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k0mmari · 3 days ago

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Sword Spirit AU - Xiu Ya (pt.1)

Hello hello! This is going to be a very very casual AU with the first half being dedicated to Xiu Ya(jiuyuan) and the other Xin Mo(bingyuan), so sit tight, relax, and maybe put on some Soul Eater in the background, because this is basically it.

This post is going to be VERY LONG, so sorry in advance ^^;;

It's finally time for Shen Jiu to go to Wan Jian Peak and get his spiritual sword, one of the final steps for his Shizun to finally, oficially, name him Head Disciple, even if the rest of Qing Jing will most likely fight Shizun in her decision.

It would be no surprise, ever since SJ stepped foot there, rumors have been spreading about him, usually about how he only got in so late due to Yue Qi's influence, or how he paid his way in as a young master (as if the rest of the disciples hadn't done exactly that) and thinks he's better than everyone, or how he never fights fair and uses underhanded methods during spars. All rumors don't hold a drop of truth in them of course, but SJ has better things to do than trying to clean his image to a bunch of spoiled brats.

It's not like any of them would believe him, anyways.

In all honesty, he'd rather not be Head Disciple at all, but this is the best way at getting to a secure enough spot that he won't have to worry as much about his safety, even if he will be forced to look after a bunch of children he couldn't care less about. Anyways, SJ's only hope now for something to go marginally right his way is for him to get a good sword.

He gets to the sword wall and, as luck would have it, he feels a pull, calling him to a beautiful sword: elegant, refined and everything SJ desperately hopes he can be.

SJ carefully pulls the sword out of the wall and immediatelly he can feel a connection forming, his slugish qi rushing into the blade and in exchange, a flash of bright, almost refreshing qi runs through him. For a moment his muscles relax as he feels the sword gently humming in his hand.

He walks away from the wall, a few of the other disciples that also had come to retrieve their spiritual sword already holding their own blades, but the only person that SJ cares to show his own sword stands a bit further away. His ever aloof Shizun and... Yue Qi, who was not invited, but decided to come anyways. Great.

YQ wastes no time in praising his sword and how it's a perfect fit for 'Xiao-Jiu' (which only earns him a nasty side-eye), but SJ controls his urge to bite the other boy and focuses on his Shizun. She merely send the sword a glance, unimpressed, and instead says "Disciple Shen has now a spiritual blade of his own. He will get to know his blade, which will aid him with his... cultivation problems, but also raise his cultivation to new heights."

SJ grinds his teeth, not wanting to be reminded about his shitty cultivation, but thankfully, Shizun doesn't dwell on the topic. "When Disciple Shen fully becomes one with his sword, the blade will reward him and show it's true self. It is only then that Disciple Shen will become a truly honorable cultivator."

True... Self? With a subtle glance, SJ confirms even YQ looks a bit surprised, apparently also never haven heard about a swords 'true self', but Shizun doesn't ellaborate any further on it, instead moving on as if she hadn't said anything special, and turning to head back to Qing Jing, uncaring if any other disciples weren't done getting their swords yet.

She unsheathes her own spiritual sword, intending on letting her disciples walk all the way back, but before setting off, she turns towards SJ. "Disciple Shen, the name of your sword."

SJ huffs but brings his sword closer, and reads the engraving on the base of the blade. "...Xiu Ya."

Just as SJ finishes reading the name out loud, the sword starts violently vibrating, catching SJ and his Shizun off guard, and it flings itself off of SJ's hands, flying a short distance before it stabbed the ground.

SJ's hands are left hanging in the air where he once held the sword, frozen stiff in his shock. It certainly doesn't help that is Shizun, who is never phased and now looks visibly shocked, mutters to herself: "I... didn't know a sword could do that."

.........Great.

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A week after the whole... situation on Wan Jian, SJ is now convinced his spiritual sword hates him.

It just... doesn't do anything he wants it to do! If his Shizun orders him to spar with another disciple with it, Xiu Ya could randomly just fling itself out of his hand, or physically pull him in another direction when he is speaking with another disciple, and no matter how Shizun instructs him to send his qi to the blade, to 'connect' with it, Xiu Ya refuses to cooperate, one day even straight up denying his qi.

Unbeknownst to SJ, his sword is no longer a regular spiritual blade, and actually a host for a recently deceased Shen Yuan, who woke up from his sleep to his new owner pulling him out of the wall and promptly panicked when he heard his name be declared Xiu Ya, which could only mean his new owner was none other than the scum villain himself, SQQ.

It was then and there that SY decided it would be now his life's mission to stop any evil wrongdoings a teenage SQQ must get up to. (It translated to him flinging himself out of SJ's hand any time he felt himself getting too close to another disciple's skin, or vibrating angrily when SJ started to insult someone.)

SJ takes Xiu Ya to his Shizun, and even to Wan Jian's Peak Lord, to check if there's something wrong with his sword, or if he had done soemthing wrong, but both reassure him that the sword is fine, and it must be testing him, urging him to 'clear his heart' to better connect with it.

SJ, feeling like his chance at being Head Disciple is slipping through his fingers the longer he can't get a hold of his own sword, it's supposed to obey him, tends more often than not to... argue with it. It, of course, only creates more rumours about him and his 'cursed sword', but he doesn't have time for this, and he won't let a piece of metal ruin his chances at rising up the ranks.

Everything starts to change one fateful day where everything just seems to go wrong all at once for SJ: His Shizun goes away in a three-day long mission, which leaves him the responsability to look after the peak, and none of the other disciples are willing to make it easy for him, constantly getting in his way, purposefully waisting his time and straight up insulting him to his face.

Yue Qi even tries to grace SJ with his presence, but it takes him no longer than 5 minutes before he manages to say the wrong thing, and it takes even less for it to snowball into SJ expelling him from the peak unless the whole Sect is set on fire. It gets so bad even SY, usually happy to mostly daydream where he sits sheathed at SJ's waist, takes note of it, and gets a bit concerned for the boy.

SY already notices SJ's spiritual veins where all sorts of messed up, but it only becomes relevant when he notices his qi heading straight towards a qi deviation, and no matter how SY tries to vibrate and wiggle, it only seems to upset SJ even further and by the end of the day, as SY suspected, SJ hides away at the bamboo house and falls to the floor, gasping through a qi deviation.

He'd usually just tough his qi deviations out, or pass them at the Warm Red Pavillion, but now he isn't even afforded the mercy of being to suffer alone, as some disciple might come looking for his 'help', and he'd be damned if someone snitched on him to Shizun for not doing his duty as (unnoficial) Head Disciple.

SY, as much as he doesn't really like SJ, for once understands SJ's constant state of frustration when the moment the Peak Lord leaves, his peers treat him like this, and no matter how shitty SJ is- or, rather, may become in the future, SY can't stand being idle as he watches the boy shaking on the floor, gasping in pain.

It's a bit awkward but SY manages to make himself float over towards SJ's trembling body, trying his best to project his own energy outward and reach towards SJ. It's there for only a second, but SY manages to feel a similar connection to when SJ first picked him up, and SY can feel, in a weird flash, the mix of emotions swirling in SJ's soul: his anger, his frustration, but most importantly his deeply rooted sadness, and fear.

It's not really an explanation for why SJ acts the way he does, but SY can understand when a child lashes out in fear when that's all they know. He reaches into SJ's qi, carefully patting it down and soothing it until SJ finally stops trembling and slumps onto the ground, knocked out.

Maybe... Maybe Shen Yuan was in the wrong, and Shen Jiu deserves a second chance.

#wow that was a lot #so sorry #there will be more to come #i like making sj suffer just a little bit #for spice #komm's sword spirit au #svsss #shen yuan #shen qingqiu #shen jiu #jiuyuan #scumcum #svsss au #drabble #long post #very long post #this took way longer than I thought #specially that last drawing

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crimsoncandy04 · 2 days ago

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I woke up feeling ✨frisky✨ today.

So anyways here's how I think it would go down in the scenario where you're dating The Wanderer but he's unfortunately NOT very touchy and rather distant at times.

Yet you can't help but feel so horny for him despite your desire to not push his boundaries. And he eventually figures this out.

💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍💙🤍

Wanderer was a good boyfriend. He really was.

He took you on little dates often. Sometimes to a cafe where he'd often make little remarks about your sweet tooth but would let you order an entire table of desserts if that's what you wanted (he never ate anything himself but would often just get coffee or tea or even strong liquor while he watched you eat), other times you two would go on walks or have little nights in together with lots of playful banter and hobby indulging.

He really seemed to come alive while you were alone with him. But in public Wanderer would practically become your shadow. Always behind you but never saying a thing unless asked. At first you thought he was just shy but after a while it became apparent in his lack of anything much besides hand holding and quick hugs that he really just wasn't all that tender of a man.

He didn't care about making friends or even appearing friendly.

He just liked you.

And you had come to the belief in your mind that if you didn't exist, he probably would let himself become an urban legend in Sumeru.

You could just hear the stories too.

Like "they say if you're outside alone for too long past twilight, and the streets are empty, you'll see a mysterious man wearing a big hat watching you from the shadows." They'd probably call him the hat man or something.

And while this definitely wouldn't bother others much, Wanderer's borderline lack of desire would often be torture for you.

You were always such a cuddly woman. You liked hugs and kisses and just getting to snuggle those you loved to near death.

And even though he would never stop you, sometimes you could almost intuitively feel your boyfriend mentally forcing himself to get comfortable with you suddenly wrapping your arms around him or kissing his neck from behind as you tried to climb onto his back.

Because obviously he loved you.

But he just couldn't ever really match your enthusiasm for certain intimate acts.

Wanderer was a solitary man.

Just being in a relationship probably felt strange for him.

And so you decided to back off after a while. You didn't want him to feel uncomfortable with you and since he usually went above and beyond to act as a protector and almost a complete provider for you (at least these days after you moved in together), you decided to be fair and at least let him have his personal space outside of your bedroom.

You still got your snuggles at night, so you could cope.

That's what you told yourself.

However after a few months you began to feel oddly drained and unmotivated. You were always tired.

You didn't really feel like going out much anymore and would just stay in bed for most of the day.

Wanderer immediately noticed this shift in demeanor (probably before you even did) and often asked you directly if you were ill or if he was making you unhappy. You would always assure him it wasn't anything he did and that you weren't sure why this was happening to you (you really weren't) and finally one day while out with other friends, you're given a solution to your growing depression.

Your friend remarked that it sounded like you just needed to spend some time with yourself. And by this she meant that you should masturbate.

You felt a little embarrassed by the topic at first. You hadn't really explored that area of yourself since you were younger and puberty hormones made you curious like any other normal boy or girl.

Yet your friend swore on it and said that you would feel a thousand times better afterwards. You even went with her to a small shop hidden away in Port Ormos to buy a toy for yourself that she claimed would change your life.

After that it was just about getting to know yourself and well... getting off.

The first part wasn't that hard.

You waited until Wanderer left the house for a bit to do whatever it was he did during his long periods of being gone, and then found a relaxing position for yourself on the bed and got to work.

The toy you had gotten was just a dildo at first glance but according to your friend, some researchers had gone above and beyond for the girlies of Teyvat and incorporated bits of electro crystals into the final design in a safe and rather enjoyable manner.

In other words this thing would vibrate.

You held the newly purchased pink vibrator toy in your hand and stared at it for a bit before finally using your own saliva to lubricate the tip and sliding it into your slit carefully. Once inside you pressed a button at the base and suddenly you felt like every nerve in your body was brought to life. You cried out as the toy almost instantly brought you to orgasm. Your first orgasm technically.

It took some actual effort to move your hand after that and pump the thing in and out of your now aching cunt.

It felt absolutely... perfect.

You would do this for an hour or so and only by the time dusk arrived and you grew nervous about Wanderer accidentally finding out what you were doing, would you quickly put your toy away and clean up. You hurriedly stripped the bed, tossing the sheets into the basket reserved for dirty linen in the bathroom and then climbing into the bath yourself.

You would have just finished showering and would be attempting to put new sheets on the bed by the time Wanderer came back.

And of course he was immediately suspicious of your good mood.

He wasn't upset though. He always did secretly find your smile to be very cute looking. But something about it just seemed... different today.

He waited until you went into the kitchen for something to eat and then began to analyze the place. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. But you were displaying guilty body language.

And worst of all you STILL weren't trying to hug him.

Wanderer had never wanted to admit it but he had found your desire to always touch him rather sweet. And then one day you had just... stopped.

You grew depressed.

You didn't want to touch him at all practically.

Had he done something wrong?

Wanderer knew he wasn't the affectionate or romantic type really. But he knew that it was his duty in a relationship with a woman to care for her and make sure she's safe and that her needs are met.

He thought he had done a pretty good job at that at least.

And then suddenly you had seemed like you found his very presence... repulsive.

And to make matters worse now, he had discovered that for some reason, you had changed the bedding and took a shower at a strange hour.

It seemed to click in his head then.

You had cheated on him hadn't you?

Wanderer couldn't even look at you after that. He had remembered what Nahida said once about learning an entire situation before reacting and her words alone were what kept him from turning you into a missing persons case that night.

How DARE you throw away your relationship with him, how dare you just step on his love for you and seek out another?

What had he done to deserve such an unfaithful and manipulative woman in his life?

You had tried to hug him to sleep again that night but Wanderer just turned over and ignored you.

He could practically feel your heartbreak at his silent rejection but you said nothing. You just went to sleep as you normally did while Wanderer merely stared at a wall all night.

Forming a plan on how he would catch you in the act of cheating tomorrow and then no one would blame him for exacting vengeance in the situation. Because he would let it be known that it had been you who took his care for you for granted.

However the day would actually play out VERY differently than what Wanderer imagined.

That afternoon he returned to the house you two shared and effortlessly got inside without making a single noise or leaving any evidence whatsoever of his entry. He was in his element a little here as he hid just outside of the bedroom door and waited for the right moment to catch you and whoever you were with, Wanderer could practically make himself invisible if he wanted and he could probably make even the most elite fatui spy weep as he made them look new.

So you not hearing him quickly slip into the bedroom as you made love to yourself was definitely expected.

But what he actually saw you doing was what shocked him.

There you were on the bed you two shared, on your back with your legs spread wide as a phallic shaped toy brought you to orgasm right before Wanderer's eyes.

It took him a few seconds to actually believe what he was witnessing. And yet he couldn't bring himself to look away.

You made the most interesting expressions. Your body would tense and shiver in ways that bordered on downright enticing. Your voice sounded so uncharacteristically feminine and soft as you would moan and squeal as you thrusted the toy in and out of your pussy.

Wanderer didn't know what to say or how to move at that point.

However several things finally became clear to him, apparently you were pent up. and this was what had made you eventually become withdrawn and depressed.

How you got the idea to do this was beyond him.

He knew he shouldn't be watching you do this. He hadn't been invited and if anything he was the reason you were doing this at all.

He had left you unsatisfied. He had fallen short of making you completely happy with him as a boyfriend.

And this gnawed at his mind more than he cared to admit.

Why didn't you even BOTHER to ask him to help you?

Did he make you feel like he would react poorly?

Did you just...not find him... attractive?

Wanderer suddenly felt a familiar sense of failure deep in his soul.

He hated it.

But damnit, he couldn't stand the idea of you wanting something and getting it some other way besides him.

He could make you scream like that too if you had just asked nicely.

Or maybe begged a little.

A small smirk forms on Wanderer's face as he suddenly feels himself actually getting aroused at the idea.

That's when he makes a decision, fuck it.

You were so desperate to be touched that you were shoving a piece of silicone into yourself. It was pitiful.

He would show you so much better.

After all, wasn't this something a good boyfriend did anyway?

You nearly faint as you see Wanderer suddenly appear beside the bed.

He made no sound whatsoever.

"Wanderer? Oh my god!" You immediately try to sit up but Wanderer stops you by suddenly leaning down and smashing his lips against yours.

You let a small surprised gasp as you feel your tongues intertwine and his hand pull on the toy still buried inside of you. He pulls it almost completely out before suddenly shoving it back in as far as it can go.

You squeal with delight and Wanderer quickly swallows your soft moans and whimpers as he continues to kiss you while now pumping your vibrator in and out of your pussy. His fingers find the button as well, your legs shake as Wanderer fucks you with the toy.

He finally gives you a chance to catch your breath as he increases the speed of the vibrator too.

"oh Wanderer! Yes please right there..!" You mewl.

He grins mischievously

"feeling good? Heh, you look so cute like this I hope you know. I might just want to keep you like this from now on ~" he purred.

He moves to get in front of you and lifts one of your knees over his shoulder as he continues to get you off. The way he twists and pumps the vibrator makes your breath hitch and your body tremble. However at some point he tries angling it and now you feel yourself starting to come undone.

"please there! Ah! More~ more please ~ Wanderer ~"

You feel your lower body tightening up as he continues to stir up your insides. You wanted to adjust yourself a little but you couldn't. He held onto you in a way that forced you to keep your legs wide open for him and even as tears form in your eyes and you feel your toes curling and uncurling as a powerful orgasm rakes through you, Wanderer still just watches you with such intense eyes as if your every sound and movement was being noted in his mind.

He doesn't let go of you after but slowly he does pull the vibrator out of your still aching cunt. You watch with wide eyes as he brings the toy to his lips and begins to lick your juices from it. He meets your gaze as he speaks in a low and seductive tone.

"you taste so nice Y/N. I've never had anything like it before ~ mind if I sample a little more?~" he asks as he suddenly discards the vibrator to the side and before you can even process what he's asking, grabs your other leg and pulls it over his other shoulder.

You gasp and feel yourself at a loss for words as Wanderer suddenly buries his face against your pussy and begins to fuck you with his tongue almost roughly. You whine and moan as he practically lifts you off the mattress and becomes a man with one goal in mind.

Your fingers dig into the bedding when he finally gives some attention to your clit. His tongue encircled the tiny bud and teasing it lovingly as he kept you firmly against him no matter how much you cried out and tried to wiggle your hips for some relief. Wanderer realized this was a sensitive spot and kept stimulating it and because of this you felt your body go slack finally. Accepting the pleasure assault on your delicate nub.

"Wanderer your tongue ~ feels so good ~" you moan softly as you feel your body reaching another climax quickly.

You feel him give your clit a small yet rather rough suck then. Causing a small cry to escape your lips as you feel your pussy clench. You couldn't handle this for much longer...it feels so good...

Wanderer keeps going.

You squeeze your thighs around his head as he keeps his hands on your knees and locks you in place. He keeps his pace until eventually you feel your insides flutter with the relief of climax once again. Eagerly he shoves his tongue in your hole and begins to lap up your release. You still can't move and he won't let you go. He practically cleans you with his tongue before making eye contact with you again and giving you a rather hungry look.

You barely have time to open your mouth before he's trying to make you cum again.

Why did you ever doubt that he'd be interested in pleasing you like this?

He'd make you regret ever believing that.

#genshin impact #wanderer #smut #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin wanderer #wanderer x female reader #wanderer smut #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader #scaramouche smut #genshin scara #scaramouche #scara

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insidekatmind · 2 days ago

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Kiara who?-Pope Heyward

Wearning:+18,smut

You're sitting on Pope's couch, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed as you watch him pacing nervously back and forth across the room.

"Y/N, you don’t understand! I had to do it, or she’d never notice me!" Pope exclaims defensively.

"Oh, sure, because stealing your dad’s boat is the best way to impress Kiara," you reply sarcastically, a hint of frustration in your voice. "Do you realize how stupid that was? If you’d been caught, what would you have done?!"

Pope stops in his tracks and looks at you, his face flushed with emotion but tinged with embarrassment. "You don’t understand how important this is to me… Kiara is special."

You sigh, shaking your head. "I know she is, Pope. But you’re Pope! You don’t need to do crazy things to prove who you are. If she doesn’t see how amazing you already are, then she doesn’t deserve you."

Pope's irritation boiled over, and he finally snapped. "You think it's easy for me? You have no idea what it's like to be the smart guy, the one everyone expects to have it all together. But no matter how hard I study or how many APs I ace, I’m not the guy girls like Kiara notice. I’m just Pope, the guy they call when they need tutoring or a study partner."

You get even more angry at his words as you can't believe that he only sees this. You get up from the couch and walk over to him. “You're an idiot if you only see this about yourself” you blurt out looking at him. "and it's not just Kiara on this damned island"

Pope is taken aback by your sudden outburst and your proximity, but he can’t ignore the passion in your voice. He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off. "You think you’re not enough for anyone, but that’s the farthest thing from the truth. You’re smart, loyal, and kind. And, believe it or not, you’re also really cute. There’s a lot more to you than just being the smart guy."

Pope’s anger and defensiveness soften slightly as he absorbs your words. He looks at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of sarcasm or pity, but he finds none. "You really mean that?" he asks hesitantly, vulnerability creeping into his voice.

You take a step closer to him, closing the remaining distance between you. "I do. You don’t have to steal a boat or do anything crazy just to get someone’s attention. You’re already amazing as you are," you reply firmly, but with a hint of tenderness.

Pope’s heart races as your proximity. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, and your words wash over him like a soothing balm to his wounded ego."I… I guess I just get tired of feeling like no one sees me for me, “ he admits, his voice quiet. "It’s like I have to do something crazy just to prove that I’m worth noticing."

You reach out and place a comforting hand on his arm, your touch gentle but deliberate. "You don’t have to do anything except be yourself, Pope. You’re worthy of attention and love just as you are. Screw Kiara, you don't need her."

His eyes widen slightly at your words, and a flicker of surprise crosses his face, surprised by how strongly you seem to feel about this. But he can’t help the flutter in his chest at your touch.

"I’ve never heard it put that way," he admits reluctantly, his words barely above a whisper. "I guess I’ve just been so caught up in trying to impress Kiara… I didn’t realize how much it was consuming me.”

You step even closer, your body almost pressed against his. "You don’t have to impress anyone, Pope. And definitely not Kiara," you say firmly, your grip on his arm tightening slightly. "You just have to be the amazing person you already are."

Pope’s breath hitches in his throat as he feels your body against his own. The heat from your skin seems to burn through his clothes, and his heart races in his chest. "How do you know that?" he asks quietly, his voice laced with a hint of vulnerability and longing.

You move your hand from his arm to his cheek, gently cupping it. “I just do,” you reply softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, your touch sending shivers down his spine. “You’re more than just the smart guy, Pope. You’re everything.”

His breath hitches again as your touch ignites a fire inside of him, a fire he didn’t even know existed. Your words hit him like a tidal wave, and he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You… you really think so?” he asks softly, his gaze fixated on yours, searching for any hint of dishonesty or pity.

Your fingers continue to trace his jawline, the delicate touch sending electric shocks down his spine. Your eyes are locked with his, and you can see the mix of surprise, hope, and vulnerability etched in his expression."I do," you assure him adamantly. "I see all of these things in you, Pope. Trust me."

The fire inside him burns hotter with each passing second, and he can’t remember ever feeling like this before. Your touch, your words, your presence… They’re all intoxicating, leaving him breathless and wanting more.“But… why?” he asks weakly, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. “Why do you see all that in me?”

Your hand moves from his jaw to the nape of his neck, threading into his hair and pulling him closer. You’re so close now that your bodies are practically touching, the heat from his skin mixing with your own. "Because it’s the truth," you reply simply, your voice barely above a whisper. "Because I see you for who you really are."

He feels lightheaded from your proximity, your touch, your words. It’s all too much, but oh, how he wants more. He can’t help but take a step closer, closing the remaining distance between you. "And who am I, really?"Pope asks looking at your lips. He breathes, his gaze still fixed on yours, his body feeling like it’s on fire.

Your heart races in your chest at the proximity, your bodies now pressed flush together. Your hand in his hair pulls him closer, your fingers tangling in the locks. “You’re kind,” you murmur, your breath brushing against his lips. “Intelligent. Loyal. Strong. Funny…”Your words are cut off by the unexpected press of Pope’s lips against yours.

His body fully pressing you against the wall. The kiss sparks like a live wire, a mixture of passion and suppressed emotions igniting between you both. Your head spins, and you gasp in surprise before melting into the kiss, your hand still tangled in his hair and the other fisting his shirt.

Pope’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him. His hands explore your body, tracing your curves and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The kiss deepens, and he can’t get enough of you, his tongue pushing past your lips. His body pressing more against yours, his grip on you tight. He can’t help but release a low moan against your lips.

You gasp into the kiss and cling to him as he kisses you back with even more passion. Pope’s lips devour yours with a new fervor, his hand moving to cup your face, angling your head for better access to your mouth. His body is flush against yours, pressing you tight against the wall. He releases another low moan, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

Pope's hands roam your body with a newfound confidence, Pope picks you up, making you wrap your legs around his hips and without breaking the kiss. He he quickly maneuvers you onto the couch. You straddle him, your legs on either side of his hips, and he pulls you even closer, his body heat radiating into you. His hands find their way under your shirt, tracing patterns on your bare skin.

You moan into the kiss from the position and cling to him, kissing him with your tongue. Pope responds eagerly, his tongue meeting yours in an intimate dance. He kisses you deeply, savoring the taste of your mouth. His hands continue to explore your bare skin under your shirt, running up your sides and caressing your back. He tugs at the hem of your shirt, a silent request.

You break away from the kiss to take off your shirt and shorts. Pope’s breath hitches in his throat as you undress, his eyes roaming over your body with a mixture of awe and desire. He eagerly helps you remove his shirt, throwing it to the floor before pulling you on top of him. The feeling of your bare skin against his sends sparks through him, and he grabs you, rolling you onto your back and pinning you against the cushions.

Pope’s lips move from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and small, gentle bites along your exposed skin. His hands continue to roam your body, caressing and exploring every dip and curve with a newfound hunger. He positions himself between your legs, his body almost completely covering yours, and nips at the sensitive skin of your collarbone.

You moan into his touch and arch for him, “Pope” you moan looking up at him.

Pope’s heart skips a beat at the sound of you saying his name, his own name on your lips sending heat rushing straight to his core. He looks down at you, drinking in the sight of you writhing beneath him, his eyes dark with desire.

“Say it again,” he requests hoarsely, his voice low and gravelly. “Say my name again.”

You’re breathless, your body on fire from his touch, and the sound of his own plea only fuels the heat coursing through you. Your hands grip his biceps, holding on for dear life as you arch into him, your bodies flush against each other. “Pope,” you repeat breathlessly, your voice a low, ragged whisper of need. “Pope, please…”

The sound of his name on your lips, coming out of you in such a wanton, pleading tone, drives him wild with want. He captures your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth hungrily. His hands roam your body with an unbridled urgency, tracing every contour, caressing every inch he can reach. He pulls away from the kiss just long enough to reply, his voice thick with need: “I want everything,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “I want you.”

Something snaps in you when you hear his words and feel his breath on your skin. A primal, animalistic need takes over, and you pull Pope down onto you, flipping your positions so you’re now on top of him. You press your body flush against his, and he lets out a gasp of surprise at the unexpected change in position. Your lips crash into his, the kiss hungry and desperate, as your hands roam his body, mapping out every plane and contour.

Pope quickly frees himself from his shorts and boxers and takes off your underwear and immediately enters you feeling the need to feel you. You both moan into the kiss. The moment of entry brings a low, guttural moan from the both of you, and Pope clutches at you as if he can't bear to be even an inch away from you. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, as he wraps his arms around you, holding you in place against him. He meets your gaze, his eyes dark and blazing with lust, and he gasps out your name hoarsely. “You feel so good,” he murmurs.

You moan feeling his thrusts inside you. “You are so big Pope” you murmur holding onto him trying to get more. The combination of your words and the feel of your hands on him drive Pope to the edge. He responds to your murmur by thrusting deeper, his body moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that drives you both wild with desire. “You like that?” he asks, his voice a low, guttural growl, as he buries his face into your neck and kisses the sensitive skin there.

You moan in response and scratch his back. “So good,” you say, your voice cracking with moans. Every moan, every gasp of pleasure from your lips only serves to fuel the fire inside of him even more. Pope buries his lips and teeth into the junction of your shoulder and neck, leaving a mark of possession behind. His hands grip your hips, guiding your movements and helping you meet his rhythm.

“You’re mine,” he grits out against your skin, his words punctuated by a sharp thrust. “Say it.” You moan excited by his being dominant. You had never seen Pope like this and you loved it.

“I'm yours Pope, all yours” you moan as you continue to scratch his back from the pleasure he was giving you. Your confirmation that you are his and only his sends a thrill through Pope that he’s never experienced before. A mixture of dominance and possessiveness takes over him, and he tightens his grip on your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin.

“Damn right you are,” he growls, the sound low and primal. “You’re mine, and I’m never letting go.” His words make you shiver in anticipation, and you arch into him as he pistons into you, wanting to feel every inch of him. Your own hands roam over his back, grabbing and clutching at the skin anywhere you can reach, your nails leaving deep scratches behind.

“Harder,” you gasp into his ear, your voice an octave higher than normal with need. “Please, Pope.” Pope doesn’t need to be told twice.

The command on your lips, the need in your voice, only serve to stoke the fire within him. He growls out your name, his hands gripping onto you even tighter as he obliges and quicken the pace. He kisses, bites, and licks every piece of skin he can reach, leaving a trail of fire and desire in his wake.

The change in pace sends waves of pleasure through you, and you arch your back with a guttural moan. The sensations are overwhelming, and your nails dig into his back, leaving behind angry, red lines. “I’m getting close,” you manage to gasp out, your words intermingled with moans and gasps. “Just don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

Pope’s mind almost goes blank at your words. He doesn’t think he could stop even if he wanted to. The feel of your nails in his skin and the sounds of your gasping moans only serve to push him towards the edge. He tightens his grip on your hips, fingers digging in even harder as he thrusts even deeper into you, prolonging the pleasure for both of you. “I won’t,” he promises huskily, his voice low and rough with desire. “I won’t stop until we both get come”.

The waves of pleasure crash over you both, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your bodies. Pope pulls you tight against him, his arms wrapping around you like a security blanket as he tries to catch his breath. Your body thrums with satisfaction, and you bury your face into his neck, simply content to be held by him.“Holy hell,” he gasps out, his voice rough and breathless. “That… you…”

You giggle weakly and nod in agreement, not quite trusting your voice. You press a soft kiss to his neck, feeling utterly spent and completely satisfied. It feels like your body has been through a wringer, but it was the best kind of wringer possible. “That was…” you start, but even your brain is all fuzzy still. “Amazing,” you manage to utter.

Pope lets out a weak chuckle at the sound of your ragged voice, the exhaustion in it only serving to make his body warmer in a strange way. He rubs your back gently, caressing you with a tenderness that contrasts to the passion of moments before. “Amazing doesn’t even begin to describe it,” he responds, his voice still rough, but softer than before. “That was… I don’t even know how to speak right now, honestly.”

"Did I manage to make you forget about Kiara?" You whisper as he kisses your neck. He looks up without moving away from your neck. "Kiara who?" He murmurs, nibbling on your neck

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leonastarry · 1 day ago

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[ Don't belong here ] ✧. ┊ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭s.jinwoo x isekai!fem!reader. part 1 - part 2 ( here )

He lost you.

He really lost you.

He couldn't accept it.

Because he was so upset, he immediately rushed into raiding the dungeon. All he knew was raiding, fighting the monarchs, and raiding again. He turned himself into a killing machine. The shadow soldiers were really worried about him, but they all knew their liege's feelings, so they decided to say nothing and just follow his orders.

He fought Antares. He used the reincarnation cup. He spent 27 years killing all the monarchs again. Then, he returned to his world in the hope of finding you after he used the reincarnation cup to go back to the past.

Jinwoo still couldn't find you.

His world collapsed.

In order to forget you, he dated Cha Haein. But he felt he was still unhappy. He felt like he was cheating on you, even though you had been gone for a long time.

He was unhappy, so he broke up with Cha Haein. He thought she deserved someone better, someone who truly loved her. Strangely enough, he felt relieved to do so.

One day, a fragment of light came to Jinwoo and said he knew your whereabouts.

"What do you mean she doesn't belong to this world?"

"That is true, Shadow Monarch," the fragment of light explained. "Do you remember the Architect? That's who brought her here. This was absolutely not in our expectations."

"What?"

"[Name] should never have appeared. She's not from here. The place she actually lives in is a place where there are no monarchs, hunters, or mana."

Jinwoo narrowed his eyes. "So you mean she’s returned to her real world?"

"Yes," the fragment of light looked into his eyes. "After all you've done for this world, we've decided that we can take you to her world. But that means you might not be able to return here."

Jinwoo accepted that. He informed his family that he was going to find his true love, and that he might never return.

His family sympathized. He has sacrificed so much for this world, it's time for him to really live for himself.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Jinwoo woke up in a strange room. He knew he had come to your world. He tried to call out to his soldiers.

"Yes, my liege?"

Beru's answer made him realize that his power had followed him to this world. So he ordered his shadow soldiers to spread out and find you.

Soon after, a soldier announced that he had found you. Without hesitation, Jinwoo ordered the soldier to find a nearby hideout and use 'Shadow Exchange'.

With all the joy and longing, Jinwoo immediately went to look for your figure. But he immediately stopped.

He saw you. But you were hugging another guy and smiling intimately. You looked so happy.

He held his breath. It seemed like you had moved on. You had found someone new. You didn't need him anymore. You didn't love him anymore. He is no longer anything to you.

You left him. He should have known. Jinwoo still loved you but that doesn't mean you still love him. You probably don't remember him anymore. Or if you remember, what he did to you might have hurt your heart.

And now he stands here. Alone. In a world he doesn't belong to. Watching the person he loves the most with someone else.

It hurts.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

...

You were hanging out with your brother. Suddenly you sensed a huge surge of mana. Mana? Why would someone have mana in this world?

You immediately turned around to find the source of the mana. You saw that it was coming from a man. Tall. Black hair. Familiar looking… Jinwoo!?

Is that Jinwoo? Are you mistaken? You quickly ran away at your brother's sudden cry. You touched the man's shoulder.

"Excuse me?"

The man turned around.

"Jinwoo!?"

It really was Jinwoo.

"Why are you here-"

You suddenly fell silent under his gaze. Teary. Pain. Love. Longing.

Even though you told yourself to stay away from him. But seeing him like that, you ignored it all. You hugged his cheek.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying? Did someone do something to you?"

He didn't say anything and suddenly hugged you. Jinwoo buried his face in the crook of your neck. Tears fell on your shoulder.

"I miss you..."

You hesitated but hugged him back, patting his back..

"I-I miss you too.."

After all, the universe brought the two of you back together.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

"So he's brother? You didn't love anyone else, right!?"

"That's right. I have never loved anyone but you."

"Thank god... I love you so much! I'm sorry.."

It would have been done sooner but I was busy receiving lucky money hehe =)

Lol I feel like I wrote this part badly ToT

#dream.✧˖*°࿐#leona.star #sung jin woo #solo leveling #sung jinwoo #sungjinwoo #solo leveling x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo x you #sung jinwoo x y/n

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junkieito · 2 days ago

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Nobody asked but I decided to give some context, the whole country is mad bc that badly spoken, zero researched movie about a serious topic that features only one Mexican person is being awarded while having music that could have been written by a middle schooler.

In the beginning they talk about France showcasing places that are obviously not France while a spin-off voice narrates in horrible French.

The first musical number is a cumbia-like song that says "welcome to la france" featuring "the cheese I eat smells better than I do but my perfume makes up for it" (French people are know in LATAM for not exactly prioritizing bathing) plus some random french words

My favorite part is "VIVAN LOS PASTELES" (Pastel = cake) So, France occupied Mexico twice, the first time it was done under the pretext that french businessmen and artisans had suffered various forms of economic loss, one of them a baker that reportedly had been taken advantage of by general Santa Anna (I'm unsure if he was the president at the moment), who consumed cakes and never paid for them, which is why it became know as The Cake's war.

So basically we have the Sacreblus who run a baguette company and the Ratatouiles who run a croissant company, they are both rejected by their families for being trans but are promised the family's enterprise if they win a race and honor the family's heritage.

The scene with the Ratatouiles features:

(The dad does not favor Aghtugo because he is trans and 'doesn't have a penis' so he says any of his brothers would be a good option as well and he starts shading on them + aghtugo is how the franch would often pronounce the name arthur in spanish)

- But, Hugo is not over his "artist" phase and is addicted to paint thinner.

- Aee don onlee in'aile thinnegh, the zhelou pein gueevs mee 'appinezz

- Mario Hugo? Good luck having a twangy french man

. (Speaks actual french)

- It's impossible to understand you!

Amd

- It's not that we don't love you, it's just that we're ashamed of being related to you (:

Next scene Johanne is meeting her friend Emily... in Paris lol. They have an exchange and they mock the fact she's privileged and comes from a wealthy family and has no real problems but winning the race. The "french waiter" comes and then this exchange happens-

- Is that it or would you like anything else?

- That's it.

-Yes that's it... or maybe I'd also like to or-

- You said that was it. (Takes menu away) You must learn to abide by your word! (Rudely)

- Hey, what a great customer service!

- I know! The best in all of France!

We are mentioned for the second time that Johanne was sent to Mexico and she says she now does not understand some french things like the lack of kindness, animal cruelty practices and hatred of muslims. Then a sequence ensues where she just says "have you ever thought what we do is wrong?" and her friend magically agrees drowning birds in cognac is a cruel practice

- I feel so dirty now! I even want to take a shower!

- I knew I wasn't just crazy!

- I just never thought what we did was wrong somehow, I always though those minimum wage skin colored people liked how we treated them!

We learn that Johanne was sent to Mexico because she has hallucinations of Marie Antoinette which she denies saying it is the real ghost of her. Then she appears saying racist stuff about Emily.

- Don't listen to her! She has the fashion sense of a guatemalan (derogative)

Then ladybug is presenting the race and the first one is won by Johanne (they celebrate by throwing rats at her ). There is a number imitating "Soy Emilia Pereeez una mujer mexicanaaa que merece respetoooo" in black and white about "The trash man", after that we see Aghturo and Johanne are trying to solve their differences and Aghtugo ends up convincing Johanne to let him win the second part of the race so it is even and nobody wins.

- Baguette may only be bread but croissants are France itself! It's in our veins, in our wine, in the air we breathe!

Afterwards Aghtugo says to Johanne:

A: You only say that because you've been outside of France for too long, you're now but a Chimichanga* lover!

J: (Visibly offended) ?Cinco de mayo!

A: How dare you! (Slaps her)

*mexican dish

Ok this is because cinco de mayo commemorates La batalla de Puebla which was a battle we won against the french during the Second French Intervention. Sppiler alert we lost the war and they put an Habsburg as Emperor backed by Napoleon III.|

So in the end the competition is even but the french overlords say it an't be even, there must me a baguette battle-to-death.

* What is that?

* A battle where they fight each other to death... with baguettes!

* (Fake surprise)

Another scene ensues where Aghtugo magically thinks some practices are bad after Johannes says so literally.

By this point Johanne convinces Aghtugo of not fighting to death but an evil ambassador appears and hurts Aghtugo and tells them they must fight to death, it is discovered he acted like that bc he was controlled by a rat and he is defeated somehow (didn't get that part). The Johanne is being interviewed (her description reads "bored millionaire" )

This final part features the dialogue:

"Being controlled by a rat! The worst nightmare of any french-man!"

And then she says that to end the interview her mexican friends told her to gift them something specal which turns out to be a cake and the final scene shows her about to throw it into the guy's face.

Obscure reference but the thinner guy very ad hoc smells a rat at some point which is a reference to an obscure urban tale in mexico called la rata con thinner, which i don't wanna explain you don't wanna look up

Ithe filming credits reads "directed by: someone with adhd'

Et la voilà, c'est la fin.

Merci de ne jamais faire un autre truc comme ça svp

wait a bunch of ppl ( in mexico i belive) got togheter and made a mini movie where everyone is poorly pretending to be french in retaliation for the dogshit emilia perez musical this is awesome tjhey all have little mustaches drawn on with sharpie and are spealing the worst french ever

#emilia perez

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ynhnasol · 1 day ago

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ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈ flashing lights, lights

model! geto suguru x fem!reader x model! gojo satoru

models!suguru and satoru are one of, if not the, most sought after models of this time. the most prepossessing faces with perfectly built bodies, everyone loves seeing both of them on the runway. they find the money nice, and yeah they love the fact that they get to explore the world for free, but they only really care about one thing, you!

models!suguru and satoru are loyal only to you. whether it's getting their hair done or touching up their makeup - they only want it done by you.

models!suguru and satoru were absolute menaces to anyone who was not you during shows that had certain hairstylists and makeup artists they hired. the poor stylists and artists who were trying to do their jobs were often compared them to you.

"oh did you even try to match it with my skin? I look like a ghost."

"she would never burn my hair. did you even use heat protectant?"

"ugh I can't do this anymore. if it's not her, I don't want anyone else touching me."

their poor manager would have to beg them to hold out until they were in a position to demand you as their hair stylist so they waited. after they became famous, they made sure to avoid those certain shows because who cares if you weren't a professional? they like how you made them look so why would they not go to you?

models!suguru and satoru are your closest best friends. because doing their hair and makeup was your hobby, they often forget that you also have a full-time job. whenever you tell them that you're too tired or you had a difficult day at work, they love to surprise you by showing up at your door with your favourite snacks. they listen to you rant as you snack on the food they brought. satoru will always joke that you should just quit your job and become their full time stylist because they can easily fund whatever lifestyle you want to live. suguru will back him up but both of them know that they actually mean it but to you, it's just another one of their silly jokes.

models!suguru and satoru hate working with other models. you rarely see them work with other models during photoshoots because they hate doing those. they never mind it if it's just the two of them but if you add another model, they'll leave. they have the privilege of picking and choosing which jobs they want to do, and they'll do anything to avoid interacting with anyone they do not want to.

models!suguru and satoru suddenly go deaf when you ask them to set you up with a model friend of theirs. you're their pretty little thing so why would they share? satoru will tell you that they only have 1 model friend and he's engaged, while suguru will lie and say that all the model friends they have are not interested in women.

models!suguru and satoru have an unhealthy obsession with you. they'll always reject the celebrities who ask for their personal number, and will outright say no to anyone who tries asking them out. the only person they want to be with is you, and no money or fame can change that.

models!suguru and satoru will always adorn you in the finest luxuries of life. they're the faces of the most opulent brands so of course they would use that to dress you up in a designer dress you really liked on a model. they would gift you with lavish jewelry that you were scared to wear in fear of either getting robbed or losing it. everything they've given you would easily surpass $1 million if you ever decide to sell them.

models!suguru and satoru never fail to intimidate your dates whenever they find out you're on one. it's always oh so convenient that they show up in the restaurant you're in when they were supposed to be in new york for a photoshoot. all they have to do is greet you in the most affectionate way with a kiss either on your cheek or on the back of your hand, and then they'd subtly (not really) make you introduce them. if their presence didn't scare off your date, then finding out who they were will. you always think that it's just a coincidence that satoru and suguru wanted to have dinner at that exact restaurant, but if only you knew...

models!suguru and satoru avoid controversies at all cost, even if that means declining jobs that could potentially give you the wrong idea. if that means posing closing with another model or even acting as a couple with someone else, suguru and satoru will always say no. they don't go to parties and if they do, they stay there for an hour max. they find parties boring if you're not there with them.

models!suguru and satoru confess time and time again that they love you. you think that they're being just affectionate friends but no. each time they're declaring their love for you and they don't care if you don't say anything back because deep down, they know you feel the same way.

models!suguru and satoru who will wait patiently for the day you realize that you're meant to be with them. they'll play along with your little games, pretending that you're happy dating some random man but inside, they're seething. they'll hang around by your side until you either get upset with them or they wronged you in some way. suguru and satoru will comfort you and cuddle with you until you feel better. if it was a really bad heartbreak, they'll console you in the fastest way — the most breathtaking orgasm you'll ever have so you'll remember how no one else can make you feel like that except them.

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈

inspired by this fanart

#suguru geto x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satosugu x reader #satosugu x you #suguru geto fluff #gojo satoru fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fic #jjk drabbles #jujutsu kaisen fic #jujutsu kaisen drabble

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jinxlovebot · 23 hours ago

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“don’t talk to her like that.” - jinx x kiramman!fem reader fluff & angst(?)

ᰔᩚ: jinx cries :(, mean caitlyn, reader lowkey hates her sister, modern au, not proofread...

................................................................................................

you tip toe down your matted stairs towards your front door to meet jinx, trying to be a quiet as you can you slowly turn your door handle and slip out the door not fully opening it. the reason, why your basically sneaking out of your own house is because of caitlyn. a few years ago, jinx and caitlyn got into a huge fight over something stupid and ever since then caitlyn has had a grudge towards her.

you pull your bag over your shoulder filled with clothes, food etc. to stay over at jinx' tonight. you huff and wrap your hands around your cold body, fast walking to her house when your phone buzzes in your pocket. fuck, you thought. the only person that could be was cait, and speak of the devil. it was. you roll your eyes before picking up the phone.

"hello?" you say into the phone, "do you have any idea what time it is? where are you going?" caitlyn exclaims clearly annoyed, you pull your phone away from your ear and read the time, "its only 11pm, cait. going to jinx.. bye!", caitlyn goes to argue but you end the phone before. you arrive at jinx' house and knock at the door.

the following morning, you wake in jinx' bed. her arms wrapped around your waist both of you only wearing pyjama shorts. you groan from the pearing rays of sunshine through the windows, jinx sleeping soundly. "baby.. wake-" your phone buzzes again, seriously? "yes caitlyn?" you angrily say, "im coming to pick you up.", "cait, are you serious?". your sister was always like this, overprotective and would do anything to get you away from jinx. a part of you hates caitlyn with all your heart but shes still your sister. you turn to wake up jinx, but jinx was already awake tears in her eyes.

".. does she still not want you to be with me?" jinx mumbles, you sigh and lean to kiss her forehead wiping the tear from her cheek, "nothing is going to keep us apart, my sister, your sister. absolutely nobody. okay?". jinx leans her head into your hand, she nods and kisses your palm. a knock on the door startles you both, you throw on jinx' hoodie and head down to tell cait you'll be a sec. opening the door, caitlyn is standing outside with her arms crossed and her eyebrows scrunched. "are you ready?" she grunts, "n-no uhm, not yet" looking over her shoulder vi was sitting shotgun and waves at you, waving back you hear the stairs creak behind you. jinx walks down with your stuff giving you a peck on cheek, "heres your stuff babe!" she says, caitlyn scoffs "who asked you to get her stuff, shes old enough to get it herself." jinx holds your arm and mumbles, "whatever...bitch" you giggle to yourself, and reach down to put on your crocs, "i heard that. i never wanted my sister to go out with a low life like you." you snap up and point your finger in caitlyn's face, her eyes widening "dont talk to her like that."

caitlyn lets out a huge sigh, rolling her eyes at you. "whatever! i have places to be." she turns to head back to her car, shouting back to you saying she'll be back in a few hours. you smile and close the door, jinx was looking at you with love in her eyes. her eyes glistening with tears on her waterline, she pulls you in for a tight hug and says to you,"i'm so lucky i found you. fuck caitlyn" you both laugh and go back upstairs to cuddle. ᰔ

................................................................................................

a/n- someone asked me to do more jinx x kiramman reader but i cant find it!! anyways.. 😔

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godmadeaterribleerror · 3 days ago

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Just Too Important - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: They're back! They're obsessed with each other! Ben once again is proving that he's the grumpiest old man to ever grumpy old man! Enjoy!

Title from Snooze by SZA

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary/Warnings: You and Ben head to Costco. Takes place about two months post-series.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth-rotting fluff, Ben being old, pre-established relationship, mentions of smut

There were only five things Ben had ever really fucking loved. Loved with his whole goddamn existence, so much he could probably kill himself with it if he tried.

He’d loved his mom. Loved her in a simple, pure way that he’d probably taken for fucking granted. She had been secure. The only person Ben had known wasn’t going to hate him for being a fuck up or problem. She’d pleaded with his father when Ben had been sent away. Kept in contact with him when she wasn’t supposed to. Still thought of him as just Ben, even when he’d given her every reason not to. Ben had loved his mom because she was his mom. He’d grieved her in drinks and silence when she died, and known that—compared to what he’d been before—she would’ve been proud of him now. Living a life that wasn’t violence and glamour. A life that was just stupid fucking ease and perfection, with a beautiful wife and smart son, in a comfort he’d never imagined he’d get to have.

He loved the movie Legally Blonde. His wife was never allowed to fucking know that.

He loved Ryan. The kid was a fucking genius, and Ben wasn’t sure how the hell Homelander had a single hand in creating him. He was kind and smart and determined, and a purely good fucking person. He’d been born from a long line of deeply fucked men, but he read books and cried when the dog died in a movie. He fucking loved school, and liked people, and tried so hard to be normal that Ben was sometimes worried he’d hurt himself. Ryan never needed to fucking apologize for having powers. He never needed to feel guilt for the shit Homelander had done, and never needed to repent like Ben had. He was just a fucking kid. A kid who sometimes woke up crying because he’d had a nightmare about his father—because they all did—and who’d apologize for waking Ben after. Ben really wished the people he loved would stop fucking apologizing to him.

He loved dancing. His wife already knew that one, but Ben was pretty damn sure she didn’t know just how much he loved it. It was reliable. Simple. Something his mother had made him learn, and something that he could use to make his wife fall into his arms and giggle against his chest. A way to use his body that wasn’t for destruction, an excuse to touch Her until she gave him a perfect, happy smile, and he somehow loved her more.

Because that was the thing Ben loved above every other goddamn thing in the universe. Loved more than the universe. The universe was fucking pathetic compared to how much Ben loved Her. Every single fucking thing about Her. How She smile and laughed and moved through the world. How goddamn kind and clever and perfect She was. All Her big fucking words and Her smart fucking mouth and Her sharp, beautiful features. How She was a fucking brat and a problem, and Ben would never want her any other way, because he was the luckiest fucking pussy in the world for this menace of a woman to love him back half as much as he loved Her. Lucky that She trusted him, looked at him like he was some sort of fucked up savior, and always touched him like she could never do anything better with her hands.

She was perfect. She was a fucking goddess, and every time Ben reminded Her of that she’d flush that pretty color and bury her face in his arm. Right where she goddamn belonged.

You can’t just say that, Ben-

I can say whatever the fuck I want, Sunshine. He’d press a kiss to the top of Her head, squeezing his hold on Her body. I fucking love you, and you’re a goddamn miracle. These pussies should be grateful to be in your goddamn presence.

I think you’re a little bias. She’d mumble between their heads, but Ben would hear the stumble of Her heart, feel her lean further into his body, and he’d smirk.

I don’t fucking care. He’d tangle a hand in Her hair, tugging it back so she was looking at him with wide, blown out eyes. You’re fucking perfect.

She’d smile at him, and Ben’s ribs would bloom and glow with how fucking beautiful She was. How She was all fucking his, to care for and tend to and love. For the rest of goddamn time, Ben got to fucking have Her.

You’re such a dramatic cunt, Benjamin.

He’d chuckle. You fucking love it.

And that would be the end of it. Wherever they were, Ben would find a place to fuck Her in peace, she’d cum all over him—filling the room with a million colors and dancing lights, bursting into flame and screaming his name—and Ben would make sure that she understood. Really fucking got that Ben had never been good at loving things, but loving Her was the easiest thing in the goddamn world. That he’d love Her until the world was fucking razed and scorched and She wasn’t there to love anymore.

Even then Ben would probably just fucking follow Her. That might be the only thing that one day got him. If She figured out a way to die, she wasn’t going to do it without Ben at Her side. She was alive inside of him—infinite and holy, fucking stronger and brighter than the goddamn sun—and Ben never wanted to know a life without Her again.

She’d hate the idea of Ben going just because She went. She’d shove his chest and snap that he’d need to keep living without her, because she loved him too much to want him to die. And Ben would roll his eyes, grumble an agreement, and keep fucking knowing that if they went out, they were going out together.

Everything was so fucking beautiful when Ben had Her to share it with. Without Her he’d just be an old fucking asshole, chasing Her in shadows and songs, sitting at Her grave until he worked out how to turn the stone back into the only person in the world that really fucking mattered.

It was a damn good thing they were both immortal.

The world would not fucking like it if Ben had to keep living without Her.

He’d do anything for Her. He’d burn countless worlds to ash, then rebuild them just for Her to have. He’d refuse to destroy things, because She was good and would never want anyone to be in pain in Her name. If She demanded it, he would keep living, but he’d drive himself mad trying to bring Her back.

He’d learn to raise the dead. To find wherever the fuck She’d gone and pull her back to his side, where he’d keep Her safe and happy and smiling.

Christ, he’d do anything just to make Her smile.

He’d even let Her drag him here, to this massive square building that seemed to be some weird sort of grocery store.

But Ben didn’t remember grocery stores selling TVs, or mattresses, or toys. Grocery stores didn’t sell watches. Or fucking pills and makeup, just a few aisles apart.

Where the fuck are we. He muttered between their heads, and She looked back to him with an amused grin.

You drove us here, Ben.

Because I value my goddamn life, Sunshine.

Shut up-

No. He leaned down, kissing the space between Her eyes with a grin. Tell me where we are, brat, or I’ll fuck the answer out of you.

She wrinkled Her nose at him, even as Ben heard Her heart flutter slightly. No obviously public sex, you horny old cunt-

I never said we’d fuck in public, darling. This place is fucking huge, I’d find somewhere private, and then make you all dumb and pretty on my cock. Ben winked at Her, and Christ, she was beautiful. Wide, glossy eyes and a parted mouth, already putty in Ben’s hands just from his fucking words.

We’re at Costco. She said, a little breathless between their minds. It’s a superstore.

Ben frowned. That didn’t make any damn sense, and he’d have a lot of time to fuck Her later. He needed to understand what in Christ she was talking about.

What the fuck is a superstore. Did they figure out how to shoot up buildings with V and nobody fucking told me-

She laughed, wrapping Her arms around his neck with a shake of her head. No, Ben, it’s a physically large store that sells, like, everything.

Everything.

Pretty much, yeah. She shrugged. That’s why we’re here.

Ben nodded slowly. For the house.

Exactly. She smiled, Her voice soft and teasing between their minds. Good work, Pretty Boy.

Shut the fuck up, brat. Ben pulled Her half up his chest, kissing her until he got a breathy moan, and leaned back with a smirk. What do we need.

I, um… She blinked at him, her eyes a little glazed as Ben just grinned at Her. Fucking Christ, She was perfect.

Need some help there, Sunshine?

Fuck you-

Ben laughed, squeezing his hand on Her waist. No obviously public sex, darling-

Shut up. She muttered, and Ben’s grin only grew, because She tangled her hand in his and leaned further into his body at the exact same time. I made a list.

A list-

For what we need. And, She shot him a stern look, rising slightly on Her toes to hold his gaze. We’re sticking to it. No buying things we don’t need, just because you see them.

Ben frowned. Why the fuck would I get shit we don’t need-

Because you’re a child, my love.

I am not a fucking child-

Yeah, you are. She gave him a soft, teasing grin, and Ben really didn’t know how to actually be annoyed with Her. Not when She was so goddamn beautiful, and looking at him with such adoration, and felt easy and happy around his skull. You’re a massive fucking man baby, Benjamin, and you’re going to see something shiny and try to buy it.

Fucking- I’m not a goddamn pussy with no self-

She pulled him into a slow, deep kiss, half climbing up his chest and molding into his arms fucking perfectly, and he groaned. She’d given him a blowjob before they left the house—Ryan was off at school for the day, and She was a horny fucking problem—and Ben could still taste himself in Her mouth. Mixed with coffee and chocolate, and Her. Always just fucking Her, smiling against his lips and safe in his arms. He could feel the cool metal of Her wedding ring when she tangled her fingers in his hair.

They had to finish this shopping shit right now, so Ben could carry Her to the car and fuck her stupid in the back seat.

You’re my man baby, Pretty Boy. She said between their minds, and leaning back to give him a wide, perfect smile. I love you.

I love you too, Ben grunted, leaning down to kiss to Her brow. You fucking brat.

She hummed, Her smile wide and unrestrained on her beautiful face. Ready?

Ben nodded, grabbing Her hand and pressing one last kiss to Her knuckles. There was Her ring. Both of her rings. Physical fucking proof to anyone who looked that She loved Ben. Wanted him. Fucking adored him.

If She needed Ben for shopping, he’d walk with Her and do whatever she told him to. She’d know what she was doing. She always knew what She was doing, because she was a goddamn force of nature, and if Ben had a say in it, he’d make sure everyone did what she told them all the fucking time.

They didn’t—because most people were stupid fucking dumbcucks that Ben wasn’t allowed to just fucking kill—but they should. All of this post-Homelander shit would be so much easier if everyone would just fucking listen to Her.

And Ben knew how hard She was working on it. How She was calm and collected when she testified before congress and recounted all the shit that fucking pussy had done to Her, but always fell apart after, sobbing and shaking in Ben’s arms. She’d crawl over his body and bury Her face in his chest, he’d feel fucking sick, and wish he could bring Homelander back to life just to fucking kill him again. Everyone demanded too goddamn much of Her, and she always gave it because she was too fucking good, and if all She asked for was Ben to go shopping with Her, he’d do it a billion fucking times.

Anything to make Her tap her fingers because she was picking out wall colors and not because she had to explain how She’d killed Sage. Anything to make Her flush because Ben was kissing her neck in the lamp aisle and not because a bunch of old fucking pussies wanted unnecessary details about Her alleged relationship with Soldier Boy.

It wasn’t fucking alleged. They were goddamn married. They had a son and owned a house together.

A house they needed to put things in. And decorate. And make theirs. So if that was what this trip was about, Ben could fucking do it. For Her.

It started simple. They needed more furniture, they found it.

“We already have most of what we need,” She muttered, pulling Ben through the store. “It’s mostly decorations now. If you see something you like-“

“I’ll like whatever the fuck you like.”

She let out a long sigh. “That not helpful-“

Ben grunted Her name, spinning Her around in his arms and dropping his brow to Her’s.

“Ben-“

“Listen to me.” He held Her gaze, drawing firm circles in her hips. “I could give a fuck what our house looks like, as long as you like it, and there’s no goddamn blue.”

“But it’s your house too-“

“I don’t fucking care.” He grunted. “I’ve told you, Sunshine, we could be living in a fucking dumpster, and I’d be good.”

She scanned over Ben’s face, and sighed. “Can you promise you’ll at least try to find one thing you want?”

“Deal.” Ben kissed Her, dipping her slightly in his arms and keeping Her tucked to his side when they pulled apart.

For Her, he’d try to find one thing. It couldn’t be that fucking hard. This place was huge.

At first, there was nothing. She had opinions on the colors and style of their house, and Ben mostly just watched Her be perfect and smart and happy, grumbling low agreements and kissing Her until she smiled whenever he got the chance. That was what he cared about. Not whatever the fuck rustic or sleek meant. Not about what shade of green their bedroom should be, or if they should have the bird or sunset painting, or if a glass vase was better than a ceramic one.

“Just lie and pretend you have an answer-“

“No. I don’t fucking lie to you-“

“It’s a vase, Ben. I’m not going to freak out and burn the building down because you lie about liking a vase-“

“I don’t give a fuck about the vase.” He snapped. “My job is to buy you the damn flowers-“

“Well,” She raised Her brows, giving him a pointed look. “Where can I put the flowers, if I don’t have a vase?”

Ben scowled. “Smartass.”

“You love it.” She gave him a sweet smile, and he really fucking did. “Choose a vase, Pretty Boy.”

Ben rolled his eyes, glaring between the options, and decided they were both fucking stupid. “No.”

“Benjamin-“

“Get that one.” He pointed to a third, smaller one. It was the same color as Her eyes, and had little golden patterns. He didn’t hate it. “It’ll fit on the dresser.”

She paused, tapping Her fingers on Ben’s arm, and nodded slowly. “Okay.” She gave him a wider, purely fucking adoring smile, and Ben felt his whole body grow radiant. “Thank you.”

“Don’t.” He grumbled, kissing the side of Her head, and a dam broke inside of him.

Suddenly, Ben had a lot of fucking opinions. A red carpet would look fucking stupid in the living room, and Ben didn’t want a weird, twisting lamp on his bed stand. They’d get the shower curtain with little octopuses—octopi, Benjamin—because they made Her smile, but Ben would give MM a fucking blowjob before he used as towel with ducks on it.

“But they’re cute-“

“No.” Ben snapped, grabbing a stack on plain, monotone towels, and dumping them into the cart. “They’re fucking towels, Sunshine, they only need to dry us off.”

“I know, but look at them!” She held the ducks up, giving Ben a pretty pout that was designed to fucking kill him. “Please? Just one?”

Ben scowled. She knew what the fuck She was doing. Looking so fucking beautiful and leaning into his body and making Her sharp eyes soft just for him. He couldn’t say no to Her. He’d never really want to, anyway. Not when he grabbed the towel, tossed it in the cart, and Her smile had the same effect as fucking heroine.

“One.” He grunted. “Because I fucking love you, brat, you get one.”

She kept smiling at him, holding his face between Her hands and kissing him right on the nose. “Thank you, my love-“

Ben rolled his eyes, and dragged Her into a longer, firmer kiss. Until She was a sighing and humming and melting into him, before grabbing Her hand and tugging her to the next isle.

They got shampoo—Ben tried to pick his own out, She looked like she was going stab him or set him on fire, and he decided to let Her handle that shit—a bunch of picture frames, and a lot of useless decorative shit that they didn’t need. Small potted plants that would have to be kept out of the bedroom, a fuck ton of books that She’d probably already read, and some nice, dark green plates.

Ben took over for groceries—that might be the only place in the world where She didn’t know what the fuck she was doing—and he kept it simple. Pancakes. Ice cream. Bagels. Strawberry cream cheese. Coffee. Chocolate. Something called Lunchables that Ryan seemed to like. Apple sauce, because on worse days that was all Ben could get Her to eat, and he’d be damned if he let Homelander keep haunting them like that. Whiskey. Burger patties-

“You know there’s only three of us, right?” She was hanging off of Ben’s arm, giving him an amused look as he tossed a second bag of apples into their slightly overflowing cart. “And we can come back if we host dinner with the team.”

Ben frowned. “You told me Butcher was hosting-“

“He is. I’m saying that’s why we don’t need so many-“

“We need to be fucking prepared.” Ben muttered. “Shit happens, Sunshine, and I’ll be fucking damned if I let us go hungry-“

Ben.

He grunted Her name, glancing down to see open, obvious amusements painted over Her pretty features.

Are you fucking Cold War prepping.

Shut up.

She snorted. Holy shit, you are-

I said shut the fuck up. We need to be goddamn careful, and it’s my job to make sure you and Ryan are safe-

That’s not your job, Ben. She sighed, giving him a soft smile that lit up his whole fucking body. But, if it was, you already do an amazing job, without being an old, paranoid dinosaur. And remember, She squeezed his hand, raising Her brows slightly. Ryan’s literally invulnerable, and I fuck an atomic bomb every day. We’d be fine.

Ben scowled, but put the third bag of apples back. We fuck at least three times a day.

I know. I’m there.

You fucking start most of it-

You’re just proving my point, Pretty Boy.

Shut up.

From there, She made him go look at fucking pants and shirts. Only so She could send Neuman orders for their specialized, supe-proof clothing, but still needing Ben’s actual fucking opinions. He didn’t fucking care about clothing, and he trusted Her with his fucking life, so she ended up making most of the choices as Ben grunted in approval.

They were almost done. And this had been fun—he’d never tell Her that, but he was also pretty damn sure she knew—but Ben wanted to go the hell home. To drop all this shit in the doorway, carry Her upstairs, and fuck Her until she screamed his name so loud all the glasses in the house fucking broke.

All that was left was getting something called a Roomba.

“What fuck is that thing.” Ben muttered, frowning at the metal disc in Her hands. It just looked like fucking junk.

“It’s a robot.”

“A fucking what.”

“Robot. Robot vacuum. It’ll clean the floor-“

“That circle is going to clean the floor-“

“Yep.” She glanced at the label on the shelf. “Do you think we need max power? I don’t really know what average power would do- Ben-“

He’d grabbed the robot—fucking robot—from Her, and was examining it. He didn’t know what the hell he was looking for, only that he wasn’t finding it.

“Ben-“

“This thing is not a fucking robot.” He muttered. “Robots aren’t real.”

“They very much are real, old man.”

“There’s not a chance in fucking hell this thing can clean a floor-“

“Well, it does.” She took the circle back, placing it into the cart and giving Ben a teasing look of disbelief. “Are Roomba’s really going to be the thing that gets you about the 21st century?”

He scowled. “They’re not fucking real, Sunshine-“

“Benjamin, my love.” She moved to stand right before him, holding his gaze to Her’s with amusement dancing all over Her perfect face. She was so fucking beautiful. “You can throw nuclear energy with your brain, pick up trucks with one hand, and I’ve seen you jump off a building without flinching. We’re fuck-buddy-brain-connected. When I orgasm, I make both of us hallucinate. This,” She pointed to the so-called robot. “Cannot be the thing that gets you.”

Shut up, brat. Ben rolled his eyes, kissing the back of Her hand before glaring around the rest of isle. Are all of these things fucking robots.

No, these are just normal vacuums.

Does this place have other robots.

Yeah, probably.

Ben’s eyes narrowed. Where.

———————

You’ve made a grave error.

You don’t think you’re ever going to leave this Costco.

After the Roomba, you’d shown Ben robotic litter boxes, and drones, and a smart speaker. You’re pretty sure that’s where you’d went wrong.

“This thing can hear me?”

You’d nodded, watching him with a small smile you were having a hard time fighting. To any passerby, Ben would’ve looked furious, but you know him. Know that right now, his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes meant that he was shocked and confused.

It helped that you could feel it, pricking on his skin and cloudy around his head. It was kind of adorable.

“It can hear all of us.”

He’d scowled. “Why the fuck is it listening-“

“So you can tell it what to do. Here, look- Alexa? Play Steely Dan.”

“Playing- Steely Dan.”

Low music started to fill the space, and you’d had to bite your cheek to stop the snort at Ben’s expression. He’d looked like he’d been shot. It had been adorable.

And now, two fucking hours later, you didn’t think you’d ever get sick of that expression on his face. He was like a five-year-old loose in a candy shop, walking from aisle to aisle and asking you grumbling questions about various technologies and appliances. If you’re being honest, the only time you’ve seen him look close to this was whenever he’d fuck you. It was a similar expression of pure, raw joy and wonder, but devoid of all the darkened, animalistic need.

“What the fuck are these?”

“Security cameras.”

Ben frowns. “They look like fucking doorbells.”

“They’re both.” You say, resting your head against his chest, and he nods slowly.

“We should get one.”

“Ben-“

“For fucking safety, Sunshine, it would be damn insane not to have cameras when all those fucking pussy Homelander supporters are still out there-“

“I agree, my love.” You smile at him, forcing yourself not the climb into his arms as his concrete concern and resolve wrap around you. “That’s why I asked Hughie to install some already.”

Ben pauses, something hot and sore flaring on his skin. “Why the fuck did you ask Hughie.”

“He’s a tech nerd, and Annie said he’d know the best ones to get.” You kissing the underside of Ben’s jaw, humming against his skin. Next time, I’ll ask you, Benjamin. It’ll be so fucking funny to watch you try to install them.

Ben scowls, adoration flaring in his chest as the soreness eases, and you manage to walk him away from the doorbells.

Most of the afternoon has mostly become walking Ben away from things. For some stuff, it’s easy. Noise canceling headphones wouldn’t work on him. You don’t need a slightly larger TV, because your current one is perfectly fine. You don’t have the space for a hot tub.

“What about these.” He points to the third golf set, and you sigh.

“Ben, you hate golf. You’ve told me it’s a weak fucking pussy sport.”

“And it fucking is, but these things can be damn good weapons-“

“We are not buying weapons.”

“What if someone fucking breaks into the house with a gun-“

“You and Ryan are bullet proof, and I can’t be killed-“

“What if it’s a fucking supe-“

“Then you can blast them with your special sauce, and they won’t be a supe.” You wrap your arms around him, raising your brows. “We’ll be fine, Ben. No golf clubs.”

He scowls, and moves on.

From the golf clubs. And the iPad, and other security cameras, and air hockey table.

But other things are harder.

Because you make a second mistake. You agree with him that you should buy a generator, because it’s practical. But what Ben learns is that you can say yes to things. And now you have an ice cream maker, an air fryer, a truly unreasonable amount of batteries, and lawn sprinklers.

And a vibrator, because Ben had grabbed it, shoved it into the cart, and raised his brows in a silent challenge.

You’d sighed. Ben, I don’t need-

I’m going to have to travel, Sunshine-

I know, but I think I can keep it together until you get back to fuck me yourself.

Or. Ben had winked at you, and you felt his hunger spread in your gut. We could do that Zoom shit, you could imagine that thing is me. He’d lowered down, starting to leave wet, sloppy kisses up your neck. And I could tell you exactly how I’d want to fuck you. How I’d play with that perfect fucking pussy until you were begging for me, then I’d stuff that smart fucking mouth with my cock and start to finger fuck you, make your squirt on my hand while you choke on my dick-

You’d buried your face in his chest, muffling your whimper in his shirt. Jesus fucking Christ, Ben-

You like that, darling? Like thinking about how I fill you up, how fucking good I pound into that pussy, how I make you cum on my cock and hands and face-

You’d agreed to buy the vibrator, but mostly because if he had kept talking, you might have climaxed just from Ben’s voice.

You should’ve left Costco an hour ago.

But Ben still doesn’t seem to be done yet.

“How the fuck are they doing that.” He mutters, poking remote and watching the LEDs shift from green to pink to yellow for the fifth time.

“Semiconductors.” You say, trying not to look like such a dopey, lovesick idiot as you smile at him. “We do have to go home soon. Ryan’s almost done with school.”

Ben grunts, grabbing one of the LED light strings and holding it up for you to see.

You take it from him, kiss his cheek—your lips barely brushing his beard before he’s moving you to his mouth, and you almost fall over—and place the box in the cart.

The total amount of money you’ve spent today is disgusting, but the grin on Ben’s face makes it worth it. All of this is so fucking worth it, because you’re happy in such an average, normal way. You’re happy because Ben’s happy—glowing and furious in your whole body—and he’s everything. He grabs you a chocolate bar in the checkout isle without you asking, and insists unloading everything into the trunk himself.

“Go wait in the car, Sunshine-“

You shake your head, trying—and failing—not to gawk at him. So goddamn handsome the broad daylight, muscles flexing as the moves bag after bag, all yours to climb like a tree when you get home-

You won’t have to get until your get home.

Ben chuckles as you stare at him, and the moment the last bag is in the car he grabs you by your wrist, tugging your back into his chest and slamming his lips down to yours. It a rough, heavy kiss that probably isn’t appropriate for a parking lot, but you can’t really bring yourself to care. Ben’s love is strong and focused and everything in the world that matters. He’s swaying you back and forth in his arms, grinning as he nips at your lower lip and tugs a little at your hair, and you don’t think you’re ever going to get enough of him. Of how forceful and bloody and devout his love is, just in broad daylight when you’ve done nothing but smile at him.

When he pulls away, neither of you bother to fully separate. Ben grins at you, and you smile at him, and when he brushes a little hair away from your face you do the only thing you can think of, and kiss him again. Softer this time, moving your hands to hold his face, allowing yourself to feel so purely safe and warm in the best place in the world. In Ben.

Because you know this will never fade. The love for him in your body that only grows more and more powerful with every passing moment. That you’ll always feel Ben’s love for you, no matter if you’re resting in heaven—caged between Ben’s body and a bed, sleeping or fucking or just smiling at him—breaking down in a hell you’ve visited countless times in life and will visit more in sleep, or standing somewhere domestic and mundane.

You have a life now where you get to be domestic and mundane. Where you get to make out with your husband in a public place, until someone rolls down their window and wolf-whistles, and you have to restrain Ben from picking up their car and throwing it across the lot. Where you get to drive home with Ben’s hand on your thigh and your head resting on his shoulder, and you get to act like that’s all your life has ever been.

It’s all it will have to be now.

For the rest of your life—which will likely be simply the rest of time—all you’ll have to do is be domestic. You don’t think you can be mundane, not when Ben grumbles something and you can feel his love spark and flare in his chest, or when you park the car and Ben carries all fifteen of your heavy bags inside at once without even a grunt. You can’t be mundane when, the moment he puts the bags down, you jump on him, he fucks you against the kitchen counter, and you burst into a flame that sets off the smoke alarm and drenches you both in the sprinklers.

But you can be domestic. You can dry off and cook dinner with Ben—like a normal husband and wife probably do—and let him wrap his body around you and kiss that spot on your neck until you give up on focusing and ride him on the floor.

You can eat with Ben and Ryan, try not to laugh as Ben works out how the ice cream maker works, and curl in Ben’s arms on your couch. Watching TV and sitting easily in the dark.

Ben can tilt your head back for a deep, slow kiss, smirking against your lips when you moan, and mutter your name like a prayer.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he says, rubbing firm circles on your thigh, and you let out a long, slow breath as you flush.

“I think you abuse that word, Benjamin,” you mumble, and he shrugs.

“I don’t give a fuck. You are.” He frowns, turning you to face him in his lap. “I fucking love you, Sunshine, you’re my whole fucking world-“

I know. You smile, leaning down for another, softer kiss that makes Ben groan in your mouth and the whole world start to get a little hazy. I love you, too.

He grunts, but doesn’t bother to do his usual pushing about how you still don’t get how much he loves to you. You do get it. You can feel it, and it’s the most powerful thing in the world. Sometimes you worry Ben doesn’t understand how much you love him. How you can’t even begin to picture a world where you’d never clawed your way through blood and grime to find him. How you can feel his love and resolve and care all the time, and your own love is so eternal and vast you could probably power a universe with it.

But you’ll have all of time to fight with him about who loves who more.

Right now, everything can just be Ben and you on a couch, eating ice cream, and knowing that this—You and him, burning together—is forever.

End Note: Had to make the smart speaker an Alexa. We are in an Amazon based universe. I don’t think they sell Alexas at Costco, but we’ve established that Costco sells whatever I want it to sell. So, Alexas.

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 3 days ago

Text

@luci-in-trenchcoats

Oh I loved this one! It's such a fun take on a reader who has body insecurity.

“Well you said you like-” He’d slam his lips to yours with an almost bruising force, leaving you breathless before jogging away. “What are you doing?” “Saving the pie!” You crossed your arms, laughing as he scrambled to put on an oven mitt and yank it out of the oven. “Crisis averted. You didn’t say it was pie, sweetheart. We never let a pie burn.”

This is so cute! Dean Winchester one million percent would not let pie burn. Death first before a perfectly good pie left in the oven 😂

“I am. In all of you. But I wanted you to get the best version of me. The one that is emotionally available and that’s taken time.” He’d lean down closer, sliding his hand up your leg, grazing your hip, your ribs, all the way up to your cheek. “I’m ready if you want me.”

Oh my sweet goodness, the "I wanted you to get the best version of me..." is KILLING ME. Beau is just so sweet. I've never seen Big Sky, but each time I see another Beau thing I always want to.

“Nothing, dear,” he said, tucking you into his side, forcing a smile. “Just fending off the sharks.” “Sharks?” “You really have no idea how beautiful you are, do you.” He’d watch you do that thing with your nose which meant you were fighting back the heat trying to rise to your cheeks. But he wouldn’t fight his own, smirking as he kissed you deeply. “Thank god you’re all mine.”

Soldier Boy knew his anger was quick and he wasn’t the easiest person in the world to deal with but he didn’t care. Nobody laid a hand on his girl. Not unless they wanted to lose theirs.

Jealousy with Ben shouldn't be as hot as it is... but oh my sweet key lime pie he does it so well 👀😱

“Well, you know you contract guys. Break into enemy territory in the dead of night? No problem. Walk down a hallway? Now that’s dangerous.” Russell would smile hard at your teasing, more than happy to not have incurred any of your wrath in the long term. He had the feeling you were uncomfortable in your messy clothes though, despite the cardigan you were holding closed with one hand over your shirt.

STOP that's so funny. I cackled at her joke! And I love her and Russell's meet cute so much- it's so cute and so fitting for him and her. AND HE GAVE HER HIS JACKET?! Oh man that's true love right there 🤗

Russell would pause halfway down the steps, feeling your gaze on his back. “Do you want to maybe…get dinner later? I don’t have any jobs lined up for a few weeks and I’m a sucker for pink.”

"I'm a sucker for pink" 😂😂😂 Oh man I was so close to saying he was a gentleman for not saying anything about the bra, but then he couldn't help himself 🤣, It fits though lol

“I should have asked them before but when you go away…are there others?” He’d hate how small your voice sounded, the way you’d rub your arm absently. “I mean, I know we’re new and didn’t really talk about it and you go to some places with some very beautiful women-” “I got a beautiful woman right at home and she is all I want. Just me and her. Understand?” Russell would kiss away that worry until it was a faded memory, one he would be more than happy to dispel to you over and over again.

I love Russell so much oh my word, and you write him so well. This bit was so cute 😭 Because Russell does seem to be the kind of guy that people think is dating other people, but is really just LIVING for his woman 😭

I loved all of these my friend! You wrote these headcanons so well! I also have never written them before, but you and @zepskies are always out here inspiring me 💗💗💗

Headcanon: How They Meet Their Plus Size Girlfriend

I'm officially trying my hand at headcanons (only a few years behind the ball there)! If these go over well, I might start to incorporate them more around here.

Special thanks to @zepskies for the idea (okay, it's a little different than we talked about but I think it still fits the bill) and getting me on the headcanon bandwagon! 😘

Warnings: language, implied smutty times, implied body insecurity

Dean Winchester

Dean’s always been the kind of guy to think if a woman’s beautiful to him, she’s beautiful. Case closed. Which was exactly his thought when he caught a glimpse of Y/N at a dive bar outside of Lawrence. He’d do a double take, not being shy about how he took you in or hiding the smile on his face when he saw you watching him. One quick look away before you were looking back and that was more than enough invitation for him.

He’d be on his feet, at your table in under ten seconds, not deterred by the furrow of your brows. In another ten he’d have laid out one of, in his opinion, his best lines. His confidence fell a sliver when all you did was stare back at him but that was alright. He wasn’t going to give up that easily.

“Why don’t you try that line on the blonde over there that’s mentally undressing you?” you’d say, fighting back the urge to say something snappy at the ridiculously handsome man in front of you. Before he had even come over, you knew he was trouble, knew his type. He surely had made a bet with the longer haired man at his time and had come over to play a game with you. There was no way in hell he was actually interested, not when there were at least five different women at the bar ready to jump at the chance to take him home.

The man would smirk, lifting his head as if he realized something. To your annoyance, he’d slip into the empty chair beside you, taking a short sip of his beer along the way. He’d adorably rest his elbow against the table’s edge, leaning his head against his hand as he slumped down, all the while smiling at you.

“If I wanted to talk to her, I’d have gone over there. Now you can tell me to get lost or you can give me a chance.”

“Chance to what?”

“Take a beautiful woman home,” he’d grin, looking up through his lashes. You’d laugh, gesturing down to yourself, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Hey now. Don’t tell me when I think a woman is hot and I won’t tell you.”

You’d raise your eyebrows, the mysterious stranger inching closer, lifting his head with a certain boyish mischievousness. “C’mon sweetheart. One drink.”

“Fine. One drink.”

One drink turned into five. One night turned into six. Six nights turned into Dean spending the night and making breakfast for three weeks straight.

Dean smirked when you let him inside the house, his hands immediately shooting to your hips and pulling you crashing into his chest.

“Down boy,” you’d teased as he tried to kiss under your jaw, his grip keeping you from returning to the kitchen. “Dean. It’ll burn.”

“We can order takeout,” he mumbled, nipping at your neck. You rolled your eyes, smiling when Dean chuckled. “How’s that one drink working out for you, sweetheart?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you said, Dean walking you back against the front door, his hands shooting to your face, capturing it like he had been starved all day. “Someone miss me?”

“My favorite girl? Always,” he hummed, body jerking when a waft of cherries floated through the room. He tilted his head, eyes wide. “You…made pie?”

“Well you said you like-” He’d slam his lips to yours with an almost bruising force, leaving you breathless before jogging away. “What are you doing?”

“Saving the pie!” You crossed your arms, laughing as he scrambled to put on an oven mitt and yank it out of the oven. “Crisis averted. You didn’t say it was pie, sweetheart. We never let a pie burn.”

He walked back over much slower as it cooled on a rack, Dean placing his hands on either side of your head, a dangerous smile on his face. “Now, where were we?”

Beau Arlen

Beau would wait a while before making a move on you. He had to prove it to himself that he was ready for another relationship and that Emily was doing better after everything that happened over the summer. So he quietly waited and settled for your friendship. There was no reason in his head to drag you into his crap or jump the gun when he knew it’d cause problems. But he didn’t miss the way you caught him staring during movie nights, dinners, at park yoga (that truth be told he only did at first because Emily’s therapist thought it was something nice to do together but didn’t want to admit he actually enjoyed).

Beau knew he would be sending conflicting signals. Eyes that said for the love of god I want this, words that said this is platonic as hell. He had to go so far as to keep his hands off of you completely for fear he would break his resolve and just plant one on you. Naturally when he finally felt like he was in a good place to give things an honest shake, you’d tell him on his lunch break that you had a date that night.

“Cancel it,” Beau blurts out. He’d watch you scrunch up your face but he’s already let the cat out of the bag. Might as well go all in. “Go out with me.”

“Beau, we can hang out tomorrow. I want to go out with this guy, see where it leads. I'm not getting any younger. I need to get serious about finding someone.”

“Yeah and I’m serious about going out with you. Let me take you out on a date.” He’d understand your hesitation. He was the one backing off whenever you’d put out feelers in the past. Beau knew he had to go all in if he wanted to earn that trust with you.

“Beau. Come on. I know I’m not your type.”

Beau rose from the other side of his desk, striding around it and stopping in front of your chair. “You are my type and before you open that mouth of yours to argue, I thought I owed it to you to get my shit together before I did this. I ain’t perfect but I am ready to try.”

He’d rest a hand on your thigh, waiting for your reaction, inching up ever so slightly to make it clear that was more than a friendly gesture.

“Beau, I don’t…you never seemed interested-“

“Of course I want you. But…” He’d hum, leaning in close, pressing his lips to yours.

“But you don’t think I want you?” He frowned when you looked away, his hand catching your chin. “I’m a big boy and you’re a big girl. I think we’re both old enough to trust that we’re telling each other the truth. So go out with me tonight. I promise it will be a million times better than whatever guy you were going to go with.”

It’d take a moment but he’d grin as you texted your date you had a change of heart, Beau already planning the perfect evening together.

Not long after that first date Beau would be spending most of his nights with you, whether that was at home with Emily, out at your favorite bar, or exploring town. He’d constantly have an arm around you, your waist, your shoulders, your hips. Beau liked to keep his girl close. Maybe he’d worked through a lot but he was still protective through and through and that meant he was always watchful of you. Including the occasional stray eye when you were out. Beau always made sure to give them a look to back off and that you were taken.

“What are you doing?” You’d ask one night, catching him with narrowed eyes.

“Nothing, dear,” he said, tucking you into his side, forcing a smile. “Just fending off the sharks.”

“Sharks?”

“You really have no idea how beautiful you are, do you.” He’d watch you do that thing with your nose which meant you were fighting back the heat trying to rise to your cheeks. But he wouldn’t fight his own, smirking as he kissed you deeply. “Thank god you’re all mine.”

Soldier Boy/Ben

Ben would make a move on you the second he saw you. Long strides across the club and an arm draped around your shoulders as he almost ignored your presence in favor of order a round of shots. He’d keep you close even as you attempted to pull away, turning his head with a coy smile.

“Where you going, gorgeous? Didn’t you come out tonight to have fun?” he grinned darkly, enjoying the mixture of disgust at his arrogance and the intrigue hidden underneath your frown. “Someone in a skirt like that is looking for a good time. Well, here I am. No strings attached”

He’d lick his lips as you’d take your shot without breaking eye contact, Soldier Boy’s eyebrows raising in surprise. He wouldn’t have been sure if it’d be that easy but he’d take it. Until he’d watch you down the other shot and turn around, walking off to the dance floor with a wave over the shoulder.

Challenge accepted.

He’d follow you out, letting you take the lead, growing frustrated every time you’d teasingly pull him in only to push away. His desire would only grow when you gave him the slip at the end of the night, no longer a game in his mind. You weren’t simply a conquest anymore. He was curious about the woman in the leather skirt and how on earth she was resisting everything he was offering.

Finally, finally, he’d find you outside the club, leaning against the cold brick wall, hands clasped behind your back.

“Now don’t you run off on me again,” purred Ben, taking your hand in his, eyes dark and hungry. He’d smirk at your feigned disinterest, putting on his most innocent expression he could muster. “My place. Let me do wonderful things to that body of yours, gorgeous.”

He’d take your nonchalant shrug for a yes and before he knew it, he’d have you in his apartment, down on his knees, making good on his promise. Before he could get his head on right though, he’d hear the click of your heels on the marble floor. With a wobble and fixing the tent in his pants, he’d catch you halfway out the door, his eyes wide in bewilderment. “Where you going, baby?”

“Like you said, I was looking for a good time and I had it. I don’t remember saying you were getting any more than that.” He’d lean against the wall, cocking his head and letting the coil in his gut unravel.

“Baby, stay and I’ll keep on chasing you until you’re sick of me. Scouts’ honor.” He’d smile at your laugh, jutting out his lip. “Aw, don’t make me beg.”

“What a shame. I bet you’d beg real pretty.” Soldier Boy wouldn’t fight the way his breath hitched. He’d been with plenty of teasing women before but they always wanted him in control. Something about that threat, promise, whatever it was would make his skin itchy with need.

“Want to see if you can make me?” He’d know his hook was in the moment the words left his mouth, the way your eyes raked over his body. “No one’s ever been able. Think you’re that good?”

“Oh sweetie, you’ll regret that.”

Two months later, Soldier Boy wouldn’t regret it for one second. Not just for what you’d brought out in him in the bedroom. You challenged him, called him on his shit and damn he liked you putting him in his place. He wouldn’t quite understand it but somewhere he likened it to something akin to deeper feelings. Everything had started out at pure sex but there was something about you that stayed under his skin, something that him taking you out on real dates, to movie premieres and parties. Something that made him want this to last. He’d growl at the man that once tried to lay a hand on your ass, not even pretending to be sorry when you’d chastised him for breaking the guys arm.

Soldier Boy knew his anger was quick and he wasn’t the easiest person in the world to deal with but he didn’t care. Nobody laid a hand on his girl. Not unless they wanted to lose theirs.

Russell Shaw

Russell didn’t love going in the office. He considered the field his true workplace. But every so often he had to go in to deal with contracts, paperwork, or in this case, get reimbursed for a phone that’d been destroyed somewhere along the Amazon river.

So that was how he’d turned the corner too quick and slammed straight into you. He’d fall smack on his ass and look across the way, finding you in a similar position, coffee staining your peach colored blouse and a shattered mug on the ground.

“Oh fuck,” he’d say as he’d notice the red streaks coming from your hand. He’d slide across the floor, pulling the forest green handkerchief he kept on him and quickly covering your bleeding palm. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was an accident,” you’d say, wincing as he tightened it.

“Let me take you to get that stitched. You shouldn’t drive like that,” he’d say before ducking into a nearby room and alerting an admin to what had happened. Russell would stay in the waiting room the whole time you got checked out and after getting you out of work the rest of the day, he’d take you down the street to his favorite food truck, encouraging you to get your blood sugar back up even if you’d barely lost any in the first place.

“I’ll happily pay for the dry cleaning or new clothes,” he’d say as you sipped on a glass of sweet tea, finding his nervous energy kind of adorable. “I can’t believe I did that.”

A gust of wind would come through and threaten to throw all your food to the ground, both of you reaching and grabbing before it could fall. In that instance, Russell would spot that you weren’t just uncomfortable. Your peach blouse had turned completely see through and was revealing a light pink bra.

“Here,” Russell said without thinking, shrugging out of his jacket on the cool day and standing, handing it across the table. You’d blink up at him before slowly taking it, holding the much thicker material to your chest. As much he might have liked, he kept his mouth shut about the bra, instead letting you eat your lunch quickly and quietly.

Russell would insist on driving you home with an offer to take you into work to get your car in the morning.

“Sorry about ruining your clothes again,” he’d say on your front porch, holding up a hand when you tried to give his jacket back. “You keep it. Not like we’ll never see each other again, right?”

“Right. I’ll uh, see you tomorrow then.”

Russell would pause halfway down the steps, feeling your gaze on his back. “Do you want to maybe…get dinner later? I don’t have any jobs lined up for a few weeks and I’m a sucker for pink.”

He’d turn around with a hesitant smile, one eyebrow raised as you lifted your chin. “Seven. Don’t be late.”

Russell smirked when he picked you up that night wearing a pink zip up, enjoying the smug look on your face.

“So where you taking me, Shaw?” you’d ask, Russell opening the passenger door for you. “I normally don’t wear jeans and a hoodie on a first date.”

“Maybe you’ve been dating the wrong men,” he’d wink as he closed the door. “It’ll be fun and no coffee will be thrown or shrapnel will occur, I promise.”

“Oh well, is it even a first date without those?” He’d chuckle, quickly hoping behind the wheel.

“I guess that makes this our second date then,” he’d shoot back with a smile.

Russell finds out after his first job away that he doesn’t like being away for weeks at a time from you. Phone calls and face time aren’t enough. He puts in a word with his supervisor about taking shorter missions only from then on out. He’s absolutely giddy to pull up to your house when he gets home from the airport, even if you haven’t been answering his texts today.

“Hey,” he says when you answer the door. He doesn’t like the sliver of doubt on your face. “What’s wrong?”

“I got a beautiful woman right at home and she is all I want. Just me and her. Understand?” Russell would kiss away that worry until it was a faded memory, one he would be more than happy to dispel to you over and over again.

___________

#Dean Winchester #Beau Arlen #Soldier Boy #Russell Shaw #Dean WInchester x reader #Beau Arlen x reader #Soldier Boy x reader #Russell Shaw x reader #headcanon #supernatural #spn #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #russell shaw x you #russell shaw fanfiction #Guys I Read Something 😱#Hello My Friend!

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macsimagines · 3 days ago

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Yandere!Izana Kurokawa Soulmate AU

I would rlly appreciate feed back on this one!! I'm unsure if i made it big enough

MINORS DNI

WARNINGS: YANDERE BEHAVIOR, ABUSIVE BEHAVIOR MENTION OF PHYSICAL VIOLENCE

Everyone is born with a tattoo that they share with their soulmate. A one of a kind design that can never be replicated and can only be connected to one other soul on the planet.

Izana's is on his inner wrist. A delicate spider-lily with peacock feathers that wrap around. The intricate lines and colors are so expansive and vibrant.

As a child he'd often get compliments on it, but as he grew older he had started to resent his soul mark. All it represented was that someone out there had truly existed only for him and yet they were no where to be found.

More and more people left him as time went on and it just truly deepened the feeling of being utterly alone.

Sometimes at night he'd stroke the lines of the flower petals, maybe even kiss along the feathers. He could feel you through this connection, he could feel you kiss and stroke the lines back.

"I'm here," is what it would seem to say, "You're not alone, I feel you, I love you."

But there were days that the isolation was too much, that the loneliness just seemed to consume him whole. Izana would scratch at his mark, curse it and bite at it, hoping you'd feel that pain and know that your absence was killing him.

You not being there was the greatest sin you could ever commit and he wanted you to know it. To hurt like how he was hurting.

Eventually, it didn't matter if he stroked his wrist with loving softness or if he'd rake his blunt finger nails so roughly he'd start to bleed. You'd stop responding altogether.

Izana didn't understand how he'd manage to loose something he never really had to begin with. How he could possibly miss someone he never even knew.

Years went on. He'd become a monster of Tenjiku. A ruthless king and soulless tyrant that ruled over all his subjects with an iron fist. He bit back that bitter hole in his chest and would ignore that withered flower on his wrist. He didn't need you, or anyone.

The very topic of Soulmates and Soulmarks were forbidden. One mention of it would result in a trip to the ER or worse yet the morgue. Soulmates just made you weak.

Or so he thought when Kakucho had approached him one day, a wary and tense look in his eyes.

"B-boss?" he'd said carefully, "I... I think I found your soulmate?"

For one split second hope had flooded back into him, bringing an ugly vulnerability he thought he'd eliminated as a child. But he quickly smashed it back down. So what? You meant nothing. You should mean nothing.

"I don't think I asked you to butt in needlessly. Should I just burn your mark right off and teach you a lesson?"

Threats like that were worse than threatening someone's life, and Izana feels a quick thrill in him when he watches his loyal dog put a hand on his mark, a beautiful and vivid butterfly surrounded by swirls on his chest. Right over his heart. Pathetic.

"S-she's working at a cafe. I saw the flower on her wrist same as y-!"

The king is sending Kakucho flying before he can even finish that sentence. His fist connecting with his chin and repeating over and over again.

Working. Of course. You weren't looking for him. You just moved on as though he meant nothing to you. He didn't mean anything to anyone.

When he's done with using Kakucho like a personal punching bag, he's getting the information he really wants. Your location.

He doesn't need you or want you. But you belong to him. He owns you and you don't get to live a life without him anymore, pretending he doesn't exist.

Izana walks in like he owns the café. Like he's ready to just grab you and throw you over his shoulder like a bag of rice, but then his eyes meet yours and something ugly in his chest squeezes.

Your eyes? They're so hollow. Like all the light has been drained from them and you're just wearing a human skin. It's like looking at someone dead.

He sees the mark on your wrist and there is no doubt that its his exact match but the colors look so dull and faded. Like the soul bond was slowly withering away from it.

But he steels himself. He pushes all that nonsense that makes his heart feel soft away and moves towards you. You don't even flinch when he slams his fist down onto the counter, making sure his mark is in plain view. "Hello and welcome to Kitten's Coffee, how can I help you-""Don't fuck with me. You know why I'm here.""To tell me you hate me in person?"

What the fuck? What would make you say that? You felt how much his heart yearned for you all those years ago. How it drove him completely insane to not have you.

But he's watching the dull color in your eyes get wet with tears, and something is telling Izana that somewhere along the way a grave mistake had been made. "You rejected me." you spit at him, voice shaking with a quiet rage, "It didn't matter how much love I poured into our bond, you were angry with me. You hated me. Scratching and biting at our mark like you wanted it gone, like you wanted me dead." Izana tastes something so bitter on his tongue it makes his stomach revolt. "Y-you weren't there," he hisses, "I needed you and you never came for me." "You didn't look for me either. Do you think you were the only one suffering?"

Silence fills the space between you. And Izana feels weight after weight fill his chest. Every emotion he held back every feeling he tried to smother down coming up in uncontrollable waves.

His hand reaches out and takes your wrist, delicately, and he traces the lines of your matching tattoo. You thought it was rejection when all it was was a punishment. He just wanted you to know how much he missed you.

Tears are streaming down your face, your perfect beautiful face. And Izana really takes you all in. His soulmate, perfection incarnate, in front of him. Everything he never knew he wanted and needed finally in front of him.

He takes you then and there. Not bothering to worry about the stares of all those on lookers. Who cares what peasants think? He loves that you don't fight, you must know that he knows best. That he'll make this right.

Izana doesn't hold back, the minute you two are alone he makes sure to tell you everything. He tells you about how he was abandoned and alone, how the world without you was unbearable. The first and only time he will accept that he was wrong was about you.

"I should've never taken it out on my mark. You're right. I should've just came and found you."

And you? Your head is spinning from all the whiplash. One second you're making coffees for Karens and the next your Tenjiku's queen. And if you don't like it? Too fucking bad.

You're moving in the very next day, and Izana is already discussing plans for marriage and a family. "The ceremony is only a formality. I just want people to see us together."

Of course he takes into consideration what you want. He wants to know it all, favorite foods and movies and clothes. He just won't listen to you saying you want to leave.

It's an unspoken rule with a looming threat of drastic measures if you do. "I can't imagine what would happen if I ever lost you, Y/N. It'd be a real nightmare for everyone."

Anyone that looks at you funny? Is disposed of at once. Any body rude to you? Sent to the ER on a stretcher. Someone wants to question or deny a request of yours? Dead.

Oh, Your soul mark? Its lavished with love and affection. He makes sure to use very expensive and high end moisturizer on your skin but pays extra attention to your mark. Kissing it tenderly and whispering sweet nothings onto the design like he's telling your very heart.

You wished it didn't have such an intense affect on you. But after years of thinking you were rejected and hated to suddenly being so loved and adored had your poor head spinning. "Don't worry, Y/N. I'll take care of everything."

#yandere tokyo revengers #yandere izana x reader #yandere izana kurokawa #yandere izana

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withering-bloom · 13 hours ago

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One More Night

Hey guys!! I’m back and I come bearing an Arlecchino x fem Reader fluff fan fic!! I hope you guys enjoy ☺️

Not poof read

cc: blood mentioned, Arlecchino and reader are already married

1.1k words

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The restaurant was dimly lit, the golden glow of candlelight flickering over the half-empty glasses of wine, the quiet hum of conversation weaving through the air. It was the kind of place meant for special occasions—where everything from the linen napkins to the way the servers carried themselves felt too pristine, too perfect.Nothing but the best for Arlecchino's wife.

Even though, Right now, none of that mattered.

Not when Arlecchino was looking at her like that.

Like she was something worth softening for. Like she was something worth loving.

Her wife smiled, reaching across the table to intertwine their fingers, rubbing her thumb along Arlecchino’s blackened knuckles.

“You’re staring.” Her voice was laced with warmth, teasing.

Arlecchino smirked, tilting her head. “Can you blame me?”

A quiet laugh, a roll of the eyes—though not out of annoyance. “You’re terrible.”

“And yet, you married me.”

“I did.” Her wife leaned in slightly, a playful gleam in her gaze. “Starting to regret it yet?”

Arlecchino squeezed her hand in response, lifting it gently to her lips. She pressed a lingering kiss to her fingers, reverent and unhurried, as if savoring the moment itself.

“Not for a single second.”

Her wife flushed, tilting her head to the side to hide the way her lips curled.

“You know,” she murmured, her voice softer now, “we should do this more often. Just us. No children.” A small, affectionate sigh escaped her lips. “Even though I love them with all my heart… sometimes, they can be a handful.”

Arlecchino hummed, letting the moment linger. She wanted to say something, to promise that they could, that they would, but she wasn’t the kind of person who made promises lightly.

The world didn’t always let her keep them.

Instead, she reached across the table, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her wife’s ear. “Anything for you,” she whispered.

Her wife’s breath hitched slightly before she huffed a laugh and shook her head.

“You’re such a flirt.”

Arlecchino only smiled.

They finished their dinner, fingers lingering together as they walked out of the restaurant, the chill of the evening air pressing against their skin.

It had rained earlier. The pavement was still slick, puddles reflecting the warm glow of the streetlights. Arlecchino kept her wife close, her hand firm at the small of her back as they made their way down the quiet street.

“This was nice,” her wife murmured, resting her head against Arlecchino’s shoulder.

Arlecchino pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’ll make sure we have more nights like this.”

Her wife sighed happily. “You always say that.”

“And I always mean it.”

The laugh that followed was light, teasing. “I love you, you know that?”

Arlecchino’s lips parted to respond—

Then the world tilted.

A shift in the air. A sharp, slicing whistle. The unmistakable sound of steel cutting through the night.

Arlecchino moved on instinct—faster than a blink, her hand reaching for the blade hidden beneath her coat, her body twisting to face the incoming threat—

But she was too slow.

Not slow enough to miss it. Not slow enough to let her guard down completely.

But slow enough that the blade never touched her.

Slow enough that it sank into her wife instead.

The sound she made wasn’t a scream.

Just a quiet, choked breath.

The kind of sound people made when they didn’t quite realise they were dying.

And then—silence.

Arlecchino caught her before she hit the ground, arms wrapping around her trembling body, lowering them both to the wet pavement. Her mind was a storm, every muscle screaming at her to react, to find the assassin, to kil—

But none of that mattered.

Not when her wife was gasping in her arms, blood pooling between them, staining her hands, seeping into the cracks of the pavement.

“Hey,” Arlecchino breathed, her voice foreign to her own ears, hoarse and shaking. “Hey, stay with me.”

Her wife’s eyes fluttered, unfocused.

“Peru…?”

“I’m here,” she choked out, pressing her hands against the wound, as if she could close it together, but it wasn’t enough—nothing was enough. Blood seeped through her fingers, warm and relentless, as if mocking her efforts, reminding her just how powerless she really was at this moment.The warm liquid trickling down her arms was a sensation she was nothing but familiar with, however with each drop, it felt as though a part of herself was being left behind only to be discarded on the floor below.

“Please,” her voice broke, shaking with desperation, her breaths uneven, frantic. “I’m right here. Please don’t do this to me, please don’t leave me.” She pushed down harder, as if sheer force could keep her grounded, as if holding on tighter could stop life from slipping away. Her heart pounded, drowning out everything else, the weight of fear pressing against her chest so fiercely she thought it might crush her.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, like saying it would make it true, like sheer willpower could rewrite reality. “You’re okay, just—just stay with me.”

Her wife made a small noise, a tiny, pained exhale. She reached up, weakly grasping at Arlecchino’s sleeve, tugging—

As if she wasn’t the one bleeding out. As if she were the one comforting her.

Arlecchino clenched her jaw, her breath shuddering as she forced a smile. “You’re okay.” She lied. “You’re okay.” An attempt to tame her delusions to the truth that her beloved wife, the mother of her children, was slowly losing her life in her very own arms.

Her wife blinked slowly, her gaze lingering on Arlecchino’s face as if she were desperately trying to memorise it, to hold onto this fleeting moment before she slipped away into an endless, silent slumber.

Her fingers reached up, brushing against Arlecchino’s cheek, smearing blood across her skin.

“You’re crying.”

Arlecchino hadn’t even realised.

She let out a quiet sob, broken at the edges. “I’m s-sorry you can’t leave me. You’re—” Her breath caught. “You’re going to be fine, alright? Just—just hold on. I’ll get you help.”

Her wife smiled tiredly,as if all the energy was pooling out of her.

She knew.

She had always known.

Her fingers curled slightly, gripping Arlecchino’s sleeve one last time.

“I love you.”

Her breath shuddered.

Then stopped.

Just like that.

Arlecchino’s world shattered.

She let out a sharp breath, pressing her head into the crook of her wife’s lifeless body for the very last time, her grip tightening—like if she just held her hard enough, long enough, maybe she could keep her here.

Maybe she could keep her alive.

But there was nothing.

Nothing except the rain beginning to fall again, mingling with the blood beneath them.

Nothing except the quiet.

Nothing except the aching, suffocating emptiness where her wife’s warmth used to be.

Arlecchino closed her eyes.

And for the first time in her life—

She had nothing left to fight for.

—————————————————————-

All of their children are gonna have half a Batman arc LMAOO I’m so sorry please forgive me 😞💜

#arlechinno genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin wlw #arlechinno x reader #genshin impact #Arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x female reader #arlecchino x y/n #Arlecchino #genshin x reader

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lauraneedstochill · 1 day ago

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this was such a fascinating read, I just felt rooted to the spot and glued to the screen!

love the pacing and the eerie atmosphere of Harrenhal that immediately suggests that something bad will happen there. and my hope that Aemond might grant his wife some protection crumbled pretty fcking fast 😒 the hate I have for this man… I swear it grew with each new sentence. from him cheating on her and being downright mean despite her attempts to find common ground (“she would never understand the history without carrying Valyrian blood” I was already wishing someone would slap Mike Wazowski in the face 🙄) to him becoming possessive for no reason and stripping her life of the very few small pleasures she had. ngl I giggled at the scene of him sucking a titty, and it was immensely satisfying to read that the well-deserved silent treatment actually hurt him.

but oh, you fooled me with Alys 🔪 even though you paint her so obviously cunning, there’s still charm to her in the beginning, and I love the motherly vibes she gives off. and the smut was just the perfect amount of hot! 🔥 totally didn’t send me into bi panic or anything

Kisses brushing down the neck and collarbone, gentle hands tracing the curve of the hips and the descent of the thighs, moving over forbidden places as warm lips met into a shy and delicate kiss; tongue against tongue, small sounds of delight escaping through.

BUT THE ENDING! I’m not saying I am good at predictions but I was genuinely so shocked. stunned into silence. eyes like owl’s 😳 and I can’t even truly hate her because I can understand her logic and she lowkey even deserves applause for how cleverly she handled the situation. and yet, I feel heartbroken for the wife, as at the end she not only suffered the consequences of her husband’s betrayal but was also betrayed by the only person she dared to trust. damn you for being so cruel 😭 (but extra points for the truly unpredictable ending! 🔪)

Fires of Harrenhal || AemondxReader/AlysxReader

Summary: Secrets and deceive always find their way through the stone halls

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: Angst I think? Betrayal. Character death. Very mild NSFW. Canon divergene from both book and show. Mention of war crimes and murder. Idk how else to do this without spoiling. No beta reading I have no one to beta for me

Author's note: Never. EVER in my life had I written something so long. And it has me very anxious. Also I don't know what this is exactly. It is not angst, nor fluff. I don't know. Enjoy!

A gentle drizzle fell from the overcast skies. Fine droplets of water collected on the braids in her hair, beading in her eyelashes, rolling down the curve of her neck to the swell of her breasts. The fabric of the green gown slowly soaked, and the air around her chilled, but she did not feel the cold. The measly mizzle could do little to match the frost spreading through her bones, born from the very depths of her soul, turning her to ice from the inside out.

His emblazoned cloak still hung loosely from her shoulders, heavy and comforting, even though the warmth of his body had been long lost to the rain. His scent lingered, smoke and leather, a faint hint of spiced wine; and something else which is entirely his own, indescribable and unexplainable, but it evoked danger. And death.

Words befitting to the place she stood. Harrenhal had been long cursed, ever since Harren the Black mixed blood in the mortar which kept the bricks together. Ever since the Black Dread torched down the fortress with the King and his sons inside. The passing of the years only added to the jinx. Death and misfortune followed whoever dared to settle within the crumbled and slagged walls. Entire houses and lineages exterminated, most recently house Strong; from the eldest man to the babes in the cradle, put to death by Aemond’s command. All of them but one.

A Strong bastard, from all people.

Aemond’s infatuation with the wetnurse stunned those who bore witness to the affair, and speculation soon arose that the so called witch of Harrenhal had laid an incantation on the Prince, for otherwise it could not be explained that such proper and devoted man, always guided by rules and correctitude, devoted of the Faith, could so brazenly take a lover, an unworthy one at that, while his beautiful, perfect, dutiful wife awaited for his return at King’s Landing. No, Aemond could never.

But he could and he had.

Alys hadn’t been the first one. Others had been fleeting affairs or pleasures of one night, both before and after their wedding. Ladies from the court, his mother companions, town girls, even the occasional maidservant that caught his eye. But unlike with Aegon, they all came willingly, ensnared by the mystery of the one eyed prince. All of them forgotten as soon as dawn broke through, their silence bought with gold or jewels, and a cup of herbal tea drank under the watchful gaze of a maester.

She didn’t let their existence bother her too much. Always keeping her head held high and her gaze ahead, haughty, beautiful and proud. Aemond took great care to not leave a trail of bastards in his wake, unlike brother dearest, and never flaunted them in the open. No, before the court he only had eyes -eye- for his wife. A gentle hand on the waist, glances across the table, a kiss on the hand when they parted, and one in the forehead when they reunited. A most perfect and devoted husband, whose mask fell as soon as the doors closed behind him.

Some days she wished he would openly hate her, because at least it would prove him capable of any feeling towards her. Instead, he only offered her an impenetrable barrier of indifference bordering cruelty. Aemond would walk the Godswood with her, barely rewarding her with a hum of acknowledgement when she tried to engage conversation of any sort. She tried to show interest in his heritage, but he said she would never understand the history without carrying Valyrian blood. When she suggested meeting his dragon, he retorted that Vhagar didn’t take kindly to strangers, citing false concerns for her safety.

Even the bedding he treated like a chore to be dealt with. Methodical, efficient, and dreadfully boring. He laid with his wife as little as possible, just enough to avoid any whispers or bad talking. He would send a servant to inform her in advance that he would visit her bed so she could be “prepared”. A quick affair, his body always on top, not a sound heard other than the occasional creaking of the bed, done. He rolled over and fell asleep before she had finished cleaning herself. Hells, she didn’t hold great expectations of the act, but for a man who took so many lovers she hoped for a bit more effort.

When he became Regent, the weight of the borrowed crown awoke something deep within him, something that had always been there, dormant and expecting for its moment of glory. An obsession with control and power. He became possessive. He had to have her in sight at all times. If he sat the throne, she stood right next to him. When he held council, she acted as cupbearer, but only to serve his cup and his cup alone. If Aemond decided to sit in the library until the hour of ghosts going over scrolls and maps, she had to be there, dutifully waiting by his side until he decided to retire for the night.

They no longer slept separately, since he simply had the maids move all her belongings to his own chambers, while also disposing of things he decided she no longer required, like her childhood dolls, books of fantasy or any gown not made in green and gold. He also kept her diary in the drawer of his desk; it had to be back there every night without fail. She did not know if he read her entries, but decided to not risk it and write only about things he would like. The hours became long, since he allowed her to speak only with people he approved of; very few had earned that trust; and those who did she would rather not speak to. Even her servants had been swapped, her maids and guards replaced with former attendants of the Queen, more loyal to the Dowager than they would ever be to her.

Aemond’s departure for Harrenhal came as a relief, his presence having slowly grown into a suffocating weight on her chest and lurking shadow on her back. As soon as Aegon could rise from bed again, he sent his brother to retake the dilapidated fortress from their uncle, although she suspected it more to be a cock show off; to remind the people that even though the Greens had less dragons, they still had the biggest one.

Aemond requested his wife to accompany him, but Aegon swiftly refused. A warzone is no place for a lady, he said. She did not trust his intentions, but given he could barely do anything other than speak and drink, she felt confidently safe in the newfound solitude, dividing her time between accompanying Helaena, prayers with her good mother in the sept and her own recreations, in which she could now indulge fully, free of her husband’s criticism.

Bliss, however, proved to be fleeting. One day Aegon summoned her while she broke her fast, to his bedchamber of all places. The alcove smelled stale, a combination of souring wine and the sickly scent of various medicines and tinctures, all mixed with the pungent stench of something unidentifiable decomposing somewhere. Perhaps the putrefaction within finally caught up to the surface, and Aegon himself had begun to rot from the inside out. Which wouldn’t surprise anyone, given his current state.

The open letter in his scarred hand and the knavish smirk on his lips gave her a bad feeling. He sat unabashedly naked in his bed, his immodesties hidden only by a sheet soiled with something indescribable. She tried and failed not to look at the ruggish and reddened skin marring his left side, the movements of his arm clumsy and stiff as if Aegon had been coated with tar. Although that probably would have been a kinder fate than his armour melting into his flesh.

When her eyes met his own, she saw a twinkle of delight sparkle on them. A sick pleasure earned from her evident discomfort at the sight of himself.

“Your dearest husband summons you to his side, now that Harrenhal is back under our command. And I, ever the benevolent brother, will allow it”

Suspicion gnawed at her insides. More so when she tried to take the letter from Aegon’s hand, and he kept waving it teasingly out of her reach, displaying surprising agility despite his wounds. Right before she could snatch it away he tucked the paper under the sheets, in a place where he knew she’d never reach out, even under threat of death by dragonfire. His smile reached his eyes for the first time in months as he dismissed her, pleased like a child who got away with a prank.

Sleep refused to come to her that night, forcing her to toss and turn as she went over the day. She didn’t trust Aegon more than she’d trust a dog guarding a roasted pig. Aemond summoning his wife at his side would not be inconceivable; the brother who fulfilled his duty to the Crown and now demanded his prize. But Aegon’s willingness to let her go told a different story. Nothing entertained him more than toying with his little brother, and what better way to do it than denying him access to his wife only because he could.

An ulterior motive had to be there for the King to grant such freedom. Something she could not yet see.

Aegon even arranged her departure himself. A messenger went ahead so everything would be arranged for a proper welcome. The retinue, albeit reduced, included fine soldiers and swordmasters, all dressed in plain cloth and without pomp. Ser Criston himself joined in on the journey, wishing to also meet up with Aemond to discuss war strategies and their next moves.

Green and gold banners and soldiers in formation awaited them in the immense courtyard upon arrival. The whistling of the icy wind through the cracks in the masonry made sounds like the fortress wept and howled, the souls of those who died within the walls using the wind to disguise their lamentations.

The steward and a knight led them inside, up the Kingspyre tower and towards where she assumed her husband awaited. Large double doors of blackened wood stood slightly ajar, allowing a sliver of light into the hallway. The steward pushed the door open and announced Criston and herself. Both stepped into a large dining room, a table laid out with a feast to feed a dozen. Yet only two sat at the table.

Aemond presided over the supper, at the spot of honour in what could only be described as a throne. In his lap sat a woman of milky skin and raven curls, cherry lips pulled into a seductive smirk, her elegant fingers carding through Aemond’s silky tresses. The bodice of the woman’s silk gown had been unlaced, one breast out of the garment and firmly captured in Aemond’s mouth.

She didn’t have time to see Aemond’s face before Criston pulled her away by the arm, his broad form standing between the disconcerted woman and the indecorous scene. But she made eye contact with the black haired woman, the woman who sat her husband’s lap, the woman whose fucking tit he suckled like an indefence infant. Green eyes bore into her own, resplendent and alluring like emeralds. The last thing she saw before the door slammed shut was the woman winking at her, as if they shared a secret.

Everything made sense now; the scattered pieces falling into place perfectly. Aemond had never written. Why would he, when he had a woman keeping his bed warm and his needs fulfilled, a woman whom he craved like a drunk craves a drink. Someone, no doubt a carefully placed spy, had surely written to Aegon to report the affair. And the King, in pain, scarred and woefully bored, allowed himself some entertainment. Soon enough he would be doubling over in laughter at the picture of his perfect brother caught with the Strong bastard’s tit in the mouth.

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife in the days that came. In order to preserve her own dignity, she had to act as if nothing had occurred. She broke her fast every morning with Aemond and Criston, not a single word spoken besides the usual morning greetings. Aemond could not look any of them in the eye, especially not his fatherly figure, who had never gazed upon the prince with such disappointment before. The silent treatment hurt Aemond more than the cut of a sword, that much was evident upon his face. But his wife didn’t feel an ounce of pity for him; in fact, she rejoiced in his shame. She wanted Aemond to feel at least a fraction of the silent disgrace she carried with herself. She wanted him to be the one who had to keep his head down and his mouth shut.

He hadn’t even tried to come to her chambers, aware of the reaction that would await him if the thought so much as crossed his mind. Which is why the knock on her door, late on the seventh night, came as a surprise. On the other side stood no other than Alys, the so-called witch, wearing the same gown of that first day. The wife tried to slam the door shut, but not fast enough to keep the woman out. Alys entered the chamber and sat near the fire, her skirts spread around her as she stared into the dancing flames.

Before she could hurl insults and perhaps something more tangible at the whore, her voice echoed through the alcove. She had never heard Alys talk. Sweet and velvety, every word slipping past her plush lips in a mellow murmur. Even though they stood away from one another, the witch’s words resounded in her ear like a close whisper.

“You are unhappy”

Not a question. An affirmation.

“Unhappy because your husband doesn’t love you like he loves others. Because he refuses to show you care and adoration like you always dreamed of. He doesn't know how to cherish you, and you think you deserve better. You know you do”

Every fibre of her being urged her to scream insults at that brazen whore, to drag her by those perfect curls of hers and push her out the window. Yet she found herself unable to move or speak. Because, deep down, Alys had only said the truth. As if with just one look, she had been able to read her deepest thoughts and laid them out plainly in a way she never could. Tears pooled in her eyes, but her prideful nature kept her from letting them out. Crying in front of her husband’s mistress was a disgrace she would never recover from.

Alys stood, eyebrows knit together and features contorted in what could only be described as pity. Her soft, motherly hands cupped the younger woman’s cheeks, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her thumbs. They stood like that for a moment, the tension dissolving into a comfortable silence as they assessed one another. At last, it was the wetnurse who broke the spell.

“I have seen your life in the flames. Not even diamonds shine as bright as your future”

The witch gave her a brief kiss on the lips and walked out silently, her steps silent in the flagstone, leaving behind a flabbergasted woman.

After that, Alys came to her chambers every night. And for some reason, she didn’t turn her away, not even once. Maybe because she knew, deep down, that the woman could not be blamed for Aemond’s weakness of mind. Because her words had struck a chord inside her. Because if not her, she had no one to turn to at the moment, alone and isolated in a place where everyone bowed to Aemond’s bidding.

Maybe because she found herself enjoying Alys’ company more than she ever did his.

She found in the witch a friend she never had in the Red Keep. They strolled through Harrenhal together, Alys narrating the story behind those walls, and the lives born and lost there. She taught her about medicinal herbs and plants, knowledge forbidden to them as women. Alys had a voice suited for melancholic songs, and she would sing to the lady as she brushed her hair at night before bed, and before returning to the Prince’s rooms. Shared between two spouses who refused to look at one another, and whose only thing in common was their infatuation with the Rivers woman.

The arrangement felt ideal for her, having found in this odd circumstance the closest thing to happiness she had experienced since the day she recited her vows in the Sept. But Alys kept pushing for reconciliation between her and Aemond, urging her to salvage the feeble bridge of their marriage before it sank into the abyss. She felt unwilling, finding great comfort in not being forced to endure his presence. But Alys brought forth a greater problem, a problem which grew by the day under her dress.

“It is only you who can help me, my girl. One day he will tire of me, and me and my babe will be put to death, just as he did my entire House. He had the infants smothered in their cribs before the eyes of their mothers, and the women bury their children with their own hands before their heads rolled. What do you think he will do to a bastard born of another bastard?”

Panic and rage bubbled in her stomach at the thought of losing Alys. She had been witness to her husband’s cruelty during his time as Regent, which only grew after being given free will at Harrenhal. Servants lashed at the faintest of errors, maids with their heads shaved and fingers broken. Executions on the daily, followed by new servants being forcibly dragged from their homes to Harrenhal to maintain the cycle. Anyone who tried to flee ended with their head on a spike and their body fed to Vhagar. It seemed like the curse of Harrenhal had slipped into Aemond’s mind, filling him with blackness and slowly pushing him to the brink of destruction like many before him. And it disgusted her to no end.

No, she could not allow herself to lose Alys. She needed her like she needed to breathe. She needed those motherly hands braiding her hair, that sweet voice entoning the saddest melodies ever written, the scent of her skin embedded in her pillows to soothe her into sleep as nimble fingers caressed her hair.

For her, she would try.

That night Alys came to her chamber as usual, Aemond with her. Husband and wife stood face to face at last, infelicitous and tense like their first night, their unspoken words lingering heavy in the air. Alys moved to stand behind her, hands on the younger woman’s shoulders. Soft fingertips tracing the curve of the neck, up to the crown of the head and then down to the collarbones; calmness spread through her veins like a salve, warming her to the tips of her toes. Alys’ lips caressed her ear, her words seeping into her brain like smoke and clouding her thoughts.

“Trust me”

Trusting Alys came as easy as breathing. Even as she undressed the lady slowly, taking her time to undo the laces of the bodice and the clasps in her skirts. Peeling away silk, lace and linen, baring soft skin and feminine curves. Aemond’s pupil widened with lust as he stood spectator, witnessing his mistress caress his wife with the greatest love and care. Kisses brushing down the neck and collarbone, gentle hands tracing the curve of the hips and the descent of the thighs, moving over forbidden places as warm lips met into a shy and delicate kiss; tongue against tongue, small sounds of delight escaping through.

When Alys finally passed her into Aemond’s embrace, she whined in protest. Aemond didn’t know how to touch her. His coarse hands were clumsy on her flesh, too harsh where she wanted featherlight, and not enough effort where she wanted more action. When her husband laid her on the bed, nestled between her thighs, Alys sat at the head, kissing, teasing and fondling while Aemond chased his own pleasure amidst grunts and pants. Alys’ hand snaked down her body slowly, between the breasts and past the navel. She screamed her climax into the woman’s neck, legs instinctively wrapping around Aemond’s hips as he too found his release.

The routine repeated night after night, for weeks on end.

And the more they did it, the more she found herself wishing it was just her and Alys; Aemond’s presence having gone from a necessity to a nuisance. His wife no longer wanted him to touch her, and only withstood on the promise that it would be her favourite witch the one to rip the highest throes of ecstasy from her body. This no longer was just about securing Alys’ safety; she wanted her safe and sound, by her side. Forever. And as she said, one night long after Aemond had left them, only one way they could secure such idyllic future for themselves.

The news of the fall of King’s Landing had reached them not long ago. The relief of Aegon’s disappearance alongside his children could not placate the terror Aemond felt at knowing his mother and sister remained at the Keep, now prisoners of Rhaenyra and her mad husband. Aemond wished for nothing more than to climb Vhagar and torch down the Crownlands, burning the last leaf on every tree to retrieve his family. But he stood put, on Alys’ command.

“You do not need to chase the war, my Prince. It shall come to your door through clouds of storm”

So they sat and waited, as day after day passed with sunny and clear skies, the God’s eye reflecting the blueness, waters calm and inviting. A fortnight after Alys’ vision, the night chilled and the wind picked up. She stood behind the lady, a silver comb in hand as she untangled her hair before bed. Her scent filled her nostrils and eased her fears. Picking up her uneasiness, she brewed her tea, which she fed her slowly, one spoonful at a time.

“All will be well, my child. Our troubles will vanish and our futures will be clearer than the waters in the God’s Eye”

That night Aemond didn’t come. That night belonged only to Alys’ and her little lady. To taste in the seclusion of the chamber what would be theirs for the rest of their lives.

The next morning, grey clouds hovered over Harrenhal, the breeze carrying the smell of rain mixed with sulphur. The high pitched dragon cries echoed in the mountains around the keep, alerting of the approaching danger. Aemond emerged from the tower, a vision of black and gold in his armour, his sword hanging from his belt and a cloak with the three headed golden dragon in his back.

First he bid Alys farewell. She whispered secret words in his ear; whatever she said, it made him set his jaw and tighten his fist around the hilt of the sword. Then he moved onto his wife. He had shown himself warmer and more loving since Alys’ intervention, blissfully unaware of his wife’s feelings. He cupped her cheek in one hand and kissed her like never before, humming against the softness of her sweet lips. She fitted his helmet over his head, tucking the silvery white braid away. The first drops fell from the clouds, and he unfastened his cloak to wrap around her shoulders, providing warmth and safety.

“I shall see you at the end” He murmured the words against her hairline, placing a tender kiss upon her brow.

And with that Vhagar rose to the skies with a deafening screech, the flapping of her leathery wings sending gushes of warm wind around Harrenhal’s dilapidated towers, the empty halls and vast chambers echoing with eerie wails that forewarned the battle to unfold. On the opposite side of the God’s Eye, Caraxes appeared as well, high pitched roars and puffs of smoke sent as a warning, his misshapen body cut over the greying clouds. Once more, dragon against dragon would clash in the sky, and tears would be shed in the wake of their fire.

Any witness would assume Aemond had the upper hand, the deformed and younger Blood Wyrm being no match for the considerably larger and more experienced war dragon. But dear Alys’ visions had never failed her, and they wouldn’t betray them now. Nor would the gentle poison she had concocted for the occasion, spread across the wife’s lips just moments before she kissed Aemond farewell, not strong enough to kill, but the right dosage to ensnare the senses and befuddle the mind.

Calm, deliberate steps took her to the top of Kingspyre tower, her path illuminated by the blazing glow of the fire coming in through the windows, the skies tinted in bright hues of red and orange. The wind blew warm and strong as she approached the ledge, ground trembling beneath her feet, reverberated by the clashing of colossal bodies. For a brief moment she feared for her own life when they flew too close to Harrenhal, but the vision had been precise and showed no threat to her life.

Her hands rested on the stone, ancient dust sticking to the sweat of her palms; heartbeat quickened in anticipation. As predicted, in perfect synchronisation, both dragons widened their jaws. Caraxes pierced Vhagar’s throat, while she tore his wing to shreds and slashed his belly open. Both beasts spiralled downwards, locked onto one another. From afar she couldn’t tell, but it seemed as if a small, black blur fell from Caraxes’ back. Whatever it was, it was soon obscured by the spray of water that rose from the Eye as both dragons sank, the gout as tall as the tower she stood in. When the lake finally settled, all that marked the spot of such a great battle were bubbles and steam rising to the surface, and then silence. A silence like never before had existed.

She remained rooted, hands on the stone, eyes fixed on the middle of the lake until the last bubbles popped under the raindrops. She did not move from her lookout post. Not even as the rain fell stronger, droplets hitting her skin like icicles, aiding into the ruined shell of the freshly grieving widow she pretended to be.

A knight came to her, nervous and apologetic, calling her attention with a sharp clearing of the throat. She looked up, rapidly blinking away unexisting tears, and dabbing at her cheeks with the back of her hand. Composed but frail. Dignified even in the face of loss. He waited for any sort of acknowledgement, and when none came, decided to speak.

“We share your sorrow, my Lady, and our thoughts are with you. This has washed ashore, and we thought you may want it” The soldier’s voice did little to sway her, and she didn't even grace him with a look.

The heavy, loaded silence between them was broken by the soft tapping of female slippers and the rustle of stiffened skirts. A brief exchange of hushed words later, the knight left the rooftop; she remained silent and still until she could no longer hear the metallic clanking of his armour.

Alys stood by her side, dark curls fluttering freely in the wind. In her pale hands, resting lightly atop the curve of her swollen belly, was Aemond’s helmet, still in pristine condition, not a scratch upon its surface. The older woman stared at it for a few moments before placing it in her hands. It felt final. Like closing a tedious book, or awakening from a bothersome nightmare. The last word in another chapter of history. A chapter written by their own hands.

Alys called her name, moving to stand behind her. A soft kiss pressed at the nape of the neck, slender fingers running down the length of her spine soothingly, making her shiver pleasantly. The smell of sandalwood, lemongrass and honeysuckle engulfed the girl.

“It’s over” Her words tickled her ear “His name will not be called again, and no good thoughts will be evoked upon his memory”

Another kiss behind the ear, hands on her breasts, pulling her flush against her body “I know your thoughts are troubled, my child, but the right thing has been done. His fire burned too strong, and he would have brought the realm to ashes, including you and me”

Her words were soothing. She was right; Alys was always right. Aemond would have been their demise. They did what they had to protect themselves, and protect the realm. A kinslayer could not be trusted; it had been his nephews before, and any day would be his brother and anyone else who stood between the sapphire Prince and the Iron Throne. He had to be stopped.

“My only regret is that he died not knowing it was me. The one he would have never suspected. I would gladly give all my family’s gold for the chance to tell him, even if it meant paying him visit in the Seven Hells where he belongs”

The neckline of her gown was pushed aside, plush lips leaving a trail of kisses down her neck towards the collarbone, hands sliding down from her bosom to the hips, digging into her flesh.

“Worry not your little head, my girl. That does not matter anymore. His bones will rest forever at the bottom of the God’s Eye. And whatever you wished to tell him, you will soon be able to pass the message along”

Alys and her cryptic words. She loved to speak in riddles and rhymes, unnerving those who heard them and didn’t know better. She only smiled and nodded.

And then the helmet rolled down.

Her hands remained mid aid, fingers curled around nothing, every muscle tense and trembling. She looked down past them towards the crimson stain growing upon the fabric of her bodice, and the sharp length of blade protruding from between her hips, coated in a red so deep it seemed black, viscous drops falling from the tip onto her husband’s last possession.

The scream died in her lips as the dagger was twisted and dragged upwards, effectively slicing her open like a squeaking boar. But she had not made sound, nothing aside a choked cry of agony as the weapon was brought down again, ensuring the cut along to be neat and thorough

“I truly didn’t want things to end like this, my sweet flower” Same gentle voice and soothing tone, words dripping venom and malice mixed with honey and sugar. Her index traced a slow line from her neck down to the point where the hilt of the dagger was pressed against her back, the carved handle still firmly grasped in her hand

“I truly enjoyed our time together, and you could have been so much more. You have the guile and the guts to match, and your mind is a most resourceful place. You could have achieved greatness, and with my nurturing, no one would have been able to stop you”

Both of her tender, motherly hands placed upon her lower belly, right under the fatal wound. The blood soaked her hands, red on white, and she gasped almost excitedly, basking on the feeling of life spilling on the stone. She did not know how her body was still standing. Perhaps it was the witch’s doing. Dragging on her demise, enjoying the wicked pleasure that came along with having power over someone else’s life.

She made a shushing sound against her ear, tenderly rubbing her abdomen in circles as the first tears finally poured from her eyes.

“I see it all, you see. Everything and more. I have seen what lies ahead of you. Trust me, I am sparing you from a lot of pain and grief”

The edges of the world faded to black, vision narrowing until all she could see was the dagger. That and the puddle of her own blood growing at her feet.

“His blood cannot carry on beyond the confines of Harrenhal. Only this cursed place can halt the strength born of his offspring. But there can be only one”

Her voice sounded distant. The last thing the lady saw was the courtyard, far down but growing closer as her body felt weightless in the air.

“Only one son can be born”

#fic recommendations #damn this one’s been sitting in my bookmarks for so long I feel bad 😭#glad I finally read it! SO GOOD #author toms-cherry-trees #hotd fanfiction #hotd smut

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