#╰┈➤ ┊❛ VISAGE. / LOOKING IN THE MIRROR AGAIN... ❜┊

[knightfeared]

Thinking of my dragon age oc Mercius again,,,,

Goes from happy spoiled cheeky ass to tired and stressed inquisitor 😔✊

His little nose is my favorite thing tho aaaaa gdi…

[flamesignite]

"You have my heart and soul."

some roy x stolas for @owlstronomer!

[knightfeared]

@vikshodgepodge

yeah they were flirting in that honda odyssey

based on this text post that made me audibly laugh

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Malleus Draconia: Made Up

… Why does Malleus continue to have some of the most “hey are u lost bbg” facial expressions + poses ever on his initial birthday card artworks… 💀

He really looks like his mom when his hair is all pinned back like in his alt and Groovy look. xbjsbsjww The makeup products he’s using… They look like Giorgio Armani 💰

Rise and Shine!

Humans were blessed with two hands with which to do all of their work. Malleus Draconia had no need for either of his.

Lipstick, liquid eyeshadow, and finishing powder lifted into the air, glowing an eerie green. They uncapped and began applying themselves, gliding easily across his lips, painting his lids, and patting down his pale skin. Already, a cloth was busy polishing his horns, and a brush ran through his hair. A mirror, magically suspended before him, displayed his regal visage--a work of art slowly coming into its peak form.

You had heard Scarabia's vice dorm leader mention that he used magic to do his hair--a complex, precise process--but had never in your life witnessed a show like this. You clapped for Malleus, as if a spectator that had just seen a most wonderous trick.

He cut you a curious look. "May I ask why the applause, child of man?"

"It's just so cool seeing you use your magic," you replied truthfully. "There's so many things happening at once, it's hard to know where to keep my eyes. You're really amazing!"

There was a sound akin to a stifled chortle. These, you had grown accustomed to.

"You never cease to surprise. This is but a modicum of what I am capable of." He almost seemed to pout as he said it, as if itching to demonstrate the full extent of his powers. Wanting praise for something more.

"Oh, trust me. I know you are--but it's nice to see the Malleus Draconia using his magic to do normal, everyday stuff too." You grinned, ducking behind him to peek into his mirror. Your gazes met in the sparkling glass. "I wish everyone could see this."

"It is hardly a matter of importance to share the details of my morning routine with the masses. Besides, Grandmother would no doubt grant me a thorough scolding for allowing myself to be seen in such an improper state.”

He yawned, and a hand moved to cover his mouth, where you caught a glimpse of pointed canines. A rare moment of cuteness, of vulnerability. A side of himself kept private. Such a mundane thing--it reminded you that he, too, was but a student, preparing to tackle another day.

"Maybe not, but then again… maybe they'd see what I see too."

You quirked a brow. "And what is it that you see?"

"That you're not as scary as whatever scary made-up version of yourself they have in their heads. It's not all doom and gloom, wrath and lightning. You're someone that laughs and cries too."

"... Do they have that impression of me?" Malleus brought a hand to his chin. "Odd. When I last conversed with a peer of mine, they were so elated to be in my presence that they fainted on the spot. Lilia commended me for making such a strong impression on them."

"Erm... Lilia might not be the best judge for that." You poked at the corners of your mouth. "You have a nice smile, so how about showing it more? That might draw people to you."

"Hmmm. Like this, perhaps?"

He attempted to imitate you. The result was an awkward facsimile of your smile. Not quite the same curve, and with the tips of his fangs poking out. His eyes, still ominous.

Clumsy, but a little dangerous.

Your heart sprouted wings and fluttered. “It’s a good start! You’ll get the hang of it with more practice.”

Malleus sighed, and at once, the items that had been hovering around him collapsed along with his breath. “This is a conundrum. As a public figure and representative of my country, it’s imperative that I maintain my reputation.”

The fluttering in your chest settled like a stone sinking into the bottom of a lake. A sudden weight, a sadness, sitting in your stomach. He cut a gallant figure--but without the fairy lights and fire, he was but a pitiful creature trapped within stone walls.

Lonely and misunderstood.

Without a word, you slipped a hand into his. Malleus felt cold to the touch, like some long-forgotten relic dug up from some ruins.

His eyes shot wide open with alarm. "What are you..."

"Let's walk to class like this," you suggested softly. "I know you wouldn't harm me. If everyone else can see that... they'd understand, right?"

Shock flooded Malleus's face. Then, like a flash of lightning and a fleeting bellow of thunder, it was over, replaced by the faintest chuckle.

"... Very well." He squeezed your hand, the motion sending sparks of electricity through you. "I would not be opposed to this. If they are to weave tall tales, then all we must do is flip the script and write a story of our own to combat theirs."

[solxamber]

Romance Clichés With: Vil Schoenheit

Cliché: The Airport (Dark Mirror?) Confession

Others: Leona ; Azul ; Kalim ; Idia ; Jamil ; Riddle

Vil had told you last week about his upcoming movie shoot in another country. He’d casually mentioned he'd be gone for a little while, which you’d taken in stride. After all, he was a famous actor—it wasn't like he was leaving forever. At least, that’s what you thought. But Rook had other ideas.

“Oh, mon ami,” Rook sighed dramatically the day before Vil’s departure, “how brave you are. Truly a testament to love, to be able to bear such a tragic farewell without shedding a single tear! Many would crumble under the thought of not seeing their beloved for years.”

You blinked, pausing mid-bite of your sandwich. “Years?”

Rook nodded, his eyes misting over, clearly lost in some inner poetic monologue. “Oui, it may well be years before we see Roi du Poison’s radiant visage again. Some might say he is embarking on an odyssey, one that will only return him to our shores once he’s ascended to an even greater pinnacle of fame.”

“Y-Years?” you echoed, a pit forming in your stomach.

“Bien sûr!” Rook leaned in, whispering with all the seriousness of a tragic romance novel. “In showbiz, a project could take ages—rewrites, reshoots, promotional tours... Why, he may even settle abroad to cultivate his craft.”

You dropped your sandwich, horror dawning as the words hit you with full force. Your mind went into overdrive. Vil... leaving? Maybe forever? You pictured months, even years of unanswered texts, long-distance video calls, and eventually, just fading away from each other’s lives.

You couldn’t take it! And if he was leaving, you had to make it clear that he’d be leaving someone who would do anything for him.

Which was why, mere minutes before Vil was set to leave, you were charging across campus, heart pounding and absolutely zero plan in mind.

He was standing in front of the Mirror of Darkness, his poise immaculate as always. His entourage surrounded him, but you were zeroed in on only one thing: making sure he knew you would sacrifice anything to keep him.

He was taking a few moments to pose with his usual elegance, utterly unaware that you were barreling toward him with all the grace of a charging rhinoceros.

“Vil!” you yelled, gaining speed as you neared him. He turned, brows raised just slightly before you flung yourself into his arms, nearly sending him toppling over.

“Please,” you blurted, “don’t go!”

Vil’s face softened, and he looked about to speak, but you were already mid-rant, words tumbling out in a fevered rush.

“Vil, I swear, I’ll change my entire skincare routine if you want! Every day, double cleanse, essence, eye cream—I’ll use every serum, sheet mask, and exfoliant you recommend.” You grabbed his hands, clutching them tightly. “And if it’s my diet, I’ll cut out carbs or sugar or whatever you want! I’ll even drink green juice, Vil!”

His eyes widened in something like amusement, but you didn’t give him a chance to interject.

“Please, just don’t leave forever. I don’t care how famous you get or how much international recognition comes your way, or how you’ll become the new face of high fashion—I’ll do anything. I love you, Vil. I’ll do whatever you need me to. Just. Stay."

Vil blinked, clearly stunned, but before you could spiral into another tirade, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a soft, breathtaking kiss. It was enough to shut you up instantly, and when he finally pulled back, he looked at you with an exasperated but deeply affectionate smile.

“Darling,” he said, brushing a hand down your cheek with a chuckle, “I’m really only leaving for two weeks.”

“Oh.” You stared up at him, cheeks flushing red as his words sank in.

“Two weeks,” he repeated, laughing softly, and his face lit up in a way you’d never seen before—completely unguarded, genuinely amused, and utterly, hopelessly in love.

Your flustered mumbling was drowned out by his gentle laughter. “So… all that talk about green juice and sheet masks…” His chuckle turned into a full laugh, rich and uninhibited, echoing through the hall as a dozen phones captured the moment.

He gave you a lingering kiss, entirely unconcerned with the crowd, before pressing his forehead to yours. “You really thought I’d leave you forever?” he whispered, a teasing sparkle in his eye. “Oh, my sweet, melodramatic potato.”

You mumbled something unintelligible, hiding your face in his shoulder as your embarrassment finally caught up to you.

By the time he returned two weeks later, it was all anyone on campus could talk about. The candid video of him gazing at you, laugh lines softened, love written all over his face—it had gone viral. Even Vil was taken by surprise at how the internet had swooned over the whole scene, declaring you both the new “It Couple” of NRC.

And if Vil noticed the way his likes had outpaced Neige’s on Magicam, well, he wasn’t above a little bragging.

He’d make a show of it too, asking Mira each morning, “Who’s the most popular couple on Magicam?” And every time, he would grin, smugly satisfied with the answer.

And if anyone dared ask him how he got so much traction on his account lately, he’d just smile, gaze in your direction, and shrug with feigned innocence.

Masterlist

[auragasmics]

HE LOVES IT WHEN I...

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂♡ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° ˚ ₒ synopsis! sugar daddies have a sweet tooth for all their sugar babies. but for you, these rich dilfs are ready to spoil you rotten for all your cute quirks!

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂♡ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂° ˚ ₒ pairings! sugar daddy bokuto koutarou, ushijima waktoshi, and akaashi keiji x fem! reader

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂♡ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂° ˚ ₒ cw! 1.7k, drabble + headcannon format, age gap (hq men are early 40s, reader is late 20s), car sex, oral ( m -> f), daddy kink, backshots, fingering, mirror sex, teasing, slight degrading, use of petnames

∞ ₒ ˚ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂° ˚ ₒ xoxo, chris! sigh...i love bokuto sm! he can eat me 25/8. ushi can too!

pt.1

Sugardaddy!Bokuto loves it when you say thank you.

It turns him on to unbelievable lengths. It follows the same old routine, one he doesn’t plan to change anytime soon. Each time you accepted yet another bag filled with your latest hauls, you turned to the doting man, his hand eagerly waiting to catch your own. 

With a faint smile present on your lips, the soft coos of your voice rose to Bokuto’s ear, coaxing for his copal hues to widen. The pair of words were simple mannerisms, instilled from a young age for all. But whenever it rolled off your tongue, the porcelain shades of Bokuto’s skin couldn’t hold back the innocent hues of red from surfacing. 

All he needed to hear was your pretty mouth say it one more time that day, just once more. 

“Aht, don’t push my head away. That’s just mean,” Bokuto pouted, the pads of his fingers digging into the limp plush of your calves. He’s got all his weigh on you, pushing you down onto the backseat of his car. You winced mindlessly, your hazy eyes flickering among the space Bokuto occupied between your legs. Your fingers lazily carded through his locks, strength dwindling by the second.

 “B-Bo…I can’t take anymore,” you slurred, resting your head along the sleek platinum headboard. You couldn’t begin to comprehend what snapped inside Bokuto, his insistence leading to you gasping for a lick of air. He didn’t give you time to slip from the citrine dress you wore, only to be bunched around your bucking hips. 

“‘M so sorry, Princess. You just looked so good today, I wanted a piece of you,” he mumbled incoherently, his busy lips latching onto the twitching bud of your clit. He's relentless, working the slicked muscles to paint sticky strokes along the bud.  

He’d been tucked away in his own heaven, relishing in every drop of your essence that spilled into his mouth. He pulled at least three orgasms from you this way, each one slower than the last. 

“Wait–I can’t cum again, Bokuto please!” you sobbed, your back forcing out a harsh arch. You frantically nudged yourself deeper into Bokuto’s hold, your hips swiping at whatever could be caught. 

Sharing in your urgency, Bokuto kept his tongue pressed into your folds, the voids of his eyes taking in the sight before him. He always did love when you chased after your own high, using him however you saw fit. 

He pulled his hindering grip from your legs, allowing for your thighs to smother him in a swift close. Not another syllable had to be uttered as you approached your high, both hands grasping handfuls of Bokuto’s hair. 

A bubbling fit of words fled from your lips, Bokuto giggling at the view. He drew himself from your cunt, placing a final kiss onto the exposed bundle of nerves. He rested back onto his haunches, keeping his hunkering figure hovered above your own. 

As he swiped the pad of his thumb along the spit-ridden mess of your lips, he whispered to your dazed visage gently. “Be nice and use your words. Now, what do you say fr’ me, Baby?”

Through your heavy lashes, you mustered the bits of energy to respond, granting a satisfied smirk to creep onto Bokuto’s face.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

Sugardaddy!Ushijima loves it when you spend his money.

God, does he love it? The swipes of his card, the sifting through the thick bills tucked away in his wallet, Ushijima was addicted to it all. He didn’t even have to say a word, your hand already reaching for whatever mode of payment he had for the day. 

You weren’t aware of it, but there was a special glint that illuminated the olive hues of his eyes. Maybe it was how you twirled the thin sheet of plastic between your fingers, whistling some tune to pass the moments of processing. 

He was obsessed with the fact that every heel beneath the soles of your feet, every ring that hugged your finger, and every dress that clung to your body was all his doing, all stemming from the fruits of his labor. 

When that gratifying giggle rang from your throat, it was enough to fuel a flame within Ushijima’s belly—something he knew would be extinguished soon.

“I can’t hear you, Sweetheart,” Ushijima groaned, his hand prying from your stuttering hips. You lifted your head from the tear-stained pillow, pulling the swell of your lip through your teeth. “It’s so fucking good, Toshi! I w-want more,” you keened, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. 

Ushijima returned to the sight laid before him, the plump curves of your ass pressed against his tensed abdomen. Tracing down the arch of your spine, he was met with the glassy voids of your lidded eyes, spools of drool decorating your lips. 

Taking a provoking turn, he drew his hips from their post, dragging his length from your walls. He chuckled at the sound of your cries, the sadist whims surfacing to the forefront of Ushijima’s mind.

“C’mon Baby, you gotta work for all those bags you got today,” he surmised, landing a playful smack on your ass. The mewling whimpers from your lungs came to a sudden halt once you noticed what Ushijima held in the palm of his hand.

The hefty stack of blue bills sat snug in his hand, waving them to your gawking glance. “If you can make me cum just like this, I’ll add everything in my hand to your allowance,” Ushijima wagered snarkily. “Deal?”

With a sheepish nod, you agreed to take on Ushijima’s bet, planting your weakened knees into the mattress. A heavy breath brewed inside your lungs, acting as encouragement for your newly placed endeavors. Ushijima knew all too well how big he was, considering he was always so insistent on taking charge. 

Yet watching his pretty girl struggle to take him was just one of his favorite pastimes as of late.

With the single dive of your hips, your walls enveloped Ushijima’s cock in the viscid warmth once more. A stout arch coaxed itself into your spine as a keening sob sang from your lips. An overwhelming euphoria was placed upon your weary body, stemming from fullness residing within your cunt. Your digits dug into the cotton plush of the pillow, barely grounding your mind.

“Fuck–you must really want it, don’t you Baby?” Ushijima chuckled raggedly, the faint patterns of stars clouding his vision. He hadn’t anticipated your eagerness, the swift drops of your hips resting against his flexed abdomen. He felt everything, every twitch of your walls, every roll of your hips, even every kiss the head of his cock pressed into your cervix. 

The explicit clash of skin began the soft comforting tunes to Ushijima’s ears, hiding his blissful whimpers behind the music. His eyes were trained to the unfolding scene, from tracing the slick sheen of sweat dusting the curve of your back to catching each wave that passed through the supple skin of your ass. Reminding of something that of a fever dream, Ushijima melded into the amorous aura, quickly forgetting the bet he’d made with you. 

Giving in to his fading sense of self, Ushijima drizzled the stack of bills along your body, each one drifting to cover the sheets beneath you both. With his hand now free, Ushijima reached out to you, cupping your chin as he presented you with a single rhetorical question. 

“Who’s my rich little slut?”

Sugardaddy! Akaashi loves it when you flaunt your new clothes.

He finds it to be the highlight of his day. It’s even become his sense of downtime from the frantic day, hopping from shop to shop all across the city. He’ll sit in his favorite leather armchair with a cup of the richest brandy in hand, watching your giddy reflection paraded about through the mirror. 

“Don’t you look pretty? Told you this color suits you best, Sweetheart,” Akaashi cooed, his chin nuzzled within the crook of your neck. You couldn’t bother to respond to his compliment, not with his thick digits drawing relaxed circles along the supple bud of your clit. You clawed at his forearm in protest, the silk fabric of his dress shirt catching each scratch of your nails.

Perched atop his lap, Akaashi kept your thighs parted for his entertainment, his eyes pinned to the mirror’s reflection. He admired it all, the staggering rises and falls of your chest, your trembling lips, and the spilling streams of spit lining your chin. He only wished you could revel in the same vision he bore witness to. 

At his tender handling, your body melted into Akaashi’s hold. From the frantic beats of your heart, the nerves beneath your skin prickling with need, and the hot pants warming the air, it was all for him. Your back arched against his chest, squirming amidst the mind-numbing solace Akaashi delivered. 

“Look at that, making such a mess on my fingers,” he hummed, the tips of his digits ghosting the fluttering slit of your cunt. He allowed for a single finger to graze past your entrance, the lewd squelching spurring you on. “P-Please Keiji…don’t tease me like that. Just–” you sobbed, your hips bucking to meet his fleeting touch. 

“Sorry, baby. Not until you tell me how pretty you are,” he whispered, painting your limped jaw with lingering pecks. Drifting down to the pulse of your throat, Akaashi nipped at the skin, leaving the slightest hints of marks in his stead. 

His calming tone flew to your ear, earning your hazed attention. “Look in the mirror and repeat after me,” he instructed softly. You nodded concurringly, the lids of your eyes prying from their screwed hold. 

You were met with Akaashi’s narrowed glare, the darkened hues of his eyes pinned on you. Embarrassment rang through you, eyes glazing over your pitiful state. What caught your immediate attention was the ruby dress he’d just purchased sitting around your waist. 

Not to mention the pornographic sight of your cunt on full display for him, inducing for a merciful whimper to creep out your lungs. 

Yet for Akaashi, his own concern was hearing that voice of your repeat every word that soon left from his mouth. “I’m Akaashi’s…” he began, waiting for your frail reply.

“I’m Akaashi’s…” you uttered shyly, the inescapable heat swarming beneath your cheeks. He noticed your resistance, matching it with lingering swipes of his digits between your glossed folds. 

“Pretty Girl. I’m Akaashi’s pretty girl,” he compiled together, shifting back into his seat patiently. You swallowed the lump sitting in your throat, bundling the bits of energy to comply with his wishes. 

“I-I’m Akaashi’s pretty girl,” you whimpered out at last, granting a smile to spread along his lips.

“That’s my good girl. I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

[knightfeared]

@vikshodgepodge

[girlsworldillusion]

I'd let the world burn for you

•

Summary: Amid the severe consequences of war, Aemond finds himself alone, without the presence and support of his young and sweet wife, who insists on staying away from him, afraid of who he has become. He has been a respectful and patient husband. But tonight he feels like he has finally reached his limit.

Author's note: Please, pay attention to the tags. This story contains sensitive topics, such as: +18, SEX, SEVERE INTERNAL CONFLICT, DUB-CON/NON-CON, POSSESSIVE/OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, EMOTIONAL DEPENDENCY, TOXIC RELATIONSHIP AND MORE.

word count: 6k

There is no specific description of which house the reader belongs to, so feel free to fill this in as you wish.

English is not my native language, forgive me for any spelling mistakes.

Good reading!

He can taste vomit in his esophagus.

Aemond knows it wouldn't be too difficult to get out what little he ate. He coughs as discreetly as he can into the back of his hand before taking off his eye patch, wanting to splash some cold water on his face and throat. He pretends not to notice how his hands are a little shaky as he pulls the gloves off of them, cupping his fingers inside the basin left by the servants on the table. The cool water feels refreshing on his hot skin, and with a satisfied hiss, he looks up, staring directly at the reflection of his own face in the mirror.

The flickering flames of the fire near the wall provide no comprehensive illumination, and he is honestly relieved by that. What little he can see is disturbing enough. His single lilac eye is bloodshot, his silver hair is disheveled, so different from normal. Paleness in the face, sunken cheeks. The subtle glow of the blue stone in his other eye and the deep scars around it only add a dying touch to his ghostly visage.

Another deep tug wracks his stomach and he leans forward, gripping the sides of the table with abandon, preparing to actually throw up this time. But nothing comes, nothing but the painful, nauseating feeling in his body.

He can't forget.

It's all his doing, after all. It's all his fault.

The death of all those people, the desolation of the entire Riverlands. It's all his fault.

Any feeling of greatness and power that previously inhabited his body no longer existed. His superiority and confidence swept away by the tide until he was spat out on the shore with nothing but pain and trauma.

He is a hypocrite and he knows it.

Aemond is not a good person. He doesn't want to fool anyone with his anxiety attack, he definitely doesn't need to take on the role of the poor regretful guy. He doesn't regret what he did, he doesn't regret doing what was absolutely necessary for the good of his family. He could never regret this. And he knows that tomorrow, a week from now, or a month from now, he will do exactly the same thing again if necessary. There are no limits to what he is willing to do to and for those to whom he is loyal.

He can't even dare deny liking it all.

When he's on Vhagar's saddle, with the world in flames just beneath them and the addictive power to decide for good or ill for those poor, hopeless souls, he can swear he's never felt anything better. There's something disturbingly liberating about embracing the monster that resides in his chest. It's surprising to him how good it feels to be ruthless, to take on the role of the uncontrollable beast everyone says he is (rightfully so).

It wasn't always like this. But a series of violent and tragic actions that may or may not have been intentional earned Aemond more than just an ominous codename. They gave him respect; fear. Aemond One-Eye, the son without expectations, the child without any prominence. No more.

He feels ruthless when he is in the skies, dictating the fate of humanity. It gives him power. He is powerful now, he is no longer the boy forgotten by everyone. The feeling of being superior pumps hard through his veins until he goes wild, makes him feel like he's crushing people under the soles of his boots. He is more powerful. Their lives depend solely on the way his hand moves and it turns out that, to their misfortune and terror, his hands are wrapped around the saddle of the largest dragon in the world. It is difficult to be sensible and godly when there is so much power at his command. He is more powerful. There is nothing that can stop him. He feels invincible, unstoppable. He doesn't just enjoy it - he worships this feeling.

At least until it's all over.

When the dust settles and all that is left is the consequence of his actions, it is then that he quietly withers away.

He killed them. All of them. His hands are stained with blood and ash and it's all his fault. He has separated families forever, traumatized so many souls with insurmountable depression and pain and it is all his fault. Adults, elderly, children, babies. All dead. Because of him. Hoarse screams of terror and fear, all begging for a mercy that would never come - could never come. Not by his hands. Not when he had a family and a purpose he was so loyal to.

Aemond worships the sense of power that comes with a reputation for being ruthless and regrets nothing he has done and will do for his duty. Unfortunately, this does not mean that he does not suffer the consequences in equal proportion.

Another sigh. He drops his head and presses his fingers against the edge of the table. He closes his eye so tightly that patches of white light explode into his vision, each labored breath makes him lean forward and clench his teeth. The pain is impossible to ignore – it shakes his insides, leaves his limbs trembling.

"Is this hurting you?" a soft voice asks, a small, fragile thing, almost impossible to hear - if it weren't for the fact that he lives to hear the sound of that voice. He knows this, and so does the owner of the voice, both fully aware of this dangerous dependence. “Pretending to be a God, I mean.”

Aemond feels his heart beat faster, the angelic sound of your voice rescuing him from the merciless depths of his own mind, making him slowly raise his head as he stares at the place where the voice came from. He almost can't believe what he heard. But there you are, sitting on your bed, surrounded by comfortable sheets and pillows, your wide doe eyes catching the moonlight and fire flames in the dark of night, shining like stars.

His sweet wife.

He simply looks at you, not offering any kind of response right away. Not because he doesn't want to. But because he's too surprised to hear your voice and see your face to form words at the moment. Aemond doesn't know how he ended up here, in your private chambers - the place he hasn't been welcome in for some time. He was supposed to go to his chambers. Was he that distraught and distracted? Could the confusion clouding his senses have unconsciously led him directly to the person he needs most at the moment?

He looks around quickly just to confirm that, yes, there is no doubt that he is in your chambers. He didn't intend to do that. He shouldn't be here, invading your privacy and ignoring your request that he keep distance. Of course, his longing and need for you made him consider such a thing countless times. Regardless of your wishes, he was your husband; he had a right to be here. But he never did that. You don't want him in your bed anymore and you've made that clear. And Aemond was not ignorant or even insensitive enough to pretend not to understand your reasons. You had a lot of them and he knows.

You were not made for cruelty. Your innocence and purity made you unable to be aware of the horrible things he did and still treat him the same way as before. You were afraid of him now, just like everyone else. The blood of many was on his hands and you knew it, just as you knew he regretted nothing, and that he would not stop this - not until victory was achieved.

You didn't agree with that, you never did, not even before the marriage. But what could a young woman do in the world they lived in? You were just a piece on a board game, an ace up his sleeve used by your father specifically to provide armies and loyalty to the crown in exchange for a marriage and a more than convenient name for your family.

Aemond knew from the beginning that you didn't want to marry him; how could you after all? You barely knew him beyond the questionable reputation that surrounded him, and a dangerous family clash was about to break out in the kingdom - this was definitely not the right environment for romance to blossom. But you did your duty. You had been an exemplary wife in the short two months of peace that followed your marriage. You treated him with respect and patience, slowly opening your heart to him with each passing day. He wasn't the most talkative or the most sensitive husband and yet you showed empathy for his limitations, accepting what he gave you with gentle smiles and rosy cheeks, without demanding anything more. So sweet. So inocent.

It was no surprise the feeling that welled up in his chest.

Aemond was obsessed before he even realized it. Needing your gentle attentions like a flower needs the sun. He clung to you as his only comfort in an almost bleak existence, he became more and more obsessed with you and you didn't notice. You read with him, walked through the gardens with him and talked to him as you always did, kind and polite. And every day he felt hungrier, pushing the limits of restraint. You welcomed him into your bed every night, welcoming him between your legs as if he belonged there - and he did, indeed. Aemond's appetite for you and you alone knew no bounds.

But he wasn't the man you married anymore, was he?

You fear him now, any and all advances he's made with you over the past few months have vanished into thin air like the ashes he's so used to seeing now. The feelings he was carefully cultivating in your chest now seem to have sunk so deep into your being that he thinks they no longer even exist. You no longer craved his attention; the touch of softness and affection, whenever “husband” dripped from your mouth, was absent. And now all he could do was want.

Aemond doesn't look away from you, not wanting to miss this moment for anything, not after being deprived of it for so long. And you look back at him from where you sit on the bed, chin lifted in false courage. You looks at him with your bright eyes and high cheekbones, which seem even more highlighted in the warm lighting around your bodies.

He may have entered your chambers out of pure unconscious instinct, out of nothing but silent desperation. His body guiding him when his mind no longer could. But now that he's here, he doesn't know how he didn't realize it from the beginning. It's impossible to think about anything other than you. You, you, you.

At this point, deaths at his hands no longer existed. Not his pains or the weights he carries, not revenge, not duty. Anything. Absolutely nothing. There is only this moment, between him, a boy who so wanted to be enough for those he loves and the young girl who is illuminated by the light of the flames.

He feels it. It's not new. That strange impulse that draws all the attention of the environment around him to you and you alone; an almost painful need between his teeth to take a bite and not let go, to have it with all your heart and nothing less.

"Nothing to say?" You press and he's not even embarrassed by the fact that he doesn't remember what you said before. He should leave. It's all he thinks, even as he takes an uncertain step closer to your bed. And that's enough for you to immediately tense up, wrapping your small hands in the sheets to subtly pull them towards you. You are hiding yourself. Hiding yourself from him.

Aemond should leave, continue respecting your limits.

If this had been another night, maybe he would have done it. If the smell of smoke and dragon scales hadn't been trapped in the leather of his war clothes, as well as the dust of ash, then perhaps he could have left. If he couldn't smell the insistent scent of charred bodies and decimated land in his nostrils, taking permanent root in his lungs, perhaps he could respect your innocence.

Not even Aemond knew how on edge he already was. Your refusal of his proximity was just the final push to his downfall.

He adores you. He worships the ground you walk on. He respected your decisions and stayed away much longer than any other husband would have done. And this is how you repay him?

Aemond narrows the only functional eye he has left. You don't react, nothing more than another protective grip on the sheets and a slow swallow of saliva. He wants you so much and the thought enrages him. Why? Why does he feel this way? He desperately wants to punish you for making him feel this way. He wants to punish himself for even thinking about doing this to you.

You left him like this; nothing but a mess. When would you finally accept him for who he is? When would you understand that some cruelties were necessary for the final goal to be achieved? When would you see that everything he did and would do was solely for his family? For you. To keep you safe. When would he be enough?

He grits his teeth and feels his entire body tense with thoughts. He hates it; he hates the way you confuse him and make him feel all these terrible emotions. It makes he feels weak. The temptation of the slightest chance of your affection suffocates his common sense. He feels his hands shaking. He'd been so blinded by the hopeful, innocent vision he constantly saw you through that he fooled himself into thinking he was on your mind as much as you were on his all this time.

"Aemond?" You whisper, sounding more uncertain than before, disturbed by his extended silence as he slowly approaches the bed. He keeps looking at you the whole time, letting you glimpse the flames of fire reflected in the icy sapphire in his eye. He adores you, with every fiber of his being. But the flash of fear that shines in your eyes in response makes him stretch the corner of his lip in a malicious smile. He couldn't help it, there's something sweet and pure about you that makes him constantly waver between wanting to protect you and wanting to destroy you.

You try not to weaken before him, but Aemond immediately notices the way your body is a little trembling when his hand, that same hand that drags the musk of leather and death, passes through the fabric of the sheets, spreading lightning over your legs. You don't stop him, but your eyes flash with a frightened warning, a warning he ignores tonight. His palm flattens against your ribs, daring to caress, to feel the linen of the sheets beneath his fingers, the softness of your flesh beneath it, and you squeak an off-key sound, pulling the cocoon of blankets and furs up to hide you.

A small annoyed growl leaves his lips and his other hand quickly covers yours, stopping you from continuing.

"No. Enough of that." He says in a low but firm tone, looking sternly into your eyes. You part your lips, surprised by his behavior, and try to pull the hand still trapped by his, but he doesn't let you go. "That's enough, wife."

He thinks you might try to deny it, but you fall silent, slowly relaxing against his grip on your hand. Aemond wants to purr at this, wants to praise you and spoil you, because you are so good, so good. His good girl. Even when you're crushing his heart between your delicate hands.

It's not your fault, he tells himself. It's not your fault that he's obsessed with you, driven crazy by the idea of you. Aemond can't even focus properly, even when you're in front of him, defenseless and at the mercy of his whims. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest from pure ecstasy and excitement at the same time. And he can feel, on top of it all, the blood flowing to his hard cock, making it swell beneath his black riding pants. He feels embarrassed by his actions, but at the same time excited, just by the little things you do, by everything you are to him.

“Something is wrong with me...” He says, more to himself than to you, gently pushing a strand of your soft hair behind your ear, sliding his thumb in a gentle caress across your delicate earlobe. “You're in my house. You're in my house and I don't want you to leave. Never." He approaches your face, sliding his fingers from your ear to the side of your face, until he holds your small chin between his thumb and forefinger. "I need you." He continues, ignoring how honest and frank he looks - weak. “I keep thinking of ways to make this happen,” the more he talks, the faster you breathe, sweet little sighs near his lips, calling to him like a siren’s song… “I want to ruin you. Because I think that's the only way you won't leave me."

The intensity of his words scares you, he realizes, he sees how your eyes fill with tears and your eyebrows twitch. But even in the dim lighting of the flames, he can see how the tops of your cheeks turn red, how your chest trembles with the breath that catches there...you want him.

It's a shame you're so willing to keep him away.

But he can't stop.

Aemond closes the distance in an instant, pushing you down until he traps your body beneath his, feeling the contours of your soft, supple curves against him; he shudders. He caresses your face one last time before moving down, ignoring your hesitation and your useless efforts to push him away. Quick as a viper, he grabs the hand that moves to push against his chest, wrapping it with the other still attached to his, holding your wrists tightly above your head.

You cry out at the pressure on his wrists, the long lashes over your eyes fluttering, pleading. "A-Aemond, what are you doing?" you stutter. "Please, please... I said I needed it - please give me some more-"

"Time? Oh yes, you said it." He hums thoughtfully, placing a thigh between your legs, dipping his face into the crook of your neck to breathe in the fresh fragrance of your shower, snoring contentedly with your naturally sweet scent. Intoxicated by your scent, he trails his lips along the slender column of your neck before stopping at the shell of your ear. “I’m so sorry, dear, I’ve waited too long. We’ve both waited too long.” He intones, intoxicated by your presence. You sob once but don't say anything else, choosing to turn your face away from him. Aemond snorts a laugh at that, but doesn't stop you, preferring to leave a tender, wet kiss on your cheek.

Squeezing your wrists with one hand, he allows the other to slide slowly down your body, almost reverentially. He paused at the delicate laces holding the front of your nightdress before untying them with deft fingers. The front opens, exposing your silky, flushed skin to his hungry gaze. He doesn't have the patience to remove the fabric completely from your body, so he just lowers it enough so that your breasts are exposed. He bites his lip, holding a curse between his clenched teeth. When he presses his bare palm to your perky breasts, he tastes your trembling innocence, your soft flesh.

So beautiful.

So pure.

From the beginning you were his opposite, your delicate hands, as irritatingly clean as his are stained with blood and ash.

As much as he truly suffers from the consequences of his actions, he never regrets them, because he knows they are right - necessary. There was only the future to shape, the past should stay where it belongs; behind him. Something he had learned through much pain, but unfortunately, his sweet wife had not yet. But as he runs his greedy fingers down your body, feeling the goosebumps on your soft skin with each touch, Aemond knows he scares you as much as he excites you. You can't hide it from him. Your obviously involuntary response to him only makes him fiercer, hungrier. He wants to ruin you from the inside, until you can't bear to live a single day without his touch.

He allows you to continue your theatrics, still stubbornly staring at the wall while pretending his actions don't affect you. There's something almost too tempting about it, in fact; It's a matter of honor for him. He will break your masks and he will take pleasure in doing so.

Letting his fingers slide down your sides, Aemond's lips wander. He kisses the hole in your throat, moving down with wet, licked breaths to your breasts, tasting you. You gasp softly and grip tight fists on the bed sheets when he captures a soft nipple with a slow suck of lips and a teasing scrape of teeth, your body curling beneath him tightly. He smiles with your nipple still between his lips, leaving wide, warm trails of his tongue on the little perky bud. His hips slide against the inside of your parted thighs, pushing the hardened bulge in his pants against your pussy once.

You bite your lip and close your eyes, but he doesn't stop. With another thrust he uses his strength to push you back onto the bed, the bed you shared many nights with him, to fuck you into the warm sheets. It's almost too much for him to finally feel your little pussy once again, even through the leather of his pants and your delicate nightwear. But he continues with slow, strong thrusts, rubbing his cock against you in a way that teases your clit, the smell and heat of his effort wafting throughout his body; sweat, dragon, fire, ash, blood, death - all mixed together, merging with your own sweet, intoxicating scent and, of course, the unmistakable scent of sex.

Before the chaos broke out, Aemond was quite skilled at this, at driving you crazy. A part of him is extraordinarily pleased to find that he still remembers correctly, especially when a press of his fingers and a twirl of his thumb on your slobbery nipple makes you gasp. He wants to see you, to see you blush and sweat, looking ruined for him. Gods, oh yes, Aemond wants this so much. He can't stop, he can never stop, especially with you singing so sweetly to him. When you arch into his touch and whisper his name softly, like a secret no one can discover, his breath hitching. Aemond can't stop.

A specific thrust makes you let out a high-pitched meow, your hands pulling at the linen on the sheets and he moans along, releasing your breast with a wet pop to look at your face. You have your lips parted, your long eyelashes touching the top of your cheeks, your eyebrows furrowed in sweet agony. He thrusts a little faster, rubbing your clit with more pressure, taking in your presence and the feeling of your tiny, supple body, preening at every sound that leaves your lips.

Sounds so sweet, so beautiful; he considers himself a sinner with the way something so innocent and angelic makes his blood boil and his cock throb with need inside his pants, surely soaking the fabric with the way he feels himself leaking.

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me, baby...”

And yet, he doesn't think he cares about dying by your hands when things turn out like this. He is admitting defeat without any embarrassment now; he can bear the dull weight of war, he can bear his own mind trying to destroy him at every turn, he can bear the betrayal of his own family and the demands of his duties. He can bear with anything.

Anything except being without you.

With an impatient grunt, his fingers tug at the soft skirt of your nightdress, bunching the thing at your waist as he rips your underwear down your legs. You don't try to stop him, but you don't try to help him either, remaining almost motionless against the bed, and he feels like he can growling at you like an animal for that - stubborn girl. He hates and loves this about you in equal intensity. He's almost rough and punishing as he hooks the back of your knee into the inside of his elbow, pushing your leg up to your breasts. And then you're giving up your fight, sighing - all anxious expression, furrowing your eyebrows and biting your lip as he hurriedly unzips his pants and pulls them down just enough to pull his cock out, slamming the wet, throbbing head over your clit before sliding his entire length along your folds.

You moan, he moans. The slide is wet and he can't tell if it's all you, if it's all him, if it's all both. He doesn't care, honestly. All that matters is how his cock is thrusting into your heat, hitting your clit with luscious pokes, coaxing more of those sweet sounds from your pretty lips.

He hooks your other leg in the crook of his elbow and does exactly what he did with the other, trapping you between him and the bed in a position where your entire pussy is presented to him. With his hands flat beside your head, he brings his face closer to yours, the leather covering his chest pushing your knees further into your breasts. You moan through your teeth, unable to do anything but tighten your hands around his shoulders. He smiles slowly, drunk on the sensations, still gently sliding the length of his cock into your folds.

Aemond doesn't look away from you, enchanted by the way you dance between looking at the sapphire stone and the deep lilac of his functional eye. You've always done this, he thinks - saying one was as beautiful as the other, impossible to choose.

“I’m giving myself to you, love…I’m yours.” He whispers softly, husky, needy to you. "Will you do the same from now on?"

He’s so close he feel how your heart races violently at his words, slamming against your ribcage as you take a deep breath. Every expression on your flushed face makes him sure you're going to have an intense crying fit, but even when the liquid in your eyes pours down the side of your eyes, you keep yourself almost in one piece. You look deeply into his eye as your shoulders shake. "Y-yes." You exhale, fragile. “Yes, yes, yes,” your voice sings repeatedly, with quick, confused nods, tears streaming from your eyes.

He can't hold back the husky sound that leaves his lips, his cock pulsing in reaction to your obvious fragility exposed to him.

"Yeah?" He asks breathlessly and it's very slow - as he thrusts inside you, thrusting his hips back and forth once, twice, three times until your pussy swallows as much of his cock as it can, until the tip of his hip bones rub it against your thighs. And it's so intense, so obscene – the position he puts you in, the full weight of his body pinning you to the bed, broad shoulders hiding you from view, silver hair like a curtain around the two of you, your mouth falling open in a silent scream and his releasing small curses between clenched teeth... debauchery.

You give his shoulders a few desperate slaps as he fills you, your tight ring of muscle stretched to accommodate his girth, and no matter how long it takes him to prepare you, no matter how wet you are, he knows there's always that initial pain that rips through your groin as he pushes into you. It makes you sway beneath him, little tearful sobs that are like the sweetest song to him.

Another curse muttered in deep Valyrian was his only warning as his palms sink into the softness of the bed. Your own hands looking desperate too, one tangled in the silver base of his hair at the back of his neck and the other gripping the material of his leather shirt, a strangled moan catching in your throat as he begins to fuck you slowly. You can only hold on as he pulls and pushes his body above you with each deep thrust, his impatience shown only in the forceful and violent way in which his hands grip the bed sheets.

He leans into you a little more, moving his hips in different ways, testing the angles until he makes more of those tears well up in your eyes as your pleasure increases almost painfully. Your moans quickly turn into babbling when a particularly strong movement of his hips makes you shake all over. The way your tight pussy tries to contain him and suck him in at the same time drives him crazy, feral.

He won't last long. He already knew this before it even started, but now, feeling your walls squeezing the life out of him after so long deprived of it, with your cute little noises getting louder and louder, with your expression drunk with lust and sadness, the buzz of battle still vibrating through his veins... Aemond feels release approaching shamefully fast for him.

He'll make it up to you later, Aemond promises himself. When the hot need subsides at least a little in his system, he'll take off his dirty war clothes, maybe ask you to take a shower with him. He'll soap your body and tease you until you're riding his cock in the tub at your own pace, his fingers rolling your little clit with each bounce of your hips. He will lay you on the bed and love every inch of your soft body, worship your skin with kisses and hickeys. He will part your thighs and bury his fingers and tongue in your wet softness. He will rip orgasm after orgasm out of you until you are hoarse from screaming, until your body is physically unable to continue.

He will do it all.

He has done it in the past, many times.

Now, however, all he needs is to find his release, to unload those months of forced distance inside his trembling body. But Aemond will be damned if he doesn't bring you along with him.

He leans down to press his forehead against yours, pushing your legs against your body further, lips parting with hoarse, breathless moans that escaped him with each thrust and the sweet pleas you murmured incoherently. The movement of his hips quickens, one hand leaving its blunt grip on the sheets to squeeze between your thighs, poking your clit in tight circles, his cock hitting a spot inside your walls that makes you shiver and tremble in anticipation.

“Aemond…” you cry, digging your nails into the back of his neck, pulling his body towards yours, as if you weren’t already physically as close as possible.

He growls at your plea.

“My little, innocent wife,” Aemond giggles wildly as your pussy clamps down on his length again, your climax approaching, his thumb rotating a steady rhythm on your clit. If only your mind was clear enough to form a coherent thought, maybe you'd complain that the rhythm of his cock in your pussy would be painful, that the continuous and harsh scratching of his clothes hurts the soft and delicate flesh of your body, but you don't say anything, not now. You just accept what he gives you. And he knows you missed him as much as he missed you. “Always so good to me baby.”

Aemond watches you intently, unable to look away from the pleasure that shows on your face. You're shaking, lost in your wet breaths and high-pitched, broken cries, your legs trapped between his body, welcoming him. You're tight and small, his sweet wife, and Aemond can feel your cracks stretching, a spider's web of fractured thought and temptation too much for anyone to bear, and as much as he knows it's impossible, he wants this moment to last forever. Aemond is undone. A fool in love. And it's sad. And it's beautiful. It's being at home.

"Mine." His murmur echoes next to your lips, both of you breathing each other's breath, his rhythm starting to falter, the searing heat rushing through his body beneath those layers of heavy clothing makes him dizzy, but he doesn't stop, he doesn't stop. “So pure, so beautiful, so delicate…” he caresses your clit without faltering with a rumbling purr as his cock swells inside you. “Ngh...oh fuck, so tight. You're going to get everything, aren't you, darling? All of me.” His own teeth graze your neck as you arch and scream in pleasure. “Be a good girl and don't let anything leak, hmmm…”

He fucks you roughly, your name dancing on his lips like a prayer in the dark. Aemond savors this moment with the veneration it deserves, the final chase. The two of you so broken, so vulnerable, shaking with pleasure for each other. He rubs your pussy, hips slamming into you at lightning speed.

And finally, gods yes, it finally happens.

"Aemond! A-Aemond, please! Please-" You throw your head back, your lewd pleas turning into a broken scream as you explode around him. Your face is flushed and glistening with a subtle sheen of sweat, tears streaming down. It's all he can take. You convulse and break and the sensation of his cock swelling with the resulting explosions of hot cum filling you follows shortly after. As your body and pussy tremble and clench, he finally releases his own pleasure, biting down hard on your shoulder to muffle his husky moans, spilling himself deep inside you, the continuous spasms of your orgasm milking every drop from him. You and he cum together, and even in the hazy haze of climax, he thinks he's never experienced something so sublime, so perfect.

You're both shaking as you come down from the waves of mutual pleasure, and Aemond is especially careful now, gently unfolding your legs from that tight position to allow you to stretch them, which earns him a long, grateful, relieved moan. He slowly pulls away until he's kneeling between your thighs, watching raptly as you bite your lip as his cock leaves your heat. A tight grip circles around your parted thighs, lifting them up a little to expose your dripping pussy. He looks almost in awe as he watches his seed flow steadily from your abused pussy.

But Aemond is selfish and his cum doesn't belong on the crumpled, sweaty sheets. No, he told you to keep it safe inside you and that's what would happen. His fingers slip into the wet mess of cum in your folds, pushing as gently as he can all the thick liquid inside you again.

You're too tired to react, but you still sob softly at the sensation, subtly squirming on the bed, legs shaking from being held in the same position for so long. He looks at you, icy lilac gaze half-lidded with lust, blue stone glowing in the flames of the fire. He looks at the soft, creamy flesh of your sweaty body. He longs to see dark spots and bite marks, a way of proving that you belong to him. He lifts his head, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh, just above your left breast. His teeth leave crescent moons on your skin and you scream loudly at the stinging sensation, but you don't stop him. He walks away, admiring the constellations he had traced on your skin. Painting you for him, marking you as something unique to him.

You sniffle and blink wet eyelashes at him. He kisses his bite, murmuring gentle words to you, his lips trailing up with soft sucks and wet kisses in your throat until he brushes against your lips. And it's then, and only then, that he realizes he hasn't kissed you yet. He doesn't know why he didn't do it, given that it's probably the thing he misses most about you. Feeling the softness of your lips on his, the gradual way a small, innocent kiss quickly evolves into something more urgent, the way you immediately struggle to keep up with his pace, his hunger as he swallows your cute sighs and your ragged breaths as he suck your tongue.

Yes. This is what Aemond longs for. How easily he could make you fall apart in his hands.

Taking into account the way that you blush and look down at his lips, you're thinking the same thing. He smiles mischievously, slowly leaning in for a deep kiss, fingers damp with your juices and his cum resting on your jawline. Your little hands sink into his hair until you lightly scrapes your nails across his scalp, making Aemond shudder. The fingers of his other hand cup your hip, tracing the line of the bone in gentle patterns. His nose bumps yours as his tongue dances in your hot mouth, spreading in you the taste of smoke and revenge that seems to follow him at absolutely every moment now. And like his perfect antithesis, you gasp, let him savor your sweet, fruity flavor - so fuckin sweet.

Your legs circle his waist, making him press against your heat, quickly reigniting the flame of need within him. You lick it off his tongue, moan when he sucks your bottom lip and bites it, you beg between quick breaths and Aemond continues to rub himself against you, the kiss becoming sloppier, driving him crazy with how irresistible you are in this state. You give yourself completely to Aemond, without asking questions or making new complaints, and it drives him crazy.

"You are mine. Only mine. And you will never leave me again, do you understand?" He murmurs as he pulls away, both of you panting, looking seriously into your water-bright eyes, noting how they're a little wide and your mouth is swollen and wet from his kisses.

A few tears slide down your face, but you smile shakily at him, the hand in his hair stroking the silver strands lovingly.

"I am yours, Aem. Now and forever." Honesty bleeds into your shallow voice, your little fingers on your other hand tentatively tangling with the buckles of his shirt to open it.

Aemond rests his forehead against yours and truly smiles for the first time in a long, long time. Not a malicious, mocking or condescending smile... No, this time his lips are stretched into a small, but genuine, honest smile.

And it's because of you.

Because he knows he got what he wanted so much. He has you again. He was resilient, he was patient and he was fair. He fought and, with his efforts, created a space just for himself within your heart. He knows you're still unhappy with everything that's going on, and no matter how much he wants to, he can't change that. He can only strengthen you to bear it. It can only burrow deeper into your body and your heart until you are able to forget the atrocities that are happening around you - the horrible things that he is doing. It's a gaping hole in your chest that leaves you continually bleeding, he knows, but the exposed cut is so sweet, and here he is, licking the wound like an animal, with all the violent, relentless gentleness he has to offer as the vengeful prince that he is.

He wraps his arms around you, pushing his cock back into your abused pussy in a deep movement that draws a broken sound from both of you, pulling you against his chest. He rubs his sweaty face against your throat, your face, your hair. His voice syrupy and thick as he whispers, "I love you."

Fuck. Aemond would never let you go.

[possessedmen]

Locker Room Mix Up

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the field as Brock concluded his solitary workout. His body was slick with sweat, muscles bulging from the strain, and his breath came in heavy, satisfying gulps. The gym was deserted, leaving him to his thoughts as he headed to the locker room.

Brock pushed open the heavy locker room door, the chill of the air making his skin prickle. Quickly, he shed his soaked workout clothes, the fabric peeling off with a squelch, and tossed them into his locker. His mind, however, was not on the workout or the upcoming game; it was on his crush in form of Hunter, his teammate, whose locker was next to his. Brock always found himself stealing glances at Hunter's form in the locker room.

Brock stepped into the shower, the hot water soothing his aching muscles, steam rising around him like a curtain. He tried to wash away his thoughts but they lingered, thick as the steam. After what felt like ages, he shut off the water, wrapped a towel around his waist, and moved back to his locker, his heart pounding with a mix of excitement and forbidden desire.

As Brock reached for his jockstrap to dress up again, he accidentally reached for Hunter's jockstrap instead of his own. Brock discarded his towel and slid into the jockstrap, feeling the snug fit of the garment that had cradled Hunter's physique.

As he adjusted the straps, a tingling sensation enveloped him. His reflection in the mirror began to warp. Brock's features morphed into Hunter's rugged face; his hair thickened into Hunter's dark mane, his muscles reshaped to mimic Hunter's, his eyes now a piercing blue like Hunter's. His once clean-shaven face now sported a stubble beard, adding to the intense new look.

Brock, now a mirror image of Hunter, stood in awe, his hands tracing the new lines of his body. His fingers felt the hard planes of his chest, the firmness of his abs, down to the undeniable bulge in the jockstrap, which was growing under his touch. "Hey, I’m Hunter, the star quarterback," he said as he pretended to act like him.

"You like this, don't you, Brock?" he whispered in Hunter's deep voice, pretending he was talking to himself. "You like how you control my body now?"

He continued, his voice a husky mimicry, "Feel how tight this jockstrap is, how it hugs every part of me – every part of you now."

Brock's hands roamed lower, his breath hitching with each stroke of his borrowed cock. "You've always wanted this, haven't you? To be me, to feel this power, this control. Say it, Brock," he said, his voice thick with arousal.

"You should should take over my body for good," Brock murmured, now fully embodying Hunter's persona. His reflection smiled back, a knowing, seductive grin. "Imagine waking up as me every day, feeling this strength, living my life."

The air was thick with desire as Brock continued to stroke, each movement a testament to his new form. "You'd love that, wouldn't you? To have this body, this life?"

The locker room was silent except for the sound of his breathing and the soft rustle of fabric as Brock, now fully immersed in his role as Hunter, kept going. "You'd love that, wouldn't you? To have this cock, this life. Go on, take it. Take everything."

The climax built, Brock's body responding to every word, every stroke. "Yeah, that's it, Brock. Show me, show me how it's done. Own my body, my life," he gasped, his voice echoing slightly in the empty room.

As Brock came, a wave of intense pleasure coursed through him, his body shuddering with the release. But as the euphoria began to fade, a sense of urgency took its place. He thought, 'Enough of this fantasy. Time to get back to being me.' With a deep breath, he prepared to strip off Hunter's jockstrap, expecting his body to revert back to his own.

He tugged at the jockstrap, feeling the fabric slide down his legs. But when he looked up into the mirror, expecting to see his familiar face, he was met with Hunter's rugged visage staring back at him. Panic fluttered in his chest as he realized that the climax hadn't just been an end to his fantasy - it had sealed him into Hunter's body.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice still Hunter's deep, resonant tone. "This wasn't supposed to happen." He ran his hands over his face, feeling the unfamiliar stubble, the strong jawline, the muscles that now belonged to someone else.

His heart raced as he tried to make sense of it. "I guess cumming sealed the deal," he said to himself, his voice echoing in the empty locker room. He dressed quickly, pulling on Hunter's clothes, each piece feeling like an acknowledgment of a new reality he wasn't prepared for.

As he buttoned up Hunter's shirt, he looked down at his hands, now distinctly Hunter's, strong and veined. "I'm stuck like this," he whispered, the weight of the realization sinking in. He glanced around, half expecting Hunter to walk in any second, but there was only him – or rather, Hunter's body.

Brock, now in Hunter's form, sat down on the bench, his mind racing. "How the hell am I supposed to explain this?" He ran his fingers through Hunter's hair, feeling the texture, the weight of it.

The locker room seemed to close in around him as he pondered his next move. Should he hide? Pretend to be Hunter? Or find some way to reverse whatever magic or science had caused this? Every option seemed fraught with complications.

He stood up, looking at himself one last time in the mirror, now seeing not Brock, but Hunter. "Guess I better start acting like you," he said with a chuckle, his voice still an echo of Hunter's. He grabbed Hunter’s – no, his – bag and left the locker room, stepping into a new life that he hadn't asked for but was excited to navigate.

[knightfeared]

So graphics are done finally yippeee time to write 🫡

[knightfeared]

@vikshodgepodge

they’re making fun of some hightown local or something idk

[mrsgiovanna]

The little things (Yan! Don Giovanna x reader)

It's been forever and a day since I've written anything, so this isn't the best 😭... just an idea inspired by @thecw-unicorn .

Word count: 1.8k

Tw: yandere behavior, possessiveness, just yand Giorno being yan Giorno haha. Pls, I don't condone this behavior in reality. This is just fiction.

Your day started off just as they all had for the past few weeks... woken up by the ambient light that filtered through the gauzy curtains in your room, followed by slowly meandering through your morning routine until you were convinced it was late enough for you to go down to breakfast without having to cross paths with him. Your fingers trailed through the various outfits in your closet, each perfectly constructed to meet your measurements and likes while still catering to his preferences. It annoyed you, how everything was curated to suit you but felt so insufferable to experience.

From the outside looking in, your existence was a dream, lavished with the best of everything, housed in a villa with comfort few could even imagine, and a handsome powerful man who could create a universe for you, and he would, if you'd ask for it. But this charmed existence came at a price… as most things did, but you often wondered if all the designer clothes and expensive jewellery was worth your agency? Could you continue to live within the confines of his rules? Sitting at the vanity mirror, you looked at yourself, the visage was your own, you recognised the curve of your cheeks and the slope of your nose and the ways the sunlight bathed your complexion but your eyes felt different… foreign… but in a way that you just couldn't name.

A soft tapping at your door pulled you out of your reverie.

“Yes, come in,” you responded, returning to your reflection as you smoothed out your outfit for the day. It was one of Giorno’s staff, Stella, the helper he had assigned specifically for you, who had let themselves in at your invitation.

“Don Giovanna wishes to see you,”

The silence hung in the air for a while, before prompted again.

“[First]? Did you hear me?”

“I did,” you sighed, and stood. Stalling wouldn't help you today, Giorno only ever sent anyone for you when he was insistent on seeing you and no amount of tricks would save you from that.

“Come along, we wouldn't want to keep Don Giovanna waiting,” said Stella with a serene smile.

“You wouldn't want to keep him waiting, I on the other hand, have no such reservations,” you quipped. Stella simply shook her head at your defiance and walked with you towards the grand dining room.

On occasion you would take your breakfasts there, and dinner when Giorno would be your dining companion, otherwise you had preferred the sunroom with large windows overlooking the beautifully manicured gardens of the villa. You could spend hours there, lost in a book or one of the other hobbies that had become an outlet for you. Giorno had always encouraged your passions… the ones that would keep you on his premises that is.

It was always like that with him. Behind his kind gestures and honeyed words was a veil of control that he was unwilling to relent on. He had always said that it was to keep you from harm, but you wondered how anyone could inflict harm on a man who was akin to a god.

You had arrived at the dining room and seated yourself at the furthest seat from Giorno across the long mahogany table. There was a feast of items, from fresh fruits to pastries and fluffy scrambled eggs and toasted breads. He knew you'd try to hastily leave and was always prepared for resistance from you, but there was something softer in his demeanour today. You eyes wandered over him, he was more relaxed today, even in his dressing, the cashmere turtleneck and dark wash jeans replaced his usual tailored suit, which was still impeccably stylish, but aimed at comfort.

He folded the newspaper he was reading and settled it neatly to the side at your arrival.

“Good morning, [First]” he greeted with a smile, his green eyes sparkling almost as bright as the emeralds on your bracelet.

“Morning….” You flinched internally at the blandness of your response but schooled your features into indifference.

“Have you slept well?” He asked, attempting to ignite a semblance of a conversation.

“Well enough thanks… so… is there a particular reason you wanted to see me today?”

Giorno laughed at the bluntness of your response.

“Always to the point… it's one of the things I love about you. To answer your question, there is something I'd like to talk about”. You nodded for him to continue.

“I was thinking, a change of scenery might be nice, what would you say to a trip to Corsica? I've acquired a secluded villa right on the coast, it's beautiful this time of year…” Giorno trailed off at the downcast expression on your face.

“When do you want to go?” you asked, buttering a piece of toast just to give your hands something to do.

Giorno leaned forward slightly, his expression softening as he caught the hint of reluctance in your voice. "We can leave whenever you’d like. I thought a few days away would do you some good—away from the city, from the noise. Just you and me, no distractions."

The idea of Corsica sounded lovely in theory—a place so far removed from the rest of the world. A place where you could find peace. But you knew better. No matter where you went, no matter how beautiful the scenery, it would still be a gilded cage. The control would remain, the invisible strings pulling at you, limiting your freedom.

You sipped your tea, trying to mask the tension building in your chest. "It sounds nice," you replied carefully, keeping your tone neutral. "But I have things to take care of here." A lie, an unconvincing one but it was all you could think of.

Giorno’s lips twitched into a slight smile, as if amused by your deflection. "Of course, you do. But none of it is so urgent that it can’t wait a few days, no?" His tone was gentle, coaxing, yet firm—leaving little room for argument.

You set your cup down, fingers lightly tracing the rim. "Maybe. I’ll think about it."

There was a pause, the room falling into a familiar, tense quiet, the kind that always followed when Giorno offered you something that was, in truth, an order cloaked as a suggestion. He never pushed too hard, but he never let go, either. You could feel his gaze on you, studying, waiting for the resistance to fade.

"I just want you to be happy, cara," he said, voice low and sincere. "I know things have been difficult, but I want us to have more moments to ourselves, to enjoy life together."

You glanced up at him, meeting those piercing green eyes that always seemed to see more than they should. A part of you wanted to believe in his words, to think that he truly cared, but the weight of his possessiveness and control was never far from your mind.

“I know you do,” you replied quietly, “but sometimes… I need space to find that happiness.”

Giorno’s smile faltered for just a moment, but he quickly masked it with an understanding nod. “Of course. We can discuss it further whenever you're ready. But just know, I’ll always be here, offering whatever you need.”

You gave a small, polite smile and shifted in your seat, feeling the weight of his words settle around you. The breakfast laid out before you seemed like a feast, but you felt anything but hungry. It was always like this—an endless cycle of gilded promises wrapped in velvet chains.

And no matter how far you went, no matter how beautiful the setting, the freedom you craved always seemed just out of reach.

Giorno watched you in silence for a moment, his eyes scanning your face, searching for any flicker of happiness. The quiet tension between you felt too heavy, too oppressive, and he wasn’t one to let things remain that way for long. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he leaned back in his chair.

"You seem tense, amore," he remarked casually, his tone light but with a calculated intention behind it. He gestured toward the fruit plate with a lazy wave of his hand, and in the next instant, you saw something move out of the corner of your eye.

A tiny kitten materialized on the table, no bigger than the palm of your hand. Its fur was a delicate golden color, shimmering faintly as it mewed softly and blinked up at you with wide, curious eyes. It stretched its tiny paws and let out an adorable little purr, batting at a grape that had rolled beside it.

You blinked, caught off guard. "Giorno, what—?"

He chuckled softly. "I thought you could use some company. Sometimes, it's the little things that can brighten your day."

The kitten padded its way closer to you, its tiny paws pattering against the table. Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers brushing against its soft fur as it purred louder and nudged your hand with its small head. A reluctant smile crept onto your face, despite the guarded wall you’d been trying to keep up.

"There it is," Giorno said, his voice gentle and pleased. "A smile. I knew you had one hiding in there."

You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t help the warmth spreading in your chest as the kitten pawed at your fingers, its playful energy contagious. You picked it up carefully, cradling the delicate creature in your hands, and it immediately curled into your palm, purring contentedly.

Giorno watched you intently, his gaze softening as he saw the tension in your posture begin to ease. "See? A simple little thing, and already the day feels better, doesn’t it?"

You shook your head, unable to suppress the small laugh that escaped you. "You really think a kitten is going to fix everything, don’t you?"

"Not everything," he replied with a knowing smile, "but it’s a start."

You held the kitten up, watching as it batted at your finger playfully, its tiny claws barely scratching at your skin. There was something about the innocence of the little creature that tugged at your heart, and for a moment, the weight of the morning lifted just a little.

Giorno leaned forward, his chin resting on his hand as he continued to watch you. "I don’t need to fix everything, amore mio. I just want to see you happy—whatever that looks like for you."

The sincerity in his voice made you pause, glancing over at him. His green eyes, always so sharp and calculating, held a softness that made it hard to look away. He wasn’t pressuring you this time, wasn’t forcing you into something you didn’t want. He was simply… there, offering a small moment of joy in a life that often felt too controlled.

You stroked the kitten, your smile lingering as you looked down at the small, golden ball of fluff in your lap. "Thank you, Giorno," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his smile widening just a fraction, the sound of his name from your lips was always a balm to his soul. "It’s nothing, cara. I’ll always do whatever I can to make you smile."

[patchs-curiosity-corner]

𝑮𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝑯𝒐𝒖𝒓 | 𝑺.𝑹.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Spencer Reid x wife!Reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Days off were beyond commodity at the BAU, so on the off chance you and Spencer manage to get one it’s always enjoyed to the fullest extent.

𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: One mention of case injury, other than than just pure sickening fluff.

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 745

𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓’𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: I have other things to be working on, but I couldn’t get domestic Reid out of my head…

𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

The warm, soothing orange glow of the morning sun filters in through the curtains. It teases your senses, the gentle light coaxing you out of your sleep. You let out a soft exhale as the room around you comes into focus. The soft bed set beneath your fingertips, a deep forest green comforter and warm brown blanket tangling around your body as well as the one behind you. 

Speaking of, Spencer begins to stir as you come to, your rise triggering his own as the wiry arms around your middle give a gentle squeeze. His breath tickles the back of your neck, familiar lips brushing the nape as he lets out a soft murmur of your name.

“Hey you.” Your voice comes out in little more than a whisper, still thick with sleepiness. He grumbles something against your skin. Reid is wrapped around you like a koala, his slender limbs encircling you in every way possible. For someone so slim he’s quite the human space-heater, his body heat alone nearly lulling you back to sleep. You don’t fight it either, content to languish with your beloved in the warm, hazy blanket of sunrise.

“Hey yourself.” Spencer rasps, his voice low and gravely with sleep. You love the way he sounds on mornings like these, so relaxed and utterly content. Familiar lips press against your neck and you sigh, one arm wiggling out of his hold to reach behind her and run through his hair. “Let me see you, pretty girl.” He laughs, and you can feel him smiling as he catches your hand to kiss your palm before helping you turn around.

Facing him now, you open your eyes a bit wider, taking in as much of his visage as possible. The nerve he had calling you pretty, couldn’t he see that he was one of the most beautiful things to ever grace this Earth? He looks ethereal, unruly chocolate curls framing his strong but delicate features, mature and yet sill boyish in a way. Your eyes study his face intently, memorizing it for the millionth time, the light dusting of freckles stretching from cheek to cheek, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes from years full of smiles and laughter.

And his eyes, oh, his eyes. To get lost in Spencer’s eyes was easier than breathing. The early morning light turning them to pools of molten honey-gold that had you drowning the moment you met his gaze. You were positive that you could spend the rest of your days doing nothing but looking into those tapestries of warm amber, and when the day came that you did die, it would undoubtedly be as the happiest woman on Earth.

Your focus drops to his lips next, the delicate dip of his cupids bow, the pink, plush skin bearing the memory of a thousand kisses stolen between work. Your eyes wander back to his hair, a few of the sweet curls falling into his eyes. He doesn’t seem to mind, looking at you and mirroring the same quiet awe. Spencer rests his forehead against yours. You smile.

He had been watching you in the same way, you’re sure. Even with his eidetic memory, he couldn’t help but feel like every time he looked at you was the very first, allowing him to take in your particular beauty anew time and time again. It’s something he’s sure he’ll never grow tired of. Spencer brings your hand back to his lips, kissing each knuckle individually, those lips you loved so much lingering especially on the metal band gracing your finger that matched his own. 

His other warm hand holds your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over the healing cut beneath your eye. A part of him is proud, despite how worried he had been in the moment you received it. It wouldn’t scar, merely serve as a reminder  of another completed case, justice done and lives saved. Still, your small injury weighs on some part of him, and he draws you ever closer.

The silence between lovers is comfortable, soothing. Words alone would never be able express the sheer amount of shared love and devotion. To speak would be to sully this quiet, lazy morning. You and Spencer love your jobs of course, but at the end of the day, the hours spent tangled together in loving silence are something you both will always hold dearest of all. Because mornings like these?

They are utterly perfect.

[drippyoil]

your most recent fic has me rolling over this TFA concept where like. OP thinks of himself as very plain and unremarkable (even though we, the audience, have eyes and can clearly see he’s hotter than 90% of cybertron’s population) whereas Meg takes one look at him and is like “you look like a fucking blow-up doll. what the fuck. I’m almost offended the autobots would devise such a blatant attempt to seduce me”

AAA thank you so much for reading and enjoying Megatron's Espionage Kink!! I know it's a theory/hc that relies on either 1) oppy not knowing what a mirror is 2) autobots having diabolical standards of conventional attractiveness, but I love the idea of oppy just. not knowing he's a complete and total bombshell. he's basically identical to any other normal Autobot that rolled off the assembly line, sure even fellow autobots joke about his lips a lot, but they're just fucking around and teasing him surely!

But megatron has Optics and he uses them to fully drink in this visage of pure seduction that would only be written about in the most indulgent filthy smutpads, look at his WAIST?! THOSE LEGS?! HIS PLUSH LIPS MADE FOR ORAL?? and though megatron usually jeers at the bright and clashing colors of autobots, he's got to admit the red and blue and silver (and that sinful yellow on his pelvic plating/helm/etc). (I just looked at a pic of cybertronian oppy again and like HIS HIPS HAVE HANDLES??? I've seen amazing posts about TFA meg assuming he stumbled onto a bang bus when he crashed the autobot ship, cause of how sexy the autobots on board are, and this is exactly what makes it so believable)

But like I was saying I really do love meg assuming oppy Was Made To Distract/Placate Him because how else could a bot perfectly to his tastes be travelling around the galaxy? If he wasn't sent to seduce megatron, this walking talking (and fighting, those sleazy autobots really put effort into making this bot appeal) blowup doll would be in the most elite brothel on cybertron.

And I think "canon" tfa meg is too busy trying to retake cybertron and destroy the autobots to stop his evildoing to play with an Autobot, even if they are the hottest bot he's ever laid eyes upon, but I love to imagine that "what if?" what if meg Did pull out the stops to launch a counter-assault (seduce oppy and fuck him stupid).

(bonus semi-relevant shitpost copy pasted from my tf doc under the cut)

Megatron does NOT want to fuck Optimus Prime. It does not matter that this autobot was clearly designed upon Orion Pax, aka the civilian that Megatron has always found most aesthetically pleasing. However, even Orion was a rather conservatively designed bot. Optimus Prime has a large chest and tiny waist and strong arms and long legs and full kissable lips. All of these are further insults, so clearly designed for interface appeal that Megatron must turn his nose up for the sake of his pride. "Do they all think I have no self control? Is this Autobot some sort of peace offering or an attempt to distract me from retaking Cybertron?"

So yes. On some level, Megatron wants to frag that little autobot until he breaks. Fuck the bolts right off his hips. Turn him into a quivering fluid-drenched pile of loosely assembled truck parts. But he is wise and old enough to know that giving in would be a trap, an elaborate trap designed by Autobots who have finally realized that no tactic is too dirty, even if the prudes have to face the unspeakable horror of acknowledging Interfacing Exists.

Whether this is true or not doesn't matter. The f***toy look could simply be what's "in" for Autobots. Look at Bee and Bulkhead & Sentinel and Elita-1.

Optimus has no idea about Megatron's cute little theory and would strip him down for spare parts starting with his spike if he was ever to voice it to him. It would get Optimus charged up, Megatron admitting he considers Optimus so attractive that it must be an autobot plot, but he can and will ignore that too.

Because Optimus Prime does NOT want to fuck Megatron either. This is just Primus's way of punishing him for harmless private 'facing fantasies half a million years ago. It's a bit overboard as a punishment, however. Optimus wasn't even thinking about that stupid giant ancient evil leader of the Decepticons, just imagining a generic "kind of sweet and romantic in a brusque war frame way" faceless Decepticon soldier above him. Megatron? For all his great manipulation skills and that platinum glossa, the mech couldn't charm the panel off a desperate and overcharged speedster in heat.

There is No romance in the giant servos that almost choked Optimus offline and held him around the waist with ease and wrapped him up in his own grapplers. And those tastes of brutality and being overpowered do NOT excite Optimus even more.

[crisiscutie]

The reunion at hand may bring us joy. Pt 1

Pairing: "Fluffy" Sephiroth/Pregnant Darling

A wee distant prequel in the alternate Domestic AU, back when Darling was still on the run from Yandere Sephiroth with the boys.

You gently touched your slightly swollen belly, shaking your head as you looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror. There was no denying it now - you were pregnant with your fourth child. This revelation shouldn't have come as a surprise. Something had to result out of those nightly sessions you had with Sephiroth months ago.

Yet with the familiar symptoms and signs, you had acted like nothing was different since you and the boys went on the run. Now that your baby bump had begun to form, ignoring your greatest worry was no longer an option. You covered your eyes and let out a soft sob as you anxiously deliberated your next steps.

You could should be able to handle this one. After all, ten years ago, you had been pregnant with triplets. One more child in the picture was no problem.

But you couldn't even bring yourself to explain to your precious boys why you all had to leave that fateful day. The horrifying atrocities and the monster their father had become were things they shouldn't and couldn't comprehend. So how the hell could you explain to them that you're pregnant while being on a special mother-sons expedition, celebrating your degradation mysteriously curing itself? The boys were already concerned when you had bouts of morning sickness, but you diverted their attention by promising to take them to the Gold Saucer, since they had begged to visit it during the journey in Corel.

They're smart like Sephiroth, though. You won't be able to hide this from them for long. Maybe you could tell them at the amusement park during a quiet moment? You pulled your wool sweater down and slipped your black jacket on for even more cover. It's bad enough being an ex-SOLDIER on the run with three kids. No need to make it obvious that you're a pregnant ex-SOLDIER on the run with three kids.

When you were about to leave the restroom, you heard a groan of distress from behind. You turned around and came face to face with a woman dressed in tattered black robes. She looked to be on the edge of death. Her lifeless, baggy eyes, sickly complexion, and brittle hair nearly sent you into a panic. She looked like you when your degradation was at its worst. She stumbled towards you, losing her balance. You immediately reached out and caught her, allowing her to rest her head on your shoulder.

"Miss... are you okay?" you whispered. You couldn't resist the instinctive desire to hold her tightly, as if she were a precious jewel for safekeeping. Perhaps it was your natural empathy and decency for a fellow human. Or it's just your pathetic projection.

You tried to support her upright, but in a swift second, the woman summoned all her strength to push you against the bathroom wall, her small form transforming into the towering visage of your dear husband, Sephiroth.

In slow, robotic movement, he lifted his head from your shoulder. You could feel his soft, silver tresses sliding over the fabric of your jacket as his gaze met yours. His slit pupils were devoid of the soft, almost-catlike gaze he usually wore. Instead, there was only the stare of a snake watching its prey.

He cupped your chin. "You dare to run away? With my children? After all I've done for you. For them," he hissed. You couldn't respond. Were you already beginning to lose your mind? How did he know your location? How is here? As he caught the flicker of fear and shock in your eyes, his slit pupils constricted. He then smirked and slid his gloved hand down your body, opening the jacket and lifting the wool sweater to expose your slightly swollen belly.

"I will reclaim what's mine," he declared, his gloved hand resting on your belly. These were his final words before the robbed woman retook her place. She groaned in your ear once again. A nurse burst into the room and quickly approached the two of you. She pulled the robbed woman away from you.

"Excuse her. She's not feeling well because of the mako poisoning!" the nurse hastily explained to you, shortly lecturing the robbed woman afterwards. You stifled a gasp at them before fast walking out of the restroom. Your gaze darted up and down the streets, clutching your bag close to you.

Fuck. Fuck. The boys. Where are they!? You all can't afford to stick around much longer. But you don't see them anywhere! They should've been here, waiting outside of the bathroom as you ordered. Your panic increased tenfold when you rushed down the dusty road, seeing the bodies of dead Shinra grunts scattered about. You forced your head to keep looking forward, not even noticing the black feathers on some bodies.

Time passed slowly until you found a platform with a gondola, hoping your boys were near since you quietly searched everywhere else. You then heard the familiar whisper of Kadaj calling out to you from behind.

"Mother, we're over here!" He said. They were hiding in small bins, with a white lid over their heads nearby an abandoned clinc.

"What happened?" You asked.

"We don't know... Those men were running after us, so we hid in these bins when they lost sight of us," Yazoo explained. The three came out, their hair and clothing a bit rustled, but no signs of physical injury. But their eyes said it all. They were shaken. Afraid. All supposedly under your watch. Poor Loz was crying silently, keeping his hand over his mouth to keep quiet. You ruffled his hair, giving him an apologetic gaze.

The three hugged boys hugged you tightly, afraid to let you go. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't left you three alone..." You said. Kadaj lifted his head, about to say something before the sight of your uncovered pregnant belly caught his attention. The other two followed after, their fearful gaze turning into utter confusion and curiosity.

Shit. Of course you didn't bother to fix yourself up after that bathroom encounter with Sephiroth. "Boys... I-"

"They can't be far! Split up and search the alleys!" a voice from a distance ranged out, with a tone you recognized to certainly belong to a grunt captain. With quick thinking, you ushered the boys into the nearby gondola and closed the door.

"We'll discuss this later. Just stay quiet for Mother please..." you uttered, maneuvering to the controls. Your sweet triplet boys nodded, immediately sitting down and observing you silently. Thank the planet that they knew when to get serious and follow directions. But alas, mayhap this be evidence of them growing up too fast. Any other child at their age would still be shaken, frantically asking questions, begging for assurance. Just how much more horrors did they witness in your absence?

You slapped the control panel in frustration, which seemed to make it work. The gondola creaked and drifted along the cable lines. You peeked out of the tinted window, seeing more Shinra troops scouting the streets. Thankfully, no one seemed focused on the gondola. You sighed in relief and wiped your forehead as you sat down, sitting opposite of the triplets.

They were still staring at you, their intense catlike pupils constricting as the silence persisted. It was too difficult for you to not think of Sephiroth at this moment. This peculiar aura was all too familiar. Each one was so so similar to him, in each and every way.

Your lips curved into a forced grin, as you leaned forward, talking in your light tone.

"You know, this itinerary of Corel told me about a very special attraction nearby." The boys broke out of their peculiar observant trance, their slit pupils now dilating in anticipation as they leaned forward themselves, meeting you with excitement.

"I-Is it the gold saucer?" Loz asked. You nodded.

"Mhmm!" I was thinking, 'Maybe we could go there sooner.' What do you boys think?" The boys collectively hollered in excitement, littering you in gratitude and requests to go to a specific attention first. You chuckled, sitting back and watching them argue with each other about who gets to where first. Good thing you got them focused on something else for now.

Though your amusement ended quickly when you spotted a black feather stuck in the window's crevice, reminding you of your duty...

Oh, why can't something be easy for once?

A little support goes a long way! If you’d like to help me keep creating, you can do so at on my kofi!

[magicsewerman]

First time writing real fanfic, unedited and made up as I went along. Sprung forth by a thought I had in the shower

CW // Torture

Spirit of Determination. Lucanis watches it from his corner in the cell. Its form was bright, blinding, a silhouette of white illuminated by a blazing orange yellow. It mirrored him. Neither of them wanted to be here.

He remembers it acclimating itself. The repeated echo of water dropping onto a stone sounded as it did. A shaky visage pressing against the barrier, keeping them imprisoned. A small fragment taken from a larger hole, he had watched as it struggled to communicate with him, as if learning a new language. Although he supposed it was in a sense. After three days of acclimating, it had checked every quarter, every stone, and every small space that would have promised escape, just as Lucanis himself had.

The spirit of Determination promised the escape, promised it would figure out a way for them to get out of there, and every promise left a more bitter taste in his mouth than the inedible slop their captors fed them. Said slop is how the two ended up together anyways.

And now here they sat. Almost a month and a half since their unwilling union. The spirit didn’t burn as bright, its flames bleeding into a more red hue, that time he could almost make out an appearance underneath that white silhouette, though he couldn’t quite put a face to it. Whatever it is underneath it looks human enough, but not quite right, like a sculptor beginning to learn how to carve out the human shape. And even further underneath, he could feel his eyes watching him.

If it had anything to say to him, it didn’t voice it.

—

Electricity coursed through Lucanis’ veins, searing his flesh and shocking every nerve in his body. He had long since stopped, listening to the demands of the Venatori surrounding him. Their voices, their laughter, lost in the growing static in his head from clenched teeth and pain.

They wanted a monster. To break him, make him placid and pliable. The perfect host for their abomination.

He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

Any screams he might’ve let out were lost, throat tightened by the agonizing magic coursing through him. Not everything was blurred out in the haze, however. After all this time, determination still screamed, wailed, and writhed within him. It was all he could hear, try as he might to block it out.

It had defied the Venatori early on. Spouting encouragement in Lucanis’ ears to stay strong until their captors amped up enough to choke it. It had been deathly silent afterwards.

It was one of the only times he’d seen Determination look so small.

—-

Sand presses into his skin, like thousands of needles keeping Lucanis grounded in his cell. He hadn’t slept and the “food” given to him was untouched. He refused to eat it. It made his stomach churn, chilled him to the core, body shaking with the need to expel it from their body the way it came in. Even if he had tried to consume it he was certain that Determination would’ve stopped him. It felt everything he felt, and it was adamant about avoiding “the sickness” again. They agreed on that.

Determination. The spirit sat uncomfortably close to Lucanis. If it were flesh he would certainly feel its heat against his almost bare body. But it wasn’t flesh. No heat radiated from it. The once bright, almost fiery white appearance it bore was dull, like a dying ember.

Nowadays he could make it out more clearly. It was getting better at looking “human”. It reflected him quite well, though not fully. Things were still out of place. It make Lucanis’ skin crawl to look at the uncanny mirror image of himself, so he turns away and it buries itself in his chest in equal discomfort, heavy and bitter.

—-

When Spite had emerged it was after a night were the Venatori had decided to have a night of fun with him. They delighted in the agony. Lucanis had lost count how many times they’d broken his fingers, only to heal the digits, and repeat.

Everything had been so sudden. Determination’s wailing had long since dropped into choked groans, matching its host. The spirit bubbled and oozed within him, contrasting how eerily still it was.

Pain.

A snap of pure, blindingly bright, agonizing fuchsia. Then black.

He awoke in his cell again, sand stuck to his body, bloodied and itchy. Confusion clung to him, drowning out most everything around him and he struggled trying to push off the floor.

Determination was uncomfortably still. Subdued in him.

He collapses, the spinning world devolving into darkness once more.

—-

Spite paces around their cell, a perfect reflection of it, mirroring his host’s steps. He growls, anger rising to a boiling point. He was sick of Lucanis’ lack of action. If the man was buying time he was waiting too long for Spite’s patience, not that he had much to begin with. His lack of action sickened the demon.

Lucanis couldn’t keep still. The demon hounded him to do something and its growing frustration bleed into his own. They’re tired, and the thread between the two is strung taut.

—-

Spite starts to erupt from Lucanis’ body like a cicada from its shell. The demon is fed up with him, it’s wrath like a rot, burning in their veins. He’s made it clear that he wants out and Lucanis hasn’t moved to get them out. Hasn’t even started planning.

The air is pulled from Lucanis’ lungs as it happens. He chokes on the pressure in his chest that threatens to crush every organ in his body. Its claws dig into his back and it feels like Spite is trying to pry his ribcage open from his back. The assassin couldn’t scream even if he wanted to.

Fuchsia blinds his eyes, not dimming in the slightest when he closes them. He knows what is happening and the terror almost chills the white hot pain. Ringing in his ears blends with Spite’s screeching. He feels it too, but has seemingly come to the conclusion that even if it kills them it’ll be better than whatever the Venatori plan to keep doing to them, or he’ll finally get out and lay waste to them before absconding to freedom.

A split second thought saves their lives. Lucanis barely manages to get the words out. An offer. A deal.

Spite stops, pain subsiding near instantly. He listens with a newfound interest, cautious and untrusting, but interested nonetheless.

They will kill. They will get out. They will live. And they will do it together.

Finally something.

Spite agrees.

Lucanis would sob with relief if the years of conditioning otherwise hadn’t forced his eyes dry.

The demon’s claws scar his back.