#honesty i have a suspicion that

[i984]

I just got off work and opened my notifs-

I'M SCREAMING ONE OF MY FAVORITE TUMBLR WRITERS JUST FOLLOWED?????? THIS PUNY SHITTY NO BRAINER ACCOUNT???? I WANNA DIE DISIDIEJSISIS I CAN DIE IN PEACE HELP IM BLUSHING SO HARD RN 😭😭😭😭😭

[cstarling]

individual differences test.

likable person test. you are a likable person / 77.14% difficult person test. you are a somewhat difficult person to get along with / 45.71%

tagged by: @gunbash AND @warbyrds <3 tagging: do it and say i tagged you.

[justtorzaplease]

I've seen a lot of things about self diagnosing, how it's annoying, how its unsafe, how people are just trying to be trendy. As someone who is currently self diagnosed with ADHD, while I cant speak for others, I can speak for myself. I've looked through medical journals, I've taken thousands upon thousands of tests, I've done everything except get an actual diagnosis. Why? Because I'm a minor. And that means I'd have to talk to my parents about this.

[winterspellsfrozenkit]

Maomao's Dislike of Jinshi

So I've been watching Apothecary Diaries and I think people are missing out on the root cause of why Maomao doesn't like Jinshi's interactions with her. It's not because he's too pretty, of high standing, or because she thinks he's annoying/etc., as they're just parts that make up the actual root cause. It's because she knows he's being fake.

Jinshi, because of who he is, where he lives, and how he was raised, covers up his true intentions almost constantly. That was how he trapped Maomao and singled her out as the one who warned Concubine Gyokuyou, after all. The premise to get all the servants in the room, the note telling her to stay put, and making her come with him without telling her where they were going? He let her worry that she was in trouble, so to keep her off-balance when he introduced her to Gyokuyou and also had kept her note to keep her pinned in a corner so she would have to comply with what he and Gyokuyou wanted.

Maomao prefers working with honest people. It's why she never wanted to ascend into the ranks where court politics were a constant presence, because in court politics, you have to assume most people are lying to you on some level. That's why she likes Gyokuyou; Gyokuyou has a similar mentality about the importance of honesty in the people around her and she reciprocates that honesty with the select people she lets her walls down around. When Jinshi is flirting or being super sweet to someone, Maomao knows he's often not being sincere, so when he flirts or acts all sweet with her, she's not going to believe in the sincerity of it because it's dangerous for her if he's not being sincere.

In Maomao's world, a man who makes false promises will not have severe consequences for his actions, unlike the women who fall for them. Growing up where she did and doing the work she did, Maomao knows exactly what kind of damage someone else's lies can bring to someone else who got caught in them. Maomao is not blind to the ugly truths of the world around her, unlike many her age, so interacting with Jinshi, someone who is usually some level of false in almost every encounter with her, is frustrating to her and he won't leave her alone. Lies are a form of poison themselves as they deteriorate a person's life and relationships and if not caught, can lead someone to their death or a fate akin to death, but unlike physical toxins, Maomao can't fix any damage from that kind of societal poison. As someone who wants a lowkey and unremarkable life because it's more peaceful, Jinshi could damage her goals with his falsehoods if she falls for any of them.

And we see that when Jinshi is actually honest about himself and his feelings with her, she treats him better. When he gives her his hairpin, when he's hugging her and crying because of what happened with Ah-Duo, and when he's at the Verdigris House, drowning his sorrows over letting Maomao go from the Rear Palace, Maomao is kinder to him and doesn't look at him with the immediate disdain and suspicion she often throws his way. Maomao even states she prefers the Jinshi, who is more childlike and bratty, which is something we see Gaoshun constantly discourage when Jinshi has those moments where his mask breaks. But in those moments, he's being honest.

For the position of Maomao's love interest, Jinshi's already got one foot ahead of any other guy around Maomao, as he is willing to let Maomao have more freedom in her special interests and gives her things and access to areas that play into her interests, like her dad does, which is more than most men in her society would ever allow. The only reason he actively goes against her toying with poison is he knows exactly what she's going to do with the poisons. But his main hinderance to getting Maomao to like him back is the training of being two-faced that's been ingrained into him for his survival in court. If he was more honest with her, rather than hiding himself under the veneer of a pretty man who is sweet, gets along with everyone, and keeps his knowledge close to the chest, he'd do so much better in earning Maomao's respect and affection.

[theemporium]

[4.1k] when a last minute team meeting takes them to amsterdam, lando decides to take the opportunity to see what his teammate is like under the influence. (smut)

part two to this blurb that spiralled into landoscar smut somehow

.

It happened in Amsterdam. 

With a new sponsor on the rise and the team desperate to lock down the deal before the new season started, Lando and Oscar were asked to fly out to the Netherlands a few weeks before the car launch. It put a small damper on both men’s winter break plans, the last few days of freedom they had before they dived into work mode for the new season—but ultimately, neither boy complained. 

Oscar had felt bad for having to cancel your plans, knowing how excited you were about planning a few days for the two of you to spend some time alone together—away from the world, away from everyone. In all honesty, it was what he was looking forward to the most. He knew Formula One was different, that he would be busier than he ever had been in his life, but it never prepared him to be away from you for so long. 

So yeah, he was pretty fucking bummed about having to cut the trip out of his plans but he invited you with him to Amsterdam in hopes the two of you could make the best out of a bad situation. 

After all, Zak had only wanted them for a day or two, to just sit in meetings and play up some charm and confidence to give the sponsor the last push they needed to sign the deal with McLaren.

And, by some luck you swore was from a higher power, the deal had been negotiated and signed after a very long, tedious meeting. 

But Oscar didn’t complain, he couldn’t complain when it meant that he would have more time alone with you in a country he never really had the chance to explore beyond the race tracks and most famous sites.

It just seemed like Lando had a similar idea.

“I got the perfect place to check out,” Lando insisted as they walked out of the busy office building they had been stuck in for the last few hours. “Martin recommended it, said it was insane and a necessity to check out when we were in the city.”

Oscar tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his shirt, but the boy’s words had him intrigued. “And he’s never taken you before?” 

“Said it was best to visit in the off-season,” Lando replied, and the smile spread across his face did little to reassure Oscar’s suspicions about the mysterious place. “Bring your girl too! She will love it, Oscar. You both will.”

He raised his brows. “And you’re not going to tell me?”

“Be a little adventurous, Piastri,” his teammate teased, lightly nudging his shoulder as they headed towards their team-appointed cars. “Dress nice. We leave at eight.”

“I haven’t even agreed to anything,” Oscar pointed out, but the Brit didn’t seem all too bothered as he waved his teammate off before climbing into his car. 

Truthfully, it shouldn’t have surprised Oscar that you were up for the night out. Lando’s mysterious words intrigued you as much as they intrigued him, and you both trusted Lando enough that he wouldn’t be stupid enough to drag you somewhere dodgy. Hopefully. 

So, Oscar tried to push away the voice in the back of his head that said he should have asked more questions. He was a Formula One driver, he was used to control, he was used to always being the one in charge of his own fate. It felt weird to leave everything in the hands of Lando, even if he trusted his teammate more than he did with most people in his life. 

“Relax,” you murmured to him as you stepped between his legs, your hands resting on his shoulders as he waited for Lando to message he was waiting downstairs. “It’s one night.”

“I know, I’m excited,” Oscar answered honestly as his hands rested on the back of your thighs, trying not to think about the pretty, little dress you had slipped on for the night. He could have sworn he had never seen it before. A part of him was tempted to cancel the whole night and stay in to truly appreciate the dress. “It’s just the idea of Lando being in charge of everything…”

“Hm, you say that as though you don’t worship the ground he walks on,” you teased, smiling in amusement at the way his cheeks burned pink.

“I do not!” Oscar grumbled, but he was smiling back. “Okay, I do a little. But it’s Lando…he’s my first teammate in Formula One. He is just—”

“I know,” you murmured with a smile, leaning down to peck his lips. “And he cares about you. So relax and trust the fact that he was excited to check this place out with you.” 

The place in question—the one that Martin insisted Lando needed to check out—turned out to be something straight out of a Bond movie. 

Oscar hadn’t even managed to catch the name when Lando had muttered it to their driver, a giddy smile on his face as he turned back to look at you and Osacr in the back seat. He was excited, buzzing in his seat as he rambled off about random topics could barely even keep up with as he watched the city pass by in a blink through the window. 

It was an exclusive club, not very well-known but a local treasure to those who knew of it. One of those places in movies where you knocked on a steel door and grumbled out a password. The kind of places that you expected to feel dodgy and cautious and like you were making the biggest mistake for stepping into the establishment. One of those places that two high-profile athletes should definitely never be caught in. 

But Lando just turned to him, that stupidly huge grin on his face as he threw an arm over his shoulder and dragged him inside. 

“Relax, Piastri, nobody is gonna care who you are in here!”

And honestly, the thought shouldn’t have been as appealing as it was to him.

But despite the many warnings he received about stepping up as a Formula One driver, Oscar never really wrapped his head around how famous he was. He had his fair share of internet spotlight on him throughout his career, he was used to being recognised every once in a while. But being a Formula One driver—a McLaren one, nonetheless—was a whole new level.

People stopped him in the streets and asked for photos. His face was blasted on huge posters in airports and cities he hadn’t visited before. Every aspect of his life was constantly under a microscope now. He had fans and followers all around the world, not just from his home country. He had a level of fame he couldn’t even conceptualise. 

He had a level of fame he wasn’t even sure he wanted. 

His whole life he just wanted to drive. He just wanted to get behind the wheel and achieve the dream he had been chasing after since he was a young boy. He just wanted to do what he loved, what he had been passionate about since before he could even remember. 

It just came in a package deal with having more attention that he preferred, so the very idea of stepping foot into this exclusive club and nobody caring he was Oscar Piastri? Yeah, that sounded really fucking good.

Your arm wrapped around his biceps as you followed the Brit deeper into the club. It was dark—darker than a usual club—with red-tinted lights surrounding the place, adding a soft hue that was just enough to see a few steps ahead of you. The music thumped through the building, like the bass lived in the walls as it sounded throughout the place. 

There was no bar. And the dance floor wasn’t really a dance floor. It felt like a stage, placed right in the middle of the room for people to ogle and observe. The whole place was surrounded in these dimly lit booths, large enough that they almost felt like a room. 

The whole place was fucking weird and nothing like he expected. 

And maybe that was what thrilled Oscar about the whole situation. 

“Where do we order our drinks?” He had asked as they made their way to the far left corner, the furthest place from the door. The surrounding booths were empty but Lando still chose the one right in the corner as he flopped down onto the large cushioned sofas. 

He watched as you and Oscar took the seat across from him as he grinned. 

Oscar raised his brows. 

“We are in fucking Amsterdam,” Lando snorted, something glinting in his eyes that even the dim, red lights seemed to pick up. “You don’t come here to get shit-faced drunk, Oscar.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You brought us to your dodgy club to get stoned?”

“Best in the city, baby,” Lando said, the smile on his face widening as he leaned back against the cushions, comfortable and settled with his legs spread a little wider than he usually would. “A little birdie told me Oscar was the kind of man you wanted to smoke with.”

Oscar raised his brows. “You sound surprised by that.”

“Let’s just say there aren’t many sides to you that I don’t think I’ve already seen,” Lando answered with a simple shrug before he raised his hand, catching the attention of a waitress Oscar didn’t even notice was walking by.

And maybe it was immoral. Or sneaky. Or whatever you wanted to call it. 

Maybe it wasn’t the most truthful way to experience it but Lando Norris was a fucking curious man and the opportunity fell right into the palm of his hand. Because Logan Sargeant’s words had been ringing in his head like a loop since that night in the club, his eyes being opened to a whole new side of his younger teammate and he wanted to see more. 

He wanted to know who Oscar Piastri was under all the layers he seemed to put up when he was sober.

And with the team dragging them to Amsterdam and Martin having told him about this club with the assurance that it suddenly wouldn’t be plastered over the front page in the morning that they were indulging in recreational drugs before the season started…well, Lando couldn’t just ignore it, could he?

It wasn’t noticeable at first and, for a brief moment, Lando wondered if the American was just pulling his leg about the whole situation. He wondered if Logan had just seen his shock to clingy, touchy Oscar when he was drunk and needy and thought it would be hilarious to just add fuel to the fire that night for his own amusement. 

Because one joint in and Oscar seemed like he had hours ago in the meeting room, dressed in a fancy suit and looking slightly out of his comfort zone. 

But time passed and the edges of his own brain began to feel fuzzy, and Lando started noticing it. He noticed the way Oscar seemed to squirm in his seat, the way his eyes lingered on your mouth as you took a drag from the joint. He noticed the way Oscar’s arm had dropped from around your shoulder to his hand firmly being placed on the bare skin of your thigh instead. He watched as Oscar pressed his body close to yours until there wasn’t an inch of your side that wasn’t touching his.

And then, Oscar was leaning in, his lips skimming past your ear and instantly dropping to your neck like he didn’t even care Lando was there.

Lando couldn’t even bring himself to feel all that guilty as he watched the display, something deep in his gut twisting in desire.

Your eyes fluttered shut as the boy’s lips latched onto your neck, a small sigh leaving your lips as he began to press soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His hand squeezed your thigh, gripping onto it like it was a lifeline as he continued to kiss lower and lower until his lips were brushing against the fabric of your dress. 

“Oscar,” you murmured as you raised your hand, fingers threaded through his hair but the boy didn’t stop as he nosed the edge of your dress, his lips dangerously close to your cleavage. 

“Want you,” the Aussie murmured, something like a whine sounding from the back of his throat as he nipped the fabric with his teeth. “Please.” 

“Baby,” you choked out a noise, your eyes snapping open like you finally seemed to remember Lando was there. You felt breathless as your eyes met his, the dim light making it difficult to read the expression on his face but you could have sworn you saw something quite like desire in his gaze. “Lando is—”

“Not complaining,” the Brit finished for you, his voice a little rougher and even he wasn’t sure if it was from the smoking or the sight in front of him. 

Oscar blinked as he lifted his head, his cheeks flushed and his eyes a little red. He looked at you before he shifted his eyes to Lando, his gaze dragging over his teammate. He should have removed himself from you, should have pulled his hand away and slid away—but he remained exactly where he was. 

“Don’t be shy, Oscar,” Lando murmured, and something in the Aussie’s chest sparked. “You wanna touch your girl, then who am I to stop you from making her feel good.”

“You gonna watch?” Oscar asked. 

“Do you want me to leave?” Lando retorted. 

“No.”

Lando’s smirk slowly widened. “Yeah? You two gonna put on a little show for me?”

Oscar blinked before he turned to look at you. His whole body felt like it was on fire, like there were flames coursing through his veins and burning him alight and he never wanted to stop. But as he looked at you, eyes glossy or not, one word from you and he would stop this whole thing, regardless of his own feelings on the matter.

You were his first priority. You were always his first priority.

“You wanna, baby?” He murmured, just low enough for it to only be heard by the two of you. 

“I think,” you swallowed thickly as your eyes traced over your boyfriend’s face, as the bubbling desire and strong urge to clench your legs together washed over you with the heat of Lando’s gaze on you. “It would be the polite thing to do.” 

Oscar tucked his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Show him how good you make me feel,” you murmured as his grip on your thigh tightened in response. 

And when you couldn’t resist anymore, your eyes snapped over to where Lando was sitting. There was something thrilling about the sight, something your fuzzy brain couldn’t begin to comprehend but your body sure as hell did. There was something about him sitting across from you both, legs spread and eyes focused on the two of you as he watched in silent appreciation. 

It felt dirty. It felt wrong. It felt like the last thing the three of you should be doing in a random club in Amsterdam. And yet, none of you wanted to stop. 

Lando watched in delight the way a choked gasp left your lips as Oscar tugged the neckline of your dress down, as his lips attached to the newly exposed skin. Your hand moved back to thread through his hair, tugging softly as he pulled your dress down until your tits were exposed. 

He watched as Oscar let out a groan at the sight, as his lips wrapped around your nipple. He watched as your head fell back, your boyfriend’s name a breathy moan past your lips as he continued to nuzzle himself between your tits. 

“Would’ve never taken you as a tits man, Oscar.” Lando’s voice was rough and low, something that shouldn’t have made the whole situation hotter but it did. “Can’t blame you though, can I? Your girl has such pretty tits, would be a crime to ignore them.”

A whine sounded from the back of Oscar’s throat. 

Lando’s eyes fell from your flushed face to the hand on your thigh. He watched as Oscar continued to push the hem of your dress further up until he got impatient and allowed his hand to slip beneath the skirt. He watched as Oscar groaned something incoherent against your skin, as you shifted your hips enough for him to pull your panties down your legs with a speed that was almost impressive. 

He hardly had time to blink before he felt the soft thump against his leg, as he looked down to see your panties balled up and now resting on his lap after Oscar had thrown them. 

Lando let out a dark chuckle, his head falling back. “You little shit.” 

But Oscar didn’t pay him any attention. Oscar didn’t pay attention to anything but you and the feeling of you beneath his lips and touch. His brain was fuzzy, his thoughts were muddled and all he knew was that he really, really fucking wanted to taste you. 

Yet, you didn’t seem to share Oscar’s one-track mind.

“Not fair that we’re the only ones who get to have fun,” you murmured, your eyes watching him closely as Lando eyed the pair of panties, seeming to contemplate so many racing thoughts in his head before he reached for them. “Maybe I want a show too.”

Lando’s eyes found yours in the dark. “Yeah?” 

“Mhm,” it was a little high-pitched as Oscar’s thumb pressed against your clit. “Yeah. Please.”

He let out a groan. “Still so fucking polite when he is all over you.”

You weren’t even sure where the spark of confidence came from—maybe from the way he was watching you and Oscar so eagerly—but your mouth opened before you could stop yourself. “Jealous?” 

“Maybe.”

You swallowed thickly, your fingers tugging on Oscar’s hair as you watched Lando’s hand drop to the obvious bulge in his pants. “Of who?”

His smirk widened. “Both.” 

“Shit,” you whispered, an embarrassingly high-pitched noise leaving your lips as you tore your eyes away from the older driver before your whole body burned up.

“Look what a good boy he is,” Lando commented, watching as Oscar littered soft kisses all over your chest and collarbone as his fingers pressed small circles against your clit. “Barely even touched you and he’s humping the sofa.”

Oscar’s cheeks burned hot.

“Bet he’s obedient,” Lando continued as the sound of a zipper echoed through the booth, as the rustling made it clear to both of you what he was doing. “Such a good listener, aren’t you, Oscar? Just wanna make everyone happy, hm? A team player.” 

Oscar finally lifted his head, his eyes glossed over like he was drunk off lust and desire alone.

“You gonna listen to me, baby?”

He nodded.

“Gonna do what I say?”

He nodded again, his eyes locked on the way Lando palmed himself over his boxers with one hand as he held your panties in the other.

A slow smirk spread across his face. “Get between her legs, baby, I know you’ve been dying for a taste of her probably since she put on that lil’ number.”

And Lando was right. He was obedient. It was almost like his body was moving under a spell as he shifted, as he slid off the couch and settled on his knees on the carpeted floor instead. It should have felt wrong to have his back to Lando, but instead the idea that the boy’s eyes were locked on him whilst he touched himself (even if Oscar couldn’t see) thrilled him more than it should have.

His hands palmed your thighs before he slowly spread your legs, as he pushed the fabric of your dress until it pooled at your hips and exposed you. A whimper left Oscar’s lips as he tugged you closer to the edge, as one hand pushed your thigh back whilst the other guided your leg over his shoulder. 

He looked up at you, his cock twitching in his pants at the silent plea in your eyes for him to do something, to give you what you wanted just as bad as him. And his eyes never left your as he leaned down, tongue pressed against your soaked cunt as he licked upwards in one thick, broad stroke. 

“Fuck!” 

Lando couldn’t help himself as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of his boxers, as he squeezed the length of himself before pulling his cock free of any restraints. 

Lando couldn’t help himself as the hand fisting your panties wrapped around his cock, as he let the lacy fabric run against his sensitive tip and resisted the urge to buck his hips. 

Lando couldn’t fucking help himself as he stroked his cock, his eyes locked on the way you panted and moaned and grasped the cushions around you as Oscar worked between your legs. 

A part of him wanted to get up, to close the distance between him and you both. He wanted to walk over, he wanted to thread his fingers through Oscar’s hair like you had done before and guide him. He wanted to watch the boy lick and kiss and suck your needy cunt until his face was dripping. He wanted to whisper just what a good fucking boy Oscar really was as he made you come, as Lando watched you come. 

But the other part of him liked this—this twisted sense of power. He liked the fact he could sit back and watch, like it really was a show you two were putting on for him. He liked the idea that this went beyond something any of you understood, the way the two of you were so eager and pliant and obedient for him. 

He liked that he could sit back, your wet panties fisted around his cock as he watched the two of you moan and squirm and desperately try and look pretty for him. 

And you did. You both looked so, so pretty for him. 

And you sounded so pretty too when you moaned out his name instead of your boyfriend’s. The way your back arched off the couch, your face scrunched up in pleasure as Oscar held your hips down. The way Lando could hear the way his teammate was groaning against your pussy, see the way his hips shifted like he desperately needed some friction against his aching cock. 

It was the prettiest fucking sight Lando had ever seen. 

“That’s it, baby,” Lando groaned. “Come for Oscar, let him taste you, yeah?” 

You nodded dumbly, far too lost in your own pleasure to even understand what he was saying. 

“Bet you’re so fucking hard,” Lando continued, his eyes locked on the way the muscles in his back shifted through his shirt. “Bet you could come just from hearing her moan, huh?” 

The whine Oscar let out told Lando everything he needed to know. 

“That’s it,” Lando groaned, his fist tightening around his cock as he felt his stomach clench as he neared the edge, as he neared his own orgasm. “Gotta finish the show f’me, hm? Gonna be good for me, yeah?” 

You chanted out Oscar’s name as you finally came, shaking and squirming as he held your body against the cushions and continued to suck on your sensitive clit. And when you couldn’t take any more, you lightly pushed his head away to see his expression: flushed cheeks, hooded eyes and glossy lips that you wanted to kiss so bad. But a shifting movement caught your eyes, your gaze moving down to look at the dark patch spread across the front of his boxers. 

“Just tasted so good,” Oscar murmured, not even ashamed or embarrassed at the mess he made. 

And then your eyes shifted to look at the boy across the room. 

He leaned back against the cushions, his chest moving up and down with soft pants. His trousers were pushed down to pool mid-thigh, his boxers just above them and his cock was still fisted in his hand, covered by your panties and his own come. It shouldn’t have been so attractive. 

“I think I prefer this Oscar much better than drunk Oscar,” Lando eventually commented, something quite like a smug grin on his face as he looked between you both. 

There was a tension in the room, one that none of your fuzzy brains could really grasp onto just yet. But it was there and it was overwhelming and suffocating and you each had half the mind to hope this night never ended. 

You didn’t know what would happen after tonight, but you knew until then, the hidden club in the depths of Amsterdam would keep your secret—the secret that maybe all three of you wanted something more than a night fuelled by lust and weed. 

.

[jyoongim]

Themes: posessiveness, slight yandere behavior, mentions of cannibalism, softcore smut,

After 7 years the Radio Demon is back!

But things arent how he left them…

Vox has taken it upon himself to be in charge of all things media

Radio has turned to Video

And Alastor’s little darling aint in her place…oh that just wont do

Your relationship with the Radio Demon was like a match made in Hell.

Alastor was a wild card by himself alone, but you? You never failed to keep him on his hooves?

You had been in the media world looong before Alastor popped up in Hell, having the title (ironic) Media Demon but somehow he managed to bring back the old themes that were once appreciated.

Not those podcasts or vlogs the youth were so prone to do

But things from the good old days.

Things that were considered ancient in the sense of modern tech.

Radio; Talk shows and actual live broadcasts.

Alastor and you quickly rose in popularity in the media realm [(you had a sneaky suspicion it was because he was terrifying and people honesty clung to an overlord’s word)]

You and Alastor had separate broadcasts, but you worked perfectly in sync with one another. Until one day…the Radio Demon disappeared, leaving you to run your show alone.

You did what you could, but the people seemed to miss the charismatic broadcaster as much as you and soon you were approached by Video.

“C’mon y/n, This will be a great improvement to your brand.” Vox smirked as you sipped the tea you were offered. You frowned. You were aware that media came in all formats but you enjoyed the ‘old’ way. “I dont know Vox, i prefer to be out of the camera’s eye” you said. Vox had been begging for years for you to join his team and claiming it would ‘boost’ your reputation. You didnt need a boost. You were THE Media Demon. If anything, you knew it would boost HIS popularity.

“Radio is so old-fashion, video is the future! You should be up to date with these things” he said. You grimaced “i am well aware of the trends, but not everyone likes this new savvy way, it is good to have a little variety”

Vox was getting annoyed.

Having you on the Vees would not only boost his claim to fame, but it would boost his power.

“The people would love to see the Media Demon in the public eye. You use to sing right? How about music production? You would kill sales with that voice of yours”

He was trying to butter you up.

Everyone knew you were a renown singer. A popstar once. You only showcased it a few times broadcasting when it was late at night and were in a mood.

Alastor loved to hear you sing.

“If you made videos people, your image can skyrocket” he continued.

You set your cup down, standing, having heard enough.

“I appreciate the offer Vox, but I will decline. I quite like stereo” and with that you left.

You made your way to the Hazbin Hotel.

To Alastor’s radio tower.

You sighed as you sat and stared at the station.

Maybe i should take Vox’s offer you thought as you collected your topics and put your headphones on.

You turned on the radio and did a count set

“How ya doin tonight folks? Its your favorite radio host and tonight you are in for a treat!” you gave the daily Hell gossip and opened the line for discussions. Letting out a laugh from a few of the responses you finally sighed “I have been offered the damning chance to retire from radio” you started. “I am sure you are all aware that I am fabulous of course, but i mean reverting to video can you imagine? And the audacity of Vox to even suggest just a thing. I think i do quite alright for a media connoisseur” you giggled.

As you chatted away you were unaware of the dark presence manifesting in the tower.

“Dial in im opening the lines to hear your opinions”

You listened in

“I think it could be good to switch it up!”

“Youre the Media Demon you could crush anything!”

“Y/n youre incredible!”

“Video kills the Radio star!”

You were about to chime in when a deep static like voice sounded

“I think you mean Radio killed the Video star”

Your eyes widened and spun around to see Alastor

“A-Alastor?”

His devilish smile sharpened as he pressed a button to cut the lines and removed your headphones “its been a while darling”

You couldnt help yourself as you launched at him for a hug.

You quickly recovered and let him go, stuttering “oh oh im sorry but w-what are you doing here? I-i thought you were gone”

Alastor grinned, bringing your hand up to his lips to press a kiss to it

“Ooooh mon cher i could never stay away from you”

You blushed.

Alastor pulled you into an embrace, his grip a little tight

“So what it is i hear of you forsaking radio?”

[chaos-in-deepspace]

LNDS: Collared Boys | 18+ NSFW

My brainrot from earlier today refuses to be silenced, so I just had to write some drabbles of this before my D&D session tonight.

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+. Warnings: Sub/Dom Dynamics, Collars, Submissive Men, Minus Zayne, Teasing, Pet play if you squint I guess, The collars are for aesthetic, Boys referring to you as master, Reader is Dom, Attempt at being a dom for Zayne, It fails.

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Xavier

"Is this what you wanted?" Xavier asked, looking up at you with half lidded eyes. A tight, baby blue collar wrapped neatly around his neck and a pair of fluffy bunny ears placed delicately on his head, blending in perfectly with his hair.

Attached to that collar was a leash that led back to your hands. He looked every bit as sinful as you had thought. The moment you had seen the collar you knew it had to go on him. The color of it against his skin looked so soft that you couldn't help yourself.

You placed a hand under his chin, making him look up at you, "This is exactly what I wanted, bunny." You cooed, loving every moment of this. Normally he was the more dominant one, so having the roles being reversed gave you a high.

"What do you intend to do with me?" He asked, tilting his head. You looked down, seeing the bulge over in his pants straining to be released. Your hand delicately ran over it, feeling how it twitched under your touch. Xavier let out a small gasp at the sudden feeling of you teasing him.

You had to think on it; there were so many things you wanted to do with him in all honesty. The question was where to begin? You sat on the couch behind you, your legs spreading open as you tugged on the leash.

"I think I should probably feed my sweet bunny. Your eyes look hungry." You said, noticing how the blue in his eyes were being swallowed by darkness. The longer he looked at you, the more tempting you seemed. You did make sure to wear lingerie just for him, after all. He was always more pliable to your whims when you looked this good.

Xavier felt the tug of the leash and he shuffled closer to you, settling between your legs. His hands gently grazed over your thighs as he looked up at you with a soft smile.

"Then should I thank you for this meal?"

Zayne

Zayne looked at the black collar you had just handed up, his eyebrow raised in suspicion as he looked at the size of it. "I didn't realize we had gotten a dog." He finally said, then noticed a small dangling keyring to it. In the shape of a bone was a dog tag that read 'Zayne' on it.

"It's not for a dog, but in my opinion it is for a very good boy who will do anything for me." You said, batting your eyelashes. He huffed in amusement as he held onto the dog tag.

"I don't think this is really...my style." He said, trying to be as gentle as possible. You whined a bit, grabbing his hand and looking up at him with a small pout on your lips.

"Just this once? I wanna see it on you." You begged him and he felt his resolve crumbling. When he saw the slight quiver of your bottom lip, he knew it was a losing battle.

You watch him undo the back and open the collar up and your eyes glimmered with hope. He slowly wrapped it around his neck, working the belt clasps on the back of his neck until it was secure, "I'll only wear this for a moment to amuse you."

You paused, jaw dropping as you looked at him. You honestly didn't expect him to look this good with a collar around his neck. He looked like the perfect image of temptation to you, and you could feel your cheeks warming the more you ogle him. You can see his lips moving, trying to get your attention and you think he called your name.

He waved a hand in front of your face and you finally snapped out of it, looking at him, "I asked if you were satisfied, but from the looks of it I'd say you're happy with the results?" Zayne smirked and you let out a small whine form the back of your throat. Gods you wanted him so bad right now.

You then frowned, watching him undo the collar and he looked over at you, "I will say, you did make a bit of a mistake." He said, the collar coming off him easily.

"What mistake did I make?" You asked, not understanding what Zayne was getting at. You felt the heavy leather wrapping around your neck as he secured it. His hand looped near the dog tag as he pulled you closer.

"You forgot to put a comma and 's' after my name on this dog tag."

Rafayel

"You know cutie, I told you I'd look amazing in anything you threw at me...but is there a reason you want me to wear this?" Rafayel said, holding up the purple collar you had bought him. You had even placed it up in a cute little gift bag.

"Do you not like it?" You asked with a pout, knowing he would fold like a damn chair if you gave him that look. Rafayel smirked, placing it against you neck.

"I just think you'd look cuter than me if you wore it." He teased and you huffed, shaking your head.

"Nuh uh, we're not doin this. We agreed I'd get to top tonight." You reminded him of your agreement. After weeks of you guys literally fighting for dominance in bed (which resulted in a lot of flipping one another over during sexy times), you came to an agreement to switch off.

Rafayel was pouting now, looking at you as he took a step closer, placing a hand on your hip and dragging you closer to him. He leaned over so his mouth was almost pressing against yours now.

"If you put it on, I promise to treat you like my most cherished pet." He said, the hand on your hip giving you a small squeeze. He really thought you'd give in to him tonight? You were on a mission to see this man in a collar at the moment.

"I can put it on another night, but for now I want to see you in it." You cooed, leaning up to press a quick kiss onto his lips. You snatched the collar from his hand and undid the belt clasp. Rafayel sighed, knowing it was a losing battle at this point.

You happily looped the collar around his neck, admiring it as you tightened the accessory. He grunted as you accidentally made it a bit too tight and you apologized, placing a kiss on his cheek in the process. Once it was on, he stood up and backed up slightly so you could take it all in.

"Satisfied with me, master?" He asked, tilting his head with a coy smile.

"Not yet..." You said, looping your finger around the O-ring of the collar. You tugged him closer, making him gasp as both his hands went to hold onto your hips for balance. His pelvis was pressed against your body and you could feel something poking at you, "You hard already, fishie?"

Rafayel narrowed his eyes at you, "I don't want to talk about it."

You couldn't help but laugh at his ridiculous behavior. For all his pouting, he sure was easy to rile up. You gave him another tug, "Well come on, I have plans for you, sweetheart."

He let out a small groan, becoming pliant just from those words. Oh, you were going to have the best time with him.

[s-brant]

Judas

Upon returning to King’s Landing, an unexpected betrothal is arranged to make peace between Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent’s children.

13k (18+)

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, arranged marriage, and violence. (smut in part two, stay tuned).

-

The last time she saw Aemond, they were mere children.

It was the morning after Leanor Velaryon’s funeral at Driftmark, not even a full week following the passing of his dear sister, Laena, and she was watching from the saddle strapped across the back of her dragon as he and his mother strolled along the beach side by side. She made a point of doting on her young son more than she had in the past due to the loss of his eye. Her arm was draped over his shoulder, her hand rubbing up and down his arm, and, yet, he didn’t seem consoled by her sweet touch. All he did was stare off at the horizon, his face hardened by the years of cruelty from his own brother and the prospect of having to face more ridicule due to his disfigurement.

That was the final glimpse she got of him for years, and, since moving to Dragonstone with her family, she hadn’t been back to visit King’s Landing once. Instead, she spent her days flying on dragonback, committing to her studies, and learning to fight with a sword from the best warrior she knew. Her father.

While all of her siblings refer to him as their father due to the union between him and their mother, Y/N says it with a certainty none can question. It wasn’t something Rhaenyra ever meant to admit to her. In fact, it wasn’t her mother who told her at all. It was Daemon. After an afternoon spent fighting, Valyrian steel clashing against Valyrian steel in a symphony of practiced violence, she asked him the question that would confirm the suspicions she had for most of her young life.

Jace, Lucerys, and Joffrey were sired by the late Sir Harwin Strong, that much she knew from the countless rumors hurled at them as well as his consistent presence when they were small, but she knew she was not his nor Laenor’s. It was an open secret amongst all who knew them. And, when confronted with it, Daemon met her with honesty. It was less to do with her and more to do with him, however. He couldn’t bear to pretend she belonged to anyone but him, so he told her.

“Issa drēje, ñuha dōna riña,” he said in their native tongue to keep any guards nearby from eavesdropping.

It is true, my sweet girl.

He tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear in a display of affection not entirely uncommon for his favorite child. It was no secret that he favored her most. After all, she was the heir to the throne, and she retained the very best of his and Rhaenyra’s respective personalities. Then, of course, there was the small fact that she was his, not Harwin’s. He loved his step-children, of course, but she was his most cherished creation of Rhaenyra’s by far.

“Nyke gīmigon istia daor jaelagon naejot rȳbagon bisa, yn i’ll va moriot sagon drēje lēda ao. Ñuha lēkia refused naejot wed zirȳla naejot nyke skori ziry ryptan, sīr ziry teptan zirȳla naejot laenor naejot ruaragon ziry bē,” he explained. I know you must not want to hear this, but I’ll always be honest with you. My brother refused to wed her to me when he heard, so he gave her to Laenor to cover it up.

He then looked at her, and she held his gaze without balking from the intense stare that many unfortunate souls met before taking their last breaths. To her, he wasn’t a monster. He was a ghost she spent her whole childhood chasing after. She still couldn’t believe he was real.

“Yn nyke va moriot jeldan naejot sagon iā kepa naejot ao. Gaomagon daor mirre másino bona.” But I always wanted to be a father to you. Do not ever question that.

With that, a grin broke out on her face, and she nodded along with tear-filled eyes. They never spoke of it again after they returned to the castle where Rhaenyra and the boys were settled at the table for dinner together. It didn’t have to be said aloud again, though. Now that she knew for certain, she didn’t need to dwell on it any longer.

For Aemond, the days they spent at Driftmark for the funeral of Laena Velaryon were a conflicting period of time. For Y/N, it was the beginning of her happiness. All she wanted was to know the truth, to know her father, and that was the first time she was allowed to.

Now, she isn’t sure if she’s as happy as she once was.

The breeze blows her hair from her shoulders as she descends upon King’s Landing atop Vermithor. Like Aemond, she too was raised without a dragon. It was something they once bonded over as children until he nearly bashed her younger brother’s face in with a rock the night he claimed Vhagar. Shortly after their return to Dragonstone, she made it her life’s mission to claim the beast who dwelled in its solitary lair on the island.

Flying settles her nerves better than anything else. Wine tends to make her wallow in sorrow more than anything, talking with her parents only ends in lectures or reassurance she does not seek, and since she is not a male, she cannot frequent brothels without consequence like her brothers could to relieve stress. The only retreat she has is the sky.

Seeing that the rest of her family left by ship ahead of her, she doesn’t expect to see any others on dragonback nearby. As she scans the sky, she sees nothing but the city spread out ahead of her and the endless expanse of ocean beneath. That is, of course, until she sees the shadow passing over her head.

Bigger than her own by a decent margin, she knows that the dragon casting a shadow onto her cannot by any other than the largest in existence. She doesn’t make the mistake of tipping her head back to take a look, however. She makes the choice to feign indifference rather than give in to the demand for attention Aemond shows through flying so close overhead. Unlike her brothers, he doesn’t frighten her, and that small difference in attitude is certain to annoy him.

Vhagar swoops down in a steep dive in front of her, and she hardly has the chance to steer Vermithor out to the right to avoid being smacked with the other dragon’s long tail.

Sensing his sudden state of unease, she reaches down to stroke her gloved hand along the surface of his rough skin and says to him with the same tone her mother uses to soothe her in times of distress, “Lykiri, Vermithor. Lykiri.” She scoffs at the sight of a man with long silver hair to match hers riding on Vhagar’s back. “He poses no threat.”

As expected, Aemond does not taunt them any more than this. The sound of his dragon’s wings flapping in the wind overpowers that of the waves crashing onto the land as they both make their way to the Dragonpit. The folk living in the city whip their head around to catch sight of the giant creatures descending upon them with equal parts fear and enchantment. Targaryens are closer to Gods than men, so what can mere mortals do but watch as evidence of their superior existence shoots through the sky on a set of gargantuan wings?

With Vermithor promptly landed on the sandy ground as far from Vhagar and her rider as possible, Y/N dismounts him with a tired sigh, muscles aching from hours of riding, and climbs down onto unsteady feet. She greets her escort, Ser Harold, with a bright smile despite Aemond’s antics, as well as the reason for visiting in the first place, weighing heavily on her shoulders.

Queen Alicent means to call into question Jacaerys’ inheritance of Driftmark in the absence of Lord Corlys, and, by extension, call the legitimacy of all of Rhaenyra’s offspring into question as well. Y/N remains mostly unconcerned by this. She knows in her heart that she is a trueborn Targaryen, and whatever Alicent may have to say about her brothers will do nothing to change it. So long as King Viserys remains steadfast in his declaration of his daughter and her children as heirs to the throne, there shouldn’t be much to fear.

Just as Aemond turns from his beloved dragon with the intention of beginning the journey back to the Red Keep on foot, the sound of Y/N’s voice halts him.

“Hello, Uncle,” she says with a pointed stare.

He shows no issue with staring right back at her.

“Niece,” he says with no real emotion to the word.

“It has been a while since we last met.”

With one glance, she deduces that he has changed in the time they’ve spent apart. For one, the bloodied scar she saw covered by bandages in the days after Lucerys maimed him has been healed and hidden behind a leather eyepatch. Whatever it is that lurks beneath, she hasn’t a clue. The rest that is visible to her searching eyes is surprisingly agreeable.

He has a strong, sharp jaw, pretty lips, and he stands tall above her height with the sinewy figure of a fine swordsman. As much as it pains her to admit it to herself, he has grown into a handsome man. If it weren’t for the purposefully off-putting demeanor, ancient dragon, and the intimidation accompanying his eyepatch, there’d likely be droves of highborn maidens begging their fathers to set up an advantageous match with the prince.

His stoic face displays no reaction she can discern before he says, “It has, Princess,” and walks off without deigning to speak another word to her.

-

The first two hours of her arrival are spent becoming acquainted with her chambers and washing the stink of dragon, as her dear grandsire always called it, from her body before formally greeting Queen Alicent and reconnecting with her parents. For as long as she could get away with, she submerged herself in the in-ground, marble bathing tub flooded to the brim with steaming water and gazed out of the opened windows with daydreams of flying back home on Vermithor at once. The citrus-scented oil one of the handmaidens poured into the water washes the sweat and proof of her flight from Dragonstone from her long hair and skin. By the time she dries off and allows the ladies waiting outside of the bathing room to help her dress, she looks brand new.

Her hair is half-up, half-down with simple braids keeping it from falling into her face, and her dress is one of her favorites that was brought on the ship with the rest of her bare necessity belongings. It used to belong to her mother—rich, red fabric with a neckline that hangs off the shoulders with a gold belt cinching her waist and cuffs that circle her wrists. The sleeves are cut open at the center to display her arms, and she cannot help but smile at the sight of her reflection.

Navigating the familiar halls of the Red Keep keeps her occupied on her way to find her parents and brothers. On her way, she passes many servants and guards, all of whom she offers a tight-lipped smile, and walks until she reaches the gardens, then the training yard at the front gate to the castle grounds where she finally spots her brothers.

“Jace! Luc!” she shouts to garner their attention and hurries down the steps to meet Jacaerys in a tight embrace.

She only speaks again once they’re pulling apart, one arm wrapping around Lucerys to pull him into her side, “I missed you both terribly. Dragonstone is not the same without the rest of you residing there.”

Both of them grin at her, their brown eyes crinkling at the sides, and try not to pay attention to the whispers of the onlookers in the yard who call attention to the differences between the boys and their older sister. When standing beside each other, it couldn’t be any more clear. Where their hair is dark, hers is paler than snow. Where they are shorter than their uncles and step-father, she is taller than them both and carries an aura of otherworldliness her mother passed along to her.

At the sight of Lucerys’ gaze shifting toward a clustered group of three talking amongst themselves while looking at them, Jace speaks before she gets the chance, “Pay them no mind, brother.”

Her hand strokes through her younger brother's brunette hair as though to soothe him the same way she had done with her dragon hours prior, and she nods.

“Come, let us watch the men train while you catch me up on what I missed on your journey here. Tell me, did mother and father bicker the whole time? Seasickness makes her quite short with him, and he detests traveling by ship rather than dragonback.”

With that, the three of them launch into a conversation revolving around the events of their voyage here. Due to her combined seasickness and pregnancy-induced illness, their mother was short with everyone, not just Daemon. Jacaerys said that when Joffrey decided to jest with her by chasing her down while holding a rat he found at the bottom of the ship, it took Daemon shooing everyone, the rat included, from their room to prevent her shouting at everyone in her path. As sweet as she is, even their mother has limits when it comes to her boys behaving less like princes and more like pests.

Y/N is still giggling to herself at the thought of it as they come to a stop around the edges of the small crowd that has gathered to watch Ser Criston Cole fight with another man. Through the bodies forming a wall between them and the action, it takes the Princess murmuring, “Excuse me,” softly a few times for her and the boys to reach a decent spot.

The second she gains a clear view, her smile drops.

Though her brothers may not recognize him from behind as she does since they have not seen him in years, she knows it’s him the second she catches a glimpse of his hair swaying with his body’s sharp movements. Her earlier assumptions are quickly proven true. A fine swordsman indeed, she realizes as Aemond spins around with his sword raised at Ser Criston’s neck with an expression that takes pride in his victory before the knight can even form the words.

“Well done, my Prince,” Ser Criston says, panting.

The sword is lowered from his neck without another word from Aemond, and, just as he thinks he might ask Cole to go again, he catches sight of her on the edge of the crowd. Of course, he has no choice but to notice her first. Among the people watching them, she is one of few with hair the same shade as his. Another huge small factor contributing to him noticing her first would have to be her being the only woman present. Although adorned in fine clothing and jewelry fit for a Princess, she looks as though she is comfortable where she stands in the midst of clashing swords and leering men.

His eye follows the neckline of her dress that leaves her neck and shoulders exposed, and he finds his grip on the hilt of his sword tightening involuntarily. His jaw clenches at the delicate slope of her neck giving away to her shoulders. For a second, she finds it difficult to breathe. When pinned down beneath his intense stare, what else could one do but go still and quiet and wait for chaos to ensue?

He shifts his focus to the boys flanking her on either side.

“Nephews,” he says by way of greeting, “Have you come to train?”

She watches in her periphery as Jace opens and closes his mouth, at a loss for words, and almost speaks up on their behalf to say their mother is expecting them back soon, but they are saved. The doors to the castle gates open with a thunderous rumble, and everyone’s attention turns from where it had been transfixed upon her siblings to the man who strolls in.

Vaemond Velaryon.

Under her breath, Y/N mutters a hardly audible, “Of course,” with a scoff nobody else surrounding them notices. Except for one. It shouldn’t surprise her that Aemond picked up on her disdain for Corlys’ nephew whom she knows without a doubt will aid Alicent in her attempts to steal her brother’s inheritance from him. Her uncle’s eye remains locked on her as she watches Vaemond walk up the path leading to the castle, and it isn’t until the older man disappears from view that she notices his staring.

Right when Aemond expects her to avert her eyes with the same reproach her brothers have for him, she does the very opposite. How he could ever expect the daughter of Daemon Targaryen to shy away from a challenge, he doesn’t know, but he finds himself surprised all the same.

“Apologies, my Prince, but our mother is expecting us back soon. She sent me to fetch my brothers,” she says without breaking their stare. “Perhaps you may train together at another time.”

She ushers the two younger boys away with a hand on each of their arms without allowing their uncle to get another word. Payback, she supposes, for his curt attitude with her back at the Dragonpit. Over her shoulder, she casts him a glare that could cut a weaker man to the bone. It conveys every word she has yet to say to him, telling him, “If you lay a hand on either of them, I will cut your heart out just as my brother did with your eye.” Her hair swishes in the afternoon breeze as she turns to look ahead of her once more and leaves him standing with Ser Criston Cole in the training yard.

“The Princess is the very image of her mother, is she not?” Ser Criston asks, drawing his attention back to him.

Coming from him in particular, that isn’t the compliment those around them assume it to be. Alicent and Ser Criston have never spoken candidly of what incited their shared distaste for Rhaenyra other than her passing off her bastards as trueborn princes, but Aemond is not a fool. He can sense it in the way Ser Criston speaks and acts regarding his aunt and her children that the reason lies deeper than moral outrage over bastard children.

All Aemond offers in response is a quiet hum in agreement as he sheathes his sword.

-

The rest of the night following their run-in with Prince Aemond was uneventful for the most part.

Though she did lie to allow her brothers a quick escape from the man who has been yearning to exact revenge against them for years, the first thing she did was find her mother. She and Daemon were coming back to their chambers after speaking with Queen Alicent, and their faces lit up at the sight of their daughter despite how difficult it was to see Viserys in such a state of suffering earlier in the day.

Rhaenyra ran her hands down the sleeves of her dress, feeling the years-old fabric slipping through her fingers, and said with a nostalgic smile, “You look beautiful, my love.”

It was something she heard from her mother at a constant rate, but it warmed her heart even if it were the millionth time she heard the words spoken to her in that soft, caring tone of voice. A moment later, Daemon placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze, murmuring something about how good it was to see her.

Now, as she sits at her mother's feet and allows her to braid her hair before she’s off to her chambers to sleep for the night, she flips through a book she found in the library after dinner and becomes lost in her thoughts.

The way Aemond looked at her today in the training yard…It was strange. Not strange in the sense that she has never seen a man look at her like that before. She has. In fact, many men far too old and below her station have looked at her like that and met the glares of her fiercely protective parents who, by the grace of the Gods, agreed to her wish to put off marriage until it became absolutely necessary. No, what made the way Aemond looked at her strange had less to do with her lacking experience in witnessing men admire her beauty and more to do with the fact that it was him.

Of course, he is merely a man. Many gossiping court ladies she overheard when she was little said they are more susceptible to the temptation of the flesh than women are, but she’s never felt the way she did when she caught him staring. There was a rush of heat blooming between her thighs under the skirts of her dress, and she could hardly stand to hold his gaze for the duration of the moment. It felt wrong to feel that way when he was looking at her brothers like they were prey to kill seconds after staring at her.

“I visited Helaena and her children today,” Y/N says suddenly to distract herself from her current train of thought. “I suppose they liked me. They kept pulling at my skirts to get my attention as Helaena and I spoke. She is a wonderful mother to our little cousins.”

Though she couldn’t see it, Rhaenyra smiles and says, “You will make a wonderful mother too one day.” A long pause. “Did you see your uncles as well?”

She shakes her head, which causes her mother to tighten her grip on the strands of hair she’s braiding down her back, then offers a murmured apology before going on to respond to the question.

“Well, I saw one of them. Aemond landed with Vhagar in the Dragonpit when I first arrived. Then, at the training yard, he spoke briefly to Jace and Luc. Thank the Gods I did not have the misfortune of running into Aegon.”

The consistent pulling and twisting of Rhaenyra’s fingers braiding her hair goes still for a moment.

“You do not prefer Prince Aegon, then?”

She scoffs.

“He is a miserable cunt.”

In the connected room, the sound of Daemon’s wry laughter in reaction to the insult echoes and reaches their ears with ease. The hatred her father has for every Hightower in the Red Keep is not hidden from anyone, least of all her, so when she hears him laugh, she cannot help but grin to herself.

“Y/N…” her mother chides.

“I know it is not nice to say such things, but everyone knows it to be true. Helaena is the one I prefer of all your siblings. She is kind to everyone. Aemond is…tolerable, I suppose. A fine swordsman. I prefer both of them to Aegon.”

Rhaenyra hums in consideration of her candid statement.

“As do I.”

It only takes another five or so minutes for her to secure the long braid in order to prevent it from coming undone in her sleep before sending her off to bed. A kiss is pressed to the top of her head as a goodbye, then she is escorted to her chambers by one of the guards stationed outside of her parent’s door.

-

The throne room is flooded with people by the middle of the next day.

On one side, she, her parents, and her brothers stand before a crowd of curious observers who will surely gossip about what they are to see here today. On the other stands Queen Alicent, Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond. As always, Alicent is dressed in one of her finest green dresses to hammer the extent of their division home as if it weren’t already clear enough, while Rhaenyra wears one of black and red. Her brothers and father wore black by coincidence while Y/N, ever the loyal daughter, picked out a gown to match her mother as closely as she could.

The sight of her decked out in full red and black Targaryen regalia prompted Aegon to snort an unbecoming laugh when they walked in as a family. Alicent was quick to quiet him out of fear that those surrounding them would hear and look upon them unfavorably over his rude behavior. Meanwhile, Aemond simply stared.

She can feel it from across the room despite her attempts to ignore it—that same heated gaze he set upon her yesterday is back. If she weren’t so determined to her feigned act of indifference toward him, it would make her want to squirm in discomfort. It’s impossible to focus on what venomous words Vaemond spouts about her family and why he should inherit Driftmark in place of Jacaerys when she can feel Aemond’s eye on her.

To his credit, he looks away whenever her father scans his gaze around the room. If Daemon saw one of Alicent Hightower’s sons ogling his daughter, who knows what he may be compelled to do? So, every time Daemon’s focus strays from the man pleading his case to the Hand sitting atop the throne, he makes certain to look at anyone but her. Whenever her father’s eyes return to the front of the room, however, he goes straight back to it.

The only thing that manages to break his stare is the sound of the doors to the great hall being pushed open in the midst of Rhaenyra’s speech.

A masculine voice booms through the open space of the hall, “King Viserys of House Targaryen, first of his name!” Every person in the room gasps or takes a deep inhale of some sort at the sight of the frail old man that appears in the doorway, stumbling into the room with a mask covering half of his deteriorating face and a cane in hand. “King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm!”

It is painful to watch him struggle his way down the length of the room, and, considering that, she cannot imagine how much worse it must be for him. Every breath he takes is labored and shallow, heaving for air that evades him at every rise and fall of his chest. The side of his face visible to them all appears pale with dark circles and bags beneath his eyes, leaving her to wonder how much worse the other side could be to necessitate the mask concealing it. It has been years since she last saw her grandsire, and, though she knew he was ill, his current state is worse than she ever could have imagined.

Y/N watches with wide eyes as he approaches where Rhaenyra and Otto Hightower stand on either side of the room with the throne to bisect them in a line of demarcation. There are only two sides as of now—green and black—yet here he stands at the center to bind them together with what little strength he has left in his weary body.

His head cranes to the side to face Otto.

Viserys says, “I will sit the throne today,” and that is that.

It doesn’t get any easier for his family to watch him on his way up the stairs. And though he refuses the help of the guards, he does not tell his brother to back off when he appears at his side to retrieve the crown that slid off of his balding head and escort him the rest of the way to the throne. A soft smile crosses her face at the sight of her father placing the crown onto his head, and she welcomes him back to her side with her hand extended when he walks down the stairs with it never having left her face.

Feeling his rough hand in hers steadies her for what comes next. For having to endure the glares from Vaemond and her uncles when Viserys declares her brother the rightful heir to Driftmark. For having to listen to the hushed whispers that always occur at the sight of Jacaerys and Lucerys’ dark hair and features that resemble that of their biological father.

As the king calls the Princess Rhaenys to speak on behalf of her missing husband, her grip tightens enough for Daemon to give it a reassuring squeeze back. It tells her not to worry. It tells her that he and her mother will die before they let anything happen to her or her dear brothers.

Rhaenys stands with her hands folded in front of her and holds her chin high as she says to her cousin, “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son, Jacaerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him.” A knowing glance is cast at where Rhaenyra stands side by side with her eldest son, and, in response, Y/N’s mother nods. Just once. “As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons, Jace and Luc, to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

Y/N’s gaze immediately turns to find her father with as much subtlety as possible, and he gives her a nod similar to the one her mother gave Rhaenys to confirm that they plotted this together. It’s difficult not to smirk to herself at the mere thought of the panic Queen Alicent must surely feel as a result of this. She can always count on her parents to be one step ahead, can’t she?

“Well,” Viserys starts, “the matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Jacaerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.”

Alicent’s eyes avert to the ground in what Y/N guesses is disbelief and shame. Shame for her husband who has never, not once in the course of their marriage, chosen her and their children over himself. Although she admires Viserys’ love for his only daughter, Y/N cannot pretend to miss the sorrow evident on his wife’s face. Still, she finds it hard to have much sympathy for the woman who came after her mother with a knife years ago and actively tried to supplant her brother in the line of succession. Then, there’s the matter of Aegon. In her eyes, a mother who shields her perverted son from the consequences of his actions is no better than the son himself. If Y/N is to bear her future husband a son, she will be sure to raise him the way Rhaenyra has raised her honorable brothers.

Across the room, she catches Aemond’s eye once more and tries to refrain from shifting in place so as to not alert her father of the matter. Seeing that Daemon is rather protective of her, she wouldn’t want to spark any more chaos today than there already has been. This time, however, Aemond does not look at her with the same desire from yesterday. He assesses her from top to bottom, sizing her and her family up as the threat they’ve proven themselves to be.

Their attention is quickly called elsewhere when Viserys speaks again.

“It seems I have another announcement to make. A joyous one, to be sure.”

Her grandsire looks at her with a fond smile, and she can feel dread curling in the pit of her belly like an asp readying itself to strike.

“After speaking with the Princess Rhaenyra, my daughter and I have reached an agreement regarding the betrothal of her eldest daughter.” Imperceptibly to anyone but her, Daemon’s hand tightens its grasp on hers at the announcement that neither of them expected. “I hereby announce the betrothal of Princess Y/N of House Targaryen and my son, Prince Aemond of House Targaryen.”

The room erupts with the sound of gasps and whispers from the observers as well as a few members of the family who hadn’t been clued into the plans of her mother and grandsire. With a quick look around the room, it seems that nobody was informed ahead of time, not even Aemond’s mother. It’s hard for her to think, let alone conjure the ability to speak in order to whisper to her father not to make a scene or challenge the word of his brother. All she can do is try to breathe as deeply as possible through the shock and stare across the room at her uncle as though to ask him if he knew.

By the way he looks back at her with an equal amount of surprise, or, at least, as much as his inexpressive face will allow him to display, he did not know either.

-

What followed the announcement of her betrothal to Aemond mattered little to her. She did not bat an eye at her father’s cold-blooded murder of Vaemond, nor did she say a word to anyone as she walked in step with her family out of the great hall. To her mother’s terror, Y/N did not make a face or utter anything on the journey to her parents’ shared quarters with her brothers following closely behind.

She has never known her daughter to be a closed-mouthed woman. Growing up, it was something she prided herself on as a young mother—that ferocity, that fire—and admired about her only daughter. That is why Y/N’s silence is troubling by comparison to her typical demeanor. For someone who inherited her temper from her father, someone who has the blood of the dragon flowing in their veins, silence is a precursor to deadly rage.

And when the door closes behind Lucerys, the dragon is unleashed.

“How dare you?” she spits the words with tears welling up in her eyes. “You’ve damned me to a marriage with a man who couldn’t be bothered to speak more than a few words to me after years spent apart! I don’t wish to live here without you, and father, and my brothers, it’s like being thrown to the wolves! Dragonstone is where I’m happiest, mother, you know that!”

She stands in front of her entire family, excluding her youngest brothers Aegon and Viserys who are being tended to by her mother's handmaidens, pleading her case as though she is being put on trial. Jacaerys and Lucerys know better than to offer a comforting touch or words of encouragement at the risk of getting caught in the crossfire, but the sympathy visible on their faces is more than enough to offer the support she needs. The two of them know better than anyone why she is upset at the idea of her betrothal to Aemond. After all, it was Jace whose head he nearly bashed in during a fight years ago and Luc who cut his eye out in defense of him.

Rhaenyra attempts to reach out to her only to have the touch rejected with a gentle shove to the arm to prevent her from holding her daughter’s hand.

“My love,” she says softly, sighing, “I know this is not what you would have envisioned for yourself, but I needed a plan. With you and Aemond wed, with him as your prince consort and the father of your heirs when you ascend to the Iron Throne, the division between our families will cease.” When Y/N scowls at her, she adds, “I took your feelings into consideration to the best of my ability. Your grandsire proposed that you and Aegon be betrothed years ago, but I refused him as a result of your desire to wait until you were older. Then, I proposed Jacaerys and Helaena wed, but Alicent refused. This was the best I could do to benefit both you and the realm.”

The younger woman’s jaw clenches with rage as she forces herself to remain civil and not spew the first nasty words that come to mind. She does not want to say things she will regret later in the heat of the moment, but, fuck, how can any of them expect her to remain calm after what Viserys and Rhaenyra did? Her fists clenched with enough force to break the skin of her palm with the blunt edges of her nails.

Y/N turns her heated gaze to Daemon and asks, “Will you do nothing to stop this, father? You hate the Hightowers just as much, if not more, than me. Do you not give a shit about your daughter being used as a political pawn by your brother?”

Although angry himself, Daemon’s eyes narrow at her abrasive tone of voice.

“Watch your tongue,” he warns. There’s a pause during which he raises his brows at her as if in a challenge, then relaxes his face when she sighs in reluctant obedience. “Your mother and I will discuss this matter privately. As of the present moment, what the King says is law, and you will mind your tone when speaking to your mother.”

Beneath the formality of his words, she can sense his ire for the decision Rhaenyra excluded him from making with her and Viserys. She knew as soon as it was announced that her parents would be going back and forth in argument until the late hours of the night over it, but her mother is not a closed-mouthed woman either. Seeing that she is the heir to the throne, her word holds more weight than his, and if she wishes for her daughter to marry Prince Aemond, it will happen regardless of Daemon’s protests.

Y/N presses her hand to her forehead and turns to face the wall, rubbing her temple as if that will do anything to soothe the thoughts racing through her head. If not even her father has the power to protect her from her fate, what else is she to do but surrender herself to it? Instantly, the wheels begin to spin in her head, and she conjures up the conditions it will take for her to bind herself to Aemond One-Eye.

She turns around and wills her face into a mask of composed poise.

“I have conditions.”

Her mother cannot help but mutter, “Oh, Seven Hells,” under her breath to herself while her father suppresses a chuckle.

“I will do my duty and marry Prince Aemond for the sake of the realm, but I will not forfeit my standards. I know Queen Alicent will want her son wed in the Grand Sept in the tradition of her faith, but I demand a traditional Valyrian wedding as well. Whichever comes first matters not to me, but I won’t forsake the tradition of our ancestors.”

Since childhood, she has dreamt of marrying her eventual husband in the tradition of her house just as her mother did with her father, and no matter how insistent Alicent may be, that dream isn’t one she is prepared to give up without a fight. If she is being taken from Dragonstone and given to one of her sons, the least she can do is accommodate her wishes for her own wedding day.

Rhaenyra offers her a tight-lipped smile.

“Your father and I will support you in that decision, I swear it.” She then asks, “What else?”

“There will be no bedding ceremony. That is sacred, and private, and should remain between us as husband and wife.”

The only thing she can imagine being more mortifying than having to wed a man who does not care for her is having to bed him in front of her grandsire, as well as other grown men and women she would prefer not see her in a state of undress. Not to mention, she would have to resort to burning Aegon to a crisp with Vermithor to avoid him pestering her until the end of her days over what he would witness in the ceremony.

“I agree,” her mother says. “I have no doubts that you and Prince Aemond will fulfill your duty. I see no need for a bedding ceremony either.”

With the silence that follows, the realization that what’s happening to her is, in fact, real nearly knocks her off her feet. Until now, she didn’t have to face it head-on without the buffer of her argument with her parents and the conditions for her agreeing to the marriage between her. That dread she felt in her belly has now spread to the rest of her body and holds her hostage. Yet, through the panic, she recalls the way he looked at her when they were in the training yard and hopes that basic level of desire will be a sturdy enough foundation for a functioning marriage.

She isn’t a fool. She knows that her marriage will not be loving, nor will it be what she wanted for herself in the past, but her mother is right. It is the best opportunity to keep the peace between their families, and marrying Aemond is a better alternative to what could have been with Aegon had her mother agreed with the King those years ago.

“Well, then, I suppose it’s already decided, is it not?” Before either of her parents can get a word in, she turns to her brothers and asks, “Jace, Luc, would you mind escorting me to my quarters? I wish to be alone until we are called to supper with the family.”

They both nod.

-

When it comes time to walk into the dining room, Y/N isn’t sure if she wants to enter.

An hour or so after she left her parents in their chambers, her father came to visit her in hers. The expression on his face was downcast yet subdued in the way it always is when he’s to deliver her bad news. All it took was one look at his face for her to slam the book she was reading shut and toss it onto the table in front of the chair she was lounging in. Her hair was disheveled from the braids she took down, and she wore her simplest, most comfortable dress available. She looked, for lack of a better word, a mess.

Daemon stalked across the room to her with his mouth clamped shut, one hand on the hilt of Dark Sister, and knelt down on the carpet in front of her. One of his hands reached for hers, and he held it. Without saying anything for the first moment or so, he held her hand because he knew it was what she needed from either him, her mother, or her brothers now that her temper had been given time to cool down. As soon as he saw her finally begin to take deep, even breaths in and out without fail, he allowed his hand to slip away.

“Iksan vaoreznuni, ñuha dōna riña,” he said in their mother tongue to keep any of her handmaidens from overhearing the private conversation. I am sorry, my sweet girl. “Konīr iksis daorun kostan gaomagon.” There is nothing I can do. “Nyke gōntan daor jaelagon ziry hae sȳrī. Yn konir sagon se vyguēsin hen bisa ābrar. Issa jēda ao gūrēñagon skoros māzigon lēda aōha gaomilaksir hae dārilaros.” I know this is not what you want. I did not want it as well. But that is the nature of this life. It is time you learn what comes with your duty as heir.

She huffed a sigh at him in response, wishing to throw a fit and stomp her feet the way she once did as a spoiled young princess, but she didn’t. What frustrated her the most was the fact that he was right. Everyone else was right—her mother, her father, Viserys—and it killed her. It threatened to eat her alive.

Y/N lamented, “Dārilaros Aemond gaomas daor sesīr hae nyke. Emi daorun isse quptenka, kepa.” Prince Aemond does not even like me. We have nothing in common, father. “Nyke gīmigon nyke gōntan daor emagon iā iderennon, yn naejot gaomagon bisa mijegon nyke iksis nūmāzma.” I know I did not have a choice, but to do this without me is mean.

To this, Daemon chuckled.

“Aōha muña gīmigon ao sȳrī. Lo ēdas eptan ao nūmāzma ziry, ao would emagon geptot va Vermithor.” Your mother knows you well. If she had asked you about it, you would have left on Vermithor. “Iksā aōha kepa’s tala. Iksā iā zaldrīzes. Se mērī ñuhoso naejot gaomagon īles naejot ruaragon ziry hen ao.” You are your father’s daughter. You are a dragon. The only way to do it was to hide it from you.

The last part drew a soft giggle from her as well. It wasn’t as if he was wrong. Had she been briefed on the plan to betroth her to her uncle, she would have marched down to the Dragonpit and mounted Vermithor the first chance she got. No, Rhaenyra was right, this was the only way to ensure the plan’s success on both ends. Had anyone told Aemond, she suspects he would have talked to his mother and allowed her to find a way out of it. Perhaps a highborn woman from another house whose gained alliance would prove too good of an offer for the King to overlook.

Her father quieted for a second, then spoke again quite candidly. For he never thought to prepare his most cherished creation for the reality of her ever-looming duty as a wife until now. Selfishly, he thought he and Rhaenyra may keep her forever. He already lost ten years with her, so why wouldn’t he feel entitled to more? But, he realized, she was a woman grown. Soon, she would no longer be his or Rhaenyra’s, nor would she be Prince Aemond’s. She would be her own. The Seven Kingdoms would one day be hers for the taking.

“Se gaomā daor gīmigon skorkydoso olvie emā isse quptenka lēda zirȳla. Ra arlinnon istin iksā wed. Skori ao glaesagon hae valzȳrys se ābrazȳrys, ao mirre hēnkirī. Lēda biarves, kesā mazverdagon naejot hae aōha valzȳrys. Se, lo ziry ōdrikagon ao, ao gīmigon aōha kepa se muña would nekēbagon hen zȳhon tolie laes. Daor bona ao jorrāelagon īlva. Daor, nyke gīmigon ao se vermithor kessa gaomagon sepār sȳz mērī.” And you do not know how much you have in common with him. Things change once you are wed. When you live as husband and wife, you work together. With luck, you will grow to like your husband. And, if he hurts you, you know your father and mother would carve out his other eye. Not that you need us. No, I know you and Vermithor will do just fine alone.

The thought of things changing between her and Aemond felt impossible, but she decided to take his word for it. What else was she to do? After all, her father had three marriages so far, and she had none. If anyone were an expert in the matter, it would be him, not her.

Truth be told, Prince Aemond was not the worst option in the realm. It could’ve been Aegon, and thank the Gods it was not. For one, she did not find him as attractive as Aemond, and he could not wield a sword to save his own skin, so how could she expect him to protect her as his wife? She and Aemond could take down a group of men with their skill as sword fighters alone, standing back to back as a team. The same cannot be said for her other uncle. Not to mention, Aegon had a well-known reputation for forcing himself on the handmaidens who tended to him and his wife. Aemond, however, had never had such vile rumors spread about him. Outside of his obvious lust for revenge against her brothers, he was decent.

After her father departed, it was time to wash for the day and allow her handmaidens to aid her in preparing for supper. Rather than wearing the dress she sported in the Great Hall earlier that day, she opted for her best. If this was her first dinner with her soon-to-be husband and stepmother, she would do her best to make Rhaenyra proud in one of the dresses she had made for her.

Now, the confidence she built up in the secluded sanctuary of her private chambers has dwindled back down, but she doesn’t allow herself to linger outside of the dining room for any longer than a moment. She takes a deep breath to steady herself, then walks in.

Everyone else, save for King Viserys, is already present at the long table pushed toward the other side of the spacious room she enters. She forces her gaze to meet her parents’ eyes first, then her brothers, Queen Alicent, Helaena, Otto, Aegon, then, finally Aemond. He is positioned at the end of the table with an empty chair beside him that she can only assume is meant for her now that they are promised to one another. Mercifully, she is seated on the side closest to her dear Aunt Helaena, not Otto Hightower. Whether that was intentionally planned by her mother, father, grandsire, or new stepmother, she does not know. If she were to bet on it, it would be on the latter. Queen Alicent may have her issues with Y/N’s parents, but she is well aware of her fondness for Helaena.

Rhaenyra gives her an encouraging smile as she watches her cross the room, no doubt approving of her cheerful demeanor whether it’s feigned or not. When she turns to walk toward the side of the table Aemond sits at, she finds herself breathless yet again beneath the intensity of his stare. His eye moves up and down the length of her body in assessment. It lingers on the upper part of her body where the detailing of her blood-red dress becomes more intricate, then notices the statement necklace passed down to her from her mother that clings around her neck.

The neckline of the dress plunges down as far as she is allowed without compromising her modesty. When facing her dead-on from their seats at the table, it does not appear scandalous at all, but when Aemond stands from his seat to pull hers out as his mother instructed him to, the height advantage he has on her changes that.

She says in greeting, their gazes locked, “My Prince,” and sits down as soon as the words leave her.

And though she cannot see it, Aemond grips the back of her chair hard enough to turn his knuckles white at the sight of her. He can only see the side of her face at the moment, but she looks…beautiful. The same conflicted feeling that came over him in the training yard settles inside of his chest again as he sits down in the chair beside her.

The second they are both settled in their seats, though, the doors open again, and they all must stand to welcome King Viserys. It merely takes a moment for the guards assisting him to carry his chair around the side of the table and place him in between Alicent and Rhaenyra. His wife is quick to interlace her fingers with his and ask him how he’s feeling, to which he responds by saying he is fine despite the wheezing breaths he takes.

After Alicent says a quick prayer, he wastes no time in looking upon his family with a smile on his face.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons, Jace and Luc, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena.” He then turns to look where Y/N and Aemond sit side by side, not looking or speaking to one another. “My son, Aemond, will marry my granddaughter, Y/N, further strengthening the bond within our house. A toast to the young princes and their betrothed.”

Everyone raises their cups.

“And,” Viserys continues, “to Prince Jacaerys, the future Lord of the Tides.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N watches Aegon’s face twist up into a smile that she can only assume means trouble. But, before her son can ruin the evening just as it is beginning, Alicent plasters a warm smile on her face and turns toward her son’s betrothed.

“Princess, may I ask that I help you design your wedding gown? I would love to aid you in your preparations for the ceremony, seeing that it is far too much for one woman to handle alone in a week.”

She nearly choked on the mouthful of wine she was in the midst of swallowing when Alicent began speaking. Even Aemond tenses slightly at the short timeframe between now, the day their betrothal was announced, and the wedding. It isn’t as if it doesn’t make sense to her. Viserys’ health declines daily at a horrifying rate, and the sooner they are wed, the sooner they create peace between their families.

He watches her closely, studying her as she nods and says, “Of course, my Queen. It would be an honor.”

The whole time, Aemond remains unnervingly silent. It isn’t unlike him at all, but for the situation at hand, she finds herself wishing he were the type to initiate conversation of some sort so she may begin to get to know him better. They were friends when they were children, sure, but much has changed in the years that have passed since they last saw one another at Driftmark, and they are not the children they once were.

“I must admit,” Viserys speaks from beside his wife, “It pleases me so to know that I will be able to witness my youngest child’s wedding. My only hope for you both is that you remain happy together, and that you may have a marriage as fulfilling as mine own.”

For the first time since she arrived, her betrothed speaks.

“I am happy to hear that I’ve pleased you, father.”

The night continues on with little issue from then on. Surprisingly, their mothers do not break into an argument from either side of King Viserys, and, save for a few comments from Aegon here or there that cause her brothers to stiffen with stifled anger, everyone gets along rather well. She and Aemond do not speak to each other as she hoped they would, but he is not cruel or perverted like his brother had it been him she was betrothed to.

In fact, when she looks across the table to see her mother and father talking and laughing with each other, to see her brothers talking with their soon-to-be wives, she cannot help but feel happy to be here. It was the last thing she expected to feel when she spoke to her parents earlier, but she welcomes it. Although it has Aegon scowling into his cup of wine, Jacaerys and Helaena dance together in front of the table with wide smiles, spinning around one another and jumping as though they’re still the children who used to play together.

For a brief moment, everything is perfect. Viserys is glad to see his family together in celebration of his grandchildren’s marriages, Rhaenyra and Alicent are being civil toward one another, and, she decides, Aemond isn’t too bad. Granted, he is hardly speaking to her or anyone else for most of the dinner, but that matters not to her. He’ll warm up to her eventually, she hopes.

Her hope is scattered to the wind the second she sees a servant set down the roast pig in front of Aemond’s place at the table. At first, all he does is turn his head slowly to look at where Lucerys sits further down the table. Her heart begins to hammer in her chest at the threat present in his body language and facial expression. Silently, she prays neither of them does anything to ruin the peace that has fallen over their family tonight, but when Lucerys begins to chuckle to himself at the memory of the time he, Jacaerys, and Aegon pranked him by gifting him a pig, all bets are off.

The table rattles from the hand Aemond slaps down against it, causing everyone sitting before it to either jolt in surprise or look up from their plates to watch him rising to stand.

Under her breath, Y/N murmurs, “Aemond…” but he pays her no heed.

His cup is clenched in one fist that raises to present it to the room.

“Final tribute,” he casts a quick glance at her. “To my betrothed.” He then sets his sights on her younger brother and glares at him with every bit of ire he’s kept trapped beneath the surface since they last saw each other. “And her brothers. Jace. Luc. Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…” There’s a heavy pause. Tension floods the room in the time he takes to consider his words, his eye refusing to stray from where her brother is sitting at the end of the table. “Strong.”

“Aemond,” his mother is quick to say.

Without thinking, Y/N reverts to the child she was when she, her cousins, and her brothers fought him over his claiming of Vhagar and reaches to pinch him on the leg in warning. It’s hidden beneath the surface of the table where their parents cannot catch notice of it, so when she does it, he is the only one who reacts. Even then, it isn’t much of a reaction. All he does is clench his jaw in annoyance. As though she’s a fly buzzing around his face that he wishes to swat away.

“Come, let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys—“

Jacaerys marches forward a step and says, his voice unwavering in its command, “I dare you to say that again.”

From where she sits, she can see the corner of Aemond’s mouth twitch with the urge to smirk. That bait has been taken.

“Why? T’was only a compliment.” At this, her brother begins to walk across the room to him, and her Prince takes that as his chance to turn to him. “Do you not think yourself strong?”

The sound of her brother’s fist meeting his face is soft, only heard by her and Otto as they are the closest over everyone else’s sounds of shock. Aemond takes the hit without wobbling where he stands, not even a little, and he turns back to see Jacaerys with a feral grin on his face. All it takes is a shove against his chest and her brother is sent tumbling into his back on the floor. Her mother shouts his name in disappointment at his violence, but neither of them listens.

Chaos has broken out amongst the family for the second time today, and Y/N doesn’t know what to do other than reach out to grab onto his arm.

“Do not touch him,” she hisses, looking up at Aemond from beneath her furrowed brows.

A muscle in his jaw jumps with him clenching it tightly in restraint, looking down not at her but at the bare hand wrapped around his. She holds onto him as though he is her lifeline, and he cannot help but look back over his shoulder at her brother as he breaks free from the guards restraining him to attack again. On instinct, Aemond rips his hand from her forceful grip with little struggle and moves forward to meet him halfway, damning whatever consequences it may have with her.

Just when the two men are about to reach one another with the promise of violence visible on their faces, they are stopped.

Daemon walks between them and forces his stepson to retreat back to where the guards are standing in a row behind him. All it takes is him holding up a hand, telling everyone else to back off, before he spins back around to face Aemond. His hand rests on the hilt of Dark Sister as a silent threat in time with the heavy sigh that sinks his shoulders.

Her father looks at him the way he used to look at her when she would talk back to him as a child. It must infuriate Aemond to be looked at like a petulant child in need of scolding, but he does not say anything. He simply walks off in the direction of the doors.

Y/N pushes her chair out behind her without a care for how Rhaenyra and Alicent call after her to stay, storming out after Aemond with no small amount of anger swirling within her.

The doors open and slam shut behind her as she rushes to catch up with him halfway down the long hallway with a few servants walking in either direction. His hair swishes from side to side with every harsh step, and she longs for nothing more than to wrap it around her fist and yank on it to gain his attention for what he said to her brothers tonight.

She raises her voice at him, “Keligon!” Stop.

Instead of listening, he continues to walk away from her, and she cannot stop herself from grabbing him by the arm to turn him around to face her. Their difference in strength prevents her from moving him, but she does manage to halt him, and that is not an opportunity she ignores.

“Ēdā daor paktot naejot gaomagon bona! Lucerys iksis iā ābrītsos valītsos, iksā vala. Gaomagon daor iderēbagon va zirȳla syt ra kostas daor dohaeragon!” You had no right to do that! Lucerys is a young boy, you are a man. Do not pick on him for things he cannot help!

Aemond whirls around, invading her space with a hand grasping onto her wrist to yank her hand from his forearm. There’s a crazed look in his eye, and he does not care that the servants at the end of the hall are watching despite not being able to understand their language anyway. Let them talk.

“Ēdan daor paktot? Mazēdas ñuha laes! Lo kostan glaesagon mijegon ñuha laes, kostas gryves issare brōztagon iā nādrēsy!” I had no right? He took my eye! If I can live without my eye, he can bear being called a bastard.

Her face scrunches with rage, brows furrowing, and she plants her free hand on his chest to shove him back only to be seized with both of his hands on her shoulders.

“Vestā aōla bona iā laes iksis iā litse odre syt iā zaldrīzes. Lo ao konir sagon drēje, skoro syt ēdruta ao ōregon bisa toliot zȳhon bartos? kesan aderī sagon aōha ābrazȳrys. Aōha ābrazȳrys! Istia daor ōdrikagon ñuha lēkia.” You said yourself that an eye is a fair price for a dragon. If that is true, why must you hold this over his head? I will soon be your wife. Your wife! You must not harm my brother.

The sparks between them flare up into a wildfire incapable of being contained. Two dragons face off in a fight neither of them will back down from, readying themselves to cause one another harm at a second’s notice. She can feel the heat of his rapid exhales puffing against her face as they are locked in an intense stare, and his hands squeeze her shoulders hard enough to leave bruises behind on her delicate skin.

Aemond says, “Lo iksā naejot sagon ñuha ābrazȳrys, skoro syt ēdruta ao mīsagon lī qilōni ōdrikagon nyke? Lo daor syt Lucerys, aōha valzȳrys would daor jurnegon bisa ñuhoso.” If you are to be my wife, why must you defend those who hurt me? If not for Lucerys, your husband would not look this way.

“Nyke hae se ñuhoso ao jurnegon! laes iā daor, iksā iā gevie vala! Kostilus bisa kostagon emagon issare vestās ondoso sir lo ao jenitis naejot ȳdragon naejot nyke tubī!” I like the way you look! Eye or no, you are a beautiful man. Perhaps this may have been said by now if you bothered to speak to me today. “Nyke shifang bona ziry pryjatan ao, yn ao brōztagon zirȳ nādrēsy ēlī.” I understand that he struck you, but you called them bastards first.

“Issi nādrēsy!” They are bastards!

She rips herself out of his clutches and reaches up to grab him by the chin, forcing him to meet her gaze and listen to what she says next.

“Ñuha muña se kepa sia daor wed skori īlen vēttan, se kesīr iksan. Aōha ābrazȳrys. Gaomas bona jenigon ao? Kessa bisa gaomagon ao hen issare lēda nyke? Kessa ziry jenigon ao naejot qogralbar aōha nādrēsy ābrazȳrys?” My mother and father were not wed when I was made, and here I am. Your wife. Does that bother you? Will this keep you from being with me? Will it bother you to fuck your bastard wife?

This seems to stop him for an instant. It causes his eye to turn wide and his nostrils to flare with the strange mixture of anger and attraction he feels for her at this moment, and he is too stuck on what she said to care or notice that she is still holding his chin. Although he loathes her brothers, he cannot deny the effect she has on him. Every potential match his mother has introduced to him has been a simpering, bashful high-born lady who assumes that their skill in needlepoint or singing will woo him. None of them presented him with a challenge. They all gave way under the slightest bit of pressure, but she doesn’t. She never has.

The sweet scent of the bathing oil she used while soaking in the tub in her chambers clings to her half-up, half-down braided updo. It takes everything he has to not reach up to run it through his fingers. He isn’t sure why the urge comes to mind, but as soon as he notices the citrus scent, he has to pull his chin out of her hand and put a distance between them to keep himself at bay.

He shakes his head at her.

“Emā iā vaogenka relgos syt iā riña.” You have a dirty mouth for a lady.

She counters back without missing a beat, “Iksā olvie nūmāzma syt iā dārilaros.” You are quite mean for a prince.

Aemond steps back again, allowing his eye to roam up and down her figure in a lingering, selfish stare. The neckline of her dress allows him a generous glimpse at her breasts, pressed up against the fabric in a way that begs him to tear it off of her. What she failed to realize when he ignored her throughout their family dinner was that he could not say the things he wished to in the presence of her parents and brothers.

All he offers in response is a, “Hmm,” and turns on his heels to walk off down the hallway without her.

-

For the next three days, she does not see Prince Aemond, but it isn’t his fault. If anything, it is hers.

She refused to leave her chambers for the entire first day following their betrothal. The events of the day prior had been chaotic enough to provide her excitement for the week, so she resigned herself to a day of solitude her mother allowed due to the whirlwind of drama from their family dinner. If not for her marriage to Aemond being planned, her family likely would have left to return to Dragonstone after the fight broke out between her brothers and her betrothed, but Rhaenyra was quick to reassure her that they were not going anywhere.

The comfort of her mother’s warm hand stroking her back as she hugged her to her chest, pressing the swell of her pregnant belly into her abdomen, soothed the nerves that plagued her in anticipation of the wedding.

“Your betrothal does not mean we are abandoning you, my love. I promise to stay here by your side until you become accustomed to living in King's Landing again.”

They talked and spent time together that first day, just the two of them, until the sun faded below the edge of the horizon. The topic of conversation varied between gossiping about what happened at the family dinner and Rhaenyra answering her myriad of questions about marriage. No one sent for them or dared to disrupt the sanctuary created within the walls of her room. It wasn’t until her brothers and Daemon came knocking that they were forced to come back to reality.

The second day, she read two modestly-sized books, walked to her brother Jacaerys’ chambers to pass the time with a quick conversation, and wasted at least thirty minutes soaking in the tub until the water went cold. Other than that, there wasn’t much she could do to quell her boredom without leaving her rooms.

On the third day, her father forced her out of bed and dragged her down to the Dragonpit, insisting that a ride on Vermithor would lift her spirits. And it did. She thanked Daemon the minute she landed back in the dragon pit where he waited for her, stranded without his beloved Caraxes there for him to fly. All he did was throw an arm around her shoulder and tell her they would practice in the training yard next. This set her on edge at first, wondering if she would run into Aemond for the first time since he left her in the hallway, but he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he too was sulking and isolating himself in his chambers.

Today, she finally tired of hiding herself away with nothing to occupy her and made her way to the Godswood with her favorite book from the library tucked under her arm.

Y/N sits beneath the Weirwood tree, back pressed up against the thick trunk and book flipped open to rest on her thighs. It has been at least an hour since she arrived if the position of the sun in the sky changing where the shadows of the leaves fall has anything to say for it, and she has yet to look up from her story. The warm breeze blows at her face to keep her from feeling too warm in the arid summer. It has not rained in a moon, and every blade of grass beneath her as she walked up to her favorite tree was brittle from nature’s neglect.

Distantly, she hears the soft footfalls of someone crossing the same brittle grass she had to reach the tree, but she doesn’t lift her gaze from the book to greet them. It is most Queen Alicent’s most trusted lady in waiting coming to fetch her for wedding preparations. Either that or it’s Lucerys coming back to bug her as he had earlier because he was bored.

The last thing she expected was to hear Aemond’s voice.

All he says is, “Hello, niece.”

When she lifts her eyes from the pages of her book to see him, the sun halos him from behind, turning the edges of his silver hair warm from its marigold rays, and before she can stop herself, a slight smile finds its way to her lips. She hadn’t been lying the other night when they argued in the hallway. She does find him handsome, and there are fond memories from her childhood with him far different from those which he shares with her brothers. There was never any cruelty between them. He enjoyed that she was learning to wield a sword and often asked her to practice with him before the drama of their family pulled them apart.

Before she can get a word in, he’s extending his arm to present a small, green velvet box to her. By the looks of it alone, she deduces that it is jewelry of some sort, but she won’t know what exactly it is until she opens it.

“What’s this for?” she asks and takes the box into her possession.

It sits, cradled in her lap on top of the book, until she pushes the lid open. A necklace. Gold with modest rubies set along the chain until a slightly larger one, set in the mouth of a roaring dragon, hangs from the center of it. In truth, it is stunning. She has never owned nor seen a piece of jewelry like it in her mother’s collection, and it’s hard to refrain from asking him to put it on her straight away.

“My mother told me I must court you,” he says, voice even and comically unexpressive. “I’d like to see you wear it for our wedding ceremony.” Then, having heard of her desire for a traditional Valyrian ceremony through Queen Alicent, he clarifies, “The public one.”

She looks up at him again.

“This is what you call courting, my Prince?”

Of course, the gift is better than what any other potential suitor could have given her, but, for the sake of torturing him, she couldn’t resist the urge to say it. Marrying a man who cannot be bothered to spend time with her or engage in conversation with her is not in her plans. If she is to become his wife, he’ll need to work for it, and as pretty as the necklace may be, she’d prefer actually getting to know him over a gift.

Aemond tilts his head to the side as though in curiosity.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. What else would you like me to do, Princess?”

Without further ado, the velvet jewelry box is shut and placed on the ground to the left side of her. The book remains flipped open on her lap to the page she was last reading from, and she glanced up and down between it and him.

“Well, you could ask me what I’m reading first,” she suggests. “I know we were friends as children, but it has been many years since then. All I’m asking is to know my husband before we’re wed. To do so, we would have to actually talk to one another for a change.”

There’s a stretch of silence following this.

All she hears is the breeze ruffling through the leaves of the treetop above and the sound of distant conversation between servants as they stare at each other. He narrows his eye at her, then smiles to himself and closes the distance between them with two long strides. The thick roots of the tree serve as seats for them to lounge upon, and he takes the one emerging from the ground right beside her as his seat of choice. It looks a little funny from her perspective to see him awkwardly perched on the room of the great tree with his arms braced on his knees and his focus solely set on her.

“What are you reading?” Aemond then asks.

She closes the large book with a soft “thump” sound and leans back against the trunk with her head tilted back just so to allow her to look up at him.

“I found it the last time I was here. In the library. Septa Marlow ripped it from my hands before I could read a single word, so, of course, I snuck back in later to see what all the fuss was for.” He fights the urge to smile at that. Her fingers, decorated in rings passed down to her from her mother, curl around the edges of the book and raise it to present it to Aemond as though it is a prize as sought after as the Iron Throne. “A Caution for Young Girls. The story of Lady Coryanne Wylde. After discovering its contents, I soon understood why the septa tried to keep it from me. It was far too scandalous for a young maiden such as myself to read.”

A scoff comes from the Prince as he takes it into his possession and flips it over in his hands to inspect it.

“I have only ever heard of it. I prefer history and philosophy.”

She perks up at the opportunity to gush about her favorite book to someone.

“It’s about her erotic adventures before becoming a septa in Oldtown later in her life. It’s quite entertaining. I rather enjoy reading books separate from my studies. It’s like entering a different world or living a different life.”

Under his breath, she can hear him mutter, “Erotic adventures,” incredulously to himself as though it is the most ridiculous topic for a book he has ever heard, and it earns a snorting laugh from her.

“What? Your brother can frequent brothels on the Street of Silk as much as he’d like yet I cannot read about it in place of having the freedoms only given to men in this world?”

The wind blows strands of his hair out of place enough for her to reach up and tuck it back where it belongs without thinking. Her sudden movement almost caused him to jerk away in blind anticipation of having to react physically before he forces himself to remain still. After a second, his body begins to relax at the feeling of his fingers running through his hair and pushing it back into place where it previously laid. When her hand comes back to rest in her lap, he manages to find his voice.

“You will not have to read about it for much longer, though, will you?”

Suddenly, the eye contact they maintain becomes unbearable for the both of them. Y/N stops herself from shifting in place in discomfort due to the strange feeling between her thighs at the implication of his words, and Aemond cannot ignore the thrill it gives him to see the effect he has on her.

Perhaps this marriage will be easier than she previously thought.

-

Let me know your thoughts! Part Two with the wedding, smut, and drama will be written shortly.

Taglist: @mvrylee​

[the-winter-spider]

Good Guy | S.H

Word count: 1k

Warnings: None? Angst?

A/N: Yall i havent posted in ages, im still very much active reading everyone elses writings buuut im deciding to go thru and post everything i have in my docs, maybe finally fix my master list 💀🤭 we’ll see! Enjoy

—

You were sitting on the edge of his bed, your legs dangling over as you turned to look over your shoulder at him snoring peacefully while you were holding your breath trying to savour this moment before the reality of what happened last night crushed you.

You knew what it was, it was ‘the world is most likely ending and the girl ive been in love with since high school still doesn’t love me back’ sex. Because there was no logical way Steve had feelings for you of any sort that would make him want to tear your clothes off and litter your bruised and scarred body with such tender kisses, whispering the sweetest of words in your ear, then proceed to hold you in his arms while he falls asleep.

There was no way in any world upside right or down that it was anything more than that.

You sighed, finally pushing yourself off the bed, tip-toeing around his room to gather the pieces of your clothing, ushering as quickly and quietly to his bathroom as you could. You wanted to avoid the mirror so bad, you were disgusted with yourself, not for sleeping with him, no but for letting your self think for a mere second that it was anything but sex to him. In all honesty it was probably just an itch he wanted to scratch, you were probably just a flavour of ice cream he was lingering on for a while something no one else in their right mind would pick but once you’ve tried all the other flavours you were the only one left.

Pathetic. That's all you were, you slipped off his boxers letting your tears hit the ground with them. The cotton fabric catches your salty waters as they hit the tile.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid” you whispered to yourself pulling on own clothes, before sliding out of his room and house.

The morning spring air hit you refreshingly as you closed your eyes, stopping to gather your thoughts for a brief moment, steadying yourself and the whirlwind of emotions going through your head.

You knew you had to hurry home and change to be ready to meet at the Wheeler's house for 9:00am sharp to discuss your next moves with Vecna, and arriving with Steve while you were still in yesterday’s clothes would raise suspicion, questions and leave you open for friendly banter and teasing but more importantly you didnt wanna still be at Steve’s house when he woke up, you couldn't handle seeing the pure regret in his eyes, the shame that would be radiating off of him, surely that would be your tipping point.

You looked at your watch, 9:00AM “Shit” you mumbled, downing the rest of your coffee like it was a shot at a party, you quickly tied the laces on your converse before running across the street to the Wheelers.

You let out a huff of hair, running your hand through your hair before knocking, the door whipped open revealing Robin “Oh! I'm so glad to see you” She grabbed your arm, yanking you inside, “We've been here all but maybe 10 minutes and everyone is already arguing” She threw her hands up “Can you believe that? it's too early for this!” You reached the door to the basement as Robin loudly started troting down “Y/n is finally here!”

You reached the bottom of the stairs giving a small wave and smile looking everywhere but the brown haired boy in the corner whose eyes you could feel piercing into you “Hi” your voice quiet before manurving your way to the side, far away from Steve.

You were sitting legs crossed on the wheelers couch, you could hear a buzzing surrounding you, squeezing your eyes shut, rubbing your temples you weren’t sure if at this point if it was the headache you’ve been nursing for a few days, the lack of sleep, or all the tears you cried this morning in Steve’s bathroom. All the voices of your friends overlapping one another mushing into a single sound.

tick, tick, tick, tick

“So we now know Max is one of Vecna’s targets, we just have to.…” Nancy spoke her voice trailing off as you tuned it out. Their chatter immersed into one inconvenient noise to you, the pounding in your head overpowering the conversation no one cared that you weren't taking part in. Even though you have always been more of a listener, never giving suggestions because someone always had a better one. You were just here to do as you were told and make sure no one else got hurt because they all had families, parents, people who loved them, you didn’t. And if one of your dumb ideas led to the possibility of one of them getting hurt or worse ending up dead, you would never be able to forgive yourself, so you stayed out of it.

You found picking at your pant leg was a better distraction, wasting all the energy you had on making the hole in your pants bigger than it already was, revealing a scar on your knee that you obtained last year running from russians, when for a brief moment the buzzing stopped and your sense zeroed in on the trickling cool wetness you felt on your upper lip and your eyes growing wide as you watched a single droplet of blood land on your jeans.

You moved your hand to catch the rest of the droplets when you looked up your eyes met Max’s, her eyebrows raised in shock before they softened as she watched a tear run down your cheek “Guys” she spoke, her voice could barely be heard over Steve arguing with Nancy that he didn’t want to be a babysitter anymore “GUYS!” she screamed even louder as all eyes turned to her

Steve and Nancy both turned their heads to her yelling “What?!”

Max lifted up her hand, directing her finger to point directly at you, suddenly one by one all pairs of eyes turned to you

“Holy shit” Dustin muttered “Holy shit!” He got louder as he pieced it together.

“No” Steve froze “No, no, no” He was panicking suddenly the room felt heavy, the air was leaving his lungs as he watched blood dripping from your nose.

[dellalyra]

Family Formation

Summary: Satoru shows up with unexpected young companions.

CW: fluff, mentions of childhood neglect, talks of parenthood and motherhood, the TINIEST suggestive mention of a daddy kink at the end but like SO SMALL

A/N: LORD I’ve not written in 3 years but this was like worming away at my brain and I had to get it down, the dynamic of gojo and reader and the fushiguro kids is just like *chefs kiss* to me and tugs at all the right heartstrings. I have a part 2 idea in mind or maybe a mini series of mothering the fushiguros idk idk maybe, this is like Gojo x reader but also these kids NEED LOVE

Part Two

Your boyfriend of 2 years shows up at the doorstep of your shared apartment one day, looking exhausted and sheepish. Behind him - two children, neither older than 8 but looking tired and slightly rough around the edges. The elder, a girl, sags under the weight of whatever invisible burden she carries as she hides slightly behind her younger brother (siblings, you presume). Without saying a word, to the children or Satoru, you user them all inside.

You introduce yourself and find out their names (from the sister, the boy seems shy and on edge) that their names are Tsumiki and Megumi Fushiguro.

You try to not falter at the surname. You take a quick glance up at Satoru, a wordless understanding that these - these two children, young, hurting and innocent and the kids of the man who not only killed your boyfriend in front of you, but who was subsequently killed by him.

Satoru, the embodiment of charisma and a boy who naturally oozes apparent self assurance looks at you with a look you can only describe as uncertainty.

With a smile, you ask the kids if they’d like some juice and a cookie or a snack. You’d grown up with kids, and always dreamed of the day that you and Satoru might welcome your own. Your maternal streak had gotten yourself, Shoko, Geto, Satoru, Nanami and Haibara into a place where Jujutsu High felt less intimidating, with Shoko often laughing you were born ready for motherhood. Satoru had always known this about you, but in this moment - he saw it in the wordless acceptance of these two unsure, unsettled, unnerved children.

You lead the kids to the kitchen and sit them at the table and serve up two small cups of apple juice and come homemade shortcake you had made for Satoru. Telling the kids to enjoy, and make themselves comfy you walk into the hall, grabbing the arm of your boyfriend.

“Satoru, what the fuck is going on? Why are Toji Fushigoru’s children eating cookies in our kitchen?” You shook his shoulders as if trying to get him to understand the gravity of the situation.

“Well, they were in the hall, then you offered them juice and cooki-“ Satoru was cut of by your stern eyes pointing at him, and the cheeky smirk as he tried to avoid the hard conversation was swiped off his face as if you’d washed it with a cloth.

“The boy, Megumi, he’s a Zenin. A Ten Shadows Zenin, Toji sold him to the Zenin Clan.” He knew you’d understand what he was insinuating even with the short version of the story.

You look up into his glacial eyes, the ones that always held joy and mischief, the eyes of the man you fell in love with by the second year of Jujutsu Tech, the eyes that held the power of a god, and all you saw was determination and honesty.

So, you stood tall, and nodded.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. They can’t go to the Zenin’s. So, let’s get them comfortable.” And with that, you walk into the kitchen and sit at the table.

“So, do you guys know anything about what’s going on?” You asked the kids, trying to gauge what they understood about the situation, despite being 5 minutes involved in it yourself.

They both nodded, the boys eyes flitted between Gojo and you, steely in their suspicion.

“Okay! So, what do you guys have with you? Clothes, toys, toothbrushes, pyjamas?” You asked, with Satoru smiling at your ever present practicality.

“Uhm, I packed us both a spare set of clothes and a toothbrush that we share and we usually just sleep in our clothes, it’s helped save on laundry for me to do.” Tsumiki replied, serious as a 40 year old.

“Have you been doing your laundry and housework, Tsumiki?” You ask, reaching tentatively for the girls small hand. You see her consider whether or not to tell you the truth of how no adult had been caring for them for some time now, and she had been raising them both. Your gentle smile, coaxed her into realising you were a safe space.

“Kinda, I’m sorry we don’t have many things. I had to use our money for the water bills and new shoes for Megumi because he grew out of his last ones.” When she said this, Megumi blushed, as if he was guilty of the sin of growing and costing money.

“Okay, it’s only 2pm so, Satoru, kids, you can leave your backpacks here so go sit in the car, I’m going to get my purse and jacket. We need to shop.” You stood up, orders given like a drill sergeant.

You glance over at your boyfriend, seeing nothing but pure love reflected in his eyes. As Tsumiki took her brother by the hand, and led him to the car. You walked to Satoru.

“Are we doing this?” You asked.

“What? Shopping?” He teased, tiny small on his perfect lips.

“I mean it, ‘toru. This is serious. Are we doing this?” Placing both hands on either side of his face and lifting his glasses to look at him in his eyes.

“This, Toji’s kids, I can’t let them go to the Zenin’s, I know this isn’t what you signed up for - I mean we’re 19 but I have told these kids I’ll look out for them now. I just - they didn’t ask for any of this.” He finishes with a breath, placing his forehead on yours. Tilting your head, you softly slot your lips against his.

“Not you, Satoru. We. We will look out for these kids. If you are doing this, so am I. I’m with you. Through all of it.” As you say this, you kiss the tip of his pretty nose and forehead. You feel him pull you closer in tight embrace into his chest, no more words were necessary between you both. You were his ride or die, his forever. And he was yours, you could ask for the moon and he’d say okay, I’ll be back with the moon in a pretty box for you. Two puzzle pieces perfectly aligned together. Nothing to be shouldered or dealt with alone, but by each others side.

“Thank you. I love you.” Was whispered, in a moment of pure sincerity and vulnerability from the ivory haired owner of your heart.

“Okay, let’s not keep them waiting, we’ve got lots to get. These kids have nothing, so it’s starting from scratch.” You grab his hand and drag him toward the door. As you slip your shoes on, he leans against the doorframe looking between the kids in the car and you.

“So… I guess you won’t be the only one calling me Daddy now - eh” He wiggles his eyebrows at you, as you roll your eyes and huff at him, walking with car keys in hand, but not without a quick smirk and smack on the ass for the menace you call your love.

[astayinwonderland]

"Your surprise is here..." | minchan

pairing: bang chan x f.reader x lee know

genre: smut || a little plot || +18 MDNI

summary: chan is very observant and he just knows you have a thing for minho... [enjoy! (;]

word count: 1.7k

warnings: threesome (ish?), voyeurism, exhibitionism, pet names, fingering, oral (f-receiving and m-receiving), slight mention of degradation, praise kink...

also english is not my first language

You are in love with Christopher Bang. It was always hard to picture yourself with someone and not be scared of them leaving you in the future. But with him, it was different. Chan is a man who values honesty and communication. Since day one, somehow he has extended to you warmth and trust making it impossible not to like him. Now, loving him, that was something else. What didn’t you love about your boyfriend? Is he flawed? Yes, of course, so are you. But it is in his flaws and in his caring nature that you get to be unapologetically you, no secrets, no burdens. 

One of the things you have learned about Chan in the time you’ve been together is how observant he is. You have little tells when you’re excited, sad, joyful, horny, extremely horny, and he loves being able to tell so diligently. Even when sometimes you are not aware of how your body reacts. 

Chan had his suspicions, but just by looking at you, he confirms it. You have a silly little crush on his friend and bandmate Minho. It’s not just the way you giggle a little bit too much when he makes a joke, it is the way your hand touches his arm for a brief second, the way you seem to arch your back a little bit for him to casually look at your breasts for a second or two, the way you smile at him with that flirty spark in your eyes.  Yeah, you wanted Minho, and Chan was not jealous because at the end of the day, he wants what you want and to please you was his religion. 

So one night Chan makes all the pieces fall into place, he is a man with a plan. 

Spending the night with Chan is the definition of lovely. You can barely keep your hands off each other. Cuddling, playing pranks on each other, cooking together, having him inside you… you name it. However, you didn’t know what your man was orchestrating behind your back. 

So now you find yourself kissing him, one of your favourite things to do. Chan has a way of kissing you that instantly melts you, it is never enough, you want his lips on yours forever. It starts slow, he wants to just see if you’re in the mood… so he waits and observes as you are both sitting on his couch. His sensual lips caress yours, asking for permission to kiss you. When you do, he pulls you closer, making you straddle his lap so he can put his hands on your waist. You part your lips for him and the faintest moan leaves you and the way Chan’s tongue teases your bottom lip makes your hips roll against his. 

“Hmmm, are we impatient, my love?” he whispers. 

“You know I am…” you reply breathlessly. “Now please kiss me, Chris, fuck me.”

Chan chuckles as you leave wet kisses down his jawline and neck. 

The doorbell rings. 

“Your surprise is here,” Chan looks into your eyes. They are wide with excitement, and dark with lust. 

Your boyfriend carefully lets go of you. Your pajama shorts are wet from your arousal and your bralette leaves little to the imagination. 

“There’s someone here for you, but if you don’t want to do this… we can stop,” Chan runs his hands over his blonde hair that slightly curls at the top. 

“What do you mean?” your heart races as he opens the door and Minho’s eyes look right into yours, and then to your nipples hardening under your bralette. 

“Minho?” you look at Chan. You try to find something to cover yourself with, he shouldn’t see you like this. 

Minho walks in, his eyes glued to your figure and you can’t help but feel like a piece of meat for these two men. An unspoken fantasy come true. 

“Baby, you have a little thing for Minho, am I right?” 

You panic. It was always something stupid and innocent, you love Chan. You blink and your eyes go to Chan, then to Minho, and back to Chan. 

“I–” you start but he shushs you. 

Shit. 

“I just want you to have fun, Minho here wonders if you are an obedient good girl. Would you like to show him, baby?” 

Minho still says nothing and Chan smirks in a way you feel your clit throbbing in need of attention. Chan nods to Minho and they walk together closer to your figure. Chan kisses the back of your hand and draws little circles with his thumb over your fingers, reassuring you it’s okay and in that moment you know this is the man you are in love with. He is selfless, he is exciting, he is lustful, he loves to watch. 

“Kiss her,” Chan tells Minho, but it is you who pulls Minho towards your lips. Your needy fingers entangling on his purple hair, drawing a deep groan for him. 

“That’s it, good girl. You wanted him so bad, didn’t you, baby? Well… now it’s time to follow what I say, yeah?” 

You try to nod as you bring Minho with you to the couch Chan sits opposite of you. 

“Baby, strip for us, would ya?” 

Only then do you stop kissing Minho, his eyes half-opened, lips swollen, ears red. You slowly unclasp your bralette and toss it on the floor. Minho’s mouth watering at the sight of beautiful tits, an arm’s distance from his wanting tongue, but when you pull down your pajama shorts… shit. Is he in heaven or in hell? 

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” 

And for the first time since he came into the apartment you hear Minho’s voice. 

“She’s exquisite, hyung,” Minho’s eyes never leaving your tits. 

Your eyes are glued on Chan, how he palms his very noticeable erection in an attempt to relieve himself a little bit. He winks at you, he is really enjoying himself. 

“Lick her tits, she will whimper if you blow on her nipples first and then suck them really hard.” 

You don’t have time to process the words coming from your boyfriend’s mouth when Minho’s mouth and hands are already on you. Just as Chan said, Minho first licks your tits, his flat tongue working wonders. Chan’s eyes encourage you to let out your majestic moans, the ones that drive him insane. 

“C’mon, my love, let Minho know how good he’s doing,” Chan says, but that’s when Minho blows on your right nipple and sucks hard, his crafty tongue switching between circling it and sucking while his fingers pinch and slightly pull your left one. 

“Ah! Fuck–mmhh, shit–” you whimper under Minho’s touch. 

You see Chan close his eyes in delight, finally freeing himself from his joggers. His perfect cock delighting your eyes, you want to suck him off, your adorable, perfect, boyfriend. 

Minho didn’t stop there, he had you arching your back for him, almost crying for him to give you more. His mouth moves to your neck, licking and kissing you until his fingers tease your fold. 

“Fuck, Minho, put your fingers in me already,” you beg. 

“No, baby, he has to taste you first. Your taste alone will make him, cum, believe me.” 

You moan at his words, so Minho puts his thumb in your mouth and you suck. You suck his thumb as the little needy slut you are because you want to suck Chan off so bad. Your brain can’t process the pleasure Minho is giving you and the sight of Chan jerking off to his friend going down on his girlfriend. 

Minho first rubs your clit with his nose and cries are leaving your mouth as your eyes shut in pleasure. 

“Make her cum. It’s the least you can do after she’s been so good to us, don’t you think?” The fact that Chan speaks as if you weren’t there makes your head spin and your pussy clenches, eager to cum for both of these men. 

So Minho gets to work. His tongue circles your clit as one finger slides into you, the squelching sound of your dripping hole making both men moan in unison. 

“Baby, how are you feeling, is Minho making you feel good?” 

“Yes… yes–f…uck, yes, Chris,” you moan. 

Chan smiles, he knows that when ‘Chris’ falls from your lips your brain is somewhere else. You are a goner. Head so plagued with pleasure your only aim is to climb higher and higher and get the mind-blowing release your body craves so much. This is Chan’s queue to finally stand beside you. He watches as Minho adds another finger in you, his motions quick, filled with lust as you pant and moan his name and Chris’s. 

“I need you in my mouth,” you beg, looking at Chan. “Please, Chris, please, fuck! Minho!” you can’t seem to finish one thought when another wave of unmeasurable pleasure washes over you. Minho flicked his tongue over your bundle of nerves his hand now fisting his erect cock that was trapped in his tight jeans. 

Chan obeys your command, he wants his baby happy and fucked out. So he thrusts inside your mouth as you moan for him. Hollowing your cheeks as you try your best to take him all in. Minho spits on your pussy and this is it, you are so close, his fingers moving so good in and out of you. Both men begin to talk you into cuming. 

“Baby, you are doing so good for–u-us… such a dirty, dirty little thing,” Chan pants, close to cuming as well. 

“Cum, please please cum, I want you all over my face,” Minho grunts and he is cuming on his hand. 

Chan pulls out and his hand work on his cock angling it to your tits as his eyes roll back, while he cums and cums all over you and fucking hell, you cum with him. You feel like you are ascending to a never-ending feeling of euphoria as you cum with a loud cry, making your head explode and see stars behind your eyelids. 

“Fuck…” is all you manage to say before your body lies limp on the couch. 

“Shit, baby, you are amazing,” Chan kisses you. 

You then reach for Minho’s adorable face which is buried between your legs and kiss him, tasting you in his mouth. 

“Next time, tell me exactly what you want, baby.” 

You nod. 

“Thank you,” Minho whispers and you run your hand through his hair. 

“Let’s clean her up,” and with that, the two men gather their strength to take you to the shower… but this was just round one of a steamy night that would not be easily forgotten.

___________________________________

a/n: this is pure ✨fiction✨ -- this idea wouldn't let me sleep so I just poured everything I got into this and it took a toll on my soul... totally worth it though.

let me know if you would like to be a part of my taglist :3

[sigmoon]

Stepdad!Fyodor . . . [final part]

Desperate times call for desperate measures. As much as you want to, Fyodor doesn't feel the same way about your relationship as you, and nothing you do seems to change that, not even a joint visit to his best friend. As if things couldn't get any worse, you start to get into serious trouble at college. Eventually, you find out what's keeping Fyodor from being yours alone, but in both cases, you have to resort to drastic solutions.

[pt. 1] [pt. 2]

cw: dark content; stepcest, smut, threesome, double penetration, spitroast, creampies, cheating, power imbalances, implied underage, Nikolai is a creep, teacher/student affair, blackmail, manipulation.

Pairings: Fyodor Dostoyevsky x fem.reader x Nikolai Gogol + Osamu Dazai x fem.reader (separately)

wc: 6.8k

Author's note: I had so much fun creating and writing this series over the last few months! I can't believe I've finished it :< A big thank you to all my readers, everyone who contributed to this work, and all the nice anons and my lovely moots <3

⟢ "I’m so mature, I got me a therapist to tell me there’s other men I don’t want / If I can’t have you, no one will." - SZA / Kill Bill ⟢ "I remember thinkin’ I had you / And I can see us twisted in bedsheets / August slipped away, like a bottle of wine / ‘Cause you were never mine." - Taylor Swift / august

With each passing day, your gleeful anticipation to sleep with Fyodor and his friend only grew. Partly because the idea seemed more and more fun to you, doing something completely different from your previous sexual activities, but mostly because your opportunities to sleep with Fyodor had drastically decreased since the dinner that had almost put your little affair at stake.

And although your mother’s suspicions had turned out to be wrong, Fyodor had deemed it necessary to be extra cautious from now on, to which you had agreed, until it eventually clicked that this meant having notably less sex with him. 

Not only did it rarely occur anymore, thanks to Fyodor trying his best to fulfill his duties as a loving, faithful husband, and spending a lot more time fucking his wife, rather than his stepdaughter, but the few times you did get to sleep with him, lacked the passion that had been characteristic the first few times. Each time was a quickie, hurried and devoid of foreplay and aftercare, both essential parts of your lovemaking in its earlier stages.

While your mother was on cloud nine, with an attentive husband like Fyodor, and received all the attention that you felt was your birthright, you were forced to witness their ecstasy, betrayed by the sounds of bed springs creaking, their heavy breathing and suspicious thumping seeping through the walls at night. 

Each time you lay in bed with a pillow over your head at night, trying to block out the noises that you ought to make, not her, you grew more and more frustrated, feeling so deprived of your nightly fun, that you thanked the gods when the day finally came– the day Fyodor was going to visit his best friend, and taking you with him to introduce you to a new sexual experience, promising that it would be fun.

But in your opinion, Fyodor could’ve fucked you behind a dumpster in a filthy alleyway and you would’ve been content, as long as he was yours alone, not your mother’s.

Of course, Fyodor had come up with a very fitting lie about how you two were going to spend the day and not be back before evening in advance.

Now that you’d passed your finals (in all honesty, the lack of sex with Fyodor had had a positive effect on your performance at school, at least you’d managed to study well enough to eventually graduate high school, despite your inner turmoil), it was time to find a college to visit soon. 

Being the responsible father that your mother knew him as, Fyodor had offered to spend the day visiting several local schools in one go, to help you decide on one. 

Your mother didn’t have to know that Fyodor had already helped you apply for a school that was good in his eyes and also enabled you to keep living at home weeks ago and that your destination for the day wasn’t different campuses, but his best friend’s apartment, or, to be precise, said friend’s king sized bed with sheets that felt so expensive it was obvious that he had a generous income that he didn’t have to spend on kids of his own.

You’d long forgotten about your mother’s dreamy smile that she'd flashed Fyodor when he had proposed his selfless idea to help you to her, or how she’d wished you fun and good luck when you had left the house earlier.

Now that you were on all fours on the luxurious satin sheets, your clothes long discarded on the bedroom floor, your mind was on nothing but the men in front and behind you, stuffing you with their cocks. 

Nikolai had been giddy and eager to fuck you first, and, after waiting for your approval, Fyodor had allowed it, willing to patiently await his turn. In the meantime, he was enjoying the blowjob you gave him, sprawled out before you with his thighs spread wide.

“God, you're so cute. You feel so fucking good, baby,” groaned Nikolai, his hands, larger and rougher than Fyodor’s, kneading your ass as he buried his cock inside your cunt. “Can’t believe your daddy here waited until you were eighteen to fuck you.”

Fyodor, whose hands gently rested on the back of your head, as you slowly bobbed it up and down his length, hummed in response. “I believe taking advantage of a minor’s curiosity to fulfill one’s desires is wrong. But some people obviously have a different opinion on this.”

“Killjoy,” Nikolai scoffed. He grabbed the soft, supple flesh of your ass harder and gave you a little smack. “Let me tell you, sweetie, I wouldn’t have made you wait. Age is just a number, ain’t it?”

You could only whimper in response. You didn’t quite know what to say, as Nikolai’s words carried something creepy, yet he was much hotter than how you’d remembered him, and his groping, combined with the way your stepfather caressed you as your lips were wrapped around his cock, nearly drove you insane.

“Be gentle with her, Kolya,” Fyodor reprimanded his friend. “She’s not like one of your immature little playthings that you can toss around as you please.”

But before you had the chance to overthink Fyodor’s words, Nikolai firmly held on to your hips and pulled you back against him, making you yelp as you felt the tip of his cock nudge against your cervix. You moaned around Fyodor’s cock, and it almost slipped out of your mouth.

Nikolai enjoyed your reaction greatly, and he cackled before thrusting again, even harder this time.

„She’s not as fragile as you think, Fedya. See, she likes being fucked hard.“

Not quite convinced, Fyodor tilted your chin upwards, searching for signs of discomfort on your face. “Are you alright, sweetheart? We can stop anytime if you want to.”

His attentiveness was truly touching, and despite the man behind you moving in and out of you at a relentless pace, you smiled and kissed Fyodor’s palm. “I’m okay, don’t worry.”

“If you say so…but your word is our command, little one,” Fyodor said and leaned back against the headboard of the bed once more, allowing you to pick up where you’d left off and pay attention to his cock. 

“So if Kolya does something you don’t like, tell him. He needs to be put in his place now and then…”

“That won’t be necessary,” replied Nikolai and he reached forward to grab your tits, groping them while he kept fucking into you. “Nobody has ever complained about my performance in bed before.”

It was hard to focus on the task at hand, pleasuring Fyodor, when his friend’s cock, bigger and girthier than his, dragged along your wet walls the way it did, pulling one string of incoherent moans after another from you. 

When Nikolai sped up his movements, and shoved your body forward, almost making you choke on Fyodor’s cock as it slipped deep into your throat, you gave up. You gagged and recoiled, coughing.

“Hold on…”

“Aww, two dicks too much for you to handle, little girl?” Nikolai chuckled. 

“I need a little break,” you told Fyodor with an apologetic look.

“Take your time,” Fyodor whispered and wiped the saliva that dripped down your chin away with his thumb, but you could see from the deep red color of his cock’s tip, and the way it twitched, that he’d been close to cumming, hadn’t you stopped all of the sudden. 

“You’re giving your poor daddy blue balls!” Nikolai laughed, as he once again picked up the pace, grabbing your hips tightly and rutting into you. His pace was relentless and his strength and stamina greater than Fyodor’s, you had to admit that. 

“Don’t you worry about me,” Fyodor said. He brushed your hair, that stuck to your sweaty forehead, out of your face and smiled gently. “We’ve got the whole day, and you ought to enjoy yourself. This isn’t about my pleasure–”

“Right, my bad,” Nikolai sneered and reached down to rub your clit in quick circles while he pulled out of you halfway, only to slam his cock right back into your pussy. “I forgot your balls belong to your wifey now. Snip snap, you left them at the altar.” He cackled at his joke and pinched your clit between his thumb and index finger, making you whimper.

Fyodor’s smile faded, and he glared at his friend. 

“Shut up, Kolya,” he scowled. “Don't speak so ill of my wife.”

“Ohoo, kitty’s got claws now?”

“She had every reason to not want you to visit anymore. And even if she didn’t, do you seriously think I would’ve let you…do what you had in mind?”

“You're just as sick and depraved as I am, my friend. After all, you're fucking your own daughter...” Nikolai grinned, his smirk a sinister one.

You were slowly getting fed up with their bickering. Too fucked out to properly follow their conversation, you were left lying between them being used like a soulless toy, with neither of the men paying attention to you and your pleasure, like they had in the beginning. What annoyed you the most was Fyodor defending your mother’s honor, as if she had to be mentioned and praised by him in a situation like this.

You sat up to pull away from Nikolai and instead grabbed Fyodor’s shoulders, slamming your lips against his, messily making out with him. 

“Shut up already and fuck me, will you?” you growled at him. Your stepfather swallowed thickly, looking genuinely taken aback. Your own crude words made you blush, but whatever it took to get Fyodor’s attention, you were willing to do. 

“Hey, what about me?” Nikolai sulked since you made him the third wheel. He looked adorable, hard, needy cock bobbing against his abs as he sat there, forced to watch you make out with Fyodor.

“Watch us,” you grinned and straddled Fyodor, who was still on his back. When you sank down on his hard cock, slowly, drawing a guttural moan from both of you, you kept eye contact with Nikolai. “Touch yourself…”

Nikolai’s eyes were wide like saucers, and he stared at where yours and Fyodor’s bodies were connected. Just like you’d ordered him to, he wrapped his hand around his cock and rubbed it slowly. 

From the corner of your eye, you could see that the size wasn’t the only difference between their genitals. While Fyodor was circumcised, and his dick was the first real one you’d ever seen, it fascinated you to watch how Nikolai’s foreskin was continuously pulled back and forth as he pleasured himself. A truly educational experience.

The sight beneath you was beyond beautiful. As you looked down, you cupped Fyodor’s face; lids fluttered shut, a thin layer of sweat on his pale skin, lips parted as whines and muttered curses spilled from them. 

“I love you…Fedya, I love you,” you said, and buried your face in the crook of his neck, whimpering each time his cock kissed your cervix.

“I love you…too, honey,” he whispered, and you believed him, believing that he meant it in the same way that you did. One of his hands held your waist, the other stroking up and down your back. “My beautiful girl…”

The gentle pace, the whole sensual moment just between you and Fyodor, only lasted for a few minutes and was interrupted when Nikolai started to get bored of jerking off to the scene before him and sat up on his knees and scooted closer. You felt him grab your ass from behind, kneading the soft fat and watching how a creamy white ring of your arousal formed at the base of Fyodor's cock.

“Ever been fucked in the ass, sweetie?” he asked, and before you could answer, you felt his thumb flick over your asshole.

You gasped, as the sensation was strange, unknown, but surprisingly pleasant.

“N-No…ah, but…that feels good…”

Nikolai smirked and leaned down to drag his tongue over your hole, wetting it with spit. He spread the makeshift lube with his thumb, and carefully applied a bit of pressure, until the finger slipped inside, making you mewl.

“I’m not surprised. Your daddy isn’t into anal, although I've been trying to tell him what he’s missing out on for nearly twenty years.”

“Why would I…when there’s another entrance for that?” Fyodor said through grit teeth and slowed down the pace of his thrusts a bit. 

“So narrow-minded,” Nikolai shook his head and slipped another finger inside your ass. You moaned at the stretch, as well as at how Fyodor kissed your neck and collarbones.

“Are you sure you want both of us at once?” he whispered, gently stroking your hair. 

“Yes, I wanna try.”

“Yay!” exclaimed Nikolai, and pulled his fingers out of you, spat into his hand and smeared his saliva all over his cock. “Today’s my lucky day!” 

The stretch of Fyodor’s cock was already enough to make you see stars. But when Nikolai carefully pushed the tip of his dick inside your asshole, your mouth fell agape and you gasped. 

You’d never felt so full before, and Nikolai didn’t give you much time for adjustment, as he bottomed out in one single, slow thrust.

“Shit…ah, so fucking tight!”

You rested your head on Fyodor’s chest while taking deep breaths, still getting used to the foreign stretch in your ass. The sound of Fyodor’s heart pumping blood, like a song that was made just for you to hear, and the feeling of his chest heaving with each breath he took felt like a peaceful wave carrying you. 

“Mine,” you whispered breathily, but Fyodor didn’t even hear it, because at the same moment, he groaned and threw his head back into the pillows, as he felt Nikolai’s cock through the membrane that separated your ass from your pussy, when the latter entered you.

You groaned too, feeling the two men moving inside you at once, and your mind went foggy again as they continued using your holes to get themselves off.

“Are you already close, Fedya?” Nikolai groaned, not missing how Fyodor bit his lip in an attempt to last a bit longer. The way you felt so much tighter now, and the pornographic act of fucking you together with another man made it hard for your stepfather to keep his orgasm from crashing down over him.

“Mhmm…” he replied with a grunt. “Ah, fuck!”

Nikolai had reached down, grabbing a firm hold of his friend’s balls, earning a loud whine from him.

“I wanna watch you cum, your orgasm face is priceless,” he panted and squeezed Fyodor’s balls. Nikolai's cock was buried deep in your ass, though it only lingered there before he pulled out halfway and thrust back into you.

It felt amazing, overwhelming but so good. You made a mental note to beg Fyodor to do that to you too sometime, once this was over.

And oh, how right Nikolai was. When you slept with him, you were often too dizzy to properly witness Fyodor’s face when he came, but when you did manage to catch a glimpse of it, while sucking or jerking him off, for example, it was like a work of art, meant to be exhibited in a gallery for the world to see. And yet, it was all yours, and it was especially pretty to look at how his features contorted in pleasure and he let himself go completely, and knowing it was the result of your work.

Unable to voice his approaching release, Fyodor pulled you tighter into his embrace and dug his teeth into your shoulder. You cried out as well, both from the pain and the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you and painting your walls milky white.

“Feels good, dollface?” Nikolai asked you, grabbing your face to make you look at him. “You like being stuffed with your Daddy’s cum, huh?”

“Yes, yes! I love it!” you whimpered, lips swollen and red from biting them. Nikolai had adjusted his position and was fucking your ass at a new angle now, allowing him to drill his cock deeper inside you than before. His pubes tickled the soft skin of your ass, as he buried himself inside you to the hilt, waiting a few seconds, and pulling out entirely with an obscene sound.

“Don’t stop, please,” you pleaded, your focus fully shifted away from Fyodor, who was still recovering from the aftershocks of his high, eyes closed and chest heaving with shallow breaths.

“Little fucking slut…”

Your hole was gaping, clenching around nothing, and Nikolai inspected it with delight. 

“Want my cum in your ass, hm? Is one load not enough for you?”

Nodding frantically, you wiggled your ass, hoping that he would put an end to your agony and finally grant you your own orgasm. 

“Yes, please…please..”

He grabbed your hip with one hand, and stroked his dick with the other, tapping it against your hole. He was so close he ached already, and even if you wouldn’t have begged him, the chance was low that Nikolai would have managed to resist finishing inside you. 

He pushed in a last time, leaning into you with his full body weight, and spilled into you with a groan.

Hot, thick ropes of cum painted your insides, a lot more than Fyodor’s load. As he caught his breath, Nikolai remained folded over your back, pressing down against you.

“Kolya,” Fyodor mumbled, sounding pretty exasperated, and patted his friend's back– understandable, as there were two people lying on top of him, and Nikolai was heavy.

Obediently, he rolled off of you, and sprawled out like a starfish next to you and your stepfather. Fyodor too, pulled out of you and you felt empty again, aside from the two heavy loads slowly oozing out of your holes. You felt filthy but in a good way. Being jizzed on had never felt wrong when Fyodor was involved.

“How are you feeling, darling?” He whispered into your ear, as you snuggled against each other on the king-sized bed. This moment was yours alone, and you wished you could freeze time and stay like this forever. Fyodor smelled like sweat, and you were sticky with cum, but rarely had you ever felt this content after sex.

“Perfect. I’m with you, Fedya,” you hummed into the crook of his neck and kissed him there. “How are you? Was I good?”

“What a question. Of course, you were, you’re my perfect little girl,” was his response.

Next to you, Nikolai had started to doze off, softly snoring. He looked a mess, though you were hardly looking any more put-together at the moment. His blond hair was disheveled, cheeks flushed, and his cock, which slowly softened as it rested against his toned abs, was still smeared with both your bodily fluids. 

“He fell asleep,” you giggled quietly and reached out to run your hand through Nikolai’s hair, playing with the strands, soft to the touch. “How cute.” 

“He’s always out cold after sex, the moment he’s finished,” Fyodor snorted. 

“How do you know?”

Fyodor raised a brow at you and grinned. “I was also young, some time ago. You think this is the first time we’ve done something like this?”

He laughed when your cheeks grew hot, and you shyly looked away. You could hardly imagine a younger version of him sleeping around with Nikolai and a third party. 

Your stepfather cupped your face and kissed your forehead. “But none of those little adventures ever compared to you.”

───────────────

You’d had your fun at Nikolai’s, there was no denying that, but essentially, that little adventure had only made your bond with Fyodor stronger. At least that’s how you felt.

While you loved and wanted him more than ever before, the love he showed you at home was that of a father, as platonic as it could’ve been, and no trace of the romance you thought had sparked between you at Nikolai’s was left.

Sure, he was affectionate and kind as you knew him to be, but day by day, it got more difficult to deny the obvious: he wasn’t yours, but your mother’s.

Anyone would’ve been grateful to have parents who had a relationship as loving as theirs was, and you were too, in a way. After all, your father, when they had still been together, had never adored your mother as much as Fyodor did, and you knew that your stepfather’s feelings for her were real. And that was the biggest problem.

Fyodor loved you, he’d never shied away from telling you that, but after each time you two had sex, he kissed you goodnight and he was hers again. 

You knew by now that he wasn’t just pretending to only feel fatherly affection for you to keep your secret safe. 

The love he felt for you didn’t go any further than that, as deep and genuine as it was, and his nightly desire for you didn’t change that. As much as you wanted him to, he didn’t see you as a partner, a lover, as his.

And it was all her fault.

───────────────

Your first semester in college had started, but instead of connecting with your peers, going out, and enjoying the classes that you would’ve found interesting under different circumstances, you were busy ruminating about what in the world you had done wrong to be undeserving of Fyodor’s love, that your mother was lucky enough to be showered with day and night. 

Unfortunately, your lack of focus and drive started showing in your grades, the missed deadlines, and the unattended classes that piled up. 

But even that went past you, trivialities undeserving of your energy, as you thought, until one day, one of your professors asked to stay in the lecture hall for a moment once the class had ended.

“Is something the matter, professor Dazai?" you asked once the rest of the students had left the hall, and the heavy wooden door had fallen shut.

“Yes, I’m worried about your performance,” he said and crossed his arms, leaning back against his desk. “If you don’t start taking your education seriously soon, you might fail a few classes, mine included. Do I bore you so much you can’t bother to pay attention to my lecture once a week?”

Shit, you thought. It didn’t surprise you that your professors had a critical opinion about your sleazy attitude by now, but the possibility that you might fail if you kept going like this, hadn’t crossed your mind until now, that’s how mentally absent you’d been.

“No, of course not,” you said quietly, staring down at your shoes. “But I’m having a bit of a hard time at home right now, you know. So–”

“I don’t care,” Dazai interrupted you. “Save your excuses. What I do care about is for you to pass this class, as well as your others.”

Professor Dazai was popular among your fellow students; handsome, and young, compared to most of his colleagues, who all seemed to be about a decade older than him. 

His lectures were usually very entertaining, due to his charisma and wit– he was a true heartbreaker. 

There were plenty of students who started blushing and whispering to each other in the hallways when he was in sight, and you had often overheard a handful of girls giggling and talking about him in the bathroom as they gathered in front of the mirror by the sink, as they combed their hair or reapplied their makeup. 

Ever since your first semester had begun, you also heard rumors about him sometimes, and allegations that he had scandalous relationships with students on occasion.

Naturally, you were surprised at his sudden sternness, another side to him, one that had very little understanding for your laziness.

„Yes, I understand. But I am struggling at the moment. Is there anything I can do to pass after all?“ you asked, hoping to receive some kind of support or advice. Of course, you couldn’t tell Dazai the reason for your poor performance. 

„Study? Maybe don’t skip your classes? Get your head out of the clouds and take this seriously, I’m sure your parents are paying a lot of money for you to be here, and they wouldn’t be happy if it all went to waste, would they?”

„Thank you very much, sir,“ you huffed, wanting to turn around and leave the lecture hall. You’d assumed Dazai had intended to give you some useful advice, not darken your mood further. 

„However…if that’s too much to ask of you, I could offer you something else.“

„I’m all ears.“ You stopped in your tracks.

„Well, I’m always happy to help my students find solutions when they’re struggling. So, if you’ll allow me to…offer you my support, I can guarantee you that you’re going to pass all of your classes.“

„But I thought you only teach contemporary literature and art? How are extra lessons, or whatever you’re suggesting, gonna help me pass my other classes?“

„You’re not very smart, are you?“ your professor scoffed. „I’m not talking about extra lessons.“

„Then what do you mean?“ You frowned, letting Dazai’s words sink in. 

„Lord, give me strength,“ he murmured, then cleared his throat. „What I’m offering you is a little deal between you and me. I have good connections in this institution and more influence than you think. But my help has its price– we’re doing each other a favor, that’s it.“ 

“What do you want?”

Dazai remained silent, merely raising his brows and letting you fill in the blanks. You had an eerie feeling that there was only one thing left he could mean…

„Sex?“

“Bingo.”

“No!” 

You couldn’t do this. You didn’t want this. Yes, he was hot, but not hot enough to be worth cheating on Fyodor with. You shooed away the thought that technically, you and Fyodor weren’t even in a committed relationship, so sleeping with someone else didn’t count as cheating.

„Alright, alright, I was merely trying to help you out. You don't have to, of course. But in that case, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do for you,” Dazai shrugged.

With that, the professor turned around, grabbed the stack of books he’d used for today’s earlier lecture from the desk, and made his way to the door.

“No, wait!” you called out, just when he reached for the door handle. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Good. After class next week. Wear something cute.” Dazai winked and shot you a last glance before he left the lecture hall. The sound of the heavy door falling into its lock still echoed in your ears, as you made your way home, paralyzed about the decision you’d just made.

───────────────

For almost ninety minutes straight, you’d stared at the clock on the wall, as if your penetrating gaze would make the time pass faster. 

When the bell finally rang, announcing the end of the lecture, you waited for the other students to leave the hall. 

You wanted to shoo them all out, so you could just get the thing that awaited you over with, but they took their sweet time, chattering about the contents of the lesson and other trivialities with one another as they packed up.

“You coming?” one of your classmates, another girl that you’d befriended over the past few weeks, asked when you stayed seated.

“Go ahead, I’ll be right there. I just have a question about the assignment,” you said quickly.

“Okay,” she smiled, unsuspecting, and reached for her bag, before she left the room, leaving you and Dazai alone.

Your professor shut the door behind her and pretended to sigh wearily. 

“Too bad she’s got straight A’s. I’d love to give her a little private lesson too,” he chuckled. 

You grimaced at the crude joke he’d made about your friend but left it uncommented. The less you talked now, the sooner this was going to be over.

You rose from your seat and approached Dazai, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck, trying to kiss him. He pulled back and cringed.

“What are you doing?”

“Kissing you.”

“No, this isn’t how we’re doing this. Turn around, bend over the desk.”

You hesitated but did as he said. The surface of his desk was smooth and cold, and you shivered, though you weren’t sure whether that came from the desk or the chilly atmosphere. 

This was a lot different from sleeping with Fyodor, or even Nikolai. While Nikolai had also been less affectionate than Fyodor was with you, even he had enjoyed thoroughly making out with you before he’d wanted to fuck you. 

But Dazai not only lacked the affection and liking for physical contact that you were used to, no, he seemed to want as little as possible of that. This was all about the intercourse and nothing else, making you wonder if the other students he’d done this with had even enjoyed it, beyond getting off on the thrill that came with being fucked by a professor.

“I’ll make this quick, I know you’re not into me,” you heard Dazai say behind you, followed by the sound of his belt being unbuckled and his fly being opened. Fabric rustled, he pulled his pants and boxers down. Cool, slender fingers flipped your skirt up and tugged your panties down.

“I could tell from the moment I proposed this to you that you’re already someone else's,” your professor said and kicked your legs further apart with his foot. He leaned forward, his breath fanning against your ear when he whispered: “What would he say if he saw you right now, hm?”

Dazai’s cold fingers brushed over your folds, and you didn’t want to, you tried so hard to resist, but to no use, you could feel yourself getting wet as he collected some of your arousal.

“Would he be jealous?”

One cold finger slid into your pussy, and you gasped.

“Or would he perhaps…” he inserted another finger, “...not even care one bit?”

You froze, paralyzed. This man was sinister, and sadistic in every way, and he fooled this whole institution with a pretty face and a quick wit.

“No,” you whispered, tears beginning to brim in your eyes. “No, he loves me...”

“If he would, you’d be able to focus in class, darling,” Dazai scoffed and pulled his fingers out of you. He reached for a drawer in his desk and took out a condom, opening the package with his teeth. “You think I can’t spot a lovesick girl when I see one? 'I’m having a hard time at home' my ass.” Dazai slid the condom on and aligned the tip of his dick with your entrance. “Your guy loves someone else. Face it.”

With that, he pushed into you, in one go, and you clasped a hand over your mouth to muffle the sob that escaped you, but it wasn’t from the sharp pain that Dazai’s sudden thrust had caused you, but because of his words and the truth that they carried.

───────────────

“Ah-ah, wait a sec…”

*snap*

*snap*

Still bent over the desk, you squirmed when you heard the sound of Dazai’s phone camera taking a picture.

“What are you doing? Stop” you hissed and swatted his hand away, as he took several snapshots of your cunt.

“Just making sure this stays between you and me, sweetheart.” Your professor grinned at the screen as he swiped through his camera roll. “Pretty, huh?” 

He showed you a few of the photos, in all of them, you were seen in the same bent-over position, your hair a mess, your ass bruised with a red handprint, and smudged mascara on your cheeks. You were sore, as he hadn’t exactly been gentle with you, but your heart ached far more than your body did.

“You wouldn’t want anyone to see those, would you?”

“...no.”

“Good girl.” Dazai put his phone back into his pocket and handed you a tissue. “Clean yourself up. And hurry, my next class will be here in five minutes.”

You snatched the tissue from his hand and rubbed the smeared makeup off your face, once you’d pulled up your panties. Just in time, you fixed your disheveled appearance, before the first students came in through the door. Dazai looked as put together as before, nothing about his appearance gave away that he’d just fucked a freshman on his desk.

“See you in class,” your professor said nonchalantly as if nothing had happened. 

You nodded briefly and, without looking back, hurried out of the lecture hall and towards the school’s exit. Since this quickie had ensured that you were going to pass this semester no matter what (as Dazai had promised it, and you believed him, why else would he risk his job like this?), you felt zero guilt skipping the rest of your classes for today. You needed to be at home now, you needed Fyodor.

───────────────

Not long after, you stood in the kitchen at home and did the dishes you’d left in the sink earlier this morning, and Fyodor returned from work. 

He hung up his coat, took off his shoes, and tossed his keys onto the cupboard. Then, he joined you in the kitchen.

“Hey, princess…had a nice day at school today? 

Strong, yet gentle arms wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you against a warm chest. Fyodor pressed a kiss against your temple, humming quietly as he watched you scrub a plate.

“Hmm…it was okay,” you replied and leaned further into the comforting embrace. This felt heavenly. How you’d longed to be embraced by these arms for hours…

Of course, you felt like bursting into tears and confessing to Fyodor what had happened that day, but you kept your mouth shut. You didn’t want to argue about your reckless decision, or disappoint Fyodor because your grades were bad, nor did you want to admit to him that you’d cheated on him. Dazai’s hurtful words were stuck in your head, though you tried to ignore them. Your eyes stung and you felt a lump in your throat, but you pulled yourself together.

“What’s that smell on you?” Fyodor asked and sniffed your hair. 

“What smell?” you replied, and hoped that Fyodor hadn’t heard your voice crack.

“Men’s cologne. Got a boyfriend I don’t know about?” he grinned conspiratorially.

Dazai’s cologne. Of course, Fyodor was going to smell it on you from this close.

“Of course not,” you laughed awkwardly. “We are packed like sardines in the lecture halls, so it must be the cologne of the guy who sat next to me.”

“I was only joking, my dear,” said Fyodor. “Besides, you know I wouldn’t mind if you were seeing other people. It’s a joy watching you grow up, and I guess dating is part of that.”

Don’t say this! You screamed internally. You should mind! We’re in love, aren’t we?

“I’m not seeing anyone. I have no interest in a boyfriend when I have you.”

Fyodor laughed at your pout and leaned in to kiss your cheek. “You’re so sweet. I’m so happy you’re my daughter. But it wouldn’t hurt you to go out more, you know? College is a once-in-a-lifetime experience, you’ll remember that time forever!”

I fucking hope I won’t, you thought, but instead of answering, you leaned up to kiss Fyodor’s jaw.

“Are you free tonight? I’ve got a new bath bomb we could try together…” you whispered suggestively. Your stepfather pulled back with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, sweetie, I can’t. It’s your mom’s and my anniversary today, and I was planning to take her out. Another time, okay?”

Right. The day of the year you always feared the most, followed by the annual flu shot. 

“Fine. As you wish.” You turned your attention back to the dishes in the sink, frantically scrubbing them.

“Come on, please don’t be mad at me, okay?”

“I’m not.”

“Darling…we need to properly plan our special time together if we don’t want to get caught one day, you know that. It’s hard to do that spontaneously. And while I’m having a lot of fun with you, and I love you to the moon and back, we are no couple, and we most definitely cannot act like one with others around the house.”

You felt your stomach twist. Dazai had been right, and your greatest worry had been confirmed. Your secret affair was nothing more than a little adventure to Fyodor, while it was the center of your life to you, and he was your great love, but to hear him say it out loud hurt differently.

“Have fun with Mom,” you grumbled and squirmed out of Fyodor’s embrace. You needed a plan, as soon as possible, for you weren’t sure for how much longer you would be able to take this agony.

───────────────

You had barely slept that night, partly because of your planning, and partly because Fyodor and your mother had been awfully noisy when they’d gotten back home from the restaurant, tipsy and giggly as they’d stumbled into their bedroom. As you were used to, they had hardly given you a choice but to listen to them having sex again. It was infuriating. 

Trying to come up with a plan took you a couple more days and sleepless nights, and although what you eventually came up with was cruel, you felt it was the only way that ensured you’d have a future with Fyodor, a future where your mother wasn’t his number one.

Fyodor wasn’t going to want to leave her, so she had to leave him.

You’d figured that, if you couldn't have him, no one should, especially not her.

The day you decided to go through with it, you weren't going to have any classes until noon, so, once Fyodor and your mother had wished you a nice day before they left for work, you hurried upstairs.

After a last moment of contemplation, you dug out a pair of brand new panties from your drawer– hot pink and lacy, and they did a very poor job at covering anything. 

Slutty and tasteless were the only fitting words to describe what they looked like.

You’d just bought the lingerie the other day, specifically for this occasion, which meant that your mother couldn’t possibly have seen them in the laundry yet, and identified them as yours.

Your heart was thumping like crazy when you entered your parents’ bedroom and placed them underneath Fyodor’s side of the bed. You took a step back to inspect the picture you’d created, then knelt before the bed again to adjust the undergarment’s position, so that one corner of the fabric peeked out from underneath the bed.

Today Fyodor was going to be home from work earlier, so technically, he had the perfect opportunity to invite his mistress over. Not like Fyodor had one, but what other conclusion could your mother draw when she’d return from a long day of work to find underwear that was neither hers nor her daughter’s, underneath their shared bed?

It wasn’t right to stab Fyodor in the back, but you had to frame him for something he didn’t do.

Confusion, shock, hysteria, divorce– that was the series of events you hoped to happen today, and all that you had to do now was heading off to school with a devilish grin, and later return home to find at least one of your problems solved. 

When they were done with one another, and you were going to stand by him, he would finally see who loved him the most and love you back just as much.

───────────────

The look on Fyodor’s face made you pity him when you returned home to find the exact scene you’d hoped to play out. He looked so hurt, so desperate to save his marriage that it made your heart flutter. 

What a man, you thought. The kind you don’t get over. And it was your mother’s loss that she was unable to see that.

Her voice was raised in fury and rang through the whole house, as she aggressively flailed around her arms, yelling at Fyodor and holding your lacy panties in one hand. 

Her poor husband tried to pacify her, stammering as he promised over and over again that he had no idea whose underwear that was, and that he had no idea how they’d gotten under the bed. 

On any other day, you would have interrupted the fight to defend Fyodor, but as sorry as you were for him that the woman he loved was slipping through his fingers, and that the upcoming breakup would catapult him into deep grief, this was necessary to ensure that he was going to be able to spend the rest of his life with the one who truly deserved him. He simply needed a little push to understand that.

Quietly, you walked past the living room and smiled as you went to your room. When the time would come, you would make sure that your beloved stepfather had someone to lean on to cope with the loss and eventually find love again, and god knows you were going to be that someone…

[queenshelby]

Forbidden Desire (Part 20)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest, Smut

Please comment and engage xx 😘

A few hours later, when most of the guests had left and Edward had fallen asleep, you took the time to have a conversation with Robert who appeared rather anxious about recent developments.

Sitting beside you on the chaise longue inside one of the guestrooms, he expressed his concern regarding your involvement in this dangerous lifestyle shared by your family. According to him, there were mentions of drug trafficking and killings amongst some of the men and this worried him greatly.

"You knew about all this, didn't you?" Robert probed gently, searching your eyes for answers. You hesitated briefly, weighing whether to divulge your knowledge or maintain the facade. Ultimately, honesty won out, driven by a genuine sense of trust that developed between you two. Nodding solemnly, you confirmed his suspicion.

"Yes," you paused momentarily, pondering the best approach to discuss this sensitive topic. "I know that my family is involved in illegal activities, and I also know how dangerous these activities can be. This is why I did not want you to come here with me. This place is nothing but trouble." You confessed to Robert honestly, shaking your head slightly.

"So the fire at the hotel wasn't an accident then?" Robert asked curiously, recalling how much danger it put you in.

"No, it wasn't an accident. The fire was targeted at us. Shelby Company Limited owns the hotel and I...," you began to say without completing your sentence. "You know, don't worry about it. We are safe here with my uncle," you tried reassuring Robert, though deep down you weren't completely convinced either. You knew that Tommy would do anything to keep you safe but he cared much less for Robert's wellbeing.

"I do not like it here Y/N. Your uncle appears to be a dangerous man and whilst your father seems to have found God, I feel as though his past is rather dark as well. There are men with outside, with guns. There are at least ten of them and your uncle has been carrying a loaded weapon for the entirety of the evening. When he returned with you from the fire, his clothes were stained with blood. It worries me greatly, my dear," Robert continued expressing his concerns with a heavy heart.

Your expression fell, sensing the weight of his words, yet understanding where he was coming from. 

"I know Robert, but we will go back to Boston soon and all will be fine, yes? In Boston, we will be safe and far away from my family", you promised, attempting to alleviate his apprehension.

"Yes my love, but you need to promise me that you aren't involved in anything dangerous, alright?" Robert insisted, placing a gentle palm on your shoulder, seeking reassurance. Feeling both guilty and relieved that he believed in you, you nodded your head firmly.

"Alright! Now get some sleep while I tend to the little hungry monster," you then said as you heard Edward screaming from the nursery next door. With a soft smile on your face, you glanced at Robert who nodded understandingly.

Standing up, you walked toward the doorway leading to the nursery, calling out softly, trying to coax the baby to silence before disappearing into the next room to pick up your son.

Gently rocking him against your bosom, your heart ached thinking about the uncertain future ahead for your tiny boy and, just as you looked for somewhere to sit down, Tommy's maid Frances entered the room.

"He looks a lot like his father, doesn't he?" Frances observed. She too heard the cries and offered to take you the reading room for sake of peace and quiet, allowing you to breastfeed your son comfortably. 

"I suppose he does Frances," you responded absentmindedly, as you thought about your situation while following Frances down the stairs and into the dimly lit library. 

"Would you like some help?" she offered kindly, recognising the strain on your face. "It must be hard having a young child in your care alone," she observed as you struggled with your dress. 

Feeling grateful for her support, you smiled warmly and accepted her offer, but just as Frances was about to take Edward so that you could get comfortable on the sofa to feed him, Tommy came walking into the darkened  room. 

"I've got him. Thank you, Frances," Tommy spoke before gently taking his son from your hands. 

"You may leave," he then told his maid while looking down at Edward affectionately and, immediately, his demeanor changed drastically upon seeing him as his heart filled with pride and possessiveness. 

"Yes sir," Frances nodded respectfully, exiting quietly leaving only the three of you in the darkness of the library. As she closed the door behind her, the moonlight filtered through the windows casting eerie patterns across the walls and floor.

You sat down silently watching as Tommy cradled Edward close to his chest. By this point, he had stopped crying now, despite being hungry, which surprised you considering how demanding he often was.

The tender way Tommy held him seemed almost instinctual, hinting at what might lie beneath his harsh exterior as, now, there were moments when he showed compassion and vulnerability - qualities usually hidden underneath layers of bravado and brutality. 

"He is quite similar to you in many ways, isn't he?" you commented, feeling an odd mixture of admiration and trepidation as you looked at Edward, your son, nestled snugly in Tommy's strong arms.

Without speaking, Tommy acknowledged your observation with a simple nod, studying the features of his son intently. His eyes traced every curve of the baby's round cheeks, captivated by the resemblance.

Edward had Tommy's blue eyes and full lips. His skin was covered in tiny little freckles that dotted his nose and forehead and you knew that these same freckles would eventually grow more prominent as he aged, becoming part of his distinctive charm. 

As you watched Tommy hold his son, you felt a sudden surge of emotion flooding your heart, making it race. Despite the circumstances surrounding the conception of Edward and your complex familial connections, witnessing Tommy's paternal side made you realize again that even he possessed humanity.

Although deeply rooted in crime and violence, the bond between him and his son revealed something else entirely – something fragile, unspoken, and profoundly personal. 

"I do have to feed him soon Tom," you remarked after observing the silent exchange between father and son for several minutes. 

"Yes, of course," Tommy nodded graciously, handing the squirming infant back to you, his touch lingering around Edward ever so slightly longer than necessary while you lowered the top of your dress.

"I should give you some privacy," Tommy murmured, stepping away from you slowly, but you shook your head and smiled.

"You can stay if you like. It's not that you haven't seen my breasts before," you joked lightheartedly, trying to break the growing tension between you and Tommy. But instead of replying to your remark, Tommy remained silent and still, his gaze fixating solely on you and his son. 

He looked at you in awe and disbelief, marveling over the fact that you gave birth to his son. The revelation struck him harder than he expected it to. For once, he couldn’t find any words to speak, lost amidst the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in his brain.

Uncomfortable with the intense silence hanging in the air, you took the initiative to diffuse the awkwardness. 

"I miss the days where we were close, Tommy," you whispered gratefully as you started to undo two more buttons of your dress.

Bending forward to make access easier for your son, you glanced upwards to see Tommy watching your movements, a mix of emotions flashing across his face. Unsettled by his piercing gaze, you cleared your throat nervously and continued, focusing on your task.

"I miss these days too, Love," he replied somberly, his voice hoarse with emotion. He shifted uneasily in his seat, unable to meet your eye directly.

Silence enveloped the small space once more, thickening with the tension radiating off both of you. Sensing the moment growing increasingly fraught, you broke the tension with another comment.

"If you missed the time we spent with each other, then why did you never write to me?” you ventured, hoping to gain insight into his changing behavior.

However, your question hung heavily in the air, stirring up waves of guilt, confusion, and regret within Tommy. Unable to face the truth himself, he chose evasion instead.

"Things changed. I knew we couldn't be together, so I needed to distance myself from you," he muttered dismissively, his eyes finally finding yours, conveying sadness and loss. 

"Do you love Lizzie?" you asked suddenly, wondering whether Tommy was merely settling because of the expectations placed upon him due to his position. 

His brow furrowed as you posed such a direct question. Taking a deep breath, he let forth a heavy sigh, choosing his words carefully.

"Love takes time," he began cautiously, "I love our daughter, Ruby and, maybe one day, I can love her mother too," he explained, causing you to chuckle, which was a gesture he willfully ignored.

"Do you love Robert?" Tommy suddenly countered, his tone turning confrontational.

"Well, no...it's complicated," you answered hesitantly, struggling to articulate your own feelings for your lover. "We met during difficult times, and I found solace in someone I didn't think I would ever meet," you explained reluctantly and with a shaky voice.

"Alright, then tell me Love, do you still love me?" Tommy probed further, his curiosity piqued as much as his jealousy. He leaned closer, searching for signs of weakness in your eyes.

Your heart raced as your pulse quickened. Swallowing hard, you tried to hide your emotional turmoil behind a facade of indifference. However, Tommy noticed your struggle instantly.

"It doesn't matter because, whether I love you or not, won't make a difference at all," you confessed candidly, your voice breaking as you uttered those painful words. The weight of them settled between you, causing your hearts to skip a beat simultaneously.

"What happened to us Tommy? Why am I sitting here, holding your son, yet I am so far apart from you?" you lamented sorrowfully, tears beginning to pool in your eyes. This confession hurt both of you deeply, reminding you of a connection that was irreversibly severed and, just as Tommy was about to respond to your statement, his fiancée Lizzie barged in. 

"Come to bed, Thomas!" she exclaimed impatiently, oblivious to the delicate balance of raw emotions simmering in the room. Her presence brought relief to Tommy, offering a welcome distraction from his tumultuous inner battle. 

Avoiding any mention of your conversation, Tommy calmly rose from his chair and bid goodnight, kissing Lizzie softly on the cheek.

Then, without giving you a chance to respond, he exited the room swiftly, eager to escape the palpable tension. 

Watching him go, you bit your lip anxiously, struggling to comprehend the multitude of emotions coursing through your veins. You turned toward Lizzie, trying to gauge her reaction to your encounter with Tommy. Surprised by your display of familiarity, she raised an eyebrow curiously, seemingly confused by your interaction. However, deciding against prying further, she dismissed the situation altogether.

Closing the door gently behind her, Lizzie left you alone with your thoughts and emotions. With a sense of desolation, you gathered yourself and proceeded to prepare Edward for sleep. Nursing him until he fell asleep, rocking him gently in your arms as you hummed a melody passed down generations in your family. The comforting rhythm of the song calming not only Edward but also serving as balm to your wounded soul.

Meanwhile, outside the nursery, Tommy stood motionlessly, the events transpiring inside having left him reeling.

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[theemporium]

I am in the mood for some SugarDaddy! Seb that’s all fluffy ❤️ please and thank you!!! 🙏🏻

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

“Sebastian.”

The boy glared at you from the other side of the counter. 

“I said I was sorry,” you tried again, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to look a little more controlled. But in all honesty, the argument had been going on since you stepped into his apartment and you weren’t sure how much longer your patience could handle it.

Yet, Sebastian remained silent and stubborn. 

“It was just a coffee,” you groaned, your eyes darting over to the stupid cup that had essentially caused the tiff between you two.

“An outrageously priced coffee,” Sebastian corrected, something in his tone making you stand a little straighter in your sport. “One that you paid for with your own card.”

You sighed. “Seb—”

But the boy shut you down with a pointed look. 

The whole thing was utterly ridiculous. You had just finished running the few errands you needed to tick off on your day off before you headed to Sebastian’s apartment on the fancier side of town. You thought you would be sweet, stop by one of your favourite bakeries on this side of town and maybe get Sebastian something too.

You didn’t think it was that big of a deal that you instinctively reached for your own card instead of the one he had given you. And yet, here you were, still arguing over it almost twenty minutes later.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” you said to your boyfriend but his frown deepened.

“It’s a big deal to me, schatz,” Sebastian replied, a crease between his furrowed brows that you just wanted to smooth out with your thumb. 

You rounded the counter, leaving your coffees and the sweet treats you bought on the other side as you stepped into Sebastian’s space. Despite his annoyance, he wasted no time in opening his arms for you and letting you settle against him as you wound your arms around his waist. 

“I’m sorry,” you said again, though it was a little softer and less brattish this time around. “You know I didn’t do it on purpose to spite you or anything. It was a simple accident.” 

Sebastian hummed, pressing his lips together.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll even let you buy me some outrageously expensive gift and I promise I won’t even complain about how many zeroes are on the end of it,” you bargained with a hopeful smile on your face.

You watched his expression closely as a slow grin began to spread across his face before he leaned down to kiss you. 

“Deal,” he murmured between soft pecks, but his quick acceptance made you pull back and narrow your eyes in suspicion.

“You weren’t pissed at all, were you?” You accused, watching his expression fill with glee. He wasn’t even ashamed of his tactics. “This was your plan all along, huh?”

“And now you can’t take it back,” he retorted, leaning down to kiss you again. “You just have to sit there and look pretty whilst I choose what yacht to get you.” 

“Sebastian!”

“Kidding. I am actually thinking about a helicopter—”

“Oh my god.”

.

[throwaway-yandere]

Apotheosis Upon Your First Feast (Yandere!Wanderer & Pantalone/Reader)

Commissioned by: @leftdestiny-posts/@eternally-frozen (ilysm. Feel free to kill me later lmao)

unreliable synopsis: After being reassigned to Vanarana when your previous coworker became the Acting Grand Sage, with the help of Ararycan, you reunited met a wanderer on an abandoned machine. Unfortunately for someone, your childhood friend "Pantalone" has ears and eyes everywhere. (Avoid this fic if you’re not a fan of dark content. It’s not too dark but your mental health matters!) 

IMPORTANT NOTE: Please use the InteractiveFics extension and change “(Y/n)” to whatever name you want, “[Wanderer]” to his chosen name, and lastly, also change “(wood/salt)” to… whichever option you feel like. It’s a surprise mechanic *wink*. If you're reading this on a phone, just pick between wood or salt right now, keep your choice in mind and commit to it : )

Afterwards, would you be so kind as to answer this fun poll after reading the fic? Danke ♡

“Why doesn't Nara (Y/n) eat what Arasaka prepares for them? Does Nara (Y/n) lack appetite lately?”

“O-Oh, well, that’s…” You paused, looking down at the broth, “in all honesty, your cooking tastes bland…”

“H-Huh?!”

Time had passed since Lesser Lord Kusanali's official ascent to power and now is the fifth month since you first made friends with the Aranaras. Many events took place before you found your pyro vision becoming Arasaka's torch as they cooked– and if any of your coworkers saw you now, they probably wouldn’t identify you as Alhaitham’s (only) friend and Ex-Sage Azar’s lazy employee.

Maybe they would've if you helped Alhaitham and his teammates secure Sumeru’s future.

Sure, your name isn’t listed in the coup d’etat, but that’s only because you wished for the Akademiyan scholars to make the epiphany for themselves. As Azar’s ex-assistant, you laid low from projects as a prerequisite so that the populace may acquire a personality of their own to make the nation truly deserving of the title “Land of Wisdom.” 

Alas, that did not happen.

Alhaitham’s tactics were not wrong, but you felt like his group spoonfed Sumeru citizens with the Fatui’s crimes rather than having their own realizations. It did not feel like growth to you. It felt like the people casually learned from a one-sitting textbook rather than a hands-on experiment when they should’ve personally learned how minacious blind ambitions could be. In turn, he argued that your ideas were barbaric and that scholars revolting was not in the realm of possibility– hence, you did not lend your aid. Perhaps your inaction had pissed him off, but it’s more likely that he finds that sending you to Varanara was ideal for his workload. 

And in some strange domino effect, refraining from helping a coup d’etat meant eating the tasteless food known to man.

Since you were personally assigned a senseless task to patrol and report weather patterns in the area (which is unnecessary and quite frankly boring), you had befriended the infamous aranaras children from Port Ormos hear stories about. 

But the mundanity doesn’t hurt your pride as a graduate scholar. It's been fun so far.

“I'm sorry, 'Saka, it's just that I think your food lacks a bit of salt–"

"ASSISTANT (Y/N), THERE YOU ARE!!!"

Both of you flinched, causing Arasaka to topple over. The sound hurts. You snapped your neck towards the sound. An adventurer– Baharak– stood with both hands wrapped on her bag's shoulder straps with a silly grin on her face.  

… You’re turning the setting of your hearing aids down.

“Baharak, it’s been a while,” you spoke. “Would you mind not yelling whenever you call for me?”

“Oops– Sorry (Y/n)! I mean– sorry, Assistant (Y/n).”

Changing her volume doesn’t undo the pain she inflicted on your ears. Gently, you pushed Arasaka behind an elevated jag of root to cover them. To escape suspicion, you continued to stare at Baharak while feigning sleepiness.

“What are you here for?”

“The Forest Watcher received a letter addressed to you. The sender doesn’t have a name again, it just has the coin-seal thing.”

“Please hand it over.”

“Aight!– I mean, alright.”

After dismissing the loud adventurer and giving her spare mora as thanks, you waited until she was out of sight. Arasaka suddenly rose and jumped onto your lap, equally curious about what was written on the salt-scented parchment. Arasaka's preppy manner soon turned sour as they discovered who the sender was.

It’s a letter from your best friend, "Pantalone".

“Aww…” Arasaka whined. “Arasaka was hoping it was the Verdant Nara instead.”

You tore it open.

 

"My dearest, (Y/n),

If it's not too much to ask, may I trouble you to visit my office in Northland Bank soon? I merely wish to see you. Spending Lantern Rite alone this year was not a pleasant experience. It's just for a mere chat- I'll reimburse your traveling and dining expenses. Care to make it up to me?

Your beloved,

As per tradition, you threw the letter in the fireplace. Pantalone doesn’t like leaving a trail of evidence, naturally, you assumed the same applies here.

It's never a chore to visit a friend. Maybe you'll head there tomorrow–

“Arasaka doesn’t like Nara Pantalone.”

The aranara lowered their head, continuing, “Nara Pantalone reminds Arasaka of the Taste of Sadness.”

Cute. 

Every time Pantalone comes to visit, the aranaras behave like envious little siblings. Ever since you started patrolling Vanarana, the place had become the harbinger’s premiere leisure destination. The woods critters frequently tried to undermine his gifts, but they were adorably ineffective. Even if Pantalone cannot see them, the situation is nonetheless amusing.

If you remember correctly, the Taste of Sadness means salt to aranaras, right?

“Ah, well,” you laughed. “I guess you must be incredibly sensitive to his smell. He took quite a liking to salt-infused perfumes last year.”

“Don’t like perfume.”

“But I am wearing one though… Has the scent been bothering you all this time, Arasaka?”

“No, Arasaka was wrong. Arasaka likes perfume, and Arasaka hates salt. Taste of sadness. The scent of sadness.” 

“Oh, no! If Pantalone’s smell makes my dear Arasaka sad, then maybe we should drown him in Varunastra,” you chuckled darkly, expecting the aranara to react loudly over your out-of-pocket remark.

“Of course. Salt Nara would make for decent spare rations!”

You laughed out loud at Arasaka’s even more out-of-pocket reply. Out-of-pocket is an understatement, that comment straight up sounded out-of-the-CASKET. 

Before standing up, you ruffled Arasaka’s nonexistent hair like you would with your deceased sisters.

“I’ll come back in a few days, okay? In the meantime, why don’t you read a cookbook?”

“Hmph! Nara (Y/n), you’re being mean! Just wait! My sisters will make a dish Nara (Y/n) can’t say “no” to!” 

“It’s a dumb risk.”

“It’s a new business venture, dearest.”

“The market for new eyeglasses isn’t going to rise any time soon.”

“Why are you so adamant on opposing this idea?”

“Stagnation breeds putrefaction, especially in business, does it not?” You raised an eyebrow, preparing for a harangue. 

“Je suis d’accord!” The man spoke softly, accentuating his Fontaine pronunciation somewhat boastfully. Knowing your disability, he never raises his voice to the point of it hurting. “And it is precisely why I want to invest in an eyewear conglomerate in Sumeru.”

“Then why are you dropping your prior investments?!”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

You sighed, annoyed.

Pantalone is an amazing businessman, but without your council, he wouldn’t amount to who he is now. Unlike most people, “sneakily ambitious” are not the words you would describe your visionless friend. Such a moniker sounds insulting given his lack of celestial blessings and you know Celestia itself never took kindly towards his well-versed dirty tricks against his opponents.

In your humble opinion, the term “industrious” is a better-suited and less backhanded compliment for him.

You’ve known Pantalone— no— “██████” since childhood. Your history stretched back so much that you no longer recall the circumstances of how you befriended him. He acted as your ears when it came to haggling and normal day-to-day chores. As far as you know, he has always been an older brother to you. In times of extreme poverty, you both prayed and starved together, scraping by using salt rocks as entrees. 

There was no one else that made your deafness bearable except for him. With no family left, he was your only beacon of hope and dear Morax– you’d rather not remind yourself of the time your dead sisters mistakenly ate mud for rice cakes when famine struck.  

You chose Amurta out of the Six Great Schools for a reason:

You can’t afford to watch anyone die of hunger ever again.

When you began living in Sumeru, you had pledged your alliance with the region but never forgot all the toil you had to go through. As a malnourished child, you quickly fell in love with the nation. In Sumeru, healthcare was free– in Liyue? You heard nothing, and you wished that “advantage” doesn’t make you blind from the evil you witnessed in the slums. Poverty ate away your hearing, your family, and your childhood dreams… 

In a way, the only reason you see aranaras in the first place may be that you didn’t have the chance to experience any childlike wonder until you escaped Liyue.

Pantalone scoffed, “whether you agree with my financial decision or not doesn't affect my resolve. Do not press more about this, dearest.”

… But you’re convinced that your closest confidant “██████” had already perished from starvation long ago.

The man before you calls himself “Pantalone” nowadays and you lose all sense of indolence whenever his presence looms. When he watched your last sister perish in your arms, an epiphany gave birth to his cold demeanor towards deities. He found it challenging to worship the Archons who had no need for mora but were eager to take it away from destitute mortals who needed it as you and your sisters did. The death of your younger sibling was his final straw, and in a sense, you also buried your old friend that night. 

Unlike ██████, Pantalone cannot forgive nor trust the Archons for their broken promises. If Lesser Lord Kusanali had abandoned withered forests, Rex Lapis had abandoned those whose blood and tears cannot amount to any mora. You were only allowed to study at the Akademiya after he decided the former was the lesser evil.

Although Pantalone never condemns you for calling him by his birth name, you cannot tell yourself that he and ██████ are fully the same person. There is an unspoken need to straighten your posture and greet him with a semi-scowl to demonstrate your maturity despite him acting cozy and warm. Worse, his lax demeanor never ceases to remind you that despite his uncomfortable reputation, Pantalone is the only companion you’d entrust your soul to even when the world warns you not to deal a contract with the devil.

“You just want to use new brackets every day—”

“I am a businessman, love.”

You speared Pantalone with a pointed look.

“—And why Sumeru? Have you landed a deal with a reputable Amurtan optician? And why didn’t you ask ME first? You weren’t cornered by Dottore or the Tianquan to kickstart an eyeglasses company, were you?”

He scowled, unamused before firing back without skipping a beat. 

“Summer, seven years ago. You accidentally bought six bunraku puppets from Inazuma—”

Your eyes widened. Not this embarrassing anecdote again.

“Woah, woah! Now, why are YOU extorting me?”

“So you’d be silenced quicker.”

“…”

This reticence was slowly exasperating the harbinger, but he never utters a complaint when you're whom he's conversing with. Pantalone cleared his throat with an elegant smile. In that moment of cessation, you figured that he had a seemingly innocent proposal in mind.

“(Y/n), my most dearest baobei…” The harbinger ventured.

“Pantalone…”

He pulled out his desk drawer and ferreted out a parcel that you suspect contains a pair of glasses.

“Would you care to be a test sub—”

“No.”

You have a gut feeling as to where this is going. He’s going to propose that it’s “just” glasses until you find out he’s been using you to track or spy on someone without your knowledge. Classic Pantalone. You won't be duped by that TWICE in a row. If you knew better, you wouldn’t have accidentally leaked intel to the Fatui that Katheryne was being controlled by the Lord of Verdure. All because Pantalone hid a recorder on one of his “gifted” hearing aids...

Listen— just because you refused to lend a hand to the Archon when she was in need and was subsequently confronted by the 2nd harbinger in Sumeru City doesn’t mean you were colluding with these fools. 

You just wanted to remain neutral in any given situation. Unlike your childhood friend, politics bore you to death. And just like the Acting Grand Sage, you’re too lazy to act as a beta tester no matter how minimal the effort the task requires.

“I only ask that you wear this pair of glasses and test its comfortability.”

“I refuse.”

“We can negotiate how much mora you’ll earn—”

“Just stop.”

“Hmm, if I phrase it as a “gift”, would you accept—”

“Hell no.”

Pantalone paused.

“Hmm…” He tapped his desk, gazing at the paperwork neatly piled up.

“Word of advice, (Y/n), it’s highly probable that the price of cocoa will rise next week,” he shrugged. “That fact is, of course, most definitely unrelated to our current discussion.”

Is he… 

Is he threatening to generate chocolate inflation over a pair of glasses?!

You scoffed, eyes wide.

“██████, you worthless SCALPER.“

“The majority prefer to call me a ‘regrator’, but that new nickname is acceptable as long as it is you who makes such mildly unpleasant utterances.”

“GAH! You— YOU—” Even though he may completely ruin your usual routine of buying chocolates after work, it's difficult to curse him out. You have no choice but to spout illogical syllables without a valid clause. “JUST— YOU!!! YOU.”

Smack.

Upon hearing your facepalm resoundingly, he laughed uncontrollably, removing his glasses to wipe his eye with an uneven grin on his face. He tried to keep his composure but he kept snorting. 

You took a peek between your fingers. What a precious noise. You haven’t heard him laugh like this for over three years now.

At that moment, you thought ██████ was alive.

“F-Fine— give me those damn eyeglasses.”

Pantalone drifted the parcel above your palm until he quickly retracted it as soon as you reached forward.

“But before I do that, can you promise me one thing?”

“What is it this time?” You groaned.

“Don’t lend it to anyone else, understand?” Pantalone slightly ruffled your hair. “I had it custom-made for you.”

You rolled your eyes, “that thing is definitely wiretapped. You’re not even bothering to hide it anymore.”

“Oh no, it’s not just that—” 

“Just that?”

He shrugged smugly, which was not a good sign. 

“The eyeglasses function similar to an Akasha Terminal, but of course, the information you’d find there is directly from my database.”

Pantalone opened the box and swiftly put the white-framed glasses on your face. He lightly tapped the frame—

and a control panel window flickered open.

Just like an Akasha.

“H-How on earth—”

“The Doctor and I had a deal. He’ll recreate at least 80% of a regular Akasha’s functions while I help him track down a few… crops. It’s a quid pro quo, I promise. It’s less of him exploiting me and more of me exploiting…— well, that doesn’t matter right now. C’mere, let me see your lovely face...”

Pantalone tilted your chin up with his thumb. His face was inches away from yours, and his piercing lilac eyes observed your glasses and what was behind them, calculating. His breathing was notably strained in a subconscious attempt to make you feel less uncomfortable from the position he trapped you in— ever the perfect gentleman— but you see his entire face flushed in a pinkish hue. A few seconds have passed, and you feel the glove pressed against you twitching. 

Pantalone pulled away, shoulders stiff.

His ears were red.

“I-It’s working as intended.”

If not for the nature of your relationship, you were close enough to kiss– an appealing notion for the harbinger, yet it is not a move he should bring himself to try.

“Y-Yeah, no kidding. That was awkward.”

He gripped his arm, looking at the window.

Pantalone is painfully aware you think of him as an older brother. Or at least, the shadow of one, given how you rarely call him by name anymore.

“My apologies, I simply wanted to take a good look at you.'

He muttered, “you’ve grown into a gorgeous person, (Y/n).”

You didn’t hear him.

“██████– I mean, Pantalone–”

“Go back to calling me ██████, dear.”

“Pantalone.” You put more emphasis on his harbinger name, watching in glee as he rolled his eyes, “I expect to be paid in chocolates and at least two months’ worth of food.”

Indeed, your proposed exchange pleased him. ██████ knows how much you value healthy eating and abhor it greatly when others waste grains of rice. Time and imagination had transformed his early memories as you as a human so close to a skeletal figurine with sunken cheeks and broomstick-like limbs. Those thoughts cause him much sorrow. Pantalone would have pampered you for free if you had only let him– seeing you eating healthy gives him life. Almost like how a father would tell his children that seeing them full is enough to make him full as well. 

Let him spoil you with food. Please.

Seeing you thin makes him feel sad.

“What do you want to eat for dinner later? My treat, as always.”

“Mint salad sounds lovely.”

“Just mint salad?” Pantalone smiled thinly.

His dearest baobei, no longer skin and bones. No longer barely fueled by rice and salt. No longer skipping meals. It warms his heart more than the exclusive springs offered to him because of his mora and title… But it’s not enough. It’s never enough.

“Hmm… Would it be okay to request a plate of Triple-Layered Consommé?” You muttered, gazing at the floor. “I kind of miss your cooking… Just. Just kind of.”

His heart skipped a few beats as he saw your shy expression. 

You straightened up, coughing, “not that your cooking is anything special, it’s just that I don’t want to eat anything too bland and–”

“Of course! Anything for you, my love.”

Pantalone grabbed your hand and placed a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“My baobei, you’d be too full to walk once I’m done spoiling you…”

“D-Did you have to word it so seductively?!”

You blushed once again, which only served to worsen his urge for making you undeniably satiated. 

Oh, how he wants to keep you in a cage, locked up, and fed until he’s satisfied that you’ll never starve again…

Maybe then, you’d let him spoon-feed you like years before...

There's no rest for the wicked. When you returned to Vanarana the next day, the aranaras pulled you in for another chore at Devantaka Mountain.

“Hey, little man, get down there, right now!” 

You screamed with your hands cupped around your mouth to amplify your voice. The aforementioned "small man" scoffed, not shifting an inch from his posture, as the blue aranara crept up behind you.

Ararycan worriedly relayed that a “Wood Nara” had been trespassing the large abandoned Khaenri’ahn machine. The little vegetable-like creature had grown to trust you when it came to scaring off unwanted guests, which usually entailed eremites or treasure hoarders scavenging for scrap metal. 

“Ararycan wants to stop Wood Nara.”

You gently pried the wire off their hand, keeping it in your pocket in a very definite fashion. 

“I know, ‘Rycan, but Naras are stubborn beings.”

“Just like Nara (Y/n)?”

You gasped, eyes widened.

These plant-like beings are surprisingly masterful at the art of roasting.

 “Just like Nara (Y/n), you say?! Rude, Ararycan, rude.”

You laughed humorlessly, masking your jadedness with forced laughter. 

In all honesty, you’re inclined to believe that this job reassignment was Alhaitham’s way of punishing you for remaining neutral. But surprisingly? An Amurta alumnus like you have been enjoying the task and in no small part thanks to these silly little creatures.

It's absurd to imagine that you would consent to be pulled by these vegetable creatures. You initially believed that they were paracosms produced by a lack of stimulation. You once tried to ignore them. Regrettably, that frail facade didn't survive due to a couple of slip-ups. The first to catch you drawing their likenesses next to your weather reports was Arapas. The second was Arabalika, who overheard you whispering about how powerful they were after they defeated a ruin grader, and then Arama who heard you humming their songs. They’ve built up quite the case against you, and you had to fess up before they start giving you a hard time.

By “hard time”, you were referring to how a crowd of tumultuous aranaras huddled up and tugged your hearing aids’ wire with their teeny hands incessantly.

Which was what Ararycan is doing right now.

“Get us up there, Nara (Y/n).” 

"Careful, Rycan– you might damage the wire."

Suddenly, the hatted man's eyes widened after seeing you. Call it intuition, but it seemed like this total stranger knew who you were.

You made an exaggeratedly loud inhaling sound, turning off your hearing aids momentarily.

And then, a scream.

“STOP, STAY WHERE YOU ARE!!! RIGHT!!! NOW!!!”

The difference between stupidity and bravery is measured by outcome, and neither are variables you wish for this “Wood Nara” to test out. Alhaitham would have you write two pages detailing an incident if the stranger broke something and eight more if the machine awakened. And sadly, you are only a small percent less lazy than that man.

Despite your words droning childishly, you made no move to approach him. His eyes sharpened, but you felt no scrutiny— 

This man you’ve never met wore a blatant look of disbelief.

You looked down.

Maybe he could see Ararycan…?

“Hey— can you see them?”

You swiftly swept Ararycan off the ground, who made a surprised yelp. 

The man winced.

"P-Please… Leave the forest alone…"

"And why should I care about your pathetic request?"

"Please, have mercy… T-There are creatures that live in this area… Creatures you cannot see because you lacked a human heart."

“–Ngh!”

Those memories were hard to swallow, like reading an inked sloppy handwriting submerged in water.

“G-Good riddance…”

The man coiled in pain, gripping his scalp with his lithe fingers. You cannot view the expression on his face, nor were you able to verify that he had yelped. The distance between you two was too great to conceive a communication that did not rely on shouting.

“Nara (Y/n), what are you doing?!”

Although your proximity with the aranara doesn’t cause any communication barriers, that didn’t stop Ararycan from yelling.

For some reason, the stranger flinched after seeing you carry what appeared to be air around “normal people”’s vision. Perhaps he found your actions cringe-inducing… or perhaps it made his migraine worse. Then again, both possibilities are not mutually exclusive. However, you have a feeling he didn’t flinch because he saw Ararycan.

The blue aranara leaped off of your hands.

“Ararycan is worried… Ararycan thinks Wood Nara is going to destroy the giant iron mountain…”

You stared up at the man again, wanting to go on for a long rant but refrained after realizing how immature that is. While you do have a hunch that the stranger possessed a vision, you’d bet mora that he is no match for Arabalika’s accumulated Ararakalari. 

“Say, why do you keep calling him Wood Nara? Is it because of his ginormous hat?” You whispered to Ararycan.

“Huh? Did Nara (Y/n) not notice?” They tilted their head.

“Ararycan calls him “Wood Nara” because he’s made of white wood. Ararycan is not sure if he is a real Nara.”

Their answer entered from one ear and exited in the other. You’re used to hearing the Aranara lexicon that you never take any sentence at face value since you’ve learned your lesson back when Arasaka made you scout the market for a “Taste of Happiness.” Thank the Lord of Verdure that it was only Pantalone who laughed at you for describing sugar as “white, cubic, crumbles when crushed, becomes sand, and can be eaten.”

“Hah, well, he better not be made out of wood 'cause I might burn him.”

“Ararycan doesn’t think that’s easy to do. Wood Nara smells like the taste of anger,” once again, you ignored their riddled words.

You clutched the pyro vision dangling in your cloak’s right shoulder, located opposite where Alhaitham places his. Your skill set does not differ from that dendro user’s repertoire, and you calculated what vertice you should drop upon teleporting. Grabbing Ararycan, you rushed forward...

Without making it past the one-minute mark, you leaped effortlessly to where the stranger stood.

“Excuse me, young man, but do you have an Investigation Charter from the Akademiya?”

With an unused voice when it comes to dishing out commands– much less an implied threat– your approach wasn’t even a fraction of what makes authorities like the General Mahamatra intimidating. Yet, you still tried. You crossed your arms and hovered your hand near your claymore.

This stranger gazed up, boasting his soft face and beautiful lilac eyes topped with a complexion quite like a sheltered princess. He had the finest eyes you had ever seen. Yet, even with a heaven-sent face, his eyebrows were knitted. He continued kneeling on the cold metal of the giant mossed and corroded machine. 

One closer look should’ve made you hyper-aware that his joints were not bound by mortal flesh, but your heart was more entranced by his glassy pupils. 

“We meet again. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.” 

He muttered inaudibly, hence, you did not hear him. Since you also just came back from visiting Liyue and their post-festival fireworks, you’ve turned your hearing aid settings lower than usual. You bent your knees slightly, offering a hand.

“Nana korobi ya oki,” you said. The stranger looked like he hailed from Inazuma, so you thought you’d put your knowledge to good use. “It means–”

Unbeknownst to you, you uttered the same thing in a past long forgotten.

“I know: fall down seven times, get up eight.”

His gloved hand grasped your own, and you tried not to think about how soft yet firm it was as you pulled him up. You grunted slightly from the shifted weight while he didn’t breathe at all.

“No, I don’t have any clearance permit,” he said. “And I still don't have a heart, if that still matters to you.”

You raised an eyebrow.

‘Still’? What the hell is he talking about? Aaru village is miles away from here, but is it possible that the man you’re talking to is a mad scholar? That’s concerning. 

Pushing your glasses farther up the bridge of your nose, you tried to search his face in Sumeru's records– which might be more unlawful than whatever this man's doing, but who's policing you anyways?

…

Nothing.

There's not a single official record on this man.

Not even in the Fatui's database.

Almost like the man in front of you doesn't exist.

"What the hell are you wearing?" The man sneered. "Since when did you have awful eyesight too?"

“No Investigation Charter, no clearance, just what do you think you’re doing here?” You digressed. “May I at least have your name?”

The man tilted his hat up, “and why should I stupidly give my information away?”

Your eye twitched. He kinda reminds you of Arabalika. Maybe if you gave him a cane he’ll calm down a bit.

“I do have a use for your name, awkward stranger.”

“And that is?”

Writing a report to the Acting Grand Sage regarding suspicious individuals.

“Something to call you,” you shrugged with a child-like candor, renewing your request with bold obstinacy. “I’d rather not recount this tale to various parties as That One Time An Awful Little Man Tried To Pry Open A Giant Machine And Failed.”

He exhaled curtly.

… Was that a laugh?

“How childish. Even if you don't know my name, your "friends"– assuming you have some– will remember me by that stupid description.”

“I mean, it's a memorable first impression,” you met his gaze smugly. “But why are you hiding your name, hmm? Suspicious.”

“It’s called respecting one’s privacy. Something you don't understand.”

How rude of him to make assumptions about you, “are you some covert government official?”

“No.”

“Then what? Are you some inhuman being?”

“...” He didn’t say a word.

Something tells you that the answer is close to your hunch.

“[Wanderer].”

He muttered, once again, you did not hear it so he spoke louder.

“That's my name. Don't you dare make me repeat it.”

“[Wanderer]…”

You missed the way he tipped his hat, hiding an uncontrollable smile from your view.

[Wanderer]... That does sound like a fitting name. It reminded you of a character from a franchise or mythological tale you thoroughly enjoyed as a teenager. It might be rude to share that information, though. You’re not certain how this bratty person would react upon hearing that his name might as well be the name of your lotus from a botany class.

Normally, [Wanderer] would snap a “speak up– is there something wrong with my name?” upon listening to hushed whispers or a resounding silence after his many introductions. But you’re different for a reason. 

There was no way in hell he would take the traveler's suggestion over a name you had given him.

Ararycan tugged your pants.

“Hey, don’t just stare at him, Nara (Y/n)! Tell him to leave!!!” Araycan trashed around. “Nara (Y/n) must be a brave Nara if you like the taste of anger.”

[Wanderer] is the taste of anger? Is that what Ararycan was trying to say?

You blushed, fake-coughing behind your hand.

You wouldn’t say he reminds you of the taste of anger– especially with that winsome face. If anything, his appearance looks a lot like the bunraku dolls you accidentally bought years ago.

“Well, [Wanderer], it’s nice to finally put a name to a face,” you said. “But this is a dangerous area. What are you doing here…?”

“I just wanted to look for traces of the Doctor,” [Wanderer] crossed his arms. “Unfortunately, I can’t pry this stupid machine open.”

“The Doctor? Who’s that?”

“The Harbinger who sits at the second–”

“Aah, The Outcast. I see–” you shook your head. “Wait, no, I don’t get it. What does he have anything to do with this machine here? This is a Khaenriah’n creation.” 

“I know, I’m not dumb like you. I'm here because The Doctor had plans for these automatons, that’s why I’m here.”

“But even so, it’s not advisable to wander these parts alone. You ought to have asked for a travel companion. Who knows if you run into a hoard of vanaagnis in marana?”

“Hmph. Do you think I can’t handle a few whooperflowers in a withering zone? The audacity.”

“Arrogance is the capital stock of misfortune– wait, how’d you know Vanaagnis is a term for whooperflowers?” You blinked expressively. “And the meaning of marana too– so you ARE a mad scholar.”

“I’m NOT,” [Wanderer] glared. You noticed how he seemed unimpressed when you mentioned that proverb about arrogance and “capital stock”, and his expression soured more when you accused him of being a lunatic. 

“I just… I just learned from the best.”

[Wanderer]'s stare not wavering away from you.

Your silence did not go unnoticed by the other two.

“...Why do I have a feeling you’re trying to say that you’ve learned from me?” Those words had escaped from your mouth before you could stop them.

[Wanderer]’s eyes widened.

“Can… Can you remember?”

“Remember…?”

He frowned, eyes reflecting his disappointment.

“No, no, it’s probably just a fluke,” [Wanderer] frowned with a finger tracing his lips. “Maybe my expression just gave it away…”

“Nara (Y/n)!!! Tell Wood Nara to leeaaaaveee!!!”

You tried not to flinch at Ararycan’s whining. They don’t seem to understand that having poor hearing doesn’t mean you can’t register their commands.

[Wanderer] walked past you. 

“Fine, I’ll leave this device alone, but on one condition.”

“What makes you think you’re the one in control–”

“Go out with me.”

“...”

“...”

“... What?”

Your eyeglasses flickered red.

But that red light was gone in a blink, you weren't even sure if it existed.

You laughed nervously, “sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly–”

He refused to meet your eyes like a coward.

[Wanderer] replied brusquely, “look– you're partially deaf, but you’re NOT stupid. You heard what I said, so own it.”

"Hold on– where is all this coming from, [Wanderer]?" You pivoted your heel but were too late to yank his sleeve. 

He already hovered a few feet away from you.

"I'll come to visit this place more often," [Wanderer] smirked. "You’ll still be here at the upcoming Festival, right? Mark your calendar. That’s our date.”

“Hey, you can’t just!– Aaand he’s gone.”

Despite his abrupt parting, you couldn’t help but smile over such a cheeky encounter, completely forgetting how that man rummaged through the giant machine you’re standing on without a permit.

Something tells you that you’d see him more often.

And you did.

“[Wanderer]” never failed to visit you at 10 AM sharp every day, until there was only one day left till the next Sumeru Festival. At first, you thought his eccentric personality would make the following days unbearable, but he was rather civil– just sharp-tongued. 

He would show up whenever you wandered in the forest to disseminate knowledge about the local flora and Sumeru's history. Some of them you already knew, while others had you wondering if he knew the Lord of Verdure. While you were trying to interview him for a report, not as a trespasser but as an assistant, you once purposely lightened the atmosphere to get honest responses from him. When you jokingly asked who he was, his reply was unsatisfactory.

“Who I am is not carved in wood nor stone. ᏕᎧᎷᏋᎧᏁᏋ wise told me that it’s a flexible concept and it’s easier to understand through a story, but even then, you’d only see a fraction of who that person is,” [Wanderer] peered dotingly. “If you wish to know who I am, then work for it. I’m not giving you a damn summary.”

Tomorrow is your first "date" with the man and you barely knew him.

Your internalized frustration made him think you’re insatiably adorable. 

How the tables have turned. 

After all, [Wanderer] only responded with the same answer you had given him before.

In a forgotten history, ᎩᎧᏬ were the one that spouts spontaneous philosophical questions that led him into fits of unintelligible musings. [Wanderer] berated humanity for being sentimental creatures yet look at him now, proudly boasting the name ᎩᎧᏬ gave him wherever he went. It is by no means grander than a title like God of Everlasting Eternity or other such monikers, but when Godhood has stripped away from him, that name provided more solace than a seat in Celestia.

“The Puppet”, “Kunikuzushi”– such utterances are water under the bridge. Only [Wanderer] stays afloat, like a bubble on water. Maybe a bubble is only beautiful for a moment, yet that moment weighs more than a meaningless “eternity” and he knows this well…

[Wanderer] had been played by fate. Attaining freedom, independence, and a vision did not absolve what chokehold you had on his synthetic being. 

You're a colorful character, averaging about five meaningful papers per year– all the while considering yourself a "retired" genius. [Wanderer] would've been a kinder and forgiving person if you were his young and impressionable self's creator. He envied your patients, your strange collection of bunraku dolls, and the tenderness you reserve for them. 

He missed you, no matter how often you both fought. Your hums used to enchant him when you lull him asleep with aranara songs, but they now haunt him up at night. You were his puppet and he was your dictator until you had grown exhausted of foreign power enough that you abandoned your neutrality and revolted. 

But you did not revolt against him in this revision. Without a doubt, his revised “past” still mirrored the pain he caused, but through other means. He can’t say he had no regrets when he tampered with the Irminsul. Niwa’s death had less weight in this world, and for the wanderer, death without sanctification for a significant purpose is unnecessary homicide. And instead of helping Azar’s experiment, you became a “disobedient pet” who saw no need to collaborate with his superiority complex.

Yet, despite being such a disobedient pet– in his opinion, that’s a grave understatement–, he can’t help but cherish you.

The puppet missed the way his delusion marked your body. Fingerprint-like blotches collared your neck before, but when the slate was wiped clean, so too did his inflicted bruises. He missed the way you begged him to stop the pain. He missed the way you defended invisible creatures as “Queen Aranyani’s successor.” He missed the way you begged to keep the forest safe.

He missed the way you begged to be his.

But those marks are long gone– the symbol he carved on the nape of your neck had disappeared. You no longer had anything that resembled signs of his ownership.

Not only that, but seeing you wear eyeglasses– something you haven't before– fills him with anger.

The one saving grace from this situation was when this timeline confirmed that you wouldn’t help Azar if it wasn’t for [Wanderer]. You were interested in his personality and disposition as a puppet longing for a human heart, not just any of Dottore’s run-of-the-mill creations. That observation surely boosted his ego. 

Your opinions mattered to him most in that project. Admittedly, he craved everyone’s veneration, even when they lacked true understanding.

But you were the first mortal that made him appreciate his defects…

 

"Is it so bad to live this way?" You combed his hair with your fingers. "Must you try your hand with such heresy?"

"Know your place," Scaramouche gritted his teeth. "You're nothing more than my maintenance worker- you do not deserve an audience."

"Be that as it may, future faux-god, can't you entertain me for just a moment? If I wasn't worried about you, I wouldn't be helping you with this damn treacherous experiment.

You ignored how he snarled at such a nickname, "it pains me to watch you lust for more power when you already boast an acceptable form. What is it that makes you so desperate? Is it because you can't hide the ball joints that connect your fingers and limbs?"

You continued while adjusting the tightness of his skeletal wrists.

"Is it so bad to live on as a defective being? Does imperfection invalidate a life's purpose? I only ask out of curiosity. I have imperfect ears, so does that make my life devoid of meaning?"

Scaramouche frowned, "do not compare your ears to my heart or lack thereof."

He didn't understand why his voice cracked. Scaramouche did not feel his usual temperament sizzling over but something heavy resided in his chest.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize, I know you're not sorry," Scaramouche cupped your cheek, sporting an uncharacteristically loving smile.

"And your unapologetic behavior is what makes you my first sage."

His first sage…

[Wanderer] laughed to himself.

His first sage would know that if he gained a heart, he would've seen the aranara you were talking to earlier.

But this is fine. He can start over again. 

This time, he’ll make you love him normally.

Heaven, please help the white wood that fell in love for it will never be human…

…

Out of the blue, Scaramouche spun and hurled three consecutive wind blades toward the woods with precision.

Be that as it may, the walking salt is surely more pathetic.

The “trees” grunted, but [Wanderer] did not miss the smell of salt-infused perfumes.

What a shame. 

The next Sumeru Festival, your “date”, is tomorrow, yet there will always be those who lurk in the shadows to see the mighty fall. 

"Pantalone…" 

The ex-sixth harbinger snarled with unfathomable familiarity. Which was the complete opposite of the ninth harbinger, who coldly greeted him like a new enemy. 

"Good afternoon, [Wanderer]."

Pantalone pulled out a gun from his hidden holster.

"No hard feelings, sir," the businessman smiled thinly. "I am but a simple man eliminating a love rival. You see, it’s not nice threatening to steal someone’s possession."

Scaramouche cackled.

How annoying. He never liked this friend of yours– he much preferred the one that planned a coup. Pantalone was not a coworker Scaramouche liked, much less a rival. This ambitious man was always a parasite, pretending to be worried while threatening to withhold project funding behind your back. Scaramouche will never forget how he boasted insolently that he had known you longer as if eternity wouldn't be enough to make up for it.

"You never change, mortal," he laughed even harder. "I knew something was off about (Y/n)'s glasses!"

"Hmm? Is that so?" Pantalone pushed them up closer– reminding Scaramouche that he’s no terrible shot. "How strange. In any case, I quite frankly don't care what you know or do not know."

He pulled the trigger as Scaramouche stomped his feet.

Only a few knew what occurred in Vanarana that day, but there was one thing the forest remembered.

Before either of them parted, a loud bang echoed that even deaf trees can't miss.

You woke up from Araja’s house (which was the only comfortable place to sleep in Vanarana) after passing out from tumultuous loads of paperwork sent directly by the Baharak. She joked that at that point, maybe she had become a bad omen for you– and you confirmed her suspicions. The tasks the Acting Grand Sage laid out for you were taxing, if not, deleterious for your mental well-being, and worst of all–

He sent a notice that this would be your last week patrolling Vanarana.

When you spread the announcement, the aranaras were saddened by the news. Even Arabalika was unimpressed and asked if you can prolong your services. Alas, it can’t be refuted.

Noticing how tired you appeared, the village chief immediately commanded you to sleep while you pretended not to hear whispers of a surprise farewell party. Considering how the place looked positively empty this morning, you’d wager that they’re busy working on it.

But you do smell that someone’s cooking right now…

The enticing scent emanated from a large pot. As you sauntered closer, you noticed how Arasaka was tending to the food. The aranara gave you a friendly wave that you didn’t reciprocate. It’s rather chilly in Vanarana in the mornings– and the sleeves of your jacket were comfy. 

“Good morning, Nara (Y/n)!”

“Good morning, ‘Saka. That smells delicious,” you smiled bittersweetly.

“Hehe, really? Glad to hear it! One of Nara (Y/n)’s friends helped gather the ingredients. That Nara was good at hunting down prey!”

One of your friends…? You haven't introduced a lot of people to the aranaras. That can only mean it's either Baharak, Pantalone, or [Wanderer], and you can safely remove the first one since they're positively busy with guild matters. 

... Huh. But those two can't see aranaras. Does that mean they stole Pantalone or [Wanderer]'s game?

"Pfft..." You chortled. Yeah, imagining either of them getting confused as to why their hunted boar had gone missing feels like a sight to see.

You took the ladle from Arasaka’s hand and sipped the warm liquid.

…

“Oh, hey, this tastes pretty good!”

“Hehe, Arasaka is glad to hear you liked it! Nara taste buds are hard to please.”

You took another sip as Arasaka watched. The warm soup went down smoothly, but the aftertaste had a serpent-like bite to it. It tastes akin to red sorghums Pantalone would down whenever social drinking was inevitable. Your only critique was that it would’ve been a refreshing experience if there wasn’t a rocky object stuck between your teeth. You awkwardly picked it out.

… And saw a small hint of (wood/salt) between your fingers.

You stared at Arasaka.

Strange…

Something feels… off. 

This doesn't taste like happiness, it tastes like…

You shivered and yet the aranaras around you still had that same painted smile. 

 "Does Nara (Y/n) like the taste now? The taste of friendship?”

… Friendship?

No. That can’t be it.

The spoon splashed back into the bowl. You didn’t say a word, only stared at the boiling pot. You knelt, grabbing both handles to gaze upon the bubbling red liquid. With trembling hands, you picked the spoon back up and swirled the contents. Nothing was of note–

Until you scooped something from the very bottom and found thick strands of dark hair.

A very familiar strand of dark hair.

You adjusted your glasses in an attempt to find out where this human hair came from–

“Nara (Y/n) likes the scent of (wood/salt) Nara so my sisters added him in!” Arasaka innocently cheered.

Your heart dropped.

You turned pale– gagging.

No. It can't be.

Did you just eat…

“So, Nara (Y/n)– does our cooking taste bland now?”

… “him”?

“Oh, Nara (Y/n)’s friend is approaching! Don’t forget to thank him for the food!”

[sehtoast]

Perfect Punishment (Homelander x gn!Reader Smut)

18+ | spanking, leg humping, technically supe!reader (vague), sublander, light choking | Fic Directory

Suffice it to say, you're never quite sure how you end up in these situations. Granted, the common denominator in all of them was that Homelander was an endlessly voracious man in need of an infinite amount of attention, and he'd go to any lengths to get it. 

Even this. 

“Mmm, harder…” He hums as your palm strikes his rear, a playful grin etching into his face at the resounding slap.

“I thought this was a punishment,” you say as you rub soothing circles over the red of his briefs. “Doesn’t really count if you like it.” You're almost ready to stop and leave him hanging as a real punishment. 

“Right, right. Ah! Ow!” 

You roll your eyes at his theatrics. You'd teased him about being such a bad boy, but it seemed like he was all too happy to fill that role. His behavior cranked past ten, and now here you are: The Homelander himself bent over your knee, underwear pulled down just a smidge and pants at his ankles. 

You're not even sure who made the spanking joke first, but god knows his eyes practically lit up like a Christmas tree at the mere mention. 

For his smart comment, you swat significantly harder. You could never actually hurt him– maybe just sting him a little.  In fact, you have a sneaking suspicion that the power dynamic reversal is what has him rocking against your thigh like the needy little thing he is. So pathetically horny at the idea of being weak and vulnerable for you. 

Of being punished by you. 

Not even his commentary could hide it. 

“Oooh, that one tickled.” He snarks one more time, but his voice betrays him completely. A slight quiver in his words, a shaky breath exhaled, cheeks turning a light pink. “C'mon, babe. Give it to me. Unless you're all talk…”

Antagonistic little… 

You grip his briefs and rip them clean off, revealing his bare ass to knead and squeeze to your heart's content. You loop an arm around his neck, restricting his throat between your forearm and bicep, tugging him just enough to make his back arch. 

“You're a very bad boy,” you whisper, nails scratching his glutes. What little fabric survived the rip still miraculously covers his cock as he grinds against you unabashedly. You wind up for the swing and–

“Mmph!”

Like music to your ears, he chokes on the cutest little sound. Something squeaky and precious, surprise vocalizing high in his throat at your sudden brazenness and strength. 

“You just wanted to hump my leg like a dog, didn't you?” You accuse, tightening your arm at his neck. You rub your last strike tenderly, letting your fingers slip along the curve of his crack. You can practically feel the way he shivers against you. “You’re makin’ a mess down there, aren’t you baby?”

Even pressed firm against your leg, you can feel his drooling cock twitch with need. The surviving scrap of fabric has to be drenched at this rate– you can almost feel the heated moisture and you know damn well his cock weeps practically the whole time he’s aroused on a regular day. 

A breathy moan escapes his slack mouth the second your fingertips graze his sack, hips bucking forward to seek more of whatever delicious friction he'd found against your lap. 

“You just wanted to lay on me and get played with like the little whore you are.” You trail your hand back and grip a cheek as hard as you can, nails biting into his flesh. “Admit it. You acted out for attention.” 

“Mmm, yeah– fuck,” he confesses through a breathless whisper. 

For his honesty, you reward him with a warm palm to his balls, feeling them tighten every time a pulse of pleasure surges through his body from how you play with him. 

He keens softly, eyes screwing shut against the twist of bliss knotting in his core.  He ruts even more brazenly than before, as if he wasn’t just getting spanked mere moments prior for always having to have his way.  Your body rocks with the strength of his thrusts, so you angle your leg to press back against him.  Sure, he was being ‘punished,’ but you’re not totally cruel.

“You wanna be my good boy, right?”  You ask ever so innocently in his ear, breath fanning against the shell of it in a way that makes him arch further back.  His mindless little nods make you grin sharply. “I thought so…”

Your hand comes down with a sharp crack against his right cheek and he writhes against you, mewling through his restricted throat.

“Count ‘em off for me,” you say, squeezing his neck a little more.  You let off for a moment only to remind him to speak up if something’s too much, then squeeze again.

Slap!

“O-One!”  He announces, hips bucking against you.  

You can hear it in his voice– he’s like a time bomb ready to blow.  His expression is infinitely more desperate. Hooded red eyes, cheeks burning a deep crimson, tongue peeking out just over the edge of his lower lip.  If there was ever an image fit to sit beside whore in a dictionary, it was the sight of him like this.

“Tell me how good you’re gonna be for me after this.”

“I’m– I’m gonna be so good!”  He promises through panted breaths.  “Good for you– good f–”

You don’t let him finish before you swat his reddening flesh several more times in quick succession, watching with pure satisfaction as that mouth that never stops running opens to moan so loudly you’re almost sure the floor below must have heard it.

“N-Nine… No– no, fuck!”

Poor thing had to make a guess.

You tsk at him in false disapproval.  “Good boys don’t lose count,” you say, even though he was definitely right.  “Start again.”

And he did, too.  By the time you make it back to the count of nine, his legs are quivering and his precum has soaked through the leg of your pants.

“Please, please, please!” He mewls desperately.  “Let me– oh fuck, please let me come! Please, just– fuck I need it! I’ll be good!” He’s rocking against you without permission of any type as he spouts off promise after promise to behave himself for you.  “Good– good b-boy… I’m your g’boy, I p-prom– ohfuckohfuckohfuck!”

And just like that, he’s blowing a thick, creamy load against you, legs spasming and glowing eyes rolling back in his head as you hold him through what must be an absolutely earth shattering orgasm if the full body trembling was anything to go by. Your name falls from his lips in a repeated prayer until all he can do is simply mouth it silently. 

Your lips are to his ear the whole time, whispering affections and praise, adoration and love in droves.

“You are my good boy,” you say, accentuating your words with soft caresses to his sack.  “My very, very good boy that I love so much.”

“M’your g’boy…” he murmurs weakly, eyes shut as he sinks into the glow. For a second, you think he might actually be calm for the rest of the evening.

Who are you kidding?  He’s going to act up all night after this.  You wager you've got about fifteen minutes of aftercare and snuggles before that switch flips and you're fucked on every horizontal and vertical surface he can possibly think of. 

And you? 

You’re gonna love every fucking second of it.