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girlsworldillusion · 8 months ago

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I'd let the world burn for you

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Summary: Amid the severe consequences of war, Aemond finds himself alone, without the presence and support of his young and sweet wife, who insists on staying away from him, afraid of who he has become. He has been a respectful and patient husband. But tonight he feels like he has finally reached his limit.

Author's note: Please, pay attention to the tags. This story contains sensitive topics, such as: +18, SEX, SEVERE INTERNAL CONFLICT, DUB-CON/NON-CON, POSSESSIVE/OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, EMOTIONAL DEPENDENCY, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP AND MORE.

word count: 6k

There is no specific description of which house the reader belongs to, so feel free to fill this in as you wish.

English is not my native language, forgive me for any spelling mistakes.

Good reading!

He can taste vomit in his esophagus.

Aemond knows it wouldn't be too difficult to get out what little he ate. He coughs as discreetly as he can into the back of his hand before taking off his eye patch, wanting to splash some cold water on his face and throat. He pretends not to notice how his hands are a little shaky as he pulls the gloves off of them, cupping his fingers inside the basin left by the servants on the table. The cool water feels refreshing on his hot skin, and with a satisfied hiss, he looks up, staring directly at the reflection of his own face in the mirror.

The flickering flames of the fire near the wall provide no comprehensive illumination, and he is honestly relieved by that. What little he can see is disturbing enough. His single lilac eye is bloodshot, his silver hair is disheveled, so different from normal. Paleness in the face, sunken cheeks. The subtle glow of the blue stone in his other eye and the deep scars around it only add a dying touch to his ghostly visage.

Another deep tug wracks his stomach and he leans forward, gripping the sides of the table with abandon, preparing to actually throw up this time. But nothing comes, nothing but the painful, nauseating feeling in his body.

He can't forget.

It's all his doing, after all. It's all his fault.

The death of all those people, the desolation of the entire Riverlands. It's all his fault.

Any feeling of greatness and power that previously inhabited his body no longer existed. His superiority and confidence swept away by the tide until he was spat out on the shore with nothing but pain and trauma.

He is a hypocrite and he knows it.

Aemond is not a good person. He doesn't want to fool anyone with his anxiety attack, he definitely doesn't need to take on the role of the poor regretful guy. He doesn't regret what he did, he doesn't regret doing what was absolutely necessary for the good of his family. He could never regret this. And he knows that tomorrow, a week from now, or a month from now, he will do exactly the same thing again if necessary. There are no limits to what he is willing to do to and for those to whom he is loyal.

He can't even dare deny liking it all.

When he's on Vhagar's saddle, with the world in flames just beneath them and the addictive power to decide for good or ill for those poor, hopeless souls, he can swear he's never felt anything better. There's something disturbingly liberating about embracing the monster that resides in his chest. It's surprising to him how good it feels to be ruthless, to take on the role of the uncontrollable beast everyone says he is (rightfully so).

It wasn't always like this. But a series of violent and tragic actions that may or may not have been intentional earned Aemond more than just an ominous codename. They gave him respect; fear. Aemond One-Eye, the son without expectations, the child without any prominence. No more.

He feels ruthless when he is in the skies, dictating the fate of humanity. It gives him power. He is powerful now, he is no longer the boy forgotten by everyone. The feeling of being superior pumps hard through his veins until he goes wild, makes him feel like he's crushing people under the soles of his boots. He is more powerful. Their lives depend solely on the way his hand moves and it turns out that, to their misfortune and terror, his hands are wrapped around the saddle of the largest dragon in the world. It is difficult to be sensible and godly when there is so much power at his command. He is more powerful. There is nothing that can stop him. He feels invincible, unstoppable. He doesn't just enjoy it - he worships this feeling.

At least until it's all over.

When the dust settles and all that is left is the consequence of his actions, it is then that he quietly withers away.

He killed them. All of them. His hands are stained with blood and ash and it's all his fault. He has separated families forever, traumatized so many souls with insurmountable depression and pain and it is all his fault. Adults, elderly, children, babies. All dead. Because of him. Hoarse screams of terror and fear, all begging for a mercy that would never come - could never come. Not by his hands. Not when he had a family and a purpose he was so loyal to.

Aemond worships the sense of power that comes with a reputation for being ruthless and regrets nothing he has done and will do for his duty. Unfortunately, this does not mean that he does not suffer the consequences in equal proportion.

Another sigh. He drops his head and presses his fingers against the edge of the table. He closes his eye so tightly that patches of white light explode into his vision, each labored breath makes him lean forward and clench his teeth. The pain is impossible to ignore – it shakes his insides, leaves his limbs trembling.

"Is this hurting you?" a soft voice asks, a small, fragile thing, almost impossible to hear - if it weren't for the fact that he lives to hear the sound of that voice. He knows this, and so does the owner of the voice, both fully aware of this dangerous dependence. “Pretending to be a God, I mean.”

Aemond feels his heart beat faster, the angelic sound of your voice rescuing him from the merciless depths of his own mind, making him slowly raise his head as he stares at the place where the voice came from. He almost can't believe what he heard. But there you are, sitting on your bed, surrounded by comfortable sheets and pillows, your wide doe eyes catching the moonlight and fire flames in the dark of night, shining like stars.

His sweet wife.

He simply looks at you, not offering any kind of response right away. Not because he doesn't want to. But because he's too surprised to hear your voice and see your face to form words at the moment. Aemond doesn't know how he ended up here, in your private chambers - the place he hasn't been welcome in for some time. He was supposed to go to his chambers. Was he that distraught and distracted? Could the confusion clouding his senses have unconsciously led him directly to the person he needs most at the moment?

He looks around quickly just to confirm that, yes, there is no doubt that he is in your chambers. He didn't intend to do that. He shouldn't be here, invading your privacy and ignoring your request that he keep distance. Of course, his longing and need for you made him consider such a thing countless times. Regardless of your wishes, he was your husband; he had a right to be here. But he never did that. You don't want him in your bed anymore and you've made that clear. And Aemond was not ignorant or even insensitive enough to pretend not to understand your reasons. You had a lot of them and he knows.

You were not made for cruelty. Your innocence and purity made you unable to be aware of the horrible things he did and still treat him the same way as before. You were afraid of him now, just like everyone else. The blood of many was on his hands and you knew it, just as you knew he regretted nothing, and that he would not stop this - not until victory was achieved.

You didn't agree with that, you never did, not even before the marriage. But what could a young woman do in the world they lived in? You were just a piece on a board game, an ace up his sleeve used by your father specifically to provide armies and loyalty to the crown in exchange for a marriage and a more than convenient name for your family.

Aemond knew from the beginning that you didn't want to marry him; how could you after all? You barely knew him beyond the questionable reputation that surrounded him, and a dangerous family clash was about to break out in the kingdom - this was definitely not the right environment for romance to blossom. But you did your duty. You had been an exemplary wife in the short two months of peace that followed your marriage. You treated him with respect and patience, slowly opening your heart to him with each passing day. He wasn't the most talkative or the most sensitive husband and yet you showed empathy for his limitations, accepting what he gave you with gentle smiles and rosy cheeks, without demanding anything more. So sweet. So inocent.

It was no surprise the feeling that welled up in his chest.

Aemond was obsessed before he even realized it. Needing your gentle attentions like a flower needs the sun. He clung to you as his only comfort in an almost bleak existence, he became more and more obsessed with you and you didn't notice. You read with him, walked through the gardens with him and talked to him as you always did, kind and polite. And every day he felt hungrier, pushing the limits of restraint. You welcomed him into your bed every night, welcoming him between your legs as if he belonged there - and he did, indeed. Aemond's appetite for you and you alone knew no bounds.

But he wasn't the man you married anymore, was he?

You fear him now, any and all advances he's made with you over the past few months have vanished into thin air like the ashes he's so used to seeing now. The feelings he was carefully cultivating in your chest now seem to have sunk so deep into your being that he thinks they no longer even exist. You no longer craved his attention; the touch of softness and affection, whenever “husband” dripped from your mouth, was absent. And now all he could do was want.

Aemond doesn't look away from you, not wanting to miss this moment for anything, not after being deprived of it for so long. And you look back at him from where you sit on the bed, chin lifted in false courage. You looks at him with your bright eyes and high cheekbones, which seem even more highlighted in the warm lighting around your bodies.

He may have entered your chambers out of pure unconscious instinct, out of nothing but silent desperation. His body guiding him when his mind no longer could. But now that he's here, he doesn't know how he didn't realize it from the beginning. It's impossible to think about anything other than you. You, you, you.

At this point, deaths at his hands no longer existed. Not his pains or the weights he carries, not revenge, not duty. Anything. Absolutely nothing. There is only this moment, between him, a boy who so wanted to be enough for those he loves and the young girl who is illuminated by the light of the flames.

He feels it. It's not new. That strange impulse that draws all the attention of the environment around him to you and you alone; an almost painful need between his teeth to take a bite and not let go, to have it with all your heart and nothing less.

"Nothing to say?" You press and he's not even embarrassed by the fact that he doesn't remember what you said before. He should leave. It's all he thinks, even as he takes an uncertain step closer to your bed. And that's enough for you to immediately tense up, wrapping your small hands in the sheets to subtly pull them towards you. You are hiding yourself. Hiding yourself from him.

Aemond should leave, continue respecting your limits.

If this had been another night, maybe he would have done it. If the smell of smoke and dragon scales hadn't been trapped in the leather of his war clothes, as well as the dust of ash, then perhaps he could have left. If he couldn't smell the insistent scent of charred bodies and decimated land in his nostrils, taking permanent root in his lungs, perhaps he could respect your innocence.

Not even Aemond knew how on edge he already was. Your refusal of his proximity was just the final push to his downfall.

He adores you. He worships the ground you walk on. He respected your decisions and stayed away much longer than any other husband would have done. And this is how you repay him?

Aemond narrows the only functional eye he has left. You don't react, nothing more than another protective grip on the sheets and a slow swallow of saliva. He wants you so much and the thought enrages him. Why? Why does he feel this way? He desperately wants to punish you for making him feel this way. He wants to punish himself for even thinking about doing this to you.

You left him like this; nothing but a mess. When would you finally accept him for who he is? When would you understand that some cruelties were necessary for the final goal to be achieved? When would you see that everything he did and would do was solely for his family? For you. To keep you safe. When would he be enough?

He grits his teeth and feels his entire body tense with thoughts. He hates it; he hates the way you confuse him and make him feel all these terrible emotions. It makes he feels weak. The temptation of the slightest chance of your affection suffocates his common sense. He feels his hands shaking. He'd been so blinded by the hopeful, innocent vision he constantly saw you through that he fooled himself into thinking he was on your mind as much as you were on his all this time.

"Aemond?" You whisper, sounding more uncertain than before, disturbed by his extended silence as he slowly approaches the bed. He keeps looking at you the whole time, letting you glimpse the flames of fire reflected in the icy sapphire in his eye. He adores you, with every fiber of his being. But the flash of fear that shines in your eyes in response makes him stretch the corner of his lip in a malicious smile. He couldn't help it, there's something sweet and pure about you that makes him constantly waver between wanting to protect you and wanting to destroy you.

You try not to weaken before him, but Aemond immediately notices the way your body is a little trembling when his hand, that same hand that drags the musk of leather and death, passes through the fabric of the sheets, spreading lightning over your legs. You don't stop him, but your eyes flash with a frightened warning, a warning he ignores tonight. His palm flattens against your ribs, daring to caress, to feel the linen of the sheets beneath his fingers, the softness of your flesh beneath it, and you squeak an off-key sound, pulling the cocoon of blankets and furs up to hide you.

A small annoyed growl leaves his lips and his other hand quickly covers yours, stopping you from continuing.

"No. Enough of that." He says in a low but firm tone, looking sternly into your eyes. You part your lips, surprised by his behavior, and try to pull the hand still trapped by his, but he doesn't let you go. "That's enough, wife."

He thinks you might try to deny it, but you fall silent, slowly relaxing against his grip on your hand. Aemond wants to purr at this, wants to praise you and spoil you, because you are so good, so good. His good girl. Even when you're crushing his heart between your delicate hands.

It's not your fault, he tells himself. It's not your fault that he's obsessed with you, driven crazy by the idea of you. Aemond can't even focus properly, even when you're in front of him, defenseless and at the mercy of his whims. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest from pure ecstasy and excitement at the same time. And he can feel, on top of it all, the blood flowing to his hard cock, making it swell beneath his black riding pants. He feels embarrassed by his actions, but at the same time excited, just by the little things you do, by everything you are to him.

“Something is wrong with me...” He says, more to himself than to you, gently pushing a strand of your soft hair behind your ear, sliding his thumb in a gentle caress across your delicate earlobe. “You're in my house. You're in my house and I don't want you to leave. Never." He approaches your face, sliding his fingers from your ear to the side of your face, until he holds your small chin between his thumb and forefinger. "I need you." He continues, ignoring how honest and frank he looks - weak. “I keep thinking of ways to make this happen,” the more he talks, the faster you breathe, sweet little sighs near his lips, calling to him like a siren’s song… “I want to ruin you. Because I think that's the only way you won't leave me."

The intensity of his words scares you, he realizes, he sees how your eyes fill with tears and your eyebrows twitch. But even in the dim lighting of the flames, he can see how the tops of your cheeks turn red, how your chest trembles with the breath that catches there...you want him.

It's a shame you're so willing to keep him away.

But he can't stop.

Aemond closes the distance in an instant, pushing you down until he traps your body beneath his, feeling the contours of your soft, supple curves against him; he shudders. He caresses your face one last time before moving down, ignoring your hesitation and your useless efforts to push him away. Quick as a viper, he grabs the hand that moves to push against his chest, wrapping it with the other still attached to his, holding your wrists tightly above your head.

You cry out at the pressure on his wrists, the long lashes over your eyes fluttering, pleading. "A-Aemond, what are you doing?" you stutter. "Please, please... I said I needed it - please give me some more-"

"Time? Oh yes, you said it." He hums thoughtfully, placing a thigh between your legs, dipping his face into the crook of your neck to breathe in the fresh fragrance of your shower, snoring contentedly with your naturally sweet scent. Intoxicated by your scent, he trails his lips along the slender column of your neck before stopping at the shell of your ear. “I’m so sorry, dear, I’ve waited too long. We’ve both waited too long.” He intones, intoxicated by your presence. You sob once but don't say anything else, choosing to turn your face away from him. Aemond snorts a laugh at that, but doesn't stop you, preferring to leave a tender, wet kiss on your cheek.

Squeezing your wrists with one hand, he allows the other to slide slowly down your body, almost reverentially. He paused at the delicate laces holding the front of your nightdress before untying them with deft fingers. The front opens, exposing your silky, flushed skin to his hungry gaze. He doesn't have the patience to remove the fabric completely from your body, so he just lowers it enough so that your breasts are exposed. He bites his lip, holding a curse between his clenched teeth. When he presses his bare palm to your perky breasts, he tastes your trembling innocence, your soft flesh.

So beautiful.

So pure.

From the beginning you were his opposite, your delicate hands, as irritatingly clean as his are stained with blood and ash.

As much as he truly suffers from the consequences of his actions, he never regrets them, because he knows they are right - necessary. There was only the future to shape, the past should stay where it belongs; behind him. Something he had learned through much pain, but unfortunately, his sweet wife had not yet. But as he runs his greedy fingers down your body, feeling the goosebumps on your soft skin with each touch, Aemond knows he scares you as much as he excites you. You can't hide it from him. Your obviously involuntary response to him only makes him fiercer, hungrier. He wants to ruin you from the inside, until you can't bear to live a single day without his touch.

He allows you to continue your theatrics, still stubbornly staring at the wall while pretending his actions don't affect you. There's something almost too tempting about it, in fact; It's a matter of honor for him. He will break your masks and he will take pleasure in doing so.

Letting his fingers slide down your sides, Aemond's lips wander. He kisses the hole in your throat, moving down with wet, licked breaths to your breasts, tasting you. You gasp softly and grip tight fists on the bed sheets when he captures a soft nipple with a slow suck of lips and a teasing scrape of teeth, your body curling beneath him tightly. He smiles with your nipple still between his lips, leaving wide, warm trails of his tongue on the little perky bud. His hips slide against the inside of your parted thighs, pushing the hardened bulge in his pants against your pussy once.

You bite your lip and close your eyes, but he doesn't stop. With another thrust he uses his strength to push you back onto the bed, the bed you shared many nights with him, to fuck you into the warm sheets. It's almost too much for him to finally feel your little pussy once again, even through the leather of his pants and your delicate nightwear. But he continues with slow, strong thrusts, rubbing his cock against you in a way that teases your clit, the smell and heat of his effort wafting throughout his body; sweat, dragon, fire, ash, blood, death - all mixed together, merging with your own sweet, intoxicating scent and, of course, the unmistakable scent of sex.

Before the chaos broke out, Aemond was quite skilled at this, at driving you crazy. A part of him is extraordinarily pleased to find that he still remembers correctly, especially when a press of his fingers and a twirl of his thumb on your slobbery nipple makes you gasp. He wants to see you, to see you blush and sweat, looking ruined for him. Gods, oh yes, Aemond wants this so much. He can't stop, he can never stop, especially with you singing so sweetly to him. When you arch into his touch and whisper his name softly, like a secret no one can discover, his breath hitching. Aemond can't stop.

A specific thrust makes you let out a high-pitched meow, your hands pulling at the linen on the sheets and he moans along, releasing your breast with a wet pop to look at your face. You have your lips parted, your long eyelashes touching the top of your cheeks, your eyebrows furrowed in sweet agony. He thrusts a little faster, rubbing your clit with more pressure, taking in your presence and the feeling of your tiny, supple body, preening at every sound that leaves your lips.

Sounds so sweet, so beautiful; he considers himself a sinner with the way something so innocent and angelic makes his blood boil and his cock throb with need inside his pants, surely soaking the fabric with the way he feels himself leaking.

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me, baby...”

And yet, he doesn't think he cares about dying by your hands when things turn out like this. He is admitting defeat without any embarrassment now; he can bear the dull weight of war, he can bear his own mind trying to destroy him at every turn, he can bear the betrayal of his own family and the demands of his duties. He can bear with anything.

Anything except being without you.

With an impatient grunt, his fingers tug at the soft skirt of your nightdress, bunching the thing at your waist as he rips your underwear down your legs. You don't try to stop him, but you don't try to help him either, remaining almost motionless against the bed, and he feels like he can growling at you like an animal for that - stubborn girl. He hates and loves this about you in equal intensity. He's almost rough and punishing as he hooks the back of your knee into the inside of his elbow, pushing your leg up to your breasts. And then you're giving up your fight, sighing - all anxious expression, furrowing your eyebrows and biting your lip as he hurriedly unzips his pants and pulls them down just enough to pull his cock out, slamming the wet, throbbing head over your clit before sliding his entire length along your folds.

You moan, he moans. The slide is wet and he can't tell if it's all you, if it's all him, if it's all both. He doesn't care, honestly. All that matters is how his cock is thrusting into your heat, hitting your clit with luscious pokes, coaxing more of those sweet sounds from your pretty lips.

He hooks your other leg in the crook of his elbow and does exactly what he did with the other, trapping you between him and the bed in a position where your entire pussy is presented to him. With his hands flat beside your head, he brings his face closer to yours, the leather covering his chest pushing your knees further into your breasts. You moan through your teeth, unable to do anything but tighten your hands around his shoulders. He smiles slowly, drunk on the sensations, still gently sliding the length of his cock into your folds.

Aemond doesn't look away from you, enchanted by the way you dance between looking at the sapphire stone and the deep lilac of his functional eye. You've always done this, he thinks - saying one was as beautiful as the other, impossible to choose.

“I’m giving myself to you, love…I’m yours.” He whispers softly, husky, needy to you. "Will you do the same from now on?"

He’s so close he feel how your heart races violently at his words, slamming against your ribcage as you take a deep breath. Every expression on your flushed face makes him sure you're going to have an intense crying fit, but even when the liquid in your eyes pours down the side of your eyes, you keep yourself almost in one piece. You look deeply into his eye as your shoulders shake. "Y-yes." You exhale, fragile. “Yes, yes, yes,” your voice sings repeatedly, with quick, confused nods, tears streaming from your eyes.

He can't hold back the husky sound that leaves his lips, his cock pulsing in reaction to your obvious fragility exposed to him.

"Yeah?" He asks breathlessly and it's very slow - as he thrusts inside you, thrusting his hips back and forth once, twice, three times until your pussy swallows as much of his cock as it can, until the tip of his hip bones rub it against your thighs. And it's so intense, so obscene – the position he puts you in, the full weight of his body pinning you to the bed, broad shoulders hiding you from view, silver hair like a curtain around the two of you, your mouth falling open in a silent scream and his releasing small curses between clenched teeth... debauchery.

You give his shoulders a few desperate slaps as he fills you, your tight ring of muscle stretched to accommodate his girth, and no matter how long it takes him to prepare you, no matter how wet you are, he knows there's always that initial pain that rips through your groin as he pushes into you. It makes you sway beneath him, little tearful sobs that are like the sweetest song to him.

Another curse muttered in deep Valyrian was his only warning as his palms sink into the softness of the bed. Your own hands looking desperate too, one tangled in the silver base of his hair at the back of his neck and the other gripping the material of his leather shirt, a strangled moan catching in your throat as he begins to fuck you slowly. You can only hold on as he pulls and pushes his body above you with each deep thrust, his impatience shown only in the forceful and violent way in which his hands grip the bed sheets.

He leans into you a little more, moving his hips in different ways, testing the angles until he makes more of those tears well up in your eyes as your pleasure increases almost painfully. Your moans quickly turn into babbling when a particularly strong movement of his hips makes you shake all over. The way your tight pussy tries to contain him and suck him in at the same time drives him crazy, feral.

He won't last long. He already knew this before it even started, but now, feeling your walls squeezing the life out of him after so long deprived of it, with your cute little noises getting louder and louder, with your expression drunk with lust and sadness, the buzz of battle still vibrating through his veins... Aemond feels release approaching shamefully fast for him.

He'll make it up to you later, Aemond promises himself. When the hot need subsides at least a little in his system, he'll take off his dirty war clothes, maybe ask you to take a shower with him. He'll soap your body and tease you until you're riding his cock in the tub at your own pace, his fingers rolling your little clit with each bounce of your hips. He will lay you on the bed and love every inch of your soft body, worship your skin with kisses and hickeys. He will part your thighs and bury his fingers and tongue in your wet softness. He will rip orgasm after orgasm out of you until you are hoarse from screaming, until your body is physically unable to continue.

He will do it all.

He has done it in the past, many times.

Now, however, all he needs is to find his release, to unload those months of forced distance inside his trembling body. But Aemond will be damned if he doesn't bring you along with him.

He leans down to press his forehead against yours, pushing your legs against your body further, lips parting with hoarse, breathless moans that escaped him with each thrust and the sweet pleas you murmured incoherently. The movement of his hips quickens, one hand leaving its blunt grip on the sheets to squeeze between your thighs, poking your clit in tight circles, his cock hitting a spot inside your walls that makes you shiver and tremble in anticipation.

“Aemond…” you cry, digging your nails into the back of his neck, pulling his body towards yours, as if you weren’t already physically as close as possible.

He growls at your plea.

“My little, innocent wife,” Aemond giggles wildly as your pussy clamps down on his length again, your climax approaching, his thumb rotating a steady rhythm on your clit. If only your mind was clear enough to form a coherent thought, maybe you'd complain that the rhythm of his cock in your pussy would be painful, that the continuous and harsh scratching of his clothes hurts the soft and delicate flesh of your body, but you don't say anything, not now. You just accept what he gives you. And he knows you missed him as much as he missed you. “Always so good to me baby.”

Aemond watches you intently, unable to look away from the pleasure that shows on your face. You're shaking, lost in your wet breaths and high-pitched, broken cries, your legs trapped between his body, welcoming him. You're tight and small, his sweet wife, and Aemond can feel your cracks stretching, a spider's web of fractured thought and temptation too much for anyone to bear, and as much as he knows it's impossible, he wants this moment to last forever. Aemond is undone. A fool in love. And it's sad. And it's beautiful. It's being at home.

"Mine." His murmur echoes next to your lips, both of you breathing each other's breath, his rhythm starting to falter, the searing heat rushing through his body beneath those layers of heavy clothing makes him dizzy, but he doesn't stop, he doesn't stop. “So pure, so beautiful, so delicate…” he caresses your clit without faltering with a rumbling purr as his cock swells inside you. “Ngh...oh fuck, so tight. You're going to get everything, aren't you, darling? All of me.” His own teeth graze your neck as you arch and scream in pleasure. “Be a good girl and don't let anything leak, hmmm…”

He fucks you roughly, your name dancing on his lips like a prayer in the dark. Aemond savors this moment with the veneration it deserves, the final chase. The two of you so broken, so vulnerable, shaking with pleasure for each other. He rubs your pussy, hips slamming into you at lightning speed.

And finally, gods yes, it finally happens.

"Aemond! A-Aemond, please! Please-" You throw your head back, your lewd pleas turning into a broken scream as you explode around him. Your face is flushed and glistening with a subtle sheen of sweat, tears streaming down. It's all he can take. You convulse and break and the sensation of his cock swelling with the resulting explosions of hot cum filling you follows shortly after. As your body and pussy tremble and clench, he finally releases his own pleasure, biting down hard on your shoulder to muffle his husky moans, spilling himself deep inside you, the continuous spasms of your orgasm milking every drop from him. You and he cum together, and even in the hazy haze of climax, he thinks he's never experienced something so sublime, so perfect.

You're both shaking as you come down from the waves of mutual pleasure, and Aemond is especially careful now, gently unfolding your legs from that tight position to allow you to stretch them, which earns him a long, grateful, relieved moan. He slowly pulls away until he's kneeling between your thighs, watching raptly as you bite your lip as his cock leaves your heat. A tight grip circles around your parted thighs, lifting them up a little to expose your dripping pussy. He looks almost in awe as he watches his seed flow steadily from your abused pussy.

But Aemond is selfish and his cum doesn't belong on the crumpled, sweaty sheets. No, he told you to keep it safe inside you and that's what would happen. His fingers slip into the wet mess of cum in your folds, pushing as gently as he can all the thick liquid inside you again.

You're too tired to react, but you still sob softly at the sensation, subtly squirming on the bed, legs shaking from being held in the same position for so long. He looks at you, icy lilac gaze half-lidded with lust, blue stone glowing in the flames of the fire. He looks at the soft, creamy flesh of your sweaty body. He longs to see dark spots and bite marks, a way of proving that you belong to him. He lifts his head, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh, just above your left breast. His teeth leave crescent moons on your skin and you scream loudly at the stinging sensation, but you don't stop him. He walks away, admiring the constellations he had traced on your skin. Painting you for him, marking you as something unique to him.

You sniffle and blink wet eyelashes at him. He kisses his bite, murmuring gentle words to you, his lips trailing up with soft sucks and wet kisses in your throat until he brushes against your lips. And it's then, and only then, that he realizes he hasn't kissed you yet. He doesn't know why he didn't do it, given that it's probably the thing he misses most about you. Feeling the softness of your lips on his, the gradual way a small, innocent kiss quickly evolves into something more urgent, the way you immediately struggle to keep up with his pace, his hunger as he swallows your cute sighs and your ragged breaths as he suck your tongue.

Yes. This is what Aemond longs for. How easily he could make you fall apart in his hands.

Taking into account the way that you blush and look down at his lips, you're thinking the same thing. He smiles mischievously, slowly leaning in for a deep kiss, fingers damp with your juices and his cum resting on your jawline. Your little hands sink into his hair until you lightly scrapes your nails across his scalp, making Aemond shudder. The fingers of his other hand cup your hip, tracing the line of the bone in gentle patterns. His nose bumps yours as his tongue dances in your hot mouth, spreading in you the taste of smoke and revenge that seems to follow him at absolutely every moment now. And like his perfect antithesis, you gasp, let him savor your sweet, fruity flavor - so fuckin sweet.

Your legs circle his waist, making him press against your heat, quickly reigniting the flame of need within him. You lick it off his tongue, moan when he sucks your bottom lip and bites it, you beg between quick breaths and Aemond continues to rub himself against you, the kiss becoming sloppier, driving him crazy with how irresistible you are in this state. You give yourself completely to Aemond, without asking questions or making new complaints, and it drives him crazy.

"You are mine. Only mine. And you will never leave me again, do you understand?" He murmurs as he pulls away, both of you panting, looking seriously into your water-bright eyes, noting how they're a little wide and your mouth is swollen and wet from his kisses.

A few tears slide down your face, but you smile shakily at him, the hand in his hair stroking the silver strands lovingly.

"I am yours, Aem. Now and forever." Honesty bleeds into your shallow voice, your little fingers on your other hand tentatively tangling with the buckles of his shirt to open it.

Aemond rests his forehead against yours and truly smiles for the first time in a long, long time. Not a malicious, mocking or condescending smile... No, this time his lips are stretched into a small, but genuine, honest smile.

And it's because of you.

Because he knows he got what he wanted so much. He has you again. He was resilient, he was patient and he was fair. He fought and, with his efforts, created a space just for himself within your heart. He knows you're still unhappy with everything that's going on, and no matter how much he wants to, he can't change that. He can only strengthen you to bear it. It can only burrow deeper into your body and your heart until you are able to forget the atrocities that are happening around you - the horrible things that he is doing. It's a gaping hole in your chest that leaves you continually bleeding, he knows, but the exposed cut is so sweet, and here he is, licking the wound like an animal, with all the violent, relentless gentleness he has to offer as the vengeful prince that he is.

He wraps his arms around you, pushing his cock back into your abused pussy in a deep movement that draws a broken sound from both of you, pulling you against his chest. He rubs his sweaty face against your throat, your face, your hair. His voice syrupy and thick as he whispers, "I love you."

Fuck. Aemond would never let you go.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen smut #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond imagine #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #hotd x reader #hotd aemond #prince aemond #aemond x fem!reader #dance of the dragons #aemond smut

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adelheidvonschicksal · 8 months ago

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hii id like to request a how l&d boys act when they're jealous :3 feel free to ignore if u don't feel like it or thanks in advance if u do!! love your works sm xx

How the Boys Act When They’re Jealous

Pairing: xavier x gn!reader, rafayel x gn!reader, zayne x gn!reader

A/N: The game needs more jealous Zayne, and Lost in your eyes moments with Raf. Thanks for waiting! <3

Xavier is an absolute menace.

He’s extremely possessive over you, and he’s well aware of it.

You care a lot about him, but good luck stopping him from being a jealous dummy any time soon. He already knows Jeremiah doesn’t have feelings for you, but is that going to stop him from spraying the other man with a plant mister when he gets to close? Nope.

Luckily for Jeremiah, Xavier likes him. They’re friends. The other man finds it funny to even tease him a little by poking at that jealous side. Everyone else doesn’t have the same privilege.

When he's not glaring, Xavier tries to be subtle about, dropping hints here and there about how you’re his lover. He’ll interrupt your conversations with other men when they drag on too long, so he can talk with his partner, his neighbor, his napping buddy.

Suddenly, everything he says can be taken the wrong way. He mentions how he had a good time sleeping together (when it was literal sleeping). He says the two of you should got out to dinner again or that the lunch you made him for work was very tasty (really you wanted to avoid the apartment complex catching on fire). He might also “jokingly” state within hearing distance of your new friend that the two of you act like a married couple. It’s not his fault if someone takes it the wrong way; you don’t have to look so embarrassed about it.

Xavier likes to flaunt his status a little; he fixes your hair and dusts off your clothes. He would do this for you even if he wasn’t jealous, but it’s a bonus that it gets others to back off and gets your attention on him with your cute little pout.

Worse comes to worst, he isn’t afraid of using underhanded methods to fail any attempt at someone else trying to steal you away from him; even if that means knocking out the streetlights with his Evol to get your coworker to go home early (who even takes 20 minutes to say goodbye anyway? Someone with ill intentions, that’s who.).

He’ll deny it. Deny. Deny. Deny. He’s not jealous. He just wants to know more about your friend. How long have you known each other? Do you go out at night together? Why not invite him sometimes? It takes a few pokes to get him to admit it.

Jealous Xavier can be a moody Xavier; he’s usually calm and easygoing, patient with most of the world except with those who try to flirt with you, and you, if you should flirt back. Though, he has no problem reminding you why he is the only one you should have eyes for whether it be through words, action, or…other methods best left after dark.

It’s obvious when Rafayel is jealous.

It starts as jokes, usually, with a light dust of jealousy like sprinkles on a donut.

“What’s your new friend like? Are they more fun than me,” he asks, trying to coax you into admitting how much more you like him, a little to assuage his jealousy and a little to stroke his own ego.

He’s confident in being your partner and having a bond that has lasted millenniums. So, when a random likes you, it’s usually not a huge deal. He can confidently deal with it, wrapping an arm around your waist or shoulder and putting on his charm as he calls you honey with a lift to his voice, as if he didn’t notice the person who was trying to flirt with you.

His jealousy can even be funny sometimes even cute. He’ll get this pouty look on his face whenever you place your attention on animals, cooing and petting them. He even gets jealous of your dear child, Reddie, from time to time. You love that clumsy fish so much. It couldn’t even stop itself from being caught by humans. Why would you want to play with Reddie so much when you already got a fish you can pet. Please pet him.

When his jealousy gets really bad though, he can be snippy. He’s vindictive, asking if you forgot about him and if you wouldn’t rather hang out with your other boyfriend. His jokes become a little less funny and a little meaner, and he’ll be quick to demand an explanation in a voice a little tighter and bitter than you’re used to from him.

If you get mad and try to leave, he’s pulling you back. He doesn’t actually want you to go but he’s too stubborn to admit that maybe he’s being jealous over nothing.

He just doesn’t want you to forget him again.

On the other hand, seeing you jealous? He eats it up.

Zayne doesn’t like his jealousy.

He tries to play it cool and be mature about these things. He’d never interrupt you talking to another person, but he most definitely watches the situation out the corner of his eye. He wants to digest every word and every bit of body language he can about the situation, going as far as pretending to work to have an excuse to stay and listen in.

Zayne wants to be rational about things, but he’s never been completely rational when it comes to you. You have a bad way of making him act out of character (or passionately as you call it).

This emotion always sneaks up on him unexpectedly and makes him clumsier than normal. He’ll give himself away easily, asking about your plans with the other person or if you noticed the lovesick puppy look they gave you when you looked their way. It makes him blush when you mention that you adore his puppy eyes more. If he says he doesn’t do that, well, you’ll simply have to call Dr. Greyson and Yvonne to back you up.

Zayne can be very picky about other people trying to take your time, like not wanting someone else to dance with you or take you out to a new tourist location; he always promises his free time to you, the little he has of it, so he requests that you wait for him. He’ll accompany you wherever you want to go.

Zayne is very jealous of others who can make you laugh. He really likes how easygoing, talkative, and animated you are so he gets insecure when someone else can make you act that way better than he can; however, he feels selfish because you’re happy and that should be enough.

In the end, he blames himself for his own jealousy, questioning if he read too much into the situation or in your relationship. He’s the quickest to apologize for his jealousy if you pick up on it.

When Zayne thinks you are pursuing someone else, he becomes blunter. He suddenly has a lot more relationship advice about being careful who you keep in your company and warning you to make sure there’s no doubt when deciding on something important like your partner. He also tends to cut conversations about any other potential partner you might like short and unintentionally be rude to your love interest.

That’s not to say he won’t try to win you over; when push comes to shove and the risk of losing you becomes too great, he isn’t afraid to finally tell you how he feels in the best way he can. All he can do is try.

If you don’t like him back, he will allow jealousy to silently have him, choosing to suffer in it, as long as you’re happy with whoever you choose.

However, that does not mean he has to like your partner as well. And if they ever hurt you, he rather not think of what he’d do if that should happen.

#love and deepspace x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #lads x reader #lnd x reader

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delirious-donna · 10 months ago

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Praise [Nanami Kento]

an: this is an old fic of mine which got slapped with a flag the first time around. I’ve reworked it and I like it far better now and I hope you will too.

premise: Kento finds it so adorable when you look at him with those big, shiny doe eyes. Has he noticed that you do it more when he sings your praises? Oh yes, and he plans to make you purr for him.

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

warnings: praise kink, office sex, possibility of being caught, boss/subordinate dynamic, sloppy blowjob, cum swallowing, Kento being a bit of a tease but with good intentions

Masterlist

It was becoming increasingly impossible to ignore the way you squeezed past him in the break room. The lilt of faintly murmured apologies and downcast eyes that refused to meet his own.

Nanami watched you keenly whilst you poured your coffee and sprinkled in packet after packet of sweetener. Leaning against the far wall with his coffee mug dutifully hiding the smile that rose to his lips. Ever the sweet tooth.

His board of directors would shudder in their golf carts if they knew he mingled with his subordinates on a daily basis rather than locking himself within an ivory tower. It was an argument he was accustomed to, and one that he assured anyone that asked was worth the risk. Workers who knew the big boss outside of his office were more likely to be productive. He had reams of research tucked away, statistics on the positive impact on retention rates and the upward trends on quality assurance.

It was all a ruse, and a convincing one at that. Kento could recite KPIs at the drop of a hat until those scrutinising eyes turned vacant and disengaged. All for you. His every effort to satisfy the worry that stalked your every breath it seemed at times. For you see, you meant the world to Nanami Kento and he to you, but he was also your boss and that caused problems.

A secret relationship, one that might be frowned upon if he weren’t the CEO of the company, but it was at your continued insistence. You wanted to be taken seriously for your contribution to the company and he respected that decision. The board answered to him at the end of the day, he held a majority share in the organisation he had built from the ground up, but he understood your desire to find your own worth rather than be tied to his side.

You were a dedicated worker, a real asset to the executive team he managed personally and from the moment he met you, he knew he had to have you. Never before had he felt compelled to pursue something so risqué. Most would call him risk averse, what they didn’t know would likely make their jaws drop.

Whilst his gut instinct was immediate, the road to where you were now was not so quick. It had taken time and a boatload of patience. A sensual dance of flirtation and seduction which had severely tested his restraint, but after months of witty remarks and sexual tension thick enough to choke a horse, you were finally his.

Quite frankly he hadn’t known he had it in him. It was the first time he had spent as much time and energy on pursuing anyone, but the reward had been more than worth it. Only recently, he asked you to move in with him and the spacious penthouse no longer felt too large and lonesome. The bachelor life was not meant for him. It was an ill-fitting suit and he gladly welcomed the tailored fit of being your adoring partner and lover.

It was tainted by the fact that you shared the same bed, woke tangled in each other’s arms each morning but never arrived to work together. The same was true at the end of the day, though Kento tended to spend more hours in the office for obvious reasons. He understood your reservations, it was hard for a woman to be taken seriously at this level and although he operated with a policy of complete gender equality, there were still those old-school fuckers that looked down on women.

He’d assured you he wouldn’t hesitate to fire anyone who even uttered a derogatory word regarding your relationship but you begged him to keep it quiet for now. Unfortunately for him, he was wrapped tightly around your finger and so, despite his desire to the contrary, he bowed to your wishes.

Only thought of the day where he could stand proudly by your side without fear of repercussion in your eyes kept him going. Wheedling out the bad seeds covertly in the background to lay the groundwork for the years to come and how prosperous and happy you both could be if given the chance to flourish freely.

Nanami was a good man, at least he hoped he was.

However, his gaze was anything but at this moment. He felt the surge of predatory intent wash through him as he took in your grey skirt and the matching jacket that pinched your waist in the way he liked most. The knowledge of those delectable thigh highs that concealed your bare legs ran rampant, and he idly cursed that he wasn’t pressing you up against the counter and fucking you like he wanted to do. To hell with coffee and boring Monday meetings.

No, he had control and an idea.

“See you in ten,” he said on his way out the door, flashing a quick wink in your direction and watching your jaw drop in response.

The boardroom was noisy as everyone took their seats. Conversation flowed but you couldn’t pay attention, not when you knew that Kento was up to something. That faint crocodile smile he had offered not long ago lingered in your memory and you straightened deliberately in your chair, uncomfortable for the first time in many months.

He sat at the head of the table, fingers steepled whilst he studied the open planner set before him. Strands of blonde hair fell into his face, and the annoying part of you that wanted to sweep it back reared its head. As if he could sense your thoughts, he parted his hands and fixed his hair without glancing at you.

The sooner this meeting was over, the better. You had a project in need of your attention, and literally any excuse not to be caught feeling frisky in the office. A prospect that was growing exceedingly harder given the unknown meaning behind that sly little wink in the break room.

The proceedings started as normal, the boring bullshit of every corporate meeting and then it happened.

“Excellent work on the Fushiguro account. You exceeded expectations, well done.” Nanami announced out of the blue. His warm hazel eyes fixed you in place whilst your colleagues eagerly added to the sentiment, some genuine and some because they were simpering fools.

You found yourself staring at him—at your boss—with cheeks that felt hot enough to fry eggs and wide eyes blinking much too rapidly. Raw pride swelled in your chest along with a squirm in your lower half and a pleasant sensation twisting in your gut.

“Thank you, sir.”

Perhaps it could be put down to a one-off but not when the offers of praise started to come thick and fast. He made it seem so natural as if he were paying it no more attention than a good boss should do and he certainly shared the successes out amongst your colleagues, but this was something else—you knew it.

Could he sense that your thighs were pressed tightly together beneath the opulent table? Did he hear the hitch of your breath every time he mentioned your name? How about the heat spreading across the back of your neck or the bead of sweat that trickled down your spine? Could he smell your arousal?

Goddamn his fiendish ways. Kento always could read you like a book, and not just any book plucked from the shelf. You were a well-thumbed and beloved story that he would read fondly over and over, each time finding new things to add to the piles of reasons for loving you.

You were losing your mind. Furiously beating your pen against the still empty pad you’d brought with you for note taking. You crossed and uncrossed your legs for the hundredth time, desperately wanting to excuse yourself for the solitude of the bathroom. A splash of water to your face was long overdue.

So lost in the abundance of praise being heaped on you, you didn’t hear the call of dismissal. It wasn’t until the scrapping of chairs met your ears did you realise it was time to leave and you were ready to rocket your right out of the room as soon as the door opened.

“May I have a moment of your time?” Nanami asked you nonchalantly. Your knees almost buckled at the idea of being alone here with him.

Only once the last person left and the door thudded shut did you dare to look at him. Dared to bear witness to the blonde God that was leaning back in his chair—observing you.

“Is everything alright? You look… flushed.”

Your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth as you chewed over your words. “I’m perfectly fine. I appreciate the concern.”

“Hm. That you are, sweetheart. So very fine…” he enthused, reclining back in his executive chair to rake your standing figure with a lustful eye. Oh, he wasn’t playing fair in the slightest and somehow that made everything far worse.

Kento admired you from the top of your head right down to your shuffling toes and back again. The flash of his pink tongue wetting his lips did nothing but force a fierce shudder down the length of your spine. You knew where this was going, part terrified and part excited beyond belief. In the sanctity of your home, you would have already pounced.

“Ken—”

“I can smell your arousal, darling.”

Quick as a flash, he was leaning forward in his seat and wrapping both hands around your wrists to tug you towards him. You gasped aloud at his downright filthy accusation and the way he was manhandling you to stand in front of him. The edge of the desk hit against the backs of your thighs and Kento used your moment of imbalance to seat your butt against the edge of the glass top.

He rolled his chair closer, a thick muscled thigh pressed between your legs and forced the tight hold of your skirt to ride up to accommodate his presence there. Nanami groaned at the sight of your lace-detailed stocking tops, a calloused finger swiped across his mouth as if deciding what to do next.

“Have you noticed how… receptive you become when I praise you? Or how your beautiful skin blooms when I tell you how clever you are?”

Kento brushed his thumb across your cheek, stroking your jaw and tilting your chin. His free hand fingered the lacy tops of your thigh highs, straddling the line where the garment met your bare skin and you fought down the moan in your throat. You were melting into a puddle, no more than an ice cream cone on a blazing summer day and longing to be licked up by the man before you.

“Such a brilliant mind inside that pretty head, I’m truly a lucky man,” he rasped, and you snapped.

Grabbing him by the knot of the tie at his throat, you pulled him to meet you halfway in a searing kiss. Damn it all to hell, you no longer cared that you were in the workplace or that the door wasn’t even locked, you needed him with a dizzying urgency that refused to be denied a moment longer.

The aroma of rich, bitter coffee and musky cologne filled your nose, it birthed a breathy sigh of equal parts comfort and desire. You tried to slide onto his lap, to anchor your knees on either side of his hips but he held you fixed on the table with two strong palms.

“My precious sweetheart needs to show me how good she can be. Think you can take care of a pressing matter of mine?” Kento’s gaze dropped to the obvious lift to his expensive dress slacks, and you caught his meaning immediately.

The idea of being praised more was all the encouragement you needed to bend at the waist and palm him through the heavy material. You could feel the outline of his straining cock, both your mouth and pussy drooled in anticipation of revealing the beast hiding beneath those layers.

You made quick work of his belt, unfastening the buckle deftly before freeing his button and dragging the zipper down. Nanami assisted in lifting his hips enough to shuffle his trousers down whilst your eager fingers hooked inside the waistband of his briefs and finally his leaking cock sprang out.

The velvet skin appeared agitated and angry, the tip flushed a deep pulsing purple and pearlescent precum oozed freely from his slit. You touched the silky liquid without grazing his skin yet he still twitched from watching you alone.

“Mm… gonna show me what you’ve got, sweetheart? Show me who the real boss is here?” He drawled almost lazily, and your breath hitched at the insinuation that you were the one in charge. That thought made your cunt clench and your stomach flutter.

You wrapped around his shaft, working the beads of moisture down his skin to make the pump of your fist more slick and comfortable. Kento watched you through hooded eyes, delving his hands through your lustrous hair and pulling it free from the clip holding it back. You were such a sinful sight; all flushed cheeks and heaving chest that strained the silky fabric of your blouse to the limit.

“Gods, you drive me crazy. Do you know how much I have to restrain myself when you’re around?”

Big, round doe eyes blinked up from where you knelt between his parted thighs. The surface of your irises were glossy like polished mirrors and saliva escaped your pouty lips before you’d even gotten close to taking him into your mouth.

He knew your tight little pussy would be throbbing in need, that lust covered your folds and tracked down your thighs, sticking to your skin and waiting to be licked clean by his tongue. He could smell it, practically taste it and he would, once you were finished.

“Kento…”

He nodded his head, giving you the permission he knew you were seeking to do what you both wanted. That first sensation from the heat of your mouth sent him crashing, head tilted to stare at the ceiling and strained the thick tendons in his neck.

You moaned around his girth, slobbering already as your overexcitement spurred you on. The ache in your pert clit was maddening, the clench of your thighs not enough to relieve the ache in the pit of your abdomen. The friction wasn’t nearly enough, you were desperate for more. What made it worse was the heavy, bitter taste of Kento’s cock. It made you salivate, but not only in your mouth. The underwear beneath your skirt would have to be trashed as completely ruined at this point.

“Fuck, that’s it. Taking me down your throat so well, so proud of you sweetheart,” he groaned whilst noticing your restless wriggling and knowing exactly what you wanted—what you needed. “Play with yourself, my love.”

You jumped at the instruction, eager not to waste a moment of time in complying with the request and grateful that your man was so in tune with your needs and not just his own. A hand slid beneath your skirt and rubbed erratically through the sodden cotton of your ruined underwear. Never had you fallen apart so quickly, never had your heart thundered so much that it might explode.

“I love seeing you like this. Let me hear you purr for me, kitten.”

Swallowing around his thick girth, your cheeks hollowed to increase the suction of your mouth and Kento’s head snapped down to your face with parted lips. The tip of his cock kissed the back of your throat but you didn’t stop, barely hesitated as he slid further down until you gagged and spluttered when you pulled off for air. It was only for a moment. You were too resolute in bringing this powerful man to his knees.

With a flickering tongue that pressed thickly against his heavy shaft, you tasted him thoroughly and let spit bubble at the sides of your mouth to coat your chin. Kento was fighting against the rise of his hips as he twisted a hand into your hair and gently guided your head up and down in the perfect bobbing motion.

He was close. Hell, you were closer.

Your forearm rested on his strong thigh, hand wrapped around the remaining inches of his shaft that refused to fit into your mouth and throat whilst the other hand dipped into your sopping hole.

Your cunt clenched around your slim fingers, and you could sob. You longed for something else, something more and you knew just what you wanted, but perhaps you weren’t going to get it.

“Sw—sweetheart… i’m gonna - oh fuck - swallow it like a good girl, please?” His plea was breathless and the nearest you had ever heard to a whimper. It was beautiful and empowering to know that he could be brought to heel by you.

The low flutter of your lashes along with a subtle nod and watery eyes were his sign of your acceptance. Kento allowed the pressure that was building to a crescendo to release like a riptide. He spilled his seed down your throat and filled your mouth as he pulled his hips back.

He was in awe at the sight of you licking your lips like the cat who got the cream. His chest heaved with every twitch of his dick, emptying himself against your pursed lips and smearing the remnants for you to lap up greedily. Kento smiled, lazy and content now that the ache of his balls had drained away. He was quick to haul you up and onto his lap with your surprised squeal causing him to chuckle.

“I love you, my beautiful, smart and funny girl,” he cooed into your ear, his large palms coasted over your jittery thighs and hooked between your legs just where you needed him the most.

“Now then, time for your reward…”

#delirious writes #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami smut #nanami kento smut #kento smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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incorrectbatfam · 6 months ago

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WFA spoilers ahead

Content warning for discussion of mental illness

Can I take a moment to appreciate how they showcased Jason's PTSD in the latest ep? This isn't the first time but I feel like this round struck much closer.

Although this is the website where people are open about mental illness, there's still a reluctance to address the "loud" or "frightening" or "angry" or "messy" side of it. Stuff like bipolar, schizophrenia, addiction, PTSD. It's why I'm extremely hesitant to talk about my own problems even under anonymity.

Conversely, there are mainline comics (and other media) that use this category of mental illness as an excuse for characters to go all-out in their aggression. Even if not intentional, it perpetuates the idea that a trigger will always send the person spiraling until either the worst happens or someone steps in as the "hero." It's basically sending the message to people like me that we're a ticking time bomb.

Then there's WFA. Jason's not fully present during his episode. It leads him into a dangerous situation while at the same time he's unable to grasp things like pain. The adrenaline and the overwhelming sense of fear drives him into fight mode. He gets tunnel vision while he's beating up the bar patrons to try and find the Joker. Without getting into details, I've been in Jason's shoes. I've found myself in risky places doing things I'd later regret. All because of the disconnect from reality that makes me believe what I'm doing is necessary. Not even justified, just necessary. Almost like a survival instinct.

And what's so important is that Jason isn't a villain and Dick isn't a savior. Dick reaffirms Jason's trauma and guides him through tangible steps rather than giving broad sweeping advice. Of course there's no one-size-fits-all coping method, but the biggest thing is having somebody in your corner who sees you beyond this bad episode. Sometimes I have that, sometimes I don't. WFA won't show it since it's all about family, but the times I didn't have someone were exponentially scarier.

At the same time, there are consequences that a simple grounding exercise can't remedy—Jason got hurt, he hurt others, and his appearance at Noonan's definitely put him on someone's radar if not the Joker. And they're just as real as his feelings and (hopefully) he's gonna be held accountable. Because that's how it goes in real life. Something sets me off, I screw up, I get bailed out, and once I come down from it I have to fix the mess I made.

Maybe I'm just reading too much into a fan comic. But I know that if a few panels can resonate so closely with me, then it's worth talking about because someone, somewhere is also feeling the same way.

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natsarrownecklacx · 3 months ago

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Down The Witches Road

Agatha Harkness x Reader Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 1,898

Summary: After the death of your wife you decide the best way to get her back is by travelling the witches road. Not everything goes according to plan.

Warnings: Talks of death, scary Agatha, mean coven behaviour, betrayal, lil sad moments, in general just be warned this is not a fluff fic. Based on this thought I had.

ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ

This, every single thing about this, is difficult. There is no other way to put it. The witches road is set to test its travelers, those who are mad enough, desperate enough to brave it. You’d known this before you’d ever even approached Agatha with your plan to travel its tricky path, but you had not expected it to be so cruel.

Ms Heart- Sharon, she was a kind woman. There was not a single bad bone in her frail body, no trace of malice or ill intention to be found in her.

Her death was too sudden. Everything happened so fast. One moment she was there, beside you, the pair of you sharing a quiet, personal moment of shared experience and grief over a glass of wine. The next thing you knew, the very next moment of stillness you got, she was gone. Dead. Her body laid out limp and haunting beside you as you landed in the dirt.

You could do nothing more than shed a tear for the woman, for the love she lost, for the life she lived. For the fear she must have felt in her final moments, all alone. Forgotten until the very last moment. A moment too late.

You shared a sense of comradery with the woman, her loss something you knew all too well. It was your idea to bury her, your plea that swayed Agatha to stay as you and the others layed Sharon to rest.

You’d not expected to grow as fond of Agatha as you had, or at all really. When you’d approached her, it was merely because you knew she could be convinced, that her hunt for power would ultimately lead her down the road along side you, much like it did the first time she dared to face it.

Over the days you’d traveled together, Agatha seemed to take a liking to you, her behavior towards you strangely protective but surprisingly comforting. At first you’d been skeptical, but as trials were complete and challenges beat, you took to her much the same way.

The bond between you, although unexpected, became one you valued. She was your friend. Someone you would protect. Someone you would do anything for. Someone, you feared, you would miss if anything were to happen to her.

You saw the way she looked at Rio, just as you saw the way the green witch looked at her. With so much love in their eyes, so much loss. They longed for each other. You could see, everyone could, but no one said anything. No one needed to.

When Agatha's trial rolled around, her contorted body running at you in the darkness of that room, you’d cried. You’d yelled out for her to stop, told her she was scaring you.

The witches body froze in front of your own, her mind clearing through the fog long enough to catch sight of you tear filled eyes through the cracks in your fingers, hiding your face from her.

Everything froze, the witch fighting with everything inside her to pull away from you. She managed one step back before the lights came on, her mind going black before she woke, an apparition of her mother hovering over you and the rest of the coven.

“You!” Her mothers ghost spat, lunging toward you. Your eyes widened, as did everyone else’s, no one expecting the witch to acknowledge you at all.

Agatha, acting on pure instinct and adrenaline, called out to her mother, running towards her and drawing everyone's attention toward her, away from you.

Evanora stopped, hearing her daughter's voice, turning to her. Agatha’s arms were spread wide in front of her, prepared to defend herself from the ghostly woman, her eyes darting between you and her mother, quickly checking you over for any injuries.

“Agatha.” Evanora sighed, almost as though she was relieved. Agatha's face scrunched in confusion.

“You have to stop her.” Evanora said, an edge to her voice that spilled out into the room, drawing everyone's full attention. “You all have to stop her. She wants to bring her back. She will destroy everything.”

Agatha stands in shock and confusion, her mind racing a mile a minute as she tries to make sense of it all. It wasn't her Evanoa was trying to hurt by taking possession of her body, it was you. “Mother what-”

“SHE!” Evanora said furiously, turning an accusing finger toward you. “Has been marked by the scarlet witch. She intends to use the road's power to bring her back to life.”

A gasp sounds through the room, the others, who were all crowded protectively around you, take a step away, as though being near you might cause them harm. Agatha turns to you, hurt and disbelief evident in her eyes, her hands faltering in front of her.

You open your mouth to explain yourself only to snap it shut a second later, what was there to say, Evanora was right.

Agatha's eyes harden, seeing the truth in your own. “Agatha I-” You feel a tap to your forehead, Rio barley entering your vision before the world fades away around you, the green witch catching you and helping your limp body to the floor gently.

When you wake, you're no longer in that house. It's cold, the feeling of mud beneath you making you cringe as you lift yourself from the floor. Agatha is sitting on a log beside you, the rest of the coven a few feet away, sitting around a fire.

Her head snaps in your direction when she senses you’ve woken up. She stands, moving toward you without even thinking, wanting, needing to make sure you're okay.

She’s been crying, you can see it on her face, the evidence of it tracking down her cheeks. Her arms wrap around you, her voice a flurry of emotion as she asks if you're okay, how you're feeling.

You assure her that you're fine, that everything feels normal and the next second her arms are gone, her body completely taken from you as she steps back, staring you down with a storm in her eyes.

“She took everything from me.” The raven haired witch says, a hint of something you can't place in her voice, making your chest feel tight.

You sigh, taking a step toward the woman you now called your friend, the uncomfortable feeling in your chest growing when she takes a step back.

“I love her, Agatha.” You say, your eyes starting to well, you can feel the desperation to have your wife back creeping back in again. The suffocating feeling of missing such an intricate part of you. “I- I need her. You don’t understand, when you met her, the pain she was in, that wasn’t really her. She’s different. She’s filled with so much kindness and love, god Agatha she is the most kind and caring person I have ever met-”

“You need to keep better company then.” The older witch snaps, regret filling her when you shrink back slightly.

You sniffle, defeat filling you as you bring your hand up to pull on your shirt, revealing the mark, the symbol Wanda had left on you before her death.

Agatha gasps, she’d never seen a symbol like that in real life before, only ever heard of it, read of it in the darkhold. The symbol bonds its wearer with the person who drew it. It ties their souls together. They can sense each other, feel each other's emotions, their love and their pain which means…

“I felt it when she died.” You whisper, your voice shaky as you relive that awful moment all over again. “I could feel it everywhere. Not physically, she protected me from the physical pain somehow but… It was like she was there and I could feel her, I could feel her heart beating in time with mine, I could feel her warmth all around me and then it was just gone.”

Your voice breaks, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you will yourself to keep them at bay. “I was just overcome with this hollow, cold feeling and I knew she was gone.”

You try to step toward her again and this time she allows it. “Agatha.” You say softly, your voice a plea, the desperation you feel shown clearly on your face now. “I can still feel it. Everyday it gets stronger. I’m scared that soon it’s all I’ll be able to feel.”

There's a reason that spell resided in the book of the damed, if not cared for properly, it could have catastrophic consequences for the wearer.

“I need her.” You cry, your hands reaching for hers, pulling her closer to you. “Please, I need her. Help me.”

Agatha’s heart breaks for you. She hates to see you suffering like this, too see you in so much emotional pain it almost consumes you. She can feel it radiating off of you in waves.

She wants to help you, she will. But this, bringing Wanda back, she can’t do that, she won’t. Not after all the pain she caused in Westview and certainly not after the massacre in Kamar Taj.

“Y/n…”

“Please, Agatha. Wouldn’t you have done what she did if it meant you could see your son again.”

Agatha’s gaze turns cold, the concern in her eyes overshadowed by something akin to betrayal. Her lips curl into a sinister smile, a cruel laugh leaving her lips.

“You’ll never get her back.” She whispers. “You will never see her again.”

“Don’t say that.” You snap, the possibility of her words becoming a reality making you feel nauseous.

“You know, there is a way for me to remove the symbol, to take away all that pain you're carrying around.”

You know what she means, had been presented with the same option by others before in the past. The symbol can be lifted, its effects dissipating with a simple spell, freeing you from its cruelty. But there was a catch, the wearer would have to forget the person who drew it in the first place.

Any and all traces of Wanda would be gone from you forever. You can’t bare the thought of not knowing her, not even having the memories you shared, knowing she loved you. No. You wouldn’t ever let anyone take her from you.

“No.” You say, anger in your voice at her implication. “You can’t do that. You can’t take what’s left of her from me.”

“I can’t let you bring her back y/n. I’m sorry.” As she says this Agatha wraps her arms around you, keeping you still as you try to worm your way out of her grasp. “Do it.” She says, her voice cracking as she does.

You can hear the coven as the surround you, their words blurring together into one big chant as you kick and scream and beg them not to do this to you.

Agatha cries the entire time, silent tears falling down her face as she tries to keep you from hurting yourself, from getting away.

When it’s done, your body limp in her arms, she looks down to your peaceful face through watery eyes.

You’d never forgive her for this.

Luckily you won’t even remember why you hate her so much and after time, she tries to convince herself, maybe you’ll forget you hate her too.

ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ <3 ᗢ

A/n- I wrote this so fast in fear that id lose motivation n it would never be written but I hope ye like it anyways :)

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha all along #agatha harkness x you #agatha x rio #wanda maximoff x wife!reader #wanda maximoff angst #agatha harkness x female reader

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astra-ravana · 2 months ago

Text

Mirror Magick Applications

Mirrors are a big part of our lives. Mirrored surfaces, both man-made and natural exist almost everywhere. Every culture has myths regarding mirrors and I'm sure some of these we have all heard. Such as breaking a mirror is worth seven years of bad luck, that you shouldn't keep them in the bedroom, or to cover all your mirrors after someone dies, so their soul isn't trapped. Mirrors are more than just shiny bathroom fixtures, they are literal portals and amplifiers with several magickal utilities.

Trapping Energy by Charging Mirrors

Mirrors can be used to 'trap' the energy of any setting you find particularly powerful. For example: leaving your mirror close to the ocean waves or in a dark forest overnight. It will absorb the potent natural energies, then you can use the mirror in late workings as you please.

Lunar magick is another area where mirror work is ideal. Place a few mirrors under the moon to charge them with the energy of that phase. If you want to use them for a specific purpose, consider marking them with a symbol or sigil. When you need the energy of the moon, or a moon phase, you can access it as needed by using an appropriately charged mirror.

Amplification

Mirrors, like crystals, can help to amplify the power of your spells ans rituals. Keeping a mirror on your altar can bolster and increase the success of your workings. Just as focused sunlight on a mirror ignites a fire, focused magick will ignite a spell. Make sure your spell components are reflected, or better yet, perform the working on top of a mirror, to substantially increase its power.

Scrying and Accessing Other Realms

When correctly utilized mirrors can be used to access messages and visions that we wouldn't normally be able to connect with. Scrying is an ancient divinatory magick that is often used as a form of fortune-telling. Traditionally, a lot of scrying was done with water, the ancient Celts and Greeks even practiced this form of divination. Mirror scrying is an evolution of these water oracles, with historical practitioners like the famous John Dee, who used highly polished silver, brass, mercury, or obsidian.

Scrying wit mirrors can be particularly powerful due to the idea that your reflection is the manifestation of your soul. When viewing your reflection, if you're well in tune with yourself, you can ask your soul questions regarding your life and development or even open up the door to another dimension entirely. Mirrors can be enchanted and sigified into being gateways in and of themselves.

Many scrying mirrors are black because one's own reflection can be rather distracting. The traditional material of a black mirror is obsidian, however you can craft your own by painting one side of a piece of glass black. Picture frames are great for this. A black mirror is the best option for scrying as you won't be distracted by your own features, leaving you open to interpret your visions.

Banishing

Mirrors, as reflective surfaces and magickal conductors, are often used in banishing spells. Banishing magick can be used when someone is directing negative energy your way or you're being harassed. In this case, a mirror can be used to return bad energy back to the person who sent it.

Banishing magick can be a wonderful tool when applied to bad habits or negative thoughts as well. To banish an idea or behavior, encant something akin to: "[what you're banishing] you've caused me pain, I banish you, now stay away. Mirror help to reflect my plight, and keep [what you're banishing] out of sight". Keep the mirror close to you in order to protect you from what you're banishing.

Defense

Mirrors are also an incredibly effective defensive tool. They can deflect any negative energy, ill intent, or malevolent spirits sent your way. By placing mirrors in areas where you need the most protection, you can repel any unwanted energy trying to infiltrate your space. For added potentcy, draw a protective sigil/symbol on the mirror and/or place a protective crystal in front of it.

Hexenspiegal: The Witch's Mirror

A hexenspiegal is a small mirror used as a protective charm to reflect away baneful/attack magick, the evil eye, and other bad omens and intentions, as well as return the energy back to its sender. Its basis is in German folk magick. Translated, it means "witch's mirror". Hexenspiegals may be suspended from cords, fastened to walls, or, in the case of small ones, worn as jewelry. You can make your own by cleansing, decorating (optional), and sigifying/enchanting a small mirror to your intent.

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gay-dorito-dust · 7 months ago

Note

Can I request headcanons for Calcharo, and Jiyan with shy gn s/o?

Jiyan

He doesn’t mind your shyness, not one bit.

He’s not exactly someone who can actively engage in socialising, especially not when most of his time was spent on the frontlines talking about strategies, supplies and coming up with ways in which they would avoid having mass casualties.

So if anything he’s the last person to judge you on your shyness. It would be unfair.

Jiyan is the person you go to for comfort, for advice because he brings you a lot of clarity and certainty unlike any other that you feel as though you could go to him for anything and he would try his best to help you, which is true.

He didn’t mind it when you practically tried to hide yourself behind him whenever there were people talking to him, he just reached a hand behind him in search of your own and holds it reassuringly until the group leaves, where he would then ask if you were okay.

Jiyan would much rather spend time with you in a secluded spot away from everyone, watching the Gulpuffs swim by as you both sat underneath the shade of a trees then be anywhere else if it made you happy.

He’s always preferred moments of peace and quiet after dealing with the chaotic and unpredictable situations he’s use to on the front lines, is sometimes he finds it hard to make his body relax and enjoy life when his eyes were always looking for the next big threat. So being in those moments of peace and quiet with you made jiyan relax easier as he had someone he deeply cared for to share this moment with.

He’d even find it even more peaceful if you were to fall asleep against his side, comfortable with him enough to allow yourself to be in a vulnerable position as he’s left to watch over you as you slept, always guarding you from everything and anything that would do you any harm.

Bonus if he falls asleep soon after, resting his head atop of yours and it acts as a cute moment to look back on with fondness and gratitude that you stayed by his side.

Jiyan worries that might not always be there for you due to his duty as General, he also worries that he might not make it back to you one day, that one day he’ll see you for the last time before going back to the frontlines to face the new threat.

So he makes you promise to plant a flower just for him if that were to ever be the case and you hugged him as tightly as possible in response, muttering that he wouldn’t die, jiyan wordlessly hugged you back equally as tightly, internally wishing that your words held truth to them for the future was always uncertain; now more then ever.

Calcharo (I love this Vergil/sepihroth looking beauty)

Another man who doesn’t care whether you were shy or not.

At first he might’ve intimidated you but after several instances where you were shown that he was far from the stories -or misconceptions as he’d call them- that you’ve heard about him and his group.

He’s a gentle and sweet man when you saw past the perpetually grumpy, brooding air about him.

He’s more or less protective over you and wants to keep you safe from anything and everything, human or not, no one was safe from his wrath if he were to be made aware of you being in any danger.

So Calcharo tries to stay close to you however he can so that he could keep an eye out for shifty characters with ill intentions, he does not tolerate it when people take advantage of people who couldn’t stand up for themself, it was pathetic and cowardly in his eyes and he want about to let you be their next target.

He’s a man of few words but that’s because he mainly lets his actions do most of the talking. So if he saw there was something you’d like but couldn’t find the voice to speak about it, he would silently stalk away and come back to present you with the thing you wanted in hand.

Calcharo could read you like a book and knew what you wanted and needed by a few simple bodily gestures. He wanted you to feel comfortable with him and he knew that takes time because he too took time to get accustomed to having someone in his life.

‘Do- do you ever get tired of me?’ You asked one day and Calcharo could tell it took all the willpower you had just to come up to him and say it.

‘What do you mean by that dearest?’ He said as he watched as you internally fight to get the words out and growing frustrated with yourself when you went to open your mouth, only for nothing but silence to come out.

‘Take your time.’ He calmly reminds you and you took a deep breath.

‘It’s just- I know I’m shy and struggle with doing things on my own such as order a meal or making doctors appointments, but I can’t help but think that maybe you’re getting tired of me for not doing things on my own.’ You admitted to him, finally getting the weight off of your chest as you stared at the brooding man in front of you, worried about what he might say.

‘I do not grow tired of you, I don’t think It’s right of me to grow tired of you when all you’ve ever been doing is trying your best.’ Calcharo replied as he stood in front of you and slowly reach for your hand and caresses the back of it with his thumb. ‘Your shyness is far from an issue for me and you shouldn’t have to be expected to be perfect at everything just to keep a partner or a friend.’ He squeezes your hand reassuringly. ‘So no, I do not grow tired of you.’

Calcharo couldn’t care less if you were shy or not, you were his partner and he cared for you immensely, which to him should be enough proof.

He may not be the best lover but for you, he tries.

#wuwa #wuthering waves #wuwa x reader #wuwa x you #wuwa imagines #wuwa imagine #wuthering waves x reader #wuthering waves x you #Wuthering waves imagine #Wuthering waves imagines #calcharo x reader #calcharo x you #calcharo imagine #calcharo imagines #jiyan x reader #jiyan x you #jiyan imagine #jiyan imagines

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akanemnon · 18 days ago

Note

(Sorry for the weird/obscure ask. I mean no ill intention behind this post. I’m just kinda curious about one of your Frisk headcanons as it’s been bugging me for a while.)

So do you still see Frisk having baby fat, or are they actually chubby as in they’re overweight?

TR!Frisk has always been designed as chubby. As I keep saying; they are friend-shaped.

I think having a main character be outside what is considered the norm is very empowering for a lot of people. This is the case for both Kris and Frisk. They are two sides of the same coin. Both very skinny and overweight people get a lot of flak from others on how they look. Even though there are cases where it's not even their fault. It's just how their bodies are. There are people who can eat as much as they like but don't gain any weight. And there are those who eat a minimal amount but can't seem to loose weight (*cough*totally not based on personal experience*cough*). And that is exactly the case for these two.

#ask #twin runes #frisk #queued post

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tooclevertobehappy · 1 month ago

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Hidden in plain sight Part.5

Trigger warning : angst

Clara had been lying in bed for hours, replaying every moment in her head. The way Alexia’s eyebrows had scrunched up in annoyance. How Ingrid had held her hand so gently like she might shatter if she let go. How Mapi had stayed by her side, no matter what she did or said.

She had lost control. Cried. Screamed until the doctors had no choice but to sedate her. Then they had left her alone, as if that would help. Since waking, she had spent every conscious moment trying to figure out how to escape the situation awaiting her.

Early in the morning, she’d already “talked” to the police and child protective services. Or at least, they had tried to talk to her. Clara refused to blame her father. No matter how much evidence they’d shoved in her face, she denied it all. Over and over again, she gave them explanations for her injuries. Excuses she’d practiced for years. If she buried it deep enough, maybe they would just let her go back to her life.

When they told her that her father had been arrested the day before, Clara got angry. Furious, even. He was being held pending trial, and no matter what she said, they were intent on convicting him of abuse. Abuse? He hadn’t done anything wrong.

“He’s the only one who stayed,” she whispered to the officers, her voice trembling. “He only disciplined me the way he saw fit. He said so. I made my mom leave us. He told me. We only have each other now. It has to stay that way.”

They had tried to explain that what he had done was wrong, that she hadn’t been the reason for her mom’s departure, that abuse was never justified, but it fell on deaf ears, Clara had already disconnected herself from the moment, retreating into her thoughts where she could control the narrative.

They are trying to paint her as a victim when she wasn’t, she wasn’t, she wasn’t, she refuses to be called as such, she’s just a daughter trying to do right by her dad, but they won’t let her see him, or even just talk to him no matter how hard she begged.

Since then, she had stayed in bed, the steady beeping of the machines in the room her only company. She barely blinked when nurses came in to check on her. They tried to talk to her, coaxing her to speak, but she remained blank-faced, refusing to respond or even turn her head in their direction.

She heard them whisper about her. The little abused girl in room 504. How her “monster” dad had treated her. How she seemed “brainwashed.” The words burrowed under her skin. She wanted to get up and scream at them, to demand how they dared to speak ill of her father, who had only done what was right. To make them stop treating her like some helpless child who couldn’t understand what had been done to her.

But she didn’t have the strength. She felt exhausted in ways she hadn’t before. She longed for sleep that wouldn’t come. No matter how still she lay or how long she kept her eyes closed, sleep evaded her. A cruel twist of fate.

Everything hurt, more than just her injuries, it felt like every inch of her skin had been rubbed raw and the smallest of touch felt like electricity running through her. She found herself nostalgic of the sedated state she’d been in before, floating in nothingness, where her darkest thoughts couldn’t reach her.

She’d felt at peace then, no expectations, no one to try and convince her of things she knew were wrong, no one to yell at her, to look at her with pity. No appearances to keep up with, she could just… be.

She didn’t react when the door opened again, assuming that another nurse had come to gawk at the abused kid in her wing, she kept her eyes directed at the same corner of the room she’d been staring at for hours.

But the person who entered sat in the chair next to her bed, she could hear their steady breathing over the hum of her heart monitor, could smell whiffs of a perfume she knew but couldn’t place. Curiosity won over her desire to be left alone, she turned her head, meeting Mapi’s eyes.

Clara raised an eyebrow at the defender sitting there, Mapi looked quite different from last night, gone was the tense woman, she sat there like this was just another day, like they weren’t staring at each other from the confine of a hospital room.

“No Ingrid, no Alexia?” she asked, tone light, but her eyes still darted to the door to her room, half-expecting one of them to barge in.

“No, just me Nena.” confirmed Mapi, keeping her eyes on Clara.

“Why?” Clara wondered aloud, she rarely saw Mapi without her other half, and the captain usually insisted on being part of all important conversations, like this one would undeniably be.

Mapi smiled softly at her, her hand coming to rest next to hers on the bed, close enough to feel her presence but careful not to touch. Clara stayed silent, but she appreciated the gesture, her eyes looking down at their hands before coming back up to look at her.

“I thought it’d be better for them not to be here today.” she said before adding “Alexia’s a fixer, and this, no matter how much she wishes, she can’t fix, and Ingrid, well.” She took a small pause smiling at the thought of her loving girlfriend “Well, Ingrid just wants to protect you, but you won’t let her yet, so that just leaves me.”

Clara hummed pensively, eyes darting between the door and their hands laying on her bed.

“Why are you here then?” she asks, raising her head to stare at Mapi, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “Why aren’t you with Ingrid?”

“I came to talk to you.” answers Mapi.

There it is.

“About what?” she asks trying but failing at looking indifferent, they both know that this conversation won’t be any easier than the one from the night before, but Mapi hopes that the absence of the other two women will ease it.

Mapi’s smiling at her, her eyes softening, the same way she looks at Irene’s son when he has hurt himself and came to her, and Clara is torn between falling into the offered comfort and rejecting it all together.

“About you, about what happened if you wish, but more importantly about what you’ll do now” she answers, her hand coming up to lay on top of Clara’s.

It’s a small gesture, but somehow it terrifies her, she feels stuck in her bed, unable to leave it, to escape the room, the conversation she doesn’t want to have. She wishes she could run, but she just lays here.

“What?” shes croaks out.

“With your dad arrested, you can’t go home alone,” Mapi said. Her voice was calm and even, like she was explaining something simple, but Clara could feel the words breaking her apart. “Even if your 18th birthday is coming up, the law still considers you a minor for a few more months.”

She’d forgotten about that. Of course, with her dad gone, it’d be just her. Alone. The word echoed in her head, hollow and cold. She knew what would happen next, foster care. She’d heard the stories, seen the quiet, broken kids who came back from it. Some never came back at all. She couldn’t go. She wouldn’t. She just wanted her dad.

Mapi watched her carefully, her steady gaze picking up every shift in Clara’s expression, every flicker of emotion she couldn’t quite hide. She saw the moment Clara tensed, her small hand slipping out from under hers and retreating to grip the comforter. Her fingers twisted into the fabric with such force that her knuckles turned white.

Mapi’s chest tightened at the sight, but she stayed calm. She knew better than to push too hard, too fast. Lest last night situation happened all over again.

“Ingrid and I would like for you to come to our house.” Mapi tells her “When you’re better and they release you of course” she adds.

Clara’s eyes darted toward her, suspicion flickering in their depths. “Why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She shook her head slightly, like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Why would you want me to come to your house?”

Mapi let out a small noise, confusion and hurt mingling in her expression. “What do you mean, why?” she asked, her brows furrowing.

“Why do you want me there?” Clara pressed, her tone sharp despite the softness of her voice. She looked at Mapi like the suggestion was some kind of trick, something too good to be true.

“Because we care about you!” Mapi said, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself. She leaned forward, her hand twitching toward Clara’s before pulling back. “Because we love you, and we want to help you,” she continued, her voice quieter now, almost pleading. “If you’ll let us.”

She wants to believe Mapi, she really does, but she can’t.

“I want to go back to my dad!” she insists.

Mapi’s smile was soft but sad, the kind that made Clara’s heart ache even more “I know you do Nena” she said gently “but you can’t, they won’t allow you to.”

Clara clenched her fists, willing the tears to stay put, but it was no use. Hot streaks rolled down her cheeks, her breaths hitching in uneven bursts. She tried to speak, to fight back, but all that came out was a strangled sound as she choked on the sobs she’d been holding back.

“I just want him Mapi” she finally managed to cry out between gasps “He’s my dad, please you have to understand, he’s all I have!”

Mapi hesitated, her arms half-raised as if unsure whether to reach out. Before she could decide, Clara made the choice for her, throwing herself into Mapi’s embrace with such force it startled them both. Her arms locked tightly around Mapi’s back, clinging like she might leave if she let go.

Mapi froze momentarily, caught off guard, but then her instincts took over. She wrapped her arms around Clara, holding her securely as though shielding her from the world. One hand rested on Clara’s head, her fingers moving gently through her hair. She shifted, sliding onto the bed to pull Clara into her lap, lifting her with ease.

“I’ve got you.” Mapi murmured softly, her voice steady and low, the way you might comfort a child waking from a nightmare. “I’ve got you, Nena.”

Clara didn’t answer. She buried her face into Mapi’s shoulder, letting the sobs come freely now. The weight of everything she’d held in for so long poured out, leaving her trembling in Mapi’s arms.

The room was silent except for Clara’s muffled sobs and the rhythmic sound of Mapi’s hand moving gently through her hair. Mapi didn’t rush her, didn’t try to fill the silence with words. She just held her, letting her cry it out, anchoring her in the storm.

After what felt like an eternity, Clara’s sobs began to quiet, her breaths still hitching but less erratic now. She didn’t let go, though. Her grip on Mapi’s shirt stayed firm, as if she feared everything might fall apart the moment she loosened her hold.

When she finally pulled her head back, her face was streaked with tears, her eyes red and puffy. She sniffled, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse.

Mapi shook her head immediately. “No, Nena, don’t apologize.” She reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Clara’s ear. “You’ve been holding too much inside. You needed to let it out.”

Clara’s lips quivered, but she bit down on them, trying to regain some semblance of control. “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted in a whisper, her voice trembling. “Everything feels… broken.”

Mapi’s heart ached at the words, but she met Clara’s gaze, her own steady and warm. “I know it feels like that now,” she said softly, “but you don’t have to figure it all out on your own. That’s why Ingrid and I want you to stay with us. So we can help you piece it back together, step by step.”

Clara looked down at her hands, her fingers still fidgeting with the comforter. “I don’t want to be a burden,” she murmured.

“You won’t be,” Mapi replied firmly. “You’re not, you’ve never been one.�� She placed a hand over Clara’s, stilling her restless movements. “You’re family to us, Clara. That’s what family does, we take care of each other.”

Clara swallowed hard, her throat tight. The word “family” felt foreign, almost too big to grasp. It wasn’t something she was used to, not in the way Mapi seemed to mean it.

“Do you really mean that?” she asked, her voice small, her doubt clear.

Mapi nodded without hesitation. “I do,” she said. “And so does Ingrid. We both care about you more than you know.” She paused, giving Clara’s hand a gentle squeeze. “But it’s up to you, Nena. We’re not going to force you. If you don’t want to stay with us, we’ll find another way.”

Clara’s breath hitched again, though this time it wasn’t from tears. It was from the weight of the choice being placed in her hands.

“I just…” She hesitated, her voice faltering. “I don’t know if I can trust it. Trust you.”

Mapi’s expression softened, and she leaned in slightly, her voice low and steady. “That’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to trust everything right now. We’ll show you, not just tell you. One day at a time.”

Clara stared at her, searching her face for any sign of insincerity, any crack in the warmth she was offering. But there was nothing there but patience and care.

And for the first time, the faintest flicker of hope sparked in her chest.

The flicker was fragile, threatening to extinguish with the slightest breeze, but it was there, a warmth she hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. Clara took a shaky breath, her gaze shifting back to her hands tangled in the comforter. She didn’t respond immediately, her thoughts too loud, too jumbled to form words.

Mapi didn’t push. She stayed quiet, her hand still resting over Clara’s, offering her presence without demanding anything in return. Clara wasn’t used to this, someone waiting for her, someone letting her take her time. The silence wasn’t suffocating for once, it was a space where she could breathe, even if it was uneven and hesitant.

Finally, Clara lifted her eyes, meeting Mapi’s steady gaze. “What if I mess everything up?” she asked, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper. “What if you regret it?”

Mapi smiled gently, her eyes warm with understanding. “Then we’ll figure it out together,” she said simply. “Clara, you don’t have to be perfect. None of us are. You don’t have to prove anything to us, we’re here because we care, not because we expect you to be something you’re not.”

Clara blinked, her throat tightening again. The words were unfamiliar, like hearing a melody she’d forgotten long ago. She opened her mouth to respond but hesitated, the weight of everything she wanted to say too much to put into words.

Instead, she nodded, just once, her movements small and uncertain. It wasn’t a yes, not fully, but it wasn’t a no either. It was a step, however tentative, toward something she wasn’t sure she could name yet.

Mapi seemed to sense the significance of the gesture. Her smile widened slightly, a spark of relief crossing her features, but she didn’t make a big deal out of it. “That’s all I ask,” she said softly. “One step at a time, Nena.”

Clara let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her shoulders sagging as if some of the weight she’d been carrying had lifted, even just a little. “Okay,” she whispered, the word barely audible but enough to crack through the walls she’d built around herself.

Mapi gave her hand one last gentle squeeze before pulling her back against her, letting Clara reclaim her space laying on her chest. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said, her tone as light as it was reassuring. “No rush. I’ll be here.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Clara believed her.

#hidden in plain sight #mapi x ingrid x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #woso x reader #woso fanfics #angst #finally some comfort

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tackykachowch · 21 days ago

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OKAY CHAT I DIDN'T INTEND IT TO BE THIS WAY BUT THIS POST IS SUPER-HUGE. Read at your own risk lol

*taps the mic* Uh, welcome to Chili's. So, I mustered up the courage to finally make a post about how I view Silco and Jinx's relationship and why I think it is actually a lot better than it's commonly perceived. Please please please do not assume that I do this to specifically whitewash Silco or make him less morally gray, this is my genuine read on them based on my own experience and views. I do not claim that I don't have any bias at all, but I think that it didn't influence my opinion that much.

I am going to say this from the start: I don't have much negative to say about them and I don't think of their relationship as toxic. If this point of view is unacceptable to you, please disregard this post. However, if you want to discuss this topic with me and challenge my points, please be civil about it and don't insult me. I don't have any ill intentions, nor am I trying to normalize unhealthy behavior.

Okay, from this preamble to another. This analysis is going to be based entirely on season 1 and nothing else. Some of my points will address common perceptions about them in the fandom, some I'll write as a regular analysis.

Now let's start shall we (yes, this is going to be a one long post because they're so so important to me). In the second paragraph I said that I don't view their relationship as toxic. Let me explain. I think this is a very complex topic and opinions will vary from person to person. Considering that both Silco and Jinx are mentally ill this adds another layer to our already complicated cake. So, for me toxic relationships are those where at least one person almost always behaves in the way they see is right, disregarding other person's wants or needs. It also must include unhealthy/toxic behaviors, i. e. manipulation, gaslighting, possessiveness, control over other person's decisions, physical and/or emotional abuse etc etc. These behaviors must be routinely occurrences and not happen only once or twice. You can say: "But a lot of things you listed exactly describe how Silco behaves towards Jinx!" well. No but I'll get to this later.

There's also an elephant in the room we need to deal with: codependency. Now, I don't claim to be an expert on the topic or even well-informed, but I have a feeling that this term is a Bit overused. Terms, especially medical ones, are very useful for describing one specific thing. But as of late a lot of terms are used on things that are not. Well. The thing the term is describing. You don't need to go far for examples: hyperfixation, depression, panic attack, etc. When knowledge becomes widespread, things like that are inevitable, unfortunately. But back to the topic. Are Jinx and Silco's relationship codependent? I personally don't think so. One of the key characteristics of a codependent relationship is losing a sense of self and disregarding your wants/needs, and Jinx and Silco never display that. They are very self-driven characters. And while Jinx did do some things to impress Silco, it's not necessarily a symptom of a codependent relationship specifically. Again, I'll compare it to medical symptoms. If your right side hurts it doesn't mean you have appendicitis, if you have a short attention span it doesn't mean you have ADHD. Mental health problems Jinx and Silco have can be just that: mental health problems. Trust issues, low self-esteem, fear of abandonment, etc. They don't need to be a part of a bigger problem, even if there are some similarities. (Also just a side note: I got misdiagnosed with OCD this year, so I take correct descriptions and understanding of conditions/words very personally).

MAN THAT WAS TOO LONG. GET TO THE ACTUAL POINTS.

Alright. So first of all, Jinx and Silco are VERY trusting of each other. They both allow each other to enter their personal spaces, and feel comfortable and free in each other's presence. Silco allows Jinx to do his eye injections, to show him physical affection, he also trusts her with missions for his job, even when everyone else is against it. When Jinx in ep4 tells him that "(her screw up) won't happen again", he simply answers "I know". Despite Jinx's own insecurities Silco fully trusts her (sometimes even to his own detriment). And she fully trusts him as well (until the whole Vi shenanigans anyway), what can be seen in a way she's not afraid of his emotions or even to hurt him, because she knows perfectly well that he'll never harm her in any way (physical, I mean). And although there is a clear miscommunication between them in ep4 I don't think it's a common thing between them, and this specific case was caused by Jinx's deeply rooted trauma and low self-esteem, which Silco is unfortunately unable to fix.

Now onto the probably most common criticism of Silco specifically: that he made Jinx his weapon and raised her to be this bloodthirsty on purpose. And to this I say - no way. Silco DOES love Jinx and DOES trust her, but he's not blind and not an idiot. He perfectly knows that Jinx can cause a huge mess and potential troubles on the missions, his subordinates hate her, her mental state is unstable and therefore she's not the most reliable asset in the slightest, nor a necessary one. At no point do we get actual proof that Silco needs Jinx specifically for his operations, he seems to allow her to participate in them out of her own volition. After all, she does like being needed and included in the family business. You could argue that he needs Jinx for her gadgets and weapons, but nobody besides her uses them, so this option doesn't fit. "But he did request her to build Fishbones!" yeah. After Jinx stole the gemstone, again, out of her own choice. Silco is a swift strategist, if he sees an opportunity somewhere he takes it immediately. So there's nothing actually wrong with him asking Jinx to build a weapon with the use of gemstone. She didn't steal it for it to just. Lie there, after all. As to her bloodthirsty-ness I think he only nurtured what was already there. If you remember, in the very first episode Jinx made a bomb with NAILS in it. I don't think I need to tell you that it's just a horrible idea for a bomb, and she was only 9 at the time. As to Silco's "become what they fear" line. I don't think it indicates that he specifically raised Jinx to be a weapon, because he applied the same phrase to himself and we don't see him running around throwing glitter bombs at everyone (although it would've been cool to see ngl).

Next - Silco is very supportive of Jinx. His office is filled with things she drew all over, her inventions are tied to the ceiling. When Jinx is overwhelmed and upset about the failed mission he tells her to "focus on her gadgetry" and to "take some time". He clearly knows what she likes and what would put her in a better mood. He also doesn't restrict her self-expression, which can be seen in the way Jinx looks. I mean, you'd think that Silco would probably want for her to wear something more...classy? But he doesn't mind even one bit.

Another point I see a lot - that Silco loves Jinx but not Powder. I actually kiiinda understand where this point of view comes from, because the show does frame Vi and Silco as representatives of her Powder and Jinx persona respectively, but I don't think the text itself supports this. Let's take the river scene because it is the cause of this discussion in the first place after all. Silco tells Jinx that she needs "to let Powder die" and that "Jinx is perfect", but I don't necessarily agree that he meant it in a "choose between two of your personas" kind of way, because this conflict never existed between them in the first place. Vi does want "Powder" to come back, but Silco didn't show anything that would indicate of him disliking young Jinx in any way. He did adopt her when she was still Powder, after all. And even if she changed her name on the same night, her personality didn't, because that's not how humans work. So, he NEEDED to love Powder to raise her. Back to the river scene, he tells Jinx that she needs to let Powder die so "the fear of pain would no longer control (her)". "Powder" is tightly connected to Jinx's trauma of killing her entire family and Vi leaving her, i. e. the fear of pain of being betrayed again and the fear of messing up. In terms of psychology she really does need to live through this moment and properly process it, but unfortunately there's no psychologists in neither Piltover or Zaun, and Silco being mentally ill and not knowing better himself can only help her this way. "Jinx is perfect" also doesn't mean that he prefers Jinx over Powder, but rather "Jinx, the person you are right now, is perfect and strong. You need to let that weak part of you (Powder) die, so you can move on and become something greater". Jinx might've interpreted his line in the wrong way herself, but again, there's no actual evidence of Silco liking "Powder" less and only ever wanting "Jinx". And if we hop further into the finale, he literally says "YOU are perfect". Whatever seat she chooses, she will always be perfect to him. Even if she turns against him and everything he fights for, even if she kills him, even if she hates him, she remains perfect in his eyes. He might differentiate "Powder" and "Jinx" and a weaker/stronger part of her, but despite all that she's still his daughter.

Also. He's dealing with her mental health SOOOO great chat it's not even funny. I mean obviously he can't take care of it perfectly because again, psychology is non-existent in this world, but everything he CAN do he does just sooo good. He never lets other people berate or insult her, if he scolds her he only ever does this in private, he always tries to be patient and gentle with her, and the only time we seem him lash out at her is after Jinx stole the gemstone. He also seems to know what causes her psychosis and how to stop it, because he yells "Don't listen to her!" to Jinx when Vi triggers her, and then proceeds to try and shoot in Vi's direction to shut her up. We now know that this wasn't the best decision at all, but he literally goes feral when Jinx is hurt, so can you really blame him? There is of course an issue of him enabling her violence and letting her do everything she wants, but to cut Silco some slack he deals with a very mentally ill child, and as we saw in ep3 cutting Jinx off of something can easily cause her to have a mental breakdown. So I think partly his enabling was caused by his want not to hurt her.

Phew. I think we only need to get through the minor points now.

Manipulation: we only ever see Silco manipulate Jinx once, when he lied to her about Cait and Vi's reason for being in the Underground. Nothing indicates that he regularly manipulated her before.

Possessivness: I think this claim also doesn't have substantial evidence to back it up. We only see Silco being possessive of Jinx because of Vi, and even then it's not pure possessiveness. He literally doesn't want Jinx to be betrayed and possibly even killed like him. I think if Jinx just wanted to leave him on her own he would be a-okay with that. Also he doesn't watch over what she does/where she goes, which again reinforces his trust in her and him respecting her privacy.

Silco isolated Jinx from others: uhhh. See the end of the previous paragraph. If Jinx wanted to befriend someone she could've easily done that, and Silco wouldn't even know. The only person she couldn't befriend because of him is Ekko, but even he says to Vi that Jinx chose to be on Silco's side herself, so *shrugs*

And with that, I think I covered everything I wanted about their relationship. It's not perfect, but it's not bad either. Personally, I don't want to label it as anything, because minus the drug mafia and murders aspects they're just a regular father and daughter. There are no perfect parents, there are no perfect children, but if they try their hardest to love each other in a way they're both happy with, they're great in my book.

#I'M SO SORRY THIS IS SO HUGE. I COULDN'T HELP IT I HAVE A LOT TO SAY #i probably forgot something but at this point........i think this is enough #arcane critical #silco arcane #jinx arcane #silco and jinx #arcane

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ripplestitchskein · 6 months ago

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I find the general idea of Stolitz being “toxic” to be fucking hilarious. It’s thrown around so easily like it should be accepted that they fit this definition and….they really, really don’t lol. Like they have a pretty chill and common miscommunication and personal issues interfering with wants and desires conflict. Like I cannot stress how fucking chill it is. They don’t actively hurt one another intentionally, neither are trying to murder the other directly or indirectly, they are not on opposing sides of a larger external conflict save for inherent world class dynamics, they don’t manipulate each other or work against each other, etc. They say hurtful things and argue and are oblivious to the other’s issues but like, in a fairly normal neurodivergence and historical trauma driven way.

They do begin with a mutually agreed upon transactional sexual dynamic, which is often the crux of these “Stolitz is soooo toxic” arguments to the point the really intense anti’s cry SA. A transactional sexual dynamic Blitz was so okay with when it is no longer agreeable to the other party, and they communicate that and change the parameters in a way that gives him full autonomy, he spends half an episode trying to return to that dynamic. Much trauma. Very coerced. 🙄

There is a power imbalance but it only exists in the sense that one person is societally more powerful by nature of his birth and ignorant to it by nature of his upbringing. Stolas does not force Blitz into said transactional sex dynamic by exerting his power or influence so it’s largely irrelevant save for how it impacts Blitz’s personal self worth issues and it is never from a place of malicious intent. Which is what matters in media? Character intent and decisions are literally the crux of the narrative?? Stolas figures out it’s a problem for the type of relationship he really wants to have and corrects it and even goes above and beyond to ensure that Blitz will suffer no fall out from his choice if he decides to not pursue their romantic relationship further. Like, toxic WHOMST? Just, don’t talk to me about toxic until they get hot and bothered about how well the other tried to actively murder them. We have had zero poisonings or major betrayals in this ship and ya’ll throwing around toxic like words have no meaning.

“But he called Blitz his impish little plaything! He thinks of Blitz as a toy! As a sub-species!” Or maybe, just maaaaybe the sexually inexperienced character who is making shit up as he goes along based on his canonically identified incorrect perceptions of what the other wants/likes as well as ignorance of his own power and position thought he was just being sexy and cute? Just maybe? Like can we apply a smidgeon of deductive reasoning based on the sum rather than the parts? As a treat.

It just speaks to what I have observed as probable immaturity/lack of life experience driving a lot of the criticism or straight up vitriol regarding the show’s major conflicts. A very black and white application of moral purity that deems anything not rainbows and sunshine as toxic and where the ultimate goal is some nebulous and frankly hella ableist concept of “healthy”.

A similar thing plays out with regards to Octavia and the classification of Stolas as a “bad parent” because he is pursuing a relationship and has issues of his own to deal with on top of parenting. Heaven forbid a closeted gay man raised in isolation going through some late in life awakenings is not perfectly navigating an ill defined relationship and a divorce and raising a child on top of his myriad of mental health issues. What gets me the most is she’s not even a young child, she’s 17 possibly even 18 at this point in the timeline but the way people act he abandoned an infant at a flophouse to get his rocks off with someone who fears he will smite them down with his incredible Goetian might and if they refuse they’ll be living out of a gutter eating dirt because they wouldn’t perform sexually for him. Instead of the in-universe reality where the most egregious thing Stolas has done is fail to consider his daughters perspective and how this impacts her, made some inappropriate sexual comments really early on in front of her when he was still excited, and forgot, during a major life upheaval, a promise to watch a meteor shower he made to her like a decade ago. He didn’t even forget the promise itself, he just forgot what day it was. Like I forget shit I promised my kids last week much less when they were like 5.

Like there is such a huge disconnect between actual toxic behavior portrayals in media with regards to relationships and parenting, or hell toxic relationships and parents in real life, and what is going on in Helluva Boss. This is ignoring the fact that the actual universe of the show, which is what should be the metric when examining character dynamics not reality, has established real toxicity in both relationships and behavior, and has shown us time and time again how that toxicity contrasts with our characters and their relationships, be it Stolitz or Fizzmodeous or Moxxie/Millie or the parenting dynamics of Blitz & Loona and Stolas & Octavia. We have examples of toxic relationships, and we have examples of toxic parents in this world and we’ve been shown that the relationships of the main characters is in opposition to them.

But even if you were to take the, imo incorrect, position of applying real world considerations to fictional worlds it still doesn’t track as toxic.

Do you realize how many sexual transactions and power imbalances occur in relationships everyday as just a matter of course?

Like “I’ll wear that outfit you like if you do this for me?” Normal, Transactional. Accepted straight couple in a sitcom premise. I would wager “I’ll preform this sex act if you do X” is said in one way or another without anyone batting an eye a hundred times a day. And that’s ignoring the implication that transactional sex is inherently problematic. It isn’t, it’s the coercive aspect that is an issue and even then we get real handwavey about it in reality when the situation isn’t explicitly coercive.

“I’m a police officer/government agent/politician/media influencer/sole household income earner that has the ability to fuck up your entire life/reputation/financial stability just by nature of my job and how well we are getting along” is perfectly fine and normal. No one would suggest that a police office or government agent can only be involved with someone of equal systemic or social power in reality. Do my partner and I have a toxic power imbalance because I am the sole working person in our household and they are a stay at home parent and I hold all the financial power? No, that’s fucking silly.

Not to be all “sweet summer children I grew up in the trenches of toxic” about it but it’s the most baffling part of this fandom that a pretty low key conflict and relationship dynamic, where neither party is actively trying to hurt the other and has approached the entire thing from a place of earnest confusion and ignorance and is working through it in a pretty normal way is classified as “toxic”. Get back to me when they are poisoning each other, have killed several of each other’s loved ones and there is necromancy involved.

#stolitz #helluva boss

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yourmomsawh0r3 · 7 months ago

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ill

anthony bridgerton x wife fem reader

Anthony Bridgerton prided himself on being a man of honor, a man who upheld the duties of a husband with unwavering dedication. Since the day he and Y/N had pledged their lives to each other, his commitment had never wavered. However, it was only during these most trying times, when Y/N was unwell, that the depths of his devotion truly came to light.

The morning had dawned grey and dreary, mirroring Y/N's increasingly pallid complexion. She had awoken with a heaviness in her chest, a fever clouding her usually bright eyes. Anthony, ever perceptive, had immediately sensed that something was amiss. By midday, it was clear she had fallen ill with the flu.

From that moment, Anthony had taken it upon himself to nurse her back to health. He insisted on doing everything himself, waving off the maids and servants with a determined hand. His wife was his responsibility, and he would see to her care personally. He stayed by her side, offering comfort and support. When she was sick, he held back her hair and rubbed soothing circles on her back. When the chills wracked her body, he fetched warm blankets and held her close, whispering words of encouragement and love.

Anthony found himself taking on a role he had seldom played to this extent: that of the primary caregiver for their twin children, Emma and Edward. With Y/N needing all the rest she could get, Anthony was determined to manage both his duties as a viscount and his responsibilities as a father

One evening, after a day filled with overseeing estate matters and ensuring Y/N had everything she needed, Anthony turned his attention to the children. It was time for dinner, and he decided to handle it himself, much to the surprise of the household staff.

In the kitchen, Emma and Edward sat at the large wooden table, their eyes wide with curiosity as their father attempted to prepare a simple meal. Anthony’s culinary skills were still rudimentary, but he managed to prepare a meal of roast chicken, potatoes, and steamed vegetables. The children watched him with amusement, occasionally offering unsolicited advice.

“Papa, you’re supposed to stir the gravy,” Emma pointed out with a giggle.

“And don’t forget to taste it,” Edward added helpfully.

Anthony chuckled, taking their advice in stride. “Thank you, my little chefs. I’ll make sure to do just that.”

Once the meal was ready, they sat down together and enjoyed their dinner. Despite a few mishaps like slightly overcooked potatoes and a gravy that was a bit too thick the children ate heartily, delighted by their father’s efforts. Anthony found himself smiling more than he had in days, his heart lightened by their laughter and the joy in their eyes.

After dinner, it was time for baths. Anthony led the twins upstairs, running a warm bath in the large clawfoot tub. He carefully bathed each of them, laughing as they splashed and played in the water.

“Papa, make the boat go faster!” Edward exclaimed, pointing to the little wooden toy floating in the tub.

“Alright, but only if you promise to keep the water in the tub,” Anthony replied with a mock stern look.

After the bath, he wrapped them in fluffy towels and helped them into their nightclothes. The bedtime routine was a cherished ritual, one that Y/N usually took part in. Tonight, Anthony was determined to make it just as special. He read them a story, his deep voice bringing the characters to life. Emma and Edward listened intently, their eyes growing heavy with sleep.

When the story ended, Anthony tucked them into their beds, kissing each of them on the forehead. “Goodnight, my loves,” he whispered. “Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Papa,” they murmured in unison, their voices drowsy.

As he left their room and gently closed the door, Anthony felt a profound sense of satisfaction. Despite the challenges, he had managed to care for his children and his wife. Returning to Y/N’s side, he found her already asleep, her breathing steady and peaceful. He sat beside her, watching over her as she slept, feeling an overwhelming sense of love and responsibility.

Anthony knew that this period of illness and extra duties was temporary. But he also knew that the bonds he was strengthening with his children and the unwavering support he was providing to his wife would have lasting effects. He was more than just a viscount; he was a father and a husband, roles he cherished above all else.

The next morning Y/N had scarcely managed to keep any food down, Anthony decided to draw her a warm bath. As she soaked in the tub, her skin flushed from the heat and the fever, he asked softly, "My love, are you hungry? Is there anything you might be able to eat?"

Y/N, feeling a bit better in the comfort of the warm water, nodded. "Yes, actually. Some chicken noodle soup sounds wonderful."

Anthony's heart swelled with determination. "I'll make you some," he promised, his voice gentle but firm.

Leaving Y/N to relax, he descended to the kitchen. Anthony was a man of many talents, but cooking was not one of them. Still, for his beloved wife, he was willing to try anything. He rummaged through the pantry and the icebox, trying to recall the recipes his mother had taught him in his youth. He found some chicken, carrots, celery, and noodles, setting them all on the counter. With sleeves rolled up and a furrowed brow, he began his culinary endeavor.

As he chopped vegetables and attempted to cook the chicken, Y/N, feeling somewhat better after her bath, decided to venture downstairs. Dressed in her nightgown, she moved quietly, drawn by the sounds of her husband clattering about in the kitchen. Peeking around the corner, she couldn't help but stifle a laugh at the sight before her: Anthony Bridgerton, Viscount, and head of the Bridgerton family, struggling to decipher a recipe.

Her soft laughter reached Anthony's ears, and he turned, a look of surprise and concern on his face. "My love, what are you doing out of bed? You should be resting."

Y/N smiled, stepping into the kitchen. "I couldn't stay away. I had to see what my wonderful husband was up to."

Anthony sighed, a mixture of exasperation and affection. "I was trying to make you some soup," he admitted, gesturing to the array of ingredients and half-prepared food. "But I'm afraid I'm not quite as skilled as the cook."

Y/N walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning into his chest. "It's perfect," she murmured. "The fact that you're doing this for me means more than you could ever know."

Anthony kissed the top of her head, his heart swelling with love. "Anything for you, my dear. Now, let's get you back to bed, and I'll bring the soup up once it's ready."

With Y/N safely back in bed, Anthony returned to the kitchen with renewed determination. He worked meticulously, and after some time, he finally produced a pot of homemade chicken noodle soup. Carrying a tray carefully, he made his way back to their bedroom.

Y/N was propped up against the pillows, looking exhausted but content. Anthony set the tray down on the bedside table and gently ladled some soup into a bowl. He brought the bowl to her, spooning a bit of the fragrant broth to her lips.

Y/N took a tentative sip, then smiled up at him. "It's delicious," she whispered. "Thank you, dear”

He smiled back, relief and love evident in his eyes. "Anything for you, my love. Anything at all."

In the days following Y/N’s initial illness, their twin children, Emma and Edward, had been kept at a respectful distance, watched over by their governess and the ever-watchful staff. Anthony, concerned for their health and their mother's, had made it clear that the children were not to disturb Y/N until she was well enough.

However, as the days stretched on, Emma and Edward’s longing for their mother grew more intense. One sunny afternoon, the twins approached their father with wide, pleading eyes.

“Papa, can we see Mama?” Emma asked, her voice small and hopeful.

“Please, Papa,” Edward echoed, tugging at Anthony’s sleeve. “We miss her.”

Anthony knelt down to their level, his heart aching at the sight of their earnest faces. “Your mother is still very sick,” he said gently. “She needs to rest so she can get better.��

“But we can be quiet,” Emma promised. “We just want to see her.”

Y/N, overhearing the conversation from her room, felt a surge of love and longing for her children. Gathering what strength she had, she called out softly, “Anthony, please. Let them come in.”

Anthony turned to see his wife sitting up in bed, her eyes tired but full of determination. He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “All right. But you must be very gentle and very quiet, do you understand?”

The twins nodded eagerly, and Anthony led them to the bed where Y/N waited with open arms. Emma and Edward climbed up carefully, nestling into the crook of her arms. Y/N hugged them tightly, her eyes closing as she breathed in the comforting scent of her children.

“I’ve missed you both so much,” she whispered, kissing the tops of their heads.

“We missed you too, Mama,” Edward said, his voice muffled against her nightgown.

Anthony watched the scene, his heart swelling with a mix of emotions. He climbed into the bed as well, wrapping his arms around his family. They all cuddled together, the warmth of their closeness driving away the chill of Y/N’s illness.

The day was spent in a cocoon of love and comfort. They read stories, played quiet games, and simply enjoyed being in each other’s presence. The twins were careful to be gentle, their usual energy subdued by the understanding that their mother needed to rest.

As the afternoon turned into evening, Y/N’s strength began to wane, but the happiness of having her family close gave her a renewed sense of hope and determination. She looked up at Anthony, her eyes filled with gratitude.

“Thank you, my love,” she said softly. “I needed this.”

Anthony kissed her forehead, his voice tender. “Anything for you, my dear. And for our children.”

As they sat together in the fading light of the day, Y/N turned to Anthony, her eyes shining with gratitude. “You are my rock, Anthony. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Anthony took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. "And you are my heart, Y/N. As long as you need me, I will always be here, by your side."

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