#this monkey cannot take a compliment | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

s3thwrit3sstuff · 1 year ago

Note

there truly is no words that can captivate my feelings for the au/what-ifs... EXCEPT FOR MADNESS

LET YN AND HIS SUSU BE IN LOVE!!! IM GOING TO START A PROTEST!!!!

❝ You know what sinners do when they love too soon (are you ready to die?) ❞

warnings: cults, extreme ideologies, mentions of arranged marriage, talks of death, implications of child soldiers, YN's father still sucks ass, anal sex, d. penetration

masterlist; part 1; part 2; part 3; alternate ending; playlist; au's and what if's

authors note: poly!satosuguyn if they weren't fluffy basically also, shout out to music anon for the title, I loved every title track you gave! gave me such a big boost for writing too!!! *YN is described as having a back scar from the fight with Fushiguro Toji

Like vinyl, dark stone, and crystal — Suguru's hair has always been one of his defining factors. Those healthy locks of inky black hair that glow a dark violet under light; no matter how he wears it, his hair is the envy of all. In the years that have passed, the envious stares grew greener the longer he wore it. With this change — among others — a new routine had been born between your small family.

Suguru does not tend to his hair. His husband and his daughters do. Not because he commands it. Suguru would never command them to do anything, especially if it came to taking care of himself. He was more than capable.

The three of you know this. But the habit does not stop. He takes care of all of you so you do the same in any way you can. Tonight, it will be your turn to ease him down. No missions, or meetings with the "money monkeys". Suguru will return home in his car and he will return home to his family and he will return home to you.

"Master (L/N)," Nanako calls out. She's dressed for sleep, her bangs already in curlers for tomorrow and smelling faintly of the rose hair oil she'd gotten from her trip to the city. Mimiko walks behind you, holding the tray of homemade food. You smile at the rose scent that wafts from her hair as well. "Yes, my darling?" You have told them they were allowed to refer to you without formality. Suguru had a title within his "organization" and so the twins calling him "Master Geto" was understandable — though entirely unnecessary. But if the girls felt more comfortable this way, you would not force them to change. "When we go to Tokyo, you're going to come with us to the crepe shop, right?" her eyes gleam up at you as she turns the screen of her phone to show the interior of the famous crepe restaurant. Despite not seeing a peek at a menu, you imagine it'll be daylight robbery. "Of course! I can't let you have all the fun," she giggles at the playful wiggle of your fingers her way. "I know a good spot for fruit parfait as well. Suguru and I used to go there as teenagers, I'm sure you'll love it." Mimiko settles beside you, and your hand finds itself atop her head in an appreciative gesture for her setting the table up.

"Really?" Nanako leans in next. "Did you use to go on dates with Master Geto? What was it like? Was he nervous?" Nanako can't imagine Master Geto being nervous, but the movie reel in her mind is unraveling, and she cannot stop herself. "Nervous?" You ponder the memory, the apples of your cheeks warming at her blatant curiosity. Geto Suguru, nervous? Even as teenagers, Suguru had always been someone you could rely on. It was rare to see him flustered or caught off-guard. The men and women who'd glance his way as you walked with him, the girls who would shyly sneak photos and giggle, or the braver ones who'd come up to him to ask what school he was from — he was never nervous about rejecting them or politely declining their compliments.

Mimiko leans in and you're between your daughters as they peek up at you. With your chin in between your pointer and thumb and nose turned up in the air with your closed eyes, Suguru wonders what you'd been discussing before he returned. "I'm home." This hideout was not the home he wanted for any of you. He envisioned a better life, a home with a big yard and less concrete. It was in no way ugly, but Suguru wishes he was more free to roam. Despite Gojo Satoru's refusal to take him and you to your execution, it did not mean there weren't other nuisances that'd jump at the chance to set this home on fire.

The twins gasp, greeting him with a smile while you remain in your pose with your brows furrowed deeply. "Master Geto, welcome back!" he brushes his hand over Nanako and Mimiko's heads, palm lingering on their nape with a fond smile as he makes his way to the dining table. "Dinner is almost done, Master Geto. Mr (L/N) has already prepared your bath," your eyes are open now but there's now a frown on your face as you gaze at the ceiling. "(Y/N)?" his brow creases at the lack of reply. “Darling? What are you thinking about?” Suguru’s palm places itself on your shoulder as if on instinct your body leans into his embrace. His gojo-gesa has the scent of cigarettes and of the outside world but you don’t mind cleaning up with him so you let him squeeze you closer.

“Sweetheart?”

“The girls were asking if I’ve ever seen you nervous before when we were teenagers,” you mumble absentmindedly, “I’m just thinking. I can’t recall any...”

You drop your hand and instead turn to face Suguru. He looks tired but his smile keeps it at bay. You can’t believe it’s been 10 years since you’ve been Suguru’s husband. But the proof is in front of you; on his face.

Suguru was undeniably handsome. That hadn't changed. His skin was still supple, not yet blotchy or spotted with age spots; his hair had a few streaks of grey but they blended in so seamlessly with his inky locks. No, no - it’s his eyes mostly. That violet colour that bleeds from his pupil, makes the hazel around it much more bright. But there is not much youth left in it, not like when the two of you were still sorcerers instead of curse-users. The fat under his eyes and the slightly darkened skin tone was a reward for all the nights he spent awake, the slight sunken cheeks that he never really filled out were there too.

All the things that were the same and all the things that were new about Suguru made your heart flutter.

“You’ve always been so sure of yourself, Suguru. It’s a bit annoying saying it out loud,” his smile widens and a quiet chuckle follows it. “You’re just jealous, I recall you stuttering and blushing when you confessed to us about how much you really liked us.”

Us.

Mimiko and Nanako tilt their heads.

“Us?”

Second-year students. The expectations of your father, the expectations of sorcerer society on Satoru. Dowry sent, marriage proposal lingering in the air. Your heart is prepared to be devastated by the yes or no you’ve received because in truth you did not want Gojo Satoru - not like this and not just him.

You wanted - no, you loved the two of them. There was no denying they loved each other, the shy glances and magnetic forcefield around them constantly made them to be touching each other was proof. But they did the same to you too and you felt like you were going crazy just thinking of the way Satoru spoonfed you ice cream or how Suguru pressed you to his front when a curse nearly grabbed you.

Before a yes or no could ruin you, you’d told the two of them to head to your dorm. You would spill your guts to them with honour and pride.

You didn’t.

You tried. But as you held the metaphorical blade to your stomach your eyes welled with tears and you began to weep. Satoru was on your right and Suguru was on your left. Their hands were over your back and on your knees and their warmth and scent just made you sob.

“I love you, Satoru, Suguru. I love you both. I think - I think I really do, and I can’t...I don’t...I feel like I’m going insane.”

Suguru’s next smile came with less enthusiasm. You say nothing as he squeezes you in closer, the sleeve of his robe hiding most of you from view and that deep blue shines under the dining room light; shines true and blue and your heart aches.

Suguru says he’ll wash up with you now and the girls know better than to pry when their father gets this way. He’s never rude about it, in fact, it’s obscenely polite how he just removes himself from the room to do one thing or the other. Some topics he wishes not to talk about but the girls know what “us” means.

“He was my best friend. My one and only.”

“Gojo Satoru? He was...he was my everything.”

The shower had been mostly silent. Which you thought was not out of the blue. The spray of water and the echoing of it all, well, it made people sink into their own thoughts and you secretly appreciated Suguru for allowing you to do the same. You pumped some soap into the silicone scrubber and began washing his back.

There was a scar on his shoulder from Togetta - his spear-wielding curse - and on his side, there was another scar from Frederick, his dragon. They were more or less faded but you were careful as you touched them. Suguru hums when you rinse him off but stills when you wrap your arms around him and stroke the scar on his chest.

“...Does it still hurt?” he can feel your cheeks moving as they’re smushed to his shoulder. “Sometimes,” he whispers. You trace over it and curse that ape of a man. Curse him to hell and whatever it is he believed in.

Then you wonder if Satoru has scars too.

Your eyes sting and you pull away from Suguru. The heaviness of your thoughts lifts away from him, and he sighs through his nose.

The bath is warm and it makes your tense muscles unbind. Suguru insisted you lay between his legs and you only obliged after a few kisses and promises of your favourite snacks.

His arms are firmly around you and they trace shapes into your thighs, you watch him despite the soapy water and blurred vision.

“Cocks aren’t quite pretty when they’re all limp, huh?” Suguru is caught off-guard by your words, his eyes split open and he stares at you like you’ve grown horns.

“Excuse me?”

You jerk your chin to the thing between your legs.

“Looks like the sea cucumber 'Toru was swinging around at the beach.” Suguru bursts out in laughter, his chest rising and falling as he hangs his head on your shoulder, hiding his face as he peeks at the thing between your legs.

"It's pretty," he chuckles out.

"Liar," you reply. Suguru's nimble fingers trace your thighs and he wraps them around your dick, your breath hitches but your eyes do not flutter close. Tendrils of his hair slip past his ear and tickle your neck but you're not like Satoru — your neck is not ticklish and Suguru presses a kiss there as he pumps his fist. "It's pretty," he affirms with a delicious twist of his wrist, his thumb pressing onto the tip of your cock with just the right of pressure that makes you chew on your lower lip. "It's perfect, (nickname). A perfect cock that I love, that's twitching in my hand, sweet and warm, and when I stroke here." Suguru dips his thumb below the mushroom tip of your dick, slipping it down to your base where his deft fingers squeeze, pulling his fist up and wrapping his palm around your head and it has your breath stuttering. "My precious boy sounds so sweet." "The girls," you whisper out, blushing as the water jostles at his actions. "They've made you dinner, S'guru, they're — ah! — they're waiting," you hold his wrist and he noses under your jaw, sucking your skin and you inhale sharply. "You're so hard." "S'guru..." "You're so close." "Su — fuck!" His shoulder cushions your head, chest arching upwards as he continues his actions without shame. He braces your twitching thighs open with his other hand and you're at his mercy as he unravels you. "Su — Su — nghah —" "Yes, (nickname)?" he coos at you. Your eyes narrow but they roll back as you feel your balls tighten, heat coiling in your stomach like a serpent. Covering your mouth, you breathe through your nose as your ass lifts from the tub and Suguru whistles in admiration, watching the rope of cum shoot out, landing in the water and on the rim of the tub. When you fall back, Suguru's cock presses on your back. He pulls your hand away and claims your lips, brows pinching at the taste of heaven. Sucking on your tongue, nipping at your lips, it leaves you dizzy. "The girls," he says suddenly as he pulls away from the kiss. You pant, lips wet with spit. A breath, then two, before you shakily nod. "They're waiting..."

Dinner was thankfully still warm by the time Suguru and you had finished your bath. The girls share a knowing look and you comfort yourself with the fact that they always share a look. A twin thing, Nanako told you. For your sanity, you decide it's best not to prod for more. Suguru asks them about their day. What they found, what they ate, asked if they needed anything at the end of the day whilst washing the dishes. He settles with them in the living room, pulling you into his side and the girls gather at his knees. Nanako places her head in your lap and Mimiko does the same to Suguru. Naturally, you reach for Nanako's hair and she allows it with a hum. You braid her hair as Mimiko and Suguru discuss the latest news of the show she was watching, of the rich non-sorcerer and the cursed spirit she set loose on him. "I think he thought the spam text he got was a divine sign," she scoffs out. "I'm sure he'll be making an appointment with you soon, Master Geto." "A job well done, Mimiko." Nanako leans into your touch as you card your fingers through her hair, loosening up some of the braids, wary of her sensitive scalp. Suguru tilts his head as you reach for it, brow raised in question, and even more, as you take his hairband, his hair falling over his back once again. "Nanako, straighten your back a bit." The sight of you with his girls makes his heart swell. "There we go, not too tight, darling?" she shakes her head, pinching Mimiko's arm to ask for her camera. "You look so pretty, sis!"

"You look fine, sis," Megumi mutters, and Tsumiki's shoulders droop.

"'Gumi, you're not helping me," she huffs. "Red or blue?" Megumi doesn't think it matters. So long as the mittens kept her hands warm, why would the colour of it matter? Even without speaking, his thoughts are written on his face, so Tsumiki turns to Satoru instead. "Mr Sa — Mr Satoru?" She blinks rapidly. It's hard to lose the tall man. His snow-white hair, the gauze wrapping his eyes, the obnoxious voice that cackles and giggles with glee — Megumi can sense his cursed energy but not being able to see him does make the boy straighten his back. "Ah, your father," the sales assistant walks up to them, holding a tray of mittens. This time the colours ranged from black, pink, purple, and yellow. She points her thumb in the direction of the store's entrance. "He said he had to take a call, he told you two to stay here while you wait. We've prepared some hot chocolate for you — you two don't have any allergies, do you?" Tsumiki answers their question, a bit flustered at the news while Megumi stares at the door. Their car is still outside, no longer idling and with the cafes around here he's sure Satoru had asked the driver to wait elsewhere too. He wonders where he's gone. Did he sense a curse? Was it an important call? "...Whatever," he turns to the next tray. The chocolate drink was warm, comforting, and present. He just hoped whatever got Satoru's attention didn't take too long. Satoru's footsteps halt in front of the restaurant. Some barbeque place that'd make the scent of grilled meat, cheap beer, and smoke stick to your clothes. He enters, bowing a bit to avoid bumping his head on the doorframe. The server perks up at the sight of him but his eyes zero in on you. Leaning on the threshold of one of their private rooms, just behind the server's shoulder. You're dressed in a turtleneck sweater, the colour making your skin look like a dream. When your eyes lock in, he has to stop himself from returning the smile you give him. "Don't worry about it," he tells the server as he walks past him and straight into the room. He takes off his shoes, clenching and unclenching his hands into fists for a moment before he slides the doors open. "Satoru, you came." Suguru is dressed in a turtleneck as well, his hair tied up in a half-up half-down hairdo, his stubborn bangs still framing his face. You're sat next to him, pouring some drinks into a cup. "Of course he would, Su-Su. Don't sound so surprised," your words aren't meant to be mocking but Satoru's jaw clenches anyways. "He's our husband after all," you meet his eyes again and the grin on your face is so sincere Satoru feels like he'd been slapped in the face with guilt. "Husband?" He slid the doors closed, ignoring the two cursed spirits that were in the corner of the room. "You two must miss me a lot to use that title again, the last time — " "The last time, you claimed we weren't," you snap. Suguru squeezes your knee under the table. The last time, the three of you had gotten into a fight. It was the usual. He pleads for the two of you to come back, you plead for him to join your cause, and Suguru tells you that Satoru won't which will light a fire in you that neither can extinguish.

"Forgive me for stating the obvious fact that husbands should share a home together," Satoru sits across from the both of you and although your words are harsh, you move to sit next to him. "We have a home that we can share," you wrap your arms around him and Satoru's arms pull you in closer. "You just won't come home, Toru. Come home."

It pains him to hear you say this again. His home had always been the two of you. It hurts him that he can only meet his husbands in secret as if it is something to be ashamed of. But what other option did you give him? "(Y/N)," Suguru calls out. You frown but you drop it in favour of kissing Satoru. He likes kissing you. The arms around your waist tighten and he groans into the kiss. Suguru watches the two of you over the rim of his cup. He watches as Satoru slips his hands up your sweater and shivers from his cold touch. "Sa — Toru — " he ignores you, parting from the kiss to instead latch his glossy lips to your now exposed nipples. He ignores the grip you have on his shoulders, the wriggling of your torso and simply pulling you in closer.

"Impatient as ever, Satoru." Suguru places his cup down just as Satoru pushes the side dishes away from the table to place you there. This room was one without a grill, thankfully, and the cooked meat would be sent to the room instead.

Satoru ignores Suguru as well, intently marking you up. The low table digs uncomfortably in the back of your thighs as Satoru's weight on you makes you breathless. Suguru reaches out, grabs a fistful of Satoru's hair, and forces him to look at him.

"Satoru. You're being mean." Suguru tilts his head down and it makes Satoru's dick fill up in his pants.

"Not without any prompting," he defends as he surges up. Their noses bump into each other and without a second to waste, Satoru claims Suguru's lips with a righteousness that makes Suguru smile.

You watch as their lips press together, licking yours as Suguru makes Satoru groan when he tightens his hold on his hair once again. It is still the strongest sorcerer in his spot. Akin to a kitten being grabbed by his scruff. Except Satoru isn't a defenseless kitten now, is he?

He's a mysterious beast that belongs in prophecies and myths. A white dragon with shimmering scales that shone in every colour like opal under the sun. His teeth are so large and dark, his maw harbors Death within it. But not for his husbands, no.

For his husbands, this mighty dragon's maw is a source of pleasure. Satoru gulps thickly as your tongue traces the hill of his throat. Your mouth latching onto his neck like a lamprey, all teeth as you mottle his skin. His poor husband, his darling beloved, his (Y/N); you must've missed him.

That's the only way he can rationalize your need to pull down his scarf, tossing it aside as you reach beneath the layers of his jacket and shirt to feel his naked skin. Suguru moans out your name between the kissing when Satoru whispers it to him, his eyes fluttering open as Suguru unravels the bandages around his eyes.

"Husband," you call out, teasingly nipping at Satoru's chin as you sit up properly. Suguru kisses the crown of your head, pressing a kiss to your nape as his warm hands squeeze at your clothed thighs. Heaven looks your way and it relishes in the way your pupils dilate.

It's proof this love is real. Forgive him for doubting you, but he misses you so badly, (Y/N). He wants his husband's home, so his bed is never cold.

He envies the both of you. Not knowing how large your bed feels even when the both of you hold onto each other because that's how awful love is; it lacerates deeply into your skin, going past the layers until all you do is bleed. The cruelest thing is, that it requires to be stitched up and tended to but refuses anything other than the one you desire the most.

When fate is in the way of that, all you can do is bleed and hurt.

It's not that you're not enough for Suguru or Suguru is not enough for you. It's that the both of you have cut each other so deeply, not being together only ever leaves all three of you aching.

Incomplete. Jagged. Cracked. Flawed.

But when the both of them have their lips on you? When their large hands grope and caress you as if you were the only medicine they needed? When your name rolls off their tongues and they beg for you to allow them to please you?

"Satoru, Suguru." Your husbands lean in. Suguru on your left, from behind you, answers your call with a deep hum that makes your cheeks warm. On your right, Satoru presses a kiss to your jaw, an airy 'yeah, baby?' coming from him that makes Suguru pry your thighs apart.

"I missed you."

They understand what you mean. They understand what you need.

The curses keep the door closed, staring aimlessly like statues. Unbothered by the sight before them.

The side dishes that had fallen are staining the flooring but Satoru will be sure to leave a hefty tip for the restaurant to turn a blind eye towards it. The more pressing matter is the way you're being bounced in front of him.

He's panting, eyes trained on the hands gripping onto the mounds of your ass. It kneads and pulls it apart, deliberately showing him the way you're clenched around Suguru's dick. How easily you take him in and how with every drag down, you squeeze around him so deliciously it makes Suguru's balls tighten.

You toss your head back, moaning out wantonly as Suguru sucks his teeth. Satoru presses his palms to your waist and you grin loosely as he tilts your head further back just so he can kiss you. With how uncoordinated the position is, it's a bit messy but it makes your dick strain against Suguru's stomach.

"Think you're ready for me too, my beloved?" Satoru murmurs, relishing in the way you're gazing up at him. "Why do you need to ask such silly questions," you whine.

"I was made to take the both of you."

Suguru chuckles, giving you a thrust that has you hiccuping in pleasure. "Such a dutiful husband, aren't you?" Satoru teases, reaching forward to cup your chest in his hands and palming at your nipples.

"Of course he is, Satoru," Suguru replies with a smooth tone of voice. "He's ours. He's perfection. Like he said, made just for us."

You preen under their words and touches. Overwhelmed with want as your hands pull away from Suguru's neck and reach for Satoru's biceps.

"Stop toying with me. Fill me, completely," you ignore the way your heart aches at the way Satoru is gazing at you. "Fill me until I can only think of pleasure."

"What man says no to such a sweet command," his kiss on your shoulder simply makes the heartache stronger. You wish this could be forever. Not just monthly romps that get spaced out between arguments of disapproval or busy schedules.

Satoru doesn't deserve that. Suguru and you don't deserve that.

It's the damn world that's at fault. That man with that freakish scar, the higher-ups who recruit children to fight their battles. Who placed the weight of the world onto your shoulders and shoved you into the battlefield. It's a graveyard and the longer you stay on it, burdened by responsibility that no child should carry, the more prominent the name on the headstones becomes. That school, the generation that comes after you, do they know the halls are tombs?

Why should children fight for the weak?

Why should older sorcerers use children as vessels to prolong their existence?

Why can't the world just allow you to live in peace?

These scars are engraved in your body and heart. They should not be there. But they are anyway and it's the reason you gaze down at white sheets with disdain.

Riko, Amanai, Haibara.

Satoru...

Flashes of him bled out and dead on the stones of Tokyo High make you rigid. Satoru is talking to you, but his voice sounds like a distant echo. Suguru cups your cheek and you squeeze your eyes closed.

"Please, I only want to feel you." Your tears darken your lashes and Suguru shares a look with Satoru. They speak without words and you can hear their mute conversation without even stealing a glance.

"I just need to feel you."

Suguru lifts you and you cry out in despair so he kisses you to assure you. "Just changing your position, my love. Here, I know you miss this rude man."

You're facing Satoru now and you can see that pinkish scar on his forehead, his neck having a stark star-like scar, when your hands grip the top of his thighs; you can feel the rise of ripped skin. Everyone assumes he never got hurt, much less has such an array of scars, but you and Suguru know better.

Suguru squeezes your waist and he tucks his head to your neck. His chin balances on your shoulder as his lashes brush along your skin. Satoru is silent as you comb his bangs away, your thumb brushing over his scar. "Does it ever hurt?" You ask. He brings the tip of your fingers to his lips. "Never. Nothing but a blemish."

Suguru scoffs, the scar across his chest bumping into the one on your back. If you close your eyes, you can probably hear the sound of friction your skin creates. Satoru smirks at Suguru, taking your finger into his mouth. His teeth press down on your joint and you giggle at the silliness.

His dexterous tongue is more cheeky in its endeavors. Purposefully, he closes his lips around the digit, sucking lightly and letting his tongue remind you of those nights he spent languid hours between your legs in Suguru's dorm room.

"You're perverted," you pant out. "You love me," Satoru mumbles. "Fortunately for you, we do," Suguru muses.

Satoru pulls your finger out, leaning in to kiss you. Your lips part as his tongue slithers inside, stealing your breath and soul. Greedily, Suguru twists your face and separates the both of you, the string of saliva breaking as you gasp into his mouth next.

Satoru isn't heartbroken. The sight is heaven and he imprints it into his brain. Reaching down, Satoru carefully lifts your hips and you quickly get the hint. He lets you go, grabbing onto his cock and lining it up with your entrance that's craving for him.

Suguru watches you while your eyes roll. Satoru inhales, eyebrow twinging at the heat that wraps around him.

"I missed this hole, my perfect little hole," he groans out. Obsessed with the way you stretch out around him, clenching and unclenching as he eases you down on his cock.

"Good boy," Suguru whispers to you, his hands grasping your cock and stroking you. "You're almost halfway down. That's it, baby."

"Suguru," he calls out. Nodding, Suguru presses a kiss to your shoulder, grabbing his own dick to press his head to your hole. Satoru spits into his palm, rolling it over your tip which makes you keen.

"Uh-uh. Loosen up, (Y/N). Easy, baby." Satoru 'scolds'. You hang your head down, panting as you feel Suguru nudging into you. Your empty hands reach to hold onto Suguru's knees. "Such a good boy. I'm almost inside, shhh, it's alright. You can do it, baby. I know you can."

Satoru laughs breathlessly as he feels Suguru's length rub against his, biting down on his lip at the sensation. You're whining at the stretch and Satoru shushes you, stroking your cock in just the right way that makes both of your husbands moan when you tighten around them.

"Fuuuck," Suguru's open-mouthed breathing on your nape coupled with the sight of Satoru's head tossed back makes you feel bold enough to allow gravity to help you the rest of the way down.

The loud 'plap' sound that echoes when you drop down makes Satoru and Suguru choke out your name. You're gasping, lips loosely pulled in a grin; completely proud of yourself.

"I'm the pervert?" Satoru groans out. "As if yuh - you can take two big cocks up yours," you retort. "The both of you are insane," Suguru concludes.

It's a symphony of movement and noise. As Suguru thrusts out, Satoru thrusts in; that sweet bundle of nerves never getting a moment of reprieve. The sheen of sweat that glimmers on your skin makes you cold, so you reach for them and they press closer. Sandwiching you between their bodies.

Their mouths mottle what skin they can reach. Their teeth taint your flesh. Satoru is bruising your mouth while Suguru's hands are leaving prints all over your hips and Satoru's waist.

It's Satoru that proposes new positions. Clearly pent-up as he takes you in any way he can. Cushioning your back as Suguru fucks you from above, scratching the back of your thighs as he holds your legs open for Suguru.

His mouth takes you in while Suguru laps up their cum from your hole. The sounds you make together are absolutely obscene. The low table has you pinned on it more than once, toppling over as Suguru teasingly rips you away and Satoru gives chase.

It's fun. It's passionate. It's love in its filthiest form.

The laughter, the moans, the pleading, the tears, the cum, the sweat.

By the end of it?

The room is a mess. Your thighs are twitching as Suguru sweetly brushes your hair away from your face, encouraging Satoru to pump another load into you with that saccharine-sweet voice of his.

"Aw, that's it, Satoru. You're doing so well, making our (Y/N) feel so good, yeah? You feel good, baby?"

You whimper, cock weakly twitching on your stomach in a pool of its own wetness. Each thrust makes it spurt more and Satoru is rabid as he watches. Suguru chuckles, kissing you again and Satoru groans as he thrusts as deeply as he can inside of you to paint your insides white.

"S'toru," you shakily moan. Giving one last pathetic dribble of pearls.

"What a good boy, the both of you," Suguru laughs as Satoru barely catches himself from falling completely on top of you. Satoru kisses Suguru back, groaning as he does and you moan as you feel his dick twitch inside of you.

"We can't," Suguru whispers. "One more time, please," Satoru pleads. "We can't," you pant out.

His jaw sets. When he pulls out, you shudder as their cum trails out. Satoru stares at the floor, panting while Suguru summons the curses to come closer. One holds out a bowl of warm water while the other has a cloth.

"Don't," Suguru mutters, "Don't bring it up, Satoru."

He sniffles, the act derisive, and stands up. You watch him, the haze you're in quickly dissipating at the anger in his eyes.

"You could come home —"

"Satoru," you plead.

"No! You could! Come home, so this won't end!"

Your body — that was all limp and relaxed — tenses. Suguru narrows his eyes at Satoru as he cleans you up, wiping away what he can. The action feels bittersweet. As if this meeting of passion was something to be ashamed of when it shouldn't be. You had the right to wear their love with pride but yet...

Here you are.

"Why can't you just come home?" Satoru's shoulders drop, defeated. Like that day Suguru and you announced your decision to betray Sorcerer Society by becoming Curse Users.

"There's room for you." You lean against Suguru as he helps you to sit. "Satoru, please. You know we want nothing more than — "

"(Y/N)," Suguru's voice is curt and his tone icy. You frown at him, shaking your head as you turn to face your Satoru.

"If you could only just, just see what we do —"

"Kill civilians? Scam them out of their money?" He scoffs. Satoru reaches for his discarded clothes and snatches the towel Suguru's curse spirit offers to wipe himself down.

"They deserved what they got!" Your argument is met with a reproachful glare. Suguru warns Satoru with a glance and it simply fuels his ire.

"My daughter is a non-sorcerer. Does she deserve death too?" "Our daughter's only crime was that they were sorcerers! Those villagers, you didn't see what they did."

"Don't start," Satoru growls. He's pulling on his shirt, and his pants. "What else could we have done?" You growl out.

Satoru turns to you, spreading his arms out in a display of annoyance.

"Called me! Called Shoko! Several other choices could have been made at that moment instead of massacring and burning down the entire village!"

"That's enough."

"And let the higher-ups enroll the girls into the school? Let them die like you did? Like Haibara!?"

"That's enough!"

Suguru's yell causes the both of you to flinch. His violet eyes are set in a glare and his usually curled lips are now downturned. He is not angry but the disappointment is clear. It's aimed at both of you.

"Let's not end this date on a sour note. It's late. We should go home."

"Suguru," it would amuse him how Satoru and you call out to him in unison and it does. It reminds him of those days when you'd be clinging onto his back while Satoru pokes his side, begging for him to do whatever it is your mischief wishes for him to. Shoko only fuelling the fire to see him groan and roll his eyes.

But this time, it causes him heartache.

"We love each other. We don't need to be screaming at each other like this."

It's dark out by the time Satoru walks back into the store. The workers greet him with enthusiasm, sheepishly showing him how Tsumiki is taking a nap in the employee's break room — which is decidedly now as fancy as the rest of the store — and Megumi giving him a hard glare.

"Was it an emergency?" He mutters. Satoru nods, walking to Tsumiki and gently nudging her awake.

"It better have been. We waited for hours."

"They gave us...hot cocoa though," Satoru grins at her yawning expression, patting her head. "Sorry for the wait, c'mon. Let's go home, yeah?"

He can't fathom what sin Tsumiki had committed against humanity. Being born without a sorcerer, being born weak, was that really a grave enough sin for her to be killed?

Tsumiki yawns once more and when Satoru extends a hand for her to take, she squeezes assuringly.

Megumi doesn't take his other but Satoru smoothly slips it into his pocket as they head to the cashier to pay for their designer mittens and whatever else they added into their cart.

Satoru glances out into the street, frowning as he sees you and Suguru passing by.

The way you glance at Tsumiki and Megumi...

Satoru loves you and Suguru more than he can express but there was no way in hell he was going to let you hurt his kids.

He tells you this without words and in a split second your eyes meet.

You relay the same information back as two girls rush to your side. Satoru only sees their hands and the slightest sliver of dark and blonde heads of hair before you disappear from sight.

"Are you okay, Mr Satoru?" Tsumiki asks, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"I'm fine, sweetheart. It's just a little chilly."

"Emerge from darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure."

"Did you miss this?" Suguru chuckles at your words. "The courtyard of our beloved school? Surprisingly, not. Though the memories are sweet."

The veil around you draws your eyes upwards. Spinning on the tips of your toes, you twirl along the sloped tiles of the school, if only to make Suguru laugh.

"Once we kill Okkotsu Yuuta and take Rika, you'll use Divine Flame and burn everything down. I'm sure your father will appreciate your prowess."

He holds you as you drape yourself across his front, kissing you back when you connect your lips together.

"It'll be a battle of lovers," you muse. "I'll look forward to seeing you in battle, (Y/N). It's been a while since you've had the chance to give it your all." Suguru presses another kiss to your lips, earning a giggle from you.

"That Cursed Corpse is Yaga's, isn't he?" He nods against you. "The non-sorcerer is yours to defeat. I'll burn that plushie to ash."

"You're ruthless," he purrs. "You love it," you reply.

"The world we longed for. Is here before my eyes!" Suguru exclaims from beside you, his eyes filling with tears that make yours do the same.

"It's a shame, Okkotsu." You sigh out, straightening your back as you grin at his wide eyes. "Killing you wasn't in our initial plans."

"Come, Rika!"

The sight of her makes your grin stretch from ear to ear. Suguru and you stand your ground, your palms warming up as excitement brews within you. That ideal you've fought for, the world where no sorcerer shall ever know fear or pain; it's just a reach away.

The only thing standing between you is Okkotsu Yuuta and his rabid lover. Once she was Suguru's? You expect nothing more than cowardice from those higher-ups.

"I'll keep her away from you," you tell him as you roll your shoulders. Watching as Yuuta slices through the storm of Suguru's curses with his sword. "You focus on him." The ground beneath you is blackened, spindly legs and antennas emerge just as Yuuta lands on the lamp post. His gaze on you is nothing short of murderous.

"It seems like he'll make this worthwhile, Su-Su."

"I expect nothing less. Stay sharp, my love."

You nod, your breath coming out in dark flames as you prepare to ensure your daughters will no longer know the injustice they were born into.

The fight is fast. The four of you are in that tight space of the corridors. Rika growls and snarls as she slices at you while you keep her away from Suguru and Yuuta. She's furious, screeching for you to get away while you use your flames as a barrier. The heat causes sweat to bead down Yuuta's temple and Suguru laughs at him.

"My husband's impressive, isn't he?"

"Shut up!" His sword comes into contact with Playful Cloud. When it shatters, your victory is so close now that both of you can taste it.

Suguru shielded you from what he can, but it's a vain effort. You're draped on his back, breath coming out in shallow inhales and exhales.

"S...s'guru." He hmms in acknowledgment, leaning against the wall as he tries to catch his breath. "It was a glorious fight," you whisper. "It was, my love. It was..."

His knees buckle, so you tighten your grip on him and he assures you he's alright. Suguru hears footsteps and without even looking at him, he knows that Satoru has arrived.

"Late as usual," Suguru teases.

Satoru lifts you from Suguru's back, carrying you in his arms as Suguru slides down the wall, resting on his haunches as he stares up at Satoru.

You're in bad shape. Just like he was. Your back is nearly charred, your right hand gone and bloodied. Satoru's jaw sets as your eyes flutter open, his brows tightening as you whisper his name.

"You're here, 'Toru."

He crouches down, setting you on Suguru's lap. He balances you out, nuzzling into your face as your hand reaches to grab what you can. The rings on your fingers, glimmering under the setting sun, cause Satoru to kneel before you.

"Of course, I am, my beloved." When he holds your face, it's gentle and sweet.

It's unfair how the last time he held both of you ended in an argument, the last time you talked was when Suguru announced war.

He leans in, kissing your bloodied lips and doing the same to Suguru.

One last time, it doesn't quite register in your mind that this would be the last time you'd see your Satoru and Suguru. Your daughters, oh your poor daughters.

"...Are there any last words you'd like to say?"

Suguru chuckles while you sigh, eyelids growing heavy as your lungs breathe out black smoke. You're warm. Too warm. Suguru clutches you closer, every breath he feels on his skin feels like a grain of sand falling.

"At least, curse us a little at the end," Suguru chuckles out. "Satoru, Suguru...I," your whisper fades off.

Your head grows heavier and Suguru glances down at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"(Y/N)...(Y/N)...? Beloved — " You feel Suguru dig his nails into your sides and Satoru's hand on your face.

Then it goes dark.

"There's something different about him," Maki mumbles as she motions to Satoru. Yuuta, Inumaki, and Panda turn to watch him. Classes had finished a long while ago, it went along like it usually did. Satoru was his exuberant self — with awful explanations that raise more questions than it does answers.

"Really?" Panda scratches his ears, "He seems like his usual self."

"Well, he does seem a bit more quiet lately," Yuta mumbles. Inumaki nods, voicing his agreement.

"What are you kids doing here? It's late." The students flinch, surprised at the sight of Shoko as she emerged from the goddamn shadows. "Dinners getting cold. Go ahead."

As they rush off, Shoko meanders her way towards Satoru. He's sat in that obnoxious chair, head tilted up at the ceiling as his hands toy with the matching rings in his pockets.

She settles next to him, leaning to stare at the ceiling as well.

"You can't keep him a secret forever." Shoko sighs. "Why didn't you exorcise him?"

"His wounds were already too great, I didn't..."

The ceiling is an ever-shifting mirror, a distorted mess of flames and eyes as you groan. Your form isn't quite there yet, knowing just when it's best to hide away and keep away from the eyes of other sorcerers.

What else did Satoru expect from his husband? An intelligent Cursed Spirit, tied loyally to his side.

"When they find out?" Shoko inquires.

"I won't let them take him from me again."

#s3thwrit3sstuff #reader insert #male reader #male reader insert #gay reader #male!reader #geto suguru #geto suguru x male reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk #jjk x male reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x male reader

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iridescentsunbeams · 14 days ago

Text

Monkey Trio x Chubby!Reader Headcanons

Macaque

• This man is. A. Biter.

• I cannot stress this enough

• He's constantly letting his intrusive thoughts win

• It's like every time he looks at you he gets cuteness aggression

• He likes to hug you from behind and nibble on your cute cheeks

• That stomach ain't safe either

• Expect to feel small nips if he's resting his head on your lap/stomach

• Thighs too, because he's a freak like that </3

• Of course, he's not just going to bite you all the time

• He teases you too!

• "I'd let you tag along but...I dunno if you'd be able to keep up babe."

• He'll tell you to learn how to take a joke if his teasing really does upset you, but will try to subtly tone it down

• He likes holding you. Will he ever say that? No

• Of you're insecure or anything, he's quick to remind you that he doesn't really care about your size

• That's his way of saying he loves you for who you are, and not your weight

• If you really do want to lose some pounds, though, he's happy to help you exercise and train a bit

• Don't expect him to go easy on you, though

• Will probably miss your soft figure, but he's supportive

Wukong

• You guys are twins!

• He has more of a sleeper build than anything, but his pudge can't be denied

• Loves snacking on peach themed foods with you

• If you're ever feeling down or insecure, he has a lengthy list of compliments

• The Great Sage is a confident guy, but even he feels a bit insecure about his looks sometimes

• Mostly his developing dad bod

• He gives himself affirmations, and he's ready to give them to you as well!

• His somersault cloud is out of a job now. You're his new lounging area

• Squishes your face all the time

• Loves seeing the way your lips contort into a cute picker when he does so

• If you were to ever express the desire to lose weight he'd be bewildered

• "You wanna do what?! Why??"

• He will pout and beg—he really doesn't wanna see those cute cheeks go

• But at the end of the day it's your body and you deserve to feel comfortable and happy with yourself, even if that means shaving off the pounds he loves so much

• He loves you all the same of course, but he misses his belly bongo

• He cannot keep his hands to himself.

• Like, in the most respectful and non-freaky way, his hands are all over you

• He's already pretty touchy in general

• Pulling people in for enthusiastic side hugs, grabbing faces to emphasize his points, grabbing in general, shaking, nudging—he's already really touchy

• But now he's being presented with a figure that feels like it's just made for his hands

• So, yeah, his hands are all over you

• You're kind of like a living stress ball

• He squishes you all the time, basically

• While you're cuddling, it's your flanks

• Standing next to him, it's your arm

• Your thighs too, on occasion, but I don't see him doing it for freaky reasons

• Your stomach isn't safe either, don't get it twisted

• Of course, all of his squishes are soft and small, nothing that would hurt

• Loves pinching your cheeks cause they're really soft—but he will stop if you express discomfort

• Definitely praises you verbally too

• "You're just so soft I can't help it!"

• "Your face is so pretty.." says the MK as he squishes and contorts your poor cheeks

• Kind of like his mentor, he will frantically try to talk you out of losing weight if you ever express a desire to do so

• Will mourn your pudge when it's gone like some sort of weirdo

• He isn't actually that upset though! He'll always love you, no matter how big or small :)

#Lmk #Lmk x reader #Chubby reader #Really self indulgent 😭#Wukong x reader #Macaque x reader #MK x reader

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gayboyasher · 1 year ago

Note

YOU ASK FOR GHIACCIO YOU GET GHIACCIO (my gay ass was summoned by your post) caaaan I ask for Ghiaccio with a male reader who was like his. Gay awakening. Like I don't think Ghiaccio's ever been like "I'm straight. End of story." But I think being attracted to a dude would still catch him offguard? Hope this is good

THANK YOU

Thank you oh my GODDD. Honestly Ghiaccio drives me NUTS I NEED HIM. I Hope I interpret it right.

____________________________________________

Honestly, everyone at the base just kinda KNEW Ghiaccio was somewhere on the homo-scale. No one knew what though. They had only seen him with a few women, all who only dated him for a few weeks and couldn’t handle him

He jokes that maybe he’ll look another man’s way, but it doesn’t seem like he will he’s too scared

But actually, he doesn’t really understand when a guys flirting with him unlike a women. He only understands Melone’s flirting because it’s Melone, but another guy flirting with him? — YOU flirting with him?? He gets awkward and flustered, and he gets frustrated and just goes as red as his glasses.

He will shove you away awkwardly and storm off. Don’t take it personally though.

He’s having a whole sexuality crisis. He doesn’t know what exactly is going on, because yea, he can appreciate a man, but you’re making him REALLY appreciate a man.

He doesn’t really know what to do with his feelings at the moment. He feels awkward

He’s not really good at talking about them either, so to be safe he just stops talking to you for a while

He’s angry, but not at you. He will be avoiding you for weeks though.

He also doesn’t know where to turn. He can’t talk to Melone about it, because it’s self explanatory, and the only other person he trusts is Rissotto, but he’s not gonna talk to his CAPO about this!!

Maybe let it slip out in front of Prosciutto, only because he’s actually an okay advice giver.

Prosciutto just told him to date you, and he lost his mind. Literally went bat shit banana monkey crazy.

After all of the avoidance you two were put on a mission together to “make up” because Rissotto cannot have conflict in between his gang members. So reluctantly and happily he has to be with you (Prosciutto recommended Rissotto to do this, he will take credit for everything)

><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

Awkward silence and tired screeching was all that could be heard at the current moment. Ghiaccio was quiet and driving his car faster than usual, almost as if he just wanted to get it all over with. Eventually, he slammed on his breaks, flinging you forward slightly. You clutched onto your seatbelt, looking at him. “What’s wrong? You just almost blew a red light and now your slamming on your damn breaks like a maniac!” He turned to you, sucking his teeth and looking annoyed.

“Haven’t you realized something?? You’re just throwing me off and it’s pissing me off!” He yelled, slamming on the gas and going once the light turned green. His face was a tad bit un-readable, but his body language was clear as day. He seemed a bit on-edge, not knowing what to say. You spoke up again “what are you talking a—“ “The damn flirting! The way you look at me, the way you act! Everything! You’ve got me questioning myself! I don’t get it!” He then turned down a street so fast you guys almost drifted off of the road. He then pulled over, slamming his hands onto the wheel. You sat there awkwardly, not really knowing what to say.

“I know I never said I was, straight, but now you’re making me think I’m actually gay.” That sentence actually didn’t make sense. The smart guy, the literal grammar police, just said something dumb? “What?” You asked, he started to talk more. “Like, as in, I was questioning for a while, I mean, I think you turned me gay.” Huh. Was that meant to be a compliment? Or was it backhanded? “Being gay isn’t contag—“ “I know! I know! But like, just recently I’ve been looking at you more than like, any women, or anyone.” Then it clicked for both you and him. This mf just had a gay awakening. Poor boy had his first guy crush and didn’t even know what he was doing. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Almost crashed the car and killed us for?” You asked. He stayed silent. Then you started to talk it out with him.

After the conversation, you guys had to rush and get the mission done, and safe to say, you guys returned to the base “reluctantly” holding hands because a stand user attack, and that you guys “would totally not hold hands if you had a choice” in Ghiaccio’s words. (There was no stand attack; he just lied to hold your hand with out being awkward about it in front of everyone) (everyone, and I mean EVERYONE knew he was lying)

#ghiaccio #ghiaccio x reader #jjba x male reader #jjba headcanons #jjba x reader #la squadra #jjba part 5 #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo’s bizzare adventure x reader #male reader #masc reader #Ghiaccio x Male Reader #we need more Ghiaccio x male reader #gay awakening

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ewanmitchelll · 1 year ago

Text

Imagine Arctic Monkeys’s songs (II): Fluorescent Adolescent.

Imagine you are Aegon’s ex who goes to his wedding… next to his brother, Aemond. What will result of this charming meeting (not to stay a different story)?

Warnings: (loosely?) based on this movie with Keanu Reeves and Wynona Rider.

Warnings 2: light reading, modern world, rom-com vibes.

***

• You used to get it in your fishnets. Now you only get it in your night dress. Discarded all the naughty nights for niceness. Landed in a very common crisis…

As you wait to fly to Dragonstone from King’s Landing airport, you still wonder why you are doing this to yourself. To accept Aegon’s invitation to his marriage to Miss Rhaella Velaryon, his cousin, feels like a complete exhibition of some lack of self esteem.

You think you’ve gotten over him, that you overcame the wounds of this relationship, but this doesn’t sound accurate, no. What you did in practice was stopping getting yourself drunk and going to parties where you felt like a sidekick character just to please him. Part of you admits that his breaking up with you did some good to you. You quit alcohol and started to lead a healthier lifestyle.

But now here you are. Waiting for the moment where you’ll hear a voice in the airport to call the passengers of the flight 321 (how original, you think) to get to their seats. And soon you will fly to see your ex-boyfriend marrying someone else.

As you wonder whether Aegon was really a good boyfriend, you don’t spot a taller, serious, cranky-faced man coming to your side. He is wearing a dark leather jacket and simple clothes, very appropriate for a two hours flight. The man is chewing a gun and is also in a nonchalant posture that annoys you for no reason.

“Would you please stop doing that?”

The silver haired man looks at you, somewhat puzzled by what you tell him.

“Excuse me, what?”

“You know. That.”

“What’s “that”?”

“The arrogant attitude as if you are standing there, contemplating many ways to bother people with your handsomeness.”

He could not help but laugh at your disastrous attempt of flirting. As you realize what you said, you get annoyed at yourself for your lack of social skills.

“If that is your way to compliment me, I appreciate it”, he chuckles. “But I don’t think this is the right way to get to someone.”

“Oh please.”

It comes out wrong, so wrong but you haven’t done this business for ages. Now that it occurs you as you contemplate the amusement behind this stranger man’s smirk, you notice he possesses lilac eyes.

A trait that only a certain family has.

Oh shit.

“You are a Targaryen”, you remark.

He looks rather bored at your observation.

“Indeed it looks so.”

“This means… you are going to the same flight as I? To Dragonstone?”

It then occurs you both an awkward perception.

“You are his brother, Aemond.”

“You cannot be…”, Aemond looks shocked. “Who…?”

“Y/N”, you sigh awkwardly. “His ex girlfriend.”

“Fuck”, is all he can say.

Thankfully the call for the flight interrupts this situation, but it appears that you are not meant to stay away of each for so long.

***

Aemond wishes he is somewhere else, but here he is, next to his brother’s ex girlfriend. You’ve got to be kidding me…

He watches as you struggle to open the bottle of water, wondering whether he should interfere since you haven’t asked for help.

Then, opting to ignore this awkwardness between you and him, he says:

“Need some assistance there?”

You shoot him a disdainful look, but what for? A few seconds later, you say:

“…Maybe.”

He chuckles, taking it and easily opening it before giving it to you. After a while, Aemond, too involved to let go of his curiosity, asks you:

“Why are you going to his marriage?”

Accepting that these two hours may be longer than planned, you sink in your seat, but take the thread offered.

“I need to put a closure in this.”

“He’s going to marry someone else who isn’t you. Shouldn’t this be a closure enough?”

You blush at his complete reasonable remark, unable to convince yourself otherwise.

“He invited me out of politeness and by the same reason I accepted it.”

“When someone does so out of politeness, my dear, it’s because it’s expected that you don’t take it.”

You tilt your head and Aemond seems to notice how nice is your y/c hair. He can certainly see how Aegon fell for you, though he’s not going to admit it.

“Oh please. What would you know about matters of etiquette being that arrogant, Mr Know-It-All?”

“Little wonder why Aegon broke up with you. This is a title far more appropriate to you, smart ass.”

And there you have it. For another hour and half you and him do not speak.

***

• Everything's in order in a black hole. Nothing seems as pretty as the past, though. That Bloody Mary's lacking a Tabasco. Remember when you used to be a rascal?

To you and Aemond’s dismay, your hotel room is next to his. Which means he’s going to be your room neighbor.

“Your heavy sigh is enough to let your distaste known, thank you very much”, you grumble, trying to avoid that unwelcoming sentiment of being unwanted.

“I did not say a word, barely so I sighed”, Aemond protests. “Goodness me, woman, not everything is about you.”

That being said, he walks impatiently through the door and you do likewise. But destiny is not over with you yet.

Aemond wishes you’d dress badly, to the point where your supposed beauty is omitted and he could have a reason to mock you. But his eyes linger at the dark, short dress you wear, noticing your well shaped curves… though stopping himself to lust after you even if your y/c hair is loose in cascade and your make up highlights the color of your eyes.

“Do I look weird?”, you ask, forgetting to disguise your broken pride.

“No, not at all”, Aemond answers you, surprised by what he is inquired. “Why’d you think so?”

“Because you are staring.”

Tonight, your former brother-in-law is looking rather attractive to you. He had got ridden of his long hair, having it cut short; he is wearing a nice polo white shirt and jeans that make him look fancy.

And you could not help yourself a surprising naughty thought at what would be like to ride him.

A thought you promptly dismiss, of course.

“Am I?”, he clears his throat. “Sorry about that, didn’t mean to. You are actually…”

Before he can say “beautiful”, to your disappointment he’s distracted by the presence of Aemond’s nephews. Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon, brothers of the bride.

“Nice to see you, Aemond”, so greets Jacaerys, and you swear you detect some irony behind his gallant words.

“The same, nephew. Looking strong I see”, Aemond smirks, wiping out the smug of the other’s face.

“I think”, you decide to intrude before this could end unwell for both parties, “that you should follow me in pursuing wine, Aemond. Good evening boys.”

As you lead the way out of trouble, Aemond raises his eyebrows at you.

“Really now, Y/N?”

“Yup. Aegon may be a rascal, but you have no reason to be either.”

Easily convinced by you, he pours some wine in his glass before taking a distant seat at the restaurant. Aegon is busy entertaining guests, and it’s when you spot Alicent arm-in-arm with a dark haired woman.

“That is her girlfriend”, you hear Aemond say when seeing where your curious eyes are wandering to. “My mother’s a lesbian. She had a huge crush on her stepdaughter and former childhood friend, Rhaenyra, my sister. But they never made it because Rhaenyra likes men.”

“Oh”, you blink. “I didn’t know that.”

“Aegon didn’t tell you the gossips of the family?”, Aemond muses sarcastically, placing a hand on his heart, feigning to be offended.

“I’m afraid he was too busy partying”, you say rather uncomfortable, taking the wine to your lips as you savor the sour taste of it. “This wine isn’t Dornish.”

“It’s not”, he agrees.

• Oh the boy's a slag. The best you ever had is just a memory and those dreams weren't as daft as they seem, my love when you dream them up.…..

Again silence hangs in between the two of you before Aemond gives you a look, studying you for a moment.

“He wasn’t a good boyfriend to you, was he?”, so he inquires after a while.

“No, he wasn’t. But I give him credit for trying.”

Aemond chuckles quietly.

“Kudos for doing the least.”

You smile at him. Perhaps Aemond isn’t as dull nor arrogant as you formerly judged.

“It appears I must engage in socially acceptable behavior”, says Aemond then. “To greet my brother and new sister-in-law and repeat expected speeches.”

“Expected only because you correspond to these expectations”, you nudge his sides.

“And do I have another choice on the matter?”, he scoffs.

“No one forced you to come, so don’t get at me for it.”

Somehow it surprises you both that these teasings do not end up in a clash of words. Aemond actually chuckles before conceding reason to you.

“That is very true. But I am a dutiful man, Y/N.”

Saying so, he moves away to greet his brother at last. You watch him go, already missing his company and the warmth of his presence.

The funny part about all of this is that, when looking at Aegon, you don’t actually miss him. And when looking at his bride, you feel rather oddly comfortable in getting at them to congratulate for the merry occasion.

Past is past, after all, and the aching of this ugly truth doesn’t seem to ache any longer.

***

• Flicking through a little book of sex tips, remember when the boys were all electric? Now when she's told she's gonna get it, I'm guessing that she'd rather just forget it. Clinging 'til I'm getting sentimental, said she wasn't going but she went still likes her gentlemen to not be gentle…

Aemond watches as you meet your former boyfriend with his now bride-to-be. Judging by your face and your body language, all goes well. However, there is still that expected discomfort as you greet them.

So attentive is he that he doesn’t see Helaena coming. She leans by his side, amused by what is going on right under her nose.

“She said she wasn’t going, but she went still.”

Aemond turns his eyes to his favourite sibling.

“How’d you know that?”

“We remained friends, Aem. Y/N is a really good person, Egg didn’t deserve her.”

“When does he deserve any relationship he’s in?”, Aemond snorts, partly playful, partly meaningful.

Helaena smirks.

“Don’t be mean, Aem. They look genuinely happy now, which is good. I never thought I’d see him settling down one day.”

Her brother doesn’t answer, eyes still glued in the odd trio. Miss Rhaella is very comfortable in her shoes. But of course she is, she has captured his heart. At what cost, though?

“How come they broke up?”

Helaena scoffs at him.

“Oh please. Don’t tell me you don’t know the reason why they are not together for some years.” And then she adds, after poking his sides. “Do I detect an interest in you, Aemond Targaryen?”

“Laena, darling. Often the wise in our family, don’t play the dumb now.” Aemond rolls his eyes. “I could never nurture any interest of the kind in my brother’s ex. Y/N is particularly irritating.”

And that is the last part you hear.

***

He doesn’t know why, but this prince who takes pride in never falling in love with anyone, nor ever chasing after a woman, is going after you.

You too cannot conceive the reason his words hurt you, but it takes little to comprehend that you’ve been vulnerable with this odd circumstance you spontaneously dragged yourself into.

“Y/N”, he holds you by your elbow, forcing you to look at him. “Didn’t mean to say what I said.”

You shrug your shoulders off.

“In the end you have a point, though. What kind of ex goes willingly to a wedding where she was only invited out of politeness? Besides, have you seen the embarrassed look in your mother’s face? She wasn’t expecting me there”, you scoff.

Aemond smiles at you, and you don’t like how it makes you feel—as if there’s hope in the horizon.

“I don’t think this is the case. She was probably expecting a scene. Not from you, of course, but most likely that Rhaella would be unnecessarily loud. Or even Aegon. Who knows? But definitely not you.”

That being said, walls are knocked down. It all settles for now.

“Well, you know what? I think I need some wine.”

“I take it”, so says Aemond. “It’s been a while.”

“Indeed it has”.

And you smile at each other.

***

The next day both of you are found in the same bed, except nothing really happened in the night before. You realize how nice it was to just cuddle him, that his scent was much fitter to yours… than Aegon’s. Such thought embarrasses you when you get back at your senses.

You panic internally and try to disassociate of his arms, albeit unwillingly. It’s when he opens his eyes.

Aemond too is shocked when promptly observing how one got tangled with the other… without necessarily having the need of taking each other’s clothes off. This perception sort of annoys him, though.

“Where do you think you’re going?”, he asks in a voice that gives you shivers. “It’s fucking early.”

“I best find my way back to my room”, you say, hoping not to sound too awkward.

“Mm”, but of course he cannot take it for himself. “Last night was good, wasn’t it?”

“It was”, you give him a soft smile, but something about your eyes makes Aemond smile at himself. “I just don’t think prudent if we are caught. People can talk.”

“Let them talk”, he gently pulls you back and you effortlessly fall into his arms again. “I think we could go for a horseback riding today before lunch.”

You smile at yourself. Aemond spots it and he smiles too.

“We could. Though I’m afraid I don’t do horseback riding.”

“I could teach you.”

“Do I detect malice in your speech, Aemond Targaryen?”

For the first time in many moons, this bad boy is genuinely brought to laughters.

“It really didn’t occur me at all, but if you’re up to it…”

You punch his arm playfully. But for a while you two just stay like this, lying in bed, sharing laughters as if you have been the best of friends.

***

“I hate how I feel like an adolescent again. I thought I’ve done this already. Countless times”, you remark.

It’s nine in the morning and you two are dressed like going to a picnic, not a fancy breakfast to celebrate the union of the families Targaryen & Velaryon. Maybe it’s not of either interest to participate it. Besides, the landscape is far more inviting than dealing with posh relatives.

The hotel is surrounded by nature. Large trees are spotted above a green hill, surrounded by lakes and some wild animals that every now and then stop by. Not far from it, is this large, crimson white house rent by the Targaryens to celebrate the marriage of Aegon and Rhaella. The said event will happen only the next day since the couple are very fond of celebration.

Uninterested in these endless festivities, you and Aemond are heading to the top of the hill carrying with nothing other than wine and bread, perhaps some fruits too.

"And here we are", says Aemond, surprisingly in a good mood.

You two sit on the grass and its your former brother-in-law who opens the wine bottle. You two share it as it is, with no need to use glasses for the purpose of savouring the red, warm liquid.

"It is a shame we haven't been acquainted properly", you muse after a while. From where you two are, you could still spot Mrs Hightower and her lover receiving the guests alongside Mrs Velaryon, who, you seem to notice, is accompanied by a dark, curled haired man who doesn't strike you as Mr Velaryon.

"Eh, I was a little busy when you were with my brother", and when following your curious gaze, Aemond smirks and adds: "That is Mr. Strong, by the way."

"Busy? With whom?", you tilt your head, eyes now locked with his purple ones. "I feel as if I'm missing something here."

Aemond cackles before lying on the grass. As he's on his elbows, you hate how your eyes scan his frame, taking notice of his body, his part-opened legs under an old pair of jeans and a random comfortable shirt that shows some of his well build muscles.

Fuck.

You lean to grasp a few grapes before suddenly finding interest in the cloudless skies.

"Well, that is Harwin Strong", says Aemond, ignoring the first part of the question you asked him. "He is my sister's lover."

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed. Where were you when our family messed up?"

"I have no idea, maybe we were busy breaking up", you shrug your shoulders.

Now you miss the long gaze Aemond casts at you. He notices your shapely legs, well reinforced by your blue velvet shorts. A mischievous thought occurs him at the thought of removing these shorts. Containing a sigh, but not holding back such sinful thoughts, he notices you have nice, firm breasts just by the stare he gives your blouse.

Desire seems unbearable. Useless to fight against, but he stops the urge. He must. For his sake.

"You deserve someone better."

And your gaze meets his.

"My brother was unworthy of you", and he, a careful, wayward man, is drawn to you.

You, likewise, are inclined to get closer to him. Is it too early to get drunk and do things you might regret? Where is conscience when you need it?

"And who is worthy of me? You?"

Aemond side smirks at you. You two are so close to bound in deeper waters.... when someone else comes in to ruin all, of course.

It's Alys Rivers, his ex-girlfriend.

***

•You’re falling about. You took a left off Last Laugh Lane. You were just sounding it out. No you're not coming back again.

You are quick to leave the scene. Tired to be someone else’s sidekick character, you know it’s the time to part and be the protagonist of your own.

It’s been too much humiliation. First to put a closure with a man who is marrying someone else. Second… to be able to fall for his brother in a matter of, what, a day and HALF?

You realize no one is missing you anyway. So you are leaving before ceremony even begins.

As for Aemond, it’s all going worse than planned. He wishes you’d have more time to spend together. But, in honesty, he doesn’t blame you for parting like this.

He never mentioned that he and Alys were not entirely… what word could capitalize it? Untogether? Does this word even exist?

Regardless. He’s taken by a strange urge of going after you.

“…you’re not even listening to me!”, the protestations of his now ex girlfriend are annoying him.

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn”, he responds rather coolly. “You’ve left me in balance for a while and now you think you can take me back? I don’t think so. Farewell, darling Alys.”

Saying so, he’s not wasting his time. These are crazy days, one might judge, where long relationships end unexpectedly and short ones may begin out of the blue.

Or perhaps not so out of the blue…

***

You are about to get in the cab when Aemond gets to you.

“Hey”, and once again he holds your wrist, thus making you looking at him. “Don’t go.”

“I can’t stay here”, you sigh dramatically. “You have unfinished business with Alys. I mean, been there, done that. Not really in the mood to rerun this movie.”

“No, this is untrue. Fuck, you are the most interesting girl I’ve met and look at me playing the fool here. Always the indecisive and vindictive, I want something new.”

Aemond doesn’t know where this urge comes from, but, unlike his brother, he is not willingly to let go of you so easily.

“And when this new goes away”, you counter argue him. “What then?”

“I am not leaving you. I am not Aegon”, he says rather anxiously. “Allow me to get to know you better, Y/N. We are going through this shit together.”

You tilt your head, but as if to shush any remaining doubts, like the adolescent he never was, Aemond pulls you against him and finally kisses your red lips.

***

It’s the wedding day. You are elegantly dressed in a pink gown that reinforces your curves and shows some collarbone. Your y/c hair is tied in a braid Helaena’d done it and you are wearing a pair of emeralds over your skin.

But you lose your breath when you see him, elegantly dressed in a black suit with a green tie. His hair purposely messed, he’s every inch the sobriquet he proudly wears.

Bad boy prince.

When his gaze meets yours, both of you know this day will be no good to either of you.

“Ready to be my partner?”

When your hands intertwine with his, so is your destiny for once and all locked with Aemond’s. One smile, one kiss. And what is meant to be a funeral is turned into something more beautiful for this unexpected couple.

#ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #house targaryen #Aemond Targaryen x you #Arctic Monkeys #Fluorescent Adolescent #rom-com fic #rom com fic

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joocomics · 1 year ago

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Just made a Jun han inspired sex playlist... now I can't stop thinking about high sex with him while listening to Do I wanna know by arctic monkeys 😔😔😔

oof, i see the vision 🤤

i’m not very confident with writing about high sex, but my immediate thought when i read this was lazy & very very sloppy sex!

lots of dry humping at first, cause both of you would get so immersed in making out, you wouldn’t be able to force yourselves to pull away from each other. wet wet wet kisses - he’s very bold with his tongue and moaning in your mouth when he’s high!

i can see junhan having a sexy playlist of his own too. it’s playing as you take off your clothes while sitting in his lap, and he’s slurring his compliments at you so much >< he cannot help, but repeat over and over again how hot you are, how hard you got him. his hand is gripping his boner impatiently the entire time, as you expose more of your skin to him. “here, touch it and see…”

high junhan would definitely fuck on the ground. he’s too horny and lazy to move, his mind - clouded; all he wants is to get his cock wet and warm from you, while your voice blends with the music ~

#💌: xhdream inbox #junhan hard thoughts #hyeongjun hard thoughts

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count-alucard-tepes · 2 years ago

Note

You hotties seeing their s/o with a bikini for the First Time. But with a s/o still insicure about their body

Kizaru✨

He will not stop complimenting his S/O on how good they look and how the bikini color suits them so well that he cannot stop staring at them.

Akainu🌋

He would have his hands all over his S/O and would make sure he is always close to them. He tells them how amazing they look.

Ryokugyu 🌱

He would whistle when he sees his S/O, making sure to have them twirl for him so that he could admire all angles of his S/O.

Fujitora 🐅

He would feel his S/O’s body and even though he feels a little shy that his S/O is wearing so little. He compliments them and tries to make them feel comfortable.

Sir Crocodile 🐊

He would raise his eyebrow and smirk, “…well well…I feel I’ve been deprived until now…how cruel you are”, he’d say with a little purr in his voice as he gives his S/O an appreciative look before giving them some kisses.

Doflamingo Donquixote 🦩

He look above his sunglasses when he sees his S/O and gives them a huge smile before doing a wolf’s howl which would earn him a blush from them, “…I guess I’ll have to get you more bikinis so I can see you like this more”, he’d say as his hands were all over his S/O.

Benn Beckman 🔫

His eyes would widen when he sees his S/O before going over to give them an even more appreciative look, “…you always know how to take my breath away, love”.

Katakuri Charlotte 🍡

He would still be wearing his muffler until he sees his S/O, he couldn’t hide his smile and immediately pulled it off before cuddling his S/O, “…you look so good, sweetheart…”.

Killer🔪

He would be sunbathing with his mask on when he noticed his S/O walking up to him, he couldn’t help but move his mask up so that he could see more of his S/O, “…I swear I’m the luckiest man alive to have you all to myself”, he’d say before feeling up his S/O and pulling them to sit on his lap.

Kaido🐉

He would be in the water, cooling off and enjoying the sun at the same time when he noticed his S/O approaching. He blushed at the sight of them and immediately went to their side, “…seeing you like this has made my day…even my week”, he’d say before pulling his S/O close .

King👑

It was getting way too hot to keep his mask on at the beach so he decided to take it off since it was just him and his S/O there anyway. That’s when he’d notice his S/O strolling over, his eyes widening, “…my my…I would die a happy man now after seeing you look this breathtaking “, he’d say with a smirk as he’d pull them close and give them some kisses.

Queen 👑

While sipping a drink, he’d look around for his S/O and would shout out in excitement when he sees them, “…that’s my baby right there! A super model just for me!”.

Izou🔫🔫

He wasn’t someone who liked to be at the beach for too long since he got sunburned quite easily but this time he wanted to spend time with his S/O. He would spot his S/O in their bikini and his jaw would drop, “…my love, you look amazing! Such grace and sexiness altogether “, he purred.

Dragon D Monkey 🐉🐒

He loved going to the beach to relax and soak up the sun all thanks to his S/O organizing a day out. He would be watching the waves when he noticed someone approaching him and turned to see his S/O, “a goddess walking towards me…I’m truly a lucky man”, he’d say with a smile before giving his S/O a kiss.

Oven Charlotte 🍞

He would be in the water waist deep with his sunglasses on, just relaxing and enjoying himself. He would lay down and close his eyes for a moment and then open them to see his S/O standing over him, “…enjoying the water, my love?”, they’d ask. He couldn’t even speak as he was taking in his S/O’s body and bikini in, “…you are truly able to take my heartbeat away! Come here!”, he’d grab his S/O and kiss them all over.

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ramblestimesthree · 3 months ago

Text

1/29/25

I don’t belong here anymore. I’m no longer a caterpillar but a butterfly and that has become inexplicably known to me. At least known that others feel that way. I cannot help but to think of running far far away, open a bakery in Italy and manage to become a jolly fat Italian man running it. That’s my real dream, whatever it means to be real. Why am I here? I’m doing good and being good and taped with bubble wrap and feathers. I don’t understand anymore and yet it feels like it’s my fault I’m out of place; I bring myself here everyday to speak up yet today I’ve been quieted. I��m at a loss and no longer feel safe to share, even if you are not here. Thank you to those that have seen me in the past but it only takes one rotten apple to ruin the bunch. Everywhere I look is transparent, glass walls being peaked through. I feel violated. I feel like I should leave. I feel like a fly on the wall, like none of it matters and all I was doing this morning was being excited about my trip then boom!I am reminded that this place is not safe and I do not belong and you are in my head where you don’t belong but fuck. How do I get it out? The only ay I know is not permitted unless I run, unless I ruin everything which right now tastes so so sweet. The forbidden apple. Just a taste, just a lick of juice. Reach out, talk, write, paint - none of it feels as good as running from yourself. Run run run, even if your slippers slide off. Run laps even if it’s only around your brain. I do not belong. I belong alone in a cabin in the woods, where I build my own fires and melt little children in a cauldron on top of it because I am evil and a witch and hell maybe I’ll throw myself into the pot too. Burn the witch! I can’t swim in the flames. Let me leave, kick me out, send me away agin and again and again and again and again. Reject me, make me a fool, kill me but let me live to feel the pain over and over and over again.

Dance monkey dance! Put a show on for us and make us proud because you are amusing to us, pure entertainment. y suffering, you’re suffering, we’re all suffering so why does mine even matter? Mine does not compare, it is a set of eyes in a box, lips tattooed in the back of a hand. A strawberry. You complimented me, told me I’m real and I was confused. You talk and talk and talk yet the words make zero sense so I go quiet and take my ears off for a bit. Stare at the funny faces in the carpet who stare at me back and wonder what’s the point. I’m off my meds and the shadows are there and even if I wanted them to disappear so I am alive again I can’t because CVS is sold out of pill cutters and it’s too big to swallow. My anger today is too fucking bitter to swallow and I hate it but it’s better than anything else I am too afraid to name. Drowning in air. Drowning in misspelling the word ‘drowning’ because I cannot contain it today. What changed? How did I end up in this foul headspace? I can’t wait to go home and run with my dog and the ball he doesn’t bring back to me. Does he love me? Do I love him - the pictures he made me take and the videos in my basement, in my floor, in that full length mirror. The guitar I gave him, the conviction to come to my birthday party, table for two. I hate you and I’ve made it known and it’s no fair that you have a company and a wife and kids and I have nothing but new slippers and a notebook full of sins.

Oh boy do I tell the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth. It’s all I have in me, even if my eyes are still in the box full of deception. Feed m eyes, sew them shut, eat them for lunch, just take them away because they are lying to me. Lies! I am restless, the eye of the storm, a drying pen like laundry in the wind. I am not beautiful today but cursive, cursed. I am a curse bestowed upon my family, my therapist, my housemates who keep the house cold enough to warrant two sweaters, two blankets. I can’t wait to take a nap and shiver to sleep. Can’t wait. Can’t finish a sentence, a few forbidden bites left. I fell in love once - I don’t know how or why as I left my body and let someone else feel it. Feel the warmth of the sun in the snow. Fuck I miss you so much, especially in this whirlwind of people I’m reliving. People who’ve hurt, who put bandaids on cuts that need stitches. Who put holes in my socks. You were there amongst them all, a candle. I’ve written letters, seven, even sent one once, and I know why I have not gotten a response because I am rotten and have poisoned you once, who says I wouldn’t again? I am mud and crickets and purple iguanas who no longer have a place to hide. I may not look ugly but crack me open and find deserts of it. You were as beautiful and deep as the ocean. I am a troll under the bridge. I’ve messed things up, messed them up bad and now no longer can be loved for it. Feed me, I’m starving. I cannot eat alone for another night. I’m so alone but it is at the fault of my own two hands - yikes! Yikes yikes yikes, I hope my writing has not gotten me in trouble like it has before - two chairs across from each other talking through scripts. I have sinned and I deserve punishment. I have sinned and deserve all harm that has come my way. Deserve it all.

#spilled poetry #creative writing #blog

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cryptometaphor · 9 months ago

Text

Sarah: (complaining how her area needs a transit)

Me: Did somebody say MONORAIL?!

Sarah: Oh boy here we go lol

ACP Admin: Jim wants to be the grifter from Simpsons

Me: You're God damn right. Someone ought to be the contractor and that someone ought to be me.

ACP Admin: Private contractor? Class collaborating IS fascism Jim... Corporatism

Me: The Soviets still thought in-terms of cash. Dollars, rubels, why not pay people in scratch-offs?

ACP Admin: What? Sarah: I do wanna hear this more indepth.

Me: You speak of equity. Equal result not equal opportunity.

ACP Admin: That's Kamala's shit not mine

Me: Well whatever. My point is, if you got paid in lotto for what you do, you the value of the dollar couldn't be compromised. We know who wins and when, therefore mobsters couldn't forge the money either. It could be done digitally via crypto as well to add further...

ACP Admin: Again with crypto

Sarah: LOL but babe, how would people get paid in the now?

Me: Like... Right now?

Sarah: Like, say I work at McDonald's for a week

Me: Yeah you get your weekly allowance of scratch offs.

Sarah: No, I get that. But if I don't win shit? How will I eat or pay my bills?

Me: You don't

ACP Admin: So people just die?

Me: Maybe, hopefully...

Sarah: Or like, why are people getting paid in scratch-offs but businesses are getting paid in genuine money? Like, what's the point of them having money if individuals can only be paid in "maybe you get money later"? So if I do win a scratch off, win 200 dollars, buy groceries. Does the store's owner or employees see any of that money or does it just go back into the system?

Me: God I love how smart you are to see an idea through.

Sarah: Flattery won't save you this time. Answer the question.

Me: Yes, it's as you said. It goes back into the system so the value cannot drop. People only get paid in scratch-offs. We have ways to calculate a decent number of scratch-offs per employee.

ACP Admin: BUT WHY THOUGH

Me: Why anything?

ACP Admin: Fucking nihilist. This is just capitalism with extra steps.

Me: I mean yes... I never denied that.

Sarah: It sounds like third world exploitation but right in your backyard.

Me: You got it.

Sarah: That's horrible.

Me: It's meant to be. It's the distortion of the Protestant work-ethic. Your value is determined purely by chance. But if you work really really hard, you get more chances.

ACP Admin: But in the end it doesn't even matter like Linkin Park.

Me: Precisely.

ACP Admin: Jim, you are not a communist.

Me: Never claimed to be.

ACP Admin: Why do you like this guy?

Sarah: Deep down Jim is a good person... Sometimes lol

Me: Maybe there's noone in your life you'd work for till you dropped dead janny. But I know one person I'd do it for. Only one person.

Sarah: See? Shit like that.

ACP Admin: That's psychotic.

Me: It's purpose in a world absent of purpose. You're gonna work anyway, you do so right now. You're judged harshly underpaid for work well above what you need to be doing.

ACP Admin: THAT'S WHY THERE'S THEORY

Me: And I'm giving you theory. Trust me. This would appeal to human nature. Just world fallacy. Those who win, will feel like they won because God decreed it or they did a big enough work load. If I worked 16 hours a day for 6 days a week for a year, won a billion dollars. I earned it. Not like just being the son of the boss and making 100k where my coworkers are normally making 30k.

ACP Admin: That's entirely why we believe in socialism so that happens less. Your answer is just monkeys paw liberalism.

Me: It is.

ACP Admin: Is it gonna feel fair someone works 4 hours for one day and wins a billion?

Me: Nope, and that's the point. It'll either drive others mad or make them work harder. I don't care either way. Get violent and collapse my system.

ACP Admin: God you're evil. (I start laughing)

Sarah: Ooooh that's his flattered laugh like you just said his dick is huge lol

ACP Admin: It wasn't a compliment

Me: I'm taking it as such

ACP Admin: Why are you so edgy? Like who hurt you seriously

Me: You could not begin to fathom the hurt of waking up every morning and every dumb twat is still alive, not beneath your feet. It's not enough they breathe, they argue, they resist, they take from you, ban you...

ACP Admin: Ok fucking Sipheroth, calm down. Like, that's what dialectical materialism is for. Not cartoon super villany.

Me: I choose cartoon super-villany. It's far more realistic

ACP Admin: No, you're just a sociopath

Me: Can a sociopath love? Can a sociopath mourn? Can a sociopath regret?

ACP Admin: Psychopath, whatever

Me: It's easy to say things, it's harder to do them. You claim you love your friends, your parents, this or that. Prove it.

ACP Admin: What? By working for literally nothing?

Me: By existing. By not giving into the desire to just end it all day in and day out.

ACP Admin: Jim you need medication. I don't mean that to insult you, I mean like you obviously have like severe depression or something. Normal people don't just open their eyes when they wakeup "WHY AM I STILL ALIVE?!"

Me: More than you think. It's a pretty common trait when your IQ is above room temperature.

Sarah: I mean he is right babe. Like everything bothers you, everything triggers this long verbose villain rant, you're in constant agony and that's not normal. I don't mean that like you have an obligation to be normal, I'm not normal either.

Me: Well it's easier for you dollface. If I looked as good as you, was as smart as you, was as charming as you...

Sarah: OH STOP if I was all those things I wouldn't be a femcel.

Me: You're not a femcel. Not anymore. That is the crux behind everything I do. Never again.

Sarah: What do you mean?

Me: We do things once and than it's over with. One task, one mistake, one chore, one regret, one life. Never again. That's how things get better.

Sarah: Would you go through it again for me?

Me: I went through it for almost 40 years to get to you, so yes. Hence the lottery system.

Sarah: How do ya both manage to make me depressed but also make me feel like a fucking princess lol

ACP Admin: Cause he's manipulative but too schizo to just be a calculated sociopath about it

Me: Stop lollygagging and go call your mama right now and tell you you love her. You talk about me. I do it. Sarah I love you.

Sarah: I love you too. I'm not your mama though lol. I mean sometimes you do feel like daddy.

ACP Admin: Ew. Well Jim, go call YOUR mom...

Me: She's dead

ACP Admin: Oh wow, I'm sorry I...

Sarah: No she isn't. I heard her just the other day

Me: She's dead TO ME

ACP Admin: You're such a fucking asshole Jesus Christ lol

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daimonclub · 1 year ago

Text

Mark Twain great quotes

Mark Twain great quotes Mark Twain great quotes, a collection of the author's best quotes and aphorisms on every aspects of life seen through his marvellous and witty sense of humor. In the first place God made idiots. This was for practice. Then He made school boards. Mark Twain Never argue with stupid people, they will drag you down to their level and beat you with experience. Mark Twain Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great. Mark Twain A round man cannot be expected to fit in a square hole right away. He must have time to modify his shape. Mark Twain The only reason why God created man is because he was disappointed with the monkey. Mark Twain A man is never more truthful than when he acknowledges himself a liar. Mark Twain A crowded police docket is the surest of all signs that trade is brisk and money plenty. Mark Twain Laws are sand, customs are rock. Laws can be evaded and punishment escaped, but an openly transgressed custom brings sure punishment. Mark Twain A circle is a round straight line with a hole in the middle. Mark Twain Always acknowledge a fault frankly. This will throw those in authority off their guard and give you opportunity to commit more. Mark Twain There is no such thing as ”the Queen’s English.” The property has gone into the hands of a joint stock company and we own the bulk of the shares! Mark Twain Soap and education are not as sudden as a massacre, but they are more deadly in the long run. Mark Twain Life is short. Break the rules. Forgive quickly. Kiss slowly. Love Truly. Laugh uncontrollably. Never regret anything that makes you smile. Mark Twain The two most important days of your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why. Mark Twain Give every day a chance to become the most beautiful day in your life. Mark Twain

Mark Twain best quotes The most permanent lessons in morals are those which come not of book teaching but of experience. Mark Twain A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn no other way. Mark Twain I can teach anybody how to get what they want out of life. The problem is I can’t find anybody who can tell me what they want. Mark Twain Action speaks louder than words, but not nearly as often. Mark Twain The fear of death follows from the fear of life. The man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time. Mark Twain A classic: something that everybody wants to have read and nobody wants to read. Mark Twain Put all your eggs in the one basket and - Watch That Basket. Mark Twain To arrive at a just estimate of a renowned man’s character one must judge it by the standards of his time, not ours. Mark Twain There is nothing you can say in answer to a compliment. I have been complimented myself a great many times, and they always embarrass me - I always feel that they have not said enough. Mark Twain It could probably be shown by facts and figures that there is no distinctly native American criminal class except Congress. Mark Twain War talk by men who have been in a war is always interesting; whereas moon talk by a poet who has not been in the moon is likely to be dull. Mark Twain Man is the only animal that blushes. Or needs to. Mark Twain Man will do many things to get himself loved, he will do all things to get himself envied. Mark Twain Few things are harder to put up with than the annoyance of a good example. Mark Twain Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been. Mark Twain Let us be thankful for the fools. But for them the rest of us could not succeed. Mark Twain It takes your enemy and your friend, working together, to hurt you to the heart: the one to slander you and the other to get the news to you. Mark Twain The very ink in which history is written is merely fluid prejudice. Mark Twain True irreverence is disrespect for another man’s god. Mark Twain Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of a joy you must have somebody to divide it with. Mark Twain Nothing that grieves us can be called little: by the eternal laws of proportion a child’s loss of a doll and a king’s loss of a crown are events of the same size. Mark Twain Martyrdom covers a multitude of sins. Mark Twain By trying we can easily learn to endure adversity. Another man’s, I mean. Mark Twain The man who is a pessimist before 48 knows too much; if he is an optimist after it, he knows too little. Mark Twain India has 2,000,000 gods, and worships them all. In religion other countries are paupers; India is the only millionaire. Mark Twain

Mark Twain great aphorisms We have not all had the good fortune to be ladies. We have not all been generals, or poets, or statesmen; but when the toast works down to the babies, we stand on common ground. Mark Twain There was never yet an uninteresting life. Such a thing is an impossibility. Inside of the dullest exterior there is a drama, a comedy, and a tragedy. Mark Twain The radical invents the views. When he has worn them out the conservative adopts them. Mark Twain There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics. Mark Twain It were not best that we should all think alike; it is difference of opinion that makes horse races. Mark Twain There is no sadder sight than a young pessimist, except an old optimist. Mark Twain My books are water; those of the great geniuses is wine. Everybody drinks water. Mark Twain Get your facts first, and then you can distort them as much as you please. Mark Twain When angry, count four; when very angry, swear. Mark Twain I have been studying the traits and dispositions of the "lower animals" (so called) and contrasting them with the traits and dispositions of man. I find the result humiliating to me. Mark Twain What's the use you learning to do right, when it's troublesome to do right and ain't no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the same? Mark Twain Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear - not absence of fear. Mark Twain Good breeding consists in concealing how much we think of ourselves and how little we think of the other person. Mark Twain Government is merely a servant – merely a temporary servant; it cannot be its prerogative to determine what is right and what is wrong, and decide who is a patriot and who isn’t. Its function is to obey orders, not originate them. Mark Twain All kings is mostly rapscallions. Mark Twain To string incongruities and absurdities together in a wandering and sometimes purposeless way, and seem innocently unaware that they are absurdities, is the basis of the American art, if my position is correct. Mark Twain In order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to obtain. Mark Twain Whoever has lived long enough to find out what life is, knows how deep a debt of gratitude we owe to Adam, the first great benefactor of our race. He brought death into the world. Mark Twain Do not put off till tomorrow what can be put off till day-after-tomorrow just as well. Mark Twain Everybody talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it. Mark Twain Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Mark Twain Truth is mighty and will prevail. There is nothing the matter with this, except that it ain't so. Mark Twain The elastic heart of youth cannot be compressed into one constrained shape long at a time. Mark Twain The humorous story is told gravely; the teller does his best to conceal the fact that he even dimly suspects that there is anything funny about it. Mark Twain Golf is a good walk spoiled. Mark Twain The holy passion of friendship is so sweet and steady and loyal and enduring in nature that it will last through a whole lifetime, if not asked to lend money. Mark Twain Its name is Public Opinion. It is held in reverence. It settles everything. Some think it is the voice of God. Mark Twain When we remember that we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained. Mark Twain The secret source of humor itself is not joy but sorrow. There is no humor in heaven. Mark Twain Against the assault of laughter nothing can stand. Mark Twain

Mark Twain great quotes The very ink with which all history is written is merely fluid prejudice. Mark Twain After a few months’ acquaintance with European “coffee,” one’s mind weakens, and his faith with it, and he begins to wonder if the rich beverage of home, with its clotted layer of yellow cream on top of it, is not a mere dream after all, and a thing which never existed. Mark Twain Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect. Mark Twain Grief can take care of itself; but to get the full value of a joy you must have someone to divide it with. Mark Twain The lack of money is the root of all evil. Mark Twain It is better to have old second-hand diamonds than none at all. Mark Twain Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence in society. Mark Twain There is no distinctly native American criminal class except Congress. Mark Twain Training is everything. The peach was once a bitter almond; cauliflower is nothing but cabbage with a college education. Mark Twain When a humorist ventures upon the grave concerns of life he must do his job better than another man or he works harm to his cause. Mark Twain What a man wants with religion in these breadless times, surpasses my comprehension. Mark Twain Forget and forgive. This is not difficult when properly understood. It means forget inconvenient duties, then forgive yourself for forgetting. By rigid practice and stern determination, it comes easy. Mark Twain The holy passion of friendship is of so sweet and steady and loyal and enduring a nature that it will last through a whole lifetime, if not asked to lend money. Mark Twain What is the most rigorous law of our being? Growth. No smallest atom of our moral, mental, or physical structure can stand still a year. It grows - it must grow; nothing can prevent it. Mark Twain I always did hate for anyone to know what my plans or hopes or prospects were - for, if I kept people in ignorance in these matters, no one could be disappointed but myself, if they were not realized. Mark Twain Men are easily dealt with - but when you get the women started, you are in for it, you know. Mark Twain We chase phantoms half the days of our lives. It is well if we learn wisdom even then, and save the other half. Mark Twain Who would find out that I am a natural fool if I kept always cool and never let nature come to the surface? Nobody. Mark Twain Ah, well, I am a great and sublime fool. But then I am God's fool, and all His works must be contemplated with respect. Mark Twain I would rather have my ignorance than another man's knowledge, because I have got so much more of it. Mark Twain My interest in my work dies a sudden and violent death when the work is done. Mark Twain I am as prompt as a clock, if I only know the day a thing is wanted - otherwise I am a natural procrastinaturalist. Mark Twain Many a small thing has been made large by the right kind of advertising. Mark Twain Words are only painted fire; a look is the fire itself. Mark Twain It is by the goodness of God that in our country we have those three unspeakably precious things: freedom of speech, freedom of conscience, and the prudence never to practice either. Mark Twain Denial ain't just a river in Egypt. Mark Twain Human nature is the same everywhere; it deifies success, it has nothing but scorn for defeat. Mark Twain Patriotism is merely a religion - love of country, worship of country, devotion to the country's flag and honor and welfare. Mark Twain Low comedies are written for the drawing-room, the kitchen and the stable, and if you cut out the kitchen and the stable the drawing-room can't support the play by itself. Mark Twain In truth I care little about any party's politics - the man behind it is the important thing. Mark Twain

Mark Twain witty aphorisms I never made a success of a lecture delivered in a church yet. People are afraid to laugh in a church. They can't be made to do it in any possible way. Mark Twain I was afraid of a united Church; it makes a mighty power, the mightiest conceivable, and then when it by and by gets into selfish hands, as it is always bound to do, it means death to human liberty and paralysis to human thought. Mark Twain The secret of success is making your vocation your vacation. Mark Twain In my experience, previously counted chickens never do hatch. Mark Twain God only exhibits his thunder and lightning at intervals, and so they always command attention. Mark Twain Drag your thoughts away from your troubles - by the ears, by the heels, or any other way, so you manage it. Mark Twain Lord, what an organ is human speech when it is played by a master! Mark Twain Unexpected money is a delight. The same sum is a bitterness when you expected more. Mark Twain In the beginning of a change, the patriot is a scarce man, and brave, and hated and scorned. When his cause succeeds, the timid join him, for then it costs nothing to be a patriot. Mark Twain There are no grades of vanity, there are only grades of ability in concealing it. Mark Twain I was sorry to have my name mentioned as one of the great authors, because they have a sad habit of dying off. Chaucer is dead, Spencer is dead, so is Milton, so is Shakespeare, and I’m not feeling so well myself. Mark Twain I have been complimented many times and they always embarrass me; I always feel that they have not said enough. Mark Twain There is no God, no universe, no human race, no earthly life, no heaven, no hell. It is all a Dream, a grotesque and foolish dream. Nothing exists but you. And You are but a Thought - a vagrant Thought, a useless Thought, a homeless Thought, wandering forlorn among the empty eternities. Mark Twain To create man was a fine and original idea; but to add the sheep was a tautology. Mark Twain The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter—'tis the difference between the lightning-bug and the lightning. Mark Twain Humor is the great thing, the saving thing. The minute it crops up, all our hardnesses yield, all our irritations and resentments flit away and a sunny spirit takes their place. Mark Twain I must have a prodigious quantity of mind; it takes me as much as a week sometimes to make it up. Mark Twain Heaven for climate, Hell for society. Mark Twain A baby is an inestimable blessing and bother. Mark Twain I am opposed to millionaires, but it would be dangerous to offer me the position. Mark Twain A powerful agent is the right word. Whenever we come upon one of those intensely right words in a book or a newspaper the resulting effect is physical as well as spiritual, and electrically prompt. Mark Twain H'aint we got all the fools in town on our side? And ain't that a big enough majority in any town? Mark Twain Is not this insanity plea becoming rather common? Is it not so common that the reader confidently expects to see it offered in every criminal case that comes before the courts?... Really, what we want now, is not laws against crime, but a law against insanity. Mark Twain Thousands of geniuses live and die undiscovered - either by themselves or by others. Mark Twain You tell me whar a man gits his corn pone, en I'll tell you what his 'pinions is. Mark Twain Be respectful to your superiors, if you have any. Mark Twain Virtue never has been as respectable as money. Mark Twain Methuselah lived to be 969 years old . You boys and girls will see more in the next fifty years than Methuselah saw in his whole lifetime. Mark Twain A man cannot be made comfortable without his own approval. Mark Twain The cross of the Legion of Honor has been conferred on me. However, few escape that distinction. Mark Twain

Mark Twain great quotations There comes a time in every rightly constructed boy's life when he has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure. Mark Twain If you can't get a compliment any other way, pay yourself one. Mark Twain We are discreet sheep; we wait to see how the drove is going, and then go with the drove. Mark Twain The public is the only critic whose opinion is worth anything at all. Mark Twain On with dance, let joy be unconfined, is my motto; whether there's any dance to dance or any joy to unconfined. Read the full article

#criticism #humor #MarkTwain #smile #witticism

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cvsmixnaya · 2 years ago

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aot cast with an art student partner

pairings: various!aot x art student!reader

pronouns: none used but its gender neutral.

a/n: these are for my art babes out there. coming from an art student which is me‼️ i’ll do fashion next cause i’m into that too😋 enjoy this random ass headcanon. also the middle pic is my art hehe

eren

he’s more of a music guy but art and music go hand in hand and i’m here for it. hell he’ll even play tunes on his guitar while you’re working on art projects cause it’s so relaxing. if he’s not playing on the guitar he’ll play music on a speaker and just sit with you and watch you work. sometimes you two are fighting over what song to play it’s actually hilarious. you will want lana del rey and he will want post malone. yall take turns to play music but you both can agree on arctic monkeys. this guy won’t admit but he loves watching you do your art. he just loves how focused you look. overall he can be a jackass cause it’s eren but you two get along perfectly because like i said, music and art go hand in hand

armin

you guys just don’t understand how much i love this man OH MY GOD. he admires you and your artwork so so much he keeps complimenting you and you just look at him like ‘🥹’ ok idk if it’s just me but it’s always the art students or any kind of design student that has such good fashion and that’s what armin also loves so much about you. he loves all the different outfits you pull off he literally said “you are the definition of ‘wear the dress don’t let the dress wear you” like OMG???? KISS ME??? but this guy does not like it when you stay up late working on art projects and consuming a shit ton of caffeine. he forces you to go to bed and work on it the next day cause he cares about your health and you cannot stop him. He loves watching you work and if you needed anything while working he will get it for you. in general he’s such a cutie and a sweetheart and i love him sm and if anyone hurts him, it’s over for you

mikasa

i feel like she would be an art student too so she understands the work and stress that goes down in assignments and tests. occasionally you two would sit together and work on your assignments together but most of the time yall prefer doing it separately. it’s nothing personal but you two agreed that nothing would get done so it’s better to do your thing alone. mikasa honestly admires your creativity so much and is just so impressed by your talent. she’s just so proud of you she’ll be like “that’s my partner!!” but plzzz i beg you to compliment her art because it makes her so happy that you think she has potential when she really does :(( sometimes you sit at starbucks with her and go over some ideas and brainstorm together, showing rough ideas while drinking iced coffee

levi

he really loves the quietness in the room with some music playing through the speaker connected to your phone. it’s not anything loud or chaotic. mainly cigarettes after sex cause it’s giving levi so much. he tends to give some suggestions with your work on how it can be better and most of the time they’re actually helpful and you look at him with squinted eyes wondering if he’s secretly an art student. he likes you watch you work while he drinks his tea and you drink your iced coffee or redbull (i love redbull sm). at night however, oh god. you love art so much that you’re willing to stay up till 2 am drawing random things and it’s not even an assignment. this man is DRAGGING you to bed and your literally just fighting for your life to go back and finish that sketch but he makes you sleep and you get so pissed about it but fall asleep when your head hits the pillow😭

hange

they’re like armin but with some extra energy. they are genuinely so curious with what you work on and what kind of materials you use. if you’re working on a canvas they love seeing how well you use acrylic paints and mix them to make a new colour and they find it so aesthetically pleasing and they don’t know why. they just stare at you like a god/goddess with heart eyes. they love it so much they asked you to teach them basics. you of course said yes but poor hange just could not understand what was happening i feel so bad for them. you both came to the conclusion that hange was not made for art but they still admire it.

porco

this bastard literally teases you but you know he means well. he actually helps around a lot which shocks you. if you needed something, he will speed run to get whatever you need. let it be water, paint, tissue. whatever it is, he suddenly becomes a track star and gets what you need. even though he teases you, he loves what you do knowing damn well he can’t do it. he does tend to distract you though just so you can pay attention to him while you’re working and you just look at him like ‘boy wtf-’ but in the end, he’s so proud of you and he does love you. he just likes to make fun of you but dw he’s a sweetheart and doesn’t mean it. he just has ego issues PFFTT

live laugh love art😇‼️‼️

#mikasa x you #aot x reader #snk x reader #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #eren yeager x reader #mikasa x reader #hange zoe x reader #aot imagines #levi x reader #porco x reader #art #armin arlet x reader

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 years ago

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Have You No Idea That You’re In Deep? [Chapter 6: You Are In Battle]

Aemond is a fearless, enigmatic prince and the most renowned dragonrider of the Greens. You are a daughter of House Mormont and a lady-in-waiting to Princess Helaena. You can’t ignore each other, even though you probably should. In fact, you might have found a love worth killing for.

A/N: Hi all!! Thank you so much for your friendship, encouragement, emotional ranting, humor, compliments, questions, and love throughout this fic’s short lifetime. You better believe that EVERY! SINGLE! reblog/tag/ask/comment/etc I receive lights up my life like dragonfire. I also wanted to let you know in advance that the last 2 chapters of this fic will have a LOT going on, so it might take me a little longer than usual to get them published. I appreciate your patience! Hopefully they will be worth the wait. 💜

Song inspiration: “Do I Wanna Know?” by Arctic Monkeys.

Chapter warnings: Language, violence, some sexual content, witchcraft (per usual), drama at brunch, Axel being a sore loser, Larys being a snake, Helaena being prophetic, Aegon being Aegon, time skips, childbirth, dragons, extreme fluff, extreme angst, y’all know I cannot help myself I am an angst monster and I will not apologize!!!

Word count: 7.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @crispmarshmallow @tclegane @daddysfavoritesexkitten @poohxlove @imagine-all-the-imagines @nsainmoonchild @skythighs @bratfleck @thesadvampire @yor72 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @loverandqueenofdragons @omgsuperstarg @endless-ineffabilities @devynsshitposts @vencuyot @ladylannisterxo @ariesbabycitlaly @cranberryjulce @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz @liathelioness @mirandastuckinthe80s @haezen @fairaardirascenarios @darkened-writer @weepingfashionwritingplaid @signyvenetia @abrielleholland @crossingallmine @burningcoffeetimetravel @yummycastiel @lol-im-done @lovemissyhoneybee @nomugglesallowed @witchmoon @yoshiplushie @torchbearerkyle @sweetashoneyhoney @quartzs-posts @lauraneedstochill @nctma15 @queenofshinigamis @rapoficeandfire @hinata7346 @curiouser-an-curiouser@meadowofsinfulthoughts @imjustboredso @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @myspotofcraziness @bregarc @mikariell95 @doingfondue

💜 Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! (Also I’m sincerely sorry if Tumblr refuses to tag you!!!) 💜

He must be in agony, but he doesn’t show it; and hasn’t that been true all his life?

He declines offers of milk of the poppy. His right arm has been set—the bone snapped back into place with a wet, jolting click—and now the maester is sewing the wound closed. This serrated scar will join all the others he carries, scars of the flesh, scars of the soul. You sit to Aemond’s left, on his blind side, only so he can drape his arm around the back of your chair while the other is being repaired. There is a strange, hushed tranquility that has settled over you both here in Aemond’s chambers. He wears a ghost of a smile, soft yet victorious. No one can take you away from him now. No one can untangle all the strings that bind you together. With a damp cloth, you clean the viscous half-dried blood from his nose, his mouth, his cheeks, his forehead. His face is already bruising, mottled with shades of violet and blue. You remove his eyepatch so you can—with the most careful hands—wipe the crimson from the mangled remnants of his eyelid. He is perfectly at ease as you do this. He entrusts himself entirely to you.

“This is a gruesome task, princess,” the maester says as he stitches, and it takes you a moment to realize he is speaking to you. He is the first person to call you princess, but that’s what you are now; you are openly and legally married to a prince. “You need not subject yourself to such unpleasantness, especially in your…condition.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I can manage. My place is here.”

“She is a Mormont by birth, Maester Ordwulf,” Aemond says. Pride radiates from his voice like heat from a dragon’s scales. “She does not hide herself away from grisly things.”

There is a thunder of footsteps outside. Axel Hightower bursts through the door. He is red-faced and panting. You and Aemond look at him, but you do not rise, and you don’t say anything either. You do not grant him the dignity of a greeting. The silence is thick and laden and awkward. The maester pauses, then resumes his stitching.

“You will regret this,” Axel tells Aemond.

“You have lost, Lord Hightower. Go back to the Reach and do not return unless you find yourself in need of having your head separated from your body.”

“It is you who has lost,” Axel rages. “The great houses of Westeros will not forgive this slight. You will have to crawl on your knees begging them to support you in what comes next.” And of course, you know what he means, everybody does: the war against Rhaenyra and Daemon, the war of succession. It is the uneasy, swelling background music of every courtyard sparring match, every feast, every marriage negotiation, every piece of purred gossip, every candle lit in the sept. “You have damaged the Greens irreparably with your selfish, short-sighted lust, your notorious pride. You have ruined your family. You have signed your own death sentence.”

“Hm.” Aemond chuckles, low and contemptuous. He lifts your hand and kisses the back of it.

“But I will do you a courtesy,” Axel says. He steps closer. “I will make my offer one final time. Give her back to me of your own volition, and I will take her to Oldtown and never speak of this ugliness again. Then you will be free to marry someone who will be an asset when the time for armies and battles comes.”

“She is an asset.”

“She is a nobody!” Axel shouts, and he touches you. It is not malicious, it is not painful, it is not even especially intrusive; he simply rests a palm on your shoulder. Instantly, Aemond is on his feet. By the time his upended chair clatters against the floor, he has Axel pinned to the wall: his left hand closed around Axel’s throat, the right holding the point of your dagger to his throbbing jugular. The blade is still coated with Ivar Kellington’s blood. Axel, wheezing and croaking, gropes for the hilt of his own sword.

“Go on, do it,” Aemond seethes, his blue eye blazing maniacally, his sapphire gleaming. He is grinning. Blood drips from his swollen, half-stitched arm. The needle swings from the length of thread like a man from a noose. “Do it, Lord Hightower. Draw your sword. Give me an excuse to bury you. I have already killed one man today. I’d be happy to double that number.”

“Please…” Axel chokes out, flailing.

The prince’s grin widens. “Do it.”

“Aemond!” Otto Hightower roars as he strides through the doorway. Aemond steps back and twirls your dagger before tucking it away into his belt.

“Come fetch your kinsman, Grandsire. If you want him to live.”

“Go,” Otto commands Axel, shoving him. “Your reason to be in King’s Landing has expired. Leave immediately, before I lose interest in protecting you.”

Axel points at Aemond. “It is you who has lost,” he says again—darkly, ominously—and then storms out of the room. The prince returns to his seat so the maester can finish stitching his arm.

Otto sighs and rubs his forehead. “Aemond…” And for the second time in the span of a few short moments, a man speaks the truth about your lineage. “She is a nobody,” Otto says, almost apologetically, like he wishes he could change it.

“I have met my match in her. I will have no other.”

“This is supremely unwise.”

“It cannot be undone.”

Otto frowns at him. “You are lucky that Alicent has another son for us to barter with.”

“Lucky?” Aemond says, incredulous, furious, though he keeps his arm still for the maester. “You are lucky that I have brought to your side Vhagar, and swordsmanship, and wit, and this excruciatingly heavy, inborn burden of duty that Aegon so obviously lacks. I have never asked you for anything. I have never sought to build a future for myself that diverges from the ambitions of this family. This is the one thing I must have for myself. She is my restitution. She is a gift from the gods.”

“So there is no point in trying to negotiate with you.”

“No. None.”

“Very well.” Otto Hightower casts you a glare—dismissive, indignant—and departs.

As the maester mends Aemond’s arm, you dab at the streaks of blood drying on his temples, his jawline, his palms that are crisscrossed with lines of fortune. You can feel your throat tightening, scalding tears brimming up in your eyes. They escape down your cheeks when you try to blink them away. “I’m sorry that I’ve caused you so much suffering.”

“No, no,” Aemond murmurs. He whisks your tears away with his left thumb. It is rough and calloused, expert, practiced, precise. “You have not caused it. You have cured it.”

The maester applies plaster to the prince’s right forearm to keep it immobilized until the break heals. Aemond gives you a knowing glance, and you nod; tonight he will bathe in water cloudy with leaves of foxglove and sorrel and mint, ground cinnamon, crumbled snakeskin, crushed bloodstone, swirls of glittering clear quartz, pungent black tar rum, and blood taken from a living bull…courtesy of Sir Criston Cole. When the maester’s work is finished and he takes his leave, Aemond locks the door behind him. Then he stands in front of you wearing a hungry, mischievous smirk that tells you exactly what he wants.

“You must be in terrible pain,” you say.

“Oh yes. And desperately in need of a distraction.”

You grab his belt and pull him towards you. He drops to his knees and burrows under the layers of your bloodstained moonstone gown as you laugh wildly, and then gasp, and then writhe and moan as your fingers snag in his hair. You start in the chair, and then move to the bed; you start light and frivolous and giggling and then turn somber, intense. It is a reunion that in an only slightly different world would never have happened. You’ve both tasted the possibility of losing each other; you’ve both tasted the salt of spilled tears and sweat and blood. It is a long time before Aemond gets his fill of you. He tumbles headfirst into sleep with his hand resting on your belly; exhausted and satisfied, whole, you gaze up at the ceiling and wonder how it is possible to be so fortunate.

Aemond is still dozing when night falls, and you slink away quietly so he can rest. Beneath the heart tree, you light a blue candle, pulverize the dry ingredients, and mix them into a pitcher containing the rum and still-warm bull’s blood. Again, there is that intangible, menacing sensation of being watched. Again, you cannot find any proof of an eavesdropper. You do not mention this to Aemond. There is no sense in worrying him. You have afflicted him with enough worries already.

You tell the servants to prepare a hot bath and they listen, bowing low and addressing you as princess. As your husband soaks and steam fills the room, you sit on the rim of the tub and braid his long silver hair, tell him stories of your childhood on Bear Island, watch the violet-indigo bruises evaporate from his skin like puddles of rain beneath the sun.

“I’ll have to get an egg,” he says distantly, as if half-asleep. The bathwater that engulfs him is a sea of shimmering red. “A dragon egg. The most perfect egg there is.”

You are mystified. “Why?”

He smiles at you, a dreamy, content smile. “For the baby.”

When he wakes in the morning, his pain has vanished.

Within a month, and to the court’s amazement, his arm is completely healed.

~~~~~~~~~~

Larys is waiting when Queen Alicent retires to her chambers for the evening. He lives in the shadows like a nocturnal animal, a bat or a shadowcat or an owl with its talons hooked to a twisted branch. He collects secrets the way some people collect seashells from the shore, pieces of lives fragmented and in a million different colors. This particular secret is one that can benefit the queen greatly. Aemond’s bride has been a princess for several months now, and yet still the court yammers noxiously about her. They mock her family, her bloodline, Bear Island. They think her arrogant to have climbed so high above her station. They call her Lady Mormont and pretend it is an accident, just an old habit, just a harmless reflex. They claim she conceived a child too quickly for it to have happened within wedlock. They gossip about her “true” husband Axel Hightower, who is shamed and miserable in Oldtown; he has tried in vain to procure a replacement wife, only to be turned down again and again out of concern that the union would be deemed bigamy by half the realm. All in all, the marriage is considered quite the oddity, quite the failure. Alicent does not have the heart to deny her child—her favorite child—this woman who has brought him such happiness; but if circumstances transpired that compelled the removal of the much-maligned princess, surely Alicent would be relieved, would be…indebted to whoever had orchestrated it.

The queen has just come from visiting her husband. She smells of death and decay. Her eyes are rheumy. Her shoulders hang low and limply, as if they are broken. The room is illuminated only by the sickly ochre glow of candlelight. The way the flames dance across her skin is magnificent, tempting. Larys wonders if in a different world he could have been her husband. He wonders how sweet it must taste to own something so beautiful.

“Oh,” Alicent says when she spots him, and that’s all. She clutches at herself with her own arms; they wrap around her like a constricting snake. She stares at him, too depleted to be wary. Around her neck hangs a large, golden, seven-pointed star.

Larys will not give away everything he knows at once; he never does. He will bait her with the who and the what, but he will save the details—those essential steps of the how—until payment has been made. Some men deal in money or gems or land or power. Larys’ preferred currency is flesh. “I have discovered concerning information about someone very close to you.”

Alicent sighs. “Not now, Lord Larys.”

“But—”

“Not now,” she insists. “Please, just…just…” Tears begin to slither from her eyes. She holds up one hand as if barring an intruder. Her voice is a threadbare, shaky whimper. “Just leave me. Please.”

Larys bows. “As you wish.”

He disguises his panic and frustration in the same way he once disguised his lust for her. Now there is no need for masquerading; that particular secret is one that he unveiled long ago. He skulks through the hallways of the Red Keep and ponders the heart tree, a tower built by gods instead of men: the moon-white bark, the blood-red leaves, the mournful face carved into the trunk, the roots dotted with traces of candlewax. He examines it each day and keeps meticulous notes. He lurks in the shadows most nights in case the princess makes an appearance. He compiles evidence like a raven constructing a nest of stolen twigs, piece by piece by piece.

Have patience, he tells himself. The time will come very soon. Soon, soon, soon.

~~~~~~~~~~

You are beginning to show. Your gowns have high, generous waistlines and plenty of room for letting out as the weeks rolls by like waves, like wheels. The gardens of the Red Keep hum with bees and dragonflies and swooping, ungainly beetles. Butterflies like airborne jewels—rubies, emeralds, diamonds, turquoises, amethysts, opals, sapphires, moonstones—flutter before landing on leaves or blossoms. Some even land on Princess Helaena.

“Ah!” she sighs elatedly as she acquires another one; it clings to her hand like a living ring. “Look, Grandsire, look.”

Otto Hightower beams as he slices his ham. “Wonderful, my dear.”

“How far along are you now, darling?” Alicent asks you, nibbling on a strawberry muffin. Sir Criston Cole sits beside her and dutifully passes the queen butter or sugar or tea whenever she requires it. He looks at her in a way that makes you think of septons marveling at statues of the Mother or the Warrior or the Smith, gods they can speak to as often as they like but never meet. There is something hopeless and yet worshipful about it. There is something sacred.

“Four months,” Aemond answers before you can. You are between him and Helaena, on Aemond’s good side, the side where he can easily see you. He touches you often, almost absentmindedly—resting his arm on the back of your chair, grazing your cheek with the backs of his fingers, twirling stray locks of your hair, placing a palm on your thigh—as if to make sure you’re still there.

“And you are feeling quite well?” Alicent says. “I remember being horribly sick with Helaena. It lasted all the way through, right up until she was born. It was much worse than my pregnancies with the boys. That was the only trouble she’s ever caused me.”

“I’m very well,” you reply. “I was ill at first, practically bedridden, but…” You exchange a wily glance with Aemond. “Thank the gods, I recovered.”

Aegon appears, swaying and bleary-eyed. He pulls out the chair opposite of you and plops down. He winces and shields his eyes from the late-morning sunlight, groaning.

“You’re late,” Otto snaps.

“I’m here now, aren’t I? Don’t schedule things before noon if you’re so concerned with my punctuality.”

“Aemond was on time. Even his Mormont wife was on time.” Otto Hightower brings up the unimpressive house of your birth at least thrice per day; it is a ceaseless torment to him. He is not openly vindictive, and he does not exclude you from family gatherings like this one, but he has yet to cultivate any fondness for you. Perhaps he never will. You suppose that is a small price to pay for everything fortune has gifted you.

“Was she?” Aegon squints at you. “Are your people familiar with the concept of timekeeping? Don’t they all live in caves?”

You smile. He smiles back, then pours himself a cup of wine until it overflows onto the table. You drink your pomegranate juice; you have become rather obsessed with it.

“At least she turned out to be fertile,” Otto consoles himself as he chews his ham. And then, to Aemond: “I suppose you’re praying for a son. Any man would. But if not this time, surely many more children will follow.”

“Actually, I’m praying for a swift and easy delivery of whatever variety of child it is.”

“That’s a chivalrous thing to say, but you can’t mean it.” Otto butters a thick slice of toast. “I have sons. Viserys has sons. Aegon has sons. Rhaenyra has more sons than she’ll know what to do with once they come of age. I think I know you well enough to be certain you would feel cheated without your own.”

Helaena murmurs to her butterfly: “He waits in the lagoon, coiled, red.”

“Then again,” Otto adds, looking at Aegon. “Sons are not always such a comfort.”

“You are welcome to disown me, Grandsire,” Aegon says cheerfully. “I’ve always thought that I would make a wonderful brothel keeper. I have already acquired such extensive relevant experience.”

Otto snorts, disgusted. Aemond only drinks his tea and drums his fingers on the table. He tells you that he is not preoccupied with whether his firstborn is a male, but you aren’t sure if you believe him. Perhaps he is only trying to spare your feelings, like when he thought you could not bear children at all. You become anxious when you think too much about this. You are desperately afraid to disappoint him. He has already sacrificed so much to keep you.

Through the gardens comes an unexpected guest. Otto grumbles audibly. Helaena’s butterfly takes flight and deserts her. Aegon guzzles his wine; it runs in scarlet tendrils down his chin.

“Lord Larys,” Alicent greets him charitably. “How are you this morning?”

“Very well, my queen.”

Larys waits for an invitation to sit down. Everyone else waits for him to leave. At last, Alicent admits defeat. “Lord Larys, won’t you join us for breakfast? The servants can bring another place setting.”

“Yes!” Otto says with sudden enthusiasm. “Right next to Prince Aegon.” He grins at Aegon toothily. Aegon glares back, his face half-buried in his wine cup. The servants deliver the requisite materials in a flurry and Larys takes his seat. He helps himself to a few miniature muffins, but he doesn’t seem to have much interest in eating. He must have other motivations to stay.

Helaena is painstakingly cutting an apple into paper-thin slivers. “Moon on the water, fire in the sky, moon on the water…”

“Have you something to share with us, Lord Larys?” Alicent inquires.

“I do.” He chooses his words meticulously. “Her Majesty has been so…overtaxed lately. I have had great difficulty finding the opportunity.”

“The king,” Alicent offers in explanation, and cannot elaborate further. Sir Criston extends his hand towards her. She squeezes it as if grasping a precipice that juts out over an abyss.

“Indeed, indeed,” Larys says. “You have my deepest sympathies. And yet, it must be said…I fear that in the king’s absence, there has been a lapse in discipline here at court. A lapse in…morals.”

“How do you mean?” Alicent asks, perplexed.

Otto glowers at Aegon. “What have you done now?”

“No, no, no, my apologies, I am not referring to the prince.” Larys clasps his hands together, debating how to proceed. “This act that I have uncovered, this immoral practice, it is not a crime against men. It is more serious than that, more dire. It is a crime against the gods.”

Aemond—who up until now had been paying Larys no attention whatsoever—looks up at the Master of Whisperers. His blue eye widens, sharpens. Aegon catches this, his drunken brains wrestling over what it means; then it collides with him. There is a cold sweat breaking out on your skin. You can feel your gown sticking to the icy dampness along your ribs, your spine, your rounded belly. Larys Strong knows. He knows, he knows, he knows.

Alicent is bewildered still. “To whom are you referring, Lord Larys?”

Aegon knocks over his cup with a sweep of his hand, spilling red wine all over the table. “Oh no, oh dear, so clumsy, my mistake.”

“Aegon!” Alicent cries. Sir Criston begins mopping up the mess with cloth napkins.

Larys begins: “In fact—”

Aegon reaches for the wine pitcher, fumbles with it, and deposits the entirety of the contents onto Lord Larys. “Oh, there I go again. You should retire to clean yourself up, Lord Larys. And perhaps get lost if you attempt to return to us.”

“Enough!” Otto Hightower shouts, and the table settles. He turns to a dripping Larys. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

Larys’ eyes flick to you. “It seems…there is evidence that…the princess may have engaged in…well, a very forbidden practice. Witchcraft.”

Aemond stands and draws his sword. Otto’s mouth falls open; his eyes are not just shocked but skeptical, confounded. Helaena covers her face with both hands as if she can wish herself away from this place, this life. Aegon’s fist closes around his fork. But before anyone can move—before any violence can be committed, before further accusations can be made—Alicent speaks.

“I do not wish to hear of it,” the queen says. She is more resolved, more commanding than you have ever heard her before. “She is kind to my daughter, she carries my grandchild, she makes my son happy. And yet still people whisper spitefully about Axel Hightower and conjure up ways by which to banish her from our city, our family. It sickens me, this cynicism, this profound lack of empathy. I will not hear any further slanders against her. And that is exactly what these words are, Lord Larys. Slander. You mean well, about that I have no doubts. You have been an invaluable friend and ally since my youth. But tread carefully when you speak of my children. I count her as one of them now.”

Everyone watches Alicent. There is no sound but the wind and the leaves and the buzzing insects. Wine dribbles from Larys’ hair.

“How many…” Alicent’s voice breaks, and she pauses to compose herself. “How many of us must be compelled into marriages that strengthen our families, our treasuries, our armies but destroy our souls? How many of us must trade away our contentment for the sake of honor? Can the two never coexist? Can our humanity never emerge unscathed, or is that the true price we must pay for greatness?” Sir Criston’s dark eyes are shining, pained. “No, I think that love—uncomplicated, undutiful, unambitious love—can be allowed to prevail this once. If only this once.”

She stares at Lord Larys, daring him to contradict her. Soon everyone else is staring at Larys too, even Helaena. The quiet grows very loud. The Master of Whisperers yields, showing both of his palms in surrender. “Of course. I sincerely apologize. I collect secrets in service to the crown, but not all of them are equally trustworthy. I must have been mistaken. I will not broach the subject again.”

“Good,” Alicent says. Lord Larys stands, bows, and retreats from the table. Aemond sheaths his sword and sits back down. Aegon exhales noisily. Helaena catches a dragonfly on her wrist.

“That fucking ferret,” Otto mutters, shaking his head; and you find yourself able to laugh when everyone else does.

As breakfast concludes and servants begin clearing the table, you and Aemond leave to walk through the gardens. You find the trellis tunnel grown thick with ivy and roses and jasmine and wisteria, and you disappear inside, invisible to the sun and the court and maybe even the gods as well.

“I don’t think Larys will try that again anytime soon,” Aemond says. “Still, we must use your talent sparingly. If Larys Strong learned of it, so can others. And my mother cannot silence them all.” He threads your moonstone pendant through his hand, touches his forehead to yours. His voice is low and adoring. “I assume you have a protection spell in mind for yourself. For when our child is due to be born.”

“There is a particular spell for childbirth, but the way I was taught it requires blue winter roses. As far as I know, they only grow in the North.”

Aemond nods, placing his palm on your belly. “I’ll send a raven to Winterfell and have some brought to King’s Landing. When do you need them?”

“Shortly before I deliver. As close to the labor as possible. At the start of my eighth month, I’d say.”

“Alright. I’ll see that you have them.”

You hesitate, not wanting to offend him. He is the epitome of a Targaryen…minus the illustrious, silver-haired, incestuous wife, of course. “Can I ask you for one favor?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“It’s not that I don’t care for your brother, but…can we please not name our baby Aegon?”

He smiles. “I think Westeros has more than enough Aegons already. Our child doesn’t need the name of a great warrior. They will be one no matter what we call them.”

Them, you think. Not him. Aemond didn’t say him.

In the darkness, in the stillness, you kiss and taste the unabated craving on each other’s lips.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What troubles you, Silver?”

You are on Bearstone sharing a picnic of meats, cheeses, breads, honey cakes, wine, and—your personal favorite—pomegranate juice. The ocean is sparkling and serene, the wind calm, the grass thick and soft beneath you. The sun is hot, but you have taken refuge in the shade of a grove of crooked laurel trees. They remind you of your mother—they share her name—and that once caused you pain like the nick of a blade. Increasingly, you find solace in it.

Aemond peers solemnly out over the waves, his arms linked around his bent knees. You have difficulty touching your knees at all these days; Aegon jokes that your belly is the Eighth Kingdom. “They haven’t arrived yet.”

“What hasn’t?”

“The blue winter roses,” he says. “I haven’t heard anything from Winterfell. Perhaps the raven went astray, perhaps the message was lost. It is an arduous journey, after all. No matter the circumstances, the outcome is the same. You need them, and you don’t have them.”

“Has it been eight months already?”

“Yes.” He’s amused now. “Haven’t you been keeping count?”

“Not as well as you, apparently.”

He studies you. “I’ll go myself,” he decides.

“What, to Winterfell?!”

“Yes, on Vhagar. With stops for meals and rest, it’s about three days each way. I’ll be back within a week. There are plenty of noble houses willing to host me along the route. In fact, they’ll be delighted. They’ll probably start shoving their marriageable daughters at me.”

“Perhaps that’s what Vhagar can eat. Wealthy, yearning maidens.”

He chuckles, then strokes your cheek tenderly, reverently. “I don’t want to wait any longer. I don’t want to risk you not having every advantage available to you.”

“Are you afraid?” you ask, and then immediately you regret putting it into words. You don’t want to give this fear life. You don’t want to give it power.

“No,” Aemond replies; and you cannot tell if he is lying.

~~~~~~~~~~

You are pacing through the gardens when he finds you. Helaena and her handmaidens are chasing her children around the butterfly bushes—Jaehaera, Jaehaerys, and little Maelor too, who is now old enough to toddle around on unsteady legs—but you can’t summon up the stamina for that today. Your swollen feet ache when they touch the cobblestones. Your lower back is knotted with pain: it tightens, loosens, tightens again, and each time you think it could twist no tighter it proves you wrong. You hurt in too many places to number. It would be like trying to count stars or blades of grass.

Aegon gestures to Helaena. “How is she?” He is drunk, but only moderately. He sits down on the rim of a fountain and you join him.

“Thriving. Jovial. You could ask her yourself, you know.”

“That’s not how we do things.” He stares at his wife, his children, but always from a distance. He ponders them the way other people might observe foreign strangers in a crowded marketplace: a little fascinated, a little puzzled. “It’s not her fault that I don’t desire her. It is my shortcoming, in fact. It is a betrayal to my heritage to be repulsed by the act. It is just one in my long litany of failures.” He discards his gloominess abruptly. “But how are you today?”

“Awful. Everything hurts, especially my back. Walking helps some.”

“Let’s walk then.” Aegon stands and loops his arm through yours. His steps are off-balance and lurching. “And just think, you have another full month of this to look forward to. You don’t have a supernatural remedy for the discomfort?”

“I have one for childbirth. But an essential ingredient is currently in transit.”

“Oh, right. Aemond must be soaring over the Riverlands by now.”

You think of the prince, still two or three days away from King’s Landing, and how he is like two souls in one. When he is alone with you, he is kind and gentle and at peace. He is a better husband than King Viserys ever was, already a better father. And yet…when he spars with Sir Criston, when he hears Otto Hightower speak of alliances and armies, when he reads books about tactics of warfare, when he is threatened with losing you…you can see the red glimmer of wrath, of vengeance in his eye. You can see the egregiously wronged boy he once was. “Sometimes I fear I’m losing him to the past instead of joining him in the future”

“You are his future. You, and the baby, and this family. The Greens. That’s all that exists to him.”

“But he cannot conspire against Rhaenyra without remembering what she and her sons did to him. Each time he thinks of it, I watch the hatred boil up inside him.” You look at Aegon. He looks back with perplexed, dark-ringed eyes. “You have to promise that if anything happens to me, you’ll help him. You’ll support him, you’ll guide him. Otto will coax him towards blind revenge, but you must help him rise above that. You must be a good king, a good leader. You must become better than you are now.”

“What could possibly happen to you?”

You glace up at the clouds, at the heavens. “My mother died in childbirth.”

“That’s very sad, but you aren’t going to.”

“Women die in childbirth all the time. You only exist because Aemma Targaryen did.”

“She didn’t just die,” Aegon says with a sort of morbid intrigue. “When all hope was lost, my father had her cut open so they could try to save his son. You could hear the screams all through the Red Keep. Bloodcurdling, I’ve been told. The bed looked like a massacre had taken place there. And in the end, the boy died anyway. So he tortured his beloved wife for nothing.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“Oh,” he realizes, noting your face. “Perhaps I should not have told you that.”

“Your timing could have been better,” you say. “Do you promise?”

He sighs. “I don’t think I have it in me to be a good anything.”

“You do. I know you do. I can see it.”

“Oh, is there a spell for that?” he teases. “Flaying me alive until all my secrets are spilled?”

“Owww.” You stop dead and grab your lower back, squeezing your eyes shut. “Owwww…”

Aegon reaches for you uncertainly. “Are you alright? Are you sure this is normal—?”

There is a sudden gush of liquid that drenches the ground beneath your feet. There is a panicked look that flies between you and Aegon, colored with the knowledge that Aemond is still hopelessly far from King’s Landing. And then, when a new wave of twisting agony pierces through your spine, there are screams. It feels like jagged metal strings are tangled up inside you, shredding muscle, scraping bone. It feels like you are being ripped apart by iron claws. There is sharpness and pressure and tension all at once. There is no escaping it.

Helaena helps you to your bedroom and calls for the maesters and midwives. By the time they arrive, you are on the floor sobbing, gasping for air, trembling all over. Helaena cools your face with wet cloths and promises that you will have relief between contractions, but you don’t feel any break in the pain: it is bad, and then it is worse, and then it is unbearable, but it never vanishes from you. The midwives check you again and again, and although they speak to you soothingly and encouragingly you can see the bleak dread in the glances they pass each other like whispers.

Helaena does not leave your side except when she collapses—curled up on a couch in the corner of the room—to catch a few hours of fractured sleep. Aegon sits in the hallway outside and drinks, worries, drinks some more. Queen Alicent arrives every few hours to offer praise and advice, to assess your progress. Her face grows more grave with each visit. She consults with the maesters and midwives, positing suggestion after suggestion, positions and herbs and drinks and prayers. Nothing helps you. Nothing brings the child out of you, and after a while you can no longer feel them moving. I’ve killed them, you think to yourself. And now it’s my turn to die too.

At first, you fight to live. You are petrified by the knowledge that your mother died exactly like this, afraid and suffering and utterly defenseless despite her gift of magic. Perhaps she was not able to cast the spell for protection in childbirth before her labor began. Perhaps it simply didn’t work. Perhaps the Old Gods heard her pleas and denied them, silenced them, determined that her hourglass had run out. You don’t want to die. You don’t want to leave Aemond, Helaena, Aegon, Alicent, Sir Criston, this city, this world. You don’t want to abandon Aemond to descend into merciless, mindless fury. You don’t want to die, you don’t want to die, you don’t want to die.

As the hours pass, as the days pass, the fight bleeds out of you. Death would be an end to the pain. Death would be cold, silent nothingness. And, most vitally, death in this particular circumstance seems to be inevitable.

When the midwives announce with renewed exuberance that at last you are dilated enough to deliver, you don’t have any strength left. You cannot keep down food or water; you vomit up every drop of liquid they pour down your throat, raw from screaming and retching. You have not slept. You lie in the same bed where Aemond made love to you on your wedding night and let the contractions shred through you one after the other, accomplishing nothing, afflicting futile violence. You have nothing left. You are as empty as open hands.

When Vhagar is spotted flying into King’s Landing, Aegon sprints out to the beach to meet his brother. Aemond climbs down from the netting wearing a triumphant grin; in the satchel slung over his shoulder are twenty-seven blue winter roses, still relatively fresh. His smile dies when he sees Aegon, when he reads his face, when he smells the wine and sweat and desperation on him.

“It’s too late for that,” Aegon says. His words are strangled. His cheeks are ruddy and wet with tears. “But you might still have time to say goodbye.”

You know the instant Aemond enters the room; he changes it just like he always does. The floor shifts, the walls expand, the daylight grows brighter. “I’m here,” he tells you, kneeling at your bedside. “Shh, I’m here, I’m here. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I’m here now.”

Your voice is less than a whisper. “I don’t want to die like my mother.”

“You are not dying. Look at me, look at me…” He grabs your face roughly with both hands. “You are not dying, I promise you that you’re not. You are in battle, but you are winning.”

Your eyes roll to his, glassy and vacant, wanting to believe him. Helaena sobs on the other side of the room. Alicent embraces her, comforts her, prepares her.

“I’ll help you,” Aemond says. “Alright? We’ll do this together. I’ll help you. I won’t leave you for a second. I won’t leave until it’s over.”

Until it’s over, he said. Not until our child is born. Because no one believes the baby is still alive. “Alright,” you agree faintly, the words of a ghost.

Aemond climbs onto the bed, sits behind you, rests his chin in the dip of your collarbone. When the midwives tell you to push, he kisses your temple and entwines his hands with yours and reminds you that you are almost there, nearly done, winning. In the midst of a contraction that feels like razors, and then crushing pressure, and then fire, the baby is born. And while sounds erupt through the room—cheers and chatter and gasps of relief—there is no cry. You expect this. You barely feel the grief at all. Later you will, surely, but not now.

“I’m sorry,” you tell Aemond, barely conscious, the room dimming to black. Blood flows in a torrent from your life-robbing womb.

“No,” he replies. You can feel the dampness of tears on his right cheek. “It’s not your fault. You have nothing to be sorry—”

And then there is a noise, a fragile little squeak as the midwives jostle her, your tiny wrinkled newborn daughter; and a reedy little cry follows. Alicent bursts into jubilant tears. Helaena rushes over to hold the baby. You fade away, away, away.

You sink into a deep, pitch-black sleep with no dreams. You deliver the afterbirth and the midwives massage your belly, and you are barely aware of these facts. You surface momentarily when you are given morsels of food or drink or milk of the poppy. You are cleaned and dressed and scrupulously monitored. A wetnurse is found for the baby; you could not nurse even if it was customary for a princess to do so, as your milk had not yet come in before your too-soon labor. You drift in the darkness. You gather strength; you heal. Aemond brushes the tangles from your hair and speaks to you in High Valyrian and waits for you to rejoin him in the land of the living.

After three full days, you are well enough for visitors. You lie in bed in a regal, celebratory golden gown and accept congratulations as your daughter is passed around, careful arms eagerly enfolding her: Otto, Alicent, Helaena, Sir Criston, various Hightowers, maesters, the highest-ranking nobles currently at court, Aemond always hovering nearby and impatient to take her back. Oddly enough, nobody seems disappointed that she is not a son, least of all your husband. Aegon bypasses all the cooing and admiring and sits down beside you on the bed, one brimming cup in each hand.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hi. I brought you some pomegranate juice.” He hands you a cup.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d have much interest in this. Are you here to see the baby?”

“No.” He touches your forehead—feeling for fever—and then your cheeks. “You scared me.”

“Not as much as I scared myself, I assure you.”

“Don’t do that again.”

“He’s so in love with her, I think we’ll have to have twenty children.”

“That would be a new record, surely.”

“Why, do you only have nineteen?”

“You fucking bitch,” he says, smiling enormously, and clinks his cup against yours.

Otto Hightower parades your daughter around the room. She is obviously asleep, but he narrates every feature to her anyway: here’s the history of that tapestry, there’s the rug brought to the Red Keep from some exotic corner of the world. “What will you call her?” he asks Aemond. “Visenya? Alyssa? Alysanne?”

Aemond turns to you. “I think we should name her after your mother.”

“Yes,” you reply as you clasp your pendent. You had not considered it, but it’s perfect. It suits her. It breathes new life into something that was stolen from you.

“Laurel.” You love the way Aemond says it: hushed like a sigh, gentle like his hands.

“Laurel?!” Otto exclaims. “That’s not a Targaryen name!”

“Perhaps you will recall, Grandsire, that she is also half-Mormont.”

“Well…I suppose it cannot be helped at this point,” Otto concedes. Everything about him—voice, posture, eyes—softens as he gazes down at his great-granddaughter. You had thought that only Helaena was capable of having that effect on him. “She is a fine child. She looks like a Targaryen, at least.” And she does: she has your skin and your eyes, but her dusting of short, wispy hair is pure silver.

When you are able to walk long distances again, Aemond insists that there is one last introduction that still needs to be made. The three of you venture down to an abandoned stretch of rocky beach—Aemond carrying Laurel, stepping slowly and cautiously—where Vhagar is slumbering like an earthquake waiting to split the land. She unfurls when she hears you approaching, flares her nostrils, blinks sluggishly with those savage, muddy eyes.

“Fire,” Aemond says, laying his bare palm to Vhagar’s flesh. Then he smooths his hand over your daughter’s sparse, downy hair. “And blood.” The egg in her cradle is a pale, shimmering, off-white color with silver flecks. The feeling in your chest is nothing but open, fearless, shadowless joy.

Exactly eight weeks later—seeking to secure Lucerys Targaryen’s claim to Driftmark—Rhaenyra and Daemon set sail from Dragonstone, bound for the flourishing, golden shores of King’s Landing.

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond imagine #aemond x you #aemond targaryen imagine #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #aemond fic

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lmksimp · 3 years ago

Note

Hello! I was wondering if you could write headcanons of MK and Red son (or our favorite monkey boys but I’m not sure how many characters you write for) with an affectionate S/O? Like someone who’ll give them a lot of kisses on the cheek , gives lots of compliments, and enjoys cuddles.

So much fluff 🥺🥺alrighty!~

For the amount? It really depends, I do all of them when I have alot of motivation, some is when I have little motivation lol

Genre(s): Fluff

Pronouns: they / them

Redson

So for this man- He isn't used to it

So basically if you give him like just a kiss on the cheek

He might just act normal, but his hair-

Inside he's just like: "OMG OMG OMG-"

Basically has a panic attack in his mind

For the compliments? Definitely will enjoy them though again not used to it

Give him one he acts all superior and proud

While in the inside he's just loving the compliments you give him

Cuddles? Bro. Is. A. Personal. Heater.

Like he enjoys cuddles very much

If your cold? He gotchu personal heater comin through

It gives him like a sense of comfort whenever you do these actions, since well his parents-

You could actually call him a tsundere

But, he would be very happy to oblige

Sun wukong

Man👏is👏down👏for👏godamn👏affection

I imagine wukong a very clingy monke and Just needs so much affection

like kiss his cheek? he will pepper kisses all over your face might turn it into a makeout session Lmao

Give compliments? Ego boost

Like srsly your his s/o and giving him compliments? One of his greatest achievements i swear

Another personal heater ❤️

So um, he is very down for cuddles

But i must warn you, he will never. Ever. Let you go

Unless you bribe him or smth

Veryy comfy when it comes to cuddling

Place face on his floofy chest? He gon purr like a cat

But overall? Needs affection 24/7

Macaque

Like redson is not used with affection and stuff

He might flinch whenever you try to kiss him

If you are patient enough you can actually give him affection without him flinching :D

So kisses on cheek? More like kisses on scar

He is very insecure about it so give kisses would make him happier and comforted ❤️❤️

The compliments would catch him off gaurd

I mean like he's not used to it, and you gave him a compliment? His s/o? Such a warm feeling he has in his chest

But he would love the compliments

Tbh he would be a personal heater too, bcs monke

Cuddles would take some time but you both start with side hugs

When he's comfortable you also cannot leave bcs the comfort✨❤️

And like everytime you do this these kinds of stuff I'm sure you'll hear a slight purr from him

But overall? Monke still not used to it but loves it anyway

#lmk redson #Lmk sun wukong #lmk macaque #Redson x reader #Sun Wukong x reader #Macaque x reader #⫷MY WRITING⫸

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genshinboys · 3 years ago

Text

Zhongli x Childe - POLYAMOROUS HCS

WARNING: NSFW, GAY CONTENT, FEM READER / ZHONGLI / CHILDE POLYAMOROUS RELATIONSHIP

„Who are you?”

The box with personal belongings feels heavy in your hands once you not so gracefully stumble into the office of who you presume to be your future co-workers. You were given their names, the number of the room, the exact floor you should be heading to, some details about not getting lost on the way out of the elevator as the corridors here are long and lead to a dozen other rooms and offices, which you most likely not want to become acquainted with on your first day of work. So far, life has taught you to take things one step at a time, and you are infallibly so, a zealous supporter of that claim.

However, to be quite frank, no amount of prior instruction or fair share of warning could prepare you for the disastrously handsome two men currently curiously ogling you from behind their desks.

Were they not informed of your arrival?

The brunet adjusts his glasses by pushing them further up his nose with a long finger. The documents piling right next to his elbow do a very bad job at hiding his perfect-side profile, even though the stack mounts high enough to reach his shoulders. His gaze is measuring and observant. The black rim of his glasses creates a stark contrast to the shimmering depth of gold hues alerted by your presence. Yet, he remains professionally calm, motionless as these ancient marble statues.

The other one - the blue-eyed ginger - jumps to his feet excitably. The said eyes flip through your whole person, devoting more than an acceptable amount of time to inspect your cleavage. He raises his eyebrow. The corner of his mouth moves upwards as well, and he hums approvingly once he stands firm before you. He is tall. Too tall. The jingle jangle of the trinkets in your box intensifies as your clammy hands begin to shake when you attempt to hide from him behind the content of the box.

„I-I’m your new co-editor.”

Your stuttering, treacherous mouth transforms the sentence into a slur of weird sounds.

„Oh-oh?”

The ginger muses in a pleasant hum that thrills you and makes things swirl in your stomach in an odd way.

„That cannot be.”

Yeah, that simply cannot be, as has the blue-eyed walking perfection just retorted. With all due respect, all these years of being a columnist for different newspapers and you still haven’t met a single man that could tick off all the boxes for what you would call a handsome or potentially interesting male. Well, maybe your ex. But, that’s a long story. And now, just like that, you meet not one but two (!) of the most dashing men you have ever seen in your life who are supposed to be your fellow journalists? Bollocks.

You take a wobbly step back to check the number of the room as more distrustful thoughts swarm your brain. Everything seems to be just fine, though? The blue eyes narrow on you when you continue your monkey dance with the overflowing box in your hold.

„Listen, pretty girl. If you’re yet another lost lamb looking for the model agency - it is the building right across the street. Not this one, alright?”

He makes a ‘shoo away’ gesture with his hands, sighing audibly. The contagious happy vibes radiating from him just moments ago suddenly went out of the window.

„I’m sorry b-b---,”

You interrupt, but he is relentless.

„It’s all fine. I know, I know. Being all pretty like that it’s only fair you didn’t get luckier in the big brains department. Don’t worry. There are roughly a few girls a week that come knocking at our offices’ doors lost and confused. But hey, at least this time you really are cute.”

You feel his fingers brazenly sneaking up your shoulders to lead you out.

„Have you just offended me?”

You dig your heels into the floor to hold your ground steadily. The man smirks, amused by the resistance on your side. Maybe you’re not that silly after all.

„More like complimented your looks.”

You briefly wonder if slapping the colleague’s face during your first meeting is the right way to hit it off at the new workplace. He grins wider as if he was a psychic reading your thoughts. You shoot him a pointed stare, which does nothing to tame the oozing from him smugness. Fine, then, a slap it is.

„Childe, I beg of you. Don’t demoralize our future..., erm, partner. We won’t be getting another one.”

You’re held back by the other male, admittedly just as handsome albeit seemingly less of a dickhead after the quick yet thorough consideration you have just silently done in your head.

„Easy there, Mr Zhongli. I’m merely checking if she has what it takes to adjust to our line of work.”

Son of a---, you curse the living shit out of him, Childe, or whatever his ridiculously stupid name is.

„Your father will not be happy if she hands in the resignation like the others did.”

The fine brunet melancholically lifts himself from his leather chair, chastising the ginger male with practised accuracy. Uh-huh. The good and bad cop syndrome. You get it now. Not only their beauty contrasts like night and day, but so does their behaviour.

Childe’s smug smile disappears quickly only to be replaced with a frown and pouty lips when the perhaps just slightly older man crosses his arms on the chest, opting to stand in a hairbreadth distance from the two of you. Childe stiffens, eyes roll to the back of his head at being so openly put in place by the disapproving man. There is some argument going on between these two, or more like Mr Zhongli talking to the ginger-head as if he was reasoning with an actual child(e). No pun intended.

In such close quarters, their handsome features appear to be even more surreal. You blink and blink, thinking that maybe if you blink hard enough, they will stop being so picture-perfect, and your eyes will finally spot some flaws. Ha, how naive.

Mr Zhongli is well versed and classy. That much you can tell despite the numbness of your limbs and the increasing fogginess in your awed brain. Even if Mr Zhongli is older than that bratty little shit, it does nothing to take away his godly-like appearance. It roots you to the spot and makes you want to stare at him as if he was a deity. You would be actually ready to bet your monthly wages that the guy was indeed some sort of a god in one of his previous lives.

„Childe, now, take that box from our guest and let’s properly introduce ourselves.”

It’s not even an excessive request, just a regular act of seemliness and well-accepted conduct of behaviour, but Childe scoffs. He’d be oh-so happier if he could tease you a little bit more. Nevertheless, he turns to you, face pretty much still very arrogant despite getting an earful from Mr Zhongli. So vain. How can such a pompous bastard be so attractive? His fingers brush over yours when he assuredly retrieves the box from your shaky hold. With a final wink directed at your flustered self, he spins on his heel to trudge towards the only empty desk in the office.

„Here, doll. Your humble quarters.”

He drops the box on the desk and extends his arm to show you to your new workplace. It is undeniably an upgrade from your previous squeaky chair, and an old scratched, terribly battered with the flow of time computer. It all looks so expensive and modern. You once again question the stroke of luck that has brought you to this place today. Was it the fate making amends to you? Right about the damn time, if you were to be asked.

It certainly wasn’t the nicest of experiences to be cheated on by your fiancé, who also happened to be the chief editor of the scandal-seeking tabloid you were previously writing for. You broke up with him and decided to move on quickly. For some reason, you didn’t struggle much with finding a new job. It still seems a bit fishy - the fact that you were essentially hired after the first meeting with the owner of this weekly newspaper. It’s a renowned and well-established Liyuean periodical, one you were always admiring and would not dare to dream to work for.

Now, that you look at the handsome youth, he does somehow bear resemblance to the man who interviewed you before. There is also something weird about the way he speaks, something distinctively foreign, but also not completely new as you are positive you must have already heard it, possibly while speaking to the owner of this newspaper. You know he is of Sneznayhan origin. Are you going to be working with his son? Looks like it. With him and his ostensibly handsome, but much more sensible sidekick.

„You have to forgive Childe. He tends to get a little bit too..., enthusiastic at times. Especially that the prospect of working with a new, however extremely promising colleague is in fact, thrilling. Even for me.”

Golden pupils riffle through you. A small smile lurks somewhere behind the long and shiny strand of hair that frames his visage, but he keeps it at bay, fishing for your reaction. Promising? What does he exactly mean by that? And why is his presence so strong that you feel like your legs are set in stone, unable to move away from him?

Seeing that he has managed to more or less win you over with his soft-spoken eloquence, he presses on. Both of you choose to remain ignorant to the way Childe has allowed himself to rummage through your belongings. With a clatter, items are being dropped to the desk as the younger male busies himself with unpacking you.

„Excuse that appalling faux pas. It shall not repeat itself. My name is Zhongli. I’m a humble co-writer, a close associate of Childe, whom, I trust, you must have already recognised as the owner’s son. It just so happens we’ve been rather weighed down by the staggering amount of work lately.”

He makes it a point to nod his head at the never-ending pile of documents on his and Childe’s desks.

„With the rise of popularity that we’ve been enjoying, Childe’s father has concluded that we’d need more capable hands to write and edit articles for our beloved newspaper. Hence, your presence here today. It makes me very glad if I may be so bold. I’ve been quite impressed by some of your articles. The choice of words - exquisite. I immediately recommended you as the most adequate candidate for this position.”

The handsome man rambles, and his voice flows smoothly, like honey pours into your heart, occasionally leaving you battling a shiver of excitement when he hits a particularly low tone. You are afraid to breathe, not wanting him to stop the pleasant tirade that has effectively pushed you into a shivering limbo state.

„Who the hell is that?”

Childe groans in a somewhat accusatory manner He has picked up a photo frame, and it dangles in the air when he questions further.

„Don’t tell me it’s your boyfriend?”

He doesn’t try to hide the look of disgust on his face when he gives the photo another glance over with his unimpressed eyes. He shifts his gaze to you, expectant.

„Well, no, no. It’s my ex.”

Childe smirks devilishly, looking rather relieved at the word ex.

You wave your hands in the air, embarrassed. How did the photo end up in the box anyway? It’s not like you packed it there deliberately or knowingly. Whatever. Your eyebrows pinch, and you give out a weak sound of helplessness at the haunting you now events from the previous month.

„So why the hell is he still in the frame, in this box?”

The air is heavy with tension when Childe waits but only a few moments for your answer before he moves to the window and boldly throws the photo out.

„We don’t collect rubbish here, girlie.”

Zhongli clears his throat to fill the awkward silence that follows.

„Well, I suppose we could get you a nicer frame, right? It didn’t really seem to match the décor of the office.”

The brunet reasons with the fingertips gripping his chin.

„That would be a nice welcoming gift. How about we take a photo now to commemorate our meeting?”

Zhongli smiles fondly. The sweet fragrance of silk flowers tinged with a heavier musky scent enter your nostrils as the man shimmies closer to you. His eyes gently ask for permission to take your smaller hand in his and lead you to the desk where Childe is wasting no time, phone ready in his hand and the camera settings adjusted.

„Fine.”

You croak out weirdly.

The one step at a time approach does seem to be a bit of a rusty concept now.

The days in the office go by quickly. They become warmer and warmer with the spring sunshine flooding through the large glass windows right onto the surface of your and your new colleagues’ desks. Similarly, these warmer and longer days see about a change in the relationship between you and these two handsome men as it gradually thaws, like the last drifts of snow.

And although the beginnings might have been difficult, Childe does not seem to be half as bad as he made himself out to be on the first meeting. The urge to slap his face is also not as frequent and not nearly as powerful as it used to be. Well, he still has his full-jerk moments, but overall it is all bearable.

ღ He’d bring you coffee, every day by the nature of habit, even though he himself might be not the biggest fan of the bitter taste. He is bound to spruce it up with a little ‘you’re welcome, doll’ before he opens the lid for you and begins to blow on the piping hot beverage to make sure you won’t burn yourself while taking the first rejuvenating sip.

ღ He’ll absolutely not forget about the custom brewed tea from the finest and fanciest blends he could lay his hands on while frequenting the premium tea shops scattered all over Liyue. He’d brew it himself in the tiny kitchen, located not so far away from your shared office. Is it a coincidence? Likely not, as you later discovered - Zhongli is an avid fan of tea, and Childe oftentimes disappears behind the kitchenette doors to quickly prepare one for him when the older man looks rather depleted by the long lines of text.

ღ He might not be the best tea brewer, as the title without a doubt belongs to Mr Zhongli himself, but he will do his best while following the instructions so often mused out loud by the older man. The soft smile on Zhongli’s face when he is handed the deliciously smelling tea made by none other but the proud ginger? A priceless sight to witness, and you’d always end up feeling hot all over your body no matter how many times you’ve seen it.

„Childe, Dear, you’ve outdone yourself this time.”

„You always say the same thing, Zhongli.”

„But I firmly believe it to be true, Childe.”

ღ He also quite quickly picked up on your sweet tooth and has ever since abused that weakness of yours by toting around various types of confectionery in the roomy confines of his briefcase. He’d bribe you with some of them when you turn a little bit sour due to his constant teasing. He can’t help it, though. He finds your reactions sweeter than any candy he’s ever tasted in his life.

„Don’t be angry, Y/N. It was just an innocent joke.”

He whines like a teenage boy. Your cheeks turn red when you realise how borderline lewd he sounds, intentionally or not. It’s quite impressive how his voice can go from dark and menacing to innocent and cute on a whim. It’s like the man has a split-personality syndrome, and you never know which of these you will have to take on.

„There is nothing innocent about pinching my buttocks, idiot.”

There comes a choked chuckle from the direction of Zhongli’s desk, but he quickly drowns out the sound by rustling the newsprint.

„I guess when you say it like that, it does sound a little bit..., bad. But, here, how about some candy as an apology? I did buy more of these chocolate coated plums you enjoyed so much.”

He then looks at you with these ocean-blue eyes as the skin around them crinkles adorably.

ღ Childe is a wealthy man. Stinking rich type of wealthy man, too. You would be a liar if you didn’t admit that such a situation doesn’t come with its obvious perks. He drives a pitch-black Bugatti. He drives it with one hand on the steering wheel while the other arm hangs out of the window. Childe always used to drive with Zhongli sitting next to him, but now doesn’t mind at all when you take his usual spot while the charming brunet reads the book on the back seat.

ღ He wears pitch-black sunglasses that match his car and the tight distressed jeans, clinging to his plump ass like a second skin. Not that you were checking him out, or anything. Although, as meaty as his ass looks, Zhongli’s is arguably even rounder. You might have even seen Childe pinching that peachy bum while offering to open the car door for Mr Zhongli. You turned your eyes away. In fact, you always do when the two close associates act in ways that go beyond the dictionary definition of associates term.

„Aren’t you in an exceptionally good mood today, Childe?”

The brunet lures with a husky timbre, disguising the whole scene behind the false pretence of a friendly exchange between colleagues. Two rip-off artists with terrible acting skills, on top of that. The younger man grins wider than the sun.

„How can I not with such good company?”

And then Childe freezes you in place with his eyes shifting their focus to your flustered person as you shrink away from the familiar grin plastered on his face.

„Most lovely company, indeed, Dear. We’ve been blessed by good fortune like never before.”

Mr Zhongli’s acknowledgement is sudden and equal in bluntness to Childe’s blabbering mouth. The rich amber of his irises glimmers in the warm autumnal shades that dis-empower you further as he proceeds to inspect you with rising interest. If you didn’t know him any better, you’d say that there is a tell-tale sign of a small smirk forming on his handsome features, but he swiftly simmers it down.

„May I?”

He walks up to you and offers for you to wrap your arm around his, which you do, albeit it feels as if the move itself took your whole strength away.

„Childe, we should stop for some cooler drink on our way to the office. Y/N seems a bit flushed.”

Childe tilts his head like a cat towards you.

„Poor little thing, must be the hot weather, isn’t it?”

ღ Speaking of habits, you’ve developed quite a few over these couple of months of intense bonding with your fellow article writers. One of such customs are the gym escapades that leave you out of breath, oftentimes not because of the tough exercises, but more like the sight of the ginger flexing his muscles in the barbell bent-over row. His back is broad, thighs wound up so tight they seem harder than a rock. He’s also very likely to drop his t-shirt somewhere on the floor between the sets. Eyes invariably checking up on you, with a ‘she’s here with me’ death glare fixed on any curious male eyes within Childe’s sniffing distance. Childe is on the watch. And what if Mr Zhongli chooses to come along with you? Oh, good manners be damned. The hawk-eye will hunt down every single one of them.

„Hey, watch it.”

Unceremoniously, Childe threatens with a finger pointed at the staring-a-little-bit-too-much guy. Mr Zhongli smirks, content with the younger’s vehemence. He might have even chuckled, but you can’t hear well because of the thumping music coming from the speakers. He beckons Childe over with his commanding look, and needless to say, the ginger would almost trip over his legs with how fast he wants to fulfil the brunet’s wish. This time Mr Zhongli is definitely stifling a laugh before he places his palm on the back of Childe’s neck and pulls him in. Is Childe blushing? The older man stops at Childe’s earlobe, whispering something right into the ginger’s ear and then, suddenly, both of them turn to you?

Woah.

Gallivanting blue pupils pursue you together with the amused amber of Zhongli’s dragon-like eyes. Childe nods in agreement as if he was signing a pact with this mischievous dragon. A signature smirk. Childe struts towards your slightly agitated little body and starts playfully tickling your sides. It tickles so much. Everything in your belly tightens while you attempt not to topple over, still holding your weights.

„Childe stop!”

He doesn’t, of course. The weights promptly disappear from your hands with the sudden arrival of Mr Zhongli. He is careful, protective. He’d never let you get hurt in the process. Especially that he is the mastermind of this shameless attack. Your hands drop to Childe’s, seeking defence, wanting to push his roving hands away. Alas, the man is stronger, giggling and puffing hot air with his face glued to your neck. He swathes your body with his sturdy, bigger one until you feel like there is no room to breathe, and you’re basically pinned together. Wide-eyed, squirming and almost crying from how much your body is twitching under Childe’s prodding fingers, a plea makes it out of your tight chest.

„Mr Zhongli, please help! Please!”

Zhongli sucks in a breath, palpably going through some kind of an internal conflict. The gold in his eyes flares with friskiness you’ve never suspected him of being capable of.

„Help?”

The towering over you brunet queries while your panting and gasps intensify. It’s either he derives pleasure from watching you suffer under Childe’s playful touch, or he is just completely clueless.

„And why should I, my Dearest?”

You make a small noise of confusion before breaking into more helpless cries and whimpers when Zhongli takes your hands in his and forces them together, pressing them close to his chest so that Childe can have better access to your tummy. It’s not the - good, always helpful and caring Mr Zhongli. You feel betrayed. You look up at him with wounded, glossy from laughing eyes, only to find the man staring at you with a misty gaze.

„Forgive me, Little Crumb.”

Zhongli whispers huskily.

Holy shit.

Has he just called you a new pet name?

ღ You cling to the handrail as you climb the slippery steps leading to the floor where your office is situated. The cleaning lady sure is very liberal with the amount of detergents and soap water she uses to rub this vast surface clean.

„Fuck!”

This - and other curses that would turn even the oldest sailor’s ears red - echo in the stairway as the flight from your annoying admirer ensues. He is one of the Sports columnist, and ever since they were transferred to the ground floor, your evasive skills have proven to be insufficient to wiggle your butt out of his advances. He’d always be waiting for you next to the elevator, hands in his pockets, a cocky, absolutely disgusting ‘hello pretty!’ when he fishes you out from the bunch of people at the entrance. It’s gotten so bad that you’ve decided to say goodbye to the lift services, befriending the never-ending flights of stairs.

This time, however, the creep must have seen through your escape route and immediately launched from his desk to chase after you.

Hence, your current predicament. Regretfully, the expensive red high heels that have been gifted to you by Childe despite your fierce protests don’t help in improving the situation for you. You turn your head back, revolted. The puffing and gasping speed up as the man is essentially nipping at your heels. ‘That’s it’ - you think to yourself when you take an awkward, big lunge forward to counter the last two steps, but sadly, you trip!

Talk about timing.

Waggling your arms in the air, your body free-falls as the surroundings whirr before your eyes wildly, so you squeeze them shut, preparing for the imminent disaster. But, the humiliating tumble doesn’t happen as you land into something much softer than the ground. The silk flowers’ scent blended with musk and wood notes warmly hug your body as two strong arms circle around your waist.

„Mr Zhongli?”

His features soften at your adorable reaction of relief mixed with gratitude, but he holds you close, indulgently digging his fingers into the supple flesh of your hips. He does it a bit unknowingly, too caught up in the way you look back into his glinting with secret emotions eyes.

„Little Crumb, I told you so many times to be more careful.”

„I’m so sorry, Mr Zhongli.”

„I know you are, Dear.”

He reassures you, hands move up and down your back, and the sensation sinks into the crevices of your senses, making you want to strip for the man and beg him for more. Woah. Hold up. What are you even thinking?

You don’t have time to ponder upon the lewdness of your thoughts as your knight in shining armour stiffens a bit. His dragon eyes pointedly stare at something or rather someone behind your back. The grip on your hip tightens.

„Mr X, it seems to me you must have got lost. Shouldn’t you be working on the ground floor together with other sports columnists?”

Zhongli asks, but clearly isn’t interested in the answer when he straight away ignores the man, scooping you closer to safely lead you to your office.

Needless to say, you’ve never heard of Mr X after that incident.

Having walked into the newspaper office so late at night, you didn’t expect to bump into anybody. You had to come back here for some of the documents. You wanted to have a closer look at them over the weekend. But, one step out of the elevator and you’re left frozen, legs giving out the closer you get to the... scandalous sounds coming from the depths of your office.

Your heart goes berserk, pounding like a drum in your chest in anticipation of what is about to happen; what you’re about to see once you peek into the office.

Moans, gasps? Wait a minute, have you just heard a slap?

On your tippy-toes, you creep to the door that was left slightly ajar. You crane your neck, sneaking a shy little look inside. Cheeks burn so badly, the heat pulses in unison with your galloping heart.

Shit.

Your trembling hand shoots up to your mouth, hysterically fighting the whimper that nearly, oh so nearly flies past your lips. The empty bag for documents rolls off your shoulder and it silently falls to the ground.

In hindsight, it shouldn’t have surprised you so much. Your co-workers; these two hot men half-naked and kissing each other ferociously, their bodies tangled, brushing against each other with dire urgency.

You stare at the bewitching scene in dead-like silence. The crimson cheeks of yours continue prickling with heat, which faster than lightning shoots down your body, nestling low beneath the belly button.

Childe whines pitifully when his head bounces off the wall, but he does not seem to care too much, his hands immediately dragging Zhongli close to his body. The younger one pulls him in for another kiss that is arguably more teeth than a tongue, moaning louder than before when the brunet pins him against the cold brick surface. He holds him patiently, tenaciously so, despite Childe’s writhing hips. He fumbles with the older’s belt, wailing lamentably when he cannot get to Zhongli’s cock right this instant. Abruptly, Zhongli parts their lips with a wet sound.

„Don’t be impatient, Dear. You’ll end up being hurt.”

Childe, as if the man’s words fell on deaf ears, tugs at the fabric, pulls incessantly until finally, finally Zhongli’s cock springs free. He gapes at the man’s length with drool dripping down his chin, which is promptly wiped dry by Zhongli’s thumb swiping tenderly across Childe’s open lips. You swallow hard, suddenly reminded of the saliva gathering in your mouth. Zhongli is massive. Perfectly shaped, a thick, bulging slab of meat. Your thighs feel wet with the slick seeping through your panties when you squeeze them shut, seeking any kind of friction.

„I swear if you don’t do something, anything I’ll---,”

Childe’s bruised lips turn into an o-shape when Zhongli pumps two fingers in. The ginger moans lewdly, quickly accommodating to the burn of long fingers pushing down his throat. It’s in fact nothing when you compare it to Zhongli’s monstrous hardness.

„You will what, Childe?”

The brunet says lowly, enthralled by the way his lover meticulously coats his fingers with almost religious worship glinting in his ocean-blue eyes.

„Be a good boy, and I shall reward you.”

Childe’s sucking intensifies at that promise. Restless hips piston into Zhongli’s with renewed zeal. Zhongli hums in approval, withdrawing the glistening fingers from the ginger’s eager mouth.

„P-Please, just hurry up, p-please, na-ah!”

Childe begs, having forsaken his pride. His usually suave voice cracks the moment Zhongli reaches for his naked thigh and hooks it over his shoulder upon kneeling before him.

„Undo your buttons. I want to see your chest.”

Your stomach drops to your knees when Childe just rips the shirt, sending the buttons flying all over the office to fulfil Zhongli’s selfish request. With Childe’s underwear being swiftly pushed down to his ankles by Zhongli’s roving hands, both men are now naked right in front of your eyes.

If possible, your body flushes even more. The tension in your belly forms a tight knot that forces you to continue rubbing your thighs together. It’s not enough, though. No matter how much you press them together, it keeps tingling inside.

„F-Fuck, Zhongli!”

Childe curses, sobbing pleas are now continuously torn out of his dry throat with Zhongli’s lips tightly wrapped around his throbbing dick. Saliva-coated fingers prod at the ginger’s entrance, making him lift his leg higher to feel the pleasant burn of being worked open by the brunet’s digits. Zhongli - dissatisfied with the shallow thrusts of his fingers into the ginger’s tight hole - reaches for the vial of lube secretly hidden in his trousers’ pocket. The fragrance of silk flowers floats in the air around them as Zhongli covers the younger male with the sticky substance. The lovely scent of Childe’s juices mixed with the sweetness of the flowery lube slowly makes it to your nostrils, and you inhale wantonly. It smells like Mr Zhongli himself with the subtle notes of Childe’s rich essence. It intoxicates you like the best of drugs as heat pools low between your legs.

The fluttery sensation becomes worse with each moan, each profanity slipping past the ginger’s obscene mouth. You feel on fire, ready to combust at any moment. Your strength has left you, and at this point, you’re weekly clinging to a wall on wobbly legs. Blood rushes to your clit. It pulses in hot waves, spreading all over your groin. Having little control over your actions, a clammy hand slides down to your swollen folds, where you begin to rub synchronously with Zhongli’s bobbing head. It’s maddening. The tension below your navel makes you absent-mindedly rut into your palm. The other hand is still securely placed on your mouth, preventing you from whimpering too loud.

„Too fast, ah-ngyahh, you’re going to make me cum!”

Childe lets out a cry that unexpectedly pushes you over the edge as your thickened folds begin to throb. Everything turns white, and your limbs go stiff when your orgasm attacks you so violently. Your thighs quake, and breath hitches on and on while you pathetically try to control the flow of air whooshing straight into your hyperventilating lungs.

„No-ah-no, I want to cum with you in me!”

Childe keeps protesting as his greedy palms card through inky locks. His anus burns and the twitching tip of his cock releases cloudy droplets of pre-cum onto the older’s loving tongue. Zhongli doesn’t waste a single drop, swirling his tongue around the delicate tip with learned by heart accuracy. All of the ginger’s sensitive spots are etched in his memory. Childe moves his hips around anxiously. The stimulation from both sides leaves him on the verge of ejaculating all over Zhongli’s perfect mouth. Pulse thunders against his veins, the man keeps chocking on his pathetic moans. And with that one final lewd look from the clouded dragon eyes, Childe yanks the brunet’s long strands to get him off his aching cock.

Holy fuck. He was seconds from bursting because of the way Zhongli looked at him.

Zhongli groans angrily at being so openly defied. He rises to his feet, towering over the younger male.

„J-Just fuck me already, you-you stubborn old ass.”

Childe stutters out in a voice that doesn’t resemble his own anymore.

„I don’t care if it hurts.”

The meek words barely make it out of his throat before the other male lunges at him with a fiery passion. Zhongli is on him. Ravaging mouth litters his neck with bites as Zhongli’s canines pierce the skin. The older grunts in frustration when the shirt is still on his way, not allowing him to mark his lover. He moves lower, finding satisfaction in abusing Childe’s nipple. The ginger shakes as if he was about to fall, ready to get to his knees to beg for any type of release.

„Zhongli!”

He feels himself being lifted from the ground, and a sense of relief washes over him. The brunet angles himself perfectly, and in a precise thrust pushes past the taut rim of Childe’s entrance.

Childe screams.

„Is that to your liking, Dear?”

The ginger hisses out air, legs wrapped around Zhongli’s waist so tightly you could think he wants them to merge into one. Childe doesn’t come up with any bratty response, as of now, he is being drilled by Zhongli’s thick cock so hard he wouldn’t be able to recall his name. His back arched, bodies slide against each other as Zhongli picks up the speed.

Your hips jerk. Thighs shake with effort when you can’t bring yourself to stop touching these twitching folds. You hear Zhongli cursing Childe’s tight heat, telling him to relax. You breathe in laboriously through your nose, your walls clamp down on the plunging digits when Childe moans out more of his „yes, please, yes” nonsense. The second orgasm leaves you even more depleted and considerably more teary-eyed as you furiously pump the digits in and out of your clenching cunt. It’s wet, dripping everywhere, making sloppy sounds as you finger yourself relentlessly. It’s like you are in a daze, unable to shake out of it when they fuck each other so lewdly in front of your eyes.

„Childe, you’re taking me so well. Is that what you wanted, huh? You look so pretty, crying around my cock. Absolutely ethereal.”

Zhongli praises continuously, his hips withdrawing only to slam back into Childe’s fluttering entrance. He fucks him so roughly it makes you feel sorry for the ginger. Will he even be able to walk after that kind of sex? You seriously doubt it.

„C-Cum with me, nyhah---, I can’t hold it back anymore, ahh!”

Childe plunges into such deep pleasure there seems to be no escape. Zhongli’s hips stammer, balancing on the edge after hearing the younger’s desperate plea.

„F-Fuck, Childe, archons above-”

Zhongli moans out, smashing his dick into Childe, fireworks explode in his stomach, and he reaches his breaking point. He rolls his hips into the younger male, panting, grunting low in ecstasy. His long hair drag across his shoulders as he moves quickly, riding out his and Childe’s orgasm as well as he only can. The ginger is blissed out. The sizzling heat in his stomach makes him dig his nails into the jade-pale skin of Zhongli’s back. He sobs when Zhongli squeezes the final milky pearls of cum out of his cock, subsequently collapsing into the brunet’s arms like a rag doll.

Haze descends on you amidst the after-shock of yet another brutal release. It all kept happening so fast, the pleasure so intense and overbearing you don’t think you’ve ever experienced something like this in your life. Your heart keeps hammering like crazy when you realise you have to get out of there before they catch you sneaking up on them. Shaking like a leaf, you somehow make it to the elevator and proceed to press the ground floor button maniacally.

Little do you know that in the heat of the moment you forgot about the bag. It’s right there, on the floor, waiting for Mr Zhongli to stumble upon it when he leaves the office to fetch a glass of water for his thirsty and tired lover.

This is the end of part one. If you’re interested in reading the continuation of the story please make sure to visit my blog :> I’ll be posting the second part soon. Meanwhile, if you feel like screaming at me for this disgusting cliffhanger, go ahead. My askbox is open <3

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rubysunnday · 4 years ago

Text

she’s a lady

Request by @amirahiddleston - may i get #3 with benedict bridgerton x reader in which y/n isn’t a proper ‘lady’ but is often forced to go to the galas?

A/N: I hope this is alright, darling!

Y/N glowered at her aunt. “I cannot believe you managed to convince me to attend this... thing.”

“And I cannot believe that you’re still complaining,” her aunt, Allison, countered. “It will be fine.”

“I’m not a proper member of the ton, Auntie,” Y/N replied, slumping back into the cushioned seats of the carriage. “As everyone keeps making abundantly clear.”

“Lady Whistledown likes you,” Allison said, raising her eyebrows. “As do the Bridgerton’s.”

Y/N sighed. “Yes, thank you, Auntie. I still don’t understand why you drag me along with you to these things.”

“You entertain me.”

“What am I, your performing monkey?” Y/N asked, giving her a very unimpressed look. “You just like talking to Lady Danbury about how intolerable the rest of society is.”

“Well, yes,” Allison said, nodding. “But it’s also a good opportunity -”

“Oh, not this again -”

“ - for you to find a husband -”

“ - I do not need you playing matchmaker for me, Auntie!” Y/N snapped, giving her aunt a very pointed and grumpy look. “I’ll be fine.”

Her aunt raised her eyebrows at her niece. “You’ll become a spinster.”

Ah, the dreaded condition known as the spinster. An unmarried woman became known as a spinster when she went beyond the usual age for marriage. This was usual twenty-eight which was, in Y/N’s mind, still fairly young for a woman.

Y/N groaned and looked out the carriage window, choosing to ignore her aunt’s comment. “Oh, look, we’re here,” she said, thankful that the carriage had pulled up to Lady Danbury’s estate at the right moment.

A footman stepped forward and opened the carriage door. He held out a hand for Y/N and she took it, letting him help her down the stairs.

“Thank you,” Y/N said with a smile as she pulled her shawl around her shoulders.

“Y/N!”

Benedict Bridgerton broke off from his mother and Colin and began walking up to her.

“Benedict!” Y/n greeted, walking to meet him. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

“I was dragged along,” Benedict muttered, shooting his mother as disdainful look.

Violet merely gave Y/N a cheer wave as she walked in to the building with Colin and Anthony.

“Same here,” Y/N replied, shooting her aunt a disdainful look who’d happily caught up with Violet Bridgerton. “Well, we can be miserable together.”

“And perfectly happy apart,” Benedict finished, holding his arm out for her to take. “Miss Y/L/N.”

“Mr Bridgerton,” Y/N replied, smiling.

Y/N was miserable. She hadn’t been this unhappy since she’d been forced to dance with Lord Berbrooke until Anthony Bridgerton had swung in and saved her.

“Lord Smith, I don’t suppose we could have a break for a few minutes?” Y/N asked as the dance (the third one she’d danced with him that night) ended. “I’d like a drink and a moment to catch my breath.”

“Ever the lady,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

Y/N curtsied to him. Lord Smith was not a very nice person and didn’t particularly care about the etiquette of society. Y/N took her chance and tried not to run through the crowd to escape the man. Her aunt had vanished along with Lady Bridgerton and Lady Danbury and Benedict had disappeared off with his sister and she’d been left to the lion’s den with no one around.

In her haste, she didn’t look where she was going and walked straight into someone.

“Oh!” Y/N exclaimed. She felt herself falling backwards only to be saved from impact with the floor by someone’s hands grabbing her waist.

“Sorry!” Benedict exclaimed, wincing with embarrassment as he caught her from falling on to the floor. “That was my fault.”

“I wasn’t looking,” Y/N replied, waving his concern off. She glanced behind her and silently cursed as she saw Lord Smith heading her way, weaving through the crowd like a man on a mission. “Catch me,” she said quickly, looking up at Benedict.

Benedict frowned. He looked behind her and saw Lord Smith approaching and his frown depended. “What?”

“I’m going to fake a swoon to scare him off, please catch me,” Y/N replied, urgency in her voice.

She didn’t give Benedict a chance to question her, admittedly, shoddy plan. If she'd had more time - and wasn’t so desperate to just vanish into thin air - she probably could have come up with a better plan. But, as it was, Y/N took a leaf out of the debutantes guid book, closed her eyes and dropped, hoping her friend was going to understand her urgency and actually catch her.

Judging from the gasp that went up around them and the fact she felt Benedict’s arms gently lower her to the floor, she assumed he’d caught on to her plan.

“Have you been practicing that?!” Benedict whispered, moving her so that she rested against his leg.

Y/N felt a hint of a smile on her lips but forced herself to keep calm.

“What happened?”

That was Anthony. Which meant she was now safely out of Lord Smith’s grasp. Y/N slowly opened her eyes and found herself looking up into Benedict’s eyes.

“Hi,” she said softly, smiling.

“Have a nice nap?” Benedict asked, helping her sit up. One hand rested on her shoulder and the other was still around her waist - his grip firm and reassuring.

Anthony handed her a glass of water and raised an eyebrow at her, completely unconvinced by her little act. “You swooned?”

“Oh, be quiet,” Y/N muttered, taking the water and sipping it. “It was an emergency.” She nodded behind Anthony at Lord Smith who was standing next to Lady Danbury and appeared to be getting an earful about three dances in a row from her and Lady Bridgerton. “I was trying to escape.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

Benedict chuckled and Y/N felt his chest vibrate with it. She struggled not to smile a giddy smile as she suddenly realised how close she was to him - and the fact his hand was still on her waist.

“Want to try standing up?” He suggested, raising his voice on behalf of the ton who were watching and listening.

Y/N nodded and let the two brothers help her to her feet. “Thank you,” she said, turning to face Benedict. “I’d like some fresh air, if that’s alright?”

“Of course, Miss Y/L/N,” Benedict said, all but beaming at her. He took her arm and they slowly made their way out onto the terrace - away from the ballroom and the prying eyes of London.

Once they were safely away from the ballroom, Benedict let go of her arm and turned to her, raising an eyebrow.

“The fake swoon?” He asked, crossing his arms and smirking. “Seriously, Y/N? I expected better.”

“What was I meant to do?!” She exclaimed, throwing her hands up. ““Three dances, Benedict, three. I know I’m not a proper lady but -”

“Don’t say that,” Benedict said softly, taking her hand.

Y/N frowned. “Don’t say... what?”

“That you’re not a proper lady,” Benedict elaborated. “I don’t like it when you talk about yourself as if you’re nothing.”

Y/N smiled sadly. “Well, in the eyes of society, Benedict, I am nothing. I’m an orphan with almost no dowry and an aunt who’s marriage lasted a month before he died. I come with scandal and a reputation that was ruined before I even arrived.”

“Yet you are as much as a lady as those women in there,” Benedict replied. He raised a hand and rested it on Y/N’s cheek. “If not more. Reputation be damned, Y/N, you are more than worthy of the title of Lady. Heritage and money may buy you the title of lady but it doesn’t make you one. A lady requires grace and agility and elegance. They have to dance and be perfect and - why are you looking at me like that?”

Y/N stared at him. “You and the point of that sentence are further apart than the Earth is from Pluto.”

“I’m trying to compliment you!” He exclaimed, staring back at her. “I was -”

“Going off on a tangent that was entirely unrelated to the start of the sentence!”

“Y/N!”

“Benedict!” Benedict whirled around and marched towards her. For a moment, Y/N thought he was going to yell at her or something alike.

Instead, he held her face between his hands and kissed her on the lips.

Y/N, completely stunned by the sudden change in emotion and the fact that Benedict Bridgerton was kissing her froze.

Benedict, noticing her attempt at being a statue, stopped kissing her and stepped back slightly. “I’m sorry that was... I’m sorry. I hope no one saw that -”

“Benedict -”

“If they have, I’ll happily -”

“Benedict -”

“I’m sure Anthony won’t mind -”

“Benedict!” Y/N yelled, grabbing his face between her hands and forcing him to look at her and be quiet. “Shut up.”

Before he could protest, Y/N stepped forward and kissed him on the lips. Her hand moved to the back of his head and she leant forward, kissing him with all the passion and intensity she had for him.

Benedict broke away from her, panting slightly. “Y/N,” he whispered, resting his forehead against hers.

“Yes?”

“Anthony’s staring at us.”

Y/N spun around and, sure enough, Anthony was standing in the doorway to the ballroom, conveniently inspecting a flower bush.

“Anthony,” Y/N scolded, walking forward. “What are you doing?!”

“Ensuring my brother doesn’t ruin a lady’s reputation,” Anthony replied, his arms behind his back.

“For the thousandth time -”

“You are not a lady,” Benedict chimed in, walking up behind her and kissing her cheek. “We know.”

Anthony smiled and offered his arm to her. “Well, I disagree. You are a lady to me, Miss Y/L/N. And, because of that, I’m now your chaperone.”

“Oh, you are, are you?” Y/N quipped, accepting his arm. “Does that mean Benedict has to ask your for permission?”

“I believe so,” Anthony replied. “And besides, I do believe a special license would make an excellent early wedding present for the two of you.”

“Oh, god, Anthony!”

#bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton imagines #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #imagine

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