#or express that how he saved him was 'beautiful'

[thegoodwitchsworld]

Can I request 40s Bucky crushing on a nurse?? <3 TY!!!

WAIT FOR ME

Warnings angst, fluff, idk what else.

A/N- Thank you for the lovely ask anon, I hope you like this one :)

You miss him. You miss him so much.

Bucky, who asked you out six month ago, and whom you've been dating ever since. And he's the sweetest, kindest man you've ever met, and he looks at you like you hung up the stars and the sun in his skies.

But you still haven't slept with him yet.

Not that he's been pressuring you at all. He's a real man after all- he just kisses you softly and sweetly at the end of every date, and to be very honest you've had dates almost every day since one month. Then he lingers at your bedroom door, smiling sweetly and flirting shamelessly while you nervously play with your hair, turning redder by the minute.

But you never invite him in, and he never asks.

It's not that you don't want him. Of course you do. And so does he. You see the way he looks at you sometimes, as if he would like to rip off your blouse, slam you down on whatever nearest surface is available, and fuck at least ten babies inside you.

It makes your heart stutter. And your panties a mess.

But you can't. You just can't. The risks are too high.

.

.

.

"Robert! We need more gauze here! 2 gunshot wounds!", you shout for help as you kneel beside the wounded man, pressing your fingers into his bleeding abdomen, making him wince.

"How are you doing soldier? I need you to stay awake for me, ok?" You tell the handsome man, whose face is caked with mud and crusted blood.

He jolts as if out of a dream, then slowly grins.

"Doll," he says in an unmistakable Brooklyn accent.

"I'm gonna marry you."

That was the first time you met Bucky. You were used to soldiers flirting with you, but the way HE said it made your heart turn somersaults on the sidewalk.

You blush deeply, turning away from him and signaling Gary and Mark to carry him to the medical camp, before turning back around.

"You should save your energy soldier," you tell him more quietly, a smile threatening your stiff demeanor.

"You can call me Bucky doll," he grins. "Or anything else that fancies your pretty mind".

His wink makes your heart skip a beat, but you roll your eyes for show.

"And you can call me never," you smirk as he blows you a kiss before being carried away on the stretcher.

.

.

He's sleeping when you return to the temporary shed the military has set up, a few miles away from the actual battle site.

He looks peaceful, and so, so beautiful. You feel tears pricking your eyes as you think about the dreadful fates of many of these soldiers.

He stirs in his sleep, his expression growing more troubled. You realise he must be having a bad dream. You lean over him, sitting at the edge of the bed, smoothing his forehead softly with your palm.

It's okay, you tell him. You're okay.

His eyes slowly blink open. It takes him a minute, but when he realizes it's you, he breaks into another one of his heartwarming grins.

"It's you, my angel!" He exclaims.

"You were having a bad dream, " you look at him gently.

He smiles softer now, looking into your eyes.

"That's because I dreamt I asked you out, and you said no."

You blush and smile at his cheekiness, shaking your head in mock annoyance as you turn away to tend to another patient.

His hand on your wrist makes you stop.

"Stay. Please."

His voice is raw with emotion now. You're surprised for a moment, before you gently unclasp his grasp.

"Sleep, soldier." You softly cup his cheek. "I'll be here when you wake up."

That was 6 months ago. He was so injured the military forced him to take rest. And you were so grateful. The day he got discharged, he took you out on your first date to a diner in New York. He was chivalrous and kind and funny, and he told you a million times how much he loved you.

And you couldn't say it back even once.

You touch your hair and smoothen your dress one last time. Bucky's going to be here any minute. You both decided to stay in tonight, his last day before he's shipped off to battle tomorrow.

When the bell rings, you fly down the stairs two at a time and open the door to rush into his arms.

"Whoa," he chuckles. "Somebody was really excited to see me huh?"

You don't bother replying as you bury your nose in his leather jacket, inhaling his scent so that you can fill your lungs with him. His arms wrap around you tight, crushing you against his chest.

When you finally lean back and kiss him, he chuckles as he lifts you up and carries you inside.

"If you had your way doll, you'd keep me standing on the doorway kissing you forever," he teases you.

if you had your way, you would never let him leave. But you don't tell him that.

instead, you just say, "I cooked for you, soldier".

Bucky smiles and pulls you into his lap, kissing every inch of bare skin he can find.

"You're so good to me doll," he tells you. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

.

.

.

"you're so good to me doll," Bucky grins as you gently wipe his face clean of sweat and dust. You smirk at him, rolling your eyes.

"I do this for everyone, soldier", you tell him.

"Yeah, but only I am going to marry you," he says with complete confidence that both turns you on and makes you blush and giggle like a schoolgirl.

He always calls you doll, because "You have eyes like a doll, and you wear clothes like a doll, and you look like a doll..."

"Shut up soldier", you'd blush and swat at his chest playfully, and he always catches your hand in his kissing your fingers softly with that look on his face, daring you to try and deny him what's his.

And you always call him soldier.

You both lie quietly on the couch after dinner, you on top of him, his fingers carding through your curls gently. You play with his dog tags, and he keeps kissing you every few minutes. The radio plays somewhere, a sweet love song.

"What are you thinking, doll?" He asks you quietly, stroking your soft cheek.

"Nothing," you reply. Only that you'll leave me tomorrow.

"Liar", he tells you, kissing your nose. "I'll tell you what i am thinking. When i come home the next time, I am gonna put a ring on your finger and at least ten babies in your belly. And we are gonna be husband and wife and we will grow old together and-"

"Stop soldier," you whisper, putting a finger on his lips, which he promptly starts nibbling, making you giggle before you recompose yourself.

"I am serious though. Nobody knows what tomorrow will bring," you continue softly.

"No, but mine lies with you," he says, his eyes glinting with a determination that scares you.

You both fall asleep that way. You still don't invite him to your bed, and he still doesnt ask.

The next morning he leaves for his mission. You wonder if it's odd that when he kisses you he tastes of desire and longing and promises, when all you can feel is regret and fear and apprehension. You hide your tears behind your polka-dotted handkerchief, waving to him as he boards the ship. He gets on, then runs back to you quickly for a brief moment, dipping you back in his arms and kissing you one last time.

"Wait for me, doll," he winks.

.

.

.

.

3 years later

War has ended, but its remnants hang in the air still, like the smell of cheap perfume in an elevator long after its wearer has left. The streets are full of men who are suddenly too many, and the jobs too few. Women try to keep up with their old jobs and their newly returned husbands. And your hospital is full of patients, some of them severely disfigured. But everything is much more cheerful now, because people have hope for a better tomorrow.

That is, everyone except you.

You lean over the young man, wiping his arm softly with wet cotton before you plunge an injection in it.

"Nurse Y/N?"

You turn around to find Mary, your colleague at the end of the bed. She walks over to you, taking the injection from your hand.

"I'll handle this," she cheerfully tells you. "You go take a break."

You're slightly confused, but you shrug and thank her and walk to the next patient.

"Doll?"

The familiar voice calls out to you.

You stop dead in your tracks, before slowly turning around to face him. Your hands are already trembling. And it's him.

Your soldier.

Your Bucky.

He looks older. And he has a metal arm..? And his face looks rougher and darker and unshaven. And he's the most beautiful man you have ever seen. Your body reacts to him before your brain can process the shock, so you run and throw yourself into his arms and then burst into tears a second later.

I love you Bucky, you whisper over and over. I love you.

They told me you were dead.

His fingers grip your waist as if he's clutching at a lifejacket. His arms crush you to his chest, and his tears soak your neck.

"I love you too, my angel," his voice cracks.

"I love you so much."

After an eternity of trying to fill your lungs with each other, you both finally let go, only slightly. You will never be able to stand being too far away from him again. And you know he's rough and broken right now, but you will help him smoothen the jagged ends and light up the dark places inside.

Then Bucky gets down on one knee with a ring in his hand, and you don't even bother to look at it before you crash your lips into his.

And now he tastes like marriage and ten kids and growing old together.

You get married the very next hour, and when Bucky carries you over the threshold in his arms, you dont have to invite him to your bedroom. And he doesn't ask.

You're his now and he's yours.

In this life and the next.

[randomramblesfanfiction]

Flames in the Darkness

Chapter One

Eris Vanserra x Y/N

As the Lady of Night and Rhys’ wife before Feyre arrived, Y/N finds herself left alone after Under the Mountain, deserted and forgotten by Rhysand, and discovering a mating bond with Eris Vanserra…

Warnings: Angst, Sadness, Depression, SMUT (DO NOT READ IF MINOR), Violence, Fire Incidents, Bad Language

Y/N stilled as she watched the scene in front of her.

Her heart fully shattered after months of cracking.

Years of nights sharing him with Amarantha had turned into months of lonely nights without any glimmers of her husband.

Months of his presence being cold and distant.

Months of analyzing what she did to turn him away from her.

Months of worry and loneliness.

Months of jealousy of her husband’s new found affection.

Rhysand had a great mask towards others, but Y/N could always read right through him.

She watched as Rhysand watched Feyre “reborn”, the expressions that she’s analyzed for years, and saw the moment Rhysand’s mating bond snapped with Feyre. The emotion in the depth of his eyes, the slight jolt of his chest as if a rope pulled him, the small opening of his mouth in surprise.

Her body stiffened, as everyone around cheered and danced with the life back into Feyre Archeron.

The girl who saved Prythinian from Amarantha’s fifty year wrath.

The Cursebreaker.

Her husband’s mate.

Y/N guessed she should’ve known.

With the months of lonely nights she spent in their empty bed, the dinners where she watched her husband with Feyre on his lap, the distance of their conversations when they would even put effort into talking to one another…

In a terrible way, Y/N had accepted it then.

After everything they had gone through Under the Mountain with Amarantha, Y/N was glad they were both even alive. Y/N had known this experience would forever change them: the sexual torture both of them underwent separately and together, the emotional toll of being in this place alone without any of their friends and family.

She just never had expected this.

In a way, with this new revelation, Y/N thought that at least his discretions and loss of attention was not just any woman, it was his mate. There was no escaping the pull of the Cauldron.

It just didn’t make it any easier on her heart right now.

And Eris watched Y/N.

Doing his best to be aware of his surroundings - particularly his father who was winnowing out to Autumn alongside his mother and brothers, Eris watched Y/N’s rigid posture, shaking of hands, and the pain in her eyes. The agony evident on her face as she watched her husband develop a mating bond with someone else.

Just as Eris had watched her over the past months, her eyes deceiving her to him as she watched her husband dance with the Cursebreaker, parading her around like a trophy. Eris wanted to scream at Rhysand, yell at him for abandoning his wife for some human, after everything they were going through, everything they had been through.

Rhysand’s wife, the Lady of Night, who was far more beautiful than any other woman - fae or not - in all of the land. With blonde that shined like gold in the light, captivating blue eyes, and a perfect body, Y/N was envied by all.

Amarantha had used her not just to destroy Rhysand, but because she was jealous of Y/N as well. Everyone knew of the torture Y/N endured, the unmistakeable marks and sickly appearance Y/N doned, Amarantha’s glee echoing the halls.

Despite her beauty, Eris knew she was kind. Y/N never participated in any of the acts of her husband, only being a figurehead of the Lady of Night like the Lady of Autumn. He had known her from her youngest days as her father was Keirs right hand, knew how she was taught that women were seen and not heard. He knew how much she wanted to rebel, but feared for her life before she married Rhysand. Then, she played the act she had been taught her whole life - to stay in the shadows, the untouchable Lady of Night.

Eris was one of the few to know her true side - her motherly nature, her kindness that knew no bounds, her joy for simple things in life.

Y/N, Rhysand’s wife, Eris’ mate.

When Y/N spun quickly away from the crowd and began walking quickly down one of the halls, Eris followed after her, picking up his pace as she did. After he followed her into an empty room, Eris wasted no time in bringing her into his arms as she shook with sobs.

Y/N didn’t flinch, knowing instantly who it was by the feel of his arms, the warmth of his skin, and his distinctly spicy musk. Sighing, she twisted so she could rest her head on his chest, wrapping her arms around his torso. Eris rested his chin on the top of her head, holding her tight to him as he served as an anchor for her.

It was a while that they held each other like that before the sobbing had stopped and tears had stopped actively coming from her eyes. Eris rubbed her arms and back before she leaned and looked up at him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Eris” She said, her face feeling puffy and her throat feeling a bit sore from the audible sobbing. He put his hand on the side of her face, staring at her, getting her to focus on him and not the drowning thoughts in her head.

“Do not be sorry, my flame” He said, the nickname slipping off his tongue - an old teasing nickname that felt now like a comfort to her.

“You stayed behind for me. You could be out of here by now” Y/N said, wiping her eyes to see him more clearly. His mouth twitched up in what some would say a small smile.

“You needed someone, and I didn’t think you want to go to your home right now. Come with me” He said, and Y/N sighed, nodding her head. She didn’t know what else to do, couldn’t think much more.

She still couldn’t believe Rhysand had left her alone, without a single thought - well she could, but it was breaking her heart too much to think about too deeply.

Feeling her arms clinging to him tightly, he winnowed her to his personal home.

“As happy as I am to see you brother, where is Y/N?” Cassian asked, looking around the room after Rhysand had winnowed back to Velaris and had a joyous reunion with his family.

Rhysand startled, looking around at his brothers, cousin and Amren and realized he had left Y/N alone.

“She must be wanting some space before she sees all of you. It was a difficult time… for both of us” Rhysand said, guiltily as he looked down, unable to meet eyes with his family. The Inner Circle met eachother’s gaze, wondering who was going to ask the questions first about their Lady.

“You left her there?” Mor asked, shock evident in her voice.

“Why weren’t you with her?” Cassian asked, trying not to be angry at his brother.

“She… I met my mate. The one who save Prythrian. She’s my mate” Rhysand said, putting a small smile on as he remembered.

There was silence, as the statement festered.

As happy as they were that Rhysand found his mate, what about the woman - his wife - of the past three hundred years that had been a part of their family?

“So you left the woman who’s been married to you and loved you for hundreds of years alone back Under the Mountain?” Amren all but growled at him. The rest of them looked at Rhysand for an explanation, hoping that she wasn’t right.

“A lot happened. Y/N probably needs some time and space. I have missed you all. It’s good to be home” Rhysand said, with finality as he went to go to his room.

The Inner Circle stared at each other, shock, anger and confusion etched in all of their features at the missing member of their family.

Y/N had been their sister, family and best friend. She had acted as a mother, confidant and caregiver to all of them at one point or another. She loved them all so much, gave them so much love and hope.

“I can’t believe he left her” Mor stated, breaking the heavy silence.

“He’ll regret that forever” Amren said, in a tone that ran chills down everyone’s spine.

“Maybe he’s right. Maybe Y/N just needs some space” Azriel said, trying to logic and not jump to conclusions that their brother just left her.

“No, she wouldn’t just leave us. We’re her family. Something happened. It’s been fifty years” Mor said, tears streaming down her face, as Cassian moved to bring her into her arms to console her.

“Should we go back and search for her?” Cassian asked looking at Azriel.

“Already sent shadows. Under the Mountain is abandoned” Azriel replied, looking bleak.

“She’ll be back. She has to come back, right?” Mor said looking to Amren.

“Rhysand clearly abandoned her. I don’t know” Amren said, honestly, as they all sighed. “But I know he’ll regret this”

They all sighed, before they could hear Rhysand coming back with some wine for them all. With a knowing glance, the Inner Circle pushed down their feelings of missing Y/N, and began drinking in joy their High Lord was home.

Waking up, Y/N couldn’t remember the last time she had such a restful sleep. Opening her eyes to the brightness of the sun shining through the windows, the events of last night flashing through her mind as she took in her unfamiliar surroundings.

It was a cozy looking cabin, with luxurious dark green and plaid fabrics decorating a large canopy bed and reading chairs. A large wall of book shelves, next to a built in reading nook with a large window of the forest outside was on one side of the room, while there was a closet and what looked to be a large marble bathroom on the other side. The rest of the cabin seemed to be straight ahead, but Y/N didn’t want to move too much or else risking Eris to wake up.

Looking back down, Y/N gazed admiringly at Eris’ sleeping form, his face basking in the glow of sunrise, his hair more of a golden tint than she had realized. Asleep, he looked almost at peace - a rare sight on a man who wore so many masks in public - masks she herself had been known to wear and was always sympathetic to him.

Y/N had known the true story of him and Mor’s arrangement, had been there for both of them surprisingly as they both battled the outcome of the situation. It had not been Eris’ fault, despite how by staying silent he had allowed that narrative to be, for Mor to get the narrative she wished happened. Beron was an evil man - a disgusting evil man that she wished would be gone sooner than later for the torture he put everyone through, especially his sons.

This beautiful man, Y/N thought, staring at every feature of his face, from his sharply chiseled jaw to his freckles dotting his complexion. She couldn’t help herself as she leaned over, pushing a lock of his hair away from his face.

Eris is too kind to have the reputation he does. He is the epitome of a gentleman. I can’t believe he came for me, waited for me, brought me out of there when my husband couldn’t even bother…If only people saw him like I do…

Something sharp tugged on her abdomen, jolting her.

As Y/N looked down, a glittering rope connecting her to Eris glowed. Y/N looked up at Eris, to find him looking intensely at her.

“Eris” She said, shocked before a smile began appearing on her face, joy in her eyes despite the exhaustion of emotions that had been the past day.

“I know, my flame. I’ve been waiting for you to know” Eris said, unable to stop his own smile in response to her happiness flooding their bond.

“You’re my mate” Y/N exclaimed, tears of joy in her eyes, as she leaned in to kiss him deeply. Eris groaned, reaching up and holding her face in his hands, maneuvering his body so he could roll himself on top of her.

“My beautiful mate” He whispered like a prayer, pressing himself against her as she kissed him back breathless, before holding her tightly to him as she began to sob.

TAGLIST:

@1potato2rulethemall @rcarbo1 @littlepippilongstocking @anainkandpaper @adventure-awaits13

[johtoes]

♯┆𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐒 .ᐟ

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: You always knew Nanami put too much weight on his shoulders, that he carried his burdens in silence. But when he leaves for Shibuya, neither of you say what truly matters. And when the news comes, it’s already too late.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Nanami Kento x Reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Major character death, grief, emotional distress

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 645

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The sun was just beginning to set when Nanami walked through the door, the golden light casting long shadows across the floor. You looked up from where you sat on the couch, book in hand, the soft hum of a jazz record filling the air. He was home early.

You didn’t need to ask why.

“You’re leaving,” you said, voice steady despite the way your fingers tightened around the book. The words sat heavy between you, a truth neither of you wanted to acknowledge, but one that had been looming for days now.

Nanami exhaled, slow and measured. “Yes.”

He set his briefcase down by the door with deliberate care, as if stalling for time. Then, after a pause, he crossed the room and sat down beside you, close enough that his warmth pressed against your side, but not close enough to fully reach you. That was Nanami—always restrained, always holding back.

“Tonight?”

He nodded. A flicker of something unreadable passed over his face before his expression settled into something neutral, something practiced.

A weight settled in your chest. “And you don’t think you’ll come back.”

Nanami didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for your hand, his touch firm, grounding. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles against your skin, a rare moment of tenderness from a man who so often kept himself composed. “I don’t want to lie to you.”

You turned to face him, searching his tired eyes, the lines of exhaustion carved into his features. He had been carrying too much for too long, and now, it was as if he had already resigned himself to what was coming. You hated it. Hated how easily he accepted his fate, how he had already started to make peace with the idea of not returning.

“Then don’t,” you whispered. “But if you’re going to leave, I want you to promise me something.”

Nanami tilted his head slightly, a silent prompt to continue.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Promise me that, even if you think you won’t make it, you’ll try. You’ll fight to come home.”

His grip on your hand tightened just slightly, and for a moment, something flickered across his face—hesitation, regret, something unspoken and heavy. His gaze dropped to where your fingers intertwined, and when he looked back up at you, the usual stoicism in his eyes had softened.

“I promise.”

A lie. A beautiful, cruel lie. And you both knew it.

But still, you let yourself believe it, if only for tonight.

Nanami pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for just a second longer than necessary, memorizing the feel of you, the scent of your skin, the way you trembled slightly under his touch. When he pulled away, there was a finality in his movements, as if he had already accepted that this was goodbye.

“Get some rest,” he murmured. “I’ll see you soon.”

And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the house was silent save for the faint crackling of the record player. You sat there for a long time, staring at the spot where he had been, fingers still curled in your lap as if you could still feel his touch.

Days passed. The weight in your chest never lifted. Then, one evening, a knock at the door sent a shiver through you. You hesitated before opening it, but the moment you saw Yuji standing there, eyes red-rimmed, face adorned with scars, fists clenched at his sides, you knew.

You didn’t need him to say it. You already knew.

The world tilted, everything around you blurring as Yuji opened his mouth to speak, but you heard nothing. Just a ringing in your ears, a crushing silence swallowing you whole.

Nanami wasn’t coming home.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

© 2025 johtoes. All rights reserved.

[johnwickb1tsch]

lessons in anatomy XIV

a yandere art professor John Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... (also featuring Matt from River's Edge. If you haven't seen the movie that's ok, I will fill in the gaps as we go...) warnings: dark adult themes, violence, sex, drugs, yandere shit. plz don't read if u can't handle it ->chapter map

XIV. 

-He lives in one of those stately old homes in the heart of the city, built for the wealthy in the turn of the last century. Its three darkly painted stories tower over the street, one in a line of several down the block. The house is beautiful, but slightly crumbling, like a woman who is aging with grace, wry about her well-earned cracks and wrinkles. 

You love it before you’ve even set foot through the front door. 

As soon as his key touches the lock you are greeted with a cacophony inside; a deep woof and a higher pitched bark that surprises you. You don’t know why, but you didn’t picture John Wick as a person with pets. 

“Brace yourself,” he warns, before two very friendly fur babies have you surrounded. A beautiful blue pitbull sniffs you and leans on you, and an adorable little beagle jumps up on your leg for attention from The New Person. 

You don’t know how it’s possible, but the weight you’ve been carrying around for nearly two weeks just seems to evaporate off your shoulders. You could cry, but you crouch down to say hello instead, getting doggy kisses from both sides. The beagle pounces into your lap, knocking you over. “Daisy…” John admonishes, though the smirk he wears belays any real disapproval. 

“Ok. I’m healed,” you say, seated on your butt on the hardwood floor in the foyer with the dogs around you. This wins you a deep chuckle you’ve never heard the likes of from this severe man before.  

“I thought they might put the sparkle back in your eye.” 

You look at each other from this uneven vantage, and a warmth kindles in your belly that is made of something more than lust. You should feel ridiculous–you should be mapping your escape path and preparing to run–but somehow…you are just content. 

“Come on, y/n.” He offers you a hand up from the floor, and after he pulls you to your feet with one of those impossibly strong hands, he doesn’t let go of you until you get to the kitchen. 

-John Wick sits you down at the island, and doesn’t let you lift a finger as he warms soup and makes you both grilled cheese sandwiches with gruyere and aged cheddar on rosemary bread. Its decadent and wonderful and he looks at you from across the table with such warmth that you dare lean into the feeling that maybe everything will be alright. 

Foolish, you know, but you need it right now. 

Let reality come crashing in later. Sharing this meal with your boss in his dark kitchen, his adorable dogs both laid out at your feet…is too perfect to be true. You find its easy to talk to him like this. It feels like he’s surprisingly open with you, indulging your curious questions. You ask him about his house, the art on the walls, his travels, his choice in pets. He tells you that Daisy was a gift from his wife the night of her funeral. “She saved my life,” he admits, reaching down to scratch her soft ears. You’re not sure if he means Helen, or the dog. 

Both, perhaps. 

“What about Dog?” 

“I sort of…stole him, from a kill shelter back in New York.” He says this with a neutral expression, save the lift of one eyebrow. 

Your eyes widen at this. “A kill shelter? But he’s so sweet?” 

“I doubt he ever hurt anyone. Just…overcrowding, I think.”  

“He’s a lucky boy. That was brave of you.” Like he knows you’re talking about him, Dog sits up to put his block of a head in your lap. Or maybe he knows you’re down to your last bite of grilled cheese… It’s possible you slip it to him under the table.

John shrugs at your comment, pretending not to see this bit of dog-spoiling happening right under his nose. “I was just…in the right place, at the right time.” He doesn’t offer more, and you don’t push. As if you needed more reasons to go weak in the head for this man…

You continue to talk long after your bowls are empty. When he offers to pour you a glass of wine you don't say no. One might think you'd be leery of alcohol after your misadventure, but you decide you trust John. The vintage he chooses is a Chilean Cabernet that you find is the perfect end to this unexpectedly pleasant evening.

Your feet bump his under the table, his long legs curled up in the breakfast nook sized space. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he tells you with a soft smile, resting his big foot over yours with a playful smirk. It makes your treacherous heart flutter, and you decide you like this side of John Wick. You find you're still not sure if he's flirting with you, or just being kind. Either way…you are content.

When the conversation lulls you reach out to take his bowl to the sink, but he waves you off. “I’ve got it, y/n. Relax.” 

You sigh, but do as you’re told. 

“Can I use your restroom?” 

“It’s down the hall, to the right.” 

“Thanks.”

You wander to find it, looking around as you go. The house is all darkly stained woodwork and paneling a la the Victorian age. John has filled many of the blank spaces with pieces of art, some you recognize as his, but plenty of others too. You know to worry if an artist only hangs his own work in his home, a sure sign of egotism that is in no short supply in this world. 

You find the bathroom and do your business. The fixtures are charmingly antiquated, and you’re certain that somewhere in this house there must be a clawfoot tub. When you exit a half-cracked doorway at the end of the hall catches your attention. You can see the outline of an easel, maybe a canvas or a sketch tablet. 

Is it his studio?

You’re so curious you don’t even think to stop your feet that start to make their way down the hall. You hear John still in the kitchen, clinking the dishes, scraping the soup pan. 

You’ll just…peek. 

You know you shouldn’t, but it’s like something outside of your body draws you into the room. You flip the light, and slowly step inside. 

It's a large space, tall ceilings and a bank of windows that take up the whole back wall. In the daytime this room will be flooded with light, and a view of the backyard. Now, it is a wall of black, save the glow of distant street lights. 

The contents of the other walls take your breath away. 

Drawings. Paintings. Sketches and full studies. Half portraits and full body compositions. From forward and behind, close-up and afar. 

They’re all of you. 

You slowly spin in a circle as you look around, holding your breath, your hands upon your heart. The sheer amount of work on the walls is staggering. 

This is obsession materialized in charcoal and ink and oil. 

“This is awkward.”

With a gasp you turn to find John’s tall, dark form filling the doorway, blocking your exit.

You are fucked.

TBC...

___

->chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits

[nightscythe]

hii! do you take requests? if you do can you please do turn ons for the primarchs plss? thank you ^^

apologies this sat in my inbox for a while, i had to really think about this one! as usual this is how i view them so please bear that in mind, and sorry if i went a bit off topic.

nsfw, 18+ below the cut but i tried to keep it somewhat tame. mostly pre-heresy

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lion: this was the hardest one. i dedicate my life to this man and this is what happens? innocence and purity, for sure. he's the knight in shining armour, here to save you from everything, even if he can barely get more than a few words out to you before he wants to see you choking on him... when you wear white, when you speak so softly he almost didn't hear you, when you listen to every one of his words directly and do everything he says. it might not immediately turn him on. but he'll be standing somewhere days later, and the image will come back into his mind, and the second he can come find you and show you just how much it turned him on. so then in the same vein, submissiveness as a whole is just it, even in everyday life, but that one time you spoke back to him and put him in his place, took control? never leaves his mind. so really... its the thought of you that turns him on.

fulgrim: of course he would find nice things appealing and i think out of everyone he would appreciate the trouble of a beautiful outfit or especially something more risque like lingerie. probably loves corsets and how they look as well, more so than everything else, and things like gloves and thigh highs etc. aside from that, is majorly affected by things that involve some kind of risk that means you have to prove your trust for one another, which translates to more nsfw activities like choking, knife play, temp play, etc. finds it very endearing to be shown just how much you love and trust him - which brings me onto praise, which he loves receiving and would ultimately turn him on the most. along the lines of 'oh, i am that good, am i?' as he pins you against the bed type thing.

perty: a general turn on would be someone's intelligence, he'd silently watch as someone demonstrated their own skills and knowledge which impresses him generally, but if romantically involved then he'd feel a sense of inner pride that comes from it, if that makes sense? also innocence in the form of experience, ie you're shy and timid especially when it comes to sexual/romantic acts. just think he would enjoy being able to unravel that innocence in his own way. on the same vine, teasing innocently would probably be up there as well. thigh highs that you wore because it was cold, an outfit that exposes some skin as you lean across him to grab something, a playful expression that has a double meaning. oh, and if you touch him very softly, again innocently - cue the heavy breathing and dark stare.

khan: so yes he's a dominant man but if you flipped that and showed him your dominant side it would really get to him. silently, maybe, but he'd watch intently as you raised your voice to him and argued your point so diligently. and its not that he's not listening he's just... enjoying the show. wondering if you can replicate that inner power that night when you ride him or something. your voice itself is a big turn on as well, more specifically noises, he loves the sound of your cries and whimpers and whatever else you have for him. would also appreciate your show of strength in a way similar to your dominant side, but moreso focused on the fact you can diligently swing a sword or whatever your expertise is.

leman: i feel like he respects strength similarly to the khan and seeing you with some kind of weapon, even if its your wit or your tongue, makes him feel a certain way. proud, for sure, but he'd be recalling it later in his mind and getting hot and flustered about it. and if you were ever possessive over him, in the way he's possessive over you? go off, baby. hearing you claim him is intriguing to say the least, he'd want to hear it again for sure, because he's as much yours as you are his. but aside from this, maybe it's just a natural progression of affection that turns him on. you know, he wraps his arms around you from behind, nuzzles his head into your neck, you arch your back just a little, run your fingers through his hair and hold him closer to you, he just wanted some love, but the bed is where it ends up.

dorn: his stoicism is out of the window the moment you speak a few words out of tone to him - as in, responding with something suggestive, leaning into slight dominance or submissive tendencies, or teasing him ever so slightly. the suggestion of something catches him off guard and would obliterate him inside for far too long for him to ignore. he's got everything planned out so meticuolously for you and this would really throw him off guard. so spontaneous acts, i suppose, time away from the worry of preparation and planning, an outward show of your love and affection. oh, and if you ever teased him. like obviously did it. held his gaze a little too long and commented on how you missed him so much. exagerrated parts of your body right in front of him and invited him to touch. then walked away, knowing he was following very closely behind.

curze: i just think he wants to be needed. he can be intimate with you without it, but its just different. say one night you wake up, you've had a nightmare or some thoughts you just can't get rid of, and where he usually isn't beside you - he's there that night. the way you throw yourself into him and bury yourself in his chest, hold him so tightly, tell him what happened like he'd stop everything for happening. at first he's enamoured, but he can't get it out of his mind. a distraction as he tells you he'd never let anything hurt you. or maybe it's something more lewd. he finds you in the dark, his name on your lips, telling him how badly you need him. he'd do anything for you in that moment, he'd give you everything you needed. outside of that, anything soft, taking his dark mind away from its usual thoughts, reminding him of you.

sanguinius: consulting my draft i put 'blood (hehe)'. who knows what i was going on about.. its not often he would divert his attention from what needed him, and usually between you its just a case of one thing leading to another. but there would be moments where he looks at you, almost illuminated by the sun, and he's so love struck its as if cupid himself shot an arrow straight in his heart. he can't think of anything else, he can't concentrate, he just needs you in that moment. and was anything different to normal? probably not, he just got caught up in his thoughts and the way your skin shone, your body curved, etcetc. in a similar way to fulgrim i think showing your trust in him would also inadvertently cause some feelings he didn't expect.

ferrus: check this out - he's so much bigger than you, he's got you pressed against a wall because you said something, a soft tease, a joke that suggested something he hadn't yet considered, he's got your hands held in his own above your head. and there's no turning back. having you in restraints of his own doing, seeing how your hands both fit in his? he's breathing heavier than lorgar in his religious rituals. and i dont think it started out with him actually being turned on, he was teasing you at first, but now he just can't stop thinking about it and how good you'd look if you were naked right now...

angron: emotions are tricky, but he doesn't not understand. and hearing soft words, feeling your touch, knowing that you care, it's enough - and it can send him in the direction of desire quicker than both of you expected. he'd struggle with doing anything similar back, with him its never soft, and i guess that is the thing. i feel like it would be his way of showing back to you how he feels, and therefore its almost like a conditioned response. knowing that, despite everything you still are there, it's enough for him. to summarise - I love you elicts a response of him reaching for you and showing you he loves you too. does that make sense? hope it does. lots of showing not telling.

rob: so let me just explain a scenario. it's cliche but holy. he's a stack deep in paper work and hasn't seen sunlight in a while. you come along and sit your pretty self right on the desk in front of him and force him to pay attention to you instead. quiet his protests that he's not finished, tell him how he's doing such a good job, that you see how hard he's been working, and that he needs a break and won't take no for an answer. perhaps you go for a nice walk. perhaps you offer him another type of break right there on his desk itself. but the praise and recognition, the very slight dominance, and his personal sanctuary right there... his favourite things all at once.

morty: i'm doubling down on my mortarion is a dom accusations. he loves it when you're submissive around him in every day life, no need to be on your knees begging but just, asking him for permission to do things so innocently and sweetly at first, about something irrelevant such as going to bed early. then it would be more nsfw activities like, can i kiss you here or can you please help me feel good. and at the same time the punishment that goes alongside it. you don't listen to him? you don't wait for permission? he'll have you begging and regretting ever not listening. you know, or he is submissive and this is just reversed. otherwise i feel like a major turn on is someone who has a much less depressive look on life, who has enough optimism to share with him.

magnus: as much as he wants you to stroke his ego and tell you how good he's doing, or how good he makes you feel, he wouldn't go a second without giving it straight back to you. seeing how happy you look when he praises you genuinely warms his heart so much - maybe whether he is the one giving or recieving praise defines how the next moments with him go. even subtle acts like going directly to him for advice or answering questions. would also enjoy being in control, he wouldn't be exerting that control often but knowing if he told you to drop to your knees you would? pair that with him knowing if you had a dream about him the night before or you were thinking about him when you were doing something important? that you couldn't take your mind off him and that's why you ended up pulling at his hands to take him somewhere quiet? oh, it's insufferable.

horus: its very subtle with him. he's not showy with his likes and dislikes, trying to keep everyone happy and all, but there's just small moments that get to him which all relate to his quiet dominance over you. the way your eyes search for his in a large crowd, how you hang onto him and clutch his hand, how you stand just slightly behind him when you're worried. it all builds up in his head. then you're alone and he will have the opportunity to ask you if you're okay and you quietly whisper back yes daddy. his mind is blank for a second. and he's reminded of how badly he wants to hear you beg from him to breed you, and yeah. control, i guess, knowing he has that level of control over. oh! how could i also forget knowing his sons think you're hot af. what a power play.

lorgar: the obvious here is his absolute worship of you, how he practically devotes himself to you and promises to take worlds in your name if you asked it of him. the thought of being submissive to you in that way, the very act of submitting himself in those ways - that's what turns him on the most. bonus points if you accept it without a doubt in your confidence. i feel like he has a thing for subtle exhibitionism too, touches in front of people that really shouldn't see, stolen kisses and words that really should be kept behind doors. knowing someone is there to witness just excites him a little. i also feel like, in a really weird way, his jealousy would turn him on too. not sure how to articulate this at all, but my oc astreya is literally sleeping with him, kor phaeron and erebus (chaos hoe).

vulkan: think i have mentioned before that size is a big thing for him, seeing how small your hand is in his, how your body practically curls in his, sometimes he just has massive heart eyes that are a little too hard to ignore. so when you come to him for things, when you tell him you know he will always protect you, or just even to open a jar or something, it gets even worse. i feel like with him its almost accidental, one thing leads to another type scenario. he's got his arms around you, one kiss to your temple, one hand reaching a little further over your waist, and he's immediately turned on (a massive fan of foreplay, btw). the romantic element of your relationship i suppose, as well as praise - both towards you and from you. just anything done with pure warmheartedness, loyalty, and care :)

corax: this one is a bit more nsfw, sorry. i feel like he deep down has a thing for anyone who talks back to him. such a quiet and brooding figure, there's gotta be something deep down the writhes when you defy him or act 'bratty' in general, even if unintentional at first. say he asks you for some time alone, he needs to look at something important or whatever, and you say no playfully, it just unlocks something. he asks again, more aggitated but there's something else behind his eyes. so you say no again, and he may just pin you against the wall, the bed, whatever is closer, and ask you if you really want to play that game. of course you do. so does he. maybe he'd hold your chin and make you watch in the mirror as he has his way with you, something very intriguing about being behind you but seeing your face as well. outside of that, again if you touch him gently, innocently, in just the right spots, knowing exactly what you're doing, it gives him an involuntary twitch that only you can solve.

alpharius: probably takes his control to the next degree with anyone he loves. it's about ownership now in his mind. and if you play into that as well? if you remind him that you're his, that no one else can have you. may just stir him in a way that's irreversible. likewise, any affection is a turn on for him, but exagerrated gestures are something else. not just a kiss, but straddling him, sitting in his lap and feverishly kissing him as though its the last time you might be able to touch him? anything initiated by you actually. it hits different. otherwise i would probably say your innocence as well. not knowing what he's doing behind the scenes especially (as before, i do see him as yandere). the way your sleeves cover your hands or you hold onto him tightly when you're a bit worried. anything that really plays into that yandere fantasy of his, i guess.

[sleepynoons]

jing yuan x gn!reader, 18+, not beta read

cw: yandere jing yuan (kinda unavoidable since this is a yakuza au), mentions of bodily injury and harm, ever so slight sexual tension

notes: i wanted to write smth wayyyy filthier with this au, so maybe... i'll follow up on this drabble with a pt 2.... hrm...

FOR A yakuza – and an oyabun, no less –, the man sitting in front of you is quite nonchalant. it's probably from his decades of experience and the trust he has in his men to properly protect him, but most wouldn't be able to discern either of those things by the way he looks. but you know that beneath his lackadaisical expression and his relaxed posture, there's a danger that you'll never fully be able to imagine or grasp the full extent of.

you didn't intend to put yourself in this position. you have no interest in interacting with gangs or yakuzas anymore, and you have a stronger distaste for exploitative schemes and bloodied money. it's quite ironic, actually. you were only trying to protect a little boy from a leering stranger in black, and somehow, you've ended up in the headquarters of a massive organized crime syndicate.

even worse, you've wound up receiving the thanks of jing yuan, an ex-member of a chinese triad who decided to employ his skills in japan. you've heard the rumors back when you were much younger. he can break necks with his bare hands, hold grudges until they're settled (permanently), and mask all of his cruel and sinister manners with closed eyes and a content smile.

you think you've learned your lesson. mind your own damn business, or else fate will find a way to drag you back into this hellhole!

not that you can say your thoughts out loud. instead, you take a sip of tea and keep your head bowed otherwise.

"you still haven't told me what you'd like in exchange," jing yuan muses. it seems he's trained his voice as well, with the way he speaks so gently yet so precisely. you're sure he's capable of pulling out classified information and dangerous secrets with that easy, seductive tone of his.

you're not sure how to refer to him, so you make do with something formal, something distant. "sir, i appreciate the offer, but again, i didn't save that child for something in return."

"i understand, but i'd like to give you a token of my gratitude anyway."

you've had this back-and-forth four times now. coupled with the silence in between your responses, you estimate that you've been kneeling in this tatami room for at least half an hour now.

this time, though, even if you don't want to notice it, you see jing yuan roll back his shoulders as if he's stretching, and immediately, the two guards standing beside the door pace over to remove the floor table separating the two of you. you expect the guards to return after they place the table elsewhere, but they never do.

it's just you and the oyabun, and you regret not wishing to be left alone as soon as jing yuan asked you the first time for what it is that you desired. you internally sigh, taking the last sip of your tea before the porcelain cup is emptied.

even though it's been a while since you've found yourself in a situation like this, you're grateful that your instincts and prior experience are kicking in. you're not frazzled, nor are you concerned. while it's possible that jing yuan is masterfully concealing his killing intent, you doubt he'd dispose of you when you saved his adoptive son. that means you might as well ask for something random and inconsequential so that this situation can quickly come to its end.

"fine, sir, since you're kindly insisting. how about a set of tea ware? the ones you have out are quite beautiful."

"of course."

you offer an appreciative bow and wiggle your toes, ready to get up.

but it seems jing yuan's not done. "anything else?"

you startle, but you know you must not show any weakness in front of a lethal predator. at best, from the outside, it seems like you're deep in thought.

you respond, "and maybe some tea packs along with it? otherwise, sir, i sincerely mean it when i say there isn't anything that i need or want."

jing yuan tilts his head. "i understand. however…"

the yakuza boss gets up, and you would follow along, except for the fact that he gives you the briefest of glances, enough to root you to your position. you watch as he pads over to you and sit downs next to you. the familiar prickle of heat at the back of your neck, along with the goosebumps that rake along the entirety of your arms, are clear indications of your alarm, and again, you wonder how terrifying jing yuan must be in violent encounters when he already exudes so much pressure just by lingering near you. somehow, even when you've been telling yourself to not to be tricked by his facade, your instincts have underestimated the yakuza leader, and you're suffering from the repercussions of your carelessness.

a warm finger settles underneath your chin, and you let jing yuan guide you until you're looking up at him. his eyes are sharp, glinting with a mischievous, ambrosial gold, and the black and red strokes of his chest tattoos, as if drawn by a large paintbrush instead of the needles and teeth of a machine, peek out from the flaps of his loosely tied kimono. he also hums, though it sounds more like a satisfied purr.

there's no use, you think. you can't win when it comes to mind games, and you most definitely cannot put up a physical fight.

"what do you want from me," you mutter with a shaky, wispy voice.

he purrs again. "i want you to answer my question."

"i said i didn't –"

"then i'll help you find what it is that you desire."

he places the pad of his thumb against your chin, holding your head in place, and leans close, so close that your lips are barely brushing against each other. at the same time, his other hand has enclosed itself around your wrist, and has pulled your arm up so that your palm is settled right over his heart, beating at a solid, steady pace, completely unperturbed, radiating a warmth that is unlike his lifestyle or nature.

you're not sure how much jing yuan knows about you – though it's probably more than you'd feel comfortable with –, but either way, his actions make you fume.

"don't act like you know who i am." you're seething, but because you cherish your life, you grit out those words as your teeth sink deeper into your bottom lip, to inhibit your lashing out. "if there's anything i desire, it has nothing to do with you."

"oh?"

you almost squint as his eyes flash with molten amber sparks, slight intrigue, and transparent amusement.

you figure you'd make yourself clear, right here, right now. and so, you growl, "you can't give me what i want. and you never will."

"i see."

you don't know how you make it home. all you can recall are staggered steps, an almost kiss, and several rude shoves to jing yuan's men.

–

two months pass, and neither jing yuan nor his men seek you out in any way. it doesn't seem like you're being targeted by anyone else from other organizations either. you're just relieved that you can resume your peaceful life.

on one unassuming saturday morning, when you're awoken by your doorbell, you rush over to find a deliveryman waiting outside for you. you open your front door cautiously.

"here's your package. can you sign this slip for confirmation?"

it doesn't seem like the man is a fraud. you also can't recall ordering anything as of late. you sign the slip anyway because it really does seem like the man is impatient to get to the next customer, and heave the box back inside to your living room.

you open it, as the exterior doesn't seem suspicious. but your body freezes when you see the contents: a set of teacups made out of fine china and several boxes of rose buds, dried chrysanthemums, and matcha powder. there's also a letter, signed legibly enough so that you can make out the sender's name.

you were never left alone in the first place.

[vandme12]

I barely see Ronin as a mechanic! Headcanons/Oneshots!

This was in my drafts for days..

You're not exactly sure how it happened. One minute, you’re flopped on Ronin's couch, droning on about how bored you are—how you could die of it, actually, right here, right now. The next, he's dragging you out to the garage like a wolf with a chew toy, all sharp teeth and brighter eyes, muttering something about “if you’re gonna whine, might as well make yourself useful.”

Useful, apparently, means learning how to fix cars. Because that’s what he does when he’s not busy tearing people apart. A little hands-on therapy. Take something broken, make it purr again. You guess it fits—devils need hobbies, too.

“I still think you should just let me die of boredom,” you grumble, arms folded as you watch him prop the hood open. It groans like a corpse stretching in its grave, metal rasping against metal.

Ronin snorts. "Dramatic much? C'mon, darlin', ain't gonna kill ya to learn how an engine works. Might even save your pretty ass one day."

You give him a look that could peel paint. "Or you could just fix it for me. That's what boyfriends are for."

That earns you a low, wicked laugh. The kind that slides under your skin and stays there. "Oh, sweet thing, you're in for it now. Open up those pretty hands—time to get 'em dirty."

He hands you a wrench, and you hold it like it's a foreign object. Ronin leans over the engine block, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, revealing forearms streaked in grease and little healing scrapes. He’s beautiful in the most ridiculous way: all messy burgundy hair, shark-teeth grin, and a nicotine burn low on his wrist. A devil working the bones of a machine.

And, lucky you—you get to be his little apprentice.

“So, what are we doing?” you ask, mostly to fill the silence. Ronin's in his element, already half-lost to the work. Fingers curling around bolts like he could coax the car to life with touch alone.

“Changing the spark plugs,” he says. Then, when you give him your best bewildered expression, he chuckles. “They help make the magic happen, baby. No spark, no fire, no joyride. Same as people, really.”

“Poetic,” you deadpan. “So, where do I start?”

Ronin tilts his head toward the engine. "Get in here, darlin. I ain't gonna hold your hand the whole way."

That is a lie, by the way. He absolutely will.

You squeeze next to him, shoulder brushing his. The garage smells like old oil, sweat, and something sweetly metallic underneath—not quite blood, but close enough that your stomach flips. His heat soaks into your skin when he leans in, hands guiding yours over the metal innards.

He explains things in that lazy drawl of his, a little smug every time you mess up. And you mess up a lot. Your fingers slip, your grip's too weak, you curse when you almost drop a spark plug into the engine. Ronin just watches, like he's enjoying the spectacle of you struggling.

“Y’know,” he murmurs, breath warm against your neck, “you’re real cute when you’re useless.”

“Fuck you,” you snap back, except it comes out a little too breathy. Which, of course, he catches. His smile goes sharp enough to cut.

"Careful, darlin'. Keep talkin' like that, I might start thinkin' you like it when I'm mean."

Your hands falter, and you feel his gaze crawl over you. Heavy, hot. You don't answer, because what would you even say? He's not wrong.

“Alright,” he says, voice softer but no less dangerous. “Tighten that one, yeah? Let’s see if you can follow basic fuckin' instructions.”

You try. You really do. But the angle's weird, and your fingers keep slipping, and why the hell is everything in a car so awkward? Your knee bumps against the wheel well when you lean in deeper, and suddenly you're halfway sprawled over the engine like a sacrificial offering.

Perfect. Exactly what Ronin wanted.

He catches you before you can slide further, one grease-slick hand curling around your waist. His other hand plucks the wrench from your grip with infuriating ease.

“Clumsy thing,” he drawls. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“You could start by letting me go,” you say, but you don’t mean it. Not even a little. And Ronin’s the last person alive to fall for your lies.

His fingers press harder against your waist. "Nah," he says, low and rough, “I like you right where you are.”

He kisses you before you can fire back. Messy, claiming, dragging the breath from your lungs. His teeth catch your lower lip and tug, pulling a noise from your throat you weren’t planning to make. The taste of him is familiar—smoke and something darker beneath it, something that’s always felt a little like danger. Like sin in the shape of a man.

When he pulls back, you’re half-dizzy. Your hands are still braced against the edge of the car, and you can feel how tightly he’s holding you, like you might slip away if he isn’t careful.

“See?” he purrs. “Told ya fixin' cars could be fun.”

“I hate you,” you mutter, but you press closer anyway.

He grins, blood-red and wicked. "Nah. You love me. Now, quit slacking and hand me that wrench, sweetheart. We got work to do."

Head canons!

"Bored, darling?" If you so much as hint that you’ve got nothing to do, Ronin’s dragging you to the garage. He’s already got his coveralls half-unzipped, grease smeared across his jaw like a smudged halo—saint of the scrapyard, king of the underworld. He’ll plop you in front of some busted hunk of metal and call it a “bonding experience.” (Translation: watching you struggle is his favorite form of entertainment.)

Zero discounts, actually. If anything, Ronin charges you extra. Call it the “boyfriend tax.” He’ll fix your ride, sure—but only after making you bribe him with a kiss (or several). You’re not getting off easy. If you try to sweet-talk your way to a lower price? He just leans in, smirks against your ear, and murmurs, “Ya know, darling, I could break it worse if you wanted somethin’ new. Keep me busy.”

His garage is your second home. He doesn’t just let anyone hang around while he works—this is sacred ground, baby. But you? You get to sit on the workbench, legs swinging while he’s half-buried under an engine. He’ll toss you snacks from his stash (suspiciously all junk food) and occasionally drag you over just to “hold something.” (Spoiler: he just wants you close.)

Oh, sweetheart, you thought you were getting a discount? Cute. Ronin charges extra for you—calls it the “Tax.” Every time you ask, he tuts like you're breaking his poor, mechanical heart. But let your car actually break down? Suddenly, it’s "Nah, baby, I got this." He’ll fix it before you even notice, no charge—he just likes making you owe him. (And oh, you owe him plenty.) "Ain’t about the money, darlin’. It’s about makin’ sure you need me. And you do, don’tcha?"

Every. Single. Time. You visit the garage, he’s sweaty, just to make sure you suffer. Bonus points if you’re there in the summer—he’ll stretch, flex, and wink while holding a wrench like he’s posing for a calendar shoot. Loves to call you his “little assistant”—but gives you the most pointless tasks. "Hold this bolt. No, not like that. With love, babe. Jeez, where’s your passion?" If you complain? You’re getting pinned against the nearest surface with grease-smudged fingers trailing down your jaw. "Maybe if you were good, I’d give ya the easy jobs. But nah, you like it rough, don’tcha?"

He makes you “help” with repairs. Even though you suck. But he’s patient—weirdly patient for someone with blood on his hands. He’ll guide your fingers over the engine, teach you the difference between spark plugs and fuel injectors like it’s the most romantic thing in the world. And if you mess up? He just laughs, leans over you, and drawls, “Cute try, baby. Maybe leave the hard stuff to me.”

Car rides are a whole other game. After fixing your vehicle, he insists on a “test drive” with you in the passenger seat. He drives one-handed, the other resting heavy on your thigh—like he’s claiming both the road and you. “Gotta make sure it’s runnin’ smooth,” he says, voice thick with innuendo.

Grease-streaked kisses. You always leave his garage marked—fingers on your waist, motor oil smudged along your neck from when he drags you close. And if you complain? He just grins. “Looks better on ya than it does on me, darling.”

Your vehicle has an unofficial VIP pass. No matter how busy he is, if it’s your car in trouble, everything else can wait. Doesn’t matter if it’s a busted tire or the whole engine blowing out—he’ll fix it, grinning like he lives for the chaos you bring. Just don’t expect him to let you off easy: “You keep breakin’ shit, sweetheart, I’m gonna start thinkin’ you just wanna see me sweaty.”

His garage playlist is insane. Half industrial metal, half bluesy rock—loud enough to shake the walls. You pretend to hate it, but there’s something weirdly attractive about watching Ronin, sleeves rolled up, half-cursing along to the music while elbow-deep in some Frankenstein engine. (And if you’re lucky? He’ll pull you into a grease-streaked dance right there on the oil-stained floor.)

[beanwaterontherocks]

Sacrifice My Love At the Altar

Fandom: Killer Chat! Pairing: Ronin Beaufort x gn!reader Summary: The silver band resting on your ring finger was proof. Proof that you had let yourself be burned, touched by corruption and bathed in blood. Ronin in all his eccentricity was, of course, not satisfied by a quaint courthouse wedding. Warnings: Blood and gore, Marriage Word Count: 1054

You liked to think that you had your now-husband Ronin Beaufort all figured out. Spending months learning his tragedies and bloody triumphs, his little habits and all his annoying self. But as you walked into the abandoned house, just a few miles out of town, you felt a rush of anticipation akin to the kind you’d felt on the night where you fell…for him and in general.

The door to the old building opened with a creak and you looked down to see a coal-black carpet, littered with bloodied lilies leading into the darkness. Well, almost darkness, the only light came from a dusty window and several scarlet candles on the walls, lit and slowly dripping wax onto the wooden floor with quiet, slow thuds. 

You heard him before you saw him, whistling an admittedly good rendition of “Here Comes the Bride”. As you stepped down the walkway, trying your best to humor him and match the melody’s tempo, you saw the copper-scented pentagrams drawn on the wall.

Bits and pieces of slimy, fresh gore nailed to their corners, draping like a macabre tapestry. If the old you could see you now, they’d without a doubt be disgusted, physically and emotionally. You had fallen, the shining silver band engraved with the words “meet me in purgatory” was proof of that. The jeweler had looked at you sideways at that request. 

Ronin stood under an arch decorated with more lilies, as well as your own favorite flower appropriately also covered in blood. He grinned at you, the room falling completely silent save for your own footsteps. 

“You know we’re already married, right?” You asked as you reached him, taking his hand and pointing at his ring, adorned with the words “Always the devil, Ronin Beaufort”. Judging by the..pristine condition of the decor, he had set all this up just a few hours after your simple courthouse wedding that same morning. 

“On paper, sure, but I thought we needed to join properly in unholy matrimony”, Ronin said as you felt his arm snake around your waist and pull you into his embrace. “It’s not really a ceremony, let’s call it a ritual”, he spoke into your ear and you chuckled in response. This was just truly, purely him. You supposed that was appropriate, you were sacrificing your lives in a way. You felt a bubbling happiness as you glanced at your matching bands. 

“I married you for tax benefits so I don’t really need all your theatrics”, you said, leaning into his touch and wrapping your arms around his neck. He looked at you with those eyes dark as ripe nightshade and a hundred times as deadly. He looked at you with twisted affection oozing like viscous blood. 

The scent of blood and the sickly-sweet beginnings of decaying flesh mixed with the remnants of the rosy sweet cologne he’d worn for your official wedding.

He had looked handsome in his deep red and black suit, but now with his blazer discarded who-knows-where, his tie loose, shirt disheveled and a manic yet flushed expression on his face he looked devastatingly beautiful. So much so that you couldn’t resist pulling away, only to pull him back to you by his tie and pressing his lips to yours. When you broke apart, Ronin laughed his dark, joyful chuckle and gestured to the floor in front of the arch.

“How about that first dance?” 

Ronin was a lot of things, a nuisance, a murderer, someone you loved but he was not a good dancer. What would traditionally have been a waltz ended up being the two of you, wrapped in each other’s arms and swaying slowly from side to side. Not that any of you cared much for tradition anyway. 

“So, who’s our guest? I don’t remember putting a liver on the guestlist”, you remarked, glancing at one of the visceral wall decorations. Ronin smiled, as though he’d been waiting excitedly for you to ask that question. 

“I mean we had to have a priest somewhere, I was thinkin’ about opening him up and putting him at the altar, but I wanted that little moment to be just for us”, he said, placing a kiss to the top of your head in a sweet gesture that starkly contrasted the crazed look in his eyes. 

“You went all-out, though I did promise to take you in all your sickness, so maybe I deserve it”, you spoke softly. He was sick and he’d brought out the festering rot hidden deep inside you, pulled it out with very own lips. 

“Till death do us part”, he laughed as you leaned your head against his chest, listening to the steady thumping of his heart. 

“Please, like you won’t be waiting for me if you die first and I’m not going to haunt you till you croak”.

There was no escaping him, if you somehow miraculously were spared from the Nine Circles, he would personally break down Heaven’s door to bring you into the depths. You felt his arms tighten around you, holding you as close as he possibly could.

“You’ll haunt me? Run through the blood in my veins so I can hear your wicked words everytime my heart beats? Baby, I’m so fuckin’ glad I married you”, Ronin laughed, the sound ringing through his chest. 

The melody played by his aorta was crudely interrupted by a…pained groan echoing from somewhere else within the house. 

“Awww, that was gonna be a surprise”, he said with exaggerated disappointment as he pulled away, still holding your hands. 

“I think I know already but…what’s next?” You asked, your tone frighteningly casual considering what was about to take place. You really had fallen so far, but your fall had been cushioned by a warm sea of love and gore.

He looked towards a hallway in the house and you began to notice crimson spots leading down to a lone door. There were no candles in that hall. Ronin retrieved something from a nearby table. You felt the cold metal hilt of a kitchen knife tapping against your ring and he handed the blade to you. His hands cupped yours, warm and flushed with excitement as he guided the incredibly sharp tip of the knife towards the old door. 

“I said I wanted a bleeding wedding cake, remember?” 

[unicornpopcorn14]

Chuuya's reaction to Dazai getting hurt during the Lovecraft fight has always been so interesting to me...

Because it's the kind of worry you'd never expect from a character as gruff as Chuuya, who had displayed nothing but hostility towards Dazai so far. Usually, characters that are labelled as "angry" or "anger issues" (which Chuuya is much more complex than that but you get my point) act more as a tsundere type of way when the one they "don't care about" gets hurt. And show their care in very, very subtle ways (ex. their eyes widen, their mouth parts and closes again, etc) before putting up their front once more.

Chuuya, however, is open, and vocal about it. His worry is clear not only to us, but to Dazai himself, the one he shouldn't be displaying the concern to (as per the cliche). Shouldn't it be some sort of secret that Chuuya does care? Isn't that what skk's dynamic has been shaping up to be until now?

I'm telling you- the way my mind blanked when Chuuya just casually.... showed concern not once, but twice, was a sight to see.

Besides, the context makes it much more confusing, because Dazai isn't some rookie, and Chuuya knows that more than anybody. He was the youngest executive in Port Mafia's history, of course he can handle a hit or two. Of course he'd seen him handle a hit or two, sometimes without batting an eye.

Heck, Chuuya himself was hurling Dazai like a ragdoll in their reunion, which was their last meeting. And you could argue that he was going easy on him, but Dazai has mostly withstood the same damage (as far as I could see), and Chuuya was as bitter as ever.

So that kind of contradicts both what we knew of Chuuya so far, and how their dynamic was shaped to be. I mean, that just makes Chuuya a hypocrite, yeah? What makes him care now, all of a sudden? What makes him care at all?

Well, to me, this backasswards reaction implies one (or more) of the following:

- Dazai rarely got physically hurt during their partnership and thus this is an unexpected thing for him to see (during a mission).

- The four years of separation made Chuuya unsure of how much Dazai can withstand physically now. Also the fact that he isn't in the mafia anymore, aka fighting enemy organizations on the weekly, would naturally make Dazai lose his touch in a way, what prompts Chuuya's reaction.

- Dazai getting taken off guard took him off guard which led to panic. Especially since the situation was (momentarily) out of their depth. Seriously wtf even was Lovecraft?

- During the dungeon scene Dazai was an enemy, while in the Lovecraft fight he was as an ally. The difference might be significant to Chuuya.

- This has always been Chuuya's reaction to Dazai getting hurt regardless of the situation.

- "Only I can hurt him like that" ahh logic

- Asagiri was still experimenting with their dynamic and thus there are some inconsistencies.

This scenario didn't play out again (after their reunion) for me to exactly determine which one is more plausible, but it is 100% canon for Chuuya to shamelessly show his concern and run to Dazai to check on him before properly dealing with their opponent, which I find to be such an appealing layer to their dynamic, and a good spin on the type of character he gets stereotyped as.

Bonus: Dazai also becomes a softy when Chuuya's hurt, especially post corruption. Dead Apple alone displays that multiple times.

All in all, Skk are doing a terrible job at maintaining their 'hostile' and 'antagonistic' relationship post their reunion. Freaks.

[sieglinde-freud]

oh im obsessed with this actually… who ever wrote this one i am kissing u on the forehead and hugging you real tight… inigo is such a loverboy im kkkhhhhhhijnsdnfng

[astralhope]

Rank 54: The true king of Numbers!!

[kbwrites]

Heated Waters

synopsis: being married is hard, being married without seeing each other is even harder.

⚝ content: Hiromi Higuruma x F! Reader, nsfw, bathtub sex, fingering, Hiromi neglects his wife, but boy does he make up for it

⚝ wc: 1.9k

“Yeah we do it pretty much every day.”

Satoru said, taking a leisurely sip of his water. His pale face alight with mischief, a shit-eating grin across his lips. His three coworkers stared at him in (jealousy) disbelief.

Suguru was the first to break the silence, wanting to save face “Everyday is a bit much, isn’t it, Satoru?”

Satoru chuckled, his blue eyes glinting with amusement as he watched his friend squirm. "What about you guys? How often do our married friends get it in?" His gaze flickered to Nanami, who cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses, his eyes fixed on the steam rising from his coffee cup.

“Twice a week, I suppose…”

Satoru's smile widened, clearly entertained by the responses he was drawing out. He then turned his attention to the oldest among them, Hiromi Higuruma, who was carefully straightening his tie, a subtle attempt to avoid eye contact.

“What about you, Higuruma?”

“Your wife, (Y/N) is a little younger than you, right? C’mon Higuruma-San…She a total freak?” Satoru teased.

Hiromi's jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his features as his grip on his coffee cup tightened. He took a slow, measured breath, his voice strained but controlled when he finally spoke.

“Please don’t talk about my wife like that.”

But Satoru, ever the instigator, didn’t back down. “It’s just us guys riiggght? And I can’t lie Higuruma, you’re one lucky guy. (Y/N) is a catch.”

Nanami nodded in agreement, as did Suguru, though both seemed to sense the discomfort growing in Hiromi. The older man could only sigh, his shoulders sagging under the weight of the conversation.

It was true—you were everything he could have ever wanted in a partner. Beautiful, intelligent, kind-hearted—his perfect match. If heaven existed, Hiromi was certain you’d be the only one worthy of it.

But long nights in the office, and early mornings preparing for court would take a toll on any relationship. The truth was… Hiromi hadn’t touched you in over a month. By the time he came home—you were fast asleep, and weekends were spent running the mountain of errands you couldn’t get to during the week. You loved each other of course, but it was hard. A month without feeling the warmth of your husband's hands all over your skin was starting to weigh heavily on both of you.

“You don’t have to answer Higuruma-san..” Nanami chimed in, sensing his elder colleague’s discomfort.

“Over a month.” Hiromi exhaled, the truth slipping out before he could stop it.

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

“WHAT?” Gojo audibly gasps. “Your wife looks like THAT and you haven’t f—”

Suguru swiftly cut him off with a well-placed elbow to the chest. “Satoru… leave Higuruma alone.” The long-haired male warns. “Still, that is surprising.”

“I know I know..” Higuruma pinches his bridge. He wanted nothing more than to have his wife under him… on top of him. But the endless stream of work kept him trapped in a cycle of exhaustion. “I’ve been so busy I can’t even remember the last time I actually spoke to her properly.”

Suguru offered an apologetic smile. “Sounds like you need a break.”

“Sounds like you need some puss—” Nanami quickly elbowed Satoru in the chest before he could finish his sentence.

Hiromi shook his head, letting out a dry chuckle as he ran a hand through his dark locks, clearly frustrated with himself. “I appreciate your concern, guys, but I don’t see how I can take a break right now. I have so much work to do, and I’m the only one who knows how to handle all of it.”

“Higuruma-San. Satoru will take care of the paperwork for you.” Nanami suggested with a deadpan expression.

“HUH?” Satoru blurted out, clearly caught off guard by the sudden assignment.

“Yeah,” Nanami continued, ignoring Satoru’s protest. “It’s not like he actually does any work around here anyway.”

Suguru smirked, nodding in agreement. “That’s true. You might as well make yourself useful, Satoru.”

Before Hiromi could protest, the trio moved in unison—Suguru grabbing Hiromi’s briefcase, Nanami steering him toward the door, and Satoru sighing dramatically as he resigned himself to the task.

“Are… are you boys sure about this? I don’t want to burden you–”

“Nonsense! Go home and take care of your wife!”

Hiromi placed his briefcase by the door, his tie feeling suddenly too tight around his neck. He loosened it with a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around. The familiar scent of home greeted him. It was comforting yet bittersweet, a reminder of all the moments he had missed. The living room was tidy, the soft hum of the dishwasher running in the kitchen. You had clearly been busy, taking care of the house as you always did, even when he wasn’t around.

“Honey?” Hiromi calls out to you, his voice echoing slightly in the stillness.

Frowning, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair before making his way down the hall. As he approached the bathroom, he noticed a faint light seeping out from under the door, accompanied by the sound of water gently lapping against the tub.

He hesitated for a moment, then slowly opened the door.

The sight that greeted him made his breath catch in his throat. There you were, reclining in the bathtub, your eyes closed, head resting on the edge as steam rose around you. The soft glow of candles illuminated the room, casting a warm, serene light over your features.

You looked so peaceful, so beautiful—that it almost hurt to look at you. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he took in the sight, but the guilt and longing only deepened. How long had it been since he’d taken the time to appreciate you like this? Since he’d been able to just… be with you?

You opened your eyes, gaze meeting your husband as he leaned against the door frame.

“Hiromi?” you murmured, your voice soft, almost questioning, as if unsure whether he was really there or just a figment of your imagination.

“Hey Honey…” his voice equally soft, as he took a tentative step closer. The warmth of the room seemed to wrap around him, melting away some of the day’s stress.

“You’re home early.” You muse, looking at him as you rested your arms on the tub. He doesn’t respond, just walks towards you with purposeful steps.

Hiromi stares down at you with half-lidded eyes.“The guys decided I need a break.” He paused, his breath hitching slightly as he continued, “Can I join you?” A playful smirk tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Only if you take off your clothes this time.”

A dry chuckle escaped his lips as he unbuttons his dress shirt, letting each article of clothing fall to the tile floor. As he finally sheds his boxers before settling behind you. You exhaled softly, the tension you’d been holding onto for weeks dissipating as you sank into your husband’s embrace.

Hiromi didn’t waste a moment, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck, placing lazy, lingering kisses along the curve where your shoulder met your throat. His breath was warm against your skin, his kisses slow and unhurried, as if savoring every second, every inch of you.

His hands weren’t idle either, tracing gentle patterns along your stomach, moving upwards to cup your breasts with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. He nipped lightly at your earlobe, his voice a husky murmur, “I’ve missed you… more than you know.”

“Missed you too ‘Romi..” Your voice trembling as the almost foreign heat began to pool in your core.

Deft fingers teased your nipples, rolling and pinching—eliciting a soft moan from your lips as your body arched into his touch. Your hand reached back, tangling in his dark locks, pulling him closer as his lips traveled down to your shoulder, his other hand snaking under the water to your aching cunt.

“ahhhh… s-shitt..” You cry out as Hiromi’s fingers slowly circle your swollen bud. His touch light, teasing.

“Thirty-two days… I’m so sorry m’love.” He mumbles into your shoulder as he slips a slender digit into your entrance. Your walls flutter immediately around the intrusion, as he gently pumped into you.

He adds another finger, curling up to the spot he had neglected all those weeks. He extended his thumb to rub your clit. You arch your back against him, feeling his cock twitch against your ass.

“Hiro…” you moan, reaching behind for him, but he bites down lightly on your shoulder.

“Not yet, pretty girl, want you t’cum first okay?”

He whispers as he feels your gummy walls clench around him.

He speeds up his ministrations, digits stuffing your cunt as your pussy throbs and squelches. Your whimpers echo around the tiled walls, water lapping around your bodies.

You feel the pressure building as each thrust of his long fingers brush against your g-spot.

“g-gonna cum!”

“Cum f’me sweetheart please—god… need it so bad.” Hiromi mumbles as he pumps even faster.

“a-ahh!” you cry as you reach your high, walls clenching as you cum on your husband’s hand. He removes his fingers from you, moving to gently circle your clit as you come down from your orgasm.

You both stay there for a moment, your heavy breathing the only sound occupying the space, mingling with the gentle slosh of water against the porcelain tub. Hiromi’s arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you closer.

Slowly, he lifted you, the warm water swirling around you both as he maneuvered you to face him, settling you on his lap. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your knees pressing against the cool sides of the tub.

You straddled Hiromi, your bodies now fully aligned, chest to chest. Your husband's dark, half-lidded eyes bore into yours, his expression a mixture of raw need and unspoken tenderness. He let his hands rest on your waist for a moment, thumbs tracing gentle circles against your damp skin as he took in the sight of you.

“I don’t know how I’ve stayed away from you for so long…” his voice breaking slightly as if the admission pained him.

Your breath hitched as you shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the tension between you intensify. Hiromi’s hands slid up your sides, his touch deliberate and slow, leaving a trail of heat in their wake as his lips finally found yours. The kiss was deep, full of hunger that had been simmering between you both for far too long.

His grip on your waist tightened as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance that left you dizzy with need.

Breaking the kiss, Hiromi leaned his forehead against yours, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

“I won’t make that mistake again.”

Without a word, he rose from the tub, lifting you effortlessly into his arms. Water cascaded down your bodies, pooling at your feet as he carried you toward the bedroom, his lips trailing wet kisses down the side of your neck.

He laid you gently onto the bed, your back sinking into the soft silken sheets, but Hiromi didn’t waste any time. His gaze darkening as he climbed over you, his body hovering just above yours, his eyes drinking you in like a man starved.

“I’m going to make up for every second I’ve missed.”

[tender-rosiey]

yoo rose I started following you a little while ago and I really liked you. I saw that your requests are open and I would like to ask for a scenario where Nanami arrives drunk and his wife takes care of him while he talks about how he loves her I liked all your stories with my businessman <3

unsteady love — nanami kento x f!reader

a/n: so glad that you do, love! <33 hope you like this one too 🫶🫶

kento stumbles slightly into your house, catching himself against the wall before you steady him, “kento… you’re drunk.”

he blinks down at you, the usually serious expression on his face replaced by something softer, more relaxed. there’s a faint flush coloring his cheeks, and he lets out a low, rumbling chuckle.

“I am not drunk,” he declares, his voice slurred just enough to betray him. “I’m... just—” he waves his hand vaguely in the air, searching for the right word. “...enlightened.”

you suppress a smile and guide him to the couch, sitting him down gently. “sure, ‘enlightened.’” you shake your head, amused. “stay put, I’ll get you some water.”

as you move to the kitchen, you hear him muttering to himself. “can’t believe I’m drunk,” he grumbles, almost like he’s scolding himself, “what kind of a husband does that?”

when you return, cup in hand, he’s sitting with his head leaned back against the couch, his eyes half-closed. but when you approach, he perks up immediately, watching you with a soft, slightly dazed look.

“you’re so beautiful,” he says. his voice is quieter, more sincere, and it catches you off guard for a second. nanami isn’t exactly shy about how he feels, but this is a side of him you don’t see often.

“drink,” you instruct, handing him the water to avoid the sudden rush of emotions his words bring. he takes the glass without complaint, but even as he drinks, his eyes never leave you.

after a few sips, he sets the glass down on the table and leans back again, sighing contentedly. “you take such good care of me,” he says softly, almost to himself, “I don’t deserve you.”

you chuckle at the sudden sentimental turn. “kento, you’re acting like I’ve just saved your life. you had a few drinks. you will be okay.”

he shakes his head, looking at you with those hazy, half-lidded eyes. “it is serious. you’re always here for me. always... my constant. my…” he trails off, struggling for the right words in his drunken haze, “you make everything better. I love you.”

his words are raw, unfiltered by the usual restraint he keeps on his emotions. there’s a vulnerability in the way he says it that makes your heart tighten.

“I love you too,” you reply, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

but before you can pull away, he grabs your wrist gently, pulling you closer. “no, you don’t get it.” he’s more insistent now, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that’s surprising given his state. “I really love you. I think about it all the time, all—the time.”

you laugh softly, though his words tug at something deep inside you. “you can tell me all about it when you’re sober.”

he doesn’t let go, though, his grip still gentle but firm. “I mean it. you make the worst days worth it. you... you’re everything.”

a soft laugh escapes you, touched by his sincerity but also aware of how much the alcohol is loosening his tongue. “I know, kento. you’ve told me before.”

nanami pouts—a rare expression that looks so out of place on his usually stoic face. “but I don’t say it enough. you deserve to hear it.”

he blinks sloppily as he stares at you before murmuring, "I need to marry you."

you let out a soft laugh and kiss his cheek, "we are married, you silly man."

in a once in a lifetime incident, your husband stares at you, eyes wide, face reddening by the second. he looks down at his feet for a few moments, then you see him hum, "that's nice."

his seriousness is almost comical given the state he’s in, and you can’t help but tease him a little. “y'know, you’re awfully chatty for someone who insisted they weren’t drunk.”

he lets out a sigh, leaning his head back again and releasing your wrist, “fine, fine. maybe I’m a little drunk. but it doesn’t change the fact that I—”

before he can finish, he shifts too quickly and almost topples off the couch. you rush to catch him, but you fall with him, and he blinks, disoriented, before breaking into a lopsided smile. “maybe a lot drunk.”

“yeah, maybe,” you say with a laugh, helping him sit back up. “come on, let’s get you to bed.”

as you help him to his feet, he leans heavily against you, his arm draped over your shoulder. you guide him down the hallway, his weight familiar but the situation still amusingly foreign.

normally, he’s the one doing the taking care of—you can’t help but relish this rare moment where the roles are reversed.

once you’ve managed to get him into bed, he pulls you down next to him, refusing to let go of your hand. his eyes, though heavy with sleep, remain fixed on you with that same soft, adoring look.

“you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he mumbles, his voice thick with exhaustion and sincerity, “we have to go to malaysia together.”

“sure,” you smile, brushing your fingers through his hair as his eyes finally flutter shut. “goodnight, kento.”

just as you’re about to pull away, his hand tightens around yours once more, and he whispers, half-asleep, “I love you.”

his words are softer now, less dramatic than before but still brimming with emotion.

you watch him for a moment, his features relaxed in the dim light, and feel a warmth spread through your chest. this side of him—unguarded, affectionate, and a little silly—is one you cherish just as much as his usual seriousness.

as he drifts off, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead, letting his words linger in the air, “I love you too.”

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[eraenaa]

Unexpected Affections

Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader Tag List

Synopsis: With just a smile, you had managed to bewitch and enthrall the stoic and cold prince. 

Warnings: Sunshine x Grumpy Trope, ¿Softer Aemond?, ¿Simp Aemond?, Jealousy, Mature, 18+, Fingering, P in V Sex, Oral Sex (f receiving), Overstimulation, Not Proof Read

Word Count: 7,287

A/N: Really milking softer Aemond bc I'm pretty sure I'm going to take a break from him once s2 is released.

He’s broken beyond repair. Too far gone to be saved. Aemond knew fully well that is how the others see him. The boy who had his eye taken was never the same. Darkness was his only solace, the walls too far up that no one dared to scale it and reach the true him— simply taking the dark and villainous scrap of his true self that he was willing to give. All seemed to give up on him— simply let him drown in his darkness, except you. 

Like all things good, you came unexpectedly. You were a mere visitor from Highgarden, a noble lady who came with your lord father as he tended to business in the capitol. Aemond could never understand how you looked at everything and everyone with rose-colored glasses, but he supposed he should be grateful because if that trusting naivety in you were lost, your light would never come close to his looming darkness. 

“Who is that?” Aemond asked his family’s most trusted knight, Ser Criston Cole. Your figure caught his attention; it was as if you were floating along the gardens of his home. A small smile on your face and flowers adorned in your hair. He stood near the balcony, discussing important business with the knight, when his train of thought was lost and captured by your mere presence. “Lady Tyrell, her father has business here with the crown,” the knight said absentmindedly. Aemond nodded and took one last glance at you before walking away. 

The thought of you was quickly forgotten by the prince. He saw your presence as just another to add to the list of nobles at court who cowered upon his stature. However, you lingered in the back of his mind as he often saw glimpses of you walking through the halls of his home. Aemond stood in the gardens once more, this time waiting for his sister and her children when he caught your eyes. He waited for fear and apprehension to present themself in your orbs, the same reactions he would elicit from everyone. However, the prince was taken aback as you smiled at him. A small, respectable smile before you stole your eyes and continued to your promenading.

Aemond blinked his eye rapidly, trying to discern if he saw correctly or if it was a cruel trick made by his impaired vision. Aemond pursed his lips as he felt himself walk towards where you had passed. There was this odd pull about you— more than your beauty; if it was just that, a comely face was never one to put the prince in a trance. It was an ethereal element that beguiled Aemond quickly. He had not even spoken to you, yet you had already managed to put such an effect on him. 

He watched from a distance as you bent down and assessed a flower, your fingers caressing the velvety petal and bringing it to your nose to discern the fragrance of it. Aemond felt that pull once more, his feet carrying him closer to you. When you stood straight, your brows raised in surprise as you had noticed you were no longer alone. “My prince,” You greeted with a curtsy, his silvery locks the warning sign that you spoke to royalty. Aemond was rendered silent, his mind already spinning at the sound of your voice. What was this? He could not explain what had overcome him. You bit your lip as no greeting left the prince’s lips, him only staring at you with an unreadable expression on his angular face. “Are… are you well, my prince?” You asked, daring to step closer and take hold of his arm to examine if he was truly well. 

You watched as his lips parted and closed, no sound leaving it. “Perhaps you should find some shade; the heat may be too unbearable,” You say quietly and never take your hold off his arm, guiding him towards the shade of a willow tree in concern. Aemond was screaming at himself on the inside, hating that he was making a fool of himself, that he couldn’t even speak, simply letting you guide him towards the shade and making him sit on a bench. Your concern for his well-being consumes your face and his being. “Do you wish for refreshment, perhaps w—“ Aemond shook his head as he finally regained his senses. 

You chewed on your cheek as the prince stood. “I am fine; I apologize for the— the intrusion, Lady Tyrell,” He said stoically, and you shook your head and smiled at him. “No need for apologies, my prince; no intrusion was made. But are you certain that you are well… you look a bit pale, my prince.” You say and quickly regret it as your mind reminds you that maybe that was just his true complexion. You swallowed thickly as you saw him pursed his lips, fearing that you had offended the prince. Aemond did not know how to take this concern— this kindness that he was never the receiver of. “I am quite well; good day, my lady.” He walked away in haste as he feared that if he stayed longer in your presence, he would make a further fool of himself. You stood there in confusion; your lips parted as the prince almost ran from you. 

The thought of you haunted Aemond until the night, his arm still tingling from where you had placed your touch. He replayed the scene in his mind over and over again, trying to convince himself that your concern was fictitious— that it was a ploy to be in the good graces of the prince. But as he recalled the way your eyes bore into his, nothing but sincerity was evident in your orbs. How are you this kind? To a stranger, no less. Aemond was restless as he lay in his bed; his mind kept conjuring your interaction in the gardens, refusing him any other thought than you. 

When morning came, Aemond had made great lengths to avoid you, silently embraced as he had made a fool of himself in the gardens. As his training ended, Aemond tried to find reprieve from the loud keep in the library. Aemond believed he was successful in his avoidance of you, but as he stood by the threshold of the silent room, he saw, as you were seated in one of the chairs, a book in your hand as you silently read. His presence was still not noticed. He could easily slip away and be successful in his avoidance of you, yet, just like the other days, his body could not help but be pulled towards you. 

When you noticed a presence standing before where you sat, you flickered your gaze upward and locked eyes with the prince once more. “Prince Aemond,” You acknowledge and move to stand to greet him, but he silently raises his hand and hinders your actions. You copied his silence as he took the seat across from you. You traveled your gaze through the library, uncertain what to say or do. “I hope you are feeling better,” You say quietly. Aemond licked his lips as he was subjected to your dazzling presence once more; even though he had willed himself to avoid it, it seemed you were inevitable. 

“I am; I was simply tired,” He said, making certain to place coldness in his tone, hoping it would deter you and no longer present him with your kindness he stubbornly took as deception. Aemond felt his breath catch as you gave him another smile. A relieved smile for his well-being that was so genuine that he could not stubbornly convince himself that it was not. 

You stayed silent as you felt that that was what the prince preferred. You tried to return to your reading, but his velvety voice sounded through the room. “What business did you have here?” He asked. Aemond was testing you, presenting you with his cold and calloused self to see if it would have any effect on you just like it did the other. He watched calculatingly as your lips parted, and he found trouble to remove his gaze from your plush lips. “If I am being honest, I am not quite certain, my prince.” You said truthfully. You watched him raise his brow at you to explain further. “My father has business he needed to tend to here, but he had not disclosed to me the reason for it or why I needed to join.” Aemond nodded and watched as your eyes were never removed from his gaze, surprised that you could hold onto his intensified stare. 

“So you have no purpose here?” He asked harshly. He expected a frown or a look of offense on your face, but he watched as you smiled as if you were amused and shrugged, “I suppose not.” Aemond stayed silent and continued to asses you as you returned to your reading. 

“Do you like philosophy, Prince Aemond?” You asked after a stretch of silence, unable to bear the eerie and suffocating quiet. Aemond took a moment before he answered your query that no one had been interested in asking him before. “I do,” Another small smile appeared on your lips as you nodded. “Then have you perhaps read this? I have been mulling over the proposition of the archmaester for days now, but I cannot seem to comprehend it fully,” You say and turn the book you read towards him. Your fingers brushed as the prince took the book from your hands, and you could not hinder the chill that ran down your spine as you felt his cold, calloused fingers against yours. 

You listened earnestly as the prince began to speak and explain the proposition you had trouble comprehending, going to great lengths to explain his thoughts on it, assisting and receiving any questions you had. Aemond paused in his explanation, feeling as if his mouth had gone dry by his prolonged speaking. He turned to the window and saw as the once high sun began to set; he returned his gaze to you, your chin resting on your palm as you had listened to his every word, clinging onto every syllable he had uttered. Aemond gulped as he realized his mistake. He had revealed too much of him; too much of his thinking was poured out in his explanation of philosophy. “I must take my leave,” he suddenly said, disregarding that he was in the middle of explaining another philosophical theory that was different from the first you had inquired about. 

“Oh,” You said and straightened in your seat. Aemond wanted to frown as he detected disappointment in your tone and eyes. That cannot be, can it? Why would anyone be disappointed in his departure? “Good day, my prince,” You curtsied as you stood, not wanting to take more of his time. Aemond began to walk away, cursing himself for his actions, but he halted by the door as you spoke. “Thank you for your explanations… they were quite enlightening,” You said, and Aemond turned to you; the smile returned to your lips as you looked at him gratefully. Were you truly thankful? Thankful for him? Was that even a possibility? Aemond gave a curt nod and willed himself to walk away from you. 

You were in the gardens once again. You were terribly homesick, and the gardens of the Red Keep were the only resemblance of your home that you could cling to. You were walking distractedly, a buzzing bee following you around as the flowers in your hair attracted the insect. You tried to squat it away, afraid to get stung when you accidentally missed a step, losing your balance, and were met with the cobbled floor of the gardens. Your jaw slacked in pain, and you tried to stand, your cheeks burning in embarrassment that someone may have seen your ungraceful fall. There was a stone by your side, and you tried to hoist yourself upon it, hissing as you accidentally placed pressure on your swollen ankle, but you were determined to stand and walk back to the keep to ask for assistance.   

Unbeknownst to you, Prince Aemond had been observing you from above the gardens, and the moment he saw the sight of you falling, he made hastened steps to reach you. “My lady,” He called, trying to hide his panting, and approached you as if he had only stumbled upon your presence. You sat before a rock, and he noticed you hiding your injured limb from his view, “My prince,” Aemond watched in slight awe as you still tried to stand and curtsied before him, still holding onto formalities even though you were clearly hurt. 

“Are you well?” This time, it was now Aemond to ask the question. You placed a tight smile on your lips, pretending that your injury was not at all bothering you. “I am fine, and you, my prince?” You asked, trying to speak of pleasantries. You shifted your weight on your uninjured leg and, for once, hoped that the prince would leave. “Are… are you certain?” Aemond inquired, wondering why you would pretend. “Y-yes,” You stuttered, and Aemond narrowed his eye. 

You sighed and placed your head on the ground. “I… I tripped, and I think my ankle is injured— but I do not wish to bother you, my prince. I can wait for the swelling to subside.” Aemond frowned at your words. How were you so concerned about his well-being but not your own? Aemond shook his head and stepped closer to you, silently scooping you in his arms. “Wh— My prince!” You said in shock as you were stiffly settled into the hold of Prince Aemond. Your arms circled around his neck to stabilize yourself. “You don’t— I could have just waited for a squire or maid to assist me,” You said in a slight panic and could not even bear to look at the prince in embarrassment. “You are clearly in pain,” Was all he said as he carried you back inside the castle walls, the both of you earning strange glances from the members of the court. 

Aemond returned you to your assigned chambers, trying to ignore the erratic beating of his still heart and the tingles on his skin from where he felt your touch. He placed you gently onto a settee, inhaling a whiff of your scent, and he felt intoxicated. He placed a respectable distance between you as the both of you waited for the maester he ordered a squire to fetch. Your gaze was still planted on the floor, and Aemond noticed the flush on your cheeks and the harsh bit you had on your lip, embarrassment clearly evident in you. 

“I did not wish to bother you, my prince.” You say quietly, your tone heavy with guilt. Aemond could only hum a response, clueless as to why you were apologizing. The maester finally arrived, and Aemond stood by the side as he oversaw the maester, tending your injury. You tried to keep your pained reactions to a minimum as you felt conscious of the prince’s presence, but you could not help but hiss in pain, and your face contorted in discomfort as the Maester tried to move your injury. Aemond swallowed thickly as he himself was overcome with a phantom pain by the mere observation of yours. 

“Will it heal, maester?” He asked in concern, stepping forward. “Yes, my prince, it is only a swollen ankle; it shall heal by the morrow,” The old man spoke and stood, placing a cold, damp towel upon your injury, and you reached forward to secure its place. Aemond gave a nod, and his eye followed the maester who exited your chambers, leaving the door open. Aemond returned his gaze to you, your eyes finally meeting his, and he once again felt his breath caught in his throat as you smiled at him. 

“Thank you for your assistance and kindness, my prince,” You say gratefully, and Aemond felt his knees weak. No one had ever called him kind before. As always, you were met with his silence, but you dared say you were getting used to it. After a few moments of Aemond trying to comprehend your words, he gave a curt nod. “I shall leave you to rest; good day, my lady.” He said and willed himself to walk away from your presence he did not wish to leave. 

Another day had passed, and Aemond had not seen a glimpse of your presence he had been trying to avoid just the day before. He had the urge to knock upon your door and to see how you were faring with your recovery, but he placed great restraint on himself as his mind deemed it inappropriate. So he waited another day. He stood by the gardens, his eye assessing every passerby as he waited for you. He had been stood by the balcony like a statue for the better part of the morning, but your presence had not been noted. 

Aemond decided to walk around the castle, passing along every corridor in search of you and ready to act surprised as you two would eventually encounter once more. It was nearing sundown, and he had not seen a glimpse of you. Perhaps she is still resting. His mind told him, but Aemond was not entirely sold by that reasoning. 

The prince attended his family’s supper in his mother’s chambers. He sat quietly in his seat and saw the aggravated and tired faces of his mother and grandsire as they came to the table late. “We apologize for our tardiness; the small council has been overburdened by a matter.” The queen explained as she took her seat. “What matter?” Aemond asked, always curious about the dealing made. “The crown cannot afford to pay the dues it owes to House Tyrell… it is too great a sum, and the lord has threatened to withhold back crops for the upcoming winter if we do not pay their price.” The hand spoke, and Aemond pursed his lips, knowing that the debt to your house had been since the time of the conqueror. 

“Surely they could be reasoned with— they would not want to offend the rulers of Westeros,” Aemond said quietly and heard his mother sighed deeply. “Perhaps, but no meetings and negotiations can be made at the moment, for they had already left late last night.” Aemond’s hold on his fork tightened as he heard the words. You had gone without even a goodbye.

“I just do not know what we can offer to match their hefty sum,” the lord hand said and downed his wine. Aemond traveled his gaze around the table, his sibling not at all listening to the matter. “Offer me,” Aemond spoke, and he felt all eyes shift toward him. He turned to his mother, the queen’s lips agape in shock at his words. “The crown does not have money to pay our debt— then is it not a custom to offer marriage instead?” He asked rhetorically; the practice was made for centuries, but the price was usually paid with a princess, not a prince. 

“Aemond, mere debts are not paid with a prince.” The queen said. “But it is not just a mere debt, now is it, mother? The Tyrells had as well placed a threat to the kingdom’s security over this winter— and the mere debt you speak of has been established since the age of the conqueror,” Aemond turned to his grandsire, who he knew would understand his proposition. The Hand pondered over his grandson’s words. “But you are set to marry the Baratheon girl,” Alicent countered, and Aemond scoffed. 

“We owe nothing to the Baratheons, and do you not think that this matter looms greater?” He asked, “Lord Tyrell only has a daughter, does he not? In time, the seat shall pass onto me as well, alike with the arrangements with Lord Borros. And with this, the crown will no longer be indebted to their house,” Aemond said, determined to see you once more. “That is a most favorable solution,” The hand commented, quite content by his grandson’s proposition. The queen sighed and took a moment to think of the proposal. “Very well then,” she sighed, and Aemond hindered the smirk threatening to slip his lips. 

“I shall draft the proposal tonight and send a messenger to Highgarden first thing tomorrow,” Otto said in finality. “No need, I shall offer the proposal myself in person,” Aemond said, and he saw apprehension in his mother’s eyes, disbelief by his decision, but none hindered him. 

It was afternoon the following day when he had reached High Garden, Aemond riding atop his dragon through the morning, eager to reach his destination, you. “My prince,” Lord Tyrell greeted him by the gates of their castle. “What business is so urgent that the prince of the realm had to fly his dragon all over here to the reach?” They had not even reached inside the castle walls when Lord Tyrell could no longer hinder his curiosity. 

“It is the matter of the crown’s debt,” Aemond replied, his eye scanning the halls in search of you. He heard your father reply with an ‘oh,’ clearly anticipating the conclusion of the matter. “Is the crown ready to pay us the price owed?” Aemond hummed as he passed a portrait of you hung on the wall of your home, his eye entranced by the picture. “In a way,” The prince danced upon the matter momentarily. “In lieu of a payment, the crown is prepared to offer a marriage,” Aemond stated and watched concussion flush over your father’s face. 

“With respect, my prince, but that is an insulting offer. The crown has owed my house a great sum accumulated since the age of conquest!” Lord Tyrell seethed, and Aemond gritted his jaw. “I believe you are too hasty with your outburst, my lord. The crown is offering a union between me and your daughter— an opportunity for your only child to be a princess… your grandchildren having the Targaryen name.” Lord Tyrell shook his head, “My daughter is already bound to marry another— titles are one thing, my prince, but there is still a debt to be paid.” Aemond felt the fire in his veins awaken at your father’s words. You are to be bound to another; that cannot be. You cannot be anyone else’s when you had consumed his entire being— when you had presented him with such hope and kindness that he was certain he would find in no one else. You could never be not his. 

Aemond licked his lips, certain that the words he would utter would be a gamble. “Very well then… a counteroffer, my lord. The crown cannot fully pay your price, so we offer a royal marriage and a fourth of the sum owed to you,” Aemond said, assessing the father's reaction as he mulled over the proposition. “I shall need time to reach a decision,” Lord Tyrell finally spoke after a long pause. “Of course,” Aemond agreed. “For the meantime, you are welcome to the halls of High Garden, Your Highness.” 

Aemond waited as your father disappeared from his view before he went on his search for you. He walked through the unfamiliar corridors and found himself being led outside towards the gardens where he wagered you would be. When he saw you seated by a fountain, a smirk curled on his lips. However, it was quick to fade as he had noticed you were not alone. Aemond made furious steps towards you to announce his presence. 

You were conversing with another when you felt your skin tingling and the familiarity of a cold gaze upon you. You turned to your side, and your eyes widened as you saw the prince approaching. You blinked slowly, trying to discern if your mind was playing a cruel trick. But when the prince stood an arm’s length away from you, where you could see him clearly, you knew that it was not a trick. “My prince,” You say almost breathlessly, curtsying lowly before the son of the king. 

“How… what brings you here, your highness?” You asked, disregarding the earlier presence you were with. “Business for the crown,” He replied, eyeing the man who stood beside you. You turned your eyes toward where the prince placed his gaze intensely. “Oh, my prince, this is Prince Martin Martell,” You introduced, and you felt Martin stepped forward and bowed. “Martell? Are you not a long way from Drone?” Aemond gritted as he let out his hand to shake the prince’s hand. He wanted to smirk as he saw the man’s tanned face twist into a wince before quickly masking it. “Yes, my prince, I come as a suitor for my lady,” He explained, and Aemond pursed his lips at his words. 

You licked your lips as you suddenly felt the fresh air become tense, “Would anyone like some tea?” You suddenly interrupted the intense gazes of the two princes, walking in between them as you made your way toward a nearby table that had the afternoon’s refreshments. Aemond tapped his finger on the table, his eye shifting between you and your intended whilst you poured tea into everyone’s cup. “If I may ask, what business warrants your presence here, Prince Aemond?” Prince Martin inquired, and Aemond reluctantly shifted his attention from you, who was licking sugar from your fingers. 

“A proposal for House Tyrell,” he said bluntly, swallowing thickly as your lips parted at the mention of your house. “What proposal, if I may ask,” Your turn to inquire. Aemond licked his lips and debated if he should give you the true manner of his visit. “A proposal for you, my lady, to be a princess of Westeros.” You feel dazed by his words, your body freezing in shock, and you seem to forget how to breathe. 

Aemond looked at you expectantly, trying to search for any reaction in your eyes other than the pronounced shock. You were saved from his expectation of a reply when you heard your father calling for you. “I— excuse me, my princes,” You say in a haste and hurriedly went to your father’s call. 

“What is happening— the prince just informed me of his proposal— in front of Prince Martell!” You panicked, recalling the scene to your father with wide eyes. You watched as your father paused his lips, an aggravated sigh leaving his nose. “Bold of him to inform you of such proposals when I had not even given him my reply.” You shook your head and warily turned to the gardens, where you saw two princes seated by a distance. 

“Where did this proposal come from? I… I do not understand,” You whispered, recalling your days in the Red Keep; the moments with the prince that you tried to sell to yourself were meaningless to him. However, you supposed you sold yourself with a lie because those moments were enough for him to ask for your hand. Hope was dangerously blooming in your heart, emotions, and festering feelings you tried hard not to succumb to for the past days, now inevitable. 

“The proposal comes because the crown cannot pay the debt due to us… instead, they are offering a marriage between you and the prince and a fourth of the sum owed,” The hope that was dangerously blooming and had rooted itself in your heart quickly wilted, willing yourself not to show disappointment on your face. “Oh,” Was all you could utter. “What is your decision then?” You asked quietly as your father guided you further into the walls of your home. 

“Your courtship with Prince Martell has been settled for three years since your sixteenth name day, but no formal betrothals are in place, and we are in no obligation to the Martells,” Your father stated as you two walked along the corridors. “But Sunspear is a long way from here,” Your father added, “And though Kingslanding is closer, and if I were being honest, I would prefer you to be a princess of the whole of the seven kingdoms rather than just Dorne,” You twirled with your hair as you listening into your father’s musing. “But this marriage is just a way out of their hefty debt,” You nodded along and waited for your father to decide. 

“So? Which one of them?” You asked as you needed an answer, your nerves growing unbearable. Your father took in a deep breath, “I shall leave that decision to you… it is you who shall marry one of them; the money is not truly that much of a concern— it was simply a bargaining tool for the crown to remember how indebted they were to us,” Your father explained, and your lips parted as you were given a daunting task. 

“Can I speak with Prince Aemond for a moment? I… it is— I need to speak with him,” you say, and your father gives the nod, “I shall have him meet you in the drawing room,” You waited nervously for the prince, your mind running as to what to say to him. You stood when the prince entered the room, your lips parting, ready to speak something you were uncertain of, but Prince Aemond spoke first. 

“I know this is quite abrupt,” Aemond spoke and dared to step close to you, trying not to grow distracted by your mere ethereal presence. “It is my prince,” You agreed. “Could I just ask why?” Aemond frowned at your words; it was quite a straightforward proposal. “The crown owes your house,” He said matter of factly, “I know, but we ask for coins or land but not a marriage,” Aemond licked his lips, “And I am aware that the marriage is a substitute. However, you would understand that no one would be that inclined to accept a proposal just because the one giving the proposal is in debt.” 

“Is this a rejection?” Aemond took another step, closing most of the gap between you. He was aware that he was scowling severely, scarily even, but you did not seem to be frightened, a first for anyone he had encountered. “More of a question,” Aemond’s brows raised at your words. “Well, it’s clear that this proposal is just an obligation for you, and if I am being honest… I prefer someone who would not see a mere business dealing.” 

“All marriages are business dealings,” You pursed your lips at the prince’s words. “I supposed they are… but not every marriage is just a business dealing.” Aemond licked his lips, and the both of you were enveloped in silence. “I guess what I’m saying is… I would not feel inclined to choose someone who proposes because it is their obligation,” You say slowly, surprised that you managed to come across your answer. If it were any other situation where the crown was not indebted to your house, you would accept the proposal eagerly, but your heart idealistic heart yearned for someone who wanted you truly and did not see you as a mere opportunity. 

“My lady, I think you have gotten the wrong idea here,” You furrowed your brows as all were clear to you. The proposal was just an obligation… isn’t it? “No one forced me into this proposal; the queen could not find a solution. This marriage had not even crossed her mind— I…” Aemond passed as you waited on bated breath for his explanation. “I have offered the marriage not because of duty or a way for the crown to escape their debt but because… I— I want you. I want you to be my wife.” 

You looked at him with clear apprehension, and Aemond actually believed that you would flash him your sweet smile— perhaps a blush on your cheeks as he had said words so unlike him. “You want me?” You asked incredulously, and Aemond nodded, boldly taking your hands into his. “But why? We barely know each other?” You asked. Frowning as your eyes go downwards toward your hands clasped with the prince’s cold ones. “Why?” Aemond asked in disbelief you would ask such a question? You nodded. 

“Because I just do,” Aemond licked his lips as it would appear that that was the wrong answer, watching as you stole away your hand and your lips turned into an adorable pout he was very much tempted to kiss. “I— Because you are pretty, overly pretty,” Aemond spoke and hoped that would sway your mind, but that seemed even to offend you. “And because you are knowledgeable, I have never met anyone who had the same philosophical interests as me,” Aemond quickly added, and he wanted to smile as that lessened your frown. 

“And most of all, because you are kind. You are… you are not one to judge— you came to Kingslanding without any criticism or fear of me. You actually saw me as an actual person and not…” Aemond trailed as he felt a sense of relief as he said the words he thought none could ever compel him to do so. “Not like a weapon?” You almost laughed as you often heard others allude to him as such. Aemond nodded and took your hands into his once more. 

“You want me because I was kind and took an interest in you?” You asked, making certain that was his reasoning. Aemond nodded and dared to tuck a stray hair that obstructed his view of your face. “If that is all that it took, what if then another comes along and presents you with such kindness and interest… am I simply to be set to the side?” Aemond sighed and cupped your cheek as he felt his stomach twist at your words and at the look of doubt in your enchanting eyes. “What if—“ You were ready to voice out another doubting scenario, but your lips were kissed shut. 

You feel heat bloom into your cheeks, and you are stunned as you feel the prince’s thin and cool lips upon yours. Your eyes were wide at the sudden contact, but they fluttered to a close as you savored the feel and taste of him. “I do not know what more to say to quench the doubts in you… but you must know, I have never felt such a way— I have never wanted anyone or anything as much as I want you.” Aemond whispered against your lips as you breathed heavily, your body feeling afloat and alight. 

“The situation is not the most favorable one; believe me, I understand your qualms— but it is the only opportunity I had to make you mine,” You feel liquid fill your stomach, and words cannot find you. The only thing you could do was go to the tip of your toes and kiss the prince’s lips once more, a chaste kiss than the first, but it was a kiss that gave the prince his answer. 

Three moons passed before your nuptials were settled. You stood by the door of the great hall, waiting for it to open and lead you to your soon-to-be husband. “Are you certain?” Your father asked as he clasped his arms with yours. You breathed out a laugh and nodded your head eagerly. “I am,” You said with a smile and took a deep breath as you heard the trumpets from the other side of the door. 

Aemond sighed longingly as he saw the smile on your lips again. The smile that he had never been the receiver of before. The sweet and kind smile that led to all of this. 

You beamed at your groom as he took your hand into yours, unable to remove your gaze from his unique lilac eye throughout the whole of the ceremony. “I am his, and he is mine,” You recited after the Maester, feeling Aemond lightly squeeze your hand as you said the words, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips. When it was Aemond’s turn, you bit your lip as you felt your smile grow wider, your heart beating loudly in your chest, and delight taking hold of your whole body. “I am hers, and she is mine,” Aemond stated, eye filled with sincerity and promise. 

You breathed in a deep breath as your husband stepped forward to seal your marriage with a kiss, your cheeks burning as you heard the cheers of your guests. “My flower,” Aemond whispered against your lips as you parted, his finger brushing away the stubborn lock of your hair once more. You could only smile upon him, your heart in your eyes— just one act of kindness, a simple smile had been the catalyst for you to find your love. 

You chewed on your cheek in anticipation as you were being led down the halls by your husband, the bedding ceremony promptly taking place after the feast. 

Aemond spared no second before claiming your soft, sweet lips once more. Gently pushing you upon a pillar in his chambers to keep you steady and flush against his body. “Aemond,” You called as you clung to his neck, his lips trailing downwards and his fingers undoing the laces of your gown. “You’re all mine, my flower… forever bound to me, my kind little wife.” Aemond hummed as he tasted your skin, his lips kissing your bare shoulders, the sleeves of your dress draping off. “I’m yours, my prince,” You sighed, but you felt slight dread in your stomach as he clicked his tongue in disapproval and slowly shook his head. “I am your husband… you must learn to call me by my name; no more titles and formalities,” Aemond lowly said, wanting to hear his name be uttered from your lips. 

You nodded, “I’m all yours, Aemond,” You said and whimpered as your husband’s eye darkened, and he forcefully slammed your lips. You feel your dress pool to the floor as he successfully removes it; he takes hold of one of your thighs and makes you cling to him, leading you to your shared bed. Aemond gently laid you down and parted your lips to admire the view of you sprawled before him. The thin sheet of your shift reveals all to him. 

You gasped in utter shock as you felt him tear away the thin cover you had, fully exposing you to him. A strained moan left your throat as Aemond dipped down and took one of your tits into the hot cavern of his mouth, his tongue teasing the bud. You clung to his silvery locks; just that action alone made your core tighten painfully. Aemond smirked as he moved to pay attention to the neglected mound, your hips grinding upon his as you sought friction. 

“Aemond, I…” You called, uncertain of what you wanted, but all you knew was that you needed more. “Yes, wife?” He hummed and placed open-mouth kisses upon your stomach. “I… I—“ You stuttered, not knowing what to ask. Aemond sighed and moved his head to kiss your lips, “Do you want more… do you want to be pleasure, my flower?” He asked, as he could not be so cruel to leave you in such a state for much longer. You eagerly nodded your head. 

It did not take long for you to be a moaning mess, your eyes rolled back in your head, and your back arched as Aemond placed his mouth upon your cunny. Licking and teasing your folds, “Aemond! Oh, gods!” You called in utter pleasure as you felt his thin lips enclose your sensitive bud, sucking and licking it. You battled with your mind-numbing pleasure as you propped yourself on your elbows to watch his actions. He looked up at you, grinning as his fingers teased your undefiled whole. You bit your lip and breathed heavily, boldly taking hold of the leather strap of his eye patch. You saw as his eye darkened, and you hesitated, but Aemond gave a nod. 

As you removed his eye patch, Aemond pressed his finger into you, your eyes rolling back as you saw his sapphire eye. Aemond returned his lips to your cunt, sucking on the bud as his fingers pumped in and out. He felt your walls clench around the digits and your moans growing louder. Through your closed eyes, you feel him smirk against your skin and curl the digits inside your cunt— a loud moan leaving your lips as you come undone. Your hips violently move against his face, and the pearl of your cunt hitting gains his angular nose. 

“Oh gods,” You say breathlessly as you feel Aemond’s weight atop of you. You undid the laces of his vest as he removed his trousers. You looked downwards and saw the whole of your husband, his warm, pulsating length resting upon your thigh. The head of his cock weeping a clear liquid. “W… will it fit?” You say in disbelief, never having thought that something so phallic could be so… large and appealing. “Of course, you were made for me, my flower.” Aemond lowly said and kissed your lips as he aligned himself with your cunt. 

You dug your nails onto his shoulders as he slowly tore his way through you. Him hushing your cries of pain and kissing away your tears. “It hurts— Aemond, I… it’s too much,” You cried, your legs wrapping around his waist. Aemond reached downwards and drew circles upon your cunt to aid your pain. You waited for the pain to bleed into pleasure. Aemond tightly shit his eye as he felt the tip of his cock brush against a rough spot in your cunt, him fully sheathed inside you. He made cautious thrusts, watching as you would acclimatize to his length, and when he saw your eyes roll back, that was his sign to fasten his pace. 

Aemond’s found your lips once more, muffling your moans and whimpers as his cock was relentlessly hitting the spongy spot in your cunt that made your core come undone over and over again. You were on the verge of your fourth climax, each of them coming quickly after the other, and your thighs started to shiver at the pleasure that had enveloped you fully. “Aemond… It’s too much. I— husband, I cannot,” You cried as you felt a different sensation, an odd pressure in your core unalike the other times you came. Aemond clenched his jaw as his cock twitched inside your cunt, “Just… come for me one more time, my flower,” He gritted as he wanted to coax another peak from you. 

Aemond laid his thumb flat against your nubbin and rubbed circles once more, your voice already hoarse from your loud moans. “Oh… Aemond!” You cried as the quivering of your thighs grew, and you felt the pressure in your core come undone; a differing climax from the first three overcame you. Aemond groaned loudly and tilted his head back as he spilled his seed deep in your cunt. You breathed heavily as you tried to comprehend what had happened, wetness pooling between your thighs, and an embarrassed blush spread through your cheeks and neck. 

Aemond smirked and shook his head, trying to soothe the mortification in your eyes. “I knew you were capable of it,” He hummed and kissed your lips. He knew it was perhaps too much to test your limits in your first night together, but he could not help himself; he needed to have you in such a way. “My perfect wife,” he hummed against your skin, and your reply came through your tired smile. 

[masterhallmark]

Rant incoming

I feel like the problem with a lot of Disney's live action remakes (and arguably Wish) is they're trying to appeal to a crowd that no longer exists, namely the people who used to claim that the Disney Princesses were sexist.

All the interviews tend to include, "Well she's not chasing a MAN anymore" which...almost no one sees the princesses like that, anymore. Virtually NO ONE still believes the princesses are man-chasing sexist caricatures of women.

Cinderella is now hailed as an abuse victim who stayed strong long enough to get help to get out of her situation. Anyone who says she should have saved herself is basically regarded as a victim blamer. And it's very clear in the film she wasn't looking to marry the prince, she just wanted a night off. She was the only one who wasn't in line to meet him. She didn't find out she met the prince until he went looking for her!

Snow White is now hailed for her negotiation skills, ability to calm down after extreme stress (she had a moment of panic and had to cry for a bit, but who wouldn't after finding out The Queen hired someone to kill you?), and ability to take charge of a house of adult men. And again, she was an abuse victim, this time trying to escape ASSASSINATION ATTEMPTS. While she dreamed of her prince, it was secondary to her main goal of SURVIVAL. There are also entire video essays about how Snow White gave hope to people during The Great Depression.

Everyone acknowledges that Ariel wanted to be human BEFORE meeting Eric. We all know she was a nerd hyperfixating on humans, and also standing up to her prejudiced father.

We understand Sleeping Beauty wasn't the main character, the Three Good Fairies were, AND PHILLIP WOULD NEVER HAVE BEATEN MALEFICENT WITHOUT THEM! He literally depended on them! WOMEN SAVED THE DAY! But even then, is it really such a sin for a girl to fantasize about romance and fall for someone with corny pickup lines?

We all understand Jasmine just wanted someone to treat her LIKE A PERSON. She rejected every Prince before Aladdin because they treated her like a prize. So why did they need her to want to be Sultan? How did that make her more feminist when she already wanted to be treated like an equal and have a say in her future? Is it only empowering if you want a career in politics?

We admire that Belle, despite living in a judgemental village, was kind to everyone (even though she found the village life dull), and her story teaches girls that the guy everyone else loves isn't always a good guy. What's sexist about teaching girls about red flags? And she didn't start being nice to The Beast until he started treating her with respect and kindness.

Do I really NEED to defend Mulan or Tiana? I think they speak for themselves.

Rapunzel was yet another abuse victim who just needed a little help to get out of her bad situation. In this case, she also needed to learn that she was an abuse victim, and that what Mother Gothel did WASN'T normal, much like many victims of gaslighting.

And don't get me started on the non-princess animals.

Perdita had a healthy relationship with Pongo to the point she was open to express her pregnancy fears to him, and was ready to TEAR APART Cruella's goons for daring to touch her puppies as well as adopting the other puppies. Like, she was so ferocious the goons mistook her for a hyena! She's basically that "I AM THAT GIRL'S MOTHER!" scene from SpyXFamily if Yor were a dog. She and her husband were a TEAM.....but they made a Cruella live action to turn her into a girlboss?! The literal animal abuser!? THAT'S the woman you wanted to put on a pedestal when Perdita was RIGHT THERE!?

Duchess kept her kittens calm after they had been catnapped and was classy as heck. Nice to everyone regardless of social class during a time period where that was uncommon.

Lady stood up to Tramp when she believed he had abandoned her and didn't really care about her. She found out he was a heartbreaker and was like, "Nuh uh. No. You are not doing that to me! You put me through enough."

Miss Bianca from The Rescuers was IN CHARGE the whole movie, and was willing to risk life and limb to save an innocent child. THAT TINY MOUSE TOOK ON ALLIGATORS! And she picked Bernard to accompany her because he was the only one who wasn't ogling her. And then in the sequel SHE DID IT ALL AGAIN! I wish I were as brave as her.

Like, the public haven't accused these ladies of being sexist caricatures since 2014 (Actresses and actors don't count, they're out of touch like the rest of Hollywood) yet Disney is operating under the assumption that the public still thinks that way, hence all the "sHe'S nOt AfTeR a MaN iN ThIs VeRsIOn" talk.

The live action remakes are trying to attract an audience that doesn't really exist much, anymore, and back when it did exist, was comprised mainly of people who didn't actually watch the films. The Disney princesses are no longer seen as sexist, and feminine qualities are no longer seen as weak or undesirable.

[sugarandspite05]

i just need to express my love for this scene.

they literally coalesced in the most beautiful way imaginable. and i've been seeing a lot of people upset with the lack of a kiss. but, this scene should make very clear the love they hold for one another, and i actually enjoy it more without a kiss. touching forheads like this is actually a form of affection seen in the undercity, too. (cry) but what im trying to say is that their destinies are literally intertwined now forever, in every single timeline they will find each other. they were doomed to their own fates to save eachother. and jayce CHOSE to die with viktor, viktor pushed him away. he knew that this was his own end. jayce would rather die than live WITHOUT viktor. I MEAN, COME ONNNN. SOBBINGGGG. all viktor wanted was acceptance. in season 1 jayce would refer to viktors illness as a burden, and viktor in his machine form was his way of ridding himself of all his imperfections, as well as for everyone else. he wanted peace by eliminating human suffering.

but jayce realized viktors beauty in his imperfections. he loves him with them, and showed viktor he was never broken.

and that my friends is HOW DOOMED GAY YAOI SAVED ALL OF HUMANITYYY (and ekko ml) RAHHHH