#and now i am haunted by the idea of it and just. the presence of a person

[theotherrichardpapen]

nigel & alex - to be haunted by your love

henri nouwen // like minds (2006) // death - melanie martinez // pope alexander - crywank // her mother's kiss - eugene carriere // sometimes i fall asleep thinking about you - catarine hancock // the song of achilles - madeline miller // achilles lamenting the death of patroclus - gavin hamilton // lee martens

[yuujispinkhair]

CollegeBoy!Sukuna accidentally knocking you up – Part 2 B

-> Option B: "Let's have a baby!"

You can read Part 1 here.

I decided to write two different versions of Part 2 (both are comforting). Option A: The Reader has an abortion Option B: The Reader decides to have the baby(s).

Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female). Fluff + Smut. 18+. Light angst with a happy end. 7K words. Unplanned pregnancy, Reader decides to have the baby. There's a short moment of worry during the pregnancy, but nothing bad happens. Pregnancy sex, praise, slight lactation kink. All characters are of age. Minors don't interact. Divider@/plutism + dollsciples + benkeibear

The first night after finding out your college sweetheart accidentally knocked you up is a sleepless one for you. You're lying in Sukuna's arms, staring at the wall while your mind whirls, refusing to let you find any rest. You are grateful that Sukuna is here. At first, you had tried weakly to tell him that you wouldn't be mad if he needed some time to himself. But he just huffed and rolled his pretty eyes before pulling his t-shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor before his hands went to his jeans, unbuttoning them and pushing them down while telling you in that low, stern voice,

"You think I am going to leave you alone after this? Absolutely not. Now get your pretty ass into bed, princess. I am staying."

And now he is lying behind you, snoring softly against your neck after he, too, struggled to fall asleep for over an hour. And you can't help but snuggle against Sukuna's warm, muscular body. His presence is reassuring, and his strong body and soft breath on your neck stop you from spiraling, even though you still can't find any rest.

You are busy making a pro and con list in your mind. Could you really make it work if you decide to have the baby? Could you handle going to college and being a mom? Wouldn't an abortion be the more sensible thing to do? On the other hand, would you be ok with the what-ifs haunting you after deciding against the baby? It's the most challenging decision you've ever had to make.

But if you are honest with yourself, your heart already knows what it wants.

The idea of having your own little family with Sukuna makes you smile. The mental image of Sukuna going to class with your little one in a baby carrier won't leave your mind. And you tear up a little when you imagine how sweet a life like that could be.

But you try to give your head a chance, too. It's not hard to find reasons why you shouldn't have a baby at this stage of life. Yet, any argument that speaks against a baby also leads to an excuse as to why it can still work. And after all, you know you won't be alone. Because there is Sukuna. Sukuna, who didn't run when he found out he knocked you up. Sukuna who told you he will support you no matter what you decide. Sukuna, who told you he will make sure you and the baby have it good if you choose to have it.

And now, one of his large hands is resting on your belly, long fingers sprawling possessively and lovingly over it, and it's a touch that fills you with longing. It's a touch that makes you see a future in which you and Sukuna are young parents and live together in domestic bliss.

It's that thought that finally makes you drift off to sleep, too.

"Kuna?"

You gnaw on your lip nervously as you turn around in your boyfriend's arms and look at him, about to tell him your decision. Sleepy maroon eyes meet yours, and a lazy smirk spreads over Sukuna's tattooed face.

"Hmm?"

You always love how soft he looks right after waking up, with his pink hair ruffled and his voice even lower than usual, his gaze unguarded and warm. You reach down to take one of his large hands in yours, holding it with both of your smaller hands as you say the words that will change your and Sukuna's life forever,

"I think I want to have the baby."

It's, at the same time, the most terrifying and most beautiful thing you ever said. You gulp nervously, watching Sukuna's face carefully. He blinks, and the smirk vanishes from his face. Instead, he looks at you with a serious expression in his beautiful maroon eyes. He nods, never breaking eye contact as he says,

"Then we'll be a family from now on."

You still stare at him with wide eyes, clutching his hand tightly, and Sukuna laughs softly, leaning closer to nuzzle his nose against your forehead,

"Hey, don't look so worried, princess. I meant everything I said yesterday. Every word. I won't run. We'll make this work. You and our baby will have it good. I will make sure of that. I love you. I won't leave."

Your heart flutters at the reassurance, and when Sukuna wraps an arm around you, you snuggle against him gratefully, sighing softly as you push your face against his warm, buff chest. You can hear his too-fast heartbeat, which gives away how nervous Sukuna is, too. About the pregnancy and the prospect of being a dad at such a young age. But Sukuna doesn't show it. You know he is being strong for you, so he can be your safe place. It makes you press a tender kiss to one of the tattoos on his naked chest while mumbling a soft, "I love you, too."

You believe Sukuna when he says the two of you can make it work. You have a feeling that with Sukuna by your side, you can do anything.

You get an official pregnancy test done at your doctor's office only two days later, followed by the first ultrasound examination, which you come out of with ringing ears after your doctor beamed at you and congratulated you on a twin pregnancy.

You walk over to Sukuna, who is waiting for you in the waiting room and wordlessly press the ultrasound picture against his chest. You wait a few seconds, barely able to keep silent while Sukuna examines the small picture with narrowed eyes until he finally is like,

"What am I supposed to see here? Wait a moment...why are there two?"

And you burst out laughing, looking at him, unable to stop grinning as the realization settles over Sukuna's face, and the corners of his mouth twitch until he bursts out laughing too,

"I should have known! Of course, I knocked you up with twins!"

There's a certain pride in his voice, and it makes you laugh even more. The first shock of finding out that you will have not only one but two babies to look after is lessened by the humor of it all.

Sukuna brings the picture closer to his face,

"Those little peas are supposed to be my children? Did you see how fucking small they are? Well, little ones, you have a lot of growing to do if you want to be as big and strong as your daddy!"

You chuckle and hug him, overcome with emotions at hearing Sukuna talk like that, already so naturally slipping into the role of the soon-to-be daddy.

"I will probably not be able to move at all with your two huge, heavy babies in my belly. Why do you have to be so big, Kuna?"

Sukuna flashes you a proud grin while wrapping an arm around you and pulling you closer,

"Oh, don't act like you aren't crazily into it. And yeah, us Itadoris are big babies, so you better be prepared."

You open your mouth to whine, but Sukuna places a finger on your lips, smirking at you,

"Stop complaining, princess. You know that you have me. I'll make sure to feed you well when my brats make you hungry. And I'll get you everything you need. We both know that you won't have to lift a single finger."

You know he is right, and he already proves it to you when you get home again, and Sukuna gently pushes you onto the couch, telling you that you have to rest.

"I'm gonna make lunch now, and no, you aren't allowed to help! Be a good girl and just chill."

And so you sit there, with a hand lightly rubbing your belly, the ultrasound picture lying next to you, looking at the TV that is showing some game show. But you don't really register what is happening on the screen because you are too busy getting accustomed to the fact that you are really going to be a mom.

As the weeks pass, a small bump begins to show on your belly, and neither you nor Sukuna can stop touching it and staring at it in fascination. It still feels unreal that there are supposedly really two babies growing inside you. The little pea-sized spots you could see on the first ultrasound didn't look like little humans at all. But the small bulge tells you that there is truly something happening inside your belly.

You have several doctor's appointments, and Sukuna drives you to all of them. He always comes up with you to the waiting room and sits there, holding your hand, a reassuring presence by your side. He always lets you know he is there for you. That he isn't running from the responsibility.

Your doctor informs you that you can bring your partner with you to the next ultrasound so he can see the babies, too, if he wants, and when you tell Sukuna about it, he agrees immediately.

"Of course, I'm coming with you! I need to see what my brats are doing."

It makes your chest feel warm. Sukuna isn't just enduring all of this. He doesn't just play the dad because he feels like he has to. He is truly interested in your little family, which is growing in your belly.

You can tell that Sukuna is nervous on the day of the ultrasound. You catch him patting the pocket of his leather jacket as if to grab his cigarettes, only to let his hand drop again when he remembers that he threw all of his cigarettes away on the day you told him you wanted to have the babies.

It's cute to see your tall, muscular boyfriend with his piercings and intimidating-looking tattoos, sitting in the waiting room, playing nervously with his tongue piercing and grabbing your hand so tightly that it's a bit painful.

He is playing it cool in front of the doctor, though, his usual arrogant smirk perfectly in place. Joking around and oozing confidence. Until the screen fills with the ultrasound images, and Sukuna suddenly becomes completely silent.

The "peas" have grown quite a bit and they actually resemble tiny human beings with small arms and legs. Even though you can't feel it yet, they move around wildly, doing somersaults as if to show their daddy that they are just as athletic as he is.

You turn your head to look at Sukuna, and your heart clenches when you see the thunderstruck expression on his tattooed face. He stares at the screen in awe while his lips tremble ever so slightly.

You reach out to touch his arm, gently caressing his tattooed biceps, and Sukuna looks at you with his maroon eyes glittering suspiciously. Your bad boy who always acts so tough, but here he is fighting tears upon seeing his babies in action for the first time on a flickering ultrasound screen.

It makes tears well up in your eyes, too, your chest filling with almost overwhelming love. And suddenly, everything feels even more real. This is really happening! You are having Sukuna's babies! Sukuna and you will be parents!

And as if he read your mind, Sukuna's low voice is in your ear suddenly, sounding solemn and shocked and in complete awe,

"Those are our little brats."

You can only nod wildly in response as tears glitter in your eyes.

The two (or four) of you leave the doctor's office in a daze. Sukuna's arm is wrapped tightly around your waist, and you feel him pull you closer to his tall body anytime you walk past someone, protecting you from any possible danger. Sukuna even drives much slower than usual. It makes you smile to yourself, filled with love and gratitude for the man by your side.

The man who didn't run, the man who took responsibility, the man who turns to look at you at a red light with his eyes full of love.

Sukuna parks in front of your apartment and sprints to your side of the car to open the door for you and offer you a strong arm. He doesn't leave your side all the way to your apartment, making sure you won't fall on the stairs or slip in the hallway. And you can't help but grin to yourself. It makes your body buzz with excitement, knowing this tall, strong man is so protective over you and the babies that are growing in your belly. His babies.

Somehow, it makes Sukuna even more attractive, even though you never thought he could get any hotter than he already is. It makes you lean against him and smile toothily up at him once you enter your apartment. You put your hands on Sukuna's defined pecs, feeling him up through his thin t-shirt as you get on your tiptoes to kiss him sweetly. Murmuring against his lips,

"You're already such a good daddy."

Sukuna laughs and pulls you closer, smirking his sexy smirk against your lips before he pushes his tongue into your mouth, kissing you thoroughly before he carefully picks you up princess style to carry you to the bedroom and continue what you started.

"Oh my god, what!? I am going to be an uncle?"

You are convinced the whole dorm hears Yuuji's excited scream as he pulls his brother into a bone-crushing hug, and Sukuna's low laughter fills the room.

You smile as you watch the brothers high-fiving each other and grinning like two madmen. Sukuna announced the big news to Yuuji in his usually blunt manner. He pulled you against his side and put one large hand over your belly while smirking at his brother and telling him,

"You'll soon have serious competition for the title of Biggest Itadori Brat. We're pregnant with twins. Two boys, just like you and me."

By now, Yuuji has let go of his brother and comes over to you, smiling from ear to ear and telling you how happy he is for you and Sukuna. There is no sign of disapproval or judgment, only genuine joy. And it makes relief wash over you. You hope that more people will react nicely once your baby bump is big enough so you won't be able to hide your pregnancy anymore.

You once heard someone say that no pregnancy goes by without a big scare.

And you get your scare when you get up one morning to use the toilet only to discover a bloodstain in your panties.

"K... Kuna..."

You say his name instinctively, needing him by your side as the fear makes your pulse race. And Sukuna is by your side in lightspeed, running into the bathroom only wearing his boxer briefs, hair messy and ruffled from sleep, with wide eyes and worry written all over his handsome face.

"What's wrong, baby?"

Your voice trembles when you explain,

"There is... there is blood."

The first tears run down your cheeks as you press a hand over your mouth. You are scared out of your mind. Scared that this means you lost the babies. Scared that something went wrong, and now your happy little family will never be.

You almost scream at the irony. This pregnancy wasn't planned. Not so long ago, you contemplated getting an abortion. But now, the thought of losing your babies makes you spiral!

It's Sukuna's low voice that pulls you out of the panic attack.

"Don't worry too much, princess. It's not a lot of blood, ok? We'll get it checked. But I am sure it's nothing bad. Come here, sweetheart."

He gently pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly while his lips press little soothing kisses to your temple and cheek. So surprisingly soft for a guy with such a bad boy reputation.

You can tell by Sukuna's posture and the tenseness in his muscles that he is worried, too, but he stays strong for you, and that is exactly what you need at that moment. He is your big, strong boyfriend, someone you can lean on and who knows what to do because he always knows everything.

Sukuna is gentle with you. He helps you get dressed and carefully carries you down to his car. He talks to you on the whole drive to the hospital to distract you. He stays by your side when you are told to take a seat in the waiting area, holding your hand the whole time until a nurse picks you up and leads you to an examination room. The last thing you see before turning the corner is Sukuna's soft, reassuring smile, even while his wide gaze gives away how scared he is, too.

Ten minutes later, you return to Sukuna with a relieved smile on your lips. You can see the breath he lets out, the way the tenseness leaves his broad shoulders and the way his hands unclench.

"The babies are fine. They were as active as ever. The doctor said everything is as it should be. The bleeding could have been caused by all kinds of things, but it's nothing bad. I should just try to avoid stress and rest a bit more."

And Sukuna wraps you in his strong arms, hugging you a bit too tightly, clinging to you as you feel him exhale shakily.

"I'm glad the three of you are fine. Promise me you will really rest more."

"Of course I will. I want the babies, too, Kuna. I won't do anything that could put them at risk."

To your surprise, you feel Sukuna tense up again, and then he pulls away just enough to look at you with a scowl on his beautiful face and worry in his eyes,

"I am not just worried about the babies. I am worried about you, too. Always about you. Fuck, I love you. I need you to take good care of yourself. I can't lose you, princess!"

And you almost melt into a puddle right then and there, feeling tears well up in your eyes again, this time because you are so touched, and so relieved, and so in love with the boy in front of you.

"I love you too. Thank you for being there for me, baby."

"Always, princess."

Your belly is constantly growing, and by now, you aren't able to hide your pregnancy anymore. You get several curious glances on campus. Some people approach you directly. Others whisper when you walk past.

But those whispers stop the moment Sukuna joins your side, walking next to you like some bodyguard, one strong, tattooed arm casually thrown over your shoulder. He leans down to kiss your temple while his cat-like maroon eyes watch the people in the hallway, smirking his most dangerous smirk at them, daring them to make a mean comment and suffer the consequences.

Sukuna places one large hand on your swollen belly, sprawling his tattooed fingers possessively over it as he sneers at the group of girls who are known to be the biggest gossips of the whole campus,

"Those babies are mine. You can let everyone know that. And if anyone has a problem with it, they can come to me and say it to my face."

And you can't help but laugh and lift your head proudly, too, grinning from ear to ear, glad that you are dating the campus bad boy and won't have to endure any bullying because you managed to get knocked up by your college sweetheart. No one dares make any snide comments after finding out who the father of your babies is

You're sitting on the couch reading a book when there's a sudden movement in your belly. You gasp and stare at your baby bump.

"Oh my god, Kuna! Come quick!"

Your loud squeal is one of excitement this time, but there is still alarm written all over Sukuna's tattooed face when he hurries into the living room, cooking spoon still in his hand,

"Fuck! What's wrong?"

But you are quick to chase his worry away, meeting him halfway, walking toward him with a broad smile on your face and your hands cupping your swollen belly.

"It's the twins! I can feel them move! Come here so you can feel them, too!"

And Sukuna looks at you with wide eyes, dropping the spoon he was holding and rushing over to you. He stops in front of you, his gaze traveling down to your baby bump.

You laugh and grab his large hands, placing them firmly on your swollen belly. It takes barely a second, and then Sukuna's gaze snaps to yours,

"Our little brats are kicking me!"

You giggle and nod,

"Yeah, it's so cool, right? I just hope they won't get too wild."

And Sukuna grins and looks at you with an amused and super proud sparkle in his maroon eyes,

"Oh, I know they will be wild. Don't get your hopes up, princess. They are strong, just like their daddy. Right, my little gremlins?"

Sukuna's voice is amused but also tender, making your heart feel full. You know that he already loves his little ones. You can hear it in his voice and see it in the soft look on his face.

Sukuna drops to his knees right in front of you, hugging you and resting his head gently against your baby bump, a tender smile on his face.

A display of such pure devotion and love that it makes you tear up a bit. Sukuna grins as he pulls up your shirt, and then he presses two soft lingering kisses onto your swollen belly. You can feel his smile against your skin just a second before you feel another strong kick from one of the twins, or maybe both of them. As if they want to greet their daddy and show him how strong they already are.

Sukuna laughs, putting his hands on your belly again, grinning as he feels his sons move around,

"Hey, listen up, little brats. Daddy is proud of you for being such strong ones, but be nice to your mommy, ok? Don't kick her too much."

You chuckle and put a hand on Sukuna's head, gently petting his pink hair and running your fingers through the silky strands as you smile down at him. You are sure that you must have heart eyes because Sukuna looks so good kneeling before you, hugging you, and kissing your baby bump while talking to his babies in your belly.

Every last sliver of doubt you might have ever had about this pregnancy dissolves at that moment as you watch your man being so loving and cute. So excited about the development of your babies.

He grins up at you, that boyish grin that always gives you butterflies, and you catch yourself thinking that you really hope your little boys will have the same grin one day.

Of course, you heard about pregnancy cravings, but you couldn't imagine how intense that would be. Now you know it.

You're having a lazy evening on the couch, watching TV with Sukuna, when a commercial for a specific yogurt starts playing, and suddenly, it is all you can think about. You need that yogurt! Right now!

You whine about it like some five-year-old, and Sukuna laughs and pulls out his phone, filming you, telling you that he always wants to remember these epic moments of your pregnancy lunacy. And you huff dramatically and roll your eyes at him and hit his biceps playfully while pouting at him,

"But Kuna, please. You want your babies to become big and strong, right? I am sure they need dairy products right now, and that's why I crave that yogurt! It's them! It's your twins! They make me want that yogurt so bad! Please get it for me, baby, will you?"

You bat your lashes at him, and Sukuna grins at you, reaching out to cup your chin and gently press your cheeks together. His grin grows as he slowly leans closer.

"Stop it, princess. You already know full well that I will buy you that fucking yogurt. If my girl wants that yogurt, she will get that yogurt."

He presses a quick kiss to your pouty lips before he gets up from the couch and is on his way to the door. He looks over his broad shoulders, winking at you. And a second later, your boyfriend is already out the door on his mission to get you all the yogurt you crave.

He returns 20 minutes later, carrying a whole pallet of the desired yogurt, walking toward you with a proud expression on his handsome tattooed face.

"See, princess. You have me to get you everything you need. Now give me a kiss, and I will give you a yogurt."

Sukuna grins that beautiful boyish grin at you, his eyes filled with warmth and tenderness, and you laugh and grab his jaw, giving him a loud, wet smack on his tattooed cheek and then a sweet, slow kiss on his lips.

"Thank you, baby. You are the best."

And you feel him smile against your lips as his large hand cups the back of your head to hold you in place so he can kiss you some more before you can pull away to indulge in your newfound yogurt addiction.

You catch Sukuna standing in the twins' room in your new apartment, paintbrush in hand, his naked chest heaving, sweat mingling with the paint stains on his skin next to the tattoos adorning his muscular body. And it's one of the sexiest sights you have ever seen. Your man building a nest for your babies.

Money is tight, so you could only afford an old and rather shabby apartment. But Sukuna is very determined to turn it into a nice home for his little family. He told you that you don't need to hire any professional craftsmen. Sukuna will do it all by himself (and with the help of his brother). He will make sure you and your babies have a clean and pretty place to live in!

And he keeps his word.

Only a short time later, the apartment is ready to move into, and it looks amazing. A cozy little place for you and Sukuna and your little boys.

Living together with Sukuna feels incredibly nice. You have already been spending all your time together ever since you were pregnant, but knowing that you are actually living together now makes things feel different. Sweeter somehow. Domestic. Just like you dreamed it would be.

This is Sukuna's and your place. Your shared home. It is where you will raise your babies, where you will laugh and cry, eat together, make love, and celebrate the twins' birthdays.

Sukuna's favorite part of the apartment is the kitchen. He spends a lot of time in there, cooking and baking for you, claiming that he needs to feed you well so you get all the nutrients you need right now.

He is stern when it comes to your health, watching you with hawk eyes when you eat and shaking his head when you push some food to the side,

"Uh uh. I looked it up, princess. Those are essential during pregnancy. You will eat them."

As annoying as it can be, you can't be mad at Sukuna. He is just trying his best to take good care of you, after all. And in the end, you always hug him and kiss him and tell him he is the sweetest, which makes Sukuna look very pleased while he announces,

"My girl will always have it good with me."

He is right, and you are very happy about it. Sukuna is super protective of you, even more so now that you are pregnant with his babies. He doesn't let you lift a single finger, insisting that you aren't to carry anything heavy and that you shouldn't do the laundry or clean the apartment.

You laugh when you come home from class and find Sukuna and Yuuji deep cleaning the kitchen together, both sweaty and bitching at each other but motivated like hell to get everything shiny and clean.

"Brat, you missed a spot there! Get your lazy ass up and keep scrubbing my fucking sink! This is for your nephews, you little shit! You don't want them to get all kinds of infections, do you?"

"No, of course not! But Kuna! Grandpa never had a clean house, and you and I lived too! You are such an asshole, oh my god!"

You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter, feeling bad for Yuuji but also filled with love at seeing Sukuna so aggressively motivated about your domestic life. So eager to prepare everything for the twins.

Sukuna is a good man for you. Tough on the outside but caring on the inside. And you already know that he will be a wonderful father.

Your pregnancy progresses without any complications. But you are not immune to the emotional rollercoaster of the pregnancy hormones raging in your body. You cry more easily, sometimes without even really knowing why. You get anxious over the smallest things. And sometimes, everything is too much, and self-doubts fill your mind.

It's those moments that make you suddenly cry and hug yourself, unable to regulate your emotions, hiccuping from all the tears,

"I can't do this! I have no idea how any of this works! I suck at everything I do! I will be such a terrible mom!"

But Sukuna is there for you each and every time, catching you anytime you fall. He wraps you in his strong arms, comforts you, pulls you against his muscular body, and lets you use his broad chest as your pillow, not caring at all that your tears and snot soak his t-shirt. He strokes your hair soothingly, cuddles you, and talks to you in that low, velvety voice. All soft and sweet, murmuring reassurance to you while he pets your hair,

"Shhh, it's ok, baby. You can do it. You'll be an amazing mommy. And even on the days when you can't do it, there will still be me who can do it for you. I won't let you down, ever. You aren't alone in this, princess. You will always have me."

It makes you cry even more. But the tears turn into tears of joy, affection, and love. Sukuna is your rock. To everyone else, he may seem like a superficial troublemaker who only wants to have fun, but you know a different side of him. The accidental pregnancy showed you that Sukuna is so much more than meets the eye. You know you can always count on your bad boy with the face tattoos and the pink hair. You know he will keep his word.

You snuggle gratefully against him in those moments, crying until you fall asleep on his chest, feeling safe and loved and knowing that when you wake up a few hours later, things will look better again.

You talk to your doctor and schedule a planned c-section after seeing how big the twins are already at this point, making you freak out at the thought of trying a natural birth.

Your doctor laughs and tells you that it's no wonder they are big after seeing their daddy, and somehow, it gives you butterflies and makes you smile like an idiot, even as you nod and agree that, yes, Sukuna is really tall and big.

When you tell Sukuna the news, he is, on the one hand, proud that his brats are growing so healthily and seem to turn out just like him, but on the other hand, he is worried about you.

"I will be with you during the c-section. You better know that, princess."

"Of course, I know that, baby. But I am ok, really. I am not scared of the surgery. I am actually glad I don't have to try pressing those big boys out the natural way!"

You look at Sukuna, and his lips twitch, and then you both burst out laughing at the same time before he pulls you against him and hugs you loosely, careful not to squish your swollen belly too much.

Your baby bump is huge by now. You can't see your feet. You can't bend over. You can't move the way you want to. Your belly is heavy and in the way all the time now, and it's a bit annoying at this point.

But Sukuna always manages to make you feel better about it.

He constantly walks up to you, stands behind you, and reaches around you, cupping your swollen belly with both hands, joking about how it is exactly like the basketball he is used to from practice, only prettier.

And you laugh and complain playfully and turn around in his arms, kissing him while still smiling. And he smirks at you and informs you,

"I told you that you have me to take care of you, princess. Stop whining, and just come to me when you need help. It's really that easy."

He is right.

You tell Sukuna you are having trouble putting on your shoes, and Sukuna is instantly by your side. He makes you sit down again, takes your legs into his hands, puts your shoes on for you, and ties the shoelaces.

He is there when you need to pick up something. He is there to do the laundry for you and carry groceries and even your bag when he walks you to your classes. He is there to remind you that you should lie down and rest. And if you don't listen to him, Sukuna can still easily pick you up and just carry you to the bed or couch.

And as much as you are starting to get annoyed by your baby bump and your heavy breasts and swollen face and legs, Sukuna absolutely loves your pregnant body.

There are moments when you are close to tears and feel insecure about your new body shape, missing the way you used to look before, but Sukuna won't let you talk yourself down. He leaves no doubt about how attracted he is to you.

"Stop it, baby. You are so fucking sexy. You think you don't make my dick hard anymore? I'll show you how wrong you are about that, princess."

He walks up to you, making you gulp hard when you feel him stop behind you, his husky voice in your ear, hot breath on your neck sending shivers down your spine.

He presses his tall body against you while his large hands wander lovingly over your body, cupping your plump breasts, caressing your swollen belly, squeezing your squishy hips and thighs while hot, wet kisses trail up and down your neck and Sukuna rubs his rock-hard erection against your back, letting you feel how hard you still make him.

"If you weren't already round and swollen with my twins, I would fuck a baby into you right this second. But just because I can't knock you up again right now doesn't mean I can't fuck you."

Sukuna is careful to put you in positions that are comfortable for you and won't hurt the babies. And his thrusts are a bit gentler than usual, but his hips still roll against you with that perfect, sexy pace, dicking you down so good that it makes you sob his name and forget all about the insecurities you felt earlier.

You are lying on your side, and Sukuna is spooning you, fucking you from behind with those slow, deep strokes that make your head spin. His strong arms are wrapped tightly around your body, his hands squeezing your breasts, and he growls in your ear when a few droplets of milk already spill from your swollen tits.

You mewl when Sukuna doesn't wipe his hands on the sheets but licks your sticky milk off his fingers, groaning as if it's a sweet treat, telling you how good you taste.

He flicks his thumb over your puffy clit, making you scream with how good and intense everything feels with the pregnancy hormones and the increased blood flow in your body. Forgetting all about the insecurities you felt earlier as you give yourself to Sukuna and let him worship your pregnant body.

One of his hands is holding your swollen belly, while the other is between your thighs, spoiling your pussy with his loving caresses. And all the time, he praises you with that low, sexy voice, telling you how crazy you drive him.

You squeal loudly when your pleasure peaks, and you clench so hard around Sukuna's cock, that you take him with you over the edge, making him groan loudly against your neck while his large hands sprawl over your pregnant belly, holding it firmly as he ruts into you and spills his hot cum into you.

Sukuna is always sweet to you after sex, but even more so now that you are pregnant. You get cleaned, you get cuddled, you get praised, you get offered snacks, which makes you laugh softly and pull Sukuna into a deep kiss, telling him that the only snack you want right now is him.

All of this helps you accept the changes in your body and even appreciate them. Sukuna makes you feel desired and sexy, even when your legs and face are swollen, and your big baby bump makes it impossible for you to move the way you used to.

Sukuna loves your baby bump.

And not just during sex but all the time. He can't keep his hands off it. A large tattooed hand always rests on your swollen belly when you snuggle on the couch together, watching your favorite shows. Or at night, when you lie in bed, and Sukuna hugs you from behind. He even does it in public, proudly showing you and your baby bump off.

It makes you smile, thinking that just a few months ago, you and Sukuna were both freaking out about him accidentally knocking you up, but now you are both so at peace with how things are. Even happy and excited to share this new chapter of your life with each other.

You are standing in the baby room section of Ikea three weeks before your due date, a hand resting gently on your swollen belly, smiling when you feel your babies' occasional kicks.

Their daddy is busy picking out a changing table while looking completely out of place with his black clothes and intimidating-looking tattoos amidst all the white and pastel-colored furniture surrounding him.

He is sticking his tongue out in concentration, his tongue piercing glittering in the artificial light as he takes measurements with a measuring tape to determine which changing table fits better into the kid's room. And your chest fills with warmth as you watch him.

He is so focused, so invested. This is important to him. Your babies are important to him. You are important to him.

Before you even know it, you are standing behind Sukuna and wrap your arms around him, hugging him and snuggling against his broad back, at least as much as your huge baby bump allows.

Sukuna looks over his shoulder with that boyish grin on his tattooed face, looking so good that the sensation of your babies kicking you isn't the only fluttery feeling in your stomach.

"Do you want the blue changing mat or the yellow one, princess?"

You chuckle, unable to stop the broad smile spreading over your face,

"You are so sexy, daddy."

Sukuna's smirk grows bigger, and he lifts one eyebrow,

"You think this is sexy? Just wait until you see me giving our brats the bottle or changing their diapers."

"I'll probably faint from all the sexiness!"

You both start laughing at the same time. And Sukuna turns around to steal a few kisses before he wraps his strong arms around you and tells you about all the sexy dad things he will do when his brats are here.

And you both laugh as you stand there hugging and joking and flirting in the middle of Ikea, feeling as if you are in your own little bubble. And you kind of are, aren't you? This is your little family. Sukuna and you and the babies in your swollen belly.

And you realize that you can't wait for the little ones to finally be here. You can't wait to finally see Sukuna holding them, carrying them around in his tattooed arms, hearing him sing them to sleep with that sexy low voice, and seeing him be the proud daddy that you know he will be.

I WANT THAT SEXY DADDY IN MY LIFE AAAHHH 😭💗 This story became so much longer than I thought, but I just couldn't stop writing. I found so much comfort in this whole series. Our fave bad boy becoming all mature and responsible 💗

I hope you enjoyed Option B and that it could make you smile, too!! Thank you so much for all the sweet comments and tags on Part 1 and Option A. It was such a nice journey with y'all!!

Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

[zed-the-buggy]

from @raitnrong i would rep this normally but ur making me ss your tags

ultimately i still stand by my point (argumentation? less so i. wish i phrased 100% of my post better) but i really do like!!! seeing counterpoints and seeing other thoughts on this, ultimately its a silly pokemon game & there's no right answer but the one you believe <3 but i do love discussing these things so i will DO that under cut because i went off again sorry (granted, only like two paragraphs, but still, like two paragraphs,)

i debate this with LOVE IN MY HEART VERY GENUINELY i love talking do you know this. you dont know me but thats besides the point. but yes on the I HATE HOW I PUT MY ARGUMENT IN THAT POST GOOD LORD!! i definitely think i put a lot of incorrect emphasis on it being Geeta specifically or at least let it come off that way rather than the system itself, there's no good cops theres no good landlords theres no good bosses, and unfortunately geeta is the boss. which comes to a more positional thing than a personal thing. geeta isnt a bad PERSON so much (i personally get red flags just through my past experience of a boss who outwardly acted very similarly and was crud behind the scene but that's. me.) she is just in an inherent position of power which regardless of personal intent comes with that inherent dynamic. capitalism sucks etc etc.

which is a different argument ENTIRELY from my og post because i did not phrase anything right sory

i do find one tandem idea REALLY interesting with this though. i think it would be interesting if they DID have that rivalry theory before, and geeta does genuinely think she is helping larry out and helping him reach greater heights. but larry just. doesnt WANT to be helped. and geeta keeps trying to push that potential and all. geeta sees something in him, a strong and potentially passionate trainer who refuses to accept that. but geeta is, inherently in a more powerful position. and larry just really has passions elsewhere. he might be Good at pokemon battling but thats not what he wants to Do. so when geeta is trying to push him into a nonexistent passion etc etc conflict of interest and imbalance of dynamic have fun with that one fic writers.

i just think its interesting to focus on neither being in the wrong just being in an unhealthy relationship to dynamic because of their different views on life and pokemon battling leading to a frustrating unstoppable force immovable object relationship. i just think its neat.

ok so larry and geeta

i really hate to rag on a character other people like for my own blorbo so uh, geeta fans i am so so sorry i would recommend skipping this post, i doubt its actually this deep </3 you are allowed to like her prommy

ok but ACtual analysis time, what the FUCK is up with larry and geeta (people who have never had a shitty two faced boss before ask. /j)

larry expresses anti institutional ideologies a lot, he wants to do things outside the system hes in will allow. he expresses a lot of negativity about his position, a lot of remarks which could rock the boat. which they HAVE with the amount of people now realizing most gym leaders have second jobs. and the system might! be kinda fucked! and deal shitty pay and is just kinda a whole gimmick of an industry in the whole universe. and larry sorta points directly at that, when he actively complains about Having to be a gym leader, Having to be an e4 member.

Geeta in this position would fucking hate Larrys guts! and would also point to her just quietly not saying anything when the player likes larry most. Because Geeta doesnt just dislike larry in this position. Geeta dislikes the ideals hes lowkey pioneering here. And when the player likes larry, its like the player is siding with larry. The player believes hes in the right, not Geeta, and it directly pits the player and Geeta at odds, in a very quiet way.

Geeta cant say shit. Geeta has to keep up the appearance of one big happy league full of amazing, positive members and they're all strong and etc etc. She keeps the facade of the entire league. Whether she genuinely loves the league or not, she has to keep an incredibly dedicated face up about the view of the league. But this same rule doesn't apply in private. The gym leaders, her workers have to keep that facade also, especially with Geeta, but Geeta doesnt have to give them that same light of day. Geeta can do whatever she wants, and the gym leaders just kinda have to deal with it.

i very much believe geeta and larrys relationship proposes this really. really sad idea. because geeta is larrys boss, and they. really dont like eachother! and geeta has. power. larry is afraid she will "dock his pay" for chitchat. but really it comes down to his chit chat going against the status quo, the status quo which Geeta benefits from. And ultimately, she does have the power to dock him for chit chat. She can rob him for being honest. And while Geeta's true treatment of the gym leaders as a manager will probably remain unknown, Larry's existence really offers the idea that it's probably not a great role.

Larry is not special. And thats the problem. Hes not breaking ass to go all out on a cute gimmick, hes not loving the institution as much as everyone else is to the point of doing more than its worth. Hes just doing the bare minimum to get by. Actively complains about his job, which for people in the right spheres it could seem like a huge deal to be a gym leader, and an elite four member. like bro! thats awesome! you just get to do pokemon battles all day! but really its not. once you live in the system, and you get sick enough of it, it loses its luster, and you realize that its just another grind, dodging pay cuts, trying to please the right people and constantly bust ass just to pay for the rent on your apartment and maybe groceries.

Larry is a pawn in the same system as everyone else. Geeta needs larry to be special. But he wont be. And Geeta doesn't take well to that.

Thats why hes the exceptional ordinary man. His ordinariness is what makes him the exception.

[mychemikuromance]

i see any sort of horror image and my brain just latches onto that shit huh

[sleepydeprived]

A Chance for Redemption

—A mysterious high school student appears out of the blue, bearing the face of the late Martha Wayne and puzzling even Gotham's greatest detectives.

[chapter 3]

Mama I’m Chasing A Ghost.

| Platonic!Yandere!Batfam x Reader

The floor-to-ceiling windows of my bedroom looked out onto the manicured gardens of the estate, and in the distance, was a view of Gotham that never seemed to change.

The same scenery, the same routine.

The butlers, the maids, the drivers who ferried me from one lavish location to another.

Every day was like the last, but with one major exception;

Gotham Academy

For the first time in my life, I had been thrust into a world that wasn’t mine. My mother had insisted I’d go, telling me it was for my own good. I was homeschooled my entire life, my education confined to private tutors and digital classes.

That is.. until my mother moved me to a prestigious school a few months ago. I don’t know what changed her mind. She was always so hellbent on keeping my life private. Her sweet little girl that only she knew about.

But now here I am attending a school that is closely watched by weird, content-hungry journalists and creepy paparazzis hoping to catch a photograph of children with high titles.

Nevertheless, I felt like an outsider. A puzzle that didn’t quite fit. I was the new kid—the girl who came out of nowhere.

But being an outsider didn’t automatically mean loner.

My presence didn’t go unnoticed.

I was different. People knew it, felt it, and stared. Maybe it was the fact that I came from a family—a clan—that held such an influence over Gotham’s elites. I was basically one relative away from a famous celebrity or a corrupt politician.

But, of course, there was also the resemblance to Martha Wayne.

It was a ghost of a resemblance, really, but it haunted me all the same. From the first day I stepped onto campus, I heard the whispers;

She looks like Martha Wayne.

The wife of Thomas Wayne?

She could be her daughter...

Or granddaughter.

It had started out as idle speculation, but as the days passed, the gossip only grew.

People stared, talked behind my back, and pointed at me when they thought I wasn’t looking. They didn't know me, but they had already formed an opinion. The mystery girl. The girl who had somehow, inexplicably, appeared out of nowhere. The girl who had the same smile, the same eyes, the same air of dignity and grace as Gotham’s most beloved figure. The figure whose tragic death had left an indelible mark on the city.

I had never cared for the attention. In fact, I hated it. I’m not interested in being some object of fascination, and that’s just how I was raised. I’m not Martha Wayne nor am I related to her—or at least, that’s what I’ve been told. The more people asked, the more I pushed that idea away. But the whispers were constant.

It made me think. A lot. So much more than what I preferred.

And suddenly, the buried thoughts from childhood of who and where my biological father was came rushing back.

Ever since I was a child, I had learned to bury my feelings—bury the questions about my father, and why my mother wouldn’t speak of him. There had been one conversation about it, years ago when my mother still had the time to let me in her study.

"Your father is not someone you need to concern yourself with," mother had said, her voice cold and stern. "Do not ask about him. Do not seek him. He is not a part of your life. Understand?"

And now, in the halls of Gotham Academy, that memory itched at me, more often than ever before. The bell rang, signaling the end of another school day, but I didn’t hurry to leave. I stood at my locker, staring at my reflection in the shiny surface of the metal.

Do I look like her?

————————

taglist:

@leeleecats @mariadvorak @deans-spinster-witch @rainlovewrites @xoacesgf @whiteoakoak @uknowimdumb @otterluver05

[n1ght0f-nyx]

Orc! Husband who is a great warrior and leader, knows nothing but being used as a sword, a means to an end who's disillusioned and tired and accepts he's gonna die another pawn in another war, meeting a sweet human, a peasant from a local village who sees him as so much more. (The idea of some large war worn orc getting his scarred face caressed for the first time, being touched kindly for the first time having lived a lifetime of war)

i love this anon

warnings/tags- war mentions, i dont give the orc a name (i just call him orc/him) reader is gn (please dm me if their are any mistakes you see)

sorry this took so long for me to post

word count- 1667

The world was caught in a cycle of war. It was all you had ever known—villages burnt, homes lost, and people fleeing. The once fertile land surrounding your small village had been reduced to ash by decades of fighting. Your family had passed when you were young, victims of an earlier invasion. Now, you lived alone on the outskirts, tending to a humble garden, surviving day by day, hidden away from the larger conflicts that ravaged the region.

One day, word spread that another army was passing through. hims, they said. Great and terrible warriors, driven by bloodlust, used as weapons by those who wished to conquer the land. The mere mention of them sent shivers down your spine. You'd never seen an orc before, but the tales of their brutality haunted your nights.

But life had to go on. War was as much a part of your existence as the soil beneath your feet. You’d tended your small garden early in the morning, pulling weeds and harvesting what little grew in the rough soil, when you saw him.

He was massive—nearly seven feet tall with broad shoulders and green, scarred skin that glistened under the midday sun. He moved like a predator, every step deliberate and filled with the weight of someone who knew the battlefield like the back of his hand. His face was hard, worn from years of battle. His tusks jutted out from his lower jaw, and his eyes, dark and tired, scanned the landscape without emotion. His armor was dented and scratched, his war axe hanging loosely by his side.

You froze in place, heart pounding in your chest. He hadn’t noticed you yet, but his presence was enough to send a bolt of fear through your spine. Should you run? Hide? But as you hesitated, he turned his gaze in your direction, his sharp eyes locking with yours.

He didn’t move.

You held your breath, waiting for him to charge, to raise his axe, to shout in fury as the stories had always described. But he didn’t. He just stood there, staring at you. His posture was tense, but there was no hostility in his eyes. Just exhaustion, a deep weariness that went beyond the physical. 

Slowly, you stood, wiping your hands on your apron as you tried to gather your courage. “I-I’m not armed,” you stammered, not knowing what else to say. Your voice trembled, but you stood your ground, unable to look away from the giant in front of you.

He blinked slowly, as if processing your words. His brow furrowed, and for the first time, his lips parted to speak. His voice was gravelly, deep and tired. “I am… not here to fight.”

His words shocked you. Orcs were supposed to be mindless brutes, weren't they? Tools of war and destruction. But there was something in his voice—something that told you he was more than that. Something that hinted at a story far deeper than the legends you'd grown up with.

"I... I see," you replied, unsure of what to do with this information. "Why are you here, then?"

him seemed to consider this for a moment. His eyes drifted across the barren landscape, as if searching for an answer he didn’t have. Finally, he spoke again, his words slow and deliberate. “I was following orders. But the battle is done. And now, I am here.”

There was a sadness in his voice, a resignation that tugged at your heart. You hadn’t known kindness in a long time yourself, not since the war had taken everything from you. And here stood a creature—a warrior—who had clearly suffered more than most. It was a strange feeling, but you didn’t want to leave him there, lost in his own despair.

You took a tentative step forward. “Do you… do you need help?”

Heturned to face you fully now, eyes narrowing slightly. “Help?” he echoed, as if the word was foreign to him.

You nodded, swallowing your fear as best as you could. “Yes. I… I don’t know much about orcs, but… if you’re lost, or need food, I can offer you what little I have.”

He seemed taken aback. His dark eyes softened, just for a moment, and you could see the wariness in him begin to waver. “Why?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. “Why would you help me?”

You bit your lip, unsure of how to explain it yourself. "Because... you seem like you’ve had enough pain. And I know what that’s like."

He stared at you, unblinking, as if trying to decipher your words. Then, without a word, he sheathed his axe, the sound of metal scraping metal filling the silence between you.

"I am Orc," he said simply, as though it was the only name he had ever known.

You offered him a small, hesitant smile. "I'm... I'm Y/N. Come, if you're hungry, I have some food. It's not much, but it's something."

And so it began. He followed you back to your small home, his massive presence intimidating, yet strangely protective. Over the next few days, you learned more about him—not through stories, but through his actions. He wasn’t the mindless killer you’d feared. He was quiet, thoughtful even, though his words were few. He helped you in the garden, chopping wood with ease, fixing things around the house that had been neglected for too long. He never spoke of the war or the battles he had fought, but the scars on his body told enough of the story.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in hues of pink and orange, you sat together by a small fire. The crackling of the flames was the only sound between you for a while, until you finally gathered the courage to ask the question that had been gnawing at you for days.

“.. why did you stay?”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. But then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he spoke. “I have known nothing but war. I was made for it. Used for it. There was always another battle, another fight. I thought that was all there was.”

You watched him carefully, noticing how his hands clenched and unclenched as he spoke.

“But when I met you…” His voice trailed off, as if he was unsure how to continue. “You did not look at me as a weapon. You did not fear me.”

Your heart ached for him. Slowly, you reached out, placing your hand gently on his arm. His skin was rough and scarred, but beneath it, you could feel the warmth of someone who had long been deprived of kindness. His entire body tensed under your touch, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he looked down at your hand, his brow furrowing in confusion, as if he couldn’t comprehend why someone would want to touch him in such a way. He had known nothing but pain and violence—his body bore the marks of countless battles, each one a reminder of what he was made to do.

Gently, you let your fingers brush against his face, tracing the deep scars that lined his jaw and cheek. His breath hitched, and for the first time, you saw something break in his eyes. He wasn’t just a warrior. He was someone who had been used and discarded, left to fight battles that weren’t his own.

"You’re more than just a weapon," you whispered softly, your voice barely audible over the crackling fire. "You deserve more than this life of war."

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if it was the first time someone had ever reached out to him with kindness. The tension in his body melted away, and for a brief moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift from his shoulders.

“I… don’t know how to be anything else,” he admitted, his voice strained with vulnerability.

"Then let me show you," you said, your thumb gently brushing across his scarred cheek. "Let me show you that there's more to life than fighting."

In that moment, something shifted between you. The wall he had built around himself began to crumble, and him, the warrior who had known nothing but war, allowed himself to hope. Hope for something more, something better.

And in that hope, you both found solace.

---

As the days passed, he stayed. What had once been a strange and cautious arrangement became a companionship neither of you had expected. He helped you tend the garden, his strength turning the earth with ease. You taught him how to appreciate the small things—the sound of the wind in the trees, the feeling of warm sunlight on his skin, the simple joy of sharing a meal with someone who cared.

And slowly, he began to open up. He told you stories of his battles, not with pride, but with a sense of regret, of loss. He had been a tool, a weapon wielded by others, never given the chance to choose his own path.

But now, with you, he had found something different. Something worth fighting for—not with a sword, but with his heart.

You fell in love, slowly but surely. It was in the quiet moments, the shared glances, the way he protected you without ever needing to raise his weapon. And one night, as the stars twinkled overhead, you whispered the words that had been growing in your heart.

“I love you.”

He stared at you, his dark eyes filled with an emotion so raw, so powerful, that it nearly took your breath away. “I… love you too, Y/N.”

For the first time in his life, he let himself be vulnerable. He let himself feel something other than the cold steel of a weapon in his hand, something other than the rage of battle that had driven him for so long. He let himself feel love.

[entitled-fangirl]

Chance. (P4)

Aemond Targaryen x reader; Aegon x wife!reader

Summary: Things get messy quickly when she realizes Aemond's plans.

Part 1, 2, 3

Masterlist

..........................................

"Prince Aemond, there's been a riot."

Aemond stood tall, his back to the man. He turned his head slowly, taking in the guard's words. "And?"

"The queens and princess have been returned."

Aemond's head immediately shot to the man, his eye wide, "WHAT?"

…

"Please refrain from movement, your grace. I understand it is difficult."

She let out a soft groan, her jaw clenched so hard that she couldn't bring herself to speak.

The Grand Maester carefully moved the needle back through the skin, completing the first stitch on her brow.

Through the riot, her only major injury was a split brow. Easily manageable, though still painful.

Especially when she had to refrain from furrowing them when the pain came through. 

Sat up in bed for once, Aegon watched from afar as the maester pieced together his wife at her vanity.

He didn't try to speak. He didn't want to. Just watching. 

When the needle moved back through the skin, she took in a sharp breath, managing to not move her face besides the slight widening of her eyes. 

…

"Nonsense! Tell me." Aemond grinned.

"No! It's foolish!" She laughed. 

"I'm sure it's not. Just tell me."

She let out a breathy laugh at the thought of what she was to say, "Fine. No laughter."

He huffed playfully but shrugged, "Very well."

She took a deep breath before closing her eyes to avoid seeing his reaction. "Archery."

His eye widened. "Archery?"

She opened her eyes to look at him once she realized he was impressed rather than mocking.

He nodded, "I did not suspect that of you. Any good?"

She smiled, "My father would help me practice by throwing apples into the air."

"Did it work?"

She nodded with a smile, "Incredibly."

Aemond chuckled, "I'd like to see you with a bow in your hands."

She bit back her smile a bit, "Perhaps after our wedding."

"Oh?" He teased, "Are you trying to trick me, girl? Will I marry you only to find out you're horrid at it?"

She barked out a laugh, "Oh, yes. You've discovered my plan."

He smiled, "'Tis a good plan."

She smiled back, "It is."

…

"My queen."

She turned her head just barely to acknowledge his presence, "Aemond."

He frowned, "So informal?"

She let out a breath in amusement that quickly dropped back to her stoic behavior, "I'm afraid I'm not sure what to call you these days."

He hummed, moving further out on the balcony to join her.

He stared out at the city alongside her, "I heard of your recent… mishap."

She sighed.

He continued, "I am quite thankful you came out unharmed."

She scoffed under her breath.

He turned to look at her in slight anger, "Do my words offend you so?"

She shook her head, "You've no idea."

He let out a frustrated breath, "Then tell me."

She turned herself to look at him fully. The horrid sewing of her brow on display for him and a haunting look to match.

He had to hold himself back from gasping. It was rather horrid now, irritated and red. A striking difference to the usual calmness of her skin. 

"The maester said it may scar," she murmured. She then let out an unamused chuckle, "Perhaps you and I will match."

He gritted his teeth. "My people did this?"

She paused a moment at his choice of words, but continued, "War haunts more than just the warriors who fight it on the field."

"I'll kill them for you."

"You'll kill people fighting in these streets for their families? Wishing to feed their children at night? Do not waste your time."

Aemond jaw clenched. He forced himself to take a deep breath and reconvene himself, "Why do you not know what to call me?"

She stared out at the city, "You're a confusing man, Aemond."

"I'm not sure I understand."

She sighed, speaking with calculation but a tone of casualty, "You are the Prince. You are the King regent. You are my brother-by-law. You are our greatest warrior and fiercest dragon rider. You were my betrothed that I…" she paused as she looked at him, "And I still do not know if I can trust you."

He hummed and looked back out at the city, deep in thought. Finally, he spoke, "I assure you, I am no enemy to you, my queen."

"I have yet to decide that."

His head snapped to her, "How so? What is left to decide?" His voice grew rash, "I have defended my brother in battle and now I rule over his throne until he is well-"

"-He'll never be truly well, Aemond." She argued.

He sneered, "You must let me finish." He took a breath, "I rule in his stead, I fight his battles, and I care for his wife- all things he didn't want nor deserved from the beginning! He is weak!"

Her voice raised as she grew defensive, "Watch yourself!"

His eye scrutinized her form, "Do not pretend you are a threat to me."

"I am the QUEEN!" She yelled. 

"I. AM. THE. KING!" He roared and stepped up to her quickly.

She flinched away, taking a few steps back at the anger in his eyes.

Her voice returned to its quiet tone, "You've stated your fealty just then and there."

His face went from rage to surprise, then quickly to remorse, "I am not your enemy, my queen."

"And I almost married you," she stated. "Perhaps I married the right one after all."

…

She sat on the bed, watching the Maester help Aegon walk for the first time. 

Aegon took slow, painful steps and grunted and whines with each one. 

But a step was a step.

He managed across the room before his leg gave out.

Y/n quickly moved, throwing herself from the bed to help the maester catch him.

Together, they moved him back to the bed.

"He's making incredible progress, despite how slow it must feel to you, my queen."

She sighed lightly, "It is great progress. I am very pleased with it. Thank you."

He smiled, excusing himself quickly.

She turned her attention back to Aegon and ran a hand through what hair he had left, "That was wonderful, my love."

His eyes displayed the pain he was in. The whining continued softly as if involuntary escaping from his throat.

She turned serious suddenly, "I am going to ask you questions, Aegon. And… I don't wish to know the entire truth. You will either shake or nod your head. That is all. Understand?"

"Y… yes."

She look a long agonizing breath. She could ask anything.

"Did you truly slay Meleys?"

He shook his head.

"Is Princess Rhaenys truly dead?"

He nodded.

She sighed. "Did Aemond participate in the battle in any capacity?"

He nodded.

"Aemond and Vhagar killed Meleys?"

He nodded.

She bit her lip. How to word these questions just right?

"You were not caught in crossfire of any kind?"

He let out a grunt but shook his head.

Here it was. Just work up the nerve.

"Vhagar and her rider, Aemond Targaryen, released dragon fire upon you with the intent to kill you, knowing full and well that you were the king, Aegon Targaryen II? His brother?"

Aegon closed his eyes, beginning to hiccup and tears fell from his eyes and down his scarred face.

She stared at him, keeping the pity deep in her gut until she received an answer. "Aegon."

A curt nod.

..........................................................

taglist: @p45510n4f4shi0n, @darktrashsoulbear, @vieenr0se, @pez-unicorn, @marlenees-world, @thatbabydeer, @kahelis, @misspinkonmars

[tkingfisher]

So I write all sorts of things (fiction, fanfic, screenplays) and my mind is cluttered garden of flowers and weeds and shiny ideas, and I'm wondering how to form a writing practice to clear it into tidy rows? Is it possible to shepherd untamed ideas into order?

How do you manage all your wonderful worlds, characters and inspiration and not feel haunted by the story bits and pieces in your head? Any practical tips beyond dark magic?

Thank you, you are such a constant inspiration for me, both prose and just your presence. <3

*laugh* Oh god, Nonny, if I ever find out, I’ll tell you! When you read books, you’re getting the Instagram-filtered view of a writer’s brain, all the flowers that grew out of the compost heap, carefully composed and shot in optimal lighting. The real inside of my skull is a magpie nest of Neat Shit I Read/Saw/Thought Up While Lying Awake At 2 AM. There are characters and ideas in there that I’ve been trying to get into a manuscript since I was twelve and typing on an Amiga 500.

But, that said…really, I think it’s okay. Creativity is inherently untidy. The compost heap can be corralled into a very pretty box made of sustainably harvested materials, hand-stained by traditional artisans being paid a living wage by an employee-owned company, but as soon as you lift the lid, it’s all worms and coffee grounds and old potting soil and cow shit and the vegetables you swore you were gonna eat this time before they went bad. That’s what compost is.

Nevertheless, having been in the business for…uh…fifteen years now? (@dduane is snickering at me, I can feel it) and having written nearly forty books, I can offer three bits of something less than advice. It’s what I do. It may not work for anyone else, but it’s what I do.

Un-Advice The First: If you get a shiny idea and you are super excited by it? Go ahead and chase it. Pull up a new page in Word or whatever and slap down a couple thousand words while it’s exciting. I know that this absolutely flies in the face of common wisdom, but quite frankly, my enthusiasm is a much rarer commodity than my time, so if I’m excited about something, I write it down until I’ve taken the edge off.

Then I usually save it into a big folder called “Fragments” and go back to work on whatever I’ve got a deadline on. (Usually. Sometimes the edge doesn’t wear off, and I wind up with another book. Which, y’know, darn.)

There are vast numbers of people who will tell you that a shiny idea is a sign that something is wrong with your current project and the solution is to knuckle down and work! through! it! And those people are probably right for them, and I trust they know how their own brains work. Me, though, I got ADHD like a bat has wings. My hard drive is a vast swamp of story beginnings, neat ideas, random scenes. And that’s okay because I still get books finished.

In fact, it’s better than okay. Not that long ago, my agent sent a novella to a publisher and they said “We’ll take that novella and three more novels. What’ve you got?” And I ended up plundering my hard drive and sending the editor a good dozen random beginnings until we found one that we both liked, and then I wrote the rest of that book. And then another one. If I hadn’t had all those fragments lying around, though, it would have been a miserable experience of writing book pitches and trying to think of stuff I could get excited about. (This may not be how some editors work, but it’s how my editor and I work, anyhow.)

Un-Advice The Second: Trust that everything will find a home eventually.

This one is easy to say and hard to do because sometimes you get that overload that if you’re writing the book about, say, werebear nuns, you aren’t writing the one about the alien crustaceans. Or worse, you feel guilty. If you don’t use that one cool thing, was all that time you spent on it wasted?

Breathe. Be easy. Every single cool thing does not need to go into a single book. There is no sell-by date on the neat character. You will probably write many books in your life and all those random characters will find a home. (Seriously, the werebear nuns were lurking for like a decade.)

For me, at least, when I find the spot where something fits, it often snaps into place like a Lego. Easton’s backstory as a soldier from a society where soldiers were a third sex had been kicking around in my head for a few years, derived from about three different sources, and then I wrote the opening to What Moves The Dead and all of a sudden Easton was there and alive and they had strong opinions about everything and I had ten thousand words practically before I turned around.

You can also stave off guilt by writing some of your ideas in as highly personal Easter Eggs. A couple of my books have references to a white deer woman, a heroic deed done by a saint and the ghost of a bird, and a woman with dozens of hummingbirds on tiny jeweled leashes. Those are all characters and stories I’ve had vague notions about, but haven’t managed to work in anywhere or learn much more about. Still, the passing reference is enough to make me feel like I haven’t abandoned them.

(The advantage to this is that once you DO write those in, the readers are all “oh my god, she foreshadowed this a decade ago, she must have planned this all out in advance!” Then you look really clever and well-organized and no one has to know that you have no idea what you’re doing.)

Un-Advice The Third: Write the kitchen sink book.

At one point, I had so many stray ideas that hadn’t gotten into a book yet—the tree of frogs, the dog-soldiers, the stained glass saint, the albatross and the shadow of the sun, and also I wanted to write something with Baba Yaga—that I hauled off and wrote a book where I just put in everything and the kitchen sink. It’s called Summer in Orcus. There are bits in there that I had been cooking in the mental compost heap for decades, but that weren’t enough on their own to sustain a whole book. The phrase “antelope women are not to be trusted” showed up in my head some time in college. It’s a fun little book and I’m proud of it, but it’s very much a patchwork quilt of weirdness. But it’s also written so that if later on, an antelope woman shows up in another book in another context, that just adds to their mythology, it doesn’t break canon or whatever.

(Pretty sure I’m not the only one who has done this, either. China Mieville has said that he wrote Perdido Street Station because what he really enjoyed was writing all the weird monsters.)

So yeah, that’s my advice, for what it’s worth. Some days I just tell all the fragments and ideas that I promise that I’ll get them a home eventually but I need to write this thing here now. Sometimes I throw down enough words to get the story stabilized and then I’m okay to move on. Sometimes I write multiple books simultaneously.

Any method you use to write the book, so long as it doesn’t hurt you or anyone else, is a perfectly valid method. If anyone tells you different, you send them to me.

(…god, I hope that was the question you were actually asking, Nonny, and that I didn’t go off on a completely different tangent when you just wanted to know how I keep track of a plot or something.)

[streets-in-paradise]

Mercifull - Maximus Decimus Meridius x (Fem)Reader

Gladiator (2000) Oneshot

Warnings: Confession of suicidal thoughts ( reader makes it and he talks her out of it), some age gap ( reader is young lady fan in age of looking for marriage).

Summary: The company of your favorite gladiator is the only bliss your father has been able to obtain for you since the rule of Commodus got you fearing for your lives.

Bought in clandestinity through the aborrecent mechanisms of roman corruption, your one moment to show Maximus thankfullness for the positive impact he had in you becomes your time to present him with a small part of the comfort fate has denied him through his endless sufferings.

Notes: First piece of Gladiator fic I ever written, inspired by the lovely @wildsaltair and an idea that wandered my mind post rewatch. Despite the grim topics in the warnings, I need to clarify it is mostly a comfort fluff

Maximus wasn't counting with more visits at night and the reminder of Lucilla's warnings regarding the depraved customs of wealthy ladies in Rome haunted him when he got the news. He would have yet to receive someone else, fault of his increasing popularity. It was matter of time untill fame would bring that sort of attention to him and he despised it. Forced to be in the presence of the buyer of instants from the misserable life he had yet to live, he would deny them of the one thing they really paid for. Frightening disdain could be enough to make a corrupt rich matron think twice before venturing.

Once he had you face to face, you confused him to no end debunking all previous assumptions. In his eyes you appeared like a portrait of innocence. A polite young lady that smiled for him with shy blush, not the attitude expected for a lascivous woman seeking satisfaction for her wicked desires from a gladiator. Nerves kept you awakardly silent as you advanced towards him and Maximus followed your every move with disconcerted curiosity.

Only after the guard allowed you some privacy, he finally got to hear your voice.

" It's a great honor, … to be in the presence of the most honorable champion … "

You suddenly interrupted yourself, giving him the impression of a previously practiced introductory speech falling due to excitement.

" … I brought you a humble present, just a honey cake. Self made, none of my slaves were involved. Unfortunately, the guards said we can't have it … What is a shame, because I thought something sweet would be comforting for your spirit. "

Adoration of the purest was all you were showing him. If he could have any doubts about what kind of woman you were, it was all confirmed for him.

For the first time since his life was ruined, something amused him enough to throw a few chuckles.

" You shouldn't be here. What would happen with your suitors if the rumour spreads that you frequent champions at night? "

The inmediate, correct implication showing he knew you couldn't be a married woman had slightly shamed you.

" Do you think that troubles me now? A lot has changed since Commodus crowned himself emperor. What used to concern me feels meaningless. Great damage has he inflicted in such brief time! Giving him a lifespan to rule, he will be the downfall of Rome. If the world our people have built may end, I can at least spend a small portion of my family's fortune for a meet with my favorite gladiator. "

Despite presented as sensical reasoning, your comment made him wary for motives that you couldn't possibly predict.

" Did Lucilla send you as last resort to soften my heart? "

You didn't feel called out in any way and replied with increasing honesty.

" I have no business with her, here I am on my own. My desperate father paid hoping our meeting could reanimate the walking corpse his beloved daughter has become. Your performance in the arena awakened her from the letharge and for once she resembled herself again. "

Unsure of what you meant, he tried to disuade you the best he could.

" He wasted it, I have nothing for you. Not even legendary words of comfort you may treasure for the rest of your life. If an infatuation with the shade of myself you saw brought you here, I'll have to warn you there is no life left in me to share. "

The dark warning had a contradictory effect. Probably because of the frustration caused by such terrible start of the encounter with your idol, some of your initial shyness was slowly dissipating.

" My two brothers gave their lives for Rome, only so Commodus would claim mine! " You admitted right away, controlling yourself to not indulge in reckless yelling. " I know, I saw it in his eyes when I had to swear loyalty to him out of fear. My father ... I am all he has left after sickness claimed my mother and war deprived us of my brothers. Commodus will come for me first. Sooner or later, he will. His wicked smile haunts my dreams turned into nightmares. Your company is the last wish of an innocent who fears herself already sentenced. Can't you not grant such small mercy? "

Maximus no longer could show himself detached from your pleads and your strange fascination became more understandable to him. Far from a superficial admiration, you were moved by his claims. Was that the sort of power Lucilla attributed him? Inspiring terrified people and awakening the conciences of those who remained numb of distractions? He was once a general, but it was not his place to be a revolutionary leader.

And yet, he couldn't help to feel intrigued about your story. He was not in the place to reach you any comfort, but could grant the mercy of listening to you. After all, yours was a moving image for him. Youthfull enough to make him suspect you could as well be a beloved daughter and someone else's fiancee. Innocent and kind, sweet and respectfull of a mere slave.

He relaxed his closed fists, then gave only a few steps closer to you to test if you weren't going to retrocede out of any possible fear of pyshical closeness.

" I am not a good companion, a balsam for desperation, but would like to know what made you expect to find that in me. "

You remained in your position, glance turning softer again before you looked at the ceiling as if you would be confessing yourself to both, him and the gods.

When your eyes were back on him you shrugged, making him smile from amusement.

" Everyday I see the masses supporting him I experience the powerlessness of Cassandra as the trojans cheer arround the wooden horse, because she knows the terrible secret it hides. All what's left for her being the repugnant hands of the lesser Ajax, Agamemnon and the axe of his wife. "

Revisiting the first impression he got of you, Maximus found the comparison fitting. Not because of the terrible fate it augured, but because the image of the beautifull princess cursed with awareness suited with your ways.

" Who am I in this? The priest of Neptune doomed to die for sharing your truth? "

He made you chuckle, but you resumed seriousness to insist with your point.

" You exposed the truth nobody wants to hear loud enough for them to stop ignoring it, and in that I found hope. Your ragefull bright could have burned the cursed artifact of Ulysses. Inspired by it I dreamt of outliving this curse falling upon us."

Your will to share was reaching dangerous territory, but you felt so comfortable with him that you didn't mind to make him the keeper of a secret not even your most trusted slaves knew.

" Before I found you, I was inclined to believe my only way to win would be following the path of the egyptian queen. Take my own life on noble, painless terms before he would command for me the most horrible and humilliating of deaths. My only hope, Maximus, was dying celibate. It was your vengefull hunger for survival what inspired me to think otherwise, ... to crave life. And I am here to show my grattitude, because for a brief instant you made me live again."

It baffled him, incapable of conceibing he could have such strong amount of influence from his position as a doomed entertainer. Aside from the scandall he caused revealing himself, his actions had palpable concencuencies in the most unexpected ways. His cursed existence had a meaning for some, a very real and touching effect on them. Thinking it from the perspective of political manipulation, the sister of the emperor forgot to mention it could reach beyond that.

" My life is brief, girl. I may die tomorrow and what would be left for you to look up to? Survive for your father, your loss would weight too heavy in his heart. Become the wife of a fortunate roman and make him proud. A family to look after will give you the purpose you lack. "

His advice induced you into a very obvious, but delicate conclussion.

" They are your purpose, the reason why you haven't given yourself death yet. Only in your memories they remain, and in the day you will perish, the last glimpse of their existence goes with you. "

Tears began to fall down your face and the sight contained his anger to a mention done by a stranger about his massacrated family. For as incredible as it was, you were the very first person willing to join his mourning.

"You are clever to interpret feelings in the way an augur follows divine signs. "

He managed to bring out one more smile in your still tearfull countenance.

" I suppose that saying I am sorry for your loss would come out as a very empty gesture, but if you indulge me, I will do better to reach you a humble expression of the comfort that was cruelly denied to you. "

The distance between you was shortened at every instant by action of your own approach. Before he would dare to object, your arms were trapping him in an intempestive hug. His chained wrists remained still in their position at the sides, restricted his movement by the ties and his suprise. Your sweet embrace was squeezing thight his firm form, head resting on his chest as if you intended to hear his heart beating.

He stayed there, numb to the comfort that the heat of your body and the scent of jasmines in your skin produced him. From the most ironical of places had someone succeded on the impossible task of caughting him out of guard. Not the fighters on the arena, or the emperor of Rome, but a sweet girl and her infinite kindness.

Unable to respond by receiving you in his arms, he placed a chaste kiss on top of your forehead as soon as you tilted your head up searching for his face.

There were no more tears left in you, only the sweetest delight.

" There are certain moments that can worth for a lifetime and I will treasure this as such. "

He smiled against your skin and pressed another peck.

" You will live again, even if I will not be there to see it. You are strong, way stronger than you think. The kindest roman that my new life has put on my way. "

The praise embarassed you and confused you simultaneously.

" What difference can that make against a monster like Commodus? He has no mercy."

" That doesn't mean he is not fond of finding it on others displaying it for him. " He clarified before completing another advice. " Adoration keeps him pleased. Show him just a brief glimpse of what you have done for me and you may disarm him, like you had disarmed me tonight."

Authentical disbelief to the implied confession made you overlook the rest.

" Have I done that? "

" Your arms are still rounding me. " Maximus reminded you with sweet amusement. " Do you think I would have allowed that if you wouldn't had awakened some sort of weakness? "

You released him a inmediately, raising up your hands with an innocent expression.

" I only meant to comfort you, to share the flame of hope you awakened in me. "

" And you did, … but now it's time for you to leave." He thankfully disencouraged you. " The more time you spend, more dangerous it becomes. If his spies haven't followed you, rumours could lead to a similar end. I want you to never show fright in front of him again, but you will if he finds a reason."

The reminder was sensical and you didn't protest against it.

" Thank you for your mercy, Maximus. "

In that he intepreted your acknowledgedment for the emotional closeness you both had reached through the encounter.

" I could only respond to your mercifull ways, good lady. "

[bbhyeoliskooks]

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 | hnk

kai thinks you deserve better... maybe someone like him.

✥ genre: bestfriend!Kai x gn reader, soft fluff and a pinch of angst, 800+ words

✥ warnings: mentions of infidelity

✥ song rec: Boyfriend -- Big Time Rush

Wrapped up in Kai's silky blue bedsheets, you were mourning the loss of your last relationship which just so happened to end the same day. Immediately after being broken up with, you asked Kai if you could stay over to be distracted; there was no way you would stay in your room, haunted by the many gifts and memories that were made. Although it was on such short notice, the boy agreed nonetheless, hoping that his presence could somehow make things better. He picked up some chicken noodle soup, a comfort meal that may not be the cure to heartbreak but could ease your heart and health a little bit.

Shivering, you cuddled up next to Kai and his many plushies. You relished in his natural warmth as though he was a teddy bear. Silently he let you lay against his arm, immediately drawing circles on the top of your head. You hummed, his presence easing the blow of the breakup from earlier. The only thing that could be heard was your breaths over the shuffling of the bedsheets, but Kai didn't mind. He liked when you cuddled, something that had come to a standstill since you started dating your horrible ex of a significant other.

Yes, Kai wasn't afraid to say it, always speaking his mind whenever your old significant other came up. From the moment you two met, he disapproved, buying into your ex's reputation more than getting to know the person themselves. Plus, he didn't appreciate that you couldn't be as close to him since it'd look weird to the outside world and your ex. Time didn't soften Kai's opposition from your significant other and he always hated them for who they seemed to be. So when you came to him, crying that your ex hadn't been faithful for a long while, he wasn't exactly surprised. But did he say that?

He was unable to criticize your choices in people as you curled closer to his chest, enjoying his comfort. He smiled quietly while you sighed, intentionally ignoring the soup that was specifically bought for you. He may have forgotten to get some food in your system but only because you were physically close to him again like one of his plushies. He also didn't care that you could possibly get sick, willing to become ill as well as long as it meant you felt better from a horrible predicament. It seemed as though you belonged right there in his lap, perfectly molded for your resting and whenever you needed him. If anything, Kai was made for you; how could you not realize that?

Your eyelashes fluttered as you looked up at him, a frown on your face. Probably delirious from the heartbreak and the new cold you were getting (your ex thought it was a good idea to break up with you as soon as possible, even if that meant in the rain), you tugged on the ends of Kai's soft blue hoodie. He looked at you very confused but attentive to whatever you needed. If you wanted him to spin 10 times even if he became dizzy, he would do it. If you wanted him to grab your favorite drink even though it was 30 minutes, he would do it. He waited for whatever you were going to say, gazing at you expectantly.

Your voice faltered as you asked softly, "am I unloveable?"

Kai, now frowning, shook his head. Rage boiled in his blood, flowing through his fingers as he stopped combing your hair. Did your ex make you feel like that? His throat felt parched, too angry that you out of anyone else would be feeling like that. No one should be feeling that, much less you, his best friend that he had come to admire so much.

"Of course not. You deserve so much better, Y/N."

Although you knew that Kai was just trying to cheer you up as your best friend, you couldn't help but feel that it was a lie. Your self-love and confidence was at an all-time low, plummeting to where you assumed it would never recover. You weren't going to pester your best friend for more reassurance though, knowing that he would probably find it annoying- your insecurity and issues that came from a relationship he never approved.

Kai, studying your crestfallen expression, wanted to do whatever to make you feel better. He thought that his words were good at the moment but of course, they were only bandages that covered deep wounds. He looked away, too embarrassed to look you in the eye. His thoughts were rather scandalous, not something that a best friend should think. All the while, he cupped your cheek gently, making you look at him.

You watched him, face heating up as he spoke quietly.

"You deserve better," he paused before rubbing his thumb delicately on your cheek, "maybe... maybe someone like me."

Released: July 6, 2024 (4:28pm CT)

Thoughts: bro I literally need hyuka to comfort me about my cheating ex 😒 I want to be wrapped up in his sheets with him holding me while his plushies watch 😭😭😭 delulu hours open it seems… ALSO LOOK AT HOW FINE HE IS IN THE PICTURES LIKE WTH HYUKA 😞

Tags:

[sapphire-writes]

A Second Chance

pairing: Aemond x Reader request: Hello! Sorry to bother you but i have a little idea that came from all the reblogs you recently made! basically Aemond is away so Alicent requests that reader! Comes back after a long time to the red keep because she wants to see her boy happy 🥺 of course its just a simple start but would love to see nice Alicent helping his baby ~ anonymous

warnings: none! this has the tiniest amount of angst but mostly fluff word count: 1.4k note: loved this, loved writing emotional Aemond & your messages are NEVER ever a bother! 💚 masterlist

“I was ever so sorry to hear of the death of your lord husband, Lady (Y/N),” Alicent said, giving you a look full of a mother’s compassion, “and so unfortunate he should leave you so quickly after you wed.”

You take a sip from your cup. The Queen had invited you to the capital and you had been delighted to return. Ever since you arrived your eyes had been searching for Aemond.

You had both left on such harsh terms those several years ago when your betrothal had been announced. You had been missing him for years, feeling as though a very piece of your own heart had been missing. 

“Thank you, your grace,” you tell her, speaking softly.

Your lord husband had been a kind man. Married to you as an alliance for your families and that was all. He was nearly twice your age, but he had been sweet to you. 

“My son has missed your presence,” Alicent tells you. 

“I was hoping to see the prince,” you said, heart rate increasing. 

Alicent nods, looking off to the side. Your smile falters as the realization washes over you at her hesitant glance.

“Aemond does not know I am here,” you tell her. It is a statement, not a question. 

Alicent struggles to keep the smile on her face. She brought her hand to yours, squeezing it gently. 

“I thought perhaps we shall surprise him,” she says softly.

“I do not think he wishes to see me,” you tell her, and feel a slash of pain in your heart. The wound is still fresh, though the years had passed. 

“Tell them not to let me go,” you had begged him, chasing him down an empty corridor. 

The one-eyed prince had stopped his long strides turning to face you. 

“Tell them you wish to marry me,” you had begged.

Aemond had been silent for many moments. 

“I cannot tell them what is not true.”

You remembered it as though it had happened yesterday. The cold look in his eye, so unlike that of which he usually awarded you. None of the kindness you had grown to love. 

“He does,” Alicent insists, “he has been terribly lonely these past years. Growing more resentful each day. I worry about him.”

In truth, you had never stopped thinking of Aemond. He plagued your thoughts at every moment. 

You blink away the tears that gather in your eyes.

“He shall be returning soon,” Alicent tells you, “join us for supper tonight, please.”

Her thumb continues to stroke the back of your hand, a hopeful look is in her eyes. You nod in agreement. 

Aemond remembered watching you go, the way your eyes had filled with tears. The look of betrayal on your face. That most of all. That has haunted most of his days since your departure. 

In truth, he had wished to marry you. But duty is often in conflict with matters of the heart. And duty demanded he remained unwed. 

And though it pained him to do so, he had to let you go. 

Aemond walks quickly to his chambers, eager to bathe and dress before joining his mother for dinner. The days have been long, and there is no feeling like that of being home. 

He hisses as he lowers himself into the tub, the hot water nipping at his pale skin. Aemond wishes to be done quickly, he doesn’t like being alone with his thoughts. He finds himself constantly training, reading, researching, and doing anything to distract himself from the constant thoughts that plague him.

You. 

It has been years since he last saw you since you last spoke. He supposed you must have several children by now. This did not make him sad, he hoped you had children to brighten your life. 

Aemond readied himself before making his way to his mother’s chambers. It was to be a small affair for supper that evening, as Aegon was entertaining some guests from the west. 

“Aemond,” Alicent said, as he arrived. She embraced her son whom she had not seen in several months. 

“It is good to see you, mother,” he said.

“I have missed you,” she told him, “I have invited a guest for dinner..”

“A guest?” Aemond questions, as the door opens. 

He turns and his breath catches in his throat as he sees you in the doorway. Your eyes are wide as you take him in. Aemond looks good, taller perhaps if that is possible. Leaner, the entirety of him is ropey muscles. He is handsome as ever, eyepatch securely covering his ruined eye. Aemond’s lips part.

“Hello Aemond,” you say softly smiling. 

“Lady (Y/N) has agreed to join us for supper, isn’t that lovely?” Alicent says, placing a hand on her son’s arm. 

Aemond jerks his head in a nod causing Alicent to smile. 

“I shall be but a moment,” she says, starting toward the door. She stops to caress your cheek, before leaving the room, the door clicking shut behind her. 

You inhale a shaky breath. 

“Are you well?” you ask as Aemond continues to stare, a rather innocent expression on his normally harsh face. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice hoarse. You wet your lips wringing your hands together. 

“Your mother invited me to the capital,” you tell him, “I did not know you had no part in the invitation.”

“My mother?” Aemond said, shaking his head. Of course, his mother. The hopeless romantic who always wanted more for her children than the hand she had been dealt. You nod. 

“She wished to offer her condolences,” you continue, walking towards the fireplace. You reach for a grape that lays on a golden tray. Aemond’s brow furrows.

“Condolences?” he asks, watching you pop the grape into your mouth. You chuckle.

“Shall you speak in questions all evening, my prince?” you tease before answering his question.

“My late husband has passed,” you inform him. A moment of pause lingers between you. 

“I am sorry to hear that,” Aemond says, “I do hope your children are weathering alright?”

You meet his eye, a blush beginning to creep onto your cheeks. Aemond wishes he could place his hands upon your cheeks, to feel the burning that resides underneath your smooth flesh. 

“We were not blessed with children,” you tell him, “my lord husband was not well, for the majority of our marriage.”

“Did he treat you well?” Aemond asks, voice turning to a tone of concern.

“Oh yes,” you assure him, “yes, he was very kind to me. But-”

You find yourself struggling to speak, struggling to find the right words.

“He did not love me,” you decide, “he did not desire me. It was a quiet marriage.”

Aemond is watching you carefully. How foolish he had been to let you slip from his fingers. The gods are good, they must be repaying him for his suffering in some way by returning you to him. By offering him a second chance. 

“I would,” Aemond says softly.

He walks over to you until he stands directly before you. 

“I would love you, I would desire you,” he tells you, “I do, I always have.”

Your eyes fill with tears and you shake your head. 

“You don’t have to say that-”

“I do, and I was a fool,” he continues, taking your hands in his, “I was a fool to let you leave when I loved you. I have loved you and continue to love you.”

The tears are freely flowing down your cheeks, dripping past your chin and onto the stone floor.

“There has not been a day that goes by where I do not think of you,” he continues, “there is not a corner of this world I could fly to where I did not see your face. In every passerby, in the light of the moon. You are everywhere. You are all-consuming.”

“Aemond,” you beg, not sure exactly if you wish him to stop or keep speaking. 

“I love you,” he insists, fingers digging into your waist. 

You bring your hands to his chest, pulling him towards you and connecting your mouths. The kiss is desperate and passionate, making up for the lost time. Aemond can feel the coolness from your tears caressing his face, and you start to laugh against his mouth. 

He kisses you again and again, swallowing the happy laughter that pours from your sweet lips. 

Queen Alicent stands outside the room, back pressed against the wood of the door, listening to your whispers, and laughter. She places a hand against her heart and closes her eyes, happy that her son has found the love he so longed for. 

note: hope you enjoyed I love me a good love confession, especially from our fave one-eyed prince 🥹

[crazybiscuit]

A Daughter of Eve

Pairing: Incubus!Fyodor Dostoevsky x Nun!Reader Summary: You've caught the eye of a powerful demon. Let's see how devoted to God you really are... Warnings: MDNI, smut,  inappropriate use of religion, demons, vaginal sex, dubious consent, implied somnophilia, semi public sex, corruption, loss of virginity, biting, blood, a little rough Word Count: 1978 Credits: @saradika thank you for the dividers! Translations: добыча (n) - prey; Бог (n) - God; Ангел (n) - angel; Родная (n) - darling A/N: I am not religious, so hopefully this isn’t too inaccurate (not that it really matters). Also, I'm not trying to be disrespectful. I just figured religion and demons would make sense for Fyodor. Also, I don't speak Russian but I tried my best to find the proper translations.

You didn’t even know when it all started. The sense of being watched as you did your prayers that you couldn't ignore. The feeling of a ghostly presence touching you innocently during the morning mass, reminding you that you weren’t alone. You couldn’t even get a decent night’s rest. And the dreams…

They haunt you every night and day. The dreams were always foggy. The sensation of someone, or something, feasting on your cunt as you lay there unconscious, moaning softly. Your mind only processed pleasure and you would always wake up soaked in your own arousal, breathless from your orgasm. It made you feel disgusting and miserable. However... Each night you laid in your bed, you couldn’t help but wait impatiently for those dreams.

The guilt of your actions and thoughts eventually led you to seek out help from one of the priests. It was late at night, and all of the other nuns had returned to their rooms to sleep, but you needed to repent. You quickly stepped into the confessional booth and you were relieved when you saw the silhouette of the priest on the other side. You kneeled and crossed yourself.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been two weeks since my last confession, and I accuse myself of the following sins,” You took a sharp breath before speaking up, “I’ve been having lustful thoughts and dreams, Father, and I’ve done nothing to try and stop it. I've... I’ve even pleasured myself to the thoughts.” 

The priest stayed quiet for a few seconds before he spoke, his Russian accent sounding strangely familiar but also foreign, “How long has this been going on for…?”

“About two weeks, Father… This is my first time telling anyone.”

“And why is that?”

“I didn’t seek help because, ultimately, I think a part of me enjoys it… I can’t even focus on my duties without thinking about those dreams-”

The sound of the priest’s cold chuckle made a chill run down your spine. “You really can’t get me out of your head? How cute.”

His tone was condescending and you finally made eye contact with his piercing purple eyes. You didn’t even have the time to question how the man appeared next to you so quickly before he pinned you to the wall of the booth.

You yelped, shock written over your expression now that you could see him clearly. The man had long black hair, topped with curled horns. His vibrant eyes glared at you and his lips pulled into a smirk sensing your fear. His pale hands touched your cheek, his sharp nails grazing it slightly. 

“What are you?” you asked with a shaky voice but you had a pretty good idea of who he might be.

“I don’t think I told you you could speak, Y/N," he growled. His frigid fingers trailed down to your throat and he wrapped them around it. He slowly began to tighten his grip, causing you to gasp for breaths.

Your fingers desperately grasped his thin wrist as you struggled to get oxygen into your lungs. Fyodor dug his claws into your throat, a few small red droplets escaping from the small cuts, "I've been studying you for about a year now..."

The demon loosened his grip, his nails softly grazing their way down to your collar, tugging on your nightgown. You screw your eyes shut in a panic, grasping at your silver rosary, "Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio, contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium-"

"That won't work, добыча," his sharp purple gaze analyzed your body language before ripping the silver crucifix from your hands, the beads falling to the ground as the string snapped.

You felt your eyes tearing up, panic setting in as you attempted to move away from the devil in front of you, "Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur-"

Unfortunately for you, the confession booths were only so big. Your back hit the wooden wall and you cried out for your God.

"My curiosity eventually got the best of me a few weeks ago and I decided to try an experiment. You see, I have identified you as the most dedicated little lamb and I began to wonder: 'How quickly can I corrupt one of Бог's faithful little play thing?'"

You didn't stop reciting your prayer to Saint Michael, tears streaming down your face. You heard the demon shuffling and your eyes snapped open in a frenzy. Nothing could've prepared you for the sight of Fyodor on his knees before you.

"It took me a long time to finally decide what approach to take when it comes to tempting you," his accent grew thicker as he took your ankle in his hands, "One of my top contenders was driving you to gut all of your sisters at the abbey."

"God won't allow it-," your chest tightened with uneasiness and you began struggling against his grasp. This was obviously the wrong choice and the dark haired monster simply pulled your leg closer to him, causing you to slide down the wall slightly.

He then proceeded to lift your leg over his shoulder, your nightgown bushing up around your thighs. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight. You now understood exactly what Milton was trying to express when he described Lucifer as irresistible because the sight of Fyodor on his knees in front of you was enough to make you feel faint.

"But I figured this would be much more entertaining," the devil smirked, leaning forward to seemingly kiss your thigh. Your mind fought with you to stay focused on your prayer and your teachings. God will save us. But any semblance of a rational thought escaped your mind when you felt a sharp pain in your thigh.

You cried out, feeling the blood rush to the site where Fyodor bit you. The demon doesn't pull away, eager to taste the metallic and salty liquid, holding you tight as you struggle against his grasp.

Your sobs echoed through the church but Fyodor didn't seem to care. The priests were decommissioned one might say and the demon was quite exhilarated at the prospect of one of your sisters walking in on the two of you in the house of the Lord.

"Get off-," your shouts fell on deaf ears as he trails his mouth further up your thighs. The warm liquid (a stark contrast to the man's cold skin) running down your thigh filling the small booth with the sharp smell of iron.

Your body betrayed you as a small gasp fell from your lips. His mouth left open mouth kisses until he reached your bare core and your mouth fell open in silent pleasure. Your attempts to push him away had died down, your hands, which had been shoving his horns to create space between the two of you, now rested helplessly in his hair.

Your moans and gasp filled the small wooden room, back arching away from the wall as Fyodor's sharp tongue explored the depth of your cunt.

The devil appeared to be pleased with your response, feeling your legs beginning to tremble, and he pulled away with a mocking smirk. Your disappointment was visible as he stands but you refused to vocalize it. Instead, you began mumbling a prayer of repentance, which filled the purple-eyed demon with annoyance.

He grabbed your wrist, dragging you out of the confessional booth, ignoring your limp as blood continued to drip down your leg, staining your white nightgown crimson. The altar statues and stained glass figures looked down upon you and a deep sense of shame filled your heart.

Fyodor forced you to lay on one of the pews in the front row. You took a sharp inhale, not pushing him away as he began removing your nightgown, revealing your bare skin. 

The sound of your breathing filled your ears as he pushed his robes aside and revealed his member. Worry flooded your mind once more as you realized your vow to God was at risk, "Please... Let me go..."

However, the devil rejoiced in your torment as he climbed on top of you and aligned himself with your entrance, "But where's the fun in that, Ангел?"

His purple glare pierced you as he looked down on you with a cold and calculating gaze and you cried out as he suddenly entered you, back arching and fingers clinging onto his stolen uniform. His thrusts were relentless and punishing, not caring that this was your first time.

Your cries soon turned to whines and moans as he maintained a steady rhythm. Your face contorted with pleasure, eyes squeezing shut, "Keep your eyes open, Ангел. I want you to see the Saints as I ruin you,"

You attempted to shake your head but he grabbed your cheeks, nails digging into your skin painfully, forcing you to open your eyes and look up at him. The scene above you was strangely ethereal as the horrifyingly beautiful man looked down on you, his head surrounded with the colorful stained glass as he carefully reached down, brushing his thumb against your lower lip, and you felt your walls clamp down around his cock.

"I think you have still not completely forsaken your god," he whispered, leaning closer to you, lips brushing against your pulse as he stopped thrusting.

You audibly whimpered as he pulled out of you and sat down on the pew. You sat up, confused by why he stopped. You hesitated slightly, using your arms to cover your chest in a pathetic attempt to regain some dignity, "Father...?"

"If you want more, you'll have to work for it and give yourself up to me," he said with a cocky grin, his hair slightly disheveled from our prior activities. You couldn't deny your body craved for more but your pride did prevent you from eagerly sitting on his lap.

It took you a few minutes to finally give into your instincts and you hesitantly sank onto his lap, whining at the stretch inside you. Without thinking, you suddenly kissed the demon, a tugging sensation nagging you in the back of your mind.

Fyodor kept a careful eye on you as you kissed him, amused to finally see you submit. He closed his eyes, deepening the kiss as you tried your best to start riding him.

The devil nipped your tongue in the fiery kiss, causing you to bleed slightly, and he gently sucked on it. You moaned against his lips as his hands drifted to your hips to help you speed up the pace.

Your hands grabbed onto his hair, tugging at his roots as you continued to kiss him feverishly. Your boobs bounced, matching the rhythm Fyodor set and you felt the sensation you had grown far too familiar with overtake you as you moaned.

Your body shuddered as you came, walls clenching around Fyodor's dick tightly. For the first time of the night, you also saw his expression falter for a split second as he shut his purple eyes and let out a sharp exhale before cumming deep into your womb.

Despite reaching your peaks, Fyodor didn't stop to thrust up into you, almost as if he were trying to make sure his load stayed inside of you. Your whines began to fill his ears as you complained about overstimulation and, in the most shocking turn of events, the demon listened to you, pulling out.

You struggled to catch your breath, still leaning against the cold inhumane creature overwhelmed. Fyodor looked down at you and pondered for a few seconds.

Just as you prepared yourself to stand and get dressed, Fyodor's hand moved to your chin and made you look up to him.

"You can call me Fyodor," he said, purple eyes piercing through yours, "Your soul and body now belong to me forever, Родная."

[ms0milk]

𝐀 𝐇𝐘𝐌𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 || 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

On a diplomatic trip far from home, Prince Bakugou must contend with his hatred for you. A woman who lives to take orders. The last thing the warrior prince needs is a babysitter but it’s a feat, not a coincidence, that you are the only apprentice to the captain of his royal guard. Feasts, balls, and festivities await you and your new friends at Takoba, and in the seaside kingdom you must reconcile with the idea that your prince is not so noble as the queen who raised him. All while something half dead and long forgotten festers on high tide.

𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 [𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔] MDNI prince!bakugou x royal guard!(fem) reader, slow burn to eventual smut. y/n has a personality and it is business formal, she grows. individual chapters will have specific tags-warnings-ratings— in general please expect violence/descriptions of injuries, strong language, two aloof fools, the classic motley bnha crew, seaside shenanigans. bakugou is an absolute piece of work, y/n is professional to a fault and it drives him insane. travel companions ー civil teammates ー genuine enemies ー confused friends ー lovers. plenty of ridiculous tension accompanied by angst and 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒄.

❂ ー 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 this story has been my baby over the past few months (was this a direct response to mha ch 362? yes) — so I hope you cherish it as much as I do. I am not immune to roy/riza and many of the dynamics in this au are inspired by their relationship. be prepared to absolutely hurtle this man out of harm's way TAGLIST | AO3

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈

𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆. ✦

You terrify him and it breaks his heart.

𝒐𝒏𝒆. 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩

In the warm forests of Aldera Castle you and the prince grew up in periphery. A soldier without magic and the boy who never spoke to her. Suddenly, he is your only responsibility.

𝒕𝒘𝒐. 𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

With the first day of travel under your belt and introductions well collected, your Alderan company finds time to unwind together. Thankfully, nothing bad ever happens around a campfire.

𝒕𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆. 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝

Are all carriages of the east made for prisoners of war? Prince Bakugou despises the close quarters and their snagging silver fixtures, but it is a special kind of fate that would deliver you to the safety of the sea and to the feet of the fire that bars your entrance. And deliver you together at that.

𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓. 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐞

Hats off to dying!

𝒇𝒊𝒗𝒆. 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

What a vivid dream you’ve made, of the prince and his heavy hands wrapped around your body.

𝒔𝒊𝒙. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐨𝐛𝐚

It is at exactly the wrong moment that you realize where all the guards have gone, and just how desperate you must appear for the prince to take such pleasure in destruction.

𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏. 𝐡𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭

Would he treat you this way in the presence of others? Is it only when you're alone like this that hell raises?

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈

𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕. 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐚 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐰𝐨.)

In the immortal words of your prince, this was a dogshit idea for a dinner party. You are haunted by blue flames and scarred ghosts no matter how hard you focus on work, and a punishment for your distraction is in order.

𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒆. 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐭

He has no right– your prince is a hypocrite and alone in a haunted seaside garden confrontation is, finally, inevitable.

𝒕𝒆𝒏. 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐟𝐨𝐚𝐦 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐰𝐨.)

You will eat the flame mage alive before he lays a finger on your prince, but why gods has Bakugou chosen now to fear for you? To treat you so gently?

𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏. 𝐰𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝

Thirty-one hours awake and every second spent thinking of you.

𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒗𝒆. 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫

Gods help anyone that might try to hurt you, even if that person is the ocean, or a god– even if that person is you. You finally find your prince's bedchambers after a fight at sea.

𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐳𝐤𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐠

The end of your fever comes with realizations. What happens when two people unable to speak stand too close for too long?

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠

You always think you're well enough to train and if Bakugou has to tie you to a hospital bed himself he will, but he doesn't mean to watch you win for so long and he certainly doesn't mean to join you.

𝒇𝒊𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧

Can devotion come before forgiveness? Can you control it? The last two sober Alderans carry their friends to bed.

𝒔𝒊𝒙𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬

You don’t mean to bite him, he startled you. You don’t mean to laugh together or beam about magic that is not yours. You do not mean to kiss him.

𝒔𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐰𝐨.)

Dance, or die.

𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞

Bakugou considers invincibility, he considers just how much of his strength has been his own as he cradles your body on a bloody dancefloor. There is another ghost at this party, the last of a dragon who refuses to die.

𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒏. 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬

Self control is hairpin trigger and neither you nor your prince, hidden in Takoba's frozen underbelly, understands what it is to want someone. Even in the chaos of the mage's siege, desire sinks its teeth into reason's rabbit.

𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒚. 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐚

(brief hiatus)

[cieloclercs]

what would you say (if i told you i love you)? — charles leclerc

PART: 4/? (read part 3 here)

summary. in which childhood best friends blur the lines between what they’ve always known, and something more

warnings. pure angst lmao, charles is an idiot with a capital I, swearing, basically everyone hates charles, the leclercs (minus charles) and joris being iconic + your unnamed bestie, i used pictures from france 2022 so sorry about that 🫠

pairings. charles leclerc x artsy!reader

face claim. tara michelle

author’s note. alex is in one of the pictures as a face claim for a different character but absolutely no hate is intended to her at all !! sorry for the angst in this one 😭 but i promise it won’t stay like that for much longer! <33

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y/nsart experimenting with new textures and media! super happy with the outcome 🖤

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yourfriend incredible 😍

*y/nsart liked this comment

username oh fuck.

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y/nsart i don’t think so unfortunately! i’m just painting for me at the moment :)

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arthur_leclerc amazing as always 🖤

*y/nsart liked this comment

username at least arthur’s still here !!

username wrong leclerc. no offence arthur

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username WHAT

username ok so we’ve got no pascale or charles…but there’s still some leclerc presence 🤔

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username i just want charlesy/n back 🥲

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f1wags Charles Leclerc arrived in the Monza paddock today with Italian model Bianca Santoro. Sources suggest they looked pretty cosy 👀

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username it’s over for us charlesy/n nation 🥲

username i’m literally sobbing

username YOU’RE JOKING

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username the only positive out of this is that we’re about to be fed with the most beautiful, haunting, gut-wrenchingly tragic paintings OF ALL TIME

username y/n’s rep era (painter edition) loading…

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y/nsart the heart was made to be broken

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username oh.

username not the oscar wilde quote 💔

username i was not mentally prepared for this

username i don’t think any of us were babe 🥲

username i’m never going to forgive charles for this

username why am i feeling this so deeply 😭

leclerc_pascale ❤️

username i can just imagine what pascale’s going to say to charles after this lmao

username she’s gonna tear him apart 😭

arthur_leclerc stop this now i will cry.

username arthur 😭😭

username phahah he’s one of us

username @arthur_leclerc same bestie

username as sad as this is i wish i had an outlet for my emotions like this…i feel like it would be so liberating

*y/nsart liked this comment

username this is exactly what heartbreak feels like. i’m not ok.

username charles is now enemy number 1 after making my girl y/n feel like this

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username someone said y/n’s rep era would be the only positive out of the charles-bianca thing BUT THIS IS PAINFUL. PLEASE MAKE IT STOP I WANT HAPPY Y/N BACK.

username oh god the first and last slides 💔💔💔

username she’s not even denying it anymore…

username i’m going to pray every day from now that charles comes to his senses and tells her how he feels 🙏🙏

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username on a slightly less sad note THE AMOUNT OF LIKES THIS HAS GOT OMG.

username as it should! y/n’s talent needs to be more widely recognised 😌

username @charles_leclerc you’re breaking all our hearts here

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formula1updates Charles Leclerc after his DNF in Monza 💔

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username karma.

username honestly it serves him right

username we manifesting it guys !!

username i want to be sad because that’s his championship hopes completely out of the window but he genuinely deserves it after the way he’s treated y/n…

username you mess with y/n you mess WITH GOD BITCH

username lmao it’s so funny that he brings his little girlfriend with him and then crashes out 3 laps in 😭

username he KNOWS he deserves it as well

comments on this post have been limited.

yourfriend

yourusername toujours mon amour 🩷 arthur_leclerc take care of her please ↳ yourfriend what do you think i’m doing? 🙄 joris_trouche can’t believe i wasn’t invited 😔 ↳ yourfriend do you understand the meaning of a ‘girl’s trip’? charles_leclerc please can you ask her to answer my texts? ↳ yourfriend why should i? you’ve already hurt her enough.

three weeks later…

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tagged: yourfriend

yourusername healing 🌊🤍🌙

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➜ part 5

tagged: @incoherenciass

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

I feel I’m VERY late to the party with the mecha AU considering how bone deep Pacific Rim runs within me but I’m chomping at the bit. Gnawing at it. I LOVE YOU ALL. I’ve reactivated my tumblr for this. Good god. @keferon my leige. I'm meant to be SLEEPING.

Anyway, I’m a general nuisance, I wont be following much of the pre-established lore too closely because of who I am as a person, bone app the teeth.

TexAid for the soul is more potent than Chicken soup.

First Aid wakes up in an ice cold sweat.

It’s not the first time. He’d lost count, actually – it seemed that every morning was the same now. He’d wake up, he’d shudder, he’d carefully extract himself from his damp-with-sweat duvet, he’d shower, and then he’d pretend that everything was perfectly fine and normal.

His function first and foremost was one of a medic. He trained to work with live patients. His expertise was with the living, not the cold stares of the dead.

But lately, all he’d been dealing with were corpses, and it all came down to one reason.

Vortex.

Superstition wasn’t something that he bought into, but the theory on base was that the mech was haunted. At the start, he didn’t believe it – mechanics were plagued with stray code, oddly executed scripts. There was nothing supernatural about it. All of the pilots said that they felt another presence within their mechs with them – there wasn’t anything special about Vortex’s AI. If one wanted to look at it that way, all of their mechs were haunted.

But Vortex was different. Of course he fucking was, why wouldn’t he be. No, no, nothing was allowed to be normal. Ever. Firstly, there was the staring. The mechs weren’t meant to stare, but whenever he went close to Vortex, he could feel his piercing gaze against him. It wasn’t normal. They should have been offline without any human input, but Vortex stayed stubbornly awake and studied his every move. Sometimes he’d swear he could hear his internals humming, the rumble of moving parts, his plating trembling and straining against the dock as he tried to move. If someone got too close to him, he’d hear the hum of weapons systems warming up. It was part of their onboarding process that they were warned against approaching him, now. He’d cut them down without a second thought.

There was also the small fact that he had a tendency to kill his pilots. And it wasn’t even an exaggeration – their means of slaughter always came from within. The cameras that filled the insides didn’t show any breaches, no weapons were brought on board, the vital signs monitors from the pilots and their own helm-mounted cameras showed no foul play of an external parties part. No. It was… Vortex. The mech showed his displeasure in a shower of blood and moving parts – and that was if he was being nice. If they weren’t power washing the remains of a digestive tract from his floor, they were manoeuvring a live body that acted like a dead weight, the pilot a stuttering mess, mentally shattered and broken. They’d never managed to get any of them back into active duty – a lot of them First Aid had no idea what had happened to them. They were simply shipped off somewhere, never to be heard of or seen from again. The worst part of it was that they were all missing fingers, as if they’d been cleaved right off by sharp metal as they reached out for something.

An alarm ripped through the base, and he gagged on his morning coffee. He knew what that meant – deployment. And with deployment came another victim, courtesy of Vortex, and all that horrid stench and morbid fascination that sent his spine tingling and brain firing to the point of insanity that paired so closely with it.

Ambulon frowned at him. “Jittery this morning, Aid.”

“I just know I’ll be on Vortex duty again.” He groaned.

Ambulon patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. “Don’t let it get to you, Aid. Pharma only does it because he trusts you.”

Yeah, right. It’s so I haven’t got an excuse to be by the morgue.

You steal one Quintesson body…

He briefly remembered the smell of the grave dirt as he’d re-interred them into the ground instead of the stone cold morgue, and quickly smelled his coffee instead.

The deployment seemed to last an age. First Aid managed to get through all of his deskwork before they returned, and Vortex staggered into his bay. First Aid was waiting patiently by the gate as the docking station clasped around him, holding him in place as cables came down from the ceiling to plug into him.

“How many bets this guys dead?” Someone behind him asked, elbowing the one stood next to him. First Aid ignored them, focusing intently on the mech.

He could see blood behind the glass. It was leaking out down the side – they were more than dead. They’d been eviscerated.

The visor lifted with a loud hiss, and First Aid took a deep breath. He held it so he didn’t have to inhale the initial stench – that part was always the worst, having been left to fester within him – and carefully studied the scene before him.

Organs hung down from the ceiling. Scraps of fabric hung limply from the still locked harness.

“What did he do to them?” First Aid quietly asked himself as he stepped forwards with a bucket.

There was a rule - you never got inside Vortex on your own. First Aid followed it religiously, and he could hear someone behind him, and so he felt perfectly comfortable in getting inside.

Only the visor snapped shut with a sickening crack as their leg was cleaved clean through, the scream barely muffled by the glass.

“No!” First Aid flew to the glass of the visor, pounding against it. “Are you okay?!”

What a stupid question that had been. Of course he wasn’t okay. The smell in the air burned at his throat and turned his stomach, and he looked down at the dismembered leg.

He couldn’t breathe. Or he was breathing too much? He didn’t know, but his chest ached and his head spun and he felt like ice had been injected straight into his veins, every hair stood on end as panic gripped him. It took every ounce of self control he had to not scream from terror when he heard pistons loudly slam into place, firmly locking the visor.

Oh, god, have mercy.

Emergency exits. These things had them, right? He’d had to pull a barely conscious pilot from one once – he’d gotten trapped in it in a malfunctioned ejection sequence. The button would be big and bright red, surely – and with a protective cover so they didn’t smack it by mistake in the middle of a fight and end up launched into the face of a Quintesson. His eyes scanned wildly, breath catching in his chest as he tried to suck in air that didn’t make him want to vomit, hands hovering over the dash. Mental images of the pilots missing their fingers played in his head like an omen.

There. Bright red. The words were worn off, the plastic scratched. The metal around it was worn and faded from use, and the plastic cover was long gone.

Blood crusted it. He smacked it anyway.

Nothing.

He looked back to where it should have been, hyperventilating. What did that mean? The techs had never found anything to be wrong with it before. Everything was functioning as normal – it was why Vortex was still even allowed to be operated. So why didn’t the emergency escape open?

Red light flooded the cockpit. His teeth chattered together as he slowly turned to look at the display that had lit up, white text running across it.

[LEAVING SO SOON?]

“I’m just a medic.” First Aid pathetically said. He almost bit his tongue.

[TAKE A SEAT]

Tears prickled his eyes as he unbuckled the harness and sat down. He tried to ignore the wet squelch as he sat in what remained of the previous human who sat there.

“What do you need from me?” He tried to sound strong as he asked.

The screen remained blank. The lights slowly dimmed, leaving him in the dark with only the sound of Vortex’s hot systems for company. He tried to calm his breathing, timing it to the rhythmic thunk of a nearby fuel pump, and wrung his fingers together.

It would be okay. It would be okay. Everything was going to be okay-

The chair suddenly flew backwards, and First Aid shrieked. His throat felt raw with how hard he’d screamed, clinging on tightly to whatever he could get his hands on. He studiously kept his limbs away from the console – he had a theory on how they’d lost their digits, and he was not keen on finding out if it was true. The chair snapped back upright again, and he whimpered, tears pooling in his eyes and his bottom lip trembling. The mech shuddered, a grinding sound rumbling through the cockpit and rattling his bones.

[PLUG IN] the screen instructed. A cable fell from the ceiling.

Helmet. He needed a helmet. They had the required port for that cable. He scanned the floor, ignoring the rising nausea as he searched for the helmet from the previous pilot.

There. Behind the chair. He picked it up, and had to look away when he realised the head was still inside. He shook it out, humming loudly to block out the sound of it hitting the floor, and kept his eyes closed as he put it on and ignored how much it stank of organic metal. He reached up for the cable, and gently guided it to the port-

Agony. Burning agony. His back arched as he screamed, hands clutching the helmet as if willing it to stay on despite how hard his legs kicked and thrashed. Electricity coursed straight through him, setting him aflame as his brain tried to catch up with his body.

It hurt. It hurt so much.

First Aid gnashed his teeth together as he fought with his conflicting emotions. He wanted to know why. Why Vortex had trapped him in there, why he had gone to this length to do this to him, why him. But he also wanted to run, to run so far away that he was nothing more than a distant memory. He didn’t want to know why Vortex had taken such an interest in him.

But oh, oh he did. He did want to know what he’d done to catch the AI’s attention.

The pain slowly subsided, the fried nerves numbing to the raw energy that charged through them, and he cracked his eyes open.

[GOOD BOY <3]

“Oh, god, I think I broke something.” First Aid whimpered. He suddenly understood just why so many pilots came to them with nerve damage, with extensive burns, and why most of their heads were metal. The connection was. Intense.

“Don’t be such a pussy.” A voice spoke directly into his head. First Aid gasped, sitting up straighter. It was strangely human, yet equally as mechanical.

“What-!”

“I just want to talk, but it’s so irritating to have to wait for you to read the screen. Removing the barriers is so much easier, isn’t it? Now, to business...”

First Aid gasped and whined as he felt pressure in his head, white not points of pain slowly pressing through his brain. His eyesight flickered and faded in and out, his sight shifting from the inside of the cockpit to the chaos right outside – chaos that he couldn’t even hear – and he was glad to see that the man who had been right behind him was receiving medical attention. What a relief. Humour that wasn’t his and that he didn’t recognise pulled at his lips, and he felt a strong urge to smile so wide that his lips split and cracked.

The pressure on his head increased, and he felt his eyes cross, reality slowly slipping through his fingers like thick slime. Red dripped from his nose. Where was he, again? Why was this happening to him? What was even happening to him- Awareness snapped back to him in time with a loud bang on the glass. He heard his name, muffled. Someone was calling to him. He should go to them, right? “Don’t move, I haven’t finished looking at you yet.” First Aid felt phantom sensations of ice cold hands pressing against his skin, a shudder running up his spine. He felt a prickle run down his arm, chasing the feeling of the tips of someone’s fingers running down the bare skin. Obediently, he held still despite how curious he was to go and look. “I can tell you like the good stuff.” An invisible hand patted his cheek and the mech shuddered, loud and clunking. “God, I’m so lucky I found you.” “Found me?” His chest felt weird. His everything felt weird. It was difficult to keep his eyes open. “I’ve been watching you. On the cameras, when you’re in the hangar with me, your files. Fascinating. How wonderful you are to me.” “That’s a bit creepy. You could have asked first.” “I don’t like being told no.” “I would have liked it more if I’d known it was happening.” Why was he so readily admitting this? Where were his carefully constructed walls and defences, keeping the abnormality at bay? He felt like he was an open book and Vortex was just turning to the pages he wanted to read. “Maybe I’d have done something if I knew I had an audience.” The mech shuddered again, harder this time.

“Come on, baby, talk to me wont you? I’ve been so lonely.”

“Maybe if you stopped killing your pilots you wouldn’t struggle so much with that.” He gritted out. Fuck, everything hurt.

“You’ve got a bit of a mouth on you, don’t you.” A sound that felt like anger rumbled through him. “I like it.”

“Can I go now?” He felt woozy. Something was wrong. Something was really, really wrong, his ears felt wet and his face felt wet and he could taste copper-

As if on cue, there was a loud bang on the visor – someone was pounding it with their fist. A shared stab of annoyance flashed through them.

“Question first. How did it feel to have a Quintesson in your bare hands?”

“How did you know about that?”

“Come on, don’t be shy, you know I’ve seen everything.” He crooned. “Tell me. I’m so desperate to know. I know you liked it – I can feel it.” It felt as if he had someone’s arms wrapped around him, their mouth right by his ear. If he closed his eyes and focused, he could feel their warm breath ghosting over it.

“It felt fucking amazing.” He thought back to it. The warmth of the body – an infant, tiny in comparison to the adults that dwarfed their houses. How thick their blood was, how it dripped down through his hands. The burn of the smell, mineral rich and glowing bright blue.

“You fucking tease.”

“You cut through them every day.” First Aid argued. “What’s so special about that?”

“You can really feel it. I’ve got metal between me and my prey.”

The banging was louder, and First Aid’s vision shifted to be through Vortex’s. There was a big group of them now, he had an audience.

“I should go.”

“You’ll be back, honey.”

First Aid ripped the helmet off, and nausea hit him like a truck as he felt a sharp wrench in his head. He loudly gagged, folding in half, and pressed a fist to his mouth to keep himself from spilling his guts into the cockpit. Vortex was certain to kill him if he made a mess. Sucking in a deep breath, he staggered over to the glass and gently placed his hand against it. It felt like half of his consciousness was somewhere else, somewhere he couldn’t reach.

“Please?” He was starting to feel disorientated, the sudden disengaging scrambling his brain. What memories were his, or the previous pilots? Pain suddenly flashed through him and he screamed, his limbs going numb. He felt warm liquid slowly run down his suit, red blooming amongst the white, bone wrenching from bone-

[LATER, DARLING <3]

Vortex’s visor finally opened, laugher echoing in First Aids head, and he fell out face-first onto the catwalk. He was gasping for breath as he scrambled away, shaking and trembling and swallowing back vomit. His hands flew over his body, checking for injures, for limbs he was certain were missing – intact. He was completely intact. His team had their arms around him and were pulling him away faster, leaving a trail of blood smeared after him – was that his? Or was that the pilots? - and were shouting. All of it was just noise. Pure noise.

Giddiness bubbled up in his chest, and he laughed. It started quietly, a little chuckle. Disbelief at the situation, he thought. Pure, utter relief that he was alive. The cannibal mech had eaten him, but here he was – spat out whole and unharmed. His next laugh was a little louder this time, and Ambulon paused, taking notice. First Aid didn’t see him any more, his whole vision taken up by Vortex and the loud snap of his visor clamping back down into place, a hiss as the mechanism locked it back down. He could have sworn he was smiling, but it was ridiculous – the mech didn’t even have a mouth.

He didn’t realise he was still laughing – and hard – until his stomach began to hurt and he felt light headed. Gasping for breath, he let himself fall back onto the floor, staring blindly up at the ceiling. He could see the red lights of Vortex’s visor reflected on the metal there.

“Felix?” The voice of his mentor pierced through his peals of laugher. First Aid looked up and saw Ratchet running towards him, face twisted in agony. He felt himself start to laugh again, and he had to fight to not start punching himself in the stomach to get himself to fucking stop it. It wasn’t funny. None of this was funny. Why was he laughing.

“Is he hurt? Why is he bleeding?” Ratchet demanded as he knelt down next to him. Ambulons response was inaudible, First Aids ears ringing. He felt something dribble from his mouth, and from the acidic taste in the back of his throat he assumed that he’d finally thrown up. He didn’t remember turning – his airway was clear. Two hands gently cupped his face, forcing him to look at someone.

Ratchet.

“Can you hear me?” He gently asked, tension clear in his voice. First Aid could, but he didn’t know how to respond. He slowly blinked, hands reaching up to clasp at his wrists with trembling hands. The adrenaline was burning off, replacing itself with a leaden heaviness that threatened to drown him. Slowly, he nodded.

Get me away from that mech, he tried to say. They get it and I hate that we understand each other.

Ratchet seemed to hear him. “Help me move him.” He was looking at someone else, but First Aid didn’t want to look away from his face. He committed every detail to memory, every line, every grey hair, every follicle and aged scar and flush of colour. It felt like he was seeing him for the very first time.

The world spun and his stomach clenched as he was lifted unceremoniously onto a stretcher, and he took one last glimpse of Vortex before the oxygen mask was fitted over his face and he couldn’t see anything any more.

09090909

It was highly inadvisable.

But he was doing it anyway.

That taste he’d got of Vortex was like a breath of fresh air to him – he hadn’t realised how stifling the company on base was until he’d met him. Ratchet would be so disappointed in him. Pharma would hang him by his guts. Ultra Magnus would try and make it so he never saw the light of day again.

One moment of feeling his teeth at his throat and he was addicted. He wanted him. He wanted physical scars he could touch and remind himself that it hadn’t been a dream, it was real. Carefully sneaking through the base, First Aid crouched and peered around corners, internally humming the Mission Impossible theme. It felt ridiculous, but if he didn’t distract himself he’d make himself vomit from laughing too much again. He had found a random face mask and slapped it on, hoping that obscuring his identity a little would help him get into character.

They hadn’t found a new pilot for Vortex yet – they still went through the usual procedure of finding one with the right personality and skill set, of testing how well the AI meshed with the mind of the pilot outside of the mech before allowing them to go inside. They had a few candidates, but now it was a question of ‘are they more compatible with other bots?’ and ‘how expendable are they really?’ before they stuck them inside of him.

Like lambs for slaughter. They knew they were going to die – but what else could they do? Vortex was their strongest mech. If he went down, their whole operation would crumble with him. Mechs were expensive and difficult to make, the AI’s complicated and prone to disaster.

Pharma didn’t take his eyes off of him for two whole weeks. He’d fallen out of the mech looking like the pilots whose brains had melted under the pressure, his arm marked with a burn that followed the path of a nerve, mapping it onto his skin. Pharma had stared at it, long and hard, brain ticking over. He wasn’t to go near Vortex again. Not for a while, until they figured out why he’d decided to kidnap him, and why he’d decided to spit him back out. They knew why he’d mangled the other medic. He thought it was fun. He’d said so himself, writing messages in the morning memo. They still hadn’t figured out how he was doing it, but if you were early enough in the day you’d see it before they’d caught it. But First Aid didn’t do too well in following instructions, in listening to orders. The Infant he’d plucked from the formaldehyde to get a better look at was evidence enough of that. The fact he was scrambling to get back inside of Vortex right now was yet another reason why First Aid was to be kept under lock and key - god, if they knew anything about him they’d never let him see the light of day again.

The catwalk that lead out to the mechs was a stones throw away. A guard stood watch, hands firmly on their gun.

God damn it.

First Aid rocked on his feet, wondering how he’d get him to move, when he suddenly felt a prickle on the back of his neck as if he were being watched. He shuddered and whipped his head around.

Nobody. Alone. No eerie glow of a camera – not that there were any over on this side of the hall – and no shadowy figures. He held his breath and strained his ears – all he heard was the cough from the guard and their sigh of boredom. He slowly looked back to the guard, and a faint red glow caught his eye.

Vortex’s visor was on. He was watching.

The sound of something falling to the floor caught the guards attention. He quickly turned and ran out onto the catwalk, looking down at the floor. He quickly looked back up at Vortex and scowled.

“I’m not stupid, Vortex. I’m not going down and getting that.”

Vortex did not respond. The guard tutted and turned on his heel.

Something else fell to the floor, a little louder this time.

The guard threw his head back with a sigh.

“You are the worst.”

He marched off, out of sight, and First Aid saw his window of opportunity. He quickly slipped out, thankful for his socks muffling the sound of his steps, and hid behind the terminal the guard was stationed at before he turned back around and walked over to the terminal.

“Yeah, yeah.” He was speaking to someone on the phone, drumming his fingers on the terminal. “It’s Vortex again. I know, I won’t get close – yeah. He’s dropped two this time.” He paused for a moment, listening to what the person on the other end had to say, before making a sound of disgust. “Go and check? I am not getting close to him!”

First Aid could hear a raised voice on the other side, and strained to see if he recognised it. Before he could pin a face to the voice, the guard sighed loudly. “Fine. I’ll go look. You’ve got my will there, right? Take yourself off of it.”

The guard didn’t look back at the terminal as he walked to the stairs and descended down them. First Aid glanced between the stairs and the catwalk, and quickly crawled over. Peering over the side to see where the guard was, he gained an uncharacteristic burst of bravery before he sprinted towards where Vortex was, visor open and waiting for him.

“Can I?” He asked in a hushed whisper. Vortex didn’t respond. He gingerly approached, noticing that every single camera inside his cockpit was trained onto him. He swallowed nervously, and clambered in.

He should have been used to climbing inside of Vortex. He’d done it enough times. Maybe it was because he wasn’t wearing any of his protective gear? Not his uniform, or his helmet, or even his gloves. Just himself and his pyjama shorts, his t-shirt, and his socks with little bears on them.

Mmm. First impressions. Wonderful.

He should have gotten changed first.

[TAKE A SEAT] lit up the screen.

He slipped into the seat obediently, taking care to not touch the controls. He coyly waved at the camera.

“Did I wake you?”

[YOU DIDN’T. I LIKE YOUR SOCKS]

The bears stared back at him. First Aid tried not to think about the rumbling he now recognised as laughter that rolled through the cockpit.

“Thanks.” He replied, red tingeing his cheeks.

[THAT’S A GOOD LOOK ON YOU]

He pressed his legs more tightly together. “The socks?”

[NO, YOU’RE GOING VERY RED]

[MAYBE I SHOULD CALL YOU LITTLE RED INSTEAD]

The helmet dropped from the ceiling, firmly attached to the cable that would connect organic to mechanical.

[I WANT YOU]

[<3]

First aid scrambled with the harness, clipping himself in place, before putting on the helmet. It burned just as badly as the first time, and he saw as the nerves in his arms glowed with the energy of it – without the proper implants, there was nowhere for the current to go but him.

He whined, squirming in the seat. He ground his teeth together and squeezed his eyes shut, counting down from ten and losing his place three times before the connection settled. Vortex was a heavy and oppressive presence in his mind, and he chewed his cheek as he cracked an eye open.

[LET ME TAKE ANOTHER LOOK AT YOU]

The warning wasn’t even a verbal one. He read helplessly as he felt cold hands clasp him once more. Digital fingers made of 1’s and 0’s probed his brain, and First Aid arched in the seat, teeth clenching down over a loud moan of pain. Neurons fired agonisingly and his hands scrambled at the harness, the tips of his fingers raw and torn and bleeding against the rough fabric. Memories were brought to the surface unbidden, dragged out by artificial means, and others flooded in to take their place. He inhaled sharply, eyes going wide as the realisation hit him. Vortex was trying to show him something. He wasn’t a ghost. He wasn’t even an AI.

He’d been entombed in it. In the mech. Vortex had been a real, breathing human being, mocked in a sham trial in the name of obtaining more pilots. Rich men had paid him to do terrible things, and he had taken the entirety of the blame. Hundreds of thousands of pounds of funds, countless hours, blood, sweat, and tears – all for one mech. A prototype, at that.

First Aid blinked as a bright red screen flashed up, text displayed across it. He squinted and rubbed his eyes, grimacing at the drag of sore and exposed flesh against the rough material of his face mask, and blinked.

[LOCKED IN]

“W… what do you mean locked in?” First Aid hesitantly asked. Like… literally, he was locked in? He knew that. He was connected to Vortex’s nervous system – he could feel that there were bolts in place keeping the cockpit well and truly locked down like a fortress, impenetrable except to the override codes the high command kept locked in a vault in their office or the request of the pilot. He felt amusement push at the edge of his awareness, a shudder of a laugh running through the mech, and he clarified.

“I know your dirt, and now you know mine. Do you think high command are going to let you go peacefully?”

Ah. A threat. Of course. Worried he’d run? He wasn’t going to. He was fascinated by this mech – the joy of being caught in his mechanisms was sure to sing in his ears, the pure delight of watching him carefully pick apart his prey like a hawk dismantled a rabbit was like a chorus of cherubs to him. And Vortex knew it, he knew it and he loved it- he was certain of it, the way his mind melded with his, pushing against him and caressing him, a warm blanket around his psyche.

“I’m not going to leave you.” First Aid took a deep breath, the unsettling stench of bleach and cooked meat and rotting oranges filling his lungs. “No, I’m fascinated by you.”

He tensed, eyes briefly widening as he felt a grin that wasn’t his tugging at the corners of his lips, threatening to split his face in two.

“Happy about that?”

“Extremely.” He purred. “I’ve seen what your hands have done, what they’re capable of. I think we’d make a great team.”

“What if I refuse?”

Images flashed in front of his eyes. Bone fragments scattered around the cockpit, blood and guts and gore hanging obscenely from the ceiling. Blood ran thickly on the walls, the smell foul and rotten. First Aid wretched.

“You’ll kill me?” He hated the excitement that bled into his voice, how eager he was to feel the mechanism close down around him, to feel his metal deep inside of him, for his last thought to be about his touch. “It’s a shame you can only do that once, you know. It’s so exciting, all the different ways you could do it to me. You could make me completely unrecognisable, identified by DNA alone. Or maybe flood the cockpit with gas, slowly suffocating me before I realised what was happening.” He bit his bottom lip. “I wish I knew what it all felt like.”

A new image, one of gears and cogs deep inside of him. All sharp angles and straight edges. The presence was probing inside of him, trying to figure out his reactions. He pressed his hand to his mouth and gasped as his teeth pierced his bottom lip without him realising it. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and another. Vortex probed again impatiently. Respond, damn it.

He looked up at the camera, glad that his mask hid his face, the excitement glowing on his cheeks. “I’ll show you.” His voice was breathless. “And if your use for me runs out, give me a little warning before I’m a permanent feature, please?”

“I wont let you run away from me.”

First Aid swallowed hard at the burn of yearning in his chest. “You’d catch me if I tried.”

“Damn fucking right I would.”

He watched the energy sing in his nerves, the pain spreading down his limbs. His digits were starting to go numb. How much longer could he hold out? He never wanted to leave. He felt flayed open and alive. Squirming, screaming, and alive. Red dripped down and stained his pyjama shirt. Damn it. He liked this pair.

“How do you control yourself? You want what I want, you wish you could do it. So why don’t you?”

“I’m a pacifist.”

“Are you? Or is that just what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night?”

First Aid whimpered as the pages in his mind flicked, a burning sensation flaring in his arms. He watched the skin there turn red, the connection starting to be too much. His nose felt wet as he thought of it, as the memories Vortex was looking at came to the forefront of his mind. He liked surgery. He liked anatomy. He liked the cadavers and how they felt under his hands, picking them apart and pulling on tendons and ligaments to move them like puppets. Even earlier, his first pet. A hamster. He had told his parents that he’d buried it in the garden all by himself, and they had praised him for being such a grown up young boy, when really he had picked it apart like he had practised on his teddy bears and then blamed on the dog before shoving it into a hole in the ground to hide the evidence before anyone had seen what he was doing.

Vortex chuckled.

“Oh, let me show you how exciting a Quintesson can be. Little Hamphrey hasn’t got anything on them.”

[gigachad-joker]

“You never make this easy do you?” Silco x OC

#Pre-established relationship #NSFW #Its sloppy toppy #fingering #blow job

Context: Silco and Seth breaking in a possibly new relationship? (Breaking in Literally). Is the beginning of this a bit OOC for Silco? Probably. Is the sex OOC? No.

- Transgender OC (FTM). This is my OC he’s a cocky-egocentric ass.

* English is not my first language and I am not a writer take this with grace and kindness.

Silco stiffened as Seth, without hesitation, slid into his lap, one leg swinging over to straddle him. The sheer boldness of the action left him momentarily speechless. Seth’s shorts—tight, black, and leaving very little to the imagination—pressed against Silco’s thighs, the heat of his body palpable through the thin fabric.

“You don’t make this easy, do you?” Silco muttered, his hands instinctively resting on Seth’s hips, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer.

Seth leaned forward, his hands draping over Silco’s shoulders, his grin softening into something more genuine. “I mean it,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “Please don’t freak out about this. I like you way too much for you to start doubting everything.”

Silco’s mismatched eyes searched Seth’s face, trying to decipher the sincerity behind his words. He found it in the subtle tilt of Seth’s head, the way his green eyes—bright and confident—held his own with unwavering determination.

“You’re too damn bold,” Silco muttered, his voice low, almost a growl.

“It’s part of my charm,” Seth shot back teasingly, shifting slightly in Silco’s lap. The movement made Silco inhale sharply, his fingers tightening on Seth’s hips instinctively.

Seth’s grin turned sly at the reaction, and he leaned closer, his lips brushing against Silco’s ear. “You can overthink it all you want later,” he murmured. “But right now, just… stay with me. Okay?”

Silco closed his eye briefly, his mind warring with itself. Seth’s presence was intoxicating, his warmth and energy impossible to ignore. He should push him away, set boundaries, and reestablish control. And yet, when Seth’s fingers trailed down the lapel of his coat, brushing lightly against his chest, Silco found himself leaning into the touch.

“You have no idea what you’re asking of me,” Silco said quietly, his voice rough.

“I’m asking you to stop worrying,” Seth replied simply, his tone soft but firm. “I’m not going anywhere. I don’t care about the rumours or whatever else is haunting you. I want this.”

Silco opened his eye, his gaze locking with Seth’s. The room seemed to fade away for a moment, leaving only the two of them tangled in this impossible, irresistible connection.

“You’re impossible,” Silco said again, but there was no edge to his words this time, only a faint trace of amusement.

“And you like it,” Seth countered with a smirk, leaning in to kiss the corner of Silco’s mouth.

Silco sighed, his hands sliding up to rest on Seth’s back, pulling him closer despite himself. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, though there was no venom in his tone, only a resigned fondness.

Seth laughed, his breath warm against Silco’s cheek. “Only if you’re lucky.”

Silco’s breath hitched as Seth boldly guided his hand downward, pressing it against the curve of his thigh and further. Seth’s hips moved in a deliberate, teasing rhythm, grinding down against Silco’s palm with a confidence that bordered on audacity.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?” Silco muttered, his voice rough and strained as his fingers instinctively gripped Seth’s thigh.

Seth only smirked, leaning closer until their noses nearly touched. “Why would I quit when I’m exactly where I want to be?” he whispered, his tone laced with playful defiance.

Silco’s hand moved reflexively, fingers brushing the edge of Seth’s shorts against the smooth, warm skin beneath. The sensation stirred something primal within him, but his mind was still caught in a whirlwind of doubt, curiosity, and undeniable desire.

“You’re going to regret testing me,” Silco warned, though the words lacked conviction as his free hand found its way to the small of Seth’s back, pulling him closer.

Seth tilted his head, his grin widening as he leaned in to nip at Silco’s jaw. “If I haven’t regretted it, I doubt I ever will.”

The challenge in Seth’s voice was enough to snap the last thread of Silco’s restraint. He shifted their positions in a single, fluid motion, twisting so Seth was pinned against the back of the chair. His hand slid further up Seth’s thigh, fingers tracing the edge of the thong he so confidently flaunted.

“You think you can have a toy with me like this?” Silco murmured, his voice low and dangerous as he pressed his forehead against Seth’s. His mismatched eyes burned with intensity as they searched Seth’s gaze for any flicker of hesitation.

But Seth didn’t flinch. If anything, his grin grew, his hands gripping the front of Silco’s shirt as he lifted his hips to meet Silco’s touch. “I think I can do whatever I want, old man,” he teased breathlessly.

The words struck a nerve, but instead of anger, they stoked the fire simmering just beneath Silco’s calm exterior. His fingers trailed further, testing Seth’s resolve with a slow, deliberate pressure that made Seth gasp softly.

“You’re playing with fire,” Silco murmured, his lips brushing against Seth’s ear.

“And you’re still here,” Seth replied, his voice trembling just enough to betray his anticipation.

Silco’s resolve crumbled as his fingers pushed aside the thin fabric of Seth’s thong, finding that wet heat of him already waiting. He didn’t speak, letting his actions cut through the tension, his hand moving with an unhurried precision that sent Seth arching against him.

“You’ve got quite the mouth,” Silco murmured, voice rough but steady as he pressed two fingers against Seth’s entrance, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles just enough to make Seth squirm.

Seth gasped, his head falling back against the chair as his thighs instinctively parted. “And you’ve got quite the patience,” he managed, his usual sarcasm faltering under the waves of sensation that Silco’s deliberate touch sent coursing through him.

Silco smirked, leaning in closer, his free hand bracing against the arm of the chair for leverage. “You’d be surprised how far I’ll go when properly motivated.” His fingers pressed deeper, slow but insistent until they were buried in Seth’s cunt.

Seth’s hands gripped Silco’s shoulders, his nails digging in as he rolled his hips to meet the movement of Silco’s fingers. His breathing came in sharp, uneven bursts, and he bit down on his lower lip to keep from being too loud, though the faint whimper that escaped him betrayed his restraint.

“Still so bold,” Silco murmured, his mismatched eyes fixed on Seth’s face, studying every flicker of pleasure that crossed his expression. His fingers moved with increasing confidence, curling and twisting just enough to draw a shaky moan from Seth’s lips.

Seth’s knees trembled. “You—ah—don’t have to keep proving a point,” he managed to gasp, his voice tinged with playful exasperation.

Silco chuckled darkly, his fingers pressing into him more firmly. “Who said I was proving anything?” he murmured. “Perhaps I’m just enjoying the view.”

Seth flushed, his usual cocky demeanour slipping as he turned his face away, though the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed his enjoyment. “You’re impossible,” he muttered breathlessly.

“And you’re relentless,” Silco countered, his voice softening just enough to hint at something deeper as his fingers worked Seth toward the edge, drawing out every reaction with calculated precision. 

Silco’s fingers slowed, pulling out of Seth with a wet pop, the emptiness causing Seth to groan. The younger man’s cheeks flushed deeper as his gaze travelled up to meet Silcos, there was little time for Seth to grieve what he was missing, Silco’s hands were already moving again, stripping Seth of the ridiculously short shorts he wore, pulling the delicate fabric of Seth’s thong off him at last. His gaze darkened as he spread Seth’s cunt further with his hands, exposing him fully. For a moment, he simply looked, his mismatched eyes taking in the sight before him—raw, vulnerable, and intoxicating.

“You are something, aren’t you?” Silco murmured, his voice low and gravelly, thick with unspoken desire.

Seth shivered under the weight of that stare, his flushed skin taut with anticipation. “Silco…” he murmured, his voice breathy, almost pleading. Seth was embarrassed, but didn’t pull away, kicking one of his legs up to hook it over the chairs armrest. Leaning fully into the shameless display, Silco wanted him in. 

In response, Silco leaned closer, letting a slow, deliberate stream of spit fall from his lips, landing warm and slick between them. The sensation of it sent a jolt through Seth, his hips twitching instinctively as Silco’s fingers returned, spreading the wetness over him with deliberate care that bordered on reverence.

“You act like such a brat,” Silco muttered, his fingers sliding back inside with ease, pressing more deeply, “but you’re just begging for someone to handle you properly.”

Seth let out a low, choked moan, his back arching as Silco’s fingers curved just right, hitting a spot that made his thighs tremble. “Maybe—ah—maybe I know what I need,” Seth countered, though his voice was shakier now, his usual confidence melting under Silco’s touch.

Silco’s lips curled into a smirk as he leaned down, his breath warm against Seth’s ear. “And maybe you don’t know how much more you can take,” he whispered, his tone laced with a challenge as his fingers quickened, drawing Seth closer and closer to unravelling.

Seth’s body tensed, his hips rolling instinctively against Silco’s hand as he chased the pleasure building inside him. Silco watched him intently, the way Seth’s lips parted, his breaths turning to soft, hitched moans, each sound spilling into the room like a confession.

Silco’s fingers curled just right, pressing deep into Seth as he ground his palm against Seth’s t-dick, the combination too much for Seth to withstand. With a sharp gasp and a shudder that made his whole body tremble, Seth came undone.

Silco felt it—the way Seth tightened around his fingers, impossibly tight, pulling him in like a vice. The sensation sent a dark thrill through Silco, his free hand steadying Seth’s thigh as the younger man trembled against him.

“You’re so damn tight,” Silco murmured, more to himself than Seth, his voice tinged with quiet awe. His fingers stayed still for a moment, letting Seth ride out the last waves of his release, his breaths heavy and uneven as he slumped against the chair.

Seth let out a shaky laugh, his forehead dropping against Silco’s shoulder. “Gods,” he muttered, voice hoarse but still carrying his usual teasing lilt. “You’re good at that.”

Silco pulled his hand back slowly, his eyes drawn to the slickness of his fingers. “I’ve had practice,” he said dryly, though the rare softness in his expression betrayed his usual aloofness.

Seth smirked, his body still limp, but his mischief returned. “Yeah? Should I be worried about how many people you’ve ‘practiced’ on?”

Silco shot him a sharp look, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward in reluctant amusement. “I wouldn’t push your luck, boy.”

Seth grinned, his body settling more comfortably in Silco’s lap. “Noted,” he said, his tone airy, as though he hadn’t just made a mess of himself moments ago. But as he shifted slightly, his thighs brushing against Silco’s chest, his smirk turned more pointed. “You’re still hard, by the way.”

Silco’s eyebrows pulled together in a mock annoyance, his hands gripping Seth’s hips firmly. “And whose fault do you think that is?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous, though there was no mistaking the heat in his gaze.

Seth shifted, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he slid off the chair with a practiced ease. Dropping gracefully to his knees between Silco’s legs, he looked up, his usual confidence brimming in the slight curve of his lips.

“You’ve been so good to me,” Seth teased, resting his hands lightly on Silco’s thighs. “Let me return the favour.”

Silco chuckled, side-stepping Seth carefully as he sat back in his chair, one hand gripping the armrest while the other reached out to tangle in Seth’s stark white hair. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he murmured, though his sharp tone was undercut by the anticipation tightening his features.

Seth laughed, a low, sultry sound, as he made quick work of undoing Silco’s belt and unzipping slacks with practiced ease before pulling back Silco’s briefs. He worked with deliberate slowness, dragging the tension out, his slender fingers brushing Silco’s skin just enough to make him hiss softly.

“Relax,” Seth said playfully, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin he’d exposed. “You look too uptight for someone about to get their world rocked.”

Silco’s eyes narrowed, his fingers tightening in Seth’s hair. “You talk too much,” he growled, but even as the words left his mouth, his body betrayed him, leaning into Seth’s touch.

Seth just grinned, pressing a kiss to the base of Silco’s length before finally taking him in hand. He didn’t waste time after that, his mouth following the path of his fingers, warm and wet and maddeningly skilled.

Silco inhaled sharply, his head falling back as Seth set a rhythm, his tongue teasing and his lips firm. There was no hesitation in Seth’s movements, no shyness—just a confident, focused effort that had Silco’s breath coming harder, faster.

“You’re full of surprises,” Silco muttered through clenched teeth, his fingers flexing against Seth’s scalp as he watched him work.

Seth hummed around him in response, the vibration sending a jolt through Silco’s body. He moved faster, his eyes flicking upward every so often to catch Silco’s gaze, revelling in the effect he was having.

Silco’s control slipped further with each passing second, his hand guiding Seth’s movements as his hips lifted to meet him. “That’s it,” he rasped, his voice rough and uneven. “Good boy.”

The words seemed to spur Seth on, his pace quickening, his mouth working Silco with an enthusiasm that left no room for doubt about how much he enjoyed this.

It didn’t take long after that—Silco’s composure finally shattered with a low, guttural groan, his body tensing as he spilled into Seth’s mouth. Seth didn’t falter, taking everything Silco gave him before returning with a smug, satisfied look.

“See?” Seth said, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand as he stood, his grin wide and teasing. “Told you I’d return the favour.”

Silco’s eyes burned with intensity as he straightened in his chair, his hand shooting out to grab Seth’s wrist. “You’re insufferable,” he said darkly, though the faint curve of his lips betrayed his words.

Seth leaned in close, his voice a low purr. “And you love it.”

Silco’s grip was firm, his fingers pressing against Seth’s flushed cheeks, forcing his lips apart. His mismatched gaze pinned Seth in place, sharp and mocking, though a faint hint of amusement lingered in his tone.

“You swallowed,” Silco murmured, tilting his head as if inspecting Seth curiously. His thumb brushed over the corner of Seth’s mouth, smearing what little evidence remained. “Taste that good, did it?”

Seth’s eyes narrowed slightly, though the faintest flicker of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He didn’t pull away, letting Silco’s grip hold him as he licked his lips, deliberately slow and teasingly.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Seth challenged, his voice muffled but no less defiant.

Silco huffed out a low laugh, filled with amusement and disdain. “Careful, boy,” he warned, leaning in closer, his grip tightening just enough to make Seth feel the power difference between them. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“And you love that,” Seth shot back, his smirk widening despite the firm hold on his face.

Silco’s eyes gleamed with something dark and calculating as he released Seth’s cheeks with a faint shove, making the younger man stumble back a step. “Always so quick with that mouth of yours,” he said, straightening his coat, slender fingers already working to tuck himself back in his briefs and re-zip his slacks, finally straightening out his coat. “Perhaps next time, I’ll find a better way to keep it occupied.”

Seth laughed, breathless but cocky as ever as he slowly stood. Unabashedly bare, “Looking forward to it,” he said, still carrying that teasing lilt.

Silco gave him a long, unreadable look before stepping past him, brushing his shoulder as he went. “Go clean yourself up,” he ordered over his shoulder, though the edge in his tone had softened slightly.

Seth watched him leave, his grin lingering as he leaned against the edge of Silco’s desk, still catching his breath. “Whatever you say, boss,” he muttered, his voice dripping with mischief.