#we can become truly insufferable

[lexalovesbooks]

Soulmate AUs are the number one way to make me insufferable ngl

[yayll]

~ a little something about waking up next to Dazai, and he's unbearable as always ~

"I might just eat you alive..." He mumbles to himself, barely audible. His eyes are half-lidded, and he's barely blinked.

He's been watching you sleep next to him curled up like a kitten for the past hour, way past the time you usually wake up. He's the oversleeper, not you, and it makes him hyper aware of your bodily functions and if they're okay. He hasn't eaten properly in days, but you don't need to know that. He's rabid, and he knows he's being a total freak right now, but who will worry for you if not for him? He must rise up to be the voice of reason, the watchful eye that keeps you on track even if he can barely keep himself alive! He wishes you'd stay forever, where he could avoid his problems and take care of your every single need. He should be everything you need... He hopes. Then you'd never leave, and he would make sure to eat more, just for you. How perfect... selfish.

God, he just wants to crawl inside of you and make you his home, it's almost pathetic. You'd find him vile for the things he would do for you and your happiness, despite you already being so accepting of his dark past... You're simply heaven sent. He takes a deep breath, and lightly runs his knuckles down your jawline, as if carving them out of the precious material that you're made of. You begin to stir, and his pupils dilate instantly as he pulls back with anticipation.

"Mmm... Osamu..."

You murmur sleepily as your chest rises up and down ever so slowly. He's freaking out. It's bad for his health to hear the way you say his name as if it were a healing oath, a spell that only works on him.

"Wakey wakey~"

Dazai's propping himself up on one elbow, a calculating smile plastered on his lips as if he were in on something you weren't. You pop open one eye, and groan softly.

"You're up... early"

"Yes!"

"Why..." You yawn like the silly little thing you are. He gasps in mock offense, clutching his chest.

"Can't a fortunate guy like ME just be happy that we both live to see another beautiful day?!"

He winks, and boops the tip of your nose, this gets a muffled snort out of you that causes you to bury your face into the pillow. He's addicted to the rush of causing any joy in your life, it's disgusting. When you don't lift your face back up, he scrunches up his face, and reaches out to stroke a strand of your silky hair, but his intrusive thoughts win and he tugs on it as payback for possibly falling asleep again. He needs your attention, and you're sleeping? Insanity. You swat at him, blindly smacking his arm away.

Oh, how he loves that you're the only person who truly sees him past his myriad of theatrics.

"Oh my... a slap from you feels wonderful!"

He rubs his arm, and grabs the hand that swatted him, bringing it up to kiss the pulse point on your wrist. Feather like kisses, almost undetectable... until you lift your face up from the pillow, finally.

He gazes at you as he rubs his face onto your hand like a cat greeting its owner, purring as if he were starved for affection. For a moment, his gaze becomes more serious, detached, as if he were thrown back into a distant memory. He can't describe the feeling, but the way your hand feels against his cheek is a warmth he hasn't felt in ages. His eyes sting, and he blinks the wetness away before you can notice as he hears your angelic voice again. He's back to his usual self.

"Osamu... You're being annoying"

"You think I'm just annoying?~"

His voice comes out in a tender whisper, his mouth curled up into a mischievous grin. He's insufferable. He could be anything for you if you wanted it. Especially annoying! He almost drools when you roll your eyes affectionately at him, the coldness in his heart disappears as he leans in just a little, invading your personal space as always, eager to hear your reply.

"Amongst other things, yes..."

You flash him a sweet little smile, and it mends all that is wrong in the world. The pink in your cheeks is starting to turn red, and it sends him to the moon. He hums, slowly nuzzling himself into the crook of your neck, it's his turn to curl up. You run your fingers through his messy hair that tickles you, feeling the warmth of Dazai's breaths against the back of your ear.

"Hmm, do I look like a pillow to you?"

He can hear the smile in your murmur, and he pulls back from your neck briefly, peering at you through his messy bangs, those intense hazelnut eyes demanding your attention, and his voice drips with an aching devotion that oozes like honey. he moves his lips to your ear, and whispers.

".. You look like an angel to me."

He watches you self destruct at his painfully smooth delivery of a compliment, and secretly rewards himself for once again giving you another reason to never leave. He's got it all!

Romance, self deprecating humor, an inability to properly process his emotions and grief, but more importantly, an undying commitment to stay alive against all odds so that he may see another day of you in his arms... or you helping him change his bandages... or-

He's cut short by you grabbing the sides of his face and pulling him into the most sinfully delicious kiss known to man, and he could swear that despite all his efforts, this might be what ACTUALLY kills him.

[jymwahuwu]

Interactive Story:

If you transformed into a bird and were discovered by Sunday

cw: birdcage description, yandere not mentioned in this chapter but possible in the future. please read with caution.

reader setting: You and Sunday have always been political enemies and rivals. You argue with each other in The Family meetings.

previous part

→ "try to become human again"

Like a rising thermometer, anger, anger, anger- the red liquid inside you is boiling, occupying, desperately searching for clues and ways to become human again, but finding none. As soon as you open your eyes, you turn into a little bird, after all. The world becomes wider in the bird's eyes. Perhaps awareness is the point? You are preoccupied with the idea of ​​"becoming human"…

But in Sunday's eyes, you are just a motionless bird, as if you are concentrating on something. There is an inexplicable cuteness. "Aren't you going to resist?" The leader of the Oak family wrapped his fingers around your wings, avoiding your wounds, and rubbed your round belly through the wings. If a bird's cheeks could heat up with shyness, you'd be hot right now. What a bastard! He can even harass a small bird! You pecked his fingers in retaliation, but your legs were off the ground the next second.

Sunday held you in his hands as he walked, observing you. You struggled to flap your wings all the way and chirped like he was committing a crime robbing birds. You'd think people would stop Sunday's "criminal" behavior, but other members of The Family were just watching quietly, smiling mysteriously, whispering to each other.

What a moral decline!

You huffed and fell silent. As if the young leader understood the meaning of your actions, a burst of laughter rose from his throat, and he rubbed your little head again. He… is he laughing at you? Lord Xipe, do you see this? He is truly insufferable!

This is not the first time you have entered Sunday's office, but every time before you ran in and quarreled with him before running out. This is the first time you notice the layout of his office. The smell of juniper berries. The cabinets are filled with heavy, thick books. And the light from the sun shining through the colored windows. He opened one of the lockers. You stared at him with your little eyes like a hawk, and you were relieved to find that the bottle of strange blue liquid was a potion.

"Be good, don't move."

Sunday skillfully stopped the bleeding on your wound and then applied the medicine. You bit your mouth, the wings of your wings swaying. Chirping in anguish. He took a new potion and sprayed it on the injured area to finish.

"…There, there. It's okay now…"

You hummed softly inwardly and looked away.

Knock- knock.

"Come in." Sunday responded with his usual elegant smile. You absentmindedly looked to see who it was, but you were so frightened that your pupils trembled.

That's your subordinate, your assistant.

"Mr. Sunday." He gasped with some embarrassment and anxiety. "They- they're missing. It's been over 20 system hours without any trace."

"No response even to private contacts?" The representative of The Family raised his eyelids at this moment, with a hint of disappointment and gloom in his tone. "I thought you were the person they trusted most."

"No - no, Mr. Sunday, you know that my allegiance is always only to you." He put his hand on his chest and bent towards him. It’s like the world has turned into an obscure suspense novel. You are stunned.

He glanced at him twice more, with unknown emotions rolling in his eyes, before giving the order. "Go search immediately and inform the Bloodhound Family that a senior member of the family is missing. We cannot let them encounter any danger."

"Yes." Silence returned to the room. You were still in shock at being betrayed by your subordinates, and you didn't even notice that Sunday had opened the cage.

You are locked up, in a birdcage.

He observes you from outside the cage. He asked. It's like asking for your opinion-

"You stay here now, okay?"

[sserpente]

The Weight of a Promise - Part II

Synopsis: One month has passed since you reluctantly became Lord Gortash's concubine. You ought to hate him--yet your heart seems to disagree.

A/N: When inspiration strikes…you gotta strike back! Took a bit longer than I expected but here we go! :D

You can read Part I here!

Words: 2523 Warnings: violence, blood, mentions of prostitution, concubine!Reader

“Good morning, dear. I take it you’ve had sweet dreams?”

You stirred, eyes flying open. You were warm, and comfortable. Cosy. Your head was resting on Gortash’s naked chest, his right arm pressing you close against his body. You had gotten so used to his presence and the intimacy between you that you didn’t even flinch away when his fingertips ghosted over your bare shoulder but instead…took relish in it.

“Morning…”

One whole month. You had been keeping an eye on the calendar on Gortash’s desk. You were surprised, to say the least. Part of you had suspected he would grow tired of you after a few days and move on to the next whore he’d be given for free. Perhaps one that would throw herself at him.

Alas, as much as you hated to admit it, you had begun to enjoy his company. Enver Gortash was as insufferable as he was megalomaniacal. But he was charming, too. No wonder the city gladly accepted him as its hero and saviour.

His mask was perfect. You very much doubted he truly did have a heart for the homeless and the poor though. Only yesterday had you overheard him talk about increasing the tax rates for small businesses for more profit to put into his Steel Watch. Now that you spent so much time with him, you would have believed his chivalry too had you not known the truth. A good man did not keep concubines, not like this. A good man did not have rumours spread about him worshipping one of the dead three.

And yet, despite everything, part of you was growing…grateful. He’d kept his promise. Thanks to him, you barely remembered what hunger was now. He had gotten you so many dresses you could never decide what to wear and every night, you shared his bed, warm and comfortable, nestled underneath his soft sheets.

The sex was phenomenal, of course. Just like the very first time he had claimed you, you would be lying if you insisted it wasn’t a pleasurable experience for you. Only it was empty, meaningless. Why else would he keep you around if not for a wet hole to fuck when he was overcome with lust?

The more time you were forced to spend with him, the more you realised that you wanted him to like you for more than your body. To know that you were more than an object for him to play with and entertain himself with and to convince yourself and your stupid feelings that he was not the villain you took him for. To soothe your own conscience.

It could be Stockholm Syndrome, you thought, chewing on your lower lip. But then again, he had told you that you were free to go the very day you arrived, made it seem like it had been your own choice to become a slave to his most carnal desires in exchange for your basic human needs to be met.

The mornings all started the same. You and Gortash had breakfast together, after that he tended to his archduke business and you remained in bed for a while longer, reading the books he owned. He’d call you over at some point, eager for your company—or your body.

As of right now, he was finished with his duties for the day. After a rich lunch, he’d insisted on taking a walk with you by the sea near Wyrm’s Rock to take his mind off things, a Steel Watcher always in close vicinity to protect him.

“You are not focusing at all, are you, dear? Could you at least put in a little bit of effort? Make it a challenge for me!”

You blinked. You’d been staring at the lance board for what must have been several minutes with your knees tucked and your chin resting between them. Gortash had insisted you played with him tonight. Only you had no idea how.

“I don’t know how to play,” you admitted.

Amusement flashed over Gortash’s handsome face. “You don’t know how to play lance board? Truly?”

You shook your head.

He took a deep breath. “Well, in that case…it is rather simple. There are six pieces in the game that—”

“Why did you increase the tax rates?” You couldn’t help it. The question left your lips before you could stop yourself. You were curious.

Gortash paused, momentary surprise marking his features. “And since when exactly, pray tell, do I discuss political matters with my concubine?”

“It’s just a question. I overheard you passing the bill.”

“You mean you were eavesdropping.”

You frowned. “You knew I was right there.”

“Ah, yes.” He chuckled. But then, nothing.

“So?”

“Protection is expensive, my dear. My Steel Watch requires constant maintenance. Maintenance that requires materials. Materials that cost money.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Pardon me?”

“I’ve seen the documents. You have two vaults at the Counting House. Two vaults that are bulging with gold.” You’d caught a glimpse at the numbers, black ink on a fresh roll of parchment one morning while he’d made you keep his cock warm for him at his desk. You swallowed. “If you truly had the city’s best interest at heart you would be reaching into your own pockets to help out. That is true charity.”

Gortash raised an eyebrow. He appeared amused, if anything. “I am giving the citizens of Baldur’s Gate a purpose. By contributing in the form of taxes, they are contributing to keeping the city and themselves safe. And unlike my own fortunes, tax money is in constant circulation.”

You scoffed. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”

“I will not have you criticize my rule, my dear. Were you a lady or an adviser of mine, I could have your head for this without anyone batting an eyelash.”

Too far. You swallowed. So much for trying to convince yourself he was not a villain. “I apologise.”

“Good. Now, as I said. There are six types of pieces in the game. The first—”

Gortash was interrupted yet again. This time, however, by an airborne knife knocking the piece he pointed to straight to the ground where it shattered into a dozen pieces.

“Playing with your whore instead of working? You disappoint me, lordling.”

Gortash stiffened visibly. “Orin.”

Your eyes widened when you turned to face the unwanted visitor. She was as pale as the moon itself, with white creamy eyes piercing your soul. And her clothes…where they made of…skin? She staggered closer on bare feet, retrieving her dagger.

“You’ll find I have made much progress with our operation. But unlike you, I am a man of true entertainment. Uninterrupted murder is not up my alley.”

You blinked. Murder? What in the hells was he talking about?

“You are losing your focus, lordling. Do you need a reminder?”

Before you had processed what was happening, Orin grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you flush against her. The smell of rotten meat and blood filled your nostrils, the blade of her dagger pressing into your skin. Her hands were ice-cold.

You gasped for air, paralysed. You willed your legs to kick her, your fingers to scratch her, your head to shatter her chin…but your body did not obey. Fear wrapped its icy claws around you, preventing you from taking action.

One wrong movement…and you would die. Your eyes found Gortash’s, yours pleading, begging. Surely, he would not let her harm you, surely, he would care if you lived after having shared the bed with him so many times…

“Now don’t be ridiculous, Orin. She’s my concubine. The only thing you will accomplish by killing her is making a mess of my office. I can always get a new one at the snap of my fingers.”

Your face fell, heart skipping several beats in a row. Not because of your fear now—but because it broke. Your lips parted. Was that truly how he felt after you’d spread your legs for him, listened to his sorrows, and kept him company? He’d promised to treat you well. Discarding you to the first bloodthirsty killer—whoever this Orin was—would break that promise after all.

“Well…then you won’t mind if I slit her throat? Bathe in her sweet blood and feast on her intestines? Would you still like to fuck her then, lordling?”

For just a second, you believed to catch a glimpse of actual panic glistening in his dark eyes. It was a fleeting moment, quickly replaced by a mask of steel.

“Orin, no, stop it!”

The woman laughed, the stench of stale blood almost making you gag as she pressed the blade even further against your delicate skin until you could feel a slight burn and something warm and sticky running down your throat.

“Orin!” You had not imagined it. There was panic swinging in his voice too now.

With a start, she removed her dagger from your throat and pushed you. You landed on your hands and knees on the hard stone floor, a pained cry escaping your lips due to the impact.

“With Ketheric Thorm dead, you should be on your guard, lordling. Because right now, your little plan is falling apart. And I am so very eager to spill blood in your chambers.”

“Control yourself, Orin. Ketheric’s death is a temporary setback. Once the Netherstone is back in our possession, we have nothing to fear and everything will go according to plan.”

You felt pathetic, cowering on the cold floor and listening to the conversation. You only understood half of what they were saying. Netherstones? What plan? And who was Ketheric Thorm?

“I will gut you if not, Gortash.” She disappeared in a mist of black and red as if her flesh erupted into a million pieces before evaporating.

Only now did you realise how heavily you were breathing. Gortash bent down, one of his hands resting on your shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

“No! No, I’m not alright!” you exclaimed, biting back a sob.

“You would have let her kill me!”

“I would not.”

“Yes! That’s what you said!” Another sob, one you were unable to hold back. You were trembling. You could feel a small trickle of blood running down your cleavage right between your breasts.

Gortash grabbed a hold of your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Showing her I care for you would have been showing her weakness and that I cannot afford. I apologise you were caught between the lines.”

Care.

“How am I supposed to believe that? Am I not a means to an end? You keep acting like I should be grateful you took me in and gave me a roof over my head in exchange for sex and now I almost…” You did not dare finish the thought. Died.

“You stupid girl. Do you truly think I would keep just any woman around my private quarters where I conduct important city business? Do you think I would share my private bed with just any prostitute?”

“I…I…” You hesitated. He was not wrong.

“I am not the kind of man to pursue, my dear. I learned the hard way you simply have to take what you want in life. I liked you. So I had you brought here.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? Why must everything you do be a power trip?”

“A power trip? Exercising dominance is crucial to survive in this world. I want you here, by my side. Is that not enough? What else do you want me to tell you?”

He helped you up, retrieving a cloth from the cupboard next to a wash bowl. The gentleness with which he wiped at your throat and your chest to clean the blood off of you surprised you so much yet another sob escaped you.

“I…I want you to tell me…you care about me? I’m not just a whore you can easily replace?”

“I don’t want any of the other whores. I wanted you. And I still do. I have no reason to lie to you, my dear. And you care about me too. I can see it in your eyes. You like the things we do together. Am I right?”

You nodded, unable to utter words for a moment.

“I hate myself for it.”

“Oh? And why is that, my dear?”

“You’re not a good person, Gortash. I can see that. I can feel it with every fibre of my being.”

“But…?”

“But…”

He threw the cloth away and cupped your face, planting a tender kiss on your lips.

“I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t…”

He smirked. He understood.

“I will have some servants fetched to run you a hot bath. I have some business to attend to. Then I will join you.”

“Gortash?”

“No.” He lifted a hand, a thoughtful expression decorating his handsome features for a moment. “I want you to call me by my first name when we’re in private. Enver.”

You frowned, lips parting in shock. The archduke of Baldur’s Gate wanted you to…call him by his first name?

“Enver.” You tasted the name on your tongue. It felt strange and yet…oddly familiar.

“That’s better.”

“Who is Orin? And don’t even think about telling me it doesn’t concern me given she just almost killed me.”

Gortash sighed. “She is…the Chosen of Bhaal, the god of murder and a reluctant ally of mine.”

Your eyes widened, shock rippling through you. Bhaal? The god of murder? One of the dead three?

“And who is…was…Ketheric Thorm?”

“The Chosen of Myrkul, a general who ruled over the Shadow Cursed Lands. Another reluctant ally.” Myrkul. He too was one of the dead three. The rumours you had heard about Gortash… Could that possibly mean…

“Go-…Enver…what deity do you worship?”

He smiled at you wickedly. “You have a sharp mind indeed, my dear. You might just be able to best me in a game of lance board in time.”

“Tell me what deity you worship.”

“You already know, do you not? You have asked me before, when we first met. And I am indeed, my dear, the Chosen of Bane. I will lead this city to glory.”

You took a step back, shock spreading in your veins like spiked vines. “What is this plan? What are the Netherstones?”

“That’s enough questions for now. Go and rest. The servants will be with you shortly.” He strode off, yet before he wrapped his hands around the doorknob, he turned his head and said, “Let me say it again: You belong by my side now, my dear. You have my protection. You have nothing to fear from me—or Orin, I will make sure of that. You might not agree with my methods but you cannot fight your own heart. You can trust me.”

With that, he was gone. Another promise. One that the growing butterflies in your stomach hoped he would never break. You belong by my side now, my dear.

You could leave, he had said a month ago. You should leave. Instead, you found yourself heading over to the wooden tub get rid of your now bloody dress.

[gabgabwrites]

LESSON LEARNT | Professor!Patrick Zweig

summary ⇝ your insufferable colleague has no sense of time and you’re tired of that, though if there’s one thing Patrick doesn’t like, is a smart mouth, one you so happen to have.

warnings ⇝ allusions of art x reader, language, mentions of cheating, smoking, blasphemy(if you squint) smut! p in v, unprotected sex, choking, oral (M), fingering, cum-eating, collar(?), rough sex, slapping, spanking, spit play, barely aftercare, DEGRADATION TO ITS FINEST, praise, Patrick yaps and yaps about reader being a whore/slut…yolo, mdni

an: I had to touch some grass and myself during this &&& I have another 2 planned challengers fics coming out… one day

based off this request here!

you can read part 2…over here

You're an English professor at Stanford university, you're loved by many students and got along with most of your colleagues.

There was just one problem, majority your students almost always kept arriving late to your lectures because of the Biology professor, Professor Zweig who kept keeping his students overtime.

He irked you, he was cocky and arrogant and always boasted to you when a student got a higher mark in his class instead of yours, even if you taught English.

Even now, you had a few late stragglers enter your class, as you were busy reading to your class; 'I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream'. You had enough, you shut the book and excused yourself, telling your students to continue reading along and write down notes. You marched straight for the dark, thick double doors that led to the biology labs.

Lo and behold, stood Professor Patrick Zweig, packing away his microscope and other various equipment he used for his classes today, until he heard the banging of the double doors. As he turned over, he couldn't help but roll his eyes as he saw you standing at the entrance, a scowl on your face that he had to admit was rather cute.

"Oh no... my worst nightmare." He said sarcastically as he leaned against the table.

Zweig couldn't help but scoff, he watched as you walked over and he almost smirked at how much you were fuming in front of him. "We've had this talk before, let your students out on time."

He leaned against the counter, his arms resting on his hip, "Oh, please, you're being so dramatic, they're a few minutes late to a lesson, you're acting like it's my fault you started too early."

"I start on time, thank you, and I am certainly not being dramatic. Language is far more important than looking at dead insects."

Zweig raised his eyebrow, he had no trouble arguing with you, and with a grin, he pushed himself off the table and leaned forwards a bit, "Oh? Language is more important than biology? Don't make me laugh, the study of biology is much more useful and important than studying Shakespeare and dead poets."

"It's not about poetry," You groaned. "It's a goddamn language that everyone seated in my class speaks at home, unfortunately that is more useful than fucking insects."

Patrick couldn't help but laugh, his grin only widening, he was enjoying this far too much. He crossed his arms, his stance becoming wider, “Please, English is hardly a language, it's mostly made up of stolen words from Latin and Germanic languages. Besides, what is so important about knowing the language when science is what the world functions through?"

You let out a small hum. "What if your students are religious, huh? What if they believe God created all creatures and critters?"

He rolled his eyes, "That's your counter argument? You want to go and talk about religion? Really? If God truly created all these things, then how come we have so much evidence and scientific facts disproving that? It's science over fiction, sweetie."

You scoffed, and muttered under your breath, "Blasphemy." With a frown, you turned around and went back to your lecture hall and picked up the book.

Patrick couldn't help but snicker as he watched your dramatic exit, oh he had to admit he was absolutely enjoying this new routine of riling you up with every encounter. He almost wanted to skip teaching tomorrow just to watch you fume even more.

"Alright, we'll pick up from page 146," You said, flipping to the page. "‘Cornfeld grasped the head of the hammer, and...’" The rest of the class went on with no more interruptions from tardy students, but in a small part of your mind, it still lingered to what Zweig had said.

Sure, you thought he was a cocky and arrogant bastard, but he also annoyed you so much. It was like he almost did it on purpose to rile you up.

The next day, your class was thankfully one of the last, but before Patrick's, and you knew some students had no luck and had to endure Biology back to back with yours. You smiled, today you planned to keep your students— the ones who had Biology next, in a few minutes later.

You weren't sure if he'd do something in retaliation for what you were about to do, but you really didn't care, the look on his face would no doubt be hilarious, especially when some of his students complained about being late for his lesson.

You had to make up some dumb reason, you pretended that those exact students had flunked the short item they wrote about two weeks ago, and had to discuss their mistakes. You knew it was a lame excuse, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

You could just imagine Zweig getting all huffy and impatient with the students as they were stuck in your class having to review their mistake.

The clocked ticked, minutes and minutes well passed the end of class.

You knew for a fact that those students were now late for the biology class, you tried to hide the grin growing on your face as you thought about how Zweig would take the tardiness, he was going to be absolutely fuming.

You sighed, pointing your neat and professional manicured finger at a big, red circle you made on a page. "See, here you got the facts wrong. Launcelot was a clown not a jester."

You heard some of the students groan and complain in the queue, some even looked at their watches and began to realise that they were now late for class. One of them, a male student, raised his hand slowly and peered at you over the shoulders of his classmates.

"Professor... Are you sure you need to go over every mistake?"

You raised a brow. "This topic will come up in your year end paper, so I expect you to get it right that time, and how else will you if you don't get it now?"

The male student groaned once more, he and the others all looked at their watches and then to each other. Another student, a female one, chimed in, "But we're going to be late for Biology."

You chose not to say anything, simply giving her a smile before turning back to the student you were attending to. "Right, where were we?"

They all looked at each other and gave out a collective sigh, but they had no choice but to listen to you review each and every one of their errors and mistakes. Every student glanced at the clock as the time slowly went on and on, they had to bite their tongues and try to pay attention as best as they could.

You could get a warning, or worse, but considering the Dean never took in your complaints, you didn't worry.

As the minutes passed, you were surprised at the amount of mistakes that students had done before in the past. You were about to look at another student's mistake, when you heard the loud sound of the double doors opening behind you.

You looked back over your shoulder and was stunned to see Zweig himself standing in the entrance with an intimidating glare on his face.

You bit your lip, turning in your chair to face away from him and back to your student.

The students all stood back and sunk into their places as they saw Patrick, he let out a huff and walked over to your desk. He stood for a moment in silence before speaking,

"Professor, may I speak with you for a moment?"

You looked over your shoulder, batting your lashes before giving him a sweet smile. "Can you give me ten minutes?"

Zweig raised an eyebrow at your response, he folded his arms and looked over to the students, who had all gone silent as he stared each one of them down. He let out a huff before grabbing your chair and pulling it away from the desk, "Actually, no. I need to talk to you now."

"I'm so sorry, Professor, l'm just a little busy."

You could see the slight twitch of irritation on Patrick's face, he leaned his hand against your desk and gave you a smirk, "Are you trying to play smartass with me?"

"I don't know what you mean. I'm just helping my students get a distinction for their grade." You told him

Zweig let out a scoff, "Cut the crap, I know exactly what you're doing, and you damn well know that you're purposely keeping these students in here to make them late for their next class."

"I'm not."

His jaw visibly clenched, he stepped even closer, leaning down even more so that you were almost face to face at this point, "Then explain to me how your class has ended twenty minutes ago and these students are still stuck in here and now late for my class?"

"I guess I lost track of time, whoops?"

Patrick's nostrils flared as he exhaled from his nose, he was beginning to lose his patience at your petty attitude.

"Right, because losing track of time is totally a good explanation to keep your students twenty minutes over the end of your class..."

Patrick's eyes trailed over to the students, who were all watching in anticipation as the two of you argued, some even looking amused at the scene playing out in front of them.

He sighed and looked back to you, "Why can't you just cut the crap and admit you did it on purpose to annoy me? I know you did."

"And if I did? Am? Then what?"

Patrick couldn't help but be caught a bit off guard by your response, he let out a half scoff and a half amused huff as he smirked down at you, "You're actually admitting to it? Really?"

"'m tired of you doing the same, Zweig."

Patrick rolled his eyes and groaned, he stepped back a bit and ran his hand through his hair, "You're acting like a damn spoiled child, it's not my fault my lectures sometimes go overtime because people in my class are actually interested to learn more."

"It's not about their interest," You snapped. "It's about their needs."

Patrick let out a scoff and rolled his eyes,

"Right, right, because they need to be in your class to sit around and hear you recite your favourite Shakespearean garbage?"

"It's not—," You caught yourself raising your voice, before taking in a deep breath. "You can either wait for me to finish, or move on."

Patrick let out a sharp exhale, he stood silently for a moment, his eyes were trained on you, studying your face as he debated his options. He stepped back over and leaned against the desk, "Fine, I'll wait, but you damn well better finish up before I get impatient."

You gave him a snarky smile, before focusing on the next student. "Okay, let's have a look..."

Patrick stood off to the side and crossed his arms, he was almost impressed with how adamant you were being in keeping him waiting and keeping him irritated.

He almost had to admit that watching you argue with him was oddly attractive, but he would never say it aloud.

"No, no, see they weren't talking about Christians here, they were talking about Hebrews." You groaned, as your pen jabbed the paper.

Zweig watched with slight amusement as you kept the students in your class even longer to correct their work and mistakes. He was starting to grow impatient and irritable by each second that passed. He let out a huff and looked to the clock again and then to you, "Are you ever going to finish?"

"If you let me." You snarled, shooting him a look over your shoulder.

Patrick rolled his eyes, he was beginning to find the whole situation less irritating and more entertaining, he held his hands up in surrender with a sarcastic grin, "By all means, take your time and continue, I have nothing but patience, after all."

"I'm glad." You snickered.

Patrick crossed his arms and let out a huff, he was definitely growing more impatient, he checked his watch before looking to the students that were all staring at the two of you with anticipation and curiosity.

"How much longer until you're done?" He asked, his voice having an underlying irritation in it as he looked back over to you.

"I don't know? Fifteen minutes? How about you go have a seat at one of the desks while you wait?" You asked him.

Patrick rolled his eyes, he could practically hear the sass dripping from your voice as you spoke to him. Nevertheless, he played along and walked over to one of the desks in the furthest row and slumped down into the seat.

A few of the students snickered and giggled as he shot them warning glares before fixing his eyes back to you.

Content enough, you went back to reviewing the mistakes of your peers.

Zweig sat in the seat, legs apart, arms crossed, and looking more than a bit irritated and bored as he sat in the desk.

He let out a frustrated groan and looked at the time again, twenty minutes had now passed and you were still keeping the students in class. He couldn't help but glance at you again, a part of him had to admit that you were very attractive, even when you were being a sassy smartass.

The bell rung a short beat. "Alright, I think you guys are all good for your paper. You may leave." You told the few students.

And Patrick Zweig smirked, his tongue pushing against his cheek to ease his annoyance.

The students quickly went back to their seats and gathered their belongings before rushing out, they were all eager to get out of the classroom and get to their next lesson. A couple of the girls giggled as they glanced over to Zweig on the way out, seeing him slumped in the desk and giving him knowing smirks.

"You really couldn't just let the students go early, huh?" Patrick asked in a mocking tone, he sat up straighter in the chair and stretched his legs, "You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?"

You looked up from your desk, Patrick physically was above you, from how the desks were on giant steps, even though you two were on complete opposite ends of the classroom. "It's what I have to deal with almost every other day."

Patrick let out an amused scoff as he rolled his eyes. "Oh please, don't go act like you're so pitiful and that I'm such a big bother to you. It's not like anyone else is going to complain about it and the students love my lessons."

"I have no doubt." You mumbled, pushing yourself off your seat, straightening the stack of papers on your desk.

Patrick noticed this, and it gave him an idea. He slowly stood up from the desk and took a large strides down the steps, towards you.

He watched as you finished straightening the stack before smirking and knocking them from your loose grip once he reached your desk.

"What the fuck?" You scoffed, stepping out from behind the desk to pick up the papers. To prevent your pencil skirt from rising, you unhappily kneeled down, knees digging into the tiles as you picked up the papers.

Patrick couldn't help but smirk. As you went to pick up one of the last papers, Patrick's boot came into frame, stepping on the paper. Your eyes flickered up in annoyance.

"You've been a real smartass today."

"Do you mind?" You asked bitterly, tugging on the paper lightly, enough for it to not tear.

He chuckled and continued to dig his foot down on the paper, he was now clearly teasing and taunting you.

"I don't mind at all... I think it's quite a good view, actually." He answered, still smirking down at you.

He bent down onto his haunches so that he was somewhat eye level with you. His eyes didn't miss the way yours unconsciously flickered to his crotch, even if it was for half a second.

He watched as a crease formed between your brows and your painted lips fell open to complain.

He continued to smirk as your expression contorted into a look of irritation, but he quickly cut you off once your mouth opened to respond, "Oh no, don't try to make a smart comment now... after all, you're in quite a position, aren't you?"

His thick fingers found loose hair hanging down by your ear, before he tucked it behind the shell of it.

"You know, you're quite pretty when you aren't being a total bitch." He said softly.

You hated how his touch on your skin sent a shiver down your spine, you didn't know whether you wanted to slap him or kiss him, and that only made you angrier.

"And you're even hotter when you aren't being an arrogant bastard." A snarky response escaped from your lips.

His pearly whites peaked from between his lips. "You find me hot? Fucking knew it."

Damn him, you really shouldn't have let that slip. You could feel a slight burn on your cheeks as you realised what you had just said.

"Shut up, I do not." You lied through gritted teeth, you tried desperately not to let your eyes wander to his lips.

"Yeah?"Patrick's gaze was locked onto you, he was very amused by the way your cheeks were blushing, his fingers continued to play with the loose strands of hair behind your ear, his touch was gentle and soft but his voice was mocking and sarcastic. "That's not what your body is saying."

And then, his hand curled around the mass of your hair and yanked, your scalp crying in pain and a strangled sound rumbled from between your lips.

"I bet if I kissed you, you'd kiss back, huh?" You gasped as a rush of pain and a rush of pleasure soarer through you, you let out a strangled moan, hating how it only proved him right.

"In your dreams." You growled through gritted teeth, not denying that you wanted his lips against yours.

"Oh baby, in my dreams we're doing a lot more than kissing."

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, your mind running wild at the thoughts and images that invaded your mind.

"You're a pig," You said breathlessly, you tried to keep your voice firm and stable but you could feel your resolve breaking. "A fucking pervert."

"Damn straight," He grinned, his face leaning close enough for you to count every freckle and mole on his face. "God would send me to hell if he knew what I think of doing to you."

His breath was hot against your face, you could feel it as he leaned in close, you cursed yourself as you realised you were practically melting towards his touch.

"Well, I guess I'll see you there then." You breathlessly responded, a hint of a smirk beginning to form on your lips.

"Oh? You fucking minx." He purred.

You could feel yourself growing weak at the way he said that, his voice so low and deep, you were almost losing the ability to respond to him.

"What can I say? I've never been a saint," You mumbled, your lips only just millimeters away from his.

He brought his other thumb to your lips, giving you no time as he pushed it past them. "Such a pretty mouth, baby." His thumb traced along your teeth and tongue, making your lips look poutier than normal.

He chuckled as he watched your expression change from irritation to want.

Patrick smirked and leaned his head down so that his lips were next to your ear, his voice low and almost raspy as he spoke, "Do you know what I want to do to it, doll?"

Your lips wrapped around his thick digit in response.

His smirk widened at the feel of your lips wrapped around his thumb, a surge of desire ran through his veins.

"I have so many things I want to do to that mouth, baby. I want to make it do things you've only read about in your little romance books. I want to see those pretty lips all pink and swollen, I want to make them cry my name," His voice was hoarse and ragged and his breath was coming thick and heavy as he spoke. "Fuck..." He groaned, just at the thought of these things. "I pretend my fist is you, y'know. Your lips, your hand, your sweet pussy."

He whined. Like, actually whined. His eyes swept to you.

"Just once, I ask. Let me fuck your throat?" He asked, pulling his thumb from your lips.

You were weak like brittle bone, and crumbled and caved.

You gave him a nod, and it was like a switch flipped. He stood up to his full height and fumbled with his belt, his movements were sloppy, abrupt and jarred, he was almost angry.

Patrick hated how much he hated how much you got under his skin and infuriated him every single damn day, he hated how you were always the first thing on his mind.

But above all, Patrick hated how much he really, really wanted you.

His belt slid from the belt loops, allowing for his pants to sag. He kicked them off with ease, presenting you with the massive tent in his underwear. "You're gonna swallow every inch, like a good slut." He sneered, he grabbed his belt and swung it around your neck, making quick movements as he made a makeshift collar, one that dug into your neck.

"Yeah?" You choked out, your defiant attitude coming back as you continued to look up at him, your gaze trailing down from his face to his chest, down further until it landed on the tent in his underwear.

You swallowed as you felt him tug on the belt around your neck, you could feel the cold leather against your skin, the material digging into your throat as he held the other end of the belt and pulled you towards him.

"Yeah." His lips pursed, before a glob is his saliva landed square on your cheek.

He gave you little room for thought before one of his hands harshly smacked against your skin, before he smeared around his spit.

Half your face was glazed with his saliva as he pushed two of his fingers in your mouth, momentarily.

"Open up." You instinctively opened your mouth, looking up at him with a mixture of hate and a twisted but undeniable desire. You looked utterly shameful and pathetic as you sat on your knees while Zweig stood above you, his fingers in your mouth and the leather of the belt around your throat.

You despised the way you were behaving, but at the same time, it somehow only made the heat between your legs grow

You were in a state of mind that confused you. You hated Zweig with all your might, but in that moment, you wanted him with an intensity you hadn't felt before.

He slipped his fingers away from your lips, using that hand to yank his boxers down while the other remained with a firm grasp around his belt around your neck.

You couldn't help but allow your gaze to slide down his body, your eyes taking in every inch of him as he slowly revealed himself to you.

You had to admit that he was large and thick and it only served to make your heart thump louder in your throat, making you all the more aware of the belt around your neck and Zweig's hand holding the end of it. You felt pathetic and helpless, even more so as you looked up at him through widened eyes, waiting for what he was going to do next.

He used his wet hand to pump his dick, getting it somewhat lubed up before aligning it with your mouth. Patrick gave little care to your natural reflexes and shoved his whole length past your lips, groaning at the warm, wet feeling enveloping his cock.

"Yeah, Professor... you can write all the essays you want, but you still can't hide the fact that you're nothing but a dirty, filthy slut. You're only good for one thing, don't lie." He smirked, watching as your eyes began to well over with tears.

It made him feel smugly confident seeing that he made you cry, knowing that you were the one beneath him. Not just literally either.

You make some sort of strangled sound as you choke around him, feeling spit drool at the corners of your mouth.

"Look at you," He muttered. "All messy and disgusting. Pathetic. And to think you teach at one of the top schools in the country."

His eyes raked over his saliva that still coated your cheek, at your makeup that began to drip down your lashes, as your eyes that began to flutter while you tried your best to take him.

Patrick swore you were a fucking angel that dropped down the very heavens he cursed at as he felt his lower belly stir.

He groaned deeply, his eyes rolling back a little. "What would your students think, seeing you like this, huh? Seeing their 'great' professor, looking so debauched and filthy in her own lecture hall, with her pretty, little mouth stretched around her 'coworkers' cock. I bet your students would all be very disappointed. You think they all look up to you, but they'd be so disgusted if they found out you were just a dirty, little, cock-sucking, lying, whore who'd do anything for a few extra pennies. I bet they'd all be so shocked that the professor of English likes being on her knees just as much any other dumb little girl... and just for a pathetic little biology teacher, of all people."

His hands pulled at the belt end, that's wrapped around your neck, forcing the walls of your throat to strain against his aching cock.

"And you," He added as he gave another firm pull. "You like it too, huh? You're loving this. You're only a pretty, little plaything, and it only took me a few minutes to make you understand that. At least I know what you use that good-for-nothing mouth of yours for when you're not spewing useless knowledge to a bunch of idiots all day."

You didn't know of the tears that ran down your cheeks was from his cock’s head constantly bumping the back of your throat or from his degrading words.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted to do this... ever since we first met. You're not my type though, not really. Far too annoying. But then again, you're useful for this one, specific thing. At least I can appreciate that."

He groaned deeply and let go of the leash, letting you take over what you could.

"Show me what else that tongue can do, Professor..."

Your lips were swollen and your throat cried out in pain. You allowed for his member to slip from your lips, letting your hand wrap around it while your lips moved down, over to his heavy set of balls.

He looked down to watch, his breathing ragged and uneven. "Yeah... just like that. God, just like that. You really were made for this, huh?"

His large hand found the crown of your head, fingers tangling between the strands as he pushed your face deeper into his balls.

He was basically riding your face, while you still pumped his cock.

"That's perfect," he groaned. "Absolutely perfect, I should put you in your place more often, Professor. You're doing a fine job for me. I hope you don't mind if I do this a little more often now, I've always wanted to shut that pretty-face of yours... and, I think l've found a good way to do exactly that."

You mumbled something, though it was incoherent and muffled.

He chuckled breathlessly. "I couldn't quite hear that, Professor. What did you say?"

In complaint, you sucked hard, sucking his balls deeper into your mouth, while your hand squeezed hard around his shaft.

"Fuck," He groaned. "Won't drop the attitude even with my fucking balls in your mouth?"

He shuddered a moment, watching as you continued to suck and work him.

"Yeah, I've definitely been thinking up the right punishment for you when you go around acting like a smartass... all it took was a few minutes to shut you right up."

Your free hand snaked down your torso, where it inched up the tight pull of your skirt, and found haven between your pantyhose. Your fingers reached your achy and throbbing clit.

"You really are that desperate, huh? You can't wait for me to finish, you have to do it yourself? I guess it's just part of your personality, you're a little, impatient brat, always needing to have things done your own way, with no consideration for anyone else."

Your tongue was scratchy as it lapped over his course hairs, you felt his balls grow heavy in your mouth, signalling he was close to release.

"Almost... I'm almost there... just a bit more." He panted

He couldn't look away from the sight of you, on your knees and working him with your mouth while you touched yourself.

"Can't wait to see you walking around the campus with my cum all over your face... so they all know just what you really are: a worthless, little whore desperate for anything I do to you. I should put you through this more, Professor... it suits you... much better than being a teacher, don't you think? You look so good on your knees, where you belong... like a dirty, little cock sucker."

His hips thrust up into your hand a few times, before he was spilling his cum all over your face, and even past your hairline and in your hair.

He groaned deeply, his head thrown back and eyes squeezing shut. "God. That's it... that's good, take it all, let me paint your face with my cum. Fuck!" He gritted out as he rode out his release.

With heavy pants, his soft cock slipped from your grip as his balls from your swollen lips.

He groaned at the sight. He couldn't stop himself, even if he tried, from his palm from making contact with your face and spreading his semen around, adding to the previous layer of tacky saliva.

"Just look at that," He muttered."Beautiful. So much better than that stupid, stuck-up attitude of yours. Bet you'll think twice before trying to act tough with me again."

You swallowed, throat raw, before getting up on shaky feet.

You took in a breath, before your hand whipped out and hit his cheek.

"God I needed that," You groaned out, before shifting and limping over to your desk where you managed to clamber on. "Let's see if you can fuck well."

He was honestly a little shocked by your response, not that he let you see that. He merely smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. "You're going to regret that, Professor."

He took one long stride forward before he was between your legs. His hands shot out before he grabbed your nylon tights and ripped them, creating a gaping hole that expose your lacy thongs.

"Look what we have here," He chuckled as he gazed at the destroyed stockings. He looked at your soiled pair of underwear, blotched with your arousal. "Who knew the English Professor had such lewd panties,” He laughed, his thumbs hooking in the fabric of your waistband. "Should I send the biology department a little gift, Professor? Show them just what you look like beneath your clothes?"

You grunted, hating how you had a flicker of pain go through your chest. "Would I be able to find another Professor's cock to suck?"

A scoff left his lips. "I don't think any other faculty member could handle you as I could. I've seen the way the rest of them look at you."

"Oh, and how's that?"

He gave you a wolfish grin and leaned forward a little, putting his hands on your hips. "Like they just want to devour you, every last inch of you. You're one of the youngest professors in the school... and definitely the prettiest. I'd bet all the others would love to have a round with you."

"Maybe I should let them," You said with confidence. "Mm, what about that cute, little History teacher? Professor Donaldson? Think he'd be interested?"

He tensed at that, jaw twitching. "Yeah, he'd love to get his hands on you, I'm sure. That loser couldn't even keep his wife, and now he probably spends his free time staring at your ass..."

"Oh so he's an ass man? Thanks for letting me know." You gave Patrick a sweet smile while his top lip curled in disgust.

"And what of the rest of the staff?" He asked, not liking your smug expression. "What about the psychology teacher, or the business professor... or maybe even the dean?"

"The Dean? How taboo." You grinned.

"Very taboo," He grunted. "Which I'm sure you're into... I'm sure you'd go absolutely wild at the thought of getting bent over the desk of the college dean, huh?"

"I mean, he's just a little too old for me, but I hear older men are more experienced."

He scoffed again, his fingers tracing down to your inner thighs, close to your aching core. "You're really pushing it, you know... what if I had to tell the rest of the staff what a little whore you are?"

"Oh please do. They must know how well I sucked your cock, how good I am with my mouth."

"Yeah?" He said smugly, his hands moved to your underwear and began massaging your aching pussy. "Do you think the rest of the staff would be interested in having their own personal mouth whore? And I'm sure you'd just be aching for it, wouldn't you? You'd just love to be the campus little toy, just be passed around amongst the faculty... probably can't wait for it, in fact."

You whimpered, feeling your mind already fog up from his fingers through the fabric of your thongs. You shifted your hips, giving him more room to move your pencil skirt.

"Yeah, is that what you were thinking about? Sitting at your desk, thighs spread wide open, and just being passed around? Like you're nothing but a toy for the entire faculty to use, as much as we want?"

"S-Shut up."

"Don't get shy, Professor," He said smugly. "We all know you love the idea, probably even think about it while you're alone in your apartment late at night... I bet you're thinking about it right now."

You sighed, your fingers going to unzip your skirt with wobbly movements.

"You know, it'd be perfect, you'd probably never need to teach again, you'd just be a little office slut, going around and helping any single man in the building, you'd be much better suited for that anyways, I'm sure you know that."

"No..." you groaned out, pushing your skirt off.

His fingers dipped beneath the lace of your thongs. "Yes, Professor, you wouldn't get anything done in the day, you'd be too busy servicing every member of the faculty, the principal, the other professors, the TAs, and the other staff members, even the groundskeepers and lunch-men, I bet you'd be the most diligent worker around campus."

You gasped when two of his fingers sunk into your weeping hole.

"Yeah, that's it... that's much better than all that teaching you do, isn't it? At least you'd be really useful now," He snickered, pushing his fingers in to the base. "Although I'm sure you'd end up getting pretty tired pretty fast... and I doubt the rest of the staff would have any sympathy on you for being so tired. I'm sure you'd be the most popular employee by far."

He pulled his fingers out. His two hands landed on your shoulders before he spun you around, basically pulling you off the desk until the edge was cutting into your hips, your face pressed up against the mahogany.

"I bet this is how you always dreamed you'd spend your days here, huh? Bent over the desk instead of writing your pretty little papers." He grunted as he bent down to his discarded pants and fished out a cigarette and his lighter.

"Hey, you can't smoke in here." You told him.

"Oh, now you're going to actually remember your responsibilities?" He said with an amused chuckle, lighting the cigarette. "Too late for that now, Professor... just accept what's happening."

He set the lighter down on the desk before taking a long drag from the cigarette, watching as a stream of smoke left his lips.

"You're a little late to be playing the prim, Professor, after being on your knees in the middle of the lecture hall just a few minutes ago."

The hand that wasn't holding his cigarette went to your underwear, where he began to tug at it, just enough for it to stop midway down your thighs.

"And now you're here, on your desk, about to get bent over like a little toy, I'm sure you never imagined it'd turn out like this," He snickered, the hand on your panties giving a teasing pull. "I don't think you're gonna be wearing these to your next class,Professor."

He let his cigarette hang between his lips while both of his hands landed on your ass cheeks, giving them a spread to expose both holes.

"God, look at you..." He muttered. "So eager, probably been trying to hold out for weeks now, huh? I don't think you've had any action in a long time, Professor, you're just desperate for someone to actually notice you, I bet you'd take anything, wouldn't you? Just as long as it gives you attention."

"Dickhead." You mumbled.

He laughed, stilling taking puffs from his cigarette. "Bet you'd let me take any hole I want. Imagine your tight ass being stuffed with this cock. Probably why you wear those little skirts," He snickered. "You just want someone to be noticing you, to get their eyes on just how provocative you are... desperate for some attention."

You didn't hear any movements, but you sure as hell felt them. His dribbling tip found your opening, before he pushed in, all while he eyes your tighter hole that puckered for attention.

"Mm, look at that, you're so tight, I bet those other professors have no idea how tight you still are, or has someone else been giving you attention?"

Your eyes rolled back as he sheathed himself, pain blossomed between your legs.

"Fuck, baby… you're so tight. It's like you've never had a good, real cock fill you up. I bet the other professors would love to hear that, Professor, that their pretty little English teacher is a needy little whore who just needs a good, hard cock to keep her in her place," He chuckled at he slowly started to buck into you. "You're just so perfect for this, aren't you?

Patrick leaned forward, cigarette still hanging from his lips, as his hand dug into the collar of your blouse, yanking down hard and popping all the buttons before he shoved your head back down onto the desk.

"There you go. I'm not even sure why you wear all these pesky clothes, you look so much better like this, like you're just here for decoration. A pretty little thing, ready for the taking... doesn't your staff profile say you have a boyfriend, Professor? Maybe I should give the poor bastard a call and let him know that you're really not working late, and that you're just getting railed by your colleague... I'm sure he won't even care."

"Shut the f-fuck up." You groaned, feeling the fat of your ass jiggle with his thrusts and arousal drip down your thighs.

Patrick grinned, his fingers dug into the flesh on your hip, when his eyes caught sight of something. An idea popped into his mind as he picked up your personal reader, some book about faeries, before he threw it down in front of you. "Read."

"Read..?" You muttered, still dazed from him fucking into you. "You want me to read?"

"Yeah I do," He said smugly, not slowing his pace. "That's what you're supposed to be good at, Professor... read whatever sentence is on the page, out loud. Let me hear your pretty voice."

You grunted before flipping open the book to a random page. "Mm, Fine, 'He raised a finger to his lips a-and winnowed'—fuck!"

He chuckled at the break in your voice, how the words stuttered from your mouth. "That's better... read again. The next paragraph this time, if you can manage it."

Your lips fell open and a gasp ripped past, "'We free-fell, and I didn't have breath to scream as his wings appeared'— Mm, Patrick..."

"Come on," He said smugly, his movements becoming slightly rough. "Keep reading. If you stop, I'll stop."

The words printed on the page began to swirl together as your vision became hazy. "B-But." You moaned through gritted teeth.

"No buts," He said firmly. "Keep trying. Don't start giving up now, you're supposed to be smart, remember? Keep trying to read, Professor, it's what you're supposed to be good at."

You couldn't help the sob that escaped your lips, there were no tears, you were just too overwhelmed with pleasure that it was hard to focus. "'Spreading wide, and... he curved us into a... steady g-glide.’ " Your nails clawed at the desk as you felt heat burn between your legs.

Even he was impressed with you managing to keep reading through the pleasure, although he would never tell you that. "Good... good, Professor. Keep going. What's the next line?"

"'Right through the open windows of what ha...had to be a war room...' Patrick, I can't." You mewled.

"You must've misunderstood me," he grunted. "I told you tokeep reading, so you keep reading, Professor. Come on, what was the next part of the sentence?"

You shook your head, mind too fogged to think.

He stopped moving altogether and reached out, one hand grabbing you by the hair, and he pulled your head upwards, arching your back. "What did I just say?"

You whined, trying to move your hips back onto his to get friction.

"You're not getting anything if you're not gonna do what I tell you," He said firmly. "Now come on, you're supposed to be smart, Professor, I'm sure you can tell me just one more line."

"'There was a mirror'," You said softly, with a tired voice. "'On the wall behind them'."

"There we go," He breathed, releasing his grip on your hair. "Was that so hard, Professor? Do you think you can keep going?"

"Please, I need to... need to—." You stopped yourself, words stuck in your mouth, as if you were worried about what you might say.

Patrick's hips pulled back before snapping forward, sending you lurching back onto the table. "What was that? I didn't quite hear what you were gonna say, Professor," he grunted, letting his hand caress your lower back. "Come on, you're doing pretty good so far... use that pretty voice of yours and tell me just what you need."

You whimpered, trying to form a response, but it felt like you had cotton in your mouth, like the words were stuck in your mouth. It was like they just needed a little push, just one little word needed to tip you over the edge, to get you to fully submit.

You tried your very best to read again, feeling the fuzzy feeling in your lower tummy start to build. "'There was d-dark—' please Patrick, I really can't." You begged.

"Shh-h-h," He cooed, his hand rubbing your lower back. "You're doing so good... you've read your whole little paragraph. Now you're just missing that one last sentence, Professor. Just one more, I'm sure you can do it."

The cigarette he was smoking had burned down and fell from his lips, the sizzling butt of it lay on your floor.

'''Colossal sense of him—' Fuck!" You screamed, tired and aching for a release that began to creep up on you.

He chuckled as the book slid free of your hand and hit the desk with a thud. "See, I knew you could do it, Professor, I knew all you needed was a little push,"

You mewled out softly, letting your mind fully focus on Patrick penetrating you.

He chuckled as your body relaxed, clearly getting tired of trying to keep up the act. "Is that it, Professor? Is that all it takes to get you behaving?"

You'd usually snap back and say something witty, but you couldn't. Not when you felt this new pressure press against your puffy clit.

"Oh, and now you get nice and quiet... I guess you just needed some attention, huh, Professor?" he chuckled out, his voice ragged. "You look so damn good like this, bent over like a little slut for me, and you don't even have it in you to fight back." He tutted, feeling your walls clamp down and squeeze around him.

"I'm...I'm..."

"What's that?" He asked, still teasing. "You're what, Professor?"

"Cumming! I—!" You saw white before you felt it. Hot and raw through your veins as your orgasm soared through you.

Patrick swore as he felt himself come undone, not giving a flying fuck about pulling out.

"God, you feel so good..." He muttered through gritted teeth. "I knew you just needed a good, hard cock to get you to behave."

His rough hand pulled away from your clit and landed a harsh slap against your ass before he pulled out.

You felt used and abused and honestly didn't mind it, especially not after having your brain fucked out of you (albeit it being from your worst enemy)

He chuckled breathlessly, collapsing in the chair that was usually reserved for you. "Jesus, Professor... I gotta say, I didn't think you'd behave that quickly, I guess a day at the top will do me wonders."

You felt utterly pathetic as you peeled yourself off the table, your face sticky with previous endeavours. Pain burned hot between your legs as you stood up, blouse popped open, pantyhose ripped, and thighs soaked in cum.

Patrick had to pinch himself to make sure he didn't die and go to heaven, though he'd never admit that you looked like a pervert's wet dream. His wet dream.

You shimmied your panties back up your thighs, even though it took you time to get it to move from it being stuck between the nylon and your thigh, and grabbed and slid your skirt back on.

He watched you pull your clothes back on, looking like an absolute mess. "You gonna go tell the rest of the faculty how your supposed work day turned out, Professor?" He sneered with an amused smile.

You shot him a sarcastic smile as you tried your best to fluff out your hair. "I'm sure Professor Donaldson would love to know, y'know?"

Patrick's face fell for a moment before he schooled it with a grin. "Funny."

You made an amused sound, before turning to your drawer and grabbing your lecture hall's keys, tossing them at Patrick. "Lock up, will you?"

He caught the keys and sighed, shaking his head. "God, you're insufferable..."

You gave him a grin before you began on your slightly wobbly walk out the lecture hall.

He grumbled, his eyes not able to resist the urge to watch your hips sway with each step you took.

"See you next week, Professor..." he called out, trying to school his voice back to his usual teasing tone.

And well he did.

Anger and annoyance etched onto his face as he watched you leave Professor Donaldson's lecture hall. The guy looked all bashful as you left, your fingers in your hair, trying your best to fix it.

Oh you did not.

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 || 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐀𝐜𝐚c𝐢𝐮𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚

part one: is it a wonder i broke? || part two: here

summary_ despite everything your brother Geta did to have you, the mixed feelings you felt, you won’t marry him, because you only want to be with Marcus.

warnings_cringe AU bc I don’t know the movie’s plot, age gap!, semi incest (do not romanticize irl), implied smut 18+, drama, angst, Geta is an asshole, Marcus is a soft peepaw, fluff ending. MY PHONE KEEPS CHANGING ACACIUS FOR ACAIUS UGHHH (I’ll edit this later)

NOTES_ i need this film to be out already <3

♪ ♫ Pedro playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

Ever since you were a kid, you despised feeling any pair of eyes on you. It was like being hunted like you were the prey. As you read, you can feel your brother’s eyes fixated on your presence.

“What do you want?” You ask furiously, slamming your book closed. He sighs, and it’s extremely weird to feel and see him being uncomfortable.

“Caracalla is arriving today,” he says and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Wonderful, more problems” your youngest brother was truly a mistake. If Geta was an asshole, Caracalla was worse, an immature egocentric man.

“I must admit our brother truly is an insufferable dull but we must welcome him until Father arrives” You nod, looking away from him, to the city. Rome looked happily calm that day.

“Well then… we’ll meet when Caracalla arrives” Geta hurries to get in your way before you can exit the garden. It was the first place he took you to when you first set foot in Rome.

“We need to talk about… what happened the other night,” Geta says trying to sound neutral, but his face shows that he has spent the night thinking about the kiss you gave him.

“There’s nothing to talk about, soror. It is what it is…” There’s a fake smile resting on your face.

Truth is you couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss too. Perhaps your heart was too resented after seeing Marcus Acaius in a place full of whores and alcohol.

“But-“

“But nothing, Geta. I just beg you to give me a lapse of time to put my thoughts in place” he huffs, incredulously.

“For what? To get in the sheets of Commander Acaius?” your eyes land directly on his, anger quickly escalating again.

“He’s just like every man in this land. Only two things you men need; power to fill your ego and the body of a woman to satiate the urges of pleasure” you spit with disgust.

“I bet you also had your escapades, sister. You must be no stranger to that urge of pleasure you talk”

“Once you love someone, you don’t change the feeling of having the same soul attached to yours for anything else, Geta” he raises his brows surprised at your words. He often wondered if he ever felt love. And if he could possibly achieve it by marrying you.

“One of these days our engagement will become public. You’ll fuck me every day till I bare your children, you’ll command me at every dinner and meeting we have. In the eyes of society, you will disrespect me with honor each day. Until then, leave me alone…”

Your feet hurriedly drag you out of the garden. Desperately needing to be alone. To cry, to think, and to grieve.

…

The moment you stepped out of your room to greet your young brother, Caracalla, you were actually happy to see him. Geta and he immediately bonded like those days when they were kids, leaving you alone.

On your way back to solitude, your eyes are glued to your feet, you don’t have the strength to walk with your chin up and face society with an elevated ego.

You bump into someone, landing on a wide chest.

“carissima…” Marcus says, holding you still. He had a bright look and hopeful smile, which you definitely don’t reciprocate.

“I have splendid news…”

“I don’t want to hear them” Marcus was completely unprepared to hear your cold voice and meet your bitter gaze.

“What’s wrong, my dear?” you want to scream at him, you might even want to kill him.

“I will never comprehend the male necessity to magnify their honor and ego. By telling that they love a woman for then to tangle with a whore.” Marcus frowns confused, he is trying so hard to describe what you’re trying to imply.

“What? No, listen, y/n…” immediately you stop with him your palm raised between you two.

“I won’t ever lay in your sheets again, General Acaius. Whatever we had going on, today seized. And from now on, I’m Lady y/n… future wife of Geta and Empress of Rome” You burst out with pride that sounds and looks too real, but deep inside you are just drowning with your swallowing stubbornness.

“You are not marrying that ludicrous boy”

“And yet… he will rule upon our heads one day” Marcus is boiling in anger, he can’t understand why you suddenly stopped neglecting the idea of marrying your brother.

“I won’t let you…”

“Watch me, General Acaius.” And then he remembers your other brother is in Rome now. He wonders if Caracalla said something to change your mind. Marcus doubts it.

“I don’t understand what I did… I promised to find a way to be with you.”

“You should understand. You’re a man. You can’t resist your lust for a woman’s flesh”

“You think I cheated on you?” your face must’ve been red from anger, you can feel it being hot. You gulp, faking a smile.

“I know you did. Now make a reverence and leave to command your army of men.” He sighs, looking extremely miserable.

“You won’t leave? I will…” you brush past him and leave towards your privacy with the feeling of your own pain choking you. Because you look at Marcus and you just know he’s the love of your life.

For him, after you leave, it’s a moment to reminisce. Everything was peacefully following its course. Marcus never lied, he promised to find a way to be with you, and he found it. He had been impatient to wait for your father until the man set some time to talk with Marcus. With a straight face, rigid posture, and confident tone Marcus Acaius asked the Emperor to marry his daughter; you. To his surprise, the old man immediately agreed, claiming that Geta would not protect you like he wanted. At the same time, Marcus knew it was a bait of your father to keep him as his General. Either way, things fell like puzzle pieces. Marcus only needed to seal the deal with the counselors and priest. And unfortunately, the meeting was held in the worst place ever.

Marcus brushed away every dancer and prostitute that came trying to lure him. He was aware that many women wanted him, but after being so lonely for many years, Marcus was sure he had found the right woman.

But for some reason, you now seemed to hate him. Marcus had very present the phrases you repeated in his ear like a prayer. The smile you would gift him after he called you perfect, the vivid reincarnation of Psyche; the only woman Venus envied for her beauty and gracefulness. There were many actions that confirmed the love you two shared. And Marcus was not willing to simply let you go. Especially to let you go and marry your brother who seemed hungry for violence. Something happened, and Rome’s greatest General would describe everything to keep the girl.

…

Two days later, you convinced your father to let you go and visit one of the matron houses, where orphan children would be delivered often. You brought them presents and secretly left a donation with the finances.

It had been a great motive to stay away from your brother and stop thinking about Marcus. Even having dinner with Caracalla was better than expected. Only that it was on your way back when once again something ruined your day. You overheard the filthy men who advised Geta that he had to hurry to make your engagement with him public as soon as possible. That wasn’t a novelty, it was the fact that they also said how making you fight with a female gladiator only made your image stronger but that wasn’t Geta’s plan, he only wanted to put you in the arena to fulfill his sick and twisted desires.

You let the men pass by the hallway before you take a moment to breathe. Of course, Geta had always had to ruin everything you touched.

You were just one of his twisted obsessions.

If you bleed, he would throw the most acidic liquid on the wound. If you were dying he would do everything to find the quickest way to get rid of you.

But you refused to escape, that would only put you in danger. And you totally refused to live a life that would grow joyless. If marrying Geta would become the most viable negotiation, then you would comply.

When you open the golden doors, you encounter Geta and Caracalla on the giant bed that rests in the middle of the room. Each one of your siblings has at least two naked women kissing and worshiping them. The scene makes you nauseous, but at the sound of your entrance, they all look startled.

“Out…” you say, with such defiance that makes the women hurriedly bolt from the room. Caracalla laughs with no shame, accommodating his rings and robe before passing by your side, knowing you wanted to speak with Geta.

“Get used to sharing the bed with at least half of Rome, soror.” You ignore him, looking directly at the giant painting that covered the walls. And once Caracalla leaves, closing the door, you look down at Geta.

“What would’ve you done if Calista had killed me in the arena?” His face goes pale, probably not expecting you to know about his malicious plans.

“You will never love me, you will never give me what I always wished for. But I won’t drag treasons to our marriage.” You say, climbing to the bed, straddling him, feeling how shy he suddenly got. His pathetic behavior is your strength in that moment. You feel his erection and you hate to use passion as a getaway, but with a man like Geta… no, with any man of Rome, a woman could only use her body to survive the horrors. Unfortunely.

“You think you can command me, y/n?” The man asks, making you giggle.

“I think I already am” he moans the moment you grind against him.

“Say you’re sorry for arranging that encounter. Say you will be a good husband for me.” Your hand grabs his wrist, preventing him from sliding his fingers under your dress. He groans in annoyance, but apparently, your movements were bewitching him enough to drive him crazy.

“Say it…” he hears you whisper in his ear, only to then leave a trail of wet kisses across his jaw and neck.

“I’m… I’m sorry. I will be a good husband, gods…” You smile, satisfied, letting his fingers wander across your wet folds.

It’s disgustingly hot. The way he touches you, under your touch, you command him in disguise. You’ve been hunted by him, your father, many men… but you could also point your arrows towards them, and from the hidden.

“For the gods, you’re perfect, y/n” Geta flatters you, but you don’t take his words for granted. You fake some moans and others come out of your mouth from pure pleasure. And you know that’s enough.

You leave him made a mess.

…

The emperor was pleased when the doors opened. He liked the sight of his daughter. Perhaps he didn’t exactly raise her. But in the depth of his heart, he loved his daughter. So seeing her as a sophisticated woman, walking with her chin up, showing every guest that she was borderline perfect, was a great reason to make him smile.

You find Roman parties slightly boring compared to the ones back at home. But you spot certain General. He doesn’t notice you yet, which gives you time to calm yourself, because he’s sitting beside your father.

After the disappointing revelation of some nights ago, you forget about those precipitated good wishes you had about Marcus Acaius. You also ignore the thoughts at the back of your head, wondering what could they be talking about. You must greet your father before leaving to enjoy the celebration.

“My daughter is what I like to call quite an exotic jewel. Spending years overseas made her only more versatile. You may notice the Egyptian influence she carries” Marcus nods looking at you.

He can’t stop looking at the golden beads decorating your hair, delicate eyeliner along melted golden splotches around your temple. Your bright orange dress illuminated the room more than the hundreds of candles around the place.

Marcus could tell many of the women in the room were jealous of your appearance. Doesn’t matter, he already knows what will happen. He is more than ready when you arrive in front of him and The Emperor.

“My daughter…” your father greets you. You weren’t expecting to see the handsome general sitting alongside your father, which only made it more difficult given your last encounter with him wasn’t the most peaceful.

“Father… General Acaius.” you acknowledge both men.

“Tell our virtuous man here all of the splendid qualities you’ve perfected in Egypt, cara filia” Despite you finding yourself attracted to the older general, you weren’t pleased by the treatment. Your father was displaying you as a prize, one which the general seemed to be valuing. He was a man like everyone else, one with the disgusting urge to get his hands into every whore he came across, one that heavily ingested wine and cursed at every word.

And he made you believe he was different. He tricked you in so little time.

“I like to learn different dialects…”

“How many do you dominate?” the Emperor asks.

“Egyptian, Macedonian dialect, Syrian, Aramic, and standard Greek,” you say, feeling shy and little among those two males. But you remember what your mother said. The emperor’s daughter can’t be afraid. But you are scared, of the madness your brother is falling into, of Marcus offering you broken promises, of your father lying. You should have run past the meadows that day before you could have encountered Marcus. Nonetheless, your father is urging you to say more, which you hate, but you comply.

“I also enjoy playing the Greek Kithara, using my voice and body to sing and dance at parties and ceremonies. I find myself very attracted to learning about our political and military system, as well to writing…” you add, speaking with a bitter tone of voice. Your father exchanged looks with the general. Both smiled proudly, then turned back to give you a glance.

“I told you she was perfect, General Acaius” Marcus already knew most of those things. He had you dancing for him one night at his chambers, he then made love to you and went to sleep tiredly and happy. He also heard you speak Syrian once. It was that and many more things that made you brilliant to his eye. Marcus considered you beyond smarter and more valuable than himself.

“She is…” Marcus confirms, smiling at you, which you completely ignore.

“Very well, this is wonderful. This is why I wanted you to be back at once, cara filia.” You frown, your hand making a fist with the fabric of your dress as an anxious reaction.

“General Marcus Acaius asked me your hand in marriage. The perfect suitor, even better than the one I had in mind” You can’t breathe for a second. You step backward.

“No…” you whisper, cautiously looking that anyone else in that party was looking at the scene. Only Geta, whose fists are crimson red from an unknown danger to you.

“My dear child… I’m an old emperor. I must secure the crown with my son and the empire with my daughter” Your silence is strong. Even the music appears low compared to the crescent tension you have built with your stoic face and trembling lower lip.

“That explains why you sent me away, to train Geta as a future emperor instead of me. Needless to say, What emperor wants a heiress when they have a heir?” You mumble, with a strong defying look that pierces sharply.

“You wanted me to marry Geta to keep half of my title. But the mighty General will keep me still better. Right?…” your feet drag you away, out of the festivities. You feel your half-brother's eyes on you, he must’ve been waiting for this moment since you arrived, and probably he would be shocked to hear you wouldn’t be marrying him anymore. Your eyes are full of tears that quickly start falling. The hallways covered in torches are empty. You can disguise your sobs as you walk away.

A week ago, knowing you would marry Marcus Acaius would’ve been the best surprise ever. But now you didn't even know how you felt. It was a mixture of confusion and bitterness. But at the bottom… you could feel hope.

Either way, none of your prayers were enough. Being who you were born to be, meant never experimenting with what means to feel true peace, true happiness, true love…

Marcus appears behind your back, grabbing your wrist so fast that it scares you.

“Get away from me!” You yell at the man, refusing to let him see you crying.

“I won’t, satis”

“You are just like every other man. I won’t take a husband who goes to pleasure houses, who leans into the touch of courtesans and instigates violence. You might be the greatest General in Rome, but you won’t break my dream of finding a lover who cherishes me” He sighs, listening to every word you just said. How clueless you were.

“You followed me that night?” He asks.

“No. I was looking around the city when I accidentally passed by the place.”

“Then you didn’t stay long enough to see the whole thing” you huff, trying to slip out of his grasp. He only tightens the hand around your wrist, pushing closer towards his chest.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you that I fell in love with you the moment I saw you in the meadows. Wouldn’t you?” He asks, forcing with you to keep you still.

“LIAR!” He smirks.

“For the gods that rule caelum, they know I’m not lying. I had encountered the living reincarnation of Psyche herself and I knew I was in love the moment I looked at you” A tough man like him could easily be lying, but you knew he had widowed once, everyone claiming he truly loved his wife and unborn descendant.

“That night, I had just asked your hand in marriage when I went to that pleasure house to seal the proposal” his hands have slowly snaked to your waist, but you keep pushing him away.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was splendid that your father immediately accepted. I would have told you sooner…” you stop squirming, finally looking directly at him. Despite the confusing feelings you were carrying for him, just by looking at his face, you could see the man that you loved.

“You must know… it was your brother who suggested the duel to put you in danger, it was him who gave the order to allow you to prowl around the city, it was also him who arranged the meeting in that filthy place…” he isn’t lying. You know it. Marcus Acaius never begged… and yet, he was literally pleading with you to forgive him for something he was not guilty of entirely.

“Swear it… for your power, for the empire…” you almost whispered, inches away from his lips.

“My oath to you is that I will be devoted, I’ll protect you and fight for you if needed just to ensure I will get to be yours every night for the rest of my life. Nobody could make me quit this enormous love I feel for you.…” He barely blinks, he is putting his heart into every word. Marcus would always be impressed by how fast and suddenly you made him fall all over you. He wasn’t a romantic, he rarely asked for guidance from the gods. But at that moment, he swore you had transformed his dusted heart made of coal, into a marvelous piece of gold.

The way you lean forward, hoping to touch his lips with your own, is your own way to let him know you believe him before actually saying it out loud.

“You have to believe me…” Marcus whispers.

“I do…”

And you finally kiss him. You hold onto him for dear life.

“Marcus… you have to know I was so blinded by fury and jealousy that… I let him touch me.” You reveal, feelings very promiscuous. But to your surprise, Marcus only sighs.

“You didn’t know the truth. You were hurt. I hate the mere thought but… I can’t be mad at you. That would only make Geta feel like he won. But he didn’t… because I belong to you.”

“And I’m yours. I just needed a reason to keep loving you, Marcus Acaius…” The air feels so pure and light. You can breathe knowing he still wanted you, that everything was a mistake. All the blurred patterns you used to see are clear now. You wanted to feel something for Geta, but you never couldn’t. Your heart desired to beat for Marcus.

He kisses you again, cradling your head. There’s an anxious feeling in the mouth of your stomach. Your legs almost shake at the way Marcus grabbed your waist to pull you closer. And when you open your eyes, through the corner of your eye you are able to see a familiar person. Geta is spying on you and Marcus.

But it’s over. There’s nothing to hide. Marcus has his eyes closed, so you take the moment to make visual contact with your brother. It’s a defining moment, where you let him know that despite everything, you got what you wanted. And that he would never have made you happy.

You are in the arms of the only man who deserves your love. The one that decided to stay.

“Let’s get out of here.” You say, giving him one last peck, accommodating his golden leaf crown, and taking his hand.

“To where?…”

“The meadows, where everything began…” he smiles, happy to feel everything back to normal.

Once in the wild meadows, both of you sit on a rock to see the sunset, where you realize you can stop praying for love, now you can just thank and pay tributes.

“See that hill?” Marcus points to the north of the city, one of the most beautiful places.

“Yes, I see it.” You answer, wrapping his lifted arm to hold it tightly against you.

“I’ll build you a house there. With a big space to prepare dinner, a large table for all the children we’ll have to feed. I’ll make you a garden that will be ready for when you decide to bring your mother. And we’ll have the softest bed in Rome, where I’ll always show you proof of how much I love you.”

You feel like you could cry at his words, but you don’t. You literally jump to hug the man, dying out of happiness.

“I love you! I love you! I love you!” He giggles, kissing your forehead.

“You’re all I always wanted. I just wished I was younger, only to have more years to spear by your side”

“For me, it’s enough. I know I have more than enough time to be with you, Marcus”

The next morning, the whole city of Rome is celebrating the engagement. Marcus takes you to the hill to walk the property of your future home and you meet with a seamstress to choose the right bridal style.

Two moons later, you are married to Marcus Acaius, and life suddenly feels lighter, finally, you can savor it. Instead of praying to do so.

______________________________________

Taglist: @screaming-blue-bagel @targaryencxnt @unmagically @myheadspaceisuseless @1kyfv @slooooth

[stillness-in-green]

Some thoughts on The Discourse about the last BNHA cover

(Note: This Discourse was on Twitter. I don’t know how much of this may have been said here on Tumblr, so consider this either my contribution or just me reporting back on drama from other fronts.)

So, I saw a lot of back and forth over there between people who didn’t like the cover and people who did, and I spent a little while mulling it over. It seemed to me that the people who didn’t like it had a good point, but one they were not articulating particularly well, possibly thanks to the character limit and possibly also because the people talking about it tended to phrase their objections in sarcastic, consciously exaggerated terms because that’s the language months and months of dealing with the truly insufferable Horikoshi Defense Squad on Twitter primed them to use.

So what is the point?  Basically this: In going for the lazy/easy callback in both the cover design and Dai (plate-hair kid)'s role in the final chapter more generally, Horikoshi landed on an "everything comes full circle" ending when what the story desperately needed was an indicator of change.

We didn't need to know that a kid with low self-confidence and nothing to speak of in the quirk department can still become a Pro Hero if he[1] wants to.  We already knew that because it's what the whole story of BNHA was about!  Deku passing the torch/paying it forward is nice if all you care about is Deku's personal arc, but it's sheer reductiveness if you care about literally anything else.  If there was going to be a kid getting Deku's encouragement and help at the end, if that's the ending Hori was absolutely set on, it shouldn't have been the Deku Redux kid; it shouldn't have been the weak kid who has already been metaphorically proven capable of becoming a Hero.

1: And of course it would be a boy.

It should have been the troubled kid, the one from the bad family situation, the one who isn't sure whether he even believes in this Hero thing.  It should have been the kid who, if nothing about Hero Society had changed, would’ve been rejected by the whole corrupt system—in so many words, the Tenko Redux kid.  That's the one who we saw could not become a Hero under the previous system.  That's who we needed to demonstrate the system's improvement.

Instead, all we get is Deku helping himself.  And it fits, I guess, because “himself” is the only sort of person Deku ever wanted to save anyway—remember that in the very first chapter, Deku tells All Might that he wants to be a Hero because he was never “saved” as a kid and so he thinks saving is the coolest thing ever.  Implicitly, then, Deku wanted to be the kind of Hero who could have saved the kid he was, and that tendency to reserve his compassion for people he can recognize himself in—the crying children and the Hero wannabes—is consistent throughout the series.  Dai, then, simply becomes the very last of these examples, the chance for Deku to tell his middle school self that he, too, can be a great Hero.

And that’s quite a choice, isn’t it?  Take a second to consider the implications there. The metaphorical parallel Deku helps is his middle school self, not his childhood self—there’s no evidence that Dai was bullied on the same level young Izuku was, and we sure didn’t see anyone telling him to jump off a roof.  So, who does save those children, then, in this grand, improved version of Hero Society?  Does anyone?

Well, not really. Not that we’re shown. Indeed, the child who was the closest analogue to young Izuku—a weak and seemingly quirkless boy who stuck his neck out for other rejected children, who still stubbornly wanted to be a Hero despite a parent's disapproval—was Tenko, and Deku pointedly did not save him.

To be clear, I don’t mean that just in the sense that Deku failed to save the adult Tenko became, but even in the emotional sense that the series clearly wants me to believe Deku succeeded at, the saving of the boy's heart? I don’t think Deku even managed that.  Sure, he might have protected the echo of that child from a few memories, might have held his hands for a few exchanges of dialogue, but then the boy transformed back into the form of the Villain he'd become and was swallowed down the spiritual maw of the man from whom society failed to save Tenko to begin with! And what was Deku doing as this happened? Absolutely nothing but yelling impotently as he got blown backward and out of the mindscape.

Imagine that Deku had found some way to cheer up Izumi Kouta only for Muscular to kill the kid thirty seconds later.  No one would be saying, “I think Deku still saved him—his heart, anyway,” if Deku got Kouta to smile and admit that Heroes were actually pretty cool only to do nothing but scream helplessly as he watched Muscular pulverize Kouta’s ribcage with one gentle squeeze.[2]

2: Mind you, this comparison is flawed!  Unlike AFO’s vestige, Muscular doesn’t turn up to kill a child as a direct result of Deku’s own actions. Also unlike the events of the final battle, Deku doesn't jump up and personally administer the killing blow to the still-screaming victim, either.

It just leaves me thinking about some of the stuff @codenamesazanka has said about how the narrative treats Shigaraki and Deku helping him: not as something Deku has a duty to do, not something Hero Society on the whole owes Shigaraki (and all the other metaphorical expy/future Shigarakis), but rather a bonus, a nice extra, a demonstration to shine up Deku's Hero cred because he's making efforts no one else would bother with and that no one would reasonably expect him to make. It's not Deku’s job to save the Tenkos or the young Izukus of the world; apparently that just falls to society at large.

So then, what was the point of making Tenko/Tomura such an extreme case of someone who started in a similar place to Deku?  Why make him, also, a weak kid who was told he couldn't be a Hero, if you're not going to have Deku save him in the way no one saved Deku himself?

From where I'm sitting, the answer is, "It seemed like a good idea to Horikoshi at the time, but proved to be poorly thought out."  But if Deku failing to save his own closest childhood analogue was where the story was going the whole time, then Shigaraki should never have been used to parallel Deku to begin with.  It's just a damned waste of Shigaraki as a character, an insult to everything he represented, to use him for ~the parallels~ throughout the entirety of the story except the very beginning and the very end.

Anyway, Pro Heroes are bullshit and the ending should have been them being radically reconceived from the ground up with input from all the people they failed to save.  But again, if you have to still have Heroes-qua-Heroes at the end, and you have to have some stupid thematic echo because you as an author think callbacks are the single most compelling storytelling tool of all time, then everything we got on Dai should have been for Scissors-kun instead, and here I am very much including Dai's scene before the first war. An unsettling scene of a strange child with his mouth sewn shut, stuck in a straitjacket in a dark room should have been the last thing we saw before launching into the day of the raids, an apparent element for the future in the same way that so many future Villains were first shown in the wake of Stain's arrest.

See, Shigaraki’s own destructiveness is what ultimately frees Scissors-kun from the basement, “saving” this rejected, abused child in a way no Hero ever managed or even knew to try, just as Shigaraki brought light and a strange sort of hope to the lives of so many others whom Heroes failed.  However, Shigaraki couldn't carry his ambitions through to the end. He was never able to meet the kid he indirectly saved, never able to offer that appallingly abused victim an avenue for his signature brand of rough justice. Heroes stopped him from doing so. So then, who will help Scissors-kun?

If we’re to believe that the story's protagonist has made a real difference, that Deku and his classmates have changed the world for the better, then we don't need to see them helping a kid who we already know is going to turn out fine because “he” aleady did. We need to see them help the people that previously only Villains would have helped, picking up the torch they struck from Shigaraki’s hands.

So sure, keep the scene with Granny Evil and Scissors-kun if you must, to show that it’s not only Heroes but also the broader Hero Society that’s changed. After that, though, show Deku stepping in.  Show him taking an interest in this kid as a way to keep his promises—to Shigaraki, that the rejection and obliviousness that he sought to destroy have indeed been destroyed and will remain so, and to Spinner, that Deku will remember Shigaraki for the rest of his life. 

When Deku is older and in a position to give advice to a kid who’s floundering and uncertain of what to do with his life because of what people around him say about him, make that character echo the characters the old system failed to save, not the character who the entire story proved would do just fine.

For god's sake, ditch Deku Redux.

Now, I know the obvious rejoinder here: We can’t use Deku’s story to say that BNHA already showed us that Dai would be fine because Dai has a quirk where Deku did not, therefore Deku’s path would not be open to Dai.  To this, I would reply that neither Deku nor Dai specify that Dai wants/is able to be a top Hero, merely that he be the kind of Hero people can admire—which the story has also already proven true!

Ojiro got into UA with nothing but one (1) extra limb.

Manual has a perfectly middling quirk that turned out to be absolutely crucial in two different wars because it was the right quirk at the right time.

Wash’s quirk makes strong bubbles. 

Like, this list is not short.  Manifest Plates might or might not make Dai Hero Billboard material, but one of the major points of the endgame was the sublime and noble value of helping when you can, in the way that you can.  So to reiterate, we didn’t need that to be proven again in the epilogue.

If anything, going the route of retreading the same story makes the epilogue much worse! Not only do we not get to see how this society is helping the people the old society most profoundly failed—victims who fall through the cracks and become Villains—but in seeing yet another a weak kid being mocked for his heroic aspirations, we find that we’ve barely moved a step beyond the exact same place we started.

That’s the message Horikoshi chose to go with, for both the closing chapters of the story and the story’s final volume cover.  Truly, as art that summarizes the story goes, it’s a masterful choice!  And that's the whole problem. The cover of Volume 42 is a perfect illustration of the self-absorbed, cynical, cyclical nature of BNHA's endgame. Little wonder, then, that it's hated by the same people who hated said endgame.

[pocketseizure]

I don’t think Ganondorf is a nice person. I think he’s an intense and difficult person. Based on what we see of him in the games, Ganondorf prefers solitude and the companionship of monsters to the company of people. He’s unable to trust or rely on others, and he makes terrible decisions with earth-shatteringly horrible consequences. If Ganondorf were a real person, he would be insufferable and genuinely unpleasant (perhaps even frightening) to be around.

Still, I don’t think “being a good person” is necessary to being a good fictional character, nor should it be. Ganondorf shouldn’t have to be friendly in order to be sympathetic. He’s attempting to achieve an extraordinary object of desire. That level of ambition alone makes him charismatic and interesting, as do the narrative themes and questions it entails. For instance, how do you weigh the importance of a goal against the sacrifices necessary to attain it? After the cost becomes great enough, can you still afford to give up or change your mind? Is it possible for truly evil actions to serve a greater good?

I’m not saying that kindness isn’t a worthwhile virtue for real people in the real world, but I don’t think a fictional character should be expected to be “nice” in order to be compelling. Ganondorf doesn’t need to be friendly. Let him be weird and unhinged.

[mi-dori]

☆Intros with Mk characters about Kitana and Reader's relationship☆

●Prompt: Intros between reader and characters, Kitana and characters and reader and Kitana about their relationship

●Warnings: flirting, Slight possessive Kitana.

●Featuring: Raiden, Liu Kang, Sindel, Mileena, Johnny Cage, Bi-Han, Kuai Liang

■MK1■

Johnny Cage and Y/n

♡Johnny: "You know... Raiden has a crush on Kitana. You better make your move"

Y/n: "Why would I when I already have her?"

♡Y/n: "You need to stop asking Kitana those inappropriate questions Cage"

Johnny: "Come on, I really wanna know who's top and who's bottom"

♡Y/n: "If you weren't so insufferable, you'd be able to find someone"

Johnny: "that's just my charm sweetness"

Johnny Cage and Kitana

♡Kitana: "What kind of gifts to y/n like?"

Johnny: "the best person to ask that is y/n herself"

♡Johnny: "You know, if you're up for it-"

Kitana: "We are not having a threesome Cage!"

♡Johnny: "I may have known her for a few months but if you're playing with y/n's heart, I'll royally kick your ass"

Kitana: "Relax Cage, there's nothing to worry about"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Raiden and Y/n

♤Raiden: "If I had known you and Kitana were together, I wouldn't have tried anything"

Y/n: "Don't worry I understand why you did that. She truly is a sight to behold"

♤Y/n: "Lord Liu Kang made the right decision choosing you as Earthrealm's champion"

Raiden: "I do hope I can live up to the title"

♤Raiden: "If you don't mind me asking, how are you managing a long distance relationship? With you being from earthrealm and Princess Kitana being from Outworld"

Y/n: "the distance is indeed hard Raiden but it makes our relationship grow stronger"

Raiden and Kitana

♤Raiden: "I didn't know you weren't straight.."

Kitana: "You sound disappointed Raiden"

♤Kitana: "Will you watch over y/n for me? I know how hard long distance relationships are"

Raiden: "You have my word, Princess"

♤Raiden: "Congratulations on becoming supreme commander. Y/n must be so proud"

Kitana: "She is! Though I hope I can live up to the task"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Liu Kang and Y/n

♧Liu Kang: "Kitana and you were destined to be together"

Y/n: "Are we also destined to be separated for so long?"

♧Y/n: "What was I like in your timeline?"

Liu Kang: "You were Kitana's childhood friend, only you understood her"

♧Liu Kang: "I must warn you, there are many who wish your and Kitana's downfall"

Y/n: "let them wish as much as they want. Kitana and I will overcome any obstacles"

Liu Kang and Kitana

♧Liu Kang: "As much as I am happy for you both, please do not distract y/n from her duties"

Kitana: "You think I'm a distraction to my consort?"

♧Kitana: "Was Y/n and I together in your timeline?"

Liu Kang: "I will not answer that"

♧Kitana: "Y/n is my everything"

Liu Kang: "then prove to me that you'll protect everything you have"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Sindel and Y/n

◇Sindel: "An earthrealmer with my daughter?"

Y/n: "I sense a great amount of dissatisfaction"

◇Sindel: "If you are to marry my daughter, it means you marry all of Outworld's customs and traditions"

Y/n: "Woah there empress, I think you're getting ahead of yourself"

◇Y/n: "what will it take for you to accept me?'

Sindel: "Alot which I know you don't have"

Sindel and Kitana

◇Sindel: "Does any of my children like men?"

Kitana: "Your children chose their happiness not a gender"

◇Kitana: "Mother, you're being too harsh with Y/n"

Sindel: "She is an earthrealmer. If outworlders come to learn of your relationship, you'll bring disgrace to the Royal family!"

◇Sindel: "How would you produce an heir for the royal army?"

Kitana: "We will find a way mother"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Mileena and Y/n

~Mileena: "My sister is no easy person to please"

Y/n: "I am up for that challenge, Empress"

~Y/n: "Outworld has an amazing Empress"

Mileena: "And my sister has a wonderful partner"

~Mileena: "Will you defend my sister tirelessly as you've defended me?"

Y/n: "I will give my life for her"

Mileena and Kitana

~Kitana: "Johnny is saying that you and Tanya can come on a double date with me and y/n"

Mileena: "what even is a double date?"

~Mileena: "Sister, if you're going to have company over, be quiet"

Kitana: "By the gods... you heard didn't you?'

~Kitana: "Mother doesn't accept y/n"

Mileena: "She's just looking out for you, sister"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Bi-han and Y/n

¤Bi-han: "the lin kuei will welcome you"

Y/n: "After you betrayed earthrealm you think I'd join you?!"

¤Bi-Han: "You have wasted potential. Just think of all the realms the two of us could rule"

Y/n: "First of all, my potential goes for a good cause which is the protection of my realm. Secondly, I'm not even into you!"

¤Y/n: "Because of you, we nearly lost Empress Mileena!"

Bi-han: "and now you're gonna lose your Princess"

Bi-Han and Kitana

¤Kitana: "My y/n will not fall for your wicked schemes"

Bi-Han: "I will make her realise how powerful she can be"

¤Bi-Han: "I don't understand why y/n would settle for someone like you when she could have someone like me"

Kitana: "I don't understand why anyone would ever think of you as an option of settling down"

¤Bi-Han: "soon, your precious y/n will be mine"

Kitana: "If you hurt a single strand of hair on her head, I will make sure you pay"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Kuai Liang and Y/n

×Y/n: "I wish you and Harumi the best in life"

Kaui Liang: "As do I to you and princess Kitana'

×Kaui Liang: "The Shirai Ryu is hoping you'd join us"

Y/n: "Joining a clan sounds amazing. I'm in!"

×Y/n: "My Kitana is just like your Harumi'

Kuai Liang: "Then we both have excellent taste"

Kuai Liang and Kitana

×Kitana: "Y/n speaks very highly of you"

Kuai Liang: "She is an honored member of the Shirai Ryu"

×Kaui Liang: "I see y/n is completely smitten by you"

Kitana: "Oh my sweet y/n, she can be adorable yet clueless at times"

×Kuai Liang: "I hope to see you at my wedding"

Kitana: "You'll be seeing me as Y/n's plus one"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Kitana and Y/n

❤️Kitana: "Please do not fall for Bi-Han's schemes. He's trying to corrupt you"

Y/n: "let him try. He'll only prove unsuccessful every time"

❤️Y/n: "Raiden has a crush on you"

Kitana: "Oh? I think he knows I belong to only you"

❤️Kitana: "what business does Cage have with you? He's getting extremely close"

Y/n: "he's like a brother, nothing more"

❤️Kitana: "So you're a member of the Shirai Ryu?"

Y/n: "I couldn't refuse Kaui's offer"

❤️Y/n: "I think Nitara is stalking me"

Kitana: "shall I mark you up to show everyone that you're mine?"

❤️Y/n: "Your mother doesn't seem to like me very much"

Kitana: "Do not worry about her. She's overprotective of me"

❤️Y/n: "Lord Liu Kang warned me that they'll be trouble along the way"

Kitana: "whatever they may be, let us face it together"

[superprincesspea]

Courted by the Dragon

Chapter 16 - Uncle

Aemond Targaryen is both the cause and witness to the greatest humiliation of your life. You would rather die than see him again. Yet summer at court and the precipice of civil war have other ideas.

Masterlist

~~~

When you make it into the centre of camp, you can still feel the press of Aemond’s touch on your body, and the heat of his kiss on your cheek, but there’s no time to slow your racing heart. The wheelhouse is already coming to a halt and the groom is hurrying to open the door.

Your mother emerges first, her face seemingly horrified by your tousled appearance, as she rushes to smooth your hair and pull a stray pin from where its clinging on for life.  

“Just look at the state of you!” she hisses, and you wonder if your cheeks look as flushed as they feel. 

“I think her appearance is quite becoming,” Alicent says, emerging from behind your mother’s frown with a coy smirk before she glances around for the whereabouts of her son.  

“It was the wind,” you say, pushing your hair behind your ears while knowing fine well that the wind wasn’t the only thing which had tangled with it. There had been fingers, long, deft, and impossibly gentle.   

Perhaps Alicent suspects as much, her head tilting, regarding your appearance with more scrutiny than before.  

“Was it not the race?” she counters, and you swallow fresh nerves, wondering if everyone in the wheelhouse had noticed the way you and Aemond had charged down the road.  

“That too...” you admit, and she hooks her arm into yours, tugging you into a leisurely walk towards her tent.  

So much for staying with Cassandra , you think, glancing over your shoulder to where your mother and sisters are being left behind.  

“And who won the race?” Alicent says, drawing your attention back to her face. 

“I did, your grace.”  

“Ahh,” she smiles excitedly, holding you tighter, her cheek touching your shoulder for just a moment, “and was my son an insufferable loser?”

You laugh, despite the nerves knotting in your stomach, you can’t help it. Insufferable was certainly a choice word for her second son, and though you think her completely accurate in her estimation, you dare not say it.    

“Or is he just always insufferable?” she presses, seeming to sense your reluctance, and this time you manage to contain your amusement to a smile, though you’re feeling more at ease in her company. 

“Perhaps we can agree that all men are at least a little insufferable?” you suggest, and now it's the queens turn to laugh, her body shaking, her arm holding you tighter.  

“Only a little?” she says when she’s caught her breath, and you meet the mischievous look in her eye with a small smile before she releases your arm and gestures for you to enter the royal tent. 

It's far bigger than it looks from the outside, and so bright and airy, with the sunlight diffused through the thick white linen and a pleasant breeze blowing in at just the right angle. 

You take a seat on one of the green velvet floor cushions and Alicent sits across from you, before beckoning for a maid who places two cups on the low table and fills them almost to the brim with a honey-coloured wine.   

“You know... you can tell me everything ,” she says in a hushed tone when the maid has gone, and you think it strange to gossip with the queen about such things as suitors, stranger still that her son is the man in question.  

What could you possibly say? What did she want to hear?   

You let those questions go unanswered for long enough that Alicent speaks again.  

“I noticed you were riding Ōños,” she suggests, still trying to draw you into the conversation she wants to have, and her eyes are wide and probing, desperate for any scraps of information. 

“I was.”

“Strange ,” she continues, undeterred by your lacklustre answer, “I don’t believe my son has ever allowed anyone else to ride his horse.” 

“Then I should consider myself quite fortunate. Ōños is truly a wonderful horse.” 

“If he is wonderful then it is thanks to Aemond, my son is so diligent in all matters as I'm sure you must have realised by now?”  

“Prince Aemond is certainly...” single-minded, cocky, competitive, “ dedicated .” 

She blows out a small breath of satisfaction, seeming glad to imagine that you might see him as she does. Her golden boy, her perfect son. 

“He told me you almost beat him at Cyvasse the other day,” she smiles, delighted by the idea, and you try not to laugh. The last game you’d played with Aemond had been in his room, and he was letting you win, not succumbing to it.   

“That is an exaggeration,” you insist, wondering what else Aemond might have mentioned to his mother.  

Yet, her lips purse, and from the way she sighs, you imagine he has said as little as you are saying now, and you don’t know why, but you feel the sudden urge to reveal more. Maybe it's the way her eyes turn down or because, no matter the people surrounding her, she always seems so lonely.  

“The prince...” you begin and already you regret your words, but you can’t stop now, “was so kind as to give me a tour of the library yesterday.” 

“He did?” she brightens, “and what did you think?” 

“That it was very beautiful.” 

“And where you will always find my son, if you should ever have cause to look for him...” she leans forward, seeming to forget decorum in favour of answers, “ do you? Have cause to look for him I mean?”  

“Not that I can recall,” you say, feeling certain that Aemond was not the only single-minded member of his house.  

“Do you picnic here often?” you ask, changing the subject and Alicent’s eyes turn wistful, her gaze wandering across the camp.  

“I used to bring my children here all the time when they were small, away from court where they could just be . It's so wonderful seeing Jaehaerys and Jaehaera here now.”  

You turn your head, to look where she looks, and find them charging across the clearing with their wooden swords and shields clutched tightly in hand. But it's the determination furrowed into their brows which really catches your eye, and they seem to have only one opponent in mind when he strides from the woods- Aemond .   

Your heart skips, your cheeks flushing again as you watch the kindly way he reacts to their advance. Dodging their strikes, his laughter teasing but not mocking, before he scoops Jaehaera up, stealing her sword and using it to repel her brother.    

You watch them play for quite some time, content in the silence before the queen speaks again. 

“If a lady might wish to stay at court...there is always ample space in my retinue.”  

“That is very kind of you,” you admit, turning to face her, “but I am still very much looking forward to returning home.”  

“Oh? And what, might I ask, is there to look forward to?” she pries, sipping her wine, her brow raised, “a suitor , perhaps?”   

“Well... there is…” no suitor at all, only Lord Henry, but you could not tell the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms that you would rather return home to a cat instead of marrying her son, “my other sisters, of course.”  

“Of course.” She stares at you for a long moment, her finger brushing the patten embossed on the cup, “so many Baratheon girls and not one proposal this summer? Your mother must be beside herself.”  

“Not really,” you choke, glancing down to retrieve your own cup from the table and, when you look back at the Queen, her eyes have narrowed, as though she’s trying desperately to read your mind.  

“I think my son-” she begins, just as the man in question arrives, chased by the excited war cries of his niece and nephew and, for once, you’re grateful for his overbearing presence, and the very welcomed distraction from whatever she was going to say next.   

He falls on the rug dramatically and, from the queen's easy smile, you can tell this is not an unusual circumstance when the only eyes in the vicinity are that of family and very close friends.  

“By order of the Queen, I command you to tickle him to death,” she says, and the twins cast their weapons down in fits of giggles, little fingers reaching for all the good tickle spots while you cannot possibly stop yourself from enjoying every single moment of the spectacle.  

This was certainly not the Aemond you knew and loathed.   

Yet , the more you thought about it, the more you realised that wasn’t true at all. Not anymore.   

This was the Aemond who belonged entirely to the people who knew him best, and perhaps that number was limited to less than a handful, and maybe all of them were in this tent.   

“Won’t my lady save me from these hellions?” he says, repelling their onslaught with so much gentleness and good humour that your poor heart was skipping yet again.   

“I am afraid his grace is on his own, for I can see they are far too fierce to be trifled with,” you say, as though you are completely aghast at the suggestion. 

“You are quite right,” Alicent agrees and Jaehaerys seems to enjoy your words, his chest puffing out before he retrieves his sword to deal the final killing blow to his uncle’s ribs.  

You wince when it lands, knowing it must hurt terribly and that the winded groan is certainly not part of the game. But Aemond doesn’t shout or curse like your father would, he dies on the rug with more drama than he had fallen, and you must stifle your laughter with the palm of your hand. 

Victorious, the children leave, in pursuit of a fresh victim while the queen prods her son back to life.   

“I think you enjoy that even more than they do,” she says, and you suspect she might be right.  

“I’m merely teaching them how to fight without mercy,” Aemond decides, his eye betraying the serious tone in his voice, as he sits up on his elbow with his hair ruffled from rolling around on the floor.  

“Well, since you are in such a good mood for teaching, perhaps you’d like to show the Lady Baratheon how to play hoops?” Alicent suggests, scheming again. 

“As it happens,” Aemond begins, a slow smile inching onto his lips, “I seem to be forgetting that I should be staying at least twenty paces from the lady Baratheon, that was the original agreement, was it not?”  

You swallow, hard, remembering the details of your alternative agreement, the one where Aemond’s clothes had loosened from his body and your back had been pushed up against a tree.

But Alicent knows no such things and her excited stare flicks between yourself and her son.    

“Twenty paces?” she asks quizzically and you’re suddenly wishing the twins really had run him through.    

“It was a bet, your grace,” you say, giving Aemond a sharp look, a warning look.   

“A forfeit, actually ,” he retorts, the smile still firmly fixed on his face.  

“But why twenty paces?” Alicent prods, far too interested in the details, while your heart is pounding far too hard to think of anything good to say. Certainly not the truth. 

That you cannot trust yourself with her son. That even now, when you feel like you might kill him for bringing up the forfeit, you’re more annoyed about the consequences. Because you don't want him to leave, not really. Then again, you don’t exactly want him to stay either.  

It didn’t make sense, and you couldn’t explain it even to your own mind, but you needed Aemond Targaryen to be both twenty paces away and close enough to touch at the same time.    

Gods , you hated him.

“I cannot speak for the ladies precise reasoning,” Aemond begins when it's clear you’re not going to say anything , and the wicked look in his eye is keen to make a fresh appearance, “but I believe she wishes to prevent any further attempts I might make in asking her to be my wife.”   

“Further... attempts?” Alicent gasps, wanting to be certain she was hearing him correctly and she was. You'd heard it too.   

Why had he said that? Like it was nothing, like it was just something people said.  

“At least one more attempt,” he promises, pushing himself from the floor, his bow deep, and his eye only for you.  

Then, without another word, he takes his leave, sauntering across the clearing for exactly twenty paces yet not nearly far enough considering how much you want to kill him!  

Yet , killing him would have to wait and not just because of the witnesses milling around the clearing or even the way Alicent’s eyes are hot on your face. But because you can’t move or even breathe. Your mouth is hanging open and shock has drained all life from your limbs.   

“Hm,” Alicent says, a smile completely overwhelming her face, “so it seems there has been at least one proposal this summer?”

Gods , you feel as though you could die from embarrassment, but you don’t, and you can’t exactly ignore the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.  

“Please ,” your voice is as weak as a kitten, your cheeks as bright as the dragon on the Targaryen sigil, “excuse me.”   

She holds your stare, your stomach twisting with fresh knots before she nods with a small, pitying smile, “you’re excused. For now. ”  

You can’t dwell on what exactly she means by that, and you don’t want to. You stand on shaky legs and do what you should have done when the wheelhouse arrived in camp.   

You walk directly to Cassandra and cling to her side, feeling a heady mix of fury and anticipation each time you catch sight of Aemond, and recall the casual way he’d told his mother that he intended on proposing again .  

It was yet another humiliation to add to your repertoire, and for a man who had no intention of ever embarrassing you, he was certainly well adapted to it.   

You’re glad when it's time to leave and find yourself watching, with some regret, as Aemond races ahead of the procession with Ser Criston Cole, leaving you to travel with Ser Maurin as your only company. 

You’d like to say it didn’t matter, that the views were entertainment enough, but you’d be lying. The ride is hot, long and incredibly dusty. Its nearly teatime when you finally make it back to the Red Keep and there is so much fanfare and chaos to mark your arrival that you’re almost certain something has happened while you were away.    

The yard is crammed with people, double the amount from this morning and one of them is Otto Hightower, his face stark and serious as he waits to speak with his daughter.  

Trying not to stare, you encourage Ōños towards the stable and you’re surprised to see Aemond is waiting for you, resting against a post with a book to occupy his time.  

“I trust you enjoyed the ride home?” he says, looking up from the page before snapping the heavy cover shut.   

With a sigh, you swipe the back of your hand across your forehead and give him a pointed look. “You know I didn’t.”  

He smiles then, easing the book under his arm before opening the stable gate, and you wonder if Aemond’s the reason there are no stable boys or groomsmen to attend you. 

“I did as you bid me to and remained at twenty paces for the duration of the picnic,” he says, swapping Ōños’ bridle for a halter and you have to admit, you were somewhat surprised that he’d managed to maintain his end of the forfeit, and less surprised when he reaches to pull you from the horse. 

“Now we shall need to make up for it,” he says but you’d anticipated his touch and are quick to dismount on the opposite side to where he is standing with his arms still outstretched.    

“His grace seems to be implying that I missed his company. I must assure him, I did not .”  

When he laughs, the sound catches in the back of his throat, his arms falling back to his sides. “Then perhaps you’ll be glad to hear we had some guests arrive while we were at leisure.”  

You think of the chaos in the yard along with the grave look on Otto’s face. “Who?”  

“My sister.”  

“Princess Rhaenyra?” you say, not really a question, more the testing of a name which you’ve rarely had cause to speak until now.   

“One and the same,” Aemond answers, his tone flat, as he unbuckles  Ōños’ saddle before passing you a long brush to brush him down.  

A dozen questions spring to the tip of your tongue but you swallow them, suddenly recalling the knowing smirks which Alicent had been aiming at you all afternoon. 

Still, it wasn’t Ōños’ fault that his master was the worst man in the entire world, so you don’t throw the brush back at Aemond like you’re tempted to do, you run it across Ōños’ silky white coat with the reverence he deserves.   

Afterall, it wasn’t often you were expected to put away your own horse, but there was something strangely relaxing about the mundanity of the task, and you wonder if Aemond thinks it too.   

He’s quiet, perhaps even a little pensive, as he inspects Ōños’ shoes before finding another brush so you can work together, and it's a comfortable silence. The hubbub of the courtyard barely carrying past the stable doors.  

“I shall be eating dinner with my… family this evening. I don’t suppose you would care to join us?”   

“Me?” you scoff. “I’m quite certain I would rather-” you don't say more, you meet his eye, ashamed of your reaction. Dinner with the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was a great honour even if you didn’t want it.  

“You’d rather what ?” he moves so he can search your face more readily, “throw yourself from the tallest tower of the keep instead of breaking bread with my sister and her bastards?”   

Bastards?  

You inhale sharply, your mind stumbling over the word and Aemond let’s its usage swell in the silence, his eye still studying you. Testing you in some way. Perhaps he wants you to challenge him, to call him a traitor, but you don’t. You’re afraid of even hearing such a word.  

“Personally, I would rather throw myself into the mercy of the sea,” he admits, and his voice is soft, his fingers reaching to touch your hair, but you move away, thrusting the brush back into his hand.   

Just because you harbour no wish to speak ill of his sister, does not mean you have no wish to speak on other matters, “do not think for one moment that I have already forgotten what you said in front of your mother!”  

“What I said?” he asks, tilting his head as though he is completely oblivious, when you’re almost certain Aemond could count on one hand the amount of time’s he’d been oblivious to anything.   

“You know what I’m talking about.” Marriage, proposals. It was not the sort of thing a person could easily forget.  

Amusement flickers in his eye, “refresh my memory.”  

“I will not,” you snap, attempting to leave him behind as you exit the stable, but there’s really no escaping Aemond Targaryen’s long stride, and he’s soon hooking his hand under your elbow.  

“If you will not tell me of your complaint Lady Baratheon then please allow me to make you a promise...”  

You glance back at him, regretting your curiosity the moment his eye darkens.   

“Starting now,” he begins, leaning in as though you are conspiring, “it will be no secret that I want you, no matter who is watching us and, when you have my child in your belly, there will be no question over his parentage.”  

No question over his parentage?  

“There shall certainly be questions,” you retort tartly, snatching your arm away, “such as what in the world I was thinking in allowing you to put it there in the first place.”  

“I can suggest at least one reason,” he says, and you hate his stupid arrogant smirk just as much as you wonder what the exact details of that one reason would be. But not enough to ask him, certainly not enough for that. 

Instead, you turn back towards the keep and see a man stalking towards you, a stranger, yet you’re in little doubt of his pedigree. Even if it wasn’t for the white hair crowning his head, there’s a certain devilish cockiness which rests so comfortably on his face that you cannot help but think of Aemond. Just older, more battle worn, yet not worn out.  

Almost all the women in the yard are watching the way he strides and perhaps it’s because his leather trousers are indecently tight, his shirt billowing in all the places where it doesn’t plaster to his skin.  

You imagine he must have been practicing swordplay in the yard for quite some time, and the sword in question is still swinging in his hand, long and dangerous, steel glinting in the sunlight. 

“This is my uncle, Prince Daemon,” Aemond says, when he comes to stand directly in front of you, “and this is my Lady Baratheon.”  

“Your grace,” you curtsy, and Daemon sinks the tip of his sword into the dirt at your feet, his eyes slowly scraping from your face and down the entire length of your body as though he’s appraising every last inch.  

“Well done, nephew,” he smirks, his gaze flicking to meet with Aemond’s and you gasp at the audacity in his tone, your temper flaring when Aemond says nothing to refute him.   

In fact, when you tilt your head to glare at him, Aemond’s smiling as though he relishes his uncle's approval. As though the many weeks he’d spent tormenting you was, indeed , very well done.  

“Do not allow my presence to interrupt whatever passionate conversation you were having,” Daemon adds, leaning into his sword, his brow raised and his head tilting expectantly. 

You open your mouth to speak, to refute whatever ideas he might be having, but before any words break free, you feel Aemond’s hand on your back, the press of his fingers dulled by your cloak but impossible to ignore.  

“I was just telling my lady that I shall escort her back to her chambers,” he says, his arm sliding to command yours and you don’t refuse him, doing so would surely be a humiliation on his part and you’re not cruel enough for that. 

You dip into another curtsy for his uncle and allow Aemond to lead you away, stopping only when the yard is far from view, your arm hastening from his. 

“I shall be glad to escort myself the rest of the way.” 

“Very well,” Aemond concedes, his hand’s fastening behind his back, his head gesturing down the hall without complaint.  

You start, both confused and surprised by how readily he’d allowed the rejection of his company, but you don’t question it.  

You turn, thinking you should be pleased with the situation yet finding yourself quite vexed. And why? You certainly didn’t want Aemond Targaryen to escort you.  

Or did you?  

No , what you wanted was, in some ways, far worse. You wanted Aemond to want it enough to ignore your own stubborn resolve, and you couldn’t understand that desire any more than you could understand why you desperately wanted him to kiss you.  

You begin to walk, cursing every part of your mind which seemed to be succumbing to his infuriating set of charms, and you barely make it more than five paces, before his steps have fallen in time with yours. Not by your side as before, but behind as though you were his lady and he your humble servant.  

Stopping, you turn back to face him, “what are you doing?” 

Resting back on his heel, Aemond seems to give great thought to the question before answering with a shrug as though it was quite obvious, “ walking .” 

“But your room is in that direction,” you say, pointing back down the hall and a smile threatens his cheeks, his jaw tightening just enough to hold it at bay. 

“I’m not going to my room, but I’m glad to know my lady has memorised its location.” 

“Do not flatter yourself,” you say, quickly turning to hide your own smile, which has escaped, quite inexplicably, onto your face.  

Then you begin to walk again, and a tall, leather shadow mirrors your every step. Not at all rebuffed by your stubborn resolve, but diligent, single-minded, and you can hardly stand yourself for how much you enjoy it. Or how forlorn you feel when you reach the door to your chamber, and he turns away.  

~~~

Thank you for reading!! :)

[itsonlydana]

"passenger princess" | chapter six

the hobbit | a modern!AU by itsonlydana

❱ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader

❱ wordcount: 4,9k

❱ summary: a horror movie, 'your dad jokes' and overcoming the fear of being vulnerable by opening up

❱ warnings: mature language

❱ an: we're back on schedule! Anyone got the reference with the documentary?🤭

general m.list + series m.list

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3

CHAPTER SIX: MOVIE

It was movie night and once again you found yourself sitting on the giant sofa, a glass of wine cradled between your hands as you watched Legolas and Aragorn argue over what to watch.

It was amusing, really, to simply sit back and observe how both completely missed the fact they could be on the same page if they weren't blinded by the urge to please the other.

While Legolas was trying his hardest to convince Aragorn you didn't have to watch another romcom and he would much rather try to understand that one French art film Aragorn studied in his poetry class, the brunette was keen on rewatching Mean Girls for Legolas.

They seemed to have forgotten you were there to be included in the discussion.

Feet burrowed into the cushions under you you sipped on the wine that Thranduil brought out to the pool two days ago.

Every sip brought the scent of sunscreen and the warm rays of sunshine back to you on this rainy evening.

Your gaze trailed to the floor-to-ceiling windows next to the sofa, right outside to where the pool was illuminated by lanterns and laid undisturbed except for the raindrops splattering onto the surface.

Thinking back to that day, you felt a heat creeping into your cheeks that not only came from the wine.

You had no idea what had been the push into the decision but when Thranduil had joined you in the pool, he had joined you. Not just sitting at the edge or watching you from the shadow of the terrace.

He'd come outside and immediately shed himself from his shirt and trousers, leaving you to a close death with every layer of fabric removed and every bit of light skin revealed.

You nearly had a heart attack at the sight of his upper body and the lean muscles you had known were there, but never had the pleasure –and oh, it truly was a fucking pleasure– to see in all their glory.

Thranduils shoulders were broad, yet fit his form and the adonis belt that accentuated his –must be said– slender waist.

The sentiment that no man his age should be allowed to be this good-looking extended to include all men or women no matter the age. It made little sense to you that this man looked like that at his age when you knew full well that he didn't exercise.

He had a body to fantasize about, and you gladly did.

"What do you say?" Aragorn called to you from the other end of the couch, where he was rubbing his temple, "Tell Legolas I really don't mind watching whatever he chooses."

"Oh, you remembered I'm still here?" you asked while Legolas gasped and clicked his tongue in annoyance, "Yes, but you shouldn't not mind, you should enjoy the movie as well!"

"Legolas, I mean it. It's alright if we watch Mean Girls!"

"Woah, pause!" you took another sip and swiped the air with the other hand. "You two have been so insufferable ever since you did it. Can we go back to pining but without all the.. you know, back bending for just a movie?"

It shut them up, maybe they thought you hadn't noticed them sneaking off together or whatever the reason was, you were glad for the momentary silence.

"Let's just do the 'surprise me' thingy and no one will be truly happy, alright?"

No idea when you'd become the voice of reason but both nodded in agreement, sparing shy smiles to each other that said more apologies than Legolas had ever given to you in words, for the evenings you had to watch his choice of movie.

Love could really change a person.

"Fine," Legolas threw his long legs into movement, walked to the cabinets next to the flatscreen, and grabbed the remote. "Next time we–"

"We'll have the same discussion over and over again," Aragorn added.

"You're disgusting," you pretended to gag, heaving your chest for dramatic effect, "Finishing each other's sentences is so cringe."

"Using cringe in a sentence is cringe."

"Shut up and dim the lights, Las. Please down to the level that's in your head, alright?" You smiled angelicly, cheeks hurting from the effort though it was all worth it at Legolas scowl when he tried to fish for a response but ended up silently muttering under his breath and turning the lights off.

Engulfed in near darkness you only saw his lanky figure reach for something on the incliner next to the sofa before a cushion flew toward you with a scarily accuracy.

Wouldn't you have leaned to the side because you wanted to place the glass onto the coffee table, there would've been an accident for sure.

"Legolas you fucking idiot," you swore, already grabbing the cushion that hit your back. "Do you want another wine-stain incident?"

The wine-stain-incident of last year went down in history as the biggest argument this house had ever seen.

Legolas and Thranduil had been arguing like never before, snapping at each other back and forth for days over red wine spilled over the newly bought designer sofa cushions.

It went so far that Legolas camped at your dorm for a whole weekend, clearing out your fridge and complaining that his Ada was up his ass for an accident he didn't even remember.

After three days of coming home from work and seeing Legolas sulk on your bed, the thing that pushed your patience over the edge had been one night when the blonde couldn't sleep and decided that your bed was big enough for him to cuddle you; big surprise: it wasn't.

Nothing was big enough in the tin can of a dorm.

"So what?" Legolas fell onto the sofa next to Aragorn, giving you plenty of space to spread out on your half, "I'm just gonna tell him it was you again. Nothing's gonna happen then."

"You're a wicked man, Las," Aragorn said. Legolas grinned.

You snorted. "Sure, if you want your ass handed to you. Don't think it's going to work twice."

"Oh no, it will." Legolas raised an eyebrow much similar to his father, "Just like last time his anger will go up in the smoke the second he sees you and then–" he cooed in a very over-the-top imitation of Thranduil, "–no no no, it's alright! I hated the sofa anyways.. what? It's new? Doesn't matter, I'll buy a new one, babe."

"He doesn't sound like that and it wasn't like that!" you complained.

It had been exactly like that.

"It kinda was," Aragorn chimed in and received a smile (Legolas) and an angry huff (you).

Legolas tapped away on the remote, lightning up the living room as the flatscreen showed the last thing that had been watched.

Some nature documentary that, in the small second Legolas gave you before opening up the streaming app, seemed to be about whales and crocodiles.

Thranduils taste in movies was everything Legolas didn't enjoy: docus with long biology conversations, silent black and white classics or, his guilty pleasure, fake jury shows where he would point out where they went wrong or how inaccurate the case was.

You adored how he would sit on the sofa wearing his slim glasses and pretend he wasn't interested in the drama at all.

"Alright," Legolas said and pressed a button for the random movie.

"By the way," you said hushed, "He doesn't call me babe. Your father calls me sweetheart or darling, which is completely different and so much more endearing in my opinion."

Aragorn let out a loud breath and leaned over to rub Legolas' shoulder. "Wow, that was basically a 'your mom' joke, although much more eloquent. Hope you're alright."

"He will survive," you waved off, "It's not like I told him how he–"

"No, I actually don't want to hear that!" Legolas interrupted you loudly and turned up the sound of the TV, shutting down every remark that could've followed by the loud boom that cracked through the surround system like thunder.

You didn't need to read the title of the movie, that the first scene was a first-person shot of someone running through the woods at night and the only sound was their breathing and the snapping of twigs was telling you exactly what you were in for.

"Sorry," Legolas said before you even opened your mouth, grinning over at you in the moonshine light of the movie, "No take backsies for any insults just because you don't wanna watch horror!"

"But–"

"No no, no buts."

"You're so mean," Aragorn said to Legolas, but nevertheless grabbed one of the blankets beside him and threw it toward you, "Here, to protect you from any murderers."

You stuck out your tongue at him and yanked the blanket over.

Horror, was by far, the worst outcome of the random selection.

Everything else would've been fine, hell, even a compilation of every time you'd embarrassed yourself in front of Thranduil could be an easier watch than an hour.. oh well two hours of jumpscares.

"You'll be fine," Legolas was already munching on the popcorn he'd prepared earlier, throwing the golden snack into his open mouth and –naturally– not missing a single piece.

It was infuriating how talented he was in some aspects.

"Just don't look to your left and imagine the killer's waiting for you behind the trees."

"I hate you so much."

As expected, the blanket provided little comfort as the movie progressed and whenever you glanced over to Aragorn and Legolas, you could see them whispering together, quietly laughing over the dumb decisions the main character made.

So unfair they had fun while you suffered.

The scenes got even worse the longer you watched, tension sharpening like the knives you saw on screen, flashing in and out as the killer sneaked through the woods. The wind outside as well as inside screamed like a boiling kettle, rattling as the storm picked up and hammered the wind against the window.

There were creaks and echoes everywhere.

Every hair on your body stood up, an electrifying rush of adrenalin cursing through your body and having you cling to the blanket in an attempt to shield yourself.

It came out of nowhere.

The sound of a door opening and immediately shutting close with a bang loud enough that you let out a scream like your life depended on it.

It led to Legolas joining in, yelling in surprise and as he turned around to stare into the dark kitchen, the popcorn flew everywhere.

There, looming in the doorframe was a tall figure, dripping water and looking extremely haunted by the white flashes of the screen illuminating long wet hair and hauntingly sharp cheekbones.

"Oh my fucking god.. fuck! Fuck this shit," you gasped for air, inhaling one breath after the other until you were nearly dizzy.

"Ada, you scared the shit out of us!" Legolas quickly let go of Aragorn, whom he'd jumped the second he'd heard your scream pierce the quiet room.

"My apologies," Thranduils deep rumble sounded.. off. Strained, like the lopsided smile on his lips. "That was not my intention." He looked around, pausing at you and for a second the look on his face seemed haunted. "Please, continue. I'll be upstairs and make sure not to bother you anymore."

"Thran–" you started and rose to bend over the back of the sofa.

He stopped in his movement, haltering to nod at you, "Hi, sweetheart, excuse me for scaring you like that. You look lovely, though." And then he was already stalking back to the hallway, his wet hair clinging to his equally drenched coat.

You turned to Legolas and Aragorn, your expression communicating the confusion you felt clearly by the look of their equally unsure faces.

"Ada?" Legolas called, not looking away from you, his eyebrows drawn together.

"Yes?"

"I may have spilled wine onto the new white carpet. It was some hours ago but maybe we can fix it?" Questioningly you inclined your head, close to asking him what the fuck he was talking about, when Thranduil answered:

"Oh, no worries," –your eyes widened– "It's fine. Let's talk later."

"Well," Legolas stated as soon as you heard Thranduil walk up the stairs. "Either someone kidnapped Ada and that's someone else, or he's calculating how to murder you two for practically living here at this point."

Aragorn, sensing that this wasn't the time to continue, paused the movie. Even he was frowning.

You fell back onto your bottom, eyes flickering back to the doorway in uncertainty. "So I didn't just hallucinate that? You noticed how weird he was?"

"So weird. Maybe something happened?" Aragorn mused and started picking up the popcorn Legolas had strewn all over the place.

"Maybe he finally realized I live here rent-free as well."

You and Aragorn looked at each other. You spoke up first: "Las, the way you inhale his snacks and wine he's just ignorant of the fact. Do you have any idea what's up with him?"

Legolas shrugged, throwing one of the popcorn pieces into his mouth again. "Not the slightest. Haven't seen him like that since.. oh–", he paused, grimacing like he tasted something sour.

"What?" Next to him, Aragorn took away another lint-covered popcorn before he could eat that as well.

Suddenly, Legolas seemed sheepish, his gaze scattering everywhere except you which you immediately noticed.

"Legolas, since when?"

"'S probably doesn't matter," he mumbled, his face turning a traitorous reddish shade that reached the top of his pointy ears.

"You're lying," you detected, not trying to hide the sharp edge in your voice. This was quickly escalating, moving far beyond a simple discussion over what movie to watch. "What's going on? He's never like that… at all. He looked like he'd run over someone!"

"Love," Aragorn tried softly, but you were already too busy staring at Legolas to notice.

"You really want to know?" Legolas asked, the blanket he and Aragorn were under clutched into his fists. "I'll tell you but don't, and I mean it, don't zero in on that. This could be different, like completely." After your nod and a look over his shoulder to check that Thranduil wasn't creeping through the hallway with an axe, he continued:

"Y'know my mother left him, right?"

As soon as he mentioned her, you grew wearily. "Yes–"

"So she left when I was still a baby, like no worries he's fine with it and I'm fine with it and we were alright. He kinda knew it would happen, she was around but never there. He was the one giving up half of his firm so that he could work less and mostly from home. She just.. didn't change at all and when she was gone, Ada wasn't surprised."

You knew the story, it was one of those things Legolas had shared with you under the confined comfort of the blanket of the night and his bed.

"Uhm.. yeah, I don't know how to tell you this but she came back once."

The world swayed, ripping open right in front of you and you felt yourself tumbling, one foot over the edge of that darkness this statement had dunked your head into.

"Oh," you said, immediately trying to shut down the feelings of unease and insecurity gnawing at your mind. "I mean, she's your mom?"

Legolas huffed, "Barely. Biologically yes, but even then one could argue I'm Ada's clone." He grew serious again, his long fingers tapping the arm he'd thrown over his middle, "T'was like what.. nine years.. ten years ago? I was in the kitchen doing my homework when the keys turned and some woman suddenly stood in front of me that I didn't recognize but knew who she was. I kinda screamed. Ada came and when he saw her, he looked just like he looked then."

You blinked, your breathing coming in a bit faster than what you would define as 'totally fine'.

"What happened then?" Aragorn asked for you. Thankfully, because you weren't sure what to say.

"He threw her out and called someone to change the locks," Legolas said and lifted his head to stare at you, "Ada told her to go to hell or he'll sue the living shit out of her for child abandonment and whatever dirt he would find. Yes, he had the same look on his face, yes he was so fucking weird and kind of apathetic but, and listen to me; this could be a whole other thing."

"Wha– what.." you started, stumbling even over that one word, "what if it's not? Maybe he changed his opinion over time."

"Sure," he rolled his eyes but dropped the sarcasm when it did not comfort you at all, "No seriously, believe me, he doesn't want her in his, my, or our life. Not then, not now, not when you two finally figured yourselves out."

While that helped just as much as throwing a single glass of water onto a giant campfire, you nodded and put on a mask of uninterest.

Simply because it was much easier than getting into a whole discussion over feelings that may or may not be out of place.

He could've simply had a bad day at work.

"Let's just continue?" you asked, nearly begged, and were glad when Legolas and Aragorn didn't say another word but started the movie again to fill the awkward silence.

Under the blankets, you were wired.

You'd known you should've let it rest, to leave Legolas alone and maybe if that story had stayed untold, the straw just waiting to be dropped, hadn't dropped to throw your mind into a frenzy that was based on a "what if" situation you had on your hands because of a single, small interaction.

Well, it stood out and didn't fit Thranduil at all, but should you really care that much?

As Legolas said, you and he hadn't even figured out what was going on, just that there was something you both wanted to pursue.

The movie didn't fade you the slightest after the conversation, the next minutes flew past you like they didn't happen at all and when you heard Thranduil come down the stairs and walk into the kitchen, you flew from the couch.

"Be right back," you muttered as you ducked past Legolas and Aragorn; the latter brushing his hand over yours to give it a gentle squeeze.

The momentum that led to you standing up in the first place left you at the sight of Thranduil's turned back, hunched over a plate of chocolate cake Legolas had bought while shopping for snacks.

He looked so weary and tired, deep worry lines indicating his age, still attractive and even more now that he had his hair up in a bun and wore sweatpants you'd never seen him in, but yes, exhaustion was written all over his face when he turned around.

"Hi," you shuffled around, making a lame hand movement that was neither a wave nor anything else, "Should I go? No forget that, of course I'll leave you alone. Never asked, alright? Bye—"

"Stay?"

The question was soft and almost overshadowed by the squeaks of fear coming from the TV.

"I…," you started, stammering but when Thranduil held out the plate and the cake he was still shoveling into his mouth in big bites, you agreed. "Of course."

You jumped onto the counter next to him, ignoring how the sight of sweatpants, gray slightly baggy but not baggy enough sweatpants!, up close messed up every single thought swarming around your head like busy bees.

He leaned back against the counter beside you, ankles crossed and his head thunked against one of the hanging cabinets on the wall.

For a while, all you did was let Thranduil feed you bites of the cake, taking every fork he held up to your mouth carefully and swallowing the questions you wanted to ask with it.

He ate as well, lifting one bite after the other to his lips in between feeding you and every time your eyes hung onto his plush mouth.

Not because his rosy lips looked especially enticing with chocolate cream smeared into their corners, but because of the indications of his teeth in them, in the raw bitten look of them that told you there was definitely something going on.

"Hey," you nudged your leg against his side, "do you want to talk about it?"

The sigh that left his throat sounded more like the groan of a pained animal, his Adams Apple bobbing as he swallowed another bite before placing the plate on the kitchen island.

"You don't have to," you followed up in a rush, not wanting to corner him or force him.

"I should." Thranduil kicked one foot against the counter and turned his head so he looked at you.

Sitting up there, you were close enough to reach over and, in a moment of spontaneity, wipe away the chocolate on his lips.

He caught your hand, pressing a quick kiss onto your palm and keeping it in his when he dropped them.

"Yes, I should absolutely tell you," he swallowed again, "you have a right to now as someone.. as someone important in my life." The way he talked and furrowed his eyebrows showed how much energy and willpower it took him to admit that.

It meant a lot that he tried and cared about the conversation about opening up and being there, being in.

"I got a call at work today that I didn't expect and I'm still unsure what to make of it." Thranduil's hand tightened ever so slightly. His teeth once again found their place in his lower lip, dragging it back and releasing it.

"A lawyer informed me Legolas' mother wants to talk to me."

The air left your body instantly, the sentence punching you into the gut with an iron fist that had 'shouldn't have asked' imprinted on it and marking you all over.

Thranduil noticed, of course, he did, and lifted your intertwined hands for another kiss onto your knuckles.

"I told them not to bother me again," he clarified fast, "Told them ten years ago, told them now."

"Legolas told me that happened," you admitted quietly and let your head fall on top of his shoulders.

"I hope he told you that I had never any interest in keeping contact or searching that woman. I respected her choice to step away from our lives; she expressed a reluctance to embrace motherhood, and I had no authority to impose that role on her if it brought genuine discontent."

"Yes, he said that as well to comfort me."

"And I presume it did not?" Thranduil spoke forward into the otherwise empty kitchen and you followed his words with your eyes, searching the tiled floor for the courage to jump over that damn river of worries that hindered you from opening up.

He did it as well, you thought, he said you had a right to know, that you were someone important in his life.

"No," you finally acquiesced, feet firmly planted onto the metaphorical ground.

"Not the slightest. There is this woman I don't know, the mother of my best friend and the ex-partner of this man I really like and she's a total mystery and suddenly I hear she tried contacting you a few years back and now again and my mind can't help but project that she would be a much better fit to you than me."

There was a pause as the words sunk in.

Then Thranduil turned, opening up your legs with his large hands and stepping in between them.

The dimmed kitchen lights made this intimate, tension there was none for the look in his eyes spoke more of worry and his hands placing themselves under your thighs to pull you closer with effortless strength acted more out of the need to hold you than anything sexual.

"Darling," Thranduil's face filled your entire vision, the impact of the worry etched into the darker circles under his eyes hitting you square into the heart. "I can follow that train of worry and this is not me dismissing it but rather me questioning myself and my actions. Have I given you a reason to believe you're not the only one I want to spend my time with? You alone roam through my house and my head and dreams as if you own them, no one else."

You shook your head and rested your free hand on his chest, splaying your entire palm on the crimson sweater he wore, "Never. But she's probably your age and I'm... well I'm not."

"That is true. She is my age and you are not. She's also– what did Legolas say ten years ago?" He thought back, "Ah yes," he tipped his head closer, leaning his forehead against yours, "No one important. No one worth a second thought. No one, and now those are my words, that would come between you and me."

Your hands wandered, trailing up his collarbone standing out, and up his cold throat.

The hairs you brushed on his neck were still slightly wet, curling at the bottom as they slowly dried. "Then why were you this worried?"

He paused, mirroring you and cupping your face in his warmed hands, "This plagued me for different reasons. A part of me feared you would get scared and I might lose you, and the other was circling the dumb idea that Legolas could be angry that I blocked her off."

"So it was stupid of me to be jealous," you exhaled a deep breath, feeling the heavy weight being lifted of your heart as Thranduil's thumb followed the curve of your jaw and chin.

"Feelings are never stupid, they are valid in every form as long as you don't single them out or ignore your mind. And for you, that's really important because you have a really clever mind." He tapped your temple with his pointer.

A laugh escaped you, easing up the tension. "We're getting good at this," you said and nuzzled your head into his palm, "y'know, talking."

"I do feel very wise right now," Thranduils voice was airy and light, falling into that usual banter you guys were so much better at.

"Mhm, must be the age."

Where his voice had been light, his chuckle was deep and throaty, the tone rasping over every word he spoke: "My age allows for exceptional knowledge in many areas."

If you had been a maid in earlier times, that statement would've caused you to faint and even now it brought a heavy blush to your face at the directness in it.

Because you neither knew what to answer nor to do, you lightheartedly shoved him away, and while you regretted not going in for a kiss, the euphoric feeling that spread through you as he chased behind you through the kitchen made up for it.

"Come on, Grandpa," you giggled, swatting away his arm as he reached for your middle, "Use your knowledge to protect this fair maiden from the movie we're watching."

Legolas's head turned just as you entered the living room, the skeptic look on his face morphing into an understanding smile when Thranduil followed close behind you.

"Fair maiden?" he snorted, "Please, as if."

"Shut up Las," you hit his head as you passed him, nearly hitting Aragorns chest as well and wow, when did they decide that showing their affection in front of Thranduil wouldn't lead to instant death?

You settled into the cushions again, pulling Thranduil next to you.

There was a passing look between Thranduil and Legolas, where Legolas raised an eyebrow daring his father to say anything, and then between Thranduil and Aragorn, where they both nodded at each other before turning away; Thranduil to you, Aragorn to Legolas.

It was so weird, your lips curled.

Then you realized the movie was paused, the screen showing the beginning rather than the middle where you'd left.

"Noo," you whined as realization hit you, "You didn't continue!"

"Why would we? It's so much funnier if you're crying and screaming," Legolas teased and you fired a look of pure hatred at him that he reflected with an angelic smile.

Next to you, Thranduil had made himself comfortable, long legs stretched out and one arm lifted onto the cushions, giving you an encouraging nod to come closer.

You followed the invitation, huddling closer until you were nearly glued to his side and, after drawing the blanket over the both of you, his arm found its place on your hip, fingertips lifting your shirt just enough for him to feel the warmth of your stomach under his spread palm.

"Don't worry," he whispered and his nose nudged the crown of your head, "I scream much louder watching these movies. Now, Legolas, know that after this movie you're in for spilling wine again and ruining the carpet!"

"Wasn't me." Legolas tipped his chin to the wine glass next to where you'd sat when Thranduil had come home instead of telling him that there was in fact no stain or no ruined carpet.

"Oh," Thranduil's hand started circling your stomach, causing the army of butterflies in there to fly high, "then don't worry, sweetheart. I hated it anyway, ugly color, so much white. I'll buy a new one in red if you like that color that much."

taglist [still open]: @mushroomemeralds, @mssuguru, @solartoge, @12134z03, @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @lady-of-imladris , @finallyforgotten , @123forgottherest @tomhockstetter7-111 @marshymallo @emily-roberts @howlerwolfmax

[aethismantis]

Blue dragon as a Fal`Dorei

Do you still remember the Blue Dragon questline from Dragonflight? I SURE DO. I had SUCH an urge to create a Blue Dragon OC after it. I haven't named her yet (I always struggle with naming), but I love her nonetheless. Her mortal form is a Nightborne and a FAL'DOREI SILKWITCH. As a scientist, she chose to study the Fal'dorei in their catacombs, living alongside them, studying their culture, psychology, and habitat. One problem is that this research caused her to go somewhat insane. I have a headcanon (contrary to the canon we got in Dragonflight) that dragons can choose how they appear in their mortal forms, but this is deeply influenced by their worldview and sanity. By worldview, I mean the stereotypes they develop based on their interactions with mortal species. Dragons, being a completely different species, would only have a theoretical understanding of mortal psychology. Sanity is more complicated, and I'll explain using Her as an example. At first, she chose the nerdiest Nightborne look, even among nerds. By "choosing" her appearance I mean, that she was expressing her idea of how a Nightborne scientist should look. But as she delved deeper into her research, her appearance started to change. By becoming a Silkwitch and learning about the Fal'dorei from their perspective, her view of the Nightborne also changed. To others, she might seem insane, but to her, it was a natural development in her quest to truly understand how this species works, how they act, and how to assimilate with them. She was unbearable in the early days. Now, as the Blue Dragonflight is reuniting, she is even more insufferable to communicate with.

[dragonfly0808]

Sky: The Thesis

This has been the most difficult thesis for me to write, I just don’t always know how to explain just what I wanted to do with Sky and I really hope I did manage to properly convey this here

So, here goes nothing, also, MAYOR SPOILERS FOR A WHOLE LOT OF PLOT POINTS, DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN’T READ AT UP TILL S4 CH 22 IF YOU DON’T WANT SPOILERS FOR SKY’S CHARACTER

First Things First

From the very start I knew I wanted Sky to suffer. Just joking (kinda).

 I know that in the OG he could ocasionaly come across as insufferable and I really did not want that.

I chose to give Sky somewhat of a ‘sins of the father’ kinda narration. Sky bears the burden of his father’s crime. His main objective in life is to fix what his dad broke.

From a young age Sky realized that it would be up to him to save Eraklyon from his family line, a duty that he takes very seriously.

Sky has an absent mother and a father that never truly saw him, he saw the way his dad’s betrayl destroyed him and he is determined to never suffer the same fate.

Sky blames himself for pretty much everything in existence, a situation that is not helped either by the duty of acting as King since 15 and actually becoming King at 18 + all the stuff that has happened in the rewrite.

Sky’s main trait and his main objective revolve around redemption, at first, the redemption of his bloodline and of Eraklyon and, later on, his own redemption.

Tried to Bargain with the Stars for More Than Half Your Heart

Sky is stuck from a very young age in this in between place of being the son of destruction and the hope for redemption.

He is partially desperate to be seen as something more, as who he could have been if he’d been the son of anyone else, which is why, when he makes his first true friend (or more accurately his first friend with no royal ties), Brandon, he finds some solace

This is also part of the reason why the switcharoo happens. Yes, it happens mostly for safety reasons, but Sky does take the opportunity to know what it is like to be treated like anyone else

In S1 we see him with a lot of built up frustration over not being able to help his planet and being dismissed by his father, which eventually results in his falling out with Riven

Sky’s frustration is born from a helplessness, he’s not allowed to do anything for his planet nor for himself. The only way he’s told he can help his planet early on in the rewrite is by marrying Diaspro and giving up the chance to marry for love, which obviously causes a bit on anger and resentment which can explain (but not fully justify) some of his attitude in season 1

Sky wishes to be seen and loved for who he is and not ‘in spite’ of his family’s past crimes.

I Can Run But I Can’t Hide From my Family Line

Sky’s greatest fear is turning out like his father, being unable to escape the generational curse of cowardice and betrayl.

We see him at his lowest when Valtor curses him, causing him to undergo his greatest fear, being like his father.

Right before the curse, we see him prioritize Eraklyon and his friends, asking Diaspro to kill both him and his father to prevent any harm from being done if they are cursed, which Diaspro can’t go through with it

Sky has a love/hate relationship with his father, between everything that he did that Sky feels responsible for repairing and also the fact that, after betraying Domino, Erendor was never the same and simply not that great a father to Sky, he tried, but never enough

Sky desperately wants to see the man his father was before, the man who seemed so happy next to Orion and Radius in portraits and pictures, the man his generals have told stories about. But he never gets even a glimpse of who his dad was before, which just causes a bigger rift between the two

Erendor thinks there is nothing left for him, no redemption and no real hope for the future, he gives up, this in part, impacts Sky in the sense that, he is someone who will always cling on to the hope of redemption and who will never back down nor give up

Sky is absolutely determined to keep going, he’s not always sure how he’ll do it, but he knows what giving up does to a person and he doesn’t want that for himself.

Castles Crumbling (You Don’t Wanna Know me Now)

Season 4 Sky is in shambles but he will not let anyone see it.

As I’ve said before, Sky carries the weight of both things that he was responsible for and things that weren’t his fault with equal guilt

In S4, Sky struggles with the sense that he doesn’t deserve forgivness nor does he deserve help in his struggles or pain, his thought is ‘I caused them enough pain and troubles, I shouldn’t burden them with my pain’

Sky is low-key having a months long breakdown, no longer sure of who he is or who he will become, feeling partially isolated in the squad. Valtor took something from him, took his confidence that he would never be like his father, that he would never forget the mistakes of the past

Even if he was cursed and not fully in control, Sky doesn’t see it that way, he still sees everything he did while under the curse as his own failure and as a betrayl to both his friends and to himself since he’d always been adamant about promising himself to never be like his father

Everything that Sky truly has is himself. Eraklyon, the crown, all of that is an inheritance stained by his father’s past. The only thing to truly belong to himself is the determination to right past wrongs, and, by being forced into making choices more aligned with his father than with himself, it truly breaks a part of Sky

We’ll see in his arc in S4 that he is very haunted by the idea of his father and wondering what could have been if Erendor had been just a little bit different

I’m really excited to explore a bit more of his mentality and see how his view of himself slowly changes through the healing of a few of his relationships, specifically with Flora and Bloom

Sky embraces the weight of the crown and is, at his core a very selfless and guilt-ridden person. If he could have it his way, he’d study architecture and lead a quiet life, but he will never try to pursue that life until he feels he has achieved giving Eraklyon peace, and even then he’d probably still feel a sense of responsibility to stay on the throne to ensure peace remains

Thoughts Behind His Main Relationships

Brandon

Brandon is Sky’s very first non-royal friend, they meet at 13 and Sky feels like he can just breath around him, Brandon was the first person from Eraklyon Sky felt safe enough to let his guard down around and he really helped him in becoming a socially functioning person since up until then he really only knew how to interact at balls and formal events or with Stella

But Brandon doesn’t just give Sky a friend, but a whole family. Brandon has a huge heart and a big family, the second he realized that Sky’s family was not like his own, he made sure to integrate Sky into his family.

They see each other as siblings, Sky absolutely sees Brandon’s sisters as his own (especially Alexa) and Brandon’s parents are Sky’s parents. They give him a safe space and the kind of unconditional love Sky had never known

Brandon and Sky are both very dedicated and strong-willed, they push each other to be better and, one of Sky’s favorite things about Brandon is that he doesn’t care about Sky’s royal status, if Sky does something stupid, Brandon will let him know and will tease him

Their friendship is one of absolute trust and brotherhood. They see each other at their lowest and never think for even a second to leave each other

Sky is one of Brandon’s biggest supporter once he’s back in regaining movement in his hand and there is no one else he could even think of to be his right-hand man and be right there with him as he becomes King

And, while Brandon is partially impacted and saddened when he learns of Sky’s choices when cursed, he never doubts that it wasn’t technically Sky truly and knows he will forgive him, because that’s his brother.

They are brothers, they could destroy each other and they’d still love one another, they could end each other, they’d forgive one another. What other word could possibly describe their relationship?

Bloom

They are a friends to lovers situation. From the moment they meet they are quite soft with each other and I think it took them a second to develop a crush but it happened quite organically, nothing dramatic just being like ‘huh, everytime I see you I like you more and more and I’d like to get to know you even better’.

However, after Darkar and Valtor, their relationship is at a standstill. They both have too much on their minds and find themselves tortured by their own thoughts and weights far too heavy for their ages resting on their shoulders

I feel like Sky and Bloom’s relationship is a tragedy, but like, a tragedy because of the narration ya know? Like there are these two kids who for all intents and purposes would’ve known each other their whole lives if Domino hadn’t fallen. Who care about each other so much and just want to be there for each other but have also hurt each other (for Sky, it’s his bloodline that hurt Bloom, for Bloom, it’s the very loyalty that Sky loves that winds up hurting him when Bloom choses a side).

Their tragedy is one of; I love you so much but the universe keeps fucking us over and revealing things that make me wonder if we truly can love each other and be together without another wave of hurt falling upon us.

Their tragedy in s4 converts into one of; I love you but I don’t know if there is room in my mind for that love anymore. I love you but I’m not sure if I even know you anymore. I’ll always love you but I don’t know what to do with that love anymore.

Can two people grow apart and them grow closer once more? Can you forgive that it wasn’t you I hurt? Can you forgive the side I chose wasn’t yours? Can we be friends again? Can we try? Would you like to try?

Their love of each other is pure, it’s just a question of whether or not it can survive all the bullshit the universe keeps throwing at them.

Stella

Sky and Stella have known each other since birth. They’ve been best friends since they were less than two years old and have always had each other’s back.

One of the major changes I made to season 1 was having Stella know about the switcharoo between Sky and Brandon, mostly because, since she’s known Sky her whole life, they couldn’t really keep it a secret from her.

This formed a dynamic for the trio and made them the closest subunit in season 1 since they’ve known each other the longest.

Stella and Sky are two kids who bonded as kids but continued to deepen their bond as they both realized the weight on their shoulders due to being the future rulers of their respective planets.

These two are definetely siblings. They both had somewhat strict mothers so when together, they love to get to just be goofy teenagers. Their friendship is one of ‘We both have so much to do and a lot of weight on our shoulders but when we’re together we can let go and try to trip each other into a fountain for the fun of it and stick out our tongues just because we can and I know you’d never get mad at me over something like that. But you know that if you even need anything I will be right here and nothing will stop me from helping you.’

Stella utterly and fully believes in Sky, she sees right through him and is perhaps the only one who truly knows just how deeply Sky’s eternal guilt runs

Sky can see through Stella just the same, and for a long time, was the only one that was even aware of just how insecure Stella once was deep down

Who is Sky in this Rewrite?

Sky is a good man but a bad son.

Sky is a boy king bearing the weight of past crimes and sins and of his home planet on his shoulders.

He is a boy whose greatest fears came true and he cannot forgive himself for not being strong enough to prevent that from happening. To keep from betraying himself and everything he stands for.

Sky is someone who is ultimately selfless and with a well of guilt deep in his gut that sometimes won’t allow him to breath

Sky is someone who, in a short 3 years has kind of lost himself. He knows what he wishes his life were, he knows what his life must be, but he no longer knows quite who he is, if perhaps he was partially playing a role in fear of what would collapse if he were to stop

Sky is someone who is trying to not only be forgiven but also to forgive himself

Sky is someone determined to not repeat the mistakes of the past and someone determined to redeem his planet and himself

Sky is someone terrified of himself. Of who he could become if he were unable to run from his bloodline, if he is unable to keep himself from turning into his father

He is someone who feels like an outsider and an imposter within his own friend group. He was made into an outsider by circumstances out of his control but somehow, he is the one who keeps himself at the border, even when everyone else has begun to move on and forgive him

—————————

Masterlist

Sky Moodboard

Sky���s Instagram

Sky and Brandon Moodboard

Sky and Bloom Moodboard

Sky and Stella Moodboard

[cannebady]

who are we to fight the alchemy

They've been taking it slow, which Blitz knows is necessary but also feels so fucking stupid considering they've had their tongues inside each other probably hundreds of times over the span of their agreement.

But after a truly spectacular round of competitive communication issues, they've settled on wanting to be something and in order for that to happen, apparently, both Stolas and Blitz have to spend some time with the heads on their shoulders calling the shots.

Based on Stolas's encyclopedic knowledge of all things shitty romance, "It's the proper way of doing things," and while Blitz couldn't give less of a single fuck about proper, he gives a nonzero amount of fucks (one might say a fuckton, in fact) about Stolas, so they've been courting or fucking dating or whatever and definitely not doing any kind of fucking.

It's gotta be at least partially karmic considering how often Blitz complained about fucking the bird. In all honesty he'd loved almost every second of that aside from the feeling like a plaything bullshit and it's fucking fantastic feeling seen and wanted and shit, but also so fucking hard (seriously, very. Fucking. Hard.) to be so close and unable to touch, and lick, and, well. Ugh.

Otherwise, though, it's been kind of nice. They have dinner a few times a week, and Stolas will bring him an iced coffee and lunch at IMP and then Blitz will take him to a shitty bar with M&M. It's fucking nice okay? He's never had nice before and now, suddenly, he gets long conversations about nothing and everything, and holding hands and fuck, okay, he's in love like a little bitch. It's just that Blitz just also kind of wants to fuck, ya know?

He feels a little like a dirtbag because Stolas is holding it together so fucking well. Based on his initial impression (and hands on experience) of Stolas as His Royal Unhinged Horniness, Blitz kind of figured he would've caved a while ago. He won't admit he'd been kind of counting on it; but it's been two months and to his internal horror and shame, it's Blitz who feels fucking feral. They sleep in the same bed, bodies entwined and while it's definitely the best sleep Blitz has ever gotten, it's keying him up and up and up with no release.

Just this morning he'd burned almost an entire loaf of bread trying to make toast because all he could think about was taking his stupid hot boyfriend back to his ridiculous bed to fuck him through his mattress. So there he stood, mortified, erect, and toastless while Stolas hummed and fed his giant toothy plants looking edible and sexy and Oh Satan it was becoming a fucking problem.

The other problem is that Blitz can't solve this the way he wants to. Or, rather, he doesn't want to solve it like that.

He could grab Stolas by the chain holding his starry cape on and stick is tongue down the bird's throat to kick things off, and he probably will do that when his patience runs out, but he's also started to fantasize a bit about a version of their dynamic that casts him with less of an emphasis on Dom and more as the qualifier of Soft.

Fuck.

He wants to do some sappy shit that involves caressing and no toys and maybe also sweet nothings whispered into Stolas's ear until his feathers puff out and his face is a mess of honey blush and desperation. Fizz would call it making love and he's right but also ew. Ugh.

Thinking about that definitely didn't make him less erect, so with a "Mornin' pretty bird," and a squeeze to a feathered thigh (fuck his bird has good thighs) he portals home to shower (because he can do that himself now which is fucking cool), give himself a hand, and then 86 a few human fuckers so he can get back home and remedy his dick problem.

By the time he gets home he's riding high on successful hits, Moxxie's fairly excellent espresso (not that he'll ever tell Moxxie that, he'd be insufferable), and the fire still buzzing in his blood from having someone to fucking waiting for him to come home (and not to kill him, for once).

He forgoes the front door and his shiny newly minted key to, instead, scale the wall to Stolas's bedroom because he wants to put the bird in mind of a sexy, sexy rendezvous and, once over the balustrade, is quickly hit with a wild turning of the tables.

Stolas is laid in the bed, not even his robe on his body for modesty sake, and is desperately trying to rub himself off. The air is humid and smells like sex and home and stuff Blitz was sure he'd never have and even if he hadn't been hard enough to cut glass for weeks, this visage would've done it alone.

Stolas's head is turned away, muffling himself into a pillow and Blitz can hear moans and aborted pleas stifled by cloth until he hears a loud groan that sounds an awful lot like his name.

Oh. Ooohh, fuck Blitz feels crazy. The last vestige of his self control was held by Stolas's own and if his pretty bird is as desperate as he is then who is Blitz to deny him?

He's gifted in stealth for his job and from years of precision movements honed in the circus, so he slowly disrobes to his boxers, only making his presence known when he's right next to the bed.

And fuck the vision is even better up close. Stolas's feathers are a fucking mess, like he's been writhing and edging himself for ages, just waiting for Blitz's hands and tongue and his fucking touch. Like he wants as much as Blitz does.

He clears his throat and four sanguine eyes snap to his, wide and shocked, pupils visible but the heat in them is fucking palpable. He climbs on the bed and leans over Stolas, letting his body touch as much of him as possible, fucking finally.

"Whatcha up to Princess?" he asks, pitching his voice low and rough the way he knows Stolas likes. The moan he gets in reply is like music to his fucking ears and a spark in his veins and there's a blazing inferno before he knows it.

He hums and bites at the feathered neck presented to him before grabbing both of Stolas's wrists and pinning them above the prince's head before speaking directly into his ear, "You lookin' to get split open pretty bird?"

Stolas's whole body shivers and he arches up so beautifully into Blitz that it'd bring tears to his eyes if his entire brain hadn't migrated to his dick and set up camp.

"Please," Stolas whimpers plaintively, legs wrapping around Blitz's hips perfectly, and how could he deny his bird anything?

"You get whatever you want tonight, baby, want you so fucking bad," he murmurs and kisses a flushed, feather cheek before applying himself, rather liberally, to pleasing his love.

[perfectly-m1saligned]

K!nktober 11

Following @dreamlandcreations prompt list. Day 11: public sex; choking. You can find all my stories on my Wattpas as well. Toodles!

(NSFW: MDNI!! Reader's discretion is advised)

Simon Riley x reader

(Bodyguard!Simon)

cw: tight space, public sex, foreplay, protections are used (surprisingly)

word count: 2377

"For fuck's sake, y/n, your closet is flooding with clothes, why would you want to go shopping?"

Simon sipped his tea by the kitchen counter, brow furrowed in a grumpy expression, arms folded over his broad chest, biceps bulging under the tight black long-sleeve. "Because you're keeping me trapped in here!" You whined, only your stretched out legs visible as you sat upside-down on the couch, your bare feet hanging in the air. "And Daddy has a big event or something coming up, so I need to find something cute-"

"Spare me the bullshit," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. "We can go, but you're wearing the vest. And if I see something that I don't like, we're leaving. Got it?" You were already up and sprinting up the stairs the moment he said "we can go". You were the daughter of a renowned politician, but being the controversial figure your father was, his family - namely, you - was always in the target of ill-intentioned people.

So that's when Simon Riley had come in, four months ago, a grumpy-looking beast, standing at 6'4" and probably 250+ lbs heavy, he was the perfect man for the job, since he had served for many years in the SAS, and had made a name for himself in the underbelly of the Special Forces, under the alias of Ghost, a trained killer, member of an anti-terrorism task force. Apparently, he had lost one of his closest comrades, and his Captain had taken out a general, so he retired, taking on some security gigs like this.

He was insufferable, paranoid, always on alert, even in the house. He was up your ass whenever you had to attend some formal events, and you were too embarrassed to show yourself in a normal social setting or even hang out with your friends, because his mere presence was anything but normal. But a golden cage is still a cage, and staying inside your property had become too suffocating. Plus, he must've been allergic to fun, because he had strictly rejected all your attempts at seducing him; you had some needs too, after all, and a beast of a man like him was bound to get your panties in a twist, or wet.

The vest looked ugly and made you look fat, so you had to hide it under a sweater, much to your dismay, but at least he had agreed on spending some time away from the house, so the least you could do was conforming to his obnoxious rules.

"Here," you said as you handed Simon yet another bag full of clothes, then proceeding to strut out of the boutique. It was comical, seeing him carrying all your girly shopping bags, though the way he did so effortlessly was rather hot; not surprising for someone who looked like he could snap a man's neck like a twig. "Isn't your father going to be mad when he checks his bank account?" Simon grumbled, lips curled in a displeased frown, peering down at you, your brattiness oozing from every pore, the way your ass moved side to side in those tight jeans-

"Daddy is happy as long as I'm happy," you said, shrugging your shoulders carelessly, snapping him out of his very unprofessional thoughts. Simon looked up ahead, impassive. "And spending his money makes me happy." He hummed in response, not disclosing his thoughts about your father's parenting skills - or lack thereof. He saw you suddenly veering to the right, making a beeline for yet another store. He eyed the mannequins on the display windows, and his blood froze at the sight of the lingerie.

Be strong, Simon. He mentally reprimanded himself, reluctantly following behind you. The amount of lace, rhinestones and whatever small gadgets they equipped lingerie with was truly confusing to Simon, yet he had to angle the shopping bags to hide the embarrassing hard-on that was growing in his jeans, simply at the thought of you in one of those little sets. And also at how you'd look at him, with your pretty cheeks flushed, and his teeth tearing the lace that would barely cover your sweet little cunt, before he would feast on you like a damn animal.

"Okay, I'm trying these on!" You chirped, your hands full of bras and panties in different shades, waddling like a kid towards the changing rooms. Simon had chosen a quiet hour, so the mall was mostly empty, and it was a monday, so all the workers were very much not in the mood to work. He stood by, as close as it seemed appropriate for him to be, watching the shadow of your feet move around, your jeans soon pooling to the floor.

Simon had dropped your bags on the floor by his feet, so he had to awkwardly stand with his hands folded in front of his crotch, his cock throbbing painfully hard, straining against his boxer briefs. How had he let this happen? When had he become this weak, turning into some caveman whenever he saw the daughter of his employer? Daughter who, by the way, he couldn't stand. You were bratty, selfish, entitled, and you never listened to him, you always had to fight him on everything, your stubbornness threatening to make him blow a fuse on more than one occasion.

But then you would look at him with those big doe eyes, perhaps in the middle of the night when you asked him what he was still doing awake, sitting on the couch, going through old documents, reliving Soap's death as if it was yesterday. He couldn't possibly tell you, but seeing you in those little pyjama sets you wore sometimes helped to take his mind off the painful memories of the past. And it would always end up in the same way, angrily fisting his cock under the shower until he pathetically came in his hand, hoping it was your mouth instead, or your pussy. He hated being this weak for you, but he somehow couldn't get you out of his head, and your little attempts at seducing him were becoming harder and harder to ignore.

"Simon?" Your soft voice called from behind the curtain, before your head peeked out. "I'm having some...technical difficulties." He mentally cursed himself, gathering all of his will to stay strong, and hoping you wouldn't notice his erection as he sauntered over to you. When he closed the curtain behind himself, the small space was soon crowded by his large frame alone.

Fucking hell, you were beautiful. The baby pink corset hugged your torso like a glove, making the top of your breasts almost spill from its confines. You were also wearing the smallest little matching thong, the string cutting between your plump, round asscheeks. "Sorry for the indiscretion, princess, but who the fuck is supposed to see you wearing this?" He asked, his low baritone holding a dangerous edge to it, eyes burning into you through the reflection of the mirror.

"I don't know," you rolled your eyes. "Can't I buy something nice for myself? Plus, this is not why I called you here. Can you help me untie the corset? I made a really strange knot and I can't get it out." You huffed, reaching behind your back with your hands. You gasped when Simon encircled both your wrists with one large hand, keeping them secured behind your back.

"Answer me, princess," he growled in your ear, hunching until his head was level with yours, basically cheek to cheek, as he kept you pinned on the spot, looking at you in the mirror. "Who do you think will see you wearing this?" You bit down on your bottom lip, feeling the heat pooling down in your belly, your stomach doing flips as he pressed into you from behind, his very evident erection nestling itself against the curve of your ass. So now it was your time to play.

"You?" You asked coyly, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you held his gaze. "Right answer, good girl." He said, lips curling into a wolfish grin. You gasped quietly when his hand encircled your neck, calloused fingers pressing down on the sides of your throat, your cheeks immediately growing a couple shades of pink darker.

"You think I hadn't noticed, hm?" He whispered, tracing the outline of your ear with his nose. "When you tried to seduce me, playing coy with me, wearing those tight clothes around the house when your father is out? Basically begging me with those big, sweet eyes of yours for me to bend you over the nearest flat surface and fuck you until you pass out?" His other hand had snaked between your thighs, feeling your juices already soaking the fabric. He clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Tsk, tsk, y/n, you know we have to buy this now that you got these all wet, like some desperate slut? What is the worker going to think when she sees these little panties all soaked, hm?"

You couldn't answer, another gasp of pleasure being stolen by his long fingers collecting some of the slick between your folds, sliding the fabric to the side. A moan threatened to leave your mouth, but Simon's hand squeezed your neck as a warning. "If you make a sound, they'll hear, and our little game ends. I'm sure you don't want me to stop now, do you?" His hot breath fanned against the back of your head, nuzzling his nose into your hair, taking in your sweet, sweet scent. You simply nodded your head violently, teeth sinking into the plump flesh of your bottom lip, trying your best to keep quiet.

You winced when he slid two long fingers inside your hole, making scissoring motions against your walls to stretch you; you would need it to accommodate him. He kept his other hand wrapped around your throat, your cheeks a bright pink colour as he toyed with your oxygen intake, applying different levels of pressure against your airflow, but never to the point of actually choking you, or giving you pain. It was quite the opposite, actually, the dizziness of your constricted airflow, combined with the overwhelming pleasure his fingers were giving you was probably the most confusing yet best feeling ever. The sounds coming from your pussy were obscene, your juices coating his long, calloused digits, and you were doing your best to keep quiet, releasing the softest breathy moans and gasps.

"Good, you're doing so good, y/n," Simon murmured, a wicked glint in his eyes as he met your gaze in the mirror. "Let's see if you can keep quiet with the real thing." Your eyes widened, his movements quick and agile as he grabbed a condom from his wallet, keeping the wrapper between his lips as he worked with the buckle of his belt. With your hands still behind your back, you helped him with getting his jeans off. "You just go around with condoms in your wallet?" You quipped, pulling down the zipper as quietly as possible. "Do you want to go back home with my cum leaking down that pretty pussy of yours and make a mess everywhere?" Touché.

When you felt the tip of his cock ticling your needy entrance, you couldn't help but wiggle your hips, showing your impatience, earning a low, mocking chuckle from him. You wish you never did. As he slowly inserted himself, the burn from the stretch was eliciting the most animalistic sounds from you, but you couldn't act on any of them, suddenly remembering that you were, in fact, inside a changing room, and you were surprised no worker had still come to ask what you were doing in there for so long. You just hoped their laziness would last just a little longer.

Simon was currently feeling like he was in heaven, feeling your gummy walls clenching around him like a loving embrace, or like a snake encircling its prey, he was sure he had never felt anything better than this. And he was wearing a condom. The thought of having you again back at home, and many other times after that, without one, almost had him coming on the spot, but he tried to name the names of UK football teams in alphabetical order, and he calmed down.

You were a squirming mess by the time he bottomed out inside of you, the firm hand around your neck keeping the right amount of pressure to not let any unwanted sound slip, only allowing choked gasps of pleasure as he started to move his hips. He couldn't even fuck you properly, or the sound of skin slapping against skin would've certainly given away what was happening in the small cubicle. So he just settled for slow, deep strokes, nose buried in your hair as he bent you over, your hands on the wall to brace yourself. His free hand came to your front, stimulating your aching clit again with his thumb, making your eyes roll back into your skull.

The forbidden nature of your affair, the fear of being discovered, and maybe even the slight lack of oxygen to your brain, it all gave you an unfamiliar rush, a surge of adrenaline you'd never felt before, and you had also never been this turned on before. The heat coiling in your stomach soon reached its peak, a wave of euphoria rippling through your body as you almost clawed at the wall, biting down on your forearm, hard, to keep the noises building in your throat from coming out of your mouth.

Feeling you coming undone around him had to be the best thing to ever happen to him, feeling your sweet walls clenching, as if to keep him trapped inside of you, and he totally wouldn't have minded that. With one last stroke, he felt himself crumble as well, hips stuttering as he filled up the condom, a growl rumbling so low in his chest it revertìberated through your very own bones.

Your legs felt like jelly, needing to take a very deep breath the moment Simon unsheathed himself, and his hand fell from your neck. "I'll be waiting for you outside," he stated, his voice impassive as he pulled up his jeans, looking not even a fraction as flushed as you. "I really can't wait to see how you're going to explain that to the cashier." 

•This is an original work of fiction, please do not translate or share on this or any other platforms without credit•

[lokislady17]

I still have hope that the future may yet hold something for the Acolyte, I can dream. But it sure is depressing when I jump on to YouTube and it just seems like all I see are videos about why someone doesn’t like something. The Acolyte particularly seems to have become a punching bag for shit posting and videos. Any videos talking more in good faith are hard to come by, most likely it’s because creators know if they try to say anything good about the Acolyte, their channel will be lambasted by haters. And that’s what I find truly disheartening about this whole thing. People who are happy and can enjoy a thing like a show or a book series, do just that, simply enjoy the thing. Whereas people who dislike a thing, have to broadcast that dislike out to anywhere and anyone who might listen. I know it’s the economy of hate, I have said so before I previous posts, but it makes the world an insufferable place to be sometimes. People who enjoy things have better things to do than get on rotten tomatoes put their enjoyment into metrics. We are not out there constantly crying for attention like the haters.