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bandgie · 4 months

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Cat and Mouse

mdni18+ | fem!reader, pussy eating, teeth use, manipulation (from both parties), fuckboy!wooyoung, cum eating (m!), semi-public oral

2.3k words

You never understood why people don't like fuck boys.

Okay, that's an overstatement. You do know why. They lie, they cheat, and they make pretty little promises in hopes of getting in your pants. They think with the head between their legs and drool at the sight of new pussy. Truly, they were just men who peaked in high school.

They're pathetic, but easy.

A game is a game, and these types of men tend to forget it's multiplayer. All you have to do is act a little clueless, pretend to be happy to see them, and their absolute favorite, be innocent. Be the perfect little prey they think you are and they'll do anything for a chance.

It really is easy.

It's how you managed to snag a date with Wooyoung. He had been asking for weeks since the semester started. Walking you to class, to your car, seeming like a nice boy on the outside, but you know better. You've seen the subtle winks to his friends, the predatory gaze on your body. As much as you would have loved to give it up on the first day, you want to at least have some of a good time and not fucked like a fleshlight.

You can still picture the grin on his face, the way the mole under his eye shifted with his smile. Well, you don't have to imagine it. He's giving you like sly look now, one hand on the wheel while he's turned to you. The car's been in park for a while. Wooyoung claimed he needed a minute to sit after a nice dinner. It's been way past a minute, however, and the conversation took a bit of a sexual turn.

"I dunno," you shyly rub your hands together. "I don't think I'll be any good."

Wooyoung is patient though, more than you would have thought. "That's okay. We don't even have to do anything. I would just love to keep hanging out with you." I would love to put my dick in your pussy, is what he's really saying, but at least he's being nice about it. "I won't do anything you're not comfortable with."

You nod, pretending to think about what you want to do. "It's just you're so nice and so good-looking. I don't want you to think anything bad of me." Wooyoung is already shaking his head before you can finish, "I would never think of you differently. If you're attracted to somebody, and they're attracted to you, there's nothing wrong with acting on it. But don't feel like you have to. I can talk with you just like this and feel just as happy."

Definitely a smooth talker. You can't help but think about how many hearts he's broken with those lies. "You promise?"

"Of course," but his fox smile gives it away. "You're cool. I haven't felt this comfortable on a date like this before." It's not a shock he's feeling that way. You've perfected your lines and your bashful looks to get him right where he is. The way your dress clings to your body only helps. It's short enough to imagine bending you over the hood of the car and low-cut enough for Wooyoung to keep glancing down at your chest. The dress isn't enough to scream slut! but enough for curious eyes to wander.

"Thank you," you giggle. "I don't think anyone's told me that before." Your admission makes Wooyoung smile. A genuine look of satisfaction as if it's his heart that swells instead of his cock. He tilts his head to the side. A strand of hair falls over his forehead from the movement. He's cute, hot with his hair slicked back. It's easy to fall under his spell and if you're not careful, you might slip.

But you're well versed with men like him.

You let him lean close, you let his hand gently cup the side of your face. You're fully expecting teeth and tongue, but Wooyoung pauses just before your lips make contact. His dark eyes glance to yours, waiting.

You nod.

The kiss is not what you were expecting from him. It's not hungry not is it demanding. It's gentle, it's sweet, and it's comfortable. You easily slide against his lips, your hand grabbing onto his wrist and bringing him closer. He tastes slightly like the meat he ordered earlier. It makes you smile into the kiss and you feel him smile back.

You're the one to pull away first. Your lips disconnect with a soft smack and you look into his eyes. "Was that okay?" His body slightly shivers, and he nods while chuckling. "Yes. That was better than okay." You laugh with him, noticing how his hand drops to the exposed part of your thigh to gently rub your skin.

Only a second of silence passes before Wooyoung asks, "Can we do something a little more?" Then he quickly adds, "If not I totally understand." You have to bite back a smile, you've never met a fuckboy so honest yet deceiving at the same time.

"I dunno, Wooyoung," you play with his hand that's on your lap. "I think hookups are...unfair." This makes him raise an eyebrow, "Unfair? I don't think I've heard that one before. Can I ask why?"

"Like..." you pretend to think of your rehearsed words. "The girl doesn't really get to...finish. You know what I mean?" Judging from the shocked and slightly offended look on Wooyoung's face, you think you have him. "I'm not saying you can't, but I know it's a thing that guys have a hard time making the girl feel good."

Wooyoung is silent for a minute. You can't tell what he's thinking and you begin to think that maybe he took it personally. You're preparing for the worst when he lays his seat all the way down.

"What are doing?"

"Gonna prove you wrong," he simply says. "Come on, right here." Wooyoung points to his face, You narrow your eyes, unsure of what he's asking. "You want me to keep kissing you like that?"

"Nooo," he laughs and shakes his head. "Sit on it." You sputter a choked laugh. This wasn't quite what you had in mind. You thought he'd tell you that he was different, that he would flick your clit while bouncing you on his lap. Just some effort to make you cum, not have a face-sitting session.

Not what you were expecting, but you're already eager to lift your dress.

You play with the hem of your clothes, "Right now?" He nods, licking his lips. "Yep. It's already late and hardly anyone knows this place. I got tinted windows too. You don't have to worry too much, pretty."

Shit, he's good. He took you to a low-key place, paid for dinner, kissed you almost passionately, and gave you an offer you couldn't refuse. Perhaps this mouse has more tricks than you bargained for.

"O-okay," you try to keep your innocent façade. "Just, let me know if you can't breathe." Wooyoung lets out a last laugh and helps you crawl to him. It's difficult to not step on his limbs, but you manage to hobble over his shoulders. One knee is bent on the headrest just next to his head. Your other knee is planted on the backseat, keeping you hovering above Wooyoung's face. You've perched your arms on the headrest of the back seat, facing the rear window and arching your back.

It's not the most ideal position, but you have to give Wooyoung some credit. It's doable at the very least.

Wooyoung does the honor of keeping your dress lifted. His eyes lock at your clothed core, plain underwear with the only decoration being a small wet spot where your entrance is.

"Someone got a little excited, huh?" He giggles at himself. "Do you care about your underwear getting a little more wet?"

And he's a tease? You think you're in over your head with this one. "It's okay." You feel Wooyoung nod under you and soon feel a hot muscle over your clit.

Granted, it's not as hot compared to if he took your underwear off, but it still makes you jump. Wooyoung keeps his tongue flat while moving it in gentle circles. You rock your hips against his mouth, following his muscle.

You gasp at the feel of something hard. It takes a second for your brain to register his teeth running against your slit. Your underwear makes the perfect barrier for the sensation to be wonderfully strange. You let out a moan and grind on his face. His nose bumps the peak of your clit every time you move up and he seems to be completely okay being ambushed in your cunt.

"Mmf! Like it that much?" Wooyoung pulls away just enough to speak. You grind a little more before answering, "I dunno yet."

That spurs him on. Wooyoung bunches your dress in one fist and uses his free hand to move your underwear to the side. You can't tell, but he can see how messy your pussy is. Your clit is fat, wet with need, and begging for Wooyoung to directly touch it. It makes something in him primal, aching for your raw taste on his tastebuds.

His tongue swipes over your cunt, letting your juices soak his muscle. You whine at the feeling of him and still your hips. Wooyoung's thumb hooks over your underwear so the rest of his fingers splay over your thigh. He squeezes and kneads your flesh, strangely adding to the pleasure of him tasting you.

The further he digs his digits, the more you moan. It's a trick you didn't even know existed and Wooyoung is using your surprise to his advantage.

His kitten lick feels good alone, but your toes curl at the feeling of him sucking. Wooyoung has your nub in his mouth with his tongue rolling against it. You squeal and your hips buck so roughly that your pussy pops from his mouth with a wet sound.

"Damn," he sounds raspy. "Didn't think you'd have such a sensitive pussy." Wooyoung strains his neck to reach up, latching onto your cunt once more. You whimper and carefully place your weight back on, trying your best not to move this time.

"I just," you let out a moan when he sucks it again. "It's just been a while."

Which is a lie. Well, somewhat. You got eaten out not that long ago, but not this good. Not in a position where you could get caught, where he adds the tiniest bit of pain to add to the pleasure. Everything's an additional layer of arousal that you didn't think you needed.

Wooyoung says something but it sounds like muffles in your cunt. You hone in on sliding against his face, making sure his nose and chin bump your clit with every drag. Maybe you're going a little crazy on your first date, but there's no guarantee you'll get another chance like this. You might as well use it to your advantage.

Your orgasm slowly builds. You can feel the heat in your stomach and chest, making you whine louder and higher. Wooyoung groans with you, gripping your waist and thigh harder as you suffocate him. You hang your head to look down at him, but all you can see is the top of his hair. Even if you can't see him devouring your cunt, the sight makes you clench. A reminder about how terribly empty you are.

As if knowing, Wooyoung dips his tongue until it catches your entrance. He buries it in you, uncaring how tight your pussy squeezes him and leaks. You whimper, unmoving so Wooyoung can thrust his tongue deep inside.

"Fuck. If you keep doing that I'll cum."

You nearly scream when he doesn't stop. He goes faster, so hard that you can hear the lewd noises vibrating in the car. He gulps down your essence, he moans into your pulsing cunt. Never have you met such an eager fuckboy. One who goes above and beyond without getting his dick wet once.

It's almost cute, but you don't dwell on it too much when you finally tip over. Your walls clench Wooyoung's tongue, creaming so much that it paints his lips white. He fucks you through it as he manages to slide his tongue out and across your clit.

You rest your cheek against the cushion of the backseat. Normally, guys are eager to push you off and shove their dicks in, but not Wooyoung. He eats you steadily and overwhelmingly. You're the one prying yourself from his mouth, chuckling at his protests and pleas for you to take back your seat.

Your back aches from being arched and your legs scream as you wobbly sit back on the passenger side. Wooyoung shifts his seat up while swiping his lips with his thumb. He collects the last bits of cream and pops it back into his mouth.

By far the weirdest fuckboy you've encountered, but you're not complaining. You got to cum good, got to ride out your high, and got a meal paid for. You're expecting him to ask for a blowjob, but he twists the keys into the ignition and it roars to life.

"Oh," you hadn't meant to say it out loud, but Wooyoung hears you. He turns his head to you, lips shining with your cum. "What? I'm taking you home right?"

You blink at him, completely thrown for a loop. It takes a few awkward seconds before you answer, "Yeah. Sounds good."

You're starting to think maybe he came his pants and is too shy to do anything else, but you catch the smirk as he turns back to the front windshield and puts the car in reverse.

It then occurs to you that maybe you weren't the cat after all.

#smut #ateez smut #ateez #ateez fanfic #atz wooyoung #atz smut #ateez wooyoung #wooyoung #wooyoung ateez #wooyoung smut #jung wooyoung

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spread4marvel · 2 months

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Little Mouse

so this was a requestttt (THANK U SM FOR THE REQUEST ILY SM) and this is a Loki x Maid reader againnn and basically Loki play a little cat and mouse game with the reader☺️

As you saw him from across the room and locked eyes, you knew you were obsessed. Unfortunately, you didn’t know how to pursue him from your position. Luckily for you, he could read you easily, more so than you thought.

TW: SMUTTTT, dirty thoughts, thigh riding, praise kink, hand necklaces😓, slightly insecure reader… I think that’s it’s I hope u enjoyed😽

From the first time you saw him, you were hooked.

Across the room, you stood with the other maids. With pride and your chin up as the other maids gossiped and gawked at men they knew they could never obtain together. You scoffed to yourself, how ignorant. You never understood why they would conspire fake delusions over palace men… until you saw him.

Your eyes locked onto Loki sitting at the Royal table. You couldn’t pull yourself away from him, the rest of the world fading as you admired from afar. Norns… he’s absolutely ravishing… You thought to yourself as he chuckled at his brothers foolishness. You got lost in a train of thought as you bore into him. Gods he must be heavenly. You continued to think, suddenly Loki’s eyes shot to yours. The two of your stares connecting as a smirk spread across his face deliciously. Unbeknownst to you, he could practically hear your thoughts from across the room screaming at him.

You blushed as he smirked at you, immediately darting your gaze to the ground. Your flushed face making him chuckle darkly to himself as he hummed. Fuck… Did he see me? You thought to yourself, he tried to ignore your thoughts but you intrigued him oh so dearly that he continued to bore at you. Finding himself captivated by your beauty, he immediately recognized you as his mother’s personal maid. He tucked that information back in his mind but he didn’t return to the conversation…

You finally looked back to see his piercing gaze still well onto your skin, he smirked as you didn’t look away. Curling his fingers in a beckoning motion, persuading you to come to the table. You’re sure this is more of a command than a wish. You find your feet moving before you can stop them as you make your way over to where he was sitting at the table. The conversation luckily didn’t stop as you arrived, almost as if you and Loki were invisible. “Yes your highness?” You inquired, your voice slightly faltering due to your racing heart beat.

He gave you his normal cheshire cat smile before asking you a question. “How come i’ve never seen you around here, little mouse?” He asks, you furrow your brow slightly. His voice is deep and velvety. You could practically drowned in it. “U-uhh well i’m usually tending to Frigga during my days, I’ve never attended this type of a public event before.” You responded, slightly stammering before composing yourself to answer. He hums and silence falls over the two of you before he hits you with a low and sultry command.

“You wouldn’t mind feeding me those grapes would you, Darling?” He asked with a low purr trickling off his voice, you felt a wave of arousal wash over you by how he spoke and the degree of his voice in that moment alone. Gods even his voice can make me wet, I need him to talk me through it. You thought, dirty fantasies running through your mind as you nodded and picked up the grapes that nobody else seemed to be eating.

“P-please just tap me when you want one, i’ll stand here for now.” You said, feeding him the first grape. He kept the process slow. He would tap you and then slowly tilt his head upwards, but never as high as you needed. Every single time he would give you no choice but to tilt his head up, which made your heart flutter every single time. Then you would pick the perfect grape off the stem you held and drop it into his mouth, in which every time he would give you a playful wink. And after every grape he would make a low hum, and then thank you.

Every. Single. Time.

Eventually the night had came to its end, and your flushed face was evident, the pool between your thighs starting to become unbearable, and it seems Frigga has noticed you taking a liking to Loki. As you were helping the other maids clean off the table and Loki was long gone. Frigga came up to you. “My dear, I believe these lovely ladies have the job covered. Go wash up, i’ll see you prompt and prim tomorrow.”

You nodded, thanking her silently as you slipped away in the silent corridors. The ache between your thighs had yet to vanish and it made itself well known. Steadily you made your way to your maidens chambers.

Carefully you peeled the articles of your uniform, running the warm bath water as you did so. You eased into the water, humming as the warmth hit your messy inner thighs. “Mm.. Loki…” You mumbled to yourself, eyes closed in anticipated pleasure as your fingers trail to your pussy. Slowly, you insert a finger. Swirling it in your wet cunt. You decided it’s not enough, adding another and repeating the action.

“N-norns… Loki!” You cry, as if he would barge into your chambers and take you right there. A couple more swirls and you’re close. You pump your fingers in and out of yourself imagining he was taking you. Filthy girl. You flinch, eyes darting open at that echoing voice in your mind. It sounded like Loki. You take a deep breath, climbing out the bathtub. Deciding to ignore the dull ache that still lingers and prepare yourself for bed.

______________________________________

A few days had past since you and Lokis encounter at the ball and as if your pride had been chunked out the window with the lewd thoughts running through your mind, he had you in a chock hold badly. Later that day, you had been called into Friggas chambers for she wanted a ‘word’ with you. You were practically scared to death as you entered, your heart trembling in anticipation and fear.

As you entered you immediately caught a wiff of him. Pine and spearmint infiltrated your nostrils as you entered. A pleasant surprise on your part as you noticed Loki deliciously manspread sitting down whilst Frigga stood somewhat beside him looking at you. Your eyes scanned over his body with a subtle quickness, his bulge catching your eye. Dirty thoughts seemed to run through you immediately as he shot you a knowing look.

Norns he looks so good like that, spread like that. Gods I can already feel myself getting wet, he knows just what he’s doing i’m sure. As your brain had a field day, a deep chuckle rumbled from Lokis chest. Pulling you away from your fantasies back to reality as Frigga shot him a look before clearing her throat. “Dearest (Y/N), a personal request has been brought to my attention. Therefore, I will be transferring your services to Prince Loki.”

At first a chord played on your heart, Frigga had always been a kind superior and an overall accepting person plus you had worked for her for decades so naturally you were a little disappointed. But when your gaze flicked over to his piercing bluish-greenish eyes all your doubt seem to evaporate. You nodded and bowed your head to her. “I understand your highness, it was a pleasure working under you. You still have my services I assure you.”

You promised, she threw you a gentle smile before Loki stood, signaling the ending of this little arrangement. “I can assure you that you’ll have a wonderful time with me, darling.” Loki purred to you, your face flushed once more. It’s impossible not to. You thought to yourself. It was almost too easy for him. He offered you his arm and you took it with ease as he walked you to his personal chambers.

_____________________________________

You had been serving Loki for a few weeks now and he was always sure to never overwork you. Your commands were either really important or a way to tease you, unfortunately you could never reach an in between. You had been out most of the day tending to important tasks all over the palace for the upcoming party celebrating Thors return, naturally Loki had to attend a meeting due to his Brothers success but he was back in his chambers much before you.

As you entered, it was late in the evening. Not terribly but the sun had began its setting. You opened the door to his chambers and was met with the pleasant sight of Loki, manspread like how he was moons ago, reading a book in his Asgardian armor suit. He knew how much you loved him in that armor. It drove you crazy every time you saw it. The way it hung on to his skin, you practically envied it for that reason.

Curse that wicked leather. He looks ethereal like this. He looks perfect, like always. Norns he’s so ravishing. I need that silver tongue deep inside me. I need his thigh pressed against me. You thought as you closed the door behind you, he finally looked up from his book and you can tell the meeting hadn’t gone too well for him. “Evening darling, can you come here for a second?” He asked, carefully closing his book and placing it in the ground next to the chair that he was spread in.

“Yes my prince?” You responded as you stood in front of him, those bedroom eyes glaring at you, swallowing you whole. You couldn’t even bare words to how he looked right now, in this very second. Looking up at you while he sat like that. “I’m growing sick of this little game we play darling, haven’t you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Prince Loki.”

“Liar.”

His tone dropped and rumbled at the simple word, like a growl. You shifted as you stood before him, pressing your thighs together as subtle as possible while trying to relieve the ache that had deepened itself between your thighs. Of course Loki caught the simple action.

“Oh you enjoy that…”

He noticed, his voice in the same tone, the same tone that could bring you to your knees. Fuck. Suddenly his hands reached from behind you and brought you onto his thigh. The same thick thigh that you had fantasized about earlier. “L-Loki!” You moaned out as his thigh was pressed into your soaking panties, it took everything in you not to start riding the meat of his leg right then.

“Oh darling what’s wrong? I thought you needed my thigh pressed against you? I thought I looked so good spread like this? You thought so yourself, my dear.” Your eyes widened as he recited your thoughts, your heart pace racing and breath quickening but mainly not even in fear more so in the arousal that seemed to be paining you at the moment.

No no that’s impossible, he c-can’t know… Your mind ran with thoughts until you felt Loki rock his thigh and bring you back to reality with a whimper and deep moan from yourself. “G-gods…” you mumbled. Unable to truly think of anything else besides how good it felt on your clothed cunt. “Oh yes little mouse, it’s very possible.” He hummed, his signature sly smirk playing off his lips.

“Answer me this pet, did you touch yourself after our first encounter in that ballroom?” He asked, you shot up to meet his gaze. The connection of his armor on your pussy intoxicating. Gods yes. You thought, the lump in your throat forbidding you from responding. His gaze deepened and he rocked his thigh once more, pulling another wanton moan from you.

“Say it.” He demanded of you, you whimpered once more without a response and suddenly with a snap your panties were gone and another rock came from his thigh. The moan even louder than before now at the raw connection.

“Say it!” You ignored his demand once more. “I-I’m close…!” You responded instead, he huffed and growled. With a quickness he moved from the chair, pulling you with him and off of his thigh as he pressed you against the wall. His hand wrapped around your throat just how you imagined many times but not actually choking you just applying slight pressure as he demanded you one last time.

“Say it.”

“Y-Yes!” You shouted, not terribly loud of course but either way Loki had put a silencing charm long before this encounter. His once dark eyes and unpleased scowl turning into a smirk. “Keep going, pet. Tell me how much you want it, tell me all of those dirty thoughts from your innocent lips. I wish to hear how I take you every single time you have thought about it.”

You whimpered from his words, realizing this is just like the latest fantasy you had thought out the other night, but you figured that was the point. A long silence falls over the two of you as you try to gain the confidence to confess your thoughts. You take a deep breath before telling him. “W-well sometimes it’s with your thighs…” You start, he nods along, gripping your neck slight harder.

“Go on.” He encourages, more of a command but you nod and continue. “O-others with just your voice. S-some you watch me touch myself a-and talk me through it…” You trail off, he groans as your desires seem to spill from your lips. You realized his hardness is pressed into you, causing a slight whimper to pull from your lips. “Keep going, pet.” He demands, he’s breathless, breathing heavily as you don’t waste anytime to continue.

“L-lots of times it’s with your tongue… many with your glorious cock… O-once or twice happen in public… one more secretive, one where y-you take me in front of everybody…” You say, your face flushed as you do embarrassed and aroused at the situation. He released a deep hum at your last word. “Oh I do remember that one…” He adds on while snaking his thigh back between your legs, making another wave of arousal wash over you as your reminded of the ache growing between your thighs. You moan out at the rebuilt connection.

“A-and once in the royal baths… F-finally m-many different times on your throne…” You finish, he groans once more, rocking his thigh and pressing deeper into you causing you to cry out. “L-Loki!!” You moan, he growls in response. Addicted to the way your voice hits him like a melody. Deciding he wants to hear more of your pretty sounds he began to rock you back and forth on his thigh. Finally releasing your neck.

Your arousal coated his Asgardian armor as you slid up and down on his thick leg. Moaning and whimpering as you took his initiative and rode his thigh. You’re achingly close, Loki can feel it. “You’re going to cum on my thigh, little mouse, and then i’m going to draw those pretty noises from you for as long as I see fit.” He declared his voice dripping with lustful need, and as if you follow suit, you’re instantly cumming.

You make a mess of his armor as you come down from your high. Panting and breathing heavily. He picks you up and easily carries you back over to the chair from earlier, the simple action of that making your cunt jump with anticipation. Slowly, you watch him fall to his knees in front of you. A god, a prince, on his knees for you. He hoists one of your legs over his shoulder, exposing your arousal to him.

“You look so gorgeous like this my dear, I’m going to make you crave my tongue. I assure you.” He promises, you let out a whine as his breath ghosted over your needy cunt. “P-please loki…” You beg, he hums and slightly brushes his nose against your arousal. “Oh you’re so wet for me darling, is this all for me little mouse?” He asked while licking a stripe up your pussy, forbidding you to answer as you cried out. Your hands dart to his ravenous locks. Gods yes… you thought, unable to truly respond. He hummed in return.

“Sprawled for me like this, you are absolutely heaven-sent, my dear. The perfect meal I intend to feast on…” He trailed off, his breath ghosting over your cunt once more. He observed your reactions to his words, watching how you threw back your head and whimpered or moaned to his words. He smirked as you did just that, moaning as you gripped his hair harder. He watched your pussy drip for him. You were getting sick of the teasing. “Oh you like that pet? You like to hear me tell you how pretty you look like this? Your body is practically begging me to make you cum. I’m sure you’ll do the same sooner than later.” He purred out, his voice dropping to that tone that you adore so much. You whine again.

“P-please Loki I need you.” You beg, he smirks and he returns his attention back to your aching cunt. “Very well, my dear.” He licks one more stripe up your pussy and you cry out again as he does. Your fingers grip his raven-like locks harder which seemed to challenge him as he began to suck on your cunt. There was no getting around the fact that Loki knew how to put his tongue to work. Your orgasm springs faster than you realize as in a matter of seconds you cum all over his mouth. Eagerly he licks up all of your discharge. Once he has he lifts his head from your thighs with a teasing grin.

You try to scoff but unfortunately find yourself too breathless to accomplish it. His shit eating grin making you roll your eyes. “D-don’t even…” You warn, he smirks but doesn’t respond. Returning to his duties as he buries his face back into your cunt.

Six. He makes you cum six more times after that.

Each orgasm more breathtaking than the last. Your brain is practically dumb-fucked when he lifts his face after the seventh orgasm. He’s panting and his hair is disheveled, your own cum smeared around his lips. “Look at me pet…” He mumbles breathlessly, you look at him to finally see his face. It’s as if your previous orgasm hadn’t happened by the way your pussy grows wet again. He looks absolutely ethereal You thought, he took another breath. “I want you to watch as I bring you to ecstasy this time, little mouse.” He stated, you nodded aimlessly, your breathing shallow and unable to properly respond.

He began his final attack on your cunt. Much like the first orgasm, he started with one longing stripe. This time, he added his fingers. With every draw of his tongue he would pump two thick slender fingers into you. The rhythmic pace making you see stars, you kept your eyes on him even as you moaned and whimpered, unable to pull yourself away. With another pump of his fingers you orgasmed. Coating his fingers and tongue with your juices. He lifted his head for the last time, licking his lips deliciously.

When you finally come down from your high, your mind runs with insecure thoughts. Overthinking seemed to swallow you whole. It’s over now… am I going to get transferred? What if I get sent to the chambers… Does he even like me or is it all a game? I didn’t even do anything for him that whole time… Loki frowns at your thoughts, snaking his way up your body to cup your cheek in his hands. “Hey, hey, it’s not like that… I assure you, calm down my dear please. Look at me.” He demands, you make eye contact with him. His brows are slightly furrowed and he’s looking into you longingly.

“My dear, do you know how good it felt to even touch you like that? Do you know how long i’ve waited to make you feel that good?” He asked you, you furrowed your brows slightly, not believing him fully. “Tell me.” You demanded, he smirked slightly, determined to voice how much you meant. “Darling I would move mountains and part seas to feel you come undone on my tongue. I would build worlds to tear them down and walk through the destruction just to hear those little noises you make one last time. I would bring kingdoms to your feet just to feel you next to me when I wake up in the mornings. I promise you, I will make us work.”

He said, you nodded along finally believing the words he spoke has he tilted your head upwards and captured you in a chaste kiss. You whimpered into it slightly as his tongue dominated yours. Finally he pulled away just to whisper in your ear.

“But i’m still not done with you, little mouse.”

——————————————————————

Sorry if this isn’t exactly the request you were imagining but I hope you enjoyed it and send me more! Sorry it took so long I have a lot of things goin on rn😭😭💗

@izka8520 @kathren1sky-blog

#marvel #mcu #loki #loki x reader #loki x y/n #loki smut #loki x you #loki laufeyson #marvel smut #smut #Asgard #Loki smut #Request

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 months

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1968 [Chapter 7: Apollo, God Of Music]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 8.7k

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“My uncle, he is a doctor in Zabrze,” Ludwika says, red Yardley lips, Camel cigarette. No one cares if she smokes; she’s not campaigning to be the next first lady. Fosco is puffing on a cigar. Mimi sips drowsily at her Gimlet; you could use a few shots, but you’re making do with a Pink Squirrel, something sweet and feminine and without any bite. “So I go to him and he gives me a bottle of chlordiazepoxide.”

“Oh, Librium,” Mimi says, perking up.

Ludwika waves her hand dismissively; cigarette smoke wafts through the air. “Whatever. The next day I have my audition. A tiny man who thinks he’s God. And I give it a real shot, I try my best, I’m nice, I’m charming, but he doesn’t like me. He says my teeth are too big, like a mouse’s. This is very rude. I did not comment on his fidgety little rat hands. But okay, no problem, I have a plan. No one will stop me from getting out of Poland.”

“You drugged him?” you ask, incredulous, grinning.

“You are a criminal,” Fosco tells Ludwika. “I will call J. Edgar Hoover, you should not be so close to positions of power.”

“Listen, listen,” Ludwika insists. “Here is what I do. I thank him very much for his consideration, and then as I leave I drop my purse and things go everywhere. I filled it before I left my apartment, of course. Anything I could find, empty lipstick tubes and perfume bottles, old makeup compacts with broken mirrors, coins, hair pins, tissues, pens, gum, Krówki candies, it is an avalanche. And when he bends down to help me pick up the mess—I have to encourage him, ‘oh sir won’t you grab that, I am just a stupid girl in a very short dress,’ you understand—I put the pills in his tea.”

“How many pills?” you ask.

“I don’t know. You think I had time to count? Maybe seven.”

“Seven?!” Mimi exclaims, and you take this to mean it was a generous dose.

“What? He did not die,” Ludwika says. “I wait two days and then I go back to his office. And it is so strange, can you believe it, he does not remember my audition! So I remind him that he thought I would be perfect for the ad he is shooting in Paris. He keeps squinting at me and saying ‘are you sure, are you sure?!’ Of course I’m sure! A week later, I am standing under the Eiffel Tower with a bottle of Coca-Cola. And then I book a job in London, and then another in New York City, and one of my new model friends sets me up on a blind date with Otto. Lunch in Astoria at a horrible Greek restaurant. Who wants to eat pie made out of spinach?! Now I am here with you people, and the journalists love when I smile for them with my big mouse teeth.”

All four of you laugh at your table, an elite club, the ones who married in. It’s Alicent’s 60th birthday, and the ballroom of the Texas State Hotel in downtown Houston is raucous with clinking glasses and chatter and music and the shutter clicks of photographers. The DJ is playing Fun, Fun, Fun by the Beach Boys. Alicent is dancing with Helaena and the children, and it’s the happiest you can ever remember seeing her. Otto, Aemond, and Sargent Shriver are deep in conversation by the bar, furrowed brows and Old Fashioneds, today’s newspapers and tomorrow’s itinerary. Criston is standing with the men but watching Alicent, face wistful, silver streaks in his jet black hair, and it occurs to you that they must have grown up together: Alicent a 19-year-old bride and Criston her husband’s fledgling bodyguard, the person closest to her age in the household, near and trusted and forbidden, orbiting adolescent twins like Artemis and Apollo. You keep looking around for Aegon. No one else seems aware that he’s gone.

“Otto thought he died and went to heaven when he found you,” you tell Ludwika. “His Eastern Bloc defector princess.”

“He is going to bring my mother to the States. I would be anything he wanted me to be. I would be a model, or a housewife, or a nurse. I would be Bigfoot! But this…” Ludwika gestures broadly: to the ballroom, the city, the latest stop on the campaign trail. “It is not so bad. I never expected to serve the Polish people so far from home. You know how you stop communism? You show the world that capitalism can do more for them. There must be a path to a better life, wars must be ended, injustices must be dealt with. Aemond will do that.” She grins at you, exhaling smoke through her nostrils. “You will help him.”

You reply a bit wryly: “It’s an honor.”

“We are like four legs of a table,” Fosco observes. He points at Ludwika with his smoldering cigar. “You are a Slav fleeing the Russians. My family has ancient titles in Italy and yet no castles, no land, we are essentially homeless. Mimi’s father is a third-generation oil tycoon from Pennsylvania. And she was supposed to fix Aegon.”

“I don’t think I succeeded,” Mimi confesses.

“And then when it was time for Aemond to get married…” Fosco turns to Mimi. “Do you remember? What an ordeal. The discussions went on and on and on. She must be smart, she must be sinless, she should be from a self-made family, a real rags-to-riches story of the American Dream.”

“Right.” Mimi nods groggily, reminiscing. “And from the South.”

“Yes! But not the Deep South. No, no. Someplace Aemond could actually win. Texas, Tennessee, North Carolina. Or Florida, of course.” Now Fosco notices how you’re looking at him, because you’ve never heard this before. He quickly pivots. “But the weekend Aemond met you, it was settled. Nobody could compare.”

His tone is odd; it suggests backstories, history, mythology. Ludwika appears to be just as intrigued as you are, taking a drag off her Camel, her eyes narrowing until they are thin and catlike. You ask: “Who else was being considered?”

“No one,” Fosco answers—too quickly—and he and Mimi exchange an uneasy glance.

What did Aemond and I talk about the night we met? you think dizzily. In those first hours, minutes, thirty seconds? Where I’m from. What I was studying.

Fosco, a true Italian, then attempts to deflect by flirting. He makes emphatic, passionate motions with his hands. “You were just so captivating, so clever…”

“And young enough that Aemond could easily beat Aegon’s record of five children,” Mimi adds. Fosco clears his throat and glares at her. Mimi realizes what she’s said and gazes forlornly down into her Gimlet, mortified, groaning softly. You’ve had one c-section already, and no living son to show for it. At most, you might be able to give Aemond two or three more children; and you don’t even want them. You want Ari back. You want to touch him, to hold him, even if only for a moment, even if only once.

“It’s fine,” you try to reassure Mimi, but everyone can tell it’s not.

Ludwika breaks the tension. “You do not want twenty kids anyway. Your uterus will fall out onto the floor.” And you’re so caught off-guard that all you can do is smile at her from across the table, knowing, appreciative. It’s a strange thing to be grateful for.

“She’s right,” Mimi says mournfully. “They had to sew mine back in.”

Fosco pleads: “Stop, stop, I will need a lobotomy.”

Mimi slurps on her Gimlet. “It’s sad. I used to love sex.”

“Mimi, please,” Fosco says, wincing, holding up his palms. “You are like my sister. I prefer to think you are the Virgin Mary.”

Ludwika sighs dramatically and looks to where Otto stands on the other side of the ballroom. “I used to love sex too.”

Now you’re all howling again, rocking back in your chairs. The DJ is playing Go Where You Wanna Go by the Mamas and the Papas. Cass Elliot is the real talent in that group and everybody knows it, but of course any mention of her must be dutifully accompanied by: If only she was more beautiful. If only she could lose weight and find a husband.

“I think you like it, yes?” Ludwika says to you like a dare, puffing on a fresh Camel, red lipstick staining the white paper, blood on sheets. She combs her manicured fingernails though her voluminous blonde hair. “I could tell when I met you. You dress like Jackie Kennedy, but you are not such a statue. She belongs in a museum. I can imagine you at the Summer of Love.”

Fosco and Mimi shift uncomfortably. It’s not the sort of thing they would ever ask you. It’s too personal, too easily a segue into criticizing Aemond. It’s a usurpation of the natural order. Mimi guzzles her Gimlet and flags down a waiter to get another. Fosco takes off his glasses and cleans them with his skinny black necktie.

Sex. You think back to before you began to dread it. This is difficult, like trying to remember Greek words or British manners, which fork to use with each course. Memories from another lifetime come back in flashes: tangled up with your first boyfriend in his tiny dorm room bed, Aemond peeling off your still-dripping swimsuit on the floor of your hotel room during your honeymoon in Hawaii. You shrug and give Ludwika a nod, a brisk, ungenerous answer in the affirmative. “I always feel like I could keep going.”

Paradoxically, this does not end the conversation. Ludwika, Fosco, and Mimi study you with the same bewildered, gear-spinning curiosity. After a moment Ludwika says: “Not after you’ve finished, surely. I am half dead by the end if it’s good.”

“Finished?” you ask, puzzled. All three of them gawk at you, then at each other.

Aegon breezes into the ballroom wearing the Gibson guitar he bought in Manhattan, blue like the Caribbean or the Mediterranean or the crystalline waves off the coast of Hawaii, dotted with fish and sea turtles. Your eyes go to him immediately and stay there; you can feel the swirling warmth of blood in your cheeks. As Aegon passes the table, he squeezes your shoulder—brief, familiar, welcome—and Fosco raises his thick eyebrows. Mimi is too busy gulping down her Gimlet to notice. Ludwika chuckles, low and wicked, then slides a makeup compact out of her Prada purse to check her lipstick. Aegon goes to the DJ and yells something over the music. He’s fucked up already, you can tell, pills or booze or both.

Fosco stops a passing waiter. “Signore, did you hear who won the United Nations Handicap?”

The waiter stares blankly back at him. “What?”

“The turf race at Monmouth Park. I have $200 on Dr. Fager.”

The DJ abruptly cuts off the music. Aegon gives his guitar a few practice strums to make sure it’s in tune. He stumbles when he walks, he lurches and sways. His blonde hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead. He is woefully underdressed. His white shirt is half-unbuttoned, his denim shorts tattered; on his feet he wears black moccasins. There is a small gold hoop in each of his ears. Otto keeps telling Aegon to take them out, and every time Aegon ignores him.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” you hear him say to Alicent, and she presses a palm to her heart, her dark eyes wide and shining. “When I first heard this, it made me think of you.”

Otto and Sargent Shriver—the aspiring vice president—are glowering at Aegon. Aemond smirks as he nips at an Old Fashioned, amused; but he makes sharp, intentional eye contact with each of the three journalists. You will tell the right version of this story, he means. You will not print anything we wouldn’t want written, or my family will be your enemies for life.

As soon as Aegon plucks the first few chords, you recognize the song. “Oh, that’s really funny.”

“What?” Fosco asks.

“It’s Mama Tried.” You stand and begin clapping, then motion for the rest of the table to do the same. They obey without protest, though Mimi can’t seem to keep track of the beat. Aegon is beaming as he sings.

“The first thing I remember knowin’

Was a lonesome whistle blowin’

And a youngin’s dream of growin’ up to ride

On a freight train leavin’ town

Not knowin’ where I'm bound

And no one could change my mind but Mama tried.”

Cosmo sprints over from where he had been dancing with Alicent. He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the center of the floor. “Let’s go, let’s go!” he shouts impatiently.

“Call the FBI, I’m being kidnapped,” you say to Fosco and Ludwika as you let Cosmo drag you away.

“One and only rebel child

From a family meek and mild

My Mama seemed to know what lay in store

Despite all my Sunday learnin’

Towards the bad I kept on turnin’

‘Til Mama couldn’t hold me anymore.”

At the heart of the ballroom, Criston has swooped in to dance with Alicent, slow chaste circling. Helaena has floated off to the bar to chat with Otto, who keeps all his smiles for her. The children—Targaryens and Shrivers alike—are stomping and cheering and alternating between various moves: the Mashed Potato, the Twist, the Swim, the Loco-Motion, the Watusi, the Pony in pairs. Aemond whistles to a photographer and then nods to where you are holding onto one of Cosmo’s tiny hands as he spins around at lawless, breakneck speed. Of course this would make for a good image: you being maternal, you promising the American people that they will one day have not only a first lady but a first family.

“And I turned 21 in prison doin’ life without parole

No one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried

Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied

That leaves only me to blame ‘cause Mama tried.”

Cameras flash and the crowd keeps clapping. Cosmo giggles wildly each time he almost falls and you pull him back to his feet. There is a hand skimming around your waist, a listless powder blue dress your husband chose for you. Aemond replaces Cosmo as your dance partner. Aegon’s 10-year-old daughter Violeta spirits Cosmo away; Aemond reels you in close, one palm pressed into the small of your back, his left hand gripping your right. When you steal a glimpse of Aegon—still strumming, still singing—he doesn’t look so triumphant anymore. His grin is frozen and artificial. His drunk muddy eyes go steely.

“I need you to do something for me,” Aemond begins.

Of course, you once would have said. Anything. “What is it?”

“I want you to cut your hair like Jackie.”

You’re so stunned your feet stop moving. Aemond coaxes you back into the steps. “No.”

“Think about how much more versatile it would be. Jackie is an icon, she’s sophisticated, she’s mature.”

“If you wanted a wife in her thirties, you could have easily found one.”

“Honey—”

“I do everything you ask,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “Everything. I wear what you want me to. I go where you want me to. I spend ten hours a week getting my hair fixed. I keep it up, I keep it presentable. But I’m not chopping it off.”

“You’re never going to be able to wear it down anyway,” Aemond counters, so calm, so rational, like your skull is nothing but incendiary feminine mania. “If I win, you’ll be surrounded by staff and journalists for years. You can’t be photographed with it down, you look about eighteen. And like you live on a park bench in Haight-Ashbury.”

“It’s my hair. I’m keeping it.”

Aemond leans in and says, cold and severe: “You’re my wife, and everything that’s yours belongs to me.” Then he kisses your cheek as cameras click and strobe. “Think about it. Now smile.”

You force yourself to. The crowd applauds as Aegon finishes singing and flees the dancefloor. The DJ puts on Light My Fire by The Doors. You and Aemond leave in opposite directions: he goes to talk to Eunice Kennedy, who is hugging her 3-year-old son Anthony to her chest; you return to your table to drain the last of your Pink Squirrel. You need something stronger. You need to be alone so you can collect yourself.

Now Aegon has shed his guitar and is standing with his back to the wall, smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to some campaign staffer—she looks like a girl, but she’s probably your age—who is gazing up at him worshipfully. She says something that makes him laugh, his head thrown back, his eyes sparkling, and you feel like you’re waking up from your c-section all over again, your belly split open and rearranged, aching, stabbing, nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Ludwika asks, scrutinizing you.

“I’m perfect. I’ll be right back.”

You hurry out of the ballroom, the music fading behind you. You slip into one of the elevators in the lobby and hit the button for the top floor, where Aemond’s entourage has booked every suite. As the door is closing—as only a foot of space remains—Aegon shoves his way into the elevator, startling you. The door shuts behind him and you begin the ascent. Aegon slams the red emergency stop button, and the elevator jolts to a halt.

“What the hell are you doing—?!”

“What pissed you off, huh?” Aegon taunts, stepping closer. You back away from him until you run out of room; not because you want the distance, but because you’re afraid of what you’ll do if it’s gone.

“Nothing. I’m so great, I’ve never been better, can’t you tell?”

He’s so close you can feel the heat rising off his flushed skin, you can see the miles-deep murky blue of his irises, open water, shipwrecks and drowning. “You want all this to be over? You want the women with their big, adoring eyes and their short skirts to disappear? Grow up. Stop acting like a kid. Ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“You know.”

If you touch him now, you won’t be able to stop. There’s nowhere for us to go. There’s no way out of this family, this year, this world. “I don’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Aegon barks out a sardonic, cutting laugh. “Yeah, you’re definitely 23.”

“I thought you loved girls young enough to be your daughters. Isn’t that what gets you hard?”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“You’re sweating on me, you pig.”

“You want it so bad,” Aegon whispers as he presses himself against you, his ribs and thighs and hips, and you clutch for the walls of the elevator so you don’t reach for him instead. His left hand is tearing your hair out of its clips and pins so it falls free like you used to wear it; the right is all over your face, your jaw, your chin, your cheeks, touching you ceaselessly, ravenously, a blind man reading chronicles of braille. You’re trying to turn away from him, but he keeps pulling you back in. You’re breathing his rum and nicotine, you’re gasping in low, starved moans. It might be more intimate than kissing, than sex. He’s already felt your body. What he asks for now is your soul. His words are warm and aching as he murmurs through loosed strands of your hair: “Tell me you want it, please, just tell me, just tell me, tell me and it’s yours.”

Your palms land on his bare, damp chest, and Aegon starts unfastening the last buttons of his shirt. Instead, you push him away. Aegon lets you. He surrenders. “I can’t,” you choke out. You hit the red button, and the elevator resumes its rise to the top floor of the hotel.

“I’m really fucked up right now,” he says with sudden realization, swaying, staring down at his feet like he fears he’ll lose track of them.

“I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry. I think…I think I wanted that to happen differently.”

“I can’t trust you when you’re like this,” you say. I feel like I can’t trust anyone. Aegon looks up at you, his glassy eyes large and wounded. When the elevator door opens, you step out and he stays in, riding it back to the lobby.

In the suite you share with Aemond, you turn on the radio and spin the dial until you find a Loretta Lynn song. You go to the minibar cabinet and down two tiny glass bottles of vodka, something that won’t make you smell like too much of a drunk. You’ll have to fix your hair before you go back to the ballroom; you’ll have to change your dress. You’re painted with Aegon’s sweat and smoke. You can’t risk your husband noticing. You slide open the top drawer of the nightstand on your side of the bed and take out the card you keep there, the one that travels with you to each stop on the campaign trail. Loretta Lynn croons from the radio, wronged and wrathful.

“If you don’t wanna go to Fist City

You’d better detour around my town

‘Cause I’ll grab you by the hair of your head

And I’ll lift you off of the ground

I'm not a-sayin’ my baby is a saint, ‘cause he ain’t

And that he won’t cat around with a kitty

I’m here to tell you, gal, to lay off of my man

If you don’t wanna go to Fist City.”

You lie on the floor and peer up at the card in your hands: jubilant cartoon cow, festive party hat. You know exactly what’s written on the inside; it’s etched into your memory like myths passed down through millennia. Nevertheless, you read it again. The original message is still crossed out, and there’s an addendum below it in hasty black ink: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf!

You graze your thumbprint across Aegon’s scrawled signature. It’s smudged now. You do this a lot. One day his name might disappear altogether from the stark white parchment, from memory.

You close the card and hug it to your chest like a mother holds a living child.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s going on between you and Aegon?”

Alarmed, you meet Aemond’s gaze, two reflections in the vanity mirror. It’s the next morning, and you’re finishing up your makeup. Your dress and jacket are striped with black and white, your jewelry is silver, chains on your wrists and small tasteful hoops in your ears. “Nothing.” There is a lull you have to fill before it becomes suspicious. “He’s been helpful, he’s been…you know. Ever since Mount Sinai.”

Aemond adjusts his cerulean blue tie, studying himself in the mirror. He’s still wearing his leather eyepatch. Putting in his glass eye is the last thing he does before leaving the suite each day. “He was a comfort to you.”

“Well, he was there.”

“Because I told him to be,” Aemond says, resting his hands on the back of your chair. “Someone had to stay at Asteria to keep tabs on things, to let me know what you were up to. Aegon was the most expendable. Mimi and the kids make for good photos, but Aegon…he’s not especially endearing to the public. Those few years as the mayor of Trenton just about ruined him. I’d love to make him the attorney general if I win, but I don’t think the people would stomach it. Maybe if he behaves himself he can have the job for my second term.”

Eight years, you think, unable to fathom it. Eight years in a fishbowl. Eight years lying under Aemond as he tries to get me pregnant with children neither of us can love.

Aemond leans down to touch his lips to the side of your throat. “I’m glad you’re finally friends,” he says. “Aegon’s not all bad. But don’t let him get you in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t.” What did you and Aemond talk about before Ari died? What was this marriage built on? The senate, the presidency, civil rights, poverty, the Space Race, Vietnam, Greek mythology. Everything but each other. Dreams and ideals that would dwarf any mortal, would render them invisible.

“And watch out for any reporters from the Wall Street Journal. They’d kill for Nixon. If they can twist your words, they will.” He gets something from inside his own nightstand: the bloodstained komboskini from when he was shot in Palm Beach. He places it in your right hand, all 100 knots. “Give this to someone today. You know how to do it, you’ve always understood this part. Pick the right person, the right moment. Make sure there are plenty of cameras around.”

“Where am I going? Lunch with the mayor’s wife, that’s this afternoon, isn’t it?”

Aemond nods. “And a few other stops. Then we’re going to the Alamo in San Antonio tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He recoils, reaches for the left half of his face, kneads the scar tissue there as nerve pain radiates through his flesh all the way down to the bone. Once you felt such agonizing pity for him; now all you can think about is the matching scar you wear on your belly, hidden and shameful and a badge of your inadequacies: your body too weak to protect Ari, your mind too pliable to resist being ensnared by the crushing gravity of this man, this family, this life.

“How can I help?” you ask Aemond, because it’s the right thing to do. And randomly, you find yourself remembering the statue of Apollo in Helaena’s garden back at Asteria, the god of music, healing, truth, prophesy.

“You can’t.” Aemond goes to the bathroom to force his glass eye into its socket. You depart for the hotel lobby where Ludwika and Mimi, your companions for the day, are already waiting. Ludwika is wearing a rose pink Chanel skirt suit. Mimi—relatively functional, as she hasn’t been awake long enough to ruin herself yet—is dressed in delicate dove grey.

Alicent, Helaena, and the children are scheduled to tour a local high school and library; Criston, unsurprisingly, is going with them. Aemond, accompanied by Otto, has a series of meetings with local business leaders and politicians. Aegon and Fosco are headed to the Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center to promise maimed soldiers that Aemond will end the war that carved out bits of them and filled the voids with screaming nightmares. The limousine you share with Ludwika and Mimi ferries you first to the NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center. Mimi is entranced by the reflective surface of the helmets, coated with gold to divert blinding sunbeams; in turn, the astronauts are entranced by Ludwika, who leaves lipstick smudges on their cheeks when she kisses them. Next is a tea party hosted by Iola Faye Cure Welch, the mayoress of Houston since 1964 and the mother of five children. And as you nibble daintily at triangle-shaped sandwiches and trudge through small talk about flowers and furniture, you can’t stop smiling. You can’t stop thinking about how ridiculous Aegon would think this is if he was here.

The driver mentions one last stop, then coasts through midafternoon traffic towards the city center. You spend the ride touching up your hair and makeup. Ludwika offers to let you borrow her seduction-red lipstick; you politely decline. You step out of the limo and shield your eyes from the glare of the Texas sun. It takes your vision a moment to adjust, and then you realize where you are. The sign above the main entranceway reads: Houston Methodist Hospital. The air snags in your throat, your lungs are empty. Your hands tremble violently. The earth rocks beneath your white high heels. Mount Sinai is the last hospital you walked into, and you left with your son in a casket so small it could have been mistaken for a shoebox.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ludwika says, linking an arm through yours. Mimi, badly in need of a drink, is looking deflated and edgy. “We are almost done. And I have been promised a medium-rare steak for dinner! Mushrooms and onions too! The Statue of Liberty did not lie. This country is a golden door.”

“I can’t.”

Ludwika stares at you. “What?”

“I can’t, I can’t go in there.”

“What is she talking about?” Ludwika asks Mimi, who shakes her head, mystified.

“I can’t,” you whimper.

They’ve never seen you like this. They don’t know what to do. They listen to you, that is the hierarchy; but it’s too late to change course now. Journalists are approaching in a swarm. Nurses and doctors are gathering by the front door to welcome you.

He knew, you think, suddenly furious. Aemond knew, and he didn’t tell me.

“It will be okay,” Ludwika says, patting your back awkwardly. “We are here with you. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Oh,” Mimi breathes, understanding. She looks at you with sympathy that shimmers on the surface of the opaque, polluted lake of her mind. Then she catches Ludwika’s eye and skims a hand down her own slim midsection. Ari, she mouths, and Ludwika’s face falls.

The doctors and nurses are whistling and applauding; the journalists are snapping photos and scrounging for quotes. You feel your conditioning over the past two years taking over: straight posture, gentle smile, hands clasped demurely together. But you are locked away somewhere underneath.

“Do not worry,” Ludwika tells you softly. “We will talk, we will make it easier for you.” Then she and Mimi begin boisterously shaking hands and thanking people for coming as you make your way through the crowd of journalists and towards the main entrance of the hospital.

People are saying things to you, but you don’t really hear them. You reply with words you won’t remember afterwards. You nod frequently and go wherever you are led. Doctors are explaining new research into placenta previa and c-sections. Nurses are showing you a state-of-the-art NICU for premature infants. Someone is placing a baby in your arms, and you can’t do anything but accept it numbly. You can’t look down at it, you can’t allow yourself to feel the weight of some other woman’s child. You wear your smile like armor and let the photographers capture their snapshots, painting a frame around you, deciding where you live.

Then you are introduced to the parents, women in hospital beds and men perched in chairs beside them, just like the one where Aegon slept at Mount Sinai. They take your hands when you offer them and tell you about their small children, sick children, dying children. One patient just delivered twins. The first did not survive beyond a few hours, but the second is in an incubator and gaining strength. You recall the komboskini stained with Aemond’s blood and take it out of your purse, give it to the suffering mother, watch faith rise in her face like dawn over the Atlantic. But you won’t remember her. You cannot allow yourself to.

Outside as you, Ludwika, and Mimi are headed back to the limousine, the journalists make one last attempt to poach a headline-worthy quote. “Mrs. Targaryen! Mrs. Targaryen!” a young man shouts, clambering to the front of the horde and jabbing a microphone in your face. “I’m from the Houston Chronicle. Can you tell me how the senator feels about the failure of the most recent phase of the Tet Offensive?”

You are in a fog; you don’t feel real, this moment and this city don’t feel real, and so you cannot remember what Aemond would want you to say. “The Vietnam War has claimed too many lives already. We should have never sent our men there to die. But since that is done, the best thing we can do now is end the draft immediately and then withdrawal from the region as soon as the South Vietnamese are able to defend their own territory, which is their responsibility.” The journalist already considers this effort fruitful and begins to retreat, but you have one last point to make. Ludwika and Mimi watch you anxiously. “I lost someone in Vietnam. I met him when I was in college. He had a good heart, and he joined because he thought it was wrong for poor men to have to fight while rich kids got exemptions, and he was killed in action in October of 1965.”

“This was a friend?” the journalist asks, eyes glowing hungrily. Then he adds as an afterthought: “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“A boyfriend. Corporal Cameron Marino from Schenectady, New York. People called him Cam.”

A solemn murmur ripples through the crowd. Hats are removed, hands held to chests. “Rest in peace, Cam,” someone says. Maybe they have somebody they care about in Vietnam, a friend or a lover or a brother. You wave goodbye and climb into the limousine. The outpouring swells as you vanish: We love you, Mrs. Targaryen! God bless you, Mrs. Targaryen!

In the lobby of the Texas State Hotel, you tell Ludwika and Mimi not to follow you. They have to listen. After some hesitation, Mimi heads for the bar in the ballroom; Ludwika asks the staff at the front desk if she’ll be able to make a call to Poland with the phone in her room. You take the elevator to the top floor. Fosco is in the hallway, on his way back from one of the vending machines with a Fresca. When he sees your face, his jaw drops.

“Dio mio, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, tears biting in your eyes. You pass him, digging your key out of your purse.

“Are you sure—?”

“Fosco, please. I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” he says doubtfully. Then he seems to get an idea and strides away with great purpose. You take shelter in your suite, silent and dim; Aemond isn’t back yet. You brace yourself against the locked door and sob into empty, trembling hands, at last hidden away where no one can see you, where no one can be disturbed or disappointed. You know now that none of it was healed—not the loss, not the revelations—but only buried, and now it’s all been unearthed again and the pain shrieks like exposed nerves.

It’s not fair. Ari deserved better, I deserved better.

There’s nothing you can do. Your hands ache to hold someone that no longer exists. You can’t unlearn the truth of what your marriage is.

There are two knocks, quick and rough. “Hey, it’s me.” And there’s such pure intimacy in those words. You know my voice. You know why I’m here. “Open the door.”

“I’m okay, just, just, just leave me alone—”

“Open the door,” Aegon says again. “Or I’ll get security up here to do it for you.”

Swiping the tears from your face, you let him in. He’s dressed in baggy black shorts, nothing on his feet, an unbuttoned stolen green army jacket. You once thought he wore those to play the part of a revolutionary from the comfort of his East Coast seaside mansion. Now you understand it’s because he misses Daeron, because he believes he should have gone to Vietnam instead. There are several dog tags strung around his neck; some of the veterans at the medical center he visited must have gifted them to him.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon’s eyes sweep over you, seeking, horrified. “What did he do?”

You can’t answer, you can’t breathe. You back away from him as more tears spill down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey, let me help you. Please don’t be upset. Did he say something, did he hurt you?” Aegon reaches out, and as soon as he touches you your knees buckle and you’re on the floor, trying not to wail, trying not to scream, and Aegon is pulling you against his chest—bare skin, borrowed metal—and his hands are on your face and in your hair, and his lips are against your forehead as he murmurs: “Shh, shh, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

“I had to go to a hospital and hold babies and I, I, I never even got to touch him, not once, not ever, and I can’t now because he’s gone. He’s locked in some fucking vault, he’s just bones, but he was supposed to be a person, and those other babies are going to get to grow up but he isn’t, and it’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” Aegon agrees softly, still holding you.

“No one else knew him.”

“I did. I was there the whole time.”

“Only because Aemond made you stay.”

“No,” Aegon swears. “I was supposed to spy on you. He never told me to do any of the rest of it. I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You did,” you say, very quietly, weakly, conceding.

“And I’m still here now.”

Your lungs aren’t burning quite so much. Your tears are slowing. You unravel yourself from Aegon, averting your eyes. Now you’re ashamed; you aren’t in the habit of revealing to people how much you’re splintering like cracked glass, fresh fractures every time you think to check the damage. “I’m, um, I’m really sorry.”

“Look, I don’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories, but this is definitely not the most embarrassing thing I’ve seen you do.”

You laugh, only for a few seconds, and Aegon smiles as he mops the tears from your face with the sleeve of his army jacket. Then he turns serious again.

“Can I ask you something? It’s very personal. It’s offensive, honestly. But I have to know.”

“You can ask.”

“Do you want more children?”

More children. Because Ari was real. “Not now. Not with Aemond.”

Aegon nods, suspicions confirmed. “Can you do that sponge thing you told me about?”

“No. I think he’d be able to feel it, he’s…” You gesture vaguely. It’s difficult to say. “He’s big.”

Aegon didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to have to think about it. He flinches, just enough that you notice. But as much as he’d like to, he doesn’t change the subject. “What about the pill?”

“No doctor is going to write me a prescription without my husband’s permission. Especially considering who my husband is.”

“I hate this fucking country,” Aegon hisses. “Puritanical goddamn hellscape. Old Testament bullshit.” He drags his fingers through his hair a few times, then pats your cheek like he did before: twice, gently, playfully. “Come on. Let’s go smoke.”

“I can’t do it on the balcony. Someone might get a picture.”

“Okay. No big deal. We’ll go to the roof.”

You stare at him. “The roof?”

“You really think I haven’t already been up there?” He stands and offers you his hand. “You’ll love it. The view is fantastic.”

The view is good, but the grass is better. You know that it makes some people useless, others paranoid, but for you it’s always painted the world a color that is softer, kinder, lighter, more bearable. You and Aegon lie next to each other, smoking and watching twilight fall over Houston like a spell. You’ll have to shower and gulp some Listerine before Aemond gets anywhere near you. It’s interesting; each day you seem to acquire new secrets to keep from him.

Aegon asks: “Where would you be right now if you weren’t Mrs. Targaryen?”

“Probably married to someone worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but let’s say you weren’t. Let’s say you can do whatever you want.” He points up at the lavender sky and acts like he’s moving the emerging glimmers of stars around with his fingertip. “There, I’ve changed your fate. Who would you be?”

You ponder this. “I want to teach math to kids and then spend every summer break getting baked on some beach.”

Aegon cackles. “Hell, sign me up.” He lights a third joint for himself with his tiny chrome Zippo. “Those are the people doing the real work. Teachers, nurses, farmers electricians, plumbers, welders, firemen, therapists, janitors, public defenders. The normal, unglamorous types.”

“You don’t think presidents and senators make a difference?”

“Sure they do. But only like 5% of the job is actually helping people. The rest of it is schmoozing and tea parties and making speeches, because looking and sounding good is better than doing good. They’re addicted to vapid pretenses that make them feel important. You live like that and you forget how to be a human. I mean, look at Nixon. The man was raised as a Quaker, one of the most peaceful religions on earth, and now he’s planning to throw ten or twenty thousand more boys into the great Vietnamese meatgrinder and probably napalm the hell out of Cambodia and Laos while he’s at it to get the communists’ supply lines. The man’s got no idea who he is anymore. I’d feel sorry for him if I wasn’t so terrified he’s gonna start World War III.”

I wonder who Aemond was a few decades ago. “What makes you feel important?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “I’m not under any delusions that I matter.”

“I think you matter, old man.”

“Really?”

“A little bit. About this much.” You hold your hand up to show him the infinitesimal space between your thumb and index finger, and Aegon chuckles, his eyes glazed and bloodshot.

“Let’s do it,” he says with sudden, forceful conviction. “If Nixon wins in November, we’ll get out of here. I’ll go back to Yuma to teach on the reservation and you can come with me. You get a math class, I take English, or Music, or both, whatever. We’ll buy a bungalow out in the desert and make s’mores every night and look up at the stars. I’ll show you how to play guitar if you give me algebra lessons.”

You peek over at him, intrigued. “Is that all we’re going to do?”

“Well we’ll fuck, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” You giggle; it’s ridiculous, it’s paradisical, it’s insane how good it sounds. But surely that’s only because you’re high. “I don’t know how Mimi would feel about that.”

“She won’t care. She doesn’t want me anymore, hasn’t in years. Sometimes she just forgets that when she’s wasted. Mimi can go to Arizona too. We’ll load up the kids in a van and strap her to the roof.”

Now your voice is somber. “She was supposed to fix you.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says: slow, meditative, guilty. “I think Mimi and I have a few too many of the same demons.”

You roll over, push yourself up on your palms, and crawl to the edge of the rooftop. You prop your elbows on the ledge and gaze out into the city lights, the sky turning from violet to indigo to primordial darkness. Aegon joins you, staring down at the distant aquamarine rectangle of the hotel pool.

He asks: “You think I could make that?”

“No.”

“Should I try?”

“You definitely shouldn’t.”

“A few months ago, you would have pushed me off this roof.”

You shrug. “You’ve proved yourself useful.”

“That’s why you like me now? Because I’m useful?”

“Who said I like you?” you tease, smiling.

“You like me,” Aegon says, grinning and smug, radiant in the silver moonlight and urban incandescence. “You like me so much it scares you. But there’s no need to panic. It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You want to touch him, you want him to touch you, you want to study every arc and angle of him like he’s a marble statue in a garden: too beautiful to be mortal, too fragile to be divine.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three nights later in Nebraska, there is a knock on the door of your hotel suite. The nannies have herded the children off to bed; the adults are unwinding downstairs in the courtyard of the Sheraton Omaha, designed to resemble an Italian garden. There’s a brand new Jacuzzi that you’re looking forward to taking a dip in. You finish pulling on your swimsuit, white and patterned with sunflowers, a one-piece with a flared skirt.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Richard Nixon,” Aegon says through the door. “Naked. Horny. Please love me.”

You laugh and let him in. He’s leaning against the doorframe in Hawaiian swim trunks and nothing else, pink sunburn glowing on his soft chest. He holds up a brown paper bag and shakes it.

“For you.”

“What is it, heroin?” Instead, you open the bag to find small, circular packs of pills. “No way. You did not.”

“That’s enough for six months,” Aegon says, smirking, proud of himself. “I’ll be back again in February. Guess that makes me your dealer, babe. I don’t accept cash, checks, or cards, only sexual favors. You want to get down on your knees, or should I?”

“How did you get these?”

“I told a doctor they’re for one of my whores.”

“Maybe they are.”

You’ve surprised him, you’ve got him thinking about it now. His face flushes a splotchy, charming pink. “So, uh, you coming down to the courtyard?”

“Yeah. Right now. Just let me hide these first. Are there instructions in here…?”

“Mm hmm,” Aegon says, still distracted, studying the entirely unremarkable carpet. You stow the paper bag of birth control pills in the bottom of your bras and panties drawer, then walk with Aegon to take the elevator down to the ground floor. You both notice the bright red emergency stop button and share a glance, smirking, taunting.

In the courtyard, Alicent is struggling to pay attention as Helaena identifies each and every species of plant and explains where in the world it is native to. Fosco is simultaneously teaching Criston how to yo-yo and berating him for not believing the Cubs will end up in the World Series. Fosco has apparently bet $500 on them. Ludwika is stretched out on a lounge chair like a cat and reading a copy of Cosmopolitan. Aemond, wearing his eyepatch and a blue pair of swim trunks, appears to be arguing with Otto over the contents of a newspaper article. Mimi is alone in the Jacuzzi, bubbles rumbling all around her as she slumps against the rim, a frosty Gimlet clutched in one hand.

“Mimi, get out of the Jacuzzi,” you order.

“I’m fine!” she slurs, and you groan, knowing you’re going to have to drag her out.

Aemond is approaching; no, not approaching, raging. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck is this?” He hurls the newspaper at you, the Houston Chronicle. The headline reads: To Mrs. Targaryen, ending the Vietnam War is personal. “Why would you tell somebody that? Other papers are going to start reporting this. You gave them his full name. They’ve found his school, his friends, his gravesite in motherfucking Arlington National Cemetery—”

“You set me up,” you say. “You didn’t tell me about the hospital.”

Aegon takes the newspaper from you and frantically skims the article. “Hey, man,” he tells Aemond as he pieces it together, attempting to deescalate. It’s not a skill you knew he possessed. “She was rattled, she wasn’t thinking clearly. And there’s nothing bad in this article. It makes her sound invested and sympathetic, not…um…whatever you’re thinking.”

“You don’t get it,” Aemond seethes. “Journalists are going to start hounding his friends, his classmates, people who lived in his dorm building. Nixon’s newspapers will publish any gossip they can dig up about what she did when she was in school. Things people saw, things people overheard—”

“What, the fact that she had one boyfriend before she met you? That’s worthy of a nuclear meltdown?! Better prepare for Armageddon, a woman got laid, launch the goddamn warheads!”

“She doesn’t get to have a past! She should understand that, she signed up for this, she knew exactly what was expected of her!”

“And what about your past?” Aegon says, low and searing, and Aemond goes quiet. Their eyes are locked on each other: Aegon defiant, Aemond unnerved. You try to remember if you’ve ever seen that expression on his face before. You don’t think you have. Not even when he was shot and half-blinded. Not even when Ari died.

“What does that mean?” you ask your husband. Still staring at Aegon—tangled in a thorny, silent battle of wills—he doesn’t reply.

There are swift, thudding footsteps. Otto grabs Aegon by his hair, hooks a finger through the small gold hoop in his right ear, and tears it straight through the earlobe. Aegon screams as blood streams down his face, feeling the ravaged fringes of his flesh.

“I told you to take those out,” Otto says. “Now remove the other one before I rip it free, and go get yourself stitched up.”

You do something you’ve never done before, never even thought of. You strike out with both hands and shove Otto so hard he goes staggering backwards, his arms wheeling. The others are yelling and rushing over. Aemond is trying to yank you to him, but he can’t get a grip on your swimsuit. “I will kill you!” you roar at Otto. “I will push you down a staircase, I will slit your fucking throat, don’t you ever touch him!”

Alicent is weeping, appalled, trying to get a look at Aegon’s damaged ear. Criston is helping her, moving Aegon’s bloodied hair out of the way. Fosco links his arms around your waist and drags you out of Aemond’s reach just as he’s getting his fingers beneath a strap of your swimsuit. Helaena is covering her face with her hands and wailing. Ludwika is shrieking at Otto: “What did you do? Don’t give me that, what did you do?!”

You are engulfed with rage, red and irresistible. You’re trying to bolt out of Fosco’s grasp. You want to claw Otto’s eyes out; you want to put a bullet in him. As you struggle, you catch a glimpse of the Jacuzzi. You don’t see Mimi anymore.

“Wait,” you plead, but nobody hears you over the noise. You look desperately at Fosco. “Where’s Mimi?!”

Once he figures out what you’re trying to say, he whirls towards the Jacuzzi. “No!” he bellows, releasing you, and careens across the courtyard. You dash after him. Now the others understand, and they come running too. You see it just before Fosco dives in: there is a shadow at the bottom of the Jacuzzi. When he bursts up though the roiling water, he is carrying Mimi, limp and unconscious and blue.

Everyone is shouting at once. Fosco lays Mimi down on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Criston sends Ludwika to call an ambulance, kneels beside Mimi, checks for a pulse. Then he begins CPR. When he breathes air into her flooded lungs, there is no response, no resurrection.

“No, no, no, she has to be alright!” Aemond says, and everyone knows why. If she’s not, this will consume the headlines for days: no victorious campaigning, no speeches or photos, just a drowned alcoholic with a damning autopsy report.

“Oh my god,” Otto moans, pacing. “This can’t be happening, not this year, not now…”

Alicent seizes your hand and squeezes it until you think it will break. She is reciting prayers in Greek. Helaena is curled up under a butterfly bush, sobbing hysterically. When he realizes this, Otto hurries to comfort her.

“Don’t watch, Helaena. Let’s go inside, I’ll walk with you, there’s nothing more we can do here.”

“Mimi?!” Aegon commands, slapping her hard across the face. “Mimi, come on, wake up! Mimi? Mimi!” She’s still motionless, she’s still blue. Aegon turns to you, blood smeared all over the right side of his face. He’s petrified, he’s in shock. “I think she’s…she’s…”

“She’s gone,” Criston says; and he lifts his palms from her hollow body. The silent sky above is a labyrinth of bad stars.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii x you

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elodieunderglass · 12 days

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I am absolutely wild and feral over HDM (legit like, daemons fit SO well. I'm watching dunmeshi wondering where Laios' dog went) and super curious if you do plan a sequel or other fics following this AU??

(In reference to the His Dark Materials / Dungeon Meshi fusion fic)

thank you so much for this question I love this question god!!!! Thank you thank you thank you

God sorry about HDM being delayed, I’m going through hell over it at the moment. It’s meant to end a little after the dragon, then a timeskip epilogue, with special coding so that you can read it two different ways, depending on whether you want spoilers for the manga/season 2. (My idea is that you’ll click a button to reveal/hide it, and the spoiler-free epilogue will be like found poetry.)

Firstly, if you or anyone else would like to take the concepts/characters in His Delicious Materials forward for themselves, you must do this. You don’t need my permission (but I’d love a link! so I can read, scream, reblog, comment, link to it, etc. there is also the “inspired by” setting on ao3 so we can link works directly to HDM, forming a collection for anyone who reads one and wants more.) I don’t own any of it! We are all just having fun! YOU can be the sequel you want to see in the world! If your heart feels a way forward, then follow your heart!! A daemon AU is really about revealing character and I find them really inspiring, like adding a whole engine to a story idea.

If I were to write something to follow up, I do know what the sequel WOULD be! It would be a sort of Discworld novel about the slow social revolution occurring in the half-foots as a chain reaction to Bee settling as a weasel, all occurring behind Chilchuck’s oblivious and unhelpful back. Pushed into a sort of bottleneck of sparrow- and mouse-souls, and marginalised to the very edges of society, half-foots are precarious and endangered. Chilchuck is mostly eating a ham sandwich unhelpfully in the foreground, and at the end of the story looks back and sees to his bewilderment that his people have found a way forward (they don’t have a Shire or a Chosen One, but they do have a goddamn functional worker’s union and their own collective dignity.) kind of Discworld-commentary-comedy, kind of a loving argument with Tolkien, kind of Sharpe hostile-and-awkward-protagonist-POV-doesn’t-know-and-wouldn’t-believe-that-his-men-genuinely-love-him, kind of about the experience of parenting, and kind of gently warmly political BUT FUNNY so it would be ok. but feel it would be too much of a stretch of people’s patience and the original materials’s intentions to call it fanfic. Too many OCs needed to carry the weight, too little reference to the other Dungeon Meshi characters, almost too little “payoff” for what would be a full 70k word work. So maybe to let the story breathe, it would be better worked up as original fiction?

(Plus, that is actually an actual novel: if people write their own novels and manga about orc coffeeshops and dnd parties, I could just write my own too: wait but how do you know if you should?)

Anyway, that is an entirely separate kettle of weasels and my own cross to bear! If your heart cries out for a sequel the best way to manifest it in the world is to write it!

If you feel that A Weasel Heart In Defiance feels like it would scratch that itch, here is a bit that is mildly relevant to Dungeon Meshi, which is Chilchuck and Bee starting to work away from home while the girls were still small. You’ll probably see what I mean from it.

About seven of the village children, including his own three, had a snake in a wooden bucket. They didn't look up.

The reappearance of a random guy who functioned mostly as a postal service and occasionally shouted at them about bedtime - in a way that could be easily blanked out if something more interesting was happening - simply could not be expected to compete for attention with a snake in a bucket.

Chilchuck could recognise this on some level, but as his own children ignored him, he felt very hot and angry, in a way that he had never wanted to feel about children, especially his.

Bee, also rigidly pissed off, growled, "Easy, boss."

This was where Chilchuck did the only thing so far that he was proud of, in this day. He did not start shouting, even though his temper was going something like What the fuck, kids, but worse. He stopped, took a minute, and remembered he'd had this whole thing where he'd wanted his kids to love him. He rubbed his nose, said, "Remind me," and his daemon reminded him: "What do we want them to actually do?"

And he said, "The bare minimum fucking acknowledgement would be nice."

And Bee said, "Have we explained that to them? Do they know?"

So Chilchuck and Bee, hot and tired and cross and still on the job apparently, sat down on the ground with the kids and looked in the bucket. The snake, poor bastard, looked very limp and tired. Chilchuck could relate.

After a while, Chilchuck said, "Girls?"

Or more accurately, something like, "Girls! Girls. Meifleurpatti-I mean Puck-PUCK. Listen up. Mei! Fleur, I'm talking - thanks Fleur - Puck. (Ryeland, stop the baby.) PUCK. Mei, Fleur, Puck - PUCK, eyes on me - thanks, Ryeland - PUCK. EYES," which condensed in parent-speak to a single roar of "Girls!"

When he had them more or less listening, he remembered to set his voice to the more singsong cadence one used for children, instead off the deeper version of his natural voice that he used for shouting at the top of his abilities at tall people; making the choice to be patient and gentle, or at least pretend to be someone who was; and in this manner he said reasonably, "Now, your dad's been away for a very long time and missed you all very much. What do you say? What do you say when your dad comes home?"

Six children stared at him blankly, and the baby toppled gently into the bucket. He fished it out, stuck it sideways under his arm, allowed the snake to escape in the confusion, acknowledged someone's grievously injured finger, stopped Fleur from pinching, took out his pocket handkerchief and wiped Puck's nose in essentially one continuous motion.

To be completely fair, now that he'd let go of the initial anger, he could see that the kids had absolutely no idea what he'd wanted of them. Kids had practically no social instincts at the best of times. Chilchuck coming home was remarkable, sure, but beyond their influence; how were they supposed to react? What do you say to a comet? What do you say to a hailstorm? What do you say when daddy comes home?

He repeated the question, as the children had universally drawn blanks and devolved into staring vacantly.

"Good morning, Daddy!" A child chirped helpfully, setting off the rest in an automatic drone of "good morning, Daddy," in the strangely universal dreary tone of all children saying that.

"So close, Fernwise! Is it morning? What else do we think?"

Bee, fighting for order among the kit-daemons, was simultaneously washing Fleurtom's daemon, Pantoufle's, face; receiving a long rambling report of a grievance from three incoherent witnesses; and minding the baby's chick-daemon; up to her ears in parenting. She said, around a mouthful of Pan, "Speed it up, boss, you're losing them."

"Where are your spots, Daddy?" Pan asked him. He was in the form of a young ferret and scrabbled against his mother's grip on his scruff.

"My what?"

"Your freckles," Bee said grimly, and seeing he'd been temporarily disarmed - and being a valiant beast in her way - charged in to her human's defense, "Is that nice, Pan? We don't want to make people feel bad about their looks, do we?"

"Yes we do," said Fleur.

"Fleur! We've just - we haven't seen much of the sun, that's all," said Bee, taking charge, the best and most loyal soul a man could have. "They'll come back, and they're not spots."

"Mei has spots."

"Freckles."

"Grimbob has spots."

"Yes, and you shouldn't notice," Bee said. "Think of Grimbob's feelings."

"I do, I think he feels spotty."

"I'm thirsty," Puck said flatly.

"Stick to the point, kids," Chilchuck said, recovering from the fact that his usual face was apparently indistinguishable to children from Grimbob's, who had been taking puberty hard. This was surprisingly difficult to do.

Ryeland, a mildly bright spark who was older than the Chils girls, connected two dots and suddenly roared "WELCOME HOME DADDY," so six children all repeated that automatically, and Fleur added sunnily, "I missed you Daddy!"

And just as a very small piece of Chilchuck's heart was finally allowed to melt, she added, equally sunnily, "Mei didn't."

"I did a little," Meijack said vaguely.

"That's great kids, well done, we got there in the end," Chilchuck said. "Remember it for next time, okay? It makes Daddy feel better about his stupid life. Now, next time, let's remember that it's traditional to do a hug."

He realised his mistake instantly, as six children and their daemons all bore him - and the baby he'd forgotten he was holding - to the ground.

___________

#a weasel heart raised in defiance #his delicious materials #daemon AUs #like you see it right that’s not dungeon meshi but it IS definitely a thing that happens raising kids

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bahablastplz · 2 months

Text

All in | Chapter 4

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

summary: You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Yang Jungwon, notorious mafia boss. Your life gets flipped upside down when you're found beaten and bloody by SKZ, the rival mafia group, and you're quickly integrated into their lives. What will happen when you try to leave your old life behind and start anew?

chapter summary: you meet the other members and chaos ensues; Felix sticks up for you once again.

warnings: please see series masterlist for all warnings

series masterlist ~~ series taglist ~~ main masterlist

In the morning, after reapplying your makeup to most of your visible bruises on your face, you go downstairs to meet everyone. Your first thought is that something smells good, and once again you’re reminded by how little you’ve eaten the past few days. When you turn the corner to the kitchen, you’re surprised to see a long dining table with ten chairs, nine of them being occupied. How did you not notice it yesterday? You must have been too caught up in conversation with Felix and Lee Know to notice it. You freeze when you realize you must have walked straight into a meeting, one that you certainly don’t belong at.

“Come, sit.” Chan says. It’s not a question so you don’t hesitate. You see some familiar faces that you’ve come to know over the past few days as well as some unfamiliar ones. You take place in the empty seat between Chan and Hyunjin and look around. All of them are eating breakfast, and it pleases you to see that what must be your seat has a full plate of food in front of it. Sausage, scrambled eggs, pancakes with syrup, and a cup of orange juice.

“Can I… eat?” You question. You hear some laughter before Chan confirms that yes, the food is for you. You eat hurriedly, albeit awkwardly with the brace on your wrist. “This ish sho good,” you say with a mouth full of food. “Did you make this?” You look at Chan incredulously.

“Not me,” he smiles. He gestures across the table to Lee Know. Your eyes widen, and you point at him, then the food, and then at him again. He cracks a small smile and, after seeing his rougher facade yesterday, this makes you puff your chest with joy.

“She’s funny. I like her,” you hear someone say. You look at the man, him being one of the ones you hadn’t met yet. He has wide boba eyes and puffy cheeks stuffed with food, long brown hair covering most of his face.

“What’s your name?” You ask him. He has kind eyes and you like that about him already.

“Jisung,” he answers. You nod. The name suits him. You look around at the other faces and an introduction follows. The youngest member Jeongin introduces himself, followed by two more men that slightly intimidate you, Seungmin and Woojin.

You sit in silence and let the conversation flow naturally, trying to get an understanding of the dynamics. It seems to be going normally, despite your presence, which you are grateful for. It is mostly jokes between Han and Changbin, and some more silent conversation between Seungmin and Lee Know. You pick up on the fact that Lee Know is leaving after breakfast for his infiltration mission.

“So, Y/N, tell us about yourself,” someone suddenly says. It’s Woojin. He is looking at you with an unwavering gaze that makes you slightly uncomfortable–has he been staring this whole time?

“Oh, um… There really isn’t much to tell.” You say. You try to leave it at that and drop the topic, not really wanting to disclose much to the man you don’t really know. He has a very wide smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, and something about that is unsettling.

“Nonsense, we’ve heard so much about you! You really seem like the fun, curious type, like a little mouse.”

“Um–” you start and then stop, not really sure what to say.

“I heard you had quite a fun night, right little mouse?” You wish he would stop calling you that ridiculous nickname, as it has you squirming uncomfortably in your seat.

“What happened last night is between Y/N and myself at this point. It concerns no-one further.” You’re happy when Chan speaks up on your behalf, and you let out a sigh of relief.

“You’re right, Chan. I would keep an eye on her, though. She’s just too pretty to let out that late at night again. You really need to put a leash on her, you can never let someone like her out of your sight–” Woojin lets out a grunt as Seungmin elbows him in the ribs. Your stomach churns at the man’s words but you feel happy that others, even those that don’t know you that well, are willing to stand up for you. You have to remind yourself that you’re surrounded by some of the most dangerous men in the country, and a few slightly uncomfortable comments should be the least of your worries, but they do seem to be trying to make sure you don’t feel threatened in this house. You glance at Felix for the first time that morning but he isn’t looking at you. He is boring a hole into the side of Woojin’s head with the intensity of his gaze. It sends a shiver down your spine.

Breakfast wraps up, albeit a little more awkwardly than before, and Jeongin offers to clean the dishes. The members disperse and you start to walk back to your room but freeze, realizing you have nothing to do. Maybe you could look around for a library? Surely there is one in a house this large. You aren’t sure how Chan would feel about you snooping around the house, though, so decide you will go to his office to ask him yourself.

You find your way to the office you had been in only once before. You wrap your knuckles against the door three times lightly.

“Enter,” you hear. As you creak the door open, you find Hyunjin and Chan sitting inside, looking at you in anticipation.

“Um…” you start. “I was just wondering if you had a library? Or any books I could read?” You stand there somewhat awkwardly, not really looking at either of the men.

“What type of book do you fancy?” Hyunjin is the one to ask. “You seem like the type to enjoy romance or fantasy. Or perhaps the classics are more your style?” You think for a second, trying to push aside the irritation you felt for the man yesterday.

“Are there many options? I guess any novel would do. I don’t really care for Sci-Fi or nonfiction, though.”

“Follow me,” Hyunjin says as he stands. The two of you look at Chan and he dismisses you with a wave of his hand. Hyunjin leads you down a large corridor decorated with various elaborate paintings. There are several rooms that you had never passed by before. One of them is a large gym with glass doors, and though you don’t get a good glance at the equipment, you can see Felix and Changbin inside. You can hear them grunting and see them lifting weights. If Hyunjin notices you pause, he doesn’t say anything, but he does clear his throat. Snapping your head back to him, he gestures for you to follow him into a room that is tucked away from the rest.

It’s a bedroom that’s at least three times the size of the guest room you had found yourself in. A large king size bed is in the middle with white silk sheets. There are a lot of windows, lots of natural light shining through to illuminate the contents of the room. The smell of something floral–lavender, wafts through the air, followed by something sharper, more chemical… Paint. A large cloth is draped across the expanse of the floor, littered with easels and canvases of various sizes. A makeshift art studio on one side of the room, decorated with different types of greenery and potted plants. It gives the room a very earthy and artistic vibe that you wouldn’t have associated with someone like Hyunjin, an intelligent know-it-all who couldn’t care less about your feelings. Your eyes flit to the corner of the room, a scene for a still-life set up with random items under a bright lamp to replicate artificial light; a bowl full of fruits and flowers are the subjects of focus, though the canvas he was painting on is currently covered up.

Hyunjin ignores your wandering gaze and walks right past the scene, leading you to a marvelous floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. Your jaw drops. It even has a ladder attached to the top of the shelf with wheels, giving you the ability to reach the books on the highest shelf if you so choose.

His gaze bounces around, as if searching for something, but he finds it almost immediately. That’s how you can tell that the shelves are organized very particularly so that he can find whatever he wants in an instant. He hands you a hardcover, leather-bound copy of Pride and Prejudice.

“If that’ll be all, do you need me to help you find your way back?”

“What–Are you just assuming that this is what I want to read? What about what I want?” You scoff at him in disbelief.

“I’m not trying to offend, but I made a series of calculated judgments to decide what you’d be most fond of. Am I wrong?” He looks at you questioningly.

“No, but I… Can I at least look at your other options? It infuriates me that you make all of these assumptions about me.”

“Go right ahead and look, however, you’re mistaken. They’re not assumptions, they’re well-educated inferences.”

“Oh yeah genius? What inference made you come to the conclusion that I would like Pride and Prejudice?” You wave the book in his face in agitation.

“Let’s see. You have a college education which indicates that your reading level is above the national average, able to understand the complicated diction required from a period piece while also able to digest the overarching themes. You at one point held a job as an office-worker, though your freedom to choose and passion for work were taken away by Yang Jungwon, I’m assuming. You, much like Elizabeth Bennet, find yourself in a world that causes you to seek love outside of social conventions. You’re tenacious and strong-willed, hot-headed, and no-nonsense.” He pauses, looking at you. “Your willingness to defy rules and escape in the middle of the night also leads me to believe that you’re a hopeless romantic, though I can tell you’re smart enough to never go back to Yang Jungwon. Do my ‘assumptions’ yield correct?”

“Whatever. I’ll take the damn book,” you huff. You start on your heels and walk away from the irritating man.

“You’re welcome!” He calls after you. “Let me know when you want my next recommendation!” You make a point to slam his door shut after and start the trek back to your room.

On your way, however, you hear the click of a door behind you. You spin and see Woojin standing close.

“Hello, little mouse. Are you lost?”

“Oh, hello.” You say. “I was just returning to my room. I’ll be on my way.” You start walking again but feel his hand on your shoulder and your breath hitches, anxiety spiking. You don’t turn around. “Please don’t touch me.”

“Wait just a moment,” he says. “I was wondering if you’d accompany me to my room?” You shake his hand off of your shoulder.

“Please, I just want to be left alone.” You start walking again but your front is pushed harshly against the wall and you gasp, dropping the book in your hand.

“Don’t be fucking rude,” he says. “I just wanted to talk.” You feel so small and vulnerable like this for what is now the third time in just three days.

“You didn’t just want to talk,” you point out. “You invited me to your bedroom and won’t leave me alone.”

“You need to learn your fucking place around here, little mouse,” he spits. He grabs your shoulders and pushes you back into the wall, hard. You can feel the wounds that Chan gave you yesterday hit the wall and you wince, still sensitive. You try to push back, but with one weak hand there’s not much force behind it. Woojin just laughs.

“Woojin,” You hear a voice from behind say sharply. You whip your head around to see Felix, fresh from the gym and sweating from exertion. You sigh out a breath of relief when he shoots the other man a nasty look. “Let her go.”

“Let her go? Are you going to cause a fight over this? You do remember Channie’s rules about us fighting, don’t you?” he sneers. Woojin smirks and doesn’t loosen his hold, instead pushing you harder against the cold wall. He’s not looking at you–he’s specifically watching for Felix’s reaction.

You’re silent as Felix rolls up his sleeves. His jaw tenses and his eyes narrow, and you notice his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek in irritation. “I have a feeling Chris would take my side on this,” he says lowly. “I think you don’t want to push your luck.”

“Want to bet?” Woojin grins, snaking an arm around your waist. His hand squeezes the flesh on your hips and you cry out. That is seemingly Felix’s last straw.

You hear the sound of Felix’s fist cracking loudly against cartilage and Woojin lets out a shrill cry. He pushes you hard away from him and you stumble right into Felix’s arms. You peek over Felix’s shoulder to see Woojin clutching his face, blood pouring down his nose. Felix steadies you on your feet but leaves a protective hand on your shoulder, partially shielding you away from the man.

“Fuck!” Woojin cries out, cradling his face. “That bitch isn’t even fucking worth it! She probably won’t even put out, and she doesn’t know her place. I don’t know about you, but I won’t tolerate someone who has a blatant disrespect for me. She’s fucking rude and stuck up–Chan wouldn’t like someone like her anyways.”

“Is that right?” The three of you turn around to see Chan standing in one of the doorways, leaning partially on its frame. His arms are crossed and his expression is devilish.

“Chan!” Woojin says anxiously, his voice cracking slightly. “How much did you see?”

“I saw enough. My office, now. All of you. I’m calling a group meeting.”

“It’s not what you think, I just–”

“Save it.” Chan interrupts. “I don’t want to hear it from you. You better be in my office in the next five minutes or you’ll regret it.” He turns on his heels and leaves promptly, leaving the three of you in the hall in silence. Not another word is exchanged, because Chan’s word is final.

When you get to Chan’s office everybody starts piling in. Chan sits on one side of his desk in his large leather chair, his arms crossed with a disapproving glare. On the other side of his desk sits Jisung, who is nervously picking at his nails, and Hyunjin who shoots you a concerned glance. Leaning up against one wall are Changbin, Minho, Seungmin, and Jeongin, who don’t really acknowledge your presence. To the right of Chan’s desk are empty seats for you, Felix, and Woojin.

“Woojin, first I want you to explain what happened,” Chan says with a strong, sounding voice of authority. “I advise you to tell me the truth.”

“Y/N was talking shit about you!” Woojin accuses. You open your mouth to refute but Chan’s stern gaze shows that there will be no leniency if you do. “She was saying that you’re a bad leader, that you’re weak, and that you have absolutely no authority! I told her she was wrong, but she started to come onto me. She started getting touchy with me and when I refused her, Felix came out of nowhere and punched me right in the face, unprovoked.” In that moment you’re reminded of a kindergartener tattling on the teacher to get his way. You glance at Felix who almost unperceivably tenses at Woojin’s words but regains his composure just as fast.

Chan nods his head, listening carefully. His face is devoid of emotion, leaving you unable to figure out if he believed the man’s words. “Felix,” he says. He provides no further explanation, wordlessly giving the man the opportunity to tell his side of the story.

“Changbin and I were working out in the gym,” he starts. “I had watched her and Hyunjin pass by a few minutes before, so I had it on my radar to make sure she made it back to her room okay. When I came outside looking for her, Woojin was starting to touch her. She asked him to stop and he continued to push her. I intervened and he grabbed her.” Felix pauses to think. “Woojin was acting out to provoke me, if I were to guess.”

“Alright,” Chan answers, crossing his arms. “So, I have two different sides to the story, which means one of you is lying to me. That’s a punishable offense. Y/N, I want you to think very carefully about what really happened before you answer.”

You gulp. “Felix–” you glance at the man sitting next to you, the epitome of calm.

“Don’t look at him, look at me,” Chan says harshly.

“Right, uh… Felix is right. Um, Woojin started touching me and I asked him to stop. I was on my way back to my room and he cornered me and made me uncomfortable and Felix helped me.” You look right into Chan’s eyes the entire time you speak.

As you look around the room you see wide eyes staring at you. You feel a heat crawl up your neck from the attention as Han and Jeongin look at you with sad eyes.

“Chan, they’re lying!” Woojin stammers. He’s wringing his hands together nervously. “They’re conspiring against me, I swear! I know Felix is your right-hand man, but you need to trust–”

“Enough!” Chan stands up, knocking his chair back and staring Woojin down. “I don’t need to trust you, nor do I need to trust anybody in this room. But I do. I have hand-selected and picked each and every one of you because you are necessary to me and to what we do around here. That’s the way that I run my business. Not only do I expect the truth from all of my members,” he says, looking around the room, “but I require it. I saw the entire scene. That is why, Woojin, I am going to punish you. Because I do not tolerate lying, nor the blatant disrespect from my team. You will be given a second chance, for which you should be very grateful, but I’m afraid now that I will have to remind everyone in this room what it means to cross me.”

Woojin looks stunned, unable to speak as he looks at Chan in awe.

“Do you have a least favorite finger?” Chan asks, reaching into the drawer of his desk. He pulls out a long slender butchers knife and places it on his desk. Woojin laughs lightly, incredulous.

“Did I say something funny? Because I believe I asked if you have a least favorite finger. If not, I’ll pick one for you. I don’t know if you’ll like my choice,” he ponders. “Perhaps I’ll choose your left ring finger, to let any future spouse you have know that you’re nothing but a dirty rotten liar–”

“Pinkie! I choose my pinkie,” Woojin stammers. Chan gestures to his desk with his head, prompting Woojin to put his hand palm-down on its center.

You look around the room, a lump forming in your throat. He was joking, right? Surely, he wasn’t going to–

“FUCK!” Woojin cries out. The scene went by so fast that you’re not even sure you know what really happened. Chan’s arm had extended upwards, and lightning fast he swung down the knife with precision, severing Woojin’s pinkie with one swift blow. Blood spurted from the wound, spluttering onto the desk, Chan’s face, and all over Woojin’s shirt. You didn’t get a good look at the gruesome looking appendage, now cradled inwards to Woojin’s body. You also didn’t realize that the tears were streaming down your face until it was too late.

Chan takes a rag and wipes down the knife and his desk, then chucks the blood-stained rag and pinkie finger into a small desk trash can.

“This is a gentle reminder that Y/N is necessary to us and our mission against Yang Jungwon. At this moment, she belongs to me, which means that if anybody makes a comment or touches her without either her or my consent, you will be punished. You are all dismissed.” Chan walks out of the office, leaving the rest of you behind.

You feel nauseous and you wonder if you’re going to upchuck your breakfast. The casual display of violence reminds you just of the person that Bang Chan is and it doesn’t put you at ease.

You stand up and begin to walk to your room before you hear a voice call your name. You turn around and see Felix, and instead of feeling comforted by his presence you run to your room faster and slam the door. In the privacy of your own room you allow yourself to sob heavily into your pillow. This is the life that you have somehow gotten yourself stuck in. These are the people that you are surrounded by.

You’re not sure how long you stay like that until your sobs turn into hiccups, which inturn morphs into ragged breathing and you drift off to sleep.

When you wake up, somebody's knocking on your door. It’s almost dark outside now, and you’ve slept almost the whole day away.

Jeongin is standing outside of the door, a member that you haven’t talked to at all yet. He has boyish copper hair that frames his face stylishly and wears a pair of dark-framed glasses that suits his complexion well. His crescent, downturned eyes give him the appearance of a fox with a matching grin. He looks at you with a sheepish smile before talking. “Um… dinner is ready.” The thought of sitting at a table and being around everybody again, pretending as if nothing has happened makes your stomach churn.

“I’m sorry, not hungry. Thanks,” you say. You go to shut the door in his face, not meaning to be rude but at least harsh enough to come across as stern, but his foot lodges in the door frame, keeping you from closing it all the way. He sighs.

“I’m really sorry,” he says, and by the look on his face, you believe that he really is apologetic. “Chan says your presence is required.”

You follow him dejectedly to the kitchen in silence.

That night you eat dinner surrounded by only seven of the nine members. Lee Know is now gone, having left on his mission, which makes some of the others appear more tense. The other absence has you sighing a breath of relief, because Woojin is not there. You sit in between Jeongin and Jisung this time. Not much conversation is had, and you certainly don’t look Chan in the eyes for the entire meal.

When you return to your room that night, Pride and Prejudice is sitting on your bed. The book had been discarded and forgotten about amidst the disaster earlier, and its presence is oddly comforting. When you crack it open, a note falls out and onto your floor. In neatly written cursive, it reads:

“Like Elizabeth Bennet, you are strong. Enjoy. –H.”

The message makes you scoff because at the moment you feel anything but. The last few days have made you feel so weak, small and powerless. You hate feeling like that, and this realization makes you think, maybe you do have something to thank Hyunjin for after all, despite how absolutely frustrating he has been.

You are going to get stronger.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

taglist: @shuporanporang ; @purp13st4r ; @eurydiceofterabithia ; @heartsbyandra ; @thicccurls ;

@rylea08 ; @the-sweetest-rose ; @oddracha ; @kapelover ; @goldenmellow ;

@zerefdragn33l ; @uhh-awkward-rightt ; @astudyoftimeywimeystuff ; @kaleigh-2002 ; @thatonexcgirl ;

@mindfreecreator ; @linoalwaysknows ; @velvetmoonlght ; @minahaeyo ; @crystalchuuu ;

@hash2013 ; @skzswife ; @b0bbl3s ; @thecutiepieme ; @bear8585 ;

@moss-the-man ; @softkisshyunjin ; @sylveonitesworld ; @m00njinnie ; @nicoleparadas ;

@starsofasteria ; @klopez01 ; @luvlinos ; @hyunjinnnnnnnnnnnnnn ; @skz-akira ;

@boi-bi-ahaha ; @l33bang24 ; @Hermione640 ; @Gal821

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maddogofshimano · 2 months

Text

A Tiny Man Among Men: Kiryu Boss Rush

oh boy this one was a real hoot. we got two new cards with it that I want to show off because they’re so fun

look at them!! that’s the fish he caught in the opening of Y3!!!!!

summary: Shortly after moving to Okinawa, Kiryu faces down with his most cunning foe yet--a crayfish.

2007 Not long after Kiryu came to Okinawa... Kiryu was invited by a local resident named Uchima to help with a river clean-up event (tl note: name is 内間)

Kiryu: Uchima-san... Is this the river we're supposed to be cleaning up?

Uchima: Sure is. Filthy, right? It's usually beautiful, but inconsiderate people keep throwing garbage into it. Uchima: It's particularly bad right now... I clean trash out of it every month, but before I know it there's more trash than ever. Kiryu: ...That's awful. Uchima: I think up stream's a bit prettier, so how about you handle that since it's your first time. Kiryu: No, I'm fine right here. You should do the up stream. Uchima: ...Eh? A-Are you sure? I'll take you up on that kind offer, I've been having some awful back pain. Kiryu: Sure. I'll do it. Uchima: Well then, I'll get going, and if you need anything just let me know. Uchima: ...Oh, right. Kiryu-san, please watch out for the animals. Kiryu: ? Watch out for... animals? Uchima: During clean-ups, I've had crows and rats and other such animals knock over the trash and cause all sorts of issues. Uchima: Since these are the elite survivors of all the extermination activities done in this area, a lot of them are strangely intelligent. Uchima: This one time a weasel snuck into our house, got into our fridge, and stole all of our food--and mice have been pooping on the mouse traps, almost like they were making fun of us humans... Kiryu: ...Heh, so it's that kind of situation. I got it. I'll be careful. Uchima: Great, see ya then. <he leaves> Kiryu: ...Alright, let's get to it.

<sounds of Kiryu splashing around in the river> Kiryu: ...Whew. Plastic bottles in a convenience store garbage bag... how can someone just dump this in a river...

Kiryu: Seriously... Who the hell would... <a blade-like sound happens> Kiryu: ...Guh!? What the!? American Crayfish: ................. (tl note: also known as the red swamp crayfish, Procambarus clarkii. I'm shortening it just to crayfish from here on)

Kiryu: A crayfish!? ...It was in the trash's crevice!? <another slicing sound, Kiryu steps to the side> Kiryu: Kh... You're quick on your feet... Crayfish: ..... Kiryu: It's back on top of that garbage again. Kiryu: ...I just want to clean up that trash. I don't mean you any harm... so let's just be adults here...

Crayfish: ....! <some kind of hissing sound?> Kiryu: ...No good. If I reach towards it any further, it will definitely catch me. On the other hand, I can't just leave this garbage here. Kiryu: What can I even do here? <a long moment passes in silence> Kiryu: I've got it. There was some dried squid in the trash I just picked up. I'll use it as bait to draw the crayfish away from here. Kiryu: ........Loook, is this some dried squid? Isn't that tasty? Wouldn't it be nice to eat~?

Crayfish: ............. Kiryu: C'mere, c'mereeee, won't you~? If you won't eat it, maybe I should~? Crayfish: ............. Kiryu: ...No reaction at all. Maybe it's not hungry? (tl note: he's so mad that his plan didn't work)

Kiryu: (If that isn't going to work... Then there's gotta be something else that will guy this guy to move.) Crayfish: ...Shaaa! <more hissing, and it smacks into Kiryu before bouncing back> Kiryu: !?

Crayfish: Munch... munch... Kiryu: I-It... took advantage of my momentary lapse in concentration... It took the squid!? Kiryu: Uchima-san said "there are smart animals around here"... don't tell me... this guy's one of them!!?? (tl note: Kiryu. you may be stupid) Crayfish: Shaaaa! Kiryu: ....Excellent. If a battle of wits is what you want, I'll show you what human intelligence is like...!

<Kiryu ducks down> Kiryu: (...Good, this rock is exactly what I need. Now... Just gotta throw it behind it...) <the rock goes sailing with a comical whistle and a tiny splash> Crayfish: .....! Kiryu: (...Great. Now I can catch it when it's distracted and has its back turned...) Crayfish: .............. Kiryu: ............... Crayfish: .................... Kiryu: (It didn't turn around.....!? Could it be... it read my intentions....?) Crayfish: ............. Kiryu: Actually, where is this guy looking...... It's like there's something behind me..... Crayfish: ....! <another hiss and a slicing sound as Kiryu gets crayfish'd> Kiryu: Guh!

Kiryu: (This guy... the moment I turned my head... it went and pinched me on my damn ass...) Kiryu: (Was its gaze a trap...? Did it read my intentions... and then decide to get revenge?) Kiryu: ...What a clever crayfish. Kiryu: ........ Kiryu: ...Heh, you beat me. I guess I'll give up on those trash bags. <Kiryu leaves> Crayfish: ................... Kiryu: (...But, that was just to make it look that way... The moment it lets its guard down... I'll catch it...!) <Crayfish hisses at Kiryu> Kiryu: .....! Kiryu: Mmm... it feels good to stretch out my arms. This hand would absolutely for certain never ever be trying to catch you~. Crayfish: ........... Kiryu: (Yes, its defenses are down... now!) <The crayfish hisses again> Crayfish: .....! Kiryu: ....! Mmmm... still just stretching out my arms~.

Kiryu: (Damn... It's not turning around yet... what a distrusting creature.) Kiryu: (Yes... now---) <Crayfish hisses again, now with Kiryu much closer> Crayfish: ....! Kiryu: ...Ahhh~. Stretching my arms feels so good~.

Kiryu: (Damn... this guy... How many times is it going to look back here...) Riverside Resident A: ...That person... What's that person doing? Riverside Resident B: It looks like he's playing "Red Light Green Light" with a crayfish... I wonder if that poor guy doesn't have any friends... Kiryu: (...Shit... The stares of passersby are painful...) Kiryu: (I don't think continuing like this is going to get me anywhere... Maybe it's time to abandon this tactic...) Crayfish: ...Shaashaaa.... Kiryu: (It... waved its pincers like a peace sign... Could it be that this is what it wanted?) Kiryu: (In order to humiliate me, did it play along by pretending to be fooled..?) Kiryu: (Just how smart is this thing... and how the hell do I make it leave?) Crayfish: ...Shaaa! <more hissing as it leaps onto Kiryu> Kiryu: !?

Crayfish: Shashaaaa! Kiryu: Guh, this guy... it jumped on me so fast. Kiryu: That was awfully aggressive... I guess you've decided we're total enemies... Crayfish: Sha! .....Shaa? Crayfish: ....Sha!? Sha! Shaaaa! Kiryu: (It... got distracted by a fly... It turned around completely!?) Kiryu: (Heh, no matter how smart it is, in the end it's just an animal... This is my chance... I'm going to catch this thing now!) Kiryu: Haa! <wooshing sound> Crayfish: ....Sha! <slicing sound> Kiryu: Guhh!? Kiryu: (Stupid... I tried to grab hold of its back, but it pinched my hand...) Kiryu: (I was using its blind spot to catch it... how did it know...) Crayfish: Shashashashasha.... Kiryu: Damn... It's doing that gesture again. Kiryu: (You're kidding... was getting distracted by a fly all an act!? Did it use that as a trap so it could attack me when I got near!?) Kiryu: (It's looking down on me... But now I have to admit that it's smart... maybe even smarter than me...) Kiryu: (Even so... there's still a way to do this... there's something in the trash, I'm sure.) Crayfish: Shaaa! <hissing> Crayfish: ....Shaa!? <it falls into the water> Kiryu: ...Wh-! That guy was swinging its arms around as a threat but then... it fell!? Crayfish: Shaa... Shaa... !? Kiryu: And it landed on its back so it seems it can't get back up. Heh, what an unexpectedly stupid move. Kiryu: This time I'm going to catch you...! Haaa! <another whoosh> Crayfish: ...Sha! <a big slicing sound> Kiryu: ...Heh, of course not being able to get back up was an act too. Kiryu: I knew that you'd try to trick me into another attack like that, since you see me as your enemy and look down on me. Kiryu: But... this time I grabbed you not with my bare hands, but with these disposable chopsticks. Kiryu: Bad luck for you. You didn't pinch my finger... just these chopsticks that were thrown in the river! Crayfish: ...!? Kiryu: I'll throw these chopsticks with you still latched on... then I'll be free to finish cleaning up the trash!! Haa!! Crayfish: ...!! Kiryu: (Yes... It's still holding onto the chopsticks...! Take this...!!) <a crunching sound> Kiryu: ....! Crayfish: Sha... Shaaa...! Kiryu: Damn... so the chopsticks were rotten huh... The couldn't withstand the force of the throw and broke...

Kiryu: I was so close to getting this guy out of here... Crayfish: ...Shaa! Kiryu: You're a clever thing, I don't think the same trick will work on you twice. That said, I can't think of any other tricks to try... Kiryu: ...Well, it's fine. I concede. I can't beat you in a battle of wits. Crayfish: Sha? <the music cuts out> Kiryu: ...But, I still have to make this river beautiful. Kiryu: It doesn't matter how many times I get pinched... If I take you head on, I will catch you. Crayfish: ............! Crayfish: Shaaaa!!!!

Kiryu: Haa... Haa... Haa...!

<Kiryu gets close to the crayfish and grabs it> Crayfish: ....!? Kiryu: ...Whew, I finally caught you. Crayfish: Shaaa! Shaaaa! Kiryu: I'm holding you by your back. You can't get me with your pincers anymore. Kiryu: Finally, I can clean up this garbage... Huh? Small Crayfishes: Shashaa! Kiryu: Inside this garbage there's... baby crayfish... wait, are these your children? Crayfish: Shaa! Shaaa! Kiryu: ....I see. You were just trying to protect them. Kiryu: What I saw as a simple convenience store bag full of garbage was a nest you had to protect. Kiryu: ............ <he sets the crayfish down> Crayfish: .....! Kiryu: I'm sorry for causing a disturbance on your turf. Kiryu: I'll tell Uchima-san and the others to leave your garbage alone. Crayfish: ....Shaaa! <fade to black> Haruka: Oh, you're back Uncle Kaz!

Kiryu: ...Yep. I'm home, Haruka. Haruka: You were doing the river clean-up, right? Did you clean a lot? Kiryu: Yes. Though I almost cleaned up too much, and would have taken away an important home for the animals living there... Kiryu: I'm really glad I noticed it soon enough. Haruka: Is that so... I'm glad. You almost became an "invasive species" to that area, Uncle Kaz. Kiryu: ...Invasive species? Haruka: Yep. I learned about it today in science class. Invasive species take away the habitats of the animals who lived there originally. Haruka: That's why it's bad to release non-native species into the wild. Kiryu: ...I see. I don't know much about that, so I'll have to be mindful. Kiryu: By the way, what kinds of non-native species are there? Haruka: Ummm there's... raccoons, and black bass, and snapping turtle, and american bullfrogs... Kiryu: Woah... So even some of the animals we know. Haruka: Oh, and the american crayfish! Kiryu: A... American crayfish!? Haruka: U-Um, yeah. They eat the native species, spread disease, and damage the ecosystem. Kiryu: What the hell... Kiryu: But... It's not like they're trying to cause trouble, right? Kiryu: If you live, you have to eat and you have to get sick... It's not like they can help it if that ends up being an issue. Haruka: ...Wellll... I guess that's true, but...

Kiryu: Besides, I can assuredly say that this one’s devoted to their family. For their family's sake, they had the bravery to stand up to someone bigger than themself. Haruka: ....This one? Kiryu: I don't know if they were male or female, but they were a true man among men. If they were a human, I'd like to share a drink with them... Kiryu: ...I know. Haruka, why don't you come meet them? I'm sure you'll change your mind if you just meet-- Haruka: Uncle Kaz... did something happen with a crayfish?

Bonus stuff:

you don’t understand Haruka the yakuza invasive species are just trying to live their lives the only way they can! and sure they might be destructive but what else can they do? maybe that morally gray father figure crayfish was taking care of orphans!!

#yakuza #rgg #ryu ga gotoku online #Ryu ga Gotoku #like a dragon #Kiryu #Kiryu Kazuma #Haruka #Haruka Sawamura

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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 5 months

Text

A little wicked (Dark! Aemond x reader/rhaenyras daughter) really dark aemond. 18+ MDNI

Aemond x reader x Aegon

Tags: Showsetting, au MAJOR SEASON 2 SPOILERS

🔷Summary: After your husband dies, his brother claims his throne and also you.

🔷Author's note: Dark. I don't throw that label around lightly. you know the drill, dead dove? do not eat.

🔷Wordcount :4939

🔷Warnings: Smut, p in v, mention of loss of virginty, dubcon loss, death, misgony, misogny- aemond hates rhaerhae. Dark aemond, gore, blood.

You await your husband’s arrival, back from the battlefield. Today is the Battle of Rook’s rest. A battle that would go down in the History books of Westeros, Essos, all realms that ever were or will be. Unaware to you, of course. You are miles away from the battlefield, preparing for the return of your beloved husband, King Aegon II Targaryen.

You have prayed, for the first time in years, actually. Your mother didn’t believe much in prayer, more in action. You think her relationship with Alicent Hightower forever caused a deep religious wound. Religion is something that reminds your mother too much of her lost friend. So therefore, it wasn’t important in your upbringing.

Soon, you’ll be crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and finally take your rightful place beside Aegon. You have the foolish hope that you, as Rhaenyra's daughter, maybe can mend the wound. Maybe your mother can be swayed to bend the knee, to give up her claim to the throne. If only it was that simple.

You await news. Any news. At first you are positive that Aegon has made it back unaltered. He has to. He is the king, the fierce warrior you know and while he is nowhere as good as Aemond, he has more experience than those Rook Rest soldiers. It has to be enough. He has to be enough.

However, as minutes turn into hours, and the sun and the moon dance and circle one another in the sky, you become immensely worried about the fate of your loved one. You are thankful for when the doors of the throne room are pushed open and Prince Aemond enters, at long last.

Recently, the young Prince switched from dark black leather to green dark leather, to fully show his support for his family. You remind yourself you are a hostage to these people, stolen. The corners of the prince’s lips lift mere inches, as if smiling. Yet he quickly brushes that away, as if he cannot be seen that way.

Cole follows, his face sorrowful and full of pain. The sort of pain you see on a father’s face when he loses a son. You feel your smile die as the world seems to slow down, to fade, and to darken instantly. Cole steps forward.

Aemond walks to you. Your feet rush, but your legs are frozen, causing you to stumble and to almost fall flat on your face. Aemond pretends to walk to you, but instead walks past you, to the big Iron throne that looms over you as a dark curse.

You watch in silence as he sits down, confirming your worst fears. You hear yourself gulp, as tears stream down your face. Your Aegon is no longer alive. King Aemond now sits the throne, and he sits it as if it took him too long to begin with. He smiles down at you, mocking and almost patronizing. Cole speaks, as first. ‘’All hail his grace, King Aemond of house Targaryen, first of his name, king of the Andels, and the first men, Lord of the seven kingdoms, and protector of the realm!’’ The words hit you like blows.

Aemond lifts his chin as all soldiers around you and all knights, servants, everyone with working legs falls down to their knees, respecting and vowing loyalty to their new monarch. Everyone but you, that is. Aemond waits quite a while before he tells everyone to raise again. Likely enjoying everyone on their knees for him, and him alone. As a cat toying with a mouse.

After that the servants are rounded up, to be informed of the King’s fate. ‘’My dear people. It is with great sadness and immense pride, that I announce the death of my brother, King Aegon II. He shall be known to history as King Aegon the Brave, for he slew the traitor Princess Rhaenys. Had it not been for her treasonous acts on battlefield, our king would be alive today.’’ He waits a moment as gasps and relieved words cross the hall. ‘’It is with great pride that I shall now serve you as King, until my younger nephew, Prince Maelor comes of age. You may all now either bend the knee, or remain standing.’’ He gestures to the guards, and on his sign, they all draw their swords. A clear choice.

You watch as the one after the other servant drops to their knees, swearing loyalty to the newly crowned King. After that is done they are all dismissed. ‘’Y/n. Please stay here.’’ The use of just your name makes your hair stand up. It is intimate, almost familiar.

You freeze.

Aemond finally rises from the throne, a smile on his lips. You wait and remain where you are. He does not beckon you closer, so you remain there. He walks closer to you until he is in front of you. He looks at your gown, taking in the details of the bodice. ‘’My condolences on the loss of your husband.’’ He whispers, gently.

You blink back tears. ‘’Can I go home now? We must write to my mother that the war is over. She can come collect her throne.’’ You look over to the ugly iron thing. Aemond chuckles, adoring your naivety and your good righteous heart.

He even reaches out to touch your face, gently caressing it and wiping away a few tears with his thumb. He brings his thumb to his mouth, sucking on it, tasting your tears. You watch, speechless. He grins. ‘’My gentle hearted sweet girl.’’ It sounds like a compliment and also an insult. ‘’I have no intention to stop the war. Your mother will sit on that throne when your brother Lucerys finds his head again. You will leave her in a coffin or when I am dead.’’ You scoff, insulted and step away, ready to leave.

He grabs you firmly by your arms, dragging you closer. You are pinned against his front, where you can still see blood on his shirt. His smirk only grows as you lower your head, avoiding his eye. He lifts your chin, forcing you to look up to him as you silently cry. ‘’I haven’t lost, you see. I have the crown, the throne, and you.’’ He does the unspeakable and leans in for a kiss, leaving a soft peck on your lips. He moans softly against your lips. ‘’My darling, my sweet precious thing.’’ He murmurs.

You give him a weak push against his chest, barely moving him. But it gets the message across. Aegon is not even cold yet. “I’m your brother’s widow!’’ You yell in righteous fury.

He laughs at that, capturing you easily with your hands again, and you hate yourself that you like how warm and fast his hands act. ‘’That means nothing in our family. You are my captive, Lady Strong. Remember? From the moment I first captured you at Storm’s end, until your very last. You are meant to be mine, so you will be.’’ He promises you. He is calm and collected about it as if is stating a fact.

He reminds you of the day when this all started. You don’t want to think back of that day. You tell yourself it is because of Luc, who Aemond fed to his dragon. But it is because of Aegon. You miss Luc, of course, but that wound had time to heal. Aegon’s loss is so sudden and just as painful, but fresh. ‘’I am not yours, you monster!’’ You raise your hand, striking Aemond on his scarred cheek.

He finally acts, grabbing your hands tighter and dragging you close until your noses touch. He is trembling with fury and his one eye is full of hatred, lust, obsession and cold blooded plans. ‘’Striking your king, is a act of treason.’’ He chuckles. ‘’I am allowed to punish you. I could take your hand for this, little lady strong.’’ You huff.

You roll your eyes even. Aemond hates the silent treatment more than any insult you could have hurled at him. Instead of making it clear what he intends, he scoops you up and throws you over his shoulder, marching you back to the empty throne. You kick and slap his back, trying to break free of his iron grip. He places you in the hands of a nearby guard, who all have been silent on this treatment of their rightful princess. Aemond sits on the iron throne and what he does next shocks you.

He grabs you by your hips, bending you over both his knees, as if you don’t weigh anything. He pets your hair lovingly and even gives your shaking body a kiss. ‘’I do this because I love you. You are in luck. You will always be able to defy me.’’ He whispers. ‘’All men who do so will meet horrible ends that Maesters will write about for centuries, but you, my special girl, you will be able to defy, rebel and upset me.’’ He whispers. ‘’Because I enjoy punishing you. And I bet you enjoy being punished.’’ You feel his hands on your butt, as he starts finding the beginning of your gown. You hear the sound of fabric ripping, and panic, bolting on his lap. He simply holds you down tighter, smirking as you begin to whimper. He calmly hums and with one brutal movement, rips your skirts. You remain on his lap, vulnerable and in your small clothes. Aemond sits up straighter, as if he wants to fully take in this view. Embarrassed, you lower your head in his lap, allowing him to caress your hair once more. ‘’Such a beautiful girl. You were wasted on my brother.’’ He speaks. ‘’You belong with me. You always have.’’ He then turns to his guards. ‘’Leave me and the Princess. She will pledge her loyalty to me in a private event.’’ You whimper as you hear iron footsteps leave the room.

When he is alone with you, he pulls your small clothes down fully, yanking them until your ankles, exposing you for all you are. It seems to awaken a certain hunger or desire in him, and he rips your corset and sleeves next. He fully admires your naked body, panting as he looks at you. He seems to calm down and finally he does what he promised. He hits you on your ass, spanking it harshly. You hiss in pain, in disbelief that he is subjecting you to this. ‘’Aemond, stop this.’’ You beg.

‘’You have no right.’’

He scoffs. ‘’I have every right. I am the King now. You were naughty, today. I don’t like naughty girls. Well, not as much as I like a good girl.’’ He says, talking to you as if you are a stupid little girl. Fresh tears fall. ‘’I like naughty good girls, who know what they want. But you aren’t there yet. You aren’t broken enough yet.’’ He says, joyfully as he spanks you. You give soft whimpers.

The spankings only become harsh when you remain silent, so you fake moans and whimpers to please Aemond’s dark desires. He sometimes groans too, as he sees how much damage your body is taking thanks to him, and how you take it.

“Aegon told me something before he died. He told me he never consummated the marriage. Is that true?” You wonder why Aegon told him that.

But it is the truth. You nod. “He knew when we first were forced to lay together I didn't want it.”

Aemond only chuckles to that comment, dealing another hurtful smack, almost as if to punish you for still loving his brother. “He raped plenty of women. I suppose you weren't special enough to make the effort.”

“Aegon loved me.” You argue, and you regret it the moment you’ve said it. Because Aemond slaps so hard that your flesh burns.

He groans now not of arousal but of pure hatred. “He didn't.”

“There's one man for you in this entire world.” You huff at his words.

You are grabbed by the throat, lifted from his lap and forced to stand as he chokes you. You are choked, tears stinging your eyes as he looks at you with the crown slightly slipping from his hairs and his one eye bigger than usual, focused on you, the object of his obsession. You fight for control but lose the fight. “It is me.” He reveals.

“No,’ You croak out weakly. “I can't. You killed my brother-”

He sighs, almost enjoying the view. His cold fingers finger one of your nipples, enjoying the reaction your body gives by hardening for him. He chuckles. “Such a beauty. Now. Defy me again.” You shake your head. He sighs, putting you over his knee again. You whimper against the cruel treatment, feeling the spot he struck. Aemond smirks, challenging you to speak out again. “I ought to keep you around like this. Just as the gods intended you to be. Pure, naked, unspoiled…” He feels the skin he struck. And you feel yourself clench your cunt, ignoring the waterfall he caused down there with all cost. It is true, Aemond is a handsome man. But this is wrong, isn’t it?

“May I please dress?” You ask, wiggling on his lap, enjoying when his thigh briefly rubs your cunt. That hits the spot.

The King laughs. “Such an obedient girl for asking me first.”

“The answer is no, however. You struck me, remember? That is treason.” You are embarrassed to speak. He laughs at that, rubbing your legs, drawing circles and kissing your skin. You ignore the butterflies. You can’t.

‘’Stand.’’ He barks suddenly. You obey, standing on your shaking legs, exposing yourself now fully to him. He leans back in the throne, grinning brightly as he takes in your body, toe to head. ‘’You can defy me as many times as you like. I will gladly put you on my lap and spank you.’’ He whispers. ‘’But if you say something regarding the whore that mothered you, I’m afraid we must do a different type of punishment. Am I clear?’’ You nod, hating how frightened you are.

He softens his face. He beckons you closer. You come closer until you stand in front of throne, your cunt barely touching the iron. ‘’I wish to feel your wares. I must see myself, If you and Aegon kept your word.’’ Without a warning, his fingers sink inside your wetness, inspecting you as you stand on your legs, almost falling over.

‘’Please, make me sit.’’ You beg.

He grins, forcing his finger to go deeper, penetrating you at the right speed. “No, you'll stand, tall and proud. I bet this is just what a dirty bastard like yourself likes. ‘’ It takes a while but sadly, he discovers what is happening. ‘’Oh, just as I suspected. A wet, warm and wonderful little place for my seed to crawl inside of.” You wail at those words, aroused as he fucks slowly, taunting you with his fingers.

“Stop talking as if we are going to -” Your talking is interrupted by a smack on your cunt by his free haunt, causing you to cry out in pain and anticipation.

He glares at you, shaking you as if you aren’t awake yet.

“As if? You think I'd kept you as a pretty cup bearer or something? I plan to make good use of you. Every hole is stuffed, until you can't even crawl forward.” He promises.

“What if I will have a child?” you whisper. ‘’That would complicate your status.’’

He sees that differently, mad with lust and obsession.

“That is part of the fantasy. Breeding you makes me happy. Seeing your belly swell makes me happy. You know why?” He asks, softly patting your belly. You shake your head.

“No.”

He leans in, gesturing vaguely down to his legs.

“It proves my seed is strong, powerful and well. It proves I have the power to make you, a stunning powerful princess to a good for nothing whore, carrying a bastard inside of her womb.” You sniffle, hurt and insulted. “Judging your wet and warm cunt, you have been thinking about me too. Why don't you admit that you want this?”

“Because I loved him. I loved Aegon. That means something to me.”

Aemond growls. “Shame he didn't love you. You know it deep down. He didn't mention you at all when he died-” You push him off you, taking off to the doors, not caring he ripped your gown or your poking breasts begging for touch.

“Where do you think you'll be going?” He demands, his voice booming.

You raise your head as much as a princess and dignity as you can. “To my quarters until you decide to trade me for peace.”

“Peace?” He laughs. Then that laugh dies. “Peace!’ It scares you how quickly it became an almost command. “You have exactly 3 seconds to get over here and to kneel at my feet and to beg me for forgiveness-” You don’t let him finish and take off running. But he is faster.

He simply drags you back by your hair, giving your behind hurtful smacks as he drags you to the throne. ‘’Ungrateful bastard. I can make you my queen.’’ He growls. ‘’Why won’t you accept that you want this? Look how wet you are for me.’’ He thinks as you remain at his feet, sitting there as a dog. ‘’I know something. We must train you, to ensure you are a proper pet.’’ He grins. One of the servants is allowed in, to bring Aemond a piece of rope.

You are worried he is going to tie your hands. But his plans are far worse. He ties the end around your neck, and holds it, as a leash. “Such a stubborn girl.” He chuckles. ‘’Now if you try to run, you’ll feel it.’’

“Please untie my neck.” You whisper, softly.

“Why? You can't behave, clearly. I must make the rules clear somehow.”

He has gone insane.

“Untie my neck, I'm worried I'll choke.”

“You know, when the right person is doing it, choking, taking control of another person's breath, nay, life, can feel…amazing.”

In response you spit at him.

“Spitting at me, you are a vile dirty minded thing, are you not? I bet you just ache for someone to pin you down against the floor and to have his wicked way with you. Don't you, bastard?” He growls, handling you.

“I want Aegon…” You whisper, half a beg and half a prayer.

He almost slams your head against the throne in pure rage. You can tell he is close to losing it. “Why? Why do you want that disgusting raper. You have me. You have all you will ever need.” He says. Then he sniffs your breasts, his long nose and hair disappearing between your breasts. “Fuck, you smell so good. So inviting. I can smell that needy cunny of yours.”

He stands up, keeping the leash in his dominate hand. ‘’I bet if I took my cock out you’d be fucking it before I could even ask you to.’’ He grins. ‘’You are your mother’s daughter after all.’’ To prove his point he lowers his trousers, revealing his manhood to you.

You are caught off guard. You never saw one before and it looks so strange yet familiar. “Look down.” He pushes your head down so you can properly.

It is red and swollen and evil in all ways. You try to glance at Aemond but your eyes are almost glued to his manhood. He snickers amused at your virginal response. “You'd like to feel this down your legs, little bastard?” He asks, and you are shocked when his fingers find your entrance once more, and now your soaked little cunt can’t even handle this. You moan, crying of shame and desire.

Aemond grins, taking it as a sign of encouragement.

“Get on your knees.” you obey, eying his cock. You wonder if it’ll hurt. But part of you wants to just feel good and happy for a moment. “On all fours.” He adds, groaning in frustration.

“What is expected of me?” You whisper soft as you kneel for him in the throne room. Aemond finally leaves his throne, so he may join you.

Silence. “I can't…I'm a princess. My virtue is everything to me-”

He laughs. “I can't wait to fuck you, so you for once and for all will shut up about your prestige and your privileges. You will learn, my sweet that I decide what your worth is now. Now, I am going to ask.”

You shake as his fingers brutally Bury themselves in your untouched tight cunt. “Do you want me to be the bad man today, little Maella? Do you wish to get your cunny raided by me, here, in the throne room, on your knees, as a little dirty harlot?’ You fall to your knees, crying out as the penetrating reaches a hight, as does your pleasure. You touched yourself but never like this. Not like he does. And his dirty naughty talk..

“Do you want to feel my cock take root and to feel me penetrate away at your innocent soft rings as they wrap and tighten around my cock as I take you on the stones, your knees bloody and your vision blurry as I bring you close?’

“Do you want that?”

You begin to doubt and he knows it. So he softens his voice, for show. “It can feel so good, Maella. You know I've won. You know it. You are already naked. You are already kneeling. All I need to do is put my cock……” He parts your legs. He rubs your needy cunt causing friction as you frustrated cry out. “here…’’

You nod pleasure winning. ‘Yes.’’ You say, consenting at last. He does not need long. He drags his finger nails in your hips, bringing you closer to his front. He sits on both his knees, as he slams inside of you, fucking you with a brutal war cry. You gasp as the cock pierces through your maidenhood, ruining you for any other man. Aemond groans in delight at your gasps, fucking you harder for every bit of sound you make.

“Oh, you're deep…” you mutter, a bit foolish.

He chuckles. “You'll handle me just fine. Any woman is a bit as a frightened stag, wishing to bolt off when a man climbs her. It is his task to smooth her back into submission so the ride may be…pleasant.” You wonder if he enjoys it the way you do. But when you hear his grunts and moans you know he does.

“Just as much of a slut as your mother.” He whispers and quickly gives you a kiss to avoid your anger. “Taking it all so well. You're a natural love.”

The fucking reaches a height your innocent body cannot handle, as Aemond comes closer to, and the fucking becomes violent, with him choking you as well now. “Meant and made to be on your knees, cock deep inside of your cunt and getting fucked until you can't crawl out of your bed tomorrow.” You gasp, your cries and soft moans filling the throne room, high on pleasure. “Agree.” He hisses, suddenly. For someone who claims not the care about others, he sure seeks a lot of approval.

You know you must obey. You know it deep down. So you swallow your pride. “Y-yes Aemond.” You say, obediently.

He spits at that idea. “You will call me King Aemond or your Grace.’’ He smacks your ass, sinking a finger deep there too. You buck your hips to him, eager for more.

You need to feel good, more than anything, you need to feel alive. ‘’Aemond, your grace, please..”

That pleases him greatly. “So fast, little girl? This is just the tip of the mountain, dear. There is so much more for you left.” He promises, planting dark desires in your head.

“There is?”

He nods. “Hmm,” He smacks your butt in a playful manner. “This is fun, but this is not the way a baby is made. I must stuff you properly for that. And there's your face…” You turn to face him, cock slightly sliding out of you in the process.

“What of it?” You ask, worried there is something stuck between your teeth.

You aren’t prepared for the answer. “It looks so clean. A nice, white and shimmering substance would look amazing on it. Something like my cum?”

“O, I don't know…” you stutter, foolishly.

You do know. But you won’t tell him that. “That is the beauty of your new life. You no longer need to know. I do. I'd love to see your cunt, breasts, belly, cheeks, chin, butt and hole covered in my cum.” He confesses. It is taking so long.

So you buck your hips to his front, hoping he mounts you soon once more. Aemond merely watches, grinning. “Taking me now, aren't we?”

“I do what you want. Just…give me…” You are at the breaking point. You are close.

Aemond slams inside of you, fucking you up and down the tiles as you scream it out in pleasure and he hisses, likely near too. “This?”

You roar in approval as pleasure explodes and you cry out in a soft voice. Aemond can be heard chuckling. “That's it, beauty. You keep being good, and I'll give you that and more.”

“Please, my King…” you whimper. “I can't…I can't handle it anymore. I need to ..I need it now.”

The King laughs, enjoying your suffering and your pleasure.

“Such a demanding little brat, demanding to come before your king.” The Spanking you get now is not punishment. It brings you pleasure and therefor shame. You nearly whimpered at it, but at the same time you enjoyed the smack on your naked ass.

And he bows your head down, and gives you the one after the other hard rough trust that only raises your pleasure. As the fucking increases, your needs reach a height unfamiliar to you and you stop, waiting for it to fade as you usual do when you touch yourself. Aemond sees this as the moment to strike, fully claiming you with a rough war cry and a trust. You fall down from your pleasure and come, all over his red swollen cock as he rides his own orgasm out on your spent body. The King is not happy yet, and fucks your body two more times after you are done with it.

When he is done, he finally removes the rope. You sit up, watching the tiles you fucked upon, sweaty and stained with your blood. Aemond cheekily grins, dressing himself again quickly. You look around for anything to cover yourself with. He throws his leather bloodied coat your way. ‘’Here. Cover. I don’t wish you to catch a cold.’’ He says. You think back of Aegon. And guilt washes over you.

The door is opened and a soldier rushes inside the room. You attempt to cover yourself but it is too late. ‘’My king.’’ He begins but Aemond does not allow him to finish.

‘’You saw my lady naked.’’ He says, instead of listening to his trusted soldier. The soldier blinks.

‘’I,I didn’t!”’ He quickly blurts out. Aemond does not even bother to explain his motivates, you can only watch as he takes his sword and chops of the head of the soldier. Blood and flesh come free as treat and paint painting the Throne room. You are horrified that Aemond murdered a man for looking at you.

You scream in horror. Aemond walks to you next, sword still dripping with blood. He levels the sword at his lips and takes a lick, before kissing your forehead. ‘’He had to die. Only one eye may look at your body. Mine.’’ He says, kissing you again as if it calms you down. It only makes you panic.

He sighs, taking you back to the throne. He makes you sit but this time there’s no spanking. Only sweet kisses and heartbroken mutters. ‘’What can I ever do to compare to Aegon? I want your love, my love. I want you to weep over my dead corpse.’’ He whispers. ‘’I want you when we marry, to become so madly in love with me, that when they find my corpse on the battlefield, you become mad and consumed with grief and you carve off one of my fingers to keep it close to you and you never think of a marrying another. I want you to die from a broken heart.’’ He whispers. ‘’I offer you the world, my love. It is ours. From Westeros to Essos and from the Dothraki grass sea to the useless kingdom of Dorne. It will fall at our feet, crumbled into dust. Thousands will die at our command, and their bones will become your crown and throne. Their blood will be your gown and their flesh will feed our love. Whoever offends you, shall die first. Let me be your King, and you will never need anyone else again.’’ You know you don’t have a choice. Once you cared about innocents. But you don’t have the luxury to care about them anymore. You must survive.

You play along for now.

Be Aemond’s Queen.

His second in command, the mother of his children, his lover and his bedmate.

To him you will be bow…

At least for now.

One of the days soon coming…

You’re going to take that boy’s crown.

//Not even therapy can fix this im afraid.

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ichorai · 5 months

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the wolf and the beast ; toji fushiguro.

part of the A SONG OF CURSES AND CROWNS collection!

pairing ; assassin!toji fushiguro x stark!f!reader

synopsis ; nobody told him that his target had a direwolf.

words ; 3.3k

themes ; fantasy, asoiaf au, assassin au, prisoner au, enemies-to-???

warnings / includes ; mentions of murder, descriptions of injury/blood, classism, foul language, toji hates your wolf, toji stealing from a whorehouse LMAO

main masterlist.

Lannisters paid good money for their dirty work to be done by someone other than them. Toji was more than happy to comply once he heard the price for your head was enough to last him a few years, maybe even more if he stopped betting on jousting events. He asked no questions, and didn’t bother dwelling on the reason why they wanted you dead. Though, if he had to guess, it might have been because you were the most eligible noble lady to be married off to the king (a white-haired cunt, Toji liked to call him). Being Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms was clearly a position the Lannisters were hungry to get their claws on.

Toji didn’t really care. He was just happy to get the gold.

It was supposed to be a simple, easy task. After all, you lived in a cushy castle, draped in expensive furs and coats, eating the softest of breads and drinking the sweetest of nectars. The spoiled brats were always the easiest to take out.

Getting into Winterfell went smoother than he’d expected. A few miles down the road leading to the castle, he’d killed two men driving a horse-led cart full of wine barrels—meant to be delivered right to Winterfell.

And so he got through the South gate with ease. The guards interrogated about the wine, and Toji prattled on about the aging process of the alcohol, the special concoction of grapes and infused spices, the sweetness of the reds, the tartness of the gold wines, and whatnot. None of it was really true, of course. Toji just spoke out of his ass, pulled out product papers he found in the satchels of the men he killed, and smiled charmingly when the guard waved his hand to let him pass.

A gangly, young stableboy with red hair and blue eyes escorted him to cellars, where the wine barrels would be stored. And, after asking the little boy, Toji realized, to his utter delight, the Great Keep was just above him.

Up the cobblestone staircase he went, far louder than a mouse, but Toji moved quick enough for it not to matter.

There was one problem, however. He hadn’t taken into account the possibility of you not being in your chambers. Which, you clearly weren’t. The entire Keep was silent and vacant, save for a few handmaidens he spotted collecting soiled laundry. He made sure to keep out of their sight.

And so, Toji settled for waiting in the largest chamber—which he assumed was yours, being the Warden of the North and all. He glanced around, inspecting all the trinkets laid about on your desk: silver jewelry, shoddy wooden carvings of wolves, and, interestingly, various scabbarded daggers. He pocketed what looked to be of some value. He inspected some more, lazed around on your large bed, and rifled through the many furs and fine garments in your closet. Many of the dresses he held up to his chest spanned only half the width of his broad shoulders, much to his amusement.

Hours later, once footsteps echoed down the hall, Toji sprang up from the polished wooden chair (he totally hadn’t fallen asleep) and hid behind the door.

You strode in, covered in dirt, snow, and dried blood. There were leaves clinging to your hair. It seemed that you’d just gotten back from a hunting party. You had yet to spot the tall, burly man in your chambers, your back still to him as you began to shirk off your boots.

That was when Toji moved.

Curved blades in hand, Toji surged forward and aimed to stab you right through your heart—

You turned around just in time to see your direwolf lunge at the figure, her sharp teeth sinking into Toji’s shoulder. The man let out a startled cry of pain, the weight of the wolf sending him careening down to the ground, his head cracking against one of the posts of your bed. Stars danced about his vision as pain shot down from nearly every part of his body.

Its teeth tore through the musculature of his bicep and collar, its claws tearing through his tunic and the skin of his abdomen with each swipe. Toji landed a poorly aimed strike to the direwolf’s midriff, but she merely grew more aggressive in her ministrations.

Nobody had told him you had a fucking direwolf.

If he’d known, he would’ve reconsidered taking the job. He still would have agreed, in the end, the gold was too much to turn down, but it would’ve been good information to know beforehand.

Curse the Lannisters. Curse their gold. Curse you and your stupid pet—

“Down, Reika,” you ordered, which had the accursed beast backing away from him with snarling, bared teeth, dripping with what he assumed was his blood. “Good girl.”

Toji made a strangled noise of pain as he attempted to sit up.

“It’s been a long day,” you stiffly told him, eyes narrowed as you knelt down and pressed one of the daggers from your desk—now unsheathed—right over his jugular. The cold metal kissed his skin and he immediately stopped moving. He could see his weapon scattered an arm’s length behind you. There was no way he could possibly reach it without you slitting his throat first. “Hunting party gone wrong. I wanted nothing more than to come home and take a long, hot bath. And what do I have to deal with? A sad attempt at an assassination, and my carpets covered in your blood.”

Toji scowled, but said nothing in return.

“Guards,” you said, strangely calm for someone who had nearly (if not for your wretched, overgrown dog) been assassinated. “Take him to the dungeons.”

As Toji was dragged away, leaving a dripping trail of blood in his wake, he caught a glimpse of you kneeling by your wolf, your hand shaking with adrenalized fear you hadn’t dared show in front of him. He was glad he was able to see it—just a glimpse of weakness was more than enough ammunition for him.

The dungeons were cold and dreary. Much like the rest of the North, Toji bitterly thought. It was hard to see as well, for the sparse few torches hanging on the walls only barely lit the walkway.

He could hear everything, though. Dripping of water in the distance. A raven cawing outside. The torch’s flame whispering greed to the air. Footsteps growing louder—

Toji sat up against the wall when a figure stepped in front of the wrought metal bars, dark with decades of use and age.

“Food,” came your voice. “I don’t usually do this, you know.”

The man, your prisoner, lazily tilted his head up from his position on the ground to look at you, his gaze dropping down to your hands where one carried a bowl of braised meat and the other held a chalice of wine. The chalice alone was probably worth more than anything he’d ever owned in his life.

“Bring food to a man? I can tell,” Toji dryly responded.

Your expression remained unchanged. “Bring food to a prisoner.”

It was then that Toji noticed a pair of glowing eyes by your legs, the beast’s tale curling over the back of your knees. The maester might have bound him up nice and clean (though not without pursed lips of obvious disapproval), but his wounded shoulder still throbbed with terrible pains.

“You brought your dog,” he observed.

“Wolf,” you corrected. “Her name is Reika.”

“Wretched thing,” Toji half-heartedly snarled.

The beast snarled back at him. Its eyes, amber and sharp, only grew brighter with agitation.

You decided to ignore his comment. “Do you want to tell me what you were doing in my chambers?”

There was clear disdain in your features, from what little Toji could see of it anyway, but he could also pick up on the evident curiosity there—it wasn’t every day you had to deal with a Southern commoner.

“Won’t make much of a difference now, would it?” he drawled, kicking his feet out so he could rest his elbows over propped-up knees.

“Your choice of words could very likely spark up a war between houses,” you said. It was said as a jest, though you knew it was a large possibility.

“Would be no fun to start a war if I’m not there to partake,” came his reply. His stomach cinched as he inhaled sharply, the warm smell of peppered venison wafting through his cell. “You came here to give me food and yet you’re still clutching onto it like a babe with its mother’s teat.”

“You have a foul mouth,” you said, now slightly amused. Who knew the Warden of the North had a sense of humor? “Tell me who sent you. Then comes the food.”

Toji glowered some more. For a minute, he considered what you’d do if he simply refused to say anything. But his tummy grumbled, and his resolve dissipated into mist.

“The Lannisters paid me a pretty sum to have you dead,” he said.

To his interest, you didn’t seem a single bit surprised. “Ah. Yes, I suspected so. Jenna Lannister was particularly prickly to me last we met.”

“Are you going to give me the food or what?” Toji barked, words heavy with irritation. He really couldn't care less about your snooty endeavors.

“I don’t want the throne,” you went on, much to his chagrin. Though, you did lower yourself to his same position and slipped your wrists through the bars to place down the bowl and chalice. “Not the Iron one, at least. The burden is heavy… and the North is enough for me. Marrying the king means I’d have to sire heirs, and I have no interest in doing so. Winterfell is not short of Starks—my brother and his lady wife have had enough little children for our name to carry on the family legacy for centuries.”

Toji could have easily grabbed at your wrists and slammed your head bloody into the bars. Your stinking mutt made him pause, however, and you pulled away before he could make a move.

Besides, he was hungry.

Toji tore at the meat like a rabid animal. It fell apart in a deliciously tender manner. Hot soup dribbled down his palms, which he ravenously licked away. You didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, you took a seat opposite his cell and watched him with clear fascination.

“How’d you get that scar?”

Toji chewed at a particularly large chunk of meat and swallowed it with little effort. “Not everyone grows up in a lavish castle eating pastries and meats and sucking squire cock.”

It took you a moment to respond, but when you did, your words were calm and flat. “I’ve brought you meat. If it is pastries and squire cock you require, you need only ask. Give you a taste of a lordly life.”

Now you really must have been japing. Mocking him, even. Toji didn’t find you all that funny.

“Why are you here?” he gruffed around another mouthful after taking a long swig of wine. “Are friends hard to come by in the North? Or is it just you?”

That seemed to strike a nerve. You sucked at your teeth.

“I saw you,” he pressed. “As your guards dragged me away. I saw you looking scared. Cowering by your wolf because I nearly got you. If that beast hadn’t been there, you would have been long dead. It would suit you.” Toji’s eyes gave you an intrusive onceover, despite all the layers you were wearing. “You’d make a lovely corpse.”

“Only a fool fights back fear,” you shot back, though it was quite obvious that your confidence had taken a blow. “Fear keeps us alive.”

Toji made a humming noise into the bowl that he picked up to slurp at the last remaining drops of soup.

“More,” he demanded once he pulled his face away, tongue laving over his lips to catch what had smeared over his mouth. The portion you had given him was ridiculously small.

Perhaps that was a calculated choice. Toji only realized that when you spared him a cold little smile.

“Hey!” he growled out when you pushed yourself back onto your feet. “I’m fucking starving here!”

Silent as a wraith, you strode out of the dungeons with Reika padding along beside you.

Much time passed. Each night (Toji assumed it was night, he could hardly tell since there were no windows anyway), you would come down with a bit of food and drink. You would sit and talk with him about the most mundane of things, the most asinine of topics, and the most boring of subjects. Toji yawned and yawned so you would take the hint, but you ignored him each time.

He was beginning to think you truly didn’t have any friends up there. Other than your stinky mutt, of course.

There was even one time where you had opened the grating. From what he heard, Starks were quite religious folk—slobbering all over their bloody trees and old gods. He’d told you he wanted to see the Godswood as he himself was devout (he, of course, was nowhere near devout and hadn't prayed a single day in his life), and you, with softened eyes, reluctantly agreed on the condition that he remained shackled and quiet.

He killed a guard that night trying to escape. You struck him with a terribly strong blow to the back of his head, and your damned wolf sunk its teeth into his shin. The maester was none too happy to see him again. No milk of the poppy was administered, so he suffered through the pain. It was all worth it, though. He was outside of the dungeons for a grand total of two seconds, and the air had never tasted so clear and so sweet.

You were angry at him for quite a while but still found it in you to visit nearly every day, which Toji found highly amusing. Then you grew soft on him again (which took many moons), and Toji oft wondered if you usually pardoned prisoners this quickly.

“Why haven’t you killed me yet?” Toji asked on the seventh moon of him being your prisoner. Of course, he had asked this question multiple times before, but your answer seemed to always vary.

You may be of value. You do not deserve death. The gods smile at mercy. Reika likes you.

Those were all reasons you’d given him before. Though Toji had a very hard time believing the last one.

You regarded him with knitted brows. “If I’m being honest… I’ve grown quite fond of you.”

Toji drew his head back in surprise. Then, an arrogant, flirtatious smile flitted over his scarred mouth. It was the same smile he used to use on whores in the Street of Silk so they would take him to their seducing chambers—he could never understand how the drawers and shelves of whorehouses seemed to always have an abundance of loose coppers and silvers.

“But—” You began to continue but Toji quickly cut you off.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he said, lifting a hand up. You frowned. “You’ve fallen in love with me. And you’re thinking that if the circumstances were different, we’d be pawing at each other’s bodies like there was no tomorrow. And you worry that your people wouldn’t approve. You needn’t worry about such matters—I’m sure Northern folk would regard me as your equal if you let me out of the cell and force me into marriage. That would make me their liege lord, wouldn’t it?”

An indignant look settled over your features, your skin flushed as if you’d downed a heady drink.

“Are you mad? Of course I’m not in love with you, you imbecile,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “Besides—I’m not looking to marry anyone. And if I was, you’d be the very last on my list, thank you very much.”

Toji didn’t even have the gall to look embarrassed at his bold assumption.

“I had to try, didn’t I?” He gave you that lazy smirk once more. “Being Lord of Winterfell sounds like a cushy life. Cushier than this one, at least.”

“Well…” You toyed with a frayed thread on your robes. “I can offer you a life cushier than prison.”

Toji snorted. “I’m not going to be a glorified stableboy or a squire. I’d much rather sit here and have you bring me food than the other way around.”

“I considered sending you to the Night’s Watch,” you admitted with a ponderous look. “There are plenty of men like you there—I’m sure they would welcome another good fighter.” Toji didn’t have time to snark about how you’d complimented him before you were already speaking again. “But then I realized that you might still be of use to me.”

“I’m a good bed warmer,” offered Toji. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laid on a plush bed. Not since yours, at least. He thought about your bed often. Usually without you in it. The times he did imagine you there, your wolf always came in and ruined his entire lovely daydream.

You spared him an unamused look. “I want you to be my spy. Ears and eyes for me down South. Particularly in the West, where the lands crawl with Lannister cock-sucking houses. I need to know what they plan so I can be five steps ahead.”

A moment of silence passed by. Toji’s upper lip curled into a sneer.

“No,” he began to protest. “Why in the seven hells would I—”

“I’ll pay you with enough gold to sink you to the bottom of the ocean. And once you have tired of gold, I’ll fill you with as much venison stew as your heart desires. And once you get sick of that, I will find you a Northern castle and grant you the title of a lord for your services. You’ll live the rest of your days comfortably. Granted you do as I tell you, of course.”

That made Toji pause and consider your offer.

“Why me?” he finally asked. He drew nearer to the bars, nearer to you.

“You’re a Southerner, aren’t you? You know the lands better than any of my loyal Northmen. You’d… fit in.”

Toji wanted to laugh. He wasn’t ever very good at fitting in.

“How do you know I wouldn’t just lie to you and ally myself with the Lannisters?”

“Because,” you huffed, nose wrinkling. “You think they’re all cunts. You’ve said it yourself plenty of times. And—I’m not foolish enough to have you as my sole plant. If you lie, I’ll know. And I’ll have Reika hunt you down… and she won’t be held back this time.”

She was holding back the previous times? Toji distantly thought with a scowl.

“What do you say?”

“It’s a far journey down South. You’ll miss me.” Toji’s cheek pressed up against the uneven metal bars. They were so cold it felt as if they were burning right through his flesh.

“I’ll find another prisoner to entertain,” you replied, eyes glimmering. Another jape. You didn’t deny his words, however.

A moment of considerable silence passed. Toji bowed his head ever so slightly. The first time he’d ever done so to you.

“I’m in, Wolf.” It didn’t pass his notice how your eyes lit up, how your back stood a little straighter, how your fingers curled excitedly into the fabric of your riding cloak. You didn’t even seem to mind the nickname he’d given you. “When do I start?”

#toji fushiguro x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #toji fushiguro fanfiction #toji x reader #toji fushiguro fanic #toji fushiguro fluff #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro angst #jujutsu kaisen toji x reader #toji fushiguro imagines #toji fushiguro drabbles #toji zenin x reader #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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partywithponies · 5 months

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I watched @quinton-reviews 's new video and I wanted to do my set homework and come up with my own dream Nicktoons Unite team, except I never had any of the american channels growing up and I'm not familiar with a lot of these shows.

But nevermind, I came up with a compromise. Here's my concept for if they did a Nicktoon Unite style game but with CBBC and CBeebies characters:

1) Danger Mouse: reboot DM in particular is the obvious pick to replace Jimmy Neutron in this lineup. He's already dealt with cross-universe travel and portals in canon, and he has Professor Squawkencluck, who already just invents whatever device the plot requires. He's both practised enough at saving the world to be believable in these situations, while still being incompetent enough to need help from the others. Plus it'd be fun to see how his massive ego would react to these other guys.

2) Victor from The Secret Show: the most niche pick here, but come on. He's literally a secret agent. I'm not going to leave him out. (I dithered over whether to include Victor or Anita since I could only pick one. I chose Victor not because I'm sexist but because I just really want to hear Danger Mouse deliver the "Victor! Are you still alive?" line.)

3) Postman Pat: Now I know this looks like an insane choice. I know that making a postman fight baddies in life or death situations is ludicrous. But listen. Postman Pat: The Movie did it first. Blame them, not me.

4) Dennis The Menace: People who've never read The Beano might think that an un-superpowered 10 year old boy would be way out of his depth on a team with three adult men, two of whom literally fight evil for their job. But people who have read The Beano know that in canon Dennis has already thwarted alien invasions, travelled through time many times and dealth with the ramifications of changing the past AND avoided being beheaded, fought killer robots and man eating plants and sea monsters, toppled multiple dictatorships, got the British prime minister arrested, and fought climate change by going directly to the source and tearing down the factories. Whatever these games could possibly throw at him would be just another tuesday for Dennis.

5) Tiny Clanger: she's kind of the Spongebob of the group, both in the sense that high stakes situations and saving the world are really not what she usually does, but she would if she had to, and in the sense that she'd be the heart of the group. DM, Victor, and Dennis are all kind of self-centred assholes at heart who only save the world because no-one else will, and Pat is a middle aged British man (and therefore emotionally repressed), while Tiny Clanger is unfailingly loving, and kind, and friendly, and empathetic. Also her best friend in the world is a large metal bird, and I think Tiny suddenly riding around on the Iron Chicken would be a really cool power up for her.

#quinton reviews #cbbc #cbeebies

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cloud-player · 1 year

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Kiss Kiss Kiss (ft. HSR men)

gender neutral!reader as the trailblazer (caelus OR stelle) sfw, fluff, ~500 words each blade, dan heng, gepard landau, jing yuan

BLADE

It wasn't your first time seeing Blade, the feared sword of the Stellaron Hunters. You had already met before, at the Xianzhou Luofu's Divination Commission fight. You remembered his glowing red eyes, the burning gaze that seemed to have imprinted itself on the inside your eyelids. You just can't… stop thinking of him. With the situation in Xianzhou Luofo somehow dissipating into an uneasy calmness after the fight with the Ambrosial Arbor's huge deer thing, you had resorted to going around the giant flagship and looking for treasures in the remote corners of the streets. You never expected to see Blade on one of those treasure-hunting expeditions. "Hello, little mouse. Lost?" His smile is sinister and you felt your heart drop to your stomach. You were frozen, though what really scared you wasn't Blade himself-- it was more of your morbid fascination with this supposed enemy of yours and the Astral Express. "Seems like cat got your tongue, hm?" Blade left his shadowy spot and stepped into the light, ignoring the fact that his face is literally plastered on wanted signs everywhere in the Xianzhou Alliance. He neared you, head tilted just a little bit, seemingly sizing you up with interest and zero fear. "What do we have here?" Your throat actually closed up, no words forming even as your mouth parted slightly. You should be pulling out your weapon, or even just call for someone to help… but no, you just continued to stand there as if Blade had you in a trance. "D-don't come any closer!" You hated how you sounded so weak, but you hated how your body fell into his arms almost like a limp doll as he closed the distance between your bodies. Blade's eyes were trained on your lips, and when his tongue darted out over his own upper lip, you already know you've lost whatever battle it was. "Wait--!" You managed to squeak out as Blade surged forward and your lips clashed. There was no hesitation, no other thoughts, just the feel of his lips and his hands almost bruising your skin with how tight he was holding onto you. His kiss was as passionate as the fire you remembered burning in his eyes. Captivating. Dangerous. Just as you started to reciprocate, Blade decided it was enough. He pulled away with an evil smirk to look at your haze-dulled eyes, tucking a strand of stray hair from your face to behind your ear. "We'll see each other around, won't we, Y/N?" And just like that, Blade disappeared back into the shadows. The only thing that remained and proved that he was really was there was the lingering warmth left on your lips that you surely won't be forgetting anytime soon.

DAN HENG

Dan Heng has been holing himself up in his room at the Express the entire day. He didn't show up to eat with the entire crew that morning, lunch, or snacks. He even missed Pom-pom's coveted cupcakes with strawberry frosting! Worried, you decided to check up on him. You knocked on his cabin door, though you were already expecting to not hear a reply anyway so you started banging on the metal. Dan Heng could not just ignore a ruckus right outside his door, right? Whatever. Before you could intensify the noise, you heard Pom-pom yelling for you from the next hallway and felt fear strike you at what the terrifying conductor would do to you. You've heard from March 7th that Pom-pom does not take lightly to annoyances in the Express. Suddenly, the door opens and Dan Heng yanks you in. You let out a surprised shriek, but Dan Heng quickly covered your mouth with his hand. He then put a finger to his own lips to silence you as you both heard Pom-pom's tiny paws stomp down the hallway looking for you. "Y/N!" Pom-pom sounded really miffed, and you could hear your heart pounding. Not out of fear of Pom-pom, no-- Dan Heng's body was flush against yours as he had pressed your back onto the closed door of the Archives room. He wasn't looking at you, instead peeking at the stained glass window to check if Pom-pom had any idea of where you went. "Dan Heng--" You whispered, muffled by his hand, feeling hot and embarrassed. He shushed you quickly and quietly, still watching Pom-pom's movements. "Can't breathe!" You add, and he looked away from the window to glance at you. He blinked slowly, as if realizing what he's doing, then lowered his hand away from your mouth. He might have released you, but you were still squished between the door and Dan Heng. His hot breathing burned the tip of your ear, and you can feel his own rapid heartbeats against your shoulder. Pom-pom was still audibly stomping around on the other side of the door, but all that mattered to you was Dan Heng in front of you-- and could the Aeons really blame you for what you did next? Your arms ended up looping around Dan Heng's neck, suprising him enough to pull away slightly, but your hold had already secured him in place. In a split second, your lips were on him, and the surprised noise from him almost made you stop; until his own hands settled on your waist. Dan Heng kissed back with all the gentleness he rarely displayed. "Oh." You murmured when the kiss ended, a bit dazed. "I- I was just checking up on you." Dan Heng snorted at your embarrassment, and you hit his arm. "Are you sure it wasn't just to do that?" Dan Heng raised an eyebrow. You ended up whining, hitting his arm again, but you both shared a smile. Maybe a few kisses after as well.

GEPARD

You were just helping Serval around the shop that day, having nothing else to do and lured in by the promise of Serval treating you to some sweet Osmanthus tea after finishing the job. It was more of you just sitting on a stool and listening to Serval talk while she fixes the circuits on some gadgets, but it was free snacks nevertheless. Gepard arrived not long after, hair a wild blonde mess from the wind outside. He froze at the doorway, seemingly surprised to see you there. "H- hi, Y/N." He then cleared his throat. "I didn't think you'd have some free time. I heard from Oleg that you're on an expedition--" Serval cut her brother off with a wave. "They're here to help me, Geppie." You only just smiled as Gepard nodded and occupied the stool next to you. "And you're here because..?" Serval trailed off as a loud ringing went off from the other room. With a sigh, she excused herself from the main room of the workshop, muttering about the new invention. "Is my sister being too much? You can always tell me if so, I'll be the one to tell her to stop bothering you." Gepard offered, looking for anything to distract him on the desk. His large hands fiddled with a loose coin-sized gear. "I know you're busy, Y/N." "It's alright; Serval's just lonely. She misses her little brother." You chide, elbowing him slightly. Your elbow was met with a wall of toughened muscles and you wondered if Gepard even felt it. "Anyway, what are you doing here? I thought the captain of the Silvermane Guards never takes a day off?" "I…" Gepard suddenly reddened, pursing his lips. You furrowed your eyebrows in concern, leaning closer to ask if he was okay or if he needed anything. He finished his sentence, though it was barely audible to you: "…wanted to ask Serval for advice on how to ask you for dinner or lunch…" "Why ask Serval when I'm already here?" You laughed, still fully in Gepard's space. He timidly scratched his neck, burning in embarrassment. "Well, to make things easier for you, captain… I do want to try that newly-opened restaurant in front of Goethe Hotel. I heard they make amazing Trotter steaks!" "Wait-- you're saying yes? You'll have dinner with me?" Gepard's demeanor changed immediately, brightening and his eyes shining with excitement. He almost looked like a puppy. He then caught himself, coughing fakely to regain his composure. You laughed at his efforts, unnoticing the way he stared at you, transfixed. So it was a surprise when Gepard suddenly cupped your face and kissed you. A surprised gasp bubbled out of you, but he kissed it away, easing you both slowly into a deep, passionate exchange.

As you pulled away for air, Gepard's eyes were still on you. Before any of you could say something, Serval started clapping from the doorway and wiping her tears away. Gepard groaned in embarrassment as Serval started singing about how she was so proud of her baby brother finally growing up. You tried to laugh the awkwardness off, though you only started to actually relax when Gepard found your hand under the desk and squeezed it.

JING YUAN

You've been helping out around the Xianzhou Luofu in your free time, running errands and some side quests with the Divination Commission. In fact, you've spent the last few days reading through endless scrolls detailing prophecies and battle plans. The General Jing Yuan was the last thing on your mind as you filtered through the task. "Y/N." a sudden voice jolted you out of concentration. You look up to see Jing Yuan standing with a smile in front of the table you've been hunched over. "Is this a bad time? You look absolutely taken by the manuscript." "Oh." You quickly straighten up, putting the scroll down. "Not at all, general! Can I help you with anything?" Jing Yuan hummed happily, plopping down on the plush zabuton beside you. He took a deep breath, quickly feeling at peace in your presence. "Yes, actually. I would very much like your assistance on something." Jing Yuan then turned to you. "Do you have any advice on how to spend the time in relaxation? I have so many paperworks to sift through, what with the recent troubles with the Stellaron. I was wondering if you would have any wise words for me, what with your interstellar knowledge." Admittedly, you haven't been paying attention to what Jing Yuan was saying. Your eyes were transfixed on his handsome face, with everything blurring out into static noise. His lips were looking soft and just too inviting to be ignored as well, curving into a beautiful crescent moon with all the brightness of the stars. "Y/N? Is there something on my face?" Jing Yuan's concerned voice shook you out of your stupor. He looked worried. "Are Fu Xuan and her divinators overworking you? That won't do. I'll talk to them right away--" "No, no--" You fought the urge to scream in embarrassment. "I'm… I'm sorry, General. I got distracted." "By my face?" Jing Yuan raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused by then. "Which part especially, if I may so inquire?" His tone was teasing and lighthearted, leaning closer to you. "I'd like to know what of my face makes Y/N so distracted so as to not listen to me." That counted as permission, right? You take a shuddering breath as you willed the distance between you and Jing Yuan away, smashing your lips together. He let out a pleased noise at your initiative, hands reaching out to settle on your waist and jaw as the kiss deepened. You were the first to pull away to catch your breath, and the look Jing Yuan fixed you with had you melting. He hummed, content, and pushed a stray lock of hair away from your face. "I think this is a good way to relax indeed."

please don't repost without permission!

send asks/requests too~ what should i write next?

ALSO please ignore typos/errors, this isn't proofread and i was stuck on this for a week (ᗒᗣᗕ) + tumblr text editor kept closing what did i dooooo

#honkai star rail #hsr blade #hsr dan heng #hsr gepard #hsr jing y #blade x reader #dan heng x reader #gepard x reader #jing yuan x reader #cloudnotes

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mouse-of-dimitrescu · 9 months

Text

𝟷𝟸 𝙳𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝚂𝙼𝚄𝚃𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂 🎄 #11 𝙼𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊 𝙷𝚒𝚕𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚇 𝙵𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Elf ( fluff )

WARNINGS: speaking of the past, Adrian, mainly fluff and food and a movie and probably extreme unidentifiable spelling errors.

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

You and Miranda worked in the police force together, initially meeting by the coffee station in the office where you made a fool of yourself — spilling your drink all over the countertop. Miranda — and her dear heart — helped you clean it up. You were practically partners in the police force, always togethe and always working as a team. This urged your new boss to let you complete more work together — seeing that your productivity levels increased. But on Christmas Day, you would be working your shift with Miranda at the police station and you would be alone together.

As expected, when you met Miranda at the front entrance of the building, she had a large bag with her. She smiled warmly at you.

" Hey Andy." You greeted warmly, slinging your own bag over your shoulder.

" Merry Christmas." Miranda gave you a little chocolate and smiled.

" Thanks. But it isn't so merry working on this fine day." You groaned when you walked inside, Miranda smiled and followed you.

Once you entered the building and got to your desks, Miranda unpacked loads of Christmas snacks — some ginger bread biscuits, hot chocolate in a flask, lots of chocolate, blueberry muffins and cinnamon rolls.

Your eyes widened. " Whoa, are we going to eat all that?" You laughed.

Miranda chuckled. " Why not? It's Christmas. And instead of moping around , we can eat away our sorrows. And I downloaded 'Elf' on my computer yesterday so we can watch that." Miranda gestured to her computer. You laughed and sat down in your chair next to her. " And no discussing actual work unless it's urgent." Miranda warned, taking a finger bread man out of the tin.

You followed her actions and looked at her. " Out of all the Christmas movies you chose 'Elf'? You could have chosen a classic like 'Home Alone'." You smiled.

Miranda looked at you with faux offense. " 'Home Alone' has been overwatched, especially by me. We're watching 'Elf'." Miranda clicked on her computer and logged in, her smile began to grow. " Oh dear, I can't keep a straight face when I act." She giggled and went over to the folder that was labelled 'Certified #2' and when the folder opened, you saw that Miranda had a dozen movies on her computer. You laughed out loud and scooted closer to Miranda to get a closer look.

" Are you kidding me? When do you download them?" You asked, grabbing the mouse and scrolling through her collection.

" I get bored. Sometimes in the office, working my shifts and since hardly anyone is here during that time, I just put on a movie." She laughed with you.

Miranda eventually put on 'Elf' and you both sat back, trhing to make yourselves comfortable with a blanket. You had the telephone near you, just in case a call came through but the likelihood of that happening was minimal. Of course, you and Miranda finished eating your gingerbread men and had already started with your blueberry muffins, not even five minutes into the movie. You laughed with Miranda in the funny bits and whenever she wanted you onto pay attention to something important, she would lightly slap your arm a few times with the back of her hand, signalling you to watch closely. You got out a packet of chips and placed them on the table, sharing them with Miranda. While watching, Miranda's hand immediately found the packet. And while she was chewing, she hummed with slight annoyance and increased the volume.

" Why'd you do that?" You asked, reaching for a few more chips.

" Can't hear over my chewing." Miranda said with her mouth half full. You laughed and nodded, continuing to watch the movie.

You were arriving at the conclusion, Miranda and you had finished most of the snacks. As the movie concluded, you rested your head on Miranda's shoulder, making her smile. She reached over and made sure that the blanket was covering you properly, wanting to keep you warm. You smiled at her actions and began to lose focus in the movie entirely.

You became aware of Miranda. You were always aware of her, she was practically your best friend. But you became conscious of how much she actually meant to you. Our of all the people you could have been with in that moment, you would have chosen Miranda a thousand times over. It sucked to work on Christmas, but at least you had someone to spend it with.

The movie ended and you hardly noticed Miranda switch it off. She yawned and stretched. " What do you want to do now? The morning isn't even over yet " miranda looked briefly at her watch before looking back at you.

You snapped out of your trance and shrugged. " I don't mind. Anything entertaining." You smiled, beginning to neaten everything up.

Miranda sighed and helped you tidy up everything too. After cleaning up, you decided to stroll around the office.

" It's better when it's quiet, isn't it?" Miranda looked to you with a small smile. " There are no men to call you names, there is just...policeful peace." Miranda sat on an empty desk.

" Policeful peace?" You laughed.

Miranda laughed too. " Hey! I thought it sounded nice.." she looked to you and you sat down beside her.

" Are...you sad that Adrian left?" You asked hesitantly, looking at Miranda. Her face fell and she shrugged.

" I think he was just lustful towards me. My height strikes curiousity, you know? And anyway, his wife found out about...the affair." Miranda looked at you and smilled slight in reassurance. " I don't really think about it much anymore."

You nodded and smiled at Miranda. " I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up I was—"

" Curious?" Miranda intteruped.

You nodded. " When he left, you didn't really speak about it too much."

" No, I didn't really want to. I can't go harping back to that. It happened so long ago. I've moved on and I'm searching for someone new now. Someone... worthwhile, I guess." Miranda smiled and nodded.

" That's good. You deserve way better, Andy." You squeezed Miranda's hand. You walked over to the vending machine and got to Coca Colas, handing one to Miranda. She thanked you, popping open the can. After a few moments of drinking from your cans, Miranda looked to you.

" What about you?" She asked.

" What about me?" You smiled slightly, taking another sip.

" Are you looking for anyone at the moment?" Miranda asked, raising one of her eyebrows.

" I'm not looking. But...if someone were to enter my life and...I loved them as they loved me, I wouldn't reject it. I don't have that self control."

" Well, it takes more self control to be in love than to be out of it." Miranda sipped from her can again. You smiled at her statement and gave a small nod of approval.

You and Miranda spent the next hour speaking of love and hate. She told you a few things about her life that let you understand her on a whole new level. You listened to her voice, watched how she waved her hands about to emphasise her words as if they didn't have enough power — they surely did. Her eyes sparkled when she spoke of the things she liked.

You loved listening to her. It sounded like the strong patter of rain, soft and comforting enough to dismiss it to an extent — but in secret, it drenched the land and was capable of floods, knocking you out entirely. You were drowning in her stories. When her hands waved and pressed down on invisible surfaces, you watched them and how they cared for every syllable. And those eyes— azureous and glittering, looking into yours. Your heart beat for every emotion hidden inside them — mostly for her soul — golden — warm and rich.

" Anyway, I should stop rambling." Miranda chuckled and waved her hands up in the air one last time.

" No, no. Please continue." You patted Miranda's hand.

She hesitantly began talking again with a smile on her face. " I'm not boring you?"

" Never!" You rested your head on Miranda's shoulder again.

Everything fell silent after that. It was like a deeper connection established. You weren't best friends nor lovers, you were just there...full of love — what do you call that?

Miranda wraoped her arm around you and pulled you close to her, making you smile to yourself and let out a sigh of comfort.

" This is a good Christmas." Miranda admitted softly.

You nodded. " It is." You looked to Miranda and planted a light kiss on her cheek, making her blush and smile slightly. " You're my best friend. I think you are. I'm so confused. I'm not sure anymore."

Miranda's face fell. " You aren't sure?" She frowned in confusion.

" You're my best friend. I'm just not sure what you are to me because I love you too much. And I don't want to scare you away with my intimate affections. But I can't help but admit this because I could listen to you forever. And if I could spent eternity with one person on the planet, I'll choose you." It was your turn to ramble. You couldn't look Miranda in the eye after that so you leaned your head back on her shoulder and shut your eyes.

Miranda began giggling. " Are you serious?"

You tilted your head, confused by her reaction. " Of course I am. But...why are you laughing?"

Miranda put her hand in front of her mouth for a moment before leaning towards you and kissing your head. " I love you too, but I don't know how to define our friendship anymore." Miranda kissed yor cheek and wrapped her arms around your body again.

" We don't have to put a label on it, I guess. We can just be...an 'Us'." You held Miranda's hand, making her smile and squeeze your hand.

Miranda lifted your head up off her shoulder and turned to you, briefly glancing down at your lips. The word seemed to stop from that moment on and you began to feel slightly dizzy.

" Andy—"

" May I kiss you?" She asked, letting your hand go and caressing your cheek.

Your cheeks burned. " Yes please." You smiled slightly and eyed Miranda's pink lips. Those met yours in almost an instant.

You could taste the Christmas sweetness upon them and you placed your hand on the back of her head, pulling her closer. She smiled against you and deepened the kiss. Her tongue entered your mouth and you felt her hand wrap around the back of your neck.

Every movement was deliberate. Every stroke of her tongue ached for exploration — and limits were bound to be exceeded.

When you pulled away from the kiss, you smiled at each other — naturally. Miranda pressed her forehead against your as you both tried to compose your breathing. No words yearned to be spoken — there was a mutuality that spoke for itself.

" Merry Christmas, my love." Miranda whispered, planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

You shut your eyes and smiled. " Merry Christmas, Andy." You kissed her cheek.

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

@littledollll @winterfireblond @blood-red-ocean @ness029 @aemilia19 @barbarasstar @sirclitoressa @im-a-carnivorous-plant

#gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #miranda hilmarson x reader #miranda hilmarson #top of the lake #larissa weems #brienne of tarth

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