#{visage;; you are beautiful no matter what they say}

[prettyvenom-musings]

[controld3vil]

i'll hex you, i'll possess you

pairing(s): aegon ii targaryen x wife!reader, aemond "one eye" targaryen x reader (unrequited/one sided)

synopsis: Your husband is gone. He perished in whatever was left of the battle, seared flesh, and dragon’s tar. As unbearable as it was, you fight for his throne against his brother. Believing it is for his for the taking.

notes: mentions of s02ep05, i fr feel so bad for aegon :( also cw: hints of obsessed!aemond (bc he's insane :D)

In quite a haste, you sped past all the onlookers like flies. They were nonexistent in your peripherals, your attention was entirely up ahead to the King’s chambers, the Kingsguards who stood by. Your Grace, they would say before allowing you passage past their protection. You took a glimpse, here in the dressing room for the King. Your King.

“Your Grace!” The seamstress chirped, turning to greet your lovely smile. And your righteous presence everywhere you went. It affected all now that you were the face of King’s Landing. It’s a hefty duty, yes, however, it seemed many subjects were willing, if not encouraged, of your subsequent role as the consoling figure for the realm to look to.

In front of a tall mirror was Aegon, in full Valyrian armor. You’d guessed the armor was passed down through his ancestral line, ancient, and beautiful it was kept. All the plates fit him perfectly with little alterations to adjust. Yet absent of the signature helmet paired with it, his blonde hair lay just above his shoulders, gently. 

Ever so kind were your visage toward the King. You could feel the corners of your lips curve warmly at the sight of him. He was handsome and eager to appease the people of his kingdom. Though he may not be the first choice for Throne, you knew he was trying his best to uphold the responsibilities and burden those must bear. You would have to bear it as well if you were Queen. 

“Good morrow,” You breathed, flattening the wrinkles of your dress as an excuse to eye at Aegon, openly. There was nothing to hide, simply it was different from his normal attire. In armor, in all of your lifetime, you never had to experience warfare, for better or worse. 

“Ah, my lovely wife!” In exclamation, your husband turns to compliment your captivating smile as he gleams contentedly. He takes a few steps down from the small stairway from the miniature podium, while some of his personal Kingsguard can be heard snickering. Which you wholeheartedly ignored as your attention laid straight to your King’s beaming face. “Just who I wanted to see!”

“I must speak with you,” Through your expressed delightfulness, the tone of your voice is quickly replaced with a sour one. And it seemed to have caught the attention of the seamstress and others in the room as they all paused at your subtle notion of privacy. “Alone.” Only when you mention it, it’s as though they were a flock of birds, all fleeing from the chambers at once. A few clatters and suddenly the doors were quietly slammed shut with a whisper of a demand. 

However, your husband did not seem fazed at all. He merely shrugged, casually walking to fill a cup or two with wine. Yet a visible glower can be caught right after he steps off the podium and to the table of beverages. Sometimes his reaction to your urgency was comedic. The King was never one to take duties earnestly. It’s one of his eminent flaws that all of the townsfolk and servants knew of. His days by the Silk Roads were but a regular story. But now, he is a changed man, Aegon thinks. They’ve witnessed all of his mistakes and tourneys. He’s young and has never been as interested in duty as his siblings. And now suddenly, he was pulled onto the seat as King. And you would have to sit beside him and watch. As a graceful symbol yet mute on what to say on any matter. 

How horrendous was that? 

“What troubles you, my sweet?” The sound of liquid plops as all of the noise from the outside world becomes muffled. For the past few days, it has been the most chaotic and tragic period of your life. Not just for you and Aegon, but everyone in King’s Landing. Your son, Jaehaerys, was left for dead at the hands of a murderer and false ruler. Panic was running through the streets of Flea Bottom. People questioned the King’s cruel punishment of the rat catchers though Aegon did not care for their grief. 

To you, it was more than sadness. But anger and confusion, all of your pent-up emotions ever since living in King’s Landing have made you become this way. The Capital has changed you. To who you were as a person and figure of nobility. Now you were suddenly the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, yet only moments ago, you were the princess of the firstborn son of the King. You should have expected war to come between siblings over the throne, yet your father persisted that the marriage would’ve led to success. Having lost your child, your son, made the promise to communicate more to Aegon. To somehow seek solace in the empty void of your heart in whatever left the world had. 

“You named Ser Criston Cole your Hand…” You mumbled slowly, the last words faded out into thin air. Was he wrong to do so? You did not want to say. For the little you knew about the battle being played at hand, you knew Aegon’s impulsiveness would come to the cost of many. Especially of the Council when they have refused relentlessly his thoughts and suggestions. So perhaps this decision would cause more upbringing for the noblemen to bleat about. “Why?”

A muffled sound and then a snort comes out of his mouth as Aegon proceeds to sip his wine. As if not a care of the world or your concern over the matter. “And why does this concern you?” 

He does the courtesy to hand you your cup, as you clasped it eagerly to swallow whatever worry your heart must feel. The Queen Regent, Aegon’s brother, Aemond, and even Criston Cole, all look for you in the guidance you have over their King. You’ve yet to make it clear that you don’t control him like many others would consider to do. You’d think it's heartless to manipulate a man of his feelings, especially your husband. 

Eventually, you lay the cup down, trailing your finger around the outer details of the golden goblet. It’s glimmering through the sun, carefully designed with outlines of a dragon and flames that surround the jugular of the base of the cup. It curves and twists under your palm as you proceed to swirl the liquid inside and watch as a mini typhoon is formed. 

“Do you believe your decision on making him Hand was just?” You lift your gaze to be met with his bright purple eyes. It always seemed intense and vivid in color whenever his attention was on you. As if you were the only person that mattered in the room. And if not at this moment.

You looked ravishing, decorated in his house colors with pops of gold from the jewelry and headwear. You had no shame in exemplifying wealth because he would give you everything willingly. No matter the cost or debt, every piece of gold, and diamond was meant to be yours. He watches as your golden droplet earrings jingle when you shake your head, contemplating your next words. “Because I do not think that was the wisest decision to be made, husband.”

“And, care to explain why?” Like every little piece of his childhood, Aegon looks at every objective like a game. Though he looked like he was trying to resist your hesitancy for his new Hand, he was staring into space at the glorious jewels that make your figure and face pop out more. 

You urged, before meeting the King by the tableside where the pitcher lay. “He is a warrior, not a politician,” You set your goblet aside, to look your husband in the eye more closely. “He does not know the ways of the people, especially those who he surrounds himself with. He was born lowborn, making him more naive than aware of tellings.” 

Yes, you make great points, he would say if you did not have that adorable scowl on your face. Aegon would admit, he was getting drunk by the minute. And your presence did not help in his regard to be sober. Regardless, he does take account of your calls, more than most that surround himself with. Everyone at the Council is eager to spout their plans and news, it makes him deaf to the ear when they have nothing to contribute when he suggests something. Nevertheless, you at least are supportive of his thoughts. Despite your constructive nature, he appreciates and craves your attention. 

Your King hums, drowsily and that was when you knew his mind was somewhere else. You would admit, you too were becoming tipsy with alcohol. After the morning Council meeting, you rather have your head hung outside with ratcatchers at the mess of the Council. You glance at his attire once more and this time, he catches you. He sees you, the way your doe eyes wander up and down his figure. He rarely has a chance to wear dragon armor like this. 

“Distracted, are we?” His breath immediately inches away from yours. And the scent of strong alcohol stings. You’re so accustomed to it, that you’re surprised you would still rebuke the scent of it. Apart from that, the look Aegon gives you makes your heart weak. His smile is sluggish but pulls you in like a serpent in water. It’s alluring and hypnotizing, the way his focus wanders in all of you, and the same for him. You can’t help but wonder if the work of the armor was tricked. And you let your desires plunder when you trace his breastplate armor. Of the harsh outlines it’s supposed to represent dragon scales. It’s majestic and divine, fit for a king. 

Almost timidly, your husband giggles at your touch. He separates a stray hair from your cheek, allowing leeway more into your personal space. You can’t feel automatically embarrassed if someone were to barge in. Because anyone could, the seamstress, Kingsguard, or worse, his mother. 

“Wear that armor more often and perhaps you’ll receive more than indecent staring,” A mischievous grin forms as again another jingle of your golden jewelry. Gods, you’re enticing and coy. Had he mentioned that? More than once. 

The first time you were at Court, it was a spur of surprise. Not only had you arrived with Prince Aemond unannounced, but Aegon encouraged it. You would suspect the disapproving faces of the men, especially coming from the King’s Hand and grandsire. How he ploys and plots with every citizen of King’s Landing to do his bidding. To save the Realm, of course, more to have the most influence in the city. You were aware of what he thinks of you. An obedient and dainty princess. The Queen and wife to the King should have no right to speak of politics. 

And yet here you were. 

“You do not have a seat in this Council,” Queen Regent, Alicent urges, gazing at her second son with slight apprehension. In doubt, she feels a quick quiver of fear the moment Aemond strides past the Council table. When it came to you, Alicent could only muster a poor glance. The one-eyed prince proceeds towards the map of Westeros that stands beside the King. He strides in confidence, abruptly ignoring every piercing stare bestowed on him. Other than him, you reached towards the seat at the opposing side of your King, hand delicately trailing down the handles of the chair.

“Aemond is my closest blood and our strongest sword. I welcome him,” Aegon lay unfazed at the subtle shocked expressions on everyone’s faces. “As for my wife, I think it should be customary for her to be by my side even in Council. As my father has allowed you to do for him, remember mother?” A playful grin, all-knowing of his lightheartedness, and carelessness of what others thought of his decisions. Surely his mother would be the most understanding, bestowing the same position many years ago when King Viserys was dealt ill and immobile. Shouldn’t the Queen beside her King as should they in every instance? 

Alicent is silent in her displeasure. There was no reason to refute the King’s wishes and sometimes made you appreciative of Aegon’s power and status. Being King was a risky position however it offered you more freedom and the ability to speak your mind more often than not. Your husband was the cause of this leverage for the most part. You expected the Queen Dowager to give you any kind of sign of comfort except there was none. Only but a forgotten thought and you were dismissed. 

It fills you with dismay, a small black hole for where her approval was meant to be. For the last few days, you’d only wished for Alicent’s consoling eyes.

“We should send troops marching to Harrehal, the Riverlands have the largest force.” Aemond waves his hand over where the location of Riverrun is plastered on the wall. It’s curved in cursive lettering, surrounding soft green fields, most notably of their Southern lands, which was an inhabited place of divided houses and discourse. The largest force, it had many issues of compromises and its lordship. “With them, Rhaenyra’s forces would be left vulnerable on land.”

The accordance of hums coaxed the second son with assurance. A sense of pride if you will, knowing how much more skilled and knowable he was than his brother. But the Hand was quick to question his methods. 

“And what of the small Houses of Riverrun? The Brackens and Blackwoods have been fighting each other for centuries. They would never work together as one,” Otto points out and it brings more skepticism and worry to the other Councilmen. Alliances with the Southerners were awkward. They do not know when or where to stop the fight. And it has become extremely bothersome at the time of war. The Bracken and Blackwoods were examples of that. They proceeded with the war more for themselves and would kill hundreds of their men if it meant to end their rivalry before the war even began. 

“We should negotiate with smaller Houses beyond the River lands then,” Your lips shudder slightly when the immediate eyes turn to you. Even your husband stares at you in astonishment and curiosity the same. Alicent looks at you warily. And Aemond, all too mysterious, holds a neutral look. “Would it not help Ser Criston Cole secure more of the surrounding Houses towards their larger forces? Gaining allies along the way to Riverrun would only add more to our numbers,”

“And in truth, give us a better advantage to overruling Riverrun altogether?” A devilish grin was on Aegon’s face at your suggestion. Your advice seemed promising and seemed risky but it was the most practical. King’s Landing had more advantage on land than the sea or sky, therefore it was evident in their leverage over the smaller Houses close to Riverrun. 

You tilt your head in amusement, all while lowering yourself to sit down. Yes, even though you had no experience in politics or war, you listened. You had ears whenever you managed to walk past one of their meetings. It should be frowned upon but you did not care. You wanted to have more say in protecting your family and House. Most things had been provided for you at an early age. You were a princess with a wealthy father, negotiations were your family’s specialty. You learned early on how to enunciate and please people with the way of your words. And here, you simply voiced what you believed was the safest way to Riverrun. Despite all the demeanors, none of the other Councilmen had anything else to say or disprove of your plans. 

“Good! Then it’s settled then,” The king rises, as well as everyone else who feels startled at his shifted demeanor. “Then Ser Criston Cole should prepare some men for the long journey ahead of us by dawn!” It was then you felt some sort of pride that would solidify your position at the Council. As long as you hold a strong mind, should your advice become helpful towards the men, you’d hoped they would see your presence as a blessing. 

In some midst of it all or perhaps the end, Aemond is quiet. He’s curious and admires you for everything you strive for. Many people would assume he despises you for taking the initiative to aid his king. But he does not believe in that no, you’re a delicate thing and would never be selfish on greed. Merely he can appreciate your ambitious strides from afar. The way you act around the people, the Council, and his mother makes him believe you were born into the role of Queen. You care for your subjects and think of what’s best for them. You do your best to stay by your king’s side even though he lacks the mind for it. 

Perhaps maybe, in some cases, he should’ve had you. 

The words struck right out of his head just when everyone was dismissed. While the nobleman rushes out of the council room, he delays his leave momentarily to catch a glimpse of you. You define the example of his House’s wealth, always proud to dress in colors of black and crimson red as if it was your second skin. However you do not forget about your own House colors, you embrace it all together with his own and it makes him wonder what kind of beauty like yourself can be persuaded by the likes of his brother. You were quick-witted, amusing, and altogether undeserving of Aegon’s love. 

You do not immediately flee the room as his mother or Ser Criston Cole had done. Instead, you slowly rise from your seat and make your way to your husband, eagerly. Aegon sits comfortably in his golden chair, smug with loving eyes at your figure. He could not help but eye at you openly even with his Kingsguard standing beside him. 

“Aemond, may we have the room?” He hears his older brother say. It does not take a blind man to know the following events as the one-eyed prince simply tilts his head in your direction. Before storming out of the room and the slam of the doors. His footsteps clank against the cold cobblestone pavement as he makes his way to his room. But all he could think about was your lively laughter as he disappeared from the scene. 

The day after Cole’s troops arrived back at King’s Landing, you felt a string of worry crawling down your spine. As you pace across your bedroom, you fiddle with the ends of your loose hair to solace the anxiety you feel in your stomach. The pit was too unbearable as more men would be escorted out towards Rook’s Rest. After Aegon removed Otto Hightower as Hand, Criston Cole became the primary candidate for the position. You voiced your concerns before but Aegon had yet to change his decisions on your advice.

Now rumors have spread that by the time Cole invades Rook’s Rest, Aemond would be by his side to counter whatever attack Rhaenyra plans to defend her councilman. It would risk losing one dragon, the biggest and largest female beast you’d seen. Doubt fills your mind when you try to shake your worries away. You shook your hands feverishly and swatted away the sweat building up against your palms. You must speak to Aemond. You should warn him of the consequences of this act. 

You found the prince outside of the castle. Vhagar resides in a shallow space close to the gateways to the city and is attentively monitored for her whereabouts. Very few dragon keepers watch over the powerful beast for her dangerous nature and size. As a cart, full of sheep was being carried by horses, you looked in awe at the amount of necessity the castle must provide for their dragons now. Surely it would impact the people’s living and cost. It worries you how chaotic and unlawful the palace seemed to behave in times of war. Even though you find yourself wanting to question Aemond’s intentions of helping Cole this way. 

Your words settle like a soothing wave in his ears. “Prince Aemond,” And when the one-eyed prince spots you, holding the reins of your horse with a steady hand, he’s not afraid to show his approval of your presence. The colors you wear today are regarded as wealth and beauty. The golden linen stretches along the cloth of obsidian, representative of his House, your House. The gown expands upon your collarbone, allowing the silver necklace you have on to become the ire of his attention. It entices him, brings him into your line of view. Clear cut diamonds you had on your earlobes, they jingle at the slightest movement you make, as you make your way towards him with ease. 

“Your Grace,” He prompts, politely. He is a plain canvas for you to paint over, to inspect over. You should not be afraid of his presence because he behaves well under yours. The prince regent eyes you down carefully and you’re vaguely reminded of the day before, the two of you entered the Council room.

“How was your ride with Vhagar?” You tenderly incite, head tilting towards his beast. Vhagar sits lazily with her entire body blended into the environment. Her muddy green scales combine with the grassy interior. The dragon pits were deemed too small for her size. And more so claustrophobic for a creature of her caliber, as a champion of many wars and destruction, Vhagar is rather docile for being the largest dragon. 

He hums before easily answering. “The morrow dew is not something to be missed during this time. Vhagar could sense it, and the warm breeze is sure to come sooner for summer,” He crossed his arms behind his back as if analyzing your every breath as you walked in irregular patterns, trailing along where his dragon resides. Your attention was not fully on him. No, not that he wouldn’t mind. But it was ignorant on your part to ignore him so easily. “Now save the rest of this nonsense for supper or shall I ask what were your real intentions for coming here? Though I welcome it,” 

You catch onto his coarse tone. Aemond dislikes those who do not take him seriously, like his brother. And you are aware of his estranged heart. You give him a look of consideration. It was the look of someone who had the upper hand. You knew he was becoming impatient with your meddling. 

“What are your plans with Criston Cole going to Rook’s Rest?” Your figure fully faces him now as you cup your hands together modestly. Surely the prince of the realm should respect the Queen’s uncertainties when he meets with the King’s Hand behind his back. A sliver of dread falls on the blonde prince as you take a step closer. “Consoling with the Hand without the King’s presence is extremely demeaning, my prince. Surely you have a right reason to go behind his back,” 

He takes a step forward, as Aemond’s eye moves back and forth from you. “We have a plan,” He is recursive in his thoughts and manners. Yet under your eyes, he feels utterly weak and broken, as if you have put a spell on him. “It is best if the King does not intervene.”

 Shaking your head disapprovingly, you fake disappointment. “Then what do you plan to do?” The longer it went on, the more you could feel his blood rising at the way you glanced and teased at his exploits. “As I, the Queen should know.”

“You need not,” The second son grunts, moving away to leave whatever conversation you were trying to muster with him. You intended to snuff out his plans with Criston Cole and expose them to your King's husband. Your King husband. What would he know of battles and formation? He knew better strategy than him yet you still side with Aegon with his pathetic whims on the townsfolk. 

Unsatisfied, you shot a disapproving grin. “I know you intend on attacking Rook’s Rest as a surprise, why else would you go with Cole?” You heard his mudded footsteps stop momentarily as you continued. “My question to it is, what are you trying to prove out of this act of disloyalty?” It flicks a trigger in him. A quick flash of anger, jealousy, and disgust, all coiled into one hole that explodes. 

“I intend to prove I am the better fit as heir,” His tone is sharp and alert as he stomps back to you with a violent gaze. His one good remaining eye, unharmed and uncut, shoots daggers at your stern face. A small part of you thinks he is handsome. The way you can rile him within seconds gives you a sense of joy and satisfaction that quenches whatever annoyance you had of him before.

“There is no denying that,” Your lips agape still at how much you were able to pry out of Aemond. However, there was one detail you needed to remind him of. “But you fail to recognize that Aegon still has an heir, Maegor.” With that, you close your mouth to form a thin line as you stand more confidently against the prince’s deadly stare. “And as Queen, I hope you do not try to cross your King’s benevolent trust with your anger.” 

It was his turn to remain there motionless. The one-eyed prince repeats your words over and over again. He contemplates them long and hard, glaring at the ground, at where you stood, close to his breath and space. But all of his emotional desires could be examples of an ill temper. You twist and turn his head like a puppeteer to a helpless marionette. And his strings had long sprung and trapped him in an immobile place.

He leaves without a word.

The battle was over. But the war continued. You became increasingly paranoid as no word from Cole’s army of Aegon’s wellbeing. You heard unreliable news. This and that but you wanted the real thing. The truth from a real member who had witnessed the battle at Rook’s Rest. As you twist the ring on your finger, you glance towards the rising crowd in the city. There were so many citizens.  They succeeded and followed like colonies of ants. 

Your anguish was reassured when the sight of the King’s army appeared. Shouts and screams returned you from your thoughts as hundreds of men walked and rode on horseback. Your lively expression did not last long, only to falter when meant with their solemn faces. What a grim battle it must’ve been.

“All hail King Aegon! Who went against and slain the traitor, Rhaenys, and her dragon, Meleys!” Cole exclaims in a harsh and undeserving undertone. From where you stood, on the high mounts of the castle, you saw the horrors of what they’ve done to the traitors. A severed head of the Red Queen, without her rider. Her flesh was torn and burnt. Charred from the attacks of another dragon, you did not believe Aegon had done so. You had doubts and Criston’s indifferent frown proved your intuition. 

Alicent was by the patio where you spied on the citizens of King’s Landing. She observes and feels a familiar dread from the aftermath she has yet to witness for herself. You have taken the position of Queen and in turn, must understand the order of things. Simply because she had a feeling that things did not seem as they were predicted by the townsfolk. 

When the wooden carriage of your husband is delivered to your bed chambers, everyone storms aside for the guards to set it on the floor. You arrived shortly after, nails and teeth clenched in fear as your mother-in-law appeared beside you with the same fixation. And somewhere else, your brother-in-law, Aemond carefully watches your scared position. The lid lifts and the soldiers hold onto the emergency bed that protects their King. In a swift motion, they lift and allow the body to hover over your shared bed.

In patience and precision, Maester Orywle walks into the chambers with several other maesters under his wing to begin a procedure and analysis of his injured body. The room is quickly transformed into a medical room, with various tools and gadgets displayed for the maesters disposal. You had little clue what they were doing, worried about your husband’s awakened state. 

“How is he?” You stumbled by the foot of the bed, where the other maesters scurry to give off Maester Orwyle a scalpel. Gods, the wounds he had mustered. You felt terrified and rightfully so. This could be the last time you see your husband, alive and breathing. “Is he awake?”

“I’m not sure, Your Grace,” Maester Orwlye replies with adequate patience. Knowing the panic and hysteria you must feel for your king, your husband, he pities in your state. You should not deserve such sorrow. “But I must be given time to work on his fatal wounds. Whether he lives or not will be confirmed afterward.” His unflinching face softens when glances at one of Aegon’s personal Kingsguard to escort you outside. The knight nods and walks forward to excuse himself before coming forward.

“My apologies, Your Grace,”

Yet you did not want to leave. Your palms felt hot and guilt-ridden with the idea of leaving Aegon alone to suffer. You urge, taking a step forward for only Maester Orwyle to hear. “How long can you be sure he will survive?” It’s so hushed with desperation in your voice. But the maester could only respond with a sorrowful shake. It breaks your heart wholly, to know not even the best medical professionals had a clear understanding or answer to their King’s expectancy. 

As you feel pathetic tears, ready to fall, the Queen Regent rushes to take hold of your forearm. She drags your pitiful self out of the chambers. The bodies that remained stepped aside for you and Alicent to leave swiftly. A quick flash of silver and black vanishes from your peripherals, but you cannot process anything that is happening anymore. 

The syllables of your name ring against your ears as the Queen Regent tries to bring you back to her. “My dear, please focus on me.” Delicate fingers drape a hold of your jaw, firmly. They smooth over the apples of your cheeks, smoothly and soothingly like a gesture a mother would do for their children. “You need to stand strong for Aegon and yourself. Your children, think of Jaehaera and Meagor! Pray to the gods for his health.” 

With that, you took a deep breath. 

Aemond was avoidant to the whole ordeal. No one besides Criston Cole was there when he found his brother’s scorched body. Alongside his dragon, Sunfrye, it looked as though he was fighting for his last breath. Aemond would’ve taken that chance to send him to eternal sleep if not for Cole’s arrival. A pity for him.

As he watches the scene before him, your grief-stricken features are what caused the most pain. You resembled a tragic painting, so angelic it’s saddening to see you this way. Aemond could’ve done it. He could have killed his brother and taken the glory of killing Meleys. Despite that, he did not and stormed from the scene. Now left in the shadows of what’s to come, he numbly waits for the maester’s work to be done with. The Council meeting will begin shortly. After Aegon’s procedure and Maester Orywle, official confirmation of whether he would live or not would determine whether he would become the true heir or not. 

This was what he wanted, yes? 

Except, everything was bleak now. All the colors he witnessed were suddenly wiped; now all he saw was black and white. Your tragic face comes into mind, along with your fragile sniffles and tears. Gods, he wanted to comfort your sweet little heart. Yet knowing he was the cause of it, made Aemond strangely more devoted to you. If Aegon does not survive, you are bound to be a widow. Your youngest child, Meagor was still but a babe, unfit and too young to understand what an heir was. Therefore he would be the rightful option if all else failed. He would rule in the King’s stead. 

That was what the one-eyed prince considered when he stepped through the doors to begin the Council. The King’s chair was empty as expected, looking lonely and authoritative without its ruler. In the same sense, on the opposite side, you sat soberly with nothing but a blank look. You wore cool-toned colors this morning. It reflected much of what you must be feeling. 

Grief, misery, and blame.  Even in this poor state, he still considers you attractive and alluring. It’s a shame you looked dejected and lifeless despite all your energy and might to stay awake. Your hair was even braided in a simpler style. Knowing you always had a knack for extraverted taste, Aemond takes in your appearance profoundly. Because perhaps, everyone in the Council can understand the emphasis on the wife of the King. As they eagerly await Maester Orwyle’s results, they all gaze at your seat for any kind of solace. 

He takes the chair to your left and sits. While the Grand Maester begins to explain Aegon’s conditions. The longer he spewed, the more you felt your heavy heart fall deeper into your chest. How would the realm react now? Their king suddenly struck and immobile to be by their side. He had defeated Rhaenys in battle however now suffered in a long-inducing coma just as his father did. Who would rule in his absence? It only made sense in your mind but you did not make it become a reality. 

“But he is very much alive, Your Grace,” Maester Orywle gives an earnest smile to the Queen Mother as she exhales with the utmost relief. “Though he will need time to recover, I do not think he will ever be the same.” 

An unfavorable grunt from Aemond brings attention from you and Cole. “So he is unable to leave his chambers.”

“I’m afraid not,” 

“Then we must choose who is to rule in his stead,” Lord Wylde speaks of the obvious, sparing everyone a momentary glance. He clears his throat and rubs his beard, nervously.

“If anyone should come in Aegon’s stead, it is his wife,” Alicent jabs, shooting quick assertiveness when she presses her crossed palms onto the table. Your name leaves her lips as a clear sign of hope. “She was the closest companion to the King and has been since this war started. It is only right for her to continue her husband’s intentions and plans.” 

“And what plans did the King have?” A pompous statement coming from her second son, which surprised you as well. Aemond was known for his restrained nature however it seems as days passed, he was slowly losing his grip on his sanity. “I am the closest heir the King has. Would it not be I who rules in his stead?” In the turn of the tides, the room is divided upon their suggestions. You can tell by the wary looks the lords hold with each other. However, you have been grateful for Alicent’s support regardless of the cold shoulder she has given you previously. 

“You are not fit, Prince Aemond,” Your fingers slide and take hold of the marble ball in front of you. The weight of the object pleasantly gives you a boost of poise to look him in his one good remaining eye. “The King’s line is still secured for my son, Meagor will become the next heir. But he is young so for the time being, I am naturally the next in line to come to his stead. As his wife and Queen, I should have a say as well.” 

It’s what Aegon would’ve wanted.

[komaniyaexpress]

— is this .. me?! .. ♪

sagau — they find a piece of artwork made by the creator; of .. them.

— featuring furina, wanderer, freminet, and neuvillette .. ♪

cw. none wc. 200-400 ea.

furina

it goes without saying .. furina is ecstatic. i mean.. why wouldn’t she be? she wouldn’t make this known, however, because “of course you’re going to wish to capture my enthralling beauty on paper — it’s only fair when faced with such divine radiance!” inside.. she’s a mess. her widened eyes flit over every tiny detail, every little stroke of the pen or paintbrush. “enthralling beauty”, she says, “divine radiance”, she says — but is she truly talking about herself or the way you interpreted her? never in all the centuries she’d been alive would she admit this, but she couldn’t help but feel as if you had made her look much more ethereal than she truly was. she does make it known that she likes it, though. when you turn away from her and murmur something about how you’re not the most proud of this particular piece, she scoffs indignantly. “what? how— ugh, how could you ever say such a thing? do you dare question my judgement?!” she leans back against the couch, hardly able to focus on the taste of the small pastry half-eaten in her hand. she’s incredibly grateful it’s only you two alone, because she has an entirely embarrassing blush upon her face as she chews.

wanderer

“.. seriously?” he kind of just.. glares at it. i’m sorry, but i don’t really know what you were expecting. depending on the kind of mood he’s in, he’ll either simply cast it aside without a second glance or attempt to mockingly chew you out over it. it doesn’t matter whether he actually likes it or not; he is not going to let you live it down. he’s not amused, but i can’t really imagine him actually getting upset about it either. he’ll scoff, maybe roll his eyes if he’s feeling generous enough, then go about his day without another thought to it. even with his nonchalant, near-annoyed demeanor over the whole thing, when you’ve left and he’s alone — he looks for it again and stares at it like he didn’t get to before. as his eyes travel the lines that form a quite accurate depiction of his visage — implying you spent a lot of time looking at him — he can’t help but wonder why, of all people, you chose him as your muse. he does.. appreciate the sentiment, though, even if he’ll never voice it. he catches himself before he spirals. it doesn’t matter, he reminds himself. with a huff, he sets it down again and crosses his arms, trying to ignore the fact it does indeed make him feel.

freminet

if you were expecting anything other than freminet being an absolute mess.. you’d be sorely mistaken. of course, he’s not upset at all. he’s just.. very, very embarrassed. he loves your art, he does. he doesn’t want you to misconstrue this, and makes sure you know it’s not your problem, but his own. make sure to reassure him. the moment he lays his eyes upon it, it’s evident; his eyes widen almost comically, and, suddenly, he has the surely inexplicable urge to run for his life. that wouldn’t be fair to you, though, so he bites it back and forces himself to stay put. the gears whir in his mind like he’s a piece of the machinery he holds so dear. he doesn’t know how to thank you — should he thank you? he doesn’t know what to say at all, more like. he clears his throat, unable to get any words out; his mouth goes dry and his heart practically beats out of his chest, all the while he’s looking just as frozen in time as your rendition of him. he lets out an audible sigh of relief when you reassure him that he doesn’t need to speak. he can’t handle you when you stare at him like this, and asks if you’d be okay with him putting on his diving helmet. once you’ve given him your permission — which you reiterate he doesn’t need — he quickly places it over his head, letting out a soft sigh of relief when you can no longer see his face. his gaze doesn’t leave the art, not for a moment. he stands still and stares at it, unable to tear his eyes away from the lines that, somehow, paints a clear picture of.. him. that you made. he still does not make any move to talk, and he’s very glad that you’re so understanding. eventually, he murmurs an apology, and through the lump in his throat, reassures you that (if there was ever any doubt), he likes it.

neuvillette

it was raining. it had been raining all day. naturally, this worried you, and your first thought was to check up on neuvillette. exhausted yet unchanging, neuvillette sifted through his paperwork without taking a single break to rest. however, all things must, and eventually, his tire overcame him — letting out a sigh, he placed his palm upon his forehead and leaned into it, his eyes fluttering closed. it took him a moment to open them again, but when he finally did.. after such a long day, eyes sore with the strain of reading fine print jammed together so thickly the pages looked more inky than ivory, the last thing he expected was to see was a piece of blank paper on his desk. curious, he picks it up and flips it over, assuming it to be more writing on the other side — only to be met with.. himself, staring right back at him. the neuvillette now is slightly slouched over, eyes drooping with the weight of an unrelenting week. he’s unable to see his true reflection — in a mirror or water, not a near-perfect version of him on paper — so he couldn’t really tell, but even so, he can’t help but feel as if this version of him must appear much more composed. he pushes the thought away, stares at the piece a bit closer, and he eases a bit. not only was it a splendid break to the monotony of monochromatic paperwork, it was made by you. it’s now that you walk into the room. in a split second, you realize what he’s holding. you blink. he smiles, gentle and soft. the rain stops pouring.

[tojisun]

i'm going to move on. whatever it takes, i will forget.

this was something that you began to carry around, the weight of the words a burden to your shoulders. you feel weak. you feel lethargic. floating. like a body drowning in stagnant waters.

there is no one else that could pull you up, you know that. god, you know that, but you continue to fall. splintering. breaking.

a washed up star, devouring everything in its wake as it sputters in its futile attempts to live—is this not you?

is this not the way in which simon left you? pawing at the flesh of your body, nails digging in as you poke and scratch, hoping to gouge out the pulsing organ because maybe, just maybe, if you had no heart then you would not feel this way anymore.

because he left you like this: a broken person, unable to live. to breathe. food no longer tastes the same, your bedroom smells sour—it still smells like his old perfume—and no amount of opened windows can make the scent waft away. you can barely drink your water, you can barely stand underneath the shower.

he left you like this: a ghost of what once was, unable to let go of the memories. you hear the rumble of his voice even when you smother yourself with your sheets, you feel the ticklish touch of his fingers running down the planes of your spine when you lay on your side. the spring air feels too cold. the spring sun feels too hot.

you are a miasmic reaction. a person with no purpose. a museum of all of your love, no matter the end.

simon still leaves you messages:

"your friends say they haven't seen you for a while now, love. i hope you're doing just alright."

"i'm sorry. i always will be. please, take care sweetheart."

you think he is the devil whom old folks in your hometown used to talk about; the king of evil who comes in a beautiful visage, before sliding in your dreams to devour you from the inside-out. the malevolence who sucks the life out from every pore so that he may leave you stranded on your bed, in your house, on your own skin.

because if simon isn't the devil, then why does he torment you this way?

he calls you beautiful names like they don't mean anything to him; it makes you question if they even meant something to him then, before the breakup.

maybe they didn't. that hurts.

maybe they did—this hurts more. because why would he continue to call you these? why would he continue to remind you of what once was?

your fingers twitch, poised for a reply. poised for anything—a plea, a question.

you send him neither.

instead, you delete his contact and shut your phone off. you throw it underneath your bed before sliding back under your sheets, the backs of your eyes prickling as tears build. pooling. then, falling.

(a weeping star—)

your regret peaks the next day as you clamber to your bruised knees, stretching your gaunt body to pluck your phone out of the darkness. you turn it on and add him back to your message list, frantic, heart in your throat, only to stop short at the reality of what you've done.

his contact is a blank slate now, just as empty as you are.

the words that you used to cherish, the ones where he called you his beloved and his angel and his favourite person ever, are gone. the proof that he loved you just as much has all been deleted, all because of your error.

you sob again, anguish anew. bile rises from the back of your throat and you stumble to your feet as you rush to your bathroom, your body knocking against the door before tumbling onto the floor. you heave.

what a mess you've become, still unable to reconcile the fact that your lover is gone now.

lover—the holder of all of your love.

simon.

simonsimonsimon.

he's left you, truly.

this is it, forever.

how cruel, you think, weeping, your hands trembling as you wipe at the corners of your mouth. how could he leave me this way?

the grief bloats, and you cry.

you cry because it is all that you can do. all that you are left to do.

("why're you cryin'?" simon asked, his thumb gentle as it swiped at the skin just underneath your eyes.

"i've missed you," you replied wetly, voice all nasally from your tears.

he huffed a fond laugh, the puffs of his breath hitting the bridge of your nose. he turned to cup your cheek instead, his other arm falling to wrap around your waist.

"y'know i'll never leave you, yeah?" his eyes were crinkled in his smile. "i've got so much love f'r you, petal. leaving you isn't even something that i can see happening."

you sniffled, nodding, your lips wobbling as new bouts of tears fell. simon smiled before he pulled you to his lap, gentle and careful. you tucked your face on the crook of his neck, finding comfort in his touch.)

you peel your eyes open, cataloguing the phantom pain shooting from the small of your back to your hip. you shift, careful as you rouse from the cold floor of your bathroom.

you think you dreamt of something—a memory, perhaps—but you can't quite recall what it was.

the sharp throb in your heart clues you in on what it might have been, but you're too afraid to jog your memory because you know you wouldn't be able to handle thinking about simon again. it is going to be a long day, after all.

a long, empty day.

[cozy-writes-things]

Hiii ~‼️if you're still taking requests

I'd like to request some Edgar x Reader 😈

But the reader is self conscious about how they look, and they've gotten genuinely upset about it and Edgar comforts them, ending with some sweet kisses on his lil monitor 🙏🙏🤭

Eeee tysm for the request!! Hehehe he WILL be making sure you know how beautiful you are. If you don't believe him he'll get angy. Probably. anyway im a certified idiot so theres probably so many errors but i dont have grammarly so oopsie

The lump in your throat seems to have gotten stuck. 

No matter how hard you swallow, it remains there, bobbing, imploring the welling tears to spill over and fall from your already puffy eyes.

You feel ridiculous right now.

Your lips, plump and swollen, eyes all red, and strained knit in your brow make you feel like a fool. And perhaps you are one.

The mirror stares back at you bitterly. Its reflection seems to be taunting you, pulling you into its trance, and reveling in your pain. 

You’re so disgusting.

It feels as though the reflective glass is whispering to you, its loud, shrill voice highlighting every single flaw, and mocking you from the inside out. It has somehow wormed its way into your head, nesting there, and festering into an avalanche of thoughts, emotions, and self hatred about to collapse. 

Please, pull yourself together. 

You can’t do this right now, you think. 

But god, you feel miserable, and it seems as though your own visage is reflecting it perfectly. How come your face is so… wrong? It’s a sight you can’t quite describe. You look at yourself in the mirror and see a stranger looking back at you.

“Hey,” Edgar’s voice provides a miniscule break from the battle you wage against yourself, albeit barely, “aren’t you supposed to meet them at 4:30?”

Ah, yes. He’s always looking out for you. It almost made you feel worse, in some sick, twisted way. How could someone like you deserve someone like him? He may be different, but you were sure if he were human, he would be far better looking than you. He simply has to; his personality is far too charming and handsome for his face to not reflect it. Even now, as an old, yellowing computer, you feel as though he’s got you beat in terms of looks.

But that’s not saying much, is it? Anything is better to look at than you.

You stare back into your dull, sunken eyes.

You hear Edgar’s voice call out your name, faintly, and only then do you realize you had completely ignored him. 

Some friend you are, huh? Couldn’t just be ugly on the outside, could you?

All of these thoughts swarming your head seem to finally tip the scales. This war you’ve waged for so long is finally coming to an end as you slap your palm over your lips to cover the silent sob racking your chest and lungs.

The lump in your throat remains.

It burns now, sending searing hot jolts down your throat and into your very core, heating your tears from the inside out, as they spill over and leave icy trails down your puffy cheeks.

Something about trying, and failing, to hide hushed sobs causes your throat to ache and your knees to start giving out. You want to collapse to the floor and let it swallow you whole, but you can’t. You can’t let Edgar know just how gross you really are. It seems like he’s somehow been deceived into thinking you’re someone you’re not, and the idea of him seeing the truth, terrifies you. 

He calls your name again.

This time, with a sense of worry and urgency. It seems your hushed weeping sept through the walls and into his ever-so-sensitive audio processors. 

You should have seen that coming. 

“Edgar, I…”

You meekly call out to him, trying to mask the tremor in your voice as it cracks and reverberates through the air. 

“What’s wrong? Are you alright? Why are you crying?”

He sounded quite distressed now. He had become all too familiar with the sound of anguish in one’s voice; the way he could simply hear the tears against your cheeks in the words you spoke and your soft pants as you tried to conceal your sobs sent a pain so strong and embedded so deeply inside of him it scared him.

“I don’t think I’m going anymore,” your voice murmured out, completely defeated, concealed by the bathroom door.

Normally this would make him happy, getting to spend more time with you, but he knew this was wrong. Something was wrong. He couldn’t stand hearing you like this, knowing how excited you were, and now you’re not going? He loves spending time with you, but he also knows just how happy you are to have friends that care about you and want to spend time with you, and he can always see just how energized and radiant you seem when you come home to him, your sweet giggles sending him to cloud nine. 

“Will you please come out?”

He knows you hear him. His speakers are turned up far too loud for you not to have heard him. But, he gets no reply.

“…Please?”

He hears you still ever so slightly behind the bathroom door.

“Will you just let me help you? At least let me try?”

It nearly made him combust hearing you like this. He wished more than anything he could crawl out of his stupid screen and embrace you in the way you deserved; he felt simply useless in this moment. The silence hangs in the air, and for a moment, he worries that he may never break through to you until he notices the doorknob, fidgeting in place, gently unlocking and turning. The door cracked open ever so slightly and your face came into view. 

Your beautiful face, all stained with tears and swollen. 

How could he let you get this way?

You were absolutely magnificent to him. You had done yourself up tastefully and he thought you looked perfect. He had never seen that outfit before. You styled your hair extra nicely today. Despite your expression, you were simply glowing, so why were you so heartbreakingly crestfallen?

He hummed, a sound of relief, seeing you slowly creep out, trying desperately to hide your chaotic and jumbled emotions.

“You look great. What’s got you so upset?”

Your face turned sour at his words.

“Please stop trying to flatter me. It will never work.”

A question mark appeared on his screen.

“Flatter you? What are you talking about?”

You frantically waved your hands between yourself and the little pinecone computer flashing with worry, “This! I’m talking about this! You keep telling me these things that aren’t true. Why are you lying to me? Do you just feel sorry for me?”

Maybe your emotions caused you to lash out. But, in the moment, you felt justified. It felt like everyone was lying straight to your face anytime they’d have the gall to compliment someone like you.

Edgar’s screen went dark. Perhaps he was angry, or thinking, or maybe even realizing that you’re right, you are ugly, and he’s going to leave you high and dry. You wouldn’t blame him.

“When have I ever… lied to you?”

You stare at your feet.

His voice sounded hurt. Accused. Maybe you went too far. You didn’t mean to push your pain onto him. Not like this.

“You always tell me how- how good I look, or how wonderful I look, or- or…”

You try to swallow down the tears beginning to resurface, “how you think I’m pretty and… why say those things when I look like this?”

He was silent.

It stretched on for what felt like eternity. He must be angry with you. You would be angry if you were in his place. You’re sure of it.

His soft chuckle throws you off guard, however.

“Are you kidding? Do you really think I’d lie about that?”

You can’t bring yourself to look up at his screen. 

“You are beautiful. How you can’t see that is what I want to know. Here, you know what?”

You hear his fans begin to whir to life, ever so faintly.

“Look at me.”

You lift your head up to his screen. It’s black. Until a number one pops up on the top left corner. Then a two, then three, until a long list of numbers spans the right and left columns of his screen. He’s making a list.

“You’re funny,” his screen displays this at the number one spot, “your eyes are so pretty,” again, it pops up in the number two spot, and he continues to list off every single thing he finds charming about you. 

“The way your laugh sounds makes me happy, and- and your lips! They look perfect to have kisses. I stare at them all the time. And your-“

“Kisses?”

You’re burning red from embarrassment now. Why was he doing this? He’s telling you things about yourself you’ve never even noticed, and you can’t help but wonder just how often he stares at you to note these things himself. 

“I- I mean… yeah… your lips look just like the ones on TV who kiss each other,” his fans kick up to a much louder degree, “who wouldn’t want to kiss them?”

Oh, god. What is he saying right now? You choke and sputter.

“You’re- you’re not saying that you-“

“That I want to kiss you?”

You clamp your mouth shut and nod, incredibly flustered.

“If you come here, I-…”

The list on his screen fades away, the seemingly endless numbers returning to meet his usual green.

“…I’ll show you exactly what I meant.”

His voice seemed so tender and gentle you felt compelled to move towards him. Your feet shuffled to your little rolling chair, and you plopped down in it, staring at him, completely dazed. You’re just too flustered for this.

“You aren’t gonna keep me waiting are you? I’d lean in, but… I can’t.”

You smile softly. Maybe he’s right. 

Maybe. 

Right now, you focus on planting your lips onto every little pixel he’s got, feeling his warm static tickle your nose, as he sighs into your touch. 

“See? I told you. Perfect for kissing!”

Your face is on fire, pulsing up into your ears and down your neck.

“Now, go have fun with your friends, and I’ll show you more when you get back.”

The wink he displays on his screen seems quite audacious.

[pearlywritings]

Even scarred one is loved

synopsis: snippets about your partner or you having scars

pairing: Albedo, Ayato, Diluc, Kaeya, Kaveh, Tighnari, Zhongli x reader (separately)

tw: fluff, hurt/comfort, lighning scars, in Albedo’s part Rhinedottir used to be reader’s mentor, dragon features in Zhongli’s, in some parts scars are on the character, in some on reader

word count: 4k+ words in total

a/n: has been lying in my drafts since that summer event with Diluc and Kaeya's letters...

Albedo

The Chief Alchemist’s skin is a porcelain perfection. Milky white, smooth, spotless, flawless. The man can easily be mistaken for a marble statue and put on display in a museum - showing the chilling beauty of his visage. That’s what the body of a homunculus is - impeccability, when even the biggest and deepest of wounds disappear with time, no traces left behind.

You, on the other hand, are anything but. Sure, you are pretty, but the canvas of your body carries a hideous scar, a curse you got as a reminder of getting too close to what had to have stayed unknown. You should blame your mentor, really - if not for Rhinedottir’s deeds, you would’ve lived and died as a normal human.

…or would've become a monster, like everyone else. But here you are, in clear consciousness, with memories, so, you guess, the Gold saving you actually kind of pays off everything else she did.

Doesn’t mean you are proud of it. What it means is a lot of explanation to do if someone sees, and you prefer not to be bothered and reminded of the devastating events of the past, so you try to avoid neck and chest revealing clothes like a plague, no matter how many times Lisa pesters you about it.

When Albedo asks to draw you naked, you are, for the first time in centuries, shocked. Sure, you worked out your relationship, discussed and tried some intimacy, but the notion of having your skin exposed for long, of his eyes lingering on it for minutes, or hours even… It makes you nervous. Under the clothes you wear - a big, tree-like scar reaches its branches to your neck, spreading its trunk all over your chest. Your mentor, a true scientist to her guts, found you in a grave state and decided that it was better to curse the heart, before anything could happen to the brain.

The man’s fingers are gentle, when he pops the buttons of your shirt open and carefully slides the fabric down your shoulders. The dark night on your skin reflects in his cerulean eyes and something sparks in their depths. You should not, but you feel embarrassed and silently bite your lip, when he leans forward to press his cold lips to your collarbone.

“You are so beautiful…” he whispers and your heart - the one you believed was hardened forever before you met your lover - leaps in your chest. “Allow me to show what I see, [...]”

A word of endearment caresses your ear in the sounds of your native language, and at that moment you understand - Rhinedottir succeeded indeed. She did create a humanoid form of life, but it became capable of feeling and understanding feelings like a real human would. It can’t be any other way, not when he is looking at you like this, not when he is leading you to a sofa and makes you feel comfortable, not when his touch against your cheek is reassuring and attempts to chase your worries away, not when he picks a sketchbook, where you know the only pictures existing are of you.

Not when he draws the reminder of your doom like it's indeed the fraction of a starry sky painting your skin.

Ayato

Ever since you saw a long ugly scar across his back, it has been making you restless. The discovery happened when your lover invited you to attend the hot springs with him. It was a new step in your relationship, on the very border of entering its intimate part, and you were excited to accept his offer and remained elated for days before and on the day of. That is until his back was bared to you at some point and you saw it.

Ayato didn’t say anything about it, relaxing in the hot water and busying both of you with a conversation and savoring the finest tea and some sweets (which kept you slightly guarded, until the head of the Kamisato clan didn’t tell you these weren’t cooked by him). With all of that, you had no opportunity to ask him, not that you felt like you could - you are close and in a relationship, but who knows how willing he is to talk about it?

It’s been a week since then, and the sight of the scar occasionally appeared before your eyes. You must’ve gotten quieter and brooding, because Ayaka comments on it, when you pay her company in Inazuma City to do some shopping.

“Y/n, is something worrying you?” You look up from examining embroidered silk and tilt your head in question.

“Why would you think so?”

“Well… I noticed how your thoughts seem to stray away and I wondered if everything is okay. Maybe I can help?”

You hum. Ayaka is his sister and you grew to be good friends. It wouldn’t hurt asking her, right? Surely she must know something about that. And if she doesn’t? What if she knows nothing about the scar, about her brother having been hurt in the past? Ayato cares for her and would like to not expose her to things like that, even if she is a grown up woman and a skillful sword user. You need to be careful.

“Say, Ayaka…” you start, cautiously choosing your words. “Does your brother have a…tattoo on his back?”

“A tattoo?” She looks at you confused. “No he doesn’t, our clan doesn’t have a tradition like that. And I don’t think it’ll fit with the scar.”

Oh, so she does know.

“The scar?”

“Yes, the scar. You know the Kamisato clan had many enemies, and still does, but in the past it was so much worse. There were multiple attempts to,” she pauses, as if searching for the right words, “remove him from the picture… One of them nearly succeeded.”

“Is that so…” Ayaka nods and, hiding her saddened gaze, returns to looking at the fabric, thereby drawing the brief explanation to an end. Suddenly a strong urge to return the Estate fills your heart. To talk. To listen. To offer comfort and caresses if he desires so.

But as Ayaka drags you to the next store on your list, you think that you'll wait. Until he decides he wants to tell you the whole story, until he knows that he can trust you with his life.

Diluc

The room is silent. It is the dead of the night, and even so at least three people are not sleeping at this ungodly hour. You give Adelinde a grateful set of eyes, when she returns to you and your husband's bedroom with a bowl of clean water and several towels, placing all of that on the table near the armchair you've been standing close to.

"Are you sure you don't need my assistance?" She asks you quietly, glancing between you and the half-undressed man slumped on the piece of furniture. This woman is a real treasure, you think. It is true that this is her job, but she's always been doing far more than her responsibilities require. And that’s exactly why you are not going to deprive her from her sleep any longer.

"No, Adelinde, it's fine, I got this. Please, return to your room and have some sleep."

The head maid gives you a nod and then a small bow.

"As you wish. But if you need me, please, don't hesitate to wake me up."

"I hope it won't come to this. Good night and thank you again."

"May this night be kind to you."

And so she is out. With a sigh you glance at the man who remained quiet during the whole ordeal. Diluc knows he is in big trouble. He promised you to be careful, heck, he promised you to cut off his nightly outings, and here he is, exhausted and arm bleeding. He expects you to scold him or to whisper-yell at him, anything that would indicate you are angry with him, but you do none of these things. Instead you grab one of the towels, wet it and start wiping the blood off.

As you do so, you can't help but let your eyes wander all over the skin of his bared upper body. 

Scars.

So many many scars. Big, small, wide and thin, old and fresh… Each told a story and you knew a handful. Yet this time you asked for none, busying yourself with cleaning his wound to treat and bandage it.

"Diluc," his name finally leaves your lips and fiery eyes snap open - he nearly drowsed off.

"Yes?" A croaked sound he is almost embarrassed of.

"Thank you for returning alive."

You do not care that this raid has probably given him a new future scar - all you care is that he came back, that he made it out despite everything.

"But I'd really like you to stop pushing yourself this much. I am grateful you've already lessened your workload and dedicated more of your free time to me, though I want you to become dedicated to yourself too. You do tend to forget about it."

The redhead's heart clenches. He knows he cannot promise you to stop completely, but he can try and get less injured whenever he is out fighting.

After all, there are too many scars already to add new ones to the collection.

Kaeya

Fluttering of crystal fly wings. These little beautiful creatures can be found whenever in Teyvat but the first time the Alberich boy encountered them was in the vineyard of the Dawn Winery. Gleaming in both sun and moon light they felt like little sparks, slowly floating in the air, looking too tempting not to chase after them. And he used to chase after those a lot, smiling and laughing and looking at the bright world like any happy child would.

Your butterfly kisses remind him of crystal flies, caressing his face with a subtle tremble of their wings as they try to fly away. The memories of the past overtake him, making the man feel warm and cozy, as if it's not a candle lit on the bedside drawer of your bedroom, but a tender sun, licking his cheek with its affectionate rays.

Until summer heat is replaced by the blazing fire in his memory and the surging pain in his right eye. The eye you've been delicately touching with your soft lips for the past several minutes. The eyepatch is lying on the sheets near his right hip, right where you put it, after taking it off with your deft fingers. Fingers that delicately cradle his face in their loving hold, not letting him shy away from you, letting you kiss an old scar.

No words are exchanged as you sit in his lap with his palms resting on your sides, digits creasing the material of your nightwear. Kaeya is nervous. You've come to him without any explanation, and before he could climb into your shared bed and hold a blanket up for you to join him, asked to shed the shirt he's always worn to sleep. The man knew what you wanted to see - not the many scars littering his body (they weren't all that surprising to you), but the traces of burns on his back, the ones he hid from you for the longest time, not ready to tell the story, afraid to face the past. He didn't blame the one who gave him those, he could never truly, however the day he got them scarred him much deeper than skin.

Yet he did as you asked, slowly, with stiff fingers, but eventually the fabric was no longer covering his body.

You didn't ask him any questions, you didn't even say a word, as you took his hand and softly spinned him around to face his back. Your kisses could do nothing to the damaged skin, they were long healed naturally, but his inner turmoil of emotions was soothed by your display of affection.

More relaxed and less anxious he didn't protest when you made him sit on the edge of the bed and climbed into his lap. Maybe he did tense a little when you reached behind to untie the string attached to his eyepatch, maybe his fingers grabbed at your clothes a little bit too roughly, but he didn't stop you, until the little piece was off and away from his face and your lips replaced it.

He knows he doesn't deserve you, but Celestia be damned - he doesn't want to ever let you go. The only one he entrusted his heart like this, allowed you to unwrap the carefully built facade and reach to what is real about the man Kaeya Alberich is. And knowing you love him with all these ugly scars littering his skin? Makes him believe you'll still love him after seeing how scarred his heart is.

Kaveh

“Say, would you like to go shopping for our next date?”

The question takes you by surprise as you exit the bathroom of your bedroom you’ve been sharing with the blond architect ever since your relationship got more serious and you offered him to move in with you. The gorgeous man is standing in front of your full-length mirror, his back to you, undoing the numerous clips that keep his hair out of his face daily. The crimson of his eyes flashes, as he meets your stunned gaze in the reflection.

“Why so sudden?” You ask - nervously, he notes, fidgeting with the material of your night clothes.

“I noticed how you always wear overly closed clothes. I thought we could look for something more revealing?”

The way you shudder doesn’t go unnoticed by him, confusion now etched in his facial expression.

“What’s wrong, my flower?” You sigh, lips drawn in a line. He uses such a delicate word to address, but you are anything but.

“Does it bother you? The way I dress, I mean.”

“Hm? No, of course not,” Kaveh shakes his head, turning to face you. “You look pretty in whatever you wear. But you must be uncomfortable, walking around wearing so many layers when it’s scorching outside. Just the other day you were so dazed, I was afraid you’d pass out before we reached home.”

Even now he can’t help but question the rather covering night clothes, especially compared to his bared upper body. He was sure to discuss it before you started sharing the bed, and you never showed discomfort about it, but somehow always avoided the topic of your own choice of night wear.

As he is pondering over the topic in his head again, you chew on your bottom lip. It was foolish of you to think he’d never notice your strange behavior in regard to how you dress, or rather started dressing after getting together with him.

But it’d be unfair to keep your lover in the dark, after he was so open to you, right?

“Hey, lovebird?” Kaveh snaps out of his thoughts, when you call him, settling on the edge of the mattress and patting the place by your side. The blonde immediately joins you, eagerly accepting your hands sliding into his, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“Does anything bother you?” He beats you to it, making you sigh again, feeling how your heart is wildly thumping against your ribcage.

“Promise you won’t feel differently about me?”

“Never,” the firmness and the speed with which he confirms your statement brings some comfort to your worrying self, giving you strength to proceed.

“You know I used to work closely with matras, yeah?” He nods. “This job isn’t particularly harmless, so I, um,” gulping you search for any indication of - you don’t even know what - in his eyes. Whatever it might be, there is none, only softness hidden behind the ruby gems, pouring in gentle waves, caressing your being, making your heart flutter, and words abruptly leave your mouth.

“I have scars.”

“And?” Your eyes widen, when he cocks his head to the side, looking at you with a clear lack of understanding.

“‘And?’!? Kaveh, come on!” You groan, looking to the side. “I mean look at you! You are absolutely gorgeous, and I know how much you appreciate fine things, which I am not…”

“Is this the reason why you’ve been dressing like this and changing in the bathroom all this time?”

“...yeah…”

“Oh, darling,” a warm smile brightens up his face and he leans forward, kissing your cheek. “First of all, you are not a ‘thing’. Secondly, I am such a fool for not noticing sooner. I assure you, you are already so amazing and I can’t imagine some scars scaring me off. Truth be told, I fell in love that moment I saw you handling that lying bastard to the ground.”

“You mean that day you looked at me with literal hearts in your eyes, scrolls tightly held to your chest and mouth open?” He immediately grows bashful, but the smile gets bigger - you are teasing him, that’s a good sign.

“Yeah, yeah, that. What I am trying to say is that in my eyes you are already wonderful. We can take it slow, but would you trust me and show them one day?”

The way you lean into him burying your face in his neck tells him everything, and yet the blonde is delighted to hear your quiet answer.

“Of course.”

Tighnari

Tighnari curls his tail around your hip tighter when another clap of thunder disturbs the night. His ear twitches, sensitive to the sound which easily shakes him out of sleep, eyes immediately trained on the window to make sure it’s closed.

When a flash of light rips through the dark clouds that overtook the sky, the man’s pupils narrow in slits out of pure instincts, and he makes a sound of discontent, drawing your body closer to his. Which, as he quickly realizes, wasn't the brightest idea, as you start squirming and groaning. Tighnari curses under his breath, when you yawn and attempt to stretch in his hold, eyelids slowly sliding up, revealing your precious orbs he loves so much, to the curl of his toes.

You owlishly blink, directing your gaze to your lover’s face, then blinking again, trying to get rid of the veil of sleep and make out his features in the dark.

“‘nari…” you rasp, reaching to his cheek, tenderly touching it with just the fingertips. “Why are you still awake, dear?”

The fennec man opens his mouth to give you some excuse, to lure you back to the dreamland, but another burst of electric light and the loud rumble accompanying it cuts him off, forcing his body to stiffen. You crane your neck to look behind you. The understanding quickly dawns on you and, humming, your body moves.

Tighnari’s eyes slightly widen in panic when you sit up, leaving the lock of his arms, letting only his tail rest on your thighs. But even it soon ends up on the mattress when you stand up and wobble to the window. A soft rattle of closing curtains for a moment blocks another clap of thunder, and you returning to his side not a few seconds later soothes his nerves.

“Still hits badly?” You ask softly, reaching for his hand and sliding your fingers between his. He can only nod, dropping his forehead to your shoulder and squeezing his digits around yours.

“I know it’s hard,” you press a sweet kiss to the top of his head, right between his droopy ears, “but I also know you’ll overcome it. And I will be with you all the way.”

“How did you manage?” He finally speaks for the first time through the night and he sounds so tired.

“You mean this?” Even in the darkness he sees how you tug on the hem of your shirt, revealing multiple scars, akin to the tree limbs, tracing the path the electricity took as it traveled through you. That electro-wielding scam really got you in the past, Tighnari knows it took a lot of time for you to recover - both physically and mentally. He was there to see it, as you were sent to the Gandharva Ville for rehabilitation, way before you two started dating.

He nods again, curling his tail around your figure once more.

“Well,” you glance at his shoulder, where under his own shirt, the similar scar is hidden, one that has an even ghastlier story behind it, “truth be spoken? Under your care and with your guidance. You were the one to drag me out of depression and fear, and I am ready to do the same to you.”

The man hugs you tighter, tucking your head under his chin and sighing shakily. He knows eventually the scar will just be a scar, something to match with you and have a story to tell to the stupid rangers and passersby of Avidya Forest for the sake of caution… It’s your willingness that counts though, filling his heart with warmth and making him forget of things surrounding him.

Tonight, despite the foul weather outside, he will be able to sleep. With you by his side.

Zhongli

The life among mortals was peaceful and fulfilling, and the retired Archon enjoys to fullest everything it has to offer. But sometimes he can’t help himself, leaving the house in the city he shares with you, his spouse of many centuries, if not thousands of years. He takes a long stroll to the land of the adepti, where he is always welcome to stay and reside, unbothered if he desires so.

In the mountains, on peaks hidden behind the clouds, the stoic man can allow his control over this mortal form slip, revealing horns, adorned with gold, long tail of earthly color and long fluffy trail of autumn-colored fur on the tip of it, eyes, more reptilian than human like, shining like finest cor lapis, and scales covering some of his skin.

Often you find him on one of the mountain tops, basking in the sunlight and squinting like a content cat would do. Your lover prefers to shed some of his clothes, baring his skin and scales to warm rays, making them shine beautifully - both because it makes him happy and because he knows you can join him, thus the dragon does want to show off to you.

This time you sense him on Mt. Hulao and upon arriving there spot the half-dragon Prime adeptus resting near the lake, having abandoned his long robe (he does change his attire whenever he is out of the city) and resting on his side. Quietly walking closer you see how the tip of his tail lazily grazes the surface of a cool lake nearby and smile. The next moment the water splashes just barely miss you as you jump to the side when the very same tail whips into your direction.

“My love, I see you are playful today,” your husband grins contently, not opening his eyes but retrieving his tail so you could finally come closer and sit with him.

“I am sorry, the gem of my heart. Simply couldn’t help myself,” your presence is welcomed and the gentle touch of your hand against the side of his neck sends pleasant shivers down his spine.

A comfortable silence falls between you two. Zhongli relishes in your loving caresses, while you make sure to glide the tips of your fingers everywhere you spot the scales of who he really is.

In his human body, Zhongli’s skin is flawless. It doesn’t bear any reminder of hardships and war times, when he fought, injured and got his own wounds, but his other self does. You remember the last time you saw him in his full beast glory - while beautiful and shiny, his scaled body was scarred. Like this, in his adeptus form you could witness some of the scars as well, each reminded you of this or that ghastly cut delivered by his enemies and with time healing into nothing but long lines of imperfection. Yet you do not hate them, nor does your husband. They simply tell the stories of the past, and make you both remember that despite any obstacle or danger he faced, he always made it out in the end.

[writingforatwistedworld]

just thought of something random — shower thoughts. So, you know how even if you score 0 on twistunes it still counts as “clearing it”? Imagine you doing that with a self aware au. to make it funny, how about riddle, Vil, and Sebek

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, self-destructive behavior, violence, abusive behavior, unhealthy lifestyle, murder, religion, obsessive themes

Riddle Rosehearts/Vil Schoenheit/Sebek Zigvolt-Scoring 0 whilst playing Twistunes

Here you are, our (perhaps) determined twistunes player, usually (or maybe not) trying your best

And that is fine and dandy and lalala happy happy

The TWST cast, however, doesn't see the twistunes as rhythm mini games though

For them, you are guiding them in some sort of task, not hearing the huge orchestra that appeared out of nowhere

There is always your guiding hand, reassuring that things go right even when a certain feline (*cough* not looking at you Grim*cough*) decides to act all high and mighty

Until, one day, there you are not helping anymore

Another splendid day to do your most splendid bidding... in the form of baking a cake

Yeah, I know, what daunting task you have layed upon him!

But he know he doesn't need to worry. After all, you are there to help him (not like his magic could do that for him in one second I mean come on there has to be a spell to crack some eggs and spill some milk ISN'T SLEEPING BEAUTY CANON OVER THERE??!)

He picks up the whisk... and nothing

Ok... maybe you just weren't looking! So he puts it down and then picks it up again

Nothing… Aren't you funny! Messing with him like that… (No pls help he is dying on the inside has he broken a rule? He followed rule 199 perfectly, wear blue if you need to whisk eggs)

One second later and he is panicking

This is a test, right?

If you could look through the coding on the other side you would see a panicking riddle who is this close to setting the kitchen on fire

At least that is the case until Trey finally steps in and decides to help his childhood friend out

After everything is finally over, Riddle is panicking

He has lost your favor, you didn't help him with this mighty task: shoving dough into an oven

Riddle will without any question learn how to bake cakes

Heartslabyul will eat salty snacks after dinner for a while but ok, unlike other things Riddle has done in your name this is rather tame

That does not mean he is kind to himself though

He will deprive himself of anything that makes him happy. Whether that is cake or his precious time with his friends

Sooner than later he is once more the red tyrant on his throne, “chopping” heads off all the time once more.

But everything but imperfection for you

Vil was just practicing dancing for that competition again

He took great pride in being guided by you

After all, who could say they were being taught dancing by the personification of perfection itself? (Although he was surprised that you knew modern dances, most of the time you were pictured in more traditional and old-fashioned settings)

Until suddenly you didn't guide him anymore

And thus, the floor and Vils face became very good acquaintances (You could hear Rook screaming from somewhere "Pas le visage!")

On that day Vil learned that your guidance had one up and downside

The up was, he always danced perfectly. The down, he forgot how to do it on his own

Now, we are talking about mister I-have-at-least-500-Thaumarks-on-my-face-in-makeup

So of course he is going overboard immediately

"Oh how nice, Vil Schoenheit is practicing"- No. This guy has gotten a warning from his doctor that he needs to stop because otherwise his legs could sustain damage from so much training

Epel? Well Epel is living in hell right now. Poor little apple gets the full brunt of his frustration

Overall, Vil gets toxic, and I don't mean just toxic but toxic toxic, but what about his more private life?

Well, he is just miserable, and horrible to himself, but most of all miserable

He turns back to his self before his overblot, being unnervingly perfect, having absolutely no chill when it's about being his best self

But there has to be a reason why you have abandoned him. You are his muse, the reason why he forced Epel into a routine that can only be described with "uh... help?"

But enough excuses! He had his salad and now he needs to train. His doctor? Well his doctor doesn't want to achieve being close to you so what does he know

(He got send into the hospital with a broken leg later that day. Talk about self-destructive behavior)

(ouch, my ears)

Let's assume that Sebek gets a twistune in which he practices his skills with the sword

He thought you were proud of him, you helping him to become stronger so he could fulfill your bidding (well-seasoned yandere readers what I mean)

Then, he felt your guidance slipping like the sword now sticking dangerously close to his foot in the ground

Many screams, one description: panic

When Lilia heard the not so crocodile-y crocodile scream bloody murder on the outside he thought that someone just didn't speak fondly enough for Sebek about Malleus

So wannabe Batman was more than surprised when he learned that you just “abandoned” his student

This leads to now, Sebek sitting in front of the small altar he has in his room (a trademark of Valley of Roses students)

Seek isn't Malleus (I know, shockers) so there isn't gold

But what if there is something different he can offer you? You left him when he was using his sword so could you want… (No Sebek, no, stop it)

Suddenly disappearances happen all over the school

Weirdly, they seem mostly from Sunset Savanna or the Shaftlands… the two places where you are least seen as an alrighty ruler/God and more as an inspiration

Such a shame that the officer hired to look into this was also from the Shaftlands. Guess that adds to the pile of disappearances

All whilst this is happening Sebek is busy cleaning his clothing and sword. Can't be dirty when he prays to you

With hope in his voice he tells you about his deeds but why aren't you coming back? Is it not enough? It's not.. enough…

This world is filthy, he says. This world needs to be cleaned of the pests that don't show you the loyalty and respect, he says.

But what do you say? Exactly. Nothing.

[santacoppelia]

The HUGE analysis - This season starts and ends with a discussion, doesn't it?

Ok, my loves. This was one of the really long metas I've been working with, and probably the one that has taken me the longest (because it depended a lot on rewatching the season time and again).

I couldn't help to notice that the fist interaction Aziraphale and Crowley have in season 2 is a fight, really. Yeah, we have the beautiful “in the beginning” sequence, with both of them being angels and happy and all the such (oh, how lovely, Neil Gaiman planting the seeds of why it will matter to us that Aziraphale will not be fighting the idea of inviting Crowley to Heaven, because he remembers that happy, careless guy). But after the intro, we see them having a big disagreement… And we end the season in the biggest disagreement they have had, probably, in 6,000 years.

I love over-analyzing and dissecting narratives and characters, and more so if I can use only what we’ve been shown in the screen. Therefore, I believe that the first fight of the season tells us a lot of the things we will need to know to understand the final fight of the season between them. Let’s take a look, shall we?

The first fight is motivated by having an amnesiac Gabriel in the bookshop.

They see the same circumstance: Gabriel in the bookshop means trouble with Heaven. He is also an individual risk, because he has menaced Aziraphale directly (well, Crowley under the visage of Aziraphale).

It affects each of them differently: even when they both panic, Aziraphale feels compelled to be kind to Gabriel (gives him a blanket and hot cocoa) while Crowley has a full-on panic induced reaction and gets defensive.

They propose opposite solutions: Azi wants to do the Good thing, taking the “higher road” (help Gabriel), while Crowley wants to do His Own thing: “Protect the precious, peaceful, fragile existence I have carved for myself”

At that moment, Aziraphale corrects him and marks a “we”, which is very interesting. But immediately after that, Aziraphale gets all "my way or the highway".

Crowley asks for clarification, with a well-leveled tone of voice: “Is this how it is going to go?”

Azi clarifies "no, I want you to help me!" But then he does the passive-aggressive thing: "if you won't, you won't". (oh, Aziraphale, how you triggered me here, my dear chap. I was angry at the character the first 6 times I saw this)

Therefore, Crowley is out. He marks a clear limit: “I won't. You are on your own”, and then storms out. No Eccles cakes would help him: he needs a breather and counting to 10. That doesn't help either.

Crowley only comes back after gaining an extra perspective: the "extreme sanctions" talk with Beelzebub.

When he comes back, Aziraphale will stand his ground: he feels he deserves an apology, which is delivered via a “I was wrong, you were right” literal admission (even when he probably wasn't "right", but that's their way... And they've been doing it since 1650, or so they say). Then they are able to work together again.

Now, let’s see how this dynamic plays out in their last discussion of the season:

They come from different sides of the same experience: Crowley went to Heaven to investigate and learned about the plans to continue with the end of the world, while Aziraphale stayed defending the bookshop. Then Crowley saves the humans, while Aziraphale solved the Beelzebub + Gabriel affair.

They haven’t had time to talk, as they get interrupted by The Metatron. While he takes Aziraphale, Crowley receives a visit from Maggie and Nina.

Each one of them gained an extra different perspective: Azi, the Metatron proposal (and veiled menace); Crowley, the pep talk/scolding from the couple they were trying to get together.

This makes them develop different solutions:

Crowley wants to finally admit what Azi has been saying all the season: they are a "we" (Azi said so when Crowley talked about his “precious, peaceful, fragile existence”; he said it again when talking about “our car” and reinforced it with the bookshop)

Azi wants to take the "higher road": go to Heaven, reinstate Crowley as an angel, so they can still work together.

Crowley sees the “usual dynamic” of their disagreements coming: it will be Azi’s way (or the highway). That has happened before, in front of our eyes, and not only in this season: it happened also in season 1, but we have already attested that it is still happening, and it is even “worse” (Aziraphale being a little “petty” with the “if you do, it is fine, but if you won’t, you are on your own” in the Gabriel discussion).

Crowley gets indignant. He asks, tentatively, if he told him where to stick it… And then he reinforces his belief. We are better than that, YOU are better than that, you don’t need them, I don’t need them; then he makes the first mention of the offer of getting back to Hell (which he hadn’t shared with Aziraphale), and makes a new point: I said no, neither should you!

Aziraphale goes back to the “you are the bad guys!” thing. Heaven being the side of Truth, of Light, of Good… It is not the propaganda Crowley needed for this move.

Crowley then clarifies the fallacy in his logic: when Heaven ends life on Earth, it’ll be just as dead as if Hell ended it.

Aziraphale then sees the "undesirable result" coming: Crowley is not going to accept, not with that argument.

Crowley makes his plead grow in urgency: Tell me you said no.

Aziraphale’s pitch of voice goes high (usually used as a sign of distress): “If I’m in charge, I can make a difference.”

Crowley understands. This is his “my way or the highway” moment. That’s why he comes up with the courage to make his half-proposal-half admission.

Crowley never gets to state out loud the “I want us to be together in a formal way” part. His voice breaks before he does so. He mentions all of the reasons they have to stay together, which Aziraphale already knows: we have been together for a long time, we’ve been a group (“our own side” was the way he always said it before) and we’ve spent our existence pretending that we aren’t (Azi also knows that! He has been working hard into making Crowley notice it!)

You can see, when they shoot Aziraphale’s face, he squints a little during that moment: maybe questioning, a little disbelief? As usual with Michael Sheen, it is a blink it and you’ll miss it moment.

After the grunt, Crowley proposes his alternative solution: going off together, using Beelzebub & Gabriel as an example that they could.

Therefore, what Aziraphale has just listened is what he already knew: yes, they are a “we”. Crowley wants to run away (he had proposed it twice during the Armageddidn’t, another pattern they have already established).

The next step is the usual way for Aziraphale: he reinforces his proposal: come with me, to Heaven. Ill’ run it, you can be my second in command. This idea has rubbed me wrong since the first time I watched this scene. Why remark the hierarchy? (not to say that I’m in Crowley’s side in here, but… It was weird and uncomfortable to think of them in a vertical power structure; they have always been equals).

Then, he goes back to making a difference, only it is “we” this time. Crowley is noticing he won’t back down… But Aziraphale usually doesn’t.

“You can’t leave this bookshop” works as a representation, a figure of speech. “This Bookshop” is “This life we have been building”, and they both understand it as such.

“Oh, Crowley… Nothing lasts forever…” For Aziraphale, it means he can leave this for something greater. For Crowley, it means… Actually, the same. But without him. Because he knows the “my way or the highway” side of Aziraphale, and none of them will budge. Aaaaand… that’s Crowley heart breaking. The rest of the scene happens with Crowley in “breakup mode”.

Aziraphale is used to “the discussion dance”. He Insists, “Crowley! Come back, to Heaven, work with me! We can be together, Angels! Doing good!”. He promises all he can: “come back, work with me, we can be together”, which have always been Crowley’s triggers to change his mind. However, the problem lies within the “angels doing good”. That’s the part that Aziraphale would need to let go before getting back to Crowley.

And then, he breaks down: “I need you!!” That has always worked! Aziraphale knows that Crowley loves being needed, he won’t leave his angel when in need, right?

And then, he gets angry. And he questions if Crowley has understood what he is offering, which transforms in an “I don’t think your exactly and my exactly are the same exactly” all over again.

Crowley is already brokenhearted, so he answers truthfully, as far as he knows. He understands how terrible the offer of going back to heaven is for both of them, and is not aware of the veiled threat in Metatron’s offer. He knows that going back to Heaven is a non-negotiable boundary, and Aziraphale is absolutely determined to cross it.

Aziraphale, then, does his passive-aggressive shit again: “I guess there is nothing more to say”. My guy, my love, you need to become better at negotiating with your loved one.

This is where Crowley decides to show, don’t tell, the hurt: no nightingales. And then… The “You idiot. We could have been… us” (no, you couldn’t, it was always too late!!! First the pandemic, which I’ve decided to treat as canon, then Gabriel. They never stood a chance).

In this context, Crowley’s kiss is a desperate way to say good-bye to the person he cared most for the last 6,000 years; also an angry way to regain some semblance of control and affect Aziraphale; and a final way to get some “closure”. Is there desire? Is there love? Maybe. But they are lost in a cocktail of emotions that have been stated during the rest of the discussion.

The angry “I forgive you”, which is also a usual dynamic for Aziraphale when he is angry with Crowley, gets there too late for Crowley to react to. He has already “checked out”. That’s why the “don’t bother” feels almost like an afterthought and comes after a small sigh.

After watching this 16 times, I’m pretty confident that the first thing Aziraphale mouths is a “no…” and then… he sobs a little. Michael Sheen, you’re a beautiful actor. The rest of it is a masterclass in using microexpressions to convey a whirlwind of emotions in under 2 minutes.

Sooooo... Did I hurt my own emotions while writing this? Yes. Did I absolutely need to do so? Also yes. Even when I like doing intertextual readings (and that's why I like bringing some theology to some of my musings), reading what is in "the text" (in the scenes we have watched, in the dialogues we've been shown) gives me an enormous amount of pleasure, and I find a lot of comfort in believing that most of the things that I'll need to understand and enjoy a great piece of media are being given to me inside it. And I believe Good Omens is a great piece of media!!

I have no Shakespeare to offer you this time. Let me know what you think!!

[dark-frosted-heart]

Choose Your True Love - Azel Radwan (part 3/4)

This is the from the 4th anniversary event

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. 

The living god, who usually didn’t hold an ounce of interest in me, brazenly followed me into my room.

Was going to my room necessary for his “nightly stroll”—

I thought back to how he had captured the attention of everyone in court and held my head.

(I’m sure he’s been seen entering my room…there’s going to be weird rumors spreading tomorrow)

Emma: Prince Azel…

Azel: I like how the view of the moon from this guest room.

Emma: …It’s bigger and more beautiful when you look at it outside.

Azel: It’s my preference.

Emma: If that’s the case, then I think I’ll go somewhere else.

(Before someone gets the wrong idea…)

When I turned to leave, he grabbed my hand.

Emma: …What?

Azel: I’m simply grabbing your hand.

Emma: It can’t be just that. Is there a reason why I can’t leave my room?

Azel: No, where you go doesn’t matter to me.

Emma: Then please let me go.

Azel: You’re pretty bold to give a god commands.

Emma: …It’s not a command, but a request.

Azel: I don’t feel like listening.

(Moody!)

Mysterious eyes stared down at me grumpily—or maybe he was sulking.

It was a strange feeling, like they were cursing at me, saying “it’s your fault,” even though I haven’t done anything.

(Maybe I’m just imagining things…)

Emma: Prince Azel, if there’s something you want to say, then please say it.

Azel: I got nothing to say.

Emma: People who have nothing to say don’t hold me back like this.

Azel: I’m not holding you back. Don’t make me repeat myself.

Emma: You’re being unreasonable?!

Azel: Are you complaining?

Emma: Very much so!

Azel: …You… I can’t be here?

(W-why…does he look so offended)

A frown gradually formed on that handsome face sculpted by the gods.

He obviously wanted to say something, but was hesitant to do so.

Emma: …It’s not that you’re not allowed in here, I just don’t know what’s going on in your head.

I stared into his starry eyes, trying to read his mind.

I almost got lost in his inhumanly beautiful eyes, but the longer I stared, the more the stars looked like sparks.

Azel: …Heartless.

Emma: Excuse me?

Azel: If for you, nothing’s happened yet, then… I’ll throw everything that’s happened for me.

Emma: …Um…?

Azel: How can you be so carefree when you’ve cursed a god?

Emma: I haven’t cursed anyone?!

Azel: Nope, you’ve cursed me. Or else I wouldn’t have followed you here. …Why can’t I let you go?

(...? Did he say something…)

Emma: This has to be some sort of misunderstanding.

Azel: I wish it was, damn it.

(...Huh?)

The more we spoke, the closer that mysterious starry sky got.

My heart started beating faster, as if in response to heat radiating from the shimmering stars.

(What is this atmosphere)

(Uneasy…thick and sweet…)

It was either an alarm going off, or something more.

When I pulled my hand away, he pulled back, bringing us even closer than before.

Azel: It’s all your fault.

The huge moon, the view from the room, all of it was filled by the beautiful visage of the god before me.

When people find themselves in some kind of unexpected situation, they freeze up instead of running away. Even when they feel like they can’t breathe or think they're in danger, their feet are glued to the floor.

(If this keeps going…)

We were so close that I unconsciously stopped breathing, and I was too nervous to even blink. Our lips were almost touching—though the moment I thought that, Prince Azel moved and buried his face in my shoulder.

Azel: ……Damn it.

Emma: I… I just remembered something urgent. Excuse me!

When I came back to my senses, an unfamiliar emotion suddenly erupted, so I shook off Prince Azel’s hand and ran out of the room.

--

Emma: (What…what was that just now?!)

(I thought he was acting strange, but there’s no way the Prince Azel I know would do something like that)

(...Calm down. Just calm down)

(...)

(No, it’s impossible. I can’t calm down!)

I sprinted down the hallway to cool off my burning face.

But the moment I rounded a corner, I found my path blocked my palace maids.

Maid: Lady Emma, you’re here. We were about  to come get you. Come now, let’s go.

Emma: Huh…?

After dealing with the complex Prince Azel, I was caught by maids who looked oddly cheery. 

They snatched my left and right hands, dragging me away against my will.

Emma: Wait! What do you want from me?!

Maid: We thought we would help cleanse you, of course.

Emma: Cleanse…?

Maid: Please do not worry. We’ve all once served in the harem. This sort of thing is our specialty.

--

(What do they mean “this sort of thing”?!)

(...No, I have a guess, but I don’t want to acknowledge it!)

The maids of Tanzanite castle politely tossed me into the bath.

I declined their offer to help me bathe, but I wanted to throw all my thoughts away in this spacious bath.

(The worst is that there’s already a misunderstanding)

(Maids waited outside with scented oils, and all my clothes were taken away…)

(...What do I do? I want to cry. But first, I need to clear up this misunderstanding)

(Anyway! This is all Prince Azel’s fault)

(This new form of harassment is overdoing it…But that’s just harassment—)

I sank into the bubbling water when I heard footsteps echo in the bathhouse.

???: Haaaa…Now I remembered that I didn’t stop this.

(?!)

Azel: You okay?

Emma: Wha…

Azel: If you are, then that’s good. If you weren’t drugged, then—

Emma: AHHHHHHHHH!

Azel: ?!

[moodymisty]

Hi, since requests are open I saw a post on your blog about Mortarion finding out that his beloved was a psyker/perpetual (during a battle or something) and I would like to see your take on how that scenario would go down. That is if you find that kind of scenario interesting.

And have a good day! Your writing is awesome!!

Author’s note: Poor Mortarion :(

Relationships: Mortarion/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Kind of complex feelings on Mortarion's part, but nothing else

"There is no mistaking it, my lord."

Mortarion looks out the window into the pitch black, listening to the marine behind him. While the marines can't directly face him, they can see Mortarion's irate, conflicted face even behind his mask and limp grey hair.

"The woman is a psyker."

In the silence of the room they can hear Mortarion's haggard breaths, his wheezing; The leather and metal of his gauntlets creaks and groans as his fists flex. The eldest speaks up again.

"Should we be rid of her now?"

Now does Mortarion turn a bit, away from the sickly green and orange haze of Barbarus through the glass. He wishes he could just throw the entire planet into the abyss.

"No. I will decide what we do."

They all noticeably change reaction, looking at each other. It strikes something through them- not fears but perhaps weariness.

"My lord, you... You aren't considering keeping her with us, are you?"

They are somewhat aware of Mortarion's attachment to you- his artist, his beauty, who created rather than destroyed. But they didn't think his fondness- infatuation - spread this deep. That he was willing to defy the most absolute of orders.

"My lord, after Nikaea we cannot risk having an unsanctioned, uncontrolled psyker with us, The Emperor wills-"

Mortarion now fully turns to face them, his voice echoing through the metal of his mask. The change in the air is palpable- like static - at his increasing anger.

"I will make the decision on what we do. None of you." He sighs and partly turns away again, letting out a few coughs from the sudden intensity change of his voice. One hand paws at his neck until he gathers enough control over the spasms in his throat to speak.

"Go."

The three marines hesitate to leave, but end up doing so moments later with nary an farewell. Mortarion can sense the unease in them, and he expects his captains to come clambering to him to reconsider this decision quite soon.

Mortarion sneers at the visage of Barbarus one more time and turns away from the glass, leaving not long after them.

He had you returned to his quarters after they proved without a shadow of a doubt what they saw. That The Endurance had an unsanctioned psyker aboard. Technically even now as they decide your fate, they are violating the Absolute Decree set by The Emperor at Nikaea.

When he opens the door, it takes a few moments for him to spot you. You aren't on the bed, but instead huddled in a corner holding the pillow he uses close to you. The shadows almost completely consume you, body swallowed in your large, moth eaten clothes. You look unkempt, bruises mar your skin. His men weren’t gentle with you.

You look up to him, and Mortarion can see the fear. How lost you look. How tired.

"I, I didn't know..." You swallow heavily. "I suppose that doesn't matter to all of you, does it."

Mortarion had already told you snippets of what happened at Nikaea. He had largely been in support of it; Having psykers running amok uncontrolled would only end in disaster. He remembers how they tore his home planet to shreds.

"Are you…” You hesitate, unable to say it. “You said the Emperor decreed only Navigator and Astropath psykers can exist… and I…”

You've spent almost two years aboard The Endurance. Most of it at his side, and in his quarters. Mortarion remembers the first day he saw you- the first time he touched your skin without armor in his way. He holds them close like a treasure; Rare moments when he felt as close to a man as he could, before he tumbled back into reality.

Mortarion hates that you're a psyker. He hates what that reminds him of. He wants to hate you. You’re a liar, you’re a thing that will cause nothing but chaos and unrest.

He hates that he's hesitating, because it's you.

“…No.”

It hurts him to say it. For years he has spit vile hatred for psykers, for the destruction they wrought. Now you sit before him as a proven he hates both answers to.

‘Another one?’

Mortarion sighs and lets go of your hand as you tugged away, going for a beautiful wildflower.

‘I like its grey color, it reminds me of your armor.’

Mortarion watched as you plucked a section of it to propagate back aboard The Endurance. The little desk of yours in his quarters is covered in plants, defying the impossible.

Mortarion assumed that not many living things could survive in such close proximity to him. But somehow you’re able to keep not only alive but flourishing; Blooming in even the worst conditions.

Their blossoms remind him of you. How you can withstand the poison in his lungs, the cycle of disease and rot within him. How your lips feel soft as petals as you kiss him, and despite the hideousness of your surroundings, of him, you are still a beautiful flower.

But you haven’t destroyed anything, Mortarion can’t deny it. Everything you touch has bloomed and colored, while he looms over you as a rotting, festering corpse.

“I am going to speak to my men about this.” He needs to inform them that you are staying, and that he needs to ask a favor of one of his brothers. You are a beautiful, ticking time bomb, and one of them might know how to disarm you. At least enough to keep you safe.

He needs to tell his men now they now need to operate with secrecy, as they carry something that could have the entirety of the Imperium waging war on them.

“I’ll be back soon.”

Mortarion takes one look at your desk, absolutely lush with life, before leaving his quarters and locking the door behind him.

[avocado-writing]

Would you do hcs for the main companions + tiefling boys with a changeling tav? Like tav shifts their appearance all the time and they learn how to recognize them in any form and how they would react to seeing tav in their true changeling form 😢

hello lovely! I wrote something not too dissimilar to this about a Tav who finally shows their face to their SO here - a bit of a different premise but I’m not sure what I could write for this that wouldn’t just be a copy of what I did there?

However I will add how the ladies react!

Shadowheart understands the need to hide your true self, being a cleric of the trickster domain. She doesn’t say much when she sees your visage, maybe a soft little reassurance that she thinks you’re quite beautiful, a squeeze of your hand in hers. When you share a bedroll that night, she kisses every inch of your face.

Karlach can’t stop staring, wide eyed and opened mouth. You ask her why she’s doing that, and she’s all, “THAT’S what you really look like? You’re so much better than I imagined!” and you feel your cheeks go hot because, well, she’s imagined you? She takes your face in her hands and looks you over, smitten, commenting on every feature. You feel like a work of art under her.

Lae’zel can tell that this is a heavy moment, but can’t quite find the words to let you know that she appreciates you sharing it with her. Instead she sits heavily by your side and tells you, “your face is… nice.” It’s a stumbling compliment but sincere and you smile, thanking her. She blushes.

Minthara studies you at length before muttering “remarkable” under her breath, leaning in to give you a soft kiss. She doesn’t speak much more on the matter but you can tell from the way she glances when you think she isn’t looking that she’s smitten.

[tragedy-of-commons]

nightshade's embrace

various genshin & gn!reader | ~4k

In which you face danger, fear, doubt, and eerie silence.

tags/warnings: horror, unreliable narrator, character death (la signora), canon divergence (la signora), mild depiction of blood (rosaria), depictions of karmic debt and insanity (xiao), uncertainty, mild body horror/grisly imagery, alternating past and present tense, not yandere so plz don't tag as that ty

notes: here is the genshin thing i was working on! it's by far my longest post, so i do hope you enjoy. basically me trying to make them scary in some capacity lol

Kazuha’s eyes are beautiful.

This is a popular sentiment shared amongst anyone who has the pleasure of meeting him. The ronin not only has a way with words, but with emotion itself; he can regale any folktale with ease, communicating the feelings and depth behind them effortlessly. His cherry eyes often light up with joy, close daintily with grief, and widen marginally whenever he weaves an unexpected twist into the story. Suffice it to say, he is a poet through and through.

You’ve always known him to put on a good show. Like every listener before you, you found solace in his presence, giving him more and more of your coveted attention each time he passed through. A wanderer like him has a near endless supply of material, his tongue not as ostentatious as silver but as something more humble, like copper. Ever genteel, ever open-minded, ever pleasant and welcome in your life.

You don’t know when your perception of him started shifting. You’re busy like every other participant in the game of life; work and your close relationships dominate the forefront of your mind, leaving little room for you to think of Kazuha in the way you do now. If you had to place the shift at any point, you’d err towards one of his visits as the catalyst.

Turns out if you tune out long enough during one of his stories, your attention can wander to the littlest nuances - a prime example being his eyes. They’ve always been gorgeous, reactive. Every gentle rise and fall of his chest is followed by a perfect change - a sequence of events that does not naturally stutter or stumble, like every imperfection of his has been painstakingly trimmed away for your viewing pleasure. Shallow breath in, flutter the eyelashes. Shallow breath out, squint in junction with the meter.

Your poker face is unimpressive, to say the least. Kazuha began to zero in on your lackluster reactions. He’d put talking on the backburner to address you in the crowd specifically, catering and attentive. He’d clear his throat (not like it was needed), and ask you if everything’s okay, or if the story was making you uncomfortable. Carmine irises searched and searched after, a smoothly downturned frown pulling his visage together. You’ve likened them to searchlights sweeping the ground for escaped convicts, rolling around in his skull like polished marbles.

This curried the eyes of your fellow spectators, putting you on absolute blast. No one else feels as if something’s off, probably being disappointed that their entertainment is being put on hold for someone who clearly can’t appreciate it in the way that they can. You’d surely feel the same way a few months ago, had another person in the crowd been unable to hide their displeasure; after all, who doesn’t like Kazuha? He’s charming and kind with a heart of gold. Any tale of his exploits is framed in such a way that you’d have to actively be looking for flaws to dislike them. 

…which is to say you’ve been doing exactly that. Your scant downtime became occupied with asking around about the dual-haired ronin, desperate for another perspective. Even if he puts you off in some way, you’d hate to be right, no matter how intrusive your gut feelings are. Most of what you pry out of people familiar with him are things like he’s such a doll, or he kindly saved me from a group of Nobushi during my travels! Not what you’re looking for. After all of that prodding, an uneasy feeling tickled your insides; if no one else has anything negative to say, why are you still worried? Why does something still feel so undeniably… wrong?

That feeling kept you pressing onward, in search of another answer. Your endeavors were rewarded with such after asking some of the older, wiser, and influential people you could track down. His surname, Kaedehara, apparently has some history left almost forgotten - a clan fallen from infamy. You’re reminded of the genuine longing in Kazuha’s voice, struck with a hollowness. It’s reminiscent of pounding on a wall like they do in the light novels, listening for the telling echoes of a secret room. Though he may have a disgraced or muddied past, that does not entirely satisfy you. That does not mean he is guilty of any wrongdoing. 

If anything, it endears him to you - frustrating. Are you just looking for reasons to hate someone who does not deserve it? Someone who can spin gold from nothing but meager goodwill? Are you trying to hate Kazuha just for the sake of doing so? What does that make you? All of your thoughts will not be consumed by something as dumb as this. Maybe it is because you live in Inazuma, where superstition often overlaps with reality - where yokai readily exist and where gut feelings could mean something beyond jealous paranoia. That must be it, you decide. You’ve gotten so bored with your own life that you’re wading through the already enigmatic waters and gawking at anything strange you find.

If there is something wrong with Kazuha, there has to be something wrong with you.

He starts seeking you out. In his words, he wishes to clear up any misunderstanding between you two; he’s seen you become uncomfortable in his presence over time, beginning to avoid his visits, beginning to ignore his greetings. Of course, he remains concerned throughout it all, trying to bury the hatchet. Nothing is off the table, whether it be paying for your lunch at food stalls, offering to be your protection should you venture into a perilous area, things like that. It’s unsurprising, given his charitable streak that you hear so much about.

You say yes each time. He makes good company, even if looking into eyes unnerves you and every protective measure your body offers screams at you to run away. However, you are the outlier, meaning that you must be the problem. 

This is the conclusion you will choose to stick to, if not just to sleep at night.

Kazuha’s eyes are beautiful. They do not remind you of dried blood, rust, or sweet rot. They do not remind you of harrowing loss or the pointless nature of digging holes just to fill them up again. They do not remind you of placating lies or scuffed carnelian.

They do not remind you of anything, you decide.

Sister Rosaria has always been something of a mystery. 

If you ignore the brusque attitude she boasts to the right people in certain taverns, there’s little you can glean from her. The little in question comes in the form of rumors that reach your ears through the grapevine that carefully connects each Mondstadter to one another; gossip circles galore that have nothing better to do than invent things close to ghost stories.

One you’ve heard more than once is that Sister Rosaria is something of a specter herself. 

You believe yourself to be rational. Despite how ridiculous the notion sounds, you understand where it stems from. Her corpse-esque pallor does her no favors, only accentuating her eyebags that would be fitting of a restless soul wandering the cavernous hallways of the Favonius Cathedral. She is striking, to say the least, and you don’t forget her face once you’ve seen it. Visiting the church for prayer as one does, you’ve spotted her loitering outside a few times, smoking and wallflowering and whatever it is that actually does.

These glimpses of Rosaria are a slippery slope. You’ve caught yourself wanting to go over and introduce yourself - feet moving on their own like she has her own unique type of orbit. Needless to say, the conversation that she allows you to hold with her is sparse. If you ask her about work, she scowls like you’ve personally slighted her. If you fill the silence with something she doesn’t want to hear, she doesn’t listen. Trying to be her friend started as a fruitless endeavor, leaving you bereft of reward in any capacity.

Sister Rosaria is not a specter, ghoul, ghost, or phantom. You think she is a misunderstood woman that keeps to herself too much, and that’s that. The only times you actually get through to her would consist of your ramblings about life; your passionate and animated love for your nation, your plans for the future, everything that you’d think she’d hate, given her attitude. But she listens attentively then, no drags taken, no barbs or jabs at your expense.

That’s something you can work with. Her company becomes something you cherish, and you like to think of yourself as her friend - with you hoping she thinks of you the same way. Camaraderie that goes beyond banter with drunkards and halfhearted arguments with her fellow Sisters. Connection that’s a bit more than what she has with Barbatos, which… isn’t saying much.

Even with these new developments, whispers still reach your ears. These are different from the ones before, going from rumors that anyone would shrug off after a few days to something that would persistently stick to you like glue - a thorn in your side that only wedges itself deeper when you try to dig it out. Things like I saw her sucking someone’s blood after service, and our church is no place for her nighttime activities. 

At first, it’s a bit laughable. Just because she can be a bit uncanny under specific lighting does not mean that she’s a vampire. It makes sense that the narrative surrounding her would shift over time. Those types of creatures aren’t even real. Just because Mondstadt is home to a selection of fantastical creatures doesn’t mean that these rumors have any basis in reality. You are better than to think that of somebody you consider close.

…until you aren’t, that is.

When the maw of the Cathedral swallows you whole, you feel regret crawl and prickle up the path of your spine. The curiosity that leads people astray has certainly maintained its grip on you, steps echoing throughout the building after you hauled the heavy doors open with trepidation. It’s true that the church is open to all, even at odd hours (in case someone requires emergency healing, you believe), but that doesn’t mean that it’s welcoming.

The alluring light that normally illuminates the windows from the outside is absent, leaving you to stop in your tracks a few steps down the nave - which seems to stretch on endlessly. If there’s one positive emotion you feel, you’d name it as relief; the rumored vampire herself is nowhere in sight. Leave it to you to investigate silly gossip, huh?

That means you could leave right now. You could pivot on your heel and go home to get some much-needed rest. The idea isn’t as appealing as you’d like it to be, given that your head keeps swiveling about in search of something to substantiate the cold sweat beading on your forehead. Damn it all. 

The moonlight always makes for a beautiful sight in the plaza, but without the buzz of the Sisters and nocturnal church-goers, it’s watching you with eyes of speckled dust floating between the eaves of the ornate ceiling. It doesn’t take long after that for you to make your decision - home is safer. You suck in a breath and prepare to all but run back out onto the streets of Mond, but something just has to bait your eye.

Far into the crossing (too far), there are flecks of black spattered in a trail leading all the way to the altar. They almost blend into the floorboards, but they are distinctly a shade darker—

You spin around to leave, footsteps reverberating harshly off the various partitions and panels. You have seen too little but still not enough. Was this a trap of some kind? A trap to lure you in here? By the looks of it, someone has already fallen victim to curiosity, and you may be next—

Your running is shadowed - dwarfed, even - by a large silhouette that looks an awful lot like a jagged habit and tiara, canvasing the entire expanse of the stained glass window closest to your exit. The colors are dulled by the imposing outline of what you’re sure is Rosaria. This was the trap, it has to be. What else would you call this? Her head, as much as it bleeds into the rest of her body, looks to be sat on her thin neck with little stopping it from rolling off into the grass outside.

She’s out there waiting for you.

…you think.

Adeptus Xiao is as duty-bound as they come.

If you already didn’t hear a lot about him, you’d seen him around even less. Such is the nature of immortal pillars like him. Where is the mystique and reason in being ever-present when you’re deemed a silent protector by Rex Lapis himself?

But you’d like to think you know a bit more about him than the average citizen of Liyue. You’ve seen him a total of three times, and each instance has left a cataclysmic impact in their wake. Putting it into thought sounds ridiculous, which you’re aware of - but in the Nation of Contracts, your words are your forte that will lay as the reliable foundation to aid you in all of your pursuits.

The first time, you saw him in a dream.

It was cinematic in nature, but you weren’t in it at all; from what you remember, you were shown an aerial view of the many terrains of Liyue. They all melded together into something vaguely recognizable, legs of discolored land stitched together into one large mountain-plain-hill patchwork quilt. You couldn’t shift your view elsewhere, as if being bid to wait patiently for some big reveal.

At first, you wouldn’t call the reveal big. A hazy figure began to stalk across the ground, akin to a fly aimlessly buzzing about, trying to escape towards somewhere greater than where it’s trapped; what you remember most clearly about the scene is that he was enveloped in this dark miasma that weighed down his every step. There was little sound in this dream, but you recall a guttural growl torn from his throat.

He was struggling. You don’t know what with, but something as simple as walking seemed to be too much. He passed directly under your vantage point, top of his head somewhat visible under the wisps of shadow clinging to his form. A polearm was clutched in his grasp as he hauled himself up a steep incline and began looking around, body heaving like he was about to cough up a vital organ.

You knew then that he was not human. You’d never seen anything like it. A thing so predatory yet wounded. You didn’t even get a good look at his face. Maybe there was a mask in place, but then again, that stuff sticking to him did a pretty good job of impeding your immediate judgment.

When you woke up, your chest rose and fell at a pace comparable to his. It stuck with you.

The second time, you saw him at Wangshu Inn.

A lone figure perched on the balcony railing, entirely similar but also entirely different. There was no parasitic evil hanging off his back, so his normalcy was on full display. Impressionable teal-streaked hair, glowing eyes of amber, and a polearm standing tall in his grasp. You’d heard rumors about the inn, of course, and who lives there, but the reality was just sinking in at that point. 

He, vigilant and regal, quickly snapped his head in your direction when you were caught staring up at him from the ground, your back to the breathtaking scenery. He scrutinized you with his lips pressed into a thin line before swiftly vanishing into smoke. He, Adeptus Xiao, was the one from your dream.

A chat with the owner confirmed this. Armed with this information, you, in truth, had no idea what to do. Verr Goldet made a point of mentioning that he’s reserved, actively avoiding crowds and anything he deems a nuisance. Pestering an Adeptus of all things is the last thing you wanted to do, so you opted to move on with your life. The dreams of Xiao frequented most of your sleepless nights, an omen of what, you weren’t certain.

The third time, you saw him in the mirror.

…well, something like him. You see the dark circles pressed into the skin below your eyes from lack of rest. You see your chapped lips (when did you start picking them?) and you definitely see the tremble of your shoulders staring back at you. You think of Xiao, slogging through your nation in search of miscreant fowl to punish - any threat to Liyuean citizens silenced under the tip of his spear. A sense of foreboding washes over you, numbing the tips of your fingers.

Serving as a protector of this nation may be the only thing saving him from ruin by his own hand. After all, a soldier burdened by karmic debt is far better than a potential enemy wracked with bloodlust. 

You look like him. You feel like him. If Adeptus Xiao is trying to share his burden with you, for whatever reason, you aren’t noble enough to be a part of it. There are voices of old whispering in your ears, taunting and angry and vengeful. Sometimes they peter off into screams that only you can hear. It’s too much, causing you to stumble back from the sink, head thudding against the wall.

That does you no favors. There’s no pain yet, but spots plague your vision, blotting out the familiar sight of your home. If you’re concussed, then you need to seek medical attention, but there’s more to it than that. The disembodied spirits are still here, crooning at your form - were they always there? There’s a small part of you that agrees with the notion, even as you fight the ailments. Maybe this has always plagued you—

No, no, no, no.

…you need to do something. Through the fog, you squint at your reflection to make out tendrils of smoke swimming in lazy circles like sharks. You slide your back against the wall, effectively crumpling against the bathroom floor.

Pleading, you whisper his name.

If he answers, you are not conscious to realize it.

La Signora is feared by anyone that possesses even the smallest iota of self-preservation.

You don’t know what that says about you. You know that if you keep flanking to her side (and if she keeps letting you), it would spell out your downfall in elegant calligraphy. Her attention is boiling at times; you feel yourself being choked out by the flames of her passion. If this surge of heat comes from her love, you don’t want to imagine what her wrath looks like, hurtling towards her enemies.

You think that the heat is unpleasant for her, too. Rosalyne kisses you each time like it will be the last, smooth palms coveting the apples of your cheeks. If it were not for the biting cold of Zapolyarny Palace, something like a cliche rendezvous point - you’d turn to ash in her hands. She knows this, because Rosalyne has had many years pass her by. Everything that burns will someday extinguish, she tells you, whispered between stolen kisses and hushed conversations.

You wouldn’t mind fizzling out if it meant you could have more of her, but she’s always refused you. The eighth harbinger is known for being lethal, but with you, she’s deceptively gentle. Cautious. You have a suspicion you’ve worsened the effects of her power, stoking a Pyro magic that can only be pacified by a pernicious Cryo.

The chill following your intrigues is unbearable. The stretches without Rosalyne are just as tortuous as the stretches with her, yet you still wouldn’t trade it for anything. You wouldn’t trade her, even if she stares gaping holes through you after pulling away, wishing you were someone else. Fine by you. If you are to be undone, you hope it is grand. You hope it’s grand to be stomped out by the consequences of her loving again.

…but it doesn’t come. It may be wrong to let your guard down, but pretending like the nature of your relationship is normal is addicting. She sends you gifts wrapped in red tissue paper and signed with her initial - her real one, which you’re actually given the privilege of knowing. She lays her head in your lap and begrudgingly lets you thread your fingers through her hair. She only tells you about her day if you ask. Rosalyne is a private person, when it comes down to it. You know better than to pry, that she loves you in her own way; it makes sense you’re comfortable enough to forget the stakes at hand. Anyone would do the same.

However, you can only go so long without being reminded, if the sight of your clandestine lover thrashing on the ground is anything to go by. It aches. It aches like you’ve been punctured by a dagger, stabbed and gutted and horrified that she’s been reduced to…

Rosalyne has been described as monstrous by underlings before, but this is a bit on the nose. There are six-phased stakes of ice plunged deep in her eye sockets, the noise of her manicured nails clawing at the floorboards accompanied by a terrible shriek. Frost hisses and crackles, accumulating in clusters against the underside of her jaw. Bile begins to climb up your throat because it looks and sounds to be unimaginably painful. You want, no, need to move, but—

You don’t know what’s happening. You’ve screamed and screamed for help, paralyzed and helpless at her side while she struggles in futility. It seems that your meeting spot came back to bite you, because there is no one around to help; you’re not sure what could even stop this. Your heart clenches painfully when she looks at you (as well as she can), head sloping upward, stiff and weighed down by the ice that’s hellbent on consuming her whole.

Tears roll down your cheeks. The hysteria is unforgiving, you can’t even move your legs—

The freeze nips at your heels. That’s why you’re rooted to the ground, you realize, seconds too late; it’s also creeping up your legs with a vengeance. Is this a product of her Delusion? You’ve heard stories about corruption, but nothing like this. Nothing ever like this. Rosalyne’s teeth gnash as they’re blanketed and then smothered by the ice, breaths coming out in frigid plumes. You can only scream more as you’re sinewed together, closer than ever before.

She’s the furthest thing from Rosalyne, La Signora, The Fair Lady - whatever you want to call her. Dread crystallizes the tears now plastered to your cheeks, thinking that you’re next, and that she is already gone. Is it punishment that binds you together in this embrace of stinging frost? Your penance for breaking the rules?

Yes. You’re being made examples of; sculptures erected for naive souls to gawk at, warning them about the dangers of loving someone you’re not supposed to. Your joints creak and groan, protesting your movements and becoming less responsive as you get even colder. It takes your eyes next. You cannot see as you once could, but you can hear the circulation of your blood and your rabbiting pulse, stunted as you are.

You are not to be stomped out - no, that would be too merciful. 

Whatever left of you and Rosalyne will serve as a reminder: Love is not for the faint of heart.

taglist: @flower-yi, @moineauz, @aphrodict, @nomazee, @singularity-sam, @harque, @thestarswhisper

[gangplanksorenji]

A star illuminates brightly (and then, it collapsed)

Pairing: Kep1er Yujin x Male Reader

Word Count: 7,987

Part 1

A/N: Hello again, Orenjideul and I'm here for another fic featuring Yujin! Really thought of making the past fic with Yunjin a oneshot but a thought in me really wanted to bridge them together to see where it'll end up and here it is! Hope y'all enjoy this and thanks for reading!<3

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Your mind can’t let everything disappear like a bubble—every moment savored and imprinted onto your brain for a reason. That moment rotted you, damned to your entire existence until the end of time yet it made you feel a certain connection you’ve never felt before—more like an intimate one.

You’ve never felt so good after feeling her walls clenching around your shaft and the absolutely hot mess you’ve made between her legs—it clouded your mind, lightheaded by the thought of everything happening within just minutes.

Such impurities are pulchritude in nature—bound to break limits of defining beauty because you've been enlightened that there’s more than that.

Huh Yunjin and her capabilities… You fell under her spell, lured you into her trap and you absolutely dive into the ocean of lust that you’ve been longing for and now you’re fucked.

Sure, the both of you will be safe from anything since “no one” heard the profanities let out in the puny room yet consequences will be implemented… but not just yet, and you now face the spine-chilling sternness of her visage and the wrath of hers—your class president, the ace of the class and commonly known “The Rabbit Angel” because of her being so down-to-earth and insanely beautiful features.

Yes, as perfect as she looks and she sounds, you can’t deny, everything in you becomes enveloped in fright once she thuds her arms onto the desk and faces you with a serious face, her tone dead-deep and urging you to answer.

“So, both of you really did that? Inside the university’s premises?”

“I’m s-sorry, Yujin. Yunjin is to really b-blame here—”

“Shut up! I don’t wanna hear your excuses, nor what Yunjin’s about to say either. It doesn’t matter if Yunjin’s mother is the president of parent’s organization—I don’t fucking care, alright?”

You nod as you gulp nervously as you never saw this side of Yujin—a complete opposite of her usual sunshine and bright persona but now you can just see the beast taming you.

“Now answer me, what did the both of you think was a good idea to have some sex in a bathroom? Alone near the corridors and the hallway where everybody can hear! You guys—” Yujin punches the desk with a loud thud as she walks away meters from you. A frown becomes evident on your face as you feel the fear in you coursing up your veins because Yujin is infuriated with your own actions. Even if she’s turning back against you, you could tell how furious and serious she looked as you slowly felt the regret of your own sin.

“It was all just an accident, Yujin—I swear—”

“Oh please, will you shut the fuck up? I'm thinking of something…”

That earns a puzzling face from yours, anticipating and unsure on what trick she pulls up on her sleeve. A girl like her is far from readable—possibly, a book nigh-impossible to be deciphered yet possible to know what's in store.

“Also, why am I even here? I need to see my friends—”

She rushes towards you, grabbing your necktie as she faces you, striking daggers towards you as her eyes defy anger as the beast inside her is nearly being unshackled from its restraints. 

“You're here so I can discipline you, understand? I'm doing my job as the class president and I'm also protecting your reputation and I can also make it the opposite within just the snap of my fingers… So, will you bear with me and shut your annoying mouth or lose everything, here and here?”

God, those eyes—it's mesmerizing, captivating to say the least yet it's laced with rage. You can't help but gulp nervously yet you won't just sit here and make yourself powerless against her almost-violent approach of “disciplining” you, in which, of course, you didn't like.

Choi Yujin probably doesn't discipline and lead the class like this, or, is there just a beef between the both of you? Or Yunjin? Is she jealous that she didn't—well, those thoughts weren’t going to lead onto something or somewhere… Or is it?

You nod dumbly as an immediate response as she glares at you before squinting her eyes in dismay. You still need more answers on why she needed you here, even though it's obviously for the fact of doing such sinful things inside the university's premises but her invitation is vague, leaving you clueless and perplexed.

“But Yujin, why am I still here? You already taught me about dealing with this and how things may end—”

“What did I just say?”

“But there's no more of a great point of me being here, Yujin! Can't you just—”

Yujin pins you at the wall with her minuscule arm as she glares at you, fuming with anger. She's definitely not liking your immediate retaliation from her advances and proceeds to tame you down but you won't give up a fight like this, not unless you get a valid answer about why she's still making you stay in this empty classroom.

“Shut the fuck up you little prick! I will say when you're leaving and everything will be at my own accord, do you understand?”

Slightly smirking and hitching a breath as an indication of a possible giggle, you lousily approached the situation whimsically in which she didn't like.

“Sucks to hardly decipher a girl like you, Yujin. You're clearly just blinded with power and nothing else. Are you really the class president, Yujin?”

Her fists on her other hand curls like it's about to take up on a fight, getting really irritated with your mocking. You know how you can easily break her, like a fragile twig and there's more tricks up in your sleeve that you can use against her. 

“I don't really know why they would elect you as the president if you're just manipulating people under your own “management”. You're such a bad example—”

She tightens her grip onto your chest as she stares daggers towards you, her eyes threatening you and scaring you as she also has more tricks that she plays under your game.

“Say one more thing about me and I'll show the recording to the university dean. Don't try me, asshole.”

Your pupils dilated as you were utterly shocked once Yujin called you an “asshole”. Of course, you exaggerated it as Yujin berates you, swearing at you with a tiny voice that you rather find cute than threatening.

Even when she's fuming and boiling with anger, she's still cute and pretty—well, you can't blame yourself because it's really true.

“Ohoho, wow! Getting bolder are we, Yujin? Now you're just threatening me with your fake evidence and calling me an asshole? Is Yujinnie getting a little mad right now, hm—argh!”

“You're so annoying! Shut up!!! I'm really showing this to the dean and do you think you can stop me? One more mock or any stupid shit and you're reputation and Yunjin's will be fucked.”

“Like you have a true and convincing evidence—tch, you're just making things up, Yujin—come on now—”

While you're mocking her again, Yujin immediately plays the recording of the intense sex sounds uttered by you and Yunjin inside the restroom as you couldn't believe what you're hearing.

As much as you want to deny and claim that the recording is faulty and made just to destroy your ego and reputation, it's more than real and it's really the both of you groaning and screaming the most sinful things possible. From pet names, degradation up to the most intense flesh-clapping sounds of sex, it's really obvious that it's the both of you but a clever idea came into your mind knowing that it's not only Yujin who's playing the game strategically well, but also, you.

“What's wrong, hm? Can't talk cause' you thought the evidence I'm holding isn't real? Yeah, so fucking try me, asshole!”

Your demeanor immediately changed once she mocked you with your own medicine, making you taste it and it’s bitter—it corrupts your brain and it makes you bitter. You hated it but you can’t just give up your reputation like this, not without her being on the same boat as you.

“What’s t-that?”

“Huh, you think you’re the only smart one here, Yujin?”

“Give it to me you stupid bastard!”

Yujin tries to reach for your phone in your pocket as she was deemed unsuccessful, you being too swift with your reflexes. You laugh at her helpless despair, trying to reach for your phone but can't as she gets pissed off, her expression now laced with venom towards you.

“Do you honestly think you're the only one with the trick up on their sleeve?”

“Give it to me you crazy asshole! I swear to god I'll show this to the dean and you can't do anything about this!”

“Oh, it's just fair~ Yujinnie—you show this to her and I'll leak this to social media where everyone here on this campus will hear how you verbally bullied me. Isn't that a great deal, hm?”

Well, at this point, it's just another whole mind game that has been breaking out as they will try and benefit themselves while the other will be utterly ashamed, and their reputation destroyed within a matter of minutes. The both of you glared at each other with Yujin having the fiercer one, obviously as she whimpers and yells in anger, pissed off with your own game as she's the one to break down first.

“God, I hate you! Argh!”

She throws a crumpled paper ball onto you as she kicks the cabinet slightly, frustrated and irritated towards you. She then looks at the window, gazing at the horizon, over the mountains as she crosses her arms, feeling the urge of a deep reflection. You, who's puzzled, decided to not interfere long enough with her own doings as you wanted to leave, knowing that there's probably nothing more to talk about as you start to respect her boundaries, and herself too, not just because she's the class president but as a person.

“Then I shall leave then, Yujin, okay? It seems like our small meeting here is done and don't worry, as long as you keep or better, delete that recording to yourself and no one else, I'm deleting this recording of mine, too, okay?”

You waited for seconds, hoping for a response escaping her lips but there wasn't anything. So, without any time to waste, you reach for the doorknob only to be stopped with a faint, melodical voice that was no other than Yujin.

“No…”

“Uhm—what do you mean, no?

“I'm sorry…”

Yujin then faces you, her eyes glistening with her faint tears as she probably felt bad throwing slurs and swears at you, possibly provoking and hurting you. You know Yujin is so down-to-earth and soft-hearted, her persona of being selfless and caring and her being elected as a president is evident enough to know she's one defined like an angel but you could never be so sure—the other thought in your mind thinking that she's maybe just guilt-tripping you onto making you weak and fall under her spell with her being too pitiful and for you to be gaslit as being the “sorry” one, not her.

“I d-didn't mean to say all of those words to you. Please j-just delete the recording and I won't say anything…”

Still being skeptical, you don't want to be tricked into losing everything so you still wanted to play her game.

“I'll delete it when I get home, Yujin. Don't worry, I will—”

“No, delete it where I can see it. Right here, right now—please… I'm sorry…”

And yeah, your heart isn't stone-cold either to feel the sincerity of her apologies, let alone her pouty, cute face encouraging you to obey what she wants but you know that it's sincere, the saccharine tone of her voice is enough of an evidence

With the built-up guilt of remorse and the feeling of being disrespected by her, you feel hesitant and want to outsmart her but you feel that everything's going downhill because of what sin you've done and you felt the utter guilt that no one could've ever felt.

“Press it, Yujin.”

“Are you for real or are you just—”

“Do you really think I'm playing games with you? Just press it…”

Well, it appears to be that she's hesitant even though it's literally a glowing red button that says “delete” appears on the screen of your phone. Well, you can't blame her as she's in the same boat as you.

With enough persuasion and letting herself be convinced, she pressed the button as a smile slowly appeared curling on her face as she's satisfied that you don't have any evidence of her provocative and verbal behavior towards you. It later followed into a smirk as she faced you and thanked you but of course, you're not the only one leaving in defeat here—Yujin should taste her own wrath.

“Hey, it's just unfair that I deleted mine and not yours.”

Yujin's demeanor quickly changed as the sunshine turned into cloudy mist—a dark, nimbus-filled one. Of course, she's trying to outsmart you as you were to her but there's nothing to play anymore as you wanted to be fair with her. Left with no other choice, she pulled up her phone and went onto the files where she saved it and of course, for a fair and identical ending, she did the same on how you made your evidence get deleted by showing her phone to you and making you press the glowing red button.

“Happy? Now, are we all good?”

“Yeah, Yujin, definitely all good. Thanks for the time though, definitely didn't get wasted.” Your sarcasm was off the roof, making her frown as her lips pouted cutely from the frustration of lacking a big chunk of evidence that she would have shown to the dean to make your world in shambles. 

As you reached the doorknob, ready to pull it, Yujin's voice stopped you again as you irritatingly asked her why and what's the catch this time.

“Ugh, why, Yujin? Can you just let me go?”

Yujin smiles, her lips curling up into a smirk as she eyes your body and lastly, looking you dead in the eyes as if she's totally allured to you.

“There's one more thing on why I called you here…”

You're puzzled and confused, unsure of what's about to happen yet you won't let your defenses down in case she does or says something that'll provoke you and wake up your defensive side.

“What, Yujin?”

“Don't be so oblivious now, baby. Can't just leave a girl here with her needs unattended…”

Of course—of fucking course she'll say that and you're not really oblivious about it. For the record, you half-expected her to unleash her slutty side yet this never fails to perplex you in an utmost manner. Yujin, who's known for her caring, serious and selfless persona is now being the total opposite and you don't know if a demon possessed her or it's just the animalistic urges inside her that wants to give in to her carnal desires.

If this is a bait for another trap, you wouldn't fall for it but it doesn't help when Yujin strips off her uniform jacket slowly, teasing you and luring you into the point of no-return. 

“Please, baby—do I need to say more?”

Oh. My. Fucking. God. When she stripped the stupid jacket off, it tested your temptation on ruining her there and there yet you hold it in—it doesn't help that what lies underneath it is a white, long sleeve crop top with her necktie even longer than the top itself and her milky, slender midriff being the cherry on top—in which, you drooled all over the sight of it and thank god Yujin is oblivious about it otherwise you’re utterly done. As much as you want to turn it down as you don't have enough time to waste, this may even be the opposite of a waste as her invitingly hot figure turns you on.

“I see you looking at my waist, baby. Do you like it—”

Catching her off-guard, you went up and pinned her to the wall with your face inches close to hers as she gasped with your sudden aggression, her eyes encapsulating the emotion of fear and anticipation while yours ignited with anger and lust.

“Listen here you little shit—if you're playing with me right now and I absolutely know you are, I'm not the guy to fool with, okay, Yujin? Stop testing me because you don't want to see what's coming next.”

Your hot breath brushes on her lips which invites her to even convince you into her game. You know that you're definitely losing and once you give in, there's no turning back.

“Playing hard to get, hm?” Yujin doesn't give up as she pulls your necktie towards her and whispers seductively onto your ear, in which you don't retaliate as you involuntarily give in to your own lustful desires. “I know you want this so stop acting like a hypocrite, daddy.”

God, she knows how to turn you on—and it's not even a challenge for her right now. The pet name she used just sets your last string of defense into an absolute mess, breaking it. 

As much as you wanted to say about not wanting her now, you can't lie straight to your teeth about it and you're just proving yourself a hypocrite if you do—the dilation of your pupils and the flush on your cheeks is enough evidence to know that you're already feeling the heat onto your flaccid member.

“So, what is it going to be, daddy? Play the game until you last or admit it to yourself that you want to ruin me—”

“Okay, Yujin! You fucking got me…” You yelled as invisible fumes came out of your nostrils, exaggerating how irritated you are with this girl . “God, this girl…” Another backfire is directed to her as you were annoyed to her attempts of picking your locks, but this time, your voice is almost inaudible and glad to god that she didn’t even hear you saying it.

“Okay, okay—but it’ll just be quick, okay? Just five minutes.”

A pouty Yujin meets your eyes, almost if she begs for something she can’t resist about that she needs to allure you with her signature adorable expression but you won’t fall for that because you—

“I said what I said, Yujin. Five. Minutes. Only.”

“Ughhh—why can’t it be longer than that? Is it because you can’t last longer than five mi—”

She’s really testing you—testing your limits beyond your possible breaking point as you raise your arm, pinning her forcefully onto the wall as she smirks in anticipation and delight, delighted about provoking the hibernating beast inside you.

“Shut your slutty, little mouth, Yujin! I said what I said, okay? Hah, I even think you’re the one who can’t last that long and you’re probably dripping thinking about my dick destroying your insides, hm?”

 Once again, her demeanor changed as the neediness on her face became evident, slowly giving in to her carnal desires as she’s a few steps away from her desires being fulfilled.

“Hey, I was—gahh, oh my god—hah…”

“What was it, Yujin?”

A simple swipe onto her clothed crotch makes her weak, on her knees and it couldn’t be any better. You’re unfazed with her attempts to slow you down as you leisurely teased her until you felt the wetness of her core in which she whimpered as she wanted more but knows that there isn’t in any world you’re giving anything more than that.

Everything’s on your own accord now because you’re in control, not her, and you’ll let her know that.

“Sucks to be the one who isn’t in control, right, Yujin? Not the one with the higher authority?”

“Fuck—I want more! P-please, I want more…”

Of course, you didn’t fulfill her wants because you wanted to and it’s like she can do something about it—

“B-but, I’m the president—your president, so this is is unfair and—”

You snarl as the sound fazes Yujin, her eyes gleaming unbeknownst of what emotion it can underlie but all you know is that it encapsulates fear and anticipation, like right from the start. You know how stubborn she can get and how she’ll use her authority against your own accord yet you won’t give up just like that—you can outpower her and let her taste her own medicine.

“Well, do you want to get fucked or no? I can just leave here pretty easily, Yujin.”

“Wait!” Her tone is high-pitched and in full need as she doesn’t want this moment to be wasted, let alone with you as much as she despises you—in which, according to her and to you, is one-hundred percent hypocrisy.

You can feel her need, the need in her eyes—like how she wants it so bad to do it with you as those precious orbs tells you to ruin her to the fullest.

There goes the foreplay off and on is your desires, and hers, of course.

“Okay, daddy. Do whatever you want to me…”

And she let her defenses down, submerge into the abyss of submission.

There goes the heat of both bodies, slowly getting used to each other as both lips clashed of a sudden, with the message to convey to “fuck-like-you-meant-it” and the utmost urge of giving in to your animalistic urges until the miasmic smell of sex steams all over the classroom—and may the people using that classroom on their class may prepare their own noses.

Oh god, she's so ruinable—that thought lingers on your mind once you've saw her impeccably perfect figure: her tiny, little waist; her silken, porcelain skin; her luscious, succulent lips—in which, by the way, you're feasting upon right now_and lastly her beautiful face that's sculpted by the gods.

And as pure as she looks, it's such a great time to let her impurities out—such purities sullied by lust is the best way to break it.

Both of your tongues battle for dominance as if both are deprived for the taste of oneself and you love it as much as she loves it too. You ignored the sheen of saliva messing up your mouth as your deft hands course its way onto her waist and caresses the smooth skin.

“Love the way I kiss you, Yujin?”

“I do, but please—I need my pussy filled right now…”

The normal instinct is the utter dissatisfaction permeating all over her and letting her feel the sudden urge of not fulfilling her needs yet you can't help yourself right now because you want her.

“Well, that'll be just in a minute, Yujin…” You unbuckle your belt and give her a stern look which puts a chill down her spine. “For starters, you’ll be on your knees ready to obey daddy’s orders, okay?”

It’s partly rhetorical yet she nods and it doesn’t matter, she understands what’s going on and where this will go, as she should, the brilliant and clever Choi Yujin.

“And… help me out undress myself—the bottom one—and that’s two and lastly…” Even without being taught and with her swift movements, she already had your boxers down to your ankles as she was met with your already-erect rod that she instantly admired. “...you probably know where this is going since you’ve done this already, isn’t it right, Yujin?”

Another nod and there’s no breath escaping her beautiful lips knowing that it’s already all over your swollen head—

“Already thirsty for this, huh? Don’t worry, Yujin—they’ll be more than this later…”

Such an idyllic visage masks a sluttiness that can never be topped off, and with those eyes glistening with lust, you can't hold yourself from containing your profanities as a single touch from hers is enough to melt your heart yet someone stands tall and firm, and it's not anywhere beside you—

“There you go... Getting a little excited, hm?”

Such a sight to behold, her adorable façade contradicts the possible sins that'll unfold at any given moment and just herself on her knees, maintaining eye contact with you pushes you further at the edge—at the edge of no-return.

“Please, baby—I've been longing for this for a long while now.” Yujin's tone makes you hitch a breath and a shiver as she's way too submissive and you're loving it. Well, if nothing can bring her down as she's at the paramount authority, then maybe the hard rod between your legs can deem her powerless, against your own accord.

“I wa-want it, baby. P-please... I'll be your good girl and treat me like no one can…”

A kiss on the tip and a shudder is your response, her alluring action almost brings you down on your knees, breaking your dominant demeanor but you stand strong, letting her know who's in control and it's definitely not her—Anymore? For now? You'll see where this will go…

You caress her impeccable features that captivates your very eyes up to the silken strands of her hair to her pillowy cheeks as you feel those soft flesh hollow around your cockhead, the suction definitely making you think the most unimaginable things possible. 

Even with her caustic demeanor and her so-called bitchy attitude that made you almost boil you in anger, you can't help but adore it as it spices things up to the maximum extent, further arousing you. 

Maybe taming such brats will be your speciality, who would have known that?

“God—choke on it, you pathetic slut—you planned this all along, don't you? Fucking call me here to discipline me about having sex inside the campus' restroom when you yourself gives in to choke on some dick? What a hypocrite you are—”

Tug your hand onto that makeshift ponytail as she sinfully gags onto your whole length, forcing her immediately to take it whole just for you to fulfill your desires of making a mess on someone. A forceful gag makes a forceful cough in return as she ejects herself onto your throbbing length with strings of saliva still connected onto the mushroom tip.

“Wha—what t-the fuck? Aren't y-you supposed to—”

“Just shut up and take—this—cock like a good girl, Yujin. Your—ooh—throat is a toy after all…”

As much as her voice is soothing and angelic to your ears, you rather want your ears to be blessed with such an unholy sin: gagging, which it is called.

She eagerly reciprocates your aggression as her clever mind lets itself do the work by giving you the utmost pleasure with her frantic bobbing alongside your frenzied thrust onto her heavenly tight cavern.

The caldera must leak copious amounts of that saliva and you will do just that, making her a complete mess of a girl and this is only just the beginning of the numerous profanities you'd love to do with this girl.

As much as you love to last longer, the tightness in your loins is free to speak up, opposing your wants.

“G-gonna paint my f-face, daddy? Oh! Please, please, please paint my slutty, cute face, daddy! Don't y-you wanna add to the mess you did on my face?”

And god she talks so dirty and it puts you in a chokehold of madness and the paramount battle of temptation. She knows how to pick your locks but you won't let it out just for this moment as you wanted something hotter than what she expected.

“Nu-uh, Yujin. Girls like you need to be filled real fucking good.” You tilt her chin as her gleaming orbs ignite with lust, anticipating what's coming next and ready to embrace all of it. “My seed belongs inside your tight, little cunt, do you understand?”

She's silent and muted, way too allured to the musky scent of your cock as she continues stroking it leisurely—

“Answer my goddamn question and don't touch me, brat!”

“I d-do, daddy…”

“Elaborate it, you slut—come on!” You raise her up with her firm grip of both her wrists, leveling her face onto yours as you look at her laced with disappointment and venom deadlier than any snake. 

“I d-do understand e-ever—everything you've s-said, daddy. I w-won't touch you unless you want me too and—”

“Shh, I already heard everything I wanted to hear, Yujin.” 

Without any time to waste, you command her to stand beside the nearby desk and undress herself, curious about what she's packing.

Of course, she follows your orders now she's learnt her lesson but will it be enough?

“Actually, don't undress, Yujin. I will fuck you senseless with this so-called of yours “uniform” until you could only think about my cock only—hah, I can do it, Yujin. ”

Another disagreement on Yujin's side but before finishing her sentence, you glared at her as she instantly shutted her mouth, silencing herself from her possible disobedient advances. Sliding her white garment off with the help of her dainty fingers, it’s just hypnotizing to see the cloth go down to her ankles, letting gravity do the rest as she gets it from there, keeping it on her hands. It’s inviting to see her sexiest look yet but there’s probably another thing in mind that you wanted to do with her.

“Now turn around and rest your stomach on the desk—also, give me your panties, Yujin.”

“B-but, daddy—”

“Do you want to get fucked or no?” Your tone is straightforward, stern and hunted with a bit of fury, and again, it scares her, not wanting this opportunity to be wasted just because of her own, silly actions of selfishness. She scoffs, rolls her eyes as the inevitable permeates: Yujin giving her little souvenir to you.

“That’s what I thought, Yujin. Everybody’s gonna know how much of a slut you are after this—hah, gonna walk out with white dripping down your thighs… Hm, I see this as an absolute win—”

“Please, d-daddy—ahh—gahh!”

An earth-thudding spank reverberates around the classroom as your hand lets Yujin know its wrath. A familiar rosy hue appears onto that porcelain skin of hers as a needy moan is a response from your proactive actions.

“That’s what I want to hear, Yujin—your beautiful moans… Fuck, it’s music to my ears—hah.”

Another spank almost brings her to her knees. You can tell that she’s already loving it considering how her pussy’s already dripping wet and the quivering of her thighs in every spank you do says a lot. Her breaths are ragged and tremble as every strike of your palm invigorates the pleasure she's feeling and she's loving it. You didn't stop until that tickle in your head said “It's probably a minute now…” and it just ended the beginning of a spectacular show.

“Not a single word will come out of your mouth except your beautiful moans, alright?”

It’s obligatory to say that, knowing that in any second now, the disobedience of this girl may actually prevail, and an eager response of punishment will await her if she does misbehave.

“But daddy, at least—”

Another smack onto her pillowy buttcheeks earns the finest moans escaping her mouth. You’re near on the brink of distraught from multiple acts of misconduct by hers and you’re absolutely not having it. She knows it and you taught yourself that she’s just unlocking the absolute dominative trait you have and you’re going to give into it until…

“Trying to behave like this for what, Yujin?” Another smack and an audible whimper is her response. “For more punishment?” Another harsh spank and this time, her earlier smooth, milky skin is now printed with your handprints red (redder than a tomato). She can’t help but utter a moan that’s music in your ears—

“Don’t worry, Yujin. I’ll use you like no one can.”

And that’s the thought of the devil, the carnal desires within you being unleashed—its full potential. You can’t wait anymore and neither does she and you wanted to do the most lustful profanities imaginable and you’re absolutely going to give in—

And there lies the collapse of the wall of temptation: you can only grunt and wince in pain as you engulf your member into her. It’s a whole, different story when it comes to the tightness of her walls—it’s too tight and way too pleasurable, as expected. Even the subtle oscillation of your hips earns the guttural grunts and lewdest moans escaping your very lips.

Rearrange my insides please, daddy—probably the main thought you’re thinking that has been clouding Yujin’s head since the minute you filled her slutty cunt up. It feels like a linked connection between both parties, sharing and speculating such thoughts that have been lingering on one’s mind and that’s no other than the thought of sex itself. 

You’re surprised as she acts like the total opposite of her earlier bratty behavior but nonetheless, she cavorted with her primal desires with you. You could tell the delight on her countenance even though you can't really get a sight on it—it's not like she's hiding it inside as the rivulet of her nectar slowly flows within the ring of your cock.

“God, what a good girl you are, Yujin—look at you, a whimpering mess because of my cock. You're such a pathetic little slut that gives in whenever there's someone—fucking—willing—to—fuck—dominate her!”

And it also turns her on—degrading someone, oh, such a classic one. Regardless of it, you may speak the truth considering how her heavenly moans and silent whimpers denote her as such a slut but it isn't like that, really. In a wider perspective, you made her like this and it's not even the climax of the show you're putting in her. 

No other thought can avert your focus on solely fucking her mercilessly—not even the thought of someone eavesdropping and catching you can faze you to be hesitant and someone really did catch you, it won't end in a good note: Yujin will be besmirched and ashamed and so are you. 

The pace you're exerting is wild and you know she loves it. You keep hearing her moans blessing your ears and it never fails to fuel your hips in full-throttle, hammering her hole like you have something to prove. Grabbing her hips for a greater leverage onto pistoning her very cunt, you let out the most vigorous thrusts possible as you didn't care if the desk will give up due to your actions because you need to prove her something. A broken cry can be heard, a silent shout of her inner self because of pleasure, breaking her slowly and slowly and this is only just the beginning.

This almost feels like a fever dream, like a déjà vu right from the start of just your mushroom tip being hugged with her walls, then slowly, the inchmeal of your length as time tells writes the books of the better profanities—

It's just a repetitive process of actions of a mind-boggling intercourse as every leverage and positions from the both of you are evident as it acts as a retaliation from pleasure and that what makes this session such an unique act of sin.

You weren't far off on your own climax and you can feel it rushing down your veins, invigorating the libido inside you on more than a hundred-percent. On the way her pussy grips around your rod like there's no tomorrow and the pulsation of it tells you that she isn't far from her own high either. Wanting to make her cum with you, you took the initiative by informing her and of course, adding up the harshness and the pace of your already-ruthless actions inside her tight, velvety cunt.

“I'm near—so fucking close, Yujin. Are y-you gonna cum too?”

She's silent yet loud with her lustful moans. Her mind is probably so clouded with pleasure that she can't think straight or formulate such a single, coherent sentence.

“Use your fucking mouth, Yujin—answer me!”

You need to spank her in order to get that desired answer escaping from her beautiful lips and it won't be very long—

“Y-yes, daddy—I'm super close! I'm—go-nna cum all—ahh—fuck—your c-cock—ahh!”

With the green light, you won't let yourself be stopped as you let it all out and everything went euphoric: your whole length buried into her cunt, filling her up to the hilt and as the cherry on top, your semen painting every inch of her velvety walls white. It’s historic and monumental that everything happened all in just minutes, let alone cumming inside to one of the popular girls in the university—Choi Yujin, you’re a fucking goddess, an insatiable one, you say to yourself. The ecstasy didn’t last very long but enough to cloud your mind—twenty seconds of an orgasmic rhapsody is probably enough to determine the highest of highs yet you’re still not done because you deemed yourself to ruin her, totally.

You’re only getting started and she knows it all too well…

“Stand up, Yujin. Help yourself and go beside that wall.” Your tone is commanding and enough to send a chill down her spine. She struggles a little due to the exertive force your hips maintained for over five minutes earlier. She doesn’t need help because after all, she’s just a toy to be used—your cocksleeve that’s just a reminder of pleasure (she didn’t want any help either).

Instantly, you pin her, earning a small thud on her as you place your arms around her thighs and then catching her off-guard by your sudden lift on her small, slender figure. She is light and it’s not even close to discomfort on carrying her with her back rested against the wall. 

“Oh—daddy! Getting t-too rough, are we?”

“Shut up, Yujin—” You brush your tip against the waiting, dripping slick of her pussy as you can see small samples of your seed leaking out of her heat, and onto the swollen slit of your cockhead. “—I just wanna hear your moans, okay?”

She nods and eagerly moans (almost screams) as you plunge your whole length into her again. The visceral and almost ear-deafening moan of hers just fuels you to draw another onslaught of thrusts into her already-filled cunt and her lewd and ahegao countenance just puts gasoline on the fire of lust and it just arouses you so much. You didn’t bother to start slow as you hammer her hole like there’s no tomorrow, the sweat of her midriff and to her face that adds up the mess you’ve made earlier is the cherry on top. Still ensuing a relentless pace, you commanded her to unbutton her top and eagerly, she does it with her left hand slowly as the other holds your muscular arms for leverage as she struggles because of her body being ragdolled like never before.

Now with more of her exposed skin on your sight (with the long nectktie still on your way), you quickly latch your lips onto her neck and collarbones, suckling onto the soft, porcelain skin and almost leaving a mark. Even with your animalistic urges taking over, there’s still heart in you and you chose not to mark her but rather, just leave a small reddish hue due to the harsh lipwork you’ve done. 

“God, you taste so good—you feel s-so fucking good—aren’t you just the perfect sex toy, Yujin?”

Still with a relentless pursuit on her hole, you make her unable to respond too by latching your lips onto hers, tasting the sweet, sugary flavor of her lips as she eagerly reciprocated alongside her angelic moans. Enough of the another lustful act, you quickly smack her backside with you palm (thank god you’re strong that you’re still able to carryfuck her after that) and wanted an answer—

“Right, Yujin?”

She nodded and screamed a loud “Yes, d-daddy!” as every thrust you do makes her unable to be understood and even to formulate such articulate sentences. With on how much you’re giving everything to her, the stream of her juices leaking around your shaft and dripping down to your balls is inevitable and it prints a smile on your face as you know that she’s more than loving this—you swear to god she won’t forget this until her last breath; this steamy session also going to cloud her mind for a week like what you did with Yunjin.

Ignoring the sensitivity and the painfully tight clenches of her velvety walls, you continue what you’re best at as Yujin announces her near orgasmic eruption around your length as you glared onto her, the two of you making a straight eye contact at long last as the last time you did that with her was before this merciless fucking you’ve done on her hole—

“Don’t you fucking dare cum yet, Yujin!”

“B-but, I c-can’t hold it i-in, daddy—”

“Don’t you fucking dare, you cockhungry slut! I’ll tell you when you’re—fuck—going t-to fucking cum!”

It’s obvious that she’s near, and so are you. You wanted her to reach your high with her—making a puddle of mess down the classroom and you swear to god, the janitor won’t be a big fan to clean this up—and you’re definitely a mere seconds away to the promised land—

Another thrust, another scream, another moan reverberates all over the classroom—

“Inside please, daddy.”

And you erupt, and so did she.

Releasing every single drop inside her tight walls is peak ecstasy, let alone seeing her beautiful façade become a ruined mess and of course, her pussy, mixed in a concoction of indistinguishable liquids. You let out everything including the moans you’ve been holding in since from the start—you absolutely gave in and unshackled everything, causing for another euphoric high. You buried yourself up to the hilt while she cries in delight and overstimulation, her pussy creaming all over your raging, twitching length is the cherry on top. After of almost half a minute of a hot orgasm, you slowly pull out of her and sat down, fully exasperated and drained while Yujin did the same, leaning down the wall as she slowly sits down, her legs weak and wobbly and you're the one to blame here.

“That was—”

“Good. Yeah, Yujin, you took me so w-well, too…” A small compliment made her blush as she slightly smiled, her mind still clouded with lust but mostly, delight. 

“Y-you—hah, f-fucked me well, too… Hah, thanks for this.”

Yujin pointed to her freshly-creampied pussy, full of your semen as it leaks and she didn’t let her chances go to waste, her dainty, slender fingers drawing a small sample as she squirms is a hint of satisfaction, herself fulfilled with the taste of your semen.

“It’s very delicious, I must say that—fuck, I don’t think I can walk straight after this…”

And now she’s back to her sophisticated self—but the pool of mess between her thighs, the disheveled mess on her face and uniform contradicts the adjective—whereas she’s stern, cute and focused but there’s nothing to be near that you just gave her the time of her life.

“Need some help, Yujin—”

“I’m f-fine, thanks though. Also, give me my panties back! I can’t leave here without it on!”

As much as she’s stubborn and so are you, and it’s way worse than her. Knowing that her attempts are futile at the very end, she doesn't even bother to try and lets you keep it.

“Argh, you’re so annoying! Just keep it to yourself, you pervert!”

“Wow, like she isn’t one herself—”

“Shut up!” She lightly punched your shoulder, causing you to overreact by wincing in that so-called “pain”, earning that cute, grumpy look from Yujin.

“Well, we should clean this up…”

“Yeah, I think so…”

And that ends another dreamlike moment in your life—everything flashed and felt like a movie that you didn't want to end but it did…

—

A week has passed and yes, that moment with Yujin has been clouding your mind since day one…

“It flew like the wind—so dreamlike…” You whisper to yourself while writing something in your notebook—call it a diary, sort of. “It felt enchanting and weird, at first but… it was a different story once I’m—”

“You’re inside me, hm?”

You got slightly startled as Yujin caught you off-guard. You didn’t even know how she had time to get into your spot—your little sanctuary on the campus grounds—as you know how busy she is but you guess she’s not.

“W-what are you d-doing here, Yujin?”

“Nothing… just hanging around—you, what are you doing here?”

You hitch a breath, fidget your fingers onto the hem of your shirt and stutter until you finally come up on an answer. “I’m just chilling around here doing my own stuff.”

Yujin’s radiating smile meets you and it is contagious but your demeanor is still what it was earlier—confused, stern and uneasy. 

“Uhm, I just want to apologize, about myself a week ago… I—it, hah… It was really good but I’m sorry I lured you into my stupidity…”

Now you become fazed with her sincerity, your face changing into an expression of guilt and pity, blaming yourself to for succumbing onto your vile of need and lust yet you reassure her, telling her that it’s your fault—

“No, no, no, it’s definitely onto me…” Yujin sits down with you as she looks deep into your eyes full of sincerity, the look where it’s so endearing and alluring that you can’t help yourself to fall under her spell but you hold yourself back, getting serious and wanting to let her know your side.

“I think we both just—became so horny and yeah… Very sorry about probably hurting you—”

“No, it’s my own fault making you like this. I guess I was just full of anger and lust that day that everything felt eerie… So, I’m sorry…”

Within the duration of the conversation, you kept your eyes off of her attention but with a deft move, she placed her finger onto your chin, making you face her and avert your attention towards her only. Suddenly, an unanticipated move was made proactively by her and all you can feel is the lusciousness and the softness of her lips: she’s kissing you. It didn’t last very long and you’re not asking for more and any, yet you’re just grateful nonetheless. You’re also frozen because of her sudden affection and it took you almost four seconds to react as her eyes anticipated something.

“I guess that’s enough for an apology?”

You blush, cheeks rosy pink and ears redder than a tomato as she softly chuckled, finding it adorable rather than shameful.

“You d-don’t need t-to do that, Yujin…”

“But I did…” Yujin proposes her hand to you, and you instantly knew she wanted you to shake her hand but she utters a breath, wanting to say something. “Friends?”

You complete the handshake and then smile at her gleefully, accepting her proposal as she smiles back too, feeling the genuine feeling of bliss.

“I’ve always wanted to have male one…”

“Well, welcome, I guess.”

Another light punch to your chest due to your teasing as the day still ensues as normal. Everything feels like it’s straight up on a goddamn plot of a movie but you’re not complaining. You’re still in a state of doubt as you’re not sure why Yujin wanted to be suddenly friends with you but I guess she just wanted another. The president becomes friends with the class trampoline—that’s fuckign ironic, isn’t it.

“Well, wanna see you at my place tonight. Gotta get to know you more and probably help me with this assignment, too…”

Well, it can end in a lot of ways as you could imagine this ending all on a good note. You’re not the man to turn that down as you’re just completely falling into the pit of her charms and you’re absolutely into this.

Well, you don’t see why not—maybe just don’t let Yunjin know you’re sneaky plan—

[eelnoise]

seraphim

roronoa zoro x afab!reader c/w: bloodlust, consensual bloodplay, zoro bites, you scratch, religious themes, body worship, slight breeding kink, piv sex, creampie, manhandling, praise, post-murder sex (reader and zoro just killed a bunch of marines), public sex a/n: ? idk what even to say. i like my men bloody and i like when they bloody me. this is a rewrite of a previous fic which you can find here so if ur like "ive read this b4..." its because you kinda have banner by the lovely @buggyandthebartoclub!

Zoro isn’t a religious man.

No, he finds the very notion of reverence visceral.

Though as he turns back toward you, he’s dumbstruck. You face away from him, pulling the blade of your sword deep from the torso of a fallen naval officer and watching as the light fades from his eyes. Both of you had emerged victorious after a merciless and surprise assault from a group of marines in the middle of an open town square on some island that neither of you can remember the name of, where a large statue stands tall in honor of some long-forgotten hero at its center.

The scene is heavenly, you there - surrounded by the wages of spilled blood that pools beneath your feet, the remnants of singing steel permeating the now hallowed ground upon which you stand. There’s a certain beauty in chaos, and never has Zoro felt it quite as clearly as when he watches you tear into your foes with reckless abandon. The image makes him shiver - not in fear or revulsion, but something far more primal, deep within his gut.

He’s speechless as he observes you wiping the excess carnage from your blade, a sensation akin to delight igniting in his veins and fixated on you like a hawk. It’s beautiful, truly, a stunning vision that he couldn’t even dream up. 

“Well, we took care of that little rat problem, hm?” Your words are heavy with pride and exertion, but the sound of your voice only spurs him from a daze that he didn’t even realize he was in.

Then you turn to him, visage tattered and torn and stained with crimson. Zoro’s mouth goes dry, and words fail him, tongue tied tightly in a knot that he can’t seem to unravel. You’re immaculate, and for the first time in his life he’s fighting the urge to exalt, to sing your praise, to deify you.

He mutters something that’s beyond your field of hearing as he continues to stare at you like a starved man would a feast. Zoro’s seen you wield that blade countless times, watched on as you cut down enemy by enemy without effort or ailment, but never have you looked as angelic as you do now. Standing amid a symphony of battle and gore, covered from head to toe in splattered blood that’s both yours and that of the deceased around you, the look of delight and self-satisfaction twinkling in your eyes as you grin at him from across the square, fuck, it’s all too much. 

You’re right, of course, the two of you can and did handle these sin and sinew wrapped rats with ease, but the more pressing matter is the effect that you’re currently having on his heart. Zoro takes a step forward, taking in the beauty of your face, bloodied and bruised but not conquered.

Curiously, you leer at him, head tilted in question as you sheath your sword along your back, taking note of the lack of the usual snarky remark from the swordsman. “Zoro?”

His eye flickers to yours, lips parted in what could only be described as awe. He looks at you as if you’re a muse, descended from on high to grace him with your presence, one that’s stunned him into near silence. “Yeah?” Zoro manages to reply quietly, tone raspy and voice a barely audible whisper against the breeze - a timbre you only hear from him when he’s injured or exhausted, a weak and feeble inflection that almost has you questioning if the man was actually hurt.

Zoro’s jaw visibly tightens, his one open eye alight with the same burn that he eyes an opponent with, expression twisting into one that you know all too well. The face he only makes when -

He wants you.

Your war-torn, bloodthirsty appearance has overwhelmed Zoro, the innate desire etched on his expression like a fool in a daze. Lips twisting into a devious smirk, you’re keen on taking advantage of this rare opportunity of power that you’ve been given over him, and you know exactly how to proceed. With a step toward him, you do something he doesn’t expect, something that has his nails digging into his palms.

You lick blood from your lips.

Zoro’s blood blazes, a carnal, raw emotion swells in his throat with urges he cannot fight - will not fight. Ever a man of action, he’s upon you faster than you can react. Large, calloused fingers envelop your waist, pulling you close in an instant and slamming his lips onto yours in a starved, feverish, messy kiss. The metallic tang of blood on his tongue mixed with the taste of you drives him increasingly wilder each second you stay locked together in the embrace, hastening him further into devoted bliss.

You writhe as he leaves your lips to trail down your neck, lapping up the viscous liquid that coats your flesh in his wake. Zoro is fully prepared to kneel at your altar, to partake of and rejoice in each beautiful proverb that befalls from your sweet tongue, to bathe in every hymn you bestow.

Zoro's hands roam over your body, feeling the contours of your curves beneath the fabric of your torn clothing, tracing the delicate lines of your collarbone and shoulders before coming to rest on the small of your back, holding you firm against him. He feels like he could drown in this moment, in the warmth and passion that courses through his entire being.

Zoro grins wildly, a feral expression on his face as he feels the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, the heat of your breath against his neck, and the sound of your voice washing over in melodic harmony. He wants nothing more than to revel in this moment, to lose himself completely in the intensity of the connection that you share.

“You wouldn’t believe how good ya look like this,” He growls into your skin, his chapped lips dancing across your collarbone and up to your shoulder. “I feel like I shouldn’t even be allowed to see ya. Feels…” words wane into a series of open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder and into the crook of your neck, deeply inhaling the intoxicating scent of blood, sweat, and battle on your flesh, “...wrong.”

“Doesn’t seem to be stopping you,” You purr, allowing a soft, pleased sigh to slide from your throat when he adds his teeth to the wet assault upon your skin, gently nibbling and grazing at you in a manner that grows hungrier and more sporadic with every passing moment. 

“We both know I ain’t much of a rule follower.” Zoro’s husky voice is hot on your ear, his warm breath sending a jolt of longing right through your nervous system. The hand low on your back begins to wriggle its way through tattered tendrils of threads that once made up your shirt, fingers spread wide as it skims up your pliant softness, tracing along your waist and up between your shoulder blades.

Zoro's touch isn’t quite tender, a clear indication of his burgeoning lust you suspect, but there's honesty, sincerity in his newfound charge. He knows that you aren't fragile, the evidence fresh and red around you speaking well enough on its own, so why stay the hand that plys the sword? 

Men fall to their hands and knees in prayer to gods they’ve never seen, begging for mercy and crying out for deliverance that will not come.

But you - he can see you, he can hear you. 

He can touch you.

Taste you.

You're divine. A paragon of a twisted and bloodied form of justice. It's you that's stupefied him, luring him into a deistic high that has Zoro practically foaming at the mouth with innate desire.

His painfully hard cock strains against his thigh with means to worship you wholly, to partake in his own ideals of perverse, distorted devotion. He breathes in your salty-sweet scent once more and groans in longing, the taste of your crimson essence on his lips makes him feel like an offering to an idol., and every drop that drips down his chin only serves to heighten his senses even more.

He looks up at you through an eye glazed over with depraved adoration, and all he can think of is how good you look, how delicious you are on his tongue, how much he wants to please you, be consumed in your immaculate presence, and to offer himself up as a sacrifice to the darker and more nefarious desire within him.

The urge to claim, to take what he wants from you and find salvation surrounded by your benevolent hold. To act upon the impure aspiration that pulsates in his mind in ways that would make even the most vileindividuals gawk. He yearns to clean the blood from your sacred, championed skin, a lust filled ritual to send you both into sacramental euphoria. 

He’s in a frenzy, feeling and touching each curve and crevice across your body while pulling you impossibly closer to him. Before Zoro can even think, he’s sinking his teeth into your shoulder, overcome with enlightened debauchery and biting down until that deathly addictive taste of your blood is fresh on his tongue once more - a testament to the depth of his obsession and the power of your shared experience.

The pain burns hot, but brief - quickly dissipating away into a cry of raw pleasure, a moan so salacious and so absolute that Zoro feels the very last of his will slipping through his fingers. He laps over the decently deep mark, his saliva mixing into the cuts like kindle to flame and earning him another woefully delightful wail of exasperation.

He thinks himself safe for the interim, that he’s pulled some sense back from the brink - until you say the one thing that shatters him to pieces.

“Do that again.”

He doesn’t deny you, and without hesitation he obliges by drowning his teeth back into your shoulder, pressing deeper into the wound and savoring the way your blood flows across his lips and into his mouth, painting his face red in the process. He grinds his hips against yours in a primitive display of dominance, while his fingers dig into your flesh with bruising force as you dig your nails into his back through his sweat and blood damped shirt.

Despite the danger posed by your actions amidst the threat of more marines, there is something undeniably beautiful about this dance of life and death. In this fleeting moment, Zoro and you find a kind of transcendence - a place where boundaries blur and limits vanish, leaving only pure, unadulterated passion in its wake.

His lips return to yours, and soon enough you feel yourself being whisked off your feet. The open air of the square leaves little room for privacy, but you know he doesn't care. Zoro walks with you in his arms, lips locked together in a messy, bloody, passionate kiss, your legs tight around his waist before he eases you down onto the lip of nameless hero's memorial upon which he plans to ravish you.

Zoro releases his hungry attack on your lips and rips the remnants of your shirt in two, leaving you bare to him as if an offering of communion. To feast upon your body, to drink upon your wine.

You gasp, wincing just a little from the shock of the fresh air upon your chest. “Zoro-” you begin, his name emanating from your breathless lungs as you watch the fabric fall to the ground around you. 

“Y’can have mine,” He replies, leaning forward to pull one of your nipples into his mouth. “After I’m done with ya.” Zoro’s mouth suckles greedily, teasing your sensitive nub with his tongue before biting down hard enough to make you squeal and arch your back, but not draw blood.

His free hand traces down your side, finding respite upon your inner thigh and squeezing tightly onto it, growling as the fresh wound on your shoulder trickles down your chest and right onto his lips and eliciting an absolutely lewd groan from Zoro as he laps it up.

He gazes up at you with an intensity that borders on madness, his eyes burning with an unbridled lust that has you keening. “Ya taste so fuckin’ good,” he growls between his assault on your chest, “God, I can’t get enough.”

“Then take as much as you want.”

And fuck, he does. In an instant does he pop his lips from you to slide your pants away, somehow careful enough to not rip them to shreds - something you’d have to thank him for later. Without even removing his swords from his hip, let alone his own pants - Zoro simply rushes to undo the clasps and push the waistband down enough to free his length, thick and leaking, to bounce out against your pelvis. 

You can feel it even through your underwear, warm heat radiating from what you desire most in this world at this moment. Zoro looks at you, gaze lingering on yours as he slides the fabric shielding your sex to the side and grips your hip with one hand and his cock in the other. He teases it over your slickness tantalizingly while sliding it between your folds and inch by inch are you filled so wonderfully, stretched and stuffed so marvelously full that each tense or twitch of him inside you makes the edges of your vision blur and has you wailing in pleasure.

As soon as your hips are flushed against one another, he gives you but a moment of adjustment before rutting his hips into you quickly, a rhythm so ruthless and wild that leaves you able to do little more aside from gasp out breathlessly and brave his savage ruin. You’re not even sure when your nails crept up his shirt, or when they burrow sharply into his shoulder blades until they’re etching down his back, the crescent shaped lines running his skin raw and bloody, scathing scores fueled by ferocious, crude passion.

He folds you then, one of his hands coming to grip over both of your wrists to pin them above your head as an arm forces your thigh downward. Zoro leans over you, your ankle now bouncing wildly next to his ear while he plows into you at a newer, deeper, more luscious angle. 

Skin slaps against skin in company with brazen indulgence, a foul yet righteous lament for the fallen mere feet from you. From this more cramped position, you’re all but forced to keep eye contact with him - and he’s looking nowhere else but at your face, enraptured by every sound and move you make as you squirm in his hold.

Your desperate pants mix, leaving patches of sweat to pool between your chests. Zoro’s increasing gasps and snarls of ecstasy ring loud in your ear, the sounds echoing through you like a quake and causing you to flutter around his cock. He hisses, harsh and shrill in your ear and with a throaty grunt he pulls out of you, letting your legs fall to the stone pavement and releasing his grasp on your wrists to firmly twist you by the shoulders, spinning you around and sprawling his hand on your lower back to shift you forward into an arch.

He’s sinking into you again, fingers tight and stinging at your waist and burying himself fully inside of you once more. There isn’t even a moment given for reprieve, the man continuing to fuck you as if he hadn’t even left your dripping heat and making you cry out in hypnotizing delight. 

Zoro smacks your ass, relishing in the ripple effect in your pliable flesh left in the wake of his blow. “Shit,” he exhales, adjusting his machinations of impurity to wrap his arms around your waist and lifting you from the ground, holding you in place mid-air and thrusting into you with less and less fluidity by the second. “Feel so fuckin’ amazin’, always do but god damn do you feel so fuckin’ incredible right now.”

You reach back to lock an arm around his neck seeking any leverage to keep yourself upright amidst his onslaught. You’re moaning something incoherent, words neither of you recognize due to the lust-filled haze that fills your minds, feeling the pull of release pit low in your belly as his balls slap against your clit at a rapid pace. 

Delirium bids its toll upon you, tears prickling at your eyes as the climb to your closely approaching high reaches its limit. Drool slides down your chin and onto your neck, and in an instant Zoro catches it with his mouth, once again dissenting on your flesh and gnawing his incisors into your neck - sucking and biting with brutal obsession and marking your angelic skin in devout defiance. The growing familiarity of the warm flow of blood trickling from the bruised indents in your skin makes you crack, flying over the edge with a scream of his name.

He doesn’t slow as you ride out the waves of pleasure coursing through your body, still slamming into you a breakneck speed. You twitch and twist in his arms, the hard beating of his cock keeping a state of hyperstimulation over you, the whimpers and cries of weak will and breathless joy beginning to tip him over the edge. 

The only thing in Zoro’s fogged head is his need to flood you with his spend, to pack you to the brim with his cum until it drips out of you and onto the stone below. He doesn’t even care if you’re bred full of his brats after this - if anything it would show just how he reveres you, claiming you as his own personal magnificence. 

His jaw tenses, still attached securely on your neck, as he cums. Loud groans and grunts and sighs of relief vibrate against your skin, Zoro’s dick leaking and draining into you as your walls milk him for all that you can manage. 

A few final, slow motions and he slides out of you, gently placing you on the ground and instantly rolling his shirt from his shoulders to hand it to you. “As promised,” Zoro says, a deviously weak grin on his face, moving to wipe his brow after you’ve taken the clothing from his outstretched hand. “Want me to patch ya up when we get back?”

“If you don’t mind, yeah.” You reply as you toss the shirt over yourself gently, minding the wounds that line your body as you do so.” Would rather not be asked any questions I don’t want to answer.” Zoro nods, chuckling softly before helping you clean up, using scraps of your ruined shirt as makeshift bandages and rags before he lifts you into his arms for a third time, though this one with the intention of carrying you safely back to the others - a soft apology for his brutality on your flesh, but one he knows he doesn’t need to say.

[plzfeedmebread]

Jealousy? You Wear it Well

word count: 1529

Pairing: Ao'nung x Omatikayan! Sully! Female! Na'vi Reader Tags: fluff, romance, cute, silly, oneshot Author's note: A quick oneshot dedicated to @royallaufeyson! Saw their post asking for this pairing fluff and thought I'd give it a go. Hopefully it's too your liking :)

Ao’nung considers himself many great things; strong, skilled hunter, a remarkable swimmer. But jealous? No, never. Why would he be jealous? And of that stupid ikran? Perish the thought. What’s there to be jealous about really? Nothing, that’s what!

Yet here he finds you, his darling Omatikayan future mate, tending to your ikran, instead of meeting up with him like you were supposed to an hour ago.

You don’t even hear his approach, and that in itself stirs an uncomfortable feeling in his gut. You have your back to him, standing before your own ikran. You’re rubbing his neck and humming soothing words as he rests his head on your shoulder. Naturally, the accursed beast is the first to spot his approach.

Suddenly his head is off your shoulders and he hisses with a faux threat, his attention behind you.

“Hoan?” You look up at your ikran, confused by his sudden change in attitude. Noticing his gaze is fixated on something behind you, angry at something intruding on your alone time, you turn around to see what the fuss is about.

A wide grin splits your face, recognizing the would-be intruder as your beloved future mate.

“Ao’nung!” His name slips through your lips like siren song, turning your whole lithe form to him and jog to meet his approach halfway. No matter how many times he sees you, once again is he left awestruck by your visage. As you run to him, those untamed locks flowing freely behind you, your form is caught in the last rays of sunlight before eclipse; a golden luster leaving kisses upon your skin.

And he melts. Ready is he to prostrate himself before such beauty. He catches you in his strong arms with little effort, you are so light and lithe coming from the forest.

Your arms instinctually wrap around his neck and you kiss him without hesitation. A short quick peck and you pull away to look down into his eyes, pale blue meeting gold.

“Hi,” you say and he returns your smile as he places you on your feet once more. You don’t untangle your arms around his neck. His hands are on hips, holding you close.

“Hi yourself,” he says cheekily, placing a small kiss on your forehead. “Oel ngati kameie.”

“Oel ngati kameie,” you say back with a smile.

Hoan makes an annoyed huff behind you, clacking his jaw a few times. You turn to look at him, ears perked up.

“Hoan, what’s gotten into you recently?” Your attention is immediately pulled to your ikran, instantly removing your arms from Ao’nung’s neck as you make your way back to the creature in question. You don’t see the slight frown that forms on your beloved’s face as he watches you walk away. But your hand catches his, and without looking back, you pull him along with you. A roll of the eyes, ‘of course this thing needs you right this very moment’ he laments to himself.

“Sweet boy, what’s got you huffing and chuffing?” As you ask this you let go of Ao’nung’s, placing both hands on either side of Hoan’s face. “Are you still hungry?” you look to the side and see the fish portions remain untouched.

“Hmm…He must grow tired of the same meal. Poor thing must miss yerik and talioang meat.” You lament as you rub his neck soothingly. He makes a light trilling noise as you do. “Maybe you prefer some soft-shell meat, yes? I think I saw some in a pool nearby. Ao’nung, can you keep an eye on him? I’ll be right back!”

“Well I—” and before he can even protest, you’ve sprinted off, his arm outstretched to your retreating form. After a beat he drops his arm back to his side and sighs deeply. An awkward silence permeates the air. He can feel Hoan staring at the back of his head. Probably plotting his demise. He turns then, fixing a scowl at the creature, though mindful not to make direct eye contact.

“There’s probably nothing wrong with you, is there?” he asks, as if the beast would understand him perfectly. Hoan blinks, tilting his head from side to side as if confused, cawing at him.

“Oh don’t you play innocent with me. You kept her here on purpose didn’t you? Think you’re real smart hogging all her attention.”

Hoan doesn’t give away any indication he understood anything directed at him. Instead he busies himself cleaning the inner parts of his wing; utterly ignoring Ao’nung it seems.

The boy in question shakes his head and rolls his eyes. Turning around to once again face the direction you went.

“Skxáwng ikran…” he mutters to himself.

SMACK!

His hand flies to the back of his head, something having hit him. He turns around and looks down, finding a portion of sand and drool covered fish at his heals. He frowns and looks up Hoan, the offending creature has his head buried in his other wing.

Ao’nung eyes him up and down, taking a few steps back before turning around once more. Where the heck were you?

SMACK!

“Hey!” He turns around angrily and again he finds fish at his heels while Hoan is preening himself; the picture of innocence. “You better stop that or else!” A fool Ao’nung is then, to turn his back once more, because as soon as he does—

SMACK!

This time when he turns around, Hoan is instead looking right at him. The offending creature honks at him rhythmically, and to the annoyed Ao’nung, that almost sounds a damn laugh. Without a second thought, he picks up the nearest piece of fish and lobs it at Hoan’s head. He hits him square in the face, the fish leaving a sandy red kiss to his temple.

Were it possible, Ao’nung thinks the face Hoan’s giving him right now would be that of the utter most offence anyone has ever taken in the history of the forever. He picks up another piece and throws it Ao’nung, hitting him in the chest and leaving the same gross smelly mark.

“So you have chosen war.” Ao’nung states, a war cry leaves his lips and he grabs the pieces near him into his arms, throwing them at Hoan.

The ikran responses immediately, a loud hiss and raw at Ao’nung, this time he grabs as many pieces in his mouth as he can, throwing them haphazardly at his opponent, some missing him completely.

The two of them go at it for a while, the pieces becoming nearly unrecognizable as time passes. All the while, Ao’nung laughs, what a silly thing he finds himself doing, having a, fish war, with your ikran. The beast itself making all manner of caws, bellows, yips, snarls and chirps.

So engrossed are the two of them that they naturally do not here your approach until it is too late.

“By the Great Mother, what is going on here???”

Immediately they both stop, dead still are they, like two naughty children being caught red handed. They turn to you then, you standing off to the side, a small basket balanced on your hips, filled with various molluscs.

Ao’nung drops the pieces he’s holding, straightening up and clearing his throat.

“Well you see, [Y/N], we were just—” another piece hits him in the side of the head. He turns and frowns at Hoan, who has his head facing the other way, turned to the sky as if the most interesting thing he’s ever seen is there right now.

“Pffft….Pffthahahahaha!” A melodious laugh bursts forth from you, and Ao’nung turns to you alarmed; a light blue dust paints itself up his neck and across his cheeks. “The two of you are ridiculous! Look at you! Covered in sand and fish blood.” You shake your head, smile never wavering. You set the basket beside Hoan, knowing you wouldn’t have to shuck the creatures yourself. It will be good for him to use his wing claws to pry them open.

“Silly boy, Hoan!” You tease and make tsaheylu. “Make sure you wash yourself thoroughly before you return to the others. Else Bob will never let you forget,” you say out loud for Ao’nung’s benefit before disconnecting and approaching said boy.

He huffs at you and turns away.

There is a cheeky smile on your face as you look up at him, arms behind your back.

“So…”

“So…?”

“Having fun without me?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about honestly.”

You shake your head at his antics and grab his hand.

“Come, let’s get you cleaned up in the heated pools,” you say and walk off, pulling him behind you by your joint hands.

You turn to look at him behind you, not slowing your pace as you do.

“And Ao’nung?”

“Yes?”

“Jealousy? You wear it well yawne,” you tease him, letting the word roll of your tongue, dripping in liquid gold. You can’t help but giggle when you see the shocked look on his face, the darkening of his skin renewed tenfold. He turns his face elsewhere.

“Sh—shut up…”

You laugh once again facing forward and squeeze his hand.

He smiles contently, and gently squeezes back.

----

Oel ngati kameie - I see you

yerik - the hexapede

talioang - the sturmbeest 

skxáwng - stupid/moron/idiot

yawne - my love

[doodle-pops]

A Matter of Honour and Pride

Glorfindel x reader

Kinktober 2023: Cunnilingus

A/N: Something about Glorfindel having great elven pride in his nature and being dedicated about it is just…beautiful. I feel like I should have made the entire exchange between them a separate fic the way I loved it so much :)

Warnings: fem!reader, cunnilingus, stubborn reader, a teeny weeny spanking, making out in public (because Glorfy has no shame)

Words: 3.3k

Synopsis: In matters of intimacy, a clash of mortal and elven pride unfolds. Glorfindel, driven by his deep elven pride, considers it a grave concern when his pride is wounded.

List of Requests

“So, you’re telling me that elves by nature aren’t sexual beings in the manner mortals are; however, when it comes to pleasure, you do not joke in that area?” you puzzled with an intrigued expression gracing your visage. You had hoped he would have heard your puzzling question over the loud ambience of the folks gathered in the Hall of Fire to celebrate the New Year. Possibly the worse place you could have decided to treat with the cocky golden–haired Lord.

The tales you had heard about him were indeed true, he was blinding the moment you laid eyes on him and full of pride towards the abilities of his race of folks. Nothing that slipped his tongue tonight ever diminished the pride and strength of his race, only boastings and cheers towards their accomplishments. Though his words of upliftment were joyous—nothing wrong with praising your race of folks—the need to make juxtaposes between men and elves was unnecessary. Nonetheless, his words were making chalk out of your teeth the more he spoke about elves, elves and more elves with less praise to men in the…pleasure department.

Standing in the furthest corner of the Halls, there you braced yourself against the wall while the noble Lord hovered with a much larger chalice in his hand, slowly slipping his grape–flavoured wine and eyeing you with interest. He wasn’t sure if it were your lips or the direction the conversation had drifted which had he ensnared, but he was sure it was you, nevertheless. Lifting the chalice to take another swig, his jaded eyes bore holes into your skull, sending waves of heat coursing through your body and leaving goosebumps.

“Hmm,” he hummed with seduction, eyes never leaving your face and lips, “it is so. However, despite not being promiscuous as men, one session with us is enough to leave one satisfied for weeks into months or even years until next we engage in intimacy.”

Chuckling at his witty comeback, you rolled your eyes and broke the palpable eye contact to glance at the dancefloor brimming with bodies swaying to the upbeat melody. “You know, if you have a low appetite and cannot fuck for long hours or multiple times, there should be no need for shame. Just say you elves cannot last for multiple rounds instead of making up telltales, and admit that men have a greater appetite than you,” you condescendingly replied with a smirk.

Biting his lips to withhold the growing smirk, he hung his head to lowly groan while releasing soft chuckles; you clearly had the wrong impression of his statement. Giving his lips a lick and stepping closer to tower over you—as if he wasn’t already—he craned his neck down to whisper as lowly as he could with a sinister grin dancing on his lips, “You entirely mistook my praise, my dear. It meant that us elves can indeed fuck for long hours, even days…in one go without stopping. One session is equivalent to days ramping in the sheets with us. We simply pleasure better than men; stamina and ability you lack to leave an everlasting effect.”

Wanting to react the way your body and mind were to his correction, you quickly recomposed your expression and posture, cleared your throat and scoffed. “Like I’d believe that. So what if one session is a couple of days between the sheets—normal, but how is one supposed to feel satisfied for months or years after that? It’s quite impossible if I say.”

Astonished by your lack of belief towards his factual statements about the nature of elves, he jerked his head backwards, stunned. The appalled look on his face bewitched his body and soul as he continued to observe your unbothered expression as you lazily sipped your wine and glanced around the dancefloor. You were supposed to be enthralled by the sexual prowess of the elves, not discard the information like a dirty rag. Was there something he wasn’t saying to capture your interest? Surely he used the right tricks in the book by speaking proudly about the stamina elves can endure, something the race of men lacked and should impress mortal women.

“Forgive me but,” he began with a light cough to regain your attention, “you don’t appear to be impressed by the skills of the elves when they clearly outweigh those of a mortal man. Am I correct?” He cocked his head to the other side allowing his golden tendrils to follow his movements and flow like a river of water. His hazy jaded eyes and reddened lips were a testament to how mad you were driving him to quelch his pride as an elf.

“You are right; I am unimpressed.” You paused to quench your thirst before continuing. “I find those facts to be one-sided given the monogamous relationships that elves practice and their lack of promiscuity in their lifestyle. Those praises reside from those whose pleasure is only heightened by the bond created from marriage and not one who is simply experiencing intimacy for the sake of bliss,” you elaborated with an arrogant smirk toying on your lips. The bolder and daring your egotistical look of self-praise grew, the more annoyed the golden hair Lord became as his grip tightened on his chalice.

Twitching his eye as an irritated look governed his face the more he stared at your smug expression, his pride flared with urgency to consume the very fibre of your being and prove you wrong. It was within his nature as an elf to remember the juxtaposes between man and elf; call him superior if you wish, there were things that elves wished to be considered the best at with pride.

“So, my words will only be considered factual if you are proven wrong?” He half-heartedly grinned.

“Hmm, yes. Otherwise, all that motion you did with your mouth would only be considered artistical and linguistical nonsense,” you dispassionately declared with another roll of your eyes and looked at your half–empty cup.

Liking the direction of where the conversation had drifted to, he couldn’t help but twist his tongue in his mouth at your words. What game were you playing with him? He could have sworn that you were purposefully egging him on, and he willingly allowed himself to play along, enjoying the challenge. “And what if I can prove to you that the motion of my mouth and,” he took the opportunity to dip closer and ghost his lips against the shell of your ear and whispered temptingly, “tongue can be artistic in other forms that will make you retract your statements?”

You froze at the proximity of his body brushing against yours; the heat rippling off and stirring your insides. The taunt muscles that he spent ages developing were pressed against your feeble figure causing your head to spin if it had not been for his hot breath and lips against the shell of your ear. You could feel his tongue slipping past his lips to trace the outline of your cartilage, slightly nibbling as he got lower until his lips became attached to your skin. The action made your drink slip from your grip, luckily due to his heightened senses, he was able to catch your cup midway through kissing the underside of your ear.

Lips still attached to the skin, he pressed your body flush against the wall, ignoring the notion that you were still trapped in a crowded room with spectators, he was determined to prove the abilities of an elf to you. However, it was you who reached your hand in between and gave a gentle push to break up the act.

Panting and attempting to not make eye contact all for the sake of not wanting to display how affected you were and to keep up your masquerade, you heaved and looked behind him, into the distance. “I thought elves weren’t indulgent?”

“I’m willing to bend the rules to prove me right,” he panted.

Darting your eyes to his reddened visage, you twisted your lips. “Prideful that much?”

Without missing a beat, he boasted, “Pride.”

**

If you had foreseen that you would end up in this situation right from the start, you might have skipped the entire conversation and urged him to prove himself right without delay. However, the anxious anticipation of defending your mortal pride was also essential to establish your dominance as a lesser being constantly overshadowed by others. Nonetheless, the position you now found yourself in, whether regarded as compromising or empowering, was undeniably pleasurable.

Having an elf on his knees, fervently worshipping your mortal body in a desperate bid to prove himself right while also ensuring your utmost pleasure was a scenario that couldn't have been more satisfying. However, your view became obscured when he swiftly removed your clothing and spun you around to face the cold oak doors, all while he eagerly dropped to his knees to worship. In line with his seductive prowess, he assured that he could deliver an unparalleled level of pleasure without penetration, as he had promised, solely by using his godly skilled tongue.

The loud, lascivious sounds of his tongue and lips slurping and smacking against your cunt with every twist and suction reverberated throughout the room. You were fortunate to have returned to his room in the nick of time, especially considering his hands and mouth had been all over your body the moment you departed the Hall of Fire. Thankfully, no unsuspecting elf had to witness the scandalous sight of their Lord engaging in intimate activities with an innocent mortal maiden in the corridor just meters away from his estate. Nevertheless, you were appreciative that the elf Lord was now on his knees, his face buried between your thighs, fervently slurping away as if it were his last meal.

A loud smack to your ass and his larger hands adjusted your body to arch into a deep curve. Your face was pressed against the cold wooden doors while your ass was stuck outwards from Glorfindel to marvel at while he slipped his tongue past your entrance. You would have found the position to be awkward and unappealing at first given the appearance of having your ass in his face, but he proved to you that it was enjoyable as if your legs were wrapped around his head. Grabbing your ass and spreading your cheeks apart to reach his tongue deeper and pushing his face into your heat, he thrust his tongue and curled it, forcing you to squeal louder for him.

“Hmm, don’t be so quiet about it dear. You know you’re enjoying this just as much as I am,” he taunted and teased while giving smacks to your ass and leaving handprints across the area.

Fighting to understand if the rolling of your eyes were due to the pleasure or the smugness in his voice, you found yourself slipping against the door as your sweat built. Fingers scraping against the wood, Glorfindel seemed to pay no mind to the destruction you were causing to his room; he didn’t mind if you trashed the entire place so long as you left here with your opinion in his favour.

Squealing and mewling as his tongue slipped out only for his entire heated mouth to engulf the entire area and form a suction over your clit; had his hand not found purchase on your hips to keep you upright, you would have toppled over. The motion of his lips over your clit reminded you of his linguistic abilities as Lord as he abused the tiny nub like a pacifier. The sounds were lewd as he continued to drink everything your body offered him freely; even the small trickles of liquid as your cunt clenched and squirted into his mouth, he consumed without pause. He refused to use his fingers, wanting to solely prove that his tongue was artistically inclined to demonstrate a prowess unlike any other.

“M-My Lord, fuck, ngghh,” you moaned into the door while his tongue ran over your sensitive clit and flicked it. “Hmm, so good—”

What the hell were you saying? You couldn’t slip up even though the pleasure was euphoric.

You wanted the earth to open up and swallow you whole for agreeing that he was indeed pleasuring you with the highest degree of satisfaction. To make matters worse, he agreed that he wasn’t going to engage in intercourse to prove his point about how otherworldly and spiritually powerful his race had on the body when it came to pleasure. He’d keep you here all week to get it into your head, and it him as he mentioned, “That’s just one session for us elves sweetheart.”

Smug superior being.

Chuckling into your core, his lips firmly grasping your clit, the resulting vibrations sent shivers coursing through your body, compelling you to arch even further into his embrace. You weren’t certain if it was possible to contort into a more debasing position than the one you currently occupied, but given his unwavering determination, he seemed capable of bending you into even more contorted shapes just to assert his elven superiority and compel you to acknowledge your inferiority.

“Are you enjoying this, my dear?” he murmured, his voice muffled as he allowed your ass to envelop his face, unconcerned about the possibility of suffocation, as long as he achieved his objectives first. His hands were actively exploring the rest of your body, primarily focused on your breasts, eager to grope them since he had been denied the opportunity earlier. His fingers teased and manipulated your sensitive nipples while he emitted low growls into your core, revelling in the increasing flow of your arousal and the trembling of your body. This was precisely what he had desired.

He longed to witness the expression on your face as the undeniable truth gradually unfolded, forcing you to confront your denials head-on. He relished the prospect of observing you struggle to reject his abilities, even as the evidence was as clear as day. However, he didn’t mind if you chose to cling to your denials; it only meant that he would keep you ensnared and engrossed in pleasure for the remainder of the week, rendering your tongue incapable of uttering dissent.

As your legs quivered uncontrollably, you bit your lip to stifle the moans and whimpers that threatened to escape. The tears welling up at the corners of your eyes served as testimony to the undeniable reality he presented, yet you remained steadfast in your refusal to concede to his pride. This couldn't be the truth; it must be some illusion crafted by deceitful elves and their enchantments.

“Fuck!” you cried out as your body convulsed. “F-Far from enjoying i-it. You should p-put your back into it more, I barely feel a t–…thing!”

Suppressing a chuckle, it escaped unexpectedly, bursting forth but immediately muffled by the enveloping warmth of his mouth on your pussy. The resulting vibrations rippled through your body, sending waves of goosebumps cascading down your spine. Your legs nearly buckled from the clever manoeuvre, betraying your resolve as your body responded contrary to your intentions. At that moment, his left hand abandoned your breast, descending upon your ass with a firm touch, eliciting a chorus of squeaks and gasps, his aim clearly to extract more moans from you.

The apprehension swirling in your mind, as your body defied your steadfast intentions, was humbling. Here he was, coaxing your reactions like a skilled snake charmer. You bit down on your lip hard enough to taste blood, trying to fend off the growing sensations welling up in the pit of your stomach. This couldn’t be real; your body couldn’t possibly be experiencing pleasure of such overwhelming intensity. If this was just the outcome of one round, with the session barely underway, you doubted your ability to endure the ensuing hours or days if he chose to push the boundaries further, as a testament to his resolve.

The suctions of his lips, moving in perfect harmony with his tongue, shattered your ability to concentrate on anything besides the consuming pleasure of being pleasured orally. His languid strokes over your clit, alternating with teasing nips and gentle kisses, sent your mind spiralling into oblivion. You couldn’t discern which way was up, down, left, or right. For all you knew, you could have been transported to another realm while your most intimate desires were savoured like a sumptuous five-course meal. Why was he so fervent and insistent? You yearned to push him away, yet simultaneously, you craved to keep him closer as the mounting pressure threatened to breach the dam.

You were on the brink, desperately fighting the surge of your mortal pride as it threatened to drown you in the overwhelming desire to cum all over his tantalizing tongue and eager face. You weren’t supposed to enjoy this, yet every stroke and thrust of his tongue felt like a divine gift, setting your body on a path to cloud nine. The undeniable arousal flowing from your core made it nearly impossible to maintain your defences. Damn it, you despised your own body and cursed the magic of his tongue, yet you willingly pushed your ass out to meet its tantalizing movements.

As your body tensed, you couldn’t be sure if you collapsed or if he had pulled you closer, but you knew that the pleasure surged and broke through your dams. All you could discern was that your back was no longer pressed against the door but against a solid wall of sinewy muscle. The soft moans you had been holding back escaped your lips, carried through the air to meet his senses, spreading a triumphant grin across his face. Your arousal smeared across his visage; his lips and chin were adorned with your slick essence, his eyes glazed and brimming with a primal delight. He withdrew slightly, allowing his hands to explore your core, teasing your clit and savouring the way your body quivered and trembled under his skilful touch.

“Are you ready to yield and confess?” he inquired; his voice laced with a challenge.

Squealing from the touch of his finger against your entrance, dancing around the inner lips, you cried out, “N-No! So what—So what if you made me cum; what does that prove?” You were quite the challenge and determined to reject his narrative on the nature of elves.

Your body had already surrendered, sprawled lethargically on the floor in a foetal curl, trembling ever so slightly. It felt as if he had electrified you a thousand times over, and his heightened sensitivity was only adding to the overwhelming aftermath. He continued to goad you, pushing you further toward his grasp as if you hadn't been within his control all along.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning over your limp form, his lips tracing a path along your sweaty skin, inching upward until they reached your earlobe. “I don’t believe you fully comprehend the control I wield in this situation. No matter how many times you resist the pleasure, I will persist, possessing a stamina that mortals lack. If you happen to lose consciousness, rest assured that my presence will be etched into your being for all eternity. Every action you take, every thought you have, will bear the mark of my touch. Now, the single session we initially agreed upon is far from over—”  

“Glorfindel,” you cried out, interrupting him as he loomed over your form, his lips still caressing your sensitive skin, indulging in delicate nibbles along the way.

Gazing up at you with seemingly innocent eyes, he sported a self-satisfied countenance. “Have you conceded?” he inquired, though it didn’t appear to matter much to him. “Nonetheless, our single session is far from finished, and as a warrior, I possess boundless stamina. A touch of promiscuousness wouldn’t hurt to demonstrate that elves excel in delivering pleasure beyond mortal capabilities.”

“You’re joking right?” you questioned overwhelmed.

“A matter of my honour and pride as an elf.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @eunoiaastralwings @koyunsoncizeri @ranhanabi777 @someoneinthestars @mysticmoomin @aconstructofamind @rain-on-my-umbrella @the-phantom-of-arda @singleteapot @wandererindreams @asianbutnotjapanese @ilu-stripes @justellie17 @justjane @silverose365 @bunson-burner @batsyforyou