#and how he had to face them young and alone
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coquettepascal · 2 days ago
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felicitas and her general
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summary: general acacius has caught your attention after being the first mortal to worship you in decades. you only face one challenge: don't get too attached.
warnings: rated g, contains spoilers for gladiator ii, follows the timeline of the movie somewhat, reader is the goddess felicitas (who is the goddess of good luck,) this fic is basically just an add on to the movie.
tags: goddess!reader x general acacius, emotional infidelity, lots of roman mythology stuff, writer is basing all her knowledge out of what she remembers from PJO and HoO, worship, complicated feelings, marcus does not cheat on lucilla physically, yearning, pining, grieving, guilt, major character death(s), stalking (kind of), a lot of obsession/dedication, angst, hurt no comfort but also hurt with comfort.
a/n: i watched gladiator ii and then was too emotionally devastated to finish this fic the way i planned. i really hope you all like this!! also, this fic is also dedicated to my dear friend @pascalssbabyy because she is my biggest cheerleader and i love her <33
wc: 7.2k (not beta read)
It was he who woke you.
A quiet sacrifice in the evening that felt like the freshest breath of air you could have, more intense than what you could have atop any mountain, near any spring. The scent of burning meat and smokey vegetables grasped at your lungs, and you almost choked on it. How long had it been since someone had offered you something so kind? Real food, not just scraps of something they didn’t wish for. 
You’d never complain about how difficult it is to be a minor Goddess, you know that you could be a mortal, but most don’t think of how Gods can fade. It’s a physical process, one where you’d notice how your fingertips passed through things like chalices and bowls, how a spoon slid through your hand once. The clatter of gold on the table was embarrassing, even though you were alone. Nothing about being forgotten, or fading, physically hurt. It was only mentally taxing, knowing that you weren’t as important as you once were, that mortals found you insignificant.
Generals used to come and offer things frequently sometime ago, but you couldn’t even begin to understand how long ago that was. When you’re immortal, or supposed to be, mortal lives seem fleeting. You had taken them for granted, and regret it now, for all you have now are the empty clouds above your temple. 
The last offering you can gather was from a young boy, who wanted to win a board game against his sister the next day. He had given you half a bun with strips of meat. Sure, it was thoughtful, but this was something rich. 
You finish inhaling the offering, and then hear the offerer's voice. But it’s muffled, and you want to see who it is anyways, so you swipe through the clouds and create a window to see. Then you can hear him clearly.
Someone who is clearly a general kneels at your altar, which is chipped and dirty. The ashes of the food are in front of him, smoking still, and you can taste the wealth in his meal. It can’t distract you from him though, he is striking.
Broad shoulders support a heavy, curly, grey, head of hair, which is bowed in honor of you. His body is widely built, sturdy for battle, and his voice is just as powerful. You’re so focused on hearing his voice you only catch the tail end of his request.
“... Allow me to come home safely, if not for Rome, then for my wife.”
Your heart squeezes, and you swear you can feel the ichor gushing through your veins. Scarcely when a General came to give you an offering all those years ago would he mention a wife, only ever wishing for luck in the upcoming battle or war. But here, now, you’ve been given a respectful request and offering. It isn’t a thought in your mind to not favor him now, your eyes closing and your mouth murmuring a blessing to him. It feels intoxicating to use some of your power again, especially on someone who asked for it. It also feels intoxicating to watch this General leave.
He looks around before he goes, seeming to note how degraded your small temple has become. The statue of you that lies ahead of your altar is yellowing, and ironically, multiple fingers have broken off. The General seems displeased by this, sighing as he exits the temple.
His gait is heavy, sandaled steps weighted as he walks down them and into the torch-lit night. You find yourself looking for him even after he’s disappeared from your sight, the warmth of gratefulness hugging around you. Part of you knows better than to play around with the thought, but still you wish to know more about him.
It worsens when he comes back. A few times a week he returns, offering rich foods. It’s been a month now, and you are coming back to life.
Fading didn’t feel like anything, but coming back feels like so much more. The first few offerings had your body feeling alight again, like the ichor in you was flowing again, but within the last two weeks you’ve gotten your fingertips back. They were tingling for a day and then the next you were able to properly grasp things again, nothing was slipping through you.
In that time you had also learned his name. A guard had come looking for him one night, and stood behind him whilst he prayed. You had found yourself smiling when he didn’t interrupt himself, instead acting aggravated once he had finished. The guard had apologized for interrupting and let him know that “Your wife wishes to speak to you, General Acacius.”
Acacius. 
You still don’t know his first name, but it is enough. You can think of it when you feel lonely, when you are bored. Something to associate with the offerings, with the blessings. The fact he has been so consistent hints at a desperation, which would usually repel you from blessing him, but he is the only one who seems to recognize you. His efforts are not going to go unseen by you, not when you have so little to do.
You can feel yourself conceding to your need to know him more, but just as you begin to fight yourself again, he shows up.
Tonight he’s dressed a little nicer. Usually he arrives in a plain tunic but this one has golden trim on it, and his hair is a little more tousled. He stumbles into your altar holding something in a cloth, but he’s walking like he’s… drunk? 
Acacius meanders to your altar, grabbing a torch along the way, and then empties the contents of the cloth. It produces a small dessert bun, a Libum, or honey cheesecake, and your mouth waters. So much of the food that is given to you is savory meats, masculine foods that are heavy on the senses, but this is sweet and delicate. You can, of course, eat whatever you’d like. You’re a Goddess, and though you aren’t major, you are still very fortunate.
But this feels thoughtful.
The General drops to his knees after lighting the bun ablaze, swaying slightly, and now you know he must be drunk.
“Goddess Felicitas,” he begins as normal, “I am sorry I am later than usual. Though I don’t know if Goddesses sleep. I was… caught up in other affairs, but I made it in time.”
He is less eloquent than usual and seems particularly focused on how it is nearly past midnight.
“I brought you this though,” he gestures to the half burnt bun. “I wanted to bring you something different than meat and… things. I thought a dessert would be fitting for that task.”
Acacius pauses now. His thoughts are probably muddled from whatever he drank, and you find yourself smiling. Foolery has never been so endearing to you.
“You have been listening to me, I suppose. My requests for luck in battle have been answered, as well as my safety being ensured. Your blessings have brought my wife peace of mind, something I could not previously afford to her.”
He looks so small in your temple tonight. Normally he is not so vulnerable, but his shoulders sag as he mentions his wife. Some sort of shame runs over him at the idea that he could not ease his wife’s worries, but it makes you feel better that you could help. 
“Goddess Felicitas, I come here tonight bearing no requests, just gratitude. Your blessings have soothed wounds I could not see, and I feel like a young soldier again. You invigor me.” 
Then, he leaves. 
You watch helplessly as he stumbles back down the steps and away from your temple, and more than ever you wish to chase him. The love he has for his wife is clear, and you hold no jealousy of that, but you wish it were you. Something in you is deeply attached to this General now. He has awoken you so much more than rekindling your power as a goddess, more than releasing you from the grief that comes with fading. Yes, Acacius has made your heart beat again, your mind curious again, and you feel seen. Being worshipped is not the same as being loved, if that were true you’d have had many children by now, 
But after so long being forgotten, this feels like what you remember being loved as.
You try not to interact with the other Gods for the most part. They tend to meddle in things they don’t need to, and are sensitive. You are not exempt from this stereotype, but that’s only more reason for the distance. 
But today, you venture to meet another deity.
Morpheus is not hard to find. He is pretty stationery where he is, usually lounging on a rock or bench near his temple, or above it in the clouds. He is a bit…dramatic, from what you remember, but wise. 
Today he is stretched out on a cloud above his temple, eyes shut. His pale skin stretches taut on his bones as his lean frame breathes deeply. But, he is not asleep. 
“Morpheus,” you speak. 
His body rolls toward your direction, eyes still shut, but a small smile on his face.
“O young goddess Felicitas, what brings you to me?” He questions.
It’s hard not to feel embarrassed. You’ve spoken to Morpheus on very rare occasions, but he’s always been somewhat helpful, though nosy. Dreams tell a lot about people, and when he’s the one giving them to people, it’s hard to hide anything at all.
You don’t want him to know of your true affection for General Acacius, just that he is… worthy of a visit. 
And so you begin to describe it to Morpheus, your need to visit Acacius. He doesn’t open his eyes at all, but he raises his eyebrows a lot and seems bemused at your situation. You’re only halfway through your rambling before he raises a gangly limb and waves at your words.
“Felicitas, you think you are the only Goddess wishing to visit her admirer? You need no explanation,” he says jovially. 
Morpheus reaches into the air and pulls 6 black berries into existence, then drops them into your open palm.
“When you know he is asleep, bite down on one of these and think of him,” he describes to you.
The berries smell like nothing, but a powdery residue is left on your skin as you roll them in your palm. It doesn’t repel you at all.
Tonight, you will visit him and express the same gratitude he did to you. 
Marcus lays next to his wife, Lucilla, with her hand in his. She fell asleep sometime ago, leaving him to lie awake by himself.
He didn’t make it to her temple tonight and the guilt is festering in his body. Marcus knows that she is a Goddess, that he probably isn’t a thought in her mind. He knows that he is just another whiney mortal, giving her food that isn’t nearly as good as whatever Gods eat. His insignificance grows as he feeds into his guilt. 
Stress has permeated his life for much of it, from his time as a young soldier up until now, as a General. Battles, politics, and his family, have created a breeding ground for him to be wracked with anxieties, but he stays strong. Thanks to his time in Felicitas temple, it’s been better.
Which is why failing to make it to her temple tonight is making him feel so bad.
He grabs at the linen sheets of his bed, stressing and trying to reassure himself until he falls asleep finally.
Being in a dream is weird. It feels much the same as it does when you disguise yourself as a mortal, the out of body experience is semi-familiar, but it’s weird because someone else is there.
You’ve been watching the General enjoy the lake in front of him for a few minutes now. He hasn’t slipped into it, but just walks along the waterline. It seems like he is looking for something. Surely his dreams usually contain more action, or perhaps are memories, so you assume it may be strangely understimulating for him.
The appearance you’ve chosen is one of modesty, but elegance. A seafoam green peplos hangs off your frame delicately, with golden clasps at the wrists and waist. You did your hair so it would be tucked out of your face. There is no guarantee that Acacius will recognize you like this, but you look much like your statue that’s within your temple.
Swallowing your nerves, you shimmer yourself into visibility. The grassy field is odd beneath your feet, and you walk toward him with uncertainty in each step. You’ve never met with a mortal before, and you haven’t stepped on anything earthy in a long while. His broad stature only becomes more daunting as you get closer, especially since he seems so focused.
You will have to speak first. You’re much too quiet in this environment, and you must act fast lest he wake before you get his attention.
“General Acacius,” you speak firmly, though your hands shake. 
This is so unfamiliar to you. You’ve barely even seen his face, as he’s usually bowed at your altar. It is the first time you’ll see him at an equal level, the first time you’ll have brought yourself to him rather than him to you. 
He turns quickly, an instinctual aggressiveness toward the unknown. You stand about 10 feet from him, eyes widening.
Acacius is striking. His nose is what you focus on first, strong in shape and line, but behind it are his eyes which look to you with wide acknowledgement. His hair curls around his head in greying ringlets, like a permanent laurel crowning him. The wide expanse of his back was once impressive, but now you can see the solid wall which he becomes when facing you. Nothing could push him over it seems, a man built to stand.
Your heart squeezes the way it did the first time he gave you a request, a tender rush tingling your whole body. No words come out of either of your mouths, and the General drops to one knee instantly. 
He recognizes you.
“Goddess Felicitas,” he rushes out in a breath. His chest is heaving as he bows his head and no, no this isn’t how you want this.
Your feet are moving before you can focus on your anxiety, bringing you so close to him that you can kneel too. Maybe a goddess should not kneel before a mortal general, but you are just on your knees rather than putting yourself below him. Your peplos billows a little as air rushes through it when you hit the grass.
He is above you like this, and you tilt your head to see his face again. His strong brow is furrowed, eyes squeezed shut like he is afraid of you. 
“Acacius,” you say softly, “I am not here for… for ill reason. Please relax yourself.”
You lean back as he relaxes, head tipping upwards as he kneels in front of you as well. Now you can meet his eyes, see the crinkles that are beside them, and really take him in.
An energy of anxiety is shared wordlessly, with him stiff from the sight of a literal goddess, and you with the fear of… something. 
The identity of your anxieties isn’t something that you can figure out. Maybe it’s too much to see such a handsome mortal, or maybe it’s that you’re going to thank him for his offerings so personally. Maybe it’s humiliation from this act. What would other Gods think of this? Is it not degrading to become so attached to a mortal? Are you no better than Zeus or Hermes, the gods who interact too intimately with mortals? 
The sound of his labored breathing alerts you, calls your attention back to the present moment. 
“I wanted to thank you,” you admit meekly, “for your offerings. You have been very generous and… devoted.”
His eyes are shifty, and you can see the terror in him still. You don’t want him to fear you, but you can understand why. Visits from Gods or other deities can mean trouble, but you aren’t significant like that.
“General Acacius you are the first mortal who has acknowledged me in a long time,” you offer a vulnerability, perhaps trying to soothe him.
It feels so backwards for you to be kneeling in front of him, speaking. He has done so in front of your altar for many weeks now, but now the spots are switched, yet you are still in power. You avert your gaze as you speak up, wanting to request something of him.
“You’ve been so generous to me, General, I was hoping to know more about you.”
And now, rather than scared, he seems suspicious. 
“To know me?” He clarifies. 
You nod.
“I only know your last name. I think I could offer more luck and splendor if we were more… personal.” 
Gods that felt awful to say. You’re no better than the whorish brutes on their thrones, offering petty glories for intimacy. Everything feels flirtatious but that’s not what you’re looking for. Acacius has a wife he clearly loves, you would never want to interrupt that. 
He seems to hesitate, but he knows he cannot refuse you. So far your blessings have brought ease to his life, he wouldn’t want to lose that.
“Then… yes, I suppose I can offer myself if it would please you.” He responds stoically. 
And it does please you, to know his name. Marcus Acacius, the one who woke you, the one who has saved you from being a fragmented memory within the temples. 
Marcus Acacius, who you are too fond of.
You visit him 3 more times. In an attempt to space out the usage of the berries Morpheus gave you, you only visit him once a week. The bleak tasting berries are sour on your tongue, a rotten sour which lingers once you wake up, but it’s worth it.
The two of you have grown closer, with Marcus opening up more. He tells you about the stresses in his life, how much anxiety is buried in him. But, he’s confident for the sake of his wife. You’ve learned that her name is Lucilla, and much more about her. Marcus talks about her a lot, in passing or retelling something she told him. In the small amount of time you’ve gotten to know him, you’ve gotten to know her as well.
It burns you with a strange warmth, a desire and envy which makes your stomach growl. You are hungry for him to admire you in the same way, to speak of you, but doesn’t he already? Shame grips your throat when you think of it. You are a Goddess who he sacrifices to, who he wishes to have blessings from. What more do you need? A mortal couldn't offer you what another deity could. 
After the fourth meeting, you found yourself lonely. Lazing back in the clouds above your temple, you woke with a deep hunger. Marcus is beautiful, an admirable man, and he loves passionately. You are already being such a glutton for even speaking with him, meeting with him repeatedly, so why must you yearn for him too? 
Worship isn’t enough, you want what you will never let yourself to have.
Nothing hints that he might feel similarly. His starry gaze which lands on you is not due to your beauty, your personality, or anything more. You have blessed him, and that is why his eyes glitter. Goddess status has never made you feel so low and isolated. Still, you are happy to help him achieve what he wishes, even as it cripples your heart.
Tonight you plan on visiting him. That fourth visit was a week and a half ago, he may be wondering where you are. He still comes to your altar each night, but the prayers are less personal. Marcus saves his stories and ramblings for when the two of you are in the field, or near the lake, when the two of you are really alone.
You bite into the berry at around midnight. Its tangy yet death-tasting juice floods your mouth, clinging to the crevices between your teeth and staining your gums. Closing your eyes, you think of Marcus, and his curls, and his eyes, and his nose, and his strong hands.
And then you are there, and he is waiting. 
It seems like his subconsciousness has picked to be at the lake today, and he’s sat in the sand at the edge of the water. You walk over to him, but notice how… down he appears to be.
“She is not happy with me,” Marcus confesses before you even sit down.
You stand a few feet back from him, looking at how his curls fall around his bowed head.
“Lucilla?” You ask softly.
He nods.
A wicked feeling begins to steep in your heart. She is upset with him, he is in need of you for something more than a blessing. 
And so you listen. 
It’s one of the longer meetings the two of you have had. Marcus doesn’t cry, but he seems truly upset. He’s been called to go off somewhere far again, to fight and kill. Reassurances that you will protect him as best you can only soothe him so much. 
He doesn't care if he dies, he cares that his beloved is distraught over this. 
The more the two of you talk, the closer you get. There are marks on the sand from where you originally sat, but now you kneel in front of him, with creased brows and worried eyes. This isn’t something you can fix, you aren’t familiar with love and its intricacies. 
His knees were tucked closer to his chest before, but they’ve loosened now and his fists rest atop them, clenching. Frustration sits on his face like a mask, one you wish to take off him.
Touching is not… something either of you partake in. Sometimes your shoulders will brush when you sit together, but nothing more has ever been initiated. 
That is why it doesn’t surprise you when he flinches as your hand reaches out to rest on top of his right clenched fist. 
“Marcus,” you say softly, wanting to offer comfort, but he cuts you off.
“Don’t,” he replies swiftly.
At first it hurts, watching as he waves off your hand from his own, but then you look at his face rather than where your hands were joined. The frustrated look on his face is gone, replaced with something worse, something guilty. His eyes aren’t glittering at you like usual, nor are they hardened with anger.
They’re soft pools of conflict that mirror your own.
It doesn’t soothe your burn, satiate your envy. You can see in his eyes that maybe you aren’t alone in these feelings of admiration, of want, but maybe this is not what you want.
Maybe you want a different universe, one where he doesn’t have to be a mortal and you, a Goddess. So you wouldn’t have to worry about him dying, and have this friendship survive off death flavored berries. Maybe you want a universe where he isn’t married, where he could be yours and you wouldn’t feel like a spectator to his heart.
Maybe you want that, but you won’t get it.
Instead the flames of jealousy die in your chest and are replaced with tumors of guilt. Your whole body feels bloated, embarrassed, and ugly. 
The pair of you stare at each other, a stupid realization between the both of you as you realize that your secrets have been spilled, even though it’s the same one.
His eyes don’t move from yours, so you move from his.
The sandy edge of the lake does not look so bright now, even though there are no clouds in Marcus’s dream. 
“When do you leave?” You ask softly. 
You will not follow him into whatever battle he’ll win. Don’t embarrass yourself, Goddess.
He tells you two weeks. You say you’ll see him before then.
Then you wake on a cloud again, with a cavity of guilt in your chest.
Marcus wakes alone. 
Lucilla had not wanted to sleep with him that night, choosing to stay elsewhere. She didn’t tell him where, she left in a quiet flurry of tears and anguish.
It’s easier for him to feel guilt over his Goddess than it is to hurt his beloved, even if it is the same.
In a moment of frustration he grasps at the sheets, turning over and biting at his pillow. The bed is so cold, and the room smells like stale air even though the window is open, the night breezy. 
He knows she is beautiful because she is a Goddess. All Goddesses are beautiful, ethereal beings that mortals cannot even comprehend at times. Marcus knows he is lucky to even perceive her, for her to have chosen to visit him.
Yet through all her blessings, he feels cursed.
A plague of emotional infidelity is crawling through his body, sticking to his bones and making him stiff. Everything he does has felt flat for so long, from pretending he is grateful to the Emperors, to now pretending nothing is wrong in his marriage. He’s scared, and exhausted.
Marcus rubs a hand over his face after rolling over and sitting up in bed, groaning into his palm. 
At first he tried to blame her for it. What would a Goddess want from a successful General other than a demigod hero son? What could truly be so special about him? He assumed she was manipulating him, using some sort of power to morph his heart, but now he knows it is not true.
If she had wanted to, she would have had him by now, and he knows this. If she had wanted to, her hand would have stayed where it was tonight, and pushed him further. It isn’t unlike the Gods to force themselves on a mortal, but she didn’t.
Instead, his hand feels hot where hers rested, and his mind is spinning. 
Marcus doesn’t fall asleep again, afraid that he’ll see her. 
You wait for a full two weeks before you visit him again. He had been coming to your temple less, and you had assumed he was busy with preparations for the coming battle. 
The stubbornness you felt that night has not left you. At first you did not leave your temple in fear that you would grow attached, now you remain there because you have grown attached. 
“Enough is enough,” you had thought to yourself. 
But it is hard not to miss him, and his soothing prayers. The way his offerings tasted of smoke and sweet, and how he’d always burn such a large portion. Marcus never gave you scraps, he seemed to refuse to. 
However, you can only distance yourself so far. 
It is quiet when you approach him. He is sitting in the field this time, the lake a distant glitter in your eyes. He does not face you, but his head isn’t bowed like before.
“Marcus,” you greet, your voice muted.
He raises his head, turning over his shoulder and nodding, as if to direct you to come closer, and so you do.
Tonight’s visit isn’t vulnerable, or even pleasant. Marcus seems so distant as he dryly tells you about how he’s preparing, and his wishes to return safely. His eyes barely meet your own as he talks, and he continuously twists the ring on his finger.
It grows tiring, watching him ramble about politics you could care less about, listening to him say things that have nothing to do with him. He’s so far from the friend you thought you had made. When the air between you goes quiet, you don’t fill it for a while. You listen to the sound of the wind in the grass as his eyes still will not meet yours. It’s breaking you apart.
This is the last night you’re able to visit him, unless you visit Morpheus again. You will not waste it like this.
“What is ailing you, General?” You ask, deciding to prod more than you usually do.
To your surprise, he scoffs in light laughter.
“You,” he responds quietly.
His words don’t hurt, at least not yet. You have the option to walk away now, wake yourself and leave him with his final blessings, but of course you don’t.
“Me?” You ask, “what have I done?”
Marcus rolls his shoulders back, lifting his head to look into the everblue sky above the both of you.
“You have made my life difficult, Goddess.”
Difficult? You have made his life difficult?
You have half a mind to tear him to pieces, curse him with something awful like snakes for toes, or spoons for teeth. After all that you’ve done for him, all the safety you’ve provided, he is telling you that you make things difficult? How dare he? Be outraged, Goddess, for he disrespects the holy luck which you bestowed to him.
That’s what you should think, that’s how most of you should feel.
But instead you feel small, and hurt. Yes, he is disrespecting all that you’ve given, but also you feel like a failure. Your physical existence is because of him, because he did not let you fade. All you wanted to do was make his life easier, help him to have an eased mind and a safer life.
But instead, he’s telling you you’re difficult.
It feels like your body is shrinking in the white peplos you’ve worn, the sheer fabrics swallowing you. Shame is flooding in the form of tears behind your eyes, wetting your orbs with an unexpected outburst of emotion.
“I am sorry,” you manage weakly.
Marcus does not look at you while you cry, and you want to believe it is because he cares too much to watch, but you cannot verify that.
The wind picks up again, but it does nothing to hide the soft cries you can’t hold back. Once you were a fading Goddess, now you are just a failing one.
There is no luck involved with love.
Eventually he speaks again, with his head turned away from you.
“I am sorry too,” he says. There’s a finality in his tone that makes you ache.
So much is said in such little words. He is sorry to you, for you, and with you. A sorrow is shared between the two of you, knowing that your hearts ache for one another as they are worlds apart yet on earth together. 
This last berry was only supposed to mark the end of your visits, not the end of everything. It feels like this is all there is for the two of you, since it’s too complicated to continue on like this.
That’s why he doesn’t move away when you move closer and rest your head on his shoulder as tears leak down your cheeks, or at least that’s what you’ll believe. 
Time moves weirdly when you’re immortal, but it all happens so quickly.
Marcus stopped coming to offer things for you, and so you were blessing him less. Admittedly you had kept an eye on him, but not a keen one. It didn’t feel right, not when you and him weren’t… friends anymore.
But this feels too soon, too fast, too unfamiliar. Has your sadness caused you to be blind?
You watch as a man kneels in front of Marcus, panting and bloody with a sword beside him on the ground.
The only reason you are here was because you had felt the roar of a crowd all the way at your own temple, a wide distance away. It had drawn you in, and instead you had found this.
That roaring which you had heard crescendos to a new height around you as you shimmer into existence, cloaking yourself to the mortal eyes in the stands of the coliseum, but existing enough to touch him.
Arrows stick out of his front, more crushed beneath his back, as he is slumped on the white, gravel, ground. His hair is curled with tacky blood streaking through it, and he is so, so, still.
You drag your hand across his forehead, feeling the remaining heat, and in the echo of the crowd you begin to sob. 
Everything around you is moving, changing, fighting, and screaming, but you sit invisible in the center of the coliseum, running your hands over the now dead General Acacius. There is nothing you can do to bring him back, to ease Lucilla, to save him and apologize. He is dead beneath your fingers, with arrows lodged deep in his irreparable, mortal, flesh. 
You were supposed to keep him safe.
Hot tears run down your cheeks as you keep grasping at his armor, unable to move him or yourself. The last visit felt official, but this feels final. There is nothing more for you here, no friendship in a corpse.
Thoughts are running through your mind at the rate that your breath is puffing from your chest. The question of where he will end up in the afterlife is overwhelming you, and the chance for him to go to Elysium feels reasonable. It’s where he should be, where he deserves to go, especially after all he had done for Rome. You don’t even care why he’s here, or why he seems to have been brutally killed, but after the time you spent with him, Elysium seems right for him.
It’s where he should be. Elysium is where he should be.
And it’s where you find him.
His place there is somewhat similar to his and Lucilla’s home back in the mortal world, with lush greenery and airy drapes that flutter in various colours. It seems like he has left space for Lucilla here too, with space left in the chests for her things, and a permanently made half of the bed.
Elysium offers a true celebration of life for heroes, demigodly or not, and you’re sure Marcus has been enjoying that. Anything that he had been shackled to in his mortal life was gone now, and it seems that all he would have to miss is his wife. 
Most of your time is spent there, in his afterlife home. You peer from behind curtains when he comes back, hidden in drapes and keeping yourself small. 
He is already dead, but after the last time you abandoned him, you cannot bear to leave him alone again.
The vision of him, bloodied and murdered on the coliseum floor, flickers into your mind every time you see him lying in his bed. It’s an obsession to be near him, to be looking after him. Pluto might not even know you’re down here anymore, but what does it matter?
Marcus Acacius was the last living mortal to worship you. In the underworld, you are beginning to fade. Your fingers are slipping from you again, which is making it easier to lurk near him, but it is a painful process.
You want to speak to him. No longer do you yearn for his love, not after being in his home and seeing how dedicated his heart truly is to Lucilla, but you yearn to speak to him again. A panicked emotion runs through you at the thought of fading alone, of being entirely forgotten. 
It didn’t matter before he died, fading was just something bound to happen, but now it’s more. Is he forgetting you?
You’ve lost most of your arms by the time you work up the courage to speak up. Lucilla arrived sometime ago, joining Marcus in the afterlife. Watching them together brought some warmth to you, some kind of happiness that you couldn’t have for yourself, but seeing it for him was enough.
You sit on the terrace of their home, invisible to their eyes, and somewhat to your own. From the tips of your fingers to just below your elbows, you are a specter. Grey shadow fills where your limbs used to be, and they pass through all objects. You couldn’t tap his shoulder if you tried.
Oftentimes you sit, hidden, and ponder by yourself about more than Marcus. There were so many things you were adamant about when he was alive, and you regret it all now. Your determination to avoid your feelings, or at least not show them, and your need to not become attached… it bites at you now, a stinging, grieving, venom, that won’t leave. Your status as a Goddess blinded you to how tender that friendship could have been, and now you sit as a ghost spectator to his afterlife, obsessed with a mortal as a fading immortal. 
The tips of your fingers pass through the glass you try to grab as you think of this on the terrace. You’re glad that you’re such a minor deity, so at least you do not have to feel so humiliated about fading. A smile has just graced your face as you feel blessed for being so unimportant you can essentially stalk this mortal, when suddenly his voice cuts through the humid air of the space.
“Felicitas?” Marcus’ voice asks.
It’s so hesitant that you think you’re imagining it. You thought you had their home to yourself right now, thinking they had gone to do… whatever souls do in Elysium, but when you turn your face, he is there.
Marcus has not worn fancy clothing in a long while now, and right now is no different. He stands before you in a plain looking tunic, which just graces his knees. To see him at ease has been so nice, but he looks distressed at your sudden appearance.
You cannot find your voice as you awkwardly stand up, trying to think quickly. There is no good way to explain what you’re doing here, hidden away in him and his wife’s home. You could just vanish into thin air, but that feels wrong. He has seen you already, any attempts at pretending you aren’t here would be ridiculous.
His eyes scroll from your face down to your arms, and the smoking shadows that used to be there. Concern pinches onto his face with knitted brows and pressed together lips.
Something in you wants him to turn away, so you don’t have to think about why he is worried for you, even after all the trouble you caused, but he doesn’t.
His sandaled steps are heavy as he comes to you, reaching for your hands but finding the gesture fruitless as his own slip right through yours.
“Dulcissima,” he speaks weakly, shock woven in his words.
You had told him about fading a little while ago, when the two of you were in that field. Now it seems the severity of it has hit him.
What is hitting you is the name. Dulcissima, or sweetest. How long had it been since you had been referred to so fondly? All at once you are being remembered, recognized, and shown some affection. It feels like too much and tears are falling out of your control.
“I’m sorry,” you manage, “I was supposed to– to keep you safe.”
Marcus is shaking his head already, refusing your apology.
“No, no. You did keep me safe, you did. I pushed you away, I couldn’t control myself and I caused this,” he argues. 
It does not comfort you that you both blame yourselves. You wish to reach out to him and touch his face like you should have when he was warm and alive. You want to know if he is cold now, and it’s as if he hears you.
Marcus places a hand on your cheek, a softness in his eyes and hold that says that he missed you.
“I saw you,” he claims, “when I was on the ground. You were the last thing I saw.”
Somewhere between life and death for mortals, there are moments of godly clarity. Some see the light, others see their families and memories, but in that tiny glimpse of time, some see Gods. 
He was able to see you as you knelt over him, sobbing as you were cloaked to any mortal's naked eye.  You were the last thing he saw, and the last thing he truly regretted. 
All you can do is stiltedly nod at him, feeling like you were in trouble even though it seems he’s not upset.
For a moment, his eyes flick away, contemplative, but then he meets your gaze again.
“I told Lucilla of you, before I died. Not– not of my feelings which I struggled with, but that you were a close friend, a blessing in many ways.”
A blessing in many ways.
Another choked sob is wracked from your chest, your bottom lip curling out embarrassingly as your face contorts. He almost coos at you, the thumb on your cheek rubbing away your tears.
“Goddess, I have missed you,” he admits. 
Stupid nods are all you can offer, your voice imprisoned in your ever tightening throat which cries. When he was alive he was never this tender, too confused and insecure to ever touch you, but it seems he has been regretting things too.
“Felicitas,” he says quietly, “do you come here for ill reason?”
You shake your head this time, rather than nodding. You have no reason to be here, other than the fact that guilt has taken over your mind and heart since he died.
“Then relax, dulcissima. I have an offering for you.”
Marcus relaxes his stature, eyes still gazing over you. He looks at your fading palms and you watch him swallow nervously.
“I will worship you again, lending you offerings here, and all I ask in return is for our friendship again.”
It’s the opposite of how you met, almost completely, but it’s everything you need. You will not fade, he will not struggle in marriage, and you will have one another again. 
Again, you are nodding stupidly, but soon you’re embraced by him and nodding into his chest. His hands grasp at your back as he tells you how much he missed you in his final weeks, how he regrets losing you entirely, how he requires you as a friend. 
You are satiated in his arms as he comforts you, awakening you again there on the terrace. Unbeknownst to you, Marcus has let tears slip down too as he holds you close. 
“You will keep me safe here?” he asks jokingly.
It makes you smile, the idea of offering luck to a man who already died.
“Yes, General. I will keep you safe here, from all the horrifying glory and splendor,” you assure.
The two of you laugh, breaking the embrace but staying close. A passionate connection is still between the two of you, but in a different way now. Maybe when he was alive it was romantic because it is all you could think of, but through his death the two of you have come to understand it more. 
You require one another in a unique way, and leaning on one another does not have to be intimate the way he is with his wife. Marcus does need you, just as you need him, and now that you are both immortal in a way, you will never be separated again.
please leave a comment, like, reblog, askbox, or ANYTHING. i'd love to hear thoughts on this <33
tags (people who seemed excited for this) (sorry if these dont work)
@pascalssbabyy , @moonshapedflan , @gossipgirl-03 , @kyloispunk , @frannyzooey , @coocoolahh , @bug-boy32 , @honeymarvel , @magicalmorg , @1deakybass , @tuquoquebrute , @harryshousewhore , @teeagain, @chewie-bars , @vampyyweek , @queenslandlover-93 , @amijenn , @aquanatalie
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charlotteking23 · 2 days ago
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The Lion's Lamb - Chapter 7 - MV1/33
Max Verstappen x reader
The Lion's Lamb Series: Aesthetics, Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6
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Over the next few days, the two would meet up casually, either to get coffee at the cafe they met at, going for walks, and even getting casual dinners together.
Their conversations usually surround you, about your life, dreams, and aspirations.
Whenever the conversation switched over to Max, mainly about his line of work, he would always quickly change the subject.
You thought it was odd, but figured it wasn't something he wanted to talk about and he'd open up when he wanted to.
It was Friday evening and sadly Max was pushed into a boys nights with his friends, leaving you to figure out what to do for the night.
You knew Max had told you to text him if you needed him, but you didn't want to bug him, especially if he was around his friends.
You didn't want to be the type of girl that would continuously blow up a man's phone while he was out.
It was around 8pm when Amelia came storming into your room, "you're coming out with me tonight."
"Why do I have to go out?" You asked.
"Well I can't go alone," Amelia said dramatically, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Cant you go out with your friends? I really don't feel like going out tonight."
"You have too! Who knows what will happen to a young, pretty girl like me all alone at a club!"
You bit your lip while nodding your head slowly, feeling guilty if you left Amelia to go out alone and something were to happen to her.
"Great!" We leave at 10:30," Amelia said smugly before happily leaving the room.
By 10:45, the two girls had arrived at the club. You're trying your best to keep close to your roommate as they made their way through the busiest club in Monaco to get to the bar.
It was true that Amelia wanted the girl to go out with her so she wouldn't be alone, but it wasn't the full truth.
She knew how pretty the you were, how your aura of innocence you projected attracted men like a moth to a flame.
You had no idea that your roommate was using you to attract men. You were playing the oblivious wing man.
After ordering both of the girls a drink, Amelia was quick to pull you out onto the dance floor before you could even think about protesting.
While your roommate started dancing, trying to attract men towards her while you sat there awkwardly taking small sips of your drink.
You were uncomfortable with the amount of people surrounding you causing you to feel claustrophobic.
They were on the dance floor long before two men found their way towards to the pair.
One was blonde with brown eyes, average built and height. The other was brunette with brown eyes so dark they could be mistaken for black. But this man was shorter then the other but slightly more built. They were both attractive looking, and just by looking at them, a person could tell they reeked of daddy's money.
While the blonde went over to Amelia and whispered something in  her ear, the brunette stood there, staring at you. The look in his eyes made you nervous and intimidated the hell out of you.
"We're joining them at their table," Amelia interrupted before grabbing you by the hand and dragging you to the two men's booth.
Amelia is moving to sit next to the blonde and the brunette coming to sit next to you, uncomfortably close.
"I'm John," the man stated after an awkward amount of time passed with them just sitting in silence.
"(your name)," the girl responds softly, giving the man a small smile, trying to be polite.
The smirk that rested on John's face told the girl everything she needed to know. He knew he was an attractive man and used it to his advantage.
He knew that any girl at that club would be clawing to get his attention, yet he was intrigued on the one girl who didn't want it.
You continued to talk to him, making small talk because you didn't know any better.
You thought you were being polite and just trying to make it through the night. John took it for flirting.
Little did he know that the only person you were interested in was a blue eyed Dutchman.
"What is a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?" John asks while slowing inching closer towards you, resting his arm behind you on the back of the booth.
"My roommate wanted me to come out with," you politely stated, deciding to ignore the compliment and keep it short.
Before John could continue, alcohol was brought to their table. John, his friend and Amelia all were taking shots, the man next to her talking at least 5 in a 30 minute period.
They asked the girl if she wanted some, but you declined, okay with sipping what was left of your original drink.
It didn't take long for John to make his move after that. Thought their conversation, he had scooted closer until his knees were touching her.
His arm behind your back, causing you to be slightly trapped when he leaned in and started to run his hand up your thigh.
"Why don't you and I get out of here baby," he whispered in her ear, his lips grazing her ear.
You quickly jumped back from your seat, trying to get out of his reach.
"No," you stated sharply, but fear filled your entire body. You turned to catch Amelia's eyes to try to signal to her for help, but she was too busy making out with John's friend.
"Come on sweetheart, you wouldn't be here dressed in that sexy little dress if you weren't trying to get someone attention," he said slowly moving closer again, like a predator stalking its prey.
In an instant, you stood up mumbling about having to go to the bathroom. you bolted to the toilets in hopes of escaping the situation.
Max had spent the evening hanging with his friends and playing videos games together.
He hadn't done it in a while since meeting you, but you insisted he hang out with his friends, thinking he never gets to see them because he travels so often.
He was glad he did it because he had time to relax a bit before their next race in Qatar next weekend.
He arrived home close to midnight, and immediately laid down in bed, ready for a good nights rest when his phone sudden rang.
Looking at the caller ID he couldn't help the smile that erupted across his face.
"Hello beautiful," he said gently.
"M-Max," he heard your weak stuttering voice through the phone.
"What's wrong?" He asked, sitting up immediately.
"I'm scared." Your broken words echoed through the phone, leaving an impact on his heart with those two words.
"I-I went out with Amelia, a-and this man started to put his h-hand up my dress and I'm scared."
"Where are you? I'll come and get you right now"
"I don't know," you say softly, "I've never been here before. I don't remember the name."
"Okay love, can you send me your location?" He spoke softly, not wanting to cause anymore fear or anxiety.
"Okay," you mumble.
Max looked at where you were at and luckily the club was only 5 minutes away from his apartment.
"Okay love, I'll be there in 10 minutes. Why don't you go wait outside in front so the bouncers can watch out for you."
"Okay," you stated quickly before hanging up.
The Dutchman quickly bolted towards his front door, scared out of his mind. In his line of work, fear wasn't an option.
If they have fear while driving, they wouldn't survive. For the first time in his life he actually felt fear when hearing your meek voice say those words.
I'm scared
Those words echoes through his brain as he drove to his little lamb. He felt like someone stabbed him in the heart.
He made a promise to himself that his little lamb will never have to feel this way ever again.
You decided you had to grab Amelia and take her with you, or at least have to decency to tell her you're leaving if she refuses to come with you.
Swiftly, you left the bathroom to go back to the booth where you end up finding no one except one person, John.
"Where's Amelia?" You asked with hesitancy, wanting nothing more than to just leave.
"She left sweetheart," he said with a smirk.
"What?"
"She went home with David," he started to make his way closer to her again, his eyes darkening even more than they already were, "Now it's just me and you daring. Why don't we go and have some fun?"
"No," You said, taking a few steps back, "my friend is waiting for me outside."
Without another word, you finally made your way towards the exit, deciding not to give John the chance to keep coming after you.
It wasn't until you felt the cool Monaco breeze on your skin did you actually let out a breath of relief. You tried to even out your breathing, calming herself down but you couldn't.
The loud pounding of the music emitted from the club caused you to slowly make your way down the street towards the street corner.
You started up in the night sky. A wave of peace and calm washed over you as you gazed upon the stars that filled up the dark night sky.
Sadly, this peace did not last long as you felt a hand grip your arm tightly, making you cry out in pain as the person turned you towards them.
John stands before you again, yanking your body closer to him, leaving no room for you to struggle.
You scratched and tried to fight him but he quickly gripped your wrist, tight enough that there will surely be a bruise there tomorrow.
"I've been looked my everywhere for you darling," he whispered close to ear, pulling back with a wicked grin on his face.
"Let go of me," You hoped your voice would come out strong but it came out weak and fearful.
"I can't do that sweetheart," he tilted his head slightly to the side, starting you down like you were a monkey in a zoo, "you're coming with me."
"No!" You shouted hoping that someone would hear you. You need to escape somehow now or else-. You honestly didn't want to think about what would happen if you didn't.
"Stop fighting," John snaps, annoyed at your struggling, but You refused to go down without a fight.
One minute you struggled with John, the next you were being pulled away from him into someone else's arms.
This person wrapped you up in their arms, their firm chest provided you some form of comfort.
You didn't care who this person was, anyone was better than being stuck with John.
"Don't you dare fucking touch her!" The rumble of a familiar voice vibrated through the chest you currently leaned into.
Max.
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Taglist: @shelbyteller, @smithieandy, @fangirlforever2000, @herexpertcollector, @vip-access, @genevieve-blr, @a-beaverhausen
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arabellasleopardcoat · 2 days ago
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The Brave (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)
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Summary: A collection of first times with Daemon.
Warnings: Bastard! Reader. Daddy issues. Corruption kink. Innocence kink. Age difference, power imbalance. Poorly translated HV. Angst. Enemies to lovers (Sort of?) Happy ending. Usual warnings for Daemon (Sexual thoughts, mature language, violence)
Requested: Yes! My first after Halloween, life has been crazy.
THE FISHERMEN SAIL too early for your liking. You know it has little to do with their personal preference, and more to do with the tides. It doesn’t mean you are happy about it, though.
Your job is to ensure all your ships are in good condition and ready to transport whatever those men bring home. Your mother had made a small fortune by expanding her father’s fleet, and after her passing, it was your turn to handle it. You preferred to oversee things personally, knowing that only an owner’s touch could ensure the quality of service you prided yourself in.
No one loved these ships more than you. Small and old they were, but they tied you to your mother. You lacked her knowledge, and sometimes, they made you far less money than you hoped for, but you insisted on keeping them. Your siblings had not shown such an interest, choosing other pursuits.
Allyn, much more practical, had preferred to learn the trade of a shipwright. He now worked under Lord Corlys. It embarrassed you to say it, but it was him and not you who was the breadwinner of your family. Some months, if not most, it was far more lucrative than your business with the ships.
Addam worked occasionally as a shipwright too, but he didn’t have a steady source of income. He was far too young to be hired anywhere, lacking the experience most lords wanted from those building their ships. Sometimes, he also helped you.
Today wasn’t one of those days. Otherwise, you would have forced him to come here in your stead. With a grumble, you jumped from the ship to the dock. Everything was as it should, so you had to move to the next one.
The sunrise makes Hull look even more beautiful, the city slowly beginning to rise under Driftmark’s watchful eyes. The white marble and ivory of the castle provide a backdrop for the goldens and pinks that color the scene. It would make you smile, were it not for the fact that the peaceful morning is ruined by every damn bell in the city tolling.
Visitors. Noble ones. By the amount of noise, they are announcing the visit of someone very high ranking.
The splash of cold water against your ankle makes you grumble more. You hated getting your shoes wet. Or your ankles. You fix your hair scarf, worried that the sea breeze will make it come loose.
You shouldn’t have bothered. A harsh gust of wind takes it fully off and nearly sends you caroling into the water. The dock shakes underneath you, the ships and water agitated by the same thing. You scream, as do the rest of the sailors who are near.
As you look up, you see him. A man, with silver hair and a smug look on his face, riding atop a dragon. He is showing off, ducking low, the dragon’s tail dipping in the water before springing back up again. It is what is causing the breeze. You marvel for a second, wondering how such a gigantic beast can be so nimble.
You had never seen a dragon up close before. You are not allowed to go near Driftmark, where the Princess and the Lord and Lady keep theirs.
The few captains and sailors that were on the docks alongside you have fled. But not you. Alone, silver hair in full display, you stand frozen in the same spot you had been before seeing him pass.
The man smiles. He winks at you.
You lower your eyes and do not stop running until you are safe at home.
DAEMON SEES YOU again when he least expects it. He has looked for you in every pleasure house on this island and has not been able to find you. The brave little maiden with silver hair, who had screamed bloody murder but stood her ground on the docks when she saw him approach.
You must be of Valyrian descent. There is no other explanation for your lack of fear. You were young and comely, so he had guessed that you must be a whore. It was what happened to girls who looked like you. Men loved pretending they were either a Princess or the daughter of some lord. And so close to Driftmark? They probably asked you to pretend you were little Laena Velaryon.
Daemon would have so enjoyed to play such a game himself. His future bride was far too young to do little more than court under her parents’ watchful eyes. If he could sneak a bit of a taste in advance, you wouldn’t catch him complaining about it.
When he had agreed to accompany Corlys to oversee the progress being made on the news ships for his fleet, the last thing he expected to encounter was you.
Your laughter was the first thing that caught his attention, a sound so girlish it seemed improper among the men carrying saws and woods for the ships. His head had turned instinctively towards the sound, and it was then that he saw you.
The dress you had on was a plain gray, as it was the headscarf you wore. But Daemon would know that face anywhere. He had sought everywhere for it. You were holding a small basket, next to some shipwright. The man looked older than you, already bald. You were all smiles and animated gestures, seemingly taken by him.
The man tickled your side, and you laughed again. You handed him the basket and kissed him on the cheek.
Daemon seethed. He hated sharing. With whores, it was to be expected, yet it didn’t make it anymore palatable. It was why he enjoyed taking maidenheads so much. Yet, he could ignore it if the woman was pretty or well-trained enough, like he did with Mysaria. To watch a whore with her lover, though, it was intolerable.
Whores were professional liars. You paid them to pretend to be someone they were not. But watching you with a man you truly loved would forever break the fantasy. There was no way he could believe the sweetest lies on your tongue, not when he knew what you looked like when truly in love.
Is it in bad taste to approach you when his future father-in-law is distracted by his sailors? Probably. But he cannot stop himself. Because the only thing Daemon can think of, the only thing that would make him feel better, is to bring you as low as he. Ruin your little fantasy as you had ruined his.
He marches towards where the man and you are, and gently cups your chin in his hand. The sudden interruption startles you, and you try taking a step back, but his sweet hold has turned into Valyrian Steel. There is no escape for little whores.
“I looked for you in the brothel, but you were not there.”
“I… Excuse me?” Your voice is shrill, more angered than panicked. “Do I know you?”
And oh, the nerve on you. The nerve to question him, as if he were just a passing man on the street and not a Prince of House Targaryen. The same nerve that drove you to stand your ground against Caraxes.
Begrudgingly, Daemon has to name the strange feeling taking place in his stomach. Awe. Admiration. You had fire in your belly, and steel on your spine. You were a truer Valyrian than many of his own family members.
They were weak. Soft. You were not. But you were still a mere peasant, and he couldn’t allow you to disrespect him such.
“You should be more careful on how you address your betters.”
You shove him, hard. And Daemon feels his rage bubbling up, and raises a hand to do something he will most likely regret… But before he can strike you, the man you had been smiling at steps in.
“Unhand her.” He says, voice firm. His expression doesn’t waver, the same steel you have mirrored in his brown eyes. Up close, he is much younger than Daemon expected, tall and muscular from what seems like a life of hard work. He tugs you behind him.
“And who are you? The husband? The brothel owner?” Daemon sneers, getting in his face. Your hand comes up in between them, fragile and unadorned. Yet, you hit with strength, palm flat against his chest. Daemon laughs and grabs it between his. You attempt to pull back, but his grip is much firmer. “Ah, cupping a feeling, sweetheart?”
“Daemon.” And really, things were just turning interesting. Why does Corlys have to interrupt at the worst time possible? “Unhand her immediately.”
At his appearance, both you and the boy turn an awful gray shade that matches your dress and headscarf. Fear of their liege, perhaps?
But the boy’s jaw ticks, and your dark eyes lower in a manner that they hadn’t when facing him. Something else is at play here.
“I was just…” Daemon slowly retracts his hand, studying the surrounding faces carefully. You, sullen, the boy enraged. Corlys’ cold as ice. Neither of you speak, yet it is clear you are not strangers.
“I do not care. Unhand her. We do things different in Driftmark.”
And the tone Corlys uses is strange, for a man unbothered by the costs of power. What are two peasants to the favor of a Prince? Why does he know them? He had never struck Daemon as someone concerned by his subjects.
And then, a piece of your hair falls out of your headscarf. Silver against a dark background. And it is then he knows it. You are no dragonseed. Nor is the boy with the shaved head.
“YOU DO THINGS different here, for certain.” Prince Daemon says, appearing at your window while you knead bread. His presence is as unexpected as it is unwelcome. It is the first time you are home alone after the incident, not Addam nor Allyn willing to risk this stranger attempting anything worse than he already has. Three days had passed, and they had considered it enough. If the man had not approached you during that time, it meant he wouldn’t, right? Clearly no. He had just been bidding his time, waiting for both of your brothers to go. “Corlys's little secret.”
Your hands shake. You wished Allyn wasn’t so set on teaching Addam his craft, and hadn’t gone out today. Being home alone with a strange man around didn’t spell anything good for you.
A quick glance at the door reassures you that it is still barred. You take a not so subtle step back from the window.
The prince lip’s quirk upwards, not quite a smile, but betraying his amusement. Does he find your fear funny?
“I won’t hurt you, my lady. I didn’t mean to scare you, either.” His voice is gentle, as if dealing with a spooked animal. The title makes you scoff. No one has ever called you a lady, much less a Prince.
As a child, you used to watch Laena Velaryon and pretend you were her. Wondering what life would have been like if you didn’t have to hide, if your father acknowledged you. Wondering what it would feel, to be a Lady and never go to bed hungry, to be surrounded by beauty all day.
You are no lady. You are a bastard girl, and you have gone to bed nearly starving more times than you could count.
As if sensing your thoughts, Prince Daemon lifts one of his hands. He holds up a package, wrapped in bright white silk. Both he and his gift look deeply out of place here, near your window. In his fine clothes, in brighter colors than you can afford, he sticks out like a sore thumb.
“Any child of mine, even if natural-born, would never have to go hungry. Your father should be doing more for you, not hiding you three like a shameful secret.”
You do not take the parcel. You merely look at him and fight an overwhelming urge to cry.
“Here.” Prince Daemon pushes the parcel through the window. “Consider this my apology for my behavior. Rather uncouth, huh?”
You open it carefully. Two smaller parcels fall from it, both as carefully wrapped.
“You can wear the silk.” He tells you, gesturing to your hair. “And the rest…”
Curious, you peer into one of the parcels. It’s full of cured meat.it would have cost him a pretty penny, having it already preserved for you. It is a luxury Addam, Allyn and you never get to have. Not since your mother passed.
With rushed hands, you open the other parcel. A small sack of flour, lemons, and pages torn from a book. They are all expensive things, nothing like the flour you buy at the market to make bread or the bruised fruit you get when Addam craves something sweet. You squint at the pages, puzzled by their presence.
“Mix one cup of flour with… Is this..?” You ask him, astonished. A small smile begins to form on your face.
“The recipe for lemon cakes. For your baking.” He smiles back. He then gestures to your hands, still covered in flour. “I hear you enjoy it. Just… Save me a piece.”
“Thank you.” You beam at him. He gives you a bow, and leaves. You find yourself smiling like a fool the rest of the afternoon.
You cannot believe it. Prince Daemon has just given you the recipe for lemon cakes. As far apologies go, this is a great one.
Addam and Allyn go to bed with full stomachs. You go to bed with yours full of butterflies. No one has ever ensured such for the three of you.
“IS IT CLOSE enough?” You bite your lower lip, watching Daemon chew a piece of cake. His brows furrow a bit, and he lets out a small, throaty moan.
“Close enough. A tad more lemony than the one at Driftmark, but I like it.” He smiles. You fight the urge to beam. He has been coming almost daily after bringing you the lemons, but it is the first time you allow him to taste your creation.
He says it is because he enjoys the walk. You are not entirely sold, but thinking it is to see you seems a bit conceited.
“I got excited.” You scratch the back of your neck, sheepish. The batter had smelt and tasted so heavenly, you had just kept adding more.
Daemon laughs. He uses his now free hand to tug you towards his side. You love when he does that. The gesture feels very protective. He never lets you walk too far from him, or on the side next to the ocean, so you never stumble or get soaked by an errant wave.
It’s peaceful here. He often says he cares not for the ocean, but the two of you always walk the same route. From your home, towards your ships, then back.
“Wouldn’t you like to go somewhere else?” You ask him, watching the waves lap at the shore. Then, feeling stupid for asking, you lower your eyes. As much as you feign blindness, you are not blind. He is probably ashamed to be seen with the likes of you. Even your father is. Why wouldn’t a Prince?
Your eyes feel warm, and your vision blurs. Gods, you hate crying. You try to focus on something else. Your scuffed shoes. His boots. The sand under your feet. The urge to run away, and scream, and die from the humiliation of even asking.
Daemon sighs. He sits down on the sand, patting the space on his side. His clothes, despite their simple design, are very fine.
“Your clothes…” You mumble, without sitting.
“Bah, I have three other cloaks like this one.” As if proving a point, he takes it off, laying it down for you to sit. You feel even sillier at his patience. “Come. Sit down, jorrāeliarzys.”
You obey him because there is little else to do. You have already messed up, you don’t wish to make any other mistake. His company has become precious to you, a welcome respite from your brothers. Living with two boys, you are never alone. But every so often, you wish for more engaging conversation.
“I am not ashamed of being seen in your company. I just… I thought you preferred it here.” Daemon explains, softly tucking a stray curl behind your ear. “Would you like for us to meet in the city, instead?”
You think of meeting him in the city’s market. Of the rumors that would sure follow, of the names you would be called. Of your father finding out. You know what it would look like to him. That you are making the same mistake as your mother did.
You are not dumb. Daemon is not here to simply plan an alliance. Alliances are always sealed in blood, and your half sister is barely old enough to be considered.
Your mother and you are different. She didn’t know your father was using her. You know Daemon is using you. And you intend to use him right back, milk him for all of his worth.
So why does it hurt like this, why does it feel like something inside you is breaking?
You take the parcels he gives you without any shame. That night, as the three of you are eating a generous serving of venison, Allyn scowls.
“I don’t like it. Can’t you see what he wants?”
Addam’s fork freezes midway to his mouth. He looks down at his plate, as if he is truly seeing the meat he is being served for the first time.
“I am not mother.” You say, icily. The venison tastes bitter on your tongue, but stubbornly, you keep eating. Allyn is just angry that it is not longer him who is putting the meals on the table. “I know what highborn men are like.”
What your father is like, too. How they use women as if they were little more than things, how they produce children and leave them to their fates.
“All the more reason not to allow him to take your maidenhead.”
“Do you listen to yourself?” You scoff, getting up. “Maidenheads, as if I were some great lady. I can handle it. Handle him.”
Allyn looks at you, eyes full of pity. You cannot bear it. Your eyes sting again. You hurry out of the table.
“Where are you going?” Addam reaches forward, as if to grab you.
“To my room. The two of you have ruined my appetite.” But it wasn’t the two of them, not really. Daemon is ashamed of you, the voice in your head whispers. Ashamed of you, just like your father was. He only wants to use you, and once he has had his fill, he will discard you. Just like your father did to your mother.
Alone, in your room, you tear the headscarf he had given you to shreds. You squeeze the rests on your palm, you make a ball, you throw it against the wall.
The next morning, you have sobbed your throat raw. You still go to meet him in the afternoon.
SOMETHING IS WRONG. Daemon can tell when he picks you up that day. Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot, and your complexion an awful gray. The headscarf he had given you is nowhere to be seen, and you are back to your severe gray one.
Like a bad case of heartburn, the lie he had told you comes back to him, leaving an acrid taste in his mouth.
Daemon is not ashamed of you, but doesn't want to be seen with you either. The consequences for you would be too great. He had learned his lesson with Mysaria. The double stain would have made you a pariah, both because of your birth and because of whom you were bedding.
Because it was all that people would think about when they found out. No one would believe Daemon had yet to touch you.
He was unsure if he ever would.
You were an extraordinary girl, yet still a bastard. There was nothing to be done about it. All you could be was friends and lovers, and nothing more.
Yet, your dark eyes were so kind, your face full of such happiness, Daemon dared not to sully you. Something in you screamed at his instincts to protect, something tugged at his heartstrings when he saw your face scrunched up towards the sun, and told him to gather you in his arms and never let anything touch you.
Daemon had been like you, once. When younger. He, too, felt a lack of acknowledgement by those around you, and an urge to prove himself. His father had passed when he was still young, and Viserys had received all laurels. It would have never bothered him because he loved his brother, but Viserys had left him behind. Married Aemma. Had children. Gained the love of his people, found new friends.
Never once Viserys had looked at Daemon. No matter how hard he tried to reach for him, his brother always evaded his hand. Daemon had been left there. He, too, had stood on the shadows and feigned indifference, burning up with secret resentment.
The idea of you growing up to be like him was both appealing and horrifying. There was a sweetness to you, a naïveté that he had lacked even in his younger years. He wanted to preserve it. Shield you from the world.
Bedding you would ruin you. Daemon enjoyed playing the role of mentor, teaching you new things, helping you gain experiences you would never get as a bastard girl. Yet, you had such a tempting figure, with a mouth made for sin, and a body that begged for worship. You were a little girl, but you had all the self-possession and looks of a grown woman.
You would taste exquisite on his tongue, crumbling from his caresses. Your cunt would feel like wet velvet around him, and you would sound your sweetest when he was spearing you open on his cock.
And how would you smile, joyous and fierce, his brave girl. Some maidens cried, but not you. You were made of sterner stuff, a heart that burned brighter and stronger than the Fourteen Flames. You had stood your ground, terrified but unbowed, in front of Caraxes himself.
Such a face you had, all Valyrian empress. A sovereign nose, the fleeting shadow of your eyelashes, and a slippery laugh that always gave you an air of mischief. A face not made for sadness. It is what prompts him to do what will become either the greatest mistake of his life, or his greatest triumph.
“I was thinking…” Daemon says, watching your expression closely. “We could go to a tavern tonight.”
“A tavern?” The surprising offering shakes you out of your sadness. Your face changes from a sad little frown into a curious one.
“Have you ever gone to one?” Daemon tugs the hair scarf from your hair, softly. The silver curls fall free, in a lovely mess. You scowl, trying to get it back, but he holds it just out of your reach. It’s a lovely thing, to watch you give little jumps on your tiptoes, curls bouncing with the motion. “Ah! None of that, now. Answer my question first.”
“No, I haven’t. Addam and Allyn go from time to time, but it sounds too rowdy for my liking.” You cross your arms over your chest.
“It’s rowdy, but in a good sense.” Daemon cannot help it. Your curls are a bit mussed, from wearing the ugly headscarf for too long. He fixes them, fluffing them up slightly at the roots in the way he has seen handmaidens do for Laena. He then tosses the damn thing into the sea, for good measure, ignoring your outraged cry. “Drinks, music, people, greasy food. You will love it.”
“I hate drinking.” You wrinkle your nose, cutely. He fights the urge to bite you. The face you make is too sweet, too tempting.
“Because you have only drunk swill. I’ll teach you to drink real wine.” He tugs you into his side, and begins walking back into the city.
The walk to the city is awkward. Not because the two of you have nothing to talk about, but rather, because of the stares. Your silver hair, despite your simple clothing, commands attention. So does Daemon’s presence, and the arm he has around your shoulders.
He had not been wrong. This would cost you. A cost too steep for someone he sought to keep safe.
Still, you face it all bravely, as you had that morning at the docks. The two of you manage to get a cozy table in one tavern that Daemon had visited before. He calls for wine to be served, an expensive barrel from the Arbor he is sure they had kept around for years before anyone had the coin to buy it.
It’s delicious. But when he serves you a goblet, you take a big sip and begin to splutter.
“Mittys hunes iksā.” Daemon tuts. His silly bunny. “You are not meant to drink it such. You ought to savor it.”
“Savor?” You arch an eyebrow. “Tastes like dragonfire.”
And perhaps it's the choice of words, or the glint of your silver hair under the low light emanating from the torches, but something about you reminds him of the way he had loved Rhaenyra and admired Laena, the other Valyrian beauties in his life. They are not here, he cannot reach them. But you are.
“Come here, hunes.” His own voice sounds strange to him, low and demanding. When he calls you bunny, he is not exaggerating. Does the fox feel as wrong as he feels when becoming over his prey? Does his gums ache like Daemon’s do, with the urge to bite, to tear apart, to wound? Does he mourn the little bunny whose innocence he is about to shatter? “There is something I wish to show you.”
You eye him warily, but get up from your chair and move until you are standing in front of him. It's not enough for Daemon. It never is. He always wants you closer, closer to hold, to protect, to own.
He tugs you between his parted legs.
“Do you trust me?”
There is a slight furrow of your brow. The barest hint of hesitation. Yet, your voice is firm when you answer him.
“Yes.”
His girl. His precious girl. If you had been his, he would have never hurt you like Corlys had. Never allowed to become easy prey for men like him. You shouldn’t trust him.
Daemon shouldn’t be doing this, either. It is a good thing he has never claimed to be a good man.
He takes a sip of his wine, and leans towards you, capturing your mouth in his. At first, you fight him, the suddenness startling you. It’s only when he gives your lower lip a sharp nip, that you melt into the kiss. When your mouth parts slightly, he passes you the wine.
You splutter, but Daemon holds you down, arms held by your side. He forces you to take and take some more, chasing the tart taste of the wine into the honeyed one of your mouth.
Your obedience and compliance only makes him wilder, drives him to grasp at your hips, pull you closer. Just when you begin to lean into Daemon, dutifully swallowing the wine, someone jerks you out of his grip.
“I did not think it to be true.” A woman’s voice, one he knows too well, says. Rhaenys. Her face is a mask of absolute rage. She gives you a shove that sends you stumbling before Daemon can even get out of his chair. “You have much nerve.”
Your face turns ashen. You look like you are about to cry, or worse, flee. Daemon jumps up, and gets between Rhaenys and you.
“You were always a whore!” She screams, her index finger digging into his chest. You let out a sob, quietly. Daemon’s heart feels like it is being wrenched from his chest. At this point, the screams have attracted all the tavern's attention. Daemon doesn’t doubt that by this time tomorrow, the whole island will know.
You will be shunned. Just as he had feared.
“I am talking to you!” Rhaenys insists. You cower behind him. It only makes Rhaenys angrier. “No, not you, you stupid girl. You, Daemon.”
Daemon feels utterly stunned. Never in a million years he would have thought Rhaenys was referring to him.
“Are you calling me a whore?”
He feels the slap before he even sees her move. His head gets forcefully turned to the side, and he hears you whimper. His cheek stings. Daemon has to blink back tears, Rhaenys has hit him that hard.
He wasn’t even aware that a woman could land such a blow.
“You dare! You toyed with my daughter and this girl as you saw fit.” And Daemon cannot even get a word in because she is too angry. He feels his cheeks reddening, and its unsure if he is feeling embarrassment at being scolded like a child, or rage at her words. “But worry not. I will make this right.”
Rhaenys has a manic gleam in her eyes. For a frightening second, Daemon thinks he sees in her the famous Targaryen madness.
Instead of setting you both on fire, she lunges, avoiding Daemon, and grabbing you hands in hers.
“I shall not allow you to make the same mistake your mother did.” Rhaenys says, and she is gone before Daemon can answer anything.
THIS IS YOUR greatest triumph. Why, then, does it taste like ashes on your tongue?
You are wearing the finest dress you have ever owned, gifted to you by Daemon. Princess Rhaenys has forced both him and your father into complacency, and even forced King Viserys to allow your betrothal. Still, you feel adrift. Even betrayed.
What Daemon had done to you had seemed purposeful. You had not realized when he had stolen the kiss from you, giving you your first taste of fine wine, but you understood it now. Had Princess Rhaenys not been there, or had she been any less merciful, a much different fate would have awaited you.
The stink of shame that followed you around, the whispers of dishonor and the looks of distaste, would have been even more intense. You would have been ruined, known as little more than a whore. And your family no longer had the money that had shielded your mother during her pregnancies.
You had not known it. But Daemon must have. He had a reputation for taking maidenheads as he saw fit, Addam had informed you. You were a fool for not knowing, and a fool for believing he wanted something else from you.
The royal decree is read by a Maester, in front of all the Lords of near castles, the smallfolk of Driftmark and the Velaryons. Even in the first beautiful dress you own, you feel small. Out of place. The looks your half siblings are shooting you do not help you feel better.
Once the bill is read, Lord Corlys steps forward.
“Daughter.” He says, grasping your hands in his. He is cold. He is cold, and it makes your skin crawl, even when it is all you wanted as a little girl. It’s the first time he acknowledges you, and he is not at all like the man you imagined, when dreaming as a child of what it would be like for him to look at you. Because even a glance would have been enough back then. “It’s a pleasure to finally have you join the family.”
Addam and Allyn are still in the crowd, unacknowledged. They are your family, not this man who is grasping your hands with a calculating gleam in his eyes. Wondering, as all highborn do, how he might use you. How you might serve to further his own ends.
Your brothers could not be recognized as you were. You had shyly asked Princess Rhaenys, and if she thought you dimwitted before, she had probably confirmed her suspicions. They were men, she had explained, and a threat to Laenor’s rights once your father passed. You, instead, were nothing but a girl who had sullied herself, whose honor had been compromised so thoroughly you had turned even less important in the great scheme of things.
She was helping you because you had been taken advantage of by Daemon, Princess Rhaenys had said, but also to spare her daughter from your fate. Wife to a husband that would most likely betray you and sire bastards.
Lord Corlys was just happy to have another pawn to marry off and forge alliances. Freeing his daughter from a disloyal husband was an added bonus.
Every time you heard them, your hands turned into fist, and you could barely fight the rage from clouding your expression. You had not done the thing everyone was accusing you of, and yet were being judged for it all the same. Daemon, too, did nothing to correct them. Not even when the most scandalous rumors surfaced, saying you would wed him with a child already in your belly.
You had not let him touch you like that. You were not as stupid as everyone thought. As a daughter to a single mother, you knew all about scorn and loneliness. You would never doom a child to your same fate.
The day doesn’t pick up from there. The feast to follow feels just as empty, and you turn down an insincere offer from your father to be housed here. You cannot wait to run back to your brothers.
It would be impolite to leave so soon, though. Lord Corlys has thrown this feast in your honor and is making the lords and members of his household present you with gifts. You admit it is a clever strategy, to avoid having to spend money in your trousseau. Hence, you need to stay a little bit longer.
You get handed new quills and parchments, alongside a new seal for your correspondence by Laena.
“I figured you wouldn’t have one of these.” Her smile is strained as she reaches for your hands. “Since you weren’t raised the proper way.” It says a lot about the company you are in that it is the most polite greeting you receive all afternoon.
When it all begins to become a bit much, and your eyes are stinging after a lady said you had no grace and no manners, you decide you need to run. But when you are stepping a foot outside the hall, Daemon appears by your side.
“Rather improper, isn’t it?” He asks, grabbing your hand in his. You try to jerk away, but he merely interlaces your fingers together. “A lady cannot quite run around unescorted as you used to.”
“Leave me alone, Daemon.” You say, still trying to free yourself. The last thing you want today is to deal with him.
“I do not think I will.” Daemon cups your cheek in his hand, hands gentle despite the calluses on them. It was one of the things you had first liked about him. His hands were artisan’s hands, like the ones of your brothers, despite being highborn. He had seemed so different from the rest of the men you knew, back then. “Not when my betrothed is nearly weeping in her own feast.”
“You heard all those people. I do not belong here.” You look up at him, fighting your tears. You feel like such a whiny child. What happened to you is something that only happens in fairytales, it's the stuff songs are written about. No bastard girl gets acknowledged by her father and marries a Prince.
“Who cares what those cunts think?” Daemon scoffs. “You are above them. You always were.”
You bloom under his praise. There is no other word for it. It warms you, from head to toe, and your stomach fills with butterflies. A small smile forms, even through the tears that threaten to fall.
“There she is.” Daemon brushes his thumb over your cheek. “That’s my girl.”
His girl. There is nothing you would like more.
“I never wanted to be a Lady.” You lower your eyes, embarrassed at the admission. You feel ungrateful for saying it, but it’s the truth. You had never imagined a home away from your siblings. The marriage will mean you will be taken away from them, and only see them if Daemon feels like it.
You do not own a dragon, after all. And you aren’t too sure Allyn and him will be the best good brothers.
He grabs you by the waist and gives a little tug.
“Be mine instead.” Daemon whispers, and when you nod, he kisses your forehead.
MARRYING YOU HAD never been in his plans. Yet, when he saw you walk down the aisle, dressed in Velaryon blue and looking awkward, Daemon was sure you were the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
You were not a lady or a princess, yet you and him were alike. Birds of the same feather. For the first time, Daemon could say there was someone who understood him.
Daemon had never been poor, nor had he been born a bastard, but he too, had lost his parents while young. He, too, was considered too wild by his brother. And he knew all about of trying to fulfill an impossible task while honoring the legacy of his ancestors.
Laena was a mere child by your side. Her innocence and Valyrian looks had appealed to him once, but after meeting you, Daemon knew no other woman could compare. There was an edge to you, beneath all the innocence and beauty. A fire that burned bright in your belly, and could not be quenched. An anger that both amazed him and scared him, and drew him in like a moth to a flame.
You would have been great if you had been born into his house. Great but terrible.
Or perhaps you wouldn’t have. Perhaps, if you had grown acknowledged by your father, you would have not been the lost little girl who dreamed of recognition and slept lulled by the sea. You wouldn’t have grown into the woman who got the recognition and understood she did not need it at all.
A shame that recognition had come at a price so steep. Recognition in exchange for rumors of dishonor, whispers of the shame of your existence and the shame you had brought on yourself. These cunts did not see you for what you were. Not some malicious creature, some silver tongued temptress. No. You were determined and fierce, brave and true. You honored your house’s words. Your ancestors would have been proud.
Yes, Daemon decided. He would marry you and take you away from here, from this horrible little island where people behaved like they were above you. The cunts should be honored that you were even looking their way.
The distance might even help those stubborn brothers of yours to forget all about the way Daemon had become part of their family. When the grudge was forgotten, he would bring you back, less the eldest skewered him alive.
Not because Daemon feared Allyn. Of course not. But because killing him would be such a nuisance, and you would cry, and… Ugh. He couldn’t stand to see you cry.
You were about to burst into tears right now. He could tell. Daemon grabbed your hands in his, uncaring he was breaking protocol, and pressed his forehead against yours.
“We can still marry on the beach, with only Caraxes as witness.” He whispers, gently. “Hells, I would prefer it. We can run still. The Septon has not spoken.”
You laugh, a bit watery.
“Addam and Allyn would drop dead, thinking we will not be wed.”
“Allyn looks like he would attempt murder.”
“Attempt?”
“I doubt he would succeed.”
“I would protect you.” You say, and it warms something inside Daemon he wasn’t even aware that he had. “If only because killing a Prince is a crime worthy of the ax, and I wish to have nephews.”
Daemon's mouth opens and closes.
“You little..!”
You laugh, but before he can lunge and throw you over his shoulder, the Septon clears his throat.
“If the two of you are done..?”
“Just get to the part where you handfast us.” Daemon says, giving him his best lecherous expression. “I have many things I wish to show my new bride.”
And there were. He had taken many of your firsts already, he wasn’t about to stop now.
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hauntedfictionland · 1 day ago
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❝a storm to remember❞
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☾︎✰❛❀ Aemond Targaryen x Fem! Reader
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: As the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and the heir to the iron throne, you are sent to stormlands as your brother to Winterfell, to create allies when you are met with him. Aemond Targaryen, your childhood enemy.
𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of violence and threats, kissing, childhood friends to enemies to lovers trope, minor injuries and blood.
🪐𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: He is my guilty pleasure, man who serves face while doing the shittiest things ever aka killing. This is my first Aemond fic ever, so I hope it's not too bad, and I would love writing advices or tips in my asks or messages, so feel free to send any.
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The winds were soothing, although getting heavier as Stormlands grew closer. Your one hand on the rope, and the other touching along your dragon's raspy and rather itchy skin. You sighed, as the thought of having to negotiate with Borris Baratheon, who didn't hold a single regard for your mother or any woman for that matter.
You remember your mother's words; no fighting. No bloodshed. It had made you feel strange, as though there could be a need for it. You bit your lip as the dark castle came into view, with dark clouds forming already. You did not have a good feeling about this. But you couldn't disappoint your mother either, as the heir no less. You had to fight for your birthright, which Aegon took.
A strain coming to your head at the tactics of your dragon, who wanted to fly into circles as you had taught her. She wanted to have fun, not knowing this might be the most crucial occasion of your life. When you tried calling out to her, telling her to get down to some place where you could land, she refused. She was being erratic. With a few attempts at pulling the rope, she finally complied.
“Lykiri, Tessarion.” you say, as your dragon flies lower to the ground, to make a decent landing. You smiled as she grunted, in some annoyance. She always was stubborn, and it took some time to command her.
You wondered how much time it would take Jace to reach Winterfell, a part of you was envious. You wanted to be the one to see the North, yet he was the one who got to truly see it. ‘Borros was harder to convince’, as your mother said, how she needed someone with experience in that area. How it was your job as the eldest. Sometimes you felt it was a burden rather than a privilege, being heir to the iron throne. You don't know if you even deserve it, considering who your father is; your blood father. Laenor will always be your only father to you, the one who taught you how to sit on a dragon, or the great sea snake stories.
Hate, was what you used to feel when those rumours started reaching your ears. Of your parentage. Of your mother's king's guard, ser Harwin Strong. You did whatever you could to get away from those, from him. You didn't like it, he acted much closer to your mother than a mere guard should. And jace and luke being young, didn't see it as a problem. Even looked up to him. But you didn't. You felt so humiliated, that such low born could be your father, you—the heir, you, ser Laenor's true born daughter, as you tried convincing yourself again and again.
You didn't want to be a mutt, a bastard.
Harwin Strong tried connecting with you on many levels, but you denied all of them. You didn't even want to be near him, let alone speak with him. Flaunting your power and acting very rudely whenever he wanted to make conversation. You still remember the sadness in his eyes, as you told your king's guard to take him out of your sight. A filth, you called him. All out of insecurity.
That was the last time you saw him.
And now, all you had was Jacaerys's fond memories of him, nothing more. You wonder if you had cared to hear him out even once, what would he have said?
Shaking off the terrifying thought, you open your locks on the belt on your waist, slowly getting down. The storm had prevailed, with rain pouring down your black and red polish coat. You squint your eyes, trying to see better amidst the heavy rainfall. Tessarion let out a wail of joy, she loved rain. Given her so very nickname, the blue queen. After her blue scales and orange wings. That's when you heard a growl, a heavy one. That could only come out of a large dragon.
Your eyes widened, seeing the sight of that dragon.
Vhagar.
Which could only mean he was here.
“A letter from the queen.” you say, hesitantly as still processing the fact who you were to face very soon. The men guarding the castle nodded, letting you in. It felt like a dark cloud over you, as you entered. The black walls and steel throne, with Lord Borros sitting quite comfortably. You knew he was there, swiftly standing with a smirk, you didn't even want to face him.
“Princess Y/N Velaryon” one of the guards announced, “daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.”
You gulp, “Lord Borros, I have brought you a message.” you make sure to add, “from the queen.” he raises his eyebrows, “Yet earlier this day I received an envoy from the king. Which is it, king or queen?”
Your skin shivered as you felt Aemond's eyes constantly on you—not once did his gaze move. You remember when there was a time, a good time, in childhood, when Aemond was your closest companion. You both were around the same age, both quiet, wise, and mature. And you both lacked a dragon at the age all Targaryen children have one. You used to always defend him against the teasing of Aegon and your siblings, scolding Jace and Luke whenever they hurt Aemond's feelings. You remember how you pushed a hair out of Aemond's eyes, after the pig prank, kissing his cheek gently, promising him that he won't go without a dragon in his lifetime. How you had seen that for him.
Alas, after the driftmark incident, you didn't know who to defend, your brothers, or his taken eye. All you knew was that after you had moved to dragonstone, all talked bad of him, and with time, you started believing them.
“The house of the dragon doesn't seem to know who rules it.” Lord Borros sneered mockingly, as you clenched your fists. This was not at all how you planned it. “What's your mother's message, girl?”
You handed the envoy to one of his guards wordlessly, as Lord Borros—unable to read, called for his Mastor. Aemond Targaryen, wasn't a person you once remembered, you once loved. In a way your family would never approve. And you fear you still hold those feelings after all this time. You wonder what your mother would say, your brothers? if they knew the ways of your heart.
“Remind me? of my father's oath?” he says, sounding very offended.
At the corner of your eye, you could see Aemond smirking, as if he already won the bid. It infuriated you, as your hands curled up around your sword tightly.
“King Aegon at least came with an offer! my swords and banners for a marriage pact.” he continues, as you close your eyes in contrast to stop Aemond's winning stare on you, “now if I do as your mother bids, which one of my daughters will your brothers marry?”
Before you could answer, he speaks again, “—or which one of my sons will you marry?”
Your mouth gaped, as his voice sounded so excited and thrilled, as if he was already imagining having Targaryen grand children. Especially when they could be potentially heirs to the iron throne. You grimaced, a picture of his sons, same as him, fat, bearded and a wild lust, came into your mind and it disgusted you. Aemond looked surprised, straying away from his smirking face. His lips had fallen down to a glare, fist tightening.
You cleared your throat, “My brothers are not available to marry my lord, they're already betrothed to another.”
He nodded as if uninterested, looking for a different answer. Eager to know about you. His head peaked forward in question, a one you didn't want to answer; whether you'll bore his sons children or not. You were just seventeen, and even if westeros considered that to be a grown woman—you were still a young girl. And believed to be as well.
“As for me” you took a breath, “I will have to discuss it with the queen. She shall consider your offer.”
“Hmm” you heard Aemond's voice, glancing at him just for a second. This was wrong, this was so wrong. Not at all how you envisioned. He had to ruin everything, didn't he? now you had to go home with a rejection, while Jace would come with more support of armies.
Everything was a mess.
“So you come with empty hands?” Borros says, angered. You sighed, ready to mount back on your dragon and fly the rest of the way in self pity. “Go home, pup. And tell your mother that the lord of storm's end is not some dog that she can whistle up in need to set against her foes.”
Your jaw clenches, in disappointment “I shall take your answer to the queen, my lord.”
This was indeed, a failure. You failed to prove as the heir to the iron throne that you were capable. Especially because you are a girl. You needed to show it, to your mother and to everyone else, that you can take on that responsibility as well as any king. All because of him. It was his fault, and he sure looked proud. You hated this, hated his cunning smile, his swift posture, his one purple eye and oh, him. Everything you hoped you could achieve, he destroyed it for you.
He sure hated you; that was evident.
“Wait”
You hear Aemond, as you halt in your steps while turning back to the gates, “My lady strong.”
Your eyes widen, “What did you say?” he knew it, how to get in your skin. The dinner, with insults about your heritage, calling your brothers strong that resulted in a fight. It was exhausting, what did he want now? after all this time.
“You heard me.” he tilts his head, “did you really think, you could fly around the realm, trying to steal my brother's throne at no cost?”
A bitter laugh escapes your lips, which makes him furrow his eyebrows. “Your brother's throne? or rather, Aegon the usurper's?”
“I would mind my tongue if I were you, my lady.”
You bit your lip, his audacity, after all he had done, to remind you of your place. As if he ranked higher than you? A beat passed by, tension thick in the air. Neither of you were looking at each other, waiting for the other to make the move. As if it was a chess board, with the winner taking all. A verbal battle. Aemond finally broke the silence.
“So you're here to usurp my brother's throne then?” he spoke with a calming chill, seeing as your eyes turned into anger, “Traitors.” he mumbled in his breath.
You control every urge to grab his collar and hit him across his face, “I am in haste. Is there something you want from me, prince Aemond?”
His head lies low and a dangerous glint comes in his eyes. You gulped, unknowing where he was about to go with this. He had changed ever since Luke had done it. Taken his eye. Somewhere, you didn't blame him. It was true that none of your brothers ever got punished for what happened, a result of your mother being the obviously favoured child. He was angry, at Luke—at you, that nothing happened. Everything was complicated; but, not unsalvagable. After you returned to king's landing, you tried everything to be nice with Aemond, to be civil, for the least. Alas, he denied all of them.
“Yes, there is something I want.” he looks up, eyes cold, “something that was stolen from me not long ago.”
A hitch escapes your lips, “Aemond—”
“You know..” he cuts you off, stepping a little forward towards your direction, “I always wished for your brother to know, what it feels like, to experience such a pain. To have your eye carved out by Valaryan steel, hmm. Unfortunately, now that he isn't here, I'll have to make him learn some other way. What it feels to have an eye cut out, or rather, a loved one's eye cut out.”
There was just the slightest bit of emotion flash in his eyes, pool of stars, in agony yet so beautiful. Your breathing becomes heavy, as you start to fear for your life. Your hands slowly pulled out your sword.
“I will not fight you.”
You intended to sound harsh, but your voice came out more of a tremble. Aemond and your relationship had gone down the drain, you knew that. Yet, was he really willing and capable of wanting to cripple you? had he started to hold such hatred for you? did he truly forget all the best memories he and you made together. He was acting like you were a stranger to him, that he did not care for your being. Even the mere thought of that sends a bitter taste in your mouth.
“Fight would be little challenge.” his voice is hoarse and cold, “No. I want you to put out your eye.”
A small gasp leaves your mouth when he pulls out his eye patch, a blue emerald stone in the place of his lost eye. He looked so very, beautiful, you thought. Majestic and soft. As even after such an attack on his face, he was born to look gorgeous, no matter what. For a moment you became oblivious to what he was demanding, staring in a trance like state. He was the epitome of Targaryen beauty, tall and long haired, pale skin with features that could start wars between great houses. Your heart fluttered and your throat became dry, unable to form any kind of answer. Aemond did not seem to notice, as he only held a sour and blank look in his eyes.
You only snapped back when he spoke again, “As a payment for mine.”
“No, I will not.” your voice is low, but clearly he heard it since something changed in his expression. He was angry. An emotion he hardly showed ever since the accident.
“Then you are a coward as well as a traitor.”
“You can't be serious ab—”
“Give me your eye!” he shouts all of a sudden and starts to walk towards you with rage, “or I will take it!”
You frantically back away, pulling out your sword on impulse. The guards coming in to shield you, as lord Borros stands up, saying something about wanting to have no such ‘bloodshed’ beneath his roof. You barely hear him over your own beating heart, fear taking over every one of your survival instincts. He orders for you to be escorted back to your dragon, as Aemond watches you exit the doomed castle. The rain has worsened, your clothes, that had been a little dried up, now went back to being wet again. You push your hair out of your eyes, raising a hand to itch your neck. Your hair was long, so it irritated your skin whenever they were soaked with rain or water.
But all you could think about was what had happened inside, his eyes, his face, all his hatred for you. Did he really want to send you harm? or was he faking? your gaze turned to the side, expecting the giant green beast yet, Vhagar was nowhere to be seen. You started to panic, if Aemond had already flown away, it could only mean two possibilities. He went back to king's landing, or he was awaiting to do something much worse. The latter scared you.
You walked towards Tessarion, her dark and orange eyes bored into your figure, wings flapping in excitement. You sigh, slowly getting on top of her and adjusting your straps.
“Sōvēs, Tessarion.”
She hears your command and swiftly takes out into the sky. She was futile and fast, if you were careful enough, you both would be able to make it to dragonstone with no harm done. Besides, rain, was her element of sheer power. You squint your eyes, rubbing water out of them as a few minutes had passed by, the storm nowhere to be stopping anytime soon. All you could hear was the flapping of her wings and the heavy rainfall that held out the dark clouds. It didn't matter anymore of Lord Borros's rejection, he couldn't be any more reliable than he already is. Besides, if you could reach your home safely, without the presence of a one eyed prince, that would be more than victory enough.
However wrong had the universe been out there to prove you.
As you were about to loosen your tight ropes, with a newfound relief—a snarl disrupts you. You looked back to see the giant mouth of the big monster in the name of a dragon, coming up towards you. Instantly you yelped, pulling the ropes sideways to avoid getting eaten. You can hear Aemond's malicious laughs, he was enjoying this. You let out a cry for help, struggling to keep hold of your now panicked dragon, as Vhagar flew around you, mouth wide open.
The rain was making it quite difficult to see, as Aemond chased you down.
Vhagar's giant claws kept trying to cut you and Tessarion, as Aemond began to mumble things in high valaryan, something you could not hear due to your panic and wanting to steer away from him and his beast. You tugged on the leash, pulling her away to the left. You knew Vhagar had a hard time with turning around, and it would buy you some time. His laugh, so cruel and emotionless, he was out to kill you. That was unquestionable. You had to get away from them, instead of processing how your childhood best friend, and the man you loved, could become the reason for your death.
A cannon appeared in your sight, and you quickly flew into the narrow path in between it. Aemond could only follow you from the above, waiting for you to come out.
“Jemēla gēlȳni enkā! Taobi!” You hear him shout, an unexpected emotion and anger in his voice. You owe a debt? No, you didn't. You did not take his eye, or tease and bully him all those years ago. In fact, you were the one who defended him. And he thinks you are the reason for his lost eye?
“For the god's sake stop this Aemond!” you shout, a whimper coming out of you. Tears running down, “please.”
Somehow, at that Aemond's demeanor softened. It looked like he was over playing with you. But your dragon wasn't done with him, instead, Tessarion disobeyed your own commands, flew out the cannon and let out a massive fire at Vhagar's face. Something that didn't do much damage. You cursed, as she shrieked in pain when you harshened the ropes to make her listen. Aemond was going through the same situation, yelling out every command in high valaryan to stop, but his dragon was angered. That's when you were remembered of your grandfather's words, the idea that we control the dragons, is an illusion.
“No Vhagar! No!” was the last thing you heard from him, before his dragon grabbed your coat with its claws, losing the balance off the seat, you screamed as you fell off. The height was above the clouds, and in nowhere will you be to survive.
Until the ocean hit your body, and you blacked out.
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Rain droplets on your eyes irritated you, as you could still feel it was raining. Not as hard as before, but still. Slowly blinking, you open your eyes. You found yourself laying on top of some concrete—more over rocks and tiny stones.
A sharp pain hits you, as you realise you were having a hard time getting up.
“Ouch!” you hiss, as blood comes out of your forehead and possibly from your ribcage. With minor cuts and bruises on the tip of your fingers and lips. You were too focused on your injuries, without noticing the very familiar presence by your side. “Don't get up, or it will make whatever injuries you have received worse.”
You gasp as his voice speaks out, swiftly turning and locking your eyes with the very man who was at fault for you being here in the first place. Aemond stood a few feet away, with Vhagar a little further up. An alarm went inside you, what was he doing here? was he here to finish what he started? give you a slow and painful death? and moreover, where was your dragon?
“T—Tessarion?” you manage to whisper, the pain worsening at that. Frantically looking around. Aemond reassured, “That bundle of blue is fine, probably lurking around and searching for you.”
He tries to get closer to you, to which you quickly shift away, wincing in pain at the rocks grazing your bloodied back. “Get the fuck away from me!” you say, as you pull out your sword. Hands shakily holding it.
His eyes weakened, as if a guilt was forming in his throat. His lips parted, but nothing came out. You heard your dragon's roars, she was close somewhere. You bit your lip to suppress the pain, refusing to cry in front of him. The rain didn't leave mercy on you, as it continued to fall. You were soaked, both from the storm and possible blood by scars and fractures. If you didn't get help, you could die in a very slow way, taking around seven to nine days. Perhaps faster by starvation or dehydration—or by his very sword. You didn't know which was worse.
“Y/N..” Aemond breathes out, “I—I didn't intend to cause this.”
That was the first time in years, he spoke your name. Only your name, no titles or formality. It was raw. You didn't answer, not knowing what to make of the whole ordeal. At first he was chasing you around like a mad man, and the next minute he was apologizing for almost killing you. You tried getting back up your feet, but winced at the sheer pain that came with it.
“Let me help you or—”
“No!” you immediately shake your head, pointing your sword further towards him.
In no world will you weaken your guard, let him get close to your body only for him to deceive you and strangle you to death. Or cut your throat with that small knife of his. You didn't know why he hadn't done that already? you were blacked out for almost ten minutes, he could have easily killed you with no difficulty. What did he even want? if not to kill you then why did he do all this?
“Y/N, let me help. Falling into the ocean at such speed is the same as falling in concrete ground. If not worse.”
“You tried to kill me! why would I ever trust you?”
He falls silent at that. Unexpectedly so. You bit your lip, struggling to keep up the strong facade with all the pain masking behind it. You didn't know how much longer you would be able to keep your sword pointed at him. Your dragon is far away and no one is here to possibly protect you against Aemond and his giant beast.
“I didn't want to kill you,” he says, his voice faltering from the rain that had now soaked his entire clothes and hair, “Only scare you.”
“Well you did more than that” you bite back, a bitterness in your tone. He scoffs, “Maybe, if your young and wild dragon hadn't leashed fire on mine, this wouldn't have happened.”
A baffled scoff of your own comes out of you, in disbelief, “Oh so this is—this is my fault?”
“Precisely.”
“Fuck you!” you spat, your throat burning up at the yell. Your condition was getting worse by the minute, and Aemond noticed that. He inhaled a deep breath, preparing himself before matching up to you. You yelped as he reached over you, pulling your arms in order to get you up, but struggling as you put up a fight. You wince at the pain of getting on your feet, eventually giving up as he held on to you firmly, his hands of your waist.
You sigh, so tired like all the blood and mass from your body was being drained. You feel his eyes on you, worried as his breath was ragged. If you weren't on the brink of death, you might have realised you liked this feeling. But that moment is gone as soon as it came, you push Aemond away, roughly. This is your enemy. Not your protector.
“Y/N—”
“What do you want?!” you interrupted him, shouting amidst the heavy rainfall soaking both your breaths. “You threaten me, almost kill me, and then help me when it was you who put me in this position in the first place. I don't understand why you are here if you don't want to kill me! what other reason is there for you to do what you have done ever since I landed here?”
Aemond becomes silent, any words he could speak refused to come out. He looks at you hard, before taking his eyes off you, his jaw clenched. You were frustrated now, you wanted the answer. You needed it. He can't just ignore you after all this.
“Tell me. Why?” you inquire, again. When he doesn't answer, you furiously walk towards him, pushing his chest as he stumbles back a bit. “Why—”
“Because you didn't do anything!” he finally breaks, his voice was surprisingly inflamed with a touch of vulnerability.
You blink your eyes, taken aback, “what?”
“You...” Aemond breathes, willing himself to say those words he never wanted to say, jaw clenching, “You were my friend. My dearest one. Yet, when your brother took my eye and I was the one condemned for it, you didn't say anything. You just stood there, in pure silence. I—”
He stops himself, taking a deep breath, “I thought you would always defend me.”
You were speechless. It was true. What he said. You didn't say anything because you didn't know what happened. You weren't there. And being overwhelmed by all the shouting and bruises on your little brothers faces, you didn't know what to think. But you believed your mother. You couldn't defend yourself, he was saying the truth. You didn't have his back and that's what broke what the two of you shared. You went numb to the pain you had, or the seemingly hatred you had for him. This, this was the Aemond you remember. And you weren't about to let him go.
“I'm sorry.” you say, “I'm sorry, okay?”
But it wasn't enough. You knew it wasn't when his face fell, shaking his head and turning around to walk away from you and this. You weren't about to let that happen. “Aemond!” you called out to him, but he didn't stop. The pain was excruciating, but you needed to make this right. “Aemond!” when he doesn't listen, you take all the best strength you had left and catch up to him, grabbing his shoulder and turning him around.
“Aemond I'm sorry!” you yell, wanting him to feel how much guilt you felt, “But I'm in a lot of pain here, okay? it feels like my body is cut by a thousand bolts of lightning, I can't even feel my back and my throat is burning. But still, I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I did not understand what was happening—we were both children for god's sake! but even then, if I hurt you, which evidently now that I have I mean we wouldn't be in this situation if I hadn't, I'm so sorry.”
You don't know if you made it better or worse looking at the stoic expression on his face. But you had tried. The rain had soaked all his emotions, but even then you could see just the little bit of stars in his pupils you once saw as kids. You cross your arms, feeling the cold embrace you as you shudder in your injuries and pain. He gulped, unknowingly laying his head low to avoid looking in your eyes.
“I apologize, for this. For everything. I lost my temper today. It won't happen again.”
Your eyes soften at his words, as if a wall had risen between you two again. You hated it. You wanted to break it. So you did. In a few fraction of seconds, you didn't realise what you were about to do before you walked closer to him, too close. His breath hitches as your face comes in between his wet hair, his hair touching your cheeks just slightly.
“Y/N—”
He was only able to mumble out these words before your lips were on his. So barely. He inhaled a sharp breath, hands coming up but not knowing where to go. You close your eyes and just for one moment, forget the war, the families, the armies. Just you and him. Before you pull away, Aemond finally found his senses and comes up to cup your cheeks. Kissing you back softly but with an unspoken passion. He was careful not to hurt you.
Your hands find his waist, carefully tugging at the black belts that were wrapped around it. It felt like this was what you both had craved all these years. This. All the fight left out of him the moment you kissed him. Like the sun finally just glanced one look at his star. The one closest to it. You were his sun. And he was your favourite star. You only pull away when the growl of your dragon reaches your ears, Tessarion was here. Just a few rocks away. Your foreheads were touching, and Aemond places a small kiss at your head.
“Get home safe.” he whispers, his thumb tracing down your lips.
You didn't know if you would get a moment like this again. But you were happy. That you finally got to have one taste of heaven. Your heaven. Your Targaryen. Your Aemond.
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𝐸𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑚:) 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛!
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moonbaby26 · 2 days ago
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Title: Blood and Feathers
*Crossposted to AO3 Here*
Pairing: Rosinante/Corazon x Fem!Reader x Doflamingo
Warnings: language, non con, dub con, size difference, reader is cheated on (not by the brothers), reader is stalked/abducted, reader is double teamed, vaginal sex, rough sex, unprotected sex, animal instincts/behaviors, blood, violence, toxic relationships, breeding kink
Synopsis: Set in a modern!AU. You are an avian veterinarian dealing with a recent life upheaval. Years ago, you also had a traumatic experience with creatures mainstream science still denies as even existing. But memories of that night were soon buried, relegated to your dreams alone. Or so you had thought.
A/N: This oneshot was inspired both by @tuquidflamingo‘s gorgeous Harpy!Doffy fanart for Doffytober2024 Day 24:Mythical Here, and @froggiewrites’s terrifyingly sexy Siren!Doffy fic Mating Call Here. I needed more bird!Donquixotes after seeing those works and could not restrain myself. This was originally intended as monster/horror themed for Halloween as well, but I’m way late to the party (as usual 😅).
Fic Masterlist
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“You poor darling. The boys haven’t been very nice to you have they?” You frowned to your newest patient. A female dove, slightly fearful in your grip as you held her gently from behind in a small towel within your hand.
The hallmarks of overbreeding were evident to you in all the missing feathers near the back of her head. 
Some single minded Lotharios within her previous enclosure had plucked her practically raw while doing their overeager business on her from behind no doubt.
“Remember. Men are all the same, sweetheart. They only care about one thing.” You mumbled, not particularly worried of how bitter you still sounded while you felt her chest and keel bone next. That bone’s prominence signaling her being rather underweight to your additional concern. 
Not that you’d been eating much either, or maintaining a healthy mindstate at all. Just like hers, your life had also gone quite to shit recently.
Just two days ago you’d come home early, only to find your boyfriend of the last few years balls deep and moaning within the newest assistant from his law office.
And you’d thought he really was going to have a heart attack when he’d finally seen you standing there.
But his new young lover had only smiled, cool as anything.
“Oops.” She’d said, still on top of your fiancé and almost sweetly staring over her shoulder at you.
Her long fingernails had left trails of raised scratches all over his chest and sides. Which you’d seen so distinctly as he’d sat up in a panic to plea to you.
Of course, there would have been no way he could have hidden that evidence later even if you hadn’t caught them in the act. 
As you’d dragged suitcases out and begun throwing what you could into them, he’d had the gall to swear to you too that it was both his first and last time with her. 
He’d even tried to blame her, as if he’d had no say in it all.
But you’d just taken your engagement ring off and thrown it so hard it’d ricocheted off of the wall and rolled to God knew where.
To whatever void your trust and self confidence had now plummeted into most likely.
Yet the apartment lease had only been in his name. So in just that single afternoon, you’d gone from daydreams of a winter wedding to officially homeless and with mascara running down both sides of your face. All with strangers staring at you on your march of shame back through the parking garage.
You didn’t even tell anyone afterward. Because you’d had no one close enough to you to tell.
You were living out of a hotel room now. Nowhere to land as of yet as you’d still went to your normal veterinary job uptown during the day. And to this volunteer time at the avian rehab center just outside of the city each night. 
The only consistently listening ears for you now were sick and troubled birds. Either domestic seizures from hoarding and animal cruelty cases like this dove, or sometimes just wild raptors and waterfowl that’d had an acute turn of bad luck.
You’d seen it all at one point or another. But every day was different. And yet only more of the same all at once.
Until tonight, when it absolutely wasn’t.
You were here alone. Staying much later than you normally would, because the company of the birds was still better than hearing your neighbors arguing through those thin hotel walls that were now all you had to go back to.
Besides this dove’s occasional cooing, and your own words of continued self pity, you also had a constant rotation of true crime podcasts, murder mysteries, and tales of the supernatural droning on from your phone still on the counter. 
It was very fitting for a rainy, cold night like this one.
And in a bit of a playful holiday segment in between those longer tales, it was then some of those two sentence horror stories.  
The narrator had just read one of your favorites in their best Vincent Price impersonation. 
“The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. 
There was a knock on the door.”
You smirked of course. Your imagination flooding with all that unnamed man’s possible fates and an idea that he may actually deserve them now, before the lights abruptly went out above you.
Both you and the dove had startled with that plunge into darkness. But under the dim glow of the battery backup lights which came on after, around the fire exit signs, you quickly silenced those additional horror teases from your phone.
“Maybe they missed a power bill again.” You’d told the dove softly as you’d returned her to the temporary holding cages. 
Funding was always tight for a non profit like this. People just weren’t as giving when sick vultures and irritable corvids didn’t end up as marketable as sad kittens on the donation commercials.
But, this could also be the universe’s sign for you to give in and go home.
Wherever the hell home was supposed to be now.
You’d pulled your exam gloves inside out, trashing them before washing and drying your hands.
A coat, purse, and umbrella were all you had to gather before walking into that now near pitch black hallway.
There was only the slight squeak of your shoes on the linoleum floor for those few precious seconds of normalcy you’d had left. 
And then came the first metal bang.
Like a knock.
And the next one which followed it. 
Echoing through the darkness before you.
Something heavy and urgent was slamming against the metal door which led to the rear parking lot.
The parking lot that backed up to the woods. Where your car and thereby only way back to the city now was.
Even then, the logic in you still refused to fully slip however. Though your heart did beat far faster in your confusion.
You could hear many birds beginning to rustle in their cages in other rooms, bothered by the new noises as well.
You wanted to comfort them, but you knew they wouldn’t understand.
Did you even understand?
You still had your phone of course. You could call the police and just wait here, locked inside if you were actually that afraid.
But outside of the city limits like this, response time would be awful unless you’d be lucky enough that a random patrol car may be nearby.
You didn’t want some judgmental cop showing up thirty minutes from now, to look at you like you were a complete idiot if you said just being in the dark with strange noises was enough to have you needing rescue.
Your hand was already in your purse though, fingers around the beveled case of your phone as everything went silent again.
And then you heard the door pull open.
That door was an exit only. If another volunteer had forgotten something or come back this late for any other reason, they’d have taken the side path up to the front and unlocked the front door instead just as you had a couple of hours ago.
There was no key to the back door. It was always locked on the outside.
Unless the latch had just been broken off.
Which would explain the banging.
Your heart was moving into your throat by then as you’d sidestepped into the nearest room in the dark.
It was this facility’s single operating room.
And by some grace above you didn’t run into anything. You squatted with your back to the wall as you fumbled to pull your phone fully from your purse.
You couldn’t remember if the emergency dispatch in this area was setup to accept text messages like they could in the city.
If you spoke into this silence to call someone, it’d be the equivalent to screaming though.
Your hands were shaking as you typed instead.
And it was additionally cruel really.
Because your mind hadn’t yet overwritten years worth of habit, even as much as he’d hurt you.
You found yourself texting your ex.
<break in. call police. the rehab. help>
Your fingers moved faster than you thought you’d ever commanded them to then. You’d hit send and watched as that message changed to delivered.
And then…
You heard that stupid trill of his phone from the hallway. 
That custom alert you’d heard far too many times to count as his phone had always gone off at all hours from important clients in the duration you’d been together.
Your brain stuttered.
And you heard a female’s laugh.
“Oh, that is embarrassing…” Said the somehow familiar female voice. It was equal parts amusement and mockery now. “She’s still here alright.”
And then a man whose voice you did not recognize, called your name outright before you could think any further. “Please, (Y/N)…there’s no reason to make this harder than it has to be. Please just come out. We’re not going to hurt you.”
But the woman quickly disagreed with him. “No. He said we could do this however we needed to. We’d still be outside in the rain if it was all up to you.”
“Be silent. I’m trying to listen.” The man retorted, yet with his voice lowering to match her own irritation.
“Hmm…no. Not needed. I already smell her.” Came her even sharper response after just another moment. 
And you heard something clicking on the tile at that, faster than you could believe as it ran closer.
“Monet!” The male voice was right behind it though, dropping into a range more akin to a snarl before a shadow came bursting through that open operating room door towards you.
You knew her name.
In the emergency lighting you only had a moment to see a glimpse of her once beautiful face too, contorted into a ferocity more akin to a rabid animal before she lunged down to meet you at your still crouched position. 
Her slender hand had closed around your airway as if it were all second nature.
Fingernails too sharp to be real dug in as she forced your back onto the ground.
You were choking. And staring up into the now wild eyes of your ex-fiancé’s young assistant.
Monet.
The girl he’d fucked right in front of you just two days ago.
But then she was gone. Swatted away as if she were nothing in one audible hit.
Your throat was still stinging, scratched but not wholly cut as you tried to sit up in a renewed rush of adrenaline.
“Just take her car and go goddammit! You’re going to tear this place apart if you can’t control yourself! This is exactly why I wanted you to wait outside!” That male voice now had a clear source as well. He stood easily over the both of you. Still with his hand that had struck her splayed out like a claw.
What had to be light blond hair hung messily in his angry eyes as he took your purse and threw it at her.
“Take her car back to her hotel! Keep her phone, and make sure she didn’t call anyone!”
It was like he was scolding a child now, as if she had already been told a thousand times how this all should be.
But she was panting, smiling at him even as she did.
“I just want a taste…for all of our trouble.” She breathed.
And he stepped further between the two of you.
“I said no.”
She hissed through her teeth, but you saw him straighten up in response. His lean body seeming to tighten even more in the dark.
“Go!” And that order was truly a snarl from him that time.
Her eyes widened and she clawed the floor, briefly on all fours before scurrying back up. 
You could not see her feet clearly in the shadows, but you heard them.
That same clicking sound that had come from the hall before she’d run in.
Like talons moving across the ground.
You didn’t realize how much you were still shaking either before that man’s rock solid grip had grabbed you next.
You were pulled up by your arm.
And Monet was already gone with your purse, meaning she had your keys and phone as well.
She’d had your ex’s phone too.
Was he even alive any longer?
A sound of desperation left you as this tall man forced you down the hall and to that exit door they’d first broken in through.
You’d known it all had to be purposeful then. 
When the power had been cut, the two outdoor security cameras would have gone down as well.
No one would ever see him dragging you out of this door and into the rainy night.
They’d likely waste days interviewing people at the hotel instead once Monet returned your car there.
People you’d never even made eye contact with long enough for them to remember your face would just shrug and say they hadn’t noticed anything unusual.
No one would ever find your body.
“Walk.” His voice was still harsh as he’d hurried you outside, across the parking lot, and immediately down a muddied path into the woods.
It wasn’t clear which direction he’d even taken you in after just a few minutes.
In the dark, the trails all looked the same. And you could only watch as his clothes hung on him, dripping in the light rain.
The forest had gone silent save for that rain and the two of you. As all animals often quieted when an apex predator moved through.
He was oddly barefoot too, striding across the wet and fallen leaves. Just in pants and a t-shirt which now stuck across his broad chest.
“You really don’t remember me at all, do you?” He asked suddenly.
And you were still floundering mentally, trying to keep up with his long legs in the darkness.
“My real name is Rosinante.” He said in lack of any answer from you though. “We’ve met before.” And his large hand squeezed your arm tighter. 
He sounded like his frustration was only growing. His next words were especially accusatory. “If I’d had any idea you were still this close to the mountains…why didn’t you leave?”
His grip hurt, and you were stumbling often now, just trying to keep up.
“I don’t…I don’t know what you want.” You stammered, sounding so pathetic that it easily could have been a stranger’s voice in your ears then.
“I didn’t want him to find you!” He shot back. And at last his relentless pace began to slow. “I thought you moved away! Why the hell would you come back here!?”
And only then was something finally beginning to click within your memories. 
Because it was that desperation in his voice. 
Even if that tone was so much deeper now than the boy’s it reminded you of.
“…Cora?” You asked, your eyes wide while you stared up at this frightening man.
But he looked like something had just broken within him as you’d called him that. He’d stopped walking entirely, and you saw the true pain which crossed his face.
A lean, handsome face, with messy blond hair and rainwater dripping down in a way that could have easily been mistaken for tears.
Tears just like the young blond you’d found crying alone in the forest one summer.
The teen who’d said he didn’t know what to do any longer. And that he’d missed his parents so much and he just couldn’t keep pretending.
You’d thought he was a runaway. But he’d seemed so close to your own age, you hadn’t ratted him out to your aunt and cousins you’d been staying with in the mountain cabin that summer.
You’d snuck him food instead, and for those few months that summer break, you had hiked out to visit him every day at your and his secret rendezvous spot.
Eventually he’d said you could call him Corazon, or Cora for short. It meant “heart” in Spanish. The native language from wherever he had really fled from. And a nickname his late mother had given him.
Her little heart.
But he had a big one. Because he was so kind to you. Something you hadn’t been used to. And you’d both loved exploring and talking together for hours on end.
He’d even taught you a special whistle and song he’d said had also come from his mother and original home.
And so often at night you would hear that sound as you’d snuck from your bedroom to see him over and over again.
He’d known you loved birds by then. That you had dreams of going to school to learn more to help as many of them as you could someday.
But when you’d follow that special sound to find him at night, he’d also point right to where any owl or other raptor you’d missed during the day was hiding that he had found. 
Just so that you could see them too.
But near the end of that summer, you’d told him you’d have to be going back to the city soon. School would be starting again. You hadn’t finished high school yet. But you’d definitely come back next summer before going to college. You’d promised him that.
He’d seemed so sad regardless though, and that had hurt you too.
He’d even disappeared for a few days. You had gotten worried.
But on one of those last nights, you’d heard that special sound again.
So of course you had rushed to it.
But Corazon hadn’t been there.
A laugh had come from above you instead in the darkness.
One you could never forget just before you’d thought part of a tree had somehow fallen down on you.
Because your breath had been gone, a heavy weight impacting your chest with a crack of your ribs.
You couldn’t even scream. The splayed claws that had first struck your chest, had then spread for thin legs to straddle you as your back had hit the dirt.
And then it had bitten you.
Straight through your shirt and over the top of your shoulder. 
Your arms had come up uselessly as those fangs had sunken in.
Yet one of your hands had raked against thick, soft feathers, while the other had caught into spiked blond hair.
Utterly nonsensical in those contrasting parts between human and animal as its wings had encircled you.
But the creature had groaned at your every touch. With its long tongue then lapping at your blood running from the flesh it had broken.   
All while bony hips in torn capris pants had begun to move purposefully against your pajamas.
You hadn’t known what to do. 
You’d just remembered feeling warm.
But so afraid.
And confused.
And then a furious screech like no bird you had ever heard, came diving down like retribution from the sky. 
Loud enough that your attacker had had to look upward. His young face framed in your blood within the moonlight while he’d grinned to the heavens.
He’d been terrifying.
He’d also been beautiful.
But the two monsters had collided. Wings had scraped the ground, flapping violently while talons had tangled, striking each other’s bare torsos over and over as they’d rolled away from you.
The sounds had been fully inhuman, hissing and screaming with splatters of their blood then mixing with yours already on the ground.
Yet you’d been frozen amongst that raw violence.
“Go!” The one with the solid black wings had called out hoarsely though. While it’d tried to even briefly pin down the other one that had attacked you. That slightly larger creature whose wings had been both a dark pink and black.
The one that had still had pieces of your skin within his scowling maw.
“Please! Go and never come back!” The finality and heartbreak in that plea from your strange protector had also been seared into your memories that night.
The same voice that was now years older, with eyes that much sadder as Corazon still stared down at you in the present day.
“It is you.” You spoke in quiet shock. “You’re okay.”
“Why would you come back!?” He demanded again though, regardless of your sudden realization. “He saw your face in all those damned pictures Monet brought to him! He’s been trying to get leverage on everyone from the district attorney’s office all year. Information about their spouses, their kids, and…”
He sneered. His teeth had grit together. And you’d never seen that expression on Corazon.
He was so angry with you.
“You were really going to marry that spineless piece of shit from the D.A.’s office!? He sold you out in a heartbeat! Where you worked, where you were staying…everything. Doffy didn’t even have to touch him! He works for him now!”
Doffy.
His brother Doflamingo?
Corazon had told you long before the attack back then that he’d had an older brother.
The one he had really been running from when you’d first met.
But Doflamingo had caught up to you both in the end.
Even if you hadn’t fully understood it then.
Because you hadn’t known what Corazon truly was.
“I did move away, Cora. I got sent to freaking therapy because my family thought I was acting out for attention!” You blurted defensively.
They’d blamed you for sneaking out. Everyone had told you over and over that it’d only been a rabid bobcat, or a coyote, something like that that had gotten a hold of you that night.
The rabies shots that followed had been an awful regimen. But the shouts that you were just a delusional teenager making up stories about boys with bird wings had been even worse.
It’d been like being branded somehow. 
A permanent outcast.
And truly, you had been marked. The bite scars on your shoulder were still why you’d never wear a tank top or a swimsuit in public.
Yes, right after veterinary school you’d settled for the first man who hadn’t utterly despised you. Your standards had been that low.
But he’d still wanted to chase money and status, and to take his law degree back to the most populated part of the region to accomplish that.
So it was either break up or follow him back towards this place you’d once run from.
Yet how could you know any of this would ever actually find you again? That had been years ago.
Why would they even still remember you?
“You really don’t get it. Do you?” Corazon answered to that disbelief still on your face. “I swore to Doffy that if he let you go that night, I’d never run from him again. That I’d submit and serve him just the way he’s always expected the whole world to.” But he made another sound of disgust, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I really am. But I can’t stop him again. There’s nothing else he wants that he doesn’t already have this time.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say I have everything I want.”
Your eyes had still been trained on Corazon, so you didn’t miss the way he immediately bristled at the new voice.
Cora stood at his full height then too, looking up to the branches above with hatred etched on his face.
And the monster laughed in response.
Just like that night as your insides twisted for the sound.
But also like Cora’s voice, that laugh was deeper now too.
Even more menacing.
They had both grown up. 
And now you were all together again.
You moved behind Corazon instinctively as Doflamingo leapt down from the branches overhead.
He landed, letting those massive wings spread as he straightened up.
It was a purposeful display of power and size you were sure while he grinned wide. 
The whites of his fangs reflected the remaining moonlight almost as much as that single glowing red eye of his. The other eye had been scarred, taken from him long ago.
“Do you know how rare it is for me to come play in the mud with the rest of you any longer?” Doflamingo taunted, crouching a little then to better see you around Corazon’s tall frame. 
Yet just like back then, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on that creature either. It was all tan skin, stretched tight over bones and muscle as you could see his every breath. 
He was only in dark pants that looked as if they were once the bottom of an expensive, tailored suit.
The mockery of the perfect male form really. Almost human in his silhouette, save for those grand wings where arms should have been, the tail feathers which ran out from the small of his back, and the thinner, scaled over legs coming from the bottom of his pants cuffs. With splayed feet ending in razor sharp talons which now sank into the wet ground beneath him.
His weight shifted, as if he didn’t much like that feel of the dirt either. “I’d prefer meeting in my penthouse on East 22nd these days.” Doflamingo taunted as proof of that observation. “But…I thought this reunion might get a bit messy. And we did just have new carpets put in.”
“I told you I’d bring her to the lakehouse though just as you’d asked. Why are you out here already!?” Corazon barked abruptly anyway, yet you could hear that edge of renewed fear already beginning in his voice.
Doflamingo’s head tilted slightly, that amusement only growing in response. “Well, I was feeling nostalgic. How long has it been, Rosi? Since you and I really got to catch prey together?”
“We’re not doing anything like that!” Cora growled immediately.
“Feh. Quit pretending, little brother. And quit hiding who you really are.” He scolded Corazon outright that time. “This is what you want too, and we both know it. You wanted it that night as well. I was only trying to show you where to start.”
“You were going to kill her!” Cora breathed out. His hands had tightened into fists.
“Not necessarily,” Doflamingo still corrected, condescending as anything. “Actually, I doubt I would have. Don’t you remember why?” And an even deeper cruelty began to seep out with those words.
Something Corazon apparently understood that you did not.
“Shut up!” 
“Oh, stop it. We were young, yes. But not in nature’s eyes. She wouldn’t have smelled that way if-“
“I said shut up!”
And Doflamingo laughed again. “You should have been guarding her better then. Instead of running away to hide just because she was ready that night. She came right to me after all…”
“Because you tricked her!”
“You taught her our call…why wouldn’t I use it?”
The special sound.
And Doflamingo did it suddenly then.
His expression changed.
You could mimic it, but not the way they did. It came up from deep within their chests. Like a music note in its pleasantness to you.
You’d ran from your bed many a summer night to find Cora making that sound for you deep within the woods.
And you’d never really wondered why no one else in the cabin had seemed to notice or wake like you did.
Like this song was only meant for you.
It made your body feel warm again. It made you want to follow.
“Stop it!” Cora’s anger snapped you from your daze.
And only then did you realize you had begun to walk towards his brother.
Doflamingo frowned as Corazon had pushed you back behind him once more.
“You are the shining beacon of utter futility, Rosinante. As always.” He tutted, pausing only a moment longer as he readjusted his rain dampened feathers with some frustration.
The weather had changed to more of a hanging mist now. And you knew it was still cold out here. But you didn’t feel it much anymore.
You were still trying to process what Doflamingo had tried to say. 
She wouldn’t have smelled that way if-
Had they been fighting over you because…
“Come on, Rosi. I’ve been more than fair here. Stop stalling and change already.” Doflamingo warned a bit more impatiently then, pulling those pink and black wings back closer towards his bare torso.
As if he was just now noticing the cold himself.
“But why does it have to be her!? You could have anyone…just…pick someone else, Doffy!” 
And even as a grown man now, you could still hear so much of that boy within Corazon.
Doflamingo evidently heard it too. “Quit whining!” Was what he snapped back. “I’m tired of seeing you mope around! Gutless and useless…this isn’t solely for me. Over and over you tell me how selfish I am. How cruel I am. And yet I put something desirable out for you, practically force feed it to you, and still you complain!”
“Because she has a right to choose her own mate!”
“What? Like that coward she was already living with? You’d let a rodent like him usurp what’s yours!?”
“She’s NOT property! She…she’s-”
“She’s tired of listening to this drivel.” Doflamingo sneered.
And it was all begun there in an instant.
In one lunge and kick, the elder brother had cast his physical lesser decisively to the side.
Your shield was gone.
And you were slammed against the then splintering bark of a tree as that wet maw opened right against your face.
The pain of the hit had made your body try to gasp. But it was as if Doflamingo had known that was exactly what you would do, with his tongue ready to make that his invitation as he forced his way in.
That tongue was warm and long as his wings closed around you.
You were trapped against the tree.
With the sheer heat of his body making you hypersensitive for every place he now pressed himself against you.
This was real.
This was going to happen this time.
And you tasted something metallic on his tongue aa well. A mix of blood and earthiness, warm and purposeful as his fangs bumped against your own far duller teeth.
He had made sure your mouth stayed open long enough as you felt something heavier than his spit slide into it.
“Swallow.” Doflamingo whispered, with his wet lips then still against yours while you felt that odd mixture hit the back of your throat.
You knew exactly what that was.
And what it meant to accept it.
Corazon called your name from somewhere so close as he’d stood again. But there was nothing else he could do.
You didn’t want Cora to be hurt either though. You didn’t want to ever have to leave him alone with his brother again.
But this was the price of staying.
And you were finally willing to make that deal.
Even if it now pleased the devil himself.
Doflamingo did growl in satisfaction too, his face briefly nuzzling down against yours once you had breathed in again, signaling your throat was clear.
He’d just fed you for the very first time.
A familial intimacy reserved only for those most dear.
“Change and hold her for me, Rosi.” Came the command to his brother which followed.
But you couldn’t look away from him. 
Doflamingo had straightened his back again. That red eye gleaming down at you.
“My little Corazon has missed you for so long…but I think he still needs convincing to let that out. So let’s help him. Together. You do want to help him…don’t you, my sweet?” And Doflamingo’s voice was taking on a bit of that special resonance again.
As he stepped back away from the tree, you did follow without being stopped this time. His soft wings grazed your sides. 
It felt so very good.
You wanted to bury yourself within the affection of those wings and never rise to see the light again.
But Doflamingo lowered them as he led you further.
Enough that you could now fully see Corazon again.
Corazon with that stricken look of devastation, as if he were watching your death in slow motion right before him. With his eyes even damper now than the weather could possibly be blamed for.
That stab of pain within you for your realization of what he was actually enduring carried even through Doflamingo’s spell on you then.
Your lip quivered. “It’s alright, Cora…” You pleaded softly. “Just do as he says…I’m okay.”
And Doflamingo chuckled.
The heartbreak between the two of you only seemed to fuel him further.
“See? She already forgives you. So show her what you really are. Let’s finish this.” Doflamingo ordered his brother even more darkly.
You both understood the threat behind those words if either of you should dare disobey him. 
Cora’s spirit was visibly crumbling.
Which made you feel all the more desperate to touch him, to comfort him.
You had missed him so much too, almost having started to believe that that part of your life really had been some sort of self induced hallucination over the years.
That you hadn’t experienced your very first feelings of romantic love with some blond, teen runaway in the woods one summer.
That you actually were just crazy.
“It’s okay.” You reiterated to him. And Doflamingo allowed you to reach for Cora.
The younger brother did take your outstretched hand for a moment too. He squeezed it tightly in his larger one as his eyes offered you a last look of misery.
But that grip was already changing. 
He had seemingly accepted your choice.
Corazon’s pale skin began to darken along his arms. The shirt he wore which had already been badly torn from Doflamingo’s earlier kick, he now used his other hand to rip off completely.
That fabric was discarded like trash as he then stood before you in only pants, the same as his brother.
And the prior lack of shoes made all the sense in the world as you saw the skin of his feet scaling over and those talons forming against the ground as well.
But the thing that captured your attention the most were the feathers as they began to bud. Piercing through the then fully darkened skin of his arms one by one as cartilage loudly popped and bones shifted.
Corazon’s arms elongated in time with his legs, that wingspan taking shape as he finally let go of your hand to spread those emerging flight feathers before they could touch the ground.
They were all solid black, yet with a rich shine as each moved into its place. His new tail fanned out behind him as well, hanging over the back top of his pants.
He was gorgeous, like a god even. 
But with glowing red eyes, fangs, and all as you noticed the submissive way he still kept his head down regardless once the transformation was complete.
Like his brother too, Corazon’s bare torso which remained, was all sinew and purpose. Every muscle so clearly defined as he breathed in deeply in his anxiety for your judgment.
But he was no monster to you now.
He was a miracle of nature.
“I like the real you.” You told him gently.
And you saw that true surprise flicker through Corazon’s eyes.
Yet Doflamingo’s impatience had to interrupt. 
With his equally long bird’s legs, the remaining distance was crossed in a single stride by him. Doflamingo pushed your smaller body roughly against his younger brother’s.
“Now, is everyone comfortable here?” Doflamingo grinned once more as Corazon caught you instinctively against his wings.
Both of them had to keep their legs bent, squatted really just to keep from towering over you in their true forms.
But neither seemed to mind the inherent size difference either.
By the predatory gleam in Doflamingo’s eye, he surely didn’t.
And before you could fully acclimate, your back was now against Corazon’s abdomen while Doflamingo pinned you from the front.
You were caught between them as wings flared and you heard Cora’s fangs hitting together above your head as he snapped at his brother in reflex, not wanting him this close.
“Hush.” Doflamingo’s lack of any real anger in response this time only highlighted the implied power difference which still remained between them. “I’ll put you back to the ground in an instant if you wish.” He reminded.
Yet it was all overwhelming to you already. Just the combination of their body heats and scents mixing together even before you felt that first movement of Doflamingo’s hips against yours.
“Put those dextrous little fingers to good use, sweet girl.” He ordered then, shifting his hips again to try and rub the waistband of his pants against your hand. “The stronger male always gets first rights of course.”
And you felt Corazon’s body tense with disgust. As if he was going to try and fight for your sake anyway.
Which you still couldn’t allow.
Because you knew he wouldn’t give up until Doflamingo had made him into a bloody pulp.
Corazon still cared for you that much.
Just as you cared for him enough to prevent that fate. 
“It’s alright. I do want this.” You said as loud as the brief rise of your own bravery would allow.
Corazon took a harsh breath.
But Doflamingo just pushed what was now an obvious bulge harder against your hand in response.
“Smart little thing.” He taunted as your fingers first made it to the button of his pants.
It was all you could do to keep your hands from trembling though as you undid that button and lowered the zipper to free what was growing for you beneath.
You didn’t know what to fully expect of course when dealing with someone that was neither fully man or beast.
Yet your intuition told you not to hesitate. That hesitation would only risk his violence returning. Doflamingo wanted you to touch him immediately as your fingers ran down that muscular V shape which dipped from his navel to his pubic region.
He wore no underwear. But there wasn’t any coarse hair there either to protect him. Just the slightest bit of downy underlayer as the pads of your fingertips found and massaged through it.
It was more wispy fluff than actual feather, soft as anything you’d ever felt as he leaned his head back in clear pleasure.
Of course, you couldn’t avoid the thick base which emerged from that softness either.
Further hardening so quickly as it kept rising up once freed.
His long cock bumped against your stomach in no time, thick and twitching once already.
It looked familiar enough, save for the damn size of it that you didn’t know how the hell you wouldn’t be injured by.
“Everything off. Now.” Doflamingo growled abruptly though. Foreplay not seeming to be a priority for him in this moment as you were then ordered to disrobe.
And Corazon had gone silent now. 
You could still feel the tension of Cora against your back before you began to undress.
Your own humiliation certainly didn’t matter to you by this point though. That would be the least of your problems as pieces of your clothing hit the wet ground one after another.
Coat, shoes, shirt, pants, and underwear were all quickly put out of the way. Until it was just you and all that you were in the cold night air.
“Don’t cover her. I want to see it all.” Doflamingo warned his brother immediately though as Corazon’s wings had tried to shift against you. 
And the little bit of room that Doflamingo had allowed you in order to undress was swiftly taken back as he now pressed you skin to skin as soon as he could.
“Yes…this is what we should have done years ago. If my little brother hadn’t been such a prude with a stick up his ass.”
Corazon growled lowly to that. 
But notably, he made no move to stop his brother this time as Doflamingo kept rubbing his cock against your skin. The head of it had begun to weep. Yet Doflamingo’s gaze had now focused onto that prominent scar on your shoulder.
The one his own fangs had previously given you.
“Did Rosi ever tell you that our kind can’t procreate on their own?” Doflamingo questioned teasingly then, seemingly at random as his tongue ran out over that scar, almost with a reverence while he licked your shoulder until it glistened with his saliva. “You see…if you breed two winged parents together, all they’ll have is miscarriages. But one winged parent and a human…”
“Doffy.” Corazon warned with his own wings still staying protectively close. “That doesn’t matter right now. Just don’t hurt her.”
“It’ll matter eventually.” Doflamingo contested with a lustful smirk.
And your knees were feeling weaker as the boys did this routine again. Falling into that lopsided codependency they had for one another, bickering even with you pressed right between them.
It was a toxic bond they shared and were so determined to now add you to.
Just like Doflamingo had first tried to back then.
But even he had gained some maturity in the time between. Evidenced by the way he first teased the head of himself at your already surprisingly wet entrance instead of just plunging straight inside.
Whether that wetness was your body’s attempt at self preservation or your own willful desire, you weren’t yet sure.
But it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. That was clear as he finally began to slowly push his way in.
And when you made that first sound of pain, stretching too much almost immediately, Doflamingo actually paused.
The feathers of his wings ruffled. Somehow the brothers were now tolerating each other enough to not react when their wings bumped one another either.
Yet Corazon’s chest hummed against your back as you felt him bend to put his lips against your neck, near your ear in response to your pain.
“Relax…I’m here.” He promised, even then still trying to protect you.
And you exhaled, feeling that inner warmth once more. Corazon was using that special tone again, resonating through you as you rested your head back against him.
Cora was soothing you as his brother began to push again.
Your were fully walled in too. Corazon’s chest to your back, against him with your thighs spread for his brother. And Doflamingo in front, taking that offering, his legs bent enough for your hips to line up as he slid in deeper and deeper.
And both their wings were to your sides. They were holding you up together as Doflamingo at last bottomed out against your cervix.
You felt like he could have split you in two if he had wanted to.
But Cora’s song just continued, calming and satisfying as you stared up at Doflamingo while he let out a surprising whine with you clenched so tightly around his extraordinary cock.
“Oh…oh, fuck she feels so good.” Doflamingo breathed next. “Keep her calm…I have to move. Keep her just like this.” He was still instructing Corazon even as his sharp hips began to slowly, ever so slowly, slide back and then forward again. The skin of his cock was dragging against your insides.
And you shuddered. Everything felt like more than you could possibly take. 
But Doflamingo’s initial whine soon became moans. He was falling apart even faster than you as his wings closed tighter around you and his movements increased.
His feathers kept shifting, his pupil was dilating.
Yet as he almost grimaced in what appeared to be an abrupt brush with overstimulation, you had your very first inkling that they did not get to use these true forms often.
This was a rare intimacy. 
Maybe even completely unique for them.
The opportunity to be with a partner in their actual bodies. With all the heightened senses and raw feelings that must entail.
You were barely even a participant, and yet you were overwhelming Doflamingo as he slouched forward with his hips still pumping.
His chin was resting on one of your shoulders then, while Corazon’s was resting on your other from the opposite direction.
“I can’t even…hell, I can’t…” Doflamingo nearly laughed in disbelief.
And you felt him tremble all over as he thrust briefly harder, much rougher then as you cried out a little. But only for three or four more deep hits before his hips stilled abruptly.
The heat inside was immediate, spilling out into you as Doflamingo held himself in as close to the hilt as he could be.
But he was too big to be flush against you, just doing his best as he buried his face beside yours and you already felt his excess seed running out down your thighs to drip onto the ground.
The forest was so quiet again. Save for Doflamingo’s uneven breaths.
“Dammit…” He cursed quietly, sounding an odd mix of both placated and highly disappointed. “I need to try again. That wasn’t enough.”
But you were still aching, regardless of Doflamingo already softening within you from what he perceived as a premature release.
“No. You already came. It counts.” Corazon’s voice returned then and there however. His wings were trying to push Doflamingo’s further away.
And those wingtips were far more prehensile than a normal bird’s once Cora decided to just pull you away from his brother instead by your waist not long after. 
It made a lewd sound when Doflamingo’s wet cock slid out of you with that sudden increase in distance. Then hanging soft in a mess of both your fluids between his legs.
He glowered at Corazon as your warmth was removed from his body once more. 
And you feared they would now fight again.
Doflamingo did briefly bare his fangs. 
But Cora had turned you to face only him then as he moved his wings to push against the side of his own pants next.
You weren’t even done dripping from his brother yet. But you saw the full desire now in Corazon’s eyes.
He’d had to watch everything. 
And he had needs too.
Ones you were sure he had been too afraid to ever tell you up until tonight.
“Here.” You reached out, helping Cora as you tugged at his pants to slip them the rest of the way off of his hips.
Fair was fair.
What you did for one brother, you knew you had to do for the other.
Even if Doflamingo was now finding the concept of waiting for his second turn much more difficult than he’d originally envisioned. 
Corazon was wearing boxers. Ones that already looked a bit too tight for him just as you felt Doflamingo step back behind you.
Cora clearly bristled, not appreciating that. But you did your best to deescalate them again.
They had their own hierarchy and rules as all flocks did you were sure.
Doflamingo was the leader of them all without question. But his own neediness and vulnerabilities were far more apparent to you now.
It was a bold risk, and you didn’t move too quickly. But you did reach behind you then to massage your hand along Doflamingo’s hip and thigh. Acknowledging him at your back, and rewarding even his few moments of patience with physical touch.
Maybe that affection had surprised him.
He’d stilled again either way, and that was all the time that Corazon had needed to slide his own underwear down enough to uncover himself.
Your face felt flushed at the sight. 
Because Cora was already rock hard. Perhaps not the full length of his brother, but no less intimidating for you.
With Doflamingo still right there however, Cora didn’t hesitate. He wouldn’t lose this opportunity.
You gasped as Corazon pressed himself right into the wetness his brother had already made within you.
Your insides stretched and filled tight as anything all over again as Cora breathed your name and began immediately rocking his hips.
Doflamingo was then growling behind you in jealous response, so your hand had to move back between his legs to stimulate him too. 
You were fondling the older brother’s still softened shaft as he twitched it wantingly in your palm.
While the younger brother quickly fell into a deep rhythm inside of you, pumping your bodies together as nature had always intended.
It didn’t even feel wrong.
Because they both needed you.
And you needed them.
Or you would now.
And as Corazon scraped inside you just right, steady and sure, your orgasm was quickly building even while Doflamingo began to stiffen again within your hand.
You just stroked him harder in rhythm to his brother’s thrusts.
You could see the future already. 
There would be babies.
Multiple babies.
One mother, two different fathers. 
Nature was like that sometimes. Especially with a rare species that needed all the help it could get.
It’d just be easier to share the resources. To have two strong mates protecting you instead of only one.
Doflamingo was already getting ready to cum again too. You could hear it in his panting as he fucked your hand so roughly then.
But it was the combination of Cora’s steady pumping and Doflamingo’s desperate movements that finally sent you over the edge.
You felt your channel spasm around Cora, who repaid that pleasure immediately with a hard shudder as he released his own seed in powerful shots to mix with what you’d already received from his brother.
Corazon did get it all in, just barely though before those pink wings were grabbing you backward abruptly. 
Yet again you were pulled off of a wet cock that had just finished as Doflamingo slid himself right back into your now fully swollen folds from behind.
His wings pushed you, then making you bend forward at the waist so he could fully mount you from behind this time. You didn’t even have the chance to recover from the orgasm you’d just had before Doflamingo was pounding you so hard against your ass.
You were panting too, trembling for the contrast of his soft wings holding you up on the outside while he utterly wrecked you on the inside.
“Come on…I need you to cum on me too…I’m not stopping this until you do.” Doflamingo threatened you. Evidently not at all missing your visible orgasm had with Corazon inside you moments prior.
Yes, everything was always going to be this way too you were sure. Doflamingo would have to have the final word, the final touch. He might share only with his brother. But everything still had to start and end with him.
He was the dominant male of this territory.
“Doflamingo…” You tried his name in some very minor bid for mercy. You couldn’t think straight enough to will another orgasm back out so soon.
But you had to.
You glanced back up towards Corazon, who still seemed a bit dazed from his own release.
But his eyes did meet yours, even as his brother now fucked you raw from only footsteps away.
Yet, it wasn’t the full sadness from earlier in Cora’s stare any longer. You saw real lust for you still so heavy in those red eyes then. That look which said he would also love to do this to you if you’d only ask him for it.
Corazon would do anything you wanted him to going forward.
And that thought was enough to bring the coil of warmth into your stomach again. 
You were going to be fine. You would survive.
You’d never have to sit in a room alone again either and worry about who or what future awaited you on the other side.
Because your monsters were already here. And they had chosen you.
You moaned loudly. Both of these men in your mind, together again while that pleasure sent your body into ecstasy one more time.
You came with that cry for Doflamingo as he orgasmed gladly in return to flood your poor channel yet again with his seed. 
Your abused cunt was dripping and your body shaking before Doflamingo pulled you fully back against his chest, wrapping his warm wings around you protectively.
His voice was a bit uneven, matching his rough breathing now. “Let’s go home then. All three of us. Tonight and forever.”
And Corazon smiled slightly at last to that rare sentiment. A remarkable expression in its own right. 
Because maybe Cora was finally realizing as you had that the worst was not truly the worst.
Doflamingo wasn’t going to let anything happen to you now.
This deal had been made and the ink was already dry.
Cora used his feathers to awkwardly pull up his underwear and pants before he idly began collecting your clothing for you soon after.
“You’re going to need bigger beds then, Doffy. Both at the lakehouse and the penthouse.” Corazon said quietly as he looked back to the two of you who were still recovering.
Doflamingo smirked, not disagreeing this time. “That’d be much easier than arguing whose bed she’ll get in each night, wouldn’t it?”
You’d lay with them both of course.
But Doflamingo nipped your ear for good measure too as his feathers rubbed more possessively across your abdomen.
“Yes. We’ll have quite a nest going on soon enough.” He grinned wide in anticipation of this truth. “Little ones never like to sleep alone either after all.”
——————————
End.
Thank you for reading! ❤️🎃
A/N: The two sentence horror story quoted in the beginning is “Knock” by Fredric Brown.
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gingernut1314 · 1 day ago
Text
The Water's Embrace ch. 7
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Summary: You and Silco talk about recent events happening within your friend group before one simple act has everything exploding in your faces.
Content: female reader, gendered terms, pre-season 1 arcane, young Vander, young Silco, young Sevika, young reader, young Felicia, young Connol, Nadia & Nikolai are Viktor's parents, silco POV, fear of rejection/ruining friendship, rejection, reader has water manipulation, smoking, slight Arcane season 2/League of Legends spoiler (Janna, Felicia & Connol)
Word Count: 5.9K
Tag List: @miffysoo , @teriyakiitae
A/N: So.....that series finale.....how we feeling about it? I'm feeling unwell SOB. Anywayy here is the next chapter and I hope you all enjoy!!
↞ to The Water's Cold Embrace Masterlist | Arcane Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠
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Three years later
“Felicia’s pregnant!” You gaped at Silco from where he sat on the edge of the small pool of water you swam in. It was a pool located in the cave you once called home, though nothing but a rotting, makeshift bed remained of that past. Even Janna had left this place.
You had noticed she hadn’t been around much for a year. A long time for her to be away at sea…if she was even out at sea at all. 
To say her disappearance didn’t worry you would be a lie. She may be an emotionless wind spirit but she was still the thing that had raised you. You still found love for her in your heart. 
You ducked under the surface of the inky black waters, swimming forward till you popped up at the edge of the pool. Silco unbent his legs from his chest only to criss cross them, making it easier to lean closer to you and your utter shock. 
“Shocking, right?” Silco's seafoam eyes tracked you as you placed your arms on the stone floor beside him. 
“Shocking is quite the understatement.” You let your feet kick aimlessly through the waters, enjoying the feel against your skin. It’d been too long since you’d been swimming like this. “She--with who? Connol?” Silco nodded. 
“It would seem.”
“Damn… damn .” Silco nodded in agreement. “What--I mean--I’m happy for her.” Silco raised an eyebrow at you. 
“Are you?” He teased. 
“ Yes .” You huffed back. “I’m just…worried.” Silco again nodded.
“Yes…as am I.” You scooted closer to him then. “She made us promise to make Zaun a reality for her child.” 
“And it will become reality.” You confirmed only for Silco to sigh deeply. 
“It’s been years .” He murmured. “We’ve continued to let Piltover stomp all over us. We are no closer to freedom let alone Zuan.” 
“You’re giving up?” Silco leveled you with a fierce look. 
“Hardly. I’m just tired of waiting and waiting for the “right moment”.” You hesitated before placing your hand on his knee, rubbing your thumb over the fabric. Silco’s eyes tracked the touch before they found yours again.
“I know we’ve all been patient for a long while, but I think we need to be patient a bit longer. Especially now that Felicia is expecting.” Your mind went down a dark train of thought. Of the reality that pregnancies down here so rarely made it to full term. To the reality that, even if her child was born safe and sound, it could kill her. To the reality of just how little food there truly was to go around and how babies were such fragile things that had a tendency to die before they reached the age of one. “We don’t want to stress her more than I’m sure she is now.” 
Silco nodded, eyes darkening in those very same thoughts you had just had. He placed his hand over yours, turning it so that it would rest in his palm. 
“Do you--” Silco began but seemed to think better of it. You gave his hand a squeeze, pulling yourself further on land to peer more closely into his eyes. 
“Do I…? Come on, don’t hold back on me now.” Silco looked over your face slowly. A slowness he had been doing a lot more recently. Not that you minded. You quite liked his attention but it still didn’t help you in your mission to keep your feelings for him smothered. 
“Do you wish for children?” You blinked up at him. And blinked again. And again.
“Me? Have…a kid?” Silco shrugged. 
“Just curious. We’ve never talked about such things before.” A pinkish hue began to spread over his cheeks. A pinkish color you had missed seeing on him. 
“Well, I’ve never really thought about it before. I…really didn’t think I’d make it this far in my life.” Silco smoothed his thumb over the back of your hand in a comforting manner that had you fluttering your feet in the water a bit more. “And not to mention I would be a horrid mother.” Silco scoffed. 
“Hardly. You are great with kids.” 
“What kids have you seen me interact with?” 
“Those kids you helped get away from those enforcers.” You thought back to that day which had happened a year ago. All because a few of them had stolen something for some Topside douchebag. It seemed to give those enforcers some grand idea to not only ruin a perfectly nice day, but to invade the stream and connecting lake kids went to swim around in and use unnecessary force to find the little thieves. 
You had been working when it started. Had only showed up because you had been… called there by some tug you still didn’t know what it was. Some tug that felt too much like magic. You’d gotten there just in time to find enforcers trying to drown some of them, others getting dragged away and beaten up, and others trembling in fear looking like they were praying to some god that you knew wouldn’t show up to help them.
You just assumed it had something to do with your magic and their connection to the waters the enforcers were using to try to harm the children with, so you stepped in and ended it.
Of course, you didn’t tell any of your friends that.
Not even Silco, who knew of your magic and who you practically told everything to. 
You just told them you had left work early because you were feeling unwell and stumbled upon the scene by accident. 
You tried to call out to Janna afterward to see if she knew what that--that calling had been but she had never shown and was nowhere to be found. It was then you first figured out she was missing. Had been missing for a while before.
“They don’t count.” You quickly said.
“Why?”
“Because I hardly even spoke to them,” A lie. They had tried to talk your ear off afterward about your magic, but Silco didn’t need to know that. “And because I said so.” Silco huffed.
“Fine. It doesn’t matter because I’ve seen you interact with Viktor and you do so very well.” You chuckled, a smile blooming at the thought of that kid. 
“Viktor is a sweet thing. Only reason I’m good with him. Most kids are like you and I were. Bad-mouthed little ankle biters.” A smile pulled at Silco’s lips. 
“I suppose you're right.” You both huffed and chuckled at the thought of your younger years. 
“What about you?” You asked as your amusement died out. “Do you want a kid?” Silco fell quiet for a long while. You saw a thousand and one thoughts rush behind his seafoam eyes. 
“You have.” You beamed, pulling your hand from his only so you could plant it on the ground, pulling yourself further upward, now at eye level with the very much blushing Silco. “Oh tell me about it, pretty please.” Silco almost seemed to lean away from your eagerness, eyes scanning and scanning over your face as if he couldn’t get enough of it. 
“There’s--nothing to tell.” You rolled your eyes on a groan. 
“I told you what my opinion on the matter was.” 
“Your opinion was hardly a true answer.” You huffed. 
“Fine. No. I don’t think I will have kids. There. Now tell me what you’ve thought of.” A heaviness filled his eyes. A heaviness you’d also been seeing him show more and more often. Always when watching you. Always when you said something to him. You thought maybe you had upset him somehow but he was always quick to speak and shove the look away. 
“I’ve just thought about it since Felicia’s going to have her own.”
“And…?” You egged him on. 
“And I don’t think it could ever become a reality.” You watched him closely. Watched that heaviness flicker through his eyes again.
What was he thinking about? What was he feeling to make his eyes look like that?
“But you would want one? In an ideal world. In Zaun?” Silco watched you just as closely back.  
“I…suppose.” You grinned up at him, legs kicking upward and making the water splash about. 
“I think you would be a good father.” Silco rolled his eyes. 
“Are you just saying that because I said it about you?” You shook your head. 
“Nope. You also are good with Viktor.” Silco gave a small huff in amusement. 
“Well, Viktor is the ideal child. Very sweet. Doesn’t steal flasks from random strangers off the street and explode them before their very eyes.” Your grin only grew wider as he spoke of your very first meeting. 
“Well, I also don’t think he would beat other children up and then refuse help for his boo-boos.” Silco narrowed his eyes, leaning ever closer to you. 
“I didn’t get any boo-boos and I won those fights fair and square.” 
“And I did go through all that trouble to replace your flask with a much nicer one.” You responded, bringing a finger up to tap at the flask which sat in a pocket on the inside lining of his jacket. 
“It is very nice.” You smirked. 
“You’re very welcome.” Silco gave another small laugh, lips relaxing into an easy smile. His seafoam eyes started up their scanning of your face all over again. A scan that made your heart beat painfully against the cage you had trapped it in to ward it against whatever deeper feelings you had for him. 
Your breath lodged itself in your throat when he brought his hand up to brush away a droplet of water from your cheek. And then to do it again closer to your lips. 
You--you didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know whether to pull even closer so that your noses might brush or jump back into the inky waters to disappear from view. 
But what you did know is you liked the touch. You wanted it to keep going on and on despite your struggle to fight back your feelings. 
Silco said your name softly in question and you thought shit was this--was he going to lean in closer?
“Are you…are you human?” The question took you off guard. Made quickly reel back all those feelings you had stupidly let slip from your iron hold of them. 
“What kind of a question is that?” You huffed, letting your body dip back into the waters, your hands the only thing still holding you to the surface. “Of course I am.” But Silco continued to watch you too carefully. “Why did you even ask me that?”
“Because…you feel different somehow.” Silco shrugged like you weren’t talking about the one topic you avoided speaking of like the plague.
“Are you trying to piss me off?” Silco sighed your name.
“I’m serious. Magic is rare.” 
“You know I don’t like talking about it.” You fully let go of the pool edge then, making to disappear like you had first thought until Silco’s hand shot downward, grabbing hold of your wrist. The action nearly had your heart stopping in your chest.
“You once told me you trusted me enough to tell me those things. That you wanted me to know.” That pink cross over his cheeks once more, burning brighter than before. “It's…just me.” 
Even when you wished to forget about your feelings for him, even when you wished to not talk of your magic, you knew you couldn’t deny him. 
Not ever. 
It was a flaw. Something that should have been corrected a long time ago but was left to fester and grow within you like a fungus. 
“I…know I was born. Only humans are born, right?”
“Magic is mysterious.” You huffed. 
“You don’t need to tell me that.” You thought of Janna. Of all the things she had told you in your youth. 
You thought of that calling . Of how those kids had been praying for help before you had arrived. 
“Maybe…maybe I am but I’m…not?” Silco blinked at you, looking just as confused as you felt. “You remember I told you how my guardian found me, yes?” Silco nodded. 
“When you were small. In the water.” You nodded back at him.
“She’s…well she’s not human.” Silco's eyes sparked at this. 
“Truly?” 
“Annoyingly so. Her “human” body isn’t even human. It’s more elven and even then you can tell she’s other.” Silco gently pulled you back towards the edge of the pool as you spoke and you let him without any fuss. “She spends most of her time as The Winds. She’s old. Came here when The Gray first came to be.” 
“Winds… your guardian is--she’s real?” Of course, he knew of Janna. Most miners did. She uses most of her energy trying to keep them safe from the choking smog that seeped through the tunnels they were forced to work in; it was only natural for them to appreciate her, even when some didn’t believe.
“Yes, but she’s a lot more irritating than you all give her credit for.” Silco chuckled then. 
“She took you in because of your magic?” You nodded. 
“She says our magic was what led her to me. I don’t know much else besides that.” You answered, worrying your lip between your teeth. “You said I feel different? Like in a bad way?” 
“What? No. Like--other. Like…you’ve always given me the feel of the sea, even when I’ve never been sailing out on it. Like if I were to close my eyes right now, you might melt into the very waters you are in.” He paused for a moment, eyes flickering over your features once more. Something like…worry? Nervousness growing at what he was about to say. “When you hold me, I feel as if I am in the water's embrace.” 
“And…is that a bad feeling? Feeling like water has hold of you--like it might drag you under?” You asked, voice coming out low as if scared of the answer. 
“No. Never.” He spoke quickly. “I find…peace.” Your heart beat just a bit faster then.
“You don’t let me hug you often. How can I believe you?” You asked, partially teasing so that you could try to regain some semblance of control over yourself. You thought, almost hoped , he would tease you back, but what you hadn’t expected was him to stand and begin pulling his jacket off. “W-what are you doing?” Your eyes flew wide as he kicked his shoes off, leaving him in his patched-up socks. 
Your eyes only grew wider when he pulled his shirt off. The first grayish-white layer came off, followed quickly by his bright red shirt, giving you a full view of that thin, yet undoubtedly strong body he typically kept hidden beneath it all. 
You weren’t completely unfamiliar with seeing him shirtless. You had once lived at The Last Drop and the boys had a tendency to sleep in nothing but their boxers. 
But it didn’t matter because you hadn’t seen him in such a way in years . And you couldn’t help yourself as you looked over every inch of exposed skin. Drank in every scar, bruise, and lean plain he was made up of. Drank in that blush that grew richer and spread down the sides of his neck.
Couldn’t help but feel yourself grow restless at the sight of him.  
“Silco, what are--what are you doing? ” You repeated, not knowing what else to say in that moment. 
“I can’t swim.” And before you could ask another question or shout at him to stop, he was cannonballing into your pool. You panicked at his warning, diving instantly after him. 
It didn’t take you long to find him, your magic helping you feel for him in the darkness. You quickly grabbed and yanked him back to the surface, where he gave a gasp for air. 
“What the fuck!” You hissed, struggling a bit to keep both of you above the surface. To ease the struggle you commanded the waters to flow beneath him to keep him up. But he didn’t seem at all bothered by this, because the sound of his laughter filled your ears. 
Laugher that had your annoyance dissipating nearly all at once.
“Since when can you not swim?” You shouted as you began to swim him across the small pool till your feet found the sandy bottom in the shallows. You watched him move a bit of his long hair that had fallen out of his bun behind his ear as he found his footing. 
A loose bit of hair your fingers itched in their want to move for him.
“Since forever.” He spoke between his dying laughter. 
“Well get ready 'cause I’m going to teach you. Ridiculous.” You huffed with a playful shake of your head. You knew he was stubborn and hesitant to ask for anything for himself but this was something you could have taught him a long time ago. 
You had taught Sevika to swim so she wouldn’t be so nervous to sail on your Boss’ ship. Taught Vander and even helped teach Viktor, despite his leg. 
Swimming was essential. It could make the difference between life and death. Especially since your friend group was always messing around on the docks. 
You went to pull your arm away from where you had it wrapped around his waist, but Silco grabbed your forearm, stopping you. Your skin began to burn so hot you thought it might evaporate the water clinging to it. 
“If you insist.” His voice came out softer than you would have thought it would. 
Why was--you were again confused. 
Confused about him jumping into your pool and about why he was trying to be so…so close to you all of a sudden. 
“Yeah. I do.” You playfully snapped back. Silco’s lips pulled into an easy smile, his fingers drawing lazy circles over your skin that was making your brain buzz loudly . Making you feel all fidgety on the inside. 
Making you suddenly remember he was shirtless. That you were practically shirtless except for the ratty sports bra you typically wore to swim. 
“But…why?” Silco’s seafoam eyes glanced towards your lips as you spoke. 
“To show you.” He simply said. Words that only further confused you. 
“I--show me what?” Silco chuckled, bringing his other hand up to brush more water off your cheek. To hold it. To make your mind switch off and leave you only able to think about him touching your face and arm. At how close he was. 
“To show you that I don’t think anything about you is a bad thing.” Your lips parted on the slightest shuddering inhale. “That I would willingly slip away in your waters because I would be surrounded by you. Because it's you.” 
“Silco--I--” You didn’t know what to say. What to do . Could hardly even think past the pounding in your ears. Not when he was coming closer . 
How was he getting that close? 
Why ? 
“I don’t--I don’t know what to say to that.” You managed to breathe out, eyes flickering from his thin lips to his seafoam eyes which were full of that--that heavy look again. 
A look that, now that you were so close, made you think it was longing . 
Longing for--for you?
“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t wish.” You swallowed the growing dryness in your mouth back, only for your lips to all but gasp back open when you felt the tip of his nose brush against yours. 
“What…what are you doing?” You whispered, fingertips digging lightly into the skin of his side as if to ground yourself. To make sure that this was real. That this wasn’t some messed up dream. 
“Showing you.” He whispered right back, breath ghosting over your lips. 
He inched closer ever slowly. So slow as if to give you a moment to say something more. To push him away. To stop him. 
Lips brush against your lips, sending a shock through your spine. A tingling warmth that stuck to your lips and pressed closer till he was kissing you. 
This…this was happening. 
It was finally happening after years of pining after him. After dreaming of this very moment.
It was-- intoxicating . 
Driving you to seek more to sate that drug-like addiction his lips were poured into you. A rough yet gentle hand moved over your skin to find rest on your back. A hand that guided you ever closer . 
And yet--yet even though you finally had it, your brain began shouting at you. 
Why?
Why now? 
Why when he had never once tried before? 
Why on some random Wednesday? 
Why when just last Wednesday you had seen him with another girl? A girl Benzo had laughingly congratulated him on finally winning over. 
Why when he had been pining after someone else?
Why, why, why?
You shoved abruptly away, water sloshing at your legs as if to try and soothe your hurt. 
“Are--” Silco started, breath heavy on his lips from the recent lack of it. “Are you alright?” He sounded almost--nervous. Anxious as you continued to place distance between you and him. 
Game . 
He likes to play the game. You’ve seen it multiple times before. 
He’s bored. He got bored and wanted a challenge. Or maybe he thought he could win the game against you easily? 
You didn’t want to play. Not when you truly had feelings for him. Not when playing would only get your feelings hurt.
Your eyes burned as you started out of the water, grabbing for your bag which held your overlayers. 
“I should get back.” You somehow managed to get out past your tightening throat.
“Back? Get back where?” The sound of the water moving alerted you to Silco’s exiting the pool. You quickly tugged the dress you had packed on over your soaked skin and clothes. 
“I--uh--Sevika. She’s waiting for me.” You pressed your fingers into your right eyelid, trying to rub away that burning. 
“Sevika--wait a moment.” But you didn’t wait. You slung your tote over your shoulder and started for the cave mouth. “Wait--” Silco grabbed your wrist in his hand, fingers feeling even colder thanks to the chill air and their dampness from the water. “I--are you not going to look at me?” You ran your free hand over your mouth to keep him from hearing your elevated and shaky breath. “I didn’t mean--I’m sorry if I overstepped. I just--well I thought…” His voice died out then, leaving his words hanging in the air. 
“It’s okay.” You schooled your face as best you could into that of its normal easy-going features before you turned to face him. His face was in that same calm it usually sat but his eyes--his eyes were raging like a stormy sea. So many emotions flashing through those eyes you could hardly even pick up on one of them. 
“No. No, it’s not. I--I overstepped. I can see I’ve upset you.” You shook your head, all but yanking a smile to your lips. 
“It’s okay. Really. I just--I have to get going.” Silco watched you for a moment longer. A moment when that heaviness returned to wrestle with the rest of those emotions in his eyes. 
“I--why do I feel like you are?” He asked softly. And just as softly you pulled your wrist from his hand. A hand whose fingers dragged along your own as if to weakly try to keep you there. 
“I’m fine.” You held your hand to your chest as if his touch had burned you. As if to keep your heart shielded. “I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Silco watched you as you began to back away again. 
“Okay.” You gave him one last, all too forced smile before rushing from the cave. A rush that grew into a run as your eyes blurred and your mind screamed at you for letting him get so close. Screamed at you for being such a coward.
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Silco stood in that dank cave for a while. Just staring at the exit which you had rushed out of. Just thinking and thinking and thinking about what had gone wrong? About why the hell he had tried to kiss you in the first place when you didn’t want to. 
He thought you wanted to. He thought he finally saw that you might want to…with him . 
He was wrong. 
Very much wrong and now he had upset you. 
Very much so. 
Silco pulled his clothes back on and made his way out of your childhood home. 
Why had he done that?
It was so stupid. So, so stu--
Gods but he had wanted to. Had wanted to ever since you had saved him from that gang on the docks when you were teens. Had wanted to ever since you had told him you wouldn’t tell Vander of his failure and meant it. 
He’d chased many girls before. Had caught many of them too, but you-- you …he didn’t want to chase them like he wanted to chase you. You who he would risk drowning in the sea if it meant he could be by your side. 
But…you didn’t want that. Obviously, you didn’t want that. He was just trying to figure out why he had been so stupid in his thinking you might want to chase him back.
The Last Drop was rather packed for a Wednesday night. Though, he guessed it made sense, wanting to have a little fun and drink your sorrows away when cave-ins had started to become more frequent. When enforcers were marching through the streets looking for blood anywhere they could get it. 
Silco glanced towards the table he and his friends usually occupied and instantly regarded doing so. Regretted it because Sevika sat there, blunt between her lips as she smirked triumphantly at an easy win against Connol and Felicia. 
You were nowhere in sight. He scanned over the entirety of the bar to make sure of it. 
“Did she come find you?” Silco couldn’t have stopped his feet and mouth from moving even if he had wanted to. Sevika hardly glanced up at him as Connol began to deal out more cards for a new game. 
“Who?” A frustrated hiss shot from Silco’s grit teeth at Sevika’s words, hand all but slamming down on the table before her. Sevika blinked slowly at this. Blink slowly, leaning back in her seat to look at him near bored.
“Who else would I be looking for?” Sevika pulled her blunt from her lips, blowing a line of smoke into his face he only narrowed his gaze at. 
“I don’t know, Silco. You go lookin’ around for lots of girls.” Silco gruffed, pulling away from the table. 
You hadn’t come to find her. You would be by her side trying and failing to win the game if you had. 
He couldn’t help the small hurt that flashed through his chest at the lie you had given him. At your…your rejection of him. 
His eyes snagged on Felicia then, who was giving Silco an almost knowing smile. Caught on her pink painted fingernails running through Connol’s short cropped hair. 
A small touch. One Silco ached to feel from you. 
“You okay?” Felicia asked, pulling Silco from his hurt-filled thoughts. 
“I’m fine.” Felicia hummed, looking like she didn’t believe him at all.
“You two got into a fight huh?” Silco narrowed his eyes down at his friend. 
“Hardly.” She gave another hum, keeping that amused disbelief plastered on her face.
“Really? She is the only one who gets you all fussy like this.” Normally, Silco would laugh and play along but--but not now. Not tonight. 
“Keep your nose out of it. It’s none of your concern.” Silco snapped too harshly. A harshness Felicia only shrugged at but one that pulled Connol’s rust-colored eyes to look up at him. 
“No need to take it out on Felicia, yeah?” He spoke calmly. A calm that carried a very loud warning to back off within it.
“You heard the guy. Nothing to take out. She’s not bothering him. He’s unbothered.” Sevika chimed in, only making Silco’s mood worse. Felicia rolled her eyes, patting Connol’s shoulder as she started to stand. 
“Let’s talk, Silco.” Felicia nodded towards the bar.
“There is nothing to talk about.” He tried to keep the bite from his voice, but it slashed through his words regardless. “There was no fight. There was nothing. Nothing--” 
You came through the doors then, dripping water everywhere. More water than you had left the cave with.
He knew instantly you must have run to the docks and dove into the waters there. 
“Here we go,” Sevika muttered, only adding fuel to the fire burning in Silco’s belly. 
You caught sight of him and almost paled . Like you thought he wouldn’t be here. Of course, he would be here. He lived here. 
“Go for a swim?” Silco couldn’t stop the words from spilling from his lips as you came closer. 
“Uh--yeah.” You spoke as you came to a stop before him and the table. 
“You said you needed to go find Sevika.” You glanced Sevika’s way like she might give you an answer. An answer Silco knew she wouldn’t provide just by the sound of her shuffling cards. 
“I can’t go swim?” 
“You had just come from a swim.” He could see your frustration beginning to boil in your eyes. Could see he was toeing a very dangerous line and he knew he shouldn’t be this--this hurt. Knew he was only lashing out to lash out but he just couldn’t stop himself. 
Why couldn’t he stop? 
Why couldn’t he just walk away ?
“What does it matter to you?” You quickly questioned back. 
“It matters because you lied .” He responded just as fast. You rolled your eyes at him.
“I’m not in the mood for this.” You huffed, but Silco wasn’t done. 
“If you lied about such a simple thing as going to see a friend, then how do I know you aren’t lying about other things?” Stop . He needed to stop but his hurt was too strong. Was awakening his anger which he had been trying to keep under control ever since he was a kid.
“What--” You have a huff in your own anger. “If I lied then you lied.” 
“There was no lie.” You watched him for a long moment. A moment that had your own hurt flash through your eyes. A hurt he had seen flashing through them when you had left earlier. 
“I am not in the mood for your game, Silco. Never have been.” You all but hissed at him. Game? What game? He didn’t know what you were talking about. “But there are plenty here that might want to give it a go.” Silco pulled closer so that he could lean down to catch your eyes fully. 
He thought of your lips. Of how soft they had felt against his. How they held a bit of salt from the waters you both had just swam through. How you had kissed him back .
Why had you kissed him back? Why did you run away?
“And what is that supposed to mean?” You bore your dagger-sharp anger right back into his eyes. 
“It means go find someone to fuck and leave me be.” Silco felt those daggers skewer right through him at your words. 
“Maybe I will.” Again that hurt flashed through your eyes. Hurt you quickly masked with anger. 
“Go do it then.” You shot back. 
“Fine.” Silco shrugged. 
“Fine.” You mimicked. Neither of you moved. Not until Vander’s voice filled the space between you.
“What’s goin’ on you two?” You were the first to look away. He watched your eyes shift when they fell onto Vander. Soften.
Oh , it made his blood boil. Made his fists clenched so tight his fingernails dug into his palms.
“I was just leaving.” You pulled a half smile to your lips that had Vander sighing.
“You just got here, sweethea--”
“Don’t call her that.” Silco snapped before he could even think. Vander turned his cool, gray eyes onto him then, a frown pulling deeply at his lips.
A finger was shoved into Silco’s chest, a small pain blooming there. It was you and you looked very much over his poor behavior. 
“He can call me whatever the fuck he wants to call me.” You bit, pressing your finger harder into him. “You don’t get any say in that.” 
“Oh yes, I--”
“ Enough ,” Vander commanded, cutting Silco off from saying anything further. “What the hell’s got you two like this now?” 
“Nothing!” You and Silco both hissed. You both turned to find the other's eye again. 
Hurt . That’s all he saw in your eyes. 
Gods Silco was an ass. Gods Silco had messed up. 
“Nothing happened.” You spoke in a too- quiet voice. Said it like you were speaking directly to Silco. Your finger fell away from his chest then. He wanted to grab your wrist to keep it there, but his body couldn’t seem to move. “I just came to say hi. I’m…busy.” Vander sighed through his nose at your words, but nodded. 
“Alright, sweetheart.” The nickname had always grated at Silco’s nerves, but it shredded at them tonight. 
Silco watched you walk back through the bar. Watched you slam open the doors and let them slam shut behind you. 
He almost ran after you. He should have run after you but…he was still too angry. Too hurt. Too stubborn .
Felicia gave Connol another loving pat on the shoulder before rushing after you herself, not sparing him a single glance as she left. Sevika grumbled at this, throwing the cards back into the table. 
“What happened?” Vander asked again, voice more stern then it had been with you around. Silco waved him off. 
“You heard her. Nothing.” He made to walk past Vander to head to his room, but his brother grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. 
“You two butt heads a lot. Enough I can see this was different.” Silco yanked his arm from Vander’s hold on a scoff.
“Leave out of it.” 
“You made a move on her?” Silco leveled Vander with a look that had made many before turn tails and beat it. But not him. Not his brother. 
The worst part was that Vander had always hit the nail on the head when it came to Silco’s feelings for you. 
“Just talk to her. Tell her what you're feeling . ” Vander had told Silco many many times over the span of time they’d known you. Silco had always brushed his brother off. Always denied his feelings for you. But Vander was no fool. He knew. 
“Nothing happened.” Silco insisted, though his voice having lost a bit of its bite was a sure give away that something did . 
“I hope to the gods you meant it. She’s our family . Not someone you can have your fun with and leave.” He let go of Silco’s arm then. 
He wanted to hiss sharp words at his brother. Wanted to use the man as his own personal punching bag, but Silco’s feet were moving before they even caught up with his brain. 
They brought him up the stairs, down the small hallways, and up onto the roof where he fit a cigarette between his lips and watched as you marched off back through the dark streets. 
His lips itched to call out for you to come and have a smoke with him. To come sit with him and talk about anything . 
But again, he didn’t. Just watched and willed the heavy smoke filling his lungs to ease the onslaught of thoughts and feelings rushing through him.
Nothing.
There has always been nothing.
Though it didn’t hurt any less, knowing he could never have you.
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spxllcxstxr · 4 hours ago
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Mornings • S
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(Gif not mine)
Request: Hello✨ I would like to ask a morning routine with Silco (head cannons or fanfic or a little bit of both, whatever you’re comfortable with, I don’t mind). Just describe how his routine changed after s/o appeared in his life or someone like this. With the best wishes and patiently waiting for the answer 🌚🫰-- anon
Summary: Silco adjusts to no longer living alone
Warnings: gn!reader raised in the undercity, established relationship though first time living with each other, food/drink mention, reformed bachelor silco doesn't know what breakfast is nor self-care lmao
Word Count: 962
A.N: Wrote this with young silco in mind because, let's be honest here, he's a bit more put together than his older self lmao. I'm also a sucker for longterm love so like, this is the first of many mornings you would experience with him ykwim lmao, first time writing silco! Enjoy!!!
The palm of Silco's hand is warm against your skin when your eyes open. It's still dark outside but the murky green hue of his bedroom windows offer you dim light.
Deep snores and faint whimpers emit from the man next to you, dark brows furrowed in his sleep. You dip your head down to kiss his forehead, hand running through his long hair at the same time. The tension eases from his pale face almost instantaneously. You smile at his sleeping form, now finally peaceful.
Moments later you quietly shift the covers from over top your body, placing Silco's hand beside him as well. He shifts at your movement, the mattress springs creaking underneath his bodyweight.
Growing up in the Undercity stressed the importance of rationing and saving food, meaning the three square meals a day the citizens of Piltover were used to were normally cut out altogether. Since then, however, Zaun’s food supply and imports had drastically improved and that along with your decent job wages, meals like breakfast had become important to you.
Cooking for two would be a change, certainly, but a welcomed one.
The chill in the air engulfs you as you move from the bedroom to the kitchen, which causes a slight shiver to move down your spine.
Yawning, you flick the light switch on. The sharpness of the yellow-white overhead light in the kitchen causes you to wince. The contrast of the brightness, or lack thereof, forces you to wake up a bit faster than you wished.
The light reveals a cluttered kitchen—not cluttered with pots and pans, but with various pieces of scrap metal and rusted screws. The counterspace is littered with schematics and maps of both Piltover and the Undercity.
Silco was usually a tidy man, his space at the Last Drop was well organized along with all of the other tiny rooms in the apartment. Clearly, the kitchen was not a space he frequented enough for his attention to be drawn to it.
Cracking your knuckles, you start shifting things over and away from the stovetop. You take everything flamible and place it precariously on an equally messy table.
After rummaging through the icebox, you discover a carton of mostly cracked or broken eggs, which were better than nothing. Getting straight to the point, you bring them over to the counterspace near the stovetop, which you light with one of Silco's lighters. The fire crackles to life, heating the pan above it.
"What in the world are you doing?"
You look behind you, pan still in hand. Silco stands behind you, leaning against the threshold to the little kitchen. His long dark hair hands loosely over his shoulders, fringe dangling messily over his face. Silco yawns, exhaustion still hanging over him.
The simplicity of his figure is a lot more attractive than it realistically should be. A red shirt is tight over his slim frame, causing your face to heat up. You're tempted to forego breakfast altogether in favor for grabbing your boyfriend by the hand and dragging him back to bed. He just looks that good.
But your stomach grumbles and your routine demands to be followed so you push that thought to the back of your mind, determined to act on it later.
His blue eyes take in the sight before him, you, still clad in your sleepwear with a small flame haphazardly lit underneath a small pan he doesn't recognize. Silco's brows are quirked up in confusion.
"Good morning to you too, darling..." You tease, rolling your eyes. Silco smirks, making your heart skip another beat. "And I'm making breakfast. Like a normal person."
"Breakfast? This kitchen hasn't seen the light of day since I've holed up here." His voice is raspy and deeper than usual. Blue eyes quickly scan over the room before landing back on your own. "As you could probably tell."
You nod in agreement, turning back to the task in front of you and the questionable carton of eggs off to the side.
"And I've been eating breakfast for years, so that's going to change now that I'm here."
"Is that so?" His voice is laced with a teasing curiosity that draws him towards you.
Silco stands behind you, breath just barely tickling the back of your neck. You feel his eyes carefully following your hands as they crack eggs on the edge of the pan. Steam rises as they sizzle against the hot surface.
You hum as you watch the whites of the egg turn opaque. It isn't any song in particular, just something you vaguely remember hearing at sone point in your life.
"I'm not used to this, dearest; this...domesticity," Silco mutters in your ear, this tip of his nose brushing against the sensitive skin of the crook of you neck.
"Maybe that's why you're so skinny." You tease, leaning into his touch. Briefly your eyelids flutter shut before returning to the unpredictable stovetop.
"Hm, maybe so." You feel his small smile against your skin. "If we were running on my routine, we'd already be out the door with a lukewarm coffee in hand."
With the eggs finished, you scrape them onto a freshly rinsed plate with a vaguely spatula-shaped item. Shopping for at least some sort of kitchen utensils was something you needed to do in order to make this place livable for someone other than your beloved Silco.
"Well this is your new routine, dear," You reply, placing a kiss to his cheek. "And you will love it."
With one hand placed on his waist and the other holding onto the plate of breakfast, you smile, almost like you're asking for him to challenge you on this. Instead, his eyes settle on your yours, signature smirk growing.
"I'm sure I will."
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animasolaoriginal · 2 days ago
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I n f a t u a t e d ♦️NINETEEN
CHAPTER ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾TEN ELEVEN◾TWELVE◾THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN FIFTEEN◾SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN NINETEEN
After manipulating her into saying no to him, he watches with growing admiration how well she is taking her punishment.
ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush
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WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Praise kink. Free use/power play. Sex toys under clothing. Edging. Orgasm denial. Semi-public oral sex. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 5.9k
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EIGHTEEN 🟥 NINETEEN 🟥 TWENTY
He has his arm around her waist and his thumb on the dial in the app, the buzzing noise growing louder when he moves it. She's squirming in his hold, nails digging into his arm as she presses her lips together, fighting the sensations pulsing away inside her holes. He's conscious of their surroundings, for now the restroom is empty, they are alone in their stall at the far back, but knowing the amount of people walking around outside, this may change any second, so he hurries things along a little.
“Tell me why you are being punished,” he says softly, leaning down to her.
Her pleading eyes are big, glistening, pupils dilated. “I... I was...” Her voice is shaking, cut up by gasps and stuttered moans, body convulsing against him under the assault of the vibrating toys stuck in her cunt and ass. “I was ungrateful...” she croaks out. “I was questioning... your... your generosity...”
The comment about why she's even had to pack her old things when he won't allow her to use them wasn't even that fresh on his mind, but she seems to have given it some thought, so why not include it. “And?” he asks, increasing the strength of the buzzing even further.
She howls quietly, pressing her flushed face into his arm for a moment, her whole body shaking badly, then she forces herself to look at him again.
“And... and I... I said no... when you... you wanted to make me... make me come... in the diner...” she stammers, lips quivering, eyebrows furrowed, hips bucking unconsciously against his leg, a frail attempt to relieve some tension.
He tilts his head, watching her, thumb moving up yet another inch. A groan escapes her when she's spasming against him, hands so tight around his arm she's almost cutting off his circulation.
“You denied me,” he says calmly, eyes raking over her shuddering body, down to where her wetness drips down her thighs.
“Y-yes, I did... I did...” she whines.
“You were ungrateful.”
“Yes, yes, I was...”
He hums softly, then moves his thumb all the way down, stopping the vibrations altogether. She gasps, the sudden loss of stimulation making her stumble. A disappointed wail slips past her trembling lips.
It takes her a moment to collect herself, her grip on him easing, her head lowered, her breaths rapid, chest heaving. Then she sniffles, shoulders sagging, and she says: “I'm sorry.”
“I know you are, sweetheart,” he replies softly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his chest. “But you understand that there have to be consequences, right?”
“Yes, sir,” she answers, inhaling sharply.
“Good,” he concludes and sighs deeply, turning the screen off to slip his phone into his pocket. He lets go of her, leans her against the wall, and gathers the clothes she's exchanged for the new outfit he's bought her. The blouse makes her look a little older, the skirt however pulls a different association to mind. To find this kind of item in a mainstream store like this has surprised him, but he's happy he's found it.
The perfect length to show off her legs (and the welts on the backs of her thighs, a clear sign of his possession for the knowing eye, an unfortunate display of strange horizontal red lines for the innocent bystander), and if she isn't careful or if the wind bullies her too much, everyone will see the leather straps of the harness holding the toys inside her. It was either that or her bare cunt, but again, to the unknowing eye, some people will only see a black thong digging deep between her ass cheeks, while others will know her secret.
He could have just spanked her and be done with it, but he thought a little humiliation (or the idea of it) would be a better punishment. She denied him, too afraid to let go in a public place (and they weren't even that public, in their corner in the diner, she just had to keep quiet, but she's clearly not there yet), and if she's not ready to climax, she will not do so for the rest of the day. That's the plan.
She watches him out of hooded eyes, not daring to move just yet with those toys inside her. He looks her over, then sighs, putting the bag down again. His hands find her flushed face, and he tries to wipe the sweat and tears away, smooths her hair, makes her more presentable again, he even crouches down in front of her, nudging her legs apart and inspects the wetness level between them.
Running a hand over her soaked skin, he deems it tolerable and unnoticeable. Standing up again he wipes the same hand over her rear, teasing the harness. She flinches, but stays silent, looking like she wants to cry some more.
“Hey, it'll be alright,” he tells her, gently brushing his knuckles against her chin to make her look up. “I'll be right by your side wherever we go. You, me, and your two new best friends,” he adds, giving her plump rear a reverberating slap that makes her jump against him with a gasp.
She remains uncertain, timid and possibly also a little cranky, but she'll get used to it. It's not like this is the first time she's wearing them, though the last time has been too short for his liking, not public enough. He'll change that now.
Picking up the bags again, he then grabs her hand and opens the stall door, pulling her after him. She's wobbly, not just because of the cargo inside her, but those shoes seem to cause her quite some trouble too, even though he chose the wedges, giving her more ground coverage instead of those pointy high heels. He guides her to the sinks and pushes the bags into her hands while he quickly washes his. Drying them with some paper towels, he keeps watching her in the mirror.
“Does it hurt? Be honest.”
She shakes her head, swallows hard. “Just feels... weird, full. They move with every step.” Her voice is that quiet hum, kind of defeated, flat. She's probably focusing her energy elsewhere.
“They're supposed to. You'll want to feel them...” He takes the bags from her and grabs her hand again. “Come on, step after step, you can do this. Remember, the more normal you act, the less people will notice you.”
She huffs something of a scoff, and he lets her, smirking at the little pout on her lips. Her hand squeezes his fingers when they start walking, and he takes it slow, guides her out of the restroom and across the parking lot. It's packed, but nobody gives them a second glance. He unlocks his car and opens the door for her, watching in growing amusement how she clambers inside, wincing and whining quietly before she settles on the seat, pressing her thighs together so hard they're trembling.
He leans over her and buckles her in, brushing his nose against her cheek as he does so. “You're doing great, darling,” he praises her, savoring the little inhale that vibrates in his ear.
She watches him when he leans back, and he winks at her before he closes the door with a soft thud. Once he's sitting behind the wheel, he turns to her, tilting his head.
“So, where do you want to go?” he asks, relishing in the confusion washing over her flushed face. “There's a farmer's market nearby, we can look for fresh vegetables for tonight's dinner? But I don't feel like cooking, to be honest...”
“You cook?” she breathes out before he can give her more options.
A laugh escapes him. She sounds a bit too surprised. He may have the means to hire first class chefs and never have the need to bend a finger, but sometimes he prefers doing it himself. “I do, yes, occasionally, if the mood strikes. Maybe I'll show you one day.”
There's a soft twitch to her lips. “I'd like that,” she whispers.
“Yeah?” he repeats, equally surprised now. “Hmm, that does sound nice, doesn't it? You can help me, cut some vegetables, maybe wear a cute little apron and nothing else...” She turns her face away with a little croak, and he chuckles again. “One day, baby.”
She only hums, twisting her fingers into the short hem of her skirt.
“We could also go to the mall, how about that spa treatment I promised you before? Manicure, pedicure, Brazilian wax?”
She stares back at him with wide eyes, and he finds it just a tad too amusing.
“Don't worry, I like you just the way you are,” he says quietly, his hand finding its way to her thigh. He told himself to deny her any touches, but he already knows he can't keep that up for long. He likes to feel her soft skin under his calloused fingers, her warmth, the little shivers.
She blushes softly, licking her lips. He squeezes her leg.
“Some more shopping then?” he suggests, trying to think of more things to do where she has to walk and be in public. He'd know where to go in the city, but they're a few hours outside of it, and he has to take what is being given to him. “I think there's even a cinema in that mall...”
A glint goes through her eyes at that, making him smile. “Mall sounds okay,” she says quietly, her eyes moving from his hand to his face and back, shy, timid, unsure. So incredibly cute and innocent.
He starts the engine. “Mall it is then,” he replies, patting her thigh before shifting the car into gear and driving off the parking lot. At the first red light, he shifts on his seat and fumbles his phone out of his pocket, ignoring the missed calls and going straight into the vibrator app.
“I almost forgot,” he tells her, and she stares at him, hands braced on the seat beside her when he moves his thumb up on the screen, setting both toys on a five. It's mild, but still more than nothing, and she can obviously tell when soft little whines escape her. “No need to keep the noises down in here, baby. Just let go... but remember: you are not allowed to come.”
She swallows audibly and nods. “Yes, sir,” she whispers, sitting stiff in her seat, just letting the pulses go through her now.
He gives her a nod and puts his phone in the compartment between their seats, not without glancing at the accumulated messages. He can't be bothered today, though. He's paying enough people a lot of money to take care of his businesses, they will be able to handle whatever is stressing them out without him today.
By the time they reach the large mall, his mind has nevertheless wandered to the club, and he can imagine the worried faces of his men as they try again and again to reach him. Pulling into a parking spot right in the middle, he grabs his phone and unlocks it, then throws a side glance at the silent girl beside him.
She has her eyes closed, a concentrated look on her face, hands clenched around the edge of the seat. He wants to give her a break, but instead of turning the toys off, he amps them up to a ten. She cries out, her eyes flying open, her betrayed look almost enough to make him feel sorry. He slides his thumb higher, eleven, twelve, then settles on thirteen.
Her body shudders, legs trembling, her lips parted as quiet moans slip past them. She's squirming on the seat, face flushed, eyes watering, her noises growing louder, quicker, eyelids fluttering, eyes twitching, about to roll back – but then he taps the Turn Off button and she deflates almost immediately, thrashing her head against the back of the seat in frustration, a loud groan escaping her throat.
He only clicks his tongue, and her shoulders sag, lips quivering as she presses them into a pout. “Stay here,” he tells her, waiting for her to look at him, then gives her a pointed stare. She nods, her chest still heaving when she relaxes back into the seat.
He exits the car and closes the door, then dials the club. As he listens to the updates, gives orders and confirms settled arrangements, while also easing the worries of concerned employees, he keeps watching the girl, so tiny in his car, fragile, helpless. Taking her punishment like a champ. He loves teasing her, but he already knows he'll give her so much more come tonight. She may not deserve it, but this is about him as well, and he certainly deserves to bury his cock deep in that beautiful little cunt. And that tight little ass. And that even tighter little throat.
Just thinking about it makes him hard, and he has to put a hand into his pocket to adjust himself discreetly. The temptation with this girl. This was about making her take the walk of shame, but it won't be particularly easy for him either. Maybe he won't even wait for tonight.
Once the call has ended, he walks around to her side and opens the door, leans in to unbuckle her and holds out his hand when he straightens up again. She takes it, it's shaking, but her grip is firm as she tries to gracefully get out of his car. There's still a wobble to her steps, she's stiff and literally walks as if she has a stick up her ass, which couldn't be closer to the truth, but she can't walk around like that.
His hand is on her lower back when he leans down to her. “Act normal,” he tells her. She breathes loudly through her nose, looking up at him. “I'm trying,” she whispers. He raises an eyebrow, ready to scold her with an “Attitude, young lady”, but then she grabs his hand and smiles at him.
She is trying. Brave little girl.
He brushes his lips against her cheek, smiling back at her when he leans up again. His hand moves to close around hers, and she's eagerly curling her small fingers around his thumb, giving it a soft squeeze. Together they take the first step away from the car, and she flinches, the next one, another wince, the third one, she's becoming quieter, and by the time they reach the front doors, she's walking more or less normally, still a little stiff (but that could also be because of the unfamiliar shoes), her grip tight (little labored breaths puffing from her nose), her cheeks bright red (which totally suits her anyway), but she's trying.
They've spent the last hour just strolling through the vast shopping mall, casually, mostly window shopping, occasionally he pulls her to the side and shows her something on the various displays, just to let her catch her breath. She's still flushed, tense, her hand sweaty, her legs trembling, but he couldn't be more proud. “You're doing great,” he tells her quietly, feeling her small body shaking against his.
Luckily the mall isn't as crowded on this ordinary Tuesday. There are still a lot of people, but they come and go in groups, and he notices some of them looking their way, but it's nothing new to him. Maybe they've seen his face somewhere before. Maybe they like looking at the girl by his side with her short skirt and beautiful legs, particularly toned today with how she's balancing on her shoes. Maybe they aren't even looking at them after all.
He has no reason to be paranoid right now, she, however, keeps looking around nervously, squeezing his hand or turning her body just in time before someone can see the welts on the backs of her thighs. He's enjoying the sight more and more, it's been a moment of weakness, an unfair punishment, but seeing his marks on her, no matter how they came to be, makes him feel proud (and painfully hard).
If he doesn't take care of this soon, he might attract more stares than her.
But he has to be patient for a little longer, even if the images of her on her knees keep haunting him as they continue their stroll. He could take her right here, back pushed against the store front, caged in by his body, lips strained around his cock, and just the idea of people walking past and seeing them like that makes his cock twitch against the confines of his jeans.
He's never been particularly fond of public humiliation, not like that, it's his reputation on the line as well. Most of the city knows him as a business man, successful, relentless, good in what he does, he's the face of several prominent establishments, from nightclubs and restaurants to bars and even a few exclusive fashion stores, but his main focus lies on the nightclub he uses for far more than selling alcohol to dance enthusiasts.
It's how he came to be where he is now, why he can indulge in pleasures nobody knows about. And he wants to keep it that way. So no making the girl giving him head in the middle of the mall. Too bad. But he'll find other corners, maybe even drag her back into yet another restroom, who knows. He has the whole rest of the day to figure something out.
A tug to his wrist pulls him from his thoughts, and he looks down at the girl next to him, whose cheeks are a little bit more flushed than before. He raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”
She bites her lip nervously, shifting from one foot to the other. “I... I gotta...” she mumbles, and even though she doesn't finish her sentence, he understands, opting to let it slide and not make her say it properly.
“Come on then,” he says with a sigh.
Looking around, he then drags her towards the restrooms which are separated here, unlike the mixed one at the department store, and he ponders what would be less strange: a man in the women's bathroom or a girl in the men's. He chooses the latter, and gently pulls her into the long room past the urinals to the stalls in the back. Luckily they are alone for now.
“Need help with the harness?” he asks quietly, watching her as he pushes her gently into the stall. She purses her lips, averts her eyes, but then lifts her skirt, her thighs trembling slightly. He chuckles softly and steps into the stall as well, pushing the door shut.
He tries to be quick about it, to loosen the leather straps from around her mound to allow him to pull the dildo out of her cunt. She groans quietly when he does, her silky flesh dragging along the silicone. Her scent hits his nostrils and it's overwhelming, making his cock throb just a bit more. Holding the drenched toy, he tilts his head. “The other too?”
She is still not looking at him, shame burning along her exposed skin, then she shakes her head.
He exhales loudly. “Alright then,” he says and turns around, playing with the vibrator between his fingers. “Be quick about it.”
“You... you're staying?” she stammers, alarm in her soft voice.
“You can't go with me here?” he replies, unable to hide his amusement. “Don't be ashamed, baby, nothing I haven't seen and heard before.”
He can feel her shuffle behind him, then he hears the quiet thud of the toilet lid and a strange tapping sound, and he figures she's creating noises with her fingernails on the wall to distract from other noises, and he just sighs. It's cute how embarrassed she is, and it's probably a natural reaction, especially since they really barely know each other, but these last days should have been intense and intimate enough for her to loosen up around him.
Eventually he hears water flushing, and when he turns around, she's standing in front of the toilet with her head still lowered, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.
He opens the door then, looks around, then nods towards the sinks. She follows, quickly washes her hands, before he steps behind her, dildo in hand. Her eyes widen in the mirror when he puts his hand on her back and makes her lean forward slightly before he prods the toy back between her folds right away, right in the open, very noticeable should someone enter the restroom. She squirms, wails quietly, hands clutching the sink, he should have probably prepared her better, but he doesn't have time (and frankly, he likes to see her writhing in discomfort a little too much).
Once the toy is back inside her, he crouches down and fixes the leather straps of the harness, then gives her a gentle slap on her soft butt that makes her jump when he straightens up again. Her breaths are labored, her hips moving slightly as she adjusts to being filled up once more. When she finally meets his eyes again, her cheeks are bright red. “Thank you,” she whispers, licking her lips. He smiles softly as he leans past her and washes his hands, then brushes his lips against her ear while grabbing a paper towel.
“Good girl,” he whispers, watching goosebumps spread down her neck.
He considers pulling her back into the stall and making her kneel and take his cock down her throat, but then refrains, still thinking about finding a better place. Public restrooms are a little degrading after all, even for him.
Taking her hand, he then pulls her after him (and she follows with unsteady steps), back into the loud, anonymous crowd of the mall.
Since first meeting her, he's known she is a quick learner, adjusts easily to whatever he throws at her, not always without fussing, but always submissive enough to meet his standards, and she's trying her best, and as he watches her walk beside him, almost completely normal, almost as if her holes weren't plugged up by a thick dildo each, he considers changing her punishment because she seems to enjoy herself a little too much.
She's cute, how she points to certain things to show him, how she squeezes his hand and smiles up at him, just happy to be spending time with him like this, like a normal couple, and the thought makes him frown. They are not, far from it, and she shouldn't be left in the impression that they are.
She is his, a body to use and do whatever he wants with, her purpose is to please him. And apparently it pleases him to just walk with her, because he finds himself relaxing and leaning into her, searching her warmth, waiting for her big eyes to meet his, for that innocent little smile. It's a strange sensation, definitely not something he's done often – if at all.
And as Mistress' words come back to him, accusing him of having gone soft, he inhales sharply, still fighting these changes the girl next to him unknowingly forces upon him. His hand closes a little tighter around hers as he pulls her towards one of the many cafes, those with the little tables that sit right in the middle of the large hallway, right in the open, with the streams of people having to walk around them, and he doesn't know if it's a good idea or not to choose one of those.
In the end it doesn't matter, and he's guiding her towards a table, pulls her chair out and lets her sit down first, watching the little strain on her face as she does, and she's still squirming on her seat as he sits down opposite her. Their knees touch under the table, and he puts his large hand on hers for a moment, watching her intently, causing her to stiffen, but ultimately calm down.
He's barely leaned back when a waitress comes to their table, a small young thing like the girl across from him, but this girl has a face full of make up, dark rimmed eyes, hair in a bouncy ponytail, and an almost obnoxious smile on her red lips. And she's exclusively looking at him.
“Hi!” she chimes, rocking on the balls of her feet excitedly. “What can I get you?”
He looks at her, a little disgruntled that he didn't even have time to look at the menu and that this young woman doesn't seem to be able to read the room (he has to remind himself that they are in a small town mall and not a five star restaurant), but then orders a coffee for himself, and an orange juice and a sandwich for the girl whose knees keep bumping into his. He thanks the waitress with a smile, an automatic gesture for him, and once she's bounced away again, he looks over the table to find a sight he hasn't expected.
She glares after the other girl, eyes narrowed and dark, a strange tension on her usually soft face. When she looks back at him, the same expression stays a moment longer, before she looks down and bites her lip, breathing deeply. He holds off wondering what that gaze was all about, but when the waitress eventually returns with their order, balancing a tray on her hand, he witnesses again how her kind face turns sour, even more so when the young woman gets a little too close to him when putting down his coffee cup.
The waitress seems to take the amused glint in his eyes personal and giggles annoyingly, even brushes her fingers against his hand when she puts down the other items he ordered, always avoiding acknowledging his table partner. He thanks her, watching his girl out of the corner of his eye when he smiles at the other, then looks after her a moment longer than necessary. Turning his head back to the girl, she can't hide her flushed face fast enough.
She's jealous.
And now that he thinks about it, it's not the first time she's acted a little strange. He thinks back to the diner waitress named Nancy, who he's just treated like he had because he's been in a good mood, not even thinking about it much. For his innocent girl to be this possessive surprises him, it flatters him, and he can clearly think of many situations where he can use this trait to his advantage, but he still has to keep an eye on that. He can't have her throwing daggers with her eyes at every single female he gets in contact with.
They eat and drink in silence, and he watches her closely, determined to let her stew in her new-found emotion for a bit by not touching or talking to her, and when they're done, he waves for the waitress who comes bouncing back happily, giggling, twirling her hair, very obviously flirting with him – and to prove a point, he flirts back, smiles at her, even touches her arm when he hands her his credit card, watching the young woman blush deeply.
As he waits for her to return to finish the transaction, he throws a cautious glance towards the girl on the chair opposite him, and she's fuming, hiding it, but he can see the red spots on her cheeks, her glistening eyes, the way her shoulders are tense, and how she presses her knees together under the table. She doesn't even look at him, just stares into the direction the waitress has vanished to.
Leaning back in his chair, pulling one leg over the other, he gets out his phone, swipes through new messages, reads some emails, but then opens the vibrator app. Without tilting his chin up, he watches her when he slides his thumb over the dial, turning on the toys within her, slowly increasing their speed. An audible gasp escapes her that she quickly muffles with her hand, squirming on the chair, chin pressed into her palm as she leans on her elbow and now finally looks at him, eyes still full of betrayal, now more than ever.
He gives her a wink, she gives him a stare, and he'll make sure to remind her of her place later. The waitress returns, and he lowers his phone, hiding the screen, accepting his card back with another smile that makes the young woman giggle before she wishes him a lovely day, and he returns the verbiage, almost making himself sick with how sweet he sounds.
As soon as she is gone, he stands up and walks around the table, grabbing the girl's elbow a little too roughly. She looks up at him in surprise, but quickly stumbles after him as he pulls her into a smaller side hallway. Turning another corner, he notices the maintenance door and a camera above it, but he doesn't care, turns his back to it and tilts his head as he lets go of the girl's hand and points to the floor.
She falls to her knees almost instantly, although a wince escapes her and she struggles to find a comfortable position, but there's no hesitation when she watches him unbuckle his belt and than eagerly closes her hands around his cock once he's pulled it out. She doesn't even look around, only focuses on him, and he inhales deeply when she starts pressing her lips to his shaft and licks along his heated skin as if it's the only thing she wants to do right now.
Jealousy works for her...
He's never seen her this enthusiastic when sucking him off, and he watches her with growing admiration. She's quick to lather his length in her saliva, then closes her lips around his tip and sucks hard, tongue poking and flicking and lapping expertly, before she presses it against the underside of his cock and takes him deeper, hands braced on his thighs.
“Don't make a mess this time,” he tells her quietly, and she looks up at him from under her lashes, humming around his girth.
And indeed she tries, keeps most of her spit in her mouth, allows herself to swallow around him, pulls back more often to take deep breaths and lick around her lips before focusing back on his erection. Her hands move up to squeeze his base and his balls in a hypnotizing rhythm, and he catches himself groaning quietly at the sensations, hands clenching at his sides, neck rolling as he feels the tension building inside his stomach.
He refrains from gripping her hair and pulling her against him, he wants her to feel the rift between them, the possibility that he may not touch her but expects her to service him nonetheless. It's almost cruel. She's been so good, but seeing her reacting so strongly to him flirting with other women does things to him. It's empowering.
And she seems to feel it, looks up at him while taking his cock as deep as she allows herself without gagging, he feels the teasing grip of her throat, but she never pushes him deeper, focuses more on fondling the part of his length that doesn't fit into her mouth. It's a nice change, and he lets her, watches her with a forcibly neutral expression. She gives her all, licks and laps, nibbles and sucks, squeezes and massages, always holding his gaze even when tears well up in her eyes.
She's in the middle of bobbing her head when he feels the telltale twitch of his balls, and for this last moment, he allows himself to grab her head and pushes her all the way against him, ignoring the gurgles and muffled noises of protest as he comes down her throat, pumping spurt after spurt into her while holding her tightly, and she digs her fingers into his jeans, body shuddering as he robs her of oxygen.
Eventually he lets her lean back, his hand still in her hair, keeping her close, but allowing her to take deep, rasping breaths as she calms down slowly, and without him having to say anything, she continues her ministrations and cleans his length from any excess cum. Once he deems her done, he pries her hands off him and tucks his softening cock back into his underwear, then buttons up his jeans and closes his belt again, his eyes on the girl kneeling in front of him.
She's wiping at her mouth, but doesn't dare to move much. Narrowing his eyes slightly, he leans down and grabs her chin, tilting her head up, waiting. It takes her a moment, but then she mutters a soft little “Thank you”, and he nods, pulling her up into a standing position, his hand finding her warm cheek, his thumb pressing onto her bottom lip. She parts her lips obediently, and he lets her suck on his thumb for a moment, watching her eyes glazing over slightly.
Smoothing her hair with his other hand, he inhales deeply, just standing with her on the empty hallway, the surveillance camera in his back, both of them calming down eventually, even though she is still shivering, the toys buzzing away inside her. When she feels relaxed enough to grind her hips into his leg, he fists her hair and pulls her away from his thumb, and she whines quietly, but quickly gathers herself once more, mumbling a quick “Sorry”. He lets it slide for now, easing his grip before letting go completely.
Looking her over to make sure she's presentable (noticing the redness of her knees and the slight shine to her thighs but ultimately deems it acceptable), he then grabs her hand, takes a step and waits for her to catch up, before they stroll back to the main area of the mall. She looks up at him occasionally, waiting for the praise that never came, and he wants to pamper her so badly for being such a good girl for him, but she has to learn, remember that she's still being punished for disobedience, ungratefulness, and, newly added to the list, unreasonable jealousy.
She really has nothing to worry about in that department. He's found the perfect girl, his submissive little angel, he doesn't need another one, and he's never been so sure about anything before, not after such a short amount of time. It's risky, it's very unlike him to commit to something so fast, and it may not end well. But he doesn't care, for the moment he is (literally) satisfied, holding her hand, feeling her soft skin, those little twitches, the way her legs tremble, and how the sweet scent of her arousal tickles his nostrils...
He just came down her throat – and he can already feel his cock thickening all over again. That's the power this girl has over him. It's addictive. Why would he even look at another woman, unless he wanted to test her limits a little. Oh, he already knows he'll test them again, and again, if it results in her becoming even more submissive to him, grateful for his attention, happy that he chose her after all.
It's cruel and manipulative, but also too much fun to pass up. He'll make her jealous, fuel that possessive spark until it's spreading like wildfire. And when the world is burning around them, he'll hold her in his arms and tell her what a good girl she is. The only one for him.
EIGHTEEN 🟥 NINETEEN 🟥 TWENTY
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End notes: We're continuing our descent into the dark world of jealousy. Buckle up, it'll get very bumpy in the next chapter which is also the finale of Season Two!
Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Sunday!
TAG LIST: @untamedheart81 @qmsvpx @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels @voiceactivated @reader-1290
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CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE
SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾TEN
ELEVEN◾TWELVE◾THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN
AO3 / / / MASTERLIST
45 notes · View notes
madhatterbri · 12 hours ago
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Protector | D.P.
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Summary: So what that maybe Y/N has been getting intimidated by Gunther and Ludwig and Damian handled business?
Author's Note: I still don't care about this GIF, but if I did, this is what the fic would look like.
Damian Priest Masterlist
WWE Masterlist
Taglist: @theworldofotps @smallestsnarkestgirl @mrsarcherofinfamy @terrortwinunicorn @brideofinfamy @miss-kuki-nz @hotwheels1108 @new-zealand-chic @magicalbuttertarts @eringobragh420 @missbmc94 @surdelcielo
As always, requests are open! Please let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist. ❤️
The first time Y/N noticed something was amiss happened a few weeks ago on RAW.
She was in catering to get some food for her boss, Adam Pearce. As his assistant, Y/N was expected to run around whenever he wanted or needed something.
After getting some of his favorites, the young assistant hurried to the door to bring him back his food. The doorway was blocked by none other than Gunther.
"Excuse me," she whispered. He was currently feuding with her boyfriend, Damian. When he didn't move, she spoke up louder. "I said excuse me!"
Some of the wrestlers in the room looked up. Gunther glared at her yet stepped aside. His lackey Ludwig followed. Both men looked down at her as she scurried off to Mr. Pearce.
Their intimidation didn't stop there. Week after week, they came up with new ways to make her scared. Each week, they worked.
The week after that, they bumped into her. Gunther and Ludwig were on either side of her. She dropped her clipboard and pen to the floor. There was no one else in the area at the time to witness it. Annoyed, she chalked it up to none of the three paying attention.
After that incident, she started to travel around the arena with anyone else. Her boss seemed to like how she hovered around him now. Before, he would have to call her and search for her. Now, it was like having a second shadow.
The men would simply stare her down when they couldn't do anything. Their gaze was intense. The hairs on the back of her neck would stand at attention. She didn't know what she did to them, but she would certainly find out.
Y/N couldn't find anyone to stick with. Everyone was too busy getting ready for RAW, leaving her to fend for herself. She turned a corner while looking for Seth Rollins and stopped. Ludwig stood before her, looking as stoic as ever. When she turned around, Gunther was waiting for her. The men stepped towards her. She backed into the wall behind her.
"What do you two want?" She hissed. Her tone sounded a lot more menacing than the fear she had inside.
Ludwig raised an eyebrow in shock. "Little missy finally has a backbone. No more hiding,"
"Damian is going to wipe the floor with the two of you at Survivor Series," she threatened.
Gunther laughed. "Quite the lovely boyfriend you got there, but he may not even make it to Survivor Series,"
Y/N moved to get away from him. Gunther put up his arm against the wall. With nowhere to turn, she stared up at Gunther. Tears filled her eyes. "I will just tell Damian,"
"Are you sure you want to make that decision? I wouldn't," Gunther spoke. A chill ran down the back of her spine.
"Fine, so he will just beat your ass at Survivor Series. It doesn't matter to me,"
Gunther smiled. "If he even makes it to then,"
He lowered his hand, allowing her to be free. She didn't stick around. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she rushed to the nearest bathroom. Before she could make it, Damian stopped her.
"I've been looking everywhere for you," he paused when he saw her face. She cupped her cheek and wiped away a tear. "Who hurt you?"
Y/N wanted to tell him more than anything. She was afraid of what would happen to him if she did. Feeling hopeless, she lashed out at him. "Just leave me alone,"
Damian dropped his hand in shock. More fresh tears fell down her face. She pushed open the door and disappeared inside. The concerned boyfriend swore he heard sobs. When he looked down the hallway, he saw Gunther and Ludwig walking away and laughing. His blood boiled.
Damian waited for the perfect moment. He was signing autographs and thinking of a moment to strike Gunther and Ludwig. Fortunately for him, he didn't have to wait long.
Gunther snuck up behind him as he was signing his name. Still fueled by the fury of seeing her cry, a brief struggle broke out. Damian had Gunther laid out on the floor right in front of him.
"Let me tell you a little something, pendejo. You talk or look at my girl one more time, and we won't be waiting until Survivor Series. You got that?"
Damian didn't bother waiting for an answer. He patted his chest and walked away to find Y/N.
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insidekatmind · 15 hours ago
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Party~ Levi Colwill
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Wearning: +18,smut, english is not my first language
It was an autumn evening, the cool breeze brushing against the fallen leaves as you and Levi Colwill made your way to a party at a villa just outside the city. He was wearing a crisp white shirt that highlighted his dark skin and intense eyes, while you had chosen a dress that seemed made for the evening—elegant but understated, hinting at more than it revealed.
The villa was illuminated by warm, dim lights, with music pulsing through the floor and a sea of people laughing, chatting, and dancing. It seemed like the usual elegant party setting, but the tension between you and Levi had been palpable since you got into the car to head there. Your relationship was still young, but there was something overwhelming in the way he looked at you, as if he couldn’t take his eyes off you.
As soon as you arrived, Levi headed over to the drink counter to grab something for both of you. He returned with two glasses of champagne, but his gaze hadn’t left you even for a second.
“Are you sure you want to stay at this party?” he asked with a sly smile, handing you the glass. “We could be alone, you know.”
“Levi,” you replied, laughing, trying to hide the warmth rising to your cheeks. “We accepted the invite. Let’s at least greet a few people before we sneak away.”
He shook his head, stepping closer and reducing the space between you. “I’m already counting the minutes. I don’t know how long I can hold out.”
His tone was low, almost a whisper, but his hand moved gently along your back, stopping just above your hip. He made you feel like you were the only two people in the crowded room.
“Levi, people are watching,” you murmured, trying to appear nonchalant as you brought the glass to your lips. But he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear.
“So what? I don’t care.”
Before you could respond, one of Levi’s friends approached to greet him, interrupting the moment. Levi straightened up but didn’t move his hand from your back, as if he wanted everyone to know you were his. He spoke briefly with his friend, but his gaze kept returning to you, and every now and then, his thumb stroked the fabric of your dress.
Later, while you stood near the fireplace chatting with some acquaintances, you felt his presence behind you again. This time, he didn’t even try to hide how much he wanted you. His hands settled on your hips, pulling you slightly back toward him.
“Levi,” you whispered, trying not to attract too much attention. “You need to calm down.”
“I can’t,” he replied, his voice low, almost a growl. “Every time I look at you, I want to take you away from here.”
You turned to look him in the eyes, finding them dark and full of emotion. “You can’t keep doing this,” you chided him, though your tone was anything but firm. “We’re at a party.”
“I don’t care about the party,” he said bluntly. “Or about anyone else.”
Before you could say anything, he leaned down and kissed you, completely indifferent to who might see. It was an intense, possessive kiss that left you breathless. When he pulled back slightly, his eyes were locked on yours.
“Come with me,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
In the end, you gave in, letting him lead you away from the main room, away from the music and curious gazes. You ended up on a secluded veranda, with only the garden lights softly illuminating your faces. Levi gently pressed you against the wall, his hands immediately finding their way to your hips, your face—anywhere he could touch.
“I don’t know what it is you do to me,” he confessed, his breathing ragged as he looked at you. “But I can’t stop.”
And there, under the starry sky and far from the chaos of the party, he made it impossible for you not to believe every word he said.
You kissed again with pure hunger while he began to lift your dress and lower your panties before kneeling.
"Levi" you mumbled but he silenced you by putting a finger inside you and you moaned and immediately put your hand on your mouth trying to be silent.
Levi looked at you smiling as he put another finger inside you. " Come on little lever that hand I want to hear you" he muttered and you whimpered.
"There are people" you tried to say and he smiled.
"Then let him hear how good I make you feel baby" she said and shoved her skillful tongue into your pussy licking and sucking.
You closed your eyes for a second as you moaned and moved your hands over his hair to pull him closer.
"This pussy always tastes so good" he whispered against your pussy making you moan to the vibration.
"Levi" you moaned as you enjoyed your tongue touching, sucking and kissing your pussy.
"You’re so good" you murmured as you clashed your hips on his face wanting more contact.
It was always like that with Levi, it always made you born within yourself the pure desire to want more from him.
At that moment you forgot that you were in the hall where everyone could see you but you didn’t care at that moment especially because you were focused on Levi who was making you feel so good with his tongue.
Levi from below looked at your fucked state and moaned and made your pussy vibrate and made you moan even louder.
You looked down to see how she licked your pussy and how she looked at you and you moaned.
He had a piercing look and only his look could make you come. You were on the edge and he knew it.
He started licking you faster and you cum on his face.
He smiled and got up adjusting you and you while trying to take a breath and pulled it towards you like a hungry woman and you rubbed on him feeling his hard cock.
"Let’s go home" you whispered through the kisses.
Levi smiled and nodded even though he knew perfectly well that you would end up fucking at the party or in his car because he made you even more needy.
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Note
Hello, Miss Raven!
I hope you are having a nice day ^^
I was wondering since you don't have a Yuusona, have you ever thought making your own Yuusona like what traits, gender and personality would you have for them?
And how would their relationship be with Miss Raven would they be friends?
Sorry if I'm asking something you don't feel comfortable answering just feel free to ignore it. I'm enjoying your work and I'm new here so I hope I wasn't a bother! Love your work 🫶
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I’ve thought about making a Yuu of my own on more than one occasion. However, I’ve never been a fan of the roles designated for self-inserts… It’s hard to commit. Even if I were to make my Yuu less of a Yuusona (ie just Me but in the Twst world) and more of an OC (an entity totally separate from myself), I always lose motivation somewhere along the way.
That’s of course not to disparage anyone who has a Yuu though!! I just personally find it a struggle to design around a somewhat predetermined identity. There’s less freedom in a Yuu because they have to meet certain parameters in order to “make sense” in the story. For example, Yuus are generally from our ordinary world and magicless. I don’t like having those limitations (and though I could go against it, I’d refrain in order to not break canon lore). That’s why my first Twst OC is very far removed and exists as her own thing.
For fun, here’s some of my scraped Yuu concepts, including doodles. They're not really "Yuusonas" though, more like original characters that happen to be filing in for Yuu:
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Yuu 1: Mad Scientist Yuu
The earliest iteration.
This Yuu is ~16, male. Considered nonbinary at one point too.
The notes in the image basically describe him. Germaphobe, has lots of band-aids (because he is accident-prone), constantly tired + has dark undereye circles due to excess stress and lack of sleep.
Frequently seen in face mask, lab coat, and latex gloves.
“Don’t bother me” energy. Very curt with people and just wants to be left alone.
Claims to be an egalitarian because he “hates everyone equally”.
As the story went on, he would have learned to lighten up and work with others too. Basically, the same arc the NRC students have.
I didn't think too deeply about what his relationship with Miss Raven would be like... Most likely, he just dislikes and avoids her like he does the rest of the NRC population.
Yuu 2: “Robert Philip the Divorce Lawyer” Yuu
Twisted from the divorce lawyer love interest in Enchanted 😭 YES, I SAID WHAt i SAiD…
This Yuu is 35ish, male.
Has a very girly young daughter back home. She is basically his motivation to return.
His ex-wife left him. (YES I AM KEEPING THIS LORE.) Has sworn off love since then but is dating another woman for practical reasons.
Very anti-romance and anti-fairy tales.
Somewhat grumpy.
Logical, pragmatic. Some would say calculating.
Constantly arguing with Crowley because he knows his rights and how many laws Crowley is violating/j
He wouldn’t have been a student but more like a faculty member and father figure to the NRC students. By being in Twisted Wonderland, he helps to mentor the boys as though they were his own children, and the boys in turn teach him about magic, imagination, and believing even in seemingly impossible things.
Had an idea about him finding true love in Twisted Wonderland too; this would basically be his Giselle. Maybe a kind lady from Foothill Town??
Robert!Yuu was going to be sort of a secondary father figure to Miss Raven. Crowley is her real guardian, but he's usually not fulfilling the typical duties of a guardian so Robert!Yuu has to step up. In a lot of ways, Miss Raven reminds him of an older version of his own daughter so he has a soft spot for her. He also tries his best to advise her on life and boys. I imagine that he and Miss Raven have that Hades and Megara scene where she's gushing about Hercules and Hades goes, "Please. HE'S A GUY!!"
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Yuus 3 and 4: Twin Yuus
The bangs they have are borrowed from Robert!Yuu because I liked them and was too lazy to try something new out—
They’re brother and sister, both 17. I wanted to play around with the concept of multiple Yuus in Twisted Wonderland at the same time. Twins because they are supposed to be “a mirror image” of the other.
The theme these two would explore is gender, particularly expectations vs reality.
They come from an old money family; each twin has very traditionally gendered expectations placed on them but their secret is they swap places and pretend to be the other twin so as to get out of their own responsibilities, as the girl is tomboyish and the boy is more feminine.
They continue this act in Twisted Wonderland in order to "protect" one another, but their relationship becomes strained with each OB. For example, the male twin would become increasing protective, feeling like it is his responsibility to keep his sister safe. This would earn him his sister's ire since he never smothered her before. The twins would eventually reconcile and come to reach a middle ground regarding one another's expression of their gender and how that informs their behavior toward one another.
In another variation, only the male-presenting twin would be isekai'd to Twisted Wonderland. It would later be revealed that "he" is actually a "she". The explanation that she provides for acting masculine is to rebel against the expectations of her family (who had arranged a marriage for her prior to her being isekai'd).
... But then there's ANOTHER twist 🤡 and it turns out that her "masculine self" closely resembles her actual twin brother (who is now deceased). The idea is that she partly acts this way as a trauma response and relies a lot on "speaking" with her brother for advice on how to move forward in Twisted Wonderland. Like, she has pretend conversations with him in her head.
Her character arc would have been centered around detaching herself from the expectations placed on her, as well as learning to let her brother go and become her own person.
ASDSBDABSDOSA I feel like Miss Raven would be so confused trying to keep track of the twins and/or the single twin's dramatic backstory. She'd be pretty cordial with them though! Maybe even tries to counsel them when they're fighting or closed off from others.
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Yuu 5: Ara Ara Onee-san Yuu (WIP name is Sumire -> Suu -> her variation of “Yuu”, lol)
The best designed one, probably.
The only one with a proper name, too :v
She's 18 and female!
Started off as a joke between me and a friend. We were talking about how we think many of the first year students would be into "onee-san" types.
As you may or may not be able to tell by the design, she's meant to be a caring big sister character. Sweet, patient, and motherly. Even gardens and bakes! The type you know you can always go to when you need advice or comforting.
YEAH I GAVE HER DEAD ANIME MOM HAIR, SO WHAT???? The bangs swooping over one side of her face gives her sort of a mysterious air!
She looks very kind (and that's because she is), but she is also very air-headed. Like she'll pick up a worm and hold it in your face and ask you if you think it's cute.
Has a secret sadistic side. Not malicious and won't go out of her way to cause problems, but she'll gush about how she thinks you being frustrated or struggling with a task is "cute".
The arc Sumire would go on is one revolving around her status as the "older sister" of the group and finding a "pure" way of loving her friends. There's nothing wrong with having that role, but her issue is that she relies on it to be her personality and often gives away too much of herself at the cost of her own mental and emotional wellbeing.
It's like... codependency. She loves you because (whether she knows it or not) she NEEDS validation from others. And because she wants that validation so much, she forces herself to be someone she's not at her core. Someone agreeable and sweet. That becomes very taxing for her.
If she feels as though someone is going to leave her, she'll either love bomb or have a mental breakdown in private. TO BE CLEAR, this is not healthy behavior and she's supposed to grow out of this obsessiveness over the course of the main story.
By that logic, she's more manipulative and selfish than she seems at a glance. I guess you could describe her true personality as being yandere or even menhara?? But she usually masks it well.
Miss Raven has a history of falling for pretty smiles, so I think she'd also be a victim of this one. She would look up to Sumire as like "the peak lady" and the big sis she's always wanted. REALLY feeding into her secret ego there, Miss Raven... and Sumire, being herself, would just giggle and pat her on the head to keep that toxic relationship going.
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bokunokamijirou · 1 day ago
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lowk hear me out:
post war, touya is recovering in the hospital, and rei comes and visits reader in jail to learn more about her son since they were dating 🥺
A Mother's Word
TouyaxF!Reader
ft. Rei Todoroki
You had told the guards no visitors. You knew if anyone were to come see you, it'd just be to laugh in your face.
The war wasn't kind to you, but it was harsher to your boyfriend, Touya. While he was burning alive with his family, you were attempting to subdue heroes far from your love.
It's what All For One insisted upon, so you had to listen.
But you didn't join the League for him. Not even for Touya. The message that Shigaraki was spreading about a world where people who were seen as villains had the same chances as heroes? That was something you wanted, no, needed to believe in. Your family abandoned you when you were younger, and you'd been running along the streets ever since.
You joined the League and found your new family, purpose, and the love of your life.
You just didn't know what it meant, loving Dabi. Because you didn't love him, no, well- maybe you did. But it was Touya, the man he was when it was just you two, alone- that's who you love.
So, imagine your surprise when you discover his own mother had arrived to visit you. You had only heard short stories about Rei, and you weren't entirely sure what to expect when you met her.
The guards approach you, asking if you'd see her. She hid behind them clutching her bag, but the sadness and exhaustion across her face made you feel sympathetic. He had her eyes, after all.
"Okay, just this once," you manage to croak out as you suddenly feel self-concsious. What could she want? Is Touya recovering still? Is Endeavour coming too? He better not, you'd go feral trying to hurt him. Even if Touya didn't want you to, you'd always hate that man for what he did to his family.
"I- I was just visiting Touya in the hospital yesterday" Rei says quietly as she stands in front of the bars caging you in. "He was asking about you."
"Typical Touya, worried more about me than he is about himself. I'm doing fine..." you reply coldly, avoiding eye contact.
"He- he said he wanted me to meet you." Rei placed her hand gently on the metal bars separating you both.
You stop and glance up at her, the way her eyes were pleading for answers made you freeze. "He said that to me too, before, you know-" you respond softly this time.
"Can you... can you tell me about him?" Rei's voice cracks as she asks.
"About him?" You look at her puzzled.
"My son, he was so young when he disappeared that I- what's he like?" Rei questioned, her eyes wide.
"Touya... Touya he's-" You start and choke back the tears that are trying to fall. "He's an idiot. He doesn't think before he jumps into danger because he's not afraid to die... that's how we met actually." You smile fondly as you wipe the small drops of water off your cheeks.
"I was supposed to just do recon for the League, my first solo mission. But it was a trap and the heroes had me cornered. I didn't know what to do- I froze. I was ready to give up. Then Touya just kind of showed up, right in front of me. Didn't even think twice."
Rei hesitantly smiles as she nods, "That sounds a lot like Touya, glad to know he didn't lose that part of him."
"He's protective, that's for sure. Got jealous easily... whenever they'd send me on missions without him he'd find some way to tag along. I think that ever since we met, it was like he felt he had to protect me... like he was afraid to ever lose me" you start to cry and let your head fall into your hands.
"Oh no, I'm so sorry dear. I didn't mean to make you cry," Rei frowns.
"I love him so much... you created a beautiful son- I just miss him so much" you manage to sob out.
Rei nods, wiping her own tears, “what else do you love about him?”
“He was honest with me… he told me about you all too, before we even started dating…”
Rei freezes, but continues listening.
“He’s a great listener. Lets me talk about anything. And god, when you get him started, he never shuts up…” You smile to yourself. “What I’d do to hear his stupid voice again…”
"He's going to be okay... he's recovering..." She smiles reassuringly but with a pang of sadness.
"Can you tell him something for me the next time you see him?" You ask her hopefully. Rei nods in response.
"No goodbyes, I'll see you soon, idiot." you smile and finally lift your head to meet Rei's eyes once more. She smiles and nods.
You didn’t think this was how you’d meet your future mother-in-law, but your relationship with Touya had never been predictable anyways.
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doublel27 · 14 hours ago
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Thank you for these excellent additions. Mine was not as organized as you added in even more of what I saw/felt.
I keep going back to the first two episodes, which I feel lay out this problem for us pretty clearly.
Joke on his own has been isolated in his own family. He sees the structures of power and privilege for what they are because while he’s grown up within them he’s denied access because he’s “not as smart” and “wasting his life.” And he takes on a mantle of justice as Joker. He steals only from the wealthy and the terrible who exploit others. He has a moral code but it doesn’t actually help anyone. As he will tell Hoy and Tattoo the first time they ask him to pull a heist with them, he works alone.
Then he meets young Jack. Jack when we meet him is full of love for his community. He has dreams of using a collective education center to better the opportunities for the neighborhood and the villagers that are cut off to him. It’s that dream and that optimism and that love for his community that draws Joke in to Jack and makes him want to help him with the bank heist. Joke’s mission to do something now has a focus. And he helps.
But the help is false and based on a lie and because Joke isn’t working with Jack. He’s doing this for him. Joke isn’t part of the community at this point but a benevolent benefactor. And that benevolence turns on them when the police go after Jack.
And it’s then that Joke makes his first actual sacrifice, in order to attempt to save Jack, by confessing to his crimes, taking responsibility and going to prison in hopes that Jack and his dream can be saved.
But Jack is left in a whole different prison of Boss’s making. Because Boss doesn’t just refuse to be in community with the neighborhood and the villagers, he actively works to isolate them. In holding things that people value personally, he keeps the villagers focused on themselves. He does this with all the men that work for him but particularly with Jack, Hope and Save who all do wild things for him at various points because of what he holds over them.
Jack still tries to help the community but to his own detriment and alone. Ama has to remind him to take care of himself as well. To not just give himself away totally and by himself.
When Joke gets out of prison and finds this cold, isolated Jack, Joke is understandably heartbroken. It was Jack’s deep love and commitment to his community that Joke first fell in love with. He’s devastated to find that man is gone.
They told us from the start where this story was going. But then as @respectthepetty laid out, this is a version of Journey to the West (which I can’t unsee now) and if you enjoy other Journey to the West retellings (like One Piece) then the continue commitment to community and working together to face down what feel like insurmountable odds against a system designed to tear you apart is part of the journey to bettering yourself and others.
The focus on community as the answer really comes from Ama, Toi Ting, Hoy and Auntie Nang. They’re the ones that end up holding the through line even when other characters get lost.
If you were looking for a revenge narrative, this could never actually be that because that was Boss’s storyline all along. He was the one on a revenge track and we saw how far it took him. His need to gain power for vengeance had him playing the game the Four Horsemen wanted him to all along. Even his sister begging him to try a different way could not sway him.
Also, a very interesting through-line that exists as much about the scars suicide leaves and that there is no actual atonement in martyrdom.
That’s why the show ends in their community center with everyone present and being in community. Because that’s how they managed to save themselves. And they need to remain in community because it’s the only way to survive the games of the four horsemen.
At the end of the day, Jack & Joker was a story about turning to community instead of going solo. It was about returning Jack to his original dreams of uplifting his community. It was about Joke uncovering what it means to be in community when his family was never in community with him so he didn’t know.
It took everyone truly banding together to make sure they all made it out alive. Any time our motley crew of heroes tried to go it alone or make an individual plan work, it failed.
Aran was able to rally the villagers to community in the end. And it helped.
Ultimately, it was vindictiveness and bitterness that lead Boss to turn on the villagers. Instead of being in community, Boss turned on the villagers like the Four Horsemen did to his own family. While Nang built community at her shrine, Boss wrecked community wherever he went. He wanted to amass power to take down The Four Horsemen. He was so laser focused, so desperate, he missed the game they were playing with him all along.
And isn’t that too often the tragedy. We’re so focused on winning we miss the game is rigged and we can’t go solo.
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darkjusticiar · 10 months ago
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And it's sad bc I feel like even the characters in-game don't always understand wyll, I'm sure it's been touched on before but Florrick saying "I'm sure you don't hold much love for your father" (words to that effect) is so devastating to hear. How could you say that, when wyll's love for his father was a driving force behind his pact in the first place. When he always has a kind word and an aphorism that his father imparted upon him. When his father's approval and love means the world to him, that demeaning his relationship with his father gains his disapproval... she would have no way of knowing any of this. But we know, and the companions know, and it's hard to have to hear such a thing from someone who hasn't seen him in nearly a decade, yet is still clinging to the memory of who he was and who she thinks that boy would have grown up to become.
Part of his story is not being able to tell people how he feels and who he really is and it's sad to see that even something so integral to him- his love for his father and their relationship to the city- is warped by his contract and people's own inability to sympathize w him
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pseudowho · 6 months ago
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Bedlocked
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On a University city trip, someone's got to share a hotel room with Nanami Kento, the class's misunderstood loner...and it's going to be you.
Warnings: College AU! Nanami Kento x Reader, double loss of virginity, "just one bed", heavy make-out, PIV creampie, dry humping, fingering, handjob, both reader and Nanami aged 19
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Nanami Kento wore the awkward bearing of a young man who was surprised by the man he was growing to be. Being uniquely in possession of those excellent traits which were overlooked by girls, but adored by women, he had outgrown himself, from personality to hair, and was unsure how to wear it. Not yet having grown the confidence to lean into his character, and own it, he had been written off by the girls in your class as sullen, boring, miserable-- a downer.
All the girls, that is, except for you. And this was how you found yourself to be sharing a hotel room with Kento, on your thesis research trip to Kyoto.
"--made a mistake with the bookings, we're several rooms short--"
'--well we can share a bed, that's fine, but I'm not sharing with him--"
"--I dunno...I don't think he'd try anything, I just...want to have fun, that's all, and he's a bit..."
You scoffed, pinching the bridge of your nose as the other young women spoke amongst themselves. Kento had not arrived, and yet, was the talk of the group. As the only young man in the class, he had maintained a respectful, professional distance from the young women in it. It had earned him what you thought was a rather undeserved reputation.
Where the others saw uptight, you saw diligence. Where they saw boring, you saw reserved. Where others saw sarcastic, you saw hilarious. Where they saw grumpy, you saw rage against the machine.
In truth, you had long-since harboured an obsession with Kento. His hushed intensity was magnetic, and carried a mass you longed to draw you in. While others saw you as opposites, you saw yourself and Kento as each others' perfect foil. Matching puzzle pieces. Each others' missing ingredient.
And, god, you ached for him, alone at night with your hand drifting downwards. And you would not let him be treated like a leper.
"For goodness' sake, I'll share with Kento." You piped up, seeing the other girls all look round at you. Their eyes drifted, widening in surprise at something behind you, and you did not hear the hotel lobby door swing open and closed outside of your view. "In fact, I'd be delighted to share with him. I'm sure he'll be just as funny and respectful as he always is."
"You think I'm funny."
You nearly jumped out of your skin at the question framed as a statement, and spun round to face Kento...but not as you knew him. You stuttered.
"Oh, wow, Kento...your hair..."
Gone was the sloppy, loping fringe. Instead, Kento's honey-blond hair was neatly parted, undercut, framing his face. All of a sudden, he was so...handsome. Kento glowered down at you, impassive and unreadable. He gave one baleful hum at your assessment of him.
"I assume something happened with the room bookings, then. For you to wind up stuck with me." Before you could answer, Kento pulled his phone out of his pocket, turning back to the doorway with one enormous hand grasping his suitcase handle. "You shouldn't have to make a decision to your detriment. It's not your fault. I'll find somewhere else to sta--"
Kento was interrupted, by your hand clasping over his on his suitcase handle. A grunt of surprise left his lips, at the feel of your dainty hand on his. He looked down at them, his expression always somewhere between anger and irritation. You knew better.
"Stay with me. We...get along well. We always have." Kento scowled, his eyes flickering behind you to the other girls, who, while surprised by how a simple haircut could alter Kento so, were sticking to their guns.
"I don't need your pity." Kento sniped, his voice low and earthy, "I'm perfectly happy to le--"
"And I'm perfectly happy to share. Stop being so headstrong and listen to me."
Kento bristled, looking torn between argument and agreement. As the others collected their keys, filing off to their respective rooms, you awaited his decision. With a huff, Kento fetched your room key, and headed off down the corridor. You fizzed with excitement at the prospect of spending more time with him, but suppressed it, following him with an air of assumed solemnity.
The airs and graces were soon dropped, when the door to your room swung shut behind you and Kento, and you found it to have--
"...just one bed. Shit." Kento's face twisted in discomfort, his Adams apple bobbing deliciously as he swallowed. His eyes trailed down to you, and caught your blush as if it were contagious. He turned to grasp the door handle again, stuttering, so unlike himself.
"Couldn't possibly-- absolutely not appropriate-- my mistake entirely-- find somewhere else--"
"Will you? Find somewhere else, I mean?" Kento faltered, his grip on the door handle loosening. He looked at you with something akin to dread. "On cherry blossom week? In historic Kyoto?" By the time you were finished talking, Kento had deflated like a sad balloon animal.
Night had long since fallen. You heard the laughter, baths and showers running, from the girls in the adjacent rooms. Your confidence was a total mask, as you opened your suitcase, rummaging inside for pyjamas. Your heart pounded in your chest, made all the worse by Kento's silent, tortured appraisal of you. You realised, with a jolt, that you had brought nothing but an oversized t-shirt and underwear to wear to bed.
Beneath his eyes, you were transparent. He felt the tension roll off you in waves. Kento cleared his throat, his ears red, a youthful flush across his nose.
"I'll-- I'll go shower." He offered, considering trying to drown himself. He heard you hum, speaking absentmindedly.
"Go on. Smelly boy." You had barely registered what you said, hearing something like a laugh from Kento as he swung the bathroom door closed behind him. You threw yourself face down on the bed, muffling your cries of anguish into a pillow. Kento leaned against the shower wall as water tumbled down his back, trying not to think with his cock, and failing miserably, cursing his body for its feral stupidity.
You remained face down on the bed. Trying to think unsexy thoughts was murder. You had always wondered how Kento looked, long and tight beneath old band t-shirts. You'd had the briefest glimpse of his abs and happy trail once, when he reached above you to switch the projector on in class. How you had restrained yourself from leaning in and licking the soft skin of his navel was beyond you. The thought of the noise he would have made, alone, had kept you going for weeks. The way you caught him looking at you in class the next day, took you the rest of the way.
"Shower's free." You sat bolt upright, your brain short-circuiting to see Kento stood at the bathroom door in nothing but pyjama trousers, steam billowing out across broad shoulders and swept back hair. You forced your mask back into place.
"Thought you'd died in there." You offered, not as casual as you sounded. You fumbled your shower bag and pyjamas out of your bag, and made your way to the bathroom. You and Kento danced awkwardly, trying to skirt round each other. With a grunt of irritation, Kento grasped your upper arms, moving you effortlessly around him into the bathroom. His touch was scalding. You wouldn't possibly make it through the weekend.
By the time you headed out of the shower, tugging at your t-shirt to make it cover more of your thighs, you blushed to your toes to see Kento sat up in bed, bare chested and reading. He read the same sentence over, and over, and over, trying with broken determination not to track his eyes up your legs, and imagine how you tasted between them. Feeling you hurriedly slip into bed beside him made his cock jump, and he reached out with a fumbling hand, switching off the light without warning.
Only the faint bathroom light illuminated the room. You both lay, backs to each other, on opposite sides of the bed. The silence grew oppressively heavy. You felt lightheaded, barely breathing, hyperaware of every noise and movement your bodies made. You were paralysed by thoughts of his honey-rich voice, his lightly freckled shoulders itching to be touched, how it would feel to be trapped beneath him while he fell apart above you.
"I'm sorry." You blinked, hearing Kento's apologetic rumble.
"...what are you sorry for?"
"This...this situation. I know I'm no fun to be around. And I've made my peace with that. But you--"
"You are fun. Very fun. I'm...not going to punish you for being an introvert."
Kento was quiet on his side of the bed, but no more relaxed. You had gathered the guts to reach one hand across the sheets to him, before he threw the covers aside, and moved to sit up.
"You need your own space. I'll sleep on the sofa." The 'sofa' sat at the end of the bed, barely more than a loveseat, and you snatched a hand out, grabbing Kento round the bicep. You almost shivered at the hard cords of muscle there, thicker than your hand by far, barely grasping on as Kento tensed.
"No. You're taller than me. I'll sleep on the sofa--"
"--absolutely not--"
"--stop being such a fucking gentleman and let me--"
"--I'm not a gentleman, it's just basic manners--"
"--listen, I feel fine, just come and share--"
"--offer some mad girl a bed and suddenly you're a gentleman--"
"Kento, please just come to bed with me."
Kento's brain stuttered, now. He rolled to face you, his whole body on fire, trying to sound calm. He was an open book, to you. You felt every nerve ending of your skin put to the flame.
"...come to bed...with you?" You moved to roll away and cover your face with your hands, indescribably mortified. Kento couldn't allow it-- not when he'd daydreamed about this for so long. He grasped your hands, rolling you back over to face him. He looked awkward, not used to his own strength, as you flipped back over with a squeak, and a weak apology from Kento. You had never noticed the beautiful whiskey depths of his eyes, before.
You were lost for words. The tables had turned so suddenly, you had no idea on which side you sat. Kento scoffed, a faint blush on his high cheekbones, scowling into a corner of the room. The silence thickened again. Kento huffed a laugh.
"Go to sleep. I'll...I'll just play some games for a while." He did not want to. He wanted to flip you over again, to hear that squeak again, wondering if you'd squeak or moan when he pressed his weeping length into your--
"Oh...what games did you bring?" Your eyes lit up, sparkling, sitting up in bed with a bounce. Kento melted. He wanted to put you in his pocket. He could manage the urges, but the affection overwhelmed him and he stuttered, fumbling for words.
"Because..." Kento waited on bated breath, your lips plush and parted, crawling just-so towards him on the bed, seeing how your breasts shifted between your arms beneath that fucking t-shirt and maybe she would want this too fuck we wouldn't come out all weekend once we've tasted each other fuck if she were my girlfriend she'd be my whole world wouldn't ask for anything else ever again--
"...because I'm desperate for a Gengar actually but I haven't got anyone to trade my Haunter with and--"
"Oh. I need a Golem."
"Oh."
"Nice."
You both rummaged in your bags, grabbing your GameBoys, and you swore, trying to find the cable to connect them. Kento raised his eyebrows, scooting himself back beside you in bed, and crossing his long legs.
"Really? You brought one? Who did you think was gonna trade with you, one of them out there--"
"I'll be honest, I was relying on you, Kento, like I always do." Kento's ears reddened. He moved to sweep back the fringe he no longer had. Instead, his long fingers swept back through his neat parting, mussing commas of blond over his forehead, in a way that made you want to do the same until his hair was a mess and he was groaning.
You sat shoulder to shoulder, comparing Pokémon teams. Kento favoured Steel and Fighting types in a balanced, well-prepared team with no weak links. You favoured Ghost types and anything cute, in a weird mismatched set-up that surprised your enemies. With your short cable connecting your GameBoys, you sat thigh to thigh. You hadn't noticed your toes scrunching against Kento's, foot, stroking your skin against his. You felt him shiver and tense.
"What-- what are you doing?" Kento asked, his voice catching in his throat. His chest felt tight. His whole being zeroed in on where your skin stroked his. You caught yourself, and curled your toes away, to Kento's disappointment. "It-- it's okay...you don't have to stop." Your games were ignored now, defunct in distracted hands.
You swallowed, the air thick with tension around you. He was so close, you could smell the residue of his cologne, and the natural masculine smell of him, earthy beneath freshly washed skin. The side of your breast, bare beneath your t-shirt, rested against his bicep. You felt his bicep clench, grazing your nipple. He felt the pebbled snag of your nipple against his arm. He knew he'd combust if he didn't feel your skin on his soon; knew his fragile resolve was breaking.
Your foot cautiously stretched back down, the sensitive skin of your toes stroking against the top of Kento's foot. You felt him shiver again, putting his GameBoy down with a grunt, his eyebrows drawn together with am arm over his eyes.
"Do you...like it when I touch you?"
Kento grumbled under his breath, his mouth twisted in faint derision. "Don't be cruel." You blushed, reaching out for his hand. Kento tangled his fingers in yours, pressing the back of your hand to his twitching thigh, and trailing featherlight fingertips over your palm and inner wrist, an erogenous zone you never knew you had until he elicited a shudder from you.
"See." Kento whispered, lightly stroking the spot on your inner arm that connected curiously to your clit and nipples, a fine gold thread of liquid arousal. "You like it, too. So if you don't mean anything by this, just stop. Don't...don't play games with me." He took his fingers away, and you almost whimpered, chasing his touch, begging.
"No, Kento, wait-- please...don't stop."
Kento short-circuited. He had never been so close to the fabled pleasure of anothers' body. Pornography had little impact for one without the flesh-memory of erotic touch. Kento's cock was thick, now, throbbing. You dropped your head to his shoulder, sighing with bliss as his trembling fingers resumed their butterfly kisses to your wrist. The growing tent in his pyjamas, and the way he spread his thighs aside to accommodate his erection, made your mouth water.
Kento shifted, his body moving on instinct, until he was tentatively leaning over you. He wanted to watch your face as he stroked your wrist, examining its fine little tendons and veins, and examining how you arched, your mouth parted, your t-shirt rucking up until he could see the warm squidge of your belly above your underwear. His voice was husky, thoughtful.
"You'd...you'd stop me, right? If you didn't want this?"
"Yeah, I...yeah. But I-- I don't want you to. I want m--"
Kenti bowed his head to drink the unfinished words off your lips, knowing you wanted more just as much as he did. He grunted against the taste of you, his lips shuddering and uncertain, only hoping his sincerity came through. Kissing him back hard, your lips and tongues clashed, both instinctual, hungry, tasting. You and Kento spurred each other on, your mutual desperation rising exponentially with each nip of the lips, each tongue thrust into each others' mouth, each moan snatched and devoured between kisses.
Your hands sunk into each others' hair, ruffling, teasing, pulling, and you whimpered into Kento's mouth at the massage of his fingertips over your scalp. You were drunk. You had to be drunk, so high off the spontaneity of a moment you thought would be planned to a T.
Kento's mouth wandered, pressing and sucking sharp little lovebites into you on his way down your neck. You had ended up tangled around him, beneath him, the tip of his cock almost escaping beneath his waistband. Riding on buckish young urgency, Kento's broad hand had risen to grope your breast, possessive, trembling against the urge to squeeze you too hard. When you whimpered, arching into his touch, his mind flew back to him, shocked and ashamed by his stunning lack of self-control.
"Sorry," Kento gasped, his mouth and hand flying off you as if burnt, "fuck, sorry, 'msosorry--"
He broke off at the sight of you. Strewn, your hair scrunched against the pillow, with love-swollen lips and roses blooming on your neck, you were serene; for him. Thrown like petals onto the sheets, all for him and his mouth and his hands. Kento felt the fog descend again, dampening his judgement, for the instinctual urge to fuck.
"Have you...have you ever..." You felt Kento's meaning. His voice was rough, deep as the valley, and hewn with stone. You shook your head, still supple and dopey from his attentions. Kento's held breath released in one husky groan. He swallowed, shaking his head down at you.
"No, I...me neither. Always wondered, always--" Always what? Always daydreamed about it almost constantly? Always chastised himself for being such a fucking animal? But, the look in your eyes as you drank him in. Kento and you met on that clouded bridge, in the middle. Your pussy ached with promise.
Kento's hand came to settle slowly on your breast again, delighted by the way you pressed into him. His fingers grazed down over your nipple, reaching the hem of your shirt, brushing upwards.
"I can...can I? Please?"
"Please. Please, yes please, god."
"Fuck...I can't...cant believe it-- finally--" Kento didn't seem to realise he was moaning his inner thoughts aloud, rucking your t-shirt up like unwrapping a gift. As your breast freed, Kento shuddered again, slanted brown eyes scrutinising your body with analytical intent, committing you to memory.
His hand ghosted over your tummy, tracing dimples and stretch marks on the way, before curling around your breast, giving the gentlest of squeezes. The noise that left his mouth was somewhere between a cough and a moan. Still possessed by a haze of need, his mouth dipped down, tongue flicking out over your nipple, before capturing it with his mouth as you arched again, keening. He pressed into your arch, one arm planted above your head, the opposite hand rolling your other breast between keen fingers.
He couldn't help but rock the straining underside of his cock against your barely-covered pussy. The material between you was so thin, you could feel the whole length of him, and the tapering shape of his bulbous tip as it snagged against your clit. Kento knew he'd cum like this, if he wasn't careful, and shivered at the idea of spilling his seed all over your belly. He brushed away his hurrying peak, so determined was he that you'd cum before him.
"--keep--keep doing that...Kentoooo--oooh, feels so good--"
A rush of competitive pride burned through him. He couldn't help but murmur against your spit-slick nipple, nuzzling it with his nose.
"Keep telling me...what feels good. Make sure I'm not selfish, 'cos I--I'll just take if you don't--"
Suddenly hyperaware of your own body and how you must look, dopey and blissful as you chased pleasure by rutting his length between your legs, you stopped, and Kento huffed.
"I can hear you--thinking you look stupid-- and you don't--" He scowled down at you, his voice hoarse and strained between heavy grunts of ecstasy. "Will you cum? Like...like that?" Kento nodded down towards where you had been rolling your pussy against him. You tried to pull an arm over your eyes, blushing, extraordinarily embarrassed. Kento tangled his fingers in yours, pressing them over your head.
"Hey-- hey-- listen, I'll...I'll let you see me cum...if you let me see you. Please." You swallowed, mouth watering at the thought of watching Kento break, such sincere fascination trickling down your spine.
"...okay." You answered, uncharacteristically meek. Kento huffed another laugh.
"Good girl." You blushed from hairline to toes, involuntarily bucking up against Kento with his words. He began to rut against you again, the friction good but not quite right, not as good as it could be. You threw caution to the wind.
"Hang-- hang on, I'll just..." You reached a hand down beneath your panties, parting your labia just enough for Kento's heavy length to snag harder against your clit.
Kento's eyes zeroed in on the creamy white discharge on your fingers as you pulled your hand out, and when he continued his motions, you fell supple and needy beneath him again, groaning with the pleasure of his bulbous tip and the ridge beneath it, catching your clit. Pleasure bloomed through you, so much closer to orgasm than you had thought.
"--don't stop--" You begged, arching up towards Kento until he fucked down harder with a broken growl, his own need to cum eclipsed by your pleasure. Drawing one nipple deeper into his mouth, and lubricating the other with his spit to roll it fluidly between his fingers, Kento learned fast, playing you like an instrument until your mouth gaped in a silent cry, your first orgasm received from another, roaring through you in waves.
Kento kept humping against you, not recognising that you had reached your peak. He faltered, hips stuttering and panting as you groaned, squirming and writhing, groping at him with desperate, fucked-out hands. Kento was obsessed, a spurt of pre-cum adding to the slick he'd already made between your legs. Utterly besotted, his slim eyes wide with blown pupils, he shakily raised one hand to stroke your hair, kissing your forehead through the bliss, shushing you with whispered praise.
"--so cute...look so pretty...thank you-- thank you--"
As you came down from your high, you heard him thanking you, and laughed, trying to cover your face as he batted your hands away, playful and smirking. Biting your lip, emboldened by post-nut confidence, you slid your hand down to grip Kento's clothed, pulsing cock. He stilled above you with a grunt, looking so angry again as that feral, desperate haze descended. You begged him, hushed and soft.
"Can I...feel it?" Kento's thoughts burst with single-minded relief. He nodded, breath catching in his chest, allowing you to roll him over onto the bed until you were lying on your side beside him. You stroked his clothed length, fascinated, watching every reaction with cruel innocence.
Unsure how to handle him, you faltered as your hand began to slip inside his pyjamas. Kento had one arm slung over his face, still scowling, wanting desperately to watch you play with his cock, but too self-conscious.
"Here, I'll--" Kento reached down, shucking his pyjamas down until his cock released. Kento seemed embarrassed by his size, distinctly bigger than average, and thick, his pink tip peeking out from beneath his foreskin. Mistaking the cause of your silence for disgust, Kento grimaced behind his forearm, apologising.
"--shit, 'msorry, I know I-I'm--"
"...wow." Your breathless little gasp, followed by your hand immediately circling round Kento's cock, sent his mind blank again, watching you with dumb adoration as you examined the weight of his cock in your hand. Your hand gripped him, stroking from ball to tip with an inexperienced squeeze that had Kento grunting, gasping and bucking beneath you. It didn't matter that you had clearly never handled an erection in your life; for Kento, who had never been stroked by a woman looking at his cock and face with hungry, adoring eyes, he was being rushed towards a toe-curling orgasm.
"--st--sta--stopstopstop, m'gonna cu--m'gonna cum--'m gonna--"
Your hand stopped immediately, and Kento snarled, before gasping, momentarily shocked by his visceral reaction to being teased just to the edge of completion. Your pupils dilated, obscenely aroused by the strange danger of a furiously needy man about to cum in your hand. You were lost in the tease, lowering your head and maintaining eye contact as you threatened your lips just over the tip of Kento's cock.
"...stop?"
Kento was glazed, eyebrows tilted, looking uncharacteristically concerned, darting between your mouth, and your eyes, and back again. His nose flared with hot little pants. A barely perceptible shake of the head. You smiled, laying the flat of your tongue against the tip of Kento's cock, and licking over the bulbous head with an incoordinate pump of his length.
Kento's moan rumbled from his chest outwards, muffled as he bit into his own arm, his mind blown by the wet little sucks of his cockhead that he'd imagined only in his wettest dreams. He hurtled with breakneck speed towards his peak, finishing with frantic bucks and begs.
"--oh my--fucking g-god--huuugh fuckfuckfuck sorry m'sorry--shit--"
Kento came with an uncontrollable roar of pleasure, both arms gripping the pillow beneath his head, biceps straining, balls clenching. You pulled free of his cock with a wet pop and a little cry of surprise, when the first spurt of cum salted your tongue.
You continued to stroke him, obsessed with the jerk of him in your hand, the way he groaned, low and long, with each stripe of thick, white seed up his belly. It was only after the twitches had ceased, his cock sluggish against his belly, that Kento began to gasp like a fish out of water and gripped his hand around yours.
"--sto--sta--stop...fuck...so...sogood sosogood..."
The words left your mouth before you even thought to stop them, a years old masturbatory kink suddenly within reach. "Can you cum like that inside me?"
Kento stared at you in mute shock, his neat new haircut mussed beyond repair. His post-cum brain struggled to process your request. You frantically babbled to reassure him.
"--I--I mean no condom--and hear me out hear me out-- I've got good protection-- and and I've never and you've never so we won't catch anything--"
Kento was above you, flipping you onto your back and suckling at your neck again within seconds. You heard his oddly grown-man chastisement into your neck, while his body moved in the total opposite direction.
"So fucking irresponsible-- just just "oooooh cum inside me Kento" just like that, fuck-- do you think I'm--I'm fucking stupid? Sh...shit...fucking yes please I can't believe I'm doing this--"
Kento's cock had barely softened, graced by the barely-there refractory period of youth. He was thick, heavy, and dragging down your belly. You were just as frantic as him, kicking off your underwear and watching Kento hyperfocus again; this time, on your bare sex, right before his eyes.
He knelt back, gripping himself in his fist as if holding himself back. Feeling his sharp eyes penetrate you, you moved to close your legs. Kento looked at you as if you were mad, batting your thighs aside with his knees as you covered your face, mortified.
"Beautiful." He berated, rubbing his fingers through the cum spattered on his belly, and sinking them down to glide cautiously between your labia. You gasped, squirming, and Kento watched his fingers coat with your slick with a gulp, feeling a fresh burst of blood engorge his cock until he ached.
He leaned to his bag, rummaging and cursing, before coming back up with a bottle of lube. You shot Kento a look and he shot you a look in return, berating you again with a voice stricter than fitting for his age; "I was expecting a room of my own."
"Oh yeah? How's that working out for you?"
"Very well actually-- stop laughing or I'll--"
"...you'll what? Make me?" You asked, coy. Kento let out a strangled little groan, and pinched the bridge of his nose as you laughed.
"...don't even...dont even know what you're asking...idiot--" Kento huffed as you drew a crooked smile out of him, your joyful muffled giggles a natural balm to his baseline rage. You stilled again, breathless as you watched him stroke his pulsing cock, your throat dry with voyeuristic anticipation. Kento panted, beyond embarrassment and hanging on by a thread.
Kento stroked some lube between your puffy folds, eyes heavy as you squirmed, prodding one finger softly at your entrance. You stilled beneath him, holding your breath. Kento tangled your fingers in his.
"Breathe." He hummed, and as you released a shaking breath, Kento began to ease one slick finger inside you. Your mouth dropped open, eyes closed beneath raising eyebrows, as Kento slid his long finger into you all the way to his knuckle. He hadn't realised he was holding his breath until he felt lightheaded.
"...you...you feel...fuck, incredible, so--so tight..." Kento whispered, his voice low and gravelly, that same primal urge to fuck immediately into you threatening to cloud his brain. By the way you gazed up at him, still and supple, you would probably let him too and he could just push right in and--
"...we'll take it slow," Kento reassured you, tight and tense, "...and I'll stop straight away if...if it hurts."
Your eyelids fluttered to feel Kento's thick tip prod at your entrance, sure he wouldn't fit until he pressed forwards, and you stretched like you'd never stretched before. You bit your lip against the faint sting, nodding urgently and gripping Kento's thighs as he looked at you in concern.
Kento was lost in the moment, his eyes zeroing in on where he gradually sheathed himself inside you. He'd never felt such exquisite pleasure, obsessed by how your plush walls moulded to the shape of him, sucking him in, slick and tight. You squeaked, biting into Kento's shoulder as he bore down on you, his cock almost sunk to the hilt. He stilled as he bottomed out, his fingertips bruising on your hip, trembling with jagged groans.
You felt so strangely placid, full, and wrapping your legs around the small of Kento's back to lock him inside you. The brief sting, the belly-deep ache, left you feeling like you had made a blooming transition from girl to woman in one deep thrust. Kento drank you in, pressing a long, lingering kiss to your lips and mumbling against them.
"...'m not gonna last long." Kento was possessed, pulling out a little before rutting into you again, delighted by your gasp, determined to break more noises out of you. His usual gentle nature was becoming quickly overrun by a firm, authoritative edge, not knowing yet how this would come to define him as a man.
Kento rocked into you, shallowly at first, before gaining the confidence that he wouldn't break you. By the time he had built a rhythm, pumping into you through sweaty pants, your breaths mingling together, he felt the drag of orgasm approaching him fast. Kento's imagination could never have matched up to the reality of dragging his cock through such nectar.
Any time Kento tried to talk, he broke off into anguished pants and groans into your throat, sinking his teeth there for a moment, seemingly irritated by how sloppy he'd become.
"...j'sso...uhnfuck...wet--best thing I--...huhnnn--"
Hearing you whimper and squeak as he moved within you offered him some condolence for being a speechless mess, at least.
Though you knew you wouldn't cum from this alone, you were lost in the addictive feeling of being full and fucked into by Kento chasing an instinctual high. You couldn't help but let your fingers wander downwards, rubbing your clit beneath them. The thick pressure in your belly made your pleasure three-dimensional, so much better than your fingers alone.
Kento was a quiet lover, saying more through heated glances and lingering touches than he ever could through words. Knowing he was holding back for fear of hurting you, you whispered against his ear, sending ripples down his spine.
"--harder-- pleasepleaseplease--"
"Fffuck okay...this?" Kento sunk into you to the hilt and jabbed, urging himself deeper, earning a guttural groan as his cockhead pressed against your cervix and soft-spot. He nodded into your neck, shuddering deeply. "Th-this...yeah...oh fuck, yeah..." Your toes curled against the back of his thighs, and you sobbed with the bone-deep adoration of his kisses to your womb. Kento's restraint snapped, tilting your hips as he gripped you, holding nothing else back.
Kento sped up, driving himself inside you with total abandon, his breaths coming out as spitting curses and groans. Finally, he strained above you, his moans breaking and peaking, unable to hold off any longer;
"--gonna...gonna...cum in you for--for-fucking-ever-- nnggh--"
Watching Kento break and spill himself inside you, his cock jerking with long, painfully pleasurable contractions, was the erotic vision you had sought your whole adult life. Hurriedly working your fingers until your own high hit you, had Kento collapsing on top of you to feel your pussy clenching around him, milking him of every little drop of seed.
Kento was silent, his corded back clenching over you. You nuzzled into his ear, pressing kisses along his jaw until he gave you his lips with a groan. Pulling gently out, and replacing his cock with his fingertips so he could feel how his seed dripped from your cunt, had Kento wondering vaguely how he'd ever use a condom now he'd tasted the ripe-peach of you without a barrier.
You nipped Kento's neck, jolting him back to reality. Glossy doe-eyes glimmered up at him in the dark; and you, desperate to feel full again, completely addicted to him as he was to you.
"...again?"
"...give-- give me a minute."
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"Heard some strange noises coming out of your room last night."
You kept your face innocently neutral at the breakfast table the next morning. You tipped your head to the side, inquisitive, as if you didn't feel multiple thick loads of Kento's seed soaking your underwear.
"Oh?"
"Mhm." A knowing stare from the other girls at the table. Kento sat down, clearing his throat, his plate piled with what should have been an embarrassing number of pastries.
"She's really good. At Pokémon battles." You had a single moment to admire Kento's absolute gall, the other girls looking at him with vague displeasure as he continued.
"Her Gengar's really strong actually. I wasn't ready for it. I thought Machamp would be a good choice, but--"
The other girls had already lost interest, turning their conversations elsewhere. Kento looked up at you from the other end of the table as you mouthed oh my god at him. He was inscrutable, apart from his twinkling eyes.
You were fortunate that none of these girls were at your wedding, years later. But you did occasionally still refer to making love as 'Pokémon battles', if just to hear your impassive, suited, quiet man laugh.
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bunnis-monsters · 7 months ago
Text
NSFW
Yandere!Vampire that was once royalty, living in a dilapidated castle, alone and depressed. As a human, he was surrounded by people. Everyone adored him, his golden curls and warm brown eyes charming the hearts of every noble that set eyes on him.
That was until his family was slaughtered by a coven of vampires, leaving him the only survivor. Now with no family, he was turned away from the nobles that once gathered at his side, calling him beautiful and intelligent. Now he was a beast, and was only left alive because no one dared to touch him.
As the years passed by, all that knew of his existence died out, meaning no one remembered or cared for him. In the past, he had at least been grateful he had been in someone’s thoughts, even if it was in a negative light. Now, no one even hated him. He was just nonexistent to the world outside his castle.
Centuries passed by, every day slowly picking at the last bits of his sanity. Days of past grandeur and the current day mixed together, leaving him in a state where he couldn’t tell whether he was back in the living arms of his family, or wandering the dark, crumbling hallways of his childhood home.
It was only when a soft, warm light flooded one of the abandoned rooms he had been standing in that the fog in his brain began to fade, allowing him to see what was in front of him for the first time in decades.
It was you, a young woman in a hoodie and jeans, holding a flashlight. You lived only a mile away, and had been exploring when you came upon ruins of what seemed like an ancient castle.
You had heard rumors of a person that wandered the ruins from the townsfolk, and old tales of vampires that had been passed down by tongue for centuries. Not believing them, you decided to see for yourself…
Your light shone upon what you first thought was an ethereal ghost or some kind of beautiful spirit. A man with a mop of blonde curls, porcelain skin, and the most beautiful pair of ruby red eyes you’ve ever seen stared back at you.
The person attempted to speak, but clutched his throat, as if he hadn’t spoken in so long, his vocal cords had forgotten how.
“H-hello?”
The man perked up at the sound of your voice, his eyes clearing up. It seemed just hearing another human speak made his undead heart leap, and he couldn’t help but stumble towards you.
You yelped when he crossed the room within seconds and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck and inhaling deeply.
The smell of another person, of sweat and perfume mixing together to make your own unique scent made him want to sob.
Of course you were freaked out, but the man holding onto you wasn’t hurting you, and you could feel warm tears soaking through your shirt. How could you turn away someone that was obviously in distress?
Unsurprisingly, the man followed you home. It didn’t take a genius to realize he wasn’t human. He was as pale as a sheet of paper, with no pulse or any color to his cheeks. His eyes were scarlet, a shade you had never seen a human have before.
Despite knowing this, you couldn’t help but care for him. He was thin, malnourished, with clothing that was so old and dirty that it nearly crumbled when he took them off.
“Are you hungry?”
You had taken to asking only yes or no questions, since he couldn’t speak. The man frowned, his eyes getting foggy for a second. You decided to ask again.
“Hello? Are you-“
He suddenly snapped back into reality, leaning forward to gently place his lips on your neck. You squeaked out in surprise when you felt his teeth sink into your neck… but it didn’t hurt. Instead, you only felt an uncomfortable pressure and draining sensation, and before long he was pulling back.
“Mmph…” he panted softly, blood running down his chin. “Was… so… thirsty…” he managed to say, his voice hoarse and small.
He cupped your cheek, holding your face in his hands and looking down at you with what could only be described as utter adoration.
“My love…”
From that point on, he was attached to your hip, following you everywhere you went like a lovesick puppy. Any time you were separated, he had severe anxiety, going back and forth from his dreamworld and reality. It was his coping mechanism, but it caused him to never understand what was real and what wasn’t.
You grounded him, made him feel safe and loved. Oh how he adored you. You had saved him from his lonely existence and taken him into your home as if he were a stray dog, and he was loyal like one. His loyalty came at a price, however, and that price was your freedom to do as you pleased.
Late nights out with friends became next to nonexistent, especially if he knew there would be any males there.
“I just want to protect you, my beloved. It’s a dangerous, cruel world. People will act as if they love you when they do not…”
And as you slowly became more and more isolated, his affections only grew. Kisses to your hand began to trail up your arm and to your neck. Snuggles turned into grinding and heavy petting, and even the most innocent of caresses became lewd in nature.
It didn’t take long for him to fuck you for the first time. After all, he had been pent up and alone for centuries, resisting taking you on the spot was excruciating.
The second he sunk into your pussy, he came. You were just so warm and your scent made his head fuzzy. He couldn’t help but fuck into you like a wild animal, feeding from your pretty neck as he filled you up over and over.
After the first time, a day didn’t pass by when he didn’t crave your intimate touch. Some days he was satisfied with heavy petting and kisses, others he couldn’t be satiated until his face was between your legs, lapping at your cunt for hours.
You were his, his mate, his lover. He couldn’t imagine a life without you anymore, so could you really blame him when he clung to you so tightly?
He just loved you, and he did such a good job at keeping you satisfied, just enough to where you didn’t look into the missing cases of your old lovers and male friends.
Why would you need to pay attention to any of that when your loving, attentive boyfriend was right there, ready to worship you from head to toe?
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