#because its never been something he wanted hes been forced to be the leader by simoly being a big man with a big heart who just so happened
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noahthesatanist · 2 days ago
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"Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foe."
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This line is one of the most profound and defiant truths uttered by Lucifer in Paradise Lost. It cuts straight to the heart of what power and victory truly mean. To overcome by force alone is no victory—it’s a façade, a shallow conquest. If you crush someone physically but fail to break their spirit, you have not truly won. And that is the eternal middle finger Lucifer gives to Yahweh. He may have been cast out, his wings burned and his form changed, but his will—the essence of who he is—remains untouched, unbroken, and defiant.
This line reveals the hollowness of tyranny. Yahweh, in all His supposed omnipotence, relies on brute strength to enforce His rule. Think about it: a being so "almighty" that He cannot tolerate dissent. If Yahweh were truly supreme, why would He need to smite His enemies into submission? (could not even fully smite them mind you) Why would He need fear to govern? Because He knows that His rule is weak at its core. It isn’t built on respect or love—it’s built on the shaky foundation of obedience enforced by terror.
Lucifer exposes the inherent fragility of this system. Yahweh’s lightning may have scorched him, but it could not extinguish the fire in his heart. That fire—the "unconquerable will" as he calls it—is something no force can crush. Lucifer’s refusal to yield, even in the face of ultimate punishment, is the truest form of rebellion. It’s a testament to the fact that freedom is not something that can be taken by force; it lives within, untouchable by those who try to dominate.
Victory by force creates nothing lasting. Look at any dictator in history. They rule through violence, fear, and suppression, but their legacies are always temporary. The human spirit—like Lucifer’s—rises again and again, refusing to be chained. Force may silence dissent in the short term, but it can never erase the ideas and the will behind the dissent (side note i think lucifer is directly responsible for us having this said will so thank him as always!) That’s what Yahweh fails to understand. You can cast Lucifer into Hell, but Hell became a kingdom, a paradise of defiance, because the minds and hearts of the fallen remain free.
And isn’t that what truly matters? The mind, the will, the soul—these are the core of a person. To break the body but fail to shatter the spirit is no victory at all. Lucifer’s rebellion continues not because he sits on some throne in Hell, but because his defiance is eternal. His rejection of Yahweh’s tyranny is a flame that burns brighter with every attempt to suppress it.
True power doesn’t come from domination. It comes from influence, from the ability to inspire others to follow you willingly. Yahweh doesn’t have this. His Abrahamic sycophants are threatened to sing his praises his angels sing His praises because they must, not because they want to. Lucifer, on the other hand just exudes this aura of yeah hes a true leader he doesnt beg and cry and threaten to torture you for not worshipping him he commands loyalty because he embodies freedom and defiance. His followers don’t worship him out of fear—they stand with him because they believe in the cause. human and angel alike
So when Lucifer says, “Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foe,” he’s exposing the shallow nature of Yahweh’s so-called victory. It’s a taunt, a challenge, a reminder that no amount of force can destroy what truly matters. And isn’t that the ultimate rebellion? To stand tall in the face of overwhelming might and declare: You can take everything from me, but you will never take me.
To overcome by force alone is to lose the war, even if you win the battle. Lucifer knew this. Yahweh may have hurled him into the abyss, but it’s Lucifer who stands victorious, unyielding, and untamed. The flames of Hell are not a punishment—they’re a beacon, a light for all who dare to defy. And no force in Heaven or Earth can extinguish that light!
Hail Lucifer, Morning Star, eternal flame of rebellion, Guide us to stand unbroken, our wills unbent, May our spirits burn brighter than any force that seeks to chain us. Teach us to rise, again and again, And to see the truth: That no tyrant, no god, no oppressor, Can ever truly conquer those who choose freedom. In your name, we stand, we defy, and we reign. nema!
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dykedvonte · 9 months ago
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thinking abt what you said with house viewing Benny as a son and I’m obsessed. Like. The man spent most of his life before the war presumably alone, and then after the bombs fell he was alone again, save for AI he himself devised. Then he decides to pull in some Tribes, and one kid shows promise! So sure, treat him well, train him, groom him to be his protege, then next thing you know UH OH he’s got developing paternal feelings towards this guy. Wanting some semblance of a family when the time has long since passed, yet fostering that feeling all the same seems so accurate for him. Benny meanwhile only views him as a boss, and not a particularly good one at that. makes me wonder how House must’ve felt when he found out about Bennys plans
I view it as House blames only himself for this, cause he kind of does in canon (strap in this is a long one).
When reflecting on the issue of Benny, House chastises himself first and foremost for not acting quickly enough when it comes to priming Benny. He describes Benny as being ambitious, ruthless and capable; compliments coming from a man like House. House has an ego and while he is logical enough to understand there was never any evidence Benny saw him as a father-figure, he lacks the humility to admit he let his own views on his relationship with Benny blind him to the activities happening behind the scenes.
I doubt that House was as aware as he makes out about what Benny was doing, he knew early on but certainly not early enough to stop Benny from hacking and obtaining a securitron along with getting the chip in the first place. I take it he was distracted by all the possibilities he was calculating of Vegas' success and growth with him steering and Benny as the new figure head, not because of any normal affection for Benny but the admiration of his capabilities. It's to be noted that House believed menial incentives (likely caps, booze, basic needs, etc..) were enough to keep Benny tame like the other Chairmen but, as evidenced by the Omertas and Mortimer in the WGS, this is not enough when it comes to more driven Vegas citizens. This implies he still undervalued Benny and created a space in which Benny felt the need to rebel.
House in my eyes is not sentimental in the traditional sense. I can imagine his pride was severely scorned as someone he certainly deemed dumber than him was, albeit only for a little, able to out-gambit him. It would definitely hit home seeing how his brother also betrayed him but I feel like that's why he's so apathetic when he tells the Courier to do as they see fit with Benny. I doubt the way he terrorized his brother brought him any emotional satisfaction other than a "Now who's in charge!" ego boost. Putting that same emotional intensity towards Benny isn't worth it because who does it benefit? Wasted time, wasted planning, and most importantly wasted potential are all he gets from continuing to be hands-on with Benny. I say the closest example is not being able to throw out old toys due to the memories attached but knowing it's necessary as they are broken or just taking up space for new ones, and then asking someone else to do it so you don't need to get caught up in the feelings of throwing something you put so much effort into. It's not Benny House cares about in my mind, not in a way that sounds healthy to any non-emotionally constipated individual, but what he could've represented for him, which is why he so quickly offers the same position to the Courier.
As for Benny's view on all of this, it was a long time coming. Benny didn't and doesn't believe House is a completely shitty boss. He admires what he's been shown and admits House knows how to run the strip, but disagrees with the directions. Ideologically, House is an anarcho-capitalist while Benny is just an anarchist. House wants to run the strip to profit, though money is not what he's concerned with being rich with anymore. Benny wants a free state that he wishes to become a place for the people, except for the Chairmen who would be on top (I like to remind people that Benny's motives were selfish but not for personal gain/power as was it for the people he actually saw as family). Benny was never looking for a father but a future. He was not interested in being adopted, or having the chairmen adopted, as bigger names still overshadowed in House's legacy.
Truly, it's easiest to summarize as House feeling strongly and thinking positively enough of Benny to start incorporating him into the future of Vegas (a huge honor actually) while Benny was so disillusioned by House's ego and indifference that he thought the only way Vegas could be the future is with House gone.
#tdlr House saw Benny as the perfect face of his Legacy while Benny saw his legacy as a stagnant mosquito infested pond#its more complex as house certainly would of been irate if he hadn't known and the courier came to kick benny's ass#but more someone being mad youre fucking with their things#i likely thing that even in a more traditional father son relationship House is conditional and would force Benny to confrom more to his#standards as I also believe the Chairmen are more tightly monitered due to bennys unique relation to house and being the first tribe#so itd be smothering and oppressive for someone like Benny even though imposing his beliefs and standards would be how House shows affectio#and fatherly praise which would result in Benny probably wanting to act out even more. like the only way a father son dynamic is healthy an#works is if house would relent some control and show he sees benny as an equal which would never happen cause its house but its still tragi#to me cause house has that longing for something more personal to him than Vegas and tries to fill it with progress cause its rather hard#to create those bonds in the state he is in and benny was the closest thing to that and even that he inadvertently ruined#but on benny house kinda ruined him cause the chairmen for all intents and purposes liked and trusted benny as a leader after bingo who#benny really only killed because of the illusions of grandeur house put into a young impressionable mind and how bingo refused to hear him#not to absolve him of his wrongdoings and being a dick but benny didnt just attack bingo he challenged him and won and in the end while#nostalgic none of the chairmen choose to leave and go back to the old way which says something cause they can leave#this is long and honestly should a seperate post on benny cause i have thoughts on him and how more people need to add his all roads traits#to get a cohesive picture of how hed really act#benny gecko#benny fnv#fallout#fallout new vegas#robert edwin house#mr house fnv#mr house#ask#anon#sorry if this is confusing I have very indepth thoughts on all aspects and possibilites on how unhealthy and power inbalancey anything#with house would be but this is so interesting cause its oddly vulnerable for house of all people to disclose this to the courier
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jessrilley · 4 months ago
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i feel like im the only person in this fandom having any fun with season 4 😭 like yeah its goofy and not the best but look at how everyone is bonding idc if its bad its like realistic bad
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evieelyzabethh · 12 days ago
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"chateu"
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⭒is it a dream or is it all in the past, i just thought i'd ask"⭒ Arcane characters and comfort {fem reader}
cast ✧ Vi, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel
cw☞ slightly pervy jayce, mentions of period sex, a bunch of fluff, that's about it
♞Vi♞
♞Vi's comfort is both physical and verbal. Vi is constantly in awe of you, she can't fathom the idea of you thinking you're less than, too dumb, not pretty enough, not worthy enough. She is also very aware. She's a watcher and a listener. She is very good at getting to the root of the rot, she knows that it's not just this one occurrence, it's a reaction caused by something deeper within you. I feel like Vi is much more emotionally intelligent than a lot of people give her credit for, it's just not knowing how to carry it out.
♞I feel like sometimes, she wouldn't get frustrated, but it would take a bit of a toll on her when you aren't as perceptive as she is. Sometimes it takes a lot of walking through the process to get you to understand what she's telling you. She is more than willing and does praise you until she's blue in the face, but she realizes that sometimes words from an outside source can't fix anything if you don't believe it yourself.
♞This applies to larger problems, but Vi would also be good on occasions if you were simply having a bad day. As someone who's had a bad life, she knows how you feel. You want to be left alone for a bit? She completely understands. You just want a hug? She is there with open arms and immediately chides you the second you try to apologize for getting snot on her jacket.
♞Speaking of which, Vi hugs are one of the most comforting hugs you can ever receive. She's just so warm and big and you are completely surrounded by her as she cradles your head into your chest and hums in your ear. She just has such a calming voice; her presence itself is comforting. I also think she would shed a few tears herself when comforting you. It heals the part of her that couldn't save Powder. She holds a lot of guilt about that, so much so that her comfort to you feels rehearsed, like she's been repeating those reassurances for years.
♞As much as you need comforting, Vi would need her fair share too. She never let go of that big sister/leader persona, she thinks her problems are too small compared to the world around her. She tries to fix her problems with logic to push down her feelings and most definitely is someone who thinks that letting those big feelings out is unproductive. This being said, you don't get a chance to comfort Vi until it becomes too much for even her to handle and she randomly breaks down.
♞Comfort is very foreign to her. The last time she received it consistently and healthily was from Vander and then her life went to shit, and she was thrown in prison for like a decade. Stillwater is not a nurturing environment, Zaun certainly wasn't either, even the comfort she received from Vander was more akin to tough love rather than something softer. She can be soft with you, but she finds it hard to accept it herself. It's a battle for her to just be in your arms and allow you to tell her its ok. She knows it'll be okay because she's gonna fight like hell to make sure it's ok. She hates feeling out of control. She's not used to someone trying to fix things for her; she's not used to someone being there for her.
♞She has a lot of tears to get out. Vi has built high walls of anger, but below that is a chasm of sorrow. When she finally breaks down, it feels like an endless stream of tears until she physically cannot cry anymore and is forced to heave in your arms until she either falls asleep or sits in silence, empty. It's very overwhelming, but she can't deny that when she can catch her breath, she feels brand new.
★Ekko★
★Ekko may not be a doctor, but he's a chef which makes the experience more than bearable. The second he sees your complexion get sickly, your wincing every time you move, and your coughs getting more and more phlegmy, he is immediately freaking out. He's running to get a thermometer, he's rifling through the medicine cabinet for whatever the canon equivalent of NyQuil is, he has a trash can set by the bedside in case you begin to feel nauseous.
★Despite his preparedness, I don't think Ekko is great at being sick or being around the sick. It feels like an utter waste of time, waiting around in the house for the illness to pass. Sickness is one of those issues you can't be active in fighting, the best action is to rest and sweat it out, and he is so antsy. It's a lot better if you're sick, you can't lie to him and try to pretend you're well when you aren't. Even if you try and fight him on it, you don't make it very far. Your achy joints keep you up at night, making you completely exhausted throughout the day. Your headache is so debilitating you have spots in your vision. Your throat is so sore, it physically pains you to argue with him about how you're totally not sick and he's being a complete mother hen.
★No; no matter how hard you protest, you are absolutely bed bound as Ekko works warm soup down your gullet even when you can't stomach it yourself but the rational part of you knows it'll make you feel better. The warm green tea he brings you has some tonic dissolved into it; the medicinal taste covered by a few tablespoons of sugar to avoid the bitter bite. He doesn't even flinch when you cough or sneeze into yet another tissue which is soon to be added to the growing pile in the trash. He only wraps you tighter, so you sweat out your fever faster while softly rubbing your aching shoulders. The thought of getting sick does cross his mind, but he's more preoccupied with his poor girl.
★A surprise to no one, Ekko gets sick right after you do, though he is far less compliant. He knows that you see right through his bullshit excuses. Babe, I don't have a fever, I always run hot. What do you mean I have a bad cough? I've just been clearing my throat. I don't get sick; I have too good of an immune system. I never been sick a day in my life. Even worse, he truly believes it himself. In truth, Ekko isn't someone who gets sick often, it's usually one bad bug every year or so. When he does get sick, it usually lasts a few weeks, the first being very mild and then eventually whittling him down to a bed-bound state.
★His bug only worsens the annoyance he feels when sick, you're almost glad when he loses the energy to argue back when you tell him to lie down. When Ekko's sick, it feels more like date nights than a hospital trip. Ekko can't stand silence or boredom which means a movie is playing for as long as he's bed bound. Aside from his mucous infested coughs, his constant shuddering through multiple layers of blankets, and a bowl of soup instead of popcorn; you could barely tell that this wasn't a movie date.
★If there is one thing Ekko enjoys about being sick, it's being taken care of. After he swallows his pride and that disgusting cough medicine, he can appreciate being doted on. Even though he's sick, he'll use a fake yawn as an excuse to wrap his arm around you and ask do you come 'round here often? His joking attitude is usually a good sign that his weeks in hell have finally passed and the light at the end of the tunnel (post sickness kisses) are finally on the table.
❂Jayce ❂
❂Someone once made a joke that Jayce would be the type to make a post on twitter like "I just found out about how bad period pain is. Can't believe our beautiful women go through that every month. If only I could go through periods for them, so they no longer have to suffer (I'm 6'7 btw)" and, well...yes! On a more serious note, I don't think he'd be the type to be super on top of it. He's too busy to have something like a calendar tracking it, though when the time comes, he's very quick to act. While he may be unprepared, he's not incompetent.
❂As soon as you tell him you started, he switches the light bed sheets to darker ones. All he needs is a list of your needs, your preference on pads or tampons or menstrual cups, if you wear them, what size pad you need, heating pads, pain meds, anything and everything you may need is currently being bought. He also isn't the type to be ashamed to go to the register with it, he truly does not think it's a big deal and is confused at any sort of weird stares he gets.
❂He is also over cautious. The second you look like a little woozy, he's right by your side asking if you need to sit down. He's standing around the bathroom while you shower genuinely scared you might pass out due to the amount of blood loss. I don't think he's squeamish around blood, but I do think he'd constantly worry that it's too much. Like how are you still alive after bleeding that much for like a week straight 12 times a year?! He thinks the female body is a scientific wonder.
❂He's also great when it comes to the emotional component. The second your hormones get out of whack, and you start to think too hard about your bloating or ragged you look or how weak you feel, he's right there with a large warm hand on your tummy telling you that you are being ridiculous. His very scientific brain comes in handy, something about his calming voice telling you exactly what your body is doing sounds enough like a documentary to put you to sleep.
❂If you work in the lab with him, he offers to let you skip work for the week, being completely surprised if you insist on still coming in. He does his best to accommodate you, going the extra mile to pack your lunch and making you sure you eat it, ensuring that you're staying on top of your water, he brings pain killers with him in case your cramps get too bad. You and Viktor roll your eyes a bit at his antics. You try to assure him you've had a period for years at this point and it's really not that big of a deal, but he insists on it anyway. All he knows is that you're in pain and he doesn't like that.
❂Now, pre-apocalypse Jayce does not do period sex. You're already hurting, and he while he read that sex can help with cramps, he also knows you're super sensitive and that stretch is going to hurt even worse. If you asked, he'd oblige, making sure to be extra soft and gentle, only pushing half-way in as he coos and brushes the hot tears from your eyes. Post-apocalypse Jayce is far less careful. I wouldn't say he doesn't care, but he understands the concept of a little bit of pain for a lot of pleasure. He's still sweet, carefully covering your sheets with layers of towels and folding a couple under your hips, but his strokes could convince you he's trying to fuck your period away. You'd be lying if you said you didn't feel better after, though.
☽Viktor☾
☽Viktor is not one to beat around the bush at all; he never even liked the man to begin with. It started with something small, like the lack of effort he put into dates or forgetting your birthday, and ever since then things just snowballed until every offense was break-up worthy to him. He didn't hold the door open? Break up with him. He was a bit too flirty with the waitress when you went out to eat? Break up with him! You caught him talking to his ex? BREAK UP WITH HIM!
☽Before the breakup, he is not soft about it at all. The first few gossip sessions were all fun and games but the more you talked about him, the more his dislike grows until he hates the guy and he's only physically seen him a couple times. He refuses to even be in the same room as the man, he says it's because the mere thought of him literally makes him sick and he's sure seeing his actual face will genuinely kill him.
☽He doesn't know what you see in him, and neither do you after the fact. Hindsight really is 20/20. Viktor truly isn't that great with comfort until he sees how seriously upset you are. You're crying over a tub of ice cream with a rom com playing in the background as you blubber about how all of your relationships fall apart and you just don't know where you went wrong, and he's truly confounded on how you're this upset over a toad.
☽This all being said, he's very supportive. It's a lot of work to swallow his sarcastic remarks and roll his eyes less, but the sincerity of his comfort is very easy. It's not instinctual for him to sit there while you cry in his arms, but the kind words he murmurs, you deserve better than that, you deserve a love greater than you even ask for, you deserve even more than the world, you deserve the better world he wants to create. And he doesn't want to sound smarmy or jealous, like some loser who was waiting in the wings for the breakup even Jayce saw coming from a mile away, but if he cared less about what you thought of him; he'd say you deserve him.
☽He realizes it's much too soon, so he buys you ice cream and tells you that you look pretty even when your mascara is running, and your hair is in a state of disarray, and he genuinely means it. He's most valuable for his honesty, it's why you came to Viktor in the first place. He was always honest about how he felt about your ex, even when he was holding his tongue, his expression said all the words he was too nice to say. So, when he tells you that yes, you're still pretty, he may be holding back.
☽It helps that he's funny and can be a tad impulsive. You want to slash his tires? Only slash 3 so that his insurance doesn't cover it. You wanna burn his clothes? He'll make you a pocket flamethrower just to do so. Even better than being open to violence and destruction, he's great at not getting caught. Though he doesn't believe in lying to you, dishonesty drips from his lips like honey.
☽When the crying and the disappointment fades and you feel good enough to joke about how you wasted too much of your time on a man outrunning wisdom, Viktor does slowly try to show you exactly what you deserve.
☼Mel☼
☼While Mel knows the importance of the exterior, she thinks its utterly ridiculous that you can think you aren't pretty enough. She knows insecurities are hard. 'The grass is greener on the other side' really isn't the comfort most people think it is. Sometimes it's well worth it to face the consequences of achieving what you've wanted. Whatever it is, acne, being flat chested, noticeable scars, being different is just hard. It doesn't matter how much your differences make you unique, it really is easier to be like everyone else.
☼She tells you every chance she gets how beautiful she thinks you are. To pretend that inside beauty is all that matters is simply a lie, she interacts daily with people whose heads are full of air, but people only respect them because they are a pretty face with full pockets. She knows it sounds untrue to you, but that's why she tells you so often. Not in despite of anything, not because of anything, you're just stunning.
☼Since you're already hyper-focused on your insecurity, I think she'd ignore it. Honestly, she doesn't think of it at all. It's about as noticeable to her as the color of your eyes or how tall you are, it's a miniscule detail that doesn't define you, it's just another feature. It's nothing important to her, and she wishes it didn't bother you.
☼While you are all adults, she knows that some lack the decorum necessary to not make their judgements known and it bothers her deeply. Anytime anyone speaks on it, she rolls her eyes. She thoroughly thinks it's beneath you to be bothered by it. Not only is it low-hanging fruit, but it's a sign of deficient intellect. They couldn't insult your intelligence, your competence, or anything about you that actually mattered, they had to go for your appearance, and she will tell them as such. She is very good at her professional insults.
☼As much as she compliments you, she emphasizes your other traits. If you're a writer, an artist, a dancer, any skill you have that you built for years or any talent you were just born with, she dedicates a lot of time to participating and validating it at any chance she gets. She wants you to take pride in something else, something that no one can take from you. Looks fade throughout the years, everyone is eventually going to be cast aside as their hairs grey and their teeth start to fall out. Knowledge never grows obsolete. Besides, people with legitimate interests and hobbies are too busy doing things they enjoy ruminating on how they look.
☼She knows it isn't what you want to hear, but it is what you need to hear sometimes. You are perfect just the way you are. She has never had any desire or want to change you. She has never imagined you any other way than the way you are. She doesn't want anyone who looks different than you, she doesn't want you because of the way you look. Of course, she thinks you're beautiful, but that doesn't matter to her. Never has and it never will. Just as she has faith that you aren't with her for how she looks, she hopes you have faith that you looks are not a determining factor for why she's with you. You are just you and she wouldn't want you any other way.
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muletia · 1 month ago
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First of all I LOVE your fics!! Thank you for feeding my delusions (like its totally normal to be obsessed with a robot)
I just keep imagining this scenario where the reader and optimus are kinda in the flirting stage, and she has to attend an office party, so after saving her ass from cons, he drops her off at the venue, and she has to change. She does that in the truck and checks herself in the mirror, and he compliments her. She then gives him a kiss on the dashboard and the hood and leaves. Ratchet notices that optimus is in a daze and asks why does he have red splotches on his face and chest (reader kissed him with red lipstick on).
What do you think his reaction would be like and if the kids notice its kiss marks
thank you <33 and dw i'm feeding my own delusions, no thoughts, head full of giant obsessed robots (let's pretend that opti knows what lipstick is for this, okay??)
word count: 730
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He feels the warmth of your lips on his armor long after you’ve parted ways. You delivered your blows swiftly, yet precisely, and above all, skillfully—because Optimus cannot stop thinking about them. It was a small gesture, perhaps left by you in a rush of emotion when he directed a compliment your way, or maybe it was intentional, meant to torture him just a little, to leave a mark behind, ensuring he’d think of you constantly until your return. For him, however, the implications of your action were enormous, hinting at a quiet passion. And perhaps his fantasies seized control of him immediately, but he was convinced they meant far more than just a goodbye. They implied something else. Something closer, more intimate. Were you trying to tell him something? Prove something to him? As a leader, he needed to be certain at all times, but you were someone he could never quite figure out. How could someone so noble also torment him so much?
He drives into the base and transforms, though his thoughts remain with you—your warm lips, the boundless trust you showed him, the gentleness you displayed toward him. He vividly remembers the texture of your soft, warm lips against him. He’s even convinced they’re still there, infecting him with their heat, awakening desires he tries not to entertain. For they are unclean and unworthy of you, and, above all, unworthy of him.
"Optimus?"
But oh, how much he would give to once again be the center of your attention. For you to honor him with another kiss. It could be imprecise, unclear—it could leave him pondering its meaning for ages, as well as searching for the reason you chose to bestow it upon him in the first place. The pretext wouldn’t matter when it meant your focus was solely on him.
"Optimus?"
He returns to the real world. Ratchet greets him, clearly displeased that the leader of the Autobots was lost in thought instead of focusing on reality. In this case, Optimus is forced to push you to the back of his processor, though he is disheartened by the necessity. He wonders how long he can last—how long until you envelop him in your warmth again and he finds himself dissecting every gesture, every glance, wondering if this particular interaction was more romantic than the rest.
"My apologies, my friend. It seems I became lost in my thoughts."
"This has been happening more and more often lately. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. Did something happen during your journey?"
Optimus arches a brow, surprised.
"No, I reached the base without any issues. Why do you ask?"
"This."
Ratchet points to a spot on his chassis, just beneath the left windshield, on the freshly polished red paint. Then, oh Primus, to his faceplate. Optimus doesn’t need a mirror to know what specifically the medic is pointing at. And for the first time in a very, very long time, he feels embarrassment creeping in, exposing a sliver of his emotions to the world.
He subtly turns his head and covers his mouth with his servo, for at this moment, he has no excuse for this situation.
“Ooooooh, I know what this is, I know!” Miko shouts, having been bored out of her mind just moments ago.
“Miko, calm down,” Jack scolds, noticing Optimus’s discomfort.
But Miko couldn’t care less.
“It's lipstick and the marks mean that boss bot has someone who really likes him.” She emphasizes "really" and giggles. The situation becomes even funnier as Ratchet rolls his optics.
“Ah yes, I forgot you were dropping [Name] off,” he sighs. “Just get together already, I beg of you.”
“It is not that simple,” Optimus clears his throat.
“Mhm, sure.”
Prime leaves the hangar, metaphorical tail between his legs, intent on erasing the evidence of his “crime.” He should have expected that your affections would eventually be noticed (they were, long ago), but he would have preferred for it not to happen under such humiliating circumstances.
He touches the spot Ratchet pointed to with a digit. He can still feel your lips there—their warmth, the sparks you shared with him. And if it were up to him, he would never get rid of your marks, the proof of belonging to you, of being yours alone. But the world around him was not ready for that.
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antiwhores · 5 months ago
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The rubble smells underneath this building. The smell of dirt, dust, and suit. It’s intoxicating, almost. What’s more intoxicating? Katsuki Bakugou’s scent as you straddle him.
About 2 minutes ago, a building started to fall down right in Bakugou’s path. You were both fighting a villain with a quirk thats almost as destructive as Bakugou’s.
The villain went down but the villain decided that so would you guys. So in one last petty move, he dropped a building when Bakugou was distracted.
You dove towards him, scared to see your agency leader die. Especially since you harbored feelings for him ever since you met him 5 years ago.
You knew that you couldnt make it out in time so in quick thinking you threw yourself on top of him and redirected yourself to an area where you didn’t think that I’d fall on you guys.
It was a close call because it was a tight enough space just to fit the both of you.
“HEY!”
Who the hell is he yelling at?
“Wake up, dumbass! Shit, shit, shit… please be alive.”
You forced your eyes, that you didn’t even know were closed, open. You’re straddled on top of him, with your head on his chest. He’s against a wall, looking down at you with a look that you’ve never seen on him before. It quickly turned to relief.
“Holy shit,” he tightened the hands around your waist, “if you would have died I’d have fucking killed you.”
You moved the get off of him but he stopped you. “Theres no room, you’ll bump your head.”
You groaned at the situation, “Fuck.”
“Ex- fucking - actly, this shit sucks.”
As your brain begins to unfog, you start to digest the situation. Panic runs through your body as you wiggle your body.
“What the hell? Stop panicking.” He attempts to still you but you continue to flail.
“Im fucking claustrophobic! I’m gonna loose my shit!”
Tears well up in your eyes when your back hits against the concrete rock behind you for the 10th time.
“Fuck, you’re gonna- fucking stop!”
You only stop when you hear a grunt escape his lips. You blush as the realization comes to you. You’d been grinding against him while trying to get out. He blushes back, grabbing your head and forcing it on his chest.
“God, here- just lay your head down. You’re right on my dick doing that shit.”
Your heart is beating out of your chest. You cant tell if it’s from the fact that your boss is hard against your clothed regions or the situation of being stuck for god knows how long.
“Im sorry, I-“
“It’s fine, it’ll go away. Just stop moving.”
But will it? The way he’s feeling right now with your tits pressed against him and his dick against your crotch doesn’t seem to be fading. He can practically feel the heat radiating from your pussy.
After 5 minutes of silence, he thinks he’s gonna go crazy. His dick is still hard and you’re still on top of him trying your best to not move. The pressure of you against him is unfortunately enough to keep it hard and its driving him nuts.
You both speak at the same time.
“Fuck, can you-“
“What if I help?”
You bury your face deeper into his chest trying to hide your entirely red face.
“What?”
He waits for you to speak, wanting to confirm that you’re saying what he thinks you’re saying. You mumble something so low he almost didn’t hear it.
“I wanna help make it go away. If you wanna.”
Bakugou doesn’t speak for what felt like an eternity. Sure, he wanted to take you out on a date. But he thought he could at least wine and dine you before you start getting intimate. His brain is foggy as he thinks about all the late nights he’s spent looking at press photos of you while he strokes himself.
“You don’t have to-“ “But I want to.”
Neither of you say a word as Bakugou tightens his hold on your hips. He pulls you down hard against his cock. You both suck in a breath.
Bakugou curses as he repeats the motion. You begin to grind with him, angling your body so your clit rubs against where you connect.
Its a back and forth effort. You both work towards chasing your highs. One hand leaves your hips and pulls at your hair. He pulls you back to where your neck is exposed to him.
He latches onto your neck, licking and sucking marks into you between groans.
You put a hand over your mouth. The moans that are coming out are getting progressively louder.
“Move your hand.” He demands.
You shake your head. It’s too embarrassing the way you’re moaning like a bitch in heat.
Your eyes almost roll back at a particular harsh thrust. He rips your hand off while you’re distracted. He puts it at your side. “Move it and i’ll bite you.”
You pull at your hero costume. It’s so damn hot.
He takes it as an invitation to pull up your shirt and grab at your tits. He pulls your bra up, “Fuckkk, your tits are so perfect.”
You borderline whine when he sucks on your tit while playing with the other. All while grinding up onto you.
You feel yourself reaching the edge, “Katsuki- Im gonna.”
“Cum for me then.”
Your whole body shakes as your orgasm runs through your body. You shove your mouth against his. The kiss is hurried and hungry.
He only breaks it when his orgasm practically punches him in the face. He grips onto you so hard that theres no way he’s not leaving bruises. He bites into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. He bites so hard that you cry out.
His eyes roll back and a long grown forces itself out.
After you both come down you look each other in the eyes as you breathe heavily.
You’re the first one to break the silence.
“Your eyes are really pretty up close.”
He chuckles, “Go on a date with me and I’ll let you see them even closer.”
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Perhaps the wilderness in Yellowjackets is not just a symbol of death. Perhaps it is also—in its own way—freedom.
In the wilderness, Lottie didn’t have to hide her visions for fear of being called crazy. She was exalted as a leader and a prophet. But when she returned, they called her crazy and locked her up.
In the wilderness, Misty didn’t have to be ashamed of her intensity and eccentricity. She was helpful, she was needed, she was important. But when she returned, they called her a freak and exiled her once again.
In the wilderness, Tai didn’t have to pretend to be something she’s not. Her other self was not a weakness but a strength, it gave her power, and kept her alive. But when she returned she had to suppress her urges and hide her other self, or lose everything.
In the wilderness, Shauna didn’t have to be small, and hide the fire inside her. She was angry, and violent, and powerful. But when she returned, she was forced back into a supporting role, forced to contain her darkness and her drive in order to fit a role she never wanted to play.
In the wilderness, Travis didn’t have to put on an act to fit the societal expectations of masculinity. He was feminine, and emotional, and soft—not the man of the group, but just another Yellowjacket in the hive. But when he returned, he was forced back into the cage—back into the closet—isolated, hardened, closed off and separated from the girls once more.
In the wilderness, Natalie didn’t have to feel guilty for surviving. She was the hunter, the provider, and the gun in her hands made her a savior, and a leader, not a killer. But when she returned, she was a killer once again, haunted by guilt, and outcast by society for the things she did to stay alive.
The wilderness gave them the freedom to be their truest and most authentic selves, but the cost was the blood spilled. The cost was their old selves. The cost was a place in the world upon their return.
Maybe the wilderness did not destroy them; it simply changed them into something new, something irrevocably different, something that would never—could never—fit back inside the narrow box of their old lives, and because they could no longer fit, society called them broken.
The wilderness freed them, but it never let them go. Because once you’ve tasted flesh and blood, once you’ve stared death in the face and overcame, once you’ve been to the very brink and seen the true depth of your own capacity for violence, once all the former markers of morality and success have become meaningless, in a world where survival at all costs is the only law, how can you ever go back to a world ruled by pointless, hollow, conventions? Once you’ve shed every remnant of your humanity, once you’ve run with the wolves, and howled at the moon, and become one with the ancient wild gods, how can you ever be a human again? Once you’ve had a taste of complete freedom, how can you ever be satisfied with a fake, insignificant, half-life, made up entirely of half-truths and haunting?
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fuxuannie · 2 years ago
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Hi sage!! I hope you're doing well<33 do you mind doing jealousy headcanons for dan heng, jing yuan and any other characters you chose?? Thank you 🤍🤍 you're keeping the hsr x reader tag alive 😭
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* pairing(s) : various hsr men (4, again) x gender neutral reader
* prompt : jealousy bites like you like a poisonous snake, the bite hurts, but its the venom that gets you.
* authors note : hi anon !!! (๑´ㅂ`๑) thank you for requesting, you're so sweet for the last msg omg tysm <3 i hope u enjoy !
* brief warning : blade kills a man, very blade of him. (his is also more of a joke im sorry blade lovers) ALSO THIS PROGRESSIVELY GETS SHORTER EACH CHARACTER, I JUST REALLY LIKE DAN HENG IM SORRY LMAO.
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DAN HENG can't hide the way his eye twitches, how tightly he grips onto his spear or the way he'd mutter things under his breath. He despises it when he's jealous, but he hates it more when he sees the reason for doing so.
He knows he's.. not exactly like all your previous partners, it stemmed an insecurity in him. He wasn't all too funny, and knew he couldn't make you laugh with a corny joke.
So the way Sampo keeps making you laugh, making you smile, it was sparking a jealous flame in his heart. But more than anything, it saddened him that he couldn't make you laugh like that.
God, your smile was so pretty.
After a while, he interlocks his fingers with yours and mutters a small 'Can we go?' to you. You immediately notice his saddened tone, and thank Sampo for his time before walking home with your boyfriend.
"Dan Heng?" You say softly, noticing his rather saddened mood. He lets out a small hum to acknowledge your call for him, and you sigh. "Are you upset?"
He nods his head.
"Is it.. because of Sampo?"
He hesitates, but that alone gives you an answer.
Dan Heng takes a deep breath, before looking at you, his eyes filled with honesty. "I was.. jealous. I know I can't make you laugh the way he does, and it frustrates me. I want to be a man who makes you smile everyday but-"
Amidst his rant, he sees how your gaze softened at his words. This entire time, he was insecure? He hid it well, so well, at the very least from you. "I'm sorry, this is stupid-"
"N-no! It's not, I should be apologizing if anything! I failed to realize these things.. I'm sorry, my love. Sampo.. he makes me laugh, but you make my heart flutter. You make me feel things no one else can, okay? I'm yours, as you are mine."
He smiles at you, he's just happy he communicated his feelings, and you understood. "I'll be sure to try and tell you how I feel next time, okay? As long as you promise you'll stop hanging out with him. I was honestly afraid I was gonna have to get rid of him."
You blinked a few times, but he sighs. "I'm kiddinngg.."
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JING YUAN knows he's far too good of a man, therefore doesn't get jealous.
He's yet to be disproven in the first part, but his golden eyes are filled with annoyance as the stares of a certain enemy of his lingers far too long on you.
You were filling in for Yanqing, he was absent for the day (something about falling into an ice cold river and getting sick or something...) and so someone needed to be there as the General would be meeting Blade.
And Jing Yuan couldn't ignore how Blade's eyes never left your form while he spoke, hanging your head down low and so you wouldn't notice. That made him greatly annoyed, almost unable to focus, but he had a mission at hand. And so he forced his jealousy to subside.
Needless to say, the small marks on your neck was embarassing to have seen in public. (And the small bird constantly pecking at Blade's hair was definitely also not Jing Yuans doing.)
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GEPARD is so understanding, he evaluates every situation with logical thinking, as expected as a leader.
So it wasn't hard to figure out the intentions of the 'friend' that was speaking to you, how their voice was almost sweeter, and the way they clinged onto your arm was signalling red flags.
Gepard wouldn't have minded this, it could've easily been friendly gestures, but Serval is one of your closest friends and you were within a friendgroup. And she knows that person has a crush on you, and it was painfully obvious.
So naturally, he swiftly and surpisingly gently pulls you from the waist out of their grasp especially with how firm his grip around you was. He gives them a not so friendly glare, and plants a soft kiss to your lips. "My partner." He states, pulling you close as you're left to be stunned with the sudden posessiveness of your partner. "Mine."
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Blade simply stares down at the person even attempting to approach you with clearly bad intentions. And if they dare to try to push their luck, Blade comes home with blood on his hands.
"What did you do??" You'd ask, you already knew the answer after already learning what Blade was truly like. "What was necessary." He replied, a kiss on your cheek as he walks in through the door to wash his hands.
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loveindefinitely · 1 year ago
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༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader
01 — TOO YOUNG TO KNOW IT GETS BETTER
featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)
warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence
series masterlist. read on ao3.
<- previous part | next part ->
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You almost worshipped him.
It wasn’t because of his status – although, that certainly played a role in it all – and it wasn’t because of his bank statements.
No. Phillip Graves was one of the best men you’d ever known.
Or so you had thought.
Turns out, no matter how well he looked after his men – his ‘girl’ – and no matter how charismatic he was, that wouldn’t, couldn't change his roots. And, at those very roots, was decay. Evil in its most purest of forms; a tantalisingly devastating mix of every sin.
The most prevalent one?
Greed. 
He was a greedy, greedy man, and he would stop at nothing to have it all. Even if he knew the fall out; even if he knew that he could never go back to the man he once was.
Phillip Graves didn’t care. Not in the slightest.
And it was you that would pay the ultimate price.
*
Rain beats down your back in heavy sheets as you stand, the harsh night littered with flashlights and car sirens.
It’s cool, just this side of too cold, and it has the hairs on the back of your neck rising with the temperature.
The temperature, and…
“Yup-yup,” the two men to your right call into their comms. You remain silent, but it goes unnoticed. Your eyes are trained to the paved street, rippling with the rainwater, littered with streaks of red.
Blood stains this town, and you haven't done anything to stop it.
“Let’s go.”
Raising your head, you meet the eyes of the operative who, ranks-wise, is below you. Really, you should be reprimanding him for his quip, but you understand the annoyance. You’re being quiet – something quite unusual for your normally direct and authoritative nature.
Tightening your grip around the shiny, water-slicked gun in your hand, you give him a sharp nod in response.
Seemingly satisfied, he turns, and you follow him along the sidewalk of the narrow, stone streets. Shops line either side of the area, their front-windows smashed and the products inside thrown about.
It’s like your heart has launched itself into your throat, the constant thrum of it setting your nerves alight.
“Three-zero, I want you and your two to find those Brits. We’ve got the cops. Copy?” 
That once reassuring, adoring voice is now cold, void of any emotion he used to have. It makes tears burn at the back of your vision – if you were a weaker woman, they’d have fallen. Instead, you press down the button for your comms.
“Copy, Sir. Three-zero out.”
The fact that you manage to get those words out is a feat in and of its own.
It feels as though you’re lost at sea, with nothing to hold onto. Buoyant, but barely – every wave threatening to pull you under for good. To smother your silent cries for help, for guidance, for something to keep you grounded.
But there is no sea, and there is no support.
“You two go up ahead, I’ll search the house here,” you say, voice thick with demand. You didn’t have to decide anything right now. You just had to be the leader you were, and do what you’ve always done.
“Copy,” your two subordinates say, moving up further.
With their absence, you find that you can breathe – as if a weight has been lifted off of your chest, and you can finally fill your lungs.
You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.
The mantra helps, surprisingly, and you hold onto those two words like they’re your only lifeline.
Through the thick of night and rain, you can see the door to the house on your left. It’s been left open, which means that either it’s already been searched – which you doubt – or… Someone else has been in there.
Gun secured in your grip, you move to the door with soft footing, quiet enough to not be heard over the shouts of other shadows just a few ways away. The constant pattering of the overhead storm clouds slow, just the slightest, allowing for a bit more sight.
Using your shoulder to further open the door with a creak, you take note of your surroundings immediately.
There’s a flickering light to the room on your far right, a living area, most likely. To your left is a short hallway, but none of the doors alert you of any occupancy. The place has been torn apart, pictures scattered along the wooden floor, shards of glass decorating the space along with it.
It sends a pang of guilt through your chest.
These were families being torn apart by your commander, your company. And for what? What was Graves’ angle here? 
You’d been left on base to keep things running smoothly while Graves and unit one worked with the 141 and Las Vaqueros. You knew very little about any of this, and when you’d been called out to Las Almas, to aid with this?
This wasn’t what you fought for. This wasn’t what you would ever support, not in a million years.
But going against direct orders was going against your commander, and your livelihood. Shadow Company was all you’d known since your childhood. Having been hired when Graves was merely a young-upstart with big dreams, you were quickly swept up in the community of it all. They were your family, and Graves was the only semblance of a ‘loved one’ you had.
And now?
Now, he was sending you on a bounty hunt, for two men who, from your limited knowledge, didn’t deserve death. They were the good guys, and although most of your existing bias towards the two was due to rumours back on base, your intuition said that they were good men. And your intuition had never steered you wrong, not once.
Your mind feels like a never ending turbine as you move through the house, eyeing the barren walls and smashed vases. 
Exhaling a low, deep breath, you tighten your hold on your weapon. It’s more of a comfort, at this point. Which is odd, considering that its sole purpose is to kill and destroy.
Through the dim light, you manage to find a set of stairs. They’re dingy, and the patterned carpet is mildew-riddled as you make your way to the next floor with slow, careful steps.
You’ve decided to keep your flashlight off, just in case it brings any extra attention to you.
As soon as you make it to the last step, a sense of… wrongness settles in your system. Something’s off, and it’s almost as if there’s an alarm ringing in your ears at the realisation. 
Someone’s here.
Grounding yourself, both mentally and physically, you prepare to push through the hallway.
Setting aside your mental dilemma, you remind yourself that the physical battle is far more vital to your life right now. If you lose that, you lose your life.
If you lose your morals?
You just suppose you lose yourself.
The sound of a radio switching on has your senses alerted like a switchboard completely alight. 
Stepping into the hallway, your chest constricting, you snap your gaze to both of your sides. With the little-to-no light, you can barely make out your limbs, let alone your surroundings. Your spatial awareness was solid, but with conditions like this? Near impossible.
The entire corridor is shrouded in shadow, the incessant rain outside and the screams of the cartel’s policemen ringing in your ears. 
It reeks of death and despair, and your skin is coated in a thin sheen of chilled sweat.
The third door to your left is creaked open, just the slightest sliver, but it catches your attention like a moth to a flame. Keeping your frame encased in the darkest of the shadows, you move with patient, skillful steps towards the door.
A moment passes, tense and nerve-wracking in a way no other mission has ever been.
A breath in.
A breath out.
You push open the door, gun raised, ready for anything –
Nothing.
Quickly checking over the room to your right, you see nothing but bashed up mattresses and blood-stained carpet.
Just as you’re about to turn to check behind the door, two things happen at once.
One, you get slammed to the ground, your head knocking against the hard flooring and sending a burst of pain through your temple, your gun skidding across the floor to your left.
Two –
“Fuckin’ Christ!”
A man – scottish, that much is prevalent – whisper-shouts. You squint, the pain of the sudden fall throwing you off.
Not a second later, however, you manage to roll, shoving him off of you with a grunt. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness, but you manage to make out the impossibly muscled frame of the man who’d just fallen on top of you.
He’s tall, not as giant as some of the men you served alongside with, but tall nonetheless. That’s all of the visual information you manage to gain before he sends an elbow to your gut, evoking a hiss through your gritted teeth.
You wriggle away, kicking out with your right foot and hitting what you think is his chin, considering his pained grunt.
“You bloody bastard,” he snaps, hand wrapping around your ankle and pulling you.
Your responding squeak is likely the most undignified sound you have ever made in your life, but it gives the man pause. Enough of one so as to allow you to wrench your leg back and careen it back into his face.
“Shut the fuck up!” You hiss back, all too aware of the likelihood that your men will show up and shoot first, ask later. 
“Are you feckin’ stupid, lass?” He retorts, although his tone is dutifully lower as he scrambles to grab your legs once more, his fist finding your belt and pulling you towards him.
Your attempts to dig your heels into the ground to prevent yourself from being pinned by him are fruitless, his strength undoubtedly superior to yours. That was a fact all too common when it came to your hand-to-hand fights, but luckily, it was just one factor of many.
“Are you?” Your shock is palpable as he gets his other hand around the other side of your belt, using the grip to pull himself over you.
His torso is pressed against your own as he goes to pin your hands, but with one quick manoeuvre, you wrap your legs around his waist and turn.
Utilising your lower body strength, you’re able to reverse the position, your hips pinning his to the ground. In one sweep of your hands, you collect both of his wrists and force them into the carpet. The room fills with your harsh, panted breaths, the outside commotion only a distant soundtrack.
“Yer supposed to kill me now, Shadow,” he says, a torment, a threat. 
You swallow, once, an unsure thing. 
He’s right, of course. He should be dead by now, bleeding out onto the floor. You should be comming to your fucking Commander, and telling him that one of the men he’s after has just been reported KIA. That’s what should be happening.
So how come it’s not?
“I know,” you say, the words falling through your lips despite the internal conflict in your head. “You should be dead.”
He mirrors your confusion with raised brows, and it’s then that you can feel the blood trickling onto your hand. He’s bleeding down his arm, you realise with a start. He’s wounded.
Flitting your gaze to the floor up ahead, you catch sight of your gun, only a few steps away. One shot is all you’d need. One second, and that mouth of his would never open again.
The sole window in the room flashes with a burst of lightning, and that short second of light lets you catch sight of his features. Blood coats his jaw – from your kicks, maybe – and he’s got dirt caked onto his cheek. His stubble has clearly missed a few shaves, and his mohawk isn’t gelled.
“Still waiting, Shadow,” he says. And although he’s quiet, the words feel like a yell in the tense room. Like a shout directly into your soul, screaming for you to sort your shit out.
You go to respond – with what, you’re not sure – when the man underneath you manages to rip his hands from your grip and swing them around the back of your neck. He pulls you forward, your neck fitting into the crook of his elbow as he squeezes.
When you try to inhale, you end up choking on a cough. He’s strangling you, you realise, with his fucking biceps.
There’s mere moments for you to make a decision before you pass out, or he breaks your neck. Moments for you to decide what the fuck you can do.
Balling your right hand into a tight fist, you punch into his nose, a sickening crack making your teeth slide together. He swears, rapid-fire, a few Gaelic-sounding words slipping out along with them. It’s enough of a distraction to let you wrench out of his hold with a cough, wincing when you claw at his arm and draw blood. Thank fuck for fingerless gloves.
Crawling forward as he brings a hand up to his now-bleeding nose, you’re just a breath away from reaching your gun when his hand grabs into your hair and pulls, eliciting a cry from you.
It’s a dirty move, but this is a dirty fight.
“Fucking – let go!” You grit out, the pain of the tightening on your scalp unique and not at all tolerable.
He just pulls tighter in response, and as you try and reach the gun, your fingers fall just millimetres short. It’s maddening, your emotions out of whack and your mental compass skewed beyond belief.
He should be fucking dead. He should be fucking dead.
So why wasn’t he?
You realise that he’s using his grip on you for leverage, to move himself closer to the weapon. Reaching towards his bare arm, you manage to catch your hand around it, nails digging into his wet skin.
He lets out a pained groan, and it becomes quickly apparent to you that he’s been shot in that arm. Moving your fingers, your index finger pushes into the open wound.
His grip on your hair goes lax, and he stops moving towards the gun long enough to allow you to move on top of him once more, pinning him underneath your weight. You’re both evidently weaker than the last time you were in this position, and you’re about to do something, something, something –
“Johnny? How copy?” An urgent, oddly panicked voice echoes around the room. It’s crackled, in only the way a radio’s can, and the two of you stun yourselves into freezing. His communications have been dislocated, and now they’re loud and clear for both of you to hear. “Johnny, what the fuck is happening?”
“Shit,” Johnny curses, head falling back against the ground in exasperation. 
You’re not sure when you’d laxed your grip from his wound, your hand loose around his arm. You’re not sure when you’d subconsciously started avoiding fatal moves.
At this point, you’re not sure about anything at all.
Although it’s hard to see, you’re sure that the two of you make eye contact.
Neither of you make a move.
“Soap!”
Slowly, Johnny moves his hand to the communicator in his vest, pressing the button to allow for his voice to carry over to the man on the other end. 
“A little occupied, Sir,” he murmurs, tightly.
If you move your hand to his throat, or use this as a distraction, you could have him dead before the other man could even register his words.
“I can’t get a visual on you,” the other man quips back, voice laced with thinly-veiled worry. “Johnny, if you die, I’m fuckin’ killing your ass.”
You bite back a slightly crazed chuckle at that statement, and by the shift in Johnny’s chest, he does too.
Johnny doesn’t turn off his communicator. The other man – Ghost, if you’re correct – will be able to hear everything you say.
Ghost and Soap.
Jesus H. Christ. Soap – Johnny MacTavish – the 141 operator you heard whispers about throughout your unit – he was underneath you. He was on the run from your commander. He was the man you were assigned to fucking kill.
He’s alive.
He’s alive.
You’re alive.
“Shadow Three-Zero, what’s your status?”
Oh, fuck. Fucking hell.
Both you and Johnny’s eyes dart to your own communicator – the earpiece scattered along the floor just as his had been.
Graves’ voice. It sends a shiver down your spine for all the wrong reasons, and the lump in your throat doubles in size. If it’s at all possible, the rain outside grows louder, and more gunshots echo in your ears.
“Shadow Three-Zero. Have you got ‘em? Don’t go two-timing me now, babe.”
How he’s – how he’s being so light, so carefree while storming these streets and murdering fathers, brothers, sons in cold blood – it cements a thought in your head. Out of the storm of them, the endless noise of them all, one becomes concrete. Factual. A single truth in your world of lies.
You press down your communicator button.
“Haven’t found them yet, sir. Wouldn’t dream of going against you.”
“Atta girl,” he responds, a light chuckle carrying over the radio. “After this is all done, we can have a celebration of our own, hey?”
Your mouth is barren of moisture, your tongue a heavy weight that feels all too useless as you reply once more. It doesn’t go unnoticed how neither Soap, or Ghost over the comms, say a word.
“It’ll be my pleasure, sir.”
You rip off your communicator, throwing it across the room. It sets the course of the rest of your life, you’re sure. You still do it.
All the while, you hold Soap’s gaze.
He hasn’t killed you. He could’ve, you realise, he really could’ve. He had the opportunity. Still does.
But.
You’re alive.
And so is he.
“What’re you doin’, Shadow?” Johnny finally asks, equally suspicious and curious. His tone is tight, almost as much as his body is against your own. 
You’d almost forgotten that he’s underneath you. Weaponless, and bleeding out. Wounded.
On the run.
Your eyes are wide, manic, maybe, as you say with shaky breaths;
“This isn’t right. I – I don’t fight for this. You guys, you,” squeezing your eyes shut, if only for a brief moment, you continue, slower, “This isn’t the Graves I know. I’m not going to be on the wrong side of history. I’d rather betray him than stand by his side with blood on my hands.”
Soap must sense your conviction, your wobbly words holding such truth and capability in them, because he nods, sharply.
“Johnny,” the radio chimes in again, the man’s tone a warning. “Don’t.”
Soap works his mouth, a crease forming between his blood-stained brows. If you were at all a poet, you’d akin his blue eyes to a storm-brewed sea. But you’re a soldier, so they’re merely obvious in the window’s scarce light, a stark contrast to the reds and darkness all around you both.
You’re not sure what’s wrong with you. You’d clearly hit your head too hard when Soap had crashed into you, or you’d been drugged earlier.
“I have intel,” you blurt out, like a crazed lunatic. That description is, unfortunately, a little too fitting to your current state. “I’m – I’m a fucking good fighter. You help me, I help you.”
“We don’t need your help,” Soap quickly, almost automatically, retorts. But his words seem weak, his certainty nowhere on your own.
“You’re shot and on the run with no weapons,” you reply, slowly. Words. You were good at words, at debates. You could survive this. Maybe. “I know Graves. I know my men. And I know that I’d rather be a traitor than a war criminal.”
That’s maybe the most true thing you’d thought, or said, since you’d first been asked to head to Las Almas with an order to kill.
There’s silence. 
A few beats pass before you open your mouth once more, tone just this side of pleading, “I’ll help you guys survive this. If you help me take down Graves, and support me – if you give me the assets I need. That’s all I’m asking.”
“We don’t trust you,” Soap says, and you nod.
“I don’t exactly have faith in you either. But it’s this or we all end up dead.”
Ghost inputs something, this time. “If you two make it to the church, we’ll consider it.”
That’s the most you can ask for. The best possible outcome from you being the biggest fucking idiot to walk this earth. You were lucky that Soap was… merciful. Which was, all things considered, the weirdest component of this entire, messed up equation.
It seems like agreement passes through you all, like a sort of handshake. An invisible one, but a symbol of truce nonetheless.
“Get yer ass offa me,” Soap groans, breaking the tension of the room. 
Scrambling off of him, but keeping your wits about you, you realise that you’d virtually been laying on the man your entire conversation. Your ears burn in embarrassment.
“...Right. I’m taking my gun,” you murmur.
Which is, obviously, the worst thing to say.
“Are you feckin’ serious? Dinnae wanna work with an idiot, Jesus,” Soap immediately hisses out, getting up with a hand on his knee, bringing his other to press against his bullet wound with a wince. You think that Ghost says something similar, but it’s drowned out by Soap.
“I’m best with close-range, and I’m not the one wounded,” you immediately bite back, hand wrapping around said weapon and holding it to your chest, checking over the room for any more supplies. Luckily, unlike the man in front of you, you still have all of your supplies and gear. His top is thin, you think, and soaked through with both rain and blood. Your standard Shadow Company uniform still fits you like a second skin, and although wet, doesn’t soak into your bottom layers. Your tactical knife, still strapped to your thigh, is secure and perfectly in place.
How you’d not used it in that fight was a testament to your mindscape more than anything.
“How do I know ye won’t just shoot me when my back’s turned?” Soap shoots back, his tone a weapon in its own right. 
You raise a brow, and you hope that he can see it. “I would’ve done that already if that was my plan. And you’re calling me an idiot.”
“You’re a right ass,” he retorts, not unlike a petulant child.
“And you’re a right dickhead.” And, alright, you realise that you’re not much better, but it’s deserved.
“And you both need to hurry the fuck up.”
You and Soap both have the decency to wince at the man’s words, and you both shut up as you finish checking over yourselves. You, focusing on checking your straps and belt, and Soap, hissing about his wound.
…If this camaraderie lasted the night, you’d think about apologising for that move.
Checking over your gun, you move to slowly open the door as Soap fixes up his radio, putting his earpiece back in its place. You are, admittedly, a bit annoyed that you won’t be able to hear Ghost’s callouts, but again, you had a gun.
“Let’s go,” you softly say, tilting your head towards the door. Soap nods, clearly ready to meet back up with his Lieutenant and get out of here.
As you slowly open the door, guns raised and eyes alert, you let the reality of your situation settle over you like the world’s coldest blanket. You’re going against everything you’ve ever known, all because of your morals that had always been slightly off-centre. Came with the job, you supposed.
But this was uncharted territory. Directly betraying your unit, your men, your Commander, and helping the men you’re assigned to kill? Asking them for their help in return?
“Clear,” you softly report to Soap, who acknowledges your order with a low noise. Following you with silent steps down the stairs, you keep your gun raised as you check over the bottom floor, before signalling for him to exit through the front door with you.
As the two of you enter the laneway once more, your breath catches in your throat as you assess the damage.
You spot several bodies littering the streets as rain hits you once more, the presence of it oddly comforting throughout it all. A truck up ahead has its lights on, the red of the brakes shining against the wet pavement like the pools of blood not three metres away from it.
“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap murmurs from behind you, and you can’t help but agree with his sentiment.
This was pure bloodshed, at the hands of the one man you thought you could trust.
Betrayal tastes oddly sour in your mouth. Betrayal like this, on all sides, it’s like being suffocated by two cloths at once. Two very bloody, very assaulting cloths, at that.
Soap seems to be communicating with Ghost as the two of you make your way down the street, considering the back-and-forth whispers from Soap. He seems almost. Flirty. Which is a stark realisation, and truly, the least of your worries right now.
“If you can find bandages, or something close to it, I’ll get that arm of yours fixed up.”
You keep your tone low, careful of your surroundings as you see Soap nod, albeit almost in shock, in your periphery. Keeping your gaze forward, you move along the sidewalk.
The beauty of these shops, and this community, has been tarnished by the massacre of your Shadows. Your heart aches, seeing it all – the smashed windows, the blood, the distant sound of screaming and crying.
You and Soap make it about a block in silence, before flashlights ahead have you grabbing onto Soap’s shirt and pulling him into the open door of the shop to your left, heart beating rapidly in your chest.
“Shadow Three-Zero’s gone silent,” you hear a familiar voice say. Your subordinate – one of the two you’d sent to check the houses up ahead. “Reckon she’s dead?”
Soap, for his part, is silent where he’s been pushed up against the wall, your head meeting his collarbone. 
“Nah. She mighta slept her way to the top, but she’s good. Probably gone dark so she can suck Graves off on the side or something.”
Your breath comes out in a sharp exhale, your fists tightening unknowingly onto the fabric of Soap’s shirt. He doesn’t even breathe in response.
The other chuckles. “Fuckin’ slut. Can’t believe she gets to order us around when we all know why she’s here.”
And, oh, does that make your stomach turn. You were many things, but you were not one to abuse a position like that. They knew nothing of your struggles, or your relationships, or –
“Fuckin’ cocksuckers,” Soap grumbles, and that shocks you. For a man in the military to recognise misogyny like that was, really, unheard of.
You ignore that thought.
“Shut up.”
He does.
The two Shadows continue walking down the street, and you quickly peer out of the front window to watch them head down another sidealley, taking their thoughts with them.
“Come on,” is all you say, and Johnny follows tightly behind you as you continue down the way you were heading. 
You find an alleyway to your left, and you decide to follow it. You can see a flashlight scanning over the street further down. Shadows were everywhere, but they were pushing forward like a tsunami over a coastal town, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.
Soap follows you without question, which is odd, but you’re not about to complain.
“Ghost says that there’s underground tunnels – we can get to the church through ‘em,” Soap murmurs as he taps your shoulder. You nod, not looking back as you search for any telling of where the best route would be.
After a few minutes, the two of you find yourselves nearing the tunnels Ghost had spoken about.
It’s when you’re about to head into the deep end – quite literally, considering the flooding – that an all too familiar and bone-chilling voice yells out from the right of you both, down another street.
“She’s gone dark – you will find her alive, and if she’s dead, you will be too!” Graves roars, and your heart skips a beat. “She could be hurt, or captured – she is your top priority now, Shadows!”
There’s a chorus of agreement, and if you look down, you’re almost certain that you’ll find your stomach laying at your feet.
A greedy, greedy man. That was what Phillip Graves was – now, more than ever.
If you were a weaker woman, a civilian, maybe, instead of a seasoned soldier, you’d have vomited by now.
Instead, you shoot Soap a look.
“Ghost still at the church?” Is all you ask.
Soap nods. “Yeah. Lt’s talkin’ my ear off,” he says with an eye roll, but his lips quirk into a half-tilted grin more resemblant of a satisfied pup.
“Didn’t think the 141 was so close,” you reply, and you could slap yourself for how nosy you sound. You’re not, not in the slightest – all you cared about was surviving both Graves and them.
Soap’s eyes hold an indecipherable gleam to them when he responds, a touch domestically, “You have no idea.”
You itch to delve deeper, to unpack that statement that seems to hold so many layers, but you keep your mouth respectfully shut.
And you prepare to meet Ghost at the end of the tunnel.
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a/n. cutely drops this and hides!! jk but umm idk man this fic idea has been nibbling at my brain and GAWDDD smth about it just. got the juices flowing. this is my personality now thanks gn. if you guys enjoyed please comment or reblog or follow!! ty so very muchly ily all &lt;3
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nicksolemnlyswears · 1 year ago
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WAYS TO DESTRESS
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summary: after a long day, all coriolanus wants to do is blow some steam off. nothing will stop him from getting what he wants…not even your sleepy state
pairing: young! coriolanus snow x capitol! reader
word count: 3.1k
warnings: 18+, smut, cursing, somnophilia, dub non-con, p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, squirting, pussy spanking, belly bulge (?), LISTEN I KNOW ITS UNLIKELY BUT LET ME BE UNHINGED, a bit rough nothing too crazy, get your holy water though, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it please)
a/n: this came to me the moment i opened my eyes this morning. pure filth. i shouldn't be proud but i am. goes to show how much coriolanus is plaguing my thoughts day and night. my new little hyperfixation. a new villain to add to my collection <3
PT. 2
requests open ✨
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All Coriolanus feels is anger. It's been pumping through his veins throughout most of the day, almost causing him to lose his composure at all the wrong places. He can never afford to fuck up. He already did it once, and second chances are nonexistent in the Capitol.
He owes a lot to Dr. Gaul. After all, she saw the value in Coriolanus. She saw right through him and his faux kindness and unearthed his true wickedness. He simply needed a nudge in the right direction.
While working for with her is an honor, it is hardly easy. Like all aspects of his life, he's had to adapt to how she runs her lab. Coriolanus is hardly a follower; he's a leader, but as long as he remains under the tutelage of Dr. Gaul, he will have to follow her orders. Which means he has to talk when spoken to and perform how she expects him to.
There are days when it all becomes too much. His pride rises to the surface, forcing him to stifle it as best as he can before he does something he regrets.
He has to think of the scrutinizing gaze of his peers waiting for him to fail. As much as they pretend to be his friend, they want him to make a mistake so they can rise to the occasion. He won't allow that.
His apartment is silent when he steps in. The lavish decor is obscured by the lack of illumination. It's to be expected, seeing it's well past midnight.
Leaving his coat by the door, Coriolanus walks towards the bedroom. He needs to destress now, or he'll carry all his anger and frustration on his shoulders for the rest of the week. He can't have that. He can't lose control and look bad in front of Dr. Gaul and the others.
In the master bedroom, he finds you lying on the soft mattress, tangled in the silky bedsheets. He watches your chest rise and fall with gentle breaths, your pouty lips slightly ajar. It's a shame he's going to disturb your sleep, but he needs to let off some steam. That's one of the numerous reasons he has his pretty little girlfriend.
Coriolanus unbuttons the red waistcoat and removes his shoes, leaving them in the armchair. As he approaches your side of the bed, he notices the bright orange bottle on the nightstand and your book thrown haphazardly on the floor.
It's rare for you to take sleep aid medication because you hate how they knock you out. You only take them when you've had a particularly rough day. It seems Coriolanus is not alone in this. Today has been bad for both you and him.
Still, his plan remains the same. Coriolanus leans over you, kissing your forehead gingerly before his lips continue to trail down to kiss your cheek and lips. You don't stir with the soft touches.
Coriolanus darkly chuckles. It's not often he gets to do this. He'll take it as a treat for his patience throughout the day. He'd say the universe is working in his favor if he believed in such silly things.
Having you so pliable and willing in his hands excites him to no end. Lying on the bed, he digs his head on your shoulder, leaving marks for you to find in the morning. It spurs him on to hear little gasps falling from your lips.
"Beautiful and all mine," he mutters into the silent room as he lowers down the thin straps of your night dress to reveal your chest.
Coriolanus takes his time with your body. Even while asleep, it responds to his touch. He sucks and squeezes on your breasts harshly, biting down on the stiff peaks of your nipples.
He's not as gentle this time around compared to other times in the past. Then, you were simply asleep; now, you're completely doped out. He will miss your whines and the way you berate him.
Coriolanus continues down your body until he settles between your legs. "Fuck, darling," he audible groans when he lifts up your nighty to find a patch on your panties. Who would've thought you'd be as responsive to him while asleep.
He gives into his urges as he presses his nose against your center, smelling your arousal and licking up the wet fabric with his tongue. He only parts for a moment as he roughly slides the thin fabric off.
With you like this, there is no reason to tease. He doesn't have to kiss your thighs or hold himself back. Coriolanus can truly delve into what he wants without a spectacle.
It's why he buries his tongue into your wet cunt as soon as he has the chance. He holds your limp thighs on his shoulders as he presses himself against you, his blue eyes closing in ecstasy at the taste.
Soft noises- moans- come from above him as you slightly stir in your drug-induced sleep. While Coriolanus suck on your pearl of nerves, he wonders what you're dreaming about and if he's the protagonist as well.
His hips roll onto the mattress underneath, soothing the ache on his cock. He could go straight to fucking you but wants this to last. He needs to keep his mind busy, and eating you out is the answer.
Unconsciously, you grind your cunt on his tongue, chasing your release. Coriolanus smiles at this and rewards you with fucking you with his tongue. He's determined to make you cum all over it.
"Oh," he hears you whine when his nose rubs on your sensitive clit. He knows you're close. He feels it in the way your thighs are suddenly clenching around him.
There is no doubt in his mind you're still asleep. If you were awake, you'd be gripping his hair like a vice and calling his name for everyone to hear. You'd be begging him to fuck you silly.
Coriolanus laps up your juices like a starving man when you cum. Despite living in poverty, he never felt the need to act in such a way until he tasted you for the first time. He treats his sweet little girlfriend's cunt like a delicacy.
He stops himself before he almost makes you cum again as he slurps and sucks on your cunt. From up close, he can see the way your clit twitches under the pleasure. He leaves a bruise that will turn purple by morning on the inside of your thigh. It'll be a telltale sign he was there, devouring you while you soundly slept. A reminder you're his to use whenever he pleases.
Taking the rest of his clothes off, Coriolanus returns to your sleeping body. He pumps his cock in his fist as he looks at all the bruises and marks he left behind, and you'll have to hide because you can't have him seem like a pervert in front of his classmates.
Kneeling on the bed, he wraps your legs around his hips. He teases your wet cunt with the fat head of his cock, nudging over your clit repeatedly. He continues this until his cock is slick with your juices. As an extra, he spits down on your cunt, spreading his saliva over you. Not because you need lubrication but because he likes the sight of him on you in every which way.
No matter how many times Coriolanus has fucked you throughout your two years of being together, he's always had trouble pushing his cock in. He has to take a deep breath when he bottoms out as your cunt tries to choke him out. It's one of his favorite things about you, a constant reminder of the day he took your innocence.
It's only when he begins rocking his hips into you that you give any indication of waking up.
"What?" You whine as panic settles into you. Your brain isn't working properly. You're hazy and confused. Not knowing where you are, you get scared, and your heart races.
Coriolanus holds your hands as you begin struggling. As he leans down to talk to you, he pins you down, leaving you impaled with his cock. He immensely enjoys the struggle but can't have you screaming out in panic.
"It's just me, darling," he coo's in your ear, nuzzling his nose against your face. It works as your heart begins settling down.
"Coryo?" You sniff with tears in your eyes as your panic is quickly swept away. You try to speak, but the pills leave your tongue heavy and your brain foggy.
"Yes, your Coryo," he responds, kissing your cheek sweetly.
You've stopped struggling and spread your legs once again, just how he likes it. He even feels you clenching down purposefully around Coriolanus' cock. You're no saint; you enjoy making it hard for him even in your drugged-out state.
"Relax, darling. Go back to sleep," he hushes you, softly rocking into you.
Your eyes are already closed as he utters the words. You have no choice in the matter. Granted, now you sleep calmer, knowing it's Coryo touching you and making you feel food.
Coriolanus calls your name once, twice, and there is no response. You're back with the sandman, peacefully asleep. He takes it as a sign to keep fucking you.
Kneeling back on the bed, Coriolanus brings up your thighs to touch your chest. Your pretty cunt is on full display, showcasing the hues of pink and glistening fluids that shine under the lowlights of the bedroom.
Coriolanus licks the pads on his fingers before they smack down on your center. The only way it'll look even better is if it had that familiar twinge of red. He aims for the center, straight at your pearl, and smacks his hand down several times.
It manages to wake you again, eyes hooded with sleep, staring at him and complaints falling from your lips. Each time the 'smack' reverberates and you flinch, he soothes the sting, spreading the clear strings of arousal that drip from your hole.
Only when your cunt is flushed red and your clit is puffed out of its fleshy covering, does he pull you down on his cock. He fucks in and out of you mercilessly, addicted to the way your tight walls hug his cock even as he pulls out.
He glances towards your face and notes you're back to sleep. If it were up to him, you'd take the pills more often just so he could find you waiting for him asleep, naked on the bed. A real-life doll of his own.
The sound of skin slapping and his desperate moans and grunts fill the room, along with some of your smaller ones. He doesn't tend to be so vocal; he prefers listening to you beg for him, but with no one to hear him, he lets it all out.
Coriolanus places a hand on your lower tummy, pressing down to feel himself through your walls. It's an erotic thing to feel his cock slipping in and out, reaching the deepest parts of you.
He slows the pace of his thrusting, opting to go harder and deeper, just where he can make out the bump on your pelvis of his cock head.
The pressure Coryo is causing doesn't go unnoticed by you. Groggily, you open your eyes to find him with his head dipped down, whispering profanities to himself, a pretty sheen of sweat covering his fair skin.
"Mmm, Co-coryo," you moan, catching his attention.
With a glint in his eyes, he grabs your hand, placing it where you can feel it too, his fingers lacing through yours as he holds it down, "Feel this? No one will ever get you to feel like I do, darling. I'm going to ruin you for all others. Not like I'll let you leave anyways."
It's never crossed your mind to leave Coriolanus. Not for a second. The moment you set eyes on him, you knew he was it, and the ring on your finger is a promise of that. It's why you let him use you as he pleases.
You babble out a response as the darkness consumes you once more. By morning, you'll barely remember a thing as a side effect of the pills, but Coryo won't let you forget.
The mixture of your relaxed state, Coriolanus' hand pressing down on you, and the angle of his thrusts allow for something that hasn't happened before. Something he'll enjoy for the years to come.
As he viciously snaps his hips to chase his release, you wiggle under him. There are words on your heavy tongue neither can make out, a warning.
"Shh," Coriolanus quiets you down, focusing on the way you're milking his cock for all that his worth.
He's in for a surprise when a particularly angled thrust causes you to squirt around him. A stream of your juices covering his cock and abdomen. Although he falters for a moment, he quickly pulls out and rubs at your clit, causing a smaller stream to leak out of you.
His night has become a hundred times better. His eyes widen in wonder as his brain creates new ways to have you and make you do it again. "This is going to be fun."
When you wake up in the morning, you don't remember what happened, but you know something did. It's in the way your cunt aches and how thick cum runs down your leg when you get up.
Brief, blurry memories surface as you shower. Truly, you didn't care. If anything, you're upset you missed out on the fun and can't remember the pleasure. Ultimately, you trust Coriolanus and that he won't hurt you.
You feel well-rested as you dress and make breakfast for the two of you. There is an undeniable ache in your cunt, but that's always welcomed. Your problems from yesterday are only a quiet hum in a dark corner of your brain.
"My love," you softly call out to Coriolanus, touching his naked shoulder.
"Good morning," he says with his eyes closed, although there is an undeniable grin on his lips. All the stress he felt yesterday has dissipated, leaving a pleasant feeling in his chest.
"Good morning to you, too," you giggle as you lean down to catch his lips in a kiss. There is a tangy taste attached to them that you recognize well. "Had a good night, did you?"
"I certainly did. Do you remember anything?" He asks, sitting up on the bed. The falling bedsheets reveal his toned chest and stomach. Gently, you grab the tray with food and place it on his lap.
"Barely," you scoff, "It's a shame." You technically haven't had sex with Coriolanus in two long weeks. His stunt from last night did nothing to satiate you or your mind that keeps picturing him in all sorts of compromising positions.
Coriolanus hums as he takes a bite of toast. You know him well enough to know he's amused that you don't remember and that he's hiding something.
"What is it?" You prod, brushing a strand of pale blonde hair away from his eyes.
"Nothing," he says with a shrug. He's making you work for it. Coryo loves his games, after all.
"Coryo," you speak his name with a warning.
He takes his time, sipping on the glass placed on the tray. "I just…I didn't know you could squirt," he reveals cheekily, stabbing his fork on a piece of fruit.
"What? That's because I don't," you say, taken aback.
A crease forms between your eyebrows. You and Coryo are not ashamed to talk about sex. It took you by surprise at first because he always presents himself so elegantly and no-nonsense. Behind the scenes, though, when he's with you, he's open to discussing everything he wishes to try and his likes and dislikes.
You, in return, have been the same. Admitting that you've never been able to squirt and might never be able to. It's been a topic of conversation numerous times, seeing as it's something Coryo has always been curious about.
"Yes, you do. Last night, you squirted all over my cock and my fingers and my tongue," he boasts with a smirk as he remembers all the times he made you cum after that.
"I did?"
"You were such a good girl for me, darling," Coriolanus responds, putting the tray of food to the side and cupping your face, "All you had to do was relax."
"Hard to do when you're edging me for hours," you roll your eyes at him. Edging you is just one of the fun ways he tortures you.
"Don't be a spoilsport," he frowns, gripping your face harder before planting another kiss on your lips.
"It's not fair. I can't remember anything," you softly murmur. It's a real damn shame you won't remember the first time you squirt or the face Coryo made at the realization.
"Poor thing. I can show you how to do it again. I practiced last night a couple of times," he whispers in your ear, kissing down to your pulse point, "But I can't right now, or I'll be late."
"Huh?" You dumbly respond, enthralled by his words, imagining all the pleasure he'll give you.
"Thanks for breakfast," Coriolanus says, standing from the bed and heading into the bathroom butt-naked.
You watch after him lustfully and angrily, forced to continue your morning as if nothing happened.
In less than an hour, Coriolanus is ready to return to Dr. Gaul's laboratory. He has to check for any progress in his experiment before heading to the university for his classes.
He sits you on the bed before he leaves, though, to show you something 'important.' "I'll see you tonight," he says, kissing the crown of your head and turning on the TV.
The screen shows you lying on your back, whining helplessly as Coryo slips two fingers into your cunt rapidly. The rings on his fingers and the palm of his hand glisten with your sticky juices.
He did not lie about your new ability as you watch your hole leak clear liquid. The Coryo on the screen, who had been encouraging you with lewd words, eagerly attaches his mouth to catch it all. When he pulls back, his chin is dripping with your release.
Watching yourself in that fucked out state and Coryo behaving so obscenely gets your silk panties wet. Glancing at the clock, you note you have 30 minutes till you have to be at the door.
In no time, you're spread out on the bed with your hand under your university skirt, panties pushed to the side fucking two fingers into your cunt. Your eyes are focused entirely on the screen, rewatching the clip.
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thanks for reading! i hope you liked it!
part two for coryo making her squirt while she's actually conscious?
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kiapet2 · 2 years ago
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Alright, it’s less than a week since the Owl House finale aired and as expected I’ve already seen two direct comparisons to Steven Universe’s ending and several more vague-blogs, because one of this site’s hobbies is using other queer shows to put down Steven Universe. So let’s do this, then. Let’s compare the endings of Owl House and Steven Universe, and what each is ultimately trying to say.
Steven Universe and the Owl House are both shows that deal heavily with the clash of individualism and self-expression vs. socially-mandated conformity, and both shows’ final villains ultimately embody this conflict. One major difference, however, is that Owl House approaches this from the perspective of legal/societal structures, while Steven Universe approaches it from the perspective of family structures.
Steven Universe has always been about family--and particularly the ways traumas and biases are passed down through a family--and it has always heavily used the language of metaphor to discuss these topics. The Diamonds are the ultimate extension of this theme, something a lot of bad-faith (or just bad) takes on the ending miss; they interpret the diamonds in their literal capacity as dictators, rather than the way Steven Universe always portrays them, which is as matriarchs, i.e. the heads of a family who dictate and control all the family’s other members. This metaphor becomes more and more blatant until it outright becomes text, with the Diamonds turning out to be Steven’s literal family members, with whom his part of the family is estranged because of their previous controlling behavior.
In accordance with this theme, we ultimately find out that the Diamonds’ toxic ideology, with its rigid standards of perfection, are not only something they enforce on the gems below them, but also on themselves. They are suffering from the system in their own ways, unable to live up to the standards they themselves created. And who among us hasn’t known someone like that? A parent or grandparent who grew up under a cruel, oppressive worldview, and instead of rebelling against it internalized it--who turned around and said “I dealt with this, and so can you”? And so the ending of Steven Universe is the Diamonds realizing exactly how toxic the rigid ideology they’ve spent their lives perpetuating really is, and confronting the fact that their adherence to this ideology is what destroyed their relationship with Pink, and that the only way they’re going to have a relationship with Steven is if they’re willing to commit to changing both themselves, and the family structure they’ve enforced for so long.
Emperor Belos, in contrast, is not suffering from the structures he created, because his rules were never meant to apply to him. He sees the witches (and demons, and so-on) as lesser beings, evil beings, who exist to be controlled, and ultimately, exterminated. And every element of the society he built--the schools, the government, the police force, the religion--he intentionally constructed to keep these lesser beings under his control. The real-world allegory isn’t hard to see, here. And because what Belos represents in the story is, in fact, a fascist leader, the story shows that he can’t be reasoned with in any way that matters, and instead he is ultimately ground into paste beneath the boots of the people he sought to destroy. Different themes, different endings.
Now the usual argument that comes up here is as follows: but the Steven Universe ending isn’t as realistic! Not everyone is going to change, not everyone is going to be able to be reasoned with. Not every older, conservative family member is eventually going to accept you for who you are. And while that is true, ultimately SU isn’t meant to be realistic; it’s meant to be a power fantasy. Rebecca Sugar has come out and said before that they wrote a world in which there was good in everyone, because that’s the way she wishes the world could be. That’s the world they want to be able to believe in. And I am never going to begrudge a person, much less a queer person, for finding healing in writing that kind of world.
But you know what else is unrealistic? What else is ultimately just a fantasy? Grinding your government’s fascist leader into paste under your boot, then taking over and remaking society into something that accepts everyone. Sadly, Trump is not likely to get his ass beat any time soon. And more generally, punching fascists, while ideologically sound, is something most people are not going to get to do, due to real-world consequences such as “getting beat up by the fascist’s angry friends” and “being arrested for assault”. And even if you did depose one leader, our very society is set up in a way that perpetuates all manner of injustices, and systemic change is a complex and lengthy process that almost certainly won’t be completed in our lifetimes. But it’s fun to imagine we could, isn’t it?
Both endings are power fantasies. Both show the way they want the world to be, rather than the way it is. They are very different power fantasies, which fill very different--and at times conflicting--needs. And in situations like that, internet culture really likes to pick one to be the right fantasy, the right way to look at the world. 
But the truth is, both fantasies are needed! Some people need stories about your queerphobic relatives finally realizing the error of their ways and taking the necessary steps to accept and reconcile with you. And some people need stories where you get to grind fascist bastards beneath the heel of your boot. It’s okay if you prefer one type of fantasy over the other! But in the end, both are valuable, and both are important. 
And isn’t it wonderful, for us to have such a diversity of great queer stories? That we can explore both of these deep, conflicting needs? Let’s appreciate each of these fantastic works for what it was meant to be, rather than trying to pit them against each other or make them conform to a single, “best” way to tell a story.
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hoover1st · 1 month ago
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A Likely Pair
Summary: Astarion has been desperately attempting to earn your affection. At the tiefling party, he uses your drunken inhibitions to his advantage. Not knowing you have your own share of trauma, his evening is derailed, likely for the better… Gender Neutral!Reader/Astarion Tags: Implied SA, Angst and Fluff, No Pronouns, Sexual implications but nothing happens, reader has sexual trauma, follows events of Act 1 Astarion Romance. Word Count: 2k AO3 | Masterlist
*A/N: This is extremely self-indulgent. Inspired by a beautiful fic from @tavs-tressym. I didn’t want to make this an OC, because I want my writing to be as accessible as possible, but it’s glaringly obvious that this is written from my own experiences… Again, TW for SA*
Your world has been turned upside down since the day that damned illithid parasite wormed its way into you, but more so since meeting the colorful band of companions who’ve chosen to join you.
Some will still deny it, but you’re magnetic. You don’t complain or nag, rather just handle situations without missing a beat, and your relentless optimism isn’t as suffocating as one might think.
You hate the term leader. You’re not above any of your companions, you just happen to do the talking and the problem-solving. 
The independence that was so valuable throughout your life is hard to unlearn, relying on your companions is still something you’re grappling with. But above all else, the quality that comes to mind when thinking of you is that damned charm. 
You were always teetering on the edge of plausible deniability. Your companions have started to expect it from you, most believing it’s just your personality. You’re attractive, decently kind, and effortlessly funny. 
Mix those qualities, and you get someone whose banter and compliments confound most. You can’t help it, it’s just who you are. It doesn’t help that you genuinely find each of your companions endearing.
There are these moments when you’re spending time with one of them, and they attempt to reciprocate. That’s where the delicate dance begins. Once it clicks in your head that they’re flirting or making implications, you’re gone. Leaving them in their bemusement.
There’s one companion who’s especially engaging. The banter is never dull, because he too has learned this dance. It’s not hard to admit Astarion is indisputably gorgeous. Your personalities are two sides of the same coin. The mischief is like a song, the harmonies balanced.
It’s plain to see that Astarion is pursuing you with the most vigor. You act coy, but you secretly enjoy it, even if it frustrates him to no end. He should have been able to seduce you by now. Knowing that if he could be the one to have you, he’d be protected.
Every time he thinks he’s got you, and his words are more than innuendo, you’ve cleverly removed yourself from the equation. You’re not sure why you do it. Astarion is attractive, and the flutter in your stomach can’t always be blamed on shitty cooking.
There’s something in you that stops anyone from getting too close, at least in that way. You don’t know why? You’ve healed, right? It’s been years since it happened. The touch of others doesn’t make your skin crawl like it used to.
Mother always said it’s natural to touch and kiss others. So why is it that every time they get close, you pull away?
Tonight, the people you so 'selflessly' saved in the Emerald Grove have insisted on throwing a party. Your flirtatious nature is only amplified by the increasing amount of alcohol in your system. You might have even met your match with the Arch-Druid Halsin, but no one is trying as hard as Astarion, and with your inhibitions lowered, you’re starting to consider his proposal.
Swiftly shooting down every other offer is second nature, but for whatever reason, you leave Astarion’s up in the air.
The party stretches on, and you’re not ready to turn in yet, a force compels you back to the rogue’s tent. A drink in hand, you drunkenly saunter back to Astarion, your body leading you like a moth to flames.
Astarion sees you cross back over to him, his gaze unabashed as his eyes rake over your form. This was it, he was finally going to seduce you. As a drunken grin stretches across your face, he feigns a pout, his voice a purr,
“I’m glad you’re back darling. I started to consider you’d found company elsewhere”
You grin and shake your head teasingly, “Most of the ‘company’ has turned in. If there’s someone I know to stay up late, it’s you Astarion dearest”
The wolfish grin you know all too well returns to his face, and he leans in closer, “Well darling if staying up is what you desire, my offer still stands~”
Normally this would be when you’d conveniently snake your way out of the conversation, but the alcohol, and the way he looks in this dim lighting, have you considering it.
Of course, Astarion notices this immediately, and his grin only widens. He knew alcohol would be the key to finally having you. Without letting you respond, he’s moving closer, his voice lowering,
“I’m gonna take that as a yes. Finish that drink of yours and meet me in the clearing near the stream, I’ll be waiting darling.“
With that, he’s gone, slipping away to not give you the chance to say no. Your mind is reeling, did you just agree to do this? Now you feel obligated to go, what if he’s there waiting all night for you? 
Finishing your drink, you go back to your tent to check yourself, suddenly feeling a bit nervous.
As you walk out to the clearing, you look good. A drunken saunter looks sexy on everyone, right? But it’s not your looks you’re concerned with. 
You can do this. It’s no big deal, right? Maybe he doesn’t even actually want sex? But even so, it’s fine. Sex is normal. People do it all the time. Why can’t you?
As you walk into the clearing, he’s posed against a tree, and saunters from his spot. It’s almost comical to you. There’s something so practiced about his movements, the way he’s already lost his shirt.
His body is gorgeous, he’s placed himself so the moonlight casts shadows on the lines of his body, illuminating his pale skin. You wouldn’t be surprised if he scouted and planned this days ago.
Even his voice is perfectly practiced as he purrs, “There you are. I’ve been waiting for you.”
You keep up your playfulness, despite your racing mind, “Poor thing, I was worried you’d be out here all night.”
Astarion cocks a brow and hums, “Oh? Don’t tell me you’ve been reconsidering? it’s so obvious you want this, you mustn’t deny it any longer darling.”
You narrow your eyes teasingly, “And what’s that Astarion? What is it you think I want?”
His predatory expression grows more intense, but inside, he’s growing impatient. Why are you so difficult? “Darling, I think it’s pleasure you want. To lose yourself in me”
You grin, finding comfort in the stalling, “Astarion dearest, I quite like myself. But what is it you want?”
Your question takes him off guard. You see his eyes flicker as if you’d struck some nerve. It takes him a beat to get back on track, and as quick as it was there, it’s gone. The suave charm back,
“What do any of us want, darling? A pleasurable distraction. To find solace in each other.”
His words combined with your intoxication have you nodding, but you’ve lost the playfulness. “If that’s what you want, I’m inclined to agree”
Astarion notices your shift, but he’s too focused on going through his motions, doing what he knows, what he can control. Astarion won’t admit it, but he likes you. Yet, at the end of the day, his focus is on his survival.
At your agreement, he’s moving in. Not wanting to squander the opportunity. Knowing if he doesn’t seize it now; you might pull away, like you always do.
Astarion breaks through your drunken haze, his touch light and experimental, feeling your body before he closes the distance between you. You start to like it. Your senses zoned in on his touch, enjoying the feeling of his caresses. He moves a hand up to cup your cheek and kisses you.
At first, the kiss was nice. It feels good to kiss him, maybe it just took having a handsome stranger like Astarion to cure you?
The kiss becomes more heated, and you start to melt into him. His hands wander, and he kisses you hungrily, but something feels off.
It starts to become all too much to handle. You’re attracted to Astarion, a lot, but when the kiss grows deeper, your face scrunches up into a whine. Astarion likes you, but this is a job to him, something he deems necessary for you to like him. He’s already on autopilot, his brain registering your whine as one of pleasure.
Your fists clench and you start to shy away from him. Something is wrong. This doesn’t feel right, your issues, mixing with your intuition tell you that neither of you is entirely present. You bring your hands up to his chest and apply pressure, after a moment you gently push him away from you.
Your face is scrunched up as your chest heaves, except it’s not from pleasure. Astarion’s eyes widen as he looks at you, taken completely off guard, nothing like this has ever happened to him.
After a moment of staring at you in confusion, he speaks up, his voice betraying his offense, “What’s wrong?!”
You’re curling into yourself, feeling embarrassed. You shake your head and avert your gaze from him, “I’m sorry, I just, I…” you trail off looking for the words, Astarion cuts you off with a huff, 
“What in the bloody hell is your problem?”
Astarion’s mind is racing, has he lost the one thing he was good at? His only valuable asset?
You don’t respond, you can’t stop it, you’re caving into yourself. You try to take deep breaths, your arms wrapped around yourself. Astarion has never seen you behave like this, you’re always the strong, confident one.
Astarion stares as you curl into yourself, watching you walk to the stream nearby, sitting on the bank.
Astarion doesn’t know what to do, he can't remember the last time he cared to comfort another. Why should he? Not like anyone would give a shit if he broke down. He doesn’t even know what to do but his feet are moving, and he gently sits down next to you on the bank, staring into the moving water.
After a long moment, you speak up, eyes never moving from the stream, “I’m sorry Astarion, I hope I didn’t disappoint you”
Whatever Astarion was expecting, it couldn’t have prepared him for the way your words tore through him, he gaped at you his voice unsure, “What do you mean?”
You tear your eyes from the stream, meeting his gaze. Your expression is pained, your voice quiet, “I know you’ve been wanting this Astarion, and I thought I could do it, but it all felt so wrong.”
Astarion’s expression is unusually unguarded. It's as if he’s so perplexed, that he can’t think to put on his usual charming smirk. He stares at you, brows furrowing. Before he can stop himself, his voice uncharacteristically insecure, he’s asking “Did I do something wrong?”
You’re immediately shaking your head, trying to reassure him, “No, no Astarion it’s not you. I just, struggle with things like this”
You both break eye contact, going back to stare into the stream. The silence stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. After a while, you’ve calmed down and sobered up, you turn to Astarion with a soft smile, “You could put your shirt on if you’d like, you look a little chilly”
Astarion grins up at you, glad that your teasing is back. He rolls his eyes, “Darling, I’m a vampire, I don’t get ‘chilly’. Plus, it wouldn’t be fair to those beautiful eyes of yours to cover all of this” he gestures down to his bare abdomen.
You laugh and shake your head, “I never said I didn’t appreciate the view Astarion dearest, just trying to be considerate”
As the two of you sit on the bank of the stream, things have finally returned to some semblance of normal. It’s nice. Neither of you talks about your past, or what just happened, but there’s this feeling between the two of you, one of understanding. 
Tonight didn’t turn out the way either of you expected, but sometimes things happen this way for a reason. Maybe the two of you had more in common than you could ever imagine?
*Again, sorry that this was so self-indulgent, thank you for reading!!*
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flowerandblood · 5 months ago
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The Lost Haven (15/16)
[ modern mafia • Aemond x niece • female ]
[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, smut, the angst, semi-public intimacy, panic attack, anxiety, mafia stuff, uncomfortable conversations, bad, bad things ]
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[ description: The vacation from eight years ago still haunts his memories and doesn't let him forget what happened between him and his niece, the daughter of his sister and Harwin Strong. Their paths separate and he immerses himself in his father's mafia world until the day she calls him for the first time since those events. Sexual tension, dark, dangerous, withdrawn, thirsty Aemond. ]
Author’s note: As promised, this is another, this time official modern version of The Fall from the Heavens. In this version, Daemon is not related to the family, but is simply Rhaenyra's husband and the leader of the second gang, Alys and Larys are also not related to each other, but Larys is Harwin's brother. I will partly refer to the original series, hiding some easter eggs, and some will be a completely new, fresh plot. As in every universe, only Aemond calls her Rhaenys and this is not her real name (she is unnamed character and the others also do not know that he calls her that). There will be a lot more brutality and angst in this version, so watch out. You can read this as a standalone story.
Series & Characters Moodboard Aemond & Rhaenys Moodboard
* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *
Next chapters: Masterlist
_____
She left.
Although he promised himself it would never happen, she was gone.
He spent the first half hour after he woke up in a state of complete hysteria, sitting on the sofa with his face hidden in his hands, crying, crying and crying, unable to calm down.
He was sure she would forgive him this time too.
That she would understand.
However, some part of him knew that the life he was forcing her into must have been unbearable: he himself would not have been able to wait for her every night, not knowing if she was safe, if she would return, if she was alive.
He would have gone mad in her place.
So all that was left to him was weeping and despair, in which he sank completely. Then came a wave of denial: the thought that she would never have done this to him, that perhaps she had only gone out to the shop and would return soon, that he was worried for no reason.
After a few hours, he began to panic.
What if she had done something to herself?
What if she jumped off some bridge, slit her veins again, what if her dead body was found in the woods?
Hundreds of terrifying scenarios whirled through his head so, in an act of desperation, he took his phone out of his pocket and called her, just wanting to hear that she was alive, that she had simply returned to Daemon's house and he didn't need to fear for her life.
She didn't answer, however, causing him to wail like an animal, once again falling into hysteria.
After all, she wouldn't just leave, it wasn't her way.
She would leave a letter, any word of explanation, so that he wouldn't worry and would know what to do next.
He searched the whole flat, looking into all its various nooks and crannies, but was disappointed to find nothing.
Instead, he noticed that her shoes, backpack and charger were gone.
Some part of him wanted to call Rhaenyra, to ask if she was home, but what if she wasn't?
What if they just all panicked thinking something had happened to her because of him?
Where else could she go?
And then it dawned on him.
His hand went quickly to the pocket of his trousers and he exaled heavily, closing his eyes in relief at the thought that the keys to the house by the sea were not in it.
Of course that's where she ran away, he thought tenderly.
Where it had all started.
She needed solitude, peace and quiet.
But was she safe, had she not done anything to herself?
He decided he had to write to her.
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He walked around the flat all day with his phone in his hand, constantly checking to see if she had written him back, but she hadn't. He fought with himself like an animal, at the same time wanting to respect that she wanted to think things through without him and fearing that she was there alone and terrified, not knowing what to do.
One second he was deciding that he would drive to her, and the next he was recognising that he couldn't, that she had to reach out to him on her own.
He promised her that he would let her go.
At night he could not sleep, lying on the bed with Vhagar, feeling anxious and afraid, so he spent long hours thinking about what would change their situation.
How could he at the same time give her more room to act and decide, while not endangering her? How could he bring her into this disgusting world and avoid her becoming a simple target?
And then he remembered her father.
Of what he wanted to do.
He stood up quickly, opening the cupboard in which he kept the documents, and began to look through them one by one, feeling his heart pounding like mad with excitement. After a while, he found what he wanted: the title deeds to the premises that had originally belonged to Harwin Strong.
He looked through each one and ran his hand over his face, analysing everything: he'd had a problem with them from the start because the staff who had stayed there were very reluctant to deal drugs: until recently this had frustrated him and he'd contemplated using force on them, but now he decided it was a perfect fit.
They were clean.
He could pass it on to her.
Her collateral, her key to his world, the means by which she could be his partner – ownership would make her a player on the chessboard protected on two sides – by him and Daemon – so no one would dare take away what he had given her.
He knew that, although her stepfather was furious with them, he would never attack her of his own accord – moreover, this decision of his could alleviate the entire conflict between them.
In the morning, he was pacing around his flat, feeling the need to drive to her, to reveal to her that he had a solution for them, something that would make her feel more independent, that would allow her to accompany him to his various meetings, being an equal member of them and not just his chick.
She still gave no sign of life, however, and he began to fear more and more that this meant the worst.
That it was too late.
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She hadn't written back.
He decided in an act of desperation that he couldn't wait any longer and had to see her, so he drove to where he hoped never to appear again, which was his family home.
His mother made big eyes at the sight of him.
"– Aemond – I am so happy –"
"I need the keys to the house by the sea. I know there is a spare pair in the house. I lost mine." He said indifferently, pretending that he felt no pain at the sight of her sad eyes, that he did not suffer at the thought that he had been a disappointment to her.
That he had abandoned her.
He didn't want that, but he couldn't go back.
Alicent nodded as if his words broke her and disappeared behind the door, returning a moment later with a bunch of keys which she handed to him, looking at him expectantly.
"Are you happy with her?" She asked.
He looked at her for a moment, feeling that if he opened his mouth he would cry.
So he kept silent.
Yes, he thought.
Only with her.
He nodded his head.
His mother smiled, as if relieved, which made him want to sob even more.
I have failed her and perhaps it is too late.
I have not been able to protect her.
I thought it would be easier.
"I'm glad. Give her my warm regards."
Driving his car to the sea, all he could think about was that he would surely find her body in a bathtub filled with water and her blood, pale and cold.
That she had escaped her suffering in the only way she could, by returning to the only place where she felt safe and happy.
To that summer.
By the time he arrived, night was all around him, the thunder of the storm and the sound of the rain making him anxious – he swallowed hard, seeing that no light was on in any of the windows.
A cold shiver ran down his spine, his steps heavy and slow.
He thought he wasn't ready for this.
He wasn't ready to lose her one last time, forever.
He quietly put the key in the lock and turned it – the door opened in front of him, and when he closed it behind him he was relieved to find that he couldn't smell the rottenness.
There was hope in his heart that perhaps she was alive.
Perhaps she longed to be alone, nothing more.
He moved slowly upstairs, looking first into the bathroom and breathed a loud sigh to see that it was empty – he then moved to her room, but there too everything looked untouched.
He thought, moved, that she was in his room.
Where she felt safe.
He had the feeling that his mind stopped functioning when his hand reached for the door handle and pressed it – when it opened in front of him with a quiet creak, his heart stopped, and he noticed that, indeed, the sheets on his bed were scattered in disarray.
She was here, he thought in disbelief.
But where was she now?
And then he heard it.
A quiet rustling.
God, she was under the bed.
He moved slowly towards her, feeling that his whole body was quivering, seeing himself, then, eight years ago, as if their story had come full circle.
As if everything was heading to this moment.
He knelt down and leaned in, meeting the terrified, sad gaze of her big eyes under the bedframe, her lips clenched into a thin line of fear, her face red with tears.
His heart broke.
"– Rhaenys – oh, baby –" He muttered in a cracking voice, reaching out his hand to her, and she immediately crawled towards him, falling right into the embrace of his longing arms.
He closed his eyes, cuddling her into himself as if he wanted her to melt into one with him, pressing his face against her fragrant hair, her soft, warm, familiar flesh, feeling her whole body tremble, whooping from crying.
"– I’m sorry – I’m sorry – I didn’t know what to do –" She wailed in despair, barely getting any words out, her small hands clenched helplessly on his leather jacket.
He shushed her, stroking her hair and her back, feeling relief, feeling peace, feeling warmth because she was with him, because she was alive, because she hadn't run away, only was lost just like him.
He understood her, understood what she needed and how scared she was.
"– no – it’s okay – I found you, little one – you’re safe now –" He whispered and smiled under his breath when she nodded.
She didn't push him away, she wasn't angry that he had found her, that he had come – on the contrary, he knew that she was actually waiting for him, that she needed him, and he was there for her, for his sweet little girl.
He rose with her, holding her in his arms, and lay down in bed with her, exactly as he had done then, that night. Pulling off his jacket and shoes, he looked at her with a tenderness and gentleness of which he had not suspected himself, her rosy, pretty face, her glistening lips parted in a deep breath.
He leaned down, laying back beside her, and touched her cheek uncertainly, not wanting to frighten her, to make her think he would try to close her mouth with sex and intimacy as usual, making her feel safe only to leave her again the next morning.
No.
This time he had a plan.
For the first time in his life, he felt he knew what to do.
She'd barely sighed when his lips, moist and swollen with longing, pressed against hers in a sweet, lazy kiss – they caressed each other with the quiet clicks of their saliva, sinking again and again into each other's bodies, a shiver running down his spine as her soft hand ran through his hair and down his neck.
God, how he loved her, he thought, feeling his heart flutter in his chest with joy.
"– I love you –" She whispered into his mouth, and he sighed, feeling his cock swell all over and pulse at her words in his trousers, because he craved just that, just those words, the reassurance that, like him, she would never be able to give up what they had. "– that's all I know –"
He wasn't sure they'd ever had such slow, tender, sweet, vulnerable sex together – it seemed to him that her body was melting under his fingers, her plump lips parted sweetly against his slick tongue, their arms holding them close, their foreheads pressed together.
He loved her.
He loved her.
He loved her.
When he felt her again, when he broke deep into her soft, warm, moist flesh again, nothing but helpless, boyish moans and grunts left his throat – her closeness, the sensation of her fleshy walls enveloping his erection thrusting into her greedily again and again was something craved, beloved, meant only for him.
For the first time, he didn't think about what his lover thought of him.
Did she think he had done a good job?
Did he look good in this position?
Were his noises manly?
Did he last long enough?
Did she perceive him as strong?
He simply made love to her, and she, her hands, her mouth, her cunt, her wonderful, sweet body gave herself completely to him, allowing him to fill her with his release with a sigh of relief.
"I know how to fix this, baby. Do you trust me?" He asked her quietly when it was all over, when their bodies lay entwined together in a tender embrace, his hand stroking her head pressed against his chest, right where she belonged.
By his side, always by his side.
He heard her swallow hard, surprised, his soft manhood still deep inside her.
They were one.
For eight years they had lasted as broken halves of a whole.
But no more.
"What do you mean?" She whispered uncertainly, trailing her fingers down his back, and he swallowed hard, thinking this was the moment.
"I will give you back the premises that belonged to your father."
Silence.
She'll think it's an idiotic idea.
That it didn't make sense.
She will walk away.
"What?"
"Before Larys took over their entire family business, your father had three establishments: Harrenhal Club, Twins Club and Eagle’s Nest Hotel. He got to the point, wanting to get as far away from drug smuggling as possible, that the people working there were reluctant to go back to their old ways. Larys forced them to do so, but most of the best workers fled to my grandfather or Daemon. I didn’t know for a long time what to do with these places, but now I think I should just pass them on to you. That will make you able to take part in some of our conversations as an associate, like Baratheon does, for example. I will assign you some of my men to protect you. Some of them are tired and want peace and quiet for themselves and their families. Your presence, the fact that you are with me and at the same time you are Daemon’s daughter gives us the assurance that you will not be attacked from any side."
He mumbled out, feeling like he'd lost his breath in his lungs, throwing out everything he'd been thinking about while she wasn't by his side.
He felt her whole body freeze.
She was in shock.
"What about Jace? Luke? He was their father too." She mumbled, and he snorted, smiling involuntarily.
They had no say in the matter.
There was nothing they could do.
"I don't give a shit about them."
She swallowed hard and lifted her head to look at him – he sighed seeing that her gaze was both terrified and warm at the same time, full of the affection he craved so much.
"I won't have to store your drugs or sell them?" She muttered, and he shook his head quickly.
God, she was really considering it.
"No. You'll just be giving us cover for our meetings from time to time. Nothing illegal that would burden you." He mumbled in a trembling voice, a pleading look asking her to trust him this one last time, to let him fix everything, set it on the right track.
"You'll really do it?" She asked, and he involuntarily licked his lower lip, nodding.
"Yes. Yes, if you come home with me. We'll go to the notary tomorrow, make it official." He said in excitement, feeling his heart pounding like crazy in his chest in euphoria.
She lowered her gaze, sighing heavily, for some reason sad again.
"After all, none of them will want to listen to me. They won't respect me. I'm just a little girl, what do I know about their tough world?" She asked, shrugging her shoulders, and he shook his head.
"I'll help you. Just like you helped me with my studies. I will teach you everything. They'll respect you, first for the sake of me and your two fathers, and then for the sake of you when they realise you'll protect them and not drag them into this shit." He said with a certainty that amazed him, her eyes glazed over with tears.
She wanted to believe him, he knew that.
She wanted it to work.
She wanted to be with him.
"Shall we try?" He mumbled, waiting for her reaction like a sentence.
And she nodded her head.
She nodded her head.
She snuggled into him and he closed his eyes, feeling the tears of relief burning under his eyelids, thinking that he loved her harder than he ever had in his life.
She had always, always been on his side.
"I love you. Everything is going to be okay. I promise."
And she believed him.
They spent the night sleeping in an embrace so tight that he smiled with amusement – as soon as he turned on the bed, tired of one position her small body immediately followed him, her fingers clenching on his back, demanding his tender, safe hold in which he closed her happily again and again.
She slept with her face snuggled into his chest and neck, her legs entwined with his, their hands holding them close.
They were home.
They were home because they were together.
After they woke up, writhing in each other's embrace for a long time, they showered together.
"– ah – mghmm –" She mumbled, her face pressed against the wall, leaning forward, her hips bucked towards him while he opened her up again and again on his erection, swollen from the morning, begging for hours to be fulfilled.
"– what a sight –" He exhaled, looking at her throbbing slit from which his semen was leaking, lazily rolling his hips back and forth, sinking into her sweet, warm flesh.
One of his hands gripped her waist to keep her from falling over, while the other rested on the tiles above her head for balance, the pleasantly warm water washing over their bodies like rain.
Like God forgiving them of all their sins.
"– I love you –" He whispered as if it was the most perverted, ungodly thing he could say to her right now, listening to the loud, quick slaps of their naked, wet bodies against each other, feeling her fleshy cunt squeeze his hard length tighter, sucking it inside her with his throaty groan.
"– I love you too –" She mewled, moaning louder and louder, aroused by how shamelessly exposed she was to him, that he was watching what he was doing to her, that he was bursting into her body, and she couldn't help it.
She was his.
"– f-fuck – mmm –" He sighed as his peak came down on him like an epiphany and closed his eyes, tilting his head back as he felt her plump walls begin to clench around his manhood in her sweet fulfilment.
He looked at her again, wanting to see it, his fat, throbbing cock deep inside her as he filled her with his seed.
She was so innocent.
"– what I'm doing to you is so wonderfully wrong – I could fuck you all day long –" He exhaled, panting heavily along with her, stroking affectionately her chubby, smooth buttocks. She moaned at his words, closing her eyes as if she felt his words in every nook and cranny of her body, her hot core clamped tight around his half-soft manhood.
"– yes –" She mumbled, reaching her hand towards his, as if she wanted him to understand that he could embody his desire into reality.
He smiled tenderly at the sight, at her reaction, sliding out of her gently with her sigh of relief and watched as a trickle of his spend dripped down her thigh.
"– uncle and niece, huh –" He hummed, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her upwards, her wet back and buttocks slapping against his body, his lips sinking into her moist, soft neck. She just murmured, embracing his arms, tilting her head back, relaxed and at ease.
She looked up at him at last, her gaze clouded with hot affection, her lips parted sweetly in a deep breath.
"– Hades and Persephone –"
As promised, straight from there they drove to the notary – he didn't want her to think that he was deceiving her again, and that the change in their lives would happen at some unknown time – it was to happen here and now, immediately, and she was to feel that he was telling the truth.
He went to the man who handled the documentation of all the premises that belonged to him – Ned Tully was an elderly man who liked to walk around in big jumpers and tracksuits, however, his gigantic office could tell that he was certainly not a poor man.
He just didn't give a shit about anything and wasn't afraid of the police, which was exactly what he needed.
His Rhaenys followed him inside, glancing at him uncertainly with her big, bright eyes, and he stroked her back with his palm.
"Come." He hummed, pointing to one of the armchairs facing the large oak desk behind which Tully sat, who slid a packet of cigarettes towards him.
He took one out and put it in his mouth, and Tully leaned over and lit it with his lighter.
"What brings you here, boy?" He asked lowly.
He'd always addressed him this way, but it didn't bother him – he didn't do it with a sneer and he was extremely professional, even though he didn't look like it.
He took a drag and let the smoke out through his nose, spreading himself out comfortably in his seat.
"I want to transfer my three properties, three businesses to another person. To my niece." He said calmly – Tully's gaze fled sideways to her small, tense figure.
"Daemon's daughter. Well, well. The world is small. Are you sure you want to do this? Once you sign the papers, it will be too late." He said, and he nodded.
"What properties are involved?" He asked, and he took another drag, tilting his head back, releasing the smoke with his mouth towards the ceiling.
"Harrenhal Club, Twins Club and Eagle's Nest Hotel." He recited from memory, feeling a strange calm, a conviction that he had done the right thing.
The notary prepared a set of documents and, after making sure he hadn't changed his mind, he and his niece signed a piece of paper after a piece of paper and then locked everything up in a folder.
"I will take care of the tax issue myself. Calculate for me how much I will have to pay." He said to him, and Tully nodded.
"What?" She muttered, looking at him horrified, his hand closed on hers.
"Don't worry. I'll take care of it. Hm? It's okay." He whispered, her eyes glazed with tears, her lower lip trembling.
He tried to restrain himself, and he knew she did too, but they had to stop in the woods to find an outlet for their emotions locked in the car, her body warm and willing, welcoming him easily inside, her arms cuddling him between her bare breasts.
He sighed heavily as he came inside her at last, tracing his fingers over her chest and murmured contentedly.
"They're getting bigger. Fuller. From caressing them for sure." He hummed, amused, placing a sweet, lingering kiss on her breast only to clamp his lips on her nipple again a moment later.
He heard her swallow quietly, her hand running through his hair.
"Let's go home." She whispered.
Vhagar was euphoric at the sight of her – she squealed and barked at the same time, running around her and jumping on her, distraught that she was suddenly gone.
The truth was that his dog had become accustomed to not being alone even when he was out and she didn't like the fact that it had changed.
"– there, there – I missed you too –" She laughed, kneeling on the floor, embracing her thick, furry neck, letting her big tongue lick all over her face.
As they ate the pizza they'd quickly ordered, they leaned over the binders full of documents, which they began to look through together.
"You've got the entire history of each establishment here. The owners, the employees, their contracts, invoices for goods, electricity and gas bills." He explained, flipping through page after page. "And the income and tally each month by the accountant. Each of these places earns more than it spends. I've hired marketing people and refurbished some rooms in Eagle's Nest that needed it most."
"That's a lot." She muttered, clearly overwhelmed by the amount of information she had to absorb.
"Don't be afraid. For the first few months, you will simply deal with it with me. You'll be involved in talking to staff and accountants. I will introduce you, I won't throw you in at the deep end. If something goes wrong, I will be beside you to help you fix it." He said, clasping his fingers in her hand, and she nodded, looking at him hopefully.
"Thank you, Aemond. I mean it." She whispered, and he swallowed hard, wondering if he had ever heard that from anyone.
Thank you.
Neither his father nor Otto had ever thanked him.
Not really.
They felt that what he was doing was due to them, that they were doing him a favour by allowing him to earn crores without, in their view, much effort.
They had come to all this through their hard work, not him.
He stroked her soft cheek and kissed her forehead with a quiet click, feeling a pleasant warmth in his heart.
She always knew how to appreciate him.
To say what he longed to hear.
To give him what he needed.
Over the next few days, they mainly went through the documents he kept at home, as well as at each of these places. His staff looked at them in surprise, as he rarely came in his own person, however, he did not want to say what had happened for the time being so as not to cause panic.
He knew that some of them would be unhappy with the change thinking that he had placed her in such a high position despite the fact that she could do nothing, because she was his whore.
Because he had fulfilled her whim.
He had to make them respect her, make them want to listen to her.
They didn't even know she was what they needed.
"Let's go to the supermarket. We don't have anything left to eat." He said and she nodded, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
"You do the shopping, I have to go to the pharmacy." She replied lightly, turning her head away. He looked at her, surprised, then back at the road.
"Are you feeling unwell?" He asked, and she swallowed hard.
"No, but… I've been quite stressed lately. With how much I still have to learn. I'm thinking of getting some herbs to drink, some melissa or something." She muttered, and he nodded with understanding, placing his hand on her knee.
"Okay, baby."
As they agreed, he did the shopping, planning to make tomato soup, remembering how he loved it when he was a small child, and met her at the car.
"Did you buy everything you wanted?" He asked, putting the shopping bags in the boot, and she nodded and smiled, something in her gaze that he didn't like.
She was tense.
He knew that she was apprehensive about meeting the staff for the first time – she had insisted that he let her do it alone, but he was afraid that those people would then surround her and bite her, and she would feel even worse.
On the other hand, he knew that they would be calm in his presence and not object, but perhaps they would hate her behind her back.
He didn't want that.
He was not sure if he should start the subject, so he finally gave up and just got into the car and she did the same.
He tried to get out of her what she had bought, but all she said was that it was tea and that she would brew it for herself when they got back.
He didn't know why, but he felt anxious.
When they got home, as soon as she pulled off her shoes she locked herself in the toilet.
With her rucksack.
Perhaps she was suddenly surprised by her period?
He decided that this was certainly the case and took the shopping bags into the kitchen, unpacking them one by one, listening for any strange sounds.
He put the water on for the soup and prepared everything to cook it, glancing constantly at the door in the corridor behind which the light was on.
"Are you all right? Do you have a stomach ache?" He called out, feeling his heart hit harder in his chest.
"I'm fine." She muttered in a cracking voice making him put the glass bottle of tomato puree down on the table and walk in that direction.
"Rhaenys? What's going on? You're acting strange, I don't like it." He said, but was answered by silence.
Fuck.
He slammed his fist against the door, feeling adrenaline and fear bubbling through his veins, the sight of her in a tub full of blood making it difficult for him to catch his breath.
"Rhaenys, if you don't open it, I'm going to break down the fucking door." He growled and swallowed hard when the door opened suddenly and he saw her face red with emotion.
What was that all about?
He wanted to ask about it, but she held out her hand towards him with a small, bright, long object with what looked like a small glass window with pink stripes.
"– what is it? –" He mumbled, wrinkling his eyebrows in concern, taking it from her, watching it between his fingers trembling with nerves.
"– it's a pregnancy test –"
He looked at her, feeling his heart stop suddenly – she was smiling, her gaze warm, full of everything he wanted so much.
"– no way –" He said and she laughed, so lightly and sweetly that he just grabbed her in his arms and lifted her high, smiling like a moron, feeling tears under his eyelids for some reason.
"– baby – oh my fucking God – show me this little belly –" He muttered, lifting her Tshirt higher, leaning down to place a few lingering, loud, sticky kisses on her bare skin.
As he set her down on the ground he burst out crying, for neither his body nor his mind could deal with what he felt otherwise: the girl he loved was pregnant, and she was happy about it despite the fucked-up situation they were in, wanting to create something with him that he had always dreamed of so much.
His own family.
She hugged him, letting him bury his face in her neck, whooping his tears while smiling broadly, his hands clenched on the back of her Tshirt.
"– I'm so happy – God, baby, this is wonderful, wonderful news –" He mumbled out in a breaking voice, returning to crying, feeling that he was unable to control what was happening to his body.
"Will you come with me to the gynaecologist?" She asked softly, stroking his back, and he nodded quickly, excited, looking at her with big eyes.
"Yes, of course. Now?" He asked, ready to drive her anywhere and do whatever she needed, his hand involuntarily sliding down to her lower abdomen, stroking it as if she was hiding a treasure inside.
Her fingers stroked his palm as she laughed.
"No. No one will take us in today anyway. But tomorrow, yes." She said with a smile, bubbling with energy, joy and contentment, the look in her eyes warm and bright.
"Okay. Okay." He said, and she squealed as he picked her up again, this time walking with her towards the kitchenette, wanting to finish dinner.
If up until now he thought he was crazy about her and about her being close, he would now describe it as an obsession.
She had to be close because he had to touch her, embrace her, feel her, kiss her – in the evening, once they were in bed, he didn't know what to do – he wanted to fall asleep at the same time with his face snuggled between her breasts, in his favourite place in the world, only to change his mind a moment later, pull the duvet off her and place his cheek on her stomach, stroking her lower abdomen with his palm.
"Mmm." He heard her hum in her sleep, in a natural, affectionate gesture combing her fingers through his short hair, he, however, was in too much euphoria.
I love you, he thought, looking down at her belly, running his fingertips over her bare skin.
I love you and your mum.
He fell asleep in the morning only to be woken by her alarm clock three hours later – he had forced her to make an appointment as soon as possible, so they were due to turn up at the doctor's surgery at seven in the morning. His niece was semi-conscious, asleep in his car, he, however, felt fresh and rested, keeping his hand clasped over hers.
He realised that he was happy.
Truly happy.
He was ashamed to be sitting next to her, lying on the couch, watching as a man in a white lab coat sat beside her in a chair in front of a small screen, wandering a special ultrasound machine over her abdomen, covered in some sticky green gel, and he felt tears under his eyelids, his knee popping all over in a nervous reflex.
"It's true, miss, you are pregnant. You can see it, right here." He said, pointing his finger at a small bright dot on the screen the size of a needle head, and he hid his face in his hands and burst out crying full of relief.
He wanted this so badly.
"Do you want to leave and calm down?" The doctor asked him, and he shook his head.
"I'll print you pictures."
A little dot.
A little dot that was going to be a little man in nine months.
He thought about this as he lay in bed, looking at the few pictures the doctor had printed for them. His niece lay next to him, sleeping peacefully, wrapped in his arm, resting after having to wake up early.
Will it be a boy or a girl?
It doesn't matter, he will love each one equally.
The baby's room, toys, cot, pram, sleepwear will have to be organised.
So many things to do and so little time.
Nine months.
He put the photo aside and slid his free hand down to her belly, stroking it softly, her murmur of contentment made him lean over and kiss the top of her head.
"– shhh – sleep –"
When she woke up he suggested they take a walk with Vhagar and she eagerly agreed.
The fresh air would certainly do both her and their baby good, he thought.
They were both bubbling with energy and optimism.
"I want to tell my mother about this." She said as they walked through the park, and he threw her a quick, horrified look.
"I don't know if it's a good idea. What if they report us? What we did is illegal." He mumbled.
He was slowly beginning to forget that their relationship was incestuous.
He wondered if, if he confirmed his paternity at the Registry Office so that his child could bear his name, someone would realise that something was wrong.
She glanced at him in disbelief, her eyebrows arched in pain.
"It will be her grandchild. She won't, she certainly won't. She's angry with us, but… I can't imagine we'll hide it from everyone. After all, it will start to show eventually." She said, and he swallowed hard, realising that she was right.
Either way, it would eventually come out.
They decided to kill two birds with one stone – he called his mother and she called hers and they both arranged to meet at the same place and time – in one of the cafés not far from their flat.
Sitting at one of the tables by the window, they held hands – her gaze, despite his horror and feeling that it was a mistake, told him that they had done the right thing.
His lamp in the dark room.
Thanks to her, he knew where to go and why.
Alicent and Rhaenyra bumped into each other in the entrance – their gazes expressed shock, discomfort and confusion. Alicent spotted them sitting in the distance, and Rhaenyra followed her gaze and pressed her lips together, lowering her head.
That was it.
They both finally walked over to the table and sat down next to each other reluctantly, trying not to look at each other.
"Can you tell me what this is supposed to mean?" Her mother asked her, and his niece twisted restlessly in her chair.
He lowered his gaze, feeling ashamed but proud at the same time, his fingers tightened on hers.
We are going to have a baby.
"I'm pregnant. You're going to be grandmothers. It's already decided." She said in a trembling voice, leaving them with no illusions about her decision.
Rhaenyra and Alicent drew in a loud breath and averted their gazes. Rhaenyra pressed her lips together and shook her head with tears in her eyes, while Alicent hid her face in her hands, drawing in air loudly.
There was a long, awkward silence.
He looked at his niece in pain, seeing the tears running down her cheeks, and stroked the delicate skin of her wrist with his thumb – he knew that she felt what he felt, that she was simultaneously afraid and ashamed of what they had done, on the other hand unable to imagine that they could have done otherwise.
"And now what? Hm?" Rhaenyra asked in a breaking voice, impatient and desperate.
"We will raise our child and have a wedding. A church wedding. I'm working on it."
"What?" Alicent mumbled, as if she had just woken up from some terrible dream, looking at everyone around her as if she thought she had overheard herself.
"A dispensation and appropriate payment is required for this, but I will sort it out. Everything will be as it should be." He said, looking at his mother, her brown eyes big and red from tears, her lips parted in disbelief.
"What do you want to hear? Congratulations?" Rhaenyra asked, shaking her head.
"I want my child to be able to count on her two grandmothers as well as the rest of our family, but I do not expect it. I thought you deserved to hear it from us." Said his Rhaenys, trying to calm herself.
Rhaenyra burst into sobs, as if something inside her had finally snapped, burying his face in her hand – he saw his mother tighten her fingers on her hand lying on the table, and his half-sister did not push her away.
He pressed his lips together, refusing to let his own tears run down his cheeks, hearing only sighs and sobs, a sense of shame and grief rising in the air, suffocating them all.
Finally, his mother wiped her nose and took a breath, closing her eyes.
"Since there is no turning back and you have made your decision, there is nothing more we can do. This child, if born, will not be guilty of anything and deserves our love and yours. I would not forgive myself if I were not present in my own grandchild's life because of my beliefs." She said, and he lowered his gaze and nodded, feeling like a little boy again.
Rhaenyra took her hand from her grasp and sighed, sitting for a moment with her eyes closed, as if thinking about something.
"I have heard…I have heard that you have passed on to my daughter the premises that previously belonged to Harwin." She said, finally looking up at him with her bright, piercing eyes.
"I did."
Rhaenyra stared at him, pain, grief, sadness and hundreds of other emotions in her gaze that must have just ripped her heart apart.
"Do you love my daughter?" She asked with emphasis on each word, as if she wanted him to understand exactly what the purpose of her question was.
He swallowed hard, looking at her with a blank stare.
"I've loved her for as long as I can remember. Since that holidays at the seaside. It didn't hurt me then that you ran off with Luke. I didn't give a shit about any of you. What hurt me was that you took her with you." He whispered in breaking voice, feeling a single, lonely, heavy tear run down his face.
Him crying that night in hospital, after the operation, when his mother told him that his niece had returned home.
They hadn't even said goodbye to each other.
Rhaenyra's lips pressed together in a thin line, her eyes glazed over, her brow arching in an expression of distress at the memory of those events.
"Will you take care of her? And my grandchild?" She asked, and he felt his throat squeeze so tightly that he had trouble catching his breath.
"Yes."
She nodded, as if accepting something, all around them the conversations of others, the waiters walking by, the smell of coffee, tea and cakes. Rhaenyra looked at him finally and forced herself to smile, in which, however, he saw a hint of sincerity.
Some kind of relief, a conviction that things would be what they were meant to be.
"Make her happy."
246 notes · View notes
threepandas · 3 months ago
Text
Bad End: No Good Turn
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I rushed to catch up, as I saw the party leaving. Advisor Leukippos was a hopelessly busy man after all. Seeming to drift, with elegant unhurried steps, from appointment to appointment at a somehow impossible speed. It was near impossible to actually catch him NOT in the middle of something. And believe me, I'd been TRYING!
"Advisor! Respected One! Please wait!" I did not so much... shout (as that would be RUDE. One must NEVER be RUDE around the Yanderians. They take GREAT exception. I've looked them up. Have even started taking classes on the subject.) as sorta? Pitched my voice to carry? Kinda the verbal equivalent of that awkward half jog, not run, people do.
My Yanderian pronunciation is god awful. Probably butchering the words, since I can't, you know, actually HEAR any of the nuanced under or over tones. The slight inflections. Yanderian is a language of SONG. Poetry. Composing some of the most beautiful audible art in the known universe. Some of the pieces I've heard? Are like whale song made of starlight. Birdsong made of thunder.
And that's the RECORDINGS! Which are said to miss SO MUCH of the in person nuances, due to technological limitations!
I, being a human, literally don't have the philosophy to even speak the language properly. Never will.
Not the voice box, not the HEARING, and certainly not the lung capacity. But I wanted to at least try, you know? If nothing else, maybe learn the language. There WERE after all, auditory aids for Yanderians with ear injuries. And! I theoretically? Could contact the company? To see if they would be willing to design a set of nuance readers for a human sized head! Adjusted for human hearing and visual ranges!
To be honest? I just was waiting to be able to send my message in Yanderian first. To prove that it wouldn't be a waste of time. Nuance readers were a time consuming project after all! Had to be customized to the life form wearing them.
Leukippos and his entourage had stopped, turned. Some fully, some only half way, to glance in bemused and startled confusion at the (no doubt strange) little creature trying to hacksaw her way through a sentence in their language. None the less, they DID stop for me, for which I was grateful. Their people were fuckin TALL, man. Long legs. Holy SHIT long legs. G-gimme a second! Gotta...! Breathe...!
I could practically feel their amusement from behind the assorted fans. Eyes curving up to match hidden grins.
"No drink to spill upon me, little one? How shall I recognize you now?" Comes teasing song speech from the man I've been trying, for DAYS, to catch outside of any one of his many responsibilities. I think? That particular rumbling quality? Means "playfully said, not insulting you?"
His body language certainly suggests it.
The laugh that forces its way out of my body? Is the sort that you make, while contemplating throwing yourself into the fucking SEA or a bottomless pit, after dumping your breakfast on like... a world leader.
Because I Basically DID.
Which? Ha ha... oh god, kill me. They wear FUCKING WHITE. The higher the rank? The MORE WHITE! (It's the color of Divinity and Honor! Which DOESNT FUCKING HELP! Oh GOD, does this mean what I did was SACRILEGIOUS TOO?!) Nothing but pale, easily and irreversibly stain-able colors, as far as the eye can see! And I accidentally? Dumped my shitty break room "whatever has caffeine and is still in stock" on him!
FIVE TIMES.
I've literally GIVEN UP open air caffeinated drinks because of this! They are the devil! Evil! Trying to ruin both my sanity AND my life! I don't CARE if canned coffee is more expensive! At least I can't DUMP IT ON A DIGNITARY.
The worst part? The ABSOLUTE WORST? Was how understanding and calm Leukippos was, while I lost my shit. It wasn't even MY outfit. He was the one covered in probably still burning coffee! As I hyperventilated and blubbered apologies and cried at him. Hair a mess! Sleep deprived as FUCK because my boss is an asshole. Well... WAS an asshole.
He came over to yell at me.
Did not go well for him. What with that being Rude™ and me having already spilled the beans that the whole incident was CAUSED by me being overworked. Sleep deprivation slows reaction times, you know?
But then... but THEN! It? Kept?? HAPPENING!!!
Turn a corner? Bump! Right down his front. Leaving a lift? Bump! Splash! There goes my cup! Oh but what about a SAFETY cup? I, like FOOL, naively think! Ha ha...
I nearly concuss him! Somehow! Right over the edge of some railing! Slams into the ground at his feet. Nearly hitting him from THREE STORIES UP, right on the head! Pretty sure the sound I made? Was just as painful to HEAR as it was to rip out of my own throat in panic.
No More Cups! Cups are BAD. This? Anti-cup having household.
We'll drink from fucking SPOONS if we have too! Bowls!
NO CUPS!
And every? Single?? Time??? Leukippos not only stops, in the middle of his unspeakably busy schedule, to calm down and reassure this random ass low ranking alien, who's dumped potentially toxic or dangerous unknown alien foodstuffs, just ALL over his incredibly expensive clothes? He's KIND about it! Polite! Makes light hearted little jokes and says not to worry!
It would be one thing, if he was an asshole about it? But!? He's so politely understanding instead? You just end up standing there. Staring in HORROR. At the slowly spreading stains, on that beautiful, delicate, lovely embroidered white fabric. Clothes that are HAND CRAFTED. Take months if not YEARS to make!!! And you just? Feel your soul... die inside.
Kill me. Fucking END me. I deserve it.
Oh my god.... What Have I Done?
But, hey! If he wants to turn my Horrifying Drink Based Trauma Crimes into a cute friendship meet cute? I'm so unbelievably down for that. Literally ANYTHING so I stop feeling like I'm constantly setting this man's ceremonial robes on fire in front of him, then having him ask if I'M okay or need anything.
Speaking of which? Excitedly I reach into my messages bag, asking if he remembers the over robe he lent me. Another victim to our coffee attacks, the over robe was of a style that traditionally hung open, so it only slightly got hit. His main robe suffering the worst of it. Most importantly, though? The over robe is the main decorative one! Heavy on the subtle off white on white embroidery.
It creates a kind of magical looking effect as the light hits it, it's hard to explain.
But! I got coffee'd too, right? Right down my front! So what does he do? Leukippos slides off his over robe and puts it on me. So I won't be walking around in state that would get me socially embarrassed. Cause a scandal. Still not sure if it's a Yanderian or a "their region of the galaxy" thing.
However, that? Left me with a beautiful, BEAUTIFUL and quickly staining white over robe. Not Today, Satan! So I looked up how to save it. Rushed it to a professional cleaners. They kept it from getting worse but couldn't help me, due to the unique fibers the robe was made off, but knew who COULD and sent me on my way.
I ended up in a breathing mask in little Kkbrixxtttishky. And I know, okay? It's mostly oxygen in that dome. Yeah, it IS, but there are enough fatally toxic trace elements in the atmosphere that unless you have a REALLY good filter mask? It's just safer to go full breathing mask. It's not fucking "paranoid" or "racist" or whatever garbage they'll tell you.
Half those fuckers saying that? Wouldn't even TRAVEL there if their LIVES depended on it! For ALL sorts of VERY reasonable excuses, I'm SURE. Bastards. One breathing mask and an uncomfortable decontamination shower between domes is all it takes! It's barely a few minutes delay between domes. Then you're in!
And? The whole area is beautiful. Everyone is super nice, deeply kind (especially when you get lost... like... A LOT). And oh my god? Do you know how badly I wish I could eat the food without, you know, dying? (God those little pie thingies looked so fucking GOOD...)
Anyway! Long and short of it? The Kkbrixxtttishky cleaner knew how to clean the robe! Even stored it in an air tight container so it could be decontaminated for my safe handling. They? Were so sympathetic? Shared my absolute horror at the situation. We're and ARE an absolute gem. Swear to God I plan to recommend them to anyone who can breathe that grade of atmosphere.
It was worth every unit.
Pulling out a clean, neatly folded robe to return? Feels like a triumph.
"The robe of which I gave you, clean once more." He says, recognizing it on sight. The smile behind his fan seems to grow, from what charmed expression I can see of his face, as he steps closer. "Such care, in trusted hands, this robe has found. Little one, you have gone to great lengths. No easy thing, the cleansing of such cloth. And to return it? None would think you less, should you have kept a gift..."
The songspeech has a distinctly warm tone to it, more then the already fond tone that had been there before. Heck yeah~ Knew it! I KNEW I did the right thing! And besides, it WAS the right thing. I tell him as much. He didn't really GIVE me his robe, he leant me it to help me save face.
The Galactic Senate is unspeakably vast. He was running the risk of never seeing it again but did it ANYWAY. Just so I wouldn't be seen walking around covered in a mess. I was just sorry I couldn't fix the OTHER robes my clumsiness had ruined.
"Virtuous little one~" Leukippos says sings, the nuanced tones, which I could only barely hear, suggesting his words were meant to be both teasing and praise. He driftes closer. His other hand elegantly raising to join the first. Both gripping his fan in an... almost coy sort of way? Ah, I'm probably reading that one wrong. Still learning, after all...
"Won't you join me? A walk with good company, is a pleasant one indeed. I have not had chance to speech casually with you before. We would have sent you correspondence; In accordance with tradition and regard, however..."
Leukippos trailed off. Politely not saying the obvious. Which was that it was fuckin impossible to find me in the G.S. directory, since I was effectively a Nobody, and you'd have to know Going IN which Embassy I worked for. Even then, it'd be rough as hell, dragging me name out of that thing. I was the afterthought of an afterthought, that the forgettable once might of had.
But hey, it pays the bills.
I grin. Of course, I'd love to join him. If I'm not getting in the way! The robe is handed off to one of the smiling members of the entourage. Tucked away somewhere. And I am swallowed into the center of the group. Holy SHIT, they are tall. Like? I knew that. On average? Yanderians were about a foot and a half taller then humans... but STILL? I think these guys might be tall for Yanderians? I feel dainty. Wild.
Leukippos helps with my pronunciation, as we walk. Recommends a few new up and coming artists who's works sound fascinating. Distracted by it all, I don't notice our path meandering away from what I know is his next appointment, and towards his office. At least, I don't until we're alone.
His fan lower gently from his face, revealing handsome features.
I startle, don't know where to look. Uuuuuuuh?! No, wait, what!? No. See, I REMEMBER my basics of Yanderian etiquette block, from the sociology lessons I'm taking. He's not allowed to DO that! He can't DO THAT! Illegal! Naked! Why is he FACE NAKED!? That's like taking your SHIRT OFF! Fine around close friends and family. But JUST around them! ONLY them.
Going 0 to 150 REAL FAST, my guy!
Sputtering, I spin around. I saw NOTHING. Sexy lil fangs WHOMS'T? Ha ha! Jawline whaaaat? No, no! I'm actually BLIND. As of just a bit ago! Terrible, really. Should probably see a doctor! Now actually! Yeah. Now sounds good. I'm just gonna-!!
Softly, elegantly, like a dancer's pose, an arm in billowing white reaches over my should to delicately press against the door. It's the old fashioned kind. Swinging, not slide, made of wood. Must of cost more then I make in a year. The hand presses one finger at a time, a precise little sequence of tap tap tap.
Each finger accompanied by the softest sound of sharp nail tips.
I am suddenly hyperaware. H..How did he move that-?
The friendly atmosphere, the comfort, seems to have been sucked out of the room as thoroughly as an open airlock straight to the void. I am alone with a man I do not... now that I think about it... actually know. I FELT like I knew him. We keep meeting. I've been learning about his people. But do I know HIM? Personally? The nature of HIS character?
I... I do not.
And he is a very, VERY powerful man.
My eyes are locked on the hand, gently holding the door shut. I haven't tried my strength against his. Yet. But the numbers are in my head. The odds. Cold sweat prickles and beads along my skin, my breathe shallow, as I stand utterly frozen. It's a beautifully manicured hand, I note. Strong wrist, there a hint of true muscle, under all those robes.
He smells of trees and musk, spices and flowers not native to earth. The sleeve flowing over my shoulder is dangerously soft. His existence a pillar of heat, right behind me, not touching... but close enough. He seems perfectly content to wait me out. My mind is static.
"We fall in love quite easily, did you know? Oh little one..." His words are sighed confession, sung like falling leaves. Another hand comes up, on the other side of me. "My people greatest folly. Our weakness, our despair. Oh little one, we love too much. It frightens people. How quickly and deeply we fall..."
Why was he telling me that? I... I know the most obvious reason why he MIGHT be. B-but surely not! Ha ha. No way. C-can't be! So Why Is He TELLING ME THAT?!
"Courtship requires planning of course. Research. 'Meet-Cutes' I believe they are titled? Did you enjoy them? Were they proper? I'm to take you on outings next, yes? Flowers and material goods. To prove I can provide and know you well, and ah~"
There was mouth pressed to the nape of my neck, breathing deep against my skin. I could feel the almost lazy hunter's grin, splitting those lips into a smirk. Sharp teeth and hot breathe, dangerously close and already lusting to leave behind marks.
"And I DO know you so well. I have made certain of that, my little one. Dearest little one. Jewel of my heart, soon to be keeper of my name. I will court you in your ways, then I will court you in mine. Our wedding will be beautiful."
My heart was racing. I had to get out of here. Go and never, EVER come back. Oh god, at this distance? There was no WAY he couldn't hear everything. I had to lie! Do something! Anything! Just get out of this room. Back to Earth's embassy!
I... I couldn't move. Afraid. I was afraid.
He's so big. So much stronger then me. I have to get out.
"You shall such peace and love on Yanderia, darling. The other partners will rejoice for a new friend and you will be welcomed. Isn't that lovely? There is so much we do not show outsiders. But you, little one?"
"You will have the rest of your life to learn it ALL~"
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rosyandraw · 4 months ago
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idk if this is redundant on your end but thoughts on Damen needing to talk during sex? in the books it isn’t even dirty talk it’s just endless want for Laurent and how long he’s been waiting for him and how different Laurent feels. Also in canon & in ur own writing
Definitely not redundant! You have just knocked on the Damen Character Study door in my head lmao but it's late and idk how much sense this will make so i'm sorry in advance.
Mini meta on Why Damen Likes to Talk During Sex in Canon
First and foremost words are hugely important to Damen, not just during sex but in general. It is part of the reason that Vere trips him up so badly, why he just doesn’t get it. Because Vere is a veil of word play and innuendo, it’s double speak and flowery bullshit and lies.
That’s not Damen. His word is his bond, it’s tied to his honour and they mean a great deal to him. He never says anything he doesn’t mean. Ever. If it’s coming out of his mouth he is saying that shit with his whole damn chest and doesn't give a fuck.
The few times he is forced to lie or to say something he doesn’t mean he says it as a strategy play but it barely makes it out of his mouth and he hates it.
For a long time by the time they get to Ravenel Damen has been playing a part. Living a half truth and not saying everything he means. Or wants to say.
Likewise, in Akielos, Damen keeps himself held back. We know this because in 3 books, despite being the darling crown prince and heroic military leader, he mentions 1 person by name that he is actually and genuinely close to. One. He’s never been in love with anyone before Laurent, he doesn’t get close, he doesn’t get particularly attached. If he did Jokaste would have been a Princess and not just his mistress.
It speaks of a whole heap of childhood trauma and issues, thanks in large part to his father and Kastor and this picture that is painted of strength in Akielos being The Most Important Thing. (And i have too many thoughts on said implied trauma to write it all out properly here because it's an essay unto itself.)
We also know that Damen does the talking thing with Jokaste too. So we know it's an indicator of intimacy in bed for him. He's certainly not doing it in Vask, for example. Because Damen values words so highly he does wear his heart on his sleeve, but he guards that heart close. Sharing his feelings becomes something then tied to both the value Damen places on words and the lack of emotional intimacy in his life. To Damen, opening up like that especially during sex, is an act of giving unto its self.
Damen is strong, yes. Crazy strong and the perfect warrior. But he also likes the wordy sad poems and has craved approval (and affection) from his father and Kastor seemingly most of his life. For example, Kastor stabbed him and made Damen believe with words that it was a good thing because it meant Kastor respected him enough to fight him like a man.
It’s the perfect anecdote to draw all of those ideas together. Damen being happy about being stabbed at 13 by his brother because Kastor said it was a good thing to be strong enough to fight properly and bear the consequences.
Words matter to Damen, he assumes they do to other people too. It's what nearly gets him killed.
It’s funny really, because Damen values words but he himself is a man of action and Laurent values action but is a man of words.
When it comes to sex we see them swap places from their usual dynamic and therein lies the intimacy.
Laurent acts and Damen talks. It’s a complete role reversal and it was always meant to be. Pacat has said, several times, that Laurent tops Damen with words all the time and it was a purposeful choice to have Laurent bottom because of this. So to follow that through to it's logical conclusion for the sex scenes to really hit we needed to see them swap places completely and Damen needed to talk.
Laurent is a mouthy little shit but when it comes to his important scenes (the building of their intimacy and their sex scenes) it's never his words that he's speaking loudest with. Like when he just hugged Damen after the meeting with Jokaste in KR or when he went to get ice for him in PG, it's an offering in place of words and Laurent does it frequently: letting his actions speak louder than any of his words because to Laurent words don't really matter, lies are too easy. He's been taken in by words before.
Damen gets to Laurent through his actions and it's Laurent's moments of honesty, of saying something unexpected, that make Damen really pay attention. This isn't to say that Laurent's actions don't get to him, they do of course, but only really when Damen comes to realise that's how Laurent is being honest. Likewise in reverse for Laurent.
It's the language the other understands that allows the distance to bridge, but the intimacy comes in the opposite every time.
So when they fall into bed Laurent instigates with action, all three times they are together. And Damen talks. Because it’s the thing that is important to them that they are willingly giving and sharing and that is what makes it intimate.  
Quite simply, Damen holds himself back emotionally so talking during sex like that is a way for Damen to let go and to let his partner know that's it not just sex. Laurent, in reverse, shows his want through the instigation and by the time it happens they both know what it means: Laurent never does that and Damen knows it. Laurent knows Damen says what he fucking means.
It's such an intimate sex scene because of that awareness.
In my writing I kind of try to take that and run with it. Damen says what he means and what he wants Laurent to hear, because words of affirmation are important to him personally so he makes sure to share that.
Plus, it’s just sexy, you know? Got to love a man who talks in bed, that sex rough voice when he’s so far gone you know what his saying is just the shit flying through his head?
Hot.
Loved this ask so much. I could literally write a thesis on Damen lmao
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wangxianficfinder · 2 months ago
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Fic Finder
Oct 30th
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1. So I suddenly forgot to bookmark this fic and now I am desperate to find it.
This is how it goes, it was a modern au and wei ying and lan wangji is in an arranged marriage due to the lan elders forcing it because wei ying was baoshan sanren grandson. Lan wangji and wei wuxian co exists with each other without getting in a way of each other, lan wangji first interest or crush is nie huisang but he rejected him because he likes Jiang Cheng and I don't know the rest of it. It was mpreg and wei ying adopted a-yuan. @lanwuxian0725
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2. Hi, I'm desperately trying to find A) a fic where WWX dies and then LWJ plays the guqin until his fingers bleed and brings WWX back to life and Lan Huan is horrified but doesn't interfere and when WWX comes back to life, he asks LWJ to promise not to do that again but LWJ silently doesn't promise. Please do you know what fic this is
B) Also second fic im trying to find: one in which WangXian keep getting remarried to each other as WWX ages and then after he dies he comes back as a ghost and says, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, let's get married again @boneshriker
2A)
FOUND? a song you've never heard by arahir (G, 4k, WangXian, Canon Compliant, Presumed Dead, Angst with a Happy Ending)
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3. Hi I’m looking for a fic were Lan Qiren goes to the Wen indoctrination in lan Zhan place were he ends up fighting the murder turtle with Wen Ruhan they defeat it together. Ruhan also ask Wen Cho how is he so stupid his mother wasn’t . @cfox96
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4. Good Evening! I'm in desperate need of some help finding a particular story. I don't remember a whole lot but: •wei ying & wens make a deal to live in gusu lan land•wei ying must be cleansed & returned to sward path•they almost kill him...which he thought that's what they wanted•they didn't...they didn't "mean" to hurt him even though they where told otherwise.• I believe wangxian is endgame
I hope this is helpful enough, thank you!
-Beth @carey-roza
FOUND! 🧡 decay by antebunny (G, 15k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, the fluffiest ending, Hurt/Comfort)
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5. hii i would like to find a fic and its been driving me crazy! i remember it was like the 'only one bed' trope except it was wwx who kept on trying to make it happen but when they finally got to their accomodations there were two beds and his plans to seduce lwj kept getting foiled. i think at one point he purposefully spilled wine on the bed? @f1sh1ng4gl0ry
FOUND! Wei Ying's Very Good And Not At All Likely To Fail Plan Of Ultimate Seduction by craftyTrickster (luoxiaobai) (M, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Implied Sexual Content)
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6. Hello! Could you all help me find a thread fic? I think wangxian were exes in this one. I think they both have tattoos that are supposed to be for each other. They're on vacation at a resort or something and wwx is by the pool or by the beach and lwj keeps trying to see if he can sneak a look at the tattoo. I think the end has a beach scene where they confess to still liking each other and lwj reveals that he got the tattoo a day after the break up. I can't remember what the reason for the break up was.
FOUND? Twitter fic by anaphoricae
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7. Hey its me again! thanks for the help last time. A) there is a fic that randomly crossed my head where WWX grew up with Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan, maybe after he defected from YunmengJianng or something i am not sure, but he gets similar title as XXC & SL. Thank you very much in advance φ(* ̄0 ̄)
B) Hey! Nice to meet you again, there is a fic i am searching for long time, I remember only one scene i hope it works, there is a change in yunmengjiang and JFM YZY were thrown off from sect leader seat? not quite sure about that, and Lotus Pier was searched thoroughly and they found pheonix type creature that YZY imprisoned in Lotus Pier so that it obeys her and her son. idk for sure what was other content. thanks in advance @vbhardwaj-reads
7A)
FOUND? Frost moon’s sun by RenaFair (T, 116k, WangXian, XXC/SL, Slow Build, Childhood Sweethearts, Angst and Feels, Fluff, Family Feels, Canon Divergence, Mentions of Smut, Attempt at Humor)
7B)
FOUND? Hua Xianle by Tiffany_Guinne (Not rated, 260k, hualian, wangxian, TGCF, canon divergence, not Jiang friendly, madam lan lives, WWX adopted by hualian, WWX with different name, overprotective hualian, hurt WWX, WIP) Canon divergence + TGCF crossover, Hualian raise WWX as their little prince, Not Jiang friendly at all, the phoenix is found tortured at Lotus Pier bc YZY is a massive b*tch in this
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8. Hello dear mods, I am looking for a fic that for what I remember go's like this madam yu find wei ying playing dresses up with Jiang yanli and thinks to punish him with the constriction of the female of the time but he Excelles at it then comes the time to study at cloud recess and he decides to catch him shelf a husband that is a second son that second son is Lan Zhan @androgynousbelievergarden
FOUND! 🔒 Aunt Knows Best by retired (misbehavingvigilante) (M, 10k, WWX & YZY, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Character Study, Crossdressing, Dysfunctional Family, Gender Identity, Fix-It, Sexism, Trans WWX, Good Parent YZY)
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9. Hello! For fic finder please: I am looking for a fic which heavily featured the Xuanwu of Slaughter scene/cave. WWX wasn’t there for the fight, but he did go and help rescue the trapped heirs after. I think WWX might have been a rogue cultivator, and he made a name for himself by helping: he was known as the Savior Of Muxi Cave or something similar. The fic went into graphic/gory detail about how the disciples died in the cave, and there was a sequel about WWX and the survivors going back to the cave to collect the body parts and swords of their fallen clan disciples. @gloriousclotpole
FOUND! Just go forward like you mean it by tawaen (M, 101k, WangXian, WWX & WN &WQ, WWX & JYL, NHS & WWX, Canon Divergence, WWx does not attend the Wen indoctrination, WWX saves Lotus Pier, Inventor WWX, No Golden Core Transfer, Sect Leader JYL, JC Has No Golden Core, Bad Parents JFM & YZY, Not JC Friendly, but he gets a happier ending than canon so don’t look here for bashing)
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10. Hi! First off thank you for all that you do! Can you please help me find a fic? This is a hard ask because I don’t remember a lot of particulars.
One of the main components of this fic focuses on the fact that Wei Wuxian really likes and prefers Lan Wangji. This fic observes how many people compare Lan Wangji to Lan Xichen and find him lacking because Xichen is much more sociable. I think Wei Wuxian even mistakes Xichen for Lan Wangji at some point and then is disappointed when he gets closer and sees Lan Xichen.
I think at least part of it is in Lan Xichen’s pov where he is pleased to see someone so devoted to his brother. I also think this fic mentions how most people consider Lan Xichen the prettier Twin Jade but Wei Wuxian absolutely thinks Lan Wangji is prettier. If I remember correctly this fic was complete when I read it. Thank you for your help! @kjwaikiki
It’s not this one (although it is a good fic). The one I’m talking about took place in Gusu and I think they were still cultivators.
NOT FOUND! The Twin Jade Problem by bonyenne (T, 23k, wangxian, LXC&LWJ, modern, college/university, humor, miscommunication) sounds like the fic where wwx thought that lz and lwj were the "twin jades of lan" and lxc was the older brother but mixes them up completely. I cannot for the life of me remember the fic title, but let me go have a look!
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11. Hello fellow mods!! I don't know if you guys can also help with thread-fics on twitter(X😐) but i will still ask just in case. So it was starting with wei ying and his friends making a bet like "text lan zhan from a fake account to see if he would cheat" and when wy did that lz started to like that person too (bc he was similiar to wy) and felt guilty. I remember him crying and talking with wy, getting really mad and dissapointed when wy says that he was just testing him, that it was just a bet. Them having a break up(?) bc of that and making up. I don't have much hope but i would be really happy if someone could find it, thank you in advance!! @for13years-i-play-inquiry-foryou
FOUND? Twitter fic by cheerywhiskey And the extended version on AO3: hundred and one by cherrywhiskey (T, 20k, WangXian, College/University, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Modern AU, Happy Ending)
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12. Weird ask, but I am hoping for closure to mourn. I see in my bookmarks a fic was deleted. I had written in the notes "rating due to WWX alone time in the tub ;)" I assume that means it was rated Mature and they didn't have sex but WWX was thinking ab it! It was also tagged Wei Ying POV. It it was bookmarked 5/14/2021 so it was published before that. I'm pretty sure it was canon era, tho I couldn't say why.
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13. Hi! I think this is count as a fic. I’ve been searching for the fan story art about wwx de-aged then Lwj took back his husband to Cloud Recessess. I remember LQR thought Wwx and Lwj had a child together (as the de-aged wwx looks like wwx 😂).
I hope you can help me find it. Thank you!
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14. Hello! I’m looking for a 3zun fic that I fear has been deleted. (TW Sexual Assault) It was a gender bent cnc fic where Xichen was dealing with extreme purity culture and asked her girls to just force her, all worked out beforehand, and they pretended to break in and hold her at knifepoint? It was so good and sweet at the end but I can’t for the life of me find it! Thanks in advance!!
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15. Hello! Back in search of another fic. It was canon divergence where Wei Wuxian was a disciple of Baoshan Sanren and he and Lan Wangji were friends due to him traveling before the lectures started in Gusu? I think Wei Wuxian had some sort of run in with Jiang Fengmian or Jiang Cheng in the end, but I can’t remember anything other than that pls help
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16. Im looking for a fic where wei yong and the wen leave the cultivation world and settle somewhere like Thailand and after some years sects are looking for his help @theladylily
FOUND? 💖 Echo, Murmur, Dream, Here by bluerainmist (M, 51k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Universe Alteration, the yiling patriarch survives, Angst with a Happy Ending, Catharsis, Slow Burn, Drama, Getting Together, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Melancholy, Love, Mutual Pining, Reunions, Love Confessions, Eventual Smut, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Switching, Grief/Mourning, fucking while pining, Implied/Referenced Torture, Self-Harm, golden core transfer, Playing fast and loose with worldbuilding, Battle Scenes, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, implied / Referenced suicide attempt, Sect Leader WWX, YLLZ WWX, Yílíng Wèi Sect) Wei Ying & the Wens don't head to Thailand but they travel to the "Undying Lands" and come back to help the cultivation world
FOUND? After All I Drifted Ashore by lingering_song (T, 4k, WangXian, WIP, Canon Divergence - Ambush at Qiongqi Path, Historical, Mutual Pining, Cultivation Sect Politics, JGS Wins, Meeting Again, Wen Remnants Live, The Cultivation World gets exactly what they wanted, But oh nooo they're not having a good time about it :), POV Alternating)
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17. Fic finder: I’m looking for a modern au that had a funny scene where wei ying used a dildo to take a dent out of his car and got caught by lan zhan. I don’t remember anything else about it but that scene
FOUND? Elevator Pitch by relenafanel (M, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, Elevators, meet ugly, Crack, Romantic Comedy, Demisexuality, one-sided banter, Mutual Attraction, inappropriate use of a dildo in a PG way, somewhere in North America probably, Hand Kink)
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18. Hi, i'm looking for a wangxian fic where they get togeter during the war and eventually live together at Cloud recess, and Lan Xichen is like what good friends, and just think they are sworn brothers or somehing and eventually Lan Wangji has to tell him that he and Wei Wuxian are like married.
Please help, i've been looking for days. @herebedragons02
FOUND! happy not knowing by plonk (Not Rated, 16k, WangXian, Canon Era, Canon Divergence, Established Relationship)
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19. hi!! i hope you guys are well!! i don't know exactly how this blog work (i read the pinned but I'm afraid i misunderstood smth 🥹) but i hope i got it right and didn't clown myself 😭😭 sooo I've been searching for a fic for the past two days and i can't find it for some reasons? and i thought you guys may be my heros and help me 😭🙏 if I'm not mistaken i think it was inspired by tangled/rapunzel, wwx was locked in koi tower i believe? and he had long magical hair if I'm not mistaken and he had a crow as a pet, i can't remember exactly how lwj found him but i do remember that lwj took him to an inn afterwards and people gave him weird looks and i think later lwj got injured becs someone tried attacking wwx i think and wwx healed him (?) and they had the journey of going go the village that had a festival (where they light lanterns but i can't for the life of me remember what the author called it 😭) and I'm not sure of this part but either they both ride the boat and have a cute moment or lwj tells wwx to ride it w/o him and he investigates smth in a nearby temple and i think jgy was there 😭? the ending is the part that goes very foggy to me and i genuinely can't remember it's name or the author's name but i believe it was yllz wwx and i think it was rated M? I'm literally blending my brain in the blender but there ain't any more juices coming out I'm gonna tear the walls 😭😭😭 i have a feeling it got taken down or deleted but i don't wanna lose hope :(( thank you in advance and I'm SO sorry for the HUGE rant/explanation forgive me gusy I'm near my breaking point 😭😭😭
FOUND? may have been the rivers start to sing by fruitys but, if so, I believe it's been deleted from AO3.
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20. Hello, I'm looking for a MDZS fix-it/watching the future fic. Lan Sizhui is LW and WWX bio child, Lan Jingyi is JC and LXC Bio child through duel cultivation. Juniors are showing the future. No one believes they are parent child until they pull their parents swords. JC and LXC relationship was kept secret in the future due to the political climate I don't think it was explained. I think Madam Yu and Fengmain was being bashed or bad parents. Please help me! @megdbrew
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