#Eternal Rivalry Event | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

emmiesoverthemoon · 6 days ago

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so agitating!

rivalries between fraternity and sorority leaders always get confronted one way or another… who knew hate sex was served with a side of feelings?

pairing: fraternity leader han jisung x sorority leader reader tags: enemies to lovers. smut and fluff. non idol/college au. requested! @sunwie hope u enjoy wc: 1.9k

an: u will have to forgive me if the american college terms are inaccurate, i am australian so this is uncharted territory.. if there’s anything off you dont see them…

you always knew the fraternity boys were trouble. their parties spread across campus like wildfire, laughter spilling into moonlit lawns, empty beer cans rolling underfoot, and that signature bass-thumping playlist echoing from every open window.

at the center of it all stood han jisung.

jisung had this lethal kind of charisma— a cocky grin that set teeth on edge, dark eyes always flickering with some unspoken dare. he wore his frat letters like a crown, strutting across campus with an easy swagger that made every girl glance twice and every rival clench their jaw.

your sorority, ran on a different pulse. elegant, pristine, kind, woven together by charity events and spotless reputations. you took pride in keeping your girls above the mess, practically untouchable. and yet, your house’s feud with jisung’s was an eternal campus legend: prank wars that escalated to petty vandalism, stolen mascots, and once, an entire fountain filled with soap.

he called you uptight behind your back— you pretended it didn’t thrill you to hear.

everything came to a head at the annual charity mixer, held in a communal recreation centre on campus. a fragile truce, the air thick with forced civility. you arrived draped in a sinfully short white satin dress, your sisters flanking you like loyal sentries. heads turned as you stepped through the doors—you had that effect, and you knew it. you revelled in it.

and there he was. han jisung, perched on a folding table, beer in hand, wearing that stupid devil-may-care smirk that involuntarily caused your eye to twitch. his gaze cut through the crowd and locked onto yours like a hook.

“look who decided to grace us with her presence,” he called out, voice low and teasing, eyes glinting under the harsh gym lights.

you rolled your eyes, fighting the heat crawling up your neck. “try not to spill cheap beer on my dress tonight, frat boy.”

his grin widened, sharp and knowing. “no promises, princess.”

all night, you felt it—the push and pull of his attention, each sly glance across the room, each smirk when your eyes met. the tension buzzed beneath your skin, coiling tighter each time he laughed too loud or leaned too close to another girl.

by midnight, you found yourself on the patio, cool night air brushing your heated cheeks. and then han was there, sliding in beside you, his cologne sweet and sharp, the warmth of him licking at your edges.

“tired of playing queen bee?” he murmured, close enough that your shoulders brushed.

“tired of pretending you’re not desperate for my attention?” you snapped back.

he laughed, rich and low, and something in your chest cracked open. his hand ghosted along your waist, fingers curling into the silk of your dress.

“you know,” he drawled, voice softening as he leaned in, “i think you like our games just as much as i do.”

you opened your mouth to retort, but his lips were already on yours— fierce and hungry, no pretense left between you. it felt like setting a match to gasoline, months of tension erupting in an instant.

he pushed you backward until your spine hit the cold brick wall. you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer, tasting beer and mint on his tongue. his fingers fumbled up your thigh, hitching your dress higher, and you cursed into his mouth when he squeezed.

“you want me to stop?” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours.

“don’t you dare,” you hissed, eyes wild.

he groaned, low and guttural, before yanking your panties to the side. the first touch of his fingers had you arching, nails digging crescents into his shoulders. he worked you open with deliberate, teasing strokes—middle and ring finger sliding in and out, thumb circling your clit. a duet of motions abusing your pussy until your head fell back against the brick and you gasped his name like a secret plea.

“look at you,” he panted, kissing down your jaw. “so fucking pretty when you beg. just admit you’re weak for me already.”

electing to not dignify him with a verbal response, you instead answered by pulling his belt open with shaking hands, struggling with his zipper due to your nail extensions until he cursed beneath his breath and helped you. the moment he pressed against you, thick and hot, you almost sobbed with relief.

“ready?” he asked, voice wrecked.

you could only nod, and then he pushed in, inch by torturous inch, filling you so deeply you thought you might shatter. your leg wrapped around his waist, anchoring him as he started to move—slow at first, savouring the way you clenched around him, then faster, harder, chasing that sharp edge neither of you could resist.

your cries tangled with his groans, echoing into the empty night. every thrust blurred the lines between hate and hunger, your rivalry burning away in the heat of his mouth on your neck, his fingers bruising your hips.

when you finally came, it tore through you like a tidal wave, leaving you shaking and clinging to him. he followed with a hoarse moan, burying his face in your neck, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you.

afterward, you stayed tangled up against the wall, breaths mingling, the world beyond that small corner feeling impossibly far away.

“this changes nothing,” you whispered, even as your fingers carded through his hair.

he looked up at you with a crooked smile. “sure, princess. whatever you say.”

but one night turned into another. then another. sometimes it was in the frat house’s basement after a party—music still pulsing faintly above, his hands already greedy on your hips as he slammed the door shut, dragging you into the shadows. other times, it was in your sorority suite when the girls were asleep, muffling your moans into his shoulder as he fucked you nice and deep on your perfectly made bed.

each encounter began with snide remarks, sharp words that curled into heat. his smirk always ignited something reckless in your veins; the way he’d say “you look so good when you’re pretending to hate me” right before he swallowed your gasp in a kiss. your fingers would tangle in his hair, yanking him closer until your teeth clicked against his.

clothes fell away in a frantic mess—dresses bunched around your waist, his shirt tossed across the room, jeans shoved down just enough. his mouth found every weak spot: your throat, your collarbone, the soft curve of your breast, each kiss turning your body into a live wire.

sometimes he took you against the wall, your legs locked around his waist as he pounded into you hard enough to hurt your thigh muscles. other times, he laid you out carefully, tongue tracing lazy circles over your clit until you were sobbing, fingers clawing at the sheets. he loved to tease, to hold you on the brink until you were trembling, breathless, begging him to finish you.

and each time, no matter how rough or how slow, your hands would find his face at the end— cradling his jaw, your thumb brushing across his flushed cheek. his hand would find your stomach, fingertips gently rubbing against warm smooth skin. in those small moments, something unspoken trembled between you, fragile and frightening.

somewhere between the heated hookups and the breathless fights, he started staying longer afterward. he would collapse beside you, sweat-slicked skin sticking together, his arm slung over your waist as if it belonged there. you started tracing the small scars scattered along his shoulders, the faded bruises from roughhousing with his frat brothers, the dimple on his lower back.

in the pale dawn light, he pressed gentle kisses to your forehead, your cheek, the bridge of your nose—as though you were something sacred, not just an enemy to ruin.

he began buying your favourite drink before morning meetings, sliding it onto your desk without a word. you started keeping an extra hoodie of his in your closet, pulling it on when you missed the warmth of his arms. he teased you for it, but you noticed how his eyes softened each time he saw you wearing it.

his touch softened too. the way his fingers traced your sides after, the slow kisses on your stomach, the long, quiet moments where he simply held you. both your walls crumbled without either of you even realising.

by the time midterms rolled around, you had stopped pretending. stopped pretending that your heart did not skip when he texted “come over” at two a.m., or when he kissed your temple before slipping out of your bed. you no longer denied the way his name left your lips in reverent whimpers when he moved inside you— more so now slow, intimate, deliberate, like he wanted to memorise every shiver, every sigh. instead of before— rough and hastily, the sex being only enough to get the job done.

one night, after a particularly heated argument during a joint event, you stormed into his room at the frat house. your words were sharp as knives— accusing him of sabotaging your presentation, yelling about reputation, dignity, and control.

he listened silently, leaning against his door, eyes heavy on you. and then he was crossing the room, grabbing your wrist, spinning you against the wall, flushing his chest to your back.

“you want control?” he growled, voice hoarse. “or do you just want me to take it from you?”

your lips crashed together, teeth scraping, breaths mingling in short, ragged gasps. he took your shirt off, his hands greedy, exploring every inch of you as though he could not bear a single barrier between your skin and his. he fucked you hard and fast, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, your moans echoing off the walls.

somewhere in the haze, your fingers curled into his arm and you pulled him closer. “ji— please—” you choked out, not even sure what you were begging for anymore.

he groaned, thrusts stuttering as his own edge neared. “fuck— say it—”

“need you,” you sobbed. “need you so much.”

your confessions spilled out in half-broken syllables, tangled with curses and his name. when you finally came, it ripped through you like lightning, your body trembling so violently he had to hold you up. he followed with a desperate cry, burying his face against your nape, hips jerking as he spilled inside you.

after, the silence felt charged, heavy. he rested his forehead against yours, breathing you in.

“say it again,” he whispered.

you swallowed hard, fingers carding through his damp hair. “i need you,” you repeated, softer now, eyes wide and unguarded.

his lips parted as though he wanted to say something else, but instead he kissed you— slow, searching, almost gentle.

that night, he did not leave. you fell asleep tangled in his arms, your leg thrown over his hip, his fingers tracing lazy circles into your back until you drifted off.

and in the days after, something shifted. he held your hand openly at the next event. he kissed your forehead before meetings, regardless of who was watching. you caught yourself smiling at his texts, waiting for him outside his classes just to see that stupid grin spread across his face.

it started as war. it became an addiction. and then, slowly—so painfully slowly—it transformed into love.

real, terrifying, heart-shaking love.

and maybe, just maybe, this time neither of you wanted to deny it anymore.

tysm for ur kind request + sorry it took like five ever for me to get to it🥀 hopefully i’ve made it up to you

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milkbobatyun · 9 months ago

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save your tears

pairing: jiaoqiu x gn!reader

genre: angstober, events

summary: you were bitter enemies, from the start and for eternity. nothing could repair your relationship

word count: 770

a/n: proud jiaoqiu haver since he first came out, i have started to build him now (finally, ik) this is lwk similar to a jiaoqiu piece i'm working on in my drafts rn...

it was no secret that you and jiaoqiu were bitter enemies. when it all started, you forgot. maybe it was when you had butted heads during a lesson during your younger years. maybe it was the time he had put dirt and leaves in your sachet during break. maybe it was when you had purposefully tugged on his hair.

the fights were too many to count on one hand, so eventually, you stopped.

when you had heard about jiaoqiu again, it was after the both of you had graduated, you setting up your own pharmacy and him becoming the famous doctor of the merlin’s claw.

despite your rivalry, jiaoqiu still came to your shop the most often, to collect herb supplies. perhaps he hadn’t yet shaken off the habit of vexing you, for the herd of fangirls who swooned and fainted in front of your shop doorway every time he entered was enough to give you a pounding headache.

however, after the brutal war, you took notice of the absence of an annoying fox, with his sly smile and fluttering fan.

it was only when feixiao paid you a visit on behalf of her doctor that you learnt the news.

the bundle of herbs fell from your grasp, the paper crinkling as it hit the floor. without a glance back, you ran to jiaoqiu’s house.

jiaoqiu’s head turned towards the direction of the door as he heard it open with a creak.

the soft footsteps padded into the room, before the person froze.

“feixiao?” jiaoqiu’s voice wavered, uncertainty tainting it. “is that you?”

you saw how his eyes were covered with bandages, his ears twitching, trying to catch a sound. behind him, his tail swung restlessly.

“jiaoqiu,” you breathed, your voice caught in your throat.

“you,” jiaoqiu’s voice changed immediately, ears flattening against his head. “get out.”

you were startled by the tone of his voice, but instead, you stepped closer. tentatively, you reached out your hands, fingers gently brushing his face, tilting it in all kinds of directions as you muttered under your breath.

jiaoqiu’s hands swatted at yours, as though you were a fly or a bug.

“get away from me.” he snarled, unwelcome evident in his voice.

hurt, you withdrew your hands.

“what happened?” you whispered, sorrow saturating your tone.

“hoolay.” jiaoqiu’s curt voice broke the silence. “used myself as bait. can’t see now.”

jiaoqiu waited for you to respond, arrogance in your tone. the prolonged silence unnerved him. he was used to your sharp cutting remarks, not this heavy, suffocating silence.

the sight of his bandages tore at your heartstrings. where was that confident and sly foxian you had known in your youth? in front of you sat a broken healer, one who knew his future in the field of healing was bleak.

a sniffle and rustle broke the silence.

anger flared up within jiaoqiu, coursing through his veins, his fists clenching at his sides.

“if you’re going to cry those crocodile tears,” jiaoqiu growled, baring his fangs in your direction with anger, “then get out.”

when he didn’t hear your footsteps departing from the room, jiaoqiu’s hand wandered blindly across the tabletop before it came into contact with the teacup that sat atop its saucer, drained of the tea it held.

jiaoqiu aimed the teacup in your direction, throwing it in a fit of rage.

with a clear tinkle, the cup shattered against the floor, at your feet. the porecelain pieces scattered, scuttling across the floor, hiding in the nooks and crannies.

wiping your tears with your sleeves, you bent to pick up the pieces. it was just your luck that one of the shards sliced into your palm. a pained hiss escaped from your lips.

jiaoqiu’s ears stood up in alertness as he spun his head towards the source. reaching out his hands, he searched blindly for where you were.

“are you hurt?” he questioned, voice laced with concern, hands outstretched helplessly. guilt hit him like a wave. you were only trying to be caring and a decent person, but his actions were too hostile this time.

swallowing down the pain and tears, you weakly mumbled an answer that jiaoqiu didn’t quite catch. you cupped the shards in your hands, discarding them into the nearby bin before fumbling out some apology.

“...i’ll leave.” you excused yourself before scuttled out of the manor, the sound of your footsteps fading in the distance.

silence settled like a thick, heavy blanket, jiaoqiu’s sole companion.

in the quiet which was only disturbed by the quiet ticking of the clock, jiaoqiu sat, wrapped in his thoughts. had he pushed too far?

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳) © curated with love by milkbobatyun 2024 / づ ♡

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paperclip-skz · 4 months ago

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Just Lovers

fem*Reader x Jisung

*WARNING

Contains: Teasing, unprotected s*x (don't), oral female resieving, tension, enemies to lovers (kind of), I'm sure I missed something, let me know in the comments.

prompt: “I don’t do casual, either we are star-crossed lovers or eternal rivals”

WC: 3k

*****

I couldn’t stand him. Him, and his lean body that filled a tux like the very word was created just for him. It was another company gala—one I was again forced to attend. Jisung stood among his friends across the room, acting as if he had no care in the world, staring at me. My whole body heated up as I tried to ignore the piercing gaze he burned into me.

I blamed it on the dress. Somehow, my assistant convinced me to buy yet another dress for this event. The golden material cascaded down to my ankles like water flowing over a cliff. The back of the dress revealed most of my spine, the fabric resting just above the curve of my ass. The front left little to the imagination, with the dip practically reaching my belly button while the straps covered my most sensitive areas. I could hardly call it a dress, but it pleased the cameras, and my smile convinced the reporters that I was enjoying the champagne.

With a deep breath, I excused myself from the conversation, slithering away from Jisung’s line of sight. I ended up at the bar, thinking, "I need a drink," as I ordered a dirty martini.

"You’re staring," I smelled him before I saw him.

“You were staring first," I scoffed back.

“Your dress is..." he hesitated. "Distracting." He leaned against the counter, refusing to sit while also avoiding my gaze.

“Then look at someone else." The bartender placed my drink in front of me, nodding with an apologetic smile. I took a small sip of my drink, welcoming the burn down my throat.

He huffed. Jisung and I had a playful rivalry. At work, it seemed like we both despised each other, but every jab was masked by underlying feelings. Flirtatious glances, secret touches, and moments of vulnerability had been fueling both of our desires for months.

The restless nights that had become part of my routine were unsettlingly familiar. I tossed and turned, tangling myself in the sheets. My mind and dreams consumed thoughts of his piercing eyes, flecked with chocolate brown, and his bright smile, which shone like a beacon in my dreams.

Countless times, I’d awakened to the soft glow of dawn, my body betraying me as my hand slipped beneath the fabric of my sleep shorts, guided by the vivid fantasies that danced through my mind, all centered around him. Each night felt like an endless cycle of desire, leaving me exhilarated and breathless as I drifted in and out of slumber, chasing the fleeting moments of my dreams. It had annoyed me more than once.

“You know I can’t do that.” I rolled my eyes at his comment, noting that now he had his eyes on me and how low the front of my dress dipped.

I roll my eyes. “I knew you were obsessed with me, but this is on a whole other level,” I scoff, taking another sip of my drink.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him bite his lip. My eyes lock on the way his lip disappears between his teeth, and my lips part as I suck in a breath. “Damn you, how do you always get me so riled up?” he says in a hushed tone.

“Not my fault,” damn him, my heart beats so fast, fast enough to compete with the rhythm of a hummingbird's wings.

“I want to kiss you.” His expression remains plain, even bored. Like it's just another sentence to him, and it doesn’t make my blood boil with both rage and need.

“Well too bad,” I have to pull every bit of strength I have to tear my eyes away from him. I down the rest of my drink and turn my body toward him.

“You want me just as badly as I want you.” His voice is so desperate, so quiet. Heat bubbles to the surface; I can’t tell if it’s lust or anger, but whatever it is, it snaps.

“Stop reminding me.” My eyes flare. “I might want you, but I can’t have you, and you know damn well why, so do us both a favor and stop playing into this mindless fantasy,” I huff. My words gather the attention of the bartender; he eyes me with a worried look, but I ignore him, choosing to keep my burning stare on Jisung.

Before Jisung can say another word, I turn on my heel and leave him at the bar.

****

The gala was held in a hotel. At least that was the good part of the evening. I didn’t have to go home alone and sad. No, I just got to go to my hotel room alone and sad. Whoo.

It's a relatively larger room than a typical hotel. Being a 5-star establishment, it definitely looks the part. I take off my treacherous heels and head to the bathroom. I didn’t see Jisung for the rest of the event, but I pretty much left right after our little argument. I only had time to have maybe one or two more conversations before the emotions swirled into a raging headache.

*knock* *knock*

I had just taken off my earrings when I heard the knock at the door. I went to look through the peephole, only to groan at the sight of him.

“What do you want?” I say through the door.

“I just want to talk”

I bite the inside of my cheek as I consider all the possible outcomes of letting him in. Before I think of another reason NOT to let him in, I open the door, going against my better judgment.

Without my heels, he has another few inches on me, he always made me feel small. “What”

“I-” he hesitates. “Have you been wearing that all night?” His gaze drops.

“You’ve been staring at me all night, it's still the same dress.” I gesture.

“I’ve been admiring other features” his eyes swoop around my face, landing on the fall of my hair.

My breath catches. He’s such an ass for making me so needy for him. “What do you want?” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

I step back an inch and let him in. He walks inside, scanning the room and finally eyeing the bed before sitting at the edge. “What you said at the bar… did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” I know exactly what he’s talking about, but I can’t let my emotions get ahead of me. I stand my ground, watching his eyes dart to the floor and his head hang low.

“That you want me.” Finally, he lifts his head. His big doe-brown eyes make my heart ache.

I take a breath for a moment. “Yes,” I say, crossing my arms in front of him again. “But the rest of what I said is also very true. I can’t have you, even if I wanted to.”

He shakes his head, and a small grin tugs at his lips. “But you want me.”

Of course, that’s what he focuses on. I can’t help the roll of my eyes. “So what?” My voice rises. “This”—I gesture between us—“can’t happen. We work together. We could lose our jobs, our careers.” My voice breaks as I think of everything I’ve done to get to where I am, the sacrifices I’ve made to earn the respect I deserve. “I’ve done too much to risk what I’ve worked so hard for… I’m not willing to risk it.” It feels like my heart shatters, like glass splinters through my blood and mixes with acid in my mouth.

I can’t bear to look at him now, not when tears threaten to fall. He will not see me cry.

Jisung stands and cradles my face in his palms. “I won’t let what we have risk everything you’ve worked for.” He lifts my chin, forcing our eyes to meet. “But I’m not letting you go.”

He stared into my eyes, practically pleading with me. I glance at his pouting lips, and that's all the invitation he needs to gently bring our lips together. The kiss is slow and deliberate, exploring how we taste. I tug on his suit jacket, wanting—no, needing—him to deepen the kiss, but he takes his time. His tongue glides along my lower lip, asking silent permission, and I let him in. His tongue darts inside my mouth, savoring each moan I let slip. He pulls me toward the bed.

in a rush, he removes his lips from mine and flops onto the bed, leaving me still standing and heaving.

My entire body feels like it's been electrified. I'm buzzing with the need to kiss him and press my body against his once more. “Why did you stop?” I pant, biting my lip. The taste of him still lingers on my tongue, and he tastes so sweet.

“Because if I didn’t, and you regretted it; I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I also was afraid, I wouldn’t be able to stop.” His eyes roam over my dress, stopping on my hips then tracing the lines all the way until his eyes stop on my swollen lips.

I take matters into my own hands. I rake up my dress skirt, just above my knees and swing my legs on either side of his thighs, so that I’m straddling him. “Don’t let me think long enough to regret it then.”

He searches my eyes before he crushes his mouth to mine, fully pulling me into his embrace. I part my lips as an invitation, not just because my body craves him, but because I can feel how he means every word, every confession. It’s like he begs to show me the one piece of him I’ve been dying to see. He groans, his arms trapping me and pulling my body impossibly closer to his, close enough that we can feel each other’s hearts echoing in our chests.

The kiss becomes reckless, the feel of his tongue flicking against mine, stroking, claiming, consuming my very being.

“Stand” the word flat and final.

“Ji-”

“I fucking need you. Right now. And I’m not one for needing anyone or thing, so I’m not quite sure how to handle this feeling. And if you don’t want this tonight, then by all means walk out that door right fucking now, becuase so help me god if you don’t, I’m going to have you naked and under me in the next two minutes”

The intensity of his words and the flare in his eyes should terrify me, but instead, they ignite a simmering fire that rages through my bloodstream.

My grin broadens, “I think two minutes might be overestimating your skills with a dress."

“Wanna bet?"

I fully intend to keep teasing him, so I start counting, but his mouth is on mine, and all thoughts vanish. I’m too busy chasing the strokes of his tongue along my bottom lip, feeling the strength of his shoulders as I cling on for dear life.

I feel the rush of a breeze along my skin and feel my dress hit the floor. He groans, when I tug on his bottom lip, my teeth grazing the sensitive muscle.

“Still counting?” he teases, swiping his hands along the underside of my thighs and lifting me up effortlessly, only to throw me onto the bed with a thud. I attempt to tease back, but his lips capture mine before a single word can escape. I moan into his mouth as he suck onto my tongue, swirls of pleasure consume my every being. His kisses trail south, kissing the swell of my breasts, still confined in my bra. He trails lower, kissing my inner thigh.

“Changed your mind yet?” he smirks.

“Fuck no” I lock eyes with him between my thighs, and my breath catches. He smirks. Tugging my underwear down my legs, then his mouth is between my legs. I suck in a sharp breath, my head throws back, and my back arches heavenward. His talented tongue swirls and licks around my clit in perfect measure. “Oh God”

“ah ah” He kisses my inner thigh. “It's just you and me, sweetheart. The only name that should roll off those lips is mine,” he all but growls, and his head disappeared, my body zings

“Jisung!” I cry, learning my lesson. The only sign of approval I get is a groan against my folds, sending vibrations through my body.

He licks from my entrance to my clit, keeping a steady rythm, “fuck you taste devine” he lifts my legs over his shoulders and settles. That subtle movement shouldn’t make the coil in my belly tighten, but it does.

Pleasure, hot instant pleasure, boils in my stomach and my hips reply on their own, rolling against his tongue and teeth, driving to that insatiable high. A shiver runs down my spine when I feel the stretch of two fingers enter inside me. I’m simply mindless.

And when he tips me over the edge of oblivion, it’s his name I scream. Shattering breath into the empty air.

“Fucking delisous.” he groans as he rises above me “You taste like pure sin, and I fucking love it”

He braces himself above me, with either arms on the sides of my head. He tugs the straps of my bra down revealing my breasts. I make quick work to undo the clasp. Once that last piece of barrier is thrown to the side, Jisung's head dips. I gasp when he leans down to take my nipple between his teeth, a whole new set of flames catching fire. By the time he climbs from my chest to my neck, I’m touching every part of him I can hold onto. The ridges of his arms, the span of his back. Good heavens, this man was made to be touched, this man was made to be craved.

Our mouths meet in a deep shattering kiss, and I can taste the faintness of myself on his tongue. My hands rake into his hair, tugging at his roots. I bring my knees to my chest, exposing my most innocent parts. “Y/N” he moans, both in warning and in lust.

“What you chickening out now?” I tease, arching my hips so his length slides against me.

He nips my lower lip. “I can keep you screaming my name with just my tongue alone,” his words make my whole body go rigid.

“I want to play” I beg. My hips arch again, and he sucks in a breath.

“Fuck I want you so badly.” He sighs, his eyes shutting tight.

“You have me,” my words hang in the air, meaning more than just our position.

He snaps his attention to me. His eyes bore into mine, and lust and love make the brown flecks in his eyes swirl like chocolate among stars. “I can give you my heart and soul, and that still won’t account for everything I can give you. You have more than just my body or my stupid heart; you have me. You consume every waking thought I have, and when I think I've had enough of you, you do something to make me crave you even more."

My chest swells, thats more than enough, he could give me the broken specks of his honesty and I’d still take it willingly. I capture his lips with my own, bracing my hands on either side of his face to deepen the kiss. He pushes into me with one long roll of his hips, stretching me with every inch and another to make me gasp until he hits the hilt.

The pressure, the stretch, the overwhelming pleasure he brings, is all beyond words. “You feel too good to be real” I swivel my hips along his because I truly can’t help the feel of him inside me.

Hard, deep, instant, and slow, at the same time, he sets an evil rhythm that has me lunging for leverage of any kind. When I urge him to take me deeper, faster, he shares a wicked grin, and I meet him at every threatening pace. Each thrust is better than the last, it makes my eyes roll. “I want this to last, I need this to last” he begs, his words ghosting my ear as he buries himself in the crook of my neck.

“I don’t know if I can…” words die in my throat. Fire in my core has twisted impossibly tight. I can almost taste the sweet relief on the tip of my tongue. “I know, I know” he chants against me. He drives forward again and again, I whimper and my eyes shut tight, the pleasure that builds becoming too much to bear. “Stay with me. Fall with me” he moves, the new angle hitting depper and against my clit.

And I do. Pleasure washes through my body like a raging storm colliding with crashing waves. Or lightning striking a tree. He groans against me and his teeth sink slightly into my shoulder as his own climax shudders through him.

Long minutes pass—maybe even an hour—before both of our breaths even out. He’s reluctant, but Jisung pulls out of me with a small groan and tugs me tight into his embrace. He snuggles into the crook of my neck, sighing contently.

“What now” I whisper. “Is this….is this just casual then?” the words taste sour in my mouth, but this needs to be said. But I’m not letting you go. That’s what he said. But lust was clouding his eyes, who knows what he’ll say now-

His head snaps from my shoulder, and he props himself above me. “I don’t do casual. Either we’re star-crossed lovers or eternal rivals,” he says. Something else clouded his eyes. It's not lust or rage, but worry. His brows furrow, and his lips are in a tight line as he waits for my reply.

Star-crossed lovers or eternal rivals. The thought makes me giggle. I tug him close and ghost my lips against his. “How about just lovers”

****

A/N: Someone gave me the prompts for this, I swear I remember seeing a post where someone posted a bunch of prompts to use, but I can't for the life of me remember the poster's name. If anyone knows who I'm talking about, leave their tag in the comments, I want to give them credit for the idea!.

Also, please note that some of the lines/scenes in this one are inspired by another author.

#story #smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids #skz smut #short story #limbo #fem reader #skz #han jisung #jisung fluff #jisung smut #jisung x reader #skz jisung

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kysstar · 3 months ago

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BURN FOR THE SPOTLIGHT | CHAPTER ONE : : SUCK IT UP

pairing : : kang yeosang x idol!reader

series synopsis : : you and yeosang have been rivals since childhood—outsmarting, outshining, and outdoing each other at every turn. years later, just when you thought you were free, he shows up at KQ as a trainee. on camera, you're civil. off camera, it’s war all over again. but rivalry feels different now.

genre : : academic rivals to lovers, idol au

chapter warnings : : childish fights

word count : : 1.6k

[ series masterlist ]

OOO. MIDDLE SCHOOL

—The tension in the school auditorium was thick enough to cut with a knife. Two students remained on stage, glaring at each other like mortal enemies rather than middle schoolers fighting for a plastic trophy. You stood on one side, arms crossed, radiating confidence. On the other, Kang Yeosang, your eternal rival, clenched his fists.

“Your word is… ‘Belligerent.’”

Easy. You smirked, taking your sweet time.

“B-E-L-L-I-G-E-R-E-N-T.” You let the final letter linger, savoring the way Yeosang’s face twitched.

“Correct!” The judge beamed.

Yeosang scowled, shifting from foot to foot.

“Next word… ‘Pernicious.’”

Yeosang took a deep breath, lifting his chin. “P-E-R-N-I-C-I-O-U-S.”

“Correct!”

The audience buzzed with excitement. The tie dragged on until finally, the moment of reckoning arrived.

“Yeosang, your next word is… ‘Onomatopoeia.’”

You swore you saw a flicker of panic in his eyes, but he masked it quickly. He started spelling, voice steady. “O-N-O-M-A-T-O—” A pause. A long one.

Your smirk widened. He sucked in a breath, then rushed, “P-E-I-A.”

“Incorrect.”

Your heart soared. It was your turn now, and you didn’t waste a second. “O-N-O-M-A-T-O-P-O-E-I-A.”

“We have a winner!”

Yeosang’s face twisted in disbelief. You turned to him, hands on your hips.

“Guess you weren’t as smart as you thought, huh?” you teased, leaning in just enough to get in his face.

He gritted his teeth. “Shut up.”

“Aw, is Yeosang mad because he lost?”

That was the last straw. His hand shot out, yanking at your ponytail. Hard.

You yelped and immediately fought back, grabbing a fistful of his sleeve and yanking him toward you. A mess of limbs, hissing, and shoving ensued before the teachers rushed in to separate you.

Even with an angry teacher holding him back, Yeosang still managed to shoot you a glare. “Next time, I’m wiping the floor with you.”

You grinned, still panting. “We’ll see about that.”

—Middle school sports day was supposed to be fun. For most kids, it was fun. But for you and Yeosang? It was war.

The final event was the relay race. Your team was neck-and-neck with his, and of course, you were the last runners. The second the baton hit your hand, you sprinted, eyes locked on Yeosang just ahead.

He was fast. But so were you. Step by step, you gained on him, pushing your legs to move faster. The finish line was in sight, and for a moment, you thought you could make it.

Yeosang smirked. And he sped up. Your jaw clenched as he crossed the finish line half a second before you, arms raised in victory. His team erupted in cheers while yours groaned.

You stormed over to him, chest heaving. “You think you’re hot stuff, don’t you?”

Yeosang turned, still catching his breath. “I don’t think—I know.” He tapped his temple with a smug grin. “That’s two-to-one, by the way.”

Oh, that did it. Without thinking, you stomped forward and shoved him. Not hard enough to knock him over, but enough to get your point across.

He barely stumbled but gasped in fake offense. “Violence now? Sore loser?”

You were about to retort when he suddenly flicked your forehead.

Your hands balled into fists. “Oh, you’re so dead.”

Before he could react, you launched at him, tackling him to the grass. He shouted as you grabbed his arms, pinning him down. But Yeosang wasn’t one to go down without a fight—within seconds, he twisted, rolling the both of you over until he was the one on top.

“Lost. again,” he taunted, grinning.

You narrowed your eyes. Then, with zero hesitation, you reached up and pulled his hair.

“AH—!”

He scrambled off you, clutching his head. “You fight dirty!”

You just smirked, brushing grass off your shorts. “All’s fair in war, Kang.”

OOO. HIGHSCHOOL

—By the time high school rolled around, your rivalry with Kang Yeosang had become something of a school legend. The teachers, exhausted from years of your constant battles, made sure you were placed in different sections. But if they thought a few walls and different schedules would keep you two apart, they clearly underestimated just how deep your need to outdo each other ran.

Because the war never stopped. If anything, it only got worse.

The midterm results were posted outside the faculty room, drawing a crowd of students eager to see how they did. But for you and Yeosang, there was only one thing that mattered: who ranked higher.

You shoved your way to the front, heart pounding. Your eyes scanned the list, moving past the lower ranks until—

Rank #1: (Your Name) – 98.6%

You grinned. But then you saw it.

Rank #2: Kang Yeosang – 98.5%

You clapped a hand over your mouth, trying to suppress your laughter. One. One tiny decimal point.

Yeosang appeared beside you, scanning the board. You saw the exact moment he found the rankings—his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap.

You turned to him, radiating smugness. “Aw, so close, Yeosang. I guess that one little mistake really cost you, huh?”

“That must sting,” you continued, leaning in. “You worked so hard too. All those sleepless nights. But hey! At least you still got—” you gasped mockingly, “second place!”

Yeosang exhaled sharply through his nose. Then, in one swift movement, he ripped the results paper off the board and bolted.

“HEY—”

You chased after him, shoving past students. “YOU CAN’T JUST ERASE THE RESULTS, YOU SORE LOSER!”

He didn’t stop, running straight into the library. You caught up just in time to see him shoving the entire paper into the shredder.

“ARE YOU INSANE?!” you screeched.

Yeosang smirked, crossing his arms. “What rankings? I don’t see any rankings.”

You lunged at him. He dodged. A chaotic chase ensued between the bookshelves, resulting in the librarian dragging both of you to the principal’s office.

—The school’s annual talent show was supposed to be a showcase of skills, a celebration of the arts. For you and Yeosang? It was another battleground.

You signed up for a dance performance. Yeosang signed up too—also for dance.

You found out only when you saw his name on the audition list. You had stormed up to him, eyes blazing. “You did this on purpose.”

He smirked. “Scared?”

The day of the show arrived, and the auditorium buzzed with excitement. You were set to perform first, and you killed it. The crowd roared, and you strutted offstage with satisfaction.

Then Yeosang went on. And you knew—you knew the moment the music started, the moment his moves hit perfectly on beat, that he wasn’t going to let you have this one.

By the time he finished, the applause was deafening. Your hands curled into fists.

As he walked backstage, you stepped in front of him, clapping slowly. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” He scoffed. “Please. I won.”

You tilted your head. “Funny. You haven’t even seen the results yet.”

He shrugged, confident. “I don’t need to.”

You smirked. “Alright, bet. Loser buys the winner coffee for a month.”

“Deal.”

When the judges announced the results, it was a tie.

Your mouth fell open. Yeosang blinked in disbelief. And then, at the same time, you both turned to each other.

“NO.”

The host, sensing the tension, quickly ended the program before a brawl broke out on stage. But later that evening, you found out someone had messed with the sound system before your performance, lowering the volume of your music just slightly.

When confronted, Yeosang just smiled. “You can’t prove anything,” he said innocently.

You threw your shoe at him.

—The school trip to the mountains was supposed to be relaxing. A peaceful retreat where students could “connect with nature.” But, of course, you and Yeosang had different plans.

From the moment you stepped off the bus, the competition began.

Who could set up their tent faster? Who could start a fire first? Who could carry the heaviest logs for firewood? You weren’t even assigned to collect firewood, but the second Yeosang boasted that he could carry more, you found yourself hauling entire tree branches just to prove a point.

Then came the hiking challenge.

It wasn’t an official event, but when the teachers announced a group hike to the peak, you and Yeosang immediately turned it into a race.

The first part of the trail was easy—flat terrain, small rocks, nothing challenging. But as the path grew steeper, the real battle began.

Yeosang, slightly ahead, glanced back at you and smirked. “You slowing down already?”

You scoffed, wiping sweat from your forehead. “In your dreams, Kang.”

He picked up the pace. You did too. Soon, you were practically sprinting up the mountain, ignoring the concerned shouts of the teachers behind you.

And then, your foot slipped. For a split second, your heart plunged as your body tilted back. You barely had time to register the panic before a hand grabbed your wrist, yanking you forward.

You crashed into Yeosang, both of you stumbling as he steadied you. His hand was firm around yours, fingers warm against your wrist. For a moment, neither of you moved.

You were so close, you could see the sweat on his brow, the way his chest heaved from exertion.

“You good?” His voice was quieter than usual, less teasing.

Your heart was pounding. From almost falling. Obviously.

You yanked your hand back, clearing your throat. “Tch. I didn’t need your help.”

Yeosang rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Next time I’ll let you roll down the mountain.”

You pushed past him, marching toward the peak. “I’m still beating you there.”

“Oh, hell no—”

And just like that, the rivalry was back.

#𝐎𝐑𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 #kang yeosang x reader #yeosang x reader #kang yeosang #yeosang #kang yeosang series #yeosang series #yeosang fluff #yeosang angst #kang yeosang fluff #kang yeosang angst #yeosang ateez #kang yeosang ateez #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez idol au

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purplebutwarhammer · 4 months ago

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I’m still convinced Trazyn and Orikan were friends/close in some way during the flesh times but neither really remember, and I will explain why I think this is the case.

Orikan remembers that Trazyn was one of the people that dragged him to the furnace after being found hiding in the library, this leads me to assume that Trazyn knew he would be hidden there and snitched.

The reason I believe this is that it seems odd that Trazyn of all people was there to take him in, if they hate each other so much and Trazyn was on board with biotransference then one would assume he’d be happy to let Orikan live and die a mortal life, unless they didn’t hate each other at all. Furthermore Orikan says that he ‘lived among the stacks’ this implies that’s he managed to remain hidden for a decent amount of time, and I doubt that the dynasties would be happy to loose their best astromancer (catty as he may be) so if he’s seemingly disappeared who would be best to find him?

Someone close to him who knows where he’d flee to in a crisis, someone who he wouldn’t hide or run from if he saw them coming, a dear colleague perhaps? Trazyn was an archaeovist not a warrior, hardly someone who you’d send to arrest someone. Unless you needed someone to draw a target out.

Trazyn specifically having Orikans memories of the event is odd to say the least unless that is it’s a reflection of a guilty conscience, forgetting your close friendship and taking the memories of the event as your own is a good way to alleviate yourself of an eternity of guilt whilst still holding on to at least a little part of it. I also think Orikan did something similar at least to a degree. It’s well known that biotransference messed with a lot of necrons minds and I personally think how it messes with specific individuals was a subconscious way to protect themselves from the horrors of what they’ve become, sort of like a computer identifying something that may cause a system failure and flagging it up. Orikan was betrayed by his closest friend, an academic rival yes but still a friend, and as his soul is burned away and he’s turned into a necron his new mind identifies a possible cause of long term distress that would cause difficulties in performing his duties and gets rid of it like any good operating system would.

Orikan wakes up and has a great feeling of anger and memories of a rivalry but not memories of a friendship and assumes that’s the way it always was, likewise Trazyn has memories of a rivalry and some sort of regret that he can’t quite identify (note that he never once implied that Orikan was one of the people to drag him to the furnace) both of them know they know each other but only as rivals. I also think this is the reason Orikan seems so much more directly angry with Trazyn, Trazyn mostly has a much more fond approach to the situation often using affectionate terms even if sarcastically, he only ever reacts harshly when Orikan directly does something (ie breaking his pottery) or he’s being manipulated by a god. Orikan on the other hand seems to have anger be his default feeling towards Trazyn he always assumes the worst of Trazyn no matter what, which leads me to believe Trazyn was the inciting factor in all of this. I also think it’s rather telling that there doesn’t seem to be a reason for them to despise each other so, if there was a definite reason we would have seen one of them throw it in the others face by now but we don’t. I think this is because neither of them actually remember, all they know is that they’re rivals and a big part of eachothers life.

Anyway this is why I think Trazyn and Orikan used to be besties, thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#this could all be complete delusion #but unless James Workshop himself comes down and tells me that they didn’t like each other than I shall stay delusional #and if he does I shall promptly ignore him and ask how we can get a sequel to the book #and maybe some new Corax content #warhammer 40k #wh40k #trazyn the infinite #orikan the diviner #finished the infinite and the divine #necrons #purple reads

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aesteries · 9 months ago

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⋆✴︎˚。⋆ ─ ❝sweetling❞ ─ aemond targaryen and original female character. ❝alicent hightower's youngest daughter, haera targaryen, has returned to king's landing after eight long years in old town and aemond finds himself inexplicably drawn to the girl kissed by the moon and with the eyes that seem to only look at him.❞

how could i not love eyes that see me in all my forms as beautiful?

〔incest, innocence and fantasies, fluff and romance, smut, virginity, events of blood and cheese, family rivalry, disabled main character, hints of book!aemond, modified show!timeline and events.〕

words: 6.6k series' masterlist.

CHAPTER 2.

Court affairs often put him to sleep, hours of incessant complaints and requests from worthless high-born lords and ladies who wanted more than they deserved, but not today. What was unfolding before his healthy eye was just too gripping to ignore, and for once, he thanked the gods that he did not fake an illness to miss the spectacle. His half-sister, Rhaenyra, had been bold enough to bring her illegitimate children to the Red Keep to stake their claim on Driftmark. She was demanding to recognise her second son’s legitimacy, placing him as his apparent father’s heir, amidst opposition from Vaemond Velaryon, who argues that the title belonged to him instead. Many lords in the room nodded in secret agreement with Vaemond's reasonable demand, yet Rhaenyra refused to back down, her determination palpable.

The sudden boom of the throne room doors echoed throughout the chamber as they parted, a loud announcement of the King’s arrival snapping everyone back to reality. Glancing to his side, he saw his siblings straightening up, eyes fixed on their father, King Viserys, as he struggled down the stairs with his body curved over himself. Haera, ever the dutiful daughter, had perked up at the mention of her father’s name, but her clouded vision refused to settle over the fragile man as he began his laboured progress toward the throne.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

The room sank into silence, a deafening sound as all eyes focused on the King's pathetic frame. The status of his health was known, but to witness his decay was a shock to everyone, and even the unflappable Otto Hightower had concern etched all over his face, though it did not seem quite genuine as he scrambled out of the throne he had been keeping warm. The air was heavy with tension as the King's slow, agonising approach to the throne seemed to take an eternity, pain burning up his skin with every step.

He trudged up the steps toward the Iron Throne, pridefully waving off the guards' offers of assistance as he stumbled, his legs trembling beneath him. In his struggle and exhaustion, the crown that dangerously balanced over his balding head slipped and fell to the granite floor with a shattering clank of metal. Aemond’s eye locked on the back of his uncle’s head as the man was the only one to act, guiding his older brother on the final few steps and placing the crown on his head.

“I do not understand,” King Viserys’s voice was frail, breathless as he spoke, “why petitions are being heard over a settled succession.”

The sight of the bastard-born boy, with his head of brown locks and the whiteness of his skin standing between the rich tones of the Velaryons, triggered a low laugh from the prince’s lips, earning a side glance from his mother. The air in the throne room was thick, an obvious buzz of energy flowing between the Targaryen royalty.

“As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons, Jace and Luke, to Lord Corly’s granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena.” Princess Rhaenys’s tone was firm and confident: “A proposal to which I heartily agree.”

Suddenly, as if he had finally heard something that interested him, King Viserys’ eyes snapped to attention, rising on his seat as if the weight of his crown had been redistributed to him with full health. The left side of his face, that side that was uncovered by the mask, twisted into a smile of cracked lips. “Very well…” His voice filled the space with anticipation, his tired eyes darting around the faces of his family. "However, I have a say in the matter of the betrothal of my grandson, Prince Lucerys.”

Aemond’s gaze drifted to his half-sister, who was already watching them with an air of confidence, a smirk on her lips with a subtle challenge. Her piercing glare seemed to dare him, to provoke him, to let him know that she knew something that he did not. His stomach twisted into knots, and he suddenly felt the ghost of a noose around his neck.

"I believe in the continued union of our families, those with the blood of Old Valyria," the king declared, his voice echoing through the hall. "And therefore, I have decided to unite my youngest daughter, Princess Haera Targaryen, to Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon, the rightful heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the future Lord of the Tides."

The young prince’s world was shattered, like that night when he claimed Vhagar, the remnants of untouched innocence finally scattering over the floor for everyone to see. His despair must have been that obvious, as Aegon’s worries were evident when he turned to glance at him. Aemond remained statue-still, his gaze fixed on the back of Haera's head as she stood rigidly, flanked by Helaena and their mother. Alicent's grip on the young girl's wrist was like a vice, a desperate attempt to prevent them from tearing her away, her knuckles white with tension.

Aemond’s heartbreak was soon replaced by a raging fire, like Vhagar’s fire, that consumed his every thought as his eye daggered Lucerys Velaryon, who in return dared to challenge him with a subtle nod. Any outburst in the King’s presence would be suicidal, his wrath barely contained as his hand lingered on the hilt of his sword. He was all too familiar with the King's blind devotion to Rhaenyra and her brood, and he knew his powerlessness against it. Perhaps he could take her and rescue her from the toxicity of the court, where her innocence was being sullied by the very presence of the Strong bastards. He recalled the day Lucerys had slashed him, the resentment still festering like an open wound. In this moment, Aemond felt trapped, forced to endure the insolence of his nemesis.

It was only when gentle warmth had wrapped around his fingers that he was brought back to the present from his deadly fantasies. He looked down to find Haera’s tearful eyes welling up with crystal tears, her mind consumed by her future. The quivering of her lips fed the fire in the pit of his stomach. She was likely aware of the implications of their union, of the dark legacy they would pass on to their children, a heritage shrouded in deceit and tainted by the lies that had defined their past. She was meant to clean Lucery’s dirtied Valyrian blood with their union.

Time stopped for them as they gazed into each other’s eyes, the gentle flutter of her white eyelashes betraying the warmth of her adoration. He knew, deep down, that he and she were meant to be; it transcended tradition. It was fate; it was the will of the gods—they made her just for him, everything that he was not. Even if she were to stand before the altar, before that naive boy to exchange vows, Aemond was resolute; he would set things right. His sweetling would not be made to suffer for the mistakes of others. He would move heaven and earth to ensure her freedom from the shackles of injustice, no matter the cost.

A sudden scream cut their moment short.

Aemond’s mind was reeling, struggling to comprehend just what was unfolding before him as the two of them snapped out of their trance that had drowned out the inheritance hearing. Daemon Targaryen’s sword sliced through the air with a swift swing, decapitating Vaemond Velaryon with a deadly motion. In the aftermath of the violence, as the body began to spill over the floor, Haera instinctively wrapped her arms around his middle for protection. He enveloped her tightly, his hand on the back of her head as he held her close to his chest. The feeling of her slender frame pressed against him and his arms cradling her felt surprisingly natural, out of a dream. It was a gesture that brought a sense of calm to the chaos surrounding them; it grounded them, a fleeting moment of solace in the face of Daemon's ferocity.

His heart was racing as he clutched her. It was where she belonged: sheltered in his embrace, secured in his grasp, shielded by his unwavering protection. The half-sister’s eyes were fixed on the pair, intense with the fire of the dragon, her mind reeling with the plan she had put in place. A brother consumed by his passion and a sister who reciprocated those feelings, now a forbidden romance. She felt the danger in the pit of her stomach, not for her claim to the throne but for the future of her second-born son. Persuading her father to accept the match had been easy, serving the young prince an opportunity on a silver platter. Lucerys saw the two Targaryens lost in their own world, and he saw a challenge.

The air was heavy with tension, thick with the weight of forbidden love and the ominous foreshadowing of strife to come.

The day after the disastrous inheritance hearing, the sun cast a gentle glow on the beautiful gardens of the Red Keep, its rays illuminating the many flowers that adorned the greenery. As she strolled through, a soft breeze caressed her face and tangled her hair, pulling the strands from the intricate braids her ladies had crafted. Yet she was overwhelmed by anxiety and a sense of unease that had settled in her stomach. The company, she was convinced, was to blame for her discomfort. Her mother’s encouragement still echoed fresh in her mind, and she would not let her down even if she had missed the worry behind the Queen’s forced smile.

Lucerys Velaryon had appeared outside the Queen’s chambers; his arm extended in invitation as a way to formally begin courting his promised princess. The young man possessed an unusual charm, an air of innocence one moment, and a sharp tongue the next. Within mere minutes of their stroll, he had dropped too many complaints for her comfort, criticising the alterations to the Red Keep, the gardens, and even the maids’ outfits. The food, as well, was apparently not to his liking, and she found herself on edge, bracing for the next critique to tumble from his lips.

Lucerys droned on about the dragonpit or something about dragons, but her mind had drifted to some of the times she had taken strolls around the garden. Aemond cherished their shared moments. He never complained, never interrupted her, and listened to her. She recalled how he would gently hold her hand over the cracked stones, ensuring she didn't trip and fall. He'd pluck flowers from the nearby bushes, presenting them to her so she could marvel at their beauty up close. In those quiet moments, Aemond always reminded her that she possessed a beauty that rivalled the flowers, making her feel treasured and unique.

As she stood beside her betrothed, Lucerys, her eyes widened in stark realization. Her thoughts strayed back to Aemond as if her mind were trying to escape the present.

The one-eyed prince lingered in the darkness, fixed on every step they took. The torches cast long shadows over him, clouding him from their sight and helping him blend into the darkness with his black leather. His mother had attempted to stop him, claiming that it was for her own good, but he refused to abandon her, especially since she was to be alone with that bastard and Gods knew what he could be capable of. She looked radiant, shining like jewels even under the weak sunlight, clad in an exquisite silk dress with delicate lace patterns. Her beauty, so pure, made his heart ache with jealousy, seeing how her beauty was being wasted on Lucerys when it should be reserved for him alone.

“I was wondering,” Lucerys’ voice finally directed at her shook her from her thoughts. “How come you do not ride your dragon?”

Her brows furrowed, initially confused at his question but realising he had no idea about the tragedy that had befallen her hatchling, Brightfyre, during childhood. The memory of that painful day was still so fresh in her mind, even if she had been too young. It was like an open wound that would never heal, and his question had rubbed salt over it. "My dragon passed away when it was just a hatchling," she explained, her voice laced with a hint of sadness.

As she spoke, Lucerys's face lost its colour, his features contorting into a grimace. "The dragon keepers believed it was due to a malformation during incubation. According to the maesters, I wouldn't have been able to ride for long even if Brightfyre had survived anyways, as my sight would have continued to deteriorate with age.”

She missed the expression, her gaze fixed on the ground as she continued her walk, her footsteps steady and deliberate. Behind her, Lucerys had to consciously relax his facial muscles, shaking off the tension that had built up. Aemond, ever the observer, caught the subtle movement and raised an eyebrow, his eyes darting between the young couple as they strolled through the castle grounds.

“I’m relieved,” she confessed, her tone a stark contrast to the sorrow that had taken over her voice moments ago. “It gives me a sense of freedom, not being bound to one of them... being different from the rest of my family, to make a name for myself and not through my dragon.”

Lucerys's incredulity was palpable as he struggled to comprehend her words. "But you're a Targaryen," he protested, his voice laced with disbelief. "The blood of dragonlords from Old Valyria runs through your veins. Having dragons is the greatest symbol of our power and strength." He couldn't imagine a life without a dragon; it was unthinkable, especially for a Targaryen and for someone like him. Memories of his childhood came flooding back like an aggressive tide of the times he and the others had mercilessly teased Aemond for not having a dragon, only for him to claim the largest one alive. Lucerys swallowed hard, the memory still a bitter pill to swallow, especially when he thought of the Aemond of today.

She halted, her footsteps suddenly heavy on the stone floor, and turned back to him with an unreadable expression etched on her face. "I do not believe that," she said, her voice laced with conviction. "To me, we are more than the blood of dragons.”

Lucerys's response was immediate and firm. "Blood is everything.”

Her eyes, a light shade of purple that no other Targaryen shared, narrowed, and a spark of defiance flashed within them, lighting up like a flame. It was a glint Lucerys had never seen before—a darker, more intense, suffocating as she stepped closer, her shoulders squaring and her chin tilting upward. Lucerys felt a jolt of surprise. The gentle girl he had been introduced to had transformed before his very eyes into someone else. The corner of her lip curled into a faint, mischievous smirk, and for a fleeting moment, Lucerys could have sworn Aemond's spirit had possessed her, imbuing her with his audacity.

Her voice, usually so sweet and feathery, was laced with sarcasm that sent icy cold shivers down Lucery’s spine as she spoke. “Is that so, my prince?” Her tone dripped with irony. “Is your blood that..." Her eyes wandered over his form, her tilted head making it seem that she was speaking down on him. “Strong… that it defines who you are and determines your worth?” The emphasis on the word "strong" was a subtle challenge, a dare to Lucerys to defend his stance.

Aemond smiled to himself, filled to the brim with a sense of satisfaction as he observed the confrontation from his corner, her voice clear as she landed her verbal blow. He couldn't help but feel proud of her, amused by this feisty side of hers that she had never shown. Despite likely dying inside from the weight of her words, she had stood up to Lucerys, refusing to back down. Aemond knew she would learn to defend herself, and their nephew wouldn't easily intimidate her.

Lucerys's face flushed with anger, his ears burning as he understood the hidden message in her words, her intention to offend him clear as day. His nails dug deep into his palms to the point they almost drew blood, a desperate attempt to restrain himself from lashing out and from raising his hand to teach her a lesson about disrespect. He had to find a way to bend her to his will, and despite her venomous words, she had a rather fragile nature, and he was sure that a few swift blows would be enough to shatter her spirit.

“Anything the matter, nephew?” Aemond’s velvety voice halted the conversation between the young prince and princess, as he had made his way out of the darkness and into the light, having decided that they had spent too long together. His voice dripped with superiority, his shoulders tight as he looked down at the boy.

They turned to face him, eyes wide as they fixed on the intimidating figure with hands clasped behind his back and a smile that froze the prince in place, a smile that seemed to revel in the power it held over others. Lucerys' skin broke out in goosebumps as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. In stark contrast, Haera’s body reacted differently the moment his calming presence washed over her; tense muscles relaxed, breathing slowed, and calmness took over her.

Lucerys, on the other hand, stumbled over his words, his voice trembling as he tried to find an excuse for their conversation that had taken a disgusting turn, eyes darting towards Haera, who seemed to be the only one immune to Aemond's intimidating aura. The prince's courage, once bold enough to consider striking his future wife, now shrank to the size of a timid rat, cowering in the face of Aemond's dominance.

Aemond turned to address his younger sister, his eye intense with adoration that seemed to suck up all the air around them, to the point Lucerys felt bitter jealousy like a kid watching someone else play with his toy. He could not lose this silent competition over Haera; she was his to claim, announced in front of everyone.

"Our mother has requested your presence," Aemond said, his voice low and husky, like the rustling of leaves in an autumn breeze. "Shall I escort you to her chambers?" He extended his arm, inviting her to take it.

And Haera smiled, the sight so beautiful that it would inspire the finest painters for their masterpieces. She placed her hand on his arm, touching gently and lovingly, and he pulled her away from Lucerys to seethe in silence. As they walked away, Haera's eyes sneakily shifted back to look at the dark-haired prince through a blurred gaze, sparkling like diamonds in candlelight, their secret message clear as day: she knew the game they played, and she would not be swayed. Aemond was the one she wanted, and he was who she was going to get.

The entire family gathered in the grand dining room after the darkness of the night took over the once clear sky, forced out of their chambers to avoid each other since Rhaenyra’s kin arrived. Even the melodic notes of the music could not fill the space between the strained relationships or clear the thick tension of the room as they sat around the table.

The two sides of the family sat awkwardly in silence until the arrival of the King, carried in by his guards in an ornate chair that allowed him to move with ease. As he was placed in the centre of the gathering, between both sides of the family, Aemond's gaze darted to the far end of the table, where Haera had reluctantly taken her seat beside Lucerys. It had been their mother’s idea, her sullen expression telling him all he needed to know as her pouting lips and folded arms screamed defiance.

The king spoke, his wheezing voice piercing the air, the frail state of his body evident even as he rested in a seated position. He welcomed his heir and her family with genuine warmth between laboured breaths. Aemond’s mind wandered, tuning out the king as he spoke of the importance of family unity. But, as the king began to congratulate the newly formed alliances, he snapped back to the conversation. His stomach churned with disgust as their father praised Lucerys and Haera, his jaw clenched in frustration. He wasn't alone in his sentiment; Aegon, too, seemed put off by the king's flowery words, his eyes fixed on some point beyond the gathering.

Aegon couldn’t contain himself for much longer, pent-up frustration and anger simmering like a pot about to boil. His eyes darted around the room, meeting Haera’s as he looked at the faces of his family. Though her vision was blurry, she could make out the wink he sent her way, tilting his head towards the young prince beside him.

“Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman.” He was a master at pushing his buttons. He took great pleasure in witnessing his reactions, his face reddening with each carefully crafted comment that would leave him fuming and frustrated, like a shaky vial of Wildfire ready to explode. “You do know how the act is done, I assume... like, where to put your cock.”

“Let it be, cousin.” Baela did her best to manage the situation before the two boys escalated it.

However, Aegon continued; this time he addressed her instead, "I... regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer.” The young man gave her a pitiful look; the drunken joke was clear in his amethyst eyes: “But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

Everyone was jolted out of their casual chatter as Jace’s fist thundered down on the wooden table, the sound like a crack of lightning, and all eyes darted to the source to find him springing up from his seat. He gave Aegon’s shoulder a tight, almost brutal squeeze but then gave a playful punch to his arm. He then strode around the table with heavy footsteps and offered his hand to Aegon’s sister-wife, Helaena.

There was a sudden spike in tension, as if there was room for any more, as Jace boldly trespassed into forbidden territory. The King, in agony, remained oblivious to the rift between the members of the royal family, his sentimental gaze fixed on the unfolding drama until his frail health betrayed him, forcing him to be escorted back to his chambers for a dose of much-needed medicine.

The servants emerged from the kitchen with steaming plates of food, momentarily easing the bubbling tension that set over the family, calming their sharp glares at each other. During the bustle, one kind-hearted servant, unaware of the significance of her actions, placed the largest, most impressive plate in front of Aemond—a massive, glistening pig', its beady eyes staring up at him like a haunting spectre from his tormented childhood.

Lucerys did not miss the way Aemond’s gaze shifted momentarily, and he let out a snort, his own dark eyes shining with mockery.

As the room fell silent, Aemond's hand came crashing down on the table to get their attention, the sound echoing through the chambers like a challenge. He rose from his seat with his cup in his hand, holding it up to toast. Everyone turned to face him, their hands tightening around their cups of wine as if bracing for an impact that would rival Vhagar’s powerful landing, eyes fixed on the one-eyed prince as his voice boomed through the hall, "Final tribute."

“To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke, and Joffrey.

Each of them handsome,

wise,

strong.

Come!

Let us drain our cups to these three... strong... boys.”

The fragile vial of wildfire shattered, releasing the fury of the young princes as they jumped to their feet, determined to defend their honour, no matter who witnessed it. Jace moved wildly at Aemond, landing a blow to his face, who barely staggered backwards. Meanwhile, Aegon shoved Lucerys headfirst into an empty plate. The guards hesitated, taking a second too long to intervene and separate the boys, allowing the drama to unfold as the frantic mothers rushed onto the scene, their worried cries piercing the air.

Aemond's voice resonated through the air as Haera rushed towards the group that formed, her grip on her mother's shoulders tight with concern. Her older brothers stood before her, their faces tense with anger but their bodies relaxed. Jace's swift punch had left its mark after all—a small gash on the corner of Aemond's lip, a dark bruise starting to spread over his skin. "I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother," Aemond said, his words dripping with sarcasm as he gazed at Haera. The real insult, however, lay in his next sentence: "Though it seems my nephews aren't quite as proud of theirs, an unlikely match for my sister."

The family was dismissed, and each of them was sent away to enjoy their dinners in each of their chambers.

The flickering flame in front of Aemond captivated him, his gaze fixed on the gentle rhythm of the dancing fire. Time had passed since the tumultuous events of dinner, and he had yet to return to his chambers, finding himself in Haera’s safe library instead as he tried to ease the disgust that still lingered in his stomach. He waited for a long time to make sure everyone had returned to their chambers for sleep to avoid having anyone see him visit his beloved in her chambers.

But before he could act, the creaking of old hinges shattered the silence, and his eye darted instinctively to the source, finding no other than his girl, Haera, seemingly coming to fetch him. His heart immediately picked up the pace at the angelic sight.

Her cloud-like hair was elegantly pulled up by a soft braid, and her slender body was delicately wrapped in the rich velvet she was accustomed to wearing to bed. Only a thin, embroidered coat rested over her shoulders, tied at the front of her chest with a delicate silk cord, covering her modestly yet radiating an aura of luxury.

The gentle smile he always saved for her tugged on his lips, the book he had been holding slipping from his hands and forgotten in the excitement of her arrival. "Haera," he whispered, his voice full of affection, as he welcomed her. The young princess sighed in relief, the tension in her shoulders finally released. Her soft eyes caressed the contours of his familiar face. "I was looking for you, brother," she said, her voice tinged with worry. Why did you leave your chambers?” The words hung in the air as if she had been searching for him everywhere, her heart heavy with anticipation.

“I needed some time to myself.” He muttered, his eyes fixed on the floor as she approached him, stopping only in front of the chair where he sat with an air of exhaustion. Now that she had moved closer, she could see the purplish bruise on the corner of his lips more clearly in his swirl of colours, and something shifted in her stomach, stirring of concern. He was leaning back on the backrest, his legs splayed out before him, signalling a sense of comfort. His coat, discarded on the floor next to him, and the leather jacket, unbuttoned and open, revealed his plain cotton undershirt. She had never seen him in such a vulnerable state, somehow so at peace after the fiery argument he had sparked with their family, like a stormy sky clearing.

Aemond noticed how her eyes travelled over his figure, absorbing every detail, and his hand motioned for her to get closer to him to take a step into his quiet world. He would have gladly slid over to allow her some space next to him and enjoy the warmth of her company. Still, she might have interpreted it differently, as she lifted herself over the cushion to sit sideways on his lap instead, her movement sudden and fluid, taking place over him as she had always belonged there.

Somehow, courage had taken over her, building from the adrenaline of dinner; if her brothers were capable of such, she was as well. Haera had promised herself that her secret would remain locked away, especially now that she was a betrothed woman, yet witnessing Aemond’s distress over the impending union with Lucerys Velaryon and the impassioned speech he delivered at dinner had ignited a fire within her. A dormant aspect of her character had awakened, a part she never knew existed. This newfound sensation felt distinct, like the first crackle of autumn leaves. It felt exhilarating and empowering. With deliberate intent, she had taken over his lap, her legs dangling off his side, her side pressed flush against his chest, and her hands settled upon his shoulders, claiming him as her own.

Aemond’s vision blurred, everything around him dissolving into nothingness as his mind came to comprehend what was happening—her gentle pressure against him. The scent of her sweet skin, a blend of flowers, enveloped him, making his senses reel. She flushed a deep crimson, her bold facade crumbling beneath a wave of embarrassment, her cheeks burning. His hands trembled with longing, hovering above her hips as if touching her would shatter her and make her disappear forever. "Sweet girl," his voice was low and husky, his throat parched as the desert. "What are you doing?" The words were barely above a whisper, a struggling sound, as if speaking too loudly would banish the moment's magic.

She responded with silence, her unsteady gaze on him, eyes narrowing to clear her vision. The proximity served them like her magnifying glass, bringing him into sharp focus. She was drawn to the subtle curve of his eyebrows, the slight crook of his nose, and the sharp cut of his chin. Her eyes lingered on the corner of his lips, where the faint imprint of the punch had turned into a delicate purple bruise, barely staining his skin. Without thinking, she reached up, her fingertips lightly tracing its edge. The gentle touch sent a shiver through Aemond's body, and he sucked in a breath, caught off guard by the sudden intimacy of the gesture.

She had touched him before, gentle and hesitating as she searched for his hand, arm, or shoulder to rest her head on, but that was not with the same intensity or intimacy as now. Her touch was a spark, setting his body aflame, a drive that propelled him forward with a motivation that came from the desire to be worthy of her.

Haera’s skin felt strange, her body shifting from hot to cold and back to hot again while his hands finally came to rest on her waist, his slender fingers digging softly into the thin material of her nightgown. The voices in her head took to a contradictory choir, some screaming at her to feel more of him and the other trying to force her away, but a side was stronger and yearned to feel every inch of him, to be consumed by his presence, and for him to realise she would forever be his. The marriage to another man was nothing for her. She would forever be bound to him in her heart, and no contract or agreement could change that.

Her curiosity got the better of her, and she leaned forward, her lips brushing against the corner of his mouth in a hesitant, gentle touch. It would be her first kiss if she had pressed herself fully over his, and her inexperience in the intimacy of her touch was too evident in the way she just pushed against his skin, unsure of how to proceed. The gesture was so sweet and innocent, yet it almost sent him over the edge with a surge of heat, causing his desire to wrestle with his sense of restraint. His mind was a battleground, torn between the purity of her intention and the depravity of his own desires, as he felt the softness of her lips tantalisingly close to the spot where he wanted her to be, to devour her.

But Aemond was a gentleman; he cared for her feelings, so he refused to push her into anything she was not ready for and instead let her take the lead, allowing her to explore and discover the sensations at her own pace.

Haera pulled back with wide, innocent eyes that sparkled with the surprise of the burning sensation on her lips, covering them with her hands as the tingling was left behind. She looked unsatisfied, her curiosity still burning bright, but she didn't know how to ask the questions she wanted to. So she tried again, her lips finally pressing squarely over his in a chaste, exploratory kiss before pulling back to gauge his reaction. She repeated this once, twice, and three times as she peppered kisses over his lips, each time pulling back to look at him with her beautiful eyes.

He realised she was testing him, watching how he responded to her touch. Aemond smiled, his grip on her waist tightening to hold her in place. “Go ahead.” He muttered, a voice reserved just for her. "You can keep going." The words were an invitation, a permission to explore, and he could sense her hesitation dissipating as she leaned in again, her lips a whisper away from his.

The next time they touched, he leaned in to meet her halfway, brushing against hers with a guiding touch to encourage her to follow his lead and discover the warmth of a real kiss, one between lovers. She immediately mirrored his movements with the soft, tender pressure when his lips danced across hers. As she tilted her head, the kiss slowly gained intensity, and she felt herself becoming lost in the sensation, the heat taking over her lower body as her desire for him grew. Despite her initial uncertainty with him, she felt an innate knowing, as if she had been kissing him all her life.

The kiss deepened, and she felt herself melting into him as the flame grew within her, body moulding to his and pressing heavily against his thighs underneath her legs. Aemond's hand cradled the back of her head, taking control of the kiss, his passion for her growing with every passing moment. His hunger was palpable, and she felt herself responding, drawn to him like a winged insect to a funeral pyre, the world around them fading into insignificance.

His tongue darted out to press itself against her lips, a gentle invitation that she accepted with boldness, granting him entrance to her mouth. He slid inside, his hot muscle caressing hers tenderly as the kiss escalated from their tongues intertwining, sending shivers down their spines as they set into a passionate rhythm with their kiss. At first, her body had stiffened, unfamiliar with the sensation, but he persisted, his gentle prodding wearing down her defences. Soon, she found herself melting into the embrace, her senses surrendering to the intensity of the moment. It was as if her entire being had been submerged in a cauldron of molten lava.

The world around her began to fade, leaving only the two of them, lost in the vortex of their passion. The air was heavy, alive with the promise of what could be, and she felt herself getting swept away by the sheer force of his desire. The kiss was no longer just a meeting of lips but a fusion of bodies that left her gasping for air yet craving more. She started to feel the overwhelming pressure of release, and her body began to sway over him, seeking for something.

Aemond's senses grew heightened as the darkness within him began to unfurl, a dragon awakening from a deep slumber. With each deliberate roll of her hips, the danger escalated, threatening to engulf him. The thoughts swirling in his mind were primal, raw, and completely consumed by the proximity of her body to his. She had surrendered completely to him, pressing her small form against him on the worn couch, her arms wrapped tightly over his shoulders. The light of the room seemed to fade into nothing as Aemond's focus narrowed to the rhythmic movement of her hips as she began to squirm over him, the gentle pressure of her body, and the sweet curve of her neck as his hands began to travel over her body, feeling her form under his rough palms.

His mind wandered, consumed by the forbidden thought: could he claim her innocence? The notion sent a searing flame through his gut, fuelled by the knowledge that she was promised to another for political alliances, someone devoid of honour and talent. Another would never cherish her like he could, never adore her like he would. Aemond, a man of substance, could provide her with everything her heart desired. He would mount Vhagar, his majestic dragon, and fetch the moon itself if that's what she yearned for.

Yet he resisted the temptation to take her on that chair, despite the alluring sight of her sitting over him, her barely covered body pressing against him, unknowingly seeking pleasure as she rocked herself over him. She merited more than a fleeting passion; she deserved to be cherished and worshipped. The chair limited him to mere sensations—the feel of her skin, the rhythm of her movements, the sweetness of her taste. He needed to be patient to witness the moment she discovered true pleasure for the first time.

Perhaps if he were her first—the first to touch her, to feel her, to take her maidenhead—he would leave an indelible mark on her soul. She would remember him forever, even on her wedding night and the following nights. Even without the most intimate of touches, she had awakened a deep longing within him that he couldn't ignore. He yearned to be the one to ignite the flames of true pleasure within her and to hear her soft, velvety voice whisper his name in rapturous surrender. The thought of another person claiming the right to shatter her, to push her to the limits, and to witness her stunning features twisted in ecstasy was unbearable. She would see him, not some other man, in her mind's eye. Maybe she would gaze upon her firstborn child and imagine what a child with him would look like—a Valyrian offspring with snow-white hair and piercing purple eyes. The thought tormented him, a sweet temptation that echoed through his being.

He refused to let the beast win—that beast that wanted to break her innocence over a pathetic chair, as tempting as she was in her sheer gown. Instead, he encircled her waist with his arms and drew her nearer, their lips parting with the most lustful sound as they pulled apart to breathe, a translucent string of saliva still connecting their mouths. She let herself fall over him, her head resting on his shoulder as she struggled to catch her breath. The love he harboured for her was a tidal wave, threatening to engulf him at any moment, but having her close and feeling her warmth and weight in his embrace was a balm to his troubled mind. It was as if the world, with all its cares and worries, receded, leaving only the two of them, lost in the silence of their own private universe.

Nothing could prepare them for what would come next.

ᡣ𐭩 ─ author's note ;

i HATE this chapter lol. i feel like it's so much of the show content that i didn't really play around with more stuff, but at least i added an alone moment with lucerys and finally a moment with aemond at the end, to help spice things a little bit before that inevitable chapter where everything goes to shit.

as i think i have said before, this is not a story that will continue with the show or books, so after chapter three there will only be two more chapters remaining and i'm planning for the last one to be almost no-plot smut, since that is what this series was originally. i have added the posibilities to little "spin-offs" one shots in the masterlist and if everything goes right i will go through with them but after i'm done posting other content.

i apologize for any mistakes in grammar or something, i did not have much time for editing but i'm hoping that it gets better by the next chapters! i'm definitely trying to pull my big guns for the last two chapters for sure.

a big question; should i cover blood & cheese completely, or let it be something that happens in the background and is not written down? it will happen, and it will be referenced, i just don't know if i want to write it all going down.

chapter two; Sunday 10th. ╰⪼ thank you for reading!

#ᡣ𐭩 #⋆✴︎˚。⋆ ─ ❝sweetling❞#aemond targaryen #prince aemond targaryen #original character #hotd #house of the dragon #asoiaf #aemond x reader #aemond one eye

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nyxianwayfarer · 4 months ago

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Corrupted Vamp!Garo Fic Idea?

Happy Hump Day, everyone! I present you all with a half-assed idea that does involve a fair bit of humping and was semi-inspired by this post... 😏

Okay, hear me out now: do you all remember how during one of the events (it might have been Rain Burst or Floral Unfurl; can't remember which... 😅) that we got treated to this tall, dark, and dripping with sin version of Garofano??

Like, are you kidding me?? I'm barking and howling like mad for her over here! 🤤

So let me begin by explaining Garo's history in this AU (SFW Section):

This will mostly be a Garo-centered fic, but I might have The Garden involved in some vague fashion. The ladies within it could be a part of some coven, where Coquelic acts as the leading figure of it as their sire.

Garofano was likely changed when she was far older in life than some of the others, so she wouldn't have the same amount of reckless impulsivity other newborns might. That probably allowed her to move up through The Garden's ranks over the centuries to become a part of Coquelic's inner circle.

Of course, when it comes to vampire covens, there's the usual violent rivalry to go along with them.

Let's say that during a struggle of power, a spellcaster from a rival coven attempted to cast a magical attack against Coquelic—hoping to destroy The Garden by killing its head—but since Garofano's loyalty to her Mentor knows no bounds, she was the one who intercepted the attack instead.

Coquelic is saved, but the toll Garofano takes for her intervention becomes very obvious over several weeks and then months as an obvious corruption of dark magic—tinged with her violet aura—begins to spread across her body.

Canonically, Garofano is one of the more modestly-dressed members of The Garden, which one can argue might be due to her age and mature nature, but for the sake of this AU, I will say that she begins covering herself up more out of necessity. Her corrupted skin is something that unnerves some members of The Garden, especially the ones outside Coquelic's inner circle.

With the growing unease her condition causes, Garofano proposes an arrangement to Coquelic: rather than risk causing a further schism between the regular ranks of The Garden and its powerful inner circle, Garofano will exile herself.

Coquelic is, of course, reluctant to agree to this. Besides being very powerful herself, Garofano is one of the women she trusts most. For Garofano's loyalty to her over the centuries, however, Coquelic offers a compromise: Garofano will be granted her self-imposed exile, but she will be forever bound to guard the very edges of Coquelic's vast territory with no other aid than what Garofano can provide for herself.

Garofano sees the declaration for what it is. Coquelic cannot be seen as weak in front of her underlings—no matter how much she cares for one of them. However, the arrangement is far kinder than Garofano could have hoped for. While she is otherwise alone out there, no one would dare risk entering Coquelic's domain without first risking her wrath, so she is still under her sire's protection in that sense.

So Garofano removes herself from The Garden's vast manor and takes upon her duty as an eternal guard, vigilantly watching the edges of Coquelic's territory.

Over the decades, she builds herself a modest cabin out there, an oasis of sorts when she isn't otherwise occupied with dispatching would-be attackers or planting fields of carnations to mark the perimeter she's been ordered to defend—an obvious sign for outsiders to keep their distance.

How you—the Reader—fits in (still SFW territory):

You are a vampire hunter.

...but you are also an outcast of your own guild. 😅

You were originally brought in as an orphan, one who had been abandoned after your family succumbed to the winter cold. What followed after that had been years of arduous training as a means to earn your keep.

You actually build a successful reputation for yourself by the time you're an adult and going on harder-ranked missions, but although you've always been told of the eternal animosity between your fellow hunters and the monsters you all hunt, you begin to question things following one reconnaissance mission gone wrong...

It should have been easy. All you had to do was follow the orders of your superior—a hunter several decades your senior—who led you both to a small town called Désir, where you would be tasked with killing the vampire who had seemingly enthralled all of its inhabitants.

But as you gathered clues regarding the vampire in question, you find several more regarding the inhabitants of Désir—namely that many of them were elderly or slowly dying due to terminal illness. You further found that the inhabitants were there by choice and that the vampire who founded the town had offered them all a peaceful and dignified end to their suffering, but only if they were ready to take the final step.

You had never heard of a vampire who was so... humane in their approach to taking lives. You tried to bring this information up to your superior, but he sneered at you, wondering if you perhaps had also fallen under the vampire's thrall. Regardless, he was determined to take the vampire down with or without your help, but things became complicated quickly when a child had rushed in to defend the vampire in question, pleading for him to not hurt the nice lady, but the older hunter couldn't be deterred and swung his sword down towards the boy.

Your body was in motion before you knew what you were doing, but it didn't change the fact that your superior was dead and your target was still very much alive.

Needless to say, the leaders of your guild were furious. Rather than simply exile you, given your prowess as a hunter, you were given an otherwise impossible task: go into the territory of one of the most notorious vampire covens in existence and kill as many of them as you can.

It's nothing less than a suicide mission, but it's one that cannot be refused before the eyes of your guild lest you be killed by their hands instead.

And that's more or less how Garofano meets you when you wander into her sire's territory, defeated and questioning everything you've ever known about your purpose in life.

She defeats you summarily but lets you go with your life the first time.

But the thing is, you keep coming back. Where else were you going to go after all? Your guild will never accept you among their ranks again and all other guilds know to turn you away. Garofano's probably the only consistent presence you have through those long, lonely weeks. Yet, each time, she lets you go... until she doesn't.

Garofano, an exile herself—albeit of her own circumstance—probably recognizes a kin spirit when she sees one, and she's been just as lonely too...

So begins an unlikely relationship between a vampire and her hunter.

I should probably mention that by the time I start the fic, you two are already in an established relationship, but I'm gonna go off on a tangent here because we're slowly getting into NSFW territory. That, and I want to explain my concept of corrupted vampire Garo a bit more.

So I don't remember if the game ever went into detail with all that a Corrupted Garofano is capable of from the brief moment we saw her in the event, but there's at least a significant physical difference and a slight distortion of her voice if I recall correctly.

There's also this dark aura around her from the image above, and it looks like she's capable of using that energy to either corrupt her signature weapons or manifest different versions of them from that power. And that energy might have some tangibility to it too if it can hold her needles in the air like that.

The corruption could also grant Garofano seem level of transformative/shapeshifting ability too. I think you all know where I'm going with this if you've checked the hyperlink about Garo at the beginning of this post... 😏

Can you imagine Garofano's mouthful of tentacles? 🤤 Like, she wouldn't even have to use her hands when she goes down on you! She could use two of them to slowly spread you apart while another toys at your clit while she summons an even thicker tentacle to fill you up nice and slow...

And look at her hands in the above image! It looks like she's capable of making them longer/bigger or making them incorporeal because her hand in the lower left doesn't really hold any recognizable shape like a normal hand would. Instead, it looks entirely composed of magical energy!

Seriously, with no one else to really interact with during so many decades on her own, Garofano likely spent the large majority of her time testing her strange powers between her usual duties. So when your relationship turns more sexual, she demonstrates her tricks to you. 😌

You want tentacles? She'll give you plenty to play with.

You want to suck on her many tongues while she shifts bigger fingers to thrust into you with, stretching you deliciously? No problem!

And you might not have the best green thumb when it comes to tending to flowers or crops, but she appreciates it when you help water her garden with your juices... 🤭

Like, imagine that you're kneeling over a plot of soil, planting new seeds there, and Garofano comes up to lean against your back as she envelops her arms around you, preventing you from standing up. Before you know it, she tears open the front of your pants, revealing your pussy to the cool air as she positions you more firmly over the newly-planted seeds.

"Spring is upon us. Will you not help me welcome a flourishing harvest with your essence?" she teases.

And with her shadowy tentacles and fingers, she begins working you over thoroughly.

Some of those tendrils slide under you shirt to tease at your nipples, brushing over them or wrapping around them for a nice pinch or squeeze of pressure. One tentacle flicks slowly back and forth over you clit like a lazy tongue while Garofano fills you with thick fingers, stroking masterfully at your inner walls that has you moaning.

If Garofano weren't holding you up from behind, you likely would have collapsed face first to the ground with all the stimulation, but she's determined to give you the high you seek, the one you keep begging for as she thrusts into you.

Perhaps finally a bit sympathetic to your plight, she uses another tentacle to touch your chin and turn your head towards her, where she practically devours you, wrapping her tongues around yours, muffling your surprised, hungry moan. As distracted as you are, you don't see how the tentacle at your clit shifts in appearance, becoming more hollow and tube-like. When it situates itself around your clit and begins sucking though, you can't help your sudden cry.

It triggers your orgasm immediately, and you clench around Garofano's fingers even as you squirt your juices over the soil, watering them just as she had envisioned. With her fingers still inside you, she keeps stroking, drawing out your climax. Of course, when that inevitably pulls a second orgasm out of your, she just picks you up and lifts you over to the next available soil plot for you to "water."

You're a shivering mess after all of that, but you can't the way your heart skips a beat when she kisses the side of your head and whispers, "Good girl."

And if there's shifting involved, you can bet she's shifting on something nice and hard for you during those moments where she really wants to feel you squeezing around her. 🤤

You're both naked before the fireplace inside her cabin (she has to find some way to keep you warm throughout the colder months after all). You're resting on your back against the bear skin rug while she looms over you. Between her legs is something definitely phallic, but there's life to it in the way it twitches, dripping something translucent at its tip as it hovers over your folds. Enough precum builds up at the head that the droplet falls on top of your clit, leaving you gasping at the sensation.

Smiling, Garofano simply lifts your legs over her shoulders before slowly sinking inside you...

So to all my fellow monster fuckers out there, tell me: would you be interested reading something like this? 😏

#🌑 thoughts beneath a new moon #ptn garofano #ptn x reader #ptn smut #ptn garofano x reader #ptn garofano x fem!reader #corrupted garofano #vampire garofano #reader's getting impaled on the regular but not in the way your guild ever expected 🤣#i have this on a queue at the moment so if i don't respond that's why

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gmylite · 7 months ago

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been researching a lot about birkin, winter break sure does come in handy

thought some of you might enjoy some stuff i found about him

cannon / confirmed - green

semi-cannon / backed up by cannon info - orange

not cannon at all - red

—

had a psych evaluation done by umbrella, described as someone who oscillates between a maniac state and being shy ()

in one of the comics, he knows ada and is inclusively intimidated by her ()

was nicknamed 'scholar will' by his coworkers ()

had an involvement with the creation of various tyrants ()

had marcus comtemplate against both him and wesker - perhaps to stimulate more competition ()

birkins death scene was changed three times depending on what game you play ()

in some versions of birkin, he is presented with brown hair instead of blonde hair ()

wesker described himself as 'eternally grateful' for birkin ()

keeps a diary ()

there used to be a website called ‘birkinfiles', however it was deleted and it was not archived ()

birkins g3 form is based on a 1938 horror novella character ()

birkin oscillates between not sharing umbrellas beliefs and having his own eugenic beliefs ()

the demo version of birkin (golgotha) had wesker on its tail ()

at some point in development, jill would infiltrate umbrella and cross paths with birkin, as he falls out with a california-based umbrella branch. he would also be found guilty of the events of re1 ()

the rivalry between the european and american branches of umbrella are related to birkins breakthrough of hunters ()

—

feel free to ask for sources if youd like. theres more and ill post about it if asked 🙏

#resident evil #william birkin #albert wesker #resident evil 2 #resident evil 0 #james marcus

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illustrationist-of-the-stars · 1 year ago

Text

• TWST X HSR YUU!CHARACTERS AU •

(Inspired by @enatopiaa 's Robin!Yuu AU)

(Yuu!Herta concept by @trixiegalaxy )

" THEY will watch your performance on this new foreign and tragic stage with bated breath and awe, dear noble flowers of 'evil' and the fairest's of them all...

Won't you give THEM all a good show and the new end of all endings for this ancient script? "

🖼 Art/Comic 📝Written Works 🥀Angst 💫Extra

Last updated: 21/06/2025

✦•┈๑ Yuu!Argenti ๑┈•✦

🖼 Yuu!Argenti {Character Bio}

🖼 Monsieur Chevalier de Beauté (feat. The 'Extras')

🖼 The Neige and Argenti Combo

💫 In The Stitch Event

💫During The Tsum Tsum Event

[ Coming soon!🌹 ]

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷ Yuu!Aventurine ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

🖼 Yuu!Aventurine {Character Bio}

🖼🥀 The Painful, Sharp Thorns of a Rose

🖼 It's All or Nothing • 💫 Small Part 2

🖼 A Strategic Retreat

💫 Being Born Lucky is Not an Excuse

💫 In The Stitch Event

💫During The Tsum Tsum Event

[ 🃁🃜🃚 Patience is a virtue, y'know?~ 🃁🂭🂺 ]

── ⋆⋅Yuu!Jing Yuan⋅⋆ ──

🖼 Yuu!Jing Yuan {Character Bio}

🖼 Sleep Now, Little Lion Man

🖼 Grimalkin Snuggles

💫 In Regards To The Octavinelle Arc...

🖼🥀 Bad End AU

💫 Jing Yuan's Birds and Prince(ss) energy

💫True Age Reveal

🖼Returning Home

💫In The Stitch Event

💫During The Tsum Tsum Event

🖼 Tea Time Talks

[ Why not take a nap while you wait..? ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 ]

꧁ᬊᬁYuu!Dan Hengᬊ᭄꧂

🖼 Yuu!Dan Heng (IL) {Character Bio}

🖼 An Equal Value Exchange

💫 The Botherer's of the Imbibtor Lunae form post or pre-reveal

💫A bit of Canon Divergence

🖼🥀 Yearning For Bonds and The Time Spent Together

💫 Malleus's reaction on the Imbibitor Lunae form

💫 In The Stitch Event

💫During The Tsum Tsum Event

[✦The Data Bank will be re-updated again shortly...✦]

⋆⁺₊⋆ Yuu!Silver Wolf ⋆⁺₊⋆

🖼 Yuu!Silver Wolf {Character Bio}

🖼 Non-Amenisiac AU

🖼 Gamer on Gamer Violence

🖼Chat Poll Time! ^_^

💫 In The Stitch Event

💫During The Tsum Tsum Event

[ ➤...Let me clear this level first and then i'll get back to you, eventually_ ]

" Oh dear, it seems like other variables and unknown actors have somehow got themselves into the script, how strange... " 𓃠:

🖼💫 Yuu!Sampo Koski AU • 💫A Fool as an Assistant • 🖼 Eternal 'Business Rivalry' • 🖼 Madame Brughel Poisson in action!

🖼💫 Yuu!Acheron AU • 🖼 Part 2 • 📝 A Meeting Behind Walls and Closed Doors •🖼 Silver's UM part •💫 In regards to Names and Titles • 🖼 Yuu!Acheron {Character Bio} • 🖼 Part 3 • 🖼💫Lilia's Cooking

🖼🥀 Yuu!Blade/Yingxing AU • 🖼💫 Disapproval From a Devoted Guard •🖼 Reminders of a past flame • 💫 Only for the strong and worthy

🖼🥀 Yuu!Boothill AU • 🖼💫 Father Figure •💫 The Gun Origins • 🖼 Meeting Ortho •🖼 Babysitting Duties • 🖼🥀 Harveston Event •💫A Safe Haven for The Apple Sprout

🖼💫 The First-Year Group gets transported into HSR instead (not clickbait)

🖼Yuu!Jiaoqiu AU • 💫Lost Eyesight • 🖼Heart to Heart •💫Business Partners

🖼 Yuu!Sunday in NBC • 🖼🥀Penance in kinship • 💫Jade Leech thoughts • 💫During Book 7

🖼 Yuu!Dr.Ratio in Twst

🖼 Yuu!Feixiao exercising with Jack and Epel

🖼💫 HSR!Yuu's as Sonic Snapcube Fandubs Out of Context (shitpost animatic)

🖼💫Yuu!Herta as Alice

🖼Yuu!Gepard with Sebek and Silver

🖼Yuu!Firefly's Awakening

💫 All HSR!Yuu's so far with their Clubs

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capricornlevi · 2 years ago

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marriage of convenience nanami in which you start off as rivals of sorts, both overworked and underpaid employees of a soulless corporation where you have to fight tooth and nail to succeed.

and that aforementioned fighting results in long, long days in the office, weekends spent toiling away at your desk, countless hours of overtime that keeps you from any semblance of a social life. your rivalry eventually turns into an uneasy alliance -- you see each other more often than you do any other human being, and so agree to keep things civil. friendly, even. this certainly helps when you're sharing the same cramped office space for fourteen hours a day.

it gets to the point where your respective families become gravely concerned. over the holidays, your parents had sat you down and scolded you for what seemed like an eternity, going on and on about how they never see you, how you haven't had a relationship since before college, how it's not healthy to be so obsessed with work.

"what did they expect?" you'd asked nanami -- rhetorically, of course -- while in line for the coffee maker one morning. "they know my career expectations. this is nothing new."

"if it's any consolation, mine are the same," nanami mumbles, filling his mug until it's nearly overflowing. he lifts it, takes a long sip, and asks a question you could have never expected.

"want to tell them that we're together?"

you're glad he was first to reach the coffee maker, because if you were in the middle of taking a sip, you'd likely have choked in front of the entire office.

"what is wrong with you?"

he rolls his eyes at your outrage. "we wouldn't actually be a couple, obviously. we'd just ... tell them we are. show up to an event or two and put on smiling faces. if you wanted to really sell it ... we could get you a ring."

you're certain that the look of your face conveys your utter ... confusion, shock, bewilderment, because nanami clarifies before taking a second sip.

"just a fake one. we could say we eloped over new years, that we couldn't wait any longer. that we're so happy with life we need some time to ourselves as a honeymooning couple."

"you're insane."

"but i have a point."

and you hate to admit it, every cell in your body tells you it's a bad idea, but you think you could get on board.

fake dating could get messy, right? you'd either have to constantly update them on your relationship or fake a breakup, neither would make your life easier.

it's unhinged. it needs a lot of work before you could even consider executing it.

but you find yourself wanting to say yes.

#nanami x reader #salaryman nanami i want to marry you im afraid #so miserable so sexy #nanami kento x reader #nanami x you #may tries to write #see im doing nanowrimo for once

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ominousgradient · 3 months ago

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okay i'm too busy to actually write it out in fic form but i can break down the basics i think

Spitlout has continued the Jorgenson tradition of never losing a Thawfest, though she and Zephyr are more closely matched.

Zephyr 100% got Astrid's competitive streak, but she also got Hiccup and Astrid as parents telling her that they're proud of her no matter what and generally not taking Thawfest super seriously/encouraging a "have fun with it!" mentality. So while Zephyr's certainly come close to beating Spitlout once or twice at the end of the day it's just a game and their rivalry is much stronger elsewhere.

Spitlout, on the other hand, takes Thawfest super seriously. Sure, Snotlout is very much not Spitelout, but when it comes to Thawfest? He's nothing but encouragement, but the pressure's still there. It's all "well of course you'll win, because you're my daughter/a Jorgenson!" and "I know you got this!" and "You can do it!" and while that all sounds very sweet on paper and Snotlout certainly doesn't intend to pressure his daughter Spitlout still gets it into her head that if she wants to be The Best, she has to Win, and if she loses, she's no longer the best. That Snotlout is one of the loudest cheerers in the audience also reinforces this as much as it encourages Spitlout.

I'd put them at maybe,,, 11 for Zephyr and 13 for Spitlout. So they've had quite a few Thawfests together, but are still fairly young and not the most emotionally mature.

This year's Thawfest ends up being different because Zephyr hears about the Thawfest we saw in canon, about how her father came so close to breaking the Jorgenson's eternal winning streak but choked at the last moment. I don't know who she hears it from, but it has to be someone who doesn't know that Hiccup threw the race on purpose. And also Zephyr needs to have heard the story of Finn Hofferson (but maybe not how Astrid resolved that) so then she can connect the two stories and decide that her father losing at the final second is something she has to Avenge as his eldest daughter.

So Zephyr goes into this one Thawfest absolutely locked in with the hypercompetitive streak inherited from Astrid. The stakes are so high in her mind. Nuffink sees the signs and is glad he's too young for his sister's age bracket (and then goes on and has fun with his).

It would probably parallel that episode with Spitlout dominating the events in the beginning so we can see just how much Snotlout's constant encouragement and hyping her up starts to create a pressure, an expectation, to win. And also to really get Zephyr focused in on winning, because even though Spitlout's not a sore winner she does still have that patent Jorgenson Obnoxiousness.

Second day of events starts and Zephyr starts to pull ahead, putting her and Spitlout neck and neck. They've gotten fairly close before, I think, but anyone who knows those two well enough can tell that it's different, this time, that it's no longer as much of a game to Zephyr. Her mother's competitive streak has combined with her father's ability to hyperfocus & tunnel vision and she is here to WIN.

Tiebreaker event. Hiccup and Astrid tell Zephyr they'll be proud of her no matter what. Snotlout tells Spitlout that she's doing great and he knows she'll win. They chant, and Spitlout goes into the final event mostly confident but also a tiny part of her is a little nervous thanks to the way Zephyr's been acting about the games this year.

The event commences, probably a race to really call back to the episode. Zephyr and Spitlout are neck and neck, both of them surging towards the finish line.

Zephyr wins.

Zephyr wins, breaking the Jorgenson's winning streak.

Zephyr wins, breaking Spitlout's winning streak.

Zephyr wins, and the shock of it stuns the crowd for the briefest of moments before they're all cheering.

Zephyr wins, and the shock of it hits Spitlout like a charging rumblehorn. She glances out at the crowd and meets eyes with her father, who's just as surprised as her.

Spitlout has never lost a Thawfest before. Sure, she's lost all kinds of little challenges and games to Zephyr, but Thawfest, in her mind, is different. No Jorgenson has ever lost a Thawfest.

No Jorgenson until her.

Zephyr's reveling in her win and a little bit the monumental feat of dethroning a Jorgenson. Spitlout panics and flees, because she doesn't know what else to do!

Zephyr's soooo smug about her win up until Nuffink comes up to her and asks if she had any fun. She won, so she must have had way more fun than ever, right?

(Zephyr realizes that no, she didn't.)

If Spitelout were to make an appearance in this it'd probably be here, in a conversation with Snotlout about Spitlout's performance. He'd be about as awful as you'd think, and Snotlout would be caught between the urge to defend his daughter and the shock at her losing. Maybe he'd argue back, maybe Spitelout would leave thinking they're on the same page, idk I might not even involve Spitelout in this. But also it could work so well so 🤷‍♀️

Cut ahead to sunset. Spitlout's out in the woods half-sulking half-crying because, for all that Snotlout is very much not Spitelout, he's also not infallible. Spitlout's seen her father angry, she's been yelled at, berated once or twice. And she's heard about what Spitelout was like to Snotlout, and she's done something that no Jorgenson has ever done before and it's not a good thing and she doesn't know what's going to happen to her but she's sure it's gonna be BAD because she's so so certain that she's fucked up immensely.

Spitlout definitely inherited both Snotlout's dramatic tendencies and his ability to spiral, even if the latter isn't always seen.

It's been hours, the sun has set, and it's starting to get cold. Enter Snotlout, who's been frantically looking for Spitlout the entire time for the very good reason of "she ran off crying" and "nobody has seen her for HOURS". He spots her, and his immediate reaction is anger, to snap at her for being missing so long, because he was worried.

Spitlout only sees that her father is angry, and nearly breaks down again. The anger drains from Snotlout, because he sees the panic in her eyes and he recognizes it. Shit, fuck, his daughter is crying and it's his fault—

"No nonono, I'm sorry, it's okay, I was just worried," Approach slowly. Spitlout doesn't flinch away, and Snotlout pulls her into a hug. "I was just worried."

Spitlout returns the hug. "I lost." She sniffs, and it's like she's six years old and crying over her favorite toy being smashed because she doesn't know what else to do, how to fix it. "I'm sorry." Her fingers dig into Snotlout's sides and he holds her closer.

Spitlout isn't entirely equipped to deal with this. Snotlout wouldn't have been any better, at her age—Hel, he's not sure what to do about it now. So he defaults to holding Spitlout close until they've both calmed down, until Spitlout starts to squirm.

"It's not your fault." Snotlout says. His father never would have said those words to him. "You did your best." It's the truth; Jorgensons have always taken Thawfest seriously, and Spitlout is no exception.

"But I lost." Spitlout's not crying anymore, her voice flat, almost taut. "Jorgensons aren't supposed to lose. We're supposed to be the best." She wraps her arms around herself, the picture of teenage uncertainty. Snotlout cups her face in his hands and looks into her eyes—green, like Spitelout's, though Snotlout has never seen any such resemblance—and gives it to her straight:

"Spitlout, you are the best." He means it. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, and don't you forget it." He means every word of it.

Spitlout nods. She's still unsure, but the loss no longer stings the way it did before. Zephyr's stepped up her game, so Spitlout reasons that she'll just have to be better.

"And you losing Thawfest isn't the end of the world." Snotlout continues, "There's always next year." He stands, ready to head back home, Spitlout falling into step alongside him. "In fact, I should tell you about the time I almost lost—wait." Snotlout stops, thinking back. "Toothless was way faster than Hookfang back then..." you can see the gears turning in his head, "HE THREW THE RACE?!"

and that's where it'd end i think. wanted to end it that way both for a bit of levity and also to emphasize how, in a way, snotlout is the first jorgenson to lose a thawfest. i hope this all makes sense character-wise and that you enjoyed it bc i sure did enjoy writing it. if i could have given spitlout a little bindle to reference "Not-Lout" i would have. but otherwise yeah as an episode it'd be a Spitlout & Snotlout episode wearing the guise of a Zephyr vs Spitlout episode. and i'm going to bed now

OH MY GOD THIS SO GOOD????? I love Snotlout putting pressure on his daughter without meaning too, smth like that is exactly what i mean when i say that him trying to not repeat his fathers mistakes would lead him to overcompensate/make other mistakes he might have a blindspot for

The consolation scene is beautiful AND THE IMAGERY OF SNOTLOUT LOOKING INTO EYES LIKE HIS FATHERS WITHOUT HIM MAKING THE CONNECTION, WITH ONLY LOVE AND OFFERING THE AFFECTION THAT HE NEVER GOT IS SO GGFHFGFGGFGG it's pretty cool ^_^

Plus Zephyr getting a lesson out of it too is nice, the way you described it it's quite easy to imagine the games starting out lighthearted and gradually becoming more tense as the stakes rise, without anyone really intending for that to happen, generational trauma (if you wanna call it that) putting undue pressure on kids who were just supposed to have some fun

I also like that you didn't have Snotlout hold a big impactful speech towards Spitelout, him being caught of guard and feeling the urge to defend his daughter without being quite able to act on it in the moment seems pretty spot on, at that age Snotlout would be a lot more detached from his father ofc but if Spitelout was to chew out Spitlout (and by proxy Snotlout) to his face i feel like he'd still struggle to argue back

All in all this is an absolute BANGER, 10/10, putting this one at the tippy top of the fridge

#read this RIGHT NOWWWW it's GOOD #BANGURRRRRR #httyd #snotlout #snotlout jorgenson #rtte #how to train your dragon #race to the edge #zephyr haddock #httyd zephyr #Spitelout #ask me anything

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yanderes-galore · 1 year ago

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Hi just wanna say happy holidays also for request can I request from Pokemon please

ok Hear me hear me out , yandere legend battle between Darkrai vs Arceus hcs where child reader knew them as a child and now reader knows them when she’s/there older 🙏👀

I can try with this, sure. Hope you enjoy it :)

Darling means literal God and Nightmare Incarnate when they were young.

Overprotective! Darkrai vs Arceus Concept

Pairing: Platonic - Rivalry

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Stalking, Rivalry/Jealousy, Pokemon religion, Dubious companionship.

Not sure if you'd be considered lucky or fortunate to meet these two when you were a child.

One of them, Darkrai, is a Pokemon that can cause nightmares.

The other one, Arceus, is literal God.

Maybe you used to have nightmares as a kid, nightmares of a dark shadow-like Pokemon.

These nightmares were a way Darkrai could communicate with you.

The Pokemon may have grown fond of a young child like you and altered your dreams.

However, soon the shadowy Pokemon grows greedy.

The nightmares are longer and soon your parents grow nervous.

After all... soon their child never wakes up.

This leads to your parents praying for you to wake up from this nightmare curse.

Meanwhile in your rest Darkrai is playing with you, no longer trying to scare you.

Arceus notices the prayers of your parents and takes note that Darkrai is essentially holding you hostage.

If you do not wake... you will surely die.

Arceus sends Cresselia to wake you from your sleep, pitying a child such as you.

Cresselia ends up prying you out of Darkrai's grip, much to the Dark-Type's annoyance.

Afterwards Cresselia leaves a feather with you, one that your parents make into a charm to put around your neck.

Fearing Darkrai will come after you again, your parents bless you and tell you to not remove the feather.

Due to your blessing, Arceus keeps an eye on you.

Arceus can tell Darkrai is lurking around you, the Dark-Type unable to let you go.

However this time the Pokemon can not put you into eternal slumber.

Essentially you meet these two Pokemon due to a traumatic event in your childhood.

Ever since both Pokemon have had their eye on you.

Darkrai wants to keep you to itself, meanwhile Arceus is following your parents blessing to protect you.

Now you're an adult, still under careful watch by these two deity-like beings.

Most of their "rivalry" is out of your sight.

While you still have that feather and blessing, Darkrai can't touch you.

Darkrai is usually a very misunderstood Pokemon, it didn't mean to hurt you.

The Pokemon wanted a friend... getting said friend nearly got you killed.

Arceus pities both of you, but the god has a feeling the Dark-Type may go overboard again.

I imagine things would heat up if your blessed feather was destroyed somehow.

This makes you vulnerable to Darkrai once again.

The Pokemon gets so excited, he can finally see his friend again!

As you fall into your nightmarish sickness again, you see Darkrai.

It's friendly towards you, almost treating you like a kid again.

Meanwhile I imagine Arceus does its best to interfere.

Maybe even to the point of entering your dreams too to try and chase Darkrai off.

That's how a rivalry between them would go.

Now the question is... what happens next?

If Arceus wins you will once again be protected, perhaps even blessed by Arceus and Cresselia again like long ago

If Darkrai wins, then you may die in the Pokemon's embrace.

Your fate isn't for you to decide...

Since maybe even birth, your fate has fallen to these two Pokemon... you are at their mercy.

#yandere pokemon #yandere arceus #yandere darkrai #overprotective pokemon #overprotective arceus #overprotective darkrai

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smile-files · 6 months ago

Text

your friend, your servant

(a short hurt/comfort fic with henry and dalston, not long after the events of miracle mask)

...

a gentle knock on the door.

how unusual, thought alphonse dalston. nobody ever visited. well, aside from those couple times dandy old hershel showed up during the masked gentleman investigation, but that was weeks ago. he sat up and paused, wondering he if he was just hearing things; with a shrug, he settled back down.

another knock.

with a groan, dalston begrudgingly hauled himself off of the couch, where he'd been oh-so-comfortably reading a book, which he closed and placed on the side table. "i'm comin', i'm comin'," he called as he made for the door, straightening out his shirt on the way.

upon swinging the door open, he found the last man he'd ever thought he'd see standing in front of him.

"good morning, mr dalston," greeted henry ledore, in his typical flat affect.

"what the hell are you doing here, ledore?" dalston asked loudly, standing in the doorway. really, what the hell WAS he doing there? ledore, of all people…

henry cleared his throat. "i understand you own a large property and only enlist the help of one servant. i can help maintain your estate."

dalston was left agape. "…what?"

"i can repeat myself, if you wish." eternally patient henry. damn him. "i apologize if my language was unclear…"

"no, i understand what you said, ledore," dalston snapped, "i just don't understand why you said it. why on earth would someone of your stature be crawling to me for work? as a servant, no less?"

henry laughed lightly. "you forget, mr dalston, that all of my wealth belongs to master randall."

"yes, right…" dalston's voice tapered off in thought. henry ledore, his financial competitor for the past 18 years, didn't even want any of the massive fortune he'd built - that which dalston had been so long trying to exceed. their rivalry was entirely one-sided. "but that doesn't make you a servant," dalston continued. "again."

"i never stopped being a servant," henry said. "my 'stature', if you'd like to call it that, was always master randall's."

"then why aren't you licking bratscot's boots right now?" dalston asked with a smirk. "i mean, since you have been so obsessively dedicated to the boy all this time, i'd think you'd be chomping at the bit to be working for him again."

a sigh. "he wasn't so keen on the idea of my resuming work as his servant. that is why i've come to you, mr dalston." henry's gaze was intense, determined.

dalston shook his head, baffled. "and if i turned you down too, would you go to some other rich sap and ask them the same?"

"i'm afraid they all regard me too highly to ever allow me a position beneath them, no matter how illogical that may seem."

"illogical, eh…?" dalston paused. "…hey, then why'd you think i'd accept? because i've sullied your good name in public, repeatedly? ha!" with a laugh, and a hearty pat on henry's back, dalston finally let him into the house.

dalston resumed his seat on the couch, leaving henry standing awkwardly in the entryway. he picked up his book and began leafing through it.

"y'know, it is kinda infuriating," he mused, smiling, "that you upstaged me at literally everything then revealed you weren't even doing it on purpose. there i was, thinking i had some fighting chance of beating you and rubbing it in your face, but now i know you never even cared about what i was doing. all you cared about was your 'master randall'."

"my apologies for seeming aloof," henry replied. "you are correct, mr dalston: preparing for master randall's return was my top priority. unfortunately, i could pay little mind to other affairs."

"including your old friend dalston?" dalston grinned. "was i too far beneath your lofty, noble goals?"

henry gave a start. "i did not realize you saw us as friends. i apologize for not treating you with more warmth."

"of course we're friends, ledore! what on earth are you talking about?" dalston shut his book and put it down. "come, sit. stop standing there like a piece of furniture."

obeying, henry came around to sit next to dalston on the couch. it was, indeed, a comfortable couch; henry smiled to himself.

"i admit," dalston said, "for a while i did think you were a slimy, greedy little bastard. i saw you building a fortune off of those ruins bratscot wouldn't shut up about, with his girl as your wife no less… i mean, you never told me why you were doing any of this! really, can you expect me not to call you a snake?"

"the most important thing was for me to help master randall," henry replied, unhelpfully. "though you, too, were romantically interested in angela, were you not? i understand our 'marriage' may have upset you on a more personal level."

dalston continued, ignoring henry's apology. "and y'know, as kids, i'd always talk about making it big in the hospitality business… but there you were, with your chain of luxury hotels, bringing in the bills! getting rich off of my dream! why, so i started my own hotel chain here in monte d'or too, and i started being massively successful, just like you - except you never batted an eye. mr ledore was too big for me now. and then you accused me of destroying monte d'or? ha! you really shouldn't be surprised i hated your guts. because you never explained a damn thing…"

henry opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off.

"and what's it all for now? heh, i'm getting pissy with a saint." dalston laughed. "at least now i know i was wrong to hate you. that's nice, at least, so we can go back to being chums. no hard feelings, eh?" he nudged henry with his elbow.

"i harbor no ill-will towards you, mr dalston," henry stated. "your reaction to my behavior was due and deserved. i hope i can be a better friend to you in future, now that i am not so preoccupied."

dalston grunted, but spoke not a word. they sat in silence.

"y'know," dalston said at length, "i was glad when mr bratscot kicked you out. and i was glad you became independent. he'd shut you up in that house for hours, only sending you out to do chores… i was hoping that with all of that out of the way we'd finally get to see you again."

dalston was staring in the middle distance, and henry did the same, not knowing what to say.

"but then you shut yourself up in those ruins," dalston went on, "and then in the reunion inn, or in your study, doing to yourself what was done to you… except i thought you were being the cruel master over yourself like mr bratscot. selfish. choosing money over the rest of us."

henry bit his lip.

"why did you never explain anything? i know i would tease you when we were kids, but…" dalston paused, his expression softening. "why, do you not think we're friends, ledore? is that why you were confused earlier? …is that why you never told me about anything?"

a brief silence. "i assure you, my inability to justify my actions to you was not meant to be a personal slight. and… i am pleased that you think we're friends. but i was not expecting you to say so."

dalston smiled sadly. "but do you want me to think we're friends? do you want to be friends, ledore?"

"it is your decision, mr dalston."

"if i said we weren't, i don't think you'd get upset and disagree with me."

"i apologize."

dalston sighed. here he was, getting pissy with a saint again…

they sat in silence for a moment, uncomfortable with each others' sadness.

suddenly, dalston met henry's gaze. "you were my friend before anything else. you could never be my servant."

in turn, henry stood up with a sigh. "then i must bid you good day, mr dalston. i apologize for bothering you."

dalston grabbed his hand with both of his and pulled henry back down onto the couch.

"do you seriously not know how to be friends with someone without being their inferior?" dalston asked, incredulous, henry now forced to make eye contact. "you don't have to leave my house just because you're not working for me. what, is that why you left yours?"

henry's hand was still in dalston's grasp. he'd been startled by the whole motion, by dalston begging for his company with his hands. eyes wide, henry didn't know what to say. his mind was on the feeling of being wanted there, on that couch. of his hand in dalston's grasp.

"you're very good at saying nothing." dalston exhaled and released henry, expecting him to stand up again. he closed his eyes, expecting henry to be gone when he opened them.

"master randall has always been my closest friend. he's always treated me like his brother, and yet he was always still my master."

"hm?" dalston opened an eyelid, curious.

indeed, henry's gaze had travelled to the door… but he'd stayed, perching himself uncomfortably on the edge of the couch; though he still faced away from dalston. "the two have always been the same to me," he continued in a soft voice.

dalston sat up and listened to him, eyes fully open.

henry bit his lip and continued. "do you think master randall and i would've been real brothers if he weren't my master? if he were just… randall?"

"he's always seen you as his real brother."

henry said nothing for a moment.

so dalston waited.

"it is true," henry murmured after a while, "if you said we weren't friends, i wouldn't disagree with you."

"oh yeah?" dalston replied quietly.

"yes. though i would still be sad." he smiled unhappily. "though i suppose that wouldn't mean anything, if i never explained it?"

"i'd think you hated me."

"and i wouldn't blame you."

suddenly, dalston pulled henry to his side and hugged him tight, arms wrapped around his thin form. henry was initially frozen like a deer in headlights, just as he was when dalston had grabbed him before…

henry's mind raced. he is holding me. he wants me to stay. i am in his house. i am on his property. i am doing something wrong. i should leave. he is holding me. he wants me stay. i am wanted here. i am wanted here. i am wanted here. i am wanted here.

…henry let himself sink into the warmth of being wanted. he became nearly limp with relief, as if his loneliness were an old, cramped exoskeleton dalston had gently slit into and helped him shed, letting the vulnerable, delicate animal within finally feel the heat of the sun, so similar to the heat which had always pulsed in his heart… he felt so weak, yet so alive, within dalston's embrace… and so tired… it took a lot out of him, letting himself be loved, instead of hiding himself away…

dalston was amused to find henry fallen asleep, but smiled to himself. he let me hold him, he thought. he wants to be here. and look… now he gets to dream again…

he gently laid henry down on the couch, shifting over to make room. he settled in with his book again, just as he was before henry had ever arrived… except now someone got to be comfortable on the couch with him. he was glad henry had visited.

#melonposting #professor layton #henry ledore #alphonse dalston #fanfic #sorry i think it's becoming very apparent how obsessed i am with henry ledore. i wasn't lying about him being my favorite #i like picking at his sadness. and in this i pick at dalston's sadness too #or what i assume to be his sadness anyway... we don't actually know much about him #lalala i need to be killed #familial ranhen #<- not the main focus but it is mentioned and important!!

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