#and devoting himself to the sun without seeing him

[mal-o-deur]

As Taishen is the day, so Jornir is the night.

And perhaps, like a pale moon suspended in a morning sky, or the blue-green fire of an aurora snaking through the dark, one finds part of himself in the other.

Fu Zhao bade that Taishen should overcome the four pillars that obstruct the pursuit of wisdom; fear, doubt, anger, and despair. While honoured, he cannot help but be overwhelmed. He is a humble tea shop proprietor, plagued by mortal emotion. How can he possibly achieve what has been asked of him?

He tries. Though he knows fear, he chooses hope. Mercy over anger. He chooses to be the light that Drakkar so desperately needs, even when he doubts that she will ever look his way. He gives himself, sets himself ablaze beneath the spotlight of his destiny, burning bright as a desert sun. But it can't last, and he knows it. Hard as he tries, Drakkar is still cold and his friends are still lost, and he cannot help but slip into despair.

Night comes with a certainty surpassed only by Death itself. Bright as they burn, all suns must set, and night is what waits when the last light fades from the horizon. It is the quiet after the tumult of wakefulness, the stillness that surmounts the heady dance of day.

In the face of the uncertainty that rages in Taishen’s brain, Jornir's conviction is a sanctuary, a refuge from the maelstrom of guilt and regret that threatens to consume him. Nothing stills the waters of Taishen’s mind quite so effectively as Jornir's reassurance, calling him to rest as twilight calls to the weary heart. It is the promise of respite, the solace of sleep.

But the night is not without its cruelties. It is the domain of predators, eyes glinting beyond the glow of the fire light. On his long walk south, Jornir's guide has been the cool light of distant stars, an atlas laid out in glittering constellations. Such clarity requires a cloudless sky, one that allows all heat to escape to the void of space, and it is cold, bitterly cold. Accustomed as he is to it, prepared as he may be, he cannot resist it forever. A living thing must have warmth, and he is alone.

Small wonder, then, that as blood withdrawing from a frostbitten limb, he has pulled into himself, curled tightly against the penetrating cold. He resists the reminder that one day, the gods he serves with such unwavering devotion will surrender him to a yawning emptiness that will swallow him whole. No love, no light, no warmth. No recognition of what he has done. Only a body, devoid of soul, that will rot into the earth beneath it.

But Taishen sees him. He recognises him in a way that no god ever could. He is the candle in the window that leads the weather-beaten traveller to safety, the embers in the hearth that keep the icy wind at bay.

And so, as the first light of dawn alights upon a prickly hoarfrost, making it sparkle before it melts to water the ground beneath, and the tender kiss of spring brings forth the greening of fields and the buds into bloom, so too do the walls around Jornir's heart begin to slip away. The frozen land is awoken at the sun's gentle insistence, crowned in rebirth.

Why does almost nobody in this community take any interest in Taishen and Jornir's relationship (either platonic or romantic). Like are you not enticed by the dance between the quiet calm of the night and the brightness of the first rays of the sun either ? Are you not Enthralled

[bwoahtastic]

Do i know what story is behind this? No. But the mental image wouldnt leave me (tw: mentions of blood and violence ) (its some fantasy/pagan au lol)

Yes it's late and I'm losing it again

Oh its maxiel

Kinda

Max had always always hoped that if he were to die, it would not be at the hands of his father.

His father did not deserve the satisfaction of getting rid of his biggest disappointment once and for all, and Max did not want his father's to be the last face he would ever see.

Yet, as he laid on the grassy hill, gasping on chocked pained breaths as blood dripped down from his stomach rhrough his tunic, he did not feel angry like he had expected. He didn't try to curse his dad, didn't try to reach for the sword that laid at his side, covered in his own blood. He didn't go down fighting until the bitter end, make his dad bleed like he bled too.

Max was scared, eyes wide and filled with tears as he tried to look past his father, towards the sky. Anything better than to see the hate in his expression.

The sky was grey, bringing little comfort.

"Once you let out your final breath, I will make sure your name is burned from all books, have your legacy be forgotten by everyone who comes after. You won't even be a failure, you will have never existed." His father growled out, towering over Max. "There will be no grave for you, no place for you to be mourned. Not even your little god will remember your name."

Max's eyes darted to his left, where the temple stood untouched. He had devoted his life to worship, and still lost it to the one person had tried to escape

"A prince hiding as a god's low priest, where have I gone wrong raising you?" Father continued.

Max closed his eyes and thought of the sun, of golden rays on his face, of the heat making his skin turn pink. He thought of sun-kissed skin, of warm arms guiding him, of a smile so bright he had to avert his eyes.

Keep your eyes closed, sweet flower, you don't have to see this

The voice rang soft and warm in his mind, and Max did as it asked. He drew in a shaky breath at a wet, disgusting sound, at his father crying out in surprise and rage, and then, silence.

Warm hands grasped Max's quickly cooling skin, warming his cheeks as the same voice as before told him to open his eyes again.

Deep brown eyes watched him with worry, dark brown curls shone golden in the sun, which had broken through the clouds

"My lord-" Max rasped out, eyes tearing up. The Sun had heard him, the Sun had saved him...

"Hush now, save your strength." The god spoke kindly. "I fear you will need it still. I can save you, but it won't be painless." He explained, one hand moving down, pressing over the gaping wound to stop the bleeding.

"You don't have to save me." Max rasped. "It would be worth it, to die knowing my god did not dessert me for being a coward." The god had lifted him slightly, letting Max's side rest against hid warm chest.

"Oh my dear flower, you are one of the bravest people I have seen." The Sun whispered, before lifting a flask of golden substance to Max's lips. "Now drink. My brother would be kind to you, if you were to slip from this world and into his, but I am not ready to see you go there yet." He added, voice almost pleading.

Max looked up, dared to look into the god's eyes, dared to look at the deity he had devoted his life too after he had ran away from his family and his duties.

"I won't leave you." The god promised Max's unspoken worries. "My blood will heal you, and I will be bound to you." He added, tipping the flask forward until the golden liquid touched Max's lips.

Max drank.

[rafesangelita]

So I just read after hours with dilf rafe and I NEED a fic for the next day aka the day spend at the country club, I am so curious to see how bitchy!kook!reader and the kids interact!

warnings: none really just some fluff <3

a/n: read ‘after hours with dilf!rafe’ here ! and read more about bitchy!kook!reader and dilf!rafe’s dynamic here ♡ also just for reference, i’m envisioning rafe has two kids in this fic; one girl who’s eleven years old, and one boy who’s five years old

you were still getting used to being around rafe’s kids, having never had any siblings of your own, you were learning how to interact with them by watching how they talked to each other and studying them the best way you could. what made them laugh? what kind of stuff did they like talking about? what kind of things did rafe get after them for? rafe could see how devoted you were to getting to know them and he loved that you had opened yourself up to not only letting him love you, but his children as well. despite this whole thing being new to you, you were a doing a damn good job.

everyone was currently at the country club, rafe and his son out on the golf course, and you and his daughter sitting comfortably underneath the shade at a table not too far away, both of you sharing a mocktail as she let you in on all the fifth grade gossip. “she told everyone that i copied her party theme but i had already been planning my birthday party for months! and of course everyone believed her because she threw her’s first..” you scoffed, shaking your head at the pure audacity.

“as if you needed the inspiration,” you rolled your eyes, “people— especially girls in competition with you, are always going to find something to grab onto, whether it be your party theme, your style, your personality.. you just have to remember as long as you’re true to yourself in a world full inauthentic people, they’re always going to try and take what you come up with, so the best thing you could do is just pick your friends wisely and don’t surround yourself with absolutely everyone. that’s what i did, and now i only have bestest friends in my circle.”

she looked at you like she was having an epiphany, her eyes slightly wide as she pondered over your words. “wow, that’s probably like the best advice i’ve ever gotten.” she hummed, taking a sip from the virgin piña colada in your hand. rafe smiled to himself, having heard your entire exchange. “you know what that means?” you asked with a teasing smile, “we’ll just have to throw you a bigger and better party next year.” rafe felt his heart stir at the mention of ‘we’— the adam’s apple in his throat bobbing as he cleared his throat.

drawing your attention to rafe and his son, you saw the way his little cheeks were bright red from the blazing sun beating down on him, his hair sticking to his forehead as he swung his miniature club the way rafe taught him. “ray!” you called after the little boy, “come get you some water, let’s take a little break real quick.” without hesitation, baby ray dropped the club and ran straight into your lap where you held the ice cold water bottle up for him to drink from. rafe all but melted at the sight, the corner of his lips twitching as he watched the you smiled down at his boy.

helping his daughter up from her seat, he fixed her in his lap so he could sit next to you, his lips coming down to plant a kiss on your temple. ray pulled away from the water bottle with a gasp, his legs working to climb up so he could give you a kiss too. you just about died when you felt his lips on your cheek, your arms wrapping around the little boy as he rested his head on your chest. “so what do you feel like eating for lunch?” rafe asked his daughter, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she leaned back against his chest. “why don’t we go back home and make something? y/n made these super good sandwiches yesterday and she took the crust off.”

rafe laughed, looking over at you to make sure you were okay with making the kids something to eat. “i can definitely do that, how about this time i show you how to do it so you can make them whenever you want?” at your words, she nodded frantically, shooting up to her feet and tugging on rafe’s arm so all of you can leave. laughing softly at her excitement, you adjusted ray on your hip before you and rafe followed her out of the country club gates. helping rafe put ray in his booster seat, you put his seatbelt on before booping his nose and shutting the door. “hey—” rafe stopped you as you were rounding the truck to get to your side, “you’re doing amazing with them.”

[ilianasbruce]

“A friend of Bruce.”

word count: 4,900

summary: Bruce had never felt territorial about a word.

warnings: full +18 content with a plot. minors do not interact, please.

notes: hello, hello!! ♡ i’m back with another thought about Bruce; uh, he is such a lover and whore boy simultaneously in my head!! and he is a user of ‘good girl’ since i had read it with my own eyes on the 11th issue of Batman: The Brave and the Bold (for educational purposes onlyyy,), so happy reading!!! ♡♡

It was such a bad idea.

One fucking awful idea for dragging you into this. He should’ve seen it coming, should’ve thought that you were off-limits when it came to her. Gotham could take his body and mind, but you were untouchable. He would fight his fists until his skin was discolored with a stinging sense under his gloves or he’d be dislocating his shoulder after hitting himself on some building’s wall for chasing Catwoman for a burglary the third time in the week — as he made sure to be the protector that Gotham needed, as he nightly exchanged himself with her. But you? You were his and he should’ve prohibited you for her.

He should’ve let your offerings be a murmur in the air around the cave. He should’ve ignored your loveliest eyes that were yearning to let you help him; deny your sweetest, worried spirit tailing behind him until you got your hands around his waist to press your cheek on his upper back with “Please, baby, let me help.”. He should’ve but damn it, how could he when you were so sweet?

You, unaware of your vision in him, were just his beloved girl, uneasy about his dual life every single night as he left you until he came back right into your arms in one piece. You would think about him for the hours he left you in your shared bed, between the sheets that smelled like him, or in the cave on his seat. You’d talk to him some nights on the comms when he was available to see where he was heading. Some nights when the city was quiet, he’d come back early — safe and relieved with a small smile on his cowl-covered face. You were in love with him heavily, the kind of fondness that made him the only one of yours just for everything. Your Bruce, your devoted Dark Knight, and the love of your life forevermore.

But for Bruce, it was more deeper than yours. Your love was too mighty for both of you, there was no denying that. But Bruce’s love? God, it was more intricate than your sweet devotion. He loved you wholly, with his mind and body, with his heart and hands. Bruce ached for you in a way that was too much for him to comprehend. It was unbearable and much, but he couldn't orbit without you. Since the first time he laid his eyes on you, you were a phenomenon in his mind — always in the back of his mind and always making him spiral into you obsessively. You reminded him of a doll ballerina in the vintage, dark-wooded box, starting to waltz through the melody as soon as he curved the key in the reading room of Manor when he was seven. The kind of stare he’d blink through his dark, thick lashes at you with zeal and longing as he turned the key over and over again, for hours just to see you. You were just as unaware of his gaze as that ballerina, happily existing with your waltz with your sweet soul in his life while he was holding that box dearly to himself, so lovesick and always eager for another curve of the key between his fingers.

You were his sweet love, his sole Sun.

If you’d utter a word to him, no matter what, he was always mindful of you. You were letting him see another view of the world — another window. And that’s why it was simple for him to be lured by you. He couldn't discard your eagerness to assist, your vision, when you were embracing him with your pure intentions of support for Batman about his Gotham. Oh, he could never get enough of you, couldn't he?

“I’ll be good,” you murmured to his shirt as you were holding him tightly, your gorgeous face pressed on his back. “I promise.”

Oh, he should’ve sent you to Manor. Fuck, he should’ve.

So, he wouldn't be sitting right next to you, with his masterly disguised form of yours, two waiting for one of his snitches in the eastside bar of Gotham. Bruce, for the information, would usually turn himself to strangers to learn intel about the cases he worked on and the city. He had been doing it for years, learned from the best in his younger years, Avery Oblonsky. A touch of his deft fingers on there and here resulted in creating a few new identities, one of them named ‘Matches Malone’. A man who would usually wander through the cheaper bars in the name of a mere conversation and beer. But you knew better.

“Stop staring at me.” he muttered as he sipped his beer, his eyes on the door.

“But you look so adorable with that mustache.” you said with a lovely smile of yours, your eyes glinting under the low bar lights. He gave you a brief glance and turned to the door that he had been staring at for twenty minutes.

It was a terrible idea to bring you here. Of course, he had played with your exterior, too. He would rather have broken ribs to see the lowest of Gotham witness his wife wandering with an ‘outlaw’ in the God knows what corner of East Gotham. He altered your gorgeous features with great concentration without exceeding the limit. His skilled fingers traced your soft skin to remake you as he thought, wondering about whoever created you like this must’ve taken their time on you to give all those features he adored so much with his keen eyes. You were still adorable after his work, blinking up at him with your precious smile and pink wig. You had begged him to let you wear that, promising that you’d be quiet. He should’ve stopped that right there but… never mind.

He spent one hour on your pink bob, fixing it to really look like your own hair. You were beaming like the Sun itself after he wiped the tint from his fingers, looking at your new form in the mirror with awe at his mastery. A few kisses and whispers of ‘I love you’s were his payment. He was too tipsy from you to mind the awfulness of the thought in the cave to discard the idea, — that you’d accompany him for the sake of his city. Now, with a straight mind, he realized how foolish to let Gotham indulge in you as much as he did.

You were wandering your eyes in the bar intrigued, quietly sitting as you had promised him. He caught your gaze in a few seconds, you giving him a sweet smile in the dim light and warmth. You were just so…

“Matches, man!”

You two were interrupted, no, you were startled by the eerie, loud outsider who sat opposite you. Your startled eyes found the man in his thirties as your hand found Bruce's under the table. He squeezed your hand in reassurance for your stunned expression.

“Hello, Christoph.”

Christoph, or ‘Ziggy Chris’ as he let you call himself was a funny man. Despite being in the criminal life, he was likable. He made you laugh with amiable intentions and Bruce was not having it. He did not know what riled him up, Chris’ awe of you or your contented conversation with a criminal. Or maybe it was also because Chris was busy with you for Bruce to energize him for intel.

“You know, candy girl, Matches is a really good fella out here.”

And that fucking pet name because of that fucking pink wig. Your pink bob reminded Chris pink, wrapped candies and now, Bruce was forced to witness some lowlife call his wife with endearments. You were listening to Chris as if he were delivering a psalm, ridiculously curious about some damned criminal. God, he should’ve known.

“Yes, he is such a great friend of mine.”

Bruce couldn't help his immediate glance at your side profile for your choice of words. Friend? A mere friend? Truthfully, it was not a big deal. It was a normal thing. But Bruce had been stuck in the conversation between you and Chris for fifty-three minutes without getting a look from Chris. When he had tried to speak, it was Chris who was interrupting him ‘Man, I’ll let you finish but listen to this,” and “I’ve been there, candy girl, I’ve..” or your concentrated eyes on Chris had been irritating him for the last one hour.

And now you were calling him a friend? A fucking friend? The word itself, the mere definition behind it boiled his blood with fume. You could've said my boyfriend, but no, you went with a friend. (It was much better as you had said but he was irrational about you at that moment). He stared at your outline for a few seconds with simple vexation and turned his eyes to Christoph. Chris saw his friend Matches’ eyes on you and he made a joke about how you offended him. Your innocent eyes found your undercover husband’s face but he was already dissecting Chris with a tense jaw. There was no blame on you, it shouldn’t be a problem and why Bruce was gritting with the word of ‘friend’ was a mystery. A mere word, nothing more. Not that it meant something anyways.

Oh, he’d show you a ‘friend’ if he had the chance at the moment but he was supposed to get intel, and the bathroom of the bar was overly unsanitary for your soft skin and jean skirt. The thought was tempting, though, too tempting that his hand found your thigh under the hem of your skirt without casting a glance at you.

“Okay, okay. Let me ask this, man, I’ve heard that Penguin has a new interest.”

Bruce finally took the wheel for granted in his fake New York accent and directed it to any point he wanted for information. You stayed quiet, listening to him with your curious, pretty eyes from then on. He eventually cast a few glances at you, drinking in your flushed cheeks and pink hair in the low bar light. His palm stayed on your soft thigh, not crossing any limit with his deft fingers to the point he wanted to dive. He’d have that time later anyway.

One hour later, Bruce had what he wanted after leaving that damned bar of eastside. The intel was valuable for the case he’d been tracking for two weeks. Oswald Cobblepot and his Iceberg Lounge, something that Batman had to look into closely. But before that, he had a thing to take care of.

The walk to the car was silent but slightly rushed. Your hand was in Bruce’s, as he pulled you with a nonchalant look and silence through the streets. The sky was already dark, and it’d probably be raining in ten minutes before you reach the car. You thought he was rushing because of Batman, but no. You did find out about that later.

“Was that useful?” you asked him as you turned the corner where your car was, hand in hand. He exhaled quietly and muttered a ‘yes’. He was pissed off, you could see that. But you thought he was pissed off at you, not the dreading minutes of listening to Chris about his made-up adventures to impress you and that, sticky and smoky air filled bar.

“Are you angry at me?”

The words hung in the air as you had already reached the car. He gave you nothing other than opening the door for you, making sure you get inside fully before closing the door. When he was inside and starting the engine of his sports car, he did not utter a word, either. You just accepted his silence and pressed your head to the window as he drove. During the car ride to Manor, you two were silent. But Bruce had made a few calls to Lucius about the items for a voice recorder chip and Alfred about the Batsuit. You had accepted the thought of him being irritated with you.

When his car entered the cave and found its usual spot in there, you quietly left the car. Alfred was waiting for both of you with his usual tea tray and your favorite homemade cookies he had made for you. He had an amused look on his face as he saw you two as you approached him.

“I hope your peculiar couple bonding went well, Madam?”

“I guess so, it was fun.” you answered with a smile at Alfred and a bite of his splendid cookies. Of course, it was fun. You weren't the one who was strained. You were happily sitting right next to your beloved Bruce in your pink wig and thigh-length jean skirt, adorably looking at him as he was pumping the words out of Chris’ mouth as if he were a magician in your eyes (well, he was when it came to manipulating the words when he needed to). He did not understand why you were there to provide some ‘help’, but whatever your innocent existence was not a help to him as you promised. So, yes — it was fun.

Bruce was concentrated on the Batcomputer for something you did not heed at the moment. But you realized he was into his case so you decided to leave the cave to give him space. You took your way to the bathroom, trying to get rid of your ‘alteration’.

It was almost fifteen minutes that you were in the shower after taking off your wig and clothes. You almost did not notice him when he entered the bathroom. You just randomly shut off the water for the shampoo and he was there, taking off his own disguise. He saw your surprised eyes in the reflection in the mirror and went on with his action. It took him a quick time to get rid of his disguise and slip into the shower with you. He closed the glass door while keeping his eyes on yours.

“Hi,” you said quietly as he overstepped into your space. He had his hands on either side of your ribs to cage you with the wall and himself, confusing you with his sudden motive. His baby blue eyes were looking into your eyes with slightly creased brows (giving him a frown) and a concentrated gaze. Like he was disappointed with something but he couldn't spell it yet. You felt heavy under his gaze in those seconds, your eyes looking up at him with a doe-like gaze as your head was pressed up to the intricate tiles of your bathroom. He glanced at your lips briefly then turned his unfulfilled gaze to yours.

He neared his face against yours, making you press your forehead against his with closed eyes next. You thought he just missed you as he always did when he joined you in the shower. You thought he’d be kissing you sweetly and slowly like he always did. But to your surprise, as soon as you nuzzled your nose to his, he crashed his lips against yours. That caught you off guard, your hands moved to his waist to balance yourself against him.

You couldn't understand his discomfort at the moment that why he was giving you a rough time suddenly. His hand went to let the water flow over you two since you had turned off before he joined you. The slightly cold water turned into the hot one in the next seconds when he bit your lower lip. Your brows creased slightly at the feeling while he kept kissing you wholly. It was a struggle for you to breathe under the hot water over you and his roughness, thus your hands went to his shoulders to break his kisses. But to your surprise, he led your hands around his neck, pressing his chest against your bare one, not giving you permission in that position.

His one hand that on the side of your ribs moved to your hips, and the other found the back of your thigh to press you to him. When you were breathless for his lips, he let both of you have some air but quickly regained his kisses as soon as he had air. You felt his leg between your thighs, using his hand under your thigh to put you in a position where his thigh was pressed against your cunt. You let a moan to his mouth and he broke the kiss with half-lidded eyes. You did not have time to whisper his name on his lips before he kissed you briefly.

When he started to kiss your jaw, then your neck you finally had an opportunity to breathe as much as you could under the pressure of the water and him with the fog-covered glasses. Your blurry eyes were on him as he half-sucked and half-bit your skin of your neck while your hands were around his neck. You let your eyes close, a breathy moan escaping your kiss-stained lips against the foggy air around you as he pressed his thigh between your soft thighs where you were getting wet.

“B-Bruce,” you muttered when he was sucked off the valley of your breasts, with little bites afterwards to leave stains. He had no intention of listening to your soft sounds about his name, making you arch and press yourself against him more at the moment.

You felt the pressure of his thigh lessen, but in the next seconds, his fingers replaced it. You moaned when he dove his middle digits into you while his teeth sank into your throat. He started to move his fingers in a steady but just a little faster pace, not giving you any chance to relish in the feeling. He fingerfucked every sweet spot of yours with his deft, calloused fingers, making you let out soft sounds of your pleasure to the dense air between you two. He stole your sounds while he started to kiss you again and again, playing with the pressure of his own sweetness and roughness.

But this time, he let out to break his kisses and have a sufficient amount of air for your lungs. He was watching you with his hazy, half-lidded eyes as his face was closer in the distance that your lips were brushing his when he was earning every moan. It felt suffocating for you at some point, his fingers, his pressed body, and the hot water over your skin but it also felt good. You were too full to think about anything at the moment, just Bruce and his two fingers.

He knew how to make you come undone, hitting one spot over and over again to arch yourself against him. You just remember the overfilling sense and the immediate combustion of your euphoria, him letting you fall your head in the curve of his neck. It felt surprisingly so good, making you scratch your nails on his back shoulder while your face was pressed on his neck. You couldn’t have enough time to come to yourself when you felt his fingers’ drawal and his cock to replace them.

He just cursed under his breath — you thought so, as he slid into your sensitive cunt effortlessly. He had stretched you perfectly so that it let him have his time in delight.

“Fuck,” he muttered to your spot below your ear, as your scorching walls wrapped him sweetly. Your first orgasm had created an ideal lube for him, easily, fully fitting into you with great pleasure and you with sweet moans. When he was buried in your pussy, he kissed the same spot below your ear with the words of “Wrap your legs around me, baby. Gonna be a long ride.”

Yet, his hands found the back of your thighs to help you wrap your legs around his waist. You unhid your pretty face from his neck, pressing back to the tiles with tight eyes when he hit the first thrust into you deliciously. He started to fuck you with slow but gentle thrusts.

“Mmm..” you couldn’t help but let your sounds fill the hazy air around you, as he hit every good spot nicely. Your legs were tightly wrapped around him as much as you could, since he was increasing the force of his hips every minute. The time in the shower passed very intensely but briskly for you. It was there, him fucking you too good with his curses and kisses on your lips; but it was blurry for you. It was likely because of the scorching atmosphere — both his body and the water pressure, dizzying you. So, when Bruce fucked you another round for your second orgasm, you came again in his arms. You were breathing in pleasure against his lips as he half-watched you with his own hazy eyes, half-kissing you.

When you came, he came in the next few mintues, too. But not inside of you — he was tensing his jaw at the feeling and calculation, pulling out at the moment when his seed was about to fill you up. You whimpered at the feeling of sudden pulling out and the sensation after it while he came between your thighs. You both were breathless, gasping for air. You thought he’d shut down the water and let you have a good extended amount of time to come to your senses. But, no. He shut down the water to carry you to your bedroom.

Your scorching skin felt the mild air of your somber bedroom in his arms as he carried you to bed. It felt refreshing after the shower atmosphere. When your head hit your pillow, he was already on top of you. You looked up at his features in the dull room from the glint of the bathroom light that came to your bedroom through the door. He was just watching you, too. You let him kiss you again and again, stealing your breath to relieve what was bothering him. You knew him well enough to know he had something on his tongue. Your fingers found his hair as he devoured you, kissing and biting your sweet lips as he wanted. You lazily played with his wet locks, trying to ease his tension. But you met with his grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head on your pillow with one hand.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” you asked him after his breathless kisses. Your first guess was that you weren't promising right next to him, did something to piss him off. But in reality, it was just his frustration. You whispered another ‘baby’ to his lips when he kissed you. But your words were answered with his mocking tone.

“Am I your baby now, huh?” he muttered in a tone that shook your dizziness. Your brows were creased slightly with confusion but he furrowed them by entering you again. You let out soft moans against his face as he nestled back in where he was owned. Your viscous walls welcomed him utterly again, as if it was where he belonged (he did). His free hand went to your hips to align them to his liking, to angle them in a way that you could feel him buried inside you as much as you could.

You were gazing up at him full but dazed, your cheeks warm and lips marked by him. As much as he was pissed off, he was still sweet when it came to you. Your vision in his eyes made him sigh in love and kiss your lips gently, him simultaneously started to hit your spots as he thrust into you cunt. You were sensitive after your two rounds of orgasm, thus he was slow in his pace unless you wanted him faster.

Bruce’s lips found your jaw and then your neck as he fucked you slowly, just as he preferred at the moment. You were mewling or softly moaning against the darkness, your legs shaking on either side of his waist on the mattress. You couldn't wrap them this time, couldn't find the strength. Bruce was busy biting the places he marked in the shower, marking them for a prolonged time. He was having his immaculate time, just where he wanted to be — inside you with your pussy wrapped around him flawlessly that he was letting his groans out a few times already, before the patrol. He was slow to his liking, relishing in the tightness of you.

“Your friend, yeah?” he muttered in your ear while you were dizzy with his thickness between your thighs. “Yeah?” he taunted you more, his tongue licking the skin of your throat next. You merely sighed in pleasure at his sneer, couldn't think fully at the moment.

“I didn’t — fuck, I didn’t know friends fuck each other just as I do.”

“B-Bruce..”

You couldn't handle the slowness of his hips and his taunting. Your creased brow, half-lidded gorgeous eyes were watching him as he was fucking you just as he wanted. He came back to your face with sweat and wetness on his temple, looking down at you with furrowed brows as he rolled his hips into your tightness.

“I’m gonna erase that word from your tongue,” he muttered to your lips, his handsome face hovering over yours. You just closed your eyes helplessly, slightly turning your face to the other side due to reflexes. You felt his kisses on your cheek, your jaw as he started to speed up his pace more. It was already overwhelming for you and the pressure of his tightened grip around your wrists over your head made the pooling around your stomach more prominent. Bruce could feel the ache of your body about orgasm and that’s why he played with his pace to prolong it. You let out disappointed sounds, mentally writing somewhere in your brain to avenge his injustice moves.

He was watching you like a man starved — in love, aching to say ‘that’s what I felt when you said that’, but he knew better. He then shifted his angles again to relish the feeling of your viscous walls around his cock. He gladly fucked every second, every moan out of you slowly, leaving you marked his lips on your cheek and pussy with his thickness. He was just bare inside of you, no condom tonight, just the yearning to come right inside of you, filling you with his seed. He wished he could still fuck you and fill you as much as he wanted, until his seed was overdripping between your folds, marking every inch of yours but he couldn't. You two were too young and inexperienced for a possible baby.

The thought was unbearable at the back of his mind always, when he was ready to dive into you but always forcing himself to pull on a condom. He’d sometimes — on very rare occasions — come inside you without protection, still aware of your monthly cycle rounds.

He knew you were sensitive and after a good amount of thrill, he rocked his hips with the pace you liked. He moved as you wanted him, kissing and whispering sweet nothings to your ear as you were breathless under him. “Is that good, baby?” he muttered to you temptingly.

“Mhm..”

“Use your words like a big girl.”

Oh, that husband of yours. Just knew how to taunt and seduce you simultaneously.

“B-Bruce,” your words dripped with your sweetness and dizziness, making him groan in your ear. He hit your sweet spot, then kissed your lips before muttering to you a “That’s my good girl.”. He set up his pace to your liking, finally letting you finish. God, it felt amazing — your pent-up, overwhelmed muscles ached in the perfect way when you orgasmed for the third and last time in the night. And it was much better than the two.

Before getting you to the finish point, he intertwined your fingers over your head, ushering you with his focused eyes and murmur of “Come on, baby, I got you.”. When you came, he relished in the scene of your sweet glow in euphoria, your sighs of pleasure, and his name on your tongue. You just remember the feeling so satisfying, so full and sweet. He really made sure to give you what you needed.

He came right after you, pushing himself to the point. But it was simple for him since he was thriving with the feeling of your warmth and cunt around his cock, your obscene vision just for his eyes. He had to thrust a few more times and he was there — just suppressed like you.

You two caught your breath after being tangled up with each other. Your faces were so close to each other and warm with color. Bruce pressed countless kisses on your face, specifically on your cheeks and your eyelids along with your lips after catching his breath quicker than you. He nuzzled your face, just satisfied and buried inside you loosely. You were too exhausted, both from the water and him, as your eyelids were heavy from the feeling of his warmth. He brushed his lips with quiet sighs against your skin, murming sweet nothings along with them.

“My good girl,” he nuzzled his nose to your warm cheek, keeping it there. “My,” a soft kiss there, “sweet girl.” as if he was reminding the words to himself and Gotham. You were drowsy with your serene sighs, your attention fading from him, from the feeling of him intertwined with you or his fingers fiddling with yours above your head. He was a lovefool in the warm bed of yours, letting his buried words slip through his lips during his pillow talk.

He noticed your eagerness to sleep — he notices everything about you, kissed you until sleep lured you — just as you did more than a few times when he came from patrol, weary but still energized. You’d kiss him until he was surprisingly sleepy from your loving. Mostly, he was at peace so he could sleep.

You did not feel his last kiss on your temple before he slipped off you gently and carefully without disturbing you. He buried you under the quilts and got his robe to switch off the bathroom light, then took the way of the cave for his alter ego. He hoped you did understand what he had thought about the word of ‘friends’ now, unless you wanted to prove otherwise.

thank you so much for reading!! ♡

[holybibly]

Unholy thoughts of the day, my angel bunnies: Hell is empty all the demons are out there.

Or you're the beautiful, precious black diamond of one of Asia's most dangerous mob bosses, Choi San, and to ensure your safety, San appoints Seonghwa - his rabid, psychotic dog - as your personal bodyguard, but without realising it, San himself pushes you into the hands of the devil himself. And you will be more than happy to be seduced by its darkness, completely burning between two black suns.

San knew that Seonghwa was always a bit on edge, slightly crazy, but along with his wild, almost animalistic behaviour, Hwa was devoted to San to the core and would do the dirtiest and most horrible things for him without question, even if it was completely against his own wishes and principles.

To say that Seonghwa was furious when San ordered him to guard you and be your personal dog on a leash would be an understatement, but he still obeyed without question.

At first he couldn't understand what it was about you that made San crawl on his knees in front of you, ready to lick your heels, because when he wanted a tight, warm pussy he only had to snap his fingers, but the more time he spent with you, the more he understood what San saw in you.

And the stronger and more dangerous his desire to possess you became. With each passing day his thirst grew and Seonghwa wanted you so badly that he was willing to burn the whole fucking world to make you his.

Hwa sleeps and sees how he will fuck you. How he makes you his, over and over again. Hwa tosses and turns in his bed, feverish, sweating and breathing heavily, imagining so vividly how he's going to eat your cunt.

And he won't just eat your pussy, he'll devour and ravage your cunt like it's his last meal. Seonghwa will bring you to orgasm again and again, make you come so hard that his whole face, neck and even chest will be wet, and that's not counting how much you have squirt directly into his mouth, you will cry and squeal sweetly, beg him to stop, push his head away from your pussy, pull his hair, but Hwa will only slap your pussy roughly and aggressively and penetrate your anal with his fingers. "Mmm, my precious little angel, you will take everything that is given to you and you will take it until I myself decide that you have had enough."

In contrast to the aggressive, rough and almost wild pussy eating that Seonghwa always gives you, San treats your pussy like some kind of royal, almost divine thing and spends hours and hours licking and caressing it. Unlike Seonghwa, who fucks your hole with his long, slutty tongue until you squirt into his mouth, only to spit it all out on your cunt, San sticks out his kitty tongue and rubs your clit with his thumb, waiting for your juices to squirt onto his tongue, purring sweetly at the taste of your cunt and greedily swallowing everything you give him.

But there are also nights when they both end up in your bedroom, nights when San forces Seonghwa to watch him lick and fuck you. It irritates him so fucking much, the way you ride San's face while his kitty tongue tries to penetrate you as deep as possible, but he's too short and soft to bring you to orgasm by penetration.

Or the way you bounce on his thick cock, and even though your cunt stretches sweetly around his massive girth, Hwa knows he can fuck you better, all he has to do is insert the head of his cock into you and you'll squirt like a fountain for him. Or the way San rubs his cock on the sheets as he eagerly licks your pussy, and if it were him you'd be on top of him in a hot slutty 69 with your pussy rubbing against his nose and his tongue between your folds as you play with his balls and slurp his cock like candy.

And perhaps it would have been wiser for you to have chosen one of them before things got dangerous and deadly, but you wanted both, and you couldn't say no to either.

You were a fool to play with fire so carelessly, but as they say, let it burn.

[malfoysanctuary]

Sovereign of My Heart

Theodore Nott x Reader

Summary: He’s ruthless with words, unbothered by the world, and crowned with a superiority only he could wear like armor, but around you, Theodore Nott is all reckless devotion and quiet adoration. Loving him is like loving a storm, dangerous, all-consuming, but utterly, irrevocably beautiful.

There were few things Theodore Nott cared about in this world.

His black ink quill, sharpened like a dagger, moving lazily across parchment. The precise art of making someone cry from a single, sarcastic comment. And you.

Mostly you.

At first, it was subtle—the glances when he thought you weren’t looking, the way he gravitated toward the seat beside you even when the room was full. His friends teased him mercilessly, calling him whipped under their breath. Theo only answered them with a slow, impassive blink that said say another word and die.

Today was no different.

You sat cross-legged on the grass near the Black Lake, finishing an essay for Potions. Theo was sprawled beside you, an arm tucked behind his head, the other lazily twirling his wand between his fingers. His tie was undone, shirt slightly rumpled, and he wore the air of a king surveying a kingdom far beneath him.

“Tell me again why you think Felix Felicis is unethical?” you asked, chewing your lip thoughtfully.

Theo smirked, the slow, dangerous kind that always made your stomach flip. “Because it’s cheating, darling. You should know—I don't need luck to get what I want."

His gaze flicked to you pointedly. You pretended not to notice how his fingers stilled on his wand.

You shoved his shoulder lightly. "You're unbearable."

"And yet," he drawled, voice like molasses, "you’re still here. Fascinating."

You rolled your eyes, trying (and failing) not to smile. Theo noticed, of course. He always noticed. Every twitch of your lips, every glance, every heartbeat that stuttered in your chest because of him.

When you bent over your essay again, he leaned up on one elbow, studying you openly, shamelessly, as if you were something rare he was entitled to admire.

There was a sharp cry from across the lake—Pansy Parkinson, whining loudly at Draco about something. Theo’s eyes didn’t even flicker toward the sound.

Instead, he muttered, almost to himself, "Pathetic."

"Be nice," you teased, scribbling a line of notes.

"Why?" Theo said, deadpan. "They're exhausting. You, on the other hand—" He let his voice trail off deliberately, watching the way your cheeks pinked. "You're the only decent thing about this cesspool."

You lifted your head, laughing. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you’re naive if you think I'm joking," he said simply.

The thing about Theo wasn’t that he loved softly. He didn’t. He loved the way he did everything else—with deliberate, searing intensity. There was no hiding it, no masking it. It was in the way he stood too close, how his scathing remarks melted into almost reverent affection when they were aimed at you.

Theo loved shamelessly.

It was terrifying.

It was beautiful.

You packed your things as the sun dipped lower, golden streaks lighting up the lake. Theo watched you in that unbothered way of his, but you caught the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you.

Finally, he stood and offered a hand.

You took it without thinking.

His fingers closed around yours—long, calloused, unyielding—and for a second, the whole world faded into something simple and bright.

You stepped closer, so close you could see the faint freckles dusted across his sharp cheekbones, the careless tumble of dark hair over his forehead.

"You're staring," you murmured, breath catching.

"And?" he said, tilting his head like he dared you to call him out.

You shook your head fondly. Theo Nott had never cared about rules. He only cared about you.

Suddenly, his mouth curved in a slow, devastating grin—the one that always preceded some cutting comment that would destroy anyone else in his path.

"You're lucky you're pretty," he said smoothly. "Otherwise, I'd have crushed your spirit by now like I do everyone else's."

You laughed out loud, stepping into his chest without hesitation. His arms came around you immediately, fitting you against him like you were the one thing he'd protect in a world he otherwise found utterly worthless.

"You’re awful," you whispered into the soft cotton of his shirt.

He pressed a kiss into the crown of your head. "For everyone else," he murmured. "Never for you."

And that was the terrifying truth.

In a world Theo ruled with sharpened words and a superiority complex he wore like a second skin, you were the exception. You were the axis he spun on.

Everyone could see it—the way his eyes softened for you, the way he became almost reckless in his devotion. His protectiveness wasn't loud. It was brutal in its quietness.

Later that evening, you walked back to the castle, hand in hand. Several people stared—whispered.

Theo didn't blink.

He only lifted his chin higher, daring anyone to say a single thing.

No one did. They wouldn’t dare.

Because Theodore Nott didn’t fall for anyone. And everyone knew—he’d fallen for you so completely, he hadn’t even tried to catch himself.

[arkhambug]

JASON TODD yearns for you.

like actually, truly yearns.

it’s not lust, or having, or craving your skin or body — it’s needing. needing for your hand in his, your arms around his shoulders, his face in the crook of your neck. needing, so intense that the first time he can put a word to it he feels like a fucking character in a romance novel.

because who the hell yearns if they aren’t? and when the hell did he start to consider himself romantic enough to fucking yearn for you like a forlorn widow?

he doesn’t know. but he does.

fuck, he does.

jason yearns for the way you laugh, head tipped forward as you wheeze at the stupidest shit. he yearns for that look you give him when he says something out of pocket, upper lip curled in disgust and brows knitted together. it’s like he can see the words ‘he’s trying to give me an aneurism’ tattooed on your forehead.

he yearns for the way you sleep, clothes and covers a mess because you never stay still, and drool pooling in the corner of your lips. he yearns to swipe it away, to press the pad of his thumb to your chin and wipe at your skin so gently, and kiss you awake like a princess. he won’t wake you though. not with his silly romanticisms.

he yearns for the way you look in your ( his ) oversized shirts and your ratty pajamas you’ve had for way too long, the way your bonnet hides your hair and gives him the best view of your sleep flushed cheeks, the way you pick the crust from your eyes and blink up at him while you wobble into the kitchen before the sun is up.

he yearns for you on missions, and long patrols. yearns to just have you again. to be in your arms instead, to have his head on your tummy and his arms hooked around your back, pulling you so close as he breathes you in and settles his body between your thighs, because it’s his favorite way to fall asleep.

he yearns for your presence, for the damn sight of you. he yearns for your voice, and ‘yapping’, when he gets to hear every thought in that pretty head. he loves it. he yearns for your hand on his arm, for your thigh pressed against his while you sit, he yearns like a man starved.

and he is, starved of you, no matter how much he gets.

he would crawl into your ribs if he could, wedge himself into the most vulnerable part of you — deep in the cavities of your heart, behind your sternum and between your lungs, where he could feel that steady thrum of your pulse always, and know you’re alive, well, safe, his.

jason yearns for you. just yearns. he wants for you like it’s his religion, he needs for you like it’s devotional.

and you see it. you feel, in the way he keeps you close.

in the way he lets you touch him, baring the parts of himself that he can barely stand for you to caress and keen over because you like them so. he lets your fingernails scrape along his scalp, lets you press tender, gentle kisses to scars you know better than to ask about. he seeks it out.

in the way he takes care of you, always making sure you’ve eaten, offering to bring or make you food when you haven’t, always offering to do something for you, even if it’s just to keep you company while you start the laundry.

in the way he holds you, so tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. he presses every inch of himself to you that he can, like he wants to fuse the two of you together. you’d let him, if you could.

you feel it in the kisses he gives you, always somewhere you don’t expect — your eyelids, and the back of your neck, the shell of your ear when you’re trying to sleep, and the place between your shoulder blades — and his favorite, the palm of your hand, just like everytime you cradle his face.

it’s like he can’t bear you touching him so sweetly, without him touching you.

he always pulls your hand to his lips, eyes clamping shut like he’s trying to absorb you, fingers twisted with his as his lips press to your skin. every time.

and it’s like every kiss says something.

the apple of your cheek, ‘my heart’. the column of your throat, ‘my blood’. your shoulder, ‘my love’. the valley of your chest, ‘my breath’. the length of your arm, ‘my mercy’. the pulse point on your wrist, ‘my heaven’.

his favorite, your ring finger, the one he knows he’ll adorn one day, when you’re ready. ‘my life’.

jason peter todd yearns for you. his salvation, his saving, his grace, his life. for you.

A/N i am perpetuating the jason ‘yearning’ todd agenda one day at a time bitch. that man is NOT NONCHALANT in the goddamned slightest. he is the most loud and chalant man to ever exist and he loves HARD. like it’s his purpose bro

type of guy to loveeeee when you ask him dumbass shit like ‘would you put me in ur pocket’ because he can be like ‘yes!!!! yes i would!!!! take you everywhere with me!!!’

[777gojosgf]

thinking about dad!gojo and you enjoying a nice day at the pool to cool down from the summer heat.

with your thirteen-month-old baby sitting on your lap, protected from the sun by a parasol while you applied sunscreen to his face, satoru continued glancing at the two of you with a mischievous grin, and you knew exactly what he was up to.

because you enjoyed swimming so much and went to the pool on a daily basis, you made it necessary for your baby to begin swimming lessons when he was five months old. despite the fact that your husband's face was filled with dread, you realised it was better to be cautious than sorry.

funnily enough, he was a natural at it.

“he definitely has it from you,” satoru had murmured as he was perplexed at the baby quickly getting to know how to come back to the surface without freaking out and you only smirked confidently.

satoru kissed your forehead before lifting him up from your lap and carrying him on his shoulders. your eyes widened and you stood up from the bed, opening your lips to interject, but he pouted at you, making you groan in frustration.

"let me put sunscreen on you first, toru." you said it in a tone that permitted no dispute, and he mocked you before you applied the SPF 50 sunscreen on his face, shoulders, chest, and back before patting him to indicate that you were finished. the white cast of sunscreen made you laugh at him, and he merely rolled his eyes before stealing another kiss as he walked down the pool with the thirteen-month-old still on his shoulders.

let’s be real, with that white hair and sensitive crystal eyes he would be the first out of anyone to get heavily sunburnt.

the laughter of your infant drew your attention, and you couldn't help but follow them down into the pool, sitting on the edge with your legs in the water. satoru was tall enough to stroll into the pool's deepest portions, but for safety, he stayed at the shorter ends to play with you and his child.

he smiled, and you just sighed admiringly, unable to believe that you had finally found your own loving family, and you had no idea what you had done to earn any of this.

but that train of thought quickly ended by feeling a splash on your face, the culprit being none other than your devoted husband. but a tiny splash was added on by his mini version and you only laughed. “oh you little—“ you started but satoru jokingly defended him, putting himself in front of the baby.

“no. take me! he has so many years to come—“ he started to defend him with his annoying smirk that made you want to kiss off his face. “i’m not going to hurt him, idiot.” you pleaded your case while crossing your arms but your gaze never leaving him or your child.

you wish you could capture this moment forever.

“what about me?” he asked.

“not too sure, might just… you know?”

“oh, yeah?” he drawled before getting hold of your leg and swiftly dragging you into the pool. you hadn’t realized before the pressure of the water suddenly made you aware to come back up to the surface, and once you did you could only hear his laugh echoing.

followed by the giggles of your child, as well.

“can’t believe the two of you are ganging up on me,” you said dramatically while squeezing the cheeks of your baby who only stared up at you adoringly.

“nah, we’re not.” he shrugged nonchalantly and you narrowed your eyes at him.

he then placed the infant on the pool's edge, floaties around his waist and both arms, and a cap to keep him out of the sun. after he grabbed you around the waist with a gleam in his eyes that caused you to raise your brows.

“how about we play a little game?”

“a game?”

he nodded, “yeah. let’s see who can stay underwater the longest.”

your brows wrinkled in uncertainty, and you looked at the thirteen-month-old, who was staring at the two of you in wonder. probably attempting to make out any words.

"fine," you agreed reluctantly before he counted down to three, and the two of you immediately pushed yourselves into the water, opened your eyes and staring at him. you weren’t sure if the chlorine in your eyes influenced your perception, but you swear he was smirking at you underwater. however, you didn't have time to register before he pulled you in and kissed you.

he then quickly brought the two of you to the surface, allowing you to gasp for air before pulling you back in two moments later.

it felt fantastic.

however, the moment was cut short when your son blurted out a simple "blegh".

it was quiet for a time before you looked back at satoru, and the two of you burst out laughing, to which your child just giggled.

you wish this summer would never end.

©777gojosgf

[thekinslayed]

Finally A Targaryen

summary | The nature of your marriage with Aemond is shaken when you are caught kissing the gardener.

pairing | modern!aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI!, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, semi-arranged marriage, neglected wife, infidelity (it's one kiss lol), reader's into sweaty guys ?, jealousy, possessive aem, mention of drug use

wordcount | 3.5k

note | whoever can guess which satc episode this is based on gets a cookie and a kiss on the forehead... <3

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

The cicadas buzzed in the late midsummer haze, holding your hand as you wandered the gardens of Dragonstone Manor all alone. Your husband was on the tennis court with his brothers, as he always was most afternoons you’ve spent in his family home. Not that he cared much for what you busied yourself with, but you were sure to face the disapproving sharpness in his eye when he found out you were once again missing from the aperitif his mother was having on the veranda with the other ladies. Alicent was sweet, but gods, you couldn’t stand sitting through another bout of her re-telling of Targaryen history despite being married into the dragon’s den herself. You have heard more than enough of dragon lore, medieval inbreeding, and the many Aegons, including the current one who snuck bumps of snow before each family meal to keep his sanity. If you were any less careful, you would’ve given in to his invitation long ago and huddled next to him in the powder room sink for a line.

These people were rich, that was to be sure, of insurmountable wealth well before democracy had even been established. Your family, on the other hand, was new money. Your father had struck gold when he made his way up the corporate ladder of his real estate firm during his tenure, making himself the top dog with a key to a 12th-floor office and another to the secret world of the rich.

It was how you met Aemond. 

Walking through the step stones across the manicured gardens, you couldn’t help but sigh at the memory of your life before him. He had been so sweet at first, lovely enough that you couldn’t deny the inevitable push of fate into his arms. What a fool you had been, too starry-eyed over that unmistakable silver hair and the smooth timbre of his voice to realize it was not fate at all but the expert machinations of Otto Hightower and his desire to add your father’s firm to Valyria Corp.’s extensive belt of partners. Your friends warned you a million times— the perfect man didn’t exist. Your heart used to beat a little faster with every man who held the slightest potential of being the one, thinking him perfect until he wasn’t. Now your husband, he was just… there. Courteous enough to see you well taken care of but out of your reach when it really mattered. 

Love was a fallacy in this world. Who needs love when you can have so much more with enough power and money? Loyalty was an even bigger farce. Marriage simply served as a means for business, you’ve seen it now. It was no wonder that Helaena seemed more than happy to be without her husband, Cregan, on this summer getaway. Wolves don’t do well in the southern sun, she simply said when you asked about him, apparently stuck to his father’s firm in his hometown of Winterfell. Aegon and his wife, Mirella Lannister, were no image of a devoted marriage either, both were consistently caught with other big names by the press. They seemed to get along well, however, if the loud thumping from down the hall nightly was anything to go by.

Heavily occupied in your thoughts, you reached the edge of the multi-acre plot without realizing it. The estate overlooked a quiet river on the back end, though surrounded by an impressive topiary for privacy, with rose bushes littered all around. There was always something to work on in Dragonstone, always a leaf out of shape for the gardeners to trim and keep them busy. 

One of them took care of the roses. Young, strawberry-blond curls, and a well-built physique that glimmered with sweat under the blistering sun. Danny, you heard them call him. He was pretty, not in the sleek, highly tailored way that Aemond was, but his rugged edges held a charm that made any simple girl blush. You’d seen him throughout your stay, always so diligent at work in the gardens every time you spotted him on your walks. He would greet you with a respectful, dimpled smile as he asked about your day, and it would take effort to keep your composure as he wiped the sweat off his brow with the edge of his shirt.

There was no harm in it. You were simply… admiring. Just because you were now a married woman didn’t mean you couldn’t appreciate a fine-looking man when you saw him, it was objective. His arms were nicely rounded with definition, as was his back, muscles ripping beneath his damp tank. You wondered what else those hands could do, perhaps he could plow something else, something left neglected and wanting…

“Afternoon, ma’am.”

You jumped at the sudden low tone, finding yourself unknowingly staring like an idiot. Danny leaned his weight on his shovel, a crooked smile on his sweaty face that made something flutter deep within you.

“Hi,” you greeted awkwardly, cheeks warming up like a sudden heat wave had blazed the area. 

“All on your own again, ma’am?” he queried, naturally resuming his work while giving you his attention. You tried to play it cool by leaning on the tree right by him, though fidgeting with the sparkling stone on your ring finger. Shit, he wasn’t catching onto you, is he? What an embarrassment that would be, the boss’ new wife sneaking around for the gardener’s attention.

“Yes, just needed some air,” you responded as casually as you could, and Danny nodded in understanding. 

“That house can get stuffy, doesn’t it? As big as it is, nobody ever wants to stay there for long,” he said, slightly panting as he worked on the soil. Closer than you had been, you could smell him from where you stood. He had such an intoxicating scent about him, a mixture of sweat, musk, and something else you couldn’t put your finger on. It made you dizzy with a newfound heat. You wanted more of it. You wanted a taste of the salty tang of his sweat on your tongue against his hot skin.

What were you doing? You’re married! Okay, perhaps your sex life had become a little pedantic compared to when you were still on the market, but you had made a vow!

“I’m still getting to know my way around it, I’ll admit,” you chuckled. Danny’s smile widened at the sound, grabbing his shears to snip off a blooming rose and offering you a stem. “Oh! How pretty,” you smiled up at him, pressing the soft petals to your nose to inhale the sweet scent. 

“Forgive me, madam, for being too forward, but this doesn’t seem like your type of crowd,” he said, taking a bold step closer. Your brows slightly dipped in confusion, head tilting in question.

“What makes you say that?” you asked.

“You’re not like the rest of them rich folks. To anyone else, I’d be invisible.”

You looked up at Danny, words lost on your lips. You weren’t so different from him, both outsiders in the impenetrable world of the elite. The transition had not been so easy, not with a husband who felt like a stranger and a family who barely tolerated each other. It all overwhelmed you, and to be seen by a man like Danny…

You didn’t know what had gotten into you, but the next thing you knew, you were grabbing the collar of his shirt and smashing your lips against his from the overwhelming blossom in your tummy. He tasted salty and sweet, of hard work and grit. You were hungry, as was he, tongues dancing and gliding as he pressed you against the aged oak. 

Dinner was long, and cocktail hour even longer. Aegon and Aemond were bickering about who won the last round of tennis despite the youngest Daeron keeping score. You were nursing a pinot grigio as the conversation shifted to circle around the events of everyone else’s afternoon— Helaena and her new cradle of newly hatched creepy crawlies, Alicent’s ever-growing ire with the new neighbors and the scandal they brought with them. The lady of the house seemed to know everything, from the happenings in the staff room to whatever lay beyond the vines crawling to the next house over. What went around this place came back around the sitting room. The dry sweetness of the wine coated your tongue with every sip as you listened on quietly, mind still stuck in the gardens, under the grand oak with a certain warm blonde. Your lips still carried the salt of his sweat despite the rich lamb you had for supper. It was sinful, a taste of another man on your tongue while your husband sat on the opposite end of the couch.

“I’ve had quite the day myself,” Mirella spoke up, sharp blue eyes sweeping across the room. “I took a nice long swim in the morning, then I took a walk in the gardens in the afternoon—”

“Went hunting for your next feed?” Aemond snickered, earning a sarcastic smile from the lioness.

“Mh, yes, and after that I saw your lovely little wife kissing the gardener!” 

The heat rushed to your face at once, eyes widening as Mirella’s jaw dropped in mock surprise. You ducked your head in utter humiliation, awaiting the flurry of gasps of disbelief coming your way. It was silent, which seemed to be worse. The only sound was the chiming of the grand clock at the turn of the hour, broken by the sudden shrill of Aegon’s cackle.

You looked up at your in-law’s faces, finding little shock in their features but rather amusement, especially so from your husband’s mother. Though you didn’t dare to look in your husband’s direction, who suddenly turned rigid at the news. 

“Well, my dear, you are now finally a Targaryen,” she quipped, surprisingly nonchalant as she lifted her glass to be topped up. Your eyes flickered to Criston Cole, her closest personnel, who poured her wine in a flash, and everything started to click.

It was bizarre. Publicly outed in front of your in-laws yet met with no repercussions. In fact, it seemed you were now more welcome after such news. It should please you, make you feel closer to your new family, but Aemond was now colder than ever. When he was once mindful of getting you drinks at cocktail hour or making sure you were pleased with the garden access you had from the room you were staying in, he now actively avoided being alone with you. He indulged his brother in staying well past the appropriate hour and drank, sneaking back to your shared room only when you were asleep. It made things harder when neither one of you wanted to move into one of the spare rooms lest they wished to face his mother’s incessant prodding, the tail end of your summer turned into a sudden dance around not having to face each other. 

This was your life now, perhaps. An irreparable marriage. A distant husband. So much for the fairytale romance you prayed the gods for. 

With avoiding your husband came a shift in the daily routine you had established in Dragonstone Manor. You would usually be awake the moment you felt Aemond shift around to start the morning, the light sleeper that you were, but now you’ve taken to feign sleep until he left the room. Your arrival to breakfast would come a few minutes later than his, all nicely covered up with a smile towards the lady of the house.

On a particularly balmy morning, you took a nice jog around the property, narrowly avoiding your spouse, who was on his way to the steam room. You worked up a decent sweat, swiftly jumping into the shower right before breakfast. You took your time, thinking yourself wise, if you managed to avoid facing the family altogether. It was tiresome to keep up the persona you held in front of them. In some ways, you were glad you were getting more time to yourself with Aemond’s avoidance, a brief reprieve to drop your mask and loosen the tension in your shoulders.

Your little bubble of isolation burst when you found the man himself in the room when you exited the shower. You let out a small gasp in surprise, tightening your hold on the towel wrapped around your form when he turned to face you. It seemed your husband had been caught guard as well, the unmasked look of surprise on his handsome face at the sight of your undress. He composed himself in a blink, clearing his throat before turning to leave the room and shower in the other guest room instead.

“Are we never to speak anymore?” you spoke up, unable to stop the words from escaping your lips. Aemond stopped in his step, one hand on the doorknob and the other clutching the towel swung over his bare shoulder. 

“Is that how you want it?” he responded. You scoffed at his indifference, ire starting to grow restless in the state of your marriage. 

“Of course not,” you refuted. “But we have been living separate lives despite the fact you and I are married. I know you’re mad at me, husband.” 

Aemond was silent for a long minute, and it made your heart thump loudly you feared he would hear it. He turned to face you, his gaze dark and sharp like a dragon provoked. 

“You think it amuses me to hear my wife was kissing the fucking gardener, hm? In my own home, no less,” he said, his words slow and deep like a slithering snake. It should have you more scared than you were if it weren’t for the fiery frustration that made you bare your teeth back.

“I didn’t expect you to be bothered so much, seeing that seems to be the way all marriages work in this world,” you muttered, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. 

“What did you say?” he snapped.

“You don’t care about me, Aemond. There’s no need to start pretending now,” you said, keeping your chin lifted high as your husband approached with a menacing glint in his eye.

“You carry my name. I would not have my wife acting like some harlot,” he seethed, pointing an accusing finger in your face. If you had the courage, you would have slapped his hand away and perhaps another across his cheek for thinking so low of you. He had quite the gull to blame it all on you, not when he had kept his own wife an outsider.  

“Titles alone don't mean much. Haven’t we already established that?” you pointed out, turning to head to the closet when your husband grabbed you by the elbow to pull you back around. 

“Perhaps I should make my point clearer.” You were barely spared a moment to retort when Aemond’s lips smashed straight into yours, claiming in a bruising kiss. He tasted different than Danny, an addicting mix of tobacco and mint that kept you wanting more. His strong hands pulled you flush to his chest, the towel slowly slipping off from your bare body. You grounded yourself by gripping his shoulders, warm and damp from the steam room. 

He was all over you before you could gather your bearings. All the times you both had spent in the bedroom were respectful, mild even, but never like this. He had flung the towel off your body in one swipe, leaving you bare in front of him. You crossed your arms to cover yourself, but his firm grip kept you uncovered.

“Don’t be so shy now, it’s just me,” he smirked before dipping to capture your pert nipple into his mouth. Your sounds were shy, though growing in courage as your husband sucked on your tit and fondled the other. His large, warm palms explored every inch of your bareness, squeezing with a firmness that left your skin tingling. When he switched his attention to your other breast, his fingers slithered their way to your heart, trespassing your folds despite your attempt to squeeze them shut. “For a woman who hates being my wife, you sure are wet for me.”

You had to blame it on the prolonged lack of satisfaction, but the way he was caressing your folds and circling your clit was breaking your resolve with ease. You grabbed his nape to pull him back to your lips, kissing him with a plea for more. Desperation growing, your hand descended his chest to his shorts, palming his growing hardness.

“Please,” you mewled, slightly pouting up at your husband.

“Please, what, love? Tell me nicely, and I might give it to you,” he teased, shallowly dipping two fingers into your cunt before swiping them back out.

“I need you, husband, please,” you pleaded, eyes starting to well up in frustration. You peppered persuading kisses all over his jaw and neck when he let your hand slip past his shorts to grab hold of his cock, hot and stiff in your smaller palm. 

“Poor you,” he frowned in mocking before his lips returned to their natural state of a smirk as his fingers continued to work your dripping cunt up. Hope bloomed in your chest as he turned you around to face the bed frame, pressing on the small of your back to bend you over.

You braced your arms on the soft mattress as you waited, tuning into the rustling of his shorts being dropped. The anticipation burned in your chest, making you gasp when you felt something hot and blunt press against your folds. It swiped up and down your slit, gathering slick and teasing your pearl. It made you whine, hips wriggling back in impatience.

Behind you, your husband chuckled darkly. His warm palm ran down the length of your spine, squeezing your waist, before leaving a hard smack on your arse that lurched you forward on impact and made you yelp. Heat bloomed beneath your skin, his mark no doubt left on the imprint of his hand. 

“You know what that was for, don’t you?” he asked, his voice growing gravelly with a heated desire. You nodded, obedient and pliant, as you turned your head to look at him. His eyelid was heavy as he looked down at you, his hand lazily stroking his cock. You stared at it as though you were starved, craving it like none else you had wanted before.

Aemond would think himself kind to finally end your torment. He lined up his cockhead to your hole, pressing into your walls and burying himself to the hilt in one breath. It knocked the breath out of you as your husband rocked into you with vigor, his pace bruising and unforgiving from the start. You fisted the sheets to keep your balance, tits bouncing with every harsh slam. Soon enough, your arms gave out, and your face smushed into the soft mattress while Aemond grabbed hold of your hair. He forced your head to the side, where you faced the double doors leading out to the garden, covered only by the sheer curtains. Despite the hard jolts that left your view scrambled, you could see an outline of a figure in the gardens, the light shadows of a certain head of strawberry-blonde hair unmistakable, and you wondered if he could see the precarious position you were in.

“Look, it’s your little sweetheart,” Aemond cooed, holding you up by the elbows to speak in your ear. “Why don’t you show him how well your husband fucks you, hm? Let the whole fucking staff hear you.” His hand snaked down your front, rubbing your clit with urgent circles to barrel you straight to your end. Your back was arched against his chest, your moans reverberating against the centuries-old walls as you came— hard. Your thighs quivered with fatigue, knees buckling while he continued to ram into you to chase his end, holding you steady with a firm grip on your arms. You had started to see stars when Aemond came with a harsh groan, warmth spurting in your pulsating walls. 

You collapsed on the bed, breathless and broken in, while Aemond disappeared into the bathroom. As he returned with a warm towel to clean you up, you watched as the figure walked away from your view, leaving you alone. Something sparked in your chest when your husband softly caressed the harsh mark he had left on your rear, bending down to kiss it softly before placing another on your temple. You craned your head to meet his eye, and you let yourself hold out hope when you found him looking at you differently than before.

“Best get dressed; don’t want to keep them waiting,” Aemond said before turning back into the bathroom. In the silence of your isolation, with nothing but the faint sound of the shower keeping you company, you pondered on the aftermath. Others may call you foolish, but as you looked out to the perfect garden in your perfect husband’s perfect family home, perhaps you were still to find the perfect connection in your imperfect marriage. 

[teddybeartoji]

彡 NO GARDEN CAN BLOOM WITHOUT THE SUN

☆. contains: bf!satoru gojo x gn!reader; fluff fluff fluff!!!! they're in love!!!!!! satoru is the king of acts of service!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! wc: 1.5k

"c'mon, show me those chompers, baby!"

sat on the bathroom counter, you watch your boyfriend bare his fangs at you in the most adorable way. his eyes are pressed shut, his smile so wide that it's almost reaching his ears – he's showing how you should do it.

unable to contain the sleepy chuckles that bubble up your throat, satoru's eyes crack open. he's sleepy, too. but he's still here; he's still determined to make you happy, to make you feel good, to make you smile. he's determined to take care of you no matter what.

he ushers you with a laugh of his own, showing you the lump of toothpaste sitting on your new toothbrush.

(he bought you matching ones the other day. he's very proud of himself.)

(you love him.)

you can't say no to him. his free hand squeezes your waist, a sign that he's here and he's waiting. he's not being impatient, though – no, never that. he's just reassuring; skin on skin, he wants you to know he's never leaving.

to him it isn't dramatic to be thinking about his everlasting devotion while doing a menial task like this (if you can even call it that) – it's more than normal actually. he simply cannot stop; you're eating him from the inside and he's grateful.

you do as he says and clench your teeth together while pulling your lips back. you're sure you look a little silly but satoru couldn't disagree more.

"there we go! you look like a little tiger!" he leans in and brushes his nose against yours, making it scrunch up and that makes him giggle in turn. he feels giddy around you, he feels like he's in heaven.

he wets the toothbrush before bringing up to your mouth. he takes his hand from your hip and places it on your jaw instead, gently guiding your face up so he can see a little better.

bristles brush against your enamels and you peer at satoru. he looks awfully concentrated – he's cute like this. there's a small crease between his brows, his crystalline eyes glued to your canines as he watches your mouth fill with foam.

blindly, you play with the hem of his shirt; your fingers graze his marble skin and he shudders at the light touch. the fluorescent light coming from behind you illuminates his face and you waste no time in counting the freckles that adorn his skin. again. you've done it a thousand times before and you'll do it a thousand times more. they're your stars – his smile being the sun and his pretty blue eyes the equivalent of the moon in the sky. he's your guide during the day and the night, you'd be utterly lost without him.

he's your world.

satoru wipes the corner of your mouth, collecting some of the extra toothpaste that's threatening to trickle down your skin and smears it into his shirt, laughing loudly when you gasp at his antics. you smack his stomach and watch his head loll back with a dopey grin. his chest rumbles, hearty giggles bubbling up his throat. his adam's apple bobs before he lowers his head back down, his gaze meeting yours. he's so full of love, he just might burst.

"was gonna wash it anyway."

he looks proud of himself and you snort at his answer.

"yersuchachild."

the toothpaste in your mouth is making it hard to sound serious, your words coming out all muddled and slurred as you splutter at him. he doesn't care for your lecturing – his mind is filled with hearts and sparkles and rainbows and kittens and puppies and pastries and warm blankets and glitter and roses and the color pink and the color red and your eyes and everything else that could possibly be associated with the word love. he watches your mouth move and he sees flower petals falling, he watches you blink and he sees shooting stars, he watches you breathe and he feels at home.

he's your air.

you're a perfect match – you breathe him in and he makes a home inside your lungs. you keep him safe, you cradle him with your gentle hands and hide him from the cruel world. and he in turn takes care of your heart; he warms it, he tends to it like it's a garden. he waters and he weeds, he plants new seeds and he reaps what he has sowed with the softest smile in the world.

no garden can bloom without the sun.

satoru places the toothbrush in your mouth before yanking the dirty t-shirt off of his body. he raises his brows, seeking for praise. "better?"

you nod sleepily and the brush between your teeth bounces up and down, making satoru laugh again. you give him a smile and his breath hitches just a little. all foamy and pretty – he loves you so fucking much.

he goes back to his job, carefully brushing over your front teeth and then the sides. he gives your cheeks a squeeze, telling you to open up again and then he's leaning in so close that you almost choke on the paste in your mouth. a smirk tugs on his lips as he squints his eyes, glaring at your teeth like he's a proper dentist.

your fingers itch for him and you refuse to suffer when he's right there; you trace over the scars that cover his tummy, his whole body, and you hum. finally, you decide to just rest your hands on the waistband of his pyjamas – you need to be touching him, always and forever.

but the sleepiness is starting to take over; your eyes feel heavy and satoru doesn't miss your slow blinks. he speeds up his movements, whispering for you to show him your tongue. he quickly cleans it, intent on giving you his hundred percent.

when he deems that he's finally done, he takes the brush from your mouth and leans back, taking a good look at the masterpiece before him; half-asleep, mouth covered in toothpaste & content. he couldn't wish for anything else.

without giving you time to react, he lunges forward, pressing his plump lips against yours. he holds your cheeks like you're made out of glass and you grasp at his skin like he's about to fade away—

— but you won't break and he won't disappear.

seperating from him, you're met with the most bashful fucking smile in the world. his hands rest on his hips and he really couldn't be more proud of himself. frothy lips and sparkling eyes, you simply stare at him and just let the butterflies fill your stomach. there's no stopping them anyway.

"okay, c'mon, sleepyhead." satoru taps your thighs. "wash your mouth."

he comes up close again, his nose touching yours. "or do you want me to do that for you, too?"

he's a little cocky and he's a little smug and you think it's only fair; he has every right to be – you're wrapped around his finger like honey around a dipper. but alas, you plop off the counter and press yourself flush against him before turning around and facing the sink. he doesn't move, staying glued behind you like it's where he's meant to be.

(it is.)

his arms snake around your middle, patiently waiting for you to finish cleaning up. satoru sways his hips, gently, as if trying to lull you to sleep. he stares at you through the mirror, unable to tear his eyes from you. his own shirt drapes over your figure, soft skin peeking from under the collar, just waiting for him to press his lips against it. you feel like putty in his hold, like his own personal plushie and he has never been this excited to go to bed. he can't wait to sleep with you – to curl around you, to hug and kiss, to feel your heartbeat under his heavy head.

(every morning he wakes up already dreaming about spending the night with you again. you rest together, you heal together.)

you raise your head from the sink and satoru is already handing you a towel. you thank him with your eyes and dry yourself off. he rests his head on your shoulder and your fingers crawl between his messy white strands, you rub at his scalp and he closes his eyes. a purr reverberates through his body and then through yours and another smile makes it's way onto your face. it's inevitable; he just makes you so fucking happy.

hearts beating together, you stand there in your bathroom. it feels special, it is special – he always makes you feel like this, no matter where, no matter when; like a lock and a key, like a blanket and a pillow, like a piece of paper and a pen, like rain and thunder, like the ocean and the beach—

— like a ray of sunlight and a blooming flower.

+ hii my beloved satoru lovers just felt like tagging you guys bc... i felt like it<333 @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat @staryukis @mossmurdock @neptuneblue @lxnarphase @nkogneatho @cockaiine @kentophilia @sugulani @13curses @blankwashed i love you

[sarahsartistportfolio]

when we talk about knights like I completely agree with the whole "yes yes the protection, devotion, unwavering loyalty the immense bond and sexiness of I am your weapon use me as you see fit" is hot and good and all

but also consider in addition to that the unbelievable connection & love that is,

your knight always being there. He's always there around you, somewhere in your space. He has learned every little detail about you, weather that be intentionally or just from habit from being around you from sun up to sun down. He knows more about you than you do yourself sometimes. Its a love language. Like! Like!

Your knight is one of the first faces you see when you wake. Excluding your maids or ladies. He is the first man you see in the morning. He knows what you look like in your wrinkled chemise, hair a mess, fresh eye bags and cranky mood because you do not want to leave your comfy bed to entertain the snooty neighboring diplomats. He is one of the very rare people who see you without your heavy gowns and bare face. He sees you like this at the crack of dawn, and he still loves you, as he looks at you with adoration in his eyes and asks what your schedule looks like for the day.

and still, he is absolutely the last person you see before you sleep.(He makes sure of it) Even after your ladies have dressed you down and made you comfortable. He still finds you, checks up on you. Asks if your alright. As he cheekily kisses your hand and tells you to sleep soundly as "I'm right next door so get some rest my grace"

Your knight learns what time you wake up and how long it takes for you to fall asleep.

What wines and teas you prefer, as he watches you at a grand dinner ask the servants for your favorite.

He quickly learns to distinguish your handwriting(because what if someone tries to forage a letter to him saying its from his queen)

He learns how to touch you and much you like to be touched. He learns that it really makes you blush when you link arms with him so the teasing bastard keeps offering his arm to you just to see you flustered. He learns where to grab you and how much pressure to apply when he must pull you out of harms way. He must learn this. You're the crown. The one thing he's sworn his life to. If you flinch away from him, or don't trust him? If you don't feel safe around him? Then he is failing his job.

He learns what secretive, secluded spot you go to in the castle, to hide away from everyone when you want to be left alone. He knows where to find you when no one else can. But he never bothers you. When he sees the lonely distant look in your eyes, as you gaze out the window to your busying court below. He stands back, keeping himself unknown, watching you at a safe distance. He knows you need this time alone.

He learns how absolutely beautiful you look when genuinely happy and laughing. He watches you play another round of cards with your most trusted ladies, outside on a warm summer's day, surrounded by the wealth that the palace can afford, colorful blooming flowers and luxurious furniture. He tries to hold back a smile but fails, seeing you relaxed around your friends, no pressure of keeping up a facade for the court. Just hearing you freely laugh. He's thankful he's here to protect that.

He's also so so thankful that he's learned to pick up when your many suitors make you uncomfortable. The way your hand hesitates as another prince offers to dance with you. How you lean and press your body away from a distinguished war general bragging to you. How your polite and formal "No thank you" to the elderly king proposing you meet him at his chambers tonight, how your polite rejection hides the disgust and distain for this dance you must do. Your knight learns you must greet and entertain the proposals of these men. Or else you risk displeasing your family or coming off as inhospitably to a foreign nation.

But this means your poor knight also knows when you're completely at ease. So this means one day, when his majesty the queen, is having lunch with another prince, and your knight is standing a few feet away enough to give you privacy but still close enough to peer into your conversation. When he sees that your shoulders relax, and you giggle at one of the prince's little quips, and this time you keep all your focus on the other royal, instead of occasionally glancing over to your knight. Its then your precious knight feels anxiety building up in his chest. This time, he learns he just might lose you.

holy shit I got so side tracked with this one, it meant to just be a short blurb but I ended up fantasizing about my own princessXknight characters from Audrey The Bride of Prosperity.

[the-fiction-witch]

Forgive Me

Media - EPIC The Musical Saga Character - Prince Telemachus Of Ithaca Couple - Telemachus X Reader Reader - Y/n (Palace Handmaiden) Rating - 18+ Word Count - 1575

(Telemachus' Art by GIGI)

Telemachus walked through the vibrant palace gardens, he yearned for a moment of solitude amid the chaos that consumed his home. The air was full of the scent of blooming roses and jasmine, while the sun cast dappled shadows through the leaves of the ancient trees. He had left Argos, his loyal hound, to guard his mother’s chambers like a devoted sentinel. And he made sure the corridors were secured by the guards he trusted most. Though he was constantly uneasy when out of sight of the suitors he knew he had to take a moment even briefly just to clear his foggy mind.

As he strolled along the stone path, each step leading him farther from the tension of the palace, his restless mind began to find solace in a soft, lilting song carried on the breeze. The melody seemed almost ethereal, it weaved through the air like a delicate rope, to drag Telemachus in.

Without realizing it, a contented hum escaped his lips, and brought momentary silence to the storm of thoughts racing through his head. It felt as though the song, imbued with a kind of magic, had a soothing effect, if only for a fleeting moment.

Guided by this unseen force, Telemachus moved forward. The gentle song beckoned him onward.

Finally, he emerged into a small clearing, where the enchanting singer awaited him.

It was one of the garden falls, water tumbled from a statue that turned a vase down into a waiting pond surrounded by rocks, often the water from these falls was often used to water the gardens, and used by many servants to bathe if the palace baths were too crowded.

There he found the maiden, Y/n. She was one of his mother’s handmaidens, he’d often seen her helping to do his mother’s hair and other such things, He had often tried to strike up a conversation with her… but had always found himself unable to find anything to say to her beyond.

‘It uhh is a uhh… warm… warm day we’re having…’

But she stood barefoot on the rocks, leaning into the water to wash her hair. Her long hair was dark and heavy from all the water as she ran her hands through it singing softly to herself. Her figure was shrouded in the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the leaves.

Telemachus however didn’t want to be spotted and called out for potentially watching her. So he darted behind the plants hiding himself there for a moment. It was likely not the best idea… but it was the first one to arrive in his mind at the time.

Her song still made him feel warm and cosy, unable to make himself stop listening as she sang. He tried to catch another glance at her but as he poked his head out enough to see, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

Y/n tugged at the tie of her dress, she loosened it and tossed it off her shoulders, and the fabric settled on the grass. Her skin was exposed to the sun, water from her hair ran down her body, her breasts bounced slightly as the dress fell away, her thighs slightly open with her pussy on display.

Telemachus immediately gulped at the sight of her, unable to rip his eyes away. His heart began to race. His body grew tense. And his cock grew hard and perky making a tent of his robes below his waist.

She continued to sing, as she began to wash under the water. Her hands scrubbed across her body, cleaning away the sweat from the day.

His hands pulled hard on the hem of his robes desperately trying to resist his urge to touch himself as he watched her. A small whine escaping his lips,

As she washed, her body seemed to glitter in the water, her nipples hardened, and her pussy softly glistened.

Telemachus couldn’t resist any longer, and flicked up the cloth that concealed him. His hard cock stood up to attention, he wrapped his hand around himself and began to stroke barely even blinking not wanting to miss a single second of her. He tried desperately not to whine, or at least not to make any noise too loud to bring attention to himself. But as he got closer he found it impossible to stay quiet as he felt his orgasm aproch… “Ughh-” He whined,

Y/n gasped her head snapping fast in his direction making eye contact, her face red, her hands coming to conceal herself as best she could.

He considered just turning and bolting, she hadn’t seen him, she didn’t know it was him. But he feared just the sight she did see was enough for him to be discovered later. He forced his robe down trying to hide his still throbbing cock as he stepped into view. “I-I Forgive me… Y/n.” he pleaded,

“P-Prince Telemachus!” she gasped, “I- I’m sorry I-”

“Why are you apologizing?” He asked, “I- it was I who…” he trailed off as he came closer,

“What are you doing here, my prince?”

“I… I… I have no right to be here Y/n, I cannot justify what I’ve done. But you… you’re so beautiful, and I, I couldn’t help myself. I know it’s wrong but… could you forgive me?”

“You… You think I’m beautiful?” she blushed,

“Beyond the gods.” He nodded, “Y/n when I look at you, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, I know I shouldn’t have watched you, but I can’t hold back my feelings. In my mind… in my dreams I spend every night holding you in my arms and kissing your soft lips.” he explained, “Y/n I desire you beyond measure.”

She blushed hard and softly giggled, her hands moving behind her back allowing him to look, “I- I could never have imagined you’d have desired me.”

“Do… do you think, there is ever a chance you too might…” he trailed off again stepping closer,

Y/n giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders, her head tilting to the side invitingly, She happily rubbed her nose against his.

“O-Y/n…” Telemachus gasped as he all but fell into her, his arm wrapped around her waist his hand on her right hip, his other hand on the back of her head twisting his fingers into her wet hair. Bringing his lips to her own.

She happily kissed back tightening her hands around his neck and twisting her fingers into his hair as their kisses deepened.

He felt his cock throbbing between them growing more and more desperate with every kiss, but he knew he couldn’t hold back a single second. He pushed her down against the rocks,

Y/n’s back against the rocks, her hair falling into the water, with Telemachus settled between her thighs his clothes flicked up once more, the head of his cock pressing softly against her stomach as they pulled back from their kisses and took a gasp.

“Y/n… Please… Tell me you want this too?” He asked pressing small kisses to her neck,

“Yes, My Prince.” She cooed as she shifted her hips up moving her hand down to guide his cock down from her stomach to brush against her pussy lips,

He groaned and without hesitation thrust deep filling her in one stroke, “Ughhh! Y/n!” He moaned at the soft warmth of her pussy,

She threw her head back as she clenched around him, “Ahhh! Telemachus!” she moaned her hands settling on his stomach as his thrusts began.

“Ahhh… fuc-” He cursed getting faster and faster as he was close to the edge from his earlier touching, “Forgive me…I … I can’t Last-” he tried to speak but it was too late as the rush flooded through his body like a wave, curling his toes and making his eyes roll back. “Ughhhhhghhrrr…” he moaned animalistic, as his seed filled her.

Y/n gasped looking up at him, her body trembling from the sensation that now dripped out of her,

“Forgive me Y/n…” He gasped,

“There is no need to apologize,” she smiled up at him,

“I can hardly leave you like this,” he whispered against her neck, “My sweet girl,” He cooed his hand sliding down her body feeling her tremble below him, her body clenching and pulsing around his softened cock. He pulled out slowly and let his hand replace himself his fingers diving inside her, and his thumb gently brushing her clit,

She moaned pulling him down into a kiss, desperately squirming against him.

Telemachus sped his hand up, gliding in the moisture of her arousal that coated his fingers. Her moans fueled his every movement, Getting faster and faster.

Y/n broke their kiss and screamed as she threw her head back against the rocks, as she squirted down his hand and her body shook as she clenched around his fingers.

He moved his hand to slow and finally pulled away as he smiled smugly down at her.

“Th-Thank you, My prince.” she gasped,

“You have no need to thank me, Y/n.” He told her rubbing his nose on hers, “I have never felt so much pleasure before.”

“Me either.” she nodded,

“Humm… Would you… want to do so again?

“Very much Telemachus.” she nodded, “So long as you wish to…”

“Ohh. I wish too. Very very much.” he smirked,

“Perhaps tonight? Your chambers?” She suggested,

“Umm tonight, and every night to come, my sweet Y/n,” he whispered leaning down to kiss her once more.

[rednightmare18]

oh, fine. let's talk about sin.

This is a note about religion and KCD2—particularly how it applies to Hans & Henry’s relationship development.

It isn’t my intention to write the definitive post on this subject, and this is certainly not an academic summary, a Tumblr History Lesson, or a thesis statement on why you can’t write whatever the hell you please. But as much as I detest fandom discourse, I also dislike seeing my words misused as a bludgeon against fan writers, and so I am stepping in to provide what I hope will be some useful CliffsNotes to everyone.

Take them or leave them, they are here with the intention to help fic writers make (briefly) informed decisions about how to embark on their creative research. KCD2 spoilers under the cut. PSA: If I see you using this nastily to harass fanfic writers you don't like, I will be very upset with you.

The medieval Catholic Church's doctrines were not representative of a homogeneous, mythical One Medieval Worldview on everyday life—nor was the MCC a monolith of its own. It is important to differentiate the Catholic institution from “the average medieval person’s ideas about daily life.” A quick foray into documents and moral treatises written by church officials at the time will reveal that the clergy was also not a monolith, but a hierarchy of individuals with vastly different ideas and recommendations on how humans should live. We simply cannot stamp a single religious document, decree, or interpretation (that was successfully published and preserved for hundreds of years; the vast majority were not) as a one-size-fits-all primer on what your average village blacksmith thought about things. I would certainly bristle were a historian from 2800 to suggest my country’s government & preeminent religious institutions painted an accurate picture of my (or my neighbors’) moral opinions on every subject under the sun. I bet you would, too. Critically, this does not mean all the common people embraced same-sex romance and all the religious officials reviled it. Indeed, it means people are people and their opinions will differ based on their personal experience, environment, personality, and priorities. Christianity profoundly affected the medieval world and mentality in ways both conscious and unconscious, much as any major global religion does, but it does not and did not make Europe into a dystopian Christian hivemind that thoughtlessly parroted a single unified view of every topic under the sun.

Religious opposition vs. religious guilt. Remembering that “people are people,” it is likewise important to differentiate religious opposition from religious guilt. Male lovers, particularly those in a position of high status (who were expected to produce heirs), would certainly face opposition to their desire to fuck off into the woods and kiss their boyfriend forever. It would certainly not be prudent or safe for a minor lord like Hans Capon to openly flaunt his romantic love for his squire; religiosity-fueled accusations of sodomy were useful as political bludgeons to threaten enemies and de-legitimize rivals. Caution is required. However, I find it is also important to note that Hans and Henry seem to express no personal guilt over their love for each other, religious or otherwise. It is telling that they do not step back from their relationship after consummating it under duress; on the contrary, both of them immediately seem to take it for granted that they will continue sharing their lives without any further negotiation required, and admitting their romantic feelings for each other has changed little of this, save for bringing them closer and providing relief. It is also telling that if Henry chooses to confess to his dream-parents that his devotion to Hans is romantic in nature, they react with surprise, but do not lecture him about sin. (In fact, his mother immediately leaps to Henry’s defense after his father reacts with shock.) Henry himself expresses no grief to them beyond a vague acknowledgement that hearing this must be a surprise. This is important—Henry’s parents appear in his dreams as representations of Henry’s inner doubts, guilt, grief, and misgivings. They do not throw up any real opposition or disgust to his intention to “settle down” with Hans. (Which is frankly a bonkers thing for Henry to say in any sense.) Despite the opposition they face from their environment and the expectations of status placed upon them—and despite Hans’s anxiety about being forced into a betrothal and how this may frustrate his intention to spend every waking moment with Henry—Henry and Hans both seem to feel completely positive about consummating their romantic relationship. For all intents and purposes, they canonically provide each other with comfort, love, and certainty. Not a shred of guilt or self-hate bubbles up into the canon text where each other is concerned. (This isn’t to say you can’t add this element in your fanworks if you choose. I’m not your dream-Martin!) NOTE: There is one moment during The Kiss scene in which Henry shows clear inner conflict. After Hans initiates a kiss (that Henry visibly rushes to accept), Henry turns his face away from him briefly, which causes Hans to perceive rejection and scurry away. Henry's expression is visibly troubled before he turns to the door. I see a valid argument for interpreting this brief expression of distress as gut-reaction frustration or revulsion, either at himself or even to the physical kiss, but we don’t really have enough canon input to say for certain what causes this flash of doubt. In any case, when it’s gone, it’s gone. At least for the purposes of KCD2 where it left us. You can’t “break up” with Hans after this or back out of the romance; Henry has decided for himself that the only way to go is forward.

Everything’s the same—but different. Homophobia in the 1400s was a different beast from homophobia in the 2000s. I will not dive into this here because I've written about it elsewhere to share background research on my own monastery fic, and because the topic is far too large to summarize in a bullet-pointed list. Simply, the medieval world did not codify sex acts or romantic feelings as identity markers in the way we do; while sodomy was certainly a taboo, this was a classification of non-reproductive sex acts, not slang for “gay man.” We cannot, in essence, “backport” our contemporary homophobia into the Middle Ages; it doesn’t make sense. Similarly, we cannot backport our bizarre late-1900s+ anxiety about pregnancy termination into 1403, but if you think I'm going to dive into that here except by way of brief comparison, you are cuh-razy. Worth noting that taboo also does not mean alien... or secret. More on that below.

Normalcy, Secrecy, and Taboo. One thing KCD2 (and KCD1, to a lesser extent) does very well is dismiss the Victorianized pseudo-history that same-sex romance, sex, and affection were some sort of widely-kept secret from society that did not dawn upon people until the second half of the thousands. In KCD, no one is surprised or bewildered by stories, both fictional and local, of same-sex lovers. Yes, medieval people knew about gay sex and no, “discovering” that it exists would not have shocked them—because a taboo is not necessarily an unknown. While NPCs react with different shades of opinion to conversations about same-sex romance, the world does not treat this as alien; it wasn’t. It is discussed casually, albeit with some discretion depending on context and company. KCD2 even enables you to play a Henry who has had prior sexual experience with men (see the Black Bartosch interactions) and has already embraced his own same-sex attraction to the extent he can confidently, casually sexually advance on men.

The Elephant in the Room: Class. Remember that the class divide at hand provides as much—if not more—opposition than the religiosity. Feudalism itself was built into medieval Catholicism. I sometimes think KCD downplays the importance of class, especially in KCD1, as it allows Henry to openly speak to Hans in ways that are unthinkably inappropriate given the feudal consciousness of the time, with almost no punishment or reaction from those around them. Not just because these interactions might indeed arouse suspicions of same-sex romance, but because a commoner risks severe punishment (or death!) for putting his hands on a lord, interrupting him, and insulting him in public. (Yes, including a noble’s bastard, a designation which is more harmful than not in many ways.) That's not to say Hans himself would not allow Henry to speak to him in this way; it's clear he desperately enjoys the novelty of someone who speaks to him freely, even in the earliest hours of KCD1, before they are tightly bonded. But it is strange there is so little blowback or external punishment for Henry when he baps His Lordship upside the head and calls him a buffoon in front of a gaggle of His Lordship's soldiers, on the precipice of dangerous military action, with Captain Bernard no doubt on the verge of apoplexy nearby. For this reason more than any other, I would argue, Henry and Hans’s relationship spits in the face of feudal order—and it does so even without the romantic consummation.

That's enough of that now, Jesus. I hope someone finds this to be a helpful bullet-point summary and it facilitates a more confident venture into historical fiction research! So TLDR; regarding the fandom's current anxiety of, "Am I making the Sin of it all too big of a deal?" my ultimate answer is yes, but also no, for it deeply depends on the context and the creator's intention. Love you lady, buhbye.

[b1eedthefreak]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Love You Right

⌇daryl dixon x reader

summary⌇after a long week of stress, daryl needs to remind you how good you are

warnings⌇smut

word count⌇0.9k

a/n⌇hello daryl nation my deepest apologies for the lack of daryl smut plz take this is also wrote this while eating rice plz ignore any grammar mistakes okay love yall bai

You’d been tired all week.

Not just physically—emotionally. The kind of tired that clung to your bones and dragged behind your feet. You’d smiled through it, sure. Made dinner. Washed dishes. Patrolled the garden. But Daryl saw right through you.

He always did.

And tonight, he wasn’t gonna let it slide.

That’s why, when the sun set and the house fell quiet, he took your hand and led you to the bedroom without a word. Just soft fingers curling around yours, a kiss to your knuckles, and that look in his eyes like you hung the stars.

“Daryl?” you whispered as he shut the door, that soft click of finality making your heart flutter.

He turned back to you, eyes gentle. “Let me take care’a you tonight. Yeah?”

You swallowed thickly. Nodded.

And then you let him undress you slow.

Shirt first. Then your pants. Then everything else. He peeled each layer off like it meant something. Like he wanted to see you, not just your body, but you. Every inch of skin revealed got kissed. Touched. Praised.

“Oh baby,” he muttered, brushing his fingers along your waist. “Look at ya…”

You were already breathless.

Daryl never rushed. Not with you.

He got undressed too, taking his time, letting you watch. Letting you see the way his body reacted to you. The flush rising on his chest. The hardness between his legs. The way his eyes darkened every time your gaze swept over him.

When he finally pressed you down into the mattress, he didn’t hover. He settled on you. Skin to skin, mouth to mouth, heart to heart.

You wrapped your legs around him, arms slung around his shoulders, and sighed into his kiss.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded. “Better now.”

He kissed your jaw, your neck, your chest. “Good. Gonna make you feel real fuckin’ good, alright? Gonna remind ya what you are to me.”

You smiled through a shaky breath. “What am I?”

He looked up at you, eyes blue and burning. “Everything.”

And then he devoured you.

Tongue between your thighs, hands gripping your hips, his mouth moving slow and wet over your folds like he had nowhere else to be. He wasn’t doing this to get you ready—he was doing it to worship you. Like your pleasure was sacred.

“That’s it,” he muttered, licking slow up your slit. “Fuckin’ taste like heaven baby.”

You were already trembling, hands fisting the sheets, hips trying to stay still as he sucked your clit just right.

“D-Daryl—!”

He groaned into you. “Yeah baby, say my name again.”

And you did, moaning it like until your thighs were shaking and you were crying out his name, coming all over his mouth.

But he didn’t stop there.

He came back up, kissed your lips—still tasting you on his tongue—and whispered against your cheek, “Can I be inside you now, sweetheart? Wanna feel you ‘round me so bad.”

“Yes,” you breathed, “yes, please—Daryl—”

He lined himself up and pushed in slow, inch by inch, holding eye contact the entire time.

You gasped, arching up against him, and he shushed you with the softest kiss.

“That’s it, baby. That’s my girl. So good for me. So fuckin’ perfect.”

His hips met yours fully, and he just stayed there—buried deep, holding you close, stroking your hair.

You were tearing up again. He saw it.

He kissed your tears.

“Too much?” he asked, voice low and tender.

You shook your head, smiling through the emotion. “No. It’s just—no one’s ever—loved me like this.”

Daryl kissed you again. Longer this time. His nose brushed yours. His thumb wiped your tears.

“They didn’t fuckin’ deserve you,” he whispered. “But I do. And I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

And then he moved.

Slow. Grinding. Deep.

He made love to you like it was an act of devotion. Like you were a holy thing, and he was praying with every thrust.

You clung to him, whispering his name, and he answered you with a soft, “You’re mine. You hear me? Always mine.”

You nodded. “Always.”

He rocked into you harder, pressing your bodies together, his lips finding your neck, your shoulder, your chest.

“Gonna make you come again, baby. Wanna feel you squeeze me. Wanna hear those pretty fuckin’ sounds you make ‘f me.”

His hips snapped harder, dragging a whimper from your throat as you clenched around him, like you were trying to keep him there forever. His free hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back to kiss your mouth in a sloppy kiss, swallowing every moan.

You fumbled for his other hand, lacing your fingers together like an anchor. “I feel ya baby,” he panted against your lips. “Almost there, yeah?”** All you could do was nod, words lost to the coil in your gut.

Then he did it, one deep, thrust that had you seeing stars, your back arching as you fell apart. He followed with a groan, forehead pressed to your shoulder, his grip on your hand near painful as he spilled inside you.

Breathless, Daryl collapsed beside you, pulling you against his chest like he couldn’t bear an inch between you. His calloused thumb traced your hipbone, lazy and satisfied. “You’re perfect.” He muttered and held you closer.

You smiled and curled into him muttering something he couldn’t hear,

“I love you.”

[acid-ixx]

Ohhhhhhhmisggashoosghhh

I love everything about "before the bell rings"

Such masterpiece such peakness oh my goodkdasssdffrddf. Couldnt stop thinking abt it couldnt stop rereading it its ltrly currently 3:11 am rn i wasnt aware of the time all i know was that i was obsessively drawing this man with your story in my mind my god i couldnt stop giggling and blushing n i had to take few breaks n paces in my room to cool off

HOPE U ARENT TOO WEIRDED OUT

— related post ! (tw: a bit nsfw, non-con kissing)

OHMYGOD. OHMYGOD!!! user luffyadolover you are the gift that keeps on giving because WHAT THE HELL??? more than five sketches of this feral, horny man and HE'S SO HANDSOME ILYSM FOR THIS!!! i'm actually so down bad i had to stare at the last image for a few minutes because YOU DREW THE ENTIRE SCENE SO WELL.

i love the first image, you drew him so well, the slick-back hair and everything!?!? with him looking all so proud of himself when he chooses something for his spouse that they actually really like, as if he didn't just planned to ignore you or to simply hastily choose whichever looks the fanciest; that was the plan until his brain haywires just witnessing the absolute joy on your face every time he picks something right; imprinting the memory of your smile in his brain to the point he sees it every time he blinks— so now it's become his daily mission after falling for you to traverse each and every shopping site and malls in his batcave to ensure you only get the highest quality of gifts. mind you, he is a very dedicated man, bruce wayne doesn't give up so easily.

AND THE SECOND AND THIRD IMAGES TOO !!! with his mask on, you couldn't really tell just how obsessed he is, due to the blunt face he always has to wear, but the comparison of him without; with the stare that speaks of a million promises all dedicated to honoring and cherishing his beloved spouse. he doesn't need wedding vows when his eyes (always almost unexpressive, unable to fully show the full range of his emotions; vulnerable in the midst of worshipping his sleeping, little deity) already presents what your future life would like with him.

it doesn't matter if you're drooling, or butt-fuck naked. if i say he's remembering every small, incoherent detail about how you sleep, what position you sleep in, even the position you bury your head in the pillow, let that devotion cement in the very crevices of his mind and in every corner of his heart. it wouldn't matter anyways that you're sleeping alone, hugging a pillow (that should've been him) now, because soon, you'd be quickly migrated in his bed, in his arms, and you won't be getting out. he'd be too invested in the smell of your hair, the feel of the pudge in your stomach, and the seams of your clothing rubbing against his thighs to even allow you to let go.

AND GOD, THE SKETCH WHERE HE'S JUST LICKING THE SPIT AND ALL?!? my brain is malfunctioning, i'm going insane. this is my favorite fanart of yours so far, i'm so grateful for your existence because you've graced me 😭 i'm absolutely not going to deny the future accusations of me writing for debauched and absolutely feral and/or horny bruce wayne!!! trust me when i'm telling you that he's not only memorizing exterior parts of you, but bruce promises (it's actually just him justifying his actions) himself that he has to remember what the inside of your mouth feels like to fully and properly kiss you before your wedding date arrives, just to establish how much of an absolutely perfect husband he will be for you.

to make up for all his past mistakes of absolutely ignoring you, to ensure you that it's not you who's the problem— it's him and he has to fix it all. he has to guarantee that you won't even dare look at another man; even if it means watching you every night disguised as the bat, then coming home to the manor (your shared home, soon) by the time the sun breaks out of its sleepy stupor, just to dream about what it'd feel like pinning you willingly and taking you all for himself after your honeymoon— how could a man like him stop dreaming about his beloved spouse? how could he control his hands to stop lingering beneath his utility belt just to touch and pleasure his body the same way he wishes to worship yours?

the answer is: you don't. or rather, you couldn't.

so if you ever feel your lips becoming more and more sore every other night, and notice the trinkets from your desk and even undergarments from your closet now missing... well, you'll soon know who the culprit is...

a/n: no, i do not tolerate this behavior irl. once again, pls be aware guys that this is a yandere blog (and i've been writing content like this for years) and i'm bound to write more extreme concepts compared to this. the only element that never disappears from this is that i'm writing under the sub-"category" of soft yandere. that doesn't mean it doesn't stray away from the eventual dub-con/non-con.

once again, thank u so much for the dedication to send me so many good fanarts @luffyadolover 😭🥹, although i may not always reply quickly, i appreciate you and all the other fanartists who spend their time drawing inspired by my content. it's truly an honor, and in all my years of writing, you guys are one of the reason why i still continue to write <333

[kortac-sweetheart]

the heart thing makes sense but please elaborate anyways 🙏-simp anon

sure! anything for you sweetie

i think that for those that give you their own beating heart, guys specifically like nikto, ghost and keegan it stems from them lacking something in their lives.

ghost and keegan for the most part had terrible childhoods, with simon having a terribly dysfunctional family and keegan being a child soldier. they didn’t have anyone to really provide for them, so in their eyes, being able to provide anything for you now is how they show their love to you.

they would go to the ends of the earth to make sure that you’re comfortable, to provide for all your wants and needs because they never had their own met in their lives.

simon lives to see you happy and healthy, all soft and comfortable and warm around him. when at the end of the day you two find yourselves wrapped up in each other, under the warm duvet and you lay your head on his chest and look up adoringly at him, he remembers that you’re what he’s fighting for.

you look at him like he’s everything, like he hung every single twinkling star in the inky night sky and he never wants that look in your eyes to fade. so that’s why he’d do anything for you.

you want the shirt off his back? it’s yours.

you want someone else’s still beating heart? it’s delivered directly to you in his still bloodied hands.

you want his own heart?

he’d carve it out of his chest right in front of you.

as for keegan, when he was a part of the ghosts he’s always had that sort of, protective, caring role. it’s especially noticeable when you remember how he interacts with logan. always looking out for the youngest, and in this case that would be you.

he grew up without others really caring about him on a human level, that’s just the way it is when you’re a soldier, let alone a child soldier now doing spec-ops.

he takes care of others because he himself wanted to be taken care of, it’s him in a way projecting what he wanted when he was younger but it also brings him a sense of fulfillment knowing that he’s the one keeping you safe, happy and healthy.

it brings himself a sense of comfort to know that you’re well taken care of, because he cares— incredibly deeply about you, and it’s reassuring to know that he’s the one taking care of you. (just a little bit of a control freak, but it helps the both of you so…)

that’s why, if you asked for it, he would most certainly serve you his own heart. without question. if you needed it, you needed it, simple as. it’s as natural as the sky being blue or how the earth moves around the sun, it’s just how things are.

and as for nikto… do i really need to elaborate? oh might as well. you’re the light of his life and he would do anything to keep you happy. a mangled, beastly and broken man like him has no business being around someone as sweet as you, but you came to him— and he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. after all that’s happened to him, he’ll take any scrap of good fortune he can get, and with you?

he hit the jackpot.

he’ll do anything for you, he’ll sever his own arm and feed you it himself if you so desired it. but you never ask for much from him, instead you give and give and give him your love; spoiling him in it.

he deems it only right to return the favor tenfold.

you make his life feel like the sweetest of dreams, fluffy and warm and soft— and he wants to make it a reality for you. he’ll build the perfect life for you with his own hands, and if you required his beating heart for it then it’s offered to you without a second thought.

in turn, guys like johnny and gary provide because they were very well loved growing up. the spring of their love inside their soul overflowing constantly for you, their love for you fills their entire body and it makes them restless, wanting—no, needing to show you the true depths of their devotion.

the sheer magnitude of their love is overwhelming, little gestures and caresses don’t even scratch the surface of it. it’s not enough, nothing will ever be able to truly represent the magnitude of how much they love you until it’s well and truly beating in the palm of your hand.

(these guys can also veer heavily into the “give you someone else’s heart too” category, some poor sap might just turn into collateral damage when they try to carve their own heart out of their chest for you.)

the other guys, ones that give you other’s hearts like oni, konig, and krueger do it for the same reason.

because they’re being useful to you. their own hearts are tainted in their eyes, one way or another, their hearts don’t deserve to be caressed by your gentle palms, so they offer up others instead to mimic the feeling.

oni does it because he can’t offer up his own, family name tainted and ruined by his father and grandfather. though, the moment they perish and his family name is cleared, then it’s all yours. but until then, whatever it is you desire, it shall be handed to you swiftly, efficiently.

he carves out heart after heart to gift to you to show his devotion, he doesn’t tire of carrying out these missions as long as they’re for you.

but when that day comes that his lineage and name is cleansed, don’t be surprised if you see his own heart offered up to you instead.

konig offers up others because he doesn’t think that his own is worthy enough. he gifts you whatever out of some sort of desperation to make you stay. anything, everything gifted to you at your feet to make you happy. hell, he’ll even wrangle down the heavens if you desired it of him.

why would you ever want his measly heart when there are other countless precious items out there? it just doesn’t make sense that someone like you, an angel incarnate would want something like that from him.

but if you truly, truly wanted such a thing— then he’ll hand you the blade himself.

and krueger… i guess he’s like konig in a way where he feels like his own heart is lackluster. he’s a known schemer and liar, and so the best way to show you that he cares is to follow whatever you ask, happily.

he’ll reinforce the promise that his word is iron, will infallible in getting you whatever it is you desire. he feels like he has to prove himself to you… and to his ego. that yes, he does love you, and he’ll give you heart after heart after heart to show it.

he’s much like a cat in that way, constantly bringing gifts and love as a sign of his care.

but there’s an itch in the back of his mind. the ultimate way for him to show that he’s truthful in his devotion, is for you to have it in your hand. for you to to weigh his love filled heart against a feather, and for you to do to him as you see fit.

for velikan and horangi, it’s an instinctive thing. a primal feeling in their gut that tells them that in order to consider a hunt successful, they have to gift you a… souvenir of sorts from it. a reminder of his capabilities to care for you through actions (the hunt itself) and gifts (self explanatory).

they’re a little more casual about it than the other guys, but don’t let that fool you. they’re just as infatuated as any other man on this list. praise him highly for his devotion through service and gift and suddenly it’ll become a lot less casual, very, very quickly.