#he was mole hill once

[ligawolfcosplayandarts]

Evening of memory lane (ASOIaF AU)

Good! Mountain/Better!MountainAU featuring my own ASOIaF OCs.

Aerin sat on stool, hunched as she focused on sharpening her sword. The tongue slighty out as she did. 

Grumbly, rock hard voice echoed interrupting almost silence that was filled only with sound of sharpening tool against blade. 

"Aeri... Why you don't ask blacksmith of Clegane's keep to do it for you" eight foot tall man asked. 

Aerin raised her face and gave man scowl. 

"It's my weapon, I was brought up to care of me blade. Norlandian need no servant to tend their blades. I'm part of it, if ye didn't know me that much." She said with her soft, honey like voice. 

Gregor shook his head and chuckled. Even his chuckle shook air a little. His yellowish coloured short , leather pants and rather simple looking leather boots matched his aura. He even developed behavior to still have sword on hip, sheathed and ready for any moment. Aerin lowered her gaze and returned back to sharpening her sword. Afterwards she reached for cloth and bottle, filled with oil for polishing. Gregor walked over and didn't say word, but watched Aerin doing her thing. Sword looked rather very new even though it was very same one he gave to her as berothal gift two years ago when he asked Aerin to be his wife. 

" I see why you don't want anyone else to have hands on it... So I am that special to you then?" Gregor Clegane said with small grin, teasing her as usual. Gregor's grey hooded eyes met Aerin's in reflection of blade as he said it. 

Aerin blushed and smiled saying nothing but focusing on her weapon. Moments later she placed it in sheath, that was on her hip. 

"Ya guessed, ya helped me a lot, ya knew what to do to gain my heart which is mostly cold as ice on top of highest mountains" Aerin said as she looked up to Gregor, who stood behind her with hands on his hips. 

She got off the stool and stretched herself as back rather was stiff from hunching. Before she could say a word, she was swept up in one arm and twirled around. Gregor, who is nearly 400 pounds beast of man , had no issue to pick up Aerin, who was maybe 136 pounds at most, when he wanted. 

"You make me weak... Nobody can move The Mountain... But you ... Nobody can melt The Mountain but you .. my eyes grey like ice, yours crimson like fire .. I had to ask Tyrion, son of Lord Tywin, how to say these words.. I will even ditch my loyalty for Tywin Lannister for you... You are person who I would be here for than him" Gregor's voice rumbled as he was still head over heels for Aerin even when they were married for two years, been in love for four. Aerin was a bit shocked, as she was by Gregor's side for years before they grew close. Gregor always treated Tywin Lannister's orders as duty. However, Gregor has grown softer and closer to Aerin. 

Way before Aerin, her mother Freya , the one who noticed his headaches when he was little. He wishes still Freya would be one stopped him from hurting his brother, all because he failed to remember to take medicine Freya made for him. 

**Memory**

Freya Fyorninn was sharpening sword while boy with dark brown hair and grey eyes was in her lap, close to her as possible. She noticed as boy was squinting and scowling while sometimes he grabbed his head. 

"Wee Clegane, are ye good... I can tell ya hurting... Tell me"

Boy first remained quiet then growled as he grabbed head in his tiny hands. Freya put her sword in sheeth and stood up, rushing to her tower, carrying boy with her. 

"Wee lad,tell me, I have Norlandian healing book .. I can help ya" Freya said as she sat him on table. 

"Head... It hurts ... I sometimes get angry and violent... It hurts bad... Milk of Poppy...it helps me wee bit" boy said as he was shaking. 

Freya raised eyebrow and shook head.

"I will get through book, very fast, I can tend ya" she whispered softly while reaching to her medicine cabinet. 

After some moments she figured what Gregor is going through. 

"Boy, ya sit here, I got all ingredients need. But ya will need take it every few years ..." She said as she started gathering jars with various herbs and some animal parts. 

Her prosthetic metal finger , that was functional as her real ones, swiftly went through writing in book. Old Norlandian language, that can't be read by anyone else that Norlandian people. Moments later she has mixed rather goopy yet liquid substance in grey and greenish colour. 

She grabbed little Gregor's head and tilted it back and poured all down his mouth rather fast. Gregor trusted her and even didn't fight her back, but drank the liquid. She kept boy's head in that position looking at him sadly. Gregor has form of growth inside his head causing him pain and anger, but the medicine makes it shrink. Norlandian healer is rather new around here and was very reluctant to help upon this keep being built. Even Freya, who is the one that runs the keep, has no right to force healer to help people of Westeros. Few moments later she slowly sat Gregor up. Boy trusted Freya enough because he was imprinting on her, despite he has both parents in Clegane's keep. Only thing is that father neglecting him and sometimes being drunk, mother is pregnant and busy. Gregor truly saw mentor in Freya and he learned she used to be war general for years. War general , healer abilities and gentle as mother. 

"I want to stay here for night...please...teach me how to fight ..you were knight right ? I want to be one... " Gregor said as he hugged Freya . 

"If ye want Norlandian way, yer training won't be easy" Freya said 

"Please..." Boy looked up to Freya 

Red haired Norlandian woman sighed and nodded 

"Remember, I have babe to tend to, wee Thorkinn, but ya training will happen then... Ya will need give me promise if ya prove to be strong." Freya said 

***

"Clegane!!!" voice interrupted as Gregor snapped back to reality.

Gregor chuckled and shook his head a bit. "Let's go to bed, my wife. Battles maybe are great, but I want be here, in Clegane's keep with you... Let's retire to bedchambers while we have time for ourselves" Gregor said, voice rumbling yet calming. His grey eyes filled with joy.

"I may be The Mountain...but I was Mole Hill once" He blurted out as memories of Aerin's mother echoed in his head.

"Ya really something , aren't ya... I feel tired too" Aerin cupped Gregor's face and pulled his forehead against hers.

Both retired to bedchambers, now he has Aerin asleep on his chest as he looked in ceiling. 

His thoughts focused on coming back to Fyorninn-Norlandian Keep and tell Freya he married her daughter... Being part of Fyorninn family fully is why he wants to be free from Lord Tywin's orders. He has yet to tell her... Maybe eventually.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Bonus 8: How met your mother (CSSR design by @qourmet!)

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[teencopandthesourwolf]

edited version can be read on ao3 HERE

.

“Need a hand with that?”

Derek didn't drop the tire he was carrying, but it was a close thing. He'd recognise that voice anywhere—would know it in a sea of a thousand others.

He slowly turned on his heel to find its owner sat in Derek's favourite tree.

Stiles.

“You're here,” he breathed, not bothering to hide the mix of shock and relief that coloured his own voice and features.

Stilesʼ lips twitched. “I'm here,” he confirmed, just in case Derek needed to hear it.

“Hey,” Derek said, eloquent as ever.

“Hey yourself,” Stiles grinned back.

Shifting his weight on the tree branch, Stiles then pulled himself up to standing. He wiped his hands on the ass of his jeans before proffering one towards Derek.

“I'm Mieczysław Stilinski. It's really nice to meet you, dude.”

Stilesʼcheeks flushed an overwhelmingly pretty shade of pink, and Derek wanted to eat him.

Reaching out to take the hand in one of his own, the pads of his fingertips brushed the familiar Jack rabbit pulse at Stiles's wrist, for just a second, and it was both a calling card and like a huge sigh of relief.

He turned the name around in his mind.

Mieczysław. Mieczysław Stilinski.

It was unexpected, and very Polish, and Derek sort of adored it.

Looking a little antsy, Stiles said, “It, uh, means 'sword' in Polish. If you go in for that sort of thing.” He blushed some more and then snorted at himself. “But yeah, I know it's kinda... ʼSʼobviously why I go by Stiles—which was my Grandfather's nickname too, by the way.”

Derek's heart swelled in his chest.

This was what they could've had if things had gone differently for them.

He cleared his throat, took a deep intake of woodsmoke-laced air into his lungs, then said, “Broderick Seth Rodman Hale, third son of Talia and Seth Hale of the Hale Pack of Beacon Hills county, North California, and I'm very pleased to meet you're acquaintance. Oh, and do not call me dude, by the way.”

“Broderick? Are you shitting me right now?!” Stiles blurted, trying and failing to not laugh.

Derek rolled his eyes and it felt like breathing. “Seriously? I think you'll find you don't have even half a leg to stand on, Mieczysław.”

“Actually, I have two, Broderick Seth Rodman Hale, and I diligently used the both of them to come out here to Bumfuck nowhere to find you.”

He shot Derek with ridiculous finger guns then blew away imaginary gunpowder smoke, and if it wasn't for the kid's beard it could've easily been thirteen-years ago.

Not a kid anymore.

Stiles looked amazing. A little broader, and a little fuller in the face, and the beard really, really suited him. At once, Derek had the desperate urge to sink his claws into it and paw at the pale skin beneath. He wanted to back Stiles into the bark of the tree and bury his nose in that long, mole-peppered neck he still had dreams about, to breathe in pure unadulterated Stiles.

He swallowed thickly, licking at his dry lips and wishing they were Stilesʼ. Had to force himself to unclench the fist not currently grasping Stiles's hand.

Derek had to try his best to pretend that he wasn't very aware of the fact that they were still very much holding onto each other.

“Broderick means 'brother' in Old Norse, if you go in for that sort of thing,” he offered, borrowing Stiles's banter.

Stiles's smile was easy, albeit tainted with a hint of sadness for that piece of information. He was sort of—looser. More relaxed, and definitely less agitated than he used to be. Though he smelled exactly the same as he always had: Of strong coffee and Bath & Body Oak shower gel and wild cinnamon and lemon sherbet dip, and that particular warm smack of something that Derek had always struggled to place—the very essence of Mieczysław 'Stiles' Stilinski.

The familiar tang zinged over his taste buds like popping candy, and his wolf took up its routinely impatient pacing at his core as if they had seen Stiles only yesterday.

“I'm—uh, I don't—you look good, Stiles. Really good.”

This human was the only creature on planet earth that had Derek Hale fumbling his words.

Stiles was smirking his signature smirk—only there was something new pulling at the curve of that life-ruining mouth of his.

Unerring confidence.

Derek sniffed at the air and licked at his lips again so he could taste that, too.

“You're look pretty fine yourself there, Sourwolf,” Stiles divulged, mirroring Derek again by licking his own lips. He shamelessly looked Derek up and down and said, “Your edges aren't quite so sharp, and you're little softer ʼround the eyes, like maybe you're—I dunno. Something closer to being happy?” His eyes shone like the full moon in the dark when he told Derek, “And, dare I say it, maybe not even all that sour anymore?”

Derek huffed a breath out through his nostrils that was in the proximity of a laugh.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Looks good on you, man. Really good.”

Stiles was borrowing Derek's words, and if he kept saying things like that to Derek while looking at Derek the way that he was, Derek would have to restrain himself from picking the guy up by the scruff of his very nice sweater and kissing the words right out of his mouth.

Then everything sort of stilled, somehow, including the wind, and the birds, and them, as if the whole world had just halted for something incredibly important.

They stood there, just gazing at each other. Like there wasn't anything else they could or would possibly be doing right now.

Ten seconds. Fifteen. Twenty.

It was obvious to even the blades of grass on the ground that they both still felt it.

Slowly, slowly, they caught back up to reality.

Derek took a breath and found his voice again.

“Might've taken a few pointers from a kid I used to know,” he smiled, eyes never leaving Stilesʼ.

Then he thought in for a penny and admitted, “I hoped you'd come looking for me—and I want you to know that I'm really, really glad that you did.”

Stiles squinted at him through the sun's afternoon rays that broke through the Colorado cloud cover like the heavens had suddenly appeared. In that moment, he reminded Derek of the beautiful golden Aztec Sanvitalia shrub that grew down by the little stream behind his cabin. He wondered briefly if that was the missing base note in Stiles's scent, and felt a little insane with it all.

“Well, I knew I'd find you,” Stiles shrugged, “because one: I'm like a dog with a bone, and two: You left a trail of breadcrumbs so fucking vague only a genius like yours truly would be able to follow.”

He then shielded those big brown doe eyes of his from a particularly bright sunbeam with a still-bony hand, and the squinted look on his face was so fond Derek had to sink his canines into his lip to hold in the pitiful whine that threatened to climb up and out of his chest and escape him.

He stepped closer to the tree; closer to the boy who runs with wolves, who was definitely not a boy any longer.

“You make it sound as if we're in some sort of fairytale, Stiles,” Derek said as he attempted to blink Stiles's beauty from his eyes, knowing it would be a fruitless endeavour.

Finally, Stiles reached out to pull Derek down and into his lap, and Derek went like a force of nature.

He dropped the tire this time.

Stiles smelled like love when he said, “Weren't we always, Der?” right into Derek's mouth.

And Derek knew.

As Stiles leaned in and kissed him softly, and he kissed Stiles softly right back, he knew they both understood that although they had to travel far from Beacon Hills to find it, they had both—at long last—made it home.

.

on ao3 HERE if you'd like to leave me a comment <3

i saw the new dob shoot and my brain remembered the hoech one and went ping! this is for @wulfnerd seeing as they came up with the wonderful Broderick as Derek's full first name in the tags of a post of mine who knows how long ago...

unedited, please be forgiving <3

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

imagining a situation where for whatever reason you absolutely need to be sat on the ghoul’s lap (like, due to lack of space/seating or something) and he gets the sick idea to bounce his knee once after you’re sat on him for a bit. y’know, trying to make it seem unintentional/like a muscle jerk or something.

but fully knowing exactly what it may do to you, and wanting to see…he’s beyond thrilled when it immediately elicits an involuntary moan😏

Close Quarters

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

Word Count: 2,429

Warnings: smut (18+), thigh riding, very sweaty fucking around, mild choking, slight dubcon if you squint.

Notes: Anon, you're just like me (I am also embarrassingly into knee and thigh riding)! Thank you for the excellent submission.

Apologies for the delay in getting this out! I'm so relieved to be back at home, finally, as I wasn't able to be as productive when traveling as I'd hoped. Please enjoy.

You were going to tear Cooper a new one the second the two of you got out of here.

It had been his idea, after all, to veer off the road in your latest trek to nose around this place, which hadn't seemed all that interesting to you. Your business partner had been quite unrelenting, as in all things, despite your inability to see anything of immediate value in the area; some hulking old rusty machinery you couldn't identify, train tracks partially buried in the sand. Boxes of blasting supplies, long emptied. It appeared to be an abandoned mining facility upon first glance, but was difficult to tell, as you had barely had a chance to actually look around before things had suddenly gotten crazy.

It was his fault the two of you were stuck here now.

The old man was absolutely insistent that he'd glimpsed a deathclaw (which you'd read had a special propensity towards mines and quarries, and had told him as much just the night before) just over the nearby hill; you hadn't been looking in the proper direction to confirm when he'd grabbed you by the arm and yanked you into this...storage closet? Frankly, you weren't even sure it was large enough to pass as that, more like a coat closet with a single wooden box on the floor. The two of you were crammed as physically close as possible without touching, mostly due to the great efforts you were taking to balance yourself against the wall as carefully as you could. It was incredibly claustrophobic.

It was also unbearably hot, but apparently only for you; as you cast another unamused glance at him, the third in maybe twice as many minutes, you couldn't help but notice how his only annoyance seemed to be boredom. His eyes lazily scanned back and forth between the small holes in the wall like he was watching out for mole rats. You, on the other hand, were convinced you were about five minutes away from sweating yourself to death, your knees aching worse than they did most nights after miles and miles of walking, the pain setting deep into your bones. It was making you squirmy, your thighs and quadriceps flexing and relaxing as you tried your best to hover above your companion's leg, his body crowded so close behind yours. You'd been traveling together for months now, and he was much more comfortable with you than he ever had been, but you still wanted to respect his space...

...a courtesy which he didn't always afford you.

Something about Cooper Howard that you hadn't been anticipating when you started to grow closer was just how much of a filthy tease the man was. Despite his rather rough exterior, the old cowboy could be very charming, a side of him you saw more and more as your travels went on, and, as a result, you'd developed quite the embarrassing little crush on him. An additional heat crept up the nape of your neck as you thought on it, adding to the untenable swelter around you.

Once you'd propositioned him for sex. Once! How were you supposed to know that people on the surface didn't generally approach their casual hook ups that way? He'd laughed until you thought he'd be sick, your face red as a Nuka Cola sign the entire time.

You thought that had been that, and it was all you'd needed to assume that he simply wasn't attracted to you in that way. It stung some, but whatever, life goes on. So you'd soldiered on, trying to keep your head low the next few days to avoid making him uncomfortable, desperate to not lose his companionship due to an awkward misunderstanding, but that's when the teasing began in earnest. He took very apparent glee in crowding you in, getting into your face or into your ear, murmuring in that soft tone that made you crazy and turned your cheeks pink, only to almost immediately pull away, his demeanor as if nothing had even happened.

Whether he did this because there was any real intent behind it or simply because he enjoyed embarrassing you and making you squirm, you hadn't the faintest idea. You chastised him when he did it, but ultimately you couldn't really conceal the way the attention from him still made your heart race and your panties damp. Heck, the way the ferals seemed to be able to pick up on your scent from a mile out, you wouldn't be shocked to learn he could smell when you were aroused. Just another small humiliation to throw on the pile.

The damn space was already small in total dimension, made even worse by the fact that a shelf up top cut off a lot of the total height, forcing Cooper to stoop and bend awkwardly, the desire to stay silent keeping him hunched over you for several minutes before he slowly, slowly slid down onto the box, eventually reclining somewhat, bending his neck to and fro to peek out the various rust spots and bullet holes in the metallic siding. Your Pip-Boy didn't register any nearby movement, but that didn't always inspire confidence in situations like this.

This whole thing was miserable, but being torn limb from limb by a deathclaw would be worse, so you continued your infinite wall-lean, trying hard to remain silent as you wiped the sweat from your brow for the millionth time. Behind you, he seemed to relax a little further, his knee sliding slightly along the inside of your thigh. A shiver broke up your spine.

Eventually, your trembling, aching legs fully gave out, forcing you to allow your full weight to straddle the knee that was poking out from between your knees, pressing down directly at the apex your thighs. You tried your best to rest towards one foot or the other to keep your weight off of his thigh, but his hands quickly found your hips and stilled your movement.

The pressure from sitting this way had already begun to make your slit swell, increasing in sensitivity as the time continued to pass, but it was ignorable. Then, slowly but surely, and to your absolute horror, Cooper's leg began to jiggle, the slight movement rocking you back and forth ever so slightly until your clit began to ache. Now, you'd never seen him fidget before, but you'd also never seen the man have to cram himself into a shoe box, so you gave him some mild benefit of the doubt.

But the jiggling quickly became a problem, the heat between your legs rapidly equaling the heat in the room, leaving you breathing with noticeable volume. You buried your face into your chest as best as you could to try and hide the sound of your labored huffing, but the man behind you was quick to let you know that you were failing.

"Keep it quiet, kid." he chastised you in a hushed voice, but his hands stayed glued to your hips, balancing you right back onto his thigh, shifting your weight right to where you were trying to avoid placing it. You cleared your throat as another wave of heat swam through your gut, your companion continuing to move his leg up and down as the wind and sand hissed against the walls. Increasingly, you were nervous to look at him, afraid he would call you out for deriving some sort of sick pleasure from his innocent movements, accuse you of endangering both of your lives for some fleeting sexual gratification.

However, that moment never came, only more rocking and more huffing. Eventually, you began to slip further down towards his knee, struggling to fully support your weight any longer. His thigh jerked upwards, bouncing you several inches backwards and pressing hard into your swollen bud, drawing out a high pitched yelp that made you sound like a wounded animal. If you didn't know better, you'd have thought you felt him grin against the sweaty back of your neck.

"Hush." he said, tone thinner this time, but his hands began busily working your body as he slid you up and down. Two fingers worked their way into one of your belt loops, pushing and pulling you fully; the other traced teasingly along the damp, exposed skin of your belly at your belt line, and the feeling made you moan in earnest shock.

The leather of his gloves was shockingly soft against your damp skin as he suddenly let it jump up just above your breasts, the heel of his hand brushing at your cleavage as it slipped higher and higher, firmly clasping at your throat. You were still able to breathe, since he wasn't really choking you, but the grip he maintained below your jaw meant that he basically had full control of your body, pulling you back quickly and easily until you were snug against his chest, his cracked lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear.

"If you can't keep that mouth shut, I'll find another use for it." he whispered, continuing to tug at your belt loops and your sanity. Your throbbing pussy clenched around nothing at his dirty talk, so much realer than ever before. You knew now that his teasing came from a genuine place, at least; you could very clearly feel the shape of his hardening cock against your ass.

You were tempted to test his claim, to whine out again fully and see what he would slip into your mouth. But instead you clamped your lips between your teeth so hard that you wondered if the chapped flesh would bleed, finally giving in and letting your hips cant ever so slightly against his leg as he continued to bounce his knee, the motion becoming quite exaggerated as the minutes continued to tick by.

The idea of any looming danger outside was quickly becoming lost among the static, the pretense of accidental squirming rapidly melting away; your brain felt runny, loose, and it was difficult to you to keep a logical train of thought for long, but it did occur to you that the two of you were basically fooling around in a closet. If you'd been coherent at all, you'd have wondered how he would react towards you when this whole awful, delicious thing was over, or even how it would end, but coherence was long lost to you as you barreled towards something amazing.

"Please, I...you have to stop..." you whispered desperately, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you felt the incredibly tense muscles in your abdomen start to flutter. If he didn't know what he'd been doing, he knew now, and his leg didn't stop for a single second, not even a falter in his movements as you began unashamedly moving your hips as far back and forth as you could reach, the firm muscle of him stimulating you so perfectly. A frantic little whimper escaped your lips, which your left hand jumped to cover, your teeth sinking into your palm you danced right up to the edge, your empty cunt gripping feverishly at nothing.

"Coop. Please." you begged, but you were unsure if you were begging him to stop or to let you finish.

He granted you the latter, both hands sliding right back down to your hips, pressing your weight hard down into him as you both worked your body back and forth, once, twice, and a final time as your head fell slack against his shoulder, his lips at the side of your throat as you came completely apart in his lap, limbs twitching, teeth pulling a tear in your dry lower lip as you bit down on it hard to hide your moans. Vaguely, you were aware of the feeling of him rocking his erection against your backside, his breathing almost as heavy as yours.

"Good girl." you swore you heard him mumble, but chalked it up to your overstimulated, spinning brain simply making you hear what you wanted to hear.

For maybe a minute, you allowed yourself the indulgence of resting against him, struggling to slow your heaving breaths. Slowly, you leaned forward once more, curling yourself into a half-ball with your head as far between your knees as you could manage until you no longer felt light headed. At some point, your companion regained his composure, his tone not strained or breathy in the slightest when he spoke to you again.

"Well," he said, suddenly back at his regular volume and causing you to jump slightly, "I think we can get out of here."

You twisted back to look at him, but before you could lock eyes, he was already lifting you by your hips to force you to stand on your shaky legs, pulling himself up to a crouch as he tugged the door open. You flinched, stumbling a bit as you attempted to conceal yourself behind the wall, but you peered back out when he confidently strode out past you, bending and turning at the waist as his spine let out a series of loud cracks and pops. Behind him, you struggled to stand fully upright, attempting to fix the fit of your clothing from where it had been tugged on.

"C'mon, let's go." he called over his shoulder, not turning to look at you fully as he trekked forward towards the hill you'd spent what felt like ages fearing as if it were nothing but another pile of dirt to be crossed.

"Shouldn't we try to go the long way around outta here? What if they're still over there, just not close enough to pick up on?" you called, concerned once more now that the flow of blood had generally returned to your brain. Everywhere around you, you felt imaginary danger, ready for anything to jump out from anywhere, as nothing had actually changed the whole time you'd been hidden away.

That got him to stop and turn to look back at you, an incredibly impish look playing across his face.

"I get the feeling it'll be alright." he winked before resuming his climb up the fairly steep incline, sand rolling down in little rivulets behind his retreating feet.

You lagged behind a bit, watching him go through narrowed eyes. Turning your gaze towards the setting sun, you mused to yourself that soon, the two of you would need to stop for the night. The roads through here were too dangerous to travel at night.

He would have some turnabout coming his way, you knew that for certain. Your days of being teased were about to be done.

[babyangelsky]

BL Boys I Wanted Carnally in 2024 💖✨

Welcome to Babyangelsky's 2024 Wrap Up! To commemorate my second year of watching QL dramas, and my first year of actually talking on my blog, I've compiled a series of lists to celebrate all the QL things I loved this year!

Please feel free to take my categories and make lists of your own and tag me in them if you do!

💜 All the lists can be found here! 💜

Remember this game? I'm bringing it back!

MERRY CHRISTMAS LET'S LOOK AT BEAUTIFUL MEN

♡ Fort Thitipong as Mahasamut (Love Sea)

I wrote a whole post about how badly I wanted to eat this man with a spoon and how stupidly fucking attractive he is because I could not keep it to myself. I WANT TO EAT EVERY LAST BEEFY GOLDEN INCH OF HIM AND THEN I WANNA DO IT AGAIN!

♡ Furuya Robin as Takashi (Love is Better the Second Time Around)

I see Hiro. I understand Hiro. If this man made this face at me, I would also go have a really good shower.

♡ Ngern Anupart as Arthit (Fourever You)

THEY MADE HIM A FOOTBALL PLAYER AND COVERED HIM IN TATTOOS I NEED PART 2 LIKE I NEED AIR *SCREAMS INTO A PILLOW*

♡ Great Sapol as Yoryak (Wandee Goodday)

He's my blog header and blog title for a reason. Putting this beautiful giant ass man in bunny ears and a tail was a gift *specifically* for me. A gift for which I am eternally grateful, bless you thank you P'Golf.

♡ Mark Sorntast as Pie (Battle of the Writers)

I would like to once again thank the cameraman for this very slow pan up Mark's body and I would also like to thank whoever decided that Pie should strip for Ozone because they really blessed us all.

♡ Top Piyawat as Namping/Sian (Every You, Every Me)

I want them both in very different ways which, once again, all the credit in the world to Top both for Looking Like That and for having the skill to portray these two characters so differently.

♡ Pond Ponlawit as Hill (Fourever You)

I don't ever not want Pond carnally when he is on my screen. He was also great and attractive as Third in Century of Love but he didn't get enough screen time and also they didn't show him to us like this:

♡ Joong Archen as Fadel (The Heart Killers)

Style's just like me fr because I would absolutely RUIN my life for this man. I would ruin several lives for this man. I'd beg, borrow, and steal for this man.

♡ Frank Thanatsaran as Atom (The Rebound)

Atom is too sweet and too good and too damn fine not to have gotten his happy ending. I would do so right by him. He'd get a happy ending and then some.

♡ Nagumo Shoma as Arashi (Love in the Air Koi)

No one has ever been more perfectly cast in anything ever than this man. Shoma was made to be the Japanese version of Payu. The daddy dom energy just drips off of him. AND THAT SHOT OF HIS BACK? STILL NOT OVER IT.

♡ Big Thanakorn as God (Monster Next Door)

He's just so unfair. The sweetest, greenest flag of a man ever and built like a goddamn tree it's NOT FAIR!

♡ Lin Chia Yo as Johnathan (See Your Love)

Peace and love to Xin Jia he's just a baby gangster trying his best but I would NEVER let Johnathan leave that bed whether I remembered how we got there or not. NEVER.

♡ Sailub Hemmawich as Oab (This Love Doesn't Have Long Beans)

The long pretty eyelashes and the fuck me eyes and that body I just--ONE CHANCE JUST GIVE ME ONE CHANCE OAB PLEASE

♡ Yin Anan as Jack (Jack & Joker)

HE HAS A NECKLACE OF MOLES AROUND HIS NECK! HE HAS A MOLE JUST BENEATH HIS SHOULDER BLADE! DO YOU GET IT DO YOU UNDERSTAND?

♡ Jaonine Jiraphat as Latte (Knock Knock Boys)

Of course he's on this list. Do you know how many of his gym thirst traps I've posted on this blog since this show aired? I would like to personally and very sincerely thank whoever styled Jaonine in this show.

♡ Max Kornthas as Tai (Two Worlds)

I'd get distracted too if he was looking at me like this while I drew him. Doesn't matter which version of him it was, I would let him do anything to me and if it was the scarface version, I could fix him.

♡ Poom Phuripan as Joe (My Stand-In)

The way I would give Joe anything he wanted just to see that beautiful face smiling up at me. Congrats to Ming for being rich and everything but he could never treat Joe as right as I could. I would babygirlify that man to within an inch of his life just like he deserves.

♡ Honorable Mentions ♡

I am going to break my own rules a little bit because this is my list and I can so I'm going to include:

Kevin Chang as Ever4 (Eternal Butler)

Like I know the show just started and thus doesn't meet my criteria but I can't NOT include our new favorite daddy dom robot butler because...

...reasons. If I do a list like this for next year, best believe he's gonna be on it again.

Nike Nitidon as In (180 Degree Longitude Passes Through Us)

This breaks my rules even more but I watched this show for the first time like a week ago and it immediately landed itself on my list of favorite BLs ever because everything about it is like heroin to me and I NEED this man to be in another BL so desperately like you don't understand giVE HIM BACK TO ME.

[prodbyton]

any sohee thoughts??👅👅

don’t even joke lad. im always having sohee thoughts these days

sohee who gets turned on when ur upset with him so he purposely gets u riled up so you can order him around

sohee who wants your boobs in his mouth at all times (sohee with a mommy kink ;p)

sohee whos not very dominant but he’s the one fucking you, wanting to make you feel good and following your orders

sohee who cums untouched from humping the air to the thought of you touching him, or if you’re talking and your voice turns him on so much poor baby cant help himself

sohee who loves when you leave open mouthed kisses all over his neck and collarbones, when you kiss the moles on his face and all over his body, when you graze your teeth along the shell of his ear or his shoulder

sohee who has a biting kink i will die on this hill, he LOVES biting you and vice versa, he’s so bitable (•ω•)

sohee who loves handjobs, loves when you jerk him off with a wicked smile on your face while you stroke him fast, squeezing his cock until he can’t kiss you back, he’s basically drooling while you make a mess of him. maybe even make him cum all over himself and let him clean up his mess

sohee who has a praise kink, but also loves to be degraded. backhanded praise will be the death of him, that condescending tone makes his face turn red and he’s whimpering at every dirty word that leaves your lips.

sohee who loves eating you out, he’s so sloppy with it and he’s eager to make you cum. he loves making out with your cunt, he’s moaning into you and the way you hold onto his hair just spurs him on

sohee who’s a nasty little perv, jerks off to the panties you wore all day, the fabric rubbing on his cock, he brings it to his face to take in your scent, might even put them in his mouth if he’s feeling really horny that day, always feels ashamed after the post nut clarity hits

sohee who loves dry humping but he always ends up getting too needy and slips your panties to the side and slips his cock in, telling you that its just the tip and he couldn’t help himself :(

sohee who overstimulates himself so he can fuck you over and over, since he always cums too fast but wants you to reach your peak too (will always make you cum more than once)

i turn into a crazy deranged person when it comes to sohee if you couldn’t tell. should i make any of these into full fics 🤫🙈

[strawbrrycuteblog]

heyyy girllll 😚 saurrrr i was wondering….. if u write fluff could you write things enhypen would do when their op is on their period??? idk im on my period right now and i’m really delulu rn 😅

-💋

Aww this is so sweet and I’m abt to start mine so yes!

Heeseung: Heeseung Walked into the apartment holding a bag of sweets, some assorted chocolates and goodies. He stopped in his tracks when he heard some soft sobs coming from the bedroom, knowing it was you he went in there and he saw you curled into a ball, clutching onto your stomach as if you’d die if you let go. He hated your period, one because it cause you so much pain, but two because your mood swings were so sudden. He sat the bag down on his side of the bed table and crawled into the bed, getting under the blanket as he sighed “don’t kill me but they didn’t have any Kit Kats..” hearing this he immediately got an elbow jab to the stomach. You came out from the blanket and looked at your boyfriend who was now clutching his own stomach and you couldn’t help but smile “twinnn”.

Jay: Jay was gone most of the day while you were cramped into a ball in your bed at home, once he got home from practice he walked through the bedroom so he could shower until he saw the small bump in the middle of the bed. He couldn’t help but chuckle and walked over, “hey little mole hill” you quickly sat up when you heard his voice and your puffy red eyes immediately made him coo, he shifted on the bed and pulled you close. “My poor little baby, why aren’t you using the heating pad?” You frowned “we don’t have one anymore” he had forgotten about that, he needed to but a new one but got too busy. “Okay I’m gonna go make you one then..” he kissed your forehead then went to the kitchen before he made some dough and wrapped it up then he warmed it up in the microwave so that you would have some relief. He went back to the room and laid it gently on your lower abdomen “will this last while I shower?” You nodded as you were already drowsy from some medicine you took earlier “I love you..”

Jake: You and Jake were out shopping when you had gotten your period, you were tracking as usual but you weren’t supposed to get it until next week so you were wearing white. You didn’t realize until you felt Jake come up behind you while you were putting some clothes on your hand and he wrapped his flannel around your hips, “I thought you were tracking your cycle baby?” He said quietly as to not embarrass you, and you quickly realized what he meant since you must have leaked without anything and you immediately whined “how bad is it?” He hesitated “I don’t think anyone saw it” as soon as he said that you knew it was bad “okay I had a tampon in my purse I’m gonna go to the bathroom at least..” you sighed “I don’t have anything to change into though” he took the items you had on your hand “ don’t worry about that, just go to the bathroom and I’ll pay for these.” You shook your head “you can’t do that” “I can and I will, and when you’re done changing we can get some more so you’ll feel better when the cramps hit” you pouted and kissed his cheek “thank you baby.”

Sunghoon: you were spending the night at the dorm for a Christmas movie marathon, warm popcorn, hot coco, and cookies were the snacks. Everything was going smooth and good until you got up to use the bathroom, once you were in there sunghoon wanted to turn up the volume so he reached for the remote that was on your side but stopped when he saw the dark red spot on his sheets, and not a small mark either, like a pool of blood. He didn’t feel any disgust or anything but instead he got up and went to the bathroom, knocking on the door he said “hey babe, you good?” You cracked the door open, “no. I started my period..” he nodded and knew you’d need to borrow some pants, “yeah It got on the sheets..” you closed the door and groaned in embarrassment after that “I’m so sorry hoon!” He chuckled “I don’t care I have more sheets, I should have some feminine products in the cabinet there.” Once he heard you searching he went back to his room and grabbed some pajama pants with a pair of boxers. Once he got back he knocked again “I brought a change of clothes, I don’t have any panties so you’re gonna have to use boxers.” You opened the door and took it from his hands, closing the door after. The door opened again after a few minutes and your face had a frown while he just cackled, “it’s not funny!” The clothes did not fit at all, “oh my gosh, did you tie the pants?” You nodded “duh it doesn’t get any tighter than this” you pulled the waistband which was still loose. He shook his head and calmed down from laughing “just wear the boxers it’s fine, nothing I haven’t seen before” your face flushed and you pushed past him “I’m so fed up with you” he rolled his eyes and followed you back to his room where y’all changed the sheets after.

Sunoo: sitting on sunoo’s lap was fairly normal for y’all, especially while doing your skincare, together of course. Sunoo had a face mask on while you had a blackhead nose strip on and a few pimple patches too, you were both in matching pajamas that had lilac stripes on them. “You look so cute like this” he smiled at you as he said that, the urge to bit his cheeks nearly getting the best out of you, “something I wanna squeeze you so hard you pop, but I can’t…cause then you would die” he stared at you for a second before nodding “and were moving on.” You laughed quietly to yourself and heard the oven ding meaning your cookies were done, “oo! I’ll go get those!” You got off his lap excitedly and ran to the kitchen, he went to follow you but his hip hit the side of the vanity making one of your products fall to the floor, being the best boyfriend he is he got up to grab it but once his eyes landed on his pants and he saw blood on his pajamas he yelped. He assumed he was injured or something until you came into the room “are you okay? I heard you scre-“ your eyes widened, knowing you must have started your period, “oh my gosh sunoo, I can get the stain out I’m sorry, I wasn’t supposed to have my period till the end of the month.” He shook his head and smiled at you reassuringly “it’s fine I’ll just change, we have more matching pajamas, and I’m sure you leaked so you have to change too.” Once everything was cleaned up and you had both changed you were cuddled into your bed watching “How the Grinch stole Christmas.”

Jungwon: you and jungwon were at an amusement park when your cramps had started to act up, stuck on a bench while holding your stomach but trying not to be dramatic about it was difficult. Jungwon offered to drive y’all home but you didn’t wanna ruin the day for him too. “Y/n I don’t mind at all, I’d rather take you home where I know you’re comfortable than ride some dumb rollercoaster.” He helped you up and led you to the car “wonie I don’t even feel that ba-“ just then you felt like you were gonna throw up, he noticed immediately and opened the car door, grabbed out a paper bag from where y’all had eaten and handed it to you while you threw up for a minute or two he tried to cover you as much as possible so you wouldn’t be embarrassed. This worried him since you had never thrown up while on your period before, when you were done he grabbed a napkin and wiped your mouth “see? We can get a cup of ice on the way home okay?” You nodded and got into the car, agreeing easily to that idea.

Niki: The only time Niki really had to deal with being around girls that were on their period was with his sisters, so he was sort of prepared whenever you were on yours. He currently was washing the sheets while you kept apologizing for leaking on them “I literally don’t care babe, it’s just cloth” he poked your cheek “besides this way I can get you to make my bed” you glared at him and just stormed off to which he followed you “oh come on I was joking!” You sighed and sat on the couch with a pout “jokes are meant to be funny.” You stated and he rolled his eyes “wanna play Mario kart then?….” After you didn’t answer he sighed “I can’t see if sunoo wants to play so y’all can team up against me?” He saw your lip twitch “is that a smile?” You sighed and smiled “just go get sunoo.”

[give-grian-rights]

Hermitcraft - Basic History of Teams!

Alright. Buckle in.

Only a few days from now, and Hermitcraft 10 will begin! If you're new, I hope this helps!

Hermitcraft has existed for over ELEVEN YEARS now! While very few have been here for every single season, with the exception of our lovely Tumblr Resident, and official Tumblr Sexy Man Joe Hills, and our derp Xisumavoid.

You are under NO obligation to watch every season. There are probably few, if any, active users in this community who have. It's just not possible to watch it all. You don't need to watch the previous seasons to enjoy our community space! While there are a lot of back-references, for MOST people, it doesn't extend to lore and actions any older than season 6.

Most of the Hermits are associated with specific other members, despite ALL OF THEM taking turns collaborating, interacting, and sometimes building whole new dynamics and factions in the process. Some of the team-ups that you'll see referred to in fandom-spaces and the occasional one-off mention from our creators, include:

(Season 5) NHO, New Hermit Order - Docm77, Ethoslab, Bdoubleo100, and VintageBeef. Living in a jungle while having "fights" with others. Attempts to tax those who enter their jungle, had traps around it, and criticized the then-popular AFK Fishing Farms. Bdoubleo100, or Bdubs, especially enjoyed stealing from these. (Season 5-6) Convex, or ConCorp - GoodTimesWithScar and Cubfan135. One group I am the least familiar with unfortunately. They built a brand around the Vexes, with their business having pretty extreme low-morals that includes pollution and war profiteering.

(Season 6) ArciTects - Very close to be naming "BuildStone", it was proposed by and founded by Grian to Mumbo, later giving an invite to Iskall85. The purpose of this alliance was for builders to help redstoners, and redstoner to help builders. It accumulated in the ATTEMPT of founding the "greatest shop in the history of Hermitcraft", Sahara. It was, hilariously, a very large failure. Grian miraculously managed to entirely ruin the system with a single baked potato. No, I don't know how.

(Season 6) G-Team & Team STAR (Superior Tactical Alliance for Retaliation) - The Hermitcraft Civil War, consisted of a long list of minor conflicts in which various members of Hermitcraft blamed other people for pranks they committed, eventually spiraling into the confusion that was The Civil War! G-Team: Grian, TangoTek, Iskall85, Joe Hills, ZombieCleo, StressMonster101, and iJevin. Team STAR: Docm77, WelsKnight, FalseSymmetry, ImpulseSV Xisuma, RenDog

Mumbo Jumbo acted as a mole in Team Star, for the G-Team. He created this commercial for Team STAR. Team STAR made a very iconic diss track, which was soon remixed. It is a...Very iconic piece of Hermitcraft fandom. The result was Joe Hill's Response, in his short video also remixed by the same creator. Albeit missing the additions of the totally real voices of the other G-Team members

(Season 6) Area 77 & The Hippies - (I didn't finish Hippies POV and i didn't watch anything of Doc or Scar's POV of this unfortunately) Area 77 was founded by (unsurprisingly) Docm77, and GoodTimesWithScar, where they were doing experiments and studying abonomalies. SOmehow, this lead into Grian, once again, turning against them and forming The Hippies with the help of Ren, with Impulse soon joining. The conflict primarily consisted of them griefing Area 77 with flowers.

(Season 7) Boomers Demolition - Early game business formed by TangoTek, Bdoubleo100, and ImpulseSV which consistedo f almost exclusively non-duped TnT demolition, and was very fun!!

(Season 7) The Mycellium Resistance/HEP (Hermitcraft Environmental Protection) Hermicraft 7 saw Grian introduce the Hermitcraft Mayoral Election, created with the idea of putting Mumbo in as a puppet-government. If I had a nickel for every time Grian tried to start a puppet government (at this point) I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird it happened twice. Grian and Mumbo lost. In it's place was GoodTimesWIthScar. As Mayor, they had further control over the shopping district. Scar's promise was to replace the shopping district's Mycellium with grass. Despite very happily admitting that grass looked better, Grian, in a moment of nostalgia, decided to replace some Mycellium. Scar proceeded by putting caution tape around the area. This spiraled into The Turf War

Mycellium Resistance: Grian (Mother Spore), ImpulseSV, RenDog, XBCrafted, iJevin, Ethoslab, StressMonster101, Docm77, and Mumbo Jumbo HEP/Mayor Scar: Scar, Bdoubleo100, Keralis, Xisumavoid, TangoTek, Cubfan135, FalseSymmetry, Mumbo Jumbo, who joined due to them having the better vault. Etho had intended on being a double-agent, selling information to Scar. His information, however, was useless on purpose and decided to pledge full loyalty to The Resistance.

(Season 8) Boatem Hole - Grian, Mumbo Jumbo, GoodTimesWithScar, ImpulseSV and PearlescentMoon more or less stumbled and tripped into forming a group after innocently stacking boats and crafting tables and crystals on a pole, dubbed Boatem Poll. They then proceeded to create a hole down to bedrock, and eventually into the void, called the Boatem Hole. It was a large plains biome which was turned into varying mountain terraforming and the like from all of them and was connected in some small ways.

(Season 8) The Big Eyed Crew - Bdoubleo100, Keralis, and TangoTek. Tango did not, in fact, have big eyes and instead wore sunglasses to compensate. They had a town and shopping area and was occasionally dragged into pranks by the Boatem Crew.

(Season 8) Octogon/Goatem - Docm77 and RenDog! Main rivals with Boatem (thus the Goatem - pole of goats) had a mega business, game-breaking creations, and jaw-dropping spidery teal-and-deepslate creations. Weird Science!

(Season 9) Soup Crew - ImpulseSV, PearlescentMoon, GeminiTay. Made the CRAZIEST combo-base where all their different themes blended into a cohesive build

(Season 9) Buttercups - Grian, MumboJumbo, and GoodTimesWithScar. What's up, Buttercup? They formed after an incient where Scar and Grian blew up a massive, complex tunnel bomber in Doc's base. They could not understand how to repair it, and left a few diamond blocks before conflict started. They dragged Mumbo in, and had a robot fight with...

(Season 9) The Perimeter - Docm77 and RenDog. Doc's base, known as The Perimeter, teamed with Ren to attack the Buttercups using walking redstone creations to do a robot fight. Due to an issue with one of the server's plugins, they all re-logged, breaking one of the bots and ending with Buttercup's bot to do more harm to itself than the Perimeter's, but ultimately the destruction did prevent Doc and Ren from getting any further. Ren and Doc then launched flying TnT dupers, which looked like butterflies, towards all of the Buttercups' bases and camp. They stopped them both, with one butterfly destroying The Perimeter's own bot even further.

I am so sure that I'm missing some, but I am losing my mind with all this trying to remember them all!! I hope this could give people an idea of who they might enjoy watching!

[autisticlancemcclain]

“You’re nervous.”

“Hnnngh,” Keith says, knuckles white on the steering wheel. He looks straight ahead, left leg bouncing, hair pulled back into a ponytail but flyaways everywhere. He keeps having to push up his glasses when they slide down his nose, nudged forward by all the tension in his eyebrows. “Being stressed before a stressful situation is not being nervous, Lance, it’s just my brain responding like a brain.”

Lance hides a smile. “You’ve met my family before, baby.”

Keith slows to a stop as they approach their turn, looking at Lance instead of the road for the first time in twenty minutes. His indigo eyes are wide and pleading. Lance is distracted by the tiny mole beside his nose.

“I’ve met your mom,” he says emphatically, breaking eye contact with Lance to crane his head to the left, checking over the hill for any cars. He’s far more careful than he needs to be — there’s never anyone on this road. But Keith is always endlessly careful when he’s driving other people around. “I’ve met your siblings. I’ve met your abuela. I’ve met the twins.”

“Mighty number of people,” Lance agrees. He looks at his boyfriend pointedly. “All of whom love you.”

“Because they love you,” Keith stresses. “You’re, like, their favourite person. You hyped me up so of course they have a nicer view of me. But this is like — your great grandparents and cousins and aunts and uncles and, I dunno, second sister in law five times removed —

“Not how that works,” Lance interjects, amused.

“—and now I gotta impress them all? At once? I still don’t know how I did that with everyone else! I panicked! I forgot all my lines and conversation starters! I just — was awkward, and they were cool with it because your family is cool!”

“Ah, yes, you were yourself and people liked you,” Lance says, nodding sagely. “How bizarre.”

Keith looks at him imploringly. He has a — really cute nose, holy shit. It’s crooked from the three separate times it’s been broken and Lance is kind of obsessed with it. All he can think about is pressing a kiss to the bridge of it and watching how Keith will crinkle it on reflex. He has to fight back a giggle.

“I am going to get eaten,” Keith says miserably. “My luck is going to wear out. I’m gonna say something stupid and offend your third cousin or trip over someone’s toddler and destroy your mother’s flan by crashing into the table and upending hot coffee on an elderly person. Then I’ll get arrested for assault and you’ll have to visit me in prison and my cellmate will make a comment about you or something and I’ll have to kill him and then I’ll get retried and the death sentence, probably, and then Red will bust me out of prison and cause intergalactic meltdowns and —”

Lance can’t hold back anymore. Quick as a dart he reaches out, fisting Keith’s collar, and yanks him over the gearshift, kissing him softly and soundly until Keith sighs, surprise fading into something calmer, relaxed. His hand comes up to cup Lance’s cheek.

“You need a Xanax,” Lance says gently as he pulls away.

Keith huffs, the manic look in his eyes replaced with something much softer. Relieved, even. “Yeah, probably.” He tears his eyes away from Lance, rechecking his turn and finally actually putting on his blinker and moving onto the right road. His free hand reaches over the gearshift and Lance grabs it, tangling their fingers together and resting them in his lap. “I just — I want your family to like me.”

Lance smiles, a wide one that brings a flush to his cheeks and makes him shy, even though he’s not self-conscious; a smile that makes something flutter so intensely in his stomach that it feels so intensely private.

“They’ll like you,” Lance says simply.

Keith exhales. His hand tightens. Lance squeezes back.

The rest of the drive is easy.

———

By the time they make it to Lance’s great-grandmother’s farm, he can tell that some tension has crawled back into Keith’s shoulders. But he’s always been brave, when fighting dictators or meeting parents, and doesn’t hesitate to pull into the gravel driveway and park the car. He squeezes Lance’s hand again before letting go, stepping out of the car and heading to get their stuff.

“Tío! Tío!” scream two voices, and Lance doesn’t even have half a second to brace himself before Nadia is launching herself at his stomach. He manages somehow to spin them both around to offset the momentum, keeping them both upright. Keith is not quite so lucky — Lance hears a slam, a startled oof, and then he sees their bags go flying out of the corner of his eye.

“Jesus Christ,” Keith wheezes, flat on the ground with Sylvio crowded on top of him.

“I got you!” the boy crows, scrambling off Keith’s body in order to adequately dance around in victory. “You went splat!” He whirls around to face Lance, still dancing around. “Tío Lance! Did you see?”

Lance adjusts Nadia on his hip, making no attempt to hide his amusement. “I did. You got him good, buddy.”

Beaming, Sylvio turns back to Keith, who’s finally managed to get enough breath back in his lungs to stand.

“You got me good,” he wheezes in approval.

“Just like you showed me!”

There’s no mistaking the smugness in Sylvio’s voice, the challenge, the I’m-little-you’re-big-and-you’re-a-loser.

Keith recognises the challenge easily, eyes glinting, and before Sylvio can run away Keith scoops him up, tossing him over his shoulder and whirling them around ‘til he’s dizzy.

“Just like I showed you, champ. Think you can get out of this one, though? It’s easy!”

Sylvio shrieks, pounding on Keith’s back with fists weak from laughter. Nadia squirms in Lance’s hold, so Lance sets her down, and in seconds she’s run and attacked Keith’s other side, climbing up his legs to try and free her brother. Keith scoops her up, too, throwing her over his other shoulder as she laughs just as shrilly.

“Clearly neither of you learned very much!” he shouts, grin so wide it practically splits his face. His already precariously dangling glasses slide right off his face but Keith doesn’t even spare them a glance, stepping over them easily and shaking the twins as he goes. “You’re trapped!”

It doesn’t take the bright twins very long to unite forces, attacking Keith with renewed vigour all at once. Lance bends down as they wrestle, scooping up Keith’s glasses and their discarded bags.

“He’s good with them,” Lisa says, sidling up beside him and sliding her hand around his waist. Lance mirrors her, squeezing.

“He thinks they’re hilarious. He loves them to pieces.”

“Believe me, they love him too. I heard about Uncle Keith so much on the drive down that I was tired of him before you two even got here.”

Lance snorts. “Yeah, right, dweeb. No one else here reads Jane Austen. You need your nerd buddy.”

“Indeed,” she says, grinning. She pats him on the hip, pulling away and taking one of the bags slung over his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get your stuff dropped off. Marcela will want to fuss over you, I’m sure. She hasn’t seen you since your last mission.”

Lance looks back at his boyfriend before following her, making sure he doesn’t need Lance’s help. The twins have wrestled him into doing their bidding, it looks like, or more likely he didn’t even put up a fight, and sit on one shoulder each, guiding him around the property with shouts and points and frenzied gesturing. Keith has his hand locked firmly over each set of knees, careful not to let them fall, as he wobbles around to make them gasp and laugh.

Lance smiles. He’s fine.

———

Keith finds him within the hour, Nadia and Sylvio off to play with their cousins.

“You abandoned me,” he pouts, hand wrapped around his elbow.

Lance notices, idly, that he’s slouching again; that his ponytail has been abandoned entirely and his hair curtains his face.

Hm.

“You were busy being a doofus,” Lance teases, brushing his hair out of his face. He nobly resists the urge to quote Regina George. “One of us has to be the mature one. We wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong impression about the saviours of the universe.

“You’re hiding out on a random couch on your phone,” Keith deadpans. He glances down at the screen. “You’re watching a seven year old vine compilation. On mute.”

“Like an adult,” Lance says primly. “Watch with me.”

Keith rolls his eyes fondly, but slides on the couch behind Lance, arms wrapped around his waist and chin hooked over his shoulder. Lance digs in his pockets until he finds Keith’s glasses, twisting around to slide them on his handsome face. His hands linger on Keith’s temples. Keith’s smile is small and crooked and bares the tiniest peek of crooked incisors, and Lance’s heart flutters.

He leans back into Keith’s chest as he plays the video, watching a compilation of dorky videos he’s seen a thousand times. He feels Keith’s grin press into the juncture of his neck as he starts to mumble along. His hand rests just under Lance’s shirt, flat on his stomach. Lance fights the urge to squirm.

You Are In Your Abuela’s House, he reminds himself firmly. Your Ancestors Are Watching You. And Jesus, Probably.

Luckily, someone calls out their names before Lance really needs to find a vat of ice water to dunk himself in.

“Leandro! Keith! Come eat before your hog of a brother takes it all!”

The two of them don’t even need to pause for a moment before throwing themselves off the couch, scrambling towards the kitchen at top speeds because Marco absolutely will eat their portion of the food. Not even because he’s hungry for it, just because he’s a butthead who thinks it’s funny.

“This is your fault,” Keith informs him, careening around a questionably placed side table.

“Nothing is ever my fault ever in the entire universe,” Lance shoots back.

(Is it Lance’s fault? Possibly. But in his defense, the several years he spent as a child waiting for Marco to be distracted before eating his favourite thing on the plate still make him crack up when he thinks about it. Marco just got so mad, every time. Plus his eyes bulge a little when he loses it. How was Lance ever supposed to avoid poking that bear?)

Luckily, they make it in time to wrestle a plate away from Marco’s snickering ass.

“Keith, Lance,” Lance’s mother greets warmly before Lance can crack a plate over his brother’s head. “I’m glad you made it!”

“Mother,” Lance squawks dramatically, hand flying to his chest, “I am the second to be greeted? You’re son? You’re youngest angel? The one who went missing for several years and returned to you, prodigal?”

She reaches over and flicks Lance in the forehead. Keith snorts. Marco cackles.

“Keith called me on the flight home,” she explains, ruthless. “So he is the son, and you are the son-in-law.”

Keith flushes as he always does when Mamá pairs them like that, when they’re both her sons, when she implies what it implies. Lance lets the warmth of that expression soak into his bones, deep in through his back, from every point Keith is touching him.

“I was sleeping off being maimed!” Lance despairs.

It does him no favours. Mamá waves her hands wildly, setting down her own plate in favour of placing her hands over her ears. “Gah! Sh! Do not tell me of these things! I am meant to pretend your job is nothing more than ornamental! Do not ruin that for me!”

“It was the slightest ever maiming,” Lance mutters, sullen.

Keith visibly bites back a retort to that, no doubt out of respect for Mamá.

(Lance knows that Keith would have been the world’s biggest mama’s boy had he grown up with Krolia. He has shared this hypothesis with Shiro, who had laughed so hard upon hearing it that he had sprained a muscle in his neck, and then explained later with a heat pack and a wryly smiling Adam that Keith used to scold Shiro for pushing himself with exact quotes from Shiro’s mother herself.)

“Nobody ever wants to hear my side of the story,” Lance laments.

Keith bends down to kiss him on the cheek.

“That’s because you are a liar,” he says kindly.

Lance catches his chin before he can pull away, kissing him to shut him up.

They head outside to join everyone else, plates stacked high with food and plastic cups balanced precariously with spare fingers. Keith starts to slouch again as they walk out the sliding screen door, but he keeps his hair out of his face, eyes flitting between different people. It helps that hardly anyone spares him half a glance, too used to random new people in such a big family.

“Hey, Patito! Over here!”

Lance whips his head up at the familiar voice, breaking into a wide smile when he sees his sister’s wilding waving hand. Keith, too, seems relieved when he catches sight of Veronica, rushing over almost faster than Lance is.

“Hey, losers,” she greets, flicking water from her cup at them as they sit across from her. “Took you long enough to get here.”

“Lance is a distraction and danger to the road,” Keith says immediately, because he is a snitch. He is also unfortunately very quick and manages to duck away from Lance’s pinch.

Veronica snorts. “Believe me, I know. Every ride back to the Garrison on weekends was a near death experience because he kept smacking me every ten seconds. A menace.”

“You manipulator!” Lance accuses. “I slapped you because you teased me! Constantly!”

Keith and Veronica share sharp, matching grins. Lance takes a nanosecond to ponder what he ever did to deserve the sufferings of their friendship.

“That’s because you’re so goddamn easy to rile up, sweetheart,” Keith says with a wink.

Lance attempts to shove him off his chair. Unfortunately, while he does flail backwards, he manages to stay upright.

“You two were supposed to hate each other,” he mutters into his congrí. “This friendship thing is bullshit.”

Neither believe him for a second.

They’re barely into their meal when the nosiness starts. In fact, Lance is honestly surprised it has lasted this long. Luis probably said something to convince everyone to tone it down, because he is a saint and also Lance’s favourite.

“So,” says his Aunt Vena, “…Keith.”

Keith freezes, cheeks bulging. Lance tries very hard not to laugh at him.

“Hi,” he says, swallowing. He says nothing else and looks agonized about it. His memorized conversation starters have no doubt fled his brain.

“You know, I feel like I already know you,” jokes Aunt Vena, never bothered by awkwardness. Or boundaries. “I only see Leandro a few times a year were the only thing he talked about for ages.”

Lance goes pale. Oh, please God, no. Please let Aunt Vena be suddenly gifted with the ability to read Lance’s mind, or at least notice him waving his hands frantically behind Keith’s head, making cutting motions at his throat.

“Keith this, Keith that. Keith Keith Keith.”

Lance cradles his face in his hands. So much for miracles.

“He did?” Keith asks.

“Stop investigating immediately or you’re sleeping on the floor tonight,” Lance threatens under his breath. Keith’s hand finds it’s way to his thigh and rests there, as if laughing at him.

“Oh, yes,” laughs Aunt Vena. “Every other word was about how you sat in class or walked in the hall or flew your planes. He was always angry about it, but he was quite focused on you. Oh, and your hair.”

Aunt Vena turns away to chatter with someone else like she didn’t just ruin Lance’s life. Lance would hate her if he didn’t find her so goddamn loveable, but he does, so instead he looks up and suffers Keith’s wide, shit-eating grin, and ponders deep in his heart how he will re-humble his boyfriend so they’re back on even ground.

“…You were big on the hair, huh.”

“Shut the fuck up or I’ll chop it off as you sleep.”

———

“Keith.”

“I’m just saying.”

“You dorkbrain.”

“I’m just saying!”

Keith’s hair is in a knot at the crown of his head, glasses pushed all the way to his face. He’s got Lance’s hand in his but he’s not paying attention to him in the slightest — he cycles between leaning back, then forwards, then craning his neck and shifting his eyes. Every few seconds he lets out a muted gasp.

A group of children run yelling in and out of the house, heedless of doors and stairs.

“You are such a mother hen,” Lance says with great amusement.

Keith is too distracted to even roll his eyes. “Some of them are very little,” he says worriedly. “Maybe they should play a game outside. There’s more space.” He looks around at the various adults sitting and chatting, aghast. “Should me maybe get a — pool noodle, or something? Just for the corners. So there are no head injuries. That’s the most common way they happen, you know. Tripping during play.”

Lance hums, leaning into his side. “Reading a lot of parenting books, are you.”

Keith is very deliberately silent. Lance flicks up his gaze to watch his face redden.

“…Akira.”

“It’s Shiro’s!” he says defensively. “It was — he had it on the shelf! I read it when I was younger! It was traumatizing! Do you know how easy it is to fuck up a kid? Very easy, Lance! Their heads are very squishy! They don’t know balance yet! They repeat everything you say!”

“Was this book,” Lance starts, choking back laughter with everything he has, “perhaps about raising toddlers?”

Keith’s jaw snaps shut.

“Children under two? Hm?”

Keith glances away. “It didn’t mention.”

Lance loses his battle, burying his cackling in Keith’s shoulder.

“How was I supposed to know that ‘A Guide To Raising Healthy Children For New Parents’ was about — babies? Shiro was the dumbass who had it!”

Lance laughs harder. “Did he — did he buy it when he —”

Keith puts his head in his hands. “He bought, like, forty books when he first started fostering me, they were all basically the same, he’s such a dumbass —”

“Stop, stop,” Lance begs, grasping his aching stomach. The image of Shiro, twenty years old, panicking after impulsively deciding to apply to foster the delinquent who stole his car, frantically googling advice for new parents only to unknowingly receive information about toddlers is the best mental image he’s had in a while. He’ll have to share with Pidge and the rest of the Holts the second they get home.

“You’re such a butthead,” Keith grumbles, but it’s half-hearted. His attention is still mostly on the way Mateo, Lance’s four year old second cousin, very nearly brains himself on the corner of the brick entryway trying to swerve away from his older sister. Keith’s sharp inhale would have been comical if Lance didn’t feel his own heart drop.

“Okay,” Lance concedes, “maybe it’s time for a new game.” He pats his boyfriend on the knee. “You’re up, champ.”

“Wait, me?” Keith asks, bewildered. “You’re their cousin.”

Lance shrugs. “You’re the worried one. Plus, I want to go get wine drunk with Rachel. Mamá said she just got here. She’s been avoiding my calls all week which means she has Information to share and doesn’t trust herself not to tell me immediately. I have to know what’s up.”

Keith still doesn’t look convinced. “But I’m a stranger to them, basically.”

“So start with Nadia and Sylvio, dummy. Once the rest of the kids see a cool newer and accidentally safer game to play, they’ll join fast. Plus, the stranger aspect is intriguing, probably. You’re like a new toy.”

To solidify his point, Lance calls his niblings over, gesturing to Keith. The twins light up, immediately abandoning whatever they’re doing — trying to shove a sleeping Luis’ finger up his own nose — to sprint over to them.

“Tío Keith has a game for you two,” Lance whispers conspirationally.

The twins burst into howling cheers.

“Game! Game! Game! Game!” they chant, each grabbing one of Keith’s hands and tugging him away.

Keith looks back at him, panicked. Lance blows him a kiss, then turns back into the house to go hunt for his sister.

She finds him first.

“LANCE,” she shouts, whipping around to face him. Lance immediately shifts backwards slightly, knees bent, legs widened, arms held out protectively in front of him. He smirks. She matches it.

She charges.

She aerials into a heel kick, as always, aiming for his skull. Lance back handsprings out of her reach, careful of the various relatives around him, who are well used to their brand of bullshit and don’t even pause their conversations as they lean away.

He comes back up just in time to throw up a block to her fists, aiming a kick to her stomach that she can’t fully dodge. She gets him right back, though, like she always does, aiming a sweeping kick for his ankles that he has to flip on his hands to avoid.

“It’s good to see you, fucker,” she pants, roundhouse kicking the dip of his waist.

“Likewise, asshole,” he grunts, grabbing her ankle and flipping her to the ground. She drags him down with her.

They’re both grinning.

“Tomorrow morning we box for real,” she proposes as they lay there, getting their breath back.

“Deal,” he agrees.

By the time they finally get back on their feet, they’re both parched, and since they also make frequent poor decisions, they head straight for the bad boxed wine. Lance pours them both heaping glasses and Rachel guides them to an open lawn chair, which they both sprawl on, a hundred percent in each other’s space.

“So,” Rachel says, chugging half her glass, “my grades are in. I’m graduating top of my class.”

Lance gasps. “Rachel!”

“And,” she continues, building up suspense with a grin, “I got word back from all my residency applications.”

Lance thinks he might explode. He remembers them when they were little, huddled on the floor of their bedroom at one in the morning, glow sticks guiding their planners, mapping out heir lives together. Where they would go to school, when they would bother with dating, how they would do it all together. Lance, best pilot to come out of the Garrison next to Shirogane. Rachel, the first surgeon to successfully transplant a brain.

“I got in,” she says, beam so wide it forces her eyes shut. “Lance, I got in!”

“Rach!” he screams, eyes blurry from tears and heart full to bursting. “Rach!”

He wraps his arms around her shoulders and squeezes, weeping with joy and elation and buzzing from his head to his toes. This is what Rachel has wanted since she was old enough to talk. This is his sister, his first and best friend, getting everything she has ever wanted, as she has always deserved.

“I’m so fucking proud of you!”

She squeezes him right back, her own tears wetting his t-shirt. Her relief is palpable, and Lance knows it, the indescribable feeling of finally crossing that goddamn mountain, finally getting what you’ve been working for for longer than you can remember.

“Everything is falling into place,” she says softly, pulling back and holding up her cup. Lance laughs and clinks them together.

They settle back into their shared chair, too happy for words, gathering themselves. Lance catches his mother’s eye and returns her soft smile, wine making him warm and happiness making him bright. He feels like he’s swimming in sun-warmed water.

He settles back with a sigh.

Rachel nudges him. “Hey, Loverboy. Look.”

Lance follows her pointing finger. Away from the tables and lawn chairs, in a wide, open space, there’s Keith — surrounded by every single child on the property, ordered in neat rows. Each of them has a hefty stick, held carefully in their hands, watching Keith with great intensity. Keith himself has his bayard out, stretched out in a battle position, back straight and shoulders loose. He has the same bright look on his face that he has during Lion training, or riskier missions. Excitement, steadiness, and a hint of cockiness that has Lance shivering. He demonstrates a move, and with a single minded focus, the children repeat it.

It has always been impossible not to want to be a part of everything Keith does, Lance has found.

“…You kind of scored,” Rachel observes.

Lance’s laughter is breathy, high-pitched. “Believe me, I know.”

There’s a rousing shout from the kids, then a cheer, then Keith shouts, “Ready?” and at their raucous response, chaos breaks out. Sticks are strikes and parried and children throw themselves dramatically on the floor in pantomimed deaths, scrambling to their feet seconds later to get back into the fray. Every few seconds Keith calls out rules and reminders, weaving through the children to point out places for improvement or congratulate someone for doing something right.

“I have never seen them all gathered this long without any crying or fighting,” Rachel says, something like awe in her voice. She pauses. “Well, real fighting.”

Lance smiles, something small and secret and over which he has no control. He catches his boyfriend’s eye and waves, which is returned at twice the enthusiasm.

“Keith’s good with kids,” he says quietly. To himself, he wonders if it’s possible to have a heart so full it bursts.

———

The blankets are scratchy but warm, and Keith smells as he always does, and Lance is half asleep. But the words come leisurely out anyway.

“You awake?“ he whispers, words tucked into the spot above Keith’s heart.

Keith hums. Lance feels the rumble of it in his cheek.

“Barely.”

His eyes are too heavy to keep open, so he lets them slip shut. He breathes deeply the smell of his boyfriend’s body wash, and traces meaningless patterns on his chest with his fingertips, breathing slowly, taking his time. He might fall asleep, but that’s okay. They have time.

“‘M glad you came, today.”

Keith’s breathing is slow and even, just like Lance’s, but he can feel the heavy weight of his gaze, those indigo eyes.

“I go where you go.”

Lance quirks his lips. The blankets rustle softly as Keith slowly slides up his hand, encircling his fingers around Lance’s wrist, palm resting on his forearm. After a minute Lance can feel his heartbeat, at the same time that he hears it, head pressed to Keith’s chest. “You’re good with the kids.”

Keith’s breath stutters. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I like them. And your family.”

“Told you.”

“Yeah, you did.” He’s silent for a minute, palm heavy on Lance’s skin. “I wanna — do this, Lance. Forever.”

Lance turns his head slightly, just enough to press his lips to Keith’s sternum. “I will love you until the end of time.”

He feels Keith’s smile, sweetening the air.

“I love you, too.”

[wroteclassicaly]

18+

There was something about today. Whether it was the traded looks you had exchanged all morning with Steve Harrington, or one of his trademark, side quirked smirks that accompanied his Ray Bans resting on the defined bridge of his perfect nose. Or maybe it was how the soil was damp with a light, faded rain, left over from sunrise, people now flocking outside to get started on mowing their lawns as temperatures brimmed the air with an enriching, yet delicate scent of light florals and winter’s last particles. But then, maybe it was that ice cold Coca Cola with two straws and those double cheeseburgers Steve treated you to on your favorite overlook spot in your neighborhood — quiet, rarely driven on street of middle class homes and your apartment building. He’d laid his coat out for you to sit on, watching cars go by on streets down the small embankment, a simple tree rooted into the hill to give shade, but still enough for you to watch the sun highlight how his biceps flexed beneath his white t-shirt when his arms propped behind his head, ankles crossing over the other, jeans tightening (if that’s even possible) against his toned thighs, his silver chain tucked into his collar, shades still resting comfortably on his eyes.

Your breath had hitched, his beautiful skin already starting to tan. He knew it too, raising, pushing those signature glasses back through vastly overgrown tresses, his nose’s crook finding your cheekbone as he rested. You both inhaled at the same time, Steve smelling of burger grease, sweat, and apple cedarwood, your orbs also privy to observing how his pupils dilated to the sunlight, which gave you the perfect spotlight to the glittering beads of sweat littering the freckles and moles on his jaw. A beautiful amber, layered with the deepest, most intense green you’d ever seen - stare back at you.

~*~

He’d taken you home not long after your lips had met. Your apartment on the same street, one story up and stolen kisses on the stairwell. You immediately went to open your bedroom window and light that candle Steve had purchased for you recently. Spiced Pumpkin Patchouli; rich pumpkin, warm, crisp layers of that patchouli, and touches of cinnamon sugar. The very same one Steve kept in his own place. God were you two pathetic, always smelling like one another or each other’s humble abodes.

No one could tell the difference anymore.

Through thick lashes, his gaze didn’t waver, not even after you offered him a drink and he downed it slowly, your eyes roaming over his throat bobbing with every swallow. It took a few minutes and you were coming apart, scattering to the breeze that flooded your apartment.

“Steve?”

“Hmm?” Though it sounded muffled as he nursed his beer from your holographic wine glass, condensation-soaked fingertips tapping against the crystal, and oh how it looks as if it’s going to shatter in his massive palm, given a stark comparison.

“Don’t look at me that way…”

“Oh? I’m lookin’ at you, honey. What on earth are you gonna do to me now?” He was cocky, that small pudge of his stomach pressed slightly a top his belt buckle, his shirt rucked up.

You had unknowingly gravitated closer towards him, his new curls tickling your forehead, draped through your fingers as they found purchase in his locks, tugging.

“Yeah, s’ what I need. Good girl, honey. You want me, right?”

You’d whimpered into his mouth, practically pleading, eagerly confirming. He’d left his command clear, lips grazing yours as he panted the words across your mouth, “Let’s go to bed, baby.”

~*~

Your clothing came off quickly, rushed to get in the bed beneath your open window, but slow once Steve got you laid down beneath him. Chain tickling your chest, breasts smashed into the tufts of curls scattered to the winds across his sternum. You clung tightly, one hand leveling his backside into pushing him impossibly deeper, the other trading blows between grabbing at his back, his hand, or cradling his face and neck. The fresh Spring air, apple cedarwood, your candle, the coolness of your open window causing goosebumps to erupt over your sex-slick, bare flesh, combined with a panting Steve Harrington and your mattress squeaking as he works to get you both there, it tangles in with Steve as he finds your gaze once more, one tiny pearl of sweat between pinched brows, his focus, tongue licking at the roof of his mouth, his thumb pad caressing your jaw, to giving backhanded knuckle drags across the bone, his tone damp, hooked on rasp with his praises for you, and the way he’s looking at you as if you’re some priceless, explicit art exhibit. And then he’s saying these things;

“You know how wet you are? You know how hard it is to stay inside without slipping out again?”

“Could do this all day until it hurts you to walk.”

“Just let me refer to the list of things I wanna do to you.”

“Tell me it’s alright if I cum. I need you to say I can do it inside of you.”

“The way I always have to feed it to you slowly, so you don’t tap out on me. Fuck.”

“This is home to me, honey.”

~*~

Yeah, that’s probably when. There was definitely something about today.

[jeonscatalyst]

Seems like japan ain't special just for us jkkrs but for jikook as well.

It's interesting how jungkook went to japan in August with enwoo. Was again in Japan for the CK event in October 2023 yet he seemed soo happy to be in japan again cause he was with jimin. The way he said japan was their first trip together so he wanted to come back once again even though he's been to japan two times before that trip 4 months already. Maybe it's the Sapporo which of course they themselves came up with. He was just walking on the streets with jimin yet he can't stop saying how happy he is and loosers were saying that he's exhausted and his leg was hurting this that yet this man was enjoying walking with jm so much he couldn't stop talking about it.

And as we said before they're making memories before going to MS so they can cherish it just like how jk kept saying he'd look back on this trip when they go in MS. Him saying it's snowing nd he'll remember that moment when they go to military and jimin's anti romantic azz striking again with "Well we gonna have to sweep that snow when we go in MS" 😭 why can't he just take the moment whsishsksgdj

Jk: "you gave me butterflies holding onto me like that 😍"

Jm: "Feel as much as you want 🙂"

Jk: "you're Prettier than the clouds jimin 🤩"

Jm: "that's mehh 🙄"

jk: "it's snowing I'll look back to this moment when we serve in military 🥹"

Jm: "Well we'll have to sweep the snow when we serve 😒"

Like boy can you let jk have his moment 😭😂

I don’t think it’s delusional at all to say that Japan is important to Jimin and Jungkook. I mean did you see how much they both spoke about Tokyo after they got back? It’s been over 7 years but they still won’t let it go. You know all the times we talked about Jikook treasuring these moments they spent together traveling while in the military and we were called delusional and some even said we were romanticizing the military but lookie here. Jungkook himself said it!!

We said Jikook probably went back to Japan because it is special to them since it was where they went to on their first ever trip and were called jokers only for Jungkook to confirm it.

We said Japan and GCF is special to us because it seemed really special to Jikook and we were once again called jokers and people said we were making mountains out of mole hills but lookie here! Jungkook and Jimin are just as obsessed as we are.

There is something about Japan’s air that makes Jikook get in their feels because they usually get so clingy during and after the trips. Cue in Jungkook resting his head on Jimin on the train🥹

As for Jimin being an anti romantic lmaoo. I must say he has gotten really demure this past few years because he was the one who used to fluster the hell out of Jungkook and had him panicking for his life but these days Jimin just seems completely different from the “shameless” Jimin we know and love. Jungkook has taken over that title but Jimin isn’t letting him just flirt in peace. You see Jungkook being all in his feels and wanting to say the most romantic things only for Jimin to just shut him down because how could he hear Jungkook being all emotional talking about how he was going to remember that moment when they are enlisted and then goes ahead to fill Jungkook’s head with thoughts of sweeping snow in the military lmaoo. Jimin can be such an anti romantic sometimes but I love him.

Jimin and Jungkook are such an interesting pair.

[ladystoneboobs]

possibly incomplete list of asoiaf characters described as having red or even "ginger" hair (or red-gold as opposed to red-brown or ghiscari red-black), never auburn:

mycah, the butcher's boy*

beric dondarrion (red-gold hair)*

lharys, member of the three stooges men-at-arms (wild rust-colored hair)**

unnamed and unfortunate mother of robert baratheon's doomed youngest child, barra (light red-haired mother of black-haired baby)*

tomard aka "fat tom", stark guardsman (with his ginger whiskers)*

horas "horror" redwyne (orange hair)*

hobber "slobber" redwyne (orange hair)*

unnamed red-haired whore leaning out a window the day of ned's execution (presumably not the same as above since she was joking about the king's death)*

melisandre of asshai (deep burnished copper. red and terrible and red.)*

a man called jaqen h'ghar (red on one side, white on the other)*

pug-nosed dancy from chataya's brothel (described as red-haired by tyrion in acok but honey-blonde in asos, so presumably hair dye must have been involved between those book mentions.)**

addam marbrand (hair the same copper color as his horse's mane)*

"ginger-headed" maester frenken*

unnamed beardless ginger youth among theon's crew at winterfell*

ygritte, a spearwife "kissed-by-fire" (bright red)*

arryk aka "left" or "right", lady olenna's red-mustached guardsman*

erryk aka "left" or "right", lady olenna's other, identical, red-mustached guardsman*

lord paxter redwyne (tufts of orange hair)**

anguy the archer of the bwb*

a red-bearded karstark rapist dead in a crow cage at stoney sept*

tansy, innkeeper of the peach in stoney sept*

meryn trant (rust-red hair)*

"red" ronnet connington

mero, "the titan's bastard", former commander of the second sons (bushy red-gold beard)

a red-headed soldier who came with stannis to the wall

shadrich "the mad mouse" (bristly orange hair)*

lord rykker's red-mustached maester

marwyn belmore, lysa's former guard captain (ginger-headed)*

lord benedar belmore with a beard that was "a ginger-grey horror"*

lord orton merryweather (reddish-orange hair)

"the red oarsman", one of euron greyoy's followers (fiery red hair)

unnamed red-haired sailor arriving at port in braavos*

lord clement piper

and his son lewys "little lew" piper, who served as squire to jaime lannister in the riverlands

unnamed red-haired youth who first escaped northward with varamyr from the battle at the wall

one of illyrio's washerwomen (dull red hair)**

jon connington (once red hair gone to grey, still red at the roots and eyebrows even when the rest was dyed blue. also had a bright red beard as a younger man.)**

rolly "duck" duckfield (a shock of orange hair)**

a young man among the wildling refugees at mole's town whose red hair reminded jon of ygritte*

the "sunset kingdoms" girl raped by tyrion in the brothel where he was captured by jorah**

hagen's daughter, only other woman among asha greyjoy's crew

roggon rustbeard, one of asha's men

mully of the nw (greasy orange hair)*

bloodbeard, commander of the company of the cat (fiery red whiskers)

"ginger" jack, a toungeless sellsword of the windblown sent to dany, face nearly covered by his bristly, orange beard

gerrick kingsblood*

and his son*

and gerrick's daughter #1*

and gerrick's daughter #2*

and gerrick's daughter #3*

ronald storm, son of ronnet connington

one of the 7 "choicest" enslaved girls from the yunkish ship who were sacrificed by victarion (red-gold hair)

an enslaved redhead boy in line for a well, asking tyrion about dany**

nail, apprentice to hammer, the armorer for the second sons**

maester tybald, redhaired maester from the dreadfort serving arnolf karstark

valena toland, heiress to ghost hill (bright red hair)

teora toland, valena's younger sister with the same hair

uther shett, knight arriving for sweetrobin's tourney (ginger-haired and whiskered)*

*characters whose hair is described in the povs of starks (or jon snow) who only use the terms auburn or red-brown for catelyn, robb, sansa etc. and do not compare said characters to said tully-haired relations

**characters whose hair is described by tyrion lannister, who spent significant time with sansa and exclusively referred to her hair as auburn (without anyone else telling him her hair color as catelyn told brienne)

the only asoiaf characters ever described as having auburn hair:

catelyn tully stark

robb stark (red-brown/auburn tully hair "so like" his mother's, with a beard redder than his hair)

sansa stark (auburn hair lighter than her mother's, most reddish glowing in candlelight)

brandon "bran" stark (hair not bright red enough for him to distinguish himself from young benjen at first glance in a weirwood flashback)

rickon stark

brynden "the blackfish" tully (once auburn hair gone to grey)

edmure tully (auburn hair with a fiery beard, likely brighter than his hair like robb's)

lysa tully arryn baelish

known tully descendants never described as having auburn hair

arya stark (darker brown stark-colored hair)

hoster tully (hair and beard gone from brown to brown streaked with grey to white as snow)

robert "sweetrobin" arryn (fine brown hair, thought by sansa to be his best feature)

fun fact: the only other character that i can find to ever even be descibed as having red-brown hair in the main series is rowan, one of the spearwives who accompanied mance on his mission to winterfell. (described by theon, who had psychological reasons not to think of any hair-resemblance to robb and co.)

tl;dr i suppose my point here is that auburn hair in the real world may be a term thrown around wildly as a fancier way of saying red hair, but grrm and his westerosi creations seem to keep to a much more specific (true) definition. not just specific, almost entirely unique to a certain family, a weird mutation passing down their line somewhat inexplicably, like the magic platinum hair of the targaryens. (ned stark's 4 tully-haired kids being sorta like alicent hightower's 4 targ-haired kids where nobody can really explain why it was so dominant.) except it's actually more unique to the tullys than either black hair to the baratheons or silver hair to the targaryens, with the velaryons also having valyrian hair as well as some people in the essosi free cities too. which i guess makes rowan the wildling the equalivent of an unknown dragonseed or a lysene woman who could pass as a targ, and regular brown-haired hoster and sweetrobin the equivalent of regular blonde-haired alysanne and alyssa targaryen. so the next time someone calls the tullys lame or whatever, just remember that in-universe they're actually more special than the dragonriders, at least hairwise.

[ladythornofrivia]

Kingdom of Fire & Blood || (Part Six)

🐉 MASTERLIST 🐉

Next Chapter

summary: modern!reader reborn as lady greenstar. it was no secret as aemond’s admiration grew.

pair: aemond x reader

warnings & disclaimer: smut, violence, p in v sex, sexual content, aemond being arrogant, modern reader doesn’t know how the world of GOT works but is a Aemond stan, praise kink, breeding kink, spitting kink, voice kink, fluff, angst—family drama, oral sex, hate sex, stalking, jealousy, virginity loss, size kink, obsession, reader being sassy and aroused, sweet moments with reader and Aemond. Reader is a huge GOT & HOTD fan. Pro-Green, Reader is a green supporter. Aemond becomes king instead of Aegon. (P.S. Alys who? I only know Aemond x Reader)

a/n: this chapter is ONLY in Aemond’s pov. ooc aemond, but still is a cold-stone, charming prince we all love. Thank you for being patient with me; i took so long to write. I used a reference from Nanami’s line from JJK—he said “Being a child isn’t a sin.” And the trailer of HOTD S2 is 😍😭🔥❤️‍🔥👏

Chapter Six: The Rebirth of Lady Greenstar

~Aemond’s POV~

Aemond couldn’t stop gazing at you in your sleep, no matter how often he saw your chest rise and fall with soften breath drawing past through your lips—sinful lips, droning out soft noises, he recalls the day where he undressed you. Moles engraved on your lower lips and neck, and several others spotted on the collarbone. Some at the back. The shape on your smooth legs sprawled and tucked at turns you rotated whilst in dreamland—he recalled your skin marked in red outline of a dragon on your right thigh, and a green dragon on your whole backside.

Slender arms rested beneath your head despite the ivory pillows are there, all fluffed and cleansed with new ivory sheets, aglow under a yellow sun.

Quenched as he is, Alicent’s word stung; his hands and teeth clenched. “But the truest of your heart—your love must be hidden in secret,” she told him once.

He knew what she meant.

Studying the histories of the Targaryens—of those who had children out of wedlock for an escapism in horrid and loveless marriages assigned from previous kings are often ridiculed and reigned in contempt, in curse—bastards.

He hated bastards. Lucerys and Jacaerys are one—they claimed to be as Velaryons throughout—and on a night of Laena’s passing, Aemond, at the age of three-and-ten claimed Vhagar and lost his eye, that damned good-for-nothing bastard—a Targaryen pretender who was out of Rhaenyra’s womb, bathed and born with brown locks and pug-like nose and sneering features—Velaryons tend to have delicate and soft features, but still manly in their own way like Targaryens do, but not Strong. House Strong are rugged and filthy.

But—

With your case, as a newcomer, as an outsider, he knew you don’t belong in this world, considering how you tried to avert Aemond with diversion. You’re neither a royal nor a bastard. Though punishment can be given to anyone in the royal court or outside the Red Keep. Anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms. Though of course Dorne accepted bastards.

Aemond’s intrusive thoughts overcame. A battle of restrain lashed out, when the prince approached towards the lush your sleeping figure. Your breath steadied at the rise and fall on your hilled breasts; the torn and worn out nightwear severely took a toll on the guards yanking you as if you’re a fragile doll.

If one’s act of taste that considers as a sin, then it’s a sin I shall give.

His head leaned forward, face closing to yours, tip of his tongue tingled as his left hand clasped on your head, the other rested on your waist as his tall body brought down on the bedside atop of your sleeping form. He had memorized, and counted the moles—once, as he lay himself to sleep in his quarters on the night after he first saw you. There’s a theory that moles came from a past lovers planting a kiss on empty spots. Aemond could offer you more. His tongue slithered on the soft line of your neck, and brought back to pucker with balmy smack, leaving a small trace of string silava coated on your now bruised skin.

Squirming underneath him, Aemond satisfied, humming, his right hand snaked on your waist, then fondling your left breast, pinching the taut nipple as he devoured the scent on you as he hungrily kissed your jawline and slope on your neck.

Earning a moan from you, Aemond spurred, his fingertips roamed on your breast and lowered down to your thigh, kneading. Your face—your lips—directly aligned to his, drawing a quiet sigh.

Adrenaline rushed in his veins, his body grew hot, trousers compacted with his engorged cock. He couldn’t get enough of you. The taste of you, your beauty and your fiery heart. He envisioned of what your face would be like, your voice would sound like, if you’re awake during the pleasurable intercourse or under his tantalizing fingers and mouth.

Countless footsteps skittered across the hall nearby. And so, Prince Aemond sat on the chair with his legs crossed and his elbows resting on the armrest behind the wall, spying on the maidservants passing by the opened door without batting an eye, maids chatting as always.

A hushed sigh of relief drew from his lips. By then, he looked at you one last time, spotted a love bite on your neck, before ushering himself out to go at the hall and disappeared with his lips, licking—tasted and lingered upon more ravaging thoughts of you.

~~~

Into a wide-ranged room, roofs decorated like constellations and metal works of the orrery, and the broad balconies garbed in light and ruffled curtains swaying. The council planned to use this room to divert the newcomer and persuade her to join hands and swore oath.

They have hoped that a new change of environment will appease her. Aemond couldn’t blame her; the Council room is filled with discrimination and accusations, despite his interest on becoming a sovereign—unlike Aegon who he rather be a sovereign in between someone’s legs at the brothels upon the Streets of Silk.

Regardless of Alicent’s cautionary, both Green sons lurked and eavesdropped on the members, who are more frantic and belligerent in comparison to previous meeting.

“She’ll be here,” Aegon teased. “Ser Arryk is coming to fetch her. Poor girl lost her way in the Red Keep.”

Aemond folded his hands behind his back, abiding, cold and calculating, and twice as tall, passed from Aegon’s stature.

“How long will she last, I wonder? With all the skills, beauty and remarks she has gotten,” Aegon emphasized on the word “beauty” as sarcasm, “do you think she’ll survive, even after the council? This is no easy task, of course, residing in Red Keep. The Blacks are here again. And Daemon didn’t come here alone.” His head jerked, indicating towards Rhaenyra. “I don’t suppose you’re aware, but the poor girl might risk her life again. Shocking how the Blacks and Greens weren’t showing hostility despite our shared past.”

Aemond watched within the presence of the council—Blacks and Greens united—without bloodshed. A bizarre sight to behold.

The doors creaked, and entering (y/n), following Ser Arryk.

The Blacks and Greens gaze with watchful eyes, tension rose as (y/n) proceeded closer and sat down on a vacant chair nearby the entrance door but struggled; Ser Arryk assisted her and perched down as she thanked him, returning a similar unnerving gaze back, unyielding even when appearing fragile. Her posture eased; she glimpsed at the decorated ceilings and tables with constellations.

It appears she likes it, Aemond thought.

Until her eye landed on Aegon and Aemond himself with her elbows rested on the left armchair, back slouching, eye concentrated intensely.

Aemond’s heart skipped that she faced him, in devoid of sheepish demeanor. And there, she smiled.

“Shall we get started?” Rhaenyra insisted.

(Y/n) couldn’t stop gawking at Aemond and Aegon.

“My lady,” Rhaenyra called out firmly, and (y/n) snapped back to actuality. (Y/n) eyed on everyone, then looked down onto her hands on the armrests.

Silence ensued. Then (y/n) requested to their introduction since they came to know (y/n)’s. All have introduced themselves—Hightowers and Targaryens. When Green brothers are finally introduced, Aemond spotted (y/n)’s lips curled a little; her dimple dented. But overall, she seemed happy throughout the introduction.

“First, we must address regarding to House Blackwood,” Otto drew the scrolled parchment, and distributed to (y/n) through the sentinel. “This letter is sent from a raven at this morrow.”

Sleeking her wavy strands—long curtain bangs back, she read the lines in the parchment. “Is this supposed to be a joke or something?”

“House Blackwood demands for your head, since they accused you of murdering Remon Blackwood,” Otto said. “Anything to have say in your defense?”

Tongue in cheek, (y/n) chortled, aloud for everyone to hear.

“Does killing others amuse you?” Daemon challenged. “Or would you rather a quick execution by a dragon for your childish act?”

“I’m sorry did you say dragons?”

Daemon unanswered her question, but she knew he wasn’t lying.

(Y/n) recollected herself. “It’s three knights that chased me, remember? They killed Ser Remon Blackwood long before they chased me. I used the blade he gave me, not the large swords.”

“There are other reports that the three knights are imposters,” one claimed. “That their faces aren’t quite as recognizable. And their armor and breastplates are entirely soft—a forge through cheap metal. Their blades and blunt and uncared for.”

“Must’ve been the rapers from the North.”

“Ser Criston, what was the weapon she was holding when you first found her in the woods? Was it a sword?”

“A fine blade that belongs to Remon Blackwood,” Criston replied.

(Y/n) sat there and released several guttural coughs, which got their attention.

“Are you alright?” Alicent concerned.

“I’m fine,” (y/n)’s voice croaked. Alicent ordered the servant to fetch the hot tea, to which you drank after being served.

“Has she drank the Milk of the Poppy,” Otto asked the Maester.

“Apparently she hasn’t drank any since this morning; deeply fell asleep.”

Relaxing in the chair, (Y/n) tossed her hair over to the side before she took out two objects again from the pockets on her nightwear and placed it onto her lips, and blew out smoke, but away from their direction.

“What are those objects that you possessed?” Daemon asked.

Crossing her legs, (y/n) blew out another smoke, her eyes glazed darkly, her demeanor changed as if it was an illusion. “This is the cigarette, and this is a lighter.” She demonstrated the items again, but only she’s precisely shown the golden lighter, carved in detailed dragon, and fire lit from the metal.

“Where are you really from?”

(Y/n) clicked the lighter shut. “I already told you last time,” her voice crossed.

“Are you a slave?” Rhaenyra asked.

(Y/n) is taken aback, brows scrunched, bewildered.

“Everyone saw the markings on your body,” Rhaenyra pointed out.

“No, I got these since I was young. Let’s cut to a chase. What do you want?”

The members of the council baffled at your straightforwardness.

“Since we’re here, I don’t intend on wasting anyone’s time,” she resumed, her voice hardened. “What do you want?” Her voice darkened.

“Are you aware to why you’ve been summoned in the council?” Otto questioned.

“Oh please, do enlighten me,” (y/n) said in sarcasm.

“Lady Rhaenyra has planned on you becoming a knight—you both saved the children and experienced in combat during the battle outside the Red Keep.”

(Y/n) laughed again, though not as cruel. In anger, the knight trudged towards her, but she stopped the knight with her left foot stomped on his breastplate, revealing the red dragon tattoo, your hand ran through your luscious hair; Aemond stared for so long that he ignored his surroundings. He found himself yearning to taste you again.

“At ease, good sir,” Alicent ordered. The knight backed off and your leg lifted down, crossing over to the other.

“Why refuse?” Rhaenyra challenged. “Do you wish to be executed from false charges?”

“You misinterpret me, my lady. Do you want to know what happens when you put a woman as part of the Kingsguard? People will riot. No man would accept a lady knight because they don’t want to be ashamed of not holding much power.” With her elbows propped, the upper body slouched, leaning forward, intensely gawking at their familiar mortified faces. “If anything that you should be worry about,” her index finger pointed outside behind (y/n) at the open archway; behind her is the town of King’s Landing, “it’s the people. People hold you on the highest regard; anything you do, they’ll use it against you. You have dragons,” she reasoned, counting on her fingers, “legions of army and holds the utmost reputation—everyone knows your name and your appearances distinguished from others. If laying a single mistake, people will make an excuse to take the opportunity to tarnish—even bring hell to Westeros. If you put two and two together, it’ll be difficult for people to accept as much as I want to help,” (y/n) cautioned.

Unused cigarette wafted in the crisp air—and (y/n) stomped on it with her fingers.

“As a matter of fact, I couldn’t agree more,” Jason Lannister encouraged. “Ladies are not suitable to guard for the ascendance of a potential heir. Women take longer to dress than men, after all they’re made to be dulled for a tedious hobby.”

Aemond disagreed, otherwise.

“Why save them?” Rhaenyra asked.

(Y/n) blinked.

“Being a child isn’t a sin,” (y/n) said, solemn. “They don’t deserve to what they’ve gone through.”

“Never thought you find this miserable,” Daemon said.

“I have soft spot for children and those who are broken.” She darted her eyes to Aemond once more.

Rhaenyra sighed, her hands enveloped, glancing at neutral Daemon next to her, poised. “We shall find an alternate option for you to abide here in King’s Landing—tasking the vital aspects of being part as the Red Keep’s vessel—everyone has their own role to play, knowing their place, and you’re no exception.”

Refusing, (y/n) inclined back into a relaxing position. “Figures,” (y/n) muttered, posture sank into the chair.

“I know it’s difficult to accept, but should you stay, you’ll learn a thing or two of the culture and the history, everyone around you included,” Rhaenyra suggested. “And we shall do the same to yours. Though the customary traditions in Westeros must steady. But it won’t mean you’re limited from freedom at the assets of your personal values and desires and expression.”

“It would be the wisest,” Rhaenyra added. “People won’t know and comprehend this, but us, despite you’ve given simplistic explanation of your vast side of the story.”

You pondered; fingers tucked on her chin.

“They’ll never accept me,” you lectured, locks undulated in steady motion. “No matter how you vouch or reason for me, they won’t adapt; I’m just an outsider—anyone who has a brain knows that outsiders aren’t something to be cordial. It wouldn’t be as upsetting once I get hurt. They won’t understand yours or my intention if I decide to stay here. Or worse.”

“But there’s still a chance for you to prove yourself, allow your presence to be seen and heard,” Alicent coaxed.

Rhaenyra contemplated. “Or perhaps you could join us at Dragonstone,” she proclaimed, rather blithe. “Of course you’re free to choose.”

Aemond disliked the idea of you residing in Dragonstone as much as Alicent, based on displeasure etched onto their delicate and finely features, green as envy—as Hightower’s colored banner that summons war, strong gazes projected towards Rhaenyra like a serpent in the shadows. Alicent needed you for the pursuits of ruling the throne by her heirs, if needed more allies.

Gritting and grinding your teeth, your tongue clicked. “No, I’m not staying in Dragonstone, either. I don’t want to overstay my welcome, consider how I “arrived”.”

Aemond’s breath unwinded. Flush smothered your cheekbones. Stared long enough until Aegon elbowed him in a single tap, as a reminder to stay focused.

“I’m afraid it’s far from possibility, since you came along way from the other vast side of your world. In the meantime, you must reside here in Westeros, in King’s Landing. We may never know your intentions, but it’s best to keep it simple and quick. Do tells us what you want.”

Refusing, your face turned away, sheepish.

“You want gold? Reputation?” Rhaenyra insisted, to which you answered “no”.

“Do you wish to possess a dragon?” she tested. “If it’s a dragon you want, I’m afraid I can’t—”

“First of all, dragons are hard to take care of. Two, I’m not a Targaryen! That’s your thing, not mine. I can’t even take care of my dog. And third, I don’t believe in dragons.”

Everyone baffled at your statement.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened, trying to maintain her composure. “You don’t believe in dragons?”

“Where I come from, they only exist in books, a figment of an imagination in a child’s mind—in tv shows. Or in books like Lord of the Rings.”

Everyone exchanged uncomfortable looks, still befuddled at your straight explanation.

“Then I assume you want the Iron Throne,” Daemon insisted, but the Blacks and Greens shot a piercing glare at him in unison, warning him not to give anymore ideas, but he awaited for (y/n)’s reaction.

You knew what the Iron Throne is, but kept your excitement within with annoyance under disguise. “That chair sounds uncomfortable! I’d rather sit on a cold ground rather than having an iron swords jabbed up and bleeding in my precious ass.”

Aegon snorted, covering his mouth when Otto noticed his grandsons, scowling.

“What can we do to convince you,” Alicent resumed, hands rest on the armchair.

“I don’t think you can help me on this one,” (y/n) said, begging them to let you go.

Rhaenyra maintained her posture. “Then what is it that you truly desire at this moment, Lady (y/n)?”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Never.”

“What about now?”

“I still decline.”

Shaking, deep in pensive notion after hearing their relentless offer disguised as blatant curiosity.

Silence prevailed, at first. Fireplace flickered, soft howls bypassed the constellation room. Everything stood still, as does their anticipation, weighing and resting on their fate of the house.

Rising onto her feet, and she got close and flatly pressed down to a cold stone pillar with her hand. “I want to see the ocean, the sky—the smell of salt and cloudy air. I want to feel the wind as I walk by, or draw and paint surrounded by flowers as I looked out onto the ocean as the ships sails by.”

“A very simple, mundane request,” Daemon commented, folded his arms. “Anyone could percept the instability of waves and ships passing through and the fragrant smell of blooming flowers.”

“Sometimes taking the simplest pleasures in life must cherish with joy and savor with love,” you told him, remaining your eye locked onto the waves, wobbling and crashing. “You’re a dragonlord, Prince Daemon, I think you should be grateful. As for me, I rarely get to see the ocean, because I lived somewhere far where it has no ocean, no flowers—the weather is humid and sometimes shows a little rain. On most days, hot air suffocates you to a point you want to drown in cold water. If having an AC would’ve been nice and pile of ice cream to eat.”

Aemond’s brows furrowed, not knowing what you meant of AC and ice cream.

“There’s a chance people might conclude you’re from Dorne or Yiti. Or perhaps as Ser Criston’s sister.”

Aemond watched you shooting Daemon with a deadpan expression on your dulled hues. Criston, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate Daemon’s unnecessary commentary, but made no urging trifle.

“I’m not, and if I do, you would recognize the Dornish accent at this moment. Clearly you can’t. Sorry to disappoint you, dude,” you replied, nonchalant.

“Dude?” Daemon’s eyes twinkled.

“It’s umm…never mind, I’ll tell you about my world later.”

“Anything else,” Rhaenyra asked, anticipating.

Silence occurred.

“What of other things you acquire to be more convincing,” Alicent chimed in, coaxing, sensing an alarming and animated expression hidden from you.

“Nothing,” you squeaked, though her cheeks flushed says so otherwise.

Aegon snorted as Aemond lifted the corners of his mouth into a piffling smirk—as he found your sudden expression unexpectedly chaste with shyness and charm.

“The matters settled, then,” Rhaenyra got up. “I look forward to see you and more. I expect great and admirable accomplishments from you, Lady (y/n). I think it’s that for now you must stay in the capital. If you do intend to serve the realm, I’ll reward you, anything to your heart’s desire. As long as you make contributions, we’ll make your dream as certain. In the meantime, that is.”

“But I—”

“In the meantime,” Rhaenyra proclaimed.

Your brow quirked, then sighed as the princess wasn’t the type to give in.

(Y/n) ventured in a languid motion near towards the members in the council. In the end, the favor on her side—Rhaenyra and Alicent’s request—might go smoothly if done right. But Aemond’s heart grew heavy at a thought of you leaving King’s Landing, leaving Westeros, feared you might not recall your ventures and people you encountered alongside of the journey—feared your mind and sight of seeing Westeros and its people are nothing but a figment dream.

Alicent pushed herself up from her reclining. “I shall do my part as well. You’ll do great things, I’m certain,” she assured (y/n), enfolded atop (y/n)’s cold hand.

Happiness faded from (y/n)’s lips when a cold end of the blade—Dark Sister—tipped and traced a thin line on her centered neck. Daemon’s violet eyes gleamed at hers; her hands raised an indication of surrender.

Aemond’s eye snapped in fury. The guards Rhaenyra accompanied clutched their blades, viewing like vultures standby.

“I’ll never trust a cunt like you,” Daemon proclaimed. “You may wield a blade, you may save anyone who you wish, but you’ll never be part of the court. The look in your eye—arrogant and maliciously stricken with pretense. Common whores like you—pretending to be humble and virtuous when you really are neither.”

Yet you fuck whores in the Streets of Silk on your pastime, Aemond thought.

Sighing, (y/n) said, “Then kill me. If you really think I’m dangerous to the Red Keep and to the monarchy like Ser Marrow claimed, then end me.” Then she gripped Dark Sister and pointed it at her chest daringly. “Go ahead. I dare you.”

He scoffed, despite Rhaenyra’s attempt on pushing Daemon back.

“Don’t speak to me as if you’re my equal. We are nothing alike.”

“Thank god I don’t have a cock, then,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “I don’t have to worry whether I’m going to get gelded or not.”

Like a child, Aegon stifled his giggling.

“Fucking simpleton,” Daemon hissed, pressured the Dark Sister. “You know nothing of Westeros and its people. Might as well have your tongue remove. What say you, warrior?” he mocked.

“Seven Hells, Daemon, you’ve said enough,” Rhaenyra warned. “(Y/n), i insist that should you cease your quarrel.”

Aemond strode onward, never minding Alicent, who was rushing to his side, begging to not worsen an escalating quarrel. But Aemond paid no mind; his mother’s words drowned and emptied in his fueled rage.

“I saved both lives—a boy and a girl,” (y/n) protested. “I saved two young people who are separately belong from two mothers—who were at their near deaths. I saved you too, by the way. Guess it doesn’t matter, right?”

Daemon tsked. “And that’ll be the last thing you’ll ever save, considering your reputation has been nothing but meddlesome. I’m afraid your reasons on saving your neck has come to expire.”

Aemond trudged in front of (y/n), holding his long dagger and situated his honed silver on Daemon’s neck. He felt her cold hand pressed against his chest and gave a little push, but no to avail; she’s still weak under the Milk of the Poppy.

“Hold down your blade, Uncle,” Aemond warned. “You gave her quite a fright. I thought the deal has been final.”

“I never thought I’d take you as a fool, Aemond—that’s twice you’ve committed a sudden act.” Daemon’s lips curled in disgust. “Being blinded by her, I see.”

“She saved my sister’s life,” Aemond justified. “And I’m eternally grateful.”

Without shifting his eye, he saw you wandered your glance up to him before facing back to Daemon.

Aemond shifted closer, Targaryen against Targaryen.

“Take one more move, and you’ll lose another pair of your eyesight,” Daemon sneered. “What happens then, if I do cut your other eye out? So, shall we test it?”

(Y/n) managed to block herself in between Aemond and Daemon.

“Then I’ll be his other eye,” (y/n) declared, defended, one arm spread, shielding Aemond, the other hand held high against Daemon, bandage slipped from her visage.

All noise ceased.

Aemond’s heart quickened at a roaring declaration in a vibration on your tone—soft yet firm and fiery—like a dragon reborn.

“I’ll be his other eye,” she repeated, shielding Aemond. “Stay back,” she hissed at Aemond, insisting on shoving him back to lessen the tension between two factions. Aemond glimpsed at her shaken hand, yearning to hold her.

Even (y/n) knew a large cost of encountering Targaryens through fate, aside learning the history. Dragons never cower in their palace of red and gold of Red Keep, in a palace of black stoned walls of Dragonstone, their banners—sigils of red or green. Dragons come and reign in a price of fire and blood and fearsome, colossal beasts taming Westeros.

Knowing the consequences of her shared words, who knows what might occur depending on her unfickle judgement.

“You heard the maiden,” Aemond said with a smug on his face. “Release your blade, Uncle,” he commanded.

Grimaced, Daemon drew his sword back in his sheath, parting the gap, and endowed (y/n) and Aemond with imprisoned through his hues. “She’s no maiden. Perhaps I shall call her “Green’s bitch”.”

“I’m no one’s bitch,” you said, nose flaring.

“A bitch would always claim they’re no cunt,” Daemon remarked.

Aemond’s eye narrowed. Little by little, he stood inches near (y/n), like a proud and mighty dragon stood by its owner. Blood shared by dragon and Valyria.

Watching close by, Rhaenyra and Alicent shared knowing glances.

Overhearing the sound behind them, the king produced an agonizing sound of his breath, (y/n)’s able to catch him from falling in brisk reflex.

“Get the maester, quick!” Alicent cried, as you are clinging onto the ailing king, who was moaning and groaning due to his severe ail.

Everyone made haste as Alicent and Rhaenyra assisted (y/n) on putting back Viserys onto his chair.

Adjusting the king’s posture, Alicent dimissed (y/n) by saying, “We shall talk later. I must tend to my husband. You go on ahead.”

And with that, the council adjourned—(y/n) ushered out, giving Aemond one last look with a slight bent on her neck.

With a final word, Aegon said to Aemond, as they trudged back to the halls. “Daemon took great pleasure in stirring commotion, especially a certain lady, who you’re so keen on.”

Aemond hasn’t utter a single word.

“Obviously, he has missed his youth involved with treachery and rebelliousness. I supposed these days have kept peace quite busy despite our father’s poor lapse of judgment.”

Aemond sauntered farther, but Aegon caught on in a same pace.

“I never knew you had it on you, dear brother. But was it really an act of good will for Helaena’s life or was it a pure instinct to an act of affection?”

“It was all for Helaena’s sake,” Aemond said.

Aegon leered. “Is it?”

From there, Aegon fled.

For once, Aegon never said something stupid or drunk.

Aemond stalked his mother on meeting (y/n) in the chambers he trudged in upon darkest shadows, carefully listening in.

Alicent came over, agitated even concealed in unsuccessful, mortified demeanor. “The Council has been reached to a verdict,” Alicent told (y/n), as if it’s a death sentence—probably the men discussed and finalized to an upcoming conclusion.

He watched as (y/n) was plopping onto the bedside, the last cigarette held between finger has thawed into ashes.

“I see,” (y/n) soften tone echoed the room, rippling against his skin.

Alicent touched (y/n)’s upper arm. “I apologize on behalf of the circumstances. I know it can’t be easy,” she said, sincere.

(Y/n)’s eyes twinkled.

“Despite Rhaenyra vouching for you for saving her son, you have declared of being Aemond’s other eye, and thus, your declaration brought an uprising of questions to the Blacks.”

(Y/n) acknowledged.

“A word of advice; should you wish to keep your wits and tongue, play your part, and keep your head down for the Blacks not to detect or test your patience,” Alicent said. “Common folk, even nobles tend to have ill intentions far from a plain gossip. Kingdoms tend to hatch a birth of vipers and stabbers every corner of the castle walls.”

“I’ll do it,” (y/n) said, without looking back at her, picking on her fingertips.

Alicent clasped her hands over (y/n)’s, and heaved. “Rhaenyra and I are in a current matters of discussion regarding of your future duties in King’s Landing. She proposed the idea of you being as the cupbearer while I proposed the idea of you being as Helaena’s handmaiden. Nothing has set in stone. We did so to ensure of your livelihood be at safest, to cease the gossip that has been spread far and wide regarding to your arrival. But first, the king must anoint you at the throne room for a private ceremony—no audience shall be present.”

You stayed silent; your right hand stroke your left wrist; the feeling the absence without your possession.

“Is something the matter?”

(Y/n) shook your head, light-headed.

“In time of fear and change, that is where you must be brave,” Alicent advised, eyes glistened.

Aemond has never heard of Alicent—his mother—spoken ever so motherly to anyone, not even Aegon.

A sudden shift glided in you when you have decided what to do as (y/n)’s role in King’s Landing. “I’ll bend the knee.”

Alicent’s dulled eyes brightened at your answer. “Then I shall inform my husband regarding to your call.” She laid her hand on (y/n)’s shoulder blade.

Once she stood up, (y/n) bid Alicent goodnight.

And Aemond stayed in the dark, and the only words replaying in his mind are the words she declared opposing the Rogue Prince.

I’ll be his other eye.

The way you shielded his body and ordered him to shift back, Aemond knew that no noble woman or commoner in any Houses would defend him and his honor as a Targaryen and Hightower. Or more than his status as a one-eyed prince. As a swordsman, he can hold off his battles, even in close quarters, but something about you, a strong-headed girl, who knew of little consequences, protected him that he find as devilishly unique.

His mind stirred in a matter of battling between whether he want to fight your battles or claim you.

Perhaps both.

Aemond had certainly come to a closure, a predetermined arrangement of taking you, but obstacles must come forth before a dragon claims the maiden as his crown, glory and a hymn that he won’t mind spend the rest of his life hearing.

Upon a daylight hour, the decision came to a close when both Greens and Blacks debated to assigning on (y/n)’s fate for the realm, despite a given answer. In the end, King Viserys has a final say, which both factions surrendered for an hesitant agreement. In the Red Keep, guest of nobles and common folk alike flocked inside to a point where it’s nearly and impossible to fit, all awaiting, all mind shared one reason.

Hours before the occurrence in the throne room, in Aemond’s quarters, two servants awoke him to bathe, and one maid provided him information regarding to (y/n)—the Maester inspected and mended on her wounds once more before withdrawing. Her eye, however, is healed, just as it was yesterday when she ripped the bandage off.

In the throne, there she was, blocked by tall members of the Kingsguard.

He imagined that a maidservant tugged the strings harder for a cinched waist, despite this, (y/n) cooperated without a fight. Knowing resistance will bring disaster. Until a thought of disaster is long gone. From there, the guards veiled for (y/n) to cross passage towards the steps of the Iron Throne, seeing upon a pristined condition—clad to an outfit befitting for a youthful and appeased maiden to soften at the hardened image of a brute fighter. Her straight long (h/c) locks with thick stands braided as headband atop of her head; strands of baby hair left untouched, and soft paint dabbed it on your chapped lips and cheekbones, tainted in reddish shade to liven your surly visage.

King Viserys proclaimed and summoned (y/n); she knelt with a hand over her chest, head inclining down that her long (h/c) locks framed on sides, reciting her vows. King Viserys crowned her with a green brooch with a four-pointed star sigil pinned on her centered chest once she stood.

“As a last hope for a darkened age within House Targaryen, in hopes to reunite both factions,” King Viserys announced, hoarse. “Salvation rests in your hands. I wish you nothing but the very best to soothe the realm with your grace, Lady Greenstar.”

Two factions appalled at his last claim underneath their vacant neutrality in their hues. Spectators gathered and exchanged in gossip, all frantic and perplexed from their King’s announcement.

A girl from a modern century has been remade through rain of fire and light, befall and rose from sky. Arise onto her feet, who peered upon audience, before the eyes of the two factions, who solely darting her eyes to Aemond, as if she wanted him to sense her heart is surged with heaviness, rebirth as Lady Greenstar.

Aemond did—but couldn’t offer the arms of comfort. His fierce and benevolent maiden. But in the eyes of Gods, Westeros won’t lay rest, as he keeps his ardor hidden.

And chaos entered.

Taglist: @galactict3a @daonenonlysandman @toodlesxcuddles @hufflepuff1700 @me753 @fredskum @omgsuperstarg @xcharlottemikaelsonx @paninisstuff @danika1994 @angeljcca @taintedlovesworld @kukulyarva @darylandbethfanforever9 @blackswxnn @namelesslosers @heavenly1927 @snh96 @herathedreamer @g-cf2020 @fandom-maniac-anime @httpsmenace @velunis @aleemendoza2425-blog @tm-starr @kukulyarva @buccini555 @colored-tr-panels @valeskafics

@ aemondswifffeeeyyy - all rights reserved.

[just-a-carrot]

nah bc why does a genzy frog prince AU go so hard. I forgot if you mentioned this ot not but like my mind is RACING bro frog genzou did something for me

Iggy is the prince of a powerful kingdom, known by lands far beyond for it’s grand technological advancements. Iggy is expected to marry between the heirs of two kingdoms: Prince Orlam and Prin Gidget. And while he’s met the two and gets along fine with them (and does admit them to be quite attractive), even going so far as to consider them good friends, he still did not hold the romantic feelings his father and mother wanted him to hold for at least one of them. This very much stressed Iggy out and in turn he locked and holed himself up in his /very lavish bedroom/ to deal with the stress.

Well, one day, Iggy is dragged outside by his father and forced to at least spend some time out in the garden. Having such sickly pale skin is unbecoming of a young prince such as himself, and he has holed himself up for too long. Prince Iggy, humph-ing like he isn’t almost 30 years old, does as he’s told and walks around, but not without occupying himself with one of his kingdom’s handheld wooden games—this one having to slide squares around to complete a puzzle.

Well, Prince Ignatius’ clumsy ass trips over a small rock and drops his game, it tumbling down a hill and into the pond. Iggy shrieks, “No!!!” and bounds after it, despite it already have fallen into the lake by this point. Iggy whines and crumbles to his knees pathetically. He was almost done with that one, too!

Before he can bury himself in his sorrows further like a mole, a small, brown, fat frog jumps onto a lily pad in front of him.

Iggy jumps slightly at the sudden visitor, but is just getting ready to slump back into his sorrows when—

Wait is that frog holding his wooden puzzle game /in it’s mouth?/

How did it even?

The frog can’t be /that strong/, can it? The lily pad too? How is it holding all that weight?

What chemicals did the gardeners put in the water?

Needless to say: Iggy is /dumbfounded/.

The frog only croaks a low, gravelly croak in response.

Iggy blinks. “Oh, um, you found my puzzle. Thank you.” he says very intelligently, he promises you.

(Ignore the fact he’s speaking to a frog).

The frog croaks yet again before jumping back in the water with a splash, the ripples sending the lily pad with Iggy’s puzzle on top gently floating over to him by the riverside.

The rotund little creature hops back out of the water and right in front of Iggy. Looking up at him with round, beady frog eyes. Iggy looks down at him with the same look.

“Wow, you’re one strange little frog, huh?” Iggy comments, cracking a small, awkward smile at the frog’s inherent intelligence.

The frog once again croaks in response, this time choosing to hop up onto Iggy’s puzzle, almost as if wanting to get closer.

“You, uh, really like me, don’t you little…guy?” Iggy asks, unsure on how to address said Little Guy.

The frog continues to stare up at him.

“I guess I should…reward you, shouldn’t I?” Iggy realizes. He means, this apparent Giga Frog did just save a prized possession of his. But what to give it?

Iggy looks around the river, trying to figure out something. Maybe he could…give it some flies? Shit, what else do frogs like?

He wracks his brain. The frog croaks again. This time, Iggy can’t help but smile a little bit. This little guy is starting to grow on him, somehow. It was actually kinda cute, in like a pet sort of way.

Iggy gives a small, experimental, gentle pet of the top of the frog’s head. The round little thing chirps in response, which minorly startles Iggy a bit at the new noise, but he can tell that it seems almost…content? Happy.

To be honest, what a sweet little guy. Without thinking, Iggy presses his lips to the frog’s head, not even considering the amount of diseases he could’ve contracted from that contact alone.

Then, instantly, all at once there’s a powerful burst of smoke and a weight on Iggy’s body. Iggy coughs, eyes squeezing shut as he tries to shoo the smoke away, and when he finally is able to properly breathe again, he looks up.

Above him stands…

The grimiest man he’s ever seen in his life.

His dark hair is curly and touseled, his eyes…vacant? But not empty. His face round, body pudgy, covered in dirt and mud.

Iggy can’t help but blush at the sight above him, despite it all.

He’s…cute.

Then, the man speaks up in a low, gravelly voice, not unlike the frog’s croaks he had heard just minutes beforehand.

“Oh, you have GOTTA be shitting me. They only let me be able to fucking see when I was a /fucking frog?!/“

Iggy had never been more confused in his life. The frog was…actually a blind man this whole time?

What the FUCK was going on?!

(Okay yeah that’s all I got but anyways it ends w/ he and genzou getting married ofc 🦅🦅🦅 bc it’s the frog prince teehee :3 but I decided to get silly with it and throw my hat in the ring for this AU bc I lof it so much teehee)

this was so cute i was forced to draw these

(fr tho this was so adorable i couldn't stop smiling lakdjfas thank you for sharing this sweetness 😭💕)

[detectivestucks2]

Escape with the Cursed King II

Pairing: F!Reader x Sukuna

Summary: After surviving the mission you begin to feel confused about your savior. Questions about why you were saved overwhelm you and you seek out answers but that's not the only time you seek him out.

Warnings: public touching, struggles with being revived from the dead. Mostly fluff.

Word Count: 4.2k

Art Credit: @akirasukuna

Chapter 1 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6 I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 I Chapter 9

Chapter 2

A knock can be heard at your front door and you drag yourself out of the warm comfort of your bed. With hazy eyes you stumble to the door and slide the chain latch open wondering how it relocked itself after last night’s intrusion. You hardly cared in the moment as you were more annoyed at the prospect of who was disturbing your slumber. 

“Rise and Shine Sweetheart!”

“Saturo, it’s a school day. What are you doing here?”

“I could say the same about you.”

“I already hired substitutes for the rest of the week. What excuse do you have?”

“You think I left without arranging substitutes?”

“Considering how many of our classes got canceled cause of your missions…yes.”

“Well maybe I canceled class to come see you. Is that a crime?”

“No but it’s silly to do so. I’m fine.”

“You died.”

“And now I’m alive.”

“But Sukuna-”

“Saved my life.”

“It’s more than that. He overtook Yuji’s body. If Sukuna has plans for you, you’re not safe. Yuji can’t contain him.”

“If he had plans for me, he would’ve let me die but he didn’t. He revived me and mended all my wounds. Whatever Sukuna’s deal is, I no longer think he’s coming to hurt me.”

“Just yesterday you were freaking out about being near him and now after he went on a rampage you’re suddenly okay with his fixation on you?”

“Just yesterday you thought Sukuna was harmless inside of Yuji’s body and now after he saved my life you suddenly think it’s not okay. How is that any different?”

“Cause, you didn’t see or hear what happened after you died.”

“I saw the aftermath.”

“So you can gather how violent it was.”

“I can, but he didn’t harm anyone on the team. Plus it seems he has a need to protect me, not harm me.”

“But what if that need to protect you spreads to more than just curses or life threatening circumstances? What if he views anyone who threatens you or so much as upsets you as a reason to level the entire University?”

“Then I will give Yuji a wide berth so he doesn’t have to witness anything.”

“What if gossip gets back to him? You know how college students are. They make mountains out of mole hills every day.”

“Similar to what you’re doing.”

You know it was snippy, but you were starting to get annoyed with his persistence. You were tired and didn’t ask to have a heated discussion before so much as a cup of coffee. 

“I am not making a mountain out of this. I am being completely reasonable.”

“It sounds like your pride is hurt. You couldn’t save me when Sukuna could.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The next words fall out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. You’re not sure what snapped in you but something just gave.

“It means you’re jealous. Don’t act like you haven’t been flirting with me. I’m not stupid.”

“You are just–” Gojo growls with annoyance. “You’re letting this go to your head.”

“And you’re acting like a jealous boyfriend. Which you’re not.”

“I know I’m not your boyfriend, okay!”

“Then stop acting like it!”

“Fine! You want me to stop caring, then have a good day.”

“Fine!”

Gojo slams down the coffee he brought you and strides out of your apartment with only a few steps of his long legs. Once the door closes you exhale and small purple vapor-like daggers clatter to the floor before disappearing.

You aren’t even sure why you provoked him like that. Are you feeling defensive of Sukuna? The monster just saved your life and killed the Special Grade curse running amuck in the process. He even came over to check on you after the fact. Maybe he isn’t as bad as the legends say. 

The spinning sensation of too many thoughts returned. A feeling you were growing more and more accustomed to over these past 24 hours. 

You wanted to see him. Talk to him. You had to know why. What was he thinking? What about seeing you lifeless brought him strength to overpower Yuji and destroy the Cursed Spirit? Was the warm embrace actually Sukuna hugging you? Holding you as he healed your body? You had to know.

You sit down on your living room couch, sipping the macchiato Gojo provided. You whip out your phone and cashapp him for the drink with a note: ‘Sorry. Thank you for the coffee.’

A short moment later you receive a text from the blue eyed man: ‘I forgive you.’

Once you felt yourself fully awake you get dressed and ready for the day. Without realizing it, you put a little more effort into your appearance than usual, layering on extra mascara and curling your lashes after tying your hair up in a twisted updo, pulling out a few strands to frame your face. 

You left your home in search of Yuji and figured you’d start with his dorm room. You step up to the door and lightly rap on the wood. 

A sleepy Megumi cracks open the door before pulling it all the way open upon seeing your face. 

“Professor, What are you-”

“Is Yuji here?”

“No, he left for the quad.”

“Thanks Megumi”

“Professor, are you sure it’s a good idea to go looking for him?”

“I need answers Megumi. Surely you can understand.”

“I guess, but it seems like it could be dangerous to entertain Sukuna.”

“It may be equally as dangerous to ignore him.”

Megumi shakes his head as if to say ‘your funeral’ before wishing you luck and closing the door.

You turn on your heel and head towards the campus quad. You pass several students, many of whom smile and nod at you. A few even cat-calling you, reminding you of why you don’t normally dress nice. Yuji looks up to see what the commotion is about and upon seeing you he turns away.

“Yuji, wait!”

“Professor no. I shouldn’t”

“Please Yuji, I need answers.”

“It’s not safe. You don’t know the things he thinks.”

“I want to though. Help me understand.”

You can see on Yuji’s face that his is upset. He wants nothing more than for you to heed his warning and run.

“He can’t be trusted. Don’t believe the words he says.”

“Then tell me, what are the things he thinks?”

A rosy tint emerges on the boy’s cheeks and you can tell he is not liking the turn of this conversation one bit. With a deep sigh he gives in.

“He…he thinks you’re beautiful.”

You’re almost floored by this news but after a moment you realize that last night he did call you princess. So you guess it’s not far fetched plus you know you’re cute. You just got whistled at as you walked here.

“Is that a bad thing? It’s not like it’s unheard of for a guy to think I’m pretty.”

“Yeah but, it's not always appropriate. Sometimes it's really…messed up. The things he thinks…about doing…to you.”

You snort with laughter. “So he’s a kinky curse. Got it”

“It’s not funny! It’s twisted.”

“...aaand a little funny.”

“Not if you knew.”

“So what else?”

“He is constantly trying to take over my body to be near you.”

“How come?”

“Probably to sleep with you. Which I’m a student so that’s a hard no.”

Despite your amazement that the mighty Sukuna was infatuated with you, you laugh again. “Last I checked, you don’t save someone’s life just so you can sleep with them. There has to be more. Why me?”

“Yeah, yesterday was…it was scary. I had no control. I felt this fury inside of me that I had never felt before. It was like he wanted to scorch the earth and when he held you in his arms… my arms, it-it was like nothing else mattered. I couldn’t stop him. I tried. I thought he was going to kill us all to save you. Megumi, Kugisaki, Gojo, all the prisoners, the guards, and the curse. It was amazing that any of us survived.”

“Something tells me he wouldn’t do that. Kill everyone I care about.”

“As his vessel, I assure you he would.”

You bite your lip refusing to believe him. You pause for a moment before you finally ask, “Can I talk to him?”

“Willingly let Sukuna have control of my body?”

You hesitate and lower your gaze, realizing how selfish and potentially stupid it was to ask to let the king of curses have free reign of his vessel.

Suddenly a mouth appears on Yuji’s cheek and you hear a voice shout your name.

“Princess! Let me talk to her, you sack of flesh.”

Yuji slaps his hand over the mouth trying to silence it. Only a second later he yelps in pain, “Ow! You bit me!”

“Yeah brat. How dare you try to muzzle me!”

“I’m not letting you out.”

“The lady wishes to talk.”

“And you just incinerated a prison yesterday!”

“So you know I can take over by force!”

Yuji huffs and looks towards the sky as if asking for strength. He closes his eyes and slowly tattoos bleed onto his ivory skin. A deep husky voice greets you as he grabs your hand to kiss the back of it. “Princess.”

“Sukuna.”

“You seem rested.”

“I am, thank you.”

An all too charming smile graces his face and you feel a twinge in your chest. He seems to notice but he doesn’t comment. 

“Sukuna.”

“Your King.”

“Huh?”

“You will address me as your King.”

“I uh-as you wish. My King-”

“Much better.”

“Why did you rescue me?”

“Because there is potential in you.”

Your suddenly more confused. You’re talented, yes, but you thought he saved you cause he liked you. What the heck is he talking about, potential? You do your best to cover your confusion with your next statement.

“There is potential in many.”

“Not like there is in you. Even the discerning eyes of Saturo Gojo have seen it. You are unlike any other sorcerer of your age.”

“Yet one would consider Gojo and Geto to be much stronger.”

“They may be, but you walk amongst them with grace and intelligence beyond your years.” You hold your breath as you feel his fingers lift to trace your face.

“If I was so intelligent then why’d I get myself killed yesterday?”

“Cause that idiot Gojo left you alone with a special grade.”

“I’ve killed special grades by myself, you know. That’s how I received my rank and earned my position.”

The tattooed man chuckles at your defiance.

“No need to be offended. Not all Special Grades are equal. For example, I myself could not be killed by just one sorcerer. Not even the mighty Gojo.”

“You say that like it’s a challenge.”

“Maybe it is.”

“Careful now, that’s one of my best friend’s you’re talking about.”

“He wants to be more than friends. I see how he looks at you.” There is anger in his voice and you realize he is jealous.

“So? You seem to want to be more than friends too.”

“And you? What do you want?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“You want Saturo?”

“No! I don’t want Gojo. He’s my friend.”

“So it’s me that you want.”

“...I…uh.”

Sukuna continues his smug chuckling

“What’s so funny my King?” you say emphasizing the last two words.

“You.”

Your face twists into a look of distaste at being made fun of in such a way which only serves to further humor him as a booming laugh fills the back corner of the quad.

“It’s not funny!”

His laughter echoes louder and you can’t stop yourself from lightly shoving him to get him to stop. His laughter ceases as his arms quickly grab you by your biceps and he squeezes hard enough that a small whimper of discomfort passes your lips.

“Careful doll, just cause I saved you doesn’t mean you can do what you want.”

“Sorry my King.” you say meekly, realizing the mistake you made. You can’t treat this man as if he’s Gojo. He most decidedly is not. He is far from your friend.

He hums happily at your response, pulling you close to his side and wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I think you’re afraid to admit that you want me.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“Cause clearly you want me.”

You scoff and turn away to which his finger hooks your chin and turns your head to face him. You can’t stop the way your breath hitches and becomes shallow as you look into his eyes. 

“Am I wrong?”

Your gaze falls to his lips as he speaks the words. He was not wrong. You wanted him. But that’s crazy. To yearn for a Curse. To feel this need for him. To desire a dangerous being such as him. You are a fool to feel this way. 

“You’re wrong.”

“Don’t lie to me, Princess.”

“I’m not lying.”

He slaps your face and once more your breath hitches as he tugs your jaw closer to his face. 

“I said don’t lie.”

You start to close your legs, trying to provide some form of relief to the sudden need in your core. 

“I-”

“Yes, Princess”

“I can’t”

“You will.”

“But… I shouldn’t”

“Is that going to stop you?”

You feel dizzy from the heat flooding your body. You drop your head to his shoulder, hiding your blush.

“You can’t hide from me Doll.”

You bury your face in his neck in response, eliciting another chuckle from the man.

“I’m not hiding.”

“There we go with the lying again. Do I need to punish you?”

You gasp and lift your head off his shoulder. A mischievous grin spreads between his ears.

“My King, we’re in public.” you whisper as your panicked eyes dart around.

“Yes, and you’re lying to me here in public. I can’t let these onlookers see me let you get away with such behavior. What kind of King do you think I am?”

The tips of your ears grow hot. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you wanted to be punished here in front of your precious students.”

“No my King. I have no desire to lose my job.”

Sukuna’s hot breath fills your ear as he whispers seductively “That’s what your mind is saying but your body is saying something different.”

“Please stop” you quietly plead, feeling hot all over. You rub your legs together and turn away from him.

“Don’t run, Princess.”

Sukuna pulls you back towards him by slipping his hand between your legs and cupping your heat as he slides you back to his side. A heated gasp escapes you and you hide your face by turning your head away. His fingers begin to rub circles around your nub and you plead for him to stop. Your fingers wrap around the edge of the bench and you fall forward from the stimulation.

“Will you promise to stop lyin to me?”

“Yes, my King.”

His speed increases and you feel yourself clench, your back arching.

“Good girl.”

Sukuna withdraws his hand and you catch your breath. A derisive sigh cuts through the air before the pink haired man laments,

“The brat is screaming to come back out.”

You turn to gaze at his face. “Will I see you again.”

A low chuckle comes from his mouth, “Who’s gonna stop me?”

A smile of relief tugs at your lips and you feel stupid for even being excited about seeing this monstrosity but something about him has you wrapped up in his spell and you are happy nonetheless.

“See you soon, my King.”

He simply smiles and traces your cheek with his thumb before the tattoos fade and an apologetic Yuji returns. 

“Professor! I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it Yuji, really.”

He gives you a questioning look and you place your arm on his shoulder to reassure him.

“Thank you Yuji, for letting me get my answers. I deeply appreciate it.”

You get up and walk away feeling satisfied but albeit flustered by your conversation with Sukuna. Yuji sits on the bench behind you confused by what just happened but relieved that you are alright.

Though Gojo is more suspicious than ever, constantly on high alert, worried about Sukuna,  Yuji starts to be a little more at ease around you. He no longer avoided you like you had the bubonic plague but he did look more exasperated than ever.

“Yuji, are you okay?”

“Yeah Professor, I’m good.”

“You look a little tired”

“It’s nothing. He’s just been more demanding than usual.”

You giggle with a small blush, “Sorry about that.”

“It’s not your fault.” You catch him on the cusp of rolling his eyes when he makes up an excuse to shuffle off to class. 

You’re left feeling a bit victorious with a twinge of guilt. You love knowing the effect you have on one of the most powerful beings to ever exist but feel bad that poor Yuji is caught in the middle.

You still love going to your weekly coffee date with Gojo but they’re different than they were before. He used to be more light hearted and while he still carries himself with child-like wonder, it is tainted with an undertone of worry and stress. He is extremely concerned about Sukuna’s interest in you and he did not like that you were taking the situation so lightly. He especially didn’t like that you seemed to enjoy it. 

How could you be so naive to let your guard down around a special grade that can level an entire city with a snap of his finger? It was unlike you to be so wreckless.

“How are your classes?”

“They’re going well. I’ve got a couple first years who think they’re hot stuff but it’s nothing a nice Grade 1 curse can’t fix.”

“That wouldn’t have ever worked on me.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah” he says with a stretch, “I was just that awesome. No one will take me on.”

“Really…I’ve heard differently.”

“You have?!”

“Mhm” you nod

“Liar.”

“A certain name comes to mind…a Toji I think.”

Gojo’s face drops and he looks to his lower right. “Megumi’s dad.”

You spit out your coffee in surprise. “THAT’S Megumi’s dad?!?!”

“Indeed. He told me about his son as he bled to death from the hole I carved into his chest.”

You’re stunned into silence. 

“He was a powerful man. Quick and invisible. I almost lost my life”

His eyes pan back up to meet yours.

“But, I’m here and he’s not, so it all worked out good.”

The quick shift in his attitude back to his usual chipper self almost gave you whiplash. You blink a couple times to mentally catch up.

“Is that when you took Megumi in?”

“I sought him out after that. He didn’t want to come with me but I stopped by plenty. Kinda like a fun uncle.”

“Well isn’t that sweet of you.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah”

A flash of a smug grin runs across his face and his usual spirited demeanor returns.

“Thanks Sunshine, but it was the least I could do. It’s not like it’s a big deal.”

“Says you.” This leaves Gojo blushing and you start to realize that Sukuna was right, maybe there is more here than friendship but that’s not what you wanted. He was your professor and now your colleague. He has become your best friend. You don’t want to ruin that with a silly date that you’re not even sure you’d enjoy. 

You paint a pleasant smile on your face as you take another sip of your latte and redirect the conversation back to your classes while your mind continues to wander in the background about what Sukuna might think of your weekly coffee trips. 

Asleep in your bed you dream of a warm embrace, a strong hand tracing your forehead and cupping your cheek. The feeling of a certain cursed being reviving you from the dead. You were dead…actually dead… You wake up with a start at the memory. 

Heart pounding with an empty feeling filling your chest and gut, you look around the empty room deciding what to do. Your fingers sink between the fabric of your blanket as you pull it up to your chin, tucking your knees to your chest. You feel alone and out of place all the sudden.

I shouldn’t be here. I should be dead.

It was a dark feeling that you couldn’t shake. As if by existing you have altered the timeline and the future is uncertain. 

“Sukuna really likes to play god, doesn’t he…” You mutter sarcastically into the darkness

As you think of the inked man you can’t help the flutter in your stomach. You start to remember his smirk and the way he touched you. How he likes to take charge and how dainty you feel by his side. The flutter turns into a twist as you realize your need for him is increasing and you can’t believe what you’re thinking of doing. 

You slide your covers off and reach in your nightstand to pull out a pair of fluffy socks. You slip them on and your toes touch the floor. You grab your robe off the hook on the back of your door as you swiftly walk towards your apartment entrance.

Opening the front door, you step into the hallway of the dorm, tiptoeing to the floor where the second years stay and glide down the corridor towards Yuji’s dorm room. 

This is wrong. This is wrong. I’m really doing this but it’s wrong.

You can’t stop the internal dialogue full of panic in the back of your head but you also couldn’t stop yourself from seeking him out. You get to Yuji’s room and unlock the door with your masterkey. 

The lights are off and complete darkness blankets the room. You’re relieved to hear light snoring from the second year so you feel confident to whisper into the room, “Sukuna…Sukuna, you there?”

You squeeze your eyes shut at how ridiculous this entire course of actions is. You’re insane, legitimately insane. You are trying to summon a dangerous special grade who may even kill you for demanding anything of him, including asking for his presence. Furthermore you broke into a student’s dorm room which is completely inappropriate, and what if Yuji wakes up and not Sukuna? How would you explain yourself? What if he gets uncomfortable and reports you?

Just as you decide this is a bad idea and you turn to leave, you hear the deep commanding voice of a king respond. 

“Ah, she seeks me out again.”

You stand up straight and turn around, bumping into Sukuna as he approaches you. 

“My King…”

You feel his hands reach for your arms and slide up your shoulders and neck, before cupping your cheek in the most endearing touch you’ve ever felt in your life. You exhale and relax completely as you stand before the cursed being. 

“Is everything okay, Doll?”

“I was feeling…out of place. Like I no longer belong cause I was supposed to die.”

“So precious. You were meant to live, Princess. If you were meant to die, you would’ve stayed dead. Come sweet girl.”

You lean your head into his hand, letting its weight rest in his palm before he steers you towards the bed and has you lie down before he gets in next to you. You can’t believe how he’s holding you. The terror of generations, pulling you into his chest, laying next to you and allowing you to sleep in his arms. 

“Sukuna?”

“Yes my Princess?”

“Have you cuddled before?”

“A long time ago.”

“Did you like it?”

“Not enough to do it with anyone else.”

“And now?”

“Shh, relax Princess.” His voice was comforting but you didn’t understand.

“Why me?”

“You know why.”

“My potential?”

“Yes.” he says with a soft pet of your hair, lulling you into a stupor, no longer worried about how walking among the living is impacting the events of the universe. The insanity of the idea that you were sharing a bed with the mighty Sukuna completely wanes as sleep tugs at your lids. All you are left with is the blissful feeling of strong arms coveting you in their clutches. A feeling that pulls you into the swirling vortex of blissful sleep.

The next morning you once more wake with a start, terrified that you fell asleep in a student’s dorm bed, cuddling with them while they were unconscious. You would absolutely lose your job if Yuji woke up before you. But as your body sits up, the sunlight streaming in from the window next to your bed serves as a reminder that somehow you are in fact between your own sheets. At some point Sukuna must have carried you back to your own home. It surprised you that he would be so considerate but you were starting to learn that when Sukuna cares for someone, he will treat them well. 

You hug your knees to your chest and rest your chin on top of them as you gaze out your window at the squirrel running up the tree and bounding along its branches. You must be going mad. Why else would sleeping in Sukuna’s arms bring you so much comfort? You were diagnosably insane. There was no other explanation. You went from fearing this man above all else to seeking him out when you needed comfort. 

…this is not gonna end well. I just know it

Chapter 1 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6 I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 I Chapter 9

[chelsieb]

Being a fan of Good Omens has led to me finding a new poet to get tingly and happy/sad over. Hi, Tom Hirons 💛

.......

Sometimes a Wild God

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine.

When the wild god arrives at the door,

You will probably fear him.

He reminds you of something dark

That you might have dreamt,

Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.

He will not ring the doorbell;

Instead he scrapes with his fingers

Leaving blood on the paintwork,

Though primroses grow

In circles round his feet.

You do not want to let him in.

You are very busy.

It is late, or early, and besides…

You cannot look at him straight

Because he makes you want to cry.

Your dog barks;

The wild god smiles.

He holds out his hand and

The dog licks his wounds,

Then leads him inside.

The wild god stands in your kitchen.

Ivy is taking over your sideboard;

Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades

And wrens have begun to sing

An old song in the mouth of your kettle.

‘I haven’t much,’ you say

And give him the worst of your food.

He sits at the table, bleeding.

He coughs up foxes.

There are otters in his eyes.

When your wife calls down,

You close the door and

Tell her it’s fine.

You will not let her see

The strange guest at your table.

The wild god asks for whiskey

And you pour a glass for him,

Then a glass for yourself.

Three snakes are beginning to nest

In your voicebox. You cough.

Oh, limitless space.

Oh, eternal mystery.

Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.

Oh, miracle of life.

Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.

You cough again,

Expectorate the snakes and

Water down the whiskey,

Wondering how you got so old

And where your passion went.

The wild god reaches into a bag

Made of moles and nightingale-skin.

He pulls out a two-reeded pipe,

Raises an eyebrow

And all the birds begin to sing.

The fox leaps into your eyes.

Otters rush from the darkness.

The snakes pour through your body.

Your dog howls and upstairs

Your wife both exults and weeps at once.

The wild god dances with your dog.

You dance with the sparrows.

A white stag pulls up a stool

And bellows hymns to enchantments.

A pelican leaps from chair to chair.

In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs.

Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields.

Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs.

The hills echo and the grey stones ring

With laughter and madness and pain.

In the middle of the dance,

The house takes off from the ground.

Clouds climb through the windows;

Lightning pounds its fists on the table

And the moon leans in.

The wild god points to your side.

You are bleeding heavily.

You have been bleeding for a long time,

Possibly since you were born.

There is a bear in the wound.

‘Why did you leave me to die?’

Asks the wild god and you say:

‘I was busy surviving.

The shops were all closed;

I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’

Listen to them:

The fox in your neck and

The snakes in your arms and

The wren and the sparrow and the deer…

The great un-nameable beasts

In your liver and your kidneys and your heart…

There is a symphony of howling.

A cacophony of dissent.

The wild god nods his head and

You wake on the floor holding a knife,

A bottle and a handful of black fur.

Your dog is asleep on the table.

Your wife is stirring, far above.

Your cheeks are wet with tears;

Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting.

A black bear is sitting by the fire.

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.

He is awkward and does not know the ways

Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.

His voice makes vinegar from wine

And brings the dead to life.