#the most earnest adults

[bananadramaaa]

It must be a silly question but may i ask how old are Mimzy and Alastor in your au (idk if i really can call it an au?)

Also, i'm in love with your art, giving me so much good vibes :]

Thank you, dear <3 And in my AU they're in their late twenties. As one may say, earnest adults.

[concretepuppy]

honestly it had been years since i felt top-y or dom-y but literally the minute i got stage 3 it’s like my pineal gland decalcified or something and i can finally talk to god, and she told me to be mean to cute sluts w tight holes

[frankensteinmutual]

I actually hadn't stolen a single thing ever in my life until a few months ago. I'm 26!!

[patrice-bergerons]

before i go to bed let me just say that james hathaway is definitely a stealth-comic book reader and fantasy genre enjoyer but the bitch is so stealthy i missed it in my first two watches of the show.

it's both there in the allegory of love, though, where he makes a comic book reference to robbie and gives hayden the 16 y/o off the cuff advice on his fantasy figurine battle set up.

which, fine, in isolation may not mean much but he then also knows exactly what comic book silas is reading in fearful symmetry down to the specific plot arc in the issue silas is on.

yes the joke is he is too well read for his own good and remembers everything but that's too much for a casual enjoyer who maybe looked at a comic once to recall.

[icharchivist]

Ah yeah Spring Troupe’s adults and the main thing they have in common:

-Lying. 

[n--n]

I was going down the recommended rabbit hole and saw the quote from the Book on the evolution of female biology in the last reblog and I remember seeing that book in barnes and noble and wanting to read it out of curiosity but being just physically unable to bring myself to get it because I was afraid of what I’d find in there. Idk I guess it’s just. I hated the thought that I might read it and have the worst, cruelest things I have seen misogynistic guys (and women too!!) say about women be somehow validated by science but I am relieved to see that at least in that one quote it isn’t. Like. So many transphobes and misogynists and all-around cunts love to turn to bioessentialist lies to justify their cruelty and beliefs. And as such I have always turned to finding citeable sources to justify my outright rejection of sexist notions to myself. So to potential have the comfort of studies and papers be trumped by the horror of human biology was just psychologically something horrific and unacceptable to me. Anyways tumble diary over I’m 25 tonight weeee

[galaxymagitech]

Most of the Batkids lie to Batman.

What’s unique about Tim “I lie to Batman” Drake is that he lies *successfully* to Batman.

Damian just states blatant untruths and expects people to believe them. Dick puts on a good act, but it can’t fool his family, even if they won’t call him out on it. Jason’s emotions are too easy to read, even with his helmet on. Cass lies with her words, but never with her body. Duke lacks self-awareness of his insanity and thus doesn’t try to hide any of it. Steph and Barbara don’t even bother, because Batman has no authority over her whatsoever.

Tim, though? He was raised by boarding schools and nannies and practically incentivized to lie to adults. He’s so earnest and well-meaning that everyone expects him to be a compulsive truth-teller, and he weaponizes it like the little gremlin he is. And when that isn’t enough, he knows how to spin things just right that they don’t quite sound like an untruth.

[fionnaskyborn]

I'm just thinking about something that has been poisoning my thoughts when writing. This thing is the concept of characters only doing something for another character for their own personal benefit, out of their own, selfish desires. As in, say, they aren't being kind for the sake of being kind to that particular character and having a positive relationship with them, but rather because of their personal need to compensate for something. Ultimately viewing the other as nothing but an object to help them along their healing journey, instead of a person. And... It's horrible. I do not know where this stemmed from. Too much exposure to the fanbase of [REDACTED] is likely to blame. They all believe in such things. Is the idea of kindness lost on these people? Do they not know that you can be kinder to people in the present than you were to other people in the past not because you're trying to get a good grade in having a redemption arc and nothing more, but because you're genuinely just trying to treat people better? To be kinder to them? Have they forgotten about the concept of learning from one's mistakes? How has the idea of growth beyond who you used to be become so foreign?

[fallingskiesandrisingseas]

But what was most baffling to all that met the Pevensies after they came back was that they were kind.

Really. Not pretending, not because they were insecure. True, empathic. Far too understanding for children their age. They all have music in them.

Peter’s hands feel too small for him, but he shakes hands all the same. Gentle pressure. There is nobility behind those eyes. Eyes that always border on the supernatural sort of blue, especially in the dark.

He plays the guitar, gently coaxing otherworldly sounds out of an instrument that did not know it could be played like that. He helps his siblings with their homework, is taller much faster than his peers. Seems to take up more space, even though no one understands how a teenage boy manages that.

He doesn’t like doing nothing, ever. He instructs his classmates in grammar, gives away figures he cuts from wood with a knife that seems too sharp for a boy that small. He never hurts himself, though.

As the years pass, Peter grows strong. But he is gentle. He does not seem to be brash, even when many of his friends are. Peter keeps his emotions in check. Noble. Not undangerous, but not belligerent. Peter only ends fights, and only with people that deserve it.

He offers advice, a pat on the back. Teachers wanna dislike him, some do not like the look behind those eyes. Most find they cannot. Peter is popular with both adults and children, speaks sense and laughs often.

Peter is kind. Pious, devout. His faith is unmovable like rock. Did the kids meet God on the estate of their uncle?

Edmund plays the violin. A sad Edmund is a rare sight, but when he plays sad he can keep his whole floor awake. Somehow, Peter always finds h him quickly, effortlessly attuned to his brother’s moods. They play chess, then. Their chess master must have been a champion, Ed beats people with ease. He’s usually not smug about it.

Ed speaks politics and war in earnest, accepts critique graciously, is elegant in a way Peter never manages. Peter speaks frankly, but Edmund can wrap words up real nice. He doesn’t mince words, but his classmates grow into liking the sound of his voice. They appreciate that Edmund does not lie, even when speaking tactfully. Edmund can dial the temperature in a room, change it to suit himself.

He, too, laughs often, but Edmund is known to smirk. He likes being right and he often is. He’ll entertain anyone with a good story, always seems to have the right information to help you out. Remedies to illness, connections, job openings, how to sneak out of PE.

He’s a spider in a web. A bit reserved for a 11 year old, and oddly well-connected. A real ghost when he wants to be, but he never scares people with it.

Aslan would not approve of that. He believes in God as well, but much more intellectually. He’s got the intelligence to back it up and wit to match. A scholarly belief, but not lacking conviction.

Teachers like his enthousiasm, remember a moody nagging child when he left and see a secure young man come back.

Edmund will stand up for what is right. He gets into some trouble like that, but his verbal agility saves him always. Edmund has strong principles and will not bend them for anyone. No matter the trouble he gets in.

The bond with his brother is unbreakable. They even walk the same, chest out, left hand on their belt. They seem most at ease when fencing.

Susan was always warm and tenderhearted, but when she comes back there is a difference.

She seems to have gained authority. It’s real strange watching a 13-year old use her beauty like a grown woman, but Susan has learned to wield it, to stun people so she can creep under their skin. People LISTEN to her now.

Her wit is like a knife, but she avoids cutting deep. Susan is reasonable, and strong, and principled. The little drama others get involved in does not bother her, and she seems immune to petty insults. She has killed before, with her hands.

She will do it with kindness now. She is not very approachable ( that would be Lucy ), but she is kind. She used to mother over her brothers and sisters, but now that they have raised each other in a court full of magic she has gotten more relaxed. They listen to her on important issues, trust in her judgement. Her brothers does not deem himself more important, she is both well-spoken and well-respected by her siblings. Equal. It baffles the old men that teach her. Irritates them, too.

There is an air of mystery around her. Half a look is enough to get what she wants, Susan’s friends laud her security in herself, her Mona Lisa smile. She seems to temper moods easily, makes people feel at ease.

She most of everyone exudes royalty. It’s the grace. Susan plays the harp, her long fingers dancing across the strings like she’s had a lifetime of practice. She’s elegant, never caught off guard. Jamais faux pas.

She does not get angry. She knows who she will be. She is anxious to become an adult, yes, but she only wishes to look how she feels. Not to look differently. Yet the wish to be taken seriously, to have someone see you as an adult, it makes her surprisingly similar to her peers.

Her friends have not been old yet, is all. But Susan is calm and collected. People see her as someone you can tell a secret to. She never hurts someone, is usually a neutral party, speaks sense to adult and kids alike. She is not ignorant, however, will use every trick in the book to keep the peace. She knows when to go nuclear. Vis pacem para bellum.

Lucy is a sun in human form. She has a joie de vivre that is unmatched, is gay and golden-haired and never in a bad mood.

Lucy is kind by default, does not turn it off, does not turn it down. She’s witty and funny and quick on her feet. She has been grown before, yes, but enjoys being young for a few years more. She dances, sings old tunes. Her voice is her favorite instrument, you can usually hear Lucy coming.

Whistling a tune in the halls is known to improve the moods of everyone who hears it immensely. Young girls need to figure out who they are, but Lucy knows, knows what she’ll be and who she likes and what kind of people she wants to be around. She is not pretending, never moody. She can get sad, of course, but her older brothers and sisters are always nearby when that happens.

Lucy is genuine and fierce and convinced, immovable at times. Admired for her drive, but respected for her empathy. She speaks to everyone, often distributes flowers. There’s no naivite in her at all, she simply wishes to be like this so that the world may imitate her. She likes to see people prosper, is the first with praise.

She will go far, is the consensus. There’s steel beneath the soft exterior, Lucy has fire below the flowers. She’s well-liked and well-loved. She has love in spades, it seems, animals and stragglers and misfits and outcasts. She’s popular, her room is a good place to get a cup of tea and someone who will listen to you for some time. After a while she no longer bothers with the door.

That a heart that size fits in a girl that small is a mystery to many. Lucy does not think it is a mystery at all. It is the heart of a lion.

Her faith is as vocal as the rest of her, she sees it confirmed in all that is beautiful, all that is kind. She never tries to convert anyone but there are several people who have told her that version of God is someone they would like to know.

The Pevensies often see each other at parties, where they like to stand together. Edmund knows about everyone, everyone knows Peter, everyone likes Susan, but it is Lucy who knows everyone.

They are kind, but not weak. Peter gets his knuckles bloody sometimes, Edmund does not abide by the rules of unjust teachers. Susan and Lucy solve their problems differently but no less effective. Kindness is their usual way of operating, but they are still kings and queens. They will not allow cruelty, will not let bullies go unpunished.

They are sure of what they are and sure of what comes after death and this makes them kind. Kind , not harmless. Kind, not spineless. Kind, not ignorant. Kind, not naive.

Kind despite. Maybe kind because. The kings and queens of Narnia are proud of what they are, honour the teachings of their lion friend. Kind.

When the crash happens and three siblings die, everyone they know mourns deeply. Without them, the world is less kind.

[bambuwu-writes]

oh my goodness not the oshi question.,.,.,.,.,.,.I LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH,.,..,okokok lets see if i can shorten it down into my top critters atm

sakyo <3!!!!!! mr. furuichi i love u so muchhhh !! HE'S SO DAD-SHAPED.... HE'S FATHER!!!!! he's so sweetie cutiepie with izumi....he literally cares so much about everything and everyone im like sick almost...he loves mankai SO MUCH?? HE'S A MAMA'S BOY!!!!! 10/10 love that old man so bad

OMIMIIII ok we've got a theme going here....its ab the choice to be gentle...the choice to be kind and good to those you love...!!! and, to parallel sakyo, he is MOTHER!!!! i love how quickly and sincecely he cares for all of mankai like he's genuinely so overflowing with love its waauuuaaa.! ALSO all his little semi-flirty scenes with izumi are actually seriously so sweet? like it comes off as absolute and total fondness [if he's not completely oblivious to the comments he's making...looking at YOU 'haha we're like newlyweds'] AND HOW HE STEPPED IN TO TAKE CARE OF HIS BROTHERS??? THROW A DAGGER AT MY HEART WHY DONT U??

okok im already going way too long but i HAVE to say something about my dearest most silly and charming mr minagi <3 tbh tsuzu is one of my favs mostly bc i can relate to him SM lololol. there's this one line he has way back in romeo and julius where he talks ab how he wanted to get into theatre, but when one of his brothers got sick while he was out he quit right away and like?? dude...[<-has little siblings. didnt do any after-school extracurriculars to get home in time. feeling like your wants come secondary to your responsibilities. the parentification of it all!] he's truely just so real...

AND FINALLY SUPER SUPER SUPER QUICKLY SAKUYA AND IZUMI. OH THEY ARE EVERYTHING TO ME. SAKUYA WHO IS OVERFLOWING WITH SUCH ABSOLUTE PURE LOVE AND PASSION AND DETERMINATION. IZUMI WHO COMES OFF OF ONE SINGLE LETTER AND DEDICATES HERSELF TO ALL OF MANKAI, SHOWING UP FOR HER ACTORS, HER FAMILY, AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN???

Mankai March question 2!

I hope everyone had fun yesterday! Today’s question is pretty simple as well: Who is your oshi? How did they become your oshi? Let’s hear some stories about how you came to love them, or maybe love at first sight!

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Pearl of The Realm

Aemond x wife!reader | HOTD Big Bang!

Summary: Duty meant a lot of things to Aemond. But he had hoped that it would not mean marriage. And when the day comes for him to confront it, he finds with his new wife, small, naiive and innocent, that there is some pleasure to be found there also.

Word Count: 9,240 (oops) | Warnings below the cut~

A/N: My fic for the HOTD Big Bang! Thank you to the lovely @solisarium for the artwork! 🥰 Please also support all the other lovely writers/artists over @hotd-bigbang, and thank you to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for organising this event ❤

Warnings: arranged marriage, virginity loss, p in v sex, domination, corruption kink, oral (f receiving), fingering, canon typical sexism, aemond has a breeding kink (obvi), dark!aemond (ish)

Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not dutiful.

To the realm. His title. But most of all, his family.

As a Prince of the Realm, he had many duties.

For most of his adult life he had trained relentlessly with the sword, striving to become better than his own teacher.

He had buried his nose in books, absorbing  information from them, willing them to stick to the insides of his head to obtain intelligence unmatched by any other member of his family.

And, most of all, he had upheld his faithful relationship with his mother, whom he cherished dearly, and his sister equally.

He'd always felt close to the women in his life. But his mother had a special place in his heart. She had been through such hardships, such sacrifice.

And when she'd exploded that night in Driftmark, as inexcusable as she seemed the behaviour to be, he had felt such utter devotion towards her that she would be so angry on his behalf. At a time when he had felt so vulnerable, and felt that his own voice as well as hers had been ignored by the man in their lives.

A man who had so repeatedly, let them down.

He would never admit it out loud, but a part of him sought pleasure in the fact his father was largely bed-bound these days. Even more so that his own father had lost an eye as a result of his worsening condition.

It felt like the Gods were looking down on him and validating him.

But there was one duty he had yet to perform.

Taking a wife.

Unfortunately for him, that time was upon him, and he had no interest in it whatsoever.

As much as Alicent tried, and she really did try, she could not get her second son interested in courting the ladies at the Keep.

As soon as Aemond clapped an eye on the opposite sex, he would retreat in the opposite direction. Not even bothering to engage in conversation, surmising perhaps that he had little in common with them.

He'd never met a lady before who shared the same interests, why start actively seeking them out now?

Alicent's son was in his prime, rooted in adulthood, and she knew it was time, like it or not, that he was wed.

Aemond stood stock still, hands behind his back curled into fists, biting the inside of his cheek, trying not to show his mother the annoyance on his face. Her words were those of truth. He knew that he would eventually have to marry someone, but it did little to take the sting away from it. Often, while his mother talked at him, he looked down at his boots, shifting his weight from his right, to his left, and to his right, again, batting little thoughts in his head.

What his mother didn’t know is what those ladies at court said about him while they supposed his back was turned.

That he was of a violent disposition with a quarrelsome temper, one wrong movement or something as simple as a word spoken out of turn and he would dare not speak to the person in question for however long he deemed fit. That women thought of him as incapable of feeling something as beautiful as love, or even affection, given the sullen look he always wore, with barely-contained anger lurking beneath and an unexpressed pride in his position.

Aemond would never show that such words would have any effect on him with earnest. Sometimes it is better to not say anything at all, he concluded. This method had so often proven successful, it seemed little use to him to stray from it now.

He merely hoped that this woman his mother spoke of with such respect, was not one of the ladies at court.

And mercifully, Aemond sighed with relief that she was not.

Something struck deep within his chest. His mother spoke of her so wonderfully, as if she were a star plucked from the sky, and Aemond pondered if such attributes could be proven correct by simply meeting her once, as Alicent had. What woman, and of what standing, deserved such praise, after only meeting for a short time?

What would she look like? Her mannerisms, her stature, her smile? He found himself haunted by these thoughts without even knowing the woman’s name. Much less, her appearance.

He feared that she might share the same sentiments as the other ladies at court once they were due to meet, chaperoned by her ladies and tainted by their company. Perhaps they had their own opinions that they instilled on her also. She might be afraid of him, he thought. Maybe it is not so bad if she feared him, he allowed himself to think.

Aemond could not find it in his heart to expose himself so willingly to a stranger he was due to wed, and so when word reached the Keep that she had arrived and made her pleasantries, he thought to have mercy on the poor thing, stay clear and not dim her supposed ethereal presence with the darkness that followed at his back since the day he lost his eye.

There was some power in not allowing her to see him until their wedding day.

While a small part of him felt empathetic to the poor girl, that her betrothed chose not to greet her on arrival, another part of him was somewhat self-assured that he had made the right decision. It was the little power he felt he had.

When one thinks of a wedding, they might imagine the Sept beaming with joy, crammed with people all eager to feast their eyes on the new royal couple. But as Aemond stood before the Septon, with the extended feeling of nervousness at the fact she had yet to arrive, he could hear nothing.The Sept was dead silent. The people, the lords and ladies, as well as his family, were in attendance, watching with wide, curious eyes, too terrified to make a sound.

His hands were rigid behind his back, dressed in his finery, feeling the tightness of his clothes against his chest where his heart was hammering underneath.

For duty. For family.

He did not see her at first, as she was on his blind side, but once she’d well and truly stepped beside him, he spared a glance at her and felt his mouth go utterly dry.

Her dress, which he presumed were her house colours, was a light pastel, almost dream-like when combined with the translucent silky fabric graced atop it. He watched with curiosity as she let go of her father’s hand. Her gaze and almost undetectable smile was warm and inviting, as if the space around her was simply alight with her presence. Her father peeled the cloak from her shoulders, and it reminded him that he had the cloak with the Targaryen colours fisted in his grip.

Her hair was pinned up in a series of braids, all varying in size, and he was ashamed to admit that the first thought that came to mind was not that she looked beautiful with them, but that they must be uncomfortable. He was allowed to have his hair loose around his shoulders, whereas this woman, and he supposed others like her, were prodded and poked to look their best to the detriment of their comfort.

Aemond found it impossible to stare ahead and listen to the Septon, and he could’ve let a heavy breath loose when he was asked to cloak her. He swallowed over the lump in his throat that had formed and lifted his gaze to look down at her. Her bright, warm eyes looked up at him, revealing nothing about what she was really thinking, and her lips were full and looked soft, forcing him to think what they would feel like when they would sign their marriage with a kiss later.

He took a breath and placed the cloak on her shoulders, half thinking that such a heavy, large thing would swallow her whole, for her form was smaller than his, and therefore more delicate. Placing his hands on her, but not directly, still felt somewhat intimate, especially in a room of so many people watching. But something stirred deep within when he stepped back and observed that the colours complimented her, like she was meant to be his and belong to him.

They faced each other as the Septon spoke.

Aemond watched every micro-movement. The fluttering of her eyelashes, the deep intakes of breath through her nose and her thumb brushing over her hand, in what he could only assume was nerves, though she was hiding it well on her face.

It was only here that he noticed she wore a dainty pearl necklace, not at all gaudy in size, but small and delicate, like he perceived her to be.

A feeling he didn’t know hummed in his blood. And it showed when both of them were asked to conclude the ceremony with a kiss.

“With this kiss I pledge my love.”

Aemond had to be the one to lean down to meet her in the middle, and he felt his blood thrum when their lips met, excited to find that her lips were as soft as he had imagined. He could not help the lewd thought that passed through his mind, and wondered if the rest of her was as supple and luxurious.

Curse the wedding feast, he wanted to find out right after the ceremony.

He was not overzealous with the kiss, not wanting to frighten her. But he was equally delighted when they parted to the applause of the lords and ladies, to find that her cheeks were faintly bloomed with warmth. His lips pulled into an indistinct smile at the idea that he was the first man that would have made her feel that way, and it pulled a possessive string in Aemond’s body towards her.

He took her hand in his and led her away from the Septon, through the line of people, and relished in the fact that she was now his. Aemond felt somewhat ashamed when his manhood began to harden within his breeches at the mere touch of her hand, and wondered what hers would look like wrapped around it. If her fingers could barely encircle it, and if she would be good and pliant, do as she’s told, and please him.

The wine during the feast surprisingly did nothing to quell the hardness between his legs. He yearned so desperately for her, sat right next to him, posture straight and proper like a good lady wife, with her hands clasped so delicately in her lap. She had yet to say a word to him and he thought she must have been raised very strict, not speaking to her betters without being spoken to first, and now that person was her husband.

It was difficult not to look unimpressed when the various lords and ladies all queued up to provide their congratulations to the intimate little table he and his wife were seated at during the feast.

He watched his mother beam with joy, though he and his wife had not spoken. Aegon had snickered, clearly thinking something inappropriate. And Otto had bowed, offering congratulations as if he had not been involved in the match behind the scenes along with Alicent the entire time. Did he think he was stupid?

Not even his father had managed to pull himself from his bed to offer his congratulations. But, Aemond thought then, he was glad he didn't have to see his face.

At times he could suppress his sheer boredom and impatience, he wanted them all to leave him alone so he could fuck his wife and see what pretty sounds she could make. With the absence of her voice, it only made him more impatient to find out.

Surely, the girl might not have been afraid of him? He thought.

Aemond almost regretted hoping she was afraid of him, but there was some dull excitement in thinking she was, even now, with how beautiful she looked. When he takes her maidenhead, as he was sure she was entirely pure, would her soft eyes look up at him in fear, or in pleasure, or both?

He found his gaze wandering over her for several quiet moments, watching her profile as she scanned the hall, observing everyone else enjoying themselves. Whilst he appeared somewhat indifferent to her to anyone else’s untrained eye, he was otherwise calm and collected. Her lips glistened against the warm amber glow of the candles adorning the table, and he could not hide his delight in seeing how she swallowed nervously. She must have felt his gaze on her, he thought. And as he watched her throat bob, he was drawn to her chest, where the pearls lay, and watched as her breathing pushed her breasts somewhat over the bust of her dress.

He imagined those pearls dancing while he fucked her, her breasts moving with the rhythm of driving his cock into her sweet wetness. Her lips parted with hurried breaths as she struggled to gain it while she appeased him with the sound of her soft moans.

“Are the celebrations to your liking, wife?”

He smirked, testing the title on his tongue.

The insides of him glimmered in excitement when she turned, her posture still perfect and straight. Her wide, innocent eyes met his with curiosity, and also fright that he had spoken to her in such a way. She almost seemed to flinch at the new title he’d referred to her as.

She gave an almost indistinguishable nod, her grip tightening on her hands, “Yes, husband, thank you.” She replied with a wavering voice.

She studied him for a moment, watching as he gave a lopsided smirk, adoring the way she seemed so nervous in his presence, and speaking to her husband. He drank slowly, continuing to watch her squirm under his gaze. Her breathing had hastened, evident by the way she struggled under the tight confines of her boned dress.

Her voice was smooth, like the sweetest honey, and he couldn’t wait to hear how it would translate, echoing throughout their marital chambers, with his flesh pressed against hers.

He never imagined merely envisioning power over something so delicate could be so exhilarating.

Aemond had to hide how elated he was when their leave was announced. He stood, and therefore she did as well, like a delayed little shadow.

She was an obedient little thing, he surmised, as she followed quietly, willfully ignorant to the leering glances and smirks of the lords and ladies who parted a path for them. Every single one of them was curious, as to how such a quiet, soft girl could tame someone so fearsome and chaotic as a dragon prince, who could not be caged in as mere mortal men could.

The chambers seemed too grand, too clunky, to house such a perfect thing as her, he thought. She stood stock still in the middle of his chambers, which he would now share with her, and watched amused as she looked around and took in her surroundings as if she were in some kind of danger. Her pupils flitted about the darkened room, lit only in a warm glow from various candlesticks placed most deliberately.

Her pale dress cast a glow against the grey of the room, as well as her aura, which seemed to lift all the tension from his body and direct it to the place he had needed her the most since he laid his eye on her.

The glass decanter clinked as he poured himself a cup of wine, his back to her.

Aemond turned and extended the decanter only slightly, asking wordlessly if she would like one as well.

But she simply wringed her hands and shook her head, her body wracked with nerves.

Aemond only chuckled, cup of wine in hand and looked upon her, standing so diligently, where he’d left her.

“Wine might dull your nerves, my lady wife.” He mused, watching the way she looked down in embarrassment at being able to see inside her head so clearly.

Every now and then, she would peek over at the well made bed, like it was an inevitability, and not a place where she would share her most intimate and passionate moments with her new husband.

There was a dark red blanket held taught atop the pale sheets.

A warning.

There were never such dark, stark colours atop her bed sheets at home, and she wondered silently why they would choose such a menacing colour to adorn a place where you may lay your head to rest.

A peaceful night’s sleep. A moment’s passion. The birth of a child.

She thought, beds are where we are born, where we sleep, where marriages are made, where women give birth, which is often their last. And where we die. Not necessarily in that order.

Her husband may have thought a bed a peaceful thing.

But to her, many dangerous things may take place in a bed. And she had heard the stories of a dragon’s temper. Of lords, not necessarily of royal standing, taking their wives on their wedding night, whether their wives were willing or not. And this, is what she feared.

“You need not be so afraid.”

He tore her from her thoughts. And she blushed and felt warm all over realising he had caught her staring at the bed, her body betraying how nervous she felt.

When he looked at her, he felt his manhood throb. He wondered if the blood would rush to her cunny the same way it rushed to her cheeks, and how her flesh would cover her delicious curves beneath the softness of her gown.

He felt excited when she opened her mouth, forcing the air into her lungs like it took all her effort.

“May I ask for your assistance with my gown, husband?” She asked sweetly, with her eyes downcast.

Husband.

He felt his cock become impossibly harder.

He poked his cheek with his tongue in amusement, pushing himself off what he was leaning on and made towards her, watching the way she shrunk the closer he got. She turned slowly, showing him her back, where the laces of her dress were tied so tightly, he was surprised she had not asked him sooner.

While he worked on them, loosening the fabric around her middle, his breath hitched when he saw the shift underneath. She moved her hands to her hair, pulling several pins from it where the braids had been twisted together. She visibly shivered under his touch when the laces were undone and he pushed the stiff fabric apart across her back.

Her hair fell to her shoulders, and she used the sharpened tip of the pins to undo the braids into delicate wavy strands, all while unaware how her new husband marvelled at her out of sight.

She walked away from him for a moment to the vanity, never meeting the looking glass with her eyes, but simply placing the pins in a trinket bowl. With the gown loosened around her shoulders, the fabric lifted when she reached up to unclasp the necklace.

“Leave that on.”

She met his gaze in the mirror, questioning. Her cheeks alight with what he was suggesting.

But he didn’t say anything else.

So instead, she cleared her throat quietly, and pulled the heavy dress from her shoulders, folding it lengthways and draping it over an armchair. Her fingers clasped and unclasped, anxious. Aemond merely watched, his doublet feeling tight and hot against his chest. He could make out the silhouette of her form beneath the thin cotton, the candlelight illuminating her, as if her body was the soft and gentle morning sun, peeking over the horizon to set the day alight.

He heard her shuddered breath and allowed himself to think about what it would feel like against his neck while he rutted into her. Her arms wrapped around him tightly, pulling him closer to her, to sink deeper into her hot insides.

“I do hope that…I please you…with my appearance.” She murmured, turning with her body to face him from a distance. She sounded embarrassed, and shy.

Aemond furrowed his brows.

“Why do you say such a thing?” He asked, colder than he had meant to sound. And it’s clear that the tone of it made her shudder more, which he didn’t intend.

“I only meant that…I hope I am pleasing to the eye…and that I shall be obedient and supportive, as a good wife should be.”

He fought the urge to smile, not wanting to embarrass her further. His silence towards her had clearly given her the wrong impression. That he didn’t approve of her, and perhaps she thought that she wasn’t suitable for him because of his reaction.

“Come here.”

She did as he asked, albeit slowly, until she stood right in front of him.

“Are you afraid of me?”

Does my appearance scare you, he thought with curiosity, and panic.

Does my ailment make you uneasy, as it does the other ladies?

She shook her head softly, “No.” She answered quietly, “It’s just… my Septa said…that the night of consummation would be…” she trailed off, speaking too quietly for him to hear.

“It is alright. Speak again, without fear.”

She swallowed as she looked at him, having to crane her neck.

“She said…the night of consummation would be painful…and that it must be endured. As wives are to be submissive and obedient to their husbands.”

She spoke as if she were speaking from a line in a book. And Aemond thought she must have had this idea stamped into her brain from a very young age. It both concerned and irritated him to think that a young child, forming into a young woman, would be forced into being so terrified of such intimacy by a caregiver who ultimately knew little about marriage.

“There will be some pain.” He replied simply, watching the way she flinched at his words, “But I do not wish for you to endure it simply because you have been told to.”

His fingers came to the tresses of hair that hung on her shoulders, threading his fingers through them and revelling in their softness. Her eyelashes fluttered and her lips parted, absorbing his words, and he could see behind them that he was challenging everything she had ever been told.

“If there is pain, you must tell me.”

She inhaled slowly, gathering her nerves, and nodded simply.

“Come. Lay on the bed.”

Though he spoke softer, there was still a coldness to the way he gave his demands. But nonetheless, she did as he said, and stared up to the canopy of the bed, feeling her heart going so fast she was sure it would burst from her chest.

All she heard was the rustling of leather, the unlooping of his belt, and the clinking of his silver clasps.

She felt the mattress dip at the end of the bed and saw her new husband, without his doublet, but with his breeches only untied halfway, so she could not see a thing. But even so, the sight of a man naked on his torso had her heart still in her chest, and warmth crawl up to her cheeks. Aemond chuckled slightly, not wishing to embarrass her.

“Have you seen a man bare before, little one?” He asked, laying down beside her. She tried with the utmost effort to not stare at him, fearing that in some way she would anger him. His chest was well-muscled and pale, shimmering in the low light of the chambers and littered with many tiny scars that had silvered with time. His hair ran like milk over his shoulders, so silky it seemed to stick to his smooth skin.

She shook her head, and mouthed ‘no’. His manhood throbbed in his breeches at the thought that she had not even seen a man beneath his clothes before, and that he would be the first.

“It is alright, there is no need to be embarrassed.” He gave her a soft smile, trying his best to appear comforting.

But it could not be ignored that they were strangers, and it was his fault that he had not gone to see her before marriage and get to know her better. And on top of that, she was afraid, not of him, but that he might hurt her and that it would define her expectations for the rest of the marriage.

She flinched noticeably in shock, not out of fear, but at not having been touched so intimately, when his palm ran softly up her leg, taking her shift with it.

“Relax.”

She tried to do as he said.

She was so jumpy and nervous, Aemond wondered for a brief, funny moment, if she had even spoken to a man before today.

So he asked a question which he thought was almost silly to ask.

“Have you ever touched yourself?”

His question was answered immediately when she flushed and her face went all warm, and suddenly she was unable to meet his gaze. She shook her head softly. And instead of feeling bad for her, a devilish grin split across his face, all the blood going south.

She was so pious, and so devoted to the Seven, that she had saved any part of her inner desires for her husband to be.

He would be the first to give her pleasure of any kind.

To touch her intimately.

To make her feel as beautiful as he thought she was.

“It is alright. I shall show you.” He added softly, his voice like the purr of a cat.

She dared to look back at him as his hand trailed higher, dipping beneath the hem of her shift to touch her smooth skin beneath, “How will it feel?...”

“It may feel strange at first,” He answered honestly, “But after that, it should be pleasurable.”

She seemed to accept his answer, but her legs were pressed together almost instinctively, like her body was telling her it needed to appear smaller. His sharp nose pressed into her hair, inhaling her pleasant, female scent. His breath against the shell of her ear, hot puffs of air landing against her neck, where he began to place one, and then two open-mouthed kisses.

His eye wandered over her from this angle. Looking down her body, he could see the shadow of what lay beneath her shift in between her breasts as they moved with her breathing, which was slow and calculated. He could see how her hands held the bedsheets below her in her palm, not tightly, but prepared to pull on them if she needed.

She shivered with a shuddered breath when he kissed her, trailing his lips lower to her collarbone, past her string of delicate pearls, and he could see that beneath the cotton, her nipples had reacted to the chill of the room, but he liked to imagine that it was because of the way he was touching her so lovingly.

His hand completely slipped past where her hip met her leg, not touching her womanhood just yet, but close enough to feel its warmth. He felt the gooseflesh on her tummy as he trailed upwards, the shift bunched against his arm when his palm slid over her breast. She gasped softly as he squeezed tenderly, testing the weight of it in his palm and kneading it, and when he looked up to her briefly, she had closed her eyes.

He would tell her to open them later, after he did what he planned.

Her hips moved towards the mattress when his deft fingers dipped between her legs, the tips parting her folds to her entrance first, where Aemond began to feel the slick, as little as there was, gathered around it.

She was beginning to feel aroused even if she didn't know it.

She whimpered, pressing her lips together when she felt his fingers in such a strange, forbidden place. Her eyebrows furrowed in discomfort.

"Shh…" He cooed, the air brushing against her cheek, "Relax, dear wife."

She swallowed thick, and relaxed her thighs so that they weren't pushed together as much. The title he'd given her making her head feel as if it were full of air and nothing else.

A part of her felt bad. For she was supposed to be an obedient, pliant little wife, and he was taking care of her so diligently and she was still afraid.

"I apologise-"

"Do not apologise." He replied quickly, and her eyes opened, glistening with a new expression of understanding, "Only feel."

Her breath quickened.

Feel?

"Feel how I touch you here -"

He drew his fingers from her entrance to her pearl, drawing little soft circles using her arousal for ease. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes glued to him, a near-indistinguishable gasp falling from her lips. She began to feel a sort of ache, deep in her stomach that felt strange. And her hips began to move in micro-movements.

"This is where you feel the most pleasure." He whispered, his fingers moving sometimes directly and then indirectly over her pearl. At others, the anticipation of them being close to it had her hips searching for the touch.

"How does it feel?" He asked.

She struggled to think of a word, having never felt this dull and yet pleasurable rush to her core.

"Strange…pleasantly so."

He continued to move slowly, not making a direct effort to make her peak like this, just allowing her to feel what the touch of a man, the touch of her husband, could feel like.

"I will prepare you like this, so that there will be as little pain as possible."

Maintaining eye contact while he said things like that, while he did things to her like this, felt so intimate and so painfully domestic. As if nobody had bothered to care for her so much in her life. Her eyes curiously flitted between his seeing one and his eyepatch, not in fear, but wondering what he might be hiding beneath it.

It would not be removed this night. Or perhaps many to come.

Aemond's fingers moved over her womanhood with ease, more slick began to pool there and lubricate her puffy folds, swollen with arousal. She was wet, but he thought not prepared enough for his cock just yet.

He shifted his body down, his cheek grazing over her still clothed form, as if he was teasing himself. He could easily have asked her to be naked for him. But there was still trust to be gained.

Her eyes were questioning where he might be going. And she truly had no idea.

Using his knee, he settled between her legs, seeing the gooseflesh still there. His hands rucked up her shift, just pausing at the point where it would reveal her womanhood, all slick and ready for him. Her cheeks bloomed as she looked down at him, but didn't have the courage to question.

"Keep your eyes on me." He whispered lowly, his fingers pushing the fabric up so that he could see her cunt, so close to his face. And he was hit right then with the invigorating scent of her, like the sweetest perfume. He felt ashamed that even the scent of her aroused little cunny made his cock weep with arousal.

She looked more embarrassed than anything to have her new husband's face so close to her intimate area she had been taught to keep hidden. And it was hard for her to keep her legs apart. But she couldn't close them for fear of clamping on his head, and his hands were tenderly keeping them spread, his fingers only slightly indented in her supple flesh.

He looked down upon her, his thumb grazing her pearl again and watching with delight as her hips moved again, accompanied with a breath. It was simply too tempting, the idea of tasting her and the sweet nectar that leaked from within.

Holding her thighs, he leaned forward and flattened his tongue against her womanhood, and something primal was awoken inside when he finally tasted his new, little wife. He moved around her folds, and whenever he had to take a breath he placed an open-mouth kiss to it. He spared a glance up at her, and he hadn’t even heard her hurried breathing or tiny whispers of moans, so engrossed in tasting her for the first time.

Her cheeks were alight, her eyes torn between settling on his gaze and what he was doing to her. He had already told her to keep her eyes on him, and Aemond felt pleased that despite how embarrassed she was, she was obeying him.

Aemond redoubled his efforts, using his tongue to part her folds and nuzzling deeper against her, his nose rubbing gently against her pearl and using his wet muscle to dip against her entrance. It’s here that she gave some semblance of a proper moan, slipping shakily out of her throat, her hands tightening on the bed sheets.

He all but moaned against her cunt, delving into the deepest parts of her and dragging his tongue against the top of her velvety walls, trying to find out why she was the way she was. What made her feel the best. How he could make more of those pretty sounds tumble past her lips. He thought he could have spent all his life between her thighs, lapping at her arousal, and he would die a happy man.

In his grip, her thighs began to shake, and her brows furrowed like she didn’t understand what this feeling coursing through her veins was, this fire ablaze in her blood. Pride flooded his head, and he dragged his tongue from the inside of her to her pearl, where he drew circles over it. She jolted in his hold, as if he’d scared her, but he knew that it was because of the overwhelming feeling that was beginning to crest over her, and the uncertainty of it.

With his attention and efforts on her bud alone and she was suitably wet, he looked up at her when he touched her entrance with the pad of his finger. He heard her gasp when he slowly sank one digit inside her, he himself struggling to keep his composure once he realised just how tight she was around his finger alone. And he could barely think straight thinking about how she would feel wrapped around his cock.

He could forgive for the time being that her eyes were closed and brows furrowed, for the new sensation must have been strange for her. Something akin to a strangled whine rumbled from her chest when he was sank all the way inside, curling upwards. And when he brushed against that spot at the top of her walls, gently caressing the slick ridges, her back arched slightly off the mattress, and he smiled against her womanhood.

It appears his little wife was becoming emboldened in her movements by what he was doing to her.

As he continued to please his wife in two separate ways, almost instinctively, her hand came to his bare shoulder. To pull him close? To push him away? She wasn’t entirely sure herself.

He could tell she was on the precipice of something she was unable to comprehend, and was embarrassed to show herself in such an open way.

 “What is it, sweet wife?” he asked, drawing his lips from her, now covered entirely in her arousal when he licked at it.

Through her loud pants, she regained her breath as he continued to tease that deep spot inside of her, “What is…” She breathed, her grip closing around his shoulders. Her nails dug into his flesh, not meaning to, which made him smirk.

“Shh, it’s alright.” He cooed, pulling out slightly to slide a second finger inside, using the girth of his fingers to stretch her cunt around him, “I am just making sure you are ready for me.”

He began to pump his fingers inside her like he would fuck her, curling them up to focus his attention and pressure against the sweet spot at the end of her. She was so tight around him, already trying to suck him further inside and clenching hard. He felt his skin stretch around her grip on his shoulder, like she didn’t realise how hard she was holding him.

“ - Aemond - I’m - ”

Aemond.

The way she called him by his name.

There was no shame now in how hard it made him, and he felt as if he would spill right in his breeches and not inside her if she was going to say things like that.

A breathy whine made its way from her mouth, her eyes tightly shut as her face twisted in pleasure, feeling all the pressure leak into her limbs in bliss while Aemond kept pleasuring her, loving how her body was uncontrollably trembling with the force of her peak. He could feel the rush of slick coat his fingers and hand, so he slowed down the pace of his movements, allowing his sweet wife to savour the feeling she’d experienced here for the first time.

“That was your peak, little one.”

Her eyes opened to focus on him, feeling her body erupt in shivers as he pulled his digits from her and smeared her wetness over her thighs, thinking that as erotic and lewd the action was, that is excited her at the place where her husband had just been caressing with his fingers and tongue.

Her pupils were dilated only a bit larger than before, and Aemond felt pride in being the first to make her feel such things, awakening a part of her that had remained dormant for a long time. And while she had been emboldened by what he’d done to please her, her cheeks still bloomed with a faint embarrassment that he found endearing.

His hands traced her sides, taking her shift with it, and her breath hitched at the idea she would be entirely bare before her new husband, who had just given her the first experience of female pleasure. But alongside the trepidation, there was excitement.

Once he pulled her shift over her head and raked his gaze over every inch of her body.

It was a fucking crime that she’d been hiding herself under that gown all evening, he thought.

He thought she was perfection, with her soft and supple curves, and he hadn’t even realised his calloused hands had been kneading her breast until she let out a breathy sound. But she didn’t protest. She just appeared somewhat uncomfortable, as this was the first time she had shown herself so openly to the opposite sex.

“You are beautiful.”

She seemed to calm at least when he said that, relieved her husband found her attractive.

He saw her eyes flit from his one seeing eye to the eyepatch covered one, curious. But she simply swallowed thickly and didn’t say or ask anything. And he too was relieved that she hadn’t asked him to remove it.

He was not sure if he would be ready for that, for some time.

She still wore the little pearls around her neck, and now with her entirely naked with the exception of that, it felt erotic and arousing.

They were the same.

She wore the necklace, he wore the eyepatch, keeping a tiny piece of themself while they joined in matrimonial bliss.

He unlaced the rest of his breeches, watching her breasts move up and down as she breathed in anticipation of what was going to happen and the irreversible fact that she would never be the same afterwards.

“Remember what I said?” he asked, pulling his breeches over his hips. His achingly hard cock sprang free, standing proud and aroused against his stomach.

She took a moment to reply, trying not to stare too much at his member as he stroked himself slowly, the ruddy tip, weeping with arousal, poked out of his fist with every languid movement. She’d never seen one before. But all she knew was that she wondered how on earth it would fit inside her, he looked so thick and long, slightly curved to one side. Was there empty space inside of her she didn’t know about where he would place himself?

Her eyes met his, all glazed over, and she nodded.

“If there is pain, I must tell you.” She repeated what he’d said earlier. Her skin bloomed, for that moment was here right before them.

She tried to relax her body, numb from the force of her very first peak, as the mattress dipped either side of her where he’d leaned on his forearms, his knee brushing the inside of her legs as he nudged them apart so he could place himself there.

“Yes, you must.” He added tenderly, “It is not my intention to hurt you.”

The affection in his words made her stomach roll.

“You are my wife.”

She confirmed with delight that she was. And she nodded, not knowing what to say in response to his statement, but Aemond could see the subtle glimmer in her eyes.

He saw her glance at his manhood with something akin to a mix of fear and curiosity, and she took a sharp breath in as Aemond leaned forward, not pressing his weight on her, and placed several open-mouthed kisses to her jaw, neck and collarbone, teasing her with his teeth, while his cock kissed her puffy folds.

She felt his breath at her skin, her grip loosening on the sheets as he made her feel a little more relaxed.

When he leant forward, parting her folds easily with the aid of her slick, the first thought she had was that it felt strange, but nothing else in particular. It was only when his cockhead had disappeard inside her and he speared her upon his length that she began to tense up, her stomach tightening somewhat unpleasantly. Her hand came automatically to his chest, to try and push him away and make him stop.

He raised his head from her neck, his eye hooded down in concern. He felt her soft, almost-hummingbird-like touch on his chest and felt something fluttering inside of him at the tenderness of it. She was in some pain, not dramatically so, and yet her touch was so gentle.

Nothing was said, and only the utmost patience was offered. And it was difficult to do so for Aemond, with the way her core was holding him so tightly, to stay still and not move an inch. But for the sake of making her feel safe, he did it.

After a moment, she made an effort to relax her muscles for him. Her hand trailed over his muscled chest, as if taking this small window of opportunity to do so. Her fingers ran over the scars he’d gained on his lithe form, wanting to commit every ridge, every little piece of him to her memory as if it was the last time she’d ever see him.

Her eyes shifted to him once he sheathed himself inside her all the way, bottoming out with a low groan. He felt her walls fluttering around him, stretching her to accommodate this size, having not felt anything like this before. Her lips parted to let a soft pained sound past her lips, but that was all, and she felt the worst was behind her.

It felt only slightly uncomfortable, but she was willing to do it for this marriage. To please him.

It was intimate, looking right at her while he was deep inside her, and she gave the faintest of nods, telling him without words that she was alright. She thought she'd never felt more full in her life, nor more connected to someone as she was right at this moment.

It hurt at first, yes, but he had prepared her, waited for her and cherished her like she was precious. And the pain, the sting of losing her maidenhead, was a small price to pay for how full her heart felt, by giving a piece of her to him.

Closing his eye, as if to concentrate, Aemond moved almost entirely out of her to push back in as she gasped below him, the same feeling the second time had a spark licking at her insides that didn’t stop as he began his slow and careful pace. He wanted to tear his gaze off her, desperately, but couldn’t.

It was just as he imagined. With every soft thrust inside her, the pearls at her neck danced, and her cheeks were flushed, eyes shimmering. It wasn’t as animalistically lustful as he envisioned. Before he imagined an innocent thing like her, bending to his will, corrupting her in any way he saw fit.

But now more than anything as he listened to the gentle moans come out of her, he wanted to protect her, to nurture and watch her flourish. The pearls clicked against each other at her neck, her breasts moved, nipples pebbled with arousal, and she’d raised her legs only slightly to wrap around his waist, blinking slowly up at him.

The whore Aegon had gotten him to fuck on his thirteenth nameday was overzealous, large-breasted and older, perhaps more experienced. She had bounced on top of him, her loud moans bouncing off every surface in the room, her hands planted on his chest as she moved her hips up and down on him with loud slaps. He remembered feeling horrified that this is what intimacy was. That this is what men would desire so relentlessly.

It didn’t feel good. And he remembered feeling sick.

But here, with her, looking so lovingly up at him. No hysterical moaning, no pathetic whines to boost his male ego. Just unapologetically everything she was feeling, she was giving to him.

It felt like a gift. To experience real intimacy. And with the person he was due to spend the remainder of his days with.

As if realising he was daydreaming, his hips still moving against her with wet slaps of skin, her hand cupped his face, on the unmarred side, and her thumb stroked over his cheekbone. She touched him so softly he could have wept.

She had seen some kind of thoughtfulness on his face, and in the throes of consummation, was supporting him.

“Aemond.”

When she said his name with such sincerity and care, he blinked slowly and reached his hand up to hers, encircling his fingers around her small wrist, and turned his face into her palm, to kiss the inside tenderly. One kiss to her palm, and one to her wrist. And it felt more intimate than kissing on the lips, which he only now realised with shame, that he’d not done for her yet.

“I am alright.”

He looked at her when she said that. It was as if she could see all of his inner thoughts, and had been able to all evening.

She saw that he had been holding back.

He had been afraid of frightening her, and yet she was allowing him what he wanted.

Her breath caught in her chest with a kind of excitement as his fingers wrapped around her wrist and forced it down to the bed beside her head, his other hand joining her other to keep her pinned tightly under him to the mattress. Her eyes glimmered as she looked up at him, watching his expression change to something more possessive.

“Put your legs around me.”

She did as he asked and raised her legs around his waist, causing his length to brush that same spot inside her that he’d pleasured just moments before. And with an iron grip on her wrists and easier access to her, he dipped his head into her neck, her scent swirling around him and fucked her as he had wanted to the entire evening.

Skin slapped against one another with the moisture of her slick on his pelvis, his stones hitting against her repeatedly with every rough thrust into her wet cunt.

"Does my innocent little wife like to be properly fucked, hm?" He grunts, watching how she blushes and turns her head away out of embarrassment.

"I think you will continue to surprise me, little pearl."

She felt her insides clench at the name he gave her.

Little pearl.

Aemond smirked, increasing the intensity of his driving into her, constantly spearing her open onto his cock, and watching at the way he disappeared into her.

"I can feel you tightening around my cock. Did you like that? Little pearl?"

Her breath was sucked from her with each devastating thrust, and that same pressure was beginning to build in her belly, from when he'd pleasured her before.

"Answer me.”

"Yes - yes, husband - " She replied, breathlessly and gulping for air, throwing her head back against the bed sheets.

He smirked, leaning back and watching how his cock was being covered in her slick everytime he pulled out of her.

He pulled her hips onto his lap, and the angle had his cockhead bullying her tender and sensitive place deep inside of her. Her eyebrows furrowed with pleasure, feeling utterly at his mercy.

Feeling proud of the reactions he was getting, his hand slipped from her hip to her bud. Her pearl. A grin splitting across his face at the lewd thoughts he was having. He circled her sensitive bud tenderly, applying just enough pressure that she clenched around him again.

If she wasn't careful, he would cum right there and then.

"Does that feel good, little one?" He teased her in a low tone, not ceasing his endless pace, pushing himself as far inside her as he could.

"Do you like it when I touch you here?"

She couldn't deny she liked it. The way her back arched, being pleasures in two ways. It was nearly overwhelming. And it took her voice from her.

"Perhaps we should name you Pearl of the Realm." He smirked, increasing both his pace and pressure, "Prim, proper…a good little obedient wife to her lord and husband."

He leaned over, changing the angle yet again.

"But in here, with me, it is this pearl I shall be paying special attention to, dear wife."

His words made her tighten around him, coupled with the intensity of the pleasure he was giving her. She felt her entire body get hot, the pressure in her belly set to explode at any moment.

His delicate and careful ministrations to her bundle of nerves was almost too much, and her hips began to move forward towards his in rhythm with his cock stretching her open, meeting him halfway.

She didn't imagine such lewd words would have an effect on her.

"Husband - "

"I think I will keep you like this. All night if I have to. Paying special attention to this precious pearl you have been neglecting for so long." He mused, his words were strained, as if set to explode himself.

"I will give you my seed. Over and over. Until I am done with you." He breathed through heavy pants, his eye slipping shut, "I will watch you swell with my child. Would you like that?"

She could only whimper in response, fisting the bed sheets as she had nothing else to hold onto, her mouth dropping open as her climax began to crest.

"I would like that. To see these perfect tits all round and full."

The idea of bearing his children was only a fantasy that appeared right at that moment.

"Gods - you are so tight - such a perfect little cunt - fuck - "

She fell apart around him, her entire body filled with such eternal feeling bliss that she felt as if she were floating, her husband's deft fingers still pleasuring her bud.

Her limbs felt numb, her blood like fire under her skin and her lips dropped apart so that a shattered moan could escape her, the only proof that her peak was decimating every nerve in her body with blinding, white hot pleasure.

She tightened impossibly around him, and the pistoning of his cock into her sex was only stilled when he slammed inside her one last time. His length throbbed within her, his spend warming her core at the end and filling her, completing this sacred, intimate ceremony.

They both gulped down air desperately and when Aemond had caught a moment to himself, he spared a look down at his sweet wife, her delicate skin covered in a soft sheen of sweat, eyes shut, breasts shifting erratically with her breathing.

She must have felt his gaze on her, because she turned her head to look up at him. In her once innocent and naive gaze he once saw fear and trepidation. And now her pupils were blown wide and glimmered with lust and a kind of pride that she'd pleased him, and they'd done this together.

Aemond still had a grip on her hips, noticing the red marks where his fingers had been. Her body was littered with them, where he'd been too tempted to nibble at her, to make sure she bore the marks of his passion for her.

He looked down where they were joined, pulling out of her and watching with a lustful curiosity at his spend that leaked from her entrance. It was instinctual, the way two fingers scooped up what had come out, and he gently plunged it back into her as far as he would go.

Overstimulated and tired, she winced, bucking her hips slightly.

Aemond only smiled down at her.

"I can hardly wait to make you a mother, little one."

She laughed a little, exhausted, "You speak of children. We have only lay together once."

Aemond took her reply and smirked, pulling her thighs close to him again.

"In that case - might we try again? I dare say I have already forgotten the first time."

His little pearl smiled tenderly up at him. A safe smile. One of utter adoration. It was like he was being seen, truly seen, for the first time in his life. She had been so good to him in the short time he'd known her, and cared enough to let him see her as well.

He felt fulfilled in a way he never had before. Something exciting ran through his blood, like how he felt whenever he trained. As if a new challenge were upon him.

Challenging the notion that had been placed upon him his entire life, that marriage was about ownership. As a wife should belong entirely to her husband.

And while he felt that sheer possessiveness before he really knew her. Knew her properly.

Now, he questioned if marriage was more about respect than anything else.

The fabric covering his eye now felt so heavy. And one day, he thought, he hoped to be able to show himself so openly to her, as she had done for him.

Aemond Targaryen was nothing if not dutiful.

And he would pay his little pearl all the attention she so deserved.

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[onmyyan]

(ive been spottily active lately and missed soooo much amazing stuff I'm trying to catch up still but the one thing someone mentioned to you is now running circles like an energetic puppy in my brain) yandere batfam angst with (yandere?) superfam fluff. The savior complex. The rivalry. I love your writing so much. I love how so many cool people message you and share ideas. You're awesome.

A/N: First of all you're so sweet ❣️ thank you!! I so appreciate this request and how it made my brain turn!!

In this situation let's say you've already done the whole 'neglected so you leave and trigger their yandere instincts' thing, so you've been kidnapped, bound to the manor for months at this point, but Bruce decides you've been behaving well enough to deserve a treat. He knows how cooped up you feel, he's not as delusional as the rest of his family who believe you love it there, so he takes you with him to the hall of justice, he isn't worried about you escaping after all the hall of justice is in outer space, and you're surrounded by experienced heros, you're not going anywhere.

That's his first mistake.

Clark takes to you immediately. You've got the Wayne charm but so clearly your own person, you stand away from Bruce, asking Clark earnest questions, listening oh so intently, he knows you're an adult, but your so much smaller than him, (the man is 6'3 he's bigger than most people.) he noticed the way your heart rate picked up when Bruce so much as touched you, you were scared of him, he could tell, and this is what ignites that dangerous flame inside him.

He starts by inviting the whole Wayne family over for dinner, can't draw suspicion by inviting only you, (despite that being exactly what he wanted to do) Lois makes a feast, that night you meet Clark's entire family, his son's Conner and Jon, Kara his cousin, and of course Lois his wife, they all focus on you despite trying to play it cool, Kara's around your age and asks if you'd like to go shopping with her in metropolis some day, you smile starting to nod before Bruce answers for you, "Her studies are taking up most of her time nowadays, some other time." He grins taking a bite of his steak.

Clark sets his silverware down, grinning that friendly smile of his, "Well surely she can take a little break, one day away from her studies won't kill her, besides she'll be safe as can be with Kara by her side." Bruce glares at him, he can't outright deny the claims because his own possessive need to have you by his side at all times, and because they're true, so he relents, and that's how you find yourself spending time with her, and in turn the superfam.

It doesn't take long for them to fall in love with the idea of you being there, with them, at their dinner table.

The second they're all in agreement,(about a week after getting to know you) they quickly decide you're better off with them, and when Superman breaks into the Manor one day and sweeps you off your feet, the batfamily can't do anything but watch in horror.

[tragedygroupie]

babysitter blues

cw: LEGAL age gap, fingering, praise kink, loss of virginity, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), daddy kink, blink and you’ll miss it dacryphilia, authority kink (???), imbalanced power dynamic kinda???, alexandria rick, kind of long winded buildup to the smut, brief substance use (alcohol), soft dom! rick… yeah that’s all i can think of rn.

your entire life had been colored by an overwhelming sense of inertia. tucked away in the mundane labyrinth of the suburbs, not even the advent of the apocalypse could blot out the pervasive sense of ennui that had followed you since childhood. the horrors of the newly established outer world, the grotesque undead and the occasionally more dangerous still living were completely unknown to you. the apocalypse had not annihilated your reality, it merely redefined the confines of your sequestration.

life in alexandria was largely a matter of finding a way to pass the time. girls that barely qualified as adults weren’t exactly hot commodities, rarely sought out for anything, so it fell on you to fill the hours until the end of the world.

sometimes it was reading, which slowly morphed into a project of creating a library for the community, almost entirely curated from your own collection, with some generous donations here and there from bemused older folks surprised that young people still cared about that kind of thing.

other times it was babysitting, which started largely as preemptive measure to get out of being assigned any kind of work that would require any amount of physical activity. sure it was lazy, but you enjoyed the company of most of the kids, and they all liked you, enchanted by the whimsical dresses you wore and the stuffed animal army you had at your disposal.

truly, the only visible sign that you were experiencing an apocalypse rather than another red hot american summer were the bags under your eyes, perpetually exhausted from the never ending parade of nightmares that left you jolting awake, violently gasping for air.

a girl like you had no business hanging around a man like rick grimes. perpetually tense, eyes wildly darting around like he was itching to drive the butter knife he spread his jam with into the throat of some unspecified assailant. a bloody splash of color in your grayscale world. he was unlike anything you’d ever seen, a Marlboro man, blue collar through and through, from the dirt that he could never seem to fully rid his nails of to the rough, calloused hands that secretly made your mouth water.

this was the apocalypse, yet your sense of self preservation was as brittle as it’d been when you were sixteen. all your snark, that goddamn mouth that always got you in trouble evaporated when you were around him, replaced with an unfamiliar earnestness that made you cringe internally. you tried, really you did, to not follow him around like a lovesick puppy, to think of reasonable pretenses for your incessant need to be in his proximity, and fortunately enough, you quickly found an in.

no matter how adept rick was in this new world, he seemingly struggled when it came to childcare. when it came to his daughter, he was wildly protective yet somehow simultaneously clueless, and the first time you saw something approaching relief flash through his eyes was when you offered to look after her.

truth be told, rick didn’t quite know what to make of you. you were soft without being stupid, sheltered but not maddeningly clueless, and your eagerness to listen to him when everyone else dismissed him as paranoid endeared you to him in a way no one else in Alexandria quite managed. when you offered to look after judith, the last thing he thought was that you’d become a distraction. you were pretty, sure, but you were young enough to be his daughter, and if there was one thing rick grimes wasn’t, it was cliché.

but goddamn did you make it hard. his life in the new world had been characterized by leaving absolutely no room for error, every potential outcome identified and accounted for. yet in his brief respite from having to care for his daughter entirely by himself, he failed to consider that you wouldn’t just be a hot flash of want that pulsed through his veins whenever he happened to run into you, you’d be in his home. he was a stronger man than most, but he was still a man, and being in such close proximity to that kind of temptation was enough to drive anyone crazy.

every time he walked through the door it was something new. sitting on the floor with your hands outstretched, beckoning judith to crawl towards you, oblivious to your skirt riding up your parted thighs. bending over the cradle to kiss her good night, while the cotton of your already short dress just barely covered your ass.

you may not have been completely clueless about the dangers outside the walls, but you were downright brainless when it came to the effect you had on him, and it was that very lack of awareness that had him fucking his fist in the shower, coming with a groan to the thought of those pretty, naive eyes looking up at him as he split you open. it wasn’t enough, like putting a bandaid over a cut that sliced to the bone, but it was a safety valve, it kept him from doing something stupid.

today shouldn’t have been any different from the routine he had established. he got home as dusk started to settle, having made an extra effort to see judith before she went to bed. he tried to leave the frustrations of today at the door, determined to be a good father, to exact control over the flaming emotions that licked up his chest, stopping the spread before he became engulfed.

as soon as he hears your voice, with its lilting quality as you respond to judith’s babbling, the hard lines that have taken up a virtually permanent residence on his forehead soften. he walks across the threshold, into the living room where you’re sprawled across the couch, judith sitting on your lap. you get up, and he has a blissful few seconds to admire the dress you’re wearing, a little white dress with embroidered flowers better suited for frolicking in a garden than waiting out the end of the world, before you open your mouth to greet him.

“look who’s here judith! daddy’s here!”

fuck.

he knows you didn’t mean it like that, and a better man wouldn’t have thought anything of it. a clearly innocent comment shouldn’t have the blood draining from his head and rushing towards his dick, but the way that word rolls off your tongue is downright sinful. his face is an impenetrable mask of cordiality, concealing his desire as he answers.

“how’re my girls?”

it’s more forward than he’d be under any other circumstances, but he can’t help it, he needs to see if his words affect you the way yours do him. sure enough, a rosy blush blossoms across your cheeks as you hand Judith to him. the words rattle around your head, and you make a mental note to remember it for later, when you’re alone and twilight has fallen, so you can replay it in earnest.

“she’s been wonderful, we had so much fun today, didn’t we Judith?”

you go on, filling him in with details about the day, your voice becoming a pleasant hum that barely filters through, he’s too busy looking at you. all soft curves to his taut muscles, hands that’ve never seen a day of hard work. fragile things like you normally fill him with a vague sense of irritation, if not downright disgust, but with you it’s different, the overwhelming need to lay claim to the last bit of silken sweetness in this apocalyptic wasteland threatening to undo him.

dimly, he becomes aware that you’re asking if he wants to put Judith to bed tonight, and a dull panic sets in. you can’t leave, not yet, not until he’s gotten to feel you.

“i’d like to see how you do it. for future reference” he says, his voice cool and glacial, completely devoid of the growing desperation blooming in his abdomen.

you nod, secretly proud at the prospect of teaching him something. he’s so worldly, so knowledgeable in things you hadn’t even conceived, and the idea of him wanting to learn from you about anything makes you feel mature, no longer a lovesick puppy yapping at his heels.

you three go to judith’s nursery, and when he passes her to you, you begin to show him the routine you’ve established. it’s quick, nothing flashy, just getting her changed into her pjs, singing a quick song, and stroking her hair until she falls asleep. mercifully, she’s out like a light, and the two of you creep out of her room, careful not to disturb her. when you get into the hall, you avoid his eyes, unsure of what to do now. you see him so rarely, and without the buffer of Judith, you feel small again, all that newfound maturity fleeting, like it was never there.

rick has to suppress a smirk at your shyness, and after a beat of silence, he’s unable to resist making an offer.

“you want a drink?”

you look up at him, trying in vain to hide your excitement.

“sure.”

one drink follows another, though you never quite manage to get rid of the grimace that accompanies each swig. its endearing, he knows you’re only drinking this shitty beer because he offered it, trying to convince him that you can handle yourself. you’re sitting together on the couch, and the once respectable distance between the two of you has shrunk down considerably, your knee against his as you go on and on, talking about anything that catches your fancy. to his credit, he doesn’t seem to mind, nodding and trying to focus on your words rather than how soft and warm your thigh feels pressed against his.

“i know the whole library idea seem… frivolous, but you should come by sometime. i can recommend you something good.”

he smirks, his voice coming out low and measured.

“never said that darlin. i just don’t have a whole lot of time for reading.”

you shake your head, your voice earnest in a way that would leave you mortified if you were sober, trying to ignore the pang of need in your cunt at the pet name.

“bullshit. you’ve probably just… never read a good book. with the way the world is… who doesn’t need escapism sometimes?”

he nods, clearly humoring you. it’s nice to see you passionate about something, even if he shares absolutely no interest in it. he notices how you shift next to him, your thighs pressing together at the pet name, and makes sure to take note of it.

“amen to that.” he says, taking another swig from the bottle you’ve been sharing.

when he looks back at you, you have a dreamy, far away look in your eyes. he raises an eyebrow at you, his voice coming out teasing.

“have i got something on my face?”

you shake your head earnestly, your voice coming out achingly sincere.

“you have really nice eyes.”

he scoffs, amused by the observation. it’s something you’d normally be too scared to say to him, but the beer has clearly loosened your inhibitions, and goddamn if he doesn’t love it.

when you lean towards him, your lips meeting his softly, all unsure and sweet, it’s all he can do to not groan. this is wrong, you’re young enough to be his daughter, he should be the adult here, put a stop to this and gently tell you that you deserve better than him.

instead, he finds himself kissing you back, all those good, proper sentiments dying in his throat as he pulls you into his lap, his mouth never leaving yours. his hands are all over you, exploring every inch of the soft, supple flesh he’s been craving for god knows how long. you’re trying to keep up, your mouth clumsy and shy against his, but he’s relentless, his tongue slipping into your mouth as he kneads the plush of your ass through your white lace panties.

your dress is riding up your thighs, and it’s all he can do to not tear it off you. he knows he needs to be gentle, he gets the sense that you haven’t got much experience in this arena, even though his more primal instinct is to push you against the wall and fuck you till you see black. instead, his hands creep up your thighs, until he’s cupping your clothed cunt, your panties already dewy with arousal.

“fuck baby, all this for me?” he asks, his voice teasing as he marvels at how easily aroused you are. all this from a few kisses, it’s really just too easy.

you let out a keening whine, your hips instinctively rocking your cunt against his hand, desperate for any amount of friction. you nod desperately, too dumbstruck for words.

he chuckles, slowly starting to rub you through your underwear.

“use your words, pretty girl.” he says, his voice half joking, but with an undercurrent of seriousness, a warning that he’ll stop if you don’t comply.

your eyes flutter shut, the puffy sleeves of your dress falling down your shoulders as your hands go to grip his big arms.

“all.. for… you” you pant, your cheeks burning red.

it’s embarrassing really, how soaked your panties are. it makes you feel like a slut, but you know you wouldn’t get this way for just anyone. you couldn’t imagine being this easy for someone else, and if you were more clear headed you’d try to tell him, but all you can do is mewl pathetically, frustrated by how the lace of your panties dilutes the feeling of his fingers on you.

he chuckles, reading you like a book. he moves the lace aside, dipping his index finger into your aching cunt, biting back a groan when you gasp.

“that feel good, baby?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

you let out a whiny mhmmm, and he allows it, pumping steadily while the rough pad of his thumb rubs circles onto your clit. when he curls his thick finger inside you, you swear you see stars, and your nails dig into the weathered muscles of his arms.

“oh fuck, daddy” you mumble, too far gone to notice or care that you slipped up, oblivious to how his eyes light up at your words.

“poor thing… those little fingers just don’t do it for you, do they? can’t reach that far, isn’t that right?” he says, condescension dripping from his voice.

you nod furiously, your hips bucking into his touch as your head lolls for, letting him pull you closer into his arms as you whimper out a response.

“s-so close daddy”

he coos at you, that sweet desperation making him throb in his jeans. normally he’d make you work for it, make you respond to all his questions to build good habits (because there would be a next time), but he figures he’ll go easy on you just this once, especially when you plead so pretty.

“go on baby. make a mess f’me.” he says encouragingly, and that’s all it takes for you to come, burying your forehead into his chest as you ride out your high.

when you go limp, he starts stroking your hair, maneuvering your head so you’re facing him. he kisses you again, and it takes a moment before you kiss him back, your brain still partially fogged over from pleasure.

“you act like no one’s ever made you cum before” he says teasingly, and when your face flushes it just confirms what he already thought: you’re a virgin.

you avoid his eyes, your voice coming out all shy and flustered.

“i don’t really have much experience… is that a problem?”

he has to resist the urge to scoff, because no, that is absolutely not a problem. if anything, it makes him want you more. but he doesn’t want to scare you, so he just tilts your chin up so you’re looking at him, his hand cupping your cheek.

“it’s not a problem at all, honey. just wanna make sure you’re okay with all this.”

it takes all his self restraint to ask you that, because his jeans feel far too tight and all he wants to do is bury himself inside you before he preemptively blows his load, but he knows he needs to make sure you’re ready, that you want this too. despite everything, he’s still trying to be a good man.

you look up at him, and you nod, your pupils all blown out and hazy.

“ ‘m sure.” you say softly, before reaching up to kiss him.

he savors the kiss, giving you a moment before he stands up. you let out a small squeak, your thighs immediately going to wrap around his waist, looking at him in confusion.

“what, did you think i was gonna take your virginity on the damn couch? i’m not a goddamn animal” he grumbles, looking at you with fond irritation as you giggle.

he presses his lips to yours to keep you quiet, sloppily making out with you as he makes his way to the bedroom. when he gets inside, he lays you down on the bed gently, his mouth never leaving yours.

he gets you undressed in no time, not giving you a hard time about the fact that your white lace panties and bra are matching (almost like you were asking for it), and when your unsteady hands finally finish fumbling with his belt you get to see his cock for the first time. and fuck is he huge.

he looms over you, his arms caging you in as he presses warm kisses to your neck, trying to ease your worry. when he pushes in, he goes all the way, burying himself to the hilt. your eyes roll back in your head, letting out a soft cry as you snake your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you as he lets you adjust.

when he starts to move, he sets a slow, steady pace, and the ache gives way to newfound pleasure, your eyes screwing shut as he goes deeper than you knew was previously possible.

“fuck baby. you’re so fucking tight.” he mumbles, sucking a bruise onto your neck as you let out a moan.

when he’s sure you’re not gonna break, he starts to pick up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder and more pointed, earning whimpers and moans that seem to come from deep in your gut. tears start to fall down your cheeks, not from pain but from a combination of pleasure and being so overwhelmed.

“you cry so pretty, baby.” he says, angling his thrusts to hit that spongy spot inside your walls.

your face scrunches up as you get that newly familiar coiling feeling in your stomach, and you blearily open your eyes to look up at him, your bottom lip quivering.

“daddy… can i cum, please?” you whimper brokenly, and if he wasn’t almost there already, that definitely pushed him.

“such a sweet thing, asking permission on her first time. you can come baby, go on” he responds, his firm grip on your hips teetering dangerously close to bruising.

when you come, he can feel you pulsating around him, squeezing him like a goddamn vice, trying to milk him for all he’s got. it only takes a few more sloppy thrusts for him to join you, coming in you with a groan.

once you both came down from your highs, you turned to him, your body exhausted and spent. you weren’t exactly sure what he expected of you, you’d never hooked up with your employer before and all conventions about appropriateness were completely out the window when you had his spend dripping down your thighs.

“can i stay the night?” you ask quietly, your cheeks red with embarrassment.

to your relief, he just chuckles and pulls you closer, your head resting on his chest as he wraps an arm around you.

“sweet girl, i’d be a right asshole if i sent you home like this.”

you smile, quickly falling asleep in his arms. and for what feels like the first time in months, rick finds himself dozing off without much of a fight too.

[mountaingoblinn]

I think it’s important to face fair and civil (emphasis on civil) criteria about the media you consume!!! This “let people enjoy things” shit has to have fuckin limits!!! Esp if consuming/ enjoying that media gives someone more money (even the minuscule amount of money from streaming/buying tix to her concerts)to destroy the environment in ways 98% of humans never will be able to even if they lacked the moral compass to do so!!! Esp when there are other ways to enjoy her!!!! I like a fair amount of her songs but i bootleg them bc even though there is NO ethical consumption under capitalism i feel like we all have to try our fuckin hardest to not contribute to unethical people. Im all for “letting people like things” and “letting people enjoy things” enjoy her music!!! Im never gonna tell ya not to!!! I enjoy it deeply!!!and im never gonna claim that i am the most ethical perfect person who Only Does Good Things!!!But you can enjoy her music while not giving her money to then be used to completely and utterly fuck the environment in monumentally huge ways AND you can enjoy her music while being able to receive fair criticism if YOU are the one who brought it up, id never just blurt out my distaste for things,its not my prerogative, and believe me i hate when people just bitch and moan about her unprompted for the most part. but if you are bringing up taylor swift or any celebrity or media you can consume, you should be able to, as an adult, face valid criticism. Also of course when im talking about the validity of the criticism when it comes to taylor swift i DO NOT mean any of the plethora of “she’s untalented” “shes annoying” or any sexist comments. She is a hot button topic right now but i do feel like a lot of the “let people enjoy things” folks who say that in regards to taylor swift refuse to acknowledge that by supporting her you are fucking up the environment.

Links for sources on her absolute fucking shithead behavior towards the environment;

"i don't like taylor sw-" WOMP WOMP‼️

[zorosdimples]

꒰ FUSHIGURO TOJI X READER ꒱

cw: cheesy! age gap. slightly suggestive. brief sex toy mention. nicknames “kid” and “kiddo” used. reader and toji are neighbors and reader is shorter than toji. based on my earlier admission. wc: 782. notes: this was written so quickly and is cringe—please forgive me!

“Got another package of yours, kiddo.”

Toji stands outside of your apartment, a brown shipping box perched in his palms. You scowl, holding the door open with your hip before wordlessly turning around and leaving. He catches the door before it slams in his face, and—taking your silent cue—steps inside and kicks off his slides. 

He follows you to your cramped kitchen, chuckling when you yank the box from his grasp and scurry off to put it in your bedroom. When you return, he has already made himself comfortable on your couch; spitefully, you don’t offer him a beverage (not that he minds). You stiffly settle on the armchair beside him. 

“So,” Toji breaks the silence, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rises with the movement, a sliver of his waist on display, a thicket of jet hair barely visible. For a moment, your mind wanders—creeping along his happy trail, envisioning where it leads…

His gravelly, lazy voice interrupts your thoughts, and your focus snaps back to his face. “What’d you buy?”

“None of your business.” You pretend to pick at a cuticle. While you’re still upset with him, you aren’t playing coy; he doesn’t need to know what you ordered. It isn’t his business.  

Toji rests one of his hands against his head, looking at you curiously. “What’s with the attitude?” 

For the first time since he walked in, you look him in the eyes. His irises are lush and verdant—easy to get lost in. And they sparkle with mirth. Your frustration with him reaches a boiling point, but you do your best to bring it down to a simmer. “Why can’t you treat me like an adult? For fuck’s sake, I’m almost thirty.”

A smirk tucks itself in the corner of his lips like a secret. “I’ve got two decades on you, kid.”

“Okay. So by your logic, I should start calling you ‘old man’—is that right?”

He shrugs before spreading his legs wider and crossing his arms. “If you want to.”

“God you’re so…” you rub your temples and try to calm yourself with a deep breath. “You’re so indifferent.”

He scoffs. “Is that right?”

You nod. “Either that or you’re fucking clueless.”

“Clueless,” he repeats, like he’s tasting the word on his tongue. It irks you that your words don’t stoke the embers of his anger. 

“Fuck it,” you mutter to yourself. You brace your hands on your knees. “Still wanna know what I ordered, Toji?”

“I’m all ears, kiddo.”

“A vibrator.”

For a split second, you think he’s going to crack. But your confession simply wipes any and all playfulness from Toji’s expression. He stands up from the couch abruptly, brows knit, jade eyes sharp with an emotion you’re afraid to place. 

“You really shouldn’t—” he swallows dryly when you approach him, blocking his exit. 

“I shouldn’t what? Be an adult and buy what I want?”

He shakes his head, murmuring, “Shouldn’t tell me something like that.”

“Why?” 

He's pinned beneath your earnest stare, a needle piercing each of his wings, holding him in place. Does he continue to struggle, to risk upsetting you, to risk harming himself? Or does he give in despite his reservations? A flash of pink darts between his lips as he wets them. “Because…”

“Because what?”

Too close, he thinks to himself, your body inches from his own. The way your chest heaves and your fingers fidget nervously at your sides—it’s too much, too close.

“Because I can’t keep acting like I’m not fucking attracted to you!” he snarls, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Do you have any idea how hard this has been on me? Pretending like I don’t live next door to the most beautiful person I’ve ever met and—”

A laugh bubbles in your throat. Once it floats past your lips, it pops—you can’t contain it. Your laughter rings through the dull walls of your apartment, and while Toji wants to be irritated, the sound is infectious; it makes his heart flutter like a damn schoolboy’s. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks. 

You smile up at him as your hands (small, cold, and soft) find his (large, warm, and scarred). “Give in, Toji. It’s okay. You know I want you—I don’t think I can make my intentions any more obvious.”

He sighs deeply, but pulls you closer. “I’m old and I—”

Interrupting him, you tease, “I’ll be the judge of that, thank you.”

He stares at you hard for what feels like an eternity before leaning in, forehead brushing against yours. “Well,” he clears his throat, “this old man wants to kiss you. Can he?”

Despite yourself, your heart soars. “I thought he’d never ask.”

[katakaluptastrophy]

Oh no now I'm thinking about the Fourth and the Fifth again and how Jod's awful colonial space feudalism poisons everything.

You are four or five years old. Maybe you're Isaac and you never knew your dad, only that he died at enemy hands in some far flung campaign and six years later you were made to ensure an heir for the baronetcy. Or you're Jeannemary and your mother defied orders, went beyond the rim, and jumped on a grenade. If either of you have surviving parents, they're not considered sufficiently important in this great process of ensuring a suitable heir with a suitable cavalier to keep you. There is no Baron until Isaac comes of age, and the leader of a House needs to be properly trained. You are four or five years old, and you are sent away.

You're five year old Jeannemary. You're not yet sworn to your necromancer, but you've been promised to him since birth and you've been sent away from your planet and your siblings to serve him. You are your generation's Chatur and this is your purpose. And when the cavalier primary of the House you have been sent to sees a little child struggling to see over the table at a reception and props you up with a cushion, you challenge him to a duel. You don't understand why all the adults are laughing. Your honour and your necromancer are all you have left of home. Far away, at the edge of the system, Harrowhark Nonagesimus decides that puppeting her parents' corpses as her House collapses around her is a better fate than yours. At night you are tucked into bed in a room that you don't have to share with any siblings and the man who is looking after you now reads to you from a book of adventure stories and strokes your hair until you fall asleep.

You're nine year old Isaac, swearing to be one flesh, one end with your cavalier in a foreign chapel on a foreign planet. You go to school. The woman who is not quite but almost your mother is helping you to discover spirit magic far beyond the thanergy fission you would have learned at home. She is teaching you to cook and to dance. She tells you that the parts of you which back home would have been considered flaws are your greatest strengths. You have friends and playmates who will never be on the front lines, whose parents write books or engrave stele or organise the bounty of empire from ledgers and transmitter boxes. You are loved and you love, but you are beginning to understand that love comes with a cost.

You are 13 year old Jeannemary. You are back on the Fourth and after last year's bombing you are now cavalier primary. As far as you are concerned, you are grown and ready to serve god and his empire. And you have been denied twice. You don't understand why the people who love you are going to such lengths to stop you from doing what you were born to do or why they have always looked so upset when glorious news comes from home about how someone you would have grown up with, had you not been sent away, has given the ultimate service to the empire. You are cavalier primary of the Fourth House and you fear you are still being propped up on cushions.

You are Isaac Tettares and you are Baron of a planet you spent most of your childhood away from. Everyone else your age long ago shipped out with the Junior Territorials. You are the Baron of a planet but you are not in charge and you have come to understand that your father wasn't in charge either. You love the closest thing you have to parents and they love you. You miss them terribly. You resent the fact that thanks to them you will never truly lead the Fourth. There is talk of a marriage alliance when you are older. You want to be family with them. You don't entirely believe you'll live long enough to marry him when you come of age. And if you do, your half Fifth children will be another crack in what's left of the Fourth House. You miss you dad's stupid jokes and your mum's earnest discussions. You're free of their meddling. You will never be free of their meddling.

You are Jeannemary and Isaac, properly off planet and on display as scion and cavalier for the first time, offered an unimaginable chance to serve god and his empire. You crave the security of your parents. You chafe at the idea that you might be perceived as children. But for a little while you are all together again. You are planning a party. You are making friends. You will all serve the empire together. Perhaps, when you are the fingers and gestures of god, none of these differences will matter any more.

They die horribly. And later so do you. God doesn't care.