live performances.

You point out the obvious because from what you've gathered, maintaining this anonymity is key to RevN98.

RevN98: I just don't feel comfortable meeting in person…

You: Are you worried I'd expose your identity? You know I'm not that kind of person, right?

RevN98: I'm not worried about that. It's hard to explain. It would make sense if we met up, which is exactly why we can't meet up.

You: I'm super confused right now. But you know how important honesty is to me. So, it's now or never, I guess. If you don't want to meet up in the near future, I don't think I want to continue being friends…

You wait a couple of minutes, to give them a chance to make a decision. Finally, the response comes.

RevN98: Okay, let's meet up.

They text you a time and place. And then you ask the crucial question.

You: How will I know it's you?

RevN98: Trust me, you'll know.

This is…so cryptic. You guess you'll just have to rely on the fact that there are a bunch of photos of you on your profile, so the musician would be able to recognize you first.

When you arrive at the small café, you look around nervously, waiting. Negative thoughts keep haunting your mind. What if they change their mind in the last minute and stand you up? What if they are disappointed upon meeting you and never want to text you again? What if you were too harsh by giving an ultimatum? What if-

So many scenarios and you failed to consider the one that truly matters.

What if…you run into your ex at said café? What are the fucking odds?!

"What are you doing here?" you ask Vernon, sounding a bit too rude. Better to be rude than to burst into tears or something more embarrassing.

"Waiting for you," Vernon replies simply.

"What are you talking about?" you blink in confusion. Until it clicks…No. Freaking. Way.

Vernon sighs and takes his phone out, showing you the texts between you and RevN98. And the only explanation is…fucking hell. He is RevN98.

"Please, tell me you're joking right now."

"I wish I was," Vernon looks down, feeling guilty.

"How could you do this to me?" you inquire, eyes welling up already. You feel so weak upon seeing him.

"What was I supposed to do? You had me blocked on everything."

"What, and writing me a song under a false name sounded like the greatest idea?" you snap at him.

"I just needed to talk to you again. Somehow."

"Why? What is there to say?"

"I miss you," Vernon murmurs.

"You lied to me," you insist stubbornly.

"Please come back to me," he keeps trying.

"It's too late…" you try to reject him gently.

"I'm begging you," Vernon really wants a second chance.

You shake your head, but your hands are already reaching for his. Desperate to hold them one more time, you lean closer.

"I'm not taking you back," you keep fighting it.

"Okay," he nods.

"We're just…gonna talk, yeah? Seems a waste of my great outfit to go back home."

"Okay," Vernon repeatss.

As the two of you sit down to have a chat, suddenly all of the unsaid words and undelivered messages bubble up to the surface.

"I should have fought for you. I mean it. Music is important to me but not as much as you. You are my muse, how could I go another day without you?"

"It seems you've been doing a great job writing music without me," you say bitterly.

"Oh, yeah?" Vernon raises his eyebrows cockily. "Well, I bet I can write even better if you're back in my life."

"I was too harsh," you admit. "I let my overthinking and insecurities get the worst of me. When I broke up with you, it seems I had forgotten how much I love music, too. I was so caught up in my own dark thoughts that I didn't matter to you that things escalated."

"You had a point," Vernon chuckles sadly. "I wasn't giving you the attention you needed. The attention you deserve. I was being selfish."

"I was selfish, too," you confess. "I shouldn't have made you feel like you needed to make a choice between me and music."

"I would pick you. For the record."

"Record is exactly what you'll be making," you tease him. "I'm serious. I need to hear more of what you've been working on."

"I'd love to show you. But there's something else I'd like to do first," Vernon smirks mischievously.

He grabs your hand and takes you to the café's bathroom. He pushes you inside a free booth and locks the door behind him. He kisses you under the bathroom lights eagerly, not wanting to let go ever again.

"Hey!" you chide him playfully. "I said I wasn't taking you back."

"Too bad. 'Cause I'm taking you," Vernon says assertively.

"You…you've changed," you blink in surprise.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Vernon smiles and his palms dig into your lower back deliciously, as he kisses you again. "God, I missed this taste."

"You're insane," you laugh but you can't find it in you to deny it any longer. You want him so bad.

"Don't let go of me," he repeats the song's lyrics in your ear.

"I won't. As long as you promise the same," you ask.

Vernon doesn't say a word as he kneels in front of you. He picks up one of your legs and swings it over his shoulder as pulls your panties to the side. Suddenly, you're so grateful for your genius decision to wear a dress. He spits on your pussy and attacks your folds with his skilled tongue. You're already losing your mind over how good it feels, when suddenly, he pulls back.

You gasp in disappointment as your pleasure was so abruptly interrupted.

"Beg me," Vernon commands you easily. "Beg me to make you come."

"You're fucking insane," you refuse. You've always had a little bit of a brat in you.

Vernon, however, doesn't seem perturbed by your refusal to cooperate and sticks one finger inside you, teasing you slow enough to frustrate you but not fast enough to get you there. It hurts so sweetly you both hate and love it.

"Beg me," he repeats.

It would be so easy to do that. Just to get that sweet release…But the stubborn part of you is still stronger than the part of you that wants to come.

''Try harder," you grin cruelly.

Vernon is not one to back down from a challenge and unleashes his final weapon. He takes off his jeans and slides his hard cock inside you. Fuck. You'd forgotten how girthy he is.

"I missed you so much," he whispers in your ear. And his genuine words affect you more than his actions. And oh, how terribly you've missed him, too.

You hold on to the back of his neck, needing him for support. He keeps tormenting you, not moving a lot, just making you feel so full but so dissatisfied at the same time. You truly can't take it anymore.

"P-please, let me c-come," you beg for him hopelessly.

"There's my good girl," Vernon smiles proudly and adjusts his movements, adding pressure with his fingers so that you come in mere seconds.

"T-thank you, thank you," you chant, not knowing what demon possessed you to act this way.

"So polite," he laughs adorably and holds you close as he reaches his own high.

You don't want to let go of him ever again. But you're gonna have to, because you hear angry people who want to use the bathroom. Uh-oh.

You quickly try to clean each other up and rush outside, cheeks red with embarrassment.

You get a few weird looks from random people, but honestly, it doesn't matter. This felt too good.

"Sooo…" Vernon says once you've arrived at his chill but cozy apartment. "Does this mean you'll take me back?"

"Hmm, I don't know. Beg me nicely?" you suggest teasingly.

"Oh, you know I will," Vernon promises.

Bonus:

"Veeern, it's been hours, didn't you finish the song already?" you complain, desperate for his attention.

"Just five-"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," you warn him, though you don't really mean it. You're just playing around. You know he cares about you deeply. Perhaps more deeply that he lets on.

"Won't you wait another hour or two?" Vernon teases you back.

"You know what? I'd wait as long as it takes," you smile and put your lips on his lips.

The End

[reptilian-rapscallian]

Right I usually only talk about the marauders but I need to talk about Dan and Phil for a second because the fan response to the livestream ticketing is ridiculous.

I'm going to quickly preface this by saying that yes, the hidden service charges were INSANE and unfair, but they've since stated that starting today they're going to do partial refunds and lower the prices so that they're balanced better. It's very clear that they didn't know about the service charges, and people suddenly trying to imply that it was a malicious decision are driving me up the wall.

Since that initial issue, people have taken it as an opportunity to not only be overly critical, but to just insult them???

Firstly, £12 as a starter price for a livestream ticket is reasonable. Literally every theatre livestream ticket I've ever seen has started at £16-£18 and gone up from there, so realistically this is a reasonable price!! Chances are they did their best to get it as low as they possibly could without losing money. Tours are fucking expensive, with most people who tour either making minimal money or breaking even (something not even that), and running under the assumption that they're absolutely LOADED when they've been very open about the fact that they've got a mortgage to pay is WILD. They need to make money to be able to make content!!

Also, the vast majority of their content is free. They have far more free and readily available content than most other influencers out there. People are acting like it's insane to briefly put the tour behind a paywall, like wad didn't get ads blocked STRAIGHT after it became free and readily available. Also, it's not just access to the tour that you're paying for? There's a preshow/'red carpet', and then an after-party q&a if you've opted for the £16 or any of the merch bundles. If you don't want to pay, the tour will STILL be available to you at some point, and I think it's wild to act like it's unfair that they need to make money? I'm sorry, but they need to be able to pay their bills.

One thing I feel like it's most important to acknowledge is that you're not being forced to buy it. People are acting like they were held at gunpoint and forced to check out with the service fees. If PayPal checked you out without showing you the service fees (which is a PayPal glitch, not an issue from Dan and Phil), then you can get a refund pretty easily. If not, you can email and chances are you'll get a refund (if you want the whole cost back and not just the service fees because those are getting automatically refunded). However, acting like you saw the service fees, had the money and checked out anyway, means that Dan and Phil forced you to do it is WILD. Dan making a joke with a fan about skipping work (in which they called their job one of the most important in the world) is NOT Dan forcing everybody to miss life events for the livestream and I'm so confused about why people are seeing it that way. You're not obligated to do anything, and being mad at Dan and Phil for releasing merch bundles at all after buying one is genuinely unfathomable to me as a thought process.

Also, acting like they're not taking it seriously enough when they're actively doing what people asked and resolving the issue is wild??? If they had released an overly professional "statement" you guys would have jumped to call them cold and uncaring. This was easily the best way they could have resolved the issue, and I'm genuinely so confused by everybody being so willing to insult Phil's response as if he didn't do EXACTLY what people wanted them to do??? Also being mad at them specifically for the merch not being available internationally (which is definitely an issue) is insane because they don't actually control the merch shipments??? Like why are they suddenly expected to change something that chances are they don't know how to change???

Suddenly jumping to insult them personally, or going out of your way to accuse them of being hyper-capitalists is uncalled for and just plain rude. It was this shit that kept me from taking part in the online communities pre-hiatus, and I'm genuinely really frustrated to see it coming back. Acting like they're the biggest depiction of capitalism is insane. Have you ever shopped at Amazon? Literally any major supermarket? Any name brand ever? They're bigger examples of submitting to a capitalist regime than Dan and Phil!! As much as we can all (rightfully) criticise our capitalist society, we all have to feed into it to survive because it's so deeply ingrained into our lives. They need to eat, they need to pay their bills, and they're doing their best to make it fun for their audience.

Yes, the hidden service fees were insane. Yes, the merch bundles not being available internationally is upsetting. However, they're literally doing everything in their power to fix it, and were clearly unaware of these things before the tickets went on sale.

There's a difference between rightfully pointing out issues and just insulting them personally and being really shit about them??? They haven't forced you to buy anything and they're resolving the issue. Calm tf down.

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

A One Night Stand w/ Hawks | One Shot

His kisses are so soft, so tender - you almost forget that this is a booty call.

A one night stand.

A one fuck fling.

But the way he's fucking you in missionary doesn't feel like a one night stand...it feels like he's making love to you.

He tucks his face into the side of your neck as he slowly rolls his hips, his cock stretching you out in a sweet way that brings tears of pleasure to your eyes. With each rut into you, his wings puff up behind him in a way that's more endearing than sexy. You can tell by his quirk's reaction that he's really enjoying it.

"God you feel good, birdie." Keigo sighs, planting a wet kiss to your jaw as his hips flex again. Your pussy flutters around him, pulling him in deeper of its own accord. "Fuuuuuck." He moans out and the sound is practically musical.

"Ah! Kei...you feel so good." You groan, enjoying the comfortable pace he's set. Your hips rise easily to meet him on his next thrust and he curses again under his breath.

"What was that?" You tease, unable to help yourself. He peaks up at you, his face scarlet. It's cute the way he blushes as he fucks you.

"I've just wanted to fuck you for so long - ever since I saw you at that press conference. This feels like a damn dream or something." He mutters softly. You reach up to softly stroke his wings. The feathers quiver beneath your gentle touch. You hadn't realized that the feeling had been mutual for so long. Ever since you'd interviewed him at the winter Hero Billboard press night, you hadn't stopped thinking about him. Those crimson wings and those deep golden eyes and the slim dip of his hips. After that night, it seemed like the two of you kept falling into the same orbit. Had that not been a coincidence? You had kept ending up together - at press events, galas, on air. It had all culminated tonight. After your press coverage of a resolved incident, he had asked you for a drink.

"Baby...keep touching my wings?"

Baby.

You ignore the pet name and stuff your fingers more fully into his feathers. They quiver and shake around your hand, but you continue to stroke and caress and give them love all the same. Keigo makes a soft keening noise in the back of his throat in response.

"You like that?"

"Fuck, birdie...I love it." He fucks you even more slowly, making each motion of his cock inside you feel intentional, thoughtful.

"Next time I'll take you out to dinner first." He says, lifting his body so he can hover over you. He presses a kiss to your cheek, your nose, your mouth. Your lips chase his as he pulls away, looking down at you through heavy golden eyes. It's funny how he's just as chatty in bed as he is in press interviews. "There's a great Italian spot by my place. We can make a night of it. Plus...the window behind my bed has a view you'll just love to look out when I take you from behind."

[asumofwords]

Watercress - Chapter 3

Warnings: She/her pronouns. Slow burn, mentions of injury, threats, sickness. Tags will be added as the fic goes along.

Pairings: Aemond x Healer

Summary: Raised in the Riverlands, near the shadow of Harrenhal, her life was one of endless toil and quiet resilience. Every day was the same—scraping together food, tending to the ill, and surviving the harsh realities of a land marked by struggle. But when war came, it brought horrors beyond anything she could have imagined. The skies blazed with fury, the waters of the Gods Eye churned with the echoes of battle, and then—just as suddenly as it began—the world grew eerily quiet. She believed the worst was over. That was, until a fateful discovery in the woods shattered her fragile peace and set her on a path she never could have foreseen.

Notes: Hello angels! I hope you enjoyed chapter 2 and now enjoy this. I've been writing these on my commutes to work which has been super fun. I'm going to try and get a chapter out every week if i can! Enjoy <3

For days, Aemond floated in and out of consciousness. Each time his eye flickered open, only to roll shut again, the healer took it as a sign that he would survive. She had seen men fade into death before. How their bodies went still, how their breathing grew shallow and thin until it simply stopped.

But Aemond was not one of those men. He lingered, clung to life like a beast caught in a trap, refusing to die despite the ruin of his body.

At first, he barely stirred. She forced water between his cracked lips, tipping it carefully so he would not choke. She fed him broth, the rich scent of marrow and herbs filling the cottage as she coaxed him to swallow. At one point, she had feared he would slip into a sleep he would never wake from, lost to his wounds and the fever that burned at his skin. But as the days passed, his fingers twitched. His lashes fluttered.

And then finally his eye opened.

Outside, the air had turned sharp and biting, winter creeping closer with every shortened day. The fire in her hearth struggled against the chill that bled up from the earth, and the furs wrapped around her shoulders did little to keep it out.

Soon, the snow would come.

And snow meant death for those who could not prepare for it.

Food was already scarce. Crops had withered in the wake of war, and what little remained was taken by the desperate or the cruel. She had coin, but even coin could not conjure wheat from barren fields or meat from hollowed-out forests. She often thought of selling the long sword she had taken from him, knowing it would fetch more than enough to keep her through the winter. For many winters to come. But carrying a sword like that, his sword, was as dangerous as wielding a traitor’s banner.

Lords and commoners alike who had supported the Green cause had been rounded up and slaughtered. If she was caught with the weapon of a kinslayer, she would be met with the same fate.

And yet… she had kept him alive.

She did not know why. She only knew that she had to.

Would he repay her kindness with a blade to her throat once he could stand again?

Would he lead men to her door, reveal that a woman in the woods had nursed the enemy back to health?

Would he seek vengeance?

She did not want to think about it.

Unease seemed to follow her however, ever since she found the young Prince. It was if the air itself had shifted when Rhaenyra had been slain.

When the war had ended.

It could be, she reasoned with herself, the unsettling feeling after a war. The sudden silence and stillness that clung to people after such uproar. It could also be that the dragons that once flew in great numbers above had greatly dwindled after the war, their shadows and roars missing from the sky. The thought left something heavy in her chest.

It did not bode well when the symbols of gods died.

A low groan pulled her from her thoughts.

She did not rush to his side. She had learned in the first few days that his body remembered the war even if his mind did not. He twitched in his sleep, breath hitching, murmuring half-formed words to ghosts that did not answer. But she knew this sound, this was different.

He was waking.

She dampened a cloth and pressed it to his forehead, watching as his eye fluttered open, violet, sharp despite the dazed, fevered haze clinging to him.

For a moment, he simply stared at her.

Then, suddenly, he tried to sit up.

A harsh cry of pain tore from his lips, and he collapsed back against the bed, his breath ragged, chest jerking in uneven gasps. His fingers twisted into the furs, knuckles white with strain, but his body refused to obey him. He clenched his jaw, breathing heavily through his nose, and tried again. This time, his injured leg jerked upward, and the pain hit him like a tidal wave.

A snarl ripped from his throat, his fingers curling into claws against the mattress, all those fine furs she had bought having their hairs town from their pelts. His eye was squeezed shut, his body taut with the unbearable humiliation of weakness and pain.

She looked down upon him, cloth still held aloft and hoped that this wouldn’t inspire a desperate instinct to attack her. She was certain he would likely not react well, waking up to the unfamiliar scent of her hut, his body aching, and his mind clouded.

A Prince waking in a cottage in the woods and not the chambers of the palace was certain to turn someone of his standings head. Especially since his last memory would have been the war at its peak.

If she woke up one day in a room in the Red Keep, injured and alone, she was sure she would be just as alarmed, if not more so. 

Aemond's lips were chapped, face having grown pale, and breathed a ragged breath, his violet eye flicking around the room as rapidly as his weakness would permit, searching for immediate signs of danger.

When he finally stilled, his breathing shallow but controlled, she let her gaze drift lower. His movement had shifted the furs on the bed so she now had a clear view of the wrappings on his chest. She looked over them searching for any sign of split stitches and found them.

Blood had begun to seep from beneath the rags she had replaced from the fish skin, and without even looking up she turned around to gather her supplies.

Behind her, his voice was hoarse, raw with pain and something darker.

"Where am I?"

She did not answer immediately. She was already assessing the damage, her fingers steady as they lifted the bloodied wrappings from his skin.

"Riverlands." She said flatly.

The silence stretched.

"Where?" His tone sharpened, demanding now.

She did not look at him. "Near Harrenhal."

The shift was immediate.

His breath hitched, his fingers twitched, but the worst of it was in his eye. The moment the word left her lips, his expression twisted into something dangerous. Hatred, rage, loathing, all bleeding into one as his nostrils flared, as the muscle in his jaw clenched tight enough to shatter his own teeth.

She braced herself, already anticipating the bite of his fury.

"Are you a Maester?" The question was sharp, calculated. Even now, flat on his back, broken, helpless, he was still testing her.

She did not fear the question, nor the weight of his stare. Instead, she did something unexpected, she laughed. A quiet, breathy sound that barely reached the space between them.

It was not amusement, not quite. But there was something in it; a warning, perhaps.

He hated it.

"As a follower of the Seven, you should know women cannot swear such an oath."

Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her gaze to meet his.

The hatred was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but now it was joined by something else. Something assessing.

He was measuring her.

Calculating.

She could almost see the thoughts turning behind his eye, the realisation sinking in. He was in a stranger’s home, far from his kin, with wounds he could not fight past, and a body that refused to obey him.

And worst of all; he was at her mercy.

The firelight flickered, casting long shadows across his face, making the bruises look darker, the scar across his cheekbone deeper, and him gaunter. He looked like something feral, something barely restrained by the thin thread of his own will.

She wondered, briefly, if she had saved a dying man or a dying beast.

The answer did not matter.

She would soon find out.

“Who tends to me?” His voice was distrustful, thick with uncertainty. Sharp.

Commanding.

She gave him her name and only her name.

“Who is your sworn lord?” Voice thick with impatience.

She smirked as she lifted the bandages from his chest, watching his fingers twitch, wary as if he might lurch forward and grab her.

She hummed, unfazed. “Sworn lord? I’ve sworn no oaths.”

His eye burned into her, “Who holds Harrenhal?”

She had to hold back a laugh.

Men often made demands when they were injured. Often promised vengeance for the shame of their own vulnerability. When she had first taken her mother’s place, it had made her cautious, fearful. But time had taught her something else. Empty words and empty threats were more deserving of mirth than worry.

But this man… this man was different. His reputation alone would have been enough to put her on edge. And yet, more than that, it was the feel of him. The way the air thickened around him, charged with something unspoken.

A warning.

Even still, she answered as she would any other.

“The ghosts that haunt its walls.”

Her fingers pinched his torn skin together, assessing what to do next.

He did not whimper this time.

Aemond gave her a scathing look, the scar over his eye crinkling. “The war...Has it been won?”

She hummed in amusement.

His face dissolved into fury.

He was a prince, and had clearly never spoken to in such a way, least of all by someone lowborn like herseld. But within these four walls, titles held no power.

All men bled.

All men died.

Birth and rank meant naught to the gods.

“There is no winning in a war.”

"Who?" His voice, a blade’s edge, barely restrained.

She held his gaze, unflinching, and it irked him. “The son of the dead Queen. Her blood will rule. The Gods do not favour kinslayers and usurpers.”

Violence flared in his eye, “It is treason to speak her name with victory.”

Aemond tried once again to sit up too quickly, succeeding and she sighed as she watched two new stitches burst, blood pooling to the surface. The Prince tried valiantly to ignore the pain, teeth gritted as his body betrayed him, but she could see that it made his consciousness swim.

He swayed and fell back onto on elbow, wheezing at the agonised angle, one arm coming to clutch his broken ribs. But even in the immense pain he seemed to be suffering, his stubbornness won out, and even she had to admit that he had faired better than men who had suffered less.

"You lie."

If he weren’t so pathetic in that moment, she might have humoured him like a petulant child. She didn’t dignify it with a response. Just inhaled deeply, eyes sweeping the rest of his injuries. She lingered on his leg.

Horror flickered in his violet eye.

He knew.

The loss of an eye had been something to overcome. A wound to be turned into a weapon. A show of his strength. Something to reveal to strike fear amongst his enemies.

But this…

A leg was different. A leg made a warrior. And without it, without the strength to stand, to fight, what was he?

"Answer me." His voice wavered this time.

She wished he would pass out so she could work in silence.

"The false king was slain by his own men," She said coolly, "All your kin are dead."

Silence.

His eye searched hers, desperate for deception, for any trace of a lie.

There was none.

Something in his face shifted. Darkened.

Gone.

All of them.

His mother. His brothers. His grandfather Otto.

Perhaps Criston Cole, too. The man who had been a father in all but name and blood.

But most of all;

Helaena.

Had she been slain with the rest?

His sister.

His gentle sister.

A harsh, bitter breath left him. His lips curled into something between a sneer and a grimace. Aemond was not a man who wept. His grief hardened into fury.

And she had been prepared for it.

"Then I should have died."

She lifted a brow, lazy, “Aye. If the Gods had willed it.”

The sneer returned, but his strength waned, and he collapsed back onto the bed, glaring at her.

"You willed it."

"I do as the Gods command me."

She reached for him and he recoiled.

"I am not some wounded beast for you to keep." Aemond snarled, pink blooming across his cheeks where they had once been colourless.

Amused she replied, "No. You snarl and snap like one. But a true beast still has its claws."

He swatted at her as she reached for his side, shifting away. But she was persistent, stronger than he expected, and he sank, reluctant, into compliance.

At a loss.

At a loss of who he was.

He had lost everything. The war. His kin. His title.

His purpose.

And for the first time, he felt it. The emptiness. The hollow absence where Vhagar had been.

The ache of the bond was silent. And he just knew to his bones she was gone.

The one being who understood him.

Gone.

And now, after all he had done, after Lucerys, after Sharp Point, after every drop of blood spilled in his name, his half-sister’s son sat the throne.

And when they found him?

It would be public. Very public. A trial. A spectacle.

A kinslayer’s fate.

"How long have I been here?" His voice was quieter now, loss leaking in at the edges.

She knew what he was thinking.

Could he still fight? Could he still win?

Would there be any left who would fight for him?

Unlikely.

She met his eye. “Several days. You’ve been asleep for most.”

His teeth clenched. “Days…”

Frustration sparked in his voice, and she readied herself for cruelty.

"Why did you save me?" He sneered, and she ignored his question, "I suppose you expect me to be grateful. What do you want, coin? Gold? A jewel to buy your way out of this hovel?"

There it was.

She ignored him again. Dipped a rag into boiling water, wrung it out, and reached for his wound. She met his eye briefly before pressing the cloth to his skin.

His stomach clenched beneath her hands.

"You lie." He hissed again.

"I don’t have time for lies."

"Say it again."

She flicked her eyes up to his, unimpressed, "Have you gone deaf, m’lord?" She mocked his now lack of title.

His voice was low, dangerous, “You will say it again.”

Coolly, she obliged, "You have lost. Your family is dead. The war is over. The Blacks sit the throne. And you… you are alone."

His jaw tightened as he inhaled sharply.

"And I am expected to take the word of some common healer in some nameless hut?" His eye flicked around the cottage in distaste, “Who’s to say my brother hasn’t won and you are a sympathiser to the whore Queen?”

Now she smiled, and despite the hatred he felt for her, he noted that it was a pretty smile.

"My word means nothing, Aemond."

His eye narrowed at the sound of his name on her tongue.

But she continued, for the first time speaking longer than he had expected, "I could tell you many things. Promise you more. But it wouldn’t change my station or yours."

She leaned in, voice calm.

"And if I were the sympathiser you accuse me of being," Her voice dipped almost to a whisper, almost sultrily, "I would have slit your throat where you lay."

Aemond laughed, humourless, "You think I will stay here? That I will rot in this hut?"

Her eyes flicked to his leg, then to the door, "You’re free to leave, kinslayer."

His breath caught.

He went utterly still.

"Say that again."

She raised her brows, "How many times are you going to ask me to repeat myself? I'm not a parrot from High Garden, m'lord. You don’t like the truth I speak?"

With her hands, she pinched his wound together and readied her needle, not asking if he was ready. She could feel his heated glare atop her skull.

The healer could admit that she had stitched the first stitch more roughly than she could have, knowing it would have pained him. She felt his stomach clench beneath her as she worked, the heat from his skin almost scolding her hands like the water in the basin.

Lips curling, seething, he hissed lowly in threat, "Watch your tongue, woman."

A large hand snapped out and wrapped around the wrist holding the needle and squeezed painfully.

We have finally reached the threats, she mused to herself dryly and hummed an amused laugh.

Aemond moved to sit up again and she managed to move a well placed, albeit cruel, hand against one of his broken ribs and pressed, which made the prince gasp in pain and stiffen against the bed stilling.

"If you’re going to undo my work," She said smoothly, "I should’ve left you to die as your men did."

She paused for a moment.

She knew his distrust of her would prove to be an issue with him now being conscious. He would fight her at every turn and spit vitriol her way. She no doubted that he would test her patience and she would consider dosing his food with a sleeping draught. Perhaps even some milk of the poppy.

She would have offered it to him sooner if he had not been so aggressive in his questioning. 

"You knew who I was."

Her lips twitched into a smile.

His eye narrowed, "Why?"

Why did she save him?

Why did she tend to him?

What was her motive?

The mystery surrounding her set his hair on end.

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. He was not sure he liked it, the way she looked at him. As though he was a question to be answered, a thing to be fixed. Rather than a man to be feared.

“Would you have preferred to die?"

Aemond did not answer.

He should say no.

Should say he still has vengeance to take, a name to reclaim, a war to fight. A throne to win. But the truth sat thickly in his throat.

There was nothing left.

“You want me to trust your word?” Aemond scoffed, the colour in his cheeks fading again.

With a sigh she worked his wound, stitching it back together methodically, "You may recall I never asked for your trust. I couldn’t care for your thoughts of me." Her tone cool and emotionless, "Feel free to die now if you wish, it would save me the trouble and herbs.” She tied shut the final stitch.

There was a brief moment of silence between them, only the sound of the cracking fire.

He was left to stew in his shattered pride and frustration, the knowledge that he would never be the same, and the added humiliation that he now depended upon a woman such as her. 

His voice was a blade at her throat. "I have killed men for less."

A smirk played at her lips. "And yet here I stand," She straightened, looking down at his broken body to prove her point. He could not stand, not without help.

Not without her.

"And there you lay."

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Taglist: Please ask if you would like to be added to the taglist

@thewriterthatghostedyou @sepherinaspoppies @insufferablelust @osferthswifey @persephonerinyes @ihadlife @aemondsfavouritebastard @misspinkonmars @aelora-mills-targaryens @nina2697 @dahlias-and-marigolds @callsigncrushx @fivefeetsnark @sarcasticwitch11 @aemondtargaryenwifey @lynnbell @adurnat01-blog @livmondcole @sillylittlepenguin181818 @misfitbimbosblog @blackswxnn @idontwanttoloveanymore @missmischief11 @m-riaa @shygardengalaxy-blog

[bnyf]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ#1 crush ♡

╭﹕୨୧﹒yandere male elf x female human reader ♡

┊ warnings : yandere content and themes, unhealthy behaviors, relationship and relationship dynamic, sexual content, noncon, kidnapping, size difference, strange dynamic.

╰﹕୨୧﹒authoress note : after receiving some unwanted but much needed criticism i've tried my hand at writing a little better and fixing errors. i apologize in advance if there's any errors or gaps in my writing, i also apologize for the messed up story that this is. ik some people don't like the way i write the reader but like??? idgaf sorry anyways other than that, i hope you guys enjoy, please read the warnings and proceed with caution <3 i would also like to say that this post is kinda inspired by a very popular yandere artist on here with a male elf oc

what a treacherous fate had befallen on a vitreous soul such as yourself.

it truly is unfortunate, you're so unlucky. how could your luck have run so low? to think, this everyday mundane routine would now be your nightmarish reality was stomach wrenching. you never did anything to deserve this, this was simply some sort of faulty by the gods, right? there's no way this is your horrible ending. no way.

you sobbed and yet... he hummed and chastised you by smacking your puffy clitorous.

it's always like this, it's been like this for...? a while now apparently. you've completely lost track of time. maybe a month or so if you're playing the guessing game.

well, if it wasn't obvious already, you've been taken hostage by an insane elven prince. probably the most insanely angelic, good-looking, prettiest and sick minded male you've ever met.

he really needs professional help. something that he can more than afford considering his house is almost made of gold, his herculean physique adored and draped only with the most expensive clothes, jewels, silks, soaps and scented creams and perfumes. his perfume, so extravagant, worth more than your vital organs all put together. that was the part you admired about elven people, they are so intelligent, so ahead of humans.

but to him? therapy is cheap and free! you're the first ever human he's laid eyes on and that's all he really needs. and really, you're the one to blame for his actions. it's all you. so you should take responsibility, right?

he's sought out humans before, trying to break the barrier between the two worlds and connect with them. he was damn near obsessed with coming into contact with the human realm and ruling over them like a god despite the fact that any sort of magic that threatens to break the barrier and connect the realms or offer passage through the two realms is absolutely forbidden. this is such a serious offense that if caught violating, can lead to public execution.

but your little caregiver did not! give one flying hoot at all, nor did the rules really even apply to royals as the royals participated in a lot of magical corruption and kept it all on the low.

so what a surprise! not really that he'd succeed in his conquest. not entirely since he'd only manage to bring one human to the elven realm, but now he knows for sure he's making great progress. and not only succeed in getting a nitty gritty palms on any human, but such a cute little human female like yourself.

humans are a lot more fragile, smaller, weaker, lesser intelligent beings, almost like a sub species from elves. so that's why you must be taken care of with so much extra love and attentiveness. all this was his reasoning for treating you like a minor being, enabling you and excuses for his weird kinks.

there was no way you'd ever dream of over powering him, not when a large veiny arm wrapped so tightly around your wrists, holding it behind your back, and the other with it's slender long digits effortlessly reaching your g spot.

it was 'bath time' or whatever, which called for a thorough inspection and cleanse. or just another excuse to use your body to his likings.

his tongue lap at your folds and clit, moaning in delight and relishing in all your juices spraying him. his voice muffled by your pussy, making wet sounds as he attempts to praise your gorgeous body: all of which sounds like incohesive unhinged, obsessive rambling of course.

if you ignore this scene and focus on other small things around you maybe you can, somewhat imagine yourself having a luxurious warm bath in the tub, with flowers and scented stuff in the water, scented candles creating a relaxing atmosphere, marvelous one-sided glass view... maybe not the one-sided glass view that's actually a little too scary to think about but yeah, you're having a nice little bath.

the most relaxing bath in the most prettiest and pearliest tiled bathroom you've ever been in.

your insides contorts though and you find yourself coming again undone on those perfectly manicured fingers of his, messing up his perfect face with your essence. your voice is loud and echoes throughout the bathroom, all the way into the bedroom and closet but never enough to each anyone's ears as he's casted multiple protective barrier spells to keep your presence unknown from other elven people. you've came like 5 times already and he won't let you rest, getting high off your pussy juices.

"poor baby, you look so tired, shhh don't worry~ mama will take care of everything, just relax and be good for me, okay? it'll all be over soon, my darling ^ mama will get you all cleaned up and dressed, right after this..." you wish you had the energy to welp out an 'ewwwwww da fuck?!' right about now but you were so weak and constantly sedated. you felt helpless as his bulbous tip hits your pussy, rubbing it back and forth to coat and lubricate himself with your juices. he leisurely teases, making your hole spasm and grasp around nothing, your body reacting in a lovely manner to his advances.

he licks his lips, only putting the tip in before quickly pulling back out. taking his time cause he wants to drive you insane like him. and luckily for him, his mind games always work so well.

his precum leaking and smearing you in the process as he rubs his whole length, measuring your pelvic area with his cock length and soon putting it in to see how far it'll actually go.

you almost blacked out. even though he prepped you well for this it still stings, he's just too big. and you? way too tight, squeezing him like you want every last drop of his seed, has him shivering and grunting in the process.

"fck- you're so tight, baby ngh~"

has him seeing stars and by the time he's balls deep in you and hitting the tip of your womb, you're a drooling and moaning mess. can't even control his obsessive thoughts from spilling out his mouth, he immediately gets to work on those hips too like a wild animal, only sparing a few seconds to sloppily kiss you and slap your thick behind.

it only takes a few minutes before he breaks his load inside you and shifts you into another position, manhandling you and roughing you up like a meat toilet, all for his own enjoyment and pleasure.

his long silky hair tickling your skin. when you think about it, he's so masculine with many feminine traits too, like the perfect balance actually and it is to be expected from an elf. he always wants to be in control, always wants to take care of you like a god watching over his creation. it sorta overlaps with him calling himself your mama but it makes sense in a way. he doesn't see himself as a woman in any sort of way, he just wants unrestricted authority over you.

your tears stream down your cheeks which he licks away and kisses, it only hurts your head trying to rationalize this or even understand it, your vision goes all blurry and for the next few rounds, your in and out of consciousness while being filled.

when you're awake again, you're draped in silk half naked and powdered up, you feel your caretakers strong arms wrapped around you, spooning you as rubs circles into your skin. he's also half naked with nothing but a cloth draped around himself. you both lay on a soft layered bed with many squishy pillows and blankies. fruits, steam veggies and grilled meat laid out on a silver tray for you to enjoy, though your stomach was filled with his cum.

[archangeldyke-all]

Hi Angel!! I first wanted to say that I love all your Sevika stories, they never fail to make my days better!

So, I've recently been thinking about little fucker and the twins a lot ((bc I found out I'm gonna be an aunt for twins :DD and it made me wonder how did Sev and Reader react to the news, like.. "what. WERE HAVING TWINS??? HOW." something like this lmao.

Not sure if you've already written something like this, but I've practically read all of your masterlists lmao. If you did feel free to skip cuz I have really bad short term memory ;))

oh my god that's so exciting!!! congrats auntie!!! i think i wrote a few little sentences about this in one of the first twins posts, but lets make it a full fledged story heheeh <3

(also as always with these stories, don't think too much about how the pregnancy happened. reader is trans, or has a magical strap, or it's just yuri magic. you choose hehe)

men and minors dni

for the first few days after sevika's pregnancy test coming back positive, you're both living in denial.

"how am i pregnant? i thought this was menopause! i thought i was done with all this shit!" sevika whines.

you giggle a little hysterically, then pull her into your arms. "i have no fuckin' idea." you say, blinking in shock. "holy shit. i actually knocked you up."

sevika giggles just as crazily in your hold. "congrats."

"i've been trying to get revenge on you for little fucker since you first knocked me up with her!" you laugh. sevika snorts and smacks your shoulder.

"don't say revenge. oh fuck, this is gonna miserable, isn't it?" sevika whines. you kiss her sweetly.

"it's the most amazing thing that's ever happened!"

"you're such a shit. you're just happy it isn't you this time around."

"damn right i am!" you laugh. sevika smiles at you, and then her face falls. you coo and wrap her up in another hug. "it's gonna be alright sevi-bear. i'm gonna be with you every step of the way."

"no, it's not that." sevika whimpers as she nuzzles against your shoulder. "i'm just-- i'm so happy. we're gonna have another one, baby, holy shit."

you grin and pull sevika in for a kiss.

her reaction isn't quite as happy when you get to your doctor's office, though.

"o-oh!" the ultrasound tech gasps.

"good 'oh?'" sevika worries, sitting up a bit from her spot on the paper covered exam table.

"you're having twins, mommies! congratulations!" the tech gasps, grinning up at you and sevika.

you blink.

the tech giggles with glee and turns back to her monitor, clearly handling the news better than you are. you blink again, then look down at sevika.

she's glaring at you like she's going to murder you.

it's only now that the tech's words hit you. and for some reason, you burst into laughter.

"t-twins?!" you cackle. "like, two of 'em?! how-- how the hell did we do that!?" you ask.

the tech blinks up at you in surprise, opens her mouth to speak, but you don't hear her answer. you're too busy grinning down at your wife.

"i'm gonna kill you." sevika finally whispers. you burst into another round of laughs.

"alright. just wait 'til after the pregnancy, think you might want me around these next few months, mama." you tease.

sevika's glare is deadly, but you can't find it in you to stop laughing. holy shit. two more little babies running around your house. if they're anything like their sister, they'll look exactly like sevika. tears well up in your eyes as you gaze lovingly down at your angry wife, imagining two pairs of grumpy baby eyes glaring up at you while you try to change their diapers.

"are you crying?!" sevika squawks. "why the hell are you crying, i should be the one crying!"

"you can cry too, baby!" you giggle, a surge of love taking over your body. before you know what's happening, you're smacking the tech's hand away from your wife's belly and straddling her waist, peppering her face with an endless barrage of kisses. "oh, holy shit, baby, we're gettin' two more of 'em!"

sevika's glare lessens a bit, a small smile ticking up at the corner of her mouth. you can see her softening to the idea; two more babies for you to love; but before a full smile can take over her face she forces herself back into a frown. "we can barely afford the kid we've got." she huffs.

you snort. "that's the beauty of hand-me-downs, sev. plus, silco gave you a big raise when we had the little fucker, what makes you think he'll hold back now that it's your turn?"

"we live in a two bedroom home!"

"we can move!"

"while i'm pregnant with twins?!"

"i'll start looking for a new place the second we get home."

sevika finally smiles, rolling her eyes and giggles a bit. "i can't believe you." she whispers. you grin.

"you're the love of my fucking life. i can't believe you."

the door clicks shut, and you both look up from your embrace to find that the tech has snuck out to give you some privacy.

and, finally, sevika bursts into laughter along with you.

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3 @lesbones

@chezze-its @lez-zuha @vikashoneybee @shanesevikasfuckdoll @imheadintothemountains

@nanajustnana-a @helaenabugmom

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

[kenzan-brainrot-mp4]

talk more about the white whale/whale symbolism in general whatever thoughts you have on the whale stuff i want to hear it 👂

GRAHHHHH YEAH (This one got. Long (again lol) So be prepared (series-wide spoilers but I feel like that's a given atp))

First of all I just wanna say that I love how rgg drags the player along around the final chapter title. With how upfront the other chapter titles are in what they're referring to, you might end up wondering why they chose White Whale for the final chapter title once you see the title card (or at least I did). Of course, this could just be referring to the treasure that everyone's been looking for, but with how nonchalantly they react to the fact that the treasure isn't actually there, it doesn't seem to completely fit the bill.

But then you beat the game (and by this I mean beat the final boss) and lo and behold, there's an Actual white whale, and so you think "Oh! Duh, the chapter's called White Whale because there's a literal white whale and it pretty much just finished off the final boss!" But that still doesn't make that much sense. Why name the final chapter (arguably the most important one) after some whale that appears in the last like 15 minutes of the game? Like, take the final chapter name of (Kiryu) Gaiden, it's literally the name of the game (The Man Who Erased His Name) so it's gotta be something more significant than that, right? (But then of course take into the account that by this point the player is still convinced that nothing really in pyih is too deep/serious, so maybe it could just be something as simple as that).

Then you get to the credits, and they reveal that the "elixir"/the ambergris is found in the stomachs of whales. Damn, that's pretty crazy/cool, but once again, nobody that was actively seeking the treasure (Rodriguez, Jason/Noah, Spade Tucker, etc you know the drill) seems to hung up on the fact that they didn't find it, and they didn't even encounter the whale, so they wouldn't get that same sense that they just missed it either, again, it's not a big deal really, so why make that the final chapter title?

Of course, we all know what this builds up to: the big reveal, the fact that Majima, who we've been following along with this entire game, was looking for that elixir this entire time, was the only one to actually encounter a whale in the game, and then there's the insane line drop from Saejima.

"Kiryu Kazuma. You never could give up on that one."

Ironically, the final chapter title has nothing to do with that whale you saw earlier at all, rather it's a summary of what Majima's motivations/actions for this game, and the past. Almost every game, has meant for him. It's what Saejima spells out for us at the end of the game, but said in even fewer words.

An all-consuming obsession that only leads to your destruction. An impossibility, something that you can destroy yourself over but never achieve/obtain. This is what the white whale means, metaphorically. And it is this, exactly, that Kiryu is to Majima.

Kiryu is larger than life itself, to just about everyone. He's a legend, he's the one Majima has had his sights on since the very beginning, the legend he chases after game after game and also what he destroys himself over game after game.

(see:

Yakuza 1 -> Majima just straight up taking a full-on stab wound for Kiryu. Like, buddy, I literally saw one of my favorite characters die that way in another game, there was No guarantee you were surviving that.

Yakuza 2 -> Majima fights off an army of yakuza for Kiryu. That man was beat to total Shit (which is Not something that happens often) and we all saw it

Yakuza 3 -> Majima re-enters the Tojo Clan for Kiryu even though he is (extremely likely) aware that it is already entering its steady decline that we see throughout the rest of the series up until its dissolution. And while he's willing to do it for Kiryu, we can't exactly say that he's happy about the situation as a whole.

Yakuza 5 -> Majima's willingness to die for Haruka, specifically stated because "She means more to Kiryu-chan than life itself." Like, of course he wouldn't just let Haruka get killed, but to choose to mention Kiryu as part of his reasoning in that moment? Christ

While I (surprisingly) can't say anything particularly self-destructive happened in (Kiryu) Gaiden and Infinite Wealth, you could argue that Majima trying to more and more directly tell Kiryu not to leave ("No need to rush outta here yet... Alright?" -> "Don't leave! Don't you dare leave, Kiryu-chan!"), knowing that it's likely pointless, knowing Kiryu, is not doing himself any favors.

Pirate Yakuza -> *gestures at the entire game*

Also his reaction to encountering that giant squid ("Sure is a helluva way to die. I think I'm into it!"). Like, okay. I don't want to try and read too much into it because it was very likely just a one off line. But I'm still gonna side-eye it.

Honestly now that I think about it, if Majima Had died fighting that giant squid (that is such a way to begin a sentence thank you rgg), you could argue that that would've been his nail in the coffin for the white whale metaphor. If he had, it would've meant that his obsession for Kiryu is what got him dragged down into the literal depths of the ocean, and even if it wouldn't be Kiryu physically dragging Majima down like the white whale to Ahab, this is a situation that is completely, entirely, fueled by Majima's obsession towards him (Majima had no real interest in the nuclear waste cleanup project, after all, Kiryu was his one motivation this entire time), and it would've drowned him.

Guess that means he got real lucky with the last part, but we all know he sure as hell isn't beating the allegations.)

All this and yet Majima seems to fail to reaching Kiryu time and time again.

Majima does not obtain the Heart of the Dragon, found in the intestines of the literal whale. He does not obtain eternal life for Kiryu. And he (arguably, though the final scene of him walking to Kiryu's hospital room could oppose this) does not resolve the indefinite limbo that has been sitting between them throughout the entire series. What he gets at the end of the game is the acknowledgement (through Saejima, everybody thank him) that he has been obsessing over this, and perhaps the realization that Kiryu was, in fact, this white whale that he would never truly reach ("Well, still just a dream in the end.") Of course this is something he already knows/has acknowledged deep down, and it's a feeling that is hinted at in some of his dialogue in scattered moments, but this is the first time he ever says it in such an outright manner.

I guess in a way, you could say that Pirate Yakuza is a story about the newfound success of all the people Majima helped and supported in achieving their dreams, and the continued failure of Majima in pursuing his own (Kiryu), and him needing to acknowledge/accept that. And the post-credits begs the question of what he decides to do with the aftermath and what he has left. (An oversimplification definitely but still. augh. Augh)

Naming the final chapter White Whale was yet another crazy move on rgg's part. Its so unassuming, seemingly straightforward yet also seemingly insignificant, but once the realization dawns on you it slaps you right in the face, just like everything else about this game does. It's yet another instance of how rgg managed to pull its big reveal so well, with all the small details, all the reframing, all pointing back to the same topic that it had spent the entire rest of the game dancing around.

Majima recounting his story of how he went to Hawaii -> Majima recounts his story to Kiryu in the exact same way at the very end

The treasure everyone's been looking for/known about + Majima, the one guy who didn't have knowledge about any of this legend stuff prior? -> Wrong, he was after the treasure from the very start (before the amnesia at least). For Kiryu

Majima originally being on course for Hawaii so he could help with the nuclear waste cleanup even though he'd be bored as hell? -> Nah. For Kiryu (Ohhhhh you know what this is reminding me of some screenshots I took from near the beginning of the game)

(I'm sure this meant nothing of course. Lol. Lmao)

Majima's dream during pirate yakuza being to fulfill Other People's dreams -> Haha. Well, I think you get the point by now

Kiryu, Kiryu, Kiryu. It all goes back to Kiryu, every single time, without fail, in an obsessive loop that Majima has been dragging himself around over for Years. He is the white whale, seemingly untouchable, the constant object of Majima's attention and devotion in so many forms, his consistent weak point, that only seems to dig at him deeper as the games go on.

Like I said before, while the white whale metaphor is undeniable, and essentially spells doom for Majima, it's not over for him yet. Because, hey, he didn't drown at sea, or die on the beach. He was saved, and he's survived enough to retell that tale and reflect on it all with Saejima in the post-credits, brief as that reflection was. I mentioned before how he really only said one line of any actual substance during that specific part of the exchange, but the significance of it says so much.

"Well, still just a dream in the end"

As much as it hurts to here Majima address the hopelessness of it all, to hear him say something like that after Saejima basically just laid out his sheer devotion and refusal to give up on his dream for everyone to see, I think the bittersweetness is. Good, actually. Captain Ahab never gave up on that pursuit on the white whale, and it destroyed him; that whale dragged him down until he finally drowned, and it feels like all Majima has been doing over Kiryu since Yakuza 3 is drowning himself in him.

Don't get me wrong, I (for now at least) do not take that line as a complete admittance of defeat, or Majima finally giving up on Kiryu, on that dream he could never let go of. (Like I've been saying, it's an acknowledgement, not exactly a declaration.) I do not think it means he is just letting go, full-stop.

But I do hope it means he can stop himself from self-destructing completely. I hope it means that he can slow down with the wild chase, (and that he and Kiryu can just. Sit down and talk like fucking normal people. Which i guess they are doing in the post-credits, supposedly) and I hope it means that he won't drown completely, especially in the case of the worst possible scenario.

[niningtori]

clementine | preview

pairing: choi beomgyu x you

summary: after your explosive breakup and wordless, thorough disappearance from beomgyu's life, he's surprised to see that you've moved back to his town. when he happens to meet you again, beomgyu wants to apologize, maybe make amends for his unforgivable behavior, but he's devastated to find out that you've erased every memory of him. you don't want to remember him—or the love you once held onto so desperately—anymore. he knows that to be the case, so why is it so hard for him to feel the same way?

genre: angst, romance, potentially second chance, asshole!beomgyu to groveling! beomgyu (who saw this one coming...), inspired by eternal sunshine of the spotless mind tho i've never seen it and only know major plot points through cultural osmosis

warnings: angst, previous toxic relationship

word count: tbd

release date: really far in the future probably

notes: i received a request for this a while ago and i said i'd think about it then received an ask a couple of weeks ago saying another author was working on something based on the same movie. again, i've never seen the movie and i haven't read the author's work (or any new fanfiction rlly in the past few months cuz i haven't been in the headspace to enjoy it) so i will be making it up based off of the general concept of having memories of an ex erased. i said i'd wait to post it and i have every intention of doing so but i wrote this in a moment of inspiration and i've been posting previews so i thought i'd post this just as a teaser! it won't be out for a long time cuz i have so many wips and i don't want to be inconsiderate or invite weird, unsolicited comparisons. i just want to post previews bc i'm excited to get back into consistently writing after almost quitting 🥹

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it’s jarring, to say the least, to see an estranged ex you used to love more than anything else in any unexpected context; but it's especially jarring for beomgyu as he watches you chatter away on your phone in the middle of the cafe he finds himself in. he catches your eye for just a second before you look away, and it's like he can't breathe. after your phone call, you smile as you type away on your screen. beomgyu gulps, because he knows that since you two made eye contact, it would be weird to just leave and pretend he didn't see you, though that's exactly what he wants to do. besides, no matter how much of a coward he is, he can't keep living with his unspoken feelings when he finally has the opportunity to express them, no matter how resolutely you might reject them. he hesitantly rises from his seat and walks over to you with unsure steps.

“hey,” he says unsteadily. you look up from your screen and give a forced smile, a far cry from the easy affection you used to give him. only him.

“uh, hey?” you reply. beomgyu worries he did the wrong thing by approaching you, especially because you seem confused that he said anything at all. you probably expected him to exit the cafe without a word, and the thought that you thought that he, who was once completely and utterly in love with you, would brush you off so easily brings a sharp pang to his chest.

“i… i know it’s been a while, but i… i want to, um, apologize for… everything.” he wants to lay down and die at his awkwardness, but he's wanted to say these words for so long, and no matter how much he’s compelled to swallow them down and safely tuck them away in the home they've carved out for themselves in his stomach, he knows this is the right thing to do. especially since you blocked him on everything before changing your number. especially since you moved away without a word after your disastrous breakup. especially since he hasn't seen you in so long, and he doesn't know if he'll ever see you again after this. your eyebrows furrow, and he braces himself for impact. but no amount of contrived mental fortitude could ever prepare him for your next words.

“... do i know you from somewhere?”

notes pt. 2: might delete this preview so be prepared for that possibility 🫰 peace and blessings :,) but please don't be mean or weird like actually