#tw; power dynamics

[terrence-silver]

What would Terry’s reaction be to finding Beloved with another man?…

---

Of course his first instinct was to kill. Maim.

Avenge. Mainly himself.

Settle scores.

Achieve prime control by digging his fingers into your neck until your ligaments snapped in half and then deal with the lowlife punk schmuck you were shacked up with at The Montrose, downtown West Hollywood. Destroy their mediocre little life, one bit at a time until they begged for release he wouldn't give them. Margaret, by extension of his private investigators told him exactly where to find you. The location to where you were tracked. Followed, when you thought you were being clever, unseen, outsmarting everyone, never realizing his many eyes were always on you.

He takes the Rolls Royce there.

Has his chauffeur driving him out. The aesthetic choice was deliberate. He'd go down there calmly, in high style, a man of the world, well dressed, poised, like he was doing no more and no less than attending some high stakes business meeting. A conference. And he was, in a sense. Revenge was business and his business was revenge, today of all days, as he calmly strides of the stairs on the third floor, polished leather shoes against the floorboards, adjusting his golden cufflinks, the puzzled front desk receptionist at the dingy hotel eyeing him like he just saw the fucking Pope enter the venue premises. Yeah, it is simple as knocking on the door marked AB19 and you open, thinking he's room service undoubtedly, find yourself in a state of partial undress, wrapped in a bathrobe, looking pale. Terry was convinced it was a far greater fright to come face to face with him than being caught cheating. But he's cool, simply grabbing the door's frame from the top, using his height to his advantage once you try to close it shut in front of him and he strides past you with ease, looking for a chair to sit down on, inviting himself inside, never asking for permission, pulling a monogrammed silken handkerchief under himself as he does, sprawling it out, as not to get sullied, the keys to your room promptly tossed on a nearby end table with a metallic, resounding clamor that shook the foyer.

There's a creature on the bed, just like Terry knew there would be, rolled in post-coital bedsheets, looking even more befuddled than you were; an emotion clearly replaced by fear once the door shuts behind his stride and two realize you were just caught. What? Did he interrupt something? Terry crosses his legs, nonchalant. He would deal with this punk later. It would be a pleasure.

-"C'mon! Don't stop on my account."- He fishes a golden cigar box out of his inside pocket, ensuring that the suit he wore was the picture of flattery on him, looking for a cutter and a lighter, pushing the tobacco between his lips, nonplussed. He already broke half of the furniture back at the mansion earlier today when his detective handed him the photographs of you with this...thing, staring at him from the mattress, shaken. He got ahold of himself by the time he arrived here, hot waves of wrath rolling off of him until there was nothing left but stony determination. Now was the time to play his frosty disposition and play it masterfully. -"I wanna watch."- Terry utters that line like it was nothing at all, and it wasn't anything at all. He's watched people fuck before. People watched him fuck before too. He's just never watched someone that was his fuck someone else before, was all. That's why all his discipline is employed, never to show an emotion. Never show mercy. Not now.

-"Terry, I, how..."- You stutter uncomfortably, finally able to muster a word or two, still processing he was here at all. Least of all, that he was asking what he was asking.

-"I said, I wanna watch."-

He repeats, matter-of-factly, feeling himself grow icy cold at the idea his explicit order was being questioned at all, letting the smoke bellow out of his nostrils in floating circles, pointing a ring finger vaguely at the nobody fucktard you choose to do him in with. How your standards have fallen. You wanted to learn a thing or two about humiliation? Fair enough. Terry Silver was here to do the teaching. This would be one of many demonstrated lessons. The first one. The prologue. Round one in the ringer.

-"So? Put on a good live performance."-

He twirls his hand in the air for emphasis, relishing in your embarrassment, so thick he could practically cut it with a knife and eat it for breakfast with an entrée followed by the main course in the form of your bleeding heart, feeling his jaw tighten to the point he could imagine himself capable of biting through the concrete walls of the room filled with cold anger, eyes searching for an ashtray and in finding none, he simply allows the searing residue from his cigar to fall on the carpet along with a curtain of red embers. He could burn this whole place down and he'd be fully justified in doing so. But, no, Terry didn't deal in impulsive anger. Terry only got angry when he decided it was time to --- deciding when it was useful --- and now wasn't the time. He ironically needed to be perfectly level headed now. And so, he was.

-"Terry, listen, we can go outside and I can explain ---"-

You try desperately to placate him and your creature scurries nervously, collecting their shit from strewn over the floor, ready to run. Make a dash for it. -"I'll leave, man."- They make a pathetic attempt and fail. -"Bullshit you will. Class isn't dismissed and recess hasn't started."- Terry doesn't raise his voice, refusing to blink. Doesn't give anyone in the room the satisfaction of finding him affected and out of control. Instead, he adjusts himself and sinks deeper into the trusted old cuck chair --- of course every hotel had one, but this time, he tended to see it as the seat of command, pointing at the bed, refusing to address the creature personally, instead, doing it through you as mouthpiece, courier and vessel. -"You tell them, they'll be a good robot. Do exactly as programmed."- Terry instructs, never taking his eyes off of you. Sure, yes, he considered violence as his first incentive, but this? This was so much better. You wanted to be an adulterer and now it was your chance do to what an adulterer did best, with him as witness and coordinator, learning a lesson you'd never forget; that regardless what you did, you belonged to him. Now and always. -"And after you're done,"- He warns, wagging his finger. -"You'll pack all your crap up and you're coming home with me."- Disbelief. Terry reads disbelief in your eyes when faced with those words. Like a part of you thought that fucking someone else would finally liberate you from him as your last way out. That you'd get rid of him. That he'd be disgusted, angry and done with you to the degree you'd walk free, even if walking free came with certain amounts of pain stemming from his ire, truly showing how desperately you wanted freedom at any cost. If that was your reason behind tactically doing this then you were dead wrong --- you grossly miscalculated --- because giving you exactly what you wanted was too damn easy.

No.

You'd stay right where you belonged --- with him.

Denied of the very thing you were reaching for forever.

And Terry would enjoy that so much. That would be his revenge.

-"Chop-chop! Get to work."- Terry claps his hands, balancing his cigar between his index and middle finger, mustering a dry chuckle, feeling himself like spectator at the Kentucky Derby bidding on a race horse from the jam-packed audience, watching you exchange silently horrified glances with the schmuck on the bed who was still trying to figure out if this was real or an elaborate joke. Was no joke. Didn't you tell them about him? No? Terry wanted to watch you fuck the prick. He wanted it to last long. Torturously so. Terry wanted you to feel his gaze on you as you did, unable to escape. Feel every bit of discomfort, unease, objectification and suffering you could until you finally tapped the fuck out and found that this was only the beginning. That there was his car waiting downstairs and that you'd be going back with him. That you would pay for what you've done. That you'd realize what 'nothing is for free' really meant. That he would ensure your paid your dues for this betrayal with every inch of your being until it left a mark on your very soul. When you refuse to move, Terry decides, now's the time to raise his voice and his tone is laced with crude laughter as he does once both you and the shmuck nearly jump out of your skins. -"With conviction!"- Terry yells, as you reluctantly approach the bed, finally moving, even if it was at a snail's pace, wholly shaken and shivering. He smiles. Good. Perfect. This would hurt you, sure. But, no more than it would hurt him.

He takes another long, hard drag out of his cigar, filling the room with smoke.

[fraternum-momentum]

give me your complete and unwavering devotion.

[sutorus]

THE GRUDGE PROFESSOR!GETO for KINKTOBER 2023!

DESCRIPTION: everybody loves professor geto, and judging by the thousands of viewers you get on every live, a lot of people love you, too. but you and professor geto hate each other. you’ve had enough of his humiliation rituals, and decide to do something about it.

PAIRING: mean professor!geto x student!reader

WC: 5.3k i am an unstoppable beast

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. fem reader, afab reader, teacher/student dynamic! adult age gap! (reader is in college, unspecified age), sw/camgirl!reader (don’t like don’t read! no shaming 😤), strong language, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel, darling), reader calling geto "sir", unprotected relations, creampie, afab reader and terms

A/N: this switches between povs a lot so i hope that’s okay or at least readable lol! also i set out to write him so much meaner but he’s just kind of a simp... enjoy?

reblogs are very much appreciated i'll uwu for u :pleading eyes emoji:

it is said that those who cannot do, teach. 

geto suguru could have done many things. he had the brains, the muscles, the features, the traits. the ambition to succeed in any field he desired. satoru says in a world ruled by the strong there is no place for humility. 

but humility is not why suguru became a teacher. neither is ineptitude. no, he’d become a teacher because it was the right thing to do. 

to use his gifts to help shape new generations, help unlock potentials long dorment and buried deep under years of a lackluster schooling system. geto suguru prided himself, above all, in being a righteous man. 

but japan’s most upstanding citizen for 28 years in a row held a shameful secret. a secret in the shape of you. 

he saw the darkest sides of himself on your face (eyebrows scrunched, eyes shut tightly, jaw slack as you—), your voice (higher in pitch with desperate moans that sound almost scared on the brink of your—), your body (taut and plump in all the right places, glistening with sweat, bouncing up and down on a—). 

when you walked into his classroom that fateful day, the world tilted on its axis. his first thought was, fuck, then, it can’t be, then, most embarrassing of all, i’ll finally find out what she smells like. 

(he did, when you went up to his desk to hand over your test. a whiff of vanilla, argon oil shampoo. too sweet, too youthful. and he’d watched you leave, tennis skirt flowing like a water lily, dick already chubby in his pants.)

it was slowly starting to consume him.

the first time you spoke in class, he knew he hadn’t been mistaken. it was really you. the cute, slutty girl he’d been milking his cock to for the better part of a year. 

god, when you finally said his name. you would never in your wildest dreams think that he’d been imagining those words coming out of your mouth, of him coming out of your mouth, dripping out of you, all over you—

he was losing it. this was not like him. this was never supposed to happen, and he has to put an end to it. 

everybody knew of geto suguru, the prodigy professor. already getting a phd despite not even being 30, handling the administrative slack for the department while managing office hours every day of the week, promoting student events, helping organize spirit weeks and charity drives. 

everything he did, he did for others. those not as capable as him — which was most people. in other words, it was really, really hard to hate him. 

but you damn well managed to. 

and to think you were excited to take his class. everybody told you to run, not walk, to sign up for his twentieth-century Japanese philosophy chair. 

“oh, professor geto is just the best,” they’d said. “he makes it sound so interesting and engaging, he gives the most life changing assignments, he really cares about us.”

bullshit. 

the first time you stepped into that classroom, suspiciously full for a philosophy class, you felt a shift in the air almost immediately. 

and sure enough, professor geto suguru was eyeing you down like he’d just seen a ghost. it made you self conscious, like he’d taken one look at you and decided right then and there you were too dumb for the class. 

it made your blood boil. sure, you stood out a little bit from the actual philosophy majors, but that doesn’t mean he gets to judge you. he literally doesn’t know you!

but fine, first impressions are tricky like that. for all you knew, you could’ve been misjudging him right there. 

however, with each passing day, you grew more and more assured in your suspicions.

you knew the man had it out for you, always calling on you to answer when he knew you weren’t paying attention, never grading your papers above a B even though you did everything right, somehow managing to fucking avoid you during his excessive office hours. 

his looks were almost the most infuriating part of it.

his beautiful face constantly set in that nonchalant look, his big veiny hands always gesticulating, his huge fucking arms straining the fabric of those dress shirts, his ear gauges and man bun contrasting the prim and proper image the rest of him conveyed. 

under different circumstances, he’d make your mouth water. under different circumstances, you’d imagine him going down on you all night long, singing praise about how good you taste and how tight you are. 

but in this timeline, you absolutely loathed him. and he loathed you too. why? you didn’t know. 

but you knew for a fact that it was personal. 

“i don’t care,” megumi said around a mouthful of meatball, cutting your monologue short. “i’m not doing it.”

you sigh, melting into your chair. “megumi. please. i am literally begging you, i just need some hard evidence so i can go report his ass.”

he eyes you curiously. “report him for what?”

“i don’t know. bullying? sexism? whatever the hell his problem is,” you pick at your food, huffing in annoyance. 

“you’re overthinking it,” megumi replies, dismissively. 

“okay, how about this,” you lean forward, putting an elbow on the table. “if you write the assignment for me, i’ll get your dog that expensive halloween costume you’ve been wanting.”

megumi lifts an eyebrow. 

“you need to get one for each,” he says simply. 

you grin. “deal.”

suguru really does give it his all to make your life with him a living hell. pulls out all the stops, years of friendship with gojo satoru paying off as he comes up with ploy after ploy to get you to drop his class. 

it feels bad, being mean to you. but for the hidden, twisted parts of him, it feels delicious. 

watching you huff and puff, all hot and bothered when he corrects your answers on the spot. watching you nibble on your pen at the increasingly difficult exams he hands out. letting himself wonder if you missed a stream this week because you were too busy cramming for a make up test. 

he knows he’s pushing you to your limit, and even if there’s some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing you so agitated at his hands when it’s usually the other way around, he doesn’t enjoy upsetting you. 

the problem is, suguru knows it’s either he gets his shit together or he continues tormenting you, and, well. 

the spirit is willing but the flesh is so, so weak. 

he knows it’s getting worse, too, because he’s not infatuated by you only when you’re undressing on his screen, or all dolled up in class. 

when you tie your hair up in a ponytail, when you suck on a hangnail, when you lick your thumb to erase a smudge on your paper… all of it drives him wild. 

he can’t teach with a permanent half chub anymore. this has to end, one way or another. 

you sit down in front of your computer, adjusting the camera before turning it on. soon, viewers start trickling in, little dings notifying you of their messages. 

you smile, waving at the screen. 

“hi everyone! i know i’m a little bit late today, i hope you can forgive me…” your eyes scan the chat, giggling at the compliments. “‘you look tired, sad face’, ah. i’m sorry. i guess i’ve been a little stressed lately.”

your robe falls over your shoulder as you readjust your position. a few donations come in, accompanied by supportive messages.

“you guys are so nice. it’s not a big deal, it’s just this dude giving me a hard time at college.” 

you absentmindedly trace your collarbones, reading what your viewers are saying. 

“you’ll kill him for me? that’s so sweet,” you joke. “nah, it’s not a student. it’s a professor. exactly, ynlover444, a grown ass man picking on me!”

you sigh deeply, allowing your body to finally unwind and relax on your chair. you prop a knee up against the armrest, giving your viewers a little peek in between your legs. you’re wearing one of your favorite sets, trying to get in the mood after the week you’ve had. 

“ugh, sometimes i wish i could just…” you suck in a breath, clenching your hand into a fist before releasing it. “sit on his face and get him to shut up, you know?”

you laugh at the countless me firsts that flood the chat, bringing a finger to your lip. 

“anyway! enough about that horrible man,” you reach beside you to grab a box your viewers know all too well by now. “let’s get to the fun stuff, shall we?”

as always, satoru is no help. 

“why don’t you just fuck her?” he asks, eyebrows arching above his sunglasses. “ya gotta just fuck her.”

suguru clears his throat before taking a drag of his cigarette. “i’m not fucking a student.”

satoru shrugs. “everybody does it. besides, you basically already do.” 

suguru wonders, not for the first time, why he ever told his friend about his situation. about your streams, that he’d stumbled upon randomly and innocently and had gotten instantly hooked, about you barging into his classroom like an angel at hell’s gates, about you you you you, everything about you. 

“that won’t fix anything.”

satoru clicks his tongue, swirling his soda inside the can.

“poor, naive suguru. did you not just tell me about what she said on her stream?" and yes, regrettably, suguru had told him. "it’ll fix everything.”

suguru doesn’t even let himself consider it, except he does.

at this point it’s no secret that he’s thought about being inside you, but now that you’re here it’s just too real and too risky and completely fucking wrong. 

it goes against the entire life he’s built for himself. 

he’s lost. he wants you so fucking bad, wants you close, wants you so far away, wants to ravage you and never have to see you again. 

it’s fight or flight. if he got you alone, it could go either way, he realizes that. 

suguru wonders what part of him will win by the end of all of this. 

your heels clack on the linoleum floor of the hallway as you approach professor geto’s classroom, megumi’s graded paper clutched tightly against your chest. 

the thing about megumi is that he's a star student. he’s never gotten anything below an A on any of his essays, makes the dean’s list every year, tutors his seniors. so the big, bright B- on the page tells you everything you need to know. 

damn right it’s personal. 

you don’t even bother knocking, slamming the door open while still trying to contain your indignation. 

geto is sitting at his desk, piles of papers sprawled on top. he has his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a surprised look on his face that would be cute if you didn’t want to slap it right off. 

he says your last name like he’d been expecting you all his life.

“to what do i owe the pleasure?”

your jaw clenches as you take a few loud steps towards him. you slam megumi’s paper down on his desk, leaning over. 

“professor geto, i demand an explanation. a real one, this time.”

the man takes a deep breath, lips twisting disapprovingly. he smoothes the paper over.

“as i already explained in my notes right here, the structure is fine, but i couldn’t help but miss a more in-depth analysis of the four nodal concerns of philosophy that we talked about in class, such as—“

“no,” you interrupt. “just no. you know you’re bullshitting me and i’m sick of it. this paper deserved an A!”

“miss—“

“what’s your problem with me?” you spit out. your eyes finally meet and there’s nothing in geto’s that could answer your question. your chest is heaving, lips wobbling and hands shaking, trying to contain your anger. 

geto clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “like i said, your paper could’ve used a bit more—“

“no it fucking couldn’t have, because it’s not my fucking paper, it’s fushiguro’s fucking paper and the only reason you gave it a B is because i was the one who handed it in!”

he sits up, straightening his posture.

geto sounds austere when he asks, “do you realize how much trouble this could be for both of you if i reported it?”

you can’t believe this man. he’s been picking on you the entire semester and when you finally confront him about it this is what he chooses to focus on. 

“are you fucking kidding me?” that earns you a stern look from him, eyebrow raising taller than that fucking high horse he sits on. “professor geto. what did i ever do to you?”

there must be something earnest in your voice because geto sighs, getting up from his chair. 

he walks until he’s standing in front of you, leaning against his desk and crossing his feet. 

“do i bother you?” is all he says. it surprises you. 

you jut your chin out. “as a matter of fact, you do.”

the man hums. 

“i bet that’s really difficult for you,” he speaks like he’s sympathetic, like he understands. he sounds almost sheepish when he says, “i bet sometimes you wish i would just shut up.”

you blink rapidly. “no, it’s not like that. it might shock you but i genuinely do enjoy your class, it’s just that—“

“or maybe you wish you could shut me up,” he continues, ignoring you. “maybe going as far as to say that you could… sit on my face to get me to shut up.” 

your mouth goes dry.

before your brain can fully process the shift in the atmosphere or the fact that your professor is maybe possibly hitting on you, you realize where those words are coming from. 

it’s what you said. about him. on stream. right before fucking yourself on your hot pink dildo. 

you can’t speak, can barely even look in his general direction. 

you had really thought things couldn’t get any worse. had barged into his office with nothing to lose, almost hoping he would cordially invite you to remove yourself from his class permanently. 

but now? now you have no idea what’s going to happen to you. 

“i…” you start, the words dying in your throat. geto chuckles, crossing his fat fucking muscly arms across his chest. 

he says your name, low and syrupy. “is it true? you’d like to?”

you can feel your face flush hot in embarrassment, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, wishing desperately that you’d never walked into his classroom. 

you have half the mind to apologize to him, right now.

“it’s just a figure of speech,” you try. geto clicks his tongue. 

“what a shame.”

your wide eyes shoot up and meet his. “w-what?”

he smiles sweetly. 

“it’s a peace offering. you can take it, or we can forget you ever said anything,” and isn’t he just so slimey, actually, when he’s the one who brought it up. he had said it, and now… 

now you can finally allow yourself to look at him.

those delicious, broad shoulders, the ever-present bored look, the stubborn fringe that falls out of his bun. 

you could so easily forget what you came here for. 

“so, like, a truce?” you ask, taking a daring step forward. geto nods, uncrossing his arms. “and you stop treating me like i’m fucking dumb?”

he tilts his head. “i think you’re a very smart young lady. determined. entrepreneurial…”

“geto—“

“professor geto,” he corrects you, hands reaching out to graze your hips. “you’re intelligent. i just like to push my students.”

you both know that’s a lie, but it’s okay, because now you know exactly why you got under his skin and it makes your own burn. 

you run a hand down the line of buttons on the front of his shirt, looking up at him through your eyelashes. 

“then… push me, professor.”

it’s so incredibly lame, the porn line you hit him with, but to your surprise it works, a low groan rumbling deep in geto’s chest. 

he swiftly closes the distance between the two of you, grabbing both sides of your face and crashing your lips together. 

it’s ravenous, the way geto dips his tongue inside when you gasp in surprise. you moan against his mouth, slipping a leg in between his two. 

he’s half hard already when he rubs up against your thigh. 

geto picks you up with ease and sets you down on his desk, and it’s so fucking cliché, the papers crinkling under your weight, the pens clattering to the floor. but it turns you on beyond belief. 

you share a few open mouthed kisses, an exchange of tongue and moans and hot breaths between your lips. 

if you were honest with yourself, you'd admit that you've fantasized about it before. a silly idea, at first, something you'd just blurted out mid-stream.

but that little seed had been planted, and when you got yourself off that night, you might've imagined for a moment that it was your mean professor's cock squeezed tight inside you, making you come undone.

geto slips his hands under your skirt, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to him. you line up your crotch with his, moving your hips in tight little circles that make the both of you groan. 

his fingers are tugging your underwear down, down, the soft patch sticking to your gooey cunt. he lets the soaked fabric dangle from your ankle, grazing the back of his knuckles on your core. 

“mmm, fuck,” geto breaks the kiss, swallowing. his pretty lips are flushed and shiny, parted around his panted breaths. “you always get this wet or am i special?”

he’s smirking, the bastard, leaning back in to kiss your neck.

god, you smell so good, like lotion and perfume and sunshine and sin. 

“shouldn’t you know?” you sneak your fingers up into his bun, pushing your chest against him. he works his lips expertly on your skin, using just the right amount of teeth, of pressure.

geto hums against your neck, kissing a line up to your jaw. he snakes a hand under your skirt, thumb pressing down hard to rub on your clit, two fingers slipping inside. 

you immediately clench, a soft, drawn out mewl leaving your lips. 

the slide of his fingers against your walls send a chill down your spine, filling you up so perfectly. you feel the thin skin at your opening stretch around him, burning at the friction as his fingers plunge in and out of you. 

“god, look at that,” he rests his forehead on your shoulder and pulls the hem of your skirt up. “do you hear that, baby? so fucking wet for me.”

you whine, hands cupping his jaw so you can kiss him again. 

“please…” you mumble against his lips. “more…”

you wonder how much of what you can say he's heard before, which exact words have left your lips and sent him over the edge. it makes you self conscious, oddly, like he can see right through you.

not-so-kindly ignoring your request, geto removes his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth.

you watch as his eyelids flutter in pleasure, a hum rumbling low in his throat. 

he looks so good like this, just edible.

you pull him in for a kiss before he can, relishing in the surprised little noise he lets out. your knees are wobbling, feet dangling from your seat as you taste yourself on his tongue. 

he swallows your moan hungrily, forearms trembling with the need to hold back.

geto knows this is wrong, so wrong on so many levels, puts both your positions in jeopardy, it makes him feel perverted and primal and so fucking alive. 

he’s been watching you fuck yourself on those silly toys for god knows how long now, knows every spot that makes your hips buck, knows exactly how to make you cream like a debased slut around a cock. 

it should feel unfair, how easy it’s going to be for him to make you cum, only if it weren’t for the fact that your mere presence is enough to get him hard as fucking diamonds. 

“tastes good, huh?” he whispers, thumb caressing your chin. you nod, smiling devilishly. 

“tastes better on your tongue, prof.” 

geto groans low like a starved animal, holding your throat in his hand with a loose grip. he’s overwhelmed, that much shows, not knowing what to do with you or where to start. but there’s one thing he’s sure of. 

he presses one last kiss to your spit-slick lips before dropping to his knees. 

you can hardly believe it. sulky, big bad bully professor geto suguru on his knees for you. you prop a foot up on his desk, your sole skidding on a piece of paper. 

“scoot closer, please,” he asks, cordial even like this. you bring your ass to the edge of the desk, your dripping pussy hovering over his face. 

he looks so good under you, hair already disheveled, a delicious tent in his tailored pants. 

you tuck the hem of your skirt into the waistline so you can watch as he sucks your clit into his mouth, moaning like he’s fucking relieved. 

you throw your head back, fingers buried in his silky hair as geto’s fingers find their way back inside. 

he fucks them in and out of you lazily, pushing out strings of slick. geto slurps it all up, spreading your wetness all over your clit and sucking it back in his mouth. 

god, his cock is straining in his pants but he doesn’t dare touch it, can’t until he’s inside you. you taste like fucking heaven, like all his fantasies, like he always knew you would. 

you’re whining softly, bucking your hips into his face almost shyly, as to disrupt his pace.

you sound so much better in person, although he can’t wait to have you moaning into his ear without needing the headphones. 

“god, this perfect pussy,” geto mumbles into you, his breathing labored. he runs a thumb all over your cunt, gliding it over your soaked lips. “been dreaming about it for so long.”

“yeah?” you ask. “tell me. tell me how you stroke your cock to me every night.”

and every night might be overselling it. geto is a busy man. 

but your words do make him realize that no girl he’s had since he found your stream has satisfied him quite like you do. your flirty smile, your moans, the way they sometimes turn into uncontained giggles as you stuff your pretty cunt with a dildo. 

so he tells you, blush spreading across his cheeks. 

“fuck, i do,” he tongues your clit, tracing lazy circles. “i do. just look what you do to me.“

and there it is, that cheeky, slutty giggle, directed at something he said this time. 

he takes his fingers out, spreading your opening with both thumbs as he licks you all over. 

geto gulps, tongue dipping inside of you, sucking your clit into his mouth, sliding down to your entrance, every clench of your pussy pushing out more and more slick for him. no one's ever eaten you out as thoroughly as this.

“oh, fuck, sir,” it slips out casually, the way it would were you talking to any other professor. but given the circumstances, you revel in the deep moan geto buries into your cunt. 

you trap your lips between your teeth to keep anything else from tumbling out, but it’s useless.

“please, sir, i’m so close—so close just keep doing that, yeah just like that—“

“fuck,” he mumbles, pulling away to suck in a desperate breath. then, “fuck,” sultrier, right into your core. 

you grind against his face, finding purchase in his hair as a final few flicks of his tongue push you right into the crest of a mind-numbing orgasm.

it’s so good, so much better than when you're alone. the friction so perfect, his long, thick fingers plugging you up last minute to viciously fuck into you. 

“god…,” you breathe out, legs trembling as he runs his hands up your thighs. 

his chin is glistening, bubbles of spit and cum gathering in the corner of his mouth. he looks so good like this, like he was meant to please you and nothing else. 

geto feels like a fucking teenager, so goddamn close to busting in his pants at the sight of you. his dick hurts, balls tight and the head throbbing where it’s tucked into his underwear. 

“please, sweetheart,” he can’t hold himself back any longer, slick fingers already undoing his belt. 

you get to work on his zipper, pulling his pants down along with his underwear and damn. 

you figured he was big. he was a tall man, broad shoulders, shoes the size of a yacht, and the bulge in his trousers was a pretty good indication. but it couldn’t have prepared you for the sheer size of him. 

longer than it is thick, cleanly shaven, pretty veins and ridges and standing angry red in attention. god, you want it inside you. 

he notices you looking. 

“do you need more prep? i can—“

“no, fuck no, suguru, need it inside me now,” you wrap a hand around him and he hisses, caging you in with his arms on the desk. 

he huffs out a laugh, blowing the fringe framing his face. “what happened to sir?”

you kiss down his jaw, squeezing right below his tip. 

“sorry, sir,” you say against his ear. “are you going to punish me for my slip up?”

geto groans, pulling on your hair hard and making you face him. 

“take your shirt off for me,” he instructs, and you obey, maneuvering around his tight grip on the back of your head. 

his spirit is so unbreakable.

here you are, teasing him, coaxing him to rough you up, push you around, relieve both your frustrations properly once and for all, but he’s just so… adoring, and hungry, and just so irrevocably into you, and you find out that’s so much better. 

geto relents his hold on you to unclasp your bra, cupping your breasts and sucking a nipple into his mouth. you whine, caressing his hair. 

“so fucking perfect,” he massages your tits, looking mesmerized. 

“yeah? they haven’t gotten old to you yet?”

he laughs, so cute, and you can barely remember that just hours ago you hated the sight of him. you stroke his cock up and down, squeezing harder at the tip trying to milk all that delicious pre he’s been wasting on the inside of his boxers. 

“no, f-fuck—never gonna get old,” he pushes your boobs against each other, imagining his cock sliding in between them, his balls nestled underneath, his load blown all over your pretty face—

fuck, he’s gonna cum if he keeps going like this. 

he rips your hand away from him, ignoring your knowing smirk and pushing his tongue into your mouth. 

“i’m gonna fuck you now, okay, sweetheart?” you moan, nodding, shimmying your hips so he can have the perfect angle. 

a big hand clasps your thigh to wrap your leg around his hips as his tip pokes around your entrance.

you’re whining in anticipation, clenching around nothing, nails clawing his clothed back. 

when he slips in, it feels like coming home. you’re like warm honey around him, cunt pushing him out but clinging to him at the same time, with every stroke. it’s fucking maddening. 

“ahh, g-god, sir, ‘s too big—“ you swallow around the lump in your throat, feeling the tip of his cock in your guts. 

he’s huffing, concentrated, bullying his cock into you inch by inch with shallow thrusts until he finally bottoms out. 

“fuuuuck, angel,” he grips your waist with both hands, like he could just fuck you up and down his length if he wanted to. “took me so well, look at that.”

you do, dropping your heavy head to look at where you’re connected. you clench around him and he whines, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. 

the metal legs of the desk skid on the floor, papers and pens raining down to the floor as geto starts roughly plunging in and out of you. 

you let out little ah, ah, ahs in time with his strokes, the ache deep in your stomach finally starting to fade. 

“f-fuck, you’re gonna—topple us over, suguru, go easy—“

“can’t,” he chokes out, wheezing as he pushes his cock in as far as it can go. 

he gives shallow little thrusts, his length straining the fine skin at your entrance so good, hitting a spot inside you over and over that makes your head spin. 

your fingers twist into the back of his shirt, pulling him in to whine right into his ear.

he’s so big, stretching you out so thin that you feel every ridge and vein, can feel both your heartbeats inside your cunt. 

“ohhhhh fuck, fuck sir, please please touch me—“

he grabs your ass before you can even finish your sentence and presses you flush against his hips. 

geto’s tip is kissing your cervix now, his balls sticky and creamy against your ass, your clit grinding against his pubic bone as his thrusts violently shake the both of you. 

“fuck, wanna do it so fucking loud but i can’t, we can’t, what if someone walks in—“

you moan wantonly at his words, expecting to be chided, but geto seems to love it despite his worries because his cock kicks deliciously inside of you.

“look how loud you’re being, listen to yourself,” he grunts out, the belt pooled around his feet clanging with every stroke, the absolutely lewd squelches from your pussy resonating in the entire classroom. 

you two sound so good together, better than you’ve ever had, better than he could’ve ever imagined. 

“so loud, so wet on this cock,” he spits out, sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “do those toys make you feel this good? this full? answer me.” 

“hahh, n-no, no one but you,” you can’t think straight, head thrown back in pleasure and eyes squeezed shut. “only you, sir.”

geto whines like he’s aching, pounding into you mercilessly and making a mess under the two of you. 

“fuck yeah, that’s right. i’m making you feel good, baby?”

“mm-hm,” you mumble, tongue lolling out. geto's going so hard now, has you pressed up so tight against him, body caging you in, fucking every breath and thought right out of you. “close.”

“yeah?” he speeds up his effort slightly, and you’re sure he’s going to have desk-edge shaped bruises on his thighs tomorrow. “gonna cum on my cock? cream all over me?”

you let out a long, drawn out whine, tits bouncing up and down with the force of geto’s thrusts. 

“let me see your face when you cum, darling,” he cups the back of your neck, breathing hard through his nose. “keep your eyes on me. that’s right, sweetie, so good, you’re doing so good.”

you preen at the praise, feeling suddenly self conscious with the man's laser focus attention on you. 

you coo out little noises, growing in desperation, holding onto his biceps for dear life as his hips piston in and out of you. 

your pull him into you closer and rub your clit against him, grinding helplessly as your orgasm creeps closer and closer. 

the moment you open your eyes and meet his hungry ones, you’re cumming. your walls spasm around him, making the glide of his dick impossibly wetter with your release. 

geto chokes on a sound, his cock hostage of your pussy’s vice-like grip as your greedy cunt milks him for all he's got. 

“f-fuck, baby, look so pretty when you cum, always look so fucking sexy so fucking perfect that you’re gonna make me bust, i’m gonna cum for you god gonna cum inside, gonna blow my load all deep inside this pussy—“ 

it’s the most desperate he’s ever sounded, speaking through clenched teeth and a soaked mouth. you moan in return, letting him use you. 

he slams his forehead down your shoulder when he thrusts once, twice, three times and cums, his balls drawing up so tight that it hurts. he fucks it into you with shallow thrusts, panting, almost wheezing in pleasure. 

it feels like it lasts forever, his orgasm. like all of the blood in his body goes straight to his balls to push out the thickest, most satisfying nut of his life into the prettiest girl he's ever seen.

you feel it fill you up so good, hear it, too, squelching and sticking to both of you. 

geto’s body slumps against yours and you stay like that for a while, catching your breaths. there’s cum sliding out of you, down his balls, onto some poor student’s essay you have your ass on top of. 

when he pulls out of you, he takes a beat to watch it spill out of you some more, his face and chest red, his smile groggy. 

“god, this,” geto has to fight the urge to say thank you for letting him fuck your brains out. he swallows. 

“yeah,” you blink away the haze, feeling sore and fucked out. “this.”

“…is probably going to happen again, right?”

he knows it shouldn’t. he knows it will.

maybe both parts of geto can learn to coexist.  

you grin, touching the tip of your tongue to his lips. 

“well, i still haven’t made good on that promise of sitting on your face, have i?” 

the next morning, in class, the students erupt in happiness at the news that professor geto had an accident that ended up ruining most of last week’s graded papers he had in his possession. 

so he decided to give everyone an A for their troubles. 

and finally, finally, there was peace in the world.

[lijojo]

genshin sugar daddies

premise: you have seven sugar daddies: one for every day of the week. a bit overwhelming, right? however, you somehow find ways to make time for each and every one of them, no matter how emotionally and physically demanding they are. it's just that, now they don't seem too keen on sharing, and you don't know what to do. (modern au)

tw: nsfw, dark content - minors dni

mondays are always harder in more ways than one. mondays are diluc's days, and that means that you're spending a good portion of your nights at angel's share.

on mondays, it's happy hour. which means that you're sitting at a booth in the corner looking pretty while diluc is tending to his customers. you're more than happy to sit back and relax while you wait for him to finish with work. when the drinks are on the house, you're willing to wait as long as it'll take.

periodically, when he's not busy, however, he'll walk over to you and engage in conversation. you act as a taste-tester for new drinks so he's always asking you if you like them. you two will talk about your day, any interesting events, and so on until diluc is pulled back into work again.

then you're back to fiddling your fingers and watching him work. over time, you've learned that he preferred that you not do anything while you were supposed to be with him. that instead, you fixated your gaze on him while he moved about. sometimes you'll catch him looking at you to see if your eyes are still on him.

even while he's dealing with a certain tone-deaf bard, there's something about the way he looks at you so intently that reminds you of a predator.

when angel's share closes, you're there to keep him company while he cleans up. when he's done, he'll sweep you away back to his manor.

you'll fall onto the sheets as he grinds against you. his shallow breaths brush against your throat. the look he gives you is nothing short of intense.

"everyone at the tavern was looking at you, you know," he mutters, running his fingers down your chest, sinking into your pants. he pulls them down effortlessly along with your panties. "didn't you feel it, darling? their filthy eyes on you. they want to ruin you. everyone wants to ruin you."

he throws your legs over his shoulders, his fingers crawling up your thighs. you jump when he suddenly inserts two fingers into your cunt, scissoring you. his free arm wraps around your leg to keep you locked against him. his eyes are glued onto you as he presses a kiss against your calf.

"but your eyes were on me all night, weren't they. couldn't take your eyes off me, could you. you're mine, dear. do you hear me? you're mine."

you don't overlook how tight his grip is. tight enough to make you wonder if he'll ever let you go. in the morning, he does, but you're scared for the day he wakes up and decides that it's for the last time.

tuesdays aren't as bad. when you’re sore from the night before, childe is there to take you out to meals, shopping, and sightseeing. he's not always available to spend time with you on tuesdays, because of his equally-demanding job and whatnot, but when he is free, he never wastes a second.

or a dollar.

childe smirks smugly from his sea. his posture is lax, one hand lazily tracing circles on the chair's arm while the other comes up to rest under his chin.

"how about you twirl for me, girlie? you look so beautiful."

you giggle, observing yourself in the mirror. "why thank you."

you bask in the way the soft satin kisses your skin. the way your newly-own earrings sparkle under the dressing room's light. just a couple years ago, you could've only dreamed of being dressed so prettily.

"do your side-bitches ever treat you as well as me?"

"childe!" you chide.

he laughs, getting up from his seat. but you both know better than to believe his little chuckle is genuine.

he approaches you, sliding his hands around your waist. tucking your head under his chin, he stares at you through the mirror's reflection.

you don't say anything, and childe doesn't either. it appears he's more than happy to enjoy just standing there. his gaze is glossed over, far away.

the two of you sway side to side for what seems like forever until he decides to say something.

"do they buy you pretty things like i do?"

of course they do, you think. although you spend one-on-one time with each and every one of them, they are all aware of each other. it's only right that they did. it was the first thing you said when you brought the idea up to them, that it wasn't going to be exclusive.

but when you see the way he looks at you, you can't really tell him the truth. not when his focus is redirected from his thoughts to you.

"the things you buy me are a special kind of pretty," you reply.

it seems like that answer is enough for him, because he doesn't say anything else. instead he hums quietly, letting the vibration ripple in the back of your head. he slides his hands down your hips and before you can say anything else, he whips his head around.

"i'll buy these sets." he motions over to the closest clothes rack to an attendant you hadn't noticed. "and that one. and the dress she's wearing. how many colors does this come in, by the way?"

the attendant doesn't hesitate. "five colors, sir. they come in bla—"

"great." he shuffles through his pocket to pull out a black card. "pack them up, we won't be here any longer," he retorts.

the attendant looks ecstatic, quickly shuffling out of the dressing rooms towards the cash register with newfound glee.

"childe," you whine. "i don't think these will fit in my closet."

his hands crawl lower, his finger hovering over your clit. "then they'll fit in mine. come over any time of the week when you want to wear one of my special pretty things."

your breath hitches as he rubs slow circles on your clit. he pushes the two of you back into the dressing room and closes the curtains.

"what are you doing, she'll be back any second—"

he kisses the corner of your jaw, pressing his lips close to your ear. "no worries. if there's one thing i'm sure about, it's that no one undresses you faster than i do."

wednesday is when usually everything calms down. kazuha will typically invite you to a new park, scenic route, or gallery. together, you'll write haikus, sonnets, and limericks together. some hours you'll just sit in silence, putting pen to paper. and when the sun goes down you'll exchange poetry.

out of the seven men, kazuha probably scares you the most. he was the first person you decided to do this whole ordeal with, after all. and since he's known you the longest, he also knows about your circumstances more than others. maybe that's why he's so focused on treating you as if you were a fragile cherry blossom petal. his touches feel like ghosts, running down your forearm as he presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek.

in exchange for his protection, his money, and his care, you give him honeyed words. you act as his muse for when he's hit a creative block. you're there to listen to him read out verses when the wind can't bear the strength to carry them. you listen to his grief about his best friend, his loneliness when he was forced to leave his home country. as someone many of the locals looked to for wisdom, he too carried the emotional burdens of being someone's rock. emotional burdens that he let onto you (whether purposefully or not, you're unsure). but you listen anyway, hearing him talk about days of poverty, where sometimes he had to worry about things to eat, or how to get proper healthcare.

you can't lie and say you're always stable enough to hear some of the things he has to say, but you try.

even if you sometimes feel like you can't take it, you just smile and squeeze his hand tighter like you're supposed to. sometimes your mind will go on autopilot, and sometimes you'll stand up on the grounds of needing to go to the bathroom. but at the end of the day, this is what you signed up for. this. making men happy so that you yourself won't have to worry about your endless debt.

you peer over your notebook to see kazuha immersed in his own writing. but instead of his usual peaceful expression, he looks somber. his hands won't leave the paper, his eyes glued onto the words that he's drawn onto the pages.

"what's got you so worked up?" you ask curiously. "is it something new?"

it's like your voice snaps him out of his trance. he blinks, looking up at you. there's a smile you know all too well on his lips. "yeah, i suppose you could call it that."

"could i look at it? i want to see what's got you so focused like that."

his lips press into a straight line. "hmmm, maybe later."

his words catch you off-guard. usually he's the one who's eager to share his work, regardless of the quality. "oh? is it something you want to keep secret?"

he doesn't many any hint of an answer. instead, he puts down his pen and stares at the ground in contemplation. he's picking and choosing what words to say.

"i could protect you," he says, shuffling his papers to the side. you turn to him, curious. his expression slowly hardens. "by myself, i mean. i could take care of you."

"kazu—"

"i have the means to make a living for the both of us. i could sell more of my poetry, i know they'll sell well—"

"where is this coming from?" you move closer to him, brushing his hair aside. "kazu, are you worried about something?"

there's something that's stopping him from saying anything. his fingers intertwine with yours, his thumb caressing the back of your hand.

he purses his lips, before turning away and sighing. "no, not really."

after that, he doesn't say anything else. the two of you bask in silence once again. even though you're used to the quiet, there's something deep down in you that feels nervous. like something in the atmosphere changed. there's a sudden resolved glint in his eye as he get backs to writing so diligently on a piece of paper he won't let you read.

after all these days spent talking about himself, somehow you're scared for the day he suddenly decides to stop.

on thursdays you're usually at tighnari's greenhouse, watching him take notes of other plants while you twiddle your thumbs. once in a while, he'll begin rambling about the plants—what kind of species they are, how rare, their medicinal properties, and the like.

you're more of a companion, than anything. someone who can make his days a little less lonelier. and you appreciate it. it's much more tranquil with him. you can enjoy his sharp quips, especially when cyno comes to visit.

his sex-drive is relatively normal, if not a little below average. just like wednesday, you also expect thursday to be a typical rest day.

except when spring comes.

when spring comes, your routine get a little wonky. for one week, at least. because that's when tighnari's heat hits him like a fucking monsoon.

you can already tell when it's coming when he begins to hover closer to you. whenever you take your hand out to do anything, even the slightest gesture, he's already taking it and dragging it towards his sensitive ears.

the moment you've made your plans set to 'take the week off' and help him out, he's already on you, face pressed into your neck as if it's his oasis.

as you can tell, he takes this week very seriously.

"i bet—shit—those other fucks don't get to hold you as long as i do," he lets out as he fucks into you like there's no tomorrow. his hands hold onto your waist like he owns it, pressing sloppy kisses down your spine. "looking so pretty for me. i wonder what they'd say if you got pregnant with my babies. you'd be so much more beautiful plump with my kids. is that what you want huh? to make them angry with my cum stuffed in your gorgeous pussy?"

some days you almost can't believe how uncharacteristically aggressive he is. he dicks you down like he's trying to imprint his shape into the core of your body so that none of the others can fit inside.

and when he cums, he'll take whatever unfortunate portions slip out and smear it all over your chest. especially where your heart is.

then the process starts all over again.

when it's over, he'll spoon you. as if he didn't almost fuck you to death. his touch is tender, like a ghost's hovering over your skin.

"why won't you leave them all for me?"

you shift a little to look at him and kiss him softy, sweetly, on the line of his jaw. "oh, nari, you know i can't."

his ears droop at your words. "you can't, or you won't."

his words make you freeze a bit.

you think back to last week, and the week before, and the one before that. you think about why you started selling your services in the first place, the endless debt you used to be in, and the progression of the relationship between all seven of your...contacts. even if you wanted to, you don't think you could back out if you tried. you've dug a hole for yourself. one deep enough to cause some sort of disruption if you ever decided to stop digging.

so you just hum. "you know how much i love routine."

as some sort of apology, you give him and open-mouthed kiss, one he's almost desperate to return. he moans, hands cupping your face to bring you closer to him.

you're well unaware how much your words have an impact him.

at the end of the week, all al-haitham wants to do is unwind. it's the only logical thing to do. no late-night drinks with the colleagues, no stressful trips to some tourist trap. on fridays, al-haitham comes home to a meal made with love.

when al-haitham's at work during the day, you're usually running your actual errands. it's when you have time to make those one-in-a-blue-moon visits to your actual home, although it's getting harder to call it that.

when it gets to the late-afternoon, you'll usually head to al-haitham's place to start cooking. if you didn't know how to cook before, you do now. every ingredient is handled with care, measured meticulously just as you knew he preferred.

and when he gets home, tired and stressed out, you're there to welcome him with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

during dinner, sometimes he'll talk to you about work or the latest research he'd gotten himself immersed with. in return, you tell him about some of your childhood memories. your likes, your dislikes, what used to be your hobbies. you do your best to keep your personal matters out of the conversation, no matter how many times he tries to pry into your private life.

sometimes dinners feel like a full on investigation, the way he keeps greeding for more information about you. he watches you eat with calculating eyes. you pretend to pay no mind to it.

in the beginning, kaveh used to join you for dinners. you always liked the guy, the way he bickered with al-haitham and riled him up. but now you've begun to see less of him, as if he never comes home on fridays at all.

after dinner, there are two different outcomes depending on his mood:

outcome one is that you'll spend the rest of the night curling up on his couch, the both of you immersed in your own books. al-haitham leans on your shoulder as he flips through the pages as if they're nothing. you can't help but feel ticklish whenever his hair brushes against your jaw.

somewhere in the middle, he'll move one hand to start fidgeting with the end of your shirt, sometimes crawling underneath to caress your sides.

outcome two is less quiet. the moment he gets home with that solemn face, you know it's coming. his voice is huskier, his responses shorter. it's usually a result of an impending deadline, colleagues being more peskier than usual.

the moment you two are done with dishes, he gingerly takes your hand and leads you up to the bedroom.

his kisses tastes like green tea and dinner. his hands run up and down your torso, trying to imprint the feel of your skin into every inch of your brain. you whimper when his thumbs press softly into your nipples, rolling them around as they harden.

your hands find purchase on his collar, tugging him impossibly close. he groans at the contact.

you let out a yelp when your back suddenly falls onto the bed. your hands are pressed onto the sheets, al-haitham's fingers encircling your wrists. his knee nudges your legs further apart, rubbing at your clit.

"don't look at the ceiling, dear, look at me," he breathes out, his hands leaving your nipples to gently guide your face towards. "that's it. good girl. just me. just look at me. only me."

he smiles.

"now, let me do god's work on your divine body."

saturdays with ayato can sometimes get hectic. some saturdays you're out getting bubble tea together and enjoying the city, and other saturdays you're hurrying to some publicitiy event hosted by the kamisato clan.

on those type of days, you can expect to wear gowns layered with shiny nylon tulle fabric. it's not as revealing as what you'd try on in dressing rooms with childe. in fact, it's a bit more modest.

today you're wearing a light-blue gown to match with ayato. you turn around to get a good look at the cute bow attached at your waist, your diamond encrusted earrings swaying along with you.

it's as if you've put on another costume. another front to wear for the night.

ayato enters the room just shortly after. in his hands is a diamond necklace to match with your stunning earrings. small smile falls upon his lips when he clasps it on.

"you're beautiful," he mumbles. you giggle when he kisses you square on the lips, licking away the tinted color.

"ayato," you press in-between kisses. you place a hand on his chest to gently push him away. "you're going to ruin my lipstick."

he pulls away with a cheeky smile, taking your wrists to wrap around his neck. "you can always put on some more later."

you pout but kiss him regardless. he tightens his hold on you in reaction, moaning into your mouth.

at these kinds of events, you're there as his plus-one. just so that other officials could stop introducing girls to him when he clearly wasn't interested in them. it'd be arguable to say that you might even be there to make the events a little less intolerable.

somewhere along the lines, you'd sleep with him in addition to being his arm candy at parties. sometimes even before: you two rushing to put on your formal attires and fix your hair minutes before the event started.

but beyond that, you started to get to know him better. he'd whisper into your ear about funny stories relating to the guests as you meet them. sometimes you'd run away in the middle of the party to binge out on the food and talk about your other interests. surprisingly, he doesn't talk about the politics behind his duties as the head of the kamisato family. not as much as you expected, at least.

instead he talks about his dreams for a family. how many kids, what their names would be, how he'd raise them. and as he talked, he'd give you this heavy gaze that you're not sure what to do with. as if he was expecting something from you.

you're beginning to believe that ayato has somehow confused contractual girlfriend with actual girlfriend.

when you had met ayaka months ago, ayato introduced you as his girlfriend. you didn't attempt to correct him—that's ayato's business. not your's. but when you're expecting ayato to come clean to his dearest sister, you're sorely mistaken.

instead, while he kisses your lips so hungrily, he subtly slips a diamond ring onto your finger.

sundays are usually kaeya's days off. although the cavalry captain's duties are seemingly never endless, he takes the day off to take a breather.

in other words, he sees you.

at first, it was just candlelit dinners. he'd walk in with a bouquet of roses, complimenting your dress and staring at you as if he was undressing you with his eyes. he'd take you to somewhere fancy, pull out the chair for you and sweet-talk you all through the night.

conversations were fun with him. you didn't have to think much at all, not about how to pay the bills, the six men in your life who seemingly began to want yours to only revolve around theirs, or being someone your not.

kaeya was probably the only one who you felt you could be comfortable with. he made you laugh, he'd tell all sorts of interesting stories, and he never made the silence feel awkward.

at least, that's how you used to be.

you see, usually after these candlelit dinners you'd both go back to his place, with him ripping off your clothes the moment the door closed. but as of recently, he's been asking to come over to your place instead more often. almost too often.

and that's not the only thing that's changed.

the sex used to be rough. heated. almost as if he was consumed by all of his pent-up sexual frustration and was only focused on getting off. he'd slurp your cunt like a man starved but he'd still rail you as if that's the only thing he cared about.

but as time passed, he's been getting more and more...sensual. the sex is much more slower. personal, almost.

vulnerable.

after dinner, he slowly slips off your clothing. one article after another, until your left in your underwear. he first kisses you on the mouth, then your neck, then your chest, then your stomach. slowly, he makes a trail of them down your body, as if no skin deserved to be left untouched.

although you made a rule that no one could leave your marks on you, it doesn't mean he doesn't try. as he kisses your lower lips, sometimes he'll attempt to leave marks close to your clit. if you're not careful, diluc will find it tomorrow.

his thrusts were always deep, but now that he's much more purposeful about it. it's rhythmic, as if he's trying to reach a new spot inside you. somewhere no one's touched.

the pillow-talks are much more longer as well. he holds you tighter now, wrapping his arms around your hips as he tangles his legs with yours.

instead of ranting on about the silly incidents he witnessed on the job earlier in the week, he talks about his feelings. towards you. towards diluc. towards himself. some nights you can handle it, some nights are too much.

but you can't say anything. not when he's holding onto you like you’re his lifeline. not when he helps you pay off your debt. and so you let his raspy voice whisper in your ear as he combs his fingers through your hair. you listen to him mumble sweet-nothings.

you're not sure if you like the adoring look he gives you as you drift off to sleep.

[threepandas]

Bad End, Hidden Heir: Part 2

Prev <-

A pounding headache and cave air, that's what I woke up too. The air was being choked, though, by familiar scents. All trying desperately to make the cold, wet, and softly echoing quiet, hospitable. It was nauseating in my current state. Weak and... drugged? Had I been drugged? I certainly hadn't been drunk.

So why did my head hurt so much?

Why did every motion, make my stomach want to rebel?

My limbs felt so WEAK. Heavy and useless. Barely budging when I try to lift them. To rub my head? Adjust the blanket? Sit up? I can't tell. Thinking... thinking is so hard past... the pounding in my head. The fog. I struggle to concentrate. God, that SMELL.

Like a perfume store combined with... with... ugh. Everything!

I could pick out individual scents I knew I liked, on their own, added to the nauseating chaos. My favorite potpourri was there. But so was the one I like for winter? Fall? That one I liked as a kid until I found Mrs. Tianna's blend...

And perfumes! Colognes! The clean products and scents I preferred the maids used. God it... it blended together like a trash heap. As though someone drove a carriage through a perfume shop at speed. Cloying and musk and spice and fruity and-!

I sucked air through my teeth, trying not to smell it, hoping to god I wouldn't TASTE it.

Finally I managed to pry my eyes open. Either hunger or thirst giving my the strength to push past the nauseating pain. I NEEDED to move. Find out what was happening. Survive.

My gaze... met the most elaborate embroidery I had ever seen. Tapestries had less art. Almost to the point of gaudiness. Possibly past it. It was...

It was everything I had ever said I liked.

Too anyone.

Puppies and flowers, history and art, books scenes and more. It kept GOING! Hideous and magnificent. Chaos. Unhinged. Flowing down from above me, along the rest of the curtains, for the canopy bed upon which I rest. So I would be surrounded by it all. Even the blanket... it was a sea of my favorite flowers, made eternal through string.

This wasn't something people just DID. Could just FIND. I could feel my panic under the muting pain and exhaustion. This was the work of YEARS. Obsessive, continuous, YEARS. Some of these threads cost more then certain house hold make in WEEKS! And for what? A secret canopy bed?!

I struggled, body barely able to obey me but trying desperately to assist. The blankets were heavy. The curtain around the bed equally so, thanks to all the embroidery. I.. I manage to roll. Squirm. Wriggle my way, undignified, to the edge. Flop over it and out from under the blanket. Too freedom.

The air is cold.

The scents WORSE out here. Now, I can see why.

It is a museum to all that I am. Every like carefully gathered in one place, every preference. Stacked and shoved together, with no regard for if they fit. Hoarded like a collection.

I can not even tell... if I am sitting, flopped down, on my favorite winter bedside carpet or just an exact copy. My entire life is shoved together and suddenly... suddenly I do not like any of these things at all. They feel dirty. Dangerous. Like they have betrayed me. I want to cry.

But I am nauseous. Hurting. Tired and thirsty. So very hungry dispite it all. I just... I just need to know what's going ON! This isn't... this isn't how the Game goes! Not for Protag-chan. Not for me! I know I changed my "character's" behavior... but...

I... I don't understand...

Try not to cry. It's... it's really hard.

I was right. I'm pretty sure this is the Caves of Spring in the northwest of the Duchy. The offical Heir has an estate near them. The stone looks like the cliffs I'd seen in passing.

Crawling is hard. My legs keep getting tangled in my fucking nightgown. My... my f.. favorite.. nightgown! I'm not gonna cry. Damn it. I'm NOT GONNA CRY. How dare he? How DARE he ruin even that? What did he DO to me!? When I was... was...

No, don't think about it!

Move.

A decanter. Needlessly pretty. I probably loved it as a girl, fresh into this world. Everything was so FANCY and I wasn't used to having money yet. Hadn't developed any real class or taste. It looks so fucking gaudy to me now. But God, it has water. Please... PLEASE let that be water!

I drag myself up on badly shaking limbs. Nothing wants to hold. Wrists buckling, knees giving, legs shaking like a new born lamb. My arms are so weak. But thirst... oh thirst is a powerful motivator.

I force myself to move.

The water is not enough. It is everything. Cold and perfect, I force myself to go slow. To not spill a single drop, as I collapse against the dresser it was placed upon. Letting my eyes explore my cage in the way my poor abused body can not.

There are thick bars buried deep into the bedrock, separating the "room" I'm in from the hall that leads away from it. And it IS a "room". Made in cruel mockery to resemble the luxury of the dukes estate. Perhaps even more aggressively decadent in certain aspects, though that isn't a good thing. It makes it border on a storage room, for how crowded with luxury it has become.

It is the reflection of an unwell mind.

And staring up at the portraits of myself I KNOW I never sat for? The countless sketches pinned up beyond the bars? I am in trouble. I... I should have run. Not sent Creep away. I should have been the one to run. Before it was too late.

I think... I think it might be too late.

Footsteps.

I want to escape. But where can I run? I am caged. I feel close and far away. My head hurts. My body hurts. Everything stinks and I am cold. Why? Why did you do this? The foot steps are calm and commanding. Even. They do not break stride.

I do not bother to watch my hunter approach me. The monster I can not escape.

I close my eyes to spare myself the pounding in my head. Drink more water.

He makes a softly dismayed sound, as though he was not the one to drug me, to leave me here. The door to my cage opens. Closes. Ah... such a heavy lock. Should I be flattered?

Crisp steps, the rustle of fabric.

"My lady, the floor is so dirty! You shouldn't be out of bed yet. I was just about to make you tea."

The AUDACITY.

Tea? TEA! Ha ha! After DRUGGING my tea? He actually expects me to accept a cup from him again?! He truely IS insane, isn't he?

I am scooped up without my consent, unable to so much a truely struggle. Placed gently on a plush chair, a tea table moved in front of me. A familiar cup. My favorite blend. Pretty little snacks laid out deftly on lovely little plates. I grit my teeth. Slowly tip my head up to glare.

He pauses when our eye meet... then shudders, some terrible look of pleasure dancing across his face.

"That's right... look at me~" he whispers, leaning entirely too close. "I'm all that you have now. So you'll HAVE too now! No more others. No more distractions. No more sending me away! People trying to get between us. Trying to take you away. I'm all that you need, My Lady. All you'll EVER need."

"Just look at ME, your loyal dog. And I'll take such good care of you. I promise~♡"

[h-didanart]

It was quiet.

And empty.

Very empty.

Way too empty.

He didn’t like the emptiness.

For starters he probably should be in way more pain than he is right now. And then there was the whole fire and sin theme missing from this place, making it a lot boringer than he was expecting.

So he was confused, to that he’ll admit. He hadn’t even seen whatever-the-hell-that-was coming! It was just- poof! Dead. Probably. More than likely.

Hell, that half an hour had just been those idiots debating on who gets to kill him, of course he’s dead! It would’ve been so funny to see the crazed moon fail at whether-the-hell he was doing. Or been an awesome way to die, who knows, it’s not like he can go back and ask that guy to shoot him with magic again.

Whatever, he was bored. Very bored.

Checking his limbs, all of them there. Could he move? Yes he could.

For an afterlife of eternal torment this didn’t seem much like torment. He just got to live in some white void or whatever. Oh maybe that was the torment, being bored in death, creative if anticlimactic.

And then a sound.

Imminent danger, a threat, newcomer, invader, something— he turned around towards the sound, fully ready to fight.

And then he froze.

Because that face— that wasn’t— he— holy shit

Holy shit

He didn’t like the pile of feelings dumped on him. He didn’t like it at all. It was like a rock bashed into his chest, but the rock was on fire and also weighed as much as an anvil.

He… he… knew those eyes. Better than the back of his hand. And that hat, those clothes, the godforsaken fluff surrounding that face. He didn’t register the damages, but they were extensive he’s broken in the ground, Monty reaches for his neck— they were so extensive. But the eyes hadn’t changed.

He hadn’t changed.

His brother…

His brother.

He stood there. It was all moving so fast, but also slow, there were a billion thoughts in his head. He could feel warmth building up on his face.

His brother looked at him, then down to himself. Oh. He was missing a leg. Never had he thought he’d feel disgust at seeing an injury. Clearly he had to be the one to get closer. And so he took a step forward. And another.

And then he was running.

He knew there was a smile on his face, he didn’t care. He knew the feelings were building up, he also didn’t care. All he wanted was to get to him.

And he did. The twins collided, he lifted his other up and spun a few times.

Fuck.

It had been so long. So goddamn long.

He remembers the last hug they had, the last interaction they had, his last view of him the screen is wound back he dares not look back— it had been an eternity. Agonizing eternity. He didn’t think he could’ve taken it had it lasted longer.

He missed him.

So fucking much.

He didn’t care that he was crying. He didn’t care that he was sobbing, wailing even.

To hell with self consciousness.

To hell with humiliation.

To hell with this place.

To hell with revenge.

To hell with the world.

To hell with blood.

None of that mattered in the now.

His world was finally complete again.

And he will never lose him again.

[nomsfaultau]

From the interlude What Happened in the Constellations, wherein kid scp Wilbur meets Philza and loathes him almost as much as he loathes himself.

[feralhornyposting]

I covered a little bit of this in a previous post but something that really turns me on is people acting out of character when they're having sex, like entirely different compared to how they are in everyday life. And I don't just mean the shy one being a dom when in private, I mean the nice and popular one that wouldn't hurt a fly getting off on teasing and ravaging you animalistically, I mean the tall intimidating one with the ability to fight off like a crowd of people in one go being such a subby, needy and obedient little fucktoy as soon as you say the word, I mean the rowdy party animal that wears revealing clothes and flirts with everyone going quiet and getting all nervous and horny just from your dirty talk, doing whatever you ask because they want to please you and only you. Don't get me wrong I also like when people have apparent dom or sub or switch energy but I also love the little twist of finding out their true inner workings, only when with you. It's hot as fuck.

[4veslil]

Oneshot | Friends Made In Strange Places | Aegon Targaryen II

A/N: Another Oneshot from my Ao3 and Wattpad accounts, the last three I have posted are my faves and probably the few I have that have been completed or exited the idea stage haha

SUMMARY: (Female) Reader is the maid/nanny for Aegon's children, and while you watch over the princes an unlikely friendship forms.

TW: Minor Character Death, Loss, (Class) Discrimination, Abuse of Power, Depictions of Alcoholism, Mentions of Incest, Mentions of SA (because no, I'm sorry, you can't like a character and just erase all the shitty things they did, it WILL be addressed in this oneshot)

★ MASTER LIST HERE ★

WORD COUNT: 4,999

The Red Keep was still, the night had cast a blanket of its mercy. It hid the guards in shadowed corners and allowed the court to sleep. They were tucked away in their beds, their dreams taking them to a peaceful realm. Only you, a single maid was not allowed such a night, made to watch over Maelor as the Queen slept. He was ceaseless. Nothing seemed to work, not the feeding, the burping, the changing, the small bounces or the soft songs. You feared he had colic. After all, he seemed to cry incessantly for no reason at all.

You continued to bounce the child, lifting him to your shoulder as you looked out over the King's Landing. At least not all were captured in dreams, many were awake but too far to see. You could glimpse at the small lights from houses but not a soul. In the darkness of the chamber, you felt the only being alive, trapped in torment as the baby refused to settle.

You hoped by laying Maelor down and rubbing his tummy that soon he'd find peace, feel the comfort of the cot to finally, sleep. Tears pricked your eyes.

"Please" you murmured, breaking the quiet of the chamber with your silent plea.

No wonder the Queen Mother made you, not Queen Heleana, comfort the child. He was not even yours yet the stress felt no different. He was forever restless, nothing could calm him. You considered feeding him again but that felt no use, he had eaten not long ago. Perhaps, you smirked, he was a true Targaryen, wilful and torturous when he wanted to be. But he was but a baby, it was funny musing to pass the time.

Once again a lullaby left your lips trying to soothe the child. Your mother had sung it to you in the Riverlands. You had not seen her for years, her health becoming poorly and you too busy to visit. Your sister said it was an affliction unlike any she saw.

Your singing grew louder at the memory- a whisper that carried across the chamber, your hand rubbing the child's tummy to the rhythm.

"Why is he not asleep?". You shot up, immediately, turning to the voice. The wails of Maelor did nothing to quench the fear filling your stomach, you hoped he could drown it so it wasn't clear on your face.

"Your Majesty" you bowed, being quick to pick up the child afterwards. It wasn't out of comfort, no, Maelor had now become your own meat shield. You had heard what he'd done to Dyana and that would never become you. Close you held him to your chest and bounced lightly.

"How long has he been crying?" His voice was unusually concerned. You didn't think the King cared much for anything unless it was his cups or whores.

"All night. Nothing seems to settle him, Your Majesty"

He nodded in contemplation and stepped closer. You were rooted to the ground. Soon he reached you in a few quick steps and plucked the child from your arms.

It was like magic, with a few simple bounces, pats on his back and soft soothing escaping his lips, the child's wails began to lessen. It was like the King was a baby whisperer. The child knew when fire and blood were near.

"How... how?" You could only say, your eyes wide with shock and a pained relief.

"He is my child, he knows it is me" he whispered.

"But I tried everything, I have always taken care of him... Your Majesty", you nearly forgot his title.

"Maelor is fussy, spoilt. He will cry until I am here. I was late"

You soon came to the realisation, after sifting through your memories, that this was the first night you were the last to hold Maelor. The King did indeed care for the children, coming every bedtime to settle the child into his cot. All the while, you would clear the room of toys and his old day clothes.

"I never noticed, Your Majesty. I apologise" you bowed.

"Do not worry, even as King many do not pay attention to me"

"I am sure many do, Your Majesty"

The King chuckled, shaking his head with an almost sad smile. Not only did you realise he was rocking the child in his arms, but his feet were pulling on and off the floor. Once again in his cups you assumed.

"You smallfolk, still know nothing of this Keep" he said aloud in the barest whisper. He refused to meet your eyes, they were fixed on the child.

You didn't understand what had caused this bout of honesty. Before you had pictured yourself becoming Dyana, you knew how to escape that. But handling the spoken sorrows of a king, was something you were unprepared for.

"Tis my duty to care for your children. Not think of court matters, that is not my place Your Majesty"

"Of course, all none the wiser while we burn" he smirked sardonically.

"Are we to burn, Your Majesty?", your lip trembled at the words. You were pushing too far, eventually, he would find disobedience among the questions. Perhaps cast you out the Keep for insolence.

The King shrugged, a small shift of his shoulders. Too much like a child. "Perhaps, perhaps not. None of us wants to but maybe it is inevitable"

"Do you fear it, Your Majesty?"

The enquiry hung in the air. This was the moment it would all come crashing down. Your bags would be packed by dawn and onto the streets you would be cast. You walked a path so unpredictable, so treacherous, but you couldn't help yourself. There was a vulnerability in the King that had to be addressed. You doubted with the Queen's sensitive mind and their Mother's lack of emotional comfort that the King had someone to talk to.

The King has no friends, only followers, you once heard. And the phrase couldn't be truer now.

"The stranger comes for us all" he quoted with a mocking tone. The Queen Mother's pious voice was not lost on you.

"Not always, sometimes he's merciful"

"You think death can be a mercy?"

You had to tread carefully, "I have had yet to suffer to truly feel so. But in other's suffering, my family's, the darkest parts of me fear it's the only way"

"Would you willingly go to the stranger, four your family?"

"I love my family, I do. But I hope to be honest with my King. I would never be without a fight. I have too much to live for Your Majesty"

The King nodded, seeming to contemplate the thought, surprisingly considering your words despite your station.

"You are dismissed" he finally spoke amongst the silence.

And you didn't think twice before quickly escaping from the child's chambers. Your heart was thrumming in relief while it momentarily throbbed with regret. Something about the king was almost- no, it was pitiful. You couldn't help but look back and capture those eyes. They spoke of a pain far greater than you had realised.

You hoped soon he would find solace somewhere. Not just in his cups, or in whores, but in genuine company.

-

The next night you had returned to the nursery after tucking Jaehaerys and Jaeheara into bed. They had separated the two from baby Maelor due to his wails, endlessly echoing throughout the keep until the King came.

This time his crying wasn't as loud but he was so restless you couldn't help but swaddle him. You didn't hear of the crown swaddling their children like this, so tightly bound in a scarf their limbs were trapped against their bodies. You only ever saw them in long baby clothes wrapped in delicate fabrics, their arms and legs still free to kick. You hoped it would settle him to sleep, cast the child back to a time it was safe in the Queen's womb.

"He looks like a loaf of bread" The King chuckled, his eyes crinkling and smile wide like a jokester. You had made way to rise but his hand gestured you to stay.

"He is swaddled Your Majesty, hopefully, he will sleep better this way," you remarked, looking back down at the child. His eyes were still teary and his mouth contorted to release a powerful wail that never came, silent amongst the night.

"It seems you have discovered his weakness, why does it work?"

A King who is impulsive, reckless, and sinful, you wondered what turned him to question. He did not seem a man for curiosity if it was not amongst the Street of Silk.

"If you wrap them tightly they feel like they're in their mother again, where they were once safe and sound", the back of your finger ran down the child's cheek. Another cry threatened to blast from his lips as you shushed Maelor. 

"It's a shame we cannot remember it like them" he nodded, and slowly he stepped closer. Almost cautious, making your hair stand on end.

"Is that jealousy I hear Your Majesty?" you quipped, trying to dispel your nerves; forgetting who stood before you despite speaking the title.

"Are you not jealous?" He countered, his brow suddenly stern with venom. You knew to tread carefully, you did not know what he was thinking.

"How can I miss something I've never known, Your Majesty?"

"Many people do. Money, power, women. They'll never have it yet crave it"

"And because of that, you think they're lacking?", your eyebrow quirked.

"Do you not lack in life? A wet nurse with no child, no husband, no power" he smirked, his tone full of mocking.

Your heart stopped, or the pain in your chest felt it did. Your gut had been punched, a wave of anger sifted through you that was uncontrollable, and the only thing stopping you from boiling over was the child in your arms. He was still a King, no matter what you saw the night before, he would always look down on you. No conversation could remould the chain. Change the way of things.

"I have a family that loves me, food in my belly, a roof over my head and work to keep me busy. I am lacking in nothing Your Majesty, I have everything I need"

"Because you do not know more than a small, meagre life. Never getting what you want"

"It is better than watching you drown your sorrows despite everything you have" you suddenly snapped and aback the King was taken. His poison lost on the truth you had spoken.

"You know nothing about me," he growled, stepping closer, his hand on the back of your chair, lowering himself face to face. His stark white hair had cast a curtain around you; there was nowhere to look but him, and you could not tear yourself away.

"Neither do you. I bet this is the longest conversation you have had with a woman without spreading her legs" You stood firm, you wouldn't show him weakness. It could mean your head but a part of you pitied. There was still a boy clawing for power and adoration behind those eyes.

"You think you are funny"

"Oh the funniest Your Majesty"

Your eyes were locked, battling in a silent rage.

"Why do you not fear me?" He uttered from the tense silence, breaking the atmosphere.

The words were lost on you, still lost when he gradually pulled away with the child taken into his arms. While you gnashed your fangs at one another, Maelor had found sleep among the chaos.

"I will take my leave, Your Majesty"

And with that, once again you fled.

-

"You are a strange woman" he sounded from the doorway, leaning against the frame as you looked over Jaehaerys. The boy had come down with a slight fever, nothing the measters couldn't tend to but, they insisted someone sit tight.

"Strange in what way Your Majesty?" you sighed, preparing to tolerate his presence after last week.

You had not spoken since, only coming into his presence so he could settle Maelor into bed. He could not manage a word between you before you ran to your cot.

"You come back" The King shrugged, his arms still knotted at his chest. You felt something brewing.

"Where else could I go Your Majesty?"

"There are many duties you could take up"

"Like your cupbearer?" You bantered with an edge. The King stalked further into the chamber, coming behind your chair. He fixed his hands to the corners of it, leaning close to your back.

"That does not sound too bad my lady"

"I am no lady" you shook your head.

"Then what is your name?" you hesitated for a moment. To disobey would be a great offence and you already offended too much.

You told him in a quiet whisper, hoping it evaded his ears. But the smallfolk achieved little victories in King's Landing. It echoed from between his lips with a slight slur.

"You are drunk Your Majesty" you came to realise.

"Never more than usual" he huffed.

"Still, what if you fell?"

"Is that a threat?" He chuckled lowly, his mouth suddenly at your ear.

You refused to lean away, refused to show weakness, and said that he had a chance of winning.

"It is an educated guess from knowing men too fond of their cups"

"I am not most men"

"No, you are the King. Even more, reason to be wary"

His hand came to curl a lock of your hair around his finger, his pull was so delicate but too close. "You speak so well for a wet nurse"

"My father was an educator, he spoke well and in turn, so do I"

He tugged slightly on the lock, and your head came into contact with his temple. It was too close for comfort but you swallowed the unnerving twang in your stomach. You assumed it to be an element of disgust but were surprised to feel your heart pull. How long had it been since a man played with your hair? Spoke to you so softly? Bantered back and forth with you? How long had it been since you felt wanted?

"Such a strange woman..."

"Should I thank Your Majesty?"

"What for?" You could feel the quirk of his brow against your head.

"For not demanding my attention but earning it?"

You did not hear an answer, did not see his mouth slip open to respond. Only the small, meagre coughs from Jeahaerys called your ears and onto him you focused. Not the King standing perplexed behind you.

Yet still, it was on that night, one so quiet and strange. For the first time in a long while, you admitted in the deepest cracks of your heart, you wanted something.

-

When you opened the door to Maelor's nursery you were surprised to see King Aegon sitting with the child on his chest. For the first time in two weeks, he was settled before you acted.

"You have overtaken my duties Your Majesty" You smiled quietly, it barely ghosted over your expression.

But he remained still, his eyes cast down. Or so it seemed. As you crept further you came to realise the King's state. When asleep like this he simply appeared as Aegon Targaryen. There were no drunken words, unsteady feet, no emotional rampage.

Your feet were delicate across the stone floor until you crouched slightly to gaze at his face closer. His features were still boyish, no longer contorted with stress and sorrow. His hair was strewn across his brow, short threads of silver like cobwebs- soft and delicate.

Without thinking, your hand came forward and brushed them aside, barely skimming across his pale skin. You hoped to stay like this for a little while longer but the contact snapped his eyes open. It was instinct that his hand seemed to trap your wrist in his grasp.

"What are you doing?" He grumbled, his grip becoming tighter. Your expression winced in pain, rippling fear across your body.

"I-I apologise, Your Majesty, forgive me" you stuttered.

"Who gave you the right to touch me?" He grimaced.

"Nobody Your Majesty, there... there was a bug" The lie was terrible, absolutely unbelievable and with the quiet laughter that rang out, you knew he knew it too.

"You think I am stupid", he threw your wrist from his grasp.

"I think you are merciful"

"Another word for weak" he scoffed.

"Mercy is only available to those with power"

He contemplated the words for a moment before standing, in quick succession he placed Maelor down and turned quick on his heels.

"Follow me" Aegon commanded resolutely, your position offered no chance to refuse. You were trapped but a bigger part of you remained curious.

Was this how Dyana fell into his snare? Goading her with comforting words. Did he play with her hair too? You thought.

You traced your steps behind Aegon, small and unsure until you reached his chambers. It was coming, you were sure of it. The guards at his door looked upon you with pitying eyes as you could only cast yours down.

Inside it was just as you heard, barren of the late King's possessions, littered with cups half drunken and yet to be taken away. You could hear him refusing it. Wine stains yet to be scrubbed from the floor littered the stone. The guards pitied you, but your own was reserved for Aegon.

He poured himself another cup, you recognised it as Dornish. The previous Lord you had worked under had a fine taste for it.

"You can call me Aegon in this room" he announced, extending a cup toward you. You took it with trembling fingers and thanked him. Only accepting the drink to hide the shakes that fluttered your limbs.

"I could not Your Majesty" you fretted.

"It is an order, you would not disobey your King, would you?"

"No, your Ma-" you looked up to see his eyes bore into you as the title hung from the tip of your tongue, "No, Aegon" you corrected.

"Marvelous, now! Let's drink"

"Excuse me Your- Aegon, why am I here?", Aegon paused the cup's movement, the rim just licking his lip.

"I am in need of a drinking buddy and honest companion"

"I am sure you have many of those at your disposal"

"None as pretty as you. Now drink, I insist"

Your cheeks blared a deep pink, heating your face to a degree your previous lover couldn't muster.

Unlike in his children's chambers, Aegon appeared more free than ever. Only in the nights did you spy on the King or keep his company, in those moments, there was a sadness riddled within the man too deep to weed out.

Your lips pressed to the rim of the cup before finally taking one gulp. Aegon's eyes of disapproval encouraged another, then a third before finally, he was pleased.

It was strong but unlike anything you had tasted before. It was spiced, not too dry and had a sweetness to it that lightened the mood.

"It is good Aegon" you complimented and for once, a genuine smile stretched upon his face.

"I knew you would enjoy it! Now come, come see" he gestured to the balcony. You felt like you were being dragged around like a child so excited to show you his toys. He was not a child in any way, but the desire for approval was apparent as Aegon pulled back the curtain with a proud, twinkling eye. Over the balcony King's Landing was alive, from here, there was much more to observe than from the nurseries.

"It's-"

"Amazing right? It is the day of rest tomorrow, I used to sneak out on this night" Aegon confessed with a giddy smile.

"I remember celebrating such nights" you shared with a small smile, "my family and I would head to the nearest tavern, unlike most, it was more... family friendly"

"You can guess I never had that. My Mother is too pious, Aemond too serious and then Heleana... well you know Heleana" he chuckled.

"She is a wonderful mother" you complimented.

"If only a better Queen, a better wife, a different woman"

"Do you not love her?" The territory you tread in was dangerous but Aegon relaxed at the question. It was as if he had been waiting for this moment for lifetimes. For someone to ask how he felt.

"Who can love a sister like a wife? It's...", he didn't have to finish.

"How old were you?"

"Fifteen... it is not so bad though, she does not care if I run away to the Street of Silk"

"Would you want someone to care?", you feared there was no coming back from this. You had given the King someone to confide in, would he ever let that go?

"Who knows" he huffed. "What of you? Did he run? Get cold feet before the altar?"

"Something like that, he passed the night before. He had engaged in a scuffle on the road. One punch and his head landed on a rock... he never woke up" Your tone then filled with mourning, despite how you tried to dampen the embers of grief flickering. Every time his face came into your mind you couldn't help it.

"Nothing works out the way we want it to" he huffed, leaning across the balcony. You followed suit, hoping the wind would dry the tears brewing.

"Smallfolk and King's alike" you commented before you clinked your drinks together, never taking your eyes from the kingdom below. "Where would you be now if you could?"

"Essos" he responded in a beat.

"Why Essos?", Aegon didn't even need time to ponder it.

"It is the furthest I could be from this shithole"

You hadn't drunk in a while, the wine had made your lips loose and you couldn't help but giggle at the foul language.

"Why not ride away on your dragon, who could stop you?",

"Have you seen Vhagar? My brother- the cunt that he is- would have me back on that throne before I could step out the Keep"

"Sounds like they need you" I nudged. The contact was sudden and free of thought- impulsive. It was too comfortable but Aegon only shook his bowed head with a smile.

Was this the man who hurt Dyana? Was this lost man truly a King that had caused such suffering? When thinking about it, it was easy to see. So starved of affection, of guidance, master to his whims so easily achieved. None of it was surprising. It was not easily forgotten, not forgiven, but easily understood.

The air changed in moments. Contorted into a silent understanding. You had grasped Aegon's mind in the palm of her hand so easily. He was a man so easily brought to his knees.

"Do you need me?" His tone had shifted so easily, lilting and calm. He sensed the wave that had come upon you.

You shrugged and downed the rest of your wine in two gulps. "I don't need much Aegon"

"Then do you want me?"

You played with the cup in your hand. The dangers of involving yourself like this was insurmountable. Absolutely hysterical. But you allowed yourself to ponder the idea. If you allowed yourself, what would come of it all?

You had not known the touch of a man for years and alone in your cot you slept dreaming of wanting, having the chance to want instead of being chained down by need. And just like you, Aegon stood there needing something to ground him, to offer a chance at respite. He was a broken man and perhaps, you could pay your pain forward.

"As long as you need me, I will stay by your side", the grin that curled at his lips was remarkable, warming your heart too quick to recall how cold it once was.

"Well then!" He clapped as he rose, "You need a refill and cheers to your promotion as my new drinking buddy"

You didn't know what to say, it all happened so fast but the response was spoken before you could catch it, "I would be honoured Aegon"

He raised his cup and handed you another when he returned it to the balcony. No longer were his eyes pitiful but bright and somewhat hopeful. It was a jarring change but one you welcomed nonetheless. At this moment, it felt perhaps something good could come of this. Perhaps, something could be changed.

"To friends found in strange places," he grinned,

"Indeed my King-" you agreed as your cups cheersed, "as long as it is wanted"

Aegon's hand then, once again, found itself in your hair, closer now as his finger twiddled and curled a lock around it. "As long as we want it"

And with that quiet admittance, you raised your eyes to his. Knowing that somehow, two suffering souls had found each other across oceans and chains of being.

[nauticaltrain]

You ever seen them fight? It's brutal. They can't feel pain, but they can still make each other hurt. It's some weird dominance thing they do.

Sounds like humans.

[theodysseyofhomer]

clytemnestra loses iphigenia at the onset of the war and is never able to love any of her other children, because she can focus all her energy on revenge

andromache loses astyanax in the last days of the war and still loves her child born into slavery, having no power to get revenge but focusing her energy on his survival

clytemnestra's power is limited and gendered, and certainly many real enslaved people have continued the cycle of abuse with their children... suffering makes people worse in almost every way and every case, etc. but i do think it's an interesting point of comparison for the victimization of each woman with respect to her children in these tragedies. clytemnestra's most important fantasy is of getting revenge for her dead child, so that in a way she sacrifices her other children, and andromache's is of getting to keep her living child

[eroslove88]

Ok I've never done this before so I hope it'll go well :)

But uh could you please do something with mommy kink Raiden Shogun, Ganyu and Shenhe forcibly breastfeeding their bratty sub? I really like your writing style so I look forward to it but if you're only able to do one please do Ganyu thanks again and good day/night 🙏

Lactation Kink + Bratty Sub. (Gn reader!)

Warnings: Noncon, lactation kink, mommy kink, power dynamics, slight yandere, small use of electricity and implied kidnapping

Note: I LOVE DOMINANT WOMEN!!! They have my heart and soul. Cocogoat Ganyu headcannon.

Shenhe *¨*• Cold *¨*•

You're shorter than her and much warmer than her. She's cold- not she really is. Her cold hands forcibly grab your jaw and her other arm snakes around your waist cradling you in a position where your mouth is being shoved onto her nipple.

It's already leaking due to the forced stimulation of your tongue, she never liked noisy people and she never took you as the talkative type. She hated people who complained when things were going fine, she didn't see the need in you cussing her out. So if you wanted to do something with your mouth she gave you something much more important to do. You recoiled when her nipples started leaking beads of milk, in disgust you tried pulling away but that's when her nails dug into your jaw shoving forcing your lips to wrap around her leaky bud.

Your protests were muffled by her breast, "M-Mommy, swop" your words slurred by the fat in your mouth, she only shushed your meaningless words by shoving you deeper into her chest. Her heart was beating you fast from the thrill of your squirming body. Shenhe is not as vocal as you are, she let's out small noises. "That's right, be good for mommy" she whispered between heavy breaths.

Ganyu ♡ Delusional ♡

Ganyu is typically patient and she doesn't understand why you're throwing tantrums and being rude to her. She's just trying to take care of you. Ganyu is soft and she's not trying to hurt you, "It's ok, mommy's going to take good care of you" just like a child she thinks you're hungry after barely stimulating her chest she looks for you, "What the hell are you doi-" her hands gently squish your cheeks together, "Shhh, it's going to be ok. Mommy's here" the next thing you knew you were trying to fight off the adeptus while one of her hands squishes her tit.

Milk fills your mouth and you almost gag at the warm liquid. "It's just like goat milk don't worry" she reassures, "Swallow it baby" she purrs as your tongue tastes her sweet milk and your lips latch onto her dripping bud.

She whimpers at the sensation of your warm lips. Her hand moves down to coerce yours to milk her full breast causing warm milk to gush into your mouth and down your throat. Your watery eyes look up at her weary face when she releases her fluid.

"It's ok sweetie drink as much as you need" her breaths labored. When you gargle a groan, "Swallow baby, you're going to choke" her hands still squishing your cheeks making some of her milk drip from the corners of your mouth.

Raiden Shogun ☆ Cruel ☆

Ei knows what she is, but she doesn't like to be reminded of it constantly. Besides, she's your god. You're supposed to do as your told and not talk back to her with such a horrendous attitude.

Rough hands wrap around hair, she shoves her breast deeper into your mouth as you sob against her. "You've been so bad to your mommy" she growls her free shocking your sensitive nipples. She's dissatisfied with you performance so your tongue swirls around her nipple, small drops of milk drop into your mouth as you desperately suck at the enlarged nub. "That's it make mommy feel good, suck it dry sweetie" she demands.

Your tongue pitifully laps at the dropping pearls, "Don't drop any" you don't, it's not like you can; your mouth is practically full with a quarter of her boob. Shocks make you cry out into her bust and you frightfully slurp at her core saliva dripping down your chin in an attempt to satisfy her.

[dykedvonte]

In the article, when Kasurinen mentions that irl people like Curly can and do cover up perpetrators- do you think that implies Curly would have kept Anya’s SA under wraps?

Curly is such a conflicting character AHHHHH. He’s my favorite but makes me very uncomfortable sometimes. He’s ignorant and mitigated at a very wrong time, but I hoped he at least had the decency to let the story slip out post-delivery. Jimmy doesn’t wanna face responsibility but does Curly not want him to either?

I think what people are missing about that line is the intentions part. What is specifically said is “good intentioned downplaying” and the belief he was taking the right steps. It’s phrasing is important: the discussion of escalation and the idea that it’s not intentionally malicious are idea you have to keep in mind when taking to the problems at play with Curly’s choices.

I do not think he was gonna cover up the assault but his actions during the events of the pre-crash sections were likely fueled by ignorance, disbelief and his own issues. His inability to outwardly address it lead to it being downplayed and covered to an extent but it’s not something he didn’t want to deal with more accurately he didn’t know how to approach and when he tried to came at it from the completely wrong angles.

When people see these they conflate them with him being willfully ignorant, refusing to believe Anya and self absorbed. It’s such a one note bad faith interpretation imo that it doesn’t acknowledge that in a lot of cases people genuinely think they are doing good in the mean time. Good intentions don’t mean he did good, or didn’t cause harm but the point is that he never intended to to Anya. The sad fact is he was trying to find a happy ending for both parties because he still thought he could. He thought he was doing something where everyone would win and in the end it was a total loss.

I say it again about Curly but so many people take the dead pixel conversation as a refusal to look closer when it’s more like a comment to on rose tinted glasses and Curly personally. Him moving on is not his saying “it doesn’t matter” but saying he still wants to try and apprixate the parts that aren’t bad. It’s a misguided and unintentionally dismissive comfort toward Anya. You can see she realizes that he doesn’t really understand but it’s not from a lack or trying. It’s a lack of being ready. Doesn’t excuse when she becomes more direct with him but it helps us with his insights.

The issue with Curly and Jimmy and responsibility is that Curly takes too much responsibility and blame for many things that aren’t his responsibility and/or fault. I think tow reflective scenes are right before the crash and in the cockpit when he blames himself for Anya not getting a psych evaluation and letting Jimmy blame him for his actions. It is not his responsibility to provide that eval to Anya, that is the companies negligence to allow one of their employees to go with out one. You can argue he could’ve fought for it, but you can also argue that P.E held that standard in the first place and you can’t patch cracks you don’t see. With Jimmy, none of what he did is Curly’s fault outside not punishing him for the act after. Even then punishment is vague but he should’ve taken more precautions. He did not force Jimmy to crash the ship, to rape Anya, to lash out and misconstrue his words. His responsibility is the crew not their individual actions and that’s a very hard point to discuss.

When Daisuke gets caught in the foam he is upset because that action got him hurt or could’ve damaged something vital to them. He is not responsible for the action but he is in ensuring Daisuke, under Swansea, doesn’t cause anymore damage to himself or the ship. That’s what I’m trying to get at despite the difficulty. Jimmy’s speech is gaslighting, conditioning to make Curly believe it’s all his fault: The firing, the assault, the tragedy of it all when those all link back to things that were over his head or actions/choices of others.

There’s a lot of debates on what Curly as the individual was at fault for, should be blamed for and what where outside factors. I personally think in the end he wanted Jimmy to take responsibility but he himself can’t tell what’s his responsibility to take vs Jimmy’s. A key point of this is when Curly is about to run in and starting saying what he should’ve done, or could’ve before screaming at Jimmy and asking what did he do. He realizes all too late what is his responsibility and what isn’t in terms of their dynamics and the blame/guilt he takes on for Jimmy but as I said again it’s too late.

If he was gonna cover up the assault than Jimmy would’ve never felt the need to do something so drastic. He would’ve known Curly would’ve helped and I think his uncertainty of that was a driving force but also to give us that uncertainty in terms of what Curly would’ve actually done.

He makes us all uncomfortable and conflicted because we all want to say we’d do better, we’d know better but in the end we could all make the same mistakes thinking that our good intentions were enough. He’s fun to roll around in your head and this specific topic gets a lot of unsettling things rolling.

[searenbound]

Mmm older stepbrother! Touya who’s such a bad influence on his new stepsister. She could have tried to bond with any of the other three Todoroki siblings, but she’s just 18 and still in her bad boy phase and so transfixed on the tall punk with more piercings than redeeming qualities.

He’s fully aware too, and ooh does he love that naive little angel’s attention. It’s fun playing with them when they don’t know any better yet.

He tells them how pretty girls like her shouldn’t be held up at home only to study things they already know. That she should let him teach how to have some real fun. He sneaks her out to parties, pretends he doesn’t notice them stealing his drinks or the clumsy way she tried to grind on him.

He teaches her hair to do all those naughty little things good girls like her don’t do and promised to keep it between them if she does.

[whumpitisthen]

Limbo

Previous I Masterlist I Next

CWs: dissociation/derealisation [whumpee thinking they aren't really alive], mentioned torture, mentioned character death, a candid conversation about death with Death the jolly fellow himself, angel whumpee, deity whumper, religious themes, carewhumper, the poor boy has no idea what's coming the boy is not doing so well :/ if only there was someone who cared :pensive: ( <- actively making him worse)

“Am I dead?”

The angel looks far away, grey, foggy under his skin. He perches on the bed he was provided, in the lavish guest room he was given. It's an emperor-size bed; it makes him look little with his bruised-up legs hanging off the edge.

Sitting at the long dinner table, legs propped up as he leans back in his chair, Grim hums distractedly. — “Hm?”

“Am I dead?” — Auden repeats after a swallow of consideration, this time at least managing to sound like he wasn't just talking to himself.

The Reaper’s lips curl with a slow hum. He forgets about the pen he was twirling — always playing, always busying his hands with something. A pen, a blade, someone's hair. His hand pauses only briefly, then he continues spinning it between his fingers like he never stopped. — “Mm. It feels like that, doesn’t it.”

There is the sound of thunder, far away, but close enough that Auden can hear it rumble. The sound of his Fall. It scares him so much he can barely breathe. His hands dig into the heavenly soft sheets, feeling undeserving. A moment passes.

“Mori,” — he starts quietly, voice breaking, — “they um… I did not mean to, I really didn't, but I asked them how uh, h-how they got,” — he gestures vaguely in the direction of the intimidating double doors leading into the bedroom, — “...here.”

He feels so similar to how he felt on the day Grim brought him home. Weak and hazy, no particular colour to him. Just tired. Shaken, commanding about as much presence as a ghost.

“It was really stupid, I know. It would be insensitive to ask anyone that, right? Especially so out of the blue, like I did. But I did not m-mean it um, literally. I just thought — I thought they were so nice. So kind. They, I, I did not expect anyone here to be nice. Not to me. I-It surprised me.”

They never found out what he really meant. He meant it to be a compliment. They took it as an order. — “That is what I had meant,” — he tells the Mori in his memory, a small murmur, as if they could still hear him, still trying to explain himself.

“They had gone quiet, and I um, I told them they didn't have to t-tell me anything they didn't want to. I felt horrible. But I asked them, so they answered.”

Now Auden is the one going quiet. He doesn't know how to continue, or if he even wants to. His melancholic rambling isn't even fully directed at the Reaper. Grim’s interest has been piqued, however. — “And what did they tell you?”

Auden squirms, frowning. — “Not pleasant things.”

“Is that so,” — muses the deity, expecting this to be the end of the conversation. For a minute it was, but then the angel finds it in himself to continue.

“They told me they came close to dying, many times. They told me they did die, but not literally — that confused me a little, but I’m, uh, I think I am starting to get it.” — Stealing a glance at the Reaper, he sees a bit of humour glint in his vermilion eyes. He must know the story as well as Mori, though, unlike them, he clearly finds the tale a lot more amusing. — “They said they barely remembered who they were before… before you um, saved them.”

The way he is saying all this makes it seem like he has some sort of conundrum he must solve. Like every bit of information Mori had relayed to him is a puzzle piece. However, while it is fun hearing about how Mori remembers their meeting, Grim does not enjoy long roundabout tangents that go on forever. Setting aside the pen, he stretches, swinging those heavy boots off the table, and fixes Auden with a questioning look. — “This is a lovely retelling darling, but is there somewhere you are going with this? Or did you just feel like sharing with me something I already know?”

The thunderstorm flies ever closer. Static ruffles the feathers on Auden's wings. His shoulders hitch higher, hiding him.

“You saved Mori…”

“Mhm.”

“And you saved me, from the, the dragon lady.”

Grim laughs. — “I did.”

“S-So, since Mori was saved by you when they were dying, and I was saved when I was near death, and we both ended up here, here w-with, well, with you…” — he trails off, hesitant to finish his train of thought. It's like he can't even bring himself to say it.

Finally, Grim's expectant gaze forces the words to tumble out of his mouth anyway.

“I was wondering if maybe… I did die.”

The silence is so loud Auden doesn't even dare to look up, afraid that all he would find is a pitying, mocking grin. His guess at the Reaper's expression is not far off.

“Are you asking me?” — Grim asks belatedly. The fanged smile is clear enough in his voice.

“...Nothing really felt real since then,” — Auden finishes vaguely, weakly, eyes stuck to his own shaky hands clasped around each other in his lap. He feels silly, now. Saying it all aloud made it sound like it's either the most obvious or the most stupid assumption in the world. He can't tell which one it is from the Reaper's mood, but shame sears his cheeks nevertheless.

It takes another moment of cruel silence before he is granted a curious reply; — “Where do you suppose you are right now?”

Auden curls up a little more. — “Somewhere between alive and dead.”

Oh, the poor thing is lost, in more ways than just one.

Grim thinks for a minute, leaning his temple onto his fist. The angel's reality has been all but turned upside down, and now his mind is fracturing. Perhaps the shards could be built into something vastly different. His Lord does find moulding minds especially enjoyable, though such a process can be unfathomably delicate. Still, for now, the safest way forward may just be care and patience. The angel is confused enough as it is, and while hilarious, he doesn't want his lamb losing all touch with reality before meeting his new master. He will have a difficult enough time keeping track of what is real under his care anyway.

“Where do angels go when they die?” — he inquires instead, half interested in Auden's answer himself.

“They don't…”

Grim rolls his eyes. Of course. — “Where do Fallen go?”

“To Hell,” — Auden answers promptly, but then thinks further, and finds the answer insufficient. He doesn't really know what happens to Fallen Angels besides ‘eternal damnation’, since that is just a sentence, not reality. He just never thought to think further than that. Because Fallen can die. They do die, swiftly, once they reach here, once demons find them and tear them apart. — “But, but when they die… I am not sure.”

“Would you like to know?” — the Reaper asks with an easy smile.

Auden lifts his head, a little surprised to be offered to be let in on such secrets of life and death. Asking questions rarely lead to straight answers back up in his Heaven. Most of the time, he was met with disdainful expressions and waved off, told that these kinds of matters should not interest him, or, more humiliatingly, that he should already know the answer. Embarrassed, he learned not to ask questions, and only now is he starting to realise how much of his present knowledge is made up of his own assumptions.

To think he would be learning of death from Death himself — and for his silly question to be met with an unexpectedly straightforward desire to answer; no mocking, nor judgement, nor annoyance…

A small glimmer returns to his eyes as he looks to the deity intently. — “Yes please,” — he whispers, amazed, a little reverent.

The Reaper lifts a claw and beckons Auden over. The angel slides off the mattress and begins walking over obediently, only to stop in his tracks all of a sudden, hesitating.

“W-Wait, no, no I don't,” — he stutters, waving his hands out in front of him, seemingly swiftly having changed his mind. — “You don't have to, to show — I'll, I'm sorry…”

Grim is confused for a moment, not understanding the sudden reluctance, his outstretched hand sinking ever so slightly. Then, he chuckles, light as a cloud. He waves his hand dismissively. — “Oh, no, not like that. That did sound somewhat threatening, I will admit. No need to fear; you are a smart boy, you do not need such demonstration.”

Being beckoned to come closer by the Reaper after inquiring about what happens to Fallen when they die — Grim can't exactly fault the angel for hesitating. Nevertheless, with a small bit more encouragement, the nervous dove sulks up to him cautiously in the end, keeping his hands close in front of him.

“Choose one,” — the Reaper says, motioning to the jade porcelain vase filled to the brim with fresh roses set in the middle of the table. Auden saw so many bouquets arranged in large pots lining the hall as he was looking for a way out. He wonders just how much work it takes to keep every one of them filled and replenished in such a massive mansion.

Once he has made his choice — sliding free the flower that least upsets the balance of the rest as he takes it out — he looks to the Reaper. The Reaper picks one for himself and lifts it to his nose.

“When angels die, their souls float towards Heaven.” — He flips the rose downwards, letting it flop on the table. — “When demons die, their souls remain stuck here. And when Fallen die — ”

The radiant red petals are suddenly wilting, growing limp and dark, then dry and ugly in the Reaper's hand. Auden watches the healthy, beautiful flower rot, and then finally completely erode into black ashes, floating in the air like smoke after a wildfire, leaving nothing behind. Some sort of twisted awe leaves his mouth open and raises the hairs on the back of his neck in seeing the effects of Death's touch. Obliteration, destruction, extinction — with just a single touch…

He held that same hand from Miss Thu’lin’s palace all the way here.

“When Fallen die,” — Grim repeats as he rubs the pads of his fingers together to rid them of the flower's remains, — “their souls have nowhere left to go, so they disperse, just like that. Like a warm breath on a cold winter night.”

Auden clutches his own rose close to his chest, far, far from those deadly talons of shadow. — “Do they just… cease to exist? Permanently?”

The angel's wide eyes bring fondness to the Reaper's smile. He asks, instead of answering; — “do you think you exist?”

“...I don't know,” — Auden admits, a hushed whisper.

The fondness remains as he puts his hand out, scaring a flinch out of the angel. Auden goes to carefully place his rose into Death's hand, but he takes hold of Auden's wrist before he could, plucking it from him and returning it to the vase. He holds his hand gently, but firmly, feeling resistance. It's hard to tell the difference between his silver jewellery and icy skin.

“You are alive, my dear,” — assures Grim, making sure Auden hears him, looking directly into his eyes, — “you are here with me, and that should be all the evidence you need that you still exist as, if you didn't, I could never find you again.”

The young angel's lips quiver, his eyes growing misty, but he listens, and tries in earnest to believe those words. His eyes flicker down as the Reaper's thumb runs across the back of his hand. Back and forth, slow and gentle. Auden's face never crumbles fully, his tears silent as they flow.

Death's frigid kiss presses onto his knuckles like a curse, and the angel forgets to pull away.

<3

Masterlist | Ko-fi

Taglist: @whumpsday @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpifi @sordayciega @a-miscellaneous-number-of-rats

Taglist (tagged in everything I write): @morning-star-whump @whumprince @a-living-canvas

[t-u-i-t-c]

Bakuage Sentai BoonBoomger

Holy Night Presents