grumpyoldsnake · 1 year ago
Text
One of these days. One of these days, I will figure out what the hell makes the tipping point beyond which either a) there’s socialization that I feel insulated from and kind of numb about and too tired to pursue, or b) socialization where the very notion of so much as expressing one (1) internal thought or emotion suffuses my whole body with adrenaline and blaring Nope instincts.
81 notes · View notes
e1dritchjackal0pe · 3 months ago
Text
𝔗𝔬 𝔗𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔢
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Isolated and weary of your solitary marriage with the prince, you gather enough courage to approach him one night with the declaration that the both of you try to become better acquainted. When you had proposed the idea, you never could have imagined how it would forever alter the dynamic of your union.
𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: 18+ content. Minor's scram. AFAB descriptions, some female implying terms used such as "wife." Fingering, Oral (F!Receiving), naked female and clothed male, some hints of sub Aemond, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink. Not proofread. Probably very poorly translated High Valyrian, blame the internet, not me. Aemond being a little shit, but also a little soft, just to balance it out. Aemond speaking in High Valyrian because it does unspeakable things to me.
𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰: 24.8k words. Another unnecessarily long fic because I have no self-control. Reader is a Baratheon. This was honestly just an excuse to write about dragon riding with Aemond. A little bit of Vhagar appreciation because she receives far too much hate.
Tumblr media
Life has not been easy as of late. With the threat of war ever-present, looming over the entirety of Westeros like a great storm cloud, thick and heavy with the promise of shrieking winds and a downpour violent enough to rip the foundations of the Seven Kingdoms from the earth and sweep them away in tides of blood. This war could be the end of it all. With dragonflame so readily at the disposal of both opposing sides, there is the possibility of no victors in this battle. All could very well wind up as a victim. Charred corpses to litter the burned lands, scorched black and red from fire and blood like forgotten toys carelessly left discarded and damaged by the children (or the gods) that played with them. 
It is becoming increasingly difficult to nudge it all - the paranoia and worry - back to the distant recesses of your mind. But it clings to you like a stubborn sickness. Making a home in the pit of your stomach like some vile, nauseating thing. It has you hopelessly adrift with no source of salvation to cling to. Especially now that you are in a place that brings you no comfort. Confined within the cold, labyrinthian walls of a castle that you do not truly know beyond the whispers of its name and the faint, watery memory of once dining in the Great Hall as a child while people jovially chattered and feasted on banquet. 
It's all so lost. Being forced to show a polite expression and nod and entertain lords and ladys that hold no true familiarity or warmth to you. Strangers with faces that would smile and stare as though they have known you for years. It is all so restricting. Binding and tight and clinging to your person like the new garments that you have been gifted with upon your arrival to the Red Keep; forced and expected to sport the customary garb and accessories of the Targaryen culture and trends. All wrapped up and pinned up in fine jewelry and embroidered fabrics like a prized broodmare. 
But perhaps then, even "prize mare" is giving yourself far too much praise. Prized pawn is far more fitting of a term. Just some plain, ordinary piece meant to be moved about the board at the whims of the player. Plucked to jump from square to checkered square with little care. You are a simple instrument on a much bigger board; the scope of which, you know is entirely beyond you and your imaginations. 
It makes it all so difficult to not be cross. To push down the anger that prickles at your flesh like hot coals and burns within the chasm of your ribcage. You feel cheated somewhat. Used and played with despite having prepared for this possibility since the moment you had been delivered from the safety of your mother's womb and into the chill of the world. It should be no shock that you have found no comfort. Not in your daily duties and the nugatory responsibilities and diversions you must fill your time with; all of the needlework, entertaining and book reading. It is tedious. Dull. Weak distractions against your harsh reality. That here, so far from home, you are well and truly at your lonesome. Wed to a man who wants little to do with you beyond your expected obligations.  Though you might truly have only yourself to blame for that. Your husband had worn his intentions on his sleeve when he had arrived Storm's End that one tempestuous evening, bearing his true colors to your father and your sisters when he had traded for the Baratheon House's allegiance and loyalty in the exchange for accepting your hand in marriage. He propositioned such terms swiftly. Shockingly so. Sheading little thought to the requirement - it was as easy as breathing for him. All while you stood alongside your sisters, being mindful to keep your spine rigid and head held high while your future was bartered away so easily; swallowing down the unease that stirred in your gut. 
And even with your reservations on the matter, and the buried urge to rush forward and object, you could not help but to study him from your place beside your siblings. You had heard stories of the Targaryen family your entire life. And although you had seen them once before as a young girl, the memories had done little properly illustrate the nearly ethereal grace with which he carried himself with. The first word that had crossed your mind when you first watched him prowl into your family's ancestorial home was simply just:
Stunning. 
For most men you would have used handsome, or dashing. And perhaps those words could be used for the likes of Prince Aemond Targaryen, but there's something about them that does not quite do him the proper justice. He was imposing as soon as he entered the space. Footsteps softly echoing along the stone floors as he approached your father's throne with nothing but pure confidence in his stride. As though you were the guests and not he. And like a moth drawn to a steady open flame your vision had immediately been caught and fastened onto him as though you were placed under spell. 
A simple, harmless fascination, you like to tell yourself. After all, it is not so strange to be captivated by a man who is said to be closer to a god than man; one who rides on the back of a great dragon. And when you first saw him, even with all your uncertainty of his arrival, it was impossible to look away. To try and not to study the countenance of a man you have heard so much about. Tracing the pronounced ridge of his aquiline nose, the keen cut of his jaw, the curved shape of his lips that were set with a slight purse. His features were decidedly sharp, but it suited him well with the assured way he held himself. The scar that marred the left side of his face could do nothing to damage his beauty. A beauty that is so inherently Valyrian. Attributes that mark someone who has blood of the dragon rushing through their veins, smoldering their hair into shades of smoke. And his hair was no different. Spilling down his back like rivulets of pale, silver silk. 
But it was his eye that had caught your attention the most. Even with only one to look, it peered at the world with a focus that was nearly unnerving. Locking onto your father in striking shades of either blue or violet - you could not tell at the time from the distance that had spaced between you. 
And in the moment that you had stood and evaluated him with a sense of wonder and dread, his eye had never flickered over to you. He had hardly spared you a glance. Holding his focus entirely on the Lord before him with the hints of a satisfied smirk nudging at the curled edges of his mouth, even while he held himself so composedly. Like he was truly pleased with the trajectory of the evening. The lack of his attentions on you should have been more than enough to clue you in on the trajectory of your life with the prince. Moreso than the ominous tempest that raged outside the stone walls. Downpours and thunder are no strangers to Storm's End, often ravaging the world beneath with flurries of rain and winds strong enough to lift waves to thrash the against the surface. But that day you had decided that the storm that had blotted out the golden hue of the sun was not simply just a common occurrence, but instead a bad omen. One brought on with the arrival of the prince, set as a warning - a blight on the future of your matrimony that heeded nothing but misery. And you had been right in some regards. 
You knew for certain that as soon as Aemond Targaryen had stepped away from you to stalk after his young nephew with the insistent ravings, flashing a blade with nothing but a crazed scorn in his voice, that you would find no solace within the cradle of your marriage to the prince. And the death of the Velaryon child and his dragon that swiftly followed that night only solidified that assumption. You are married to a mad man. 
One ruled by duty and strategy, but a mad man, nonetheless. 
Even with that in mind you could not help but to long for a connection with the prince. No matter how minuscule or spurious it might be. Your associations with the second born son have been spars at best. Done purely out of obligation at best. Each time you had ever been within each other's presence it had been out of a means to project the image of husband and wife that was expected by the masses and the court. The wedding, the feast you had partaken in, the consummation of your marriage. It was all done with an air of detachment from the prince. He was never rude, or untoward with you, but there was silent boundary that he had sliced between you with his absence and apparent lack of interest in your union. The nights that he would bed you were few and far in between. Done out of the necessity of producing an heir rather than a means to show affection. You could feel it in the clinical way that he touched you. Gentle, firm and somewhat rigid when he would guide you to bend over the foot of the bed with the palm of his hands, lifting up your skirts swiftly as though he is always eager to be done with it and somewhere else. 
You are not a foolish young girl anymore who would listen to your late mother's romantic stories and tales of besotted, star-crossed lovers with a rapt, captivated attention. You now know the nature of marriages. Especially those of highborn society. The expectations of them. They are often done out of the means to strengthen political alliances, not done out of a declaration of love. 
Still, it would be nice to at least know the man that you are set to spend the remainder of your life until the Stranger finally takes you from this mortal realm. The desire for it burned at you, ate at you with teeth that ripped and gnawed at your heart piece by vicious piece until you felt hollow. Not even Queen Alicent, despite her best, though often rare efforts to bring you ease has managed to pull you from the depths of your melancholy.
You wanted more. You were weary of belonging to a stranger. A man who made no attempts for as much simple conversation with you but spent every waking moment strategizing for bloodshed and the success of his house. You knew that if you meant to alter the course of your union with the prince that it is you who must go to him. And the thought of that terrified you greatly. 
You had heard the tales of those who dared to claim dragons that had no desire to be asserted. Those fools' endings were all same. Snapped up between the sharp maws of the great beasts to be swallowed in a gruesome lump of bloodied meat and crushed bone or engulfed in raging flames of bright, molten gold. You had absolutely no desire to become one of those fools. And despite knowing your husband so little, you were able to gather enough, that despite his cunning, he was also undeniably impulsive. Lead by the ferocity and the heat of the dragon blood that coursed throughout his body and burned within his soul like the fire they spit from their throats. If you went to him in the endeavor of drawing him into a connection that he truly did not seek, the only thing you might gain in turn is his ire. 
And so, you had resisted the urge for as long as you could. Settling for the brief interactions you shared during the supper's spent with the family, or the moments when he would meet you within your chambers to do his duty has husband and prince in the hopes of planting his seed and creating his successor. But it all quickly caught up with you. It was not enough, living on the meager crumbs that these encounters provided. Quickly you had decided that you would rather hypothetically get scorched alive by the scorn of your husband than continue to spend your days as a living dead woman, drifting about the cold corridors like a ghost wondering about the life that could have been, had you simply just confronted him. 
It was nearing the night, just little before the hour of the bat, that you found yourself standing outside the doors of his chambers, with soft lilac hues of the twilight slipping through the windows that lined the corridor and painted the floors in dusty shades of lavender. It was purely unbecoming of a young woman to be out so late without an escort, even if she was intending to meet with her husband. It had made the anxiety quivering in your chest even stronger. Fluttering like some wild, frightened creature while your mind swarmed with paranoia and hesitation. Your thoughts had seemed determined to persuade you from your intentions, begging that you turned heel and returned to your quarters before you were noticed. 
Perhaps he was already abed. Deep in slumber and at peace in his rest. Or perhaps he was not even in his chambers at all. Busy with matters beyond yourself. 
It was all almost enough to tear your feet from their place on the floor, but your body seemed eager to betray you, and before you could even notice the movement of your own hand, it was lifted and the sound of your knuckles rapping against the cool wood of the door had rung out within the confines of the hallway. Sharp, loud, and almost violent in your ears. Echoing out like nails being struck into the face of a coffin. 
You nearly flinched, mouth running dry at the realization of what you had just done, and with it the urge to flee had never been so great. Trembling up your spine like a cold breath. You had hoped that he would not answer. That he truly was asleep or vacant from his apartments, but like a twisted jest, the universe had answered your desires, and the sound of his voice slipped from beyond the door. Muffled by the obstruction, but no less commanding. Unable to ignore the call, you had drawn in a deep breath. Steeling yourself and the relentless patter of your heart before you drew the door open and slipped past the threshold with the drag of your skirts whispering ominously as you went. 
The air had seemed to shift when you had entered, and the shadows that clung to the corners and ceiling of the room felt as though it was prepared to swallow you whole, had it not been bayed away by the low flickering the candles that burned about the space like plumes of delicate amber. Your eyes had flitted about the quarters like a startled doe's, desperate to learn the structure of the area as though you might have to flee. Your vision had skipped over the various tomes and documents scattered about the tables; the random objects placed about in meager means of decoration. But you could appreciate them at least, for giving you a small glimpse into the mind of the man you have been bound to. Much like the chessboard left perched atop a tabletop, like a clue to his intelligence and keenness for scheming, and the quills and ink vials and parchment spread along his writing desk. 
But you were only able to distract yourself for so long before your attention had been tugged along as though by an invisible string to focus on the man sitting across the space from where you stood, one of the aforementioned documents held within one of his hands while he watched you steadily. His expression was mostly neutral. But even with how easily he was usually able to school his features, you could see the hint of surprise bleeding into his gaze. The subtle raise of his brow and the confused purse of his lips. You could practically see the question ready at the tip of his tongue, and you loathed the awkwardness that permeated the air. Stifling and prickling like a rash along your skin. 
"Wife," he finally greeted. Though you could still hear the dull bewilderment in the softness of his tone. 
It took you a moment to collect yourself, feebly trying to shake the uncertainty that still clung to you and when you had finally willed yourself to speak, you could only think the gods that your voice did not quiver, even though it was but a few words. "Lord husband," you returned the acknowledgement, nodding your chin slightly in substitute of a curtsy.  You watched closely as he gently placed the document in his hand down flat on the desk, tracing his face and the shadows the spilt across his features from the dim candlelight and the remaining, dull remnants of sunlight that managed to slip in through the windows; the reflection of the fire and sun glinting within the captivating shade of his eye. 
"To what do I owe the honor?" He inquired. 
It had been enough to snap you out of the daze that had clouded over you, jerking you from it so suddenly that you had nearly gasped with the realization that you had been staring. Embarrassment burned at your cheeks, hot and uncomfortable. You cleared your throat, straightening your shoulders in an effort to at least appear confident, but you swore that you had caught the edge of Prince Aemond's mouth twitching up in the semblance of a smile, letting you know that you had not succeeded in your aim. 
"I wished to speak to you." You had answered, clasping your fingers together in front of yourself, and you were now unable to ignore how clammy they had become. 
"So late in the evening?" Came his quick reply, the brow above his good eye perking ever so slightly. And if you did not know any better you would let yourself entertain the idea that it nearly sounded playful, had his face not been so woefully lacking joy. 
"Yes," you said just as fast. You had to ignore the weight of your tongue in your mouth. It suddenly felt too thick. Too clumsy. 
He only hummed in response to your answer. The sound was low and inquisitive, thrumming through the air like warm velvet. And though he had not spoken a word back to you, the singular eye that had he pinned you with bore into you with enough focus to drive you to speak. Forcing the words from your still lungs like a grip that did not exist. Wringing your breath from your body with only the weight of his gaze. "I would like . . . " Your voice died out as quickly as it had risen, snagging within your chest like it had been caught on something. It did not help that your nerves were alight. That your heart was beating wildly, like a skittish animal. But it was mostly just irritating. It had made you feel stupid, the way that your body refused to yield to your own commands. Far too caught within the spell of a primal sort of caution and reluctance to relent to something as easy as talking. 
"You would like to. . ?" Prince Aemond articulated the question slowly, letting it hang between the both of you, as though you were a child. Annoyance had spread throughout your flesh like a wildfire, and for one idiotic moment you contemplated snapping at him. But fortunately, your self-preservation still clung strong and forced you to be mindful of your tongue. 
"This may sound odd," you began, swallowing around the spit that had welled up within your mouth. "But I would like to get to know you better, my prince."  
It sounded completely stupid as soon as you heard it from your own ears, and a part of you had longed to wince but you remained surprisingly unflinching. But Aemond it seemed, had been taken by complete surprise. Even though the slip in his composure was quick and subtle, you caught it. The mild slump of his shoulders, the straightening of his posture, the soft pinch between his brows. All of these minute tells that told you so much, though they were gone just as quickly as they had shown. Melted away and replaced by a composure that must have taken him years to perfect. 
But no matter how small his shock had been, the sight of such a naked, human emotion flickering across his face was enough to break the barrage that sealed your voice. The words seemed to flow from you more freely then in a rush of thoughts and feelings; desperate to finally speak your mind and make peace with yourself, and most importantly him. 
"I hold no delusions over this marriage. I know that our union was a strategic one, brought on by the possibility of a looming war, and the foundations of it are clear." Your sight had flickered back up to his own once more, and the hold of his stare once again threatened to leave you breathless. "I realize that we are not truly lovers, however, I do not think that must mean we are to be strangers also. I wish to know you, husband. I do not expect your affections, or love, but I desire at least the possibility of your attentions. An understanding of each other. And perhaps, if it is willed, a sense of companionship. A comradery." 
He remained horrendously silent from his place across from you. Watching you with a keen eye while the hand that still rested along the desks surface fidgeted, the point of his mid-finger ceaselessly gliding along the back of his thumb. It had made you nervous, the way he watched you. Akin to a predator lurking in the shadows, awaiting its moment to strike for its prey's vulnerable throat. You must have stumbled. Foolishly, like the greedy men in all of those ancient folktales. You slipped within the dark and it was then you knew that the dragon was stirring; throat welling up with fire to burn you down for being so presumptuous. 
"So you are here, in the beginnings of the night, interrupting me in the midst of my duties, because you are lonely?" 
That all that you needed to know that you had truly wandered too close. Assumed and hoped too greatly. Blindly walking into the dragonpit to be burned alight like kindling for a fire. And even with irritation gnawing at you and begging that you speak out in your own defense, you had known that you must tread lightly, even while the prince scorned you like you were a naive girl child chasing after some witless fantasy. He wished to humiliate you it seemed, and even while he was entirely successful in his aim, you would not give him the satisfaction of showing it. But you knew that you had to be tactful. An unchecked rise of your emotions would only serve to go against you. 
"Yes, my prince," you had agreed without wavering. And much like your own, his gaze had shifted. The sardonic edge that it had held changed into something darker. More directed than even before. Studious almost. But no matter how much gravity it had held, it was no longer enough to withhold you from speaking. You kept your voice as light as possible, but the firmness, the fervor behind it was more than apparent, drifting out to fill the silence of his quarters. And with each sentence, you let the courage that you had not allowed before to guide you a step closer to the prince. "Yes, I long to know the man that I am to be tied to until death. Yes, I long to know the father of my future children. Yes, I long to know my husband." And with that you allowed yourself to halt after your final step. Then you were so close to his writing desk that if you had leaned over you could have easily reached out and touched him. But you remained fixed in your place, hands still clasped and shoulders high. "Regardless, if my husband will become a lover or simply an ally." 
He remained silent in his observations. Regarding you closely as though he expected you to suddenly give way underneath his stare and dash out of the room. But you did not. Not even when the chill of apprehension trembled along the expanse of your back, sneaking underneath the fabric of your garments like a cold draft. He shifted back in his seat, muscles coiling underneath the dark leathers of his doublet and for a moment you had considered the idea that he might lunge. That he would strike forward like the instincts of his blood no doubt urged him to do. At the very least, you had suspected cold words. A detached response that would order you to return back to your apartments and to leave him undisturbed of your person until he saw fit. 
"Very well then . . . Wife." His head tilted just the slightest when he addressed you, and the glint of his eye reflecting the light of the many candles seemed to bore into you; notching the words he spoke that much deeper and nourishing the surprise of his agreement. "I will make more of an effort to appease your loneliness, should it bring you ease." 
It was because of that decision - because of that night, that your relationship with the prince had been altered. No longer did he suit to sit along your side at social gatherings, tightlipped and rigid, but now he made somewhat of a strive. Much more than before. Though still quiet, he took more attempts to include you in the conversations that he would bother to indulge in. Typically, unremarkable topics that he would try to join you in on, like snide comment on the lords and ladies or an observation of your gowns. Prince Aemond, you easily concluded, had no idea how to speak to the fairer sex. A characteristic that you might have let yourself see as charming if he were not always so subtly contemptuous and withdrawn. Even with all of the improvements with his communications, his presence itself was still scarce. Constantly torn away by the impending threat of calamity and battle. 
And no matter how much you knew that his absence was entirely necessary for the good of the kingdom, especially after the Battle of Rook's Rest and the unexpected injuries that have left the King bedridden and near death, the prince was sparser than ever, with him assuming the role of Prince Regent in his brother's stead. But like a poison, that bitter, selfish part of you could not help but to be displeased by the near constant lack of his company.  
Today however . . . Today you might actually be regretting his attempts at companionship. 
"You still have not told me the nature of our outing, my prince!" You call to him, trudging after him like a shadow with your skirts bundled and clutched within your palms as you desperately attempt to keep up with his much longer stride uphill. The muscles of your calves have already begun to burn and ache with your body already growing weary of the incline, and the weight of your dress does little to aid you in your climb along the earth, still damp from last night's rain. Realistically, there are only a few paces between you and he, but in your mind, it feels as though there are stretches of land separating you. 
He only offers you the barest look, hardly even glancing over his shoulder at you as his long legs continue to carry him upward. "For someone who is so desperate for my time, I did not expect to hear any complaints," he answers, full of snark even though his tone remains just as steady and soft as always. 
Heat prickles at your cheeks. Though now, with your exertion, it is difficult to ascertain if it is simply from your efforts to trek after him or purely from annoyance. A retort rests heavy on your tongue, but you are unsure if you should bother spending your breath on it. It is tempting. But perhaps later. "It is no complaint; I am simply wondering just where it is that you are taking me. If you wished to go for a walk, perhaps the castle grounds would have sufficed . . . or at the very least, a mention of it would have given me time to at least prepare for more a suitable attire." 
He spares you another glance, managing to look down his nose at you from over his shoulder as he continues his ascent until he reaches the leveled crest of the knoll. Leaving you to chase after him while the damp soil, and soaked grass and wildflowers threaten to slip your traction out from underneath your feet with every step. You have never had the urge to strike the prince before, but here and now, you think that you could if he were only close enough. This time he opts to remain silent. Returning his attentions on what lies ahead of him, and it has a flicker of concern breathing to life inside of you. The paranoid, unfounded thought that he means to kill you tries to sprout. It would explain why he had lured you so far away from the safety of the castle walls, and why he had chosen to leave both of your mounts downhill and unattended to graze. How pathetic it would be, to be slain in the middle of the wood, like a dumb girl lured away by a fae in an old folktale. 
And if the treasonous whispers that dart about the castle are true, that he had been the one to strike down the king above the battlefield of Rook's Rest, then surely, he would have no qualms about killing the likes of you. 
Still, while irritation and caution thrums underneath your flesh, you cannot but help to stare at the expanse of his back as you near the top of the hill, taking in the sight of the confidence in his posture as he all but struts along the earth. The sunlight dances along the pale shade of his hair, bringing to life the faint hint of cream and soft gold that hides within the silver. He is gorgeous out here like this. Relaxed within the peace and confines of nature, while the little birds nestled inside the protection of neighboring trees chatter and trill. For a rare moment like this, touched by sunlight and the air, perfumed with the musk of a storm passed and the fragrance of flowers, it is easy to pretend that he is still not a complete stranger. That the impossible gap that seems to divide you both has grown closer, and he does not look to you as an obligation but as a comfort. 
Another fool's reverie perhaps. But a sweet one that you cannot help but entertain while you raise your muddied skirts to strengthen your stride and widen your steps in the hopes to gain on him. But then blessedly his pace finally begins to slow, giving you the means to finally draw in your straining breaths and lessen the expanse between you, making sure to near him from his right, so's not to walk in his blind spot. He tilts his body just the slightest, angling it so that he is able to give you his focus as you draw near, and you have to try your hardest not to gasp and gulp for air in front of him. You need to give him no more reasons to tease and prod at you. 
The glint of his eye, a color that you have now discovered to be a delicate, yet vibrant shade trapped between a soft blue and a muted purple draws you into his stare as you approach. It seems to hold you captive, grabbing your attention as you come to walk alongside him, no longer huffing and panting, and the ache in your legs begins to subside. 
"You have asked to become familiar with me," he speaks suddenly. Not a question at all, but a statement, and the mention of it has your brows raising just the slightest as you manage a nod. "All I ask of you is that you do not scream or allow yourself to panic." 
The sound of those words alone has ice prickling along your skin and settling within the pit of your chest. And the sensation of your apprehension melding with your bewilderment does little to aid you in properly asking him what he could have possibly meant by such a cryptic statement. The inquiry hangs heavy in your mouth like metal, and your jaw seems to open on its own in the means to ask him to clarify. But then, as though it had been timed, a guttural bellow rings out across the placid atmosphere. Humming so heavily that you feel the weight of it vibrate underneath your feet as though the earth were speaking, shaking a small flock of tiny birds from their perches within forest, forcing them to scatter and flee into the clear sky above. 
The abrupt noise of it has you all but tearing your vision from Prince Aemond's unbothered, observational expression to whatever lies ahead of you. And your eyes nearly bulge from their sockets at the sight of the behemoth that lies only several yards away. How you had managed to miss the sight of such a monumental creature is entirely beyond you. The only excuse you could possibly make is that the beast has flattened itself along the floor of the clearing, leathery wings lazily stretched open, head resting in the miniscule cover of the knee-high wildflowers and grasses that scatter along the hilltop in what might be some sort of attempt of basking itself underneath the suns glow. 
It is a beast that you easily recognize despite never truly having been within its presence. The sheer mass of the creature, and the rich green shade of its skin easily gives it away as the great Vhagar. You have heard of her name from countless stories. Those passed on down from generation to generation to speak of the ferocity and brutality of the battle hardened she-dragon, of how the size of her alone could blot out the sun from her flight. You have even caught glimpses of her in the air before. Often from within the confines of the castle while she soars high above and far from reach. None of those rare moments or stories had done any justice in depicting the true scale of her. 
And while you stand, gawking like a slack jawed idiot at the sight of her, you can only manage but to wonder the dumb, fleeting thought of how the Crown could ever possibly manage to supply enough sheep for her appetite. And then any semblance of awe or shock is twisted into a pure sense of dread and a primal fear. Your mind blanks as you try to form some sort of reason for you being here. Why Prince Aemond could possibly desire for you to meet his dragon, but you are left with naught. Something primordial and blazing sears throughout your veins with urge to run, but you find yourself frozen stock still instead while your lungs struggle to move and catch breath. You feel as though you have passed away on the spot and left your body behind to, trapped within this singular moment. 
It is not until the dragon begins to lift its head up inquisitively that you manage to regain any control of yourself at all. The sight of her lids peeling open to reveal blazing amber eyes are enough to force your lost voice back into the base of your throat. 
"Wha - why have you brought me here, Aemond?"  
The look he gives you is entirely unsympathetic. If anything, it seems to be amused. The corners of his lips threaten to perk in the shadow of an arrogant smile. If your heart did not feel as though it were seconds away from overexerting itself and giving out entirely, you are sure that this time, you would have struck him. You would love to hear the impact of your hand meeting the shape of his cheek and snuffing out the pompous way that he is holding himself, but he steps away from you before you can even think to act, fearlessly striding in the direction of the colossal dragon. 
"You long to know a dragonrider, lady wife," he answers with the cool timbre of his voice trailing after him and to you. "Flight with one with be the best way to make that connection." 
You are certain that your heart has well and truly stopped with that statement. That it turned still and unrooted itself from the cavern in your chest to plummet down below into your gut. And for a moment you wish that you have misheard him. Despite your internal panic, your brain manages to scramble and put the meaning of his words together quite quickly. The urge to refuse or ask him to clarify illudes you. You are far too bewildered. Too trapped within the seize of your own chaotic emotions to properly articulate yourself and your reservations. There's an anger stirring in you as well. Brewing and twisting with everything else, spurred on from the haughty glance he had given you before making his approach towards the beast he is bonded with. 
You try and fail to connect his reasoning. The logic entirely beyond you, but when you look upon his face it becomes quite clear. No matter how brief your eye contact had been, you saw the dare that had been dancing in his eye quite clearly. He was challenging you. He is expecting you to turn on your heel and run from the trial that he has set before you. And that has lit a sense of competition in yourself unlike any that you have ever felt before. 
He is no longer paying you any attention to see you coming to a sudden grip in resolve. Instead, he has drawn his observations to his dragon, who has lifted her head just enough in a proper greeting to accept the way that he runs a hand along the slop of her enormous muzzle, just above those massive, gnarled fangs that poke like her lips like daggers. The span of his fingers seems so small posted along the swell of her snout, like little more than a speck. And yet he stands before her so confidently. Free from the faintest edge of discomfort or fear. Instead, you hear him murmuring soft words to her. Speaking quietly as though she were a babe in need of praise or encouragement and not a battle worn goliath that has lain waste to armies and dragons alike.
The sound of his ancestor's tongue is beautiful as always. In your short time together, you have heard little of the language from the prince, but when you do manage to catch the glimmers of it from him you make sure to listen keenly. It flows past his lips like a rich silk; all but rumbling and sweeping around words that you do not know but find captivating regardless. It makes you wish that you did understand them. 
It is astonishing that no matter how small the prince appears now in comparison to her vast scale, he still holds himself so proudly. His shoulders are set straight, and head tilted high: the posture of royalty. All while he composes himself alongside a monster that could easily open her drooping maw and swallow him whole. 
But of course, she does not. A low grumble trembles forth from the wide set of her chest, reverberating throughout the air in a sound that could nearly be likened to the purr of a contented feline. It is shocking to see the famed - the feared Vhagar in such a light. And to similarly see the prince in such a manner as well. Both of them are calm. Peaceful on this tranquil, balmy evening. Untouched by their shared excitement for battle and bloodshed. 
It's akin to watching a pair of ruthless gods' slumber. 
And it seems to be that, more so than the sense of rivalry that has been kindled, that inspires you to move forward. No matter how uncertain you truly feel. Despite your reservations the odd sweetness of the situation still has you drawing close. All while a frigid kind of fear pools in your stomach. So, you try to focus on the little bits of life around you. The cheerful singing being carried by the birds of the forest, the soothing whisper of the air shifting the leaves, the saccharine scent of the colorful flowers that sway in the grass. It is all so soothing, so delicate. But still, it does little to appease the anxiety coursing throughout you as you grow closer to the beast. 
With each step forward, she seems to rise bigger; the growing proximity between you both only making her true mass even more apparent, as you are confronted with the mind-boggling truth of her scale. There is no safety of the castle walls to save you, the collection of the trees that surround you in a half circle would not serve to shield you should Vhagar decide that your presence is an irritant. Her potent fire would consume the forest and you with it with a single breath. Here and now, you know that you rely entirely on the word of Prince Aemond to keep her violent urges at bay. 
And that both comforts and terrifies you. 
You make your lungs draw in a shaky breath that does little to calm you as you step closer to the she-dragon. But you are certain that there is not a single thing on this earth that could truly bring you serenity as you bear witness to her. Never in your life have you ever stood before a being that has ever made you feel so miniscule. Not even the sight of the stars in the cradle of the night sky, in all of their multitudes and vastness as come close to the trepidation or awe that she has roused in you. You are small. Insignificant in terms of her looming stature. Pitiful in the decades that she has lived and the feats that she has achieved. You know now why the dragons are said to be old gods. You can hardly process that you are now right in front of one. Watching the rise and fall of her ribs as she pulls in massive breaths. The subtle shake of her wilting neck that shifts as she angles her head in your direction to study you with eyes that almost seem to burn with the fire contained within her. 
Her nostrils twitch as you come to stop alongside Prince Aemond; near enough that your shoulders nearly brush, but a part of you craves the dim amount of comfort that he provides. She is trying to smell you no doubt. Trying to take in your scent as means to familiarize herself with the stranger who travels with her rider. 
"You may touch her," Aemond offers. Or orders perhaps. 
It catches you completely off guard, like most things this evening. Regardless of the gentleness of his tone, it is difficult to tell if it is a suggestion or a command. Having what little knowledge you have of the prince in mind it was most likely the latter. Or it is another challenge of his. 
The sharp blue of his eye pierces through you once again like he is waiting for you to cower. But now, the prince's concerns and expectations are second at best when it comes to the interest of Vhagar. The brief flicker of your gaze on her confirms that she is still quite placid in mood. Her eyelids low with the remnants of the slumber that she had been goaded from. But that still does little to calm you. Dragons are unpredictable creatures. Gaining a trust of her this easily would be ignorance. 
"Does she wish me to?" You ask, and you see that twinge of what might be amusement grace Prince Aemond's features once again. 
"She will hardly pay you any mind." That is his assurance. A useless one. Your unease is strong. But your desire to please your husband, to beat this little challenge that he has set for you, and to form some sort of relationship with the prince - no matter how fragile - is stronger. With all the courage you can muster you begin to lift your hand. Slowly and steady in your movements as not to cause the beast any annoyance. You would not want to suggest to her that you feel entitled to touch her. Dragons can be opinionated things after all. 
A low noise rolls from her throat at the sight of your hand raised just above her muzzle, just where Aemond had lain his own earlier. It gives you pause. Old, primeval instincts rising inside of you bid you motionless. To wait and see what her move will be next. If she will calm or open her armored jaws to snap you between them. 
"Lykirī." 
It is Aemond's voice that speaks out. Low yet firm in its inflection as his tongue purrs out the elegant High Valyrian word in a silky drawl. You know not what he said, but it was enough to appease whatever offence you might have committed. She blinks slowly in response and the growl dies down into a soft silence. Still, you now find it difficult to lower your hand. Sensing your hesitance, or perhaps weary of it, Prince Aemond's own is suddenly engulfing the back of it, nearly threading his fingers with yours as he guides your palm downward. The weight of his flesh along yours comes as surprise. You have felt your husband's hands on you before. In much more intimate places, but it is the care with which he directs you with that almost seems foreign. New and delicate.
Currently he wears his gloves, usually seen on his hands whenever he intends to take flight, and you hate how a piece of you longs to feel them bare. To touch the callouses along his palm, made from wielding the grip of swords in combat and clasping the horns of Vhagar's saddle. It is a juxtaposition to the much softer skin of your own. But you do not find the texture of them offensive in the slightest. You could almost relish the sensation of it had they not been covered by soft hide instead. 
He leans his body much closer to yours. So much closer that the light brush of his breath glides over the side of your face and the length of your throat. The scent of him wafts from his body in the musk of leather, the spice of dragon smoke and the crisp fragrance of wind. It makes you wonder if he had flown long before he had come to the castle to retrieve you. It is all so distracting. The press of him along your arm, the mesmeric sound of his voice whispering soothing words in his ancestor's language. 
But reality comes back to you quickly in the weight of the dragon's flesh settling flat underneath your palm; rough and thick. You have heard before that dragons run hot. Heated up by the fire roaring within their chests. Those words have not prepared you for the warmth that radiates from her and the strength of it. Of the coarseness of her flesh. How sturdy it is. Much like the leathers used in creating amour. Though you suppose that the purpose of her skin is the same. 
Her massive nostrils flicker again and her eyes squint as she watches you. Studies you really. As though she is weighing and measuring you of your worth. Which is not a farfetched idea. It is the dragon, after all, who chooses its rider. She must be deciding if you are worthy of standing in her presence. 
The elation that floods you at the feeling of her beneath your hand comes like the scattering of butterflies. A smile threatens to break across your face at the small success. A rush of joy from still being alive after touching one of the most violent war dragons the earth has ever seen. 
"Are you prepared to ride?" 
Aemond's question rips you from your elation like a sudden storm smudging out the bright warmth of the sunlight. The smile that could have been dies out with the happiness that had filled you. It is water doused over embers. And with it the urge to snap at him is back in full force. No, you wished to answer, you are not prepared to ride, because you were not told that you would be expected to until only moments before. But you keep that complaint to yourself. Locked within tightly as not to offend the prince and the dragon whose massive mouth rests directly underneath your open palm. Still, many questions gush up and stir a torrent up within your mind. 
"How am I expected to do such a thing, my prince?" 
The look that crosses his face appears tired. It makes you wonder if you have somehow asked something foolish, but you come up empty on what that could have possibly been. It is a perfectly expected question. A dragon will only choose a single rider at a time. And only those who are blessed with Valyrian blood could have the potential honor of sharing such a bond. An ancient line that you have no direct lineage to. But the stare that the prince is holding you with now is one of exasperation, yet also sardonic. 
"You will sit on the saddle; I thought that much was apparent." His lips have pursed slightly, making his expression a blend of smug and annoyed. He is toying with you once again. It also makes his boundaries quite apparent. There is to be no possibility of a bond between the two of you unless you push when he shoves. If you let your offence get the better of you now while he clearly raises his challenge, then your relationship with him will be reduced to nothing more than his child bearer. A vessel for his future heirs. You shall not yield. Not even while your heart races like that of a rabbit who has been tricked into a corner by the snarling fangs of a hunter. 
You are soft but firm when you remove your hand from its place tucked between Vhagar's flesh and Aemond's palm. Your determination rests easily on your face as you turn to observe the netting of ropes that are draped down the side of her great neck as a means to climb astride her. Never has something seemed so daunting before. Not the day that you were bid to leave the familiarity of your life in Storm's End, nor the moment that you had given yourself over to Prince Aemond in matrimony. They all seem so little now as you allow your hand to grip one of the lines of worn rope. 
"Lykirī, Vhagar." 
A nervous sweat dampens your fingers as you squeeze your grip along the course lines, the frayed edges digging into your soft flesh. The sound of your husband placating the beast rings in your ears like a warning though she has not stirred from her position against the forest floor, even while another rumbling hum echos from her chest. It trembles throughout your arm from being so close to her, rattling up your bones. For a moment you contemplate removing yourself from the makeshift ladder, but the firm, urging glare that Aemond shoots you from his place beside you and the embers of your determination spur you to continue forward. 
"I will be behind you," you hear him promise as you haphazardly lift your skirts to enable yourself to place a foot upon one of the rungs. It is now you who hardly offers him a returned glance as you focus on raising yourself along the ropes. You expect for Vhagar to disturb upon the weight of you heaving yourself along her neck, but she does not. She remains blessedly stationary as you urge your body to move upward to scale the high length of her neck, for your mind to remain quiet and centered through your internal panic. The way that the ladder wobbles unsteadily as you work to lift yourself does little to quell the way that your stomach flips with the growing effects of nausea. 
You could swear that many moons have passed by the time that you have made it to the top of the ladder, where the ropes meet the smooth leather that creates the structure of the massive saddle. The seat of it is far greater than any other you have ever seen; those having been suited for horses and not the great backs of dragons. But even considering the long forward slop of what must be the equivalent of the rise and pommel and how the cantle stretches slightly backward to support the rider's spine during an upward flight, it is more than apparent that the seat is designed for only a single person. Every bit of grace room is only available for the positioning that must be required in flight. The design of it allowing for the rider to lean forward comfortably in the seat or relax backward, if necessary, but offering little more than that. 
If you were both truly meant to ride together it would be an awkward fit. Surely not one safe for something as perilous as flying. 
The urge to question this little goal of his rises up high. But instead of voicing your concerns you opt to follow through with his desires. If the two of you do truly not prove to fit on the seat and it turns into an ill sighted blunder on his part, then at least you will be able to silently bask in the pleasure of seeing his arrogance dim at the realization of it. 
You reach for some of the leather straps that lie between the junction of the rope ladder and the saddle, using your grip to hoist yourself upward again, slipping a foot into one of the rungs to push yourself within the range of saddle's lowest set of horns. Your fingers can only reach the base of the grip from your current height, but it is enough to enable you to hoist yourself towards the cradle of the saddle, though your muscles burn with the labor. Some torturous thought wonders what would happen should you slip and fall from such a height, and you struggle to block it out entirely as you continue your clumsy ascent. Using the hold that the flat of your feet have within the straps to keep yourself secure as you work on exchanging your hold from the lowest grip and onto one the horns belonging to the higher set to haul your body upward, swinging your right leg out to lurch across the seat. 
It strains your arms as you angle yourself, and the length of your skirts threaten to snag on the curve of your knee when your all but throw your body onto the saddle. But by the grace of the gods, you make it. Your chest slightly heaves from your lost breath, and your muddied skirts have pulled and rucked up above your knees in the most unbecoming manner from the stretch of your thighs around the width of the seat. But you hardly have the ability to pay it any mind while your nerves still cause your limbs to quiver, and your body burns with an excess of energy. 
While you collect your breath, clasping onto the horns of the saddle with both hands tightly enough for the edges of the leather bound around them to bite your palms, the sound of the wind's current whispering in your ear tugs you from your anxieties. 
It is then that you finally realize just where you sit. Comfortably astride the largest dragon, looking down on the world from the ridge of her back. You could see above the trees from this point, the stretches of the wood that gave and showed the lush rolling hills that expanded far beyond your sight. It was all so small and yet so vast this high up, once again making you realize the scope of your existence. You can spy glimpses of King's Landing up in the distance. The glimmer of the rooftops and the spires of the Red Keep, almost lightened in a shade of bronze from the cast of the evenings golden light. The sea beyond it glittering in a reflection of the sun, like a flat mound of shifting coins. 
The sudden weight of a hand clasping the grip along the free space just above your own snaps you from your awe. You hardly have time register it as the prince effortlessly swings himself into the saddle, notching a place for himself between your hips and the support of the cantle. His presence forces you to scoot further up along the swell of seat, much higher up than you are meant to be, but the press of his body flat against your own gives you little choice. The angle of it practically has your rump perched against his hips. And when his other arm reaches around your other side to grip the opposite horn of the saddle, you find that you have been completely enclosed in his body. His chest is pinned snug along your back, and you can feel the point of his chin nudge along your shoulder as he looks past you. 
There is something horribly intimate about it all. Something that you did not even think to consider when you agreed to this. But now that you can fully feel the warmth of him seeping through the layers of your garments to slip through your skin, you could not find any other word to call it. If your mind was not already so preoccupied with your anxieties, it would have easily latched onto the fact that your skirts are still indecently rucked around your thighs, improperly showing off the fabric of your stockings. It could have made you fidget or heat up with embarrassment had you the mind to, but you are far too preoccupied with what is to come. With the weight of your husband so near you. So high up here, with the wind stronger than it had been down along the ground, his scent seems to pool around you. It fills your lungs with musk and spice, and your body longs to draw it in like a glutton, but you do not allow yourself to. You manage yourself to maintain the steady inhales that you have been taking thus far. 
"Remain calm," he reminds you. 
As if on cue Vhagar begins to shift. Her giant head lifts from the meadows floor with a low grunt, as though the action alone costs her a great deal of energy, causing the weathered, battle worn flesh along her neck to wobble loosely along her throat. A bout of nervousness prickles in your gut as the motion jostles you forward. On reflex, your grip rightens around the horns, latching onto the pitiful bit of comfort they prove. Anxiety spreads along your fingertips and toes as she digs the wrists of her great wings into the earth to push herself onto her feet. A simple action, but for you it invokes nothing but unease. Her movements continue to nudge you about, all but prodding you backward to the press of Aemond's chest, and now you are actually thankful for how he is seated behind you. Offering a sense of support that you might have fainted without. 
You can feel the subtle shift of her muscles even through the saddle, and it wobbles just the slightest from the quiver caused by her old flesh. It has your unease spiking. And you think that you yourself could fly, fueled by nothing but your own apprehensions. 
There is a noticeable shift in how she holds herself once she balances on her legs. And incline in her spine lifts as she raises her head high, removing her weight from her wings to unfurl them. You can hear the leathery sound of the thin skin unraveling, spreading out wide enough like sails of a colossal ship preparing to leave port. 
You know what is coming, but you naught of how to weather it. All you can do is stare ahead, looking past the expanse of her neck and to the sky above that you will soon be soaring through. He must be able to sense your anxiety. Or perhaps he felt the tension of it in your back, in the rigid set of your shoulders, because he manages to press himself even closer against you. Like he means to cradle you to him. He releases a single hand from its grip long enough to place it along your waist to steady you. Your mind instantly latches onto the sudden pressure and warmth of it. Your body longing to lean into the weight of his palm but you keep yourself motionless as he leans himself close until you feel the brush of his words along your neck when he speaks. 
"Be still, wife." His voice rumbles out all placid and velvet. The sound of it so close to your ear that it has a tremble skipping down your spine. You can only hope that the thick of your combined attire hid it from him, but his hand flexes against your waist; fingertips pressing inward, and you know that he noticed it. But he fortunately makes no open marks of it. "With me as your guide you will be safe. When she begins her ascent, lean forward into it. It will help to keep you balanced." 
And as quickly as it had appeared, his hand is gone from its position on your waist to return its grip on the horn. You crave to have it back on you again. To have the support of it on you once more, even with the phantom sensations of it still live on your skin, though you do not bother to dwell on your foolish desires. You can only focus on the instructions that he had set. The direction of it serving to ground you, even as the saddle underneath shifts just the slightest as her wings expand. Now entirely unfurled. 
The anticipation of it weighed heavy. Murmuring across the air like something electrical as though you were in the midst of a storm and lightning looms ahead. But apart from a few scattered clouds, it was all but clear skies. Vhagar was prepared to soar. Her muscles were coiled, stretched and tense, and were it not for your being astride, you are certain that Aemond would have commanded her to take off much sooner. If that truly is the case, you are thankful. 
His ribs swell slightly along your back, and the command slices through the air, simultaneously exacting and clement: 
"Sōvēs!" 
Wind claps underneath the great stretch of her wings as she lifts them only to bring them down in a powerful downstroke. It snaps her from the ground in a quick lunge, and the sudden rush of being airborne causes your stomach to turn. You scramble to come to terms with the abrupt weightlessness of your body. It is like all of the breath has been snatched from the depths of your chest as Vhagar brandishes her wings in great, long stokes that sound akin to tremendous waves crashing against the surf; sharp and frightening like a whip slicing towards its target. 
A horrid thought enters your mind, whispering vile things, such as what would happen should you fall off. How you surely would not survive a plummet from such a height. It has your hands tightening around the grips of the saddle. Squeezing so harshly that your tender palms sting. But you almost welcome the burn of it. It is a good distraction from the nausea, from the disorientation that comes from rushing far from the earth so quickly. Now she truly begins her climb upward, and you just barely remind yourself of Aemond's previous command; tipping yourself forward to press yourself along the swell of the saddle as she rises. 
Much as he promised, the change in your posture does help to keep your seat firm as she works to bat her wings to scale her flight. Aemond dips down low after you, resting himself over your body to follow his own instructions. Even while Vhagar approaches her ascent at a slant, the incline is still enough to put strain on your arms as your own weight attempts to pull your backward. You can already feel the strain of it in your limbs, searing along your muscles and setting an ache deep near your bones. 
Never had you ever truly put in mind the physical prowess and endurance a dragonrider must have to properly seat their mount until now. It almost makes you feel idiotic that you would not have truly expected the demands that such a thing would imply. Already the wind claws at your face, slicing at your cheeks like it means to maim you, stinging at your eyes enough to prompt tears to pour. It is difficult to draw in a proper breath as the air passes too quickly for your lungs to properly catch, making you fear that you might suffocate. It feels as though your chest could combust. From the debilitated ability to properly breathe or from the confused sense of excitement, you are not entirely sure. 
Your being has been split down the middle. Caught in a strange limbo of an icy terror and a bubbling kind of joy as she continues her ascension, carrying you both high until the forests below become less defined and meld into blotches of rich greens. You cannot tell if the laugh the begs to erupt from you is one of elation or hysterics, but it froths inside of you with a warmth that rivals the heat that radiates from the brilliant sun above. Your lips part in the semblance of a breathless laugh as your eyes dart to take in your surroundings. The earth is so distant now. Reduced to a flat stretch of emerald and hunter, and the gentle rolling slops of hills and valleys that, in some points giveaway to farmlands. You can spot organized rows of green that must be rich vineyards, and there are many quaint little houses and homely settlements that sparsely dot about the scape. 
Being so high up within the heavens makes the rest of the world seem so small. Reduced down to dots and shadows and shades of color. It reminds you vaguely, of the ancient war table that sits within the council chambers of Storm's End; the stubborn, enduring anatomy of Westeros etched into the face of it, mapping out all of its splendor in its factions and landmarks. 
Out of your peripherals you notice Vhagar's wings tilt, moving to level her body out of its angled position, settling so that she is able to coast on the winds. It near instantly releases the strain on your arms, allowing the sting to ebb from your clenched muscles as you will yourself to try and relax, and the harsh cusp at which the biting wind had struck you with finally loses its violent edge. Still quite strong but no longer clawing along the shape of your cheeks and your unprotected eyes like it means to rip at them. 
It is Aemond who straightens himself first, removing his weight from your back to properly sit astride, completely comfortable in his place along his dragon and untouched by a semblance of worry. Even though you cannot see him from his place behind you, you are still able to sense the composure that he holds himself with. He is entirely within his element. At home here on dragonback. The arm that had grasped the grip on the left of you releases, moving past the line of your vision to where he probably allows it to casually hang at his side, now supporting his clasp on the saddle with only a single, sturdy hold. 
It takes you much longer to will yourself back into an upright position; finding solace in the weight of the saddle pressed to your stomach. But is a crutch that you do not wish to exhaust, and so you right yourself until you can once again feel the expanse of Aemond's chest, snug against your own in an unintentional semblance of an embrace. That stubborn little part of you loathes how the other half preens at the sensation of it. Yearning to bask in affections that are not truly there like some lovestruck girl child that elects to ignore the obvious indifferences displayed by the object of her infatuation. It irritates you to no end. Filling you with a conflict that you do not wish to bear but are unable to ignore. Aemond does not love you, that much is clear. The nature of your union, the quiet apathy that he has shown you thus far have been unobtrusive but very telling in this. Even now, as he makes an effort to test the nature of your will and your desire to truly get to know him, hauling you upon the back of his dragon, it seems to hold closer bearings to that of a trial than a well-meaning rendezvous. 
The look that he had given you when he asked if you were primed to take flight was playful, almost in a malicious manner. Like he was expecting and counting on you to decline and flee. It makes you ponder if you have actually managed to surprise the prince by accepting his proposal and clambering astride the beast's saddle. If your decision to stay and meet his little challenge head on has pleased him at all. 
"Geptot, Vhagar!" Aemond commands, shouting to be heard over the roaring winds. Obediently, the great dragon adjusts the massive span of her wings, muscles rippling to rearrange herself on the support of the currents to redirect her glide in the direction of King's Landing and the vast glittering waters of Blackwater Bay that extends beyond. It is still such a shock to see such a tremendous creature acquiesce its will to the instruction of a man. A man that may sustain the blood of the gods, but still a man, nonetheless. 
She could consume the both of you a single snap of her jagged mouth. Your bodies would be a pitiful bite for her jaws. And yet she allows you to take up space along her back. To become a vessel to suspend you along the heavens to soar between the sparse clouds that hang within the azure cradle of the heavens like tufts of a lamb's fleece. Vhagar is a violent beast you know. You have heard the stories of her wars and blood-soaked accolades, the battlefields that she has left soot covered and smoking, littered with the remains of soldiers. She is a violent creature to be sure. Honed and defined by violence, and yet it is here, carted among the tepid winds, that you decide that she is a glorious behemoth. One whose years have been stained with the life's blood of millions, but it does little to tarnish the position she has taken in your eyes. Not necessarily one held by affections, but mostly a sense of respect and awe. 
You are not diluted enough to think that Vhagar holds any sort of esteem for you. Had you not been accompanied by her rider; you would have been lit aflame from so much as approaching her, but that simple truth does little to dissuade you from attempting to show her your appreciations though uncertainty and apprehension still takes root in your gut. Your hand has a slight tremor when you manage to peel your fingers from their tight grip around the horn. A symptom of the energy and searing heat that pumps through your veins at your body's instinctual fears rather than a conscious bewilderment, but you do not let it stop you from leaning forward as much as your reservations will allow to place a soft, unsure pat along her back. Though the size of the saddle is so great that you still only manage to stroke its leathers rather than the rough expanse of her flesh.
You know that there is no possibility that she managed to feel your touch through the thick of the preserved hide of the saddle. And even if the buffer had not been there, your hand probably would have felt like little more than the landing of a fly; bothersome and barely perceivable. But it still does work for you somewhat, to help in seeing her more as more than simply a vengeful, aggressive beast. 
It shocks you, when you allow yourself to gaze downward towards the horizon to see how quickly you are approaching the edge of the city. It has you daring to tilt your head downward to see past her wings to gaze upon the sprawling cluster of the buildings and structures that create the capital; the clay tiles of the many roofs burning in shades like honey and ginger. The rich hues only amplified by the golden tint of the evening sun. Smoke pours from the some of the stacks, puffing from the hearths, the people down below working to prepare tonight's dinners. The streets thread throughout the ancient settlement like tan lines of thread, intertwining and connecting to unify the entirety of the city, bustling with people who, from your high vantage point, look hardly more than little moving dots; completely unbothered by Vhagar's flight above. 
It's breathtaking. Literally, of course, with the winds that continuously rush against you, but also in the sense of how stunning the view of it is. Had you, in some other life, been blessed with the honor of a dragon, you fear that you would never come back down to earth. As the fear in your stomach begins to thaw and ebb, giving way to nothing but a bright awe, you realize that you could spend an eternity within the sky at peace. This may be freedom incarnate. Untied from the earthly responsibilities and troubles that ail you down below. Here, it is simply the wind beneath Vhagar's vast wings. The same winds that tug at your hair as though it means to unravel it from its dressings. A laugh, a true laugh bubbles up from your chest, rising with the brilliant, beaming warmth of joy, and the smile that tugs at your lips this time is irresistible. 
You doubt that the purpose of Prince Aemond spiriting you away on this outing had any intentions of truly extending an olive branch. Not one in the expectations of actually solidifying a bond between the both of you at least. This was meant to be a game of sorts; you are still entirely convinced. But even with that in mind, you are unable to feel anything other than gratitude. For so long you have been confined to the unfamiliar walls of the Red Keep. Forcing smiles upon your face to maintain the proper ladylike appearances for your social standing. Exchanging forged laughs with the men and women of the court, batting your eyes like a dazed fool as you suffocate within the entrapments of your own longings for home. Strangely, it is here, where the harsh breezes threaten to stifle to the flow of air into your lungs that you feel at your lightest since you have been at the Red Keep. He knows naught of what he has given you, and even if he did, you surmise that he probably would not care regardless. 
Despite the possibility of Prince Aemond's reasonings, it does not stop you from turning your head, rotating your shoulders as best as you can to enable the motion as you make to look at him. It knocks you somewhat off-guard to see that he is already watching you. You had also not anticipated the proximity between your faces, with hardly more than a hair's breadth left between your noses which are so close they could touch. If you only twitch forward the press of your mouth could easily brush along the plush of his lips. The urge of it comes with the realization that the prince has never kissed you. Not even whilst you both fulfil the duties of your marriage in the midst of the night. It has all been disconnected. Done with the same automated detachment that one does with their chores. It should serve as a cold dousing of reality. It should make the rise of your emotions die down into a tame hush, but it does not. 
Your chest heaves involuntarily at the weight of his stare - of how near he is. Your thoughts are tempted to unravel. To get the better of you and indulge in the smoky, lewd corners of your mind that you have not allowed yourself to entertain, like a sinner giving into their temptations. 
The intensity that always seems to lurk within his attention is ignited ten-fold by the way that the sunlight glimmers within his eye, twinging the flecks of soft violets and rich blues with glints of golden light; it bathes his face in the same hue, making it seem as though the pale complexion of his skin has been kissed and painted by the sun itself; set alight by the dragon's blood that surges through his veins like liquid fire. The tresses of his hair billowing in streaks of a pallid silver that rivals the moons glow. 
He is beautiful. You are forced to mark it once again. How captivating the prince is. Disarmingly so, much like the stare that he continues to pin you in place with. The weight of it seems to reach into you, brushing along the boundaries of your spirit and binding it with its grasp. You are unable to discern the reasonings of his intensity, of what his thoughts might be. If they lean in your favor, or if you somehow may have unwittingly foundered into his bad graces. Just how you may have possibly stumbled is beyond you, but his tempers and his motives continue to be elusive. Still, the desire to speak honestly still hangs heavy. If anything, his attention only amplifies the need. 
"Thank you." It leaves your lips delicately. Or as softly as one can project while soaring through the skies without their voice being lost to the wind, and you can only hope that he was still able to detect the depths of your sincerity and appreciation. But you are certain that he hears you. You see the recognition of it flicker in his eye. Something else passes through it as well. It is an emotion that is beyond your scope of understanding. One that you have yet to witness upon the typically neutral or sardonic expressions he tends to display.  
His eye flickers downward. As though it is tracing the shape of your lips, attracted by the sound of your voice when you had spoken your gratitude. For a moment, you think that you must have imagined it. But the steady focus of his gaze is unignorable. He is truly trailing the contours of your mouth with his stare like he means to study them. Transfixed with a similar brand of concentration that he displays when he pours himself over his duties. But there is a fervor behind it that you have yet to personally witness; smoldering in his stare so strongly that it nearly pulls you into a trance. A molten heat flows down your spine, settling inside the pit of your gut with a warmth that startles you. The magnitude of the sensation is a shock, pulling a ragged gasp from your chest and like a puppet follows after the tug of its strings, your head snaps back to face the horizon to break whatever strange influence fallen over you both.
Your vision blindly locks on what lies ahead, desperately searching for something to distract yourself from the hazed chaos that clouds your mind. Though it is hard to focus with the near fevered way your skin has begun to warm, your chest rising and falling rapidly underneath the hold of your garments. The eye contact that you had shared was broken, but the effects of it still linger on you. It envelops you tightly, tingling over your skin, whispering along your flesh like fingertips. It has bout of nervousness fluttering inside of you like a cluster of frenzied butterflies, and it melts when it meets the foreign rush of heat that muddles you, twisting into something excited and burning. 
It has you adrift in a torrent. Completely at the mercy of your own emotions and desires - the severity of which, you had been utterly ignorant to. You scan the rippling face of the waters below, and the sight of it has your mind sluggishly realizing that Vhagar has flown you all past the boundaries of the city and the edges of the land to coast above the glittering, shifting face of Blackwater Bay. It is a sight that would have encapsulated the entirety of your observation before. You would have delighted in the way that the cerulean waters underneath the dragon's wings reflect the suns light like diamonds laid out along a rich silk, but it has become increasingly difficult to do so as you have become increasingly hyperaware of the prince. The press of him at your back, the enticing warmth of him latching onto your skin and spreading so potently that you think it may have sunk bone deep. 
Still, you hardly have the ability to prepare yourself for the sensation of Prince Aemond melding himself closely against you until the faintest stretch of space between you has been completely eliminated. His hips nudge tightly along yours, all but nestling your rear even deeper into the cradle of them in a manner that is entirely crude.
A confused question rests heavily in your mouth, but it is all but snuffed out when he tucks his head against your own, hooking his chin over your left shoulder as the hand that he had previously dropped from the horn of his saddle once again raises to take its position back above your own, as though it had never left. It makes your heart beat wildly like the wings of a startled bird, and the enlivened rhythm only quickens when his scent envelopes you with his proximity. It swaddles you in that mouthwatering combination of leather and smoke. The earthy musk and robust spice seem to find a home in your lungs. 
"Gaomas bisa drējī kostilus ao, ābrazȳrys?" 
The sudden velveteen sound of his voice over the whistle of the wind inspires your body to still. As though drawn under a trance every facet of your being seems to become inert. Quiet in its endeavor to listen to the words that spilled from him. You assume that he must be speaking to Vhagar. Entrusting another command onto her in his ancestors' tongue, but the beast makes no movements to suggest that she has heard him. The tone in which he spoke with was low, but purposeful. As though he were sharing a secret, conversational in its cadence. 
You are almost reluctant to draw the conclusion that he may be talking to you instead. For some reason, the idea of such a thing seems so ludicrous, despite having spoken to him before. In brief moments when your paths cross within the castle or when society demands it for appearances. He had exchanged words with you on the ground previously, just before Vhagar had taken flight, yet it all feels so impossible. Strange from the odd rapport that seeps into the atmosphere around you. The gusts that rush past you in dashing currents are unable to destroy the inviting aura that has dropped around you both. Yet is all still so jarring. Abrupt in a way that is strange and new. And the aspect that he is using High Valyrian has left you especially lost. Hanging onto words that you could not comprehend as though they were the answer to a salvation that you did not know you needed.  
"Naejot sagon kesīr lēda nyke?" His head tips much lower now. So dangerously close that his lips sweep along the edge of your ear when he murmurs to you. 
"I do not understand." You confess, daring to slant your face towards his. Such a minute movement but it has the point of his nose nudging at your temple, drawing him all that much closer. He hums in the back of his throat. A quiet sound as though he is considering your utterance. It is humiliating how it makes your entire being thrum with something that is suspiciously close to delight. 
"Pāsan ziry gaomas." 
Your brows pinch close in a confused furrow as he continues to use his second tongue. It is almost as though he is teasing you. Like he is prodding at a weakness that you did not realize you had; an animal nipping and digging at a wound to watch its prey jerk in its grasp. He is teasing you. The small clues there all connect and tie together a little too finely when the understanding creeps in on you. 
He knows, your consciousness decides quickly. He must have figured out the infatuation you have with his voice. The allure that it has on you when he especially uses it to articulate the rhythm of that old language. Perhaps he had seen it on your face. In your eyes, the way that your breath snags in your throat or how your muscles seen to tense with anticipation at the sound of it. It could make you embarrassed that you have been so obvious in your attraction to it. So much so that he means to taunt you for it so openly. But here and now, with his form so hot along your own and the desire that burns so steadily in your gut, you are unable to find it within yourself to be irritated or sheepish over the fact. 
"Ēza nyke pendagon " - the curve of his lip glides along your ear, and you swear that you can feel the damp warmth of his tongue trace the sensitive skin - "hen mirre se tolie ways nyke could kostilus ao." 
The shiver that skips itself down your spine is completely involuntary. You can only hope that he will assume it to be caused by the chill of the winds, but you know truly that he would be a complete simpleton to think so, and Prince Aemond is anything but. You are sure, without seeing, that his mouth has lifted into the faintest hints of smirk; the impression of it against your ear. Time stutters when his thumb sweeps down along the knuckles of your right hand. It is such a small motion. A gentle, subtle caress. One that would hardly receive one's attention but is so different from any other gesture he has displayed for you that it has something inside of you melting and turning tender. It is damning for you. 
Some kind of plea smolders on the tip of your tongue like molten honey. A plea for what is entirely beyond you. For him to relent and move away to give you air? But even simply the idea of such a thing has you mourning the loss that has not come. This entire situation is nudging at the boundaries of the dynamic you have built with the prince thus far. It is unexpected. Bizarre even. But also, entirely exhilarating in a way that fills your lungs with excitement and looms over your being with a charged type of anticipation. 
And then, just as quickly as he had invigorated the raw suspension between your bodies, he removes himself away from you to hold his posture straight and his thumb slips from your knuckles to return its grip on the saddle horn. You are suspended in air, but the loss of his warmth feels as though the support of the earth has been abruptly tugged from underneath your feet. Humiliation wells up, and anger. It seems like a jest on his part. A cruel trick for what purpose you are not certain. To stroke his own ego. To make you feel like a fool. 
It is bitter in your mouth. The tart of it induced by your bewilderment. It leaves you woefully unmoored as your body craves his even as he still remains behind you, his thighs and hips embracing your own. The whispering of the ocean-salted wind suddenly sounds like a lonely, warbling cry. But even while in the midst of your internal conflicts, the longing has yet to subside; instead pooling in your belly. A gasp pushes from your chest, and you urge yourself to look upon the waters beneath and the horizon ahead. Marking a mark of the clouds that drift about the golden support of the heavens, counting a flock of waterfowl that fly in cluster above the ocean as a means to collect yourself, though it proves to be futile. 
"Let us return home now, wife - the hour grows late." 
You make no means to return a comment or to refute. You remain silent as you both dread and crave the return back to the Red Keep. You have no desire to bear the facade that you have been masquerading in for so long, but being grounded may also help you in gathering the torrent of your emotions. Still, the flight back to Vhagar's chosen plot of earth outside the edge of the forest arrived quicker than you had anticipated, and the dismount from her saddle had nearly been just as awkward as the ascension. Neither of you had exchanged any words as you found your horses still hitched to the branches that they had been left posted at earlier, cropping at the rich grass near the base of the tree with their teeth. 
The bustling of the streets does little to assist the chaotic nature of your thoughts as you guided your mount through the crowds alongside the prince. A part of you was still briefly able to marvel how you had just seen the same avenues from above only moments before; the people who had once appeared as little specs now parted around you to make way for you and the prince. Some daring to pass the two of you fleeting glances as you went about. 
You receive similar looks once within the interior of the 'Keep. The servants and people of the court pass you curious and disapproving peeks at the muddied edges of your skirts as you carried yourself down the winding, grand hallways. Though you pay them little mind. Instead, you direct yourself to try not to focus on the dull, rhythmic tap of Prince Aemond's footsteps from their place beside you as he trails you like a stubborn shadow. He had proposed that he escort you to your quarters, as is expected of a husband. 
There is a new sort of uncertainty that has been wedged between the two of you. Though it is so very different from the quandary that had been there before. This type has no longer tinged with apprehensions or resistance, but instead it is almost alive. The want that festers inside of you is so strong that it is nearly tangible; a creature with claws that means to creep and snatch and a hunger that demands to be feed. You are not entirely lost. You are informed of the body's desires and the symptoms that often accompany it. But it is rarely something that you have ever experienced yourself apart from the few rare nights that you had built up the courage to explore yourself within the privacy of your own apartments. And never have you ever felt it so fiercely, searing and thrumming throughout your flesh. 
The buzz of your previous flight does little to damp the fervor of it. If anything, it douses a potent fuel upon the embers, daring to set the smoldering cinders aflame. The scent of him is strong at your side. Sharp from the winds and mouthwatering with the crisp, spicy aroma of his natural musk, and it is a temptation that you can only hope that you will be able to resist. Your only solace is that the entrance to your quarters draws near, only a few paces left near the end of the corridor, and you look to the massive looming doors as thirsting man would an oasis. 
"I take it that you enjoyed todays outing, my lady," Aemond says from your side. 
It draws your attention to him like an insect becoming hypnotized by the gentle flickering an unguarded fire. You dare to allow yourself to admire the almost lazy saunter he carries himself with, the composed way that he holds his hands behind the controlled posture of his back. 
"I did. Truly." You answer honestly. Not even the muddled state of your feelings and yearning could keep you from repelling the truth from him. You find yourself twisting softly on the heels of your feet as you both come to stand before the entrance of your apartments, moving to enable yourself to meet his gaze. It suddenly feels too vulnerable. You no longer have the buffer of being shielded from his stare as you stand in a pair at the end of the dimming hall. He watches you keenly. His expression is mild, and it is only his eye that displays a faint hint of curiosity, but it is enough to prompt you in continuing. "I do not wish to burden you with my toils, but finding my place here within the court has been an adjustment. The people here have been kind, yet it is still a somewhat of a challenge to find my footing. " You pause, the air snagging in your throat and you find your fingers winding together in an awkward clasp as you work to navigate yourself and bear the weight of his unflinching observation. "The flight with you and Vhagar, it was a reprieve that I did not expect to be afforded. I know that you have been occupied by the priorities of the kingdom and the burdens of the war; you have little moments available for yourself, I imagine. So I am grateful that you made an effort to extend that time to me." 
It all seems so delicate now. Something vulnerable has wormed through the cracks of your already weakened restraints. And you swear that you see something just as uncertain and raw peek through the detached facade of the prince. Such a pale passing of emotions that had you not been paying so much attention to him; it might have slipped past your observation. It looks odd, but not unbecoming on him. He is typically so relaxed and serene. Unstirred by the influences of his surroundings. It manages to endear and embolden you all at once, and as though they have a mind of their own you find your feet closing the small amount of distance that divides you. The prince's vision is latched onto you as you move near, unwavering and heavy in his watch. 
For once in your uncertain relationship with the prince, it is you who seems to hold the sense of power. As shaky and foreign as it is. But he observes you with the same speculative surprise as a predator that has been taken off guard and is deciding on if its energy should be spent on fighting or evading. You make sure to be gentle in your approach, lest you break the brittle, intimate blanket that has fallen the vacant corridor. You can nearly hear the thump of your own heartbeat inside of your chest, pulsing along the palms of your hands. 
You surprise yourself as you dare to lean forward into his space. The scent of him engulfs you, and the perfume of it is almost dizzying. Clouding over you in a rush of subtle spice, leather and wind. It guides you press your lips upon the high ridge of his cheek. The soft divot of the scar catches underneath your mouth; the gnarled slivers of its subtly raised edges. You make sure to be gentle so's not to possibly aggravate the old, damaged tissue. His skin is warm. Sultry and smooth against your lips. You raise a single hand upward to place your fingertips along the sharp sweep of his jaw as a means to ground yourself. Or perhaps it is just an excuse to touch more of him. You are not entirely certain anymore. 
You can feel his chest swell with a surprised breath, muscles pulling taut underneath the leather of his doublet. You fear that you may have overstepped, and it draws you to break the kiss from his skin, though you find it difficult to pull away. He has made no attempt to tear his face from the light hold of your fingertips. He remains fixed in place. Quiet and motionless. For one horrid moment, you fear that you might have actually been able to disgust him. That you had terribly transgressed and shattered the delicate little relationship that you have only just began to fabricate. 
But when you look to meet his gaze the stare that he is studying you with holds a sort of hunger that you have yet to ever experience, and it is so disorienting to be on the receiving end. It completely eclipses the way that he had watched you with during the flight. You are sure that this is how it feels to be stalked by something dangerous and starved. It mutates with the vulnerability that seeps into his posture, and the combination of it melts into an ardor that is stifling. 
You are not sure how to navigate it. Of what this all could mean for you. For him. It has your blood roaring through your veins. Everything falls into a hush. You are sure that the rest of the castle is still lively with the preparations for supper. Servants are no doubt preoccupied by the nature of their longwinded duties, causing the innerworkings of the Keep to astir as they all go about their own matters. But here, in this quiet corridor, it feels as though you have been tucked away into your own private bubble. Sealed away and safe within its dulcet embrace. 
You can see the want in his eye so clearly. Bright and burning in its quality, but he makes no moves to act upon it. It is so strange to see what appears to be a sort of hesitance in the prince. Someone who is usually so certain of their wants and desires and acts on them unflinchingly. Arrogantly, even. It makes him appear so much more human. For once, in the little amount of time that you have known him, he finally stands close at a base that you could compare yourself. Not a god. But simply a man. A man who experiences reservations and uncertainty just as you do. One made of bone and blood - even if that blood may run hot with dragonfire. He still just a man. One who appears as though he wishes to seek you out. To bask in the comfort of your flesh and consume you where you stand but will not allow himself to. 
You are unsure where this sense of hesitancy could stim from. You have already lain together before in the hopes of producing a child and he had not shied away in any of those occurrences; having taken you with that cold, calculating indifference each time. You have no ability to say what has inspired the felling of that austere approach, but the sudden lack of it rouses a bravery that has long evaded you. Your lips, still hovering closely above his cheek venture to press against his skin once again. Much lower than their previous position along the sharp contours of his face, but now only a few scant breaths from his own lips. 
You pause briefly to surmise his reaction. Gauging the shift in his breathing and the way that he holds himself to see if you may have misread and breached an unsaid boundary, but he makes no move to tear himself from your proximity. But that is not enough. You must hear it from him. 
"Do you wish for me to stop-" 
A surprised yelp is snuffed from your throat when the plush of his mouth claims yours in a kiss that is so passionate that it is nearly ferocious. Your teeth clack together from the rough nature of it. It makes your mind draw a complete blank. All semblance of thought mutes down into a quiet hum as every bit of your being draws down to focus on the entirety of him. So heavy in its attentions that you hardly bear notice when he crowds you against the heavy doors of your chambers. So eager that the back of your skull knocks on the thick, ornate wood. The pain that flares is stinging and sharp, but you can hardly bother to pay it any attention as he presses himself along your body like he may starve without it. 
Once it all finally catches up with you, you find your hands reaching to sweep along him explorative, greedy strokes. Your fingers claw at his doublet, slipping along the buttery leathers in a weak grip before moving to clutch at the nape of his neck to draw him closer to you. It is crazed. Animalistic. A perversion of the sort of chaste affections that a lady should share with her husband, but you can hardly be bothered to care while your body is overcome with relief. It is suddenly as though he has become the air you require to breathe, and you are under the threat of suffocating. 
His hands are just as rapacious as your own. Clutching at your hips, your waist; reaching fingers gripping onto your hair. He is like some feral animal that does not know where to bite first. Desperate for the taste of flesh and blood but unsure of where to start. 
His teeth nip at your lips; tongue swiping, and obediently your jaw softly parts to allow him to lick into your mouth. The moan that leaves you sounds shocking to your own ears but it is impossible to be ashamed when the taste of him seems to set you on fire. You are quickly to reciprocate with equal ardor, but it is clumsy and underskilled on your part. And it dawns on you that this is your first true kiss with your husband, so very far off from the demure, obligated peck that he had given to you on your wedding day. It makes you burn all the hotter. Your eagerness intensifying tenfold as you grip onto him as though he may vanish if you do not. 
An almost wounded sound leaves you when he removes his mouth from your own. Though it is promptly stamped out when he nudges your head to the side with his own to latch the wet heat of his mouth onto the tender flesh of your neck. A contented sigh leaves you and your body seems to lose all of its strength, going lax against the support of the door as your head lulls back to bear your throat to the bite of his teeth and the suction of his tongue. You feel as though you are turning to mush. Going pliant underneath his ministrations; the heat of him has melted you like wax. 
It is the low bubble of chatter that breaks you from the haze that dips over your mind like the beginning effects of alcohol. Your eyes flutter open to gaze over the prince's shoulder, though he has not even so much as slowed the searing kisses along your flesh. Whether that be because he simply does not care or because he has not noticed the sound of carried voices you are not sure, but you cannot keep yourself from trying to peer down the long stretch of the corridor to spy for the origins of the conversation. You see no one but you are certain whoever is speaking is nearby. Their voices carried and projected by the stone no doubt, but they could round the corner at any moment and catch you and the prince in a most unbecoming manner. 
You mourn the very idea of stopping him, but the requirement to keep appearances and your position of the court untainted from untoward gossip prevails. It has you slipping your fingers along the roots that grow from the nape of his neck to tug as gently as you possibly can, urging him to pry his mouth from your flesh but he remains unmoving. Almost stubborn in his exploration of tasting the salt on your skin. 
"Aemond," you call softly. "We must stop; we will be caught." 
That seems to pull him from the fervent spell that had been casted over him. He finally allows himself to be removed from the crook of your neck, righting his posture meet your line of vision with a slight pant in his breath. The passion in his stare has not wavered or diminished at all. If anything, it seems all the fiercer. 
 
"Will you invite me into your chambers?" He inquires against your lips. "Will you have me?" 
The way he stated the question was straight forward. Blunt in what it implied. Unshy in its desire. But there is an unmistakable edge to it that is almost frail. Fragile in its essence. You know now that here the both of you are at a fork in the path. One single decision that may decide the fate of what lies ahead, and the balance of your matrimony. Prince Aemond wears that facade of his. Like no matter what response leaves from you he will be unbothered, but you can see the vulnerability bleeding into his gaze. You hear it in his questions. The hope that you do not turn him away. 
You know then that you will not send him off down the corridor while you tuck yourself away in your chambers alone. Not as elation and peace wraps itself around you and urges you to tug him closer; guiding him towards you as you make to reach behind to grab for the door latch. 
"Yes, I will have you Aemond." You whisper it softly, as though it is something sacred and delicate. 
That is all it takes to earn his mouth back upon you. Just as starved as it had been before. You are not certain which one of manages to pry one of the doors ajar, but as soon as it is open, you find yourself slipping through the entry as you pull him through by his shoulders as you blindly guide each other across the floor of your apartments. You just vaguely register the sound of the door slamming shut behind you both, but you hardly pay it any mind as his hands sweep along your hips with a grip that threatens to smart skin. The heel of your foot nearly trips along the edge of the tapestry rug, and it is Aemond's firm grip that keeps you secure as you attempt to navigate your clumsy journey to the bed. 
Already his fingers slip behind you, eagerly tugging at your skirts like he means to ruck them over your hips, but then he stops himself short and backs away from you so abruptly that for a second you fear that he is having regrets. That he plans to storm out of your quarters and pretend that this has never happened. His eyes trails over you as he steps away, halting himself he is several paces from you to observe your disheveled state. 
"Undress yourself."  
He says it that poised, calm cadence of his, but the order in it is still apparent. For some reason it makes you pause. You have never been completely bare before him. All of the previous times you had been afforded the crutch of your shift, skin always concealed from view. During your bedding ceremony, while the corridor just outside of Prince Aemond's chambers were crowded with the wedding quests, the attendees of the court and the Crowns Sept, all present to make sure the tradition was followed accordingly, you had still clung to the safety that your chemise had provided you. The two of you were hurdling over so many new steps and parameters in your relationship. For some reason, it does not feel obtrusive or jarring. Simply unexpected. Unfamiliar. But exciting still. 
You reach for the silk placket on the front your bodice, carefully unplucking the golden straight pins that your maidens had secured it with just this morning, being mindful to tack them back into the fabric so they do not drop upon the floor and run the risk of jabbing someone underfoot. Your fingers quiver slightly as you begin to unwind the ribbon lacings underneath, tugging them free from their eyes to loosen the grip of your bodice until the rest of the gown slides free of its grip on your body, enabling you are able to slip the sleeves from your arms for the rest of the garment to pool around your feet. 
You still have several layers to go; held within the confines of your kirtle but he is already watching you with an impassion stare akin to starvation. All of the vigor that he had unleashed on you before in the drag on his lips and the nipping of his teeth has been detained and seized onto with a shaky resolve; his weak restraint projected through the near feral look in his eye. It is clear that he wishes to watch you unburden yourself of your clothes. It gives him some kind of pleasure, to observe you exposing more of yourself to him at his whims. And you would like to indulge that lewd desire of his, but you know that the lacings along the back of your kirtle will be difficult to undo on your own. It is rigid in its structure, and combined with how tightly the many levels silk cord that cross up your spine are cinched, it will be a challenge. Often times it is a pain for even the deft fingers of your maids. 
"Would you so kind, lord husband, to assist me?" You do not bother in awaiting his response as you rotate around to present your back to him. The room is silent, save for the quiet rise and fall of the air steadily leaving and returning to your lungs. You do not hear him diminish the space the separates you both. The sound of his boots along the stone floors does not make a single tap or echo for you to gauge his nearness. But then his hands are just on you, settling at the point between your shoulder blades to pluck at the knot of your silk ribbons.   
The warmth of him wafts against you, causing the hairs along the nape of your neck to rise and your skin to pepper with gooseflesh. You crave to lean back into him. To bask in his natural, soothing heat, but you command yourself to remain stationary as he begins to tug at your lacings. Much steadier and slower than you have suspected. It has anticipation building and churning within your gut. Smoldering and settling like hot coals and molten wax beneath your flesh. 
His lips come to sweep along the junction of your neck, feeling as though they are branding you in their exploration. It should be of a concern with how much that thought thrills you. The idea of walking around with the prince's marks clearly presented for the court to see is an indecorous idea - downright craven. And yet it does nothing but make the flames inside roar brighter. 
You feel the moment that he finished in unlacing the kirtle. It slackens considerable on your torso, before he hastily slips the embroidered edge of the neckline from your shoulders; the truth of his avidity managing to peek through such a simple action. And just like that the materials fall from your body, leaving you in nothing but your shift. It shocks you how quickly his hands find a place on your hips. Fingers clasping tightly like he is resisting the urge to tenderize your skin underneath the pressure of his palms. But that twisted little part of you is still present and greedy. It has you pressing the shape of your rear against his pelvis, and you are unable to contain the delighted gasp that leaves you at the hard press of his cock straining underneath his breeches. 
He has not even seen you naked yet and already the evidence of his arousal nudges at you through the thin fabric of your chemise. He groans as you continue to roll your hips against you his. It's a pleased, low noise, that nearly sounds like a purr rumbling from his chest, and it vibrates along your neck as he threatens to sink his teeth just underneath the edge of your jaw. His fingers begin to tug and lift at the skirt of your shift to pile it around your waist. 
You twitch as he exposes you to the tepid draft of the room; nipples hardening beneath the delicate fabric at the chill. Suddenly, one of his hands is placed before you, fingers hovering close to your mouth as though he expects something of you. Your thoughts scramble along. Already pathetically sluggish and scattered from the lust searing at your being.  
"Take them into your mouth and bite, ābrazȳrys," he guides in a firm murmur. 
Obediently, your lip's part, allowing him to guide the tips of his fingers past them. The leathers concealing the nimble length of his digits is smooth along your tongue. Warm and slightly tangy in its flavor on your palate. The weight of them makes your eyes lashes flutter, threatening to slip closed before a distant voice in the recesses of your mind chides you to follow his desire, and eager to please you gently clamp the edges of your teeth down onto the tips of his gloves. He coos in a satisfied manner when he notices the compliant press of your teeth. He tugs his hand free from the casing of its glove, allowing the now empty garments to lie limp in your mouth before he removes it from between your teeth to discard it somewhere along the floor. 
You vaguely watch his hand from your peripherals as it lifts past the scope of your vison, but the low, wet sound in your ears cues you on what he may be doing. He is licking his fingers. Getting them wet. It makes your body thrum with want. The flavor of his gloves is still strong. A temptation that you never would have imagined. He had used your mouth for something that seems so frivolous, and yet it makes you ache. It reminds you of a bit of course chatter that you had heard from one of the ladies of the court.  A horrible gossip who often whispers of the most perverse of topics between lovers. Though you could not help but to have been intrigued when she spoke of pleasing one of her paramours with nothing but her tongue. 
You know what Aemond plans to do with his hands. The anticipation of it bubbles along the atmosphere like water simmers inside a heated pot, threatening to boil over as his fingers slip between your thighs and part your damp heat with little fanfare. Your body seems to sizzle. A delicious buzz licks up your spine as he sweeps a single finger over your cunt to gather the slick that already threatens to smear down the inside of your legs. Collecting it on the pad of his digit to aid him in delivering a slow, torturous circle along your clit. A drawn-out whine rips itself from your chest, and even with his hand buried underneath the fabric of your skirt, working pleasure between your thighs, you cannot help but to think of the possibility of taking him into your own mouth. 
To delight in the weight of his cock filling it up, weighing on your tongue. How it might taste. The expressions he would make. If his eye would express the same vulnerability that he had displayed to you in the hallway, when he asked if you would have him. Would that hint of desperation no longer be masked, but instead boldly shown? Would his face pinch with pleasure, eye clouded with lust as he watched you on your knees before him?
How gorgeous he would look. 
You have to tuck your face into his shoulder as you helplessly rock your hips against the ceaseless strum of his finger, muffling your cry as he suddenly slips one within the entrance of your cunt, forcing it to stretch and give around its width. He brushes it experimentally along your walls, almost like he is prodding or searching for something within you. Distracting you with the press of the heel of his hand on the bud of your nerves, feeding the fires the pit of your belly. He does find what he is in search of with an adept quickness. You feel it as soon as he does. The blind yet tactful pursuit is rewarded when he caresses something devastating buried inside of you. You gasp, breath snagging as you burrow your nose into his neck, choking on his scent while you search for your voice.  
"Aemond, please." It comes out as hardly more than a wanton moan puffed against his skin, and your hips continue to chase after the exquisite heat that he is effortlessly stoking within the cradle of your thighs. "Please, Aemond. I want to taste you. I want you in my mouth." 
You feel the way he hums in consideration more than you hear it. A nonchalant noise, as though you have questioned him about the quality of his day. As though he was not knuckle deep inside of your cunt. "Hmm, such a temptation. Though, if I recall correctly, was it not my wife who ventured into my chambers with revelations of her loneliness? It seems that I have long ignored my husbandly duties. I think it is due time that I rectify that." 
Those words sound so promising. So sweet in its oath. So, it is entirely cruel when he all but rips his finger from the walls of your cunt, leaving you feeling empty and the scorching embers in your gut smoking but unfanned. A question, an insult, or a cry hang on your tongue, but you never get the opportunity to figure out which it is. Aemond grips you by the shoulders and nudges you in the direction of your bedding, giving you little time to orient yourself through the lustful haze that has clouded your mind over. 
"I want you lying down on your back; cunt spread." His instruction rings out sharply. Like a strategized order that would be given in council. "And remove that fucking garment from your body." 
He spat out the sentence as though the cloth is an offence to him. The sight of it alone enough to rouse his ire. So eager to see you bare before him. You have half the mind to try and tease him, but tonight you can hardly be bothered. The weight of the shift is stifling on your dampened skin, and his covetous stare urges you to do his bid. You do not turn to face him as you disrobe. It nudges from your shoulders easily. Dropping free from your body to leave you in nothing more than your silk stockings and garters, and the diamond accessories that dangle from the lobes of your ears. 
You swear that you can feel the line of his vision upon your flesh. Trailing down your spine, tracing the shape of your ribs as they meet the contour of your waist, skirting along the swell of your arse. You do not turn to face him until you place your knees on the cushion of your mattress, plush and filled with down and feathers, offering you enough support to crawl along the stretch of it before turning on your back as he had bidden. The impassioned look in his eye seems to suspend you adrift. It does not make you feel disgustingly ogled or leered at to be so blatantly admired. He studies you as though he is in the presence of something sanctified. Divine. 
You are not sure of how to compose yourself underneath such unabashed devotion. The only thing that seems to give you any sort of stability is the continued ring of his earlier command reverberating in your mind. You cling to it, like someone who is threatened to be swept away in a rough tide. It is almost absentmindedly that your leg's part, offering yourself up to the insatiable stare of your husband in a manner so vulgar. But you cannot deny that there is something titillating about it. How his posture seems to simultaneously go rigid and slack all at once. A restraint in his composure visibly snapping before he stalks across the room towards you like he means to devour you. 
He is upon you before you can hardly blink. Gripping onto the thick of your upper thigh with his gloved, left hand to further pry your legs apart. Stretching them until you can nearly feel the strain of it in the joint of your hip. "Sīr gevie se dōna raqagon bisa, issa ābrazȳrys." He lifts your opposite up just enough to nose at your knee, ghosting his lips about the breadth of it as his eye locks with your own sight. Something nearly playful dancing in the vivid shade of colors. "Gaomagon ao sylutegon sepār hae dōna?"
He continues to sweep his nose along your flesh. Dragging it downward towards your intimacy, where you burn and ache for him the most. You cannot stop yourself from rolling your hips upward, tempted by the warmth of his breath gliding along your skin and the heat of your cunt. It makes you clench around nothing, as though your body is mourning how empty you are without the stretch of his fingers. 
"Aemond, pleas-" 
He hushes you softly. A placating, quiet sound but it cuts through the air with the swift impact of a steady blade. Like an eager soldier you find yourself falling silent. Focused entirely on him as he lay between your thighs with the relaxed composure of a dragon with its prey already secure between it fangs. "Patience," he murmurs. Though he hardly gives you any time exercise such a restraint because his mouth is on you as soon as the word leaves him. The shock and feel of it sears through you, lashing itself across your body akin to charges of lightning crackling across a storm. Nothing could have prepared yourself for such a thing. The wet heat, the suction of his lips, the skilled slip of his tongue. 
Your legs twitch on reflex, threatening to close but the hand that he had clasped around your thigh keeps it secure in place. Still, it does not stop him from glancing up at you from the apex of your legs with an unvoiced reprimand glinting in his eye. A broken cry shudders from your lungs. Sharp breaths nearly hiccupping from you as he licks at your cunt, burrowing the pronounced, attractive swoop of his nose against your clit while his tongue laps at your entrance. You cannot stop yourself as you begin to sway your hips along the press of it. Practically riding his face with the mindless drive of a woman possessed. Your fingers claw along the blankets; nails tearing at the fabric like it might help you weather through the bolts of ecstasy that ravage your body.  
Your head lifts to properly gaze upon him as he continues to drag his tongue over you, groaning softly into your heat as though he were the one experiencing pleasure. You have heard of women satisfying their husbands with the comforts of their mouths but never the opposite. You know now that it is easily something that you could become addicted to. And based on the pleased pinch between his brows and the way that his eye has nearly slipped closed it seems that he has just as much of an appetite for it. 
"Oh, my gods! Aemond- fuck!" 
You can feel the amused chuckle he releases vibrate along your cunt, making the burning coil in your gut wind that much tighter. He parts his lips from you just long enough to speak, slipping a finger within the tight entrance of your heat just as he does so, crooking it against that delicious spot that he had found nestled within you earlier. "Such a filthy mouth you have on you. How unbecoming for someone who holds the title of a princess." He mocks, crudely stroking and curling his finger within the tight warmth of your cunt. You think distantly to scold him. To remind him of who has drawn such untoward responses from you in the first place but then he is guiding a second digit in along the other, making you stretch to accommodate them; causing your mind to blank. "What would they think if they could see you now? Mewling like well-paid whore."  
You are not sure why that awful little comment has warmth drizzling down your spine like drops of warmed honey. You feel yourself flutter around the ceaseless pulse of his fingers, back arching in a means to draw him deeper. He notices as well. Of course he does, ever so observant. It has him humming in that considering way of his. Like he is pleased with his discovery. You expect another witty remark from him but get none. What he chooses to say next is even more damning. 
"I'm going to fuck you with my fingers, and you are going to be a good little wife and peak on my tongue." 
His tone leaves no room for argument - not that you have given him any in this state. Especially not when the sultry drag of his mouth returns to your cunt to join the clever curl of his fingers. The combination of it threatens to make you sob. Your body writhes when he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking at it gently with steady pulses of his tongue. One of your hands blindly reaches to grip his head, threading your finger through the silken tresses of his hair as though it might ground you; keep you from floating away. It is all so overwhelming. Too much and yet too little. And like a starved glutton you find your opposite palm coming to slip along your own torso, sweeping along your feverish skin to explore your breasts. You mindlessly reach to take your nipples between your thumb and fingers, rolling and plucking at it to further stoke the fire in your belly. 
You hear the sound of Aemond's pleased groan, no doubt watching you from his place between your legs as you touch yourself. Already the rapture flooding your veins begins to rise up. Cresting upon you like a wave being tossed within a great tempest. You can practically taste it. Dancing along your tongue like something sweet and hot; burrowing into the cradle of your hips by the euphoric drag of his hand and tongue. 
"Aemond!" You sob. With the intent to warn him or to merely cry you are not sure. Your face pinches as the grip of your pleasure begins to close around you, holding you tight within its vice like it means to wring every ounce of euphoria from you. "Aemond, I'm going to- gods-" 
The glide of his mouth and fingers is almost brutal. Precise and nimble in his intent to hurdle you headfirst into the throes of bliss, and he is certainly achieving that goal. You can feel the muscles within you drawing up tight; fire lashing and curling over you and wearing at your soul. You can hardly speak. Now struggling to get out broken panting breaths and pieces of the prince's name as your release bears down on you. He shows you no mercy in your state, continuing to suckle and lap at your cunt like he means to drink you down. 
It is with a wrecked scream that you reach your peak. The cry that rips from your throat is short and hoarse, and there is no doubt that some unfortunate soul wandering the hall has heard you. Though you are too beyond yourself to care. Sparks bursts inside your flesh, dousing you in a bliss that you have naught ever brought yourself. Like a mindless animal your body continues to ride itself against the press of Aemond's tongue, his nose, his fingers, all of which still work against you to draw out the euphoria that engulfs you. 
It is not until you hiss from the sudden tenderness in your cunt that he wills himself to pull away, giving you a reprieve to lay boneless and spent along the plush of the bed. His breath is raged when he rises from your hips, face smeared with the evidence of your pleasure, his stare is wild. He looks disheveled, hair disordered from when you had gripped it and chest pulling in frantic gulps of breath. He nearly looks just as winded as you. Though you are surely partly to blame with how you had desperately pushed his face into your cunt like some sort of sex-crazed whore. And the patch of leather that conceals his eyes has become slipped from its place. Not enough to display whatever grievous, old wound may rest beneath, but another unintended brush against it may knock it askew completely. 
You do not think when you guide yourself to sit up and lift a hand, thoughtlessly using your thumb to nudge the leather back down to rest securely above his socket. But the realization seems to come to you both unanimously. His own hand coming to grip your offending wrist, keeping it suspended in its place in the air; your fingertips still resting on the structure of the patch. 
 The stare that passes between the both of you is joined by so many varying emotions. Many of them extending from his side: a brief flash of anger, bewilderment, unease. And then, there it is again. That trace of vulnerability that he tries so hard to contain. But it seems to always be there. Lurking underneath the surface like pain disturbing an old wound. And like a shadow, you see that hint of hope again too. It is the only things that keeps you from shifting from him. Of giving him space that you would have otherwise assumed he needs. But now you draw near. Resting on your knees to sit before him. Instead of attempting to withdraw your hand from his clutches, you instead reposition it to cradle the side of his face, maintaining to keep your touch light in case he chooses to remove himself from underneath your hand. 
Few breaths pass, and he makes no moves to do so. He leans closer. It is such a tiny gesture. A barely perceptible movement, but you feel it. The difference in weight against your hand. The glint in his eye pierces into you with a desperation. Like he is expecting you to suddenly come to a realization and flinch away out of fear. Like he is hoping that you do so. 
But you will do no such thing. You shift closer to him, making sure to be careful as not to accidentally prod his eye patch from its place while you clutch his cheek. He observes you closely. As though he is studying you. Searching for a shred of hesitation or disgust so that he may turn you away. The opportunity for him to do that does not come as you lift to seat yourself upon his lap. His chest expands almost shakily as he gazes at you. Eye slightly widened as though he is in a state of awe or disbelief. The sheer unabashed emotion reflecting inside that gorgeous mix of blue and violet could make your heart ache and skip. You long to tell him of how you feel. The breadth of your emotions. Not quite love yet, of course, but it must be the beginnings of it with how tender and passionate it burns, like the birth of a blaze. 
But that may be too much to confess. Perhaps, your actions will have to suffice for now. 
You are certain he gasps when your lips press against his, tongue sweeping along the plush of his mouth like he had done to your earlier, gathering the tart and sweet taste of yourself on your palate. The flavor of your own arousal does not deter you in the slightest. Not the damp of it against your skin as you draw him into a soft exchange of kisses. Much softer than the one that he had inspired in both of your earlier. This somehow seems so much more explorative. Delicate, even with the heat that begins to simmer beneath the surface once more. 
Your fingers once again slip and find purchase in his hair, nails lightly scraping at his scalp as your hips begin to undulate against the bulge that still presses against his breeches. He groans, panting into your mouth while he runs his hands along your nude flesh, reaching down to grip the swell of your arse to aid you in grinding your hips with his. The hard impression of his cock nudging at your cunt through the fabric of his trousers is delicious, even while you are still slightly tender from your previous pleasure, licking a sensitive fire along your skin. Still, it does not stop you as you continue to grind yourself on him, wanton and aching once again. Delight peeks through the drunken haze of your desires as he removes on of his hand from you to slip between your bodies, fingers reaching for the laces of his breeches where he eagerly pulls at tugs at them to draw them loose. 
He groans sharply in relief when he guides himself from the restraint of his trousers. The alleviation must be great, with how long the straining weight of his cock has been tucked behind the material. You hear it in the low hiss that rises from his chest, and it has you humming softly at him, a light reposeful sound as you continue you to exchange a languid, unbroken kiss with him. The both of you unable to tear yourselves from each other, even has the hot length of his cock comes to rest against his stomach, now pinned between the pressure of both of your bodies, burning against your ferverish skin. 
"I need to feel you," he breathes against your lips. "Let me have you." 
You peek your eyes open long enough to consider him, and the longing that burns within the depth of his stare knocks something inside of your soul off guard, shaking the very foundations. Such raw, unprotected emotion. He stares at you as if you are the creator of the heavens, having fashioned the moon and the burning of the stars with only your hands. It makes you unsure of how to stand unwavering, unaffected underneath such a devoted gaze. If only he knew that it is you who wishes to worship him. To pour your affections and adoration onto him like an acolyte offering their deity tokens and praise. 
An understanding seems to pass through the both of you, a wordless communication. He reaches down to grip himself as you post your hands upon his shoulders, your nails burrowing into the leather of the doublet that he has not bothered to shed as a means to braces yourself as you line the head of his cock with the entrance of your heat. There is little fanfare before you begin to lower yourself onto him, splitting yourself on the head of cock as you use your thighs to settle downward. You walls stretch to accommodate his girth, fluttering as he guides you open to find solace in your body. A strained set of words seems to squeeze from his chest, all of them in that beautiful language that you yet to understand. It has a sense of pride flaring. A deep, hedonistic satisfaction welling up to know that you have such a strong, composed man crumbling around the edges from nothing more than the grip of your cunt. 
You place another brief kiss upon his lips, a smile tugging at them when he nearly tries to chase after you, but you distract him by further sinking yourself down around his length until your rump meets his thighs. His mouth drops open in response, eye fluttering at sensation of your walls clenching and flexing around him as though it means to somehow draw him deeper. 
The pressure of him inside of you, carving a space for himself within you almost makes you breathless. It licks itself up your spine like a bolt of lightning, forcing your body to shudder and draw closer to his, subconsciously seeking out the warmth of his skin and mourning when you feel nothing but the dim chill of his leather doublet. 
"Aemond," you beg softly. Your hips seem to have a mind of their own as they begin to lift themself upward to roll back down, working to repeatedly spear yourself on his cock with only desperation and hedonism guiding you. His hands come to grip your waist, spreading his thighs out wider to find a better stance to drive himself up inside of you easier, aided by the slick of your arousal, causing his thrusts to become even more pronounced. The sensation of his girth stretching you out to its shape, veins dragging along your walls has your back curving taut like a bowstring. 
The warmth of his mouth suddenly closes around one of your breasts, tongue lapping at the peak of your nipple as he continues to drive himself inside of you in a devastating rhythm. It has your mind drawing a blank. Going white like a wall of fog as embers and fire sear at the pit of your gut. Your lip's part. Soft gasps panting from your throat as he continues to ravage your body for his pleasure while further tearing you through the depths of yours. It seems to choke through you, forcing you to hiccup and whimper around the insistent pounding of his hips, the weight of his cock dipping inside of you. 
It is disoriented and abrupt when he shoves you onto the flat of your back, knocking what little bit of air was still contained inside of your lungs out and leaving you stunned. You can only lay and take it as your mind scrambles to gain a sense of clarity, while pleasure scalds itself throughout your veins, snuffing your body in a cloud of smoke. His body extends over yours, only supported by his arms posted on either side of your head. His mouth leaves your breast with a subtle nip of his teeth, sparking pleasure with their blunt edges, making you arch your chest to seek out more of it. 
But he ignores the blatant offering, opting to nudge himself up to kneel to better support his weight as he grabs one of your thighs to swing your leg along the perch of his shoulder. It somehow manages to drive him deeper. Effectively punching the air from your chest, the crown of his cock brushing along something inside of you that has your body twisting along the support of the bed. A sob wracks through you and your eyes nearly roll in the back of your skull. You distantly hear yourself whispering his name. Repeating it over and over again with all of the devotion and desperation of a mantra, of a prayer meant for the ears of a god. And here above you now, he certainly looked like one. Pale eye blazing and wild with his lust, hair unkept and freeing from its tie, a sheen of sweat glittering along his pale flesh like flecks of gold and stardust. 
"There she is," he marvels in a coo; pleased and smug in the debauched thing that he has reduced you to. A complete juxtaposition to the longing, vulnerable man that he had been just moments before. "My sweet wife gone dumb and pliant beneath me. Do I satisfy you? Having you like this? Taking my cock so obediently. " You moan in agreement, hips twitching and jerking to further aid him inside of you. Even while it feels like he is deep in your gut, shoving your breath from you with his rhythm, you crave more. "I should keep you like this. Fucked and filled. Would you like that, ābrazȳrys? Stuffed full until it swells your belly with my heir?"
 
It douses you with fire. The comment engulfing you as though you have been guided into the starved clutches of an inferno. The satisfied stare that he pins you with only makes you feel bare and exposed despite the intimate positions that he has had you in already. Like he is piecing you apart and gazing at your soul. Even with the filth that he casually rambles, it does nothing to dampen the tenderness and hunger that seeps into your bones and gnaws at your being. Your body thrums with the delight at being claimed so primally by the prince - by your husband. To walk about the great halls with his babe safely tucked away inside your stomach. The idea of it has you clawing at his back, no doubt leaving marks along the leather, and it is a great regret that it is not his skin that you tear the traces of your nails along. 
"You will truly be so beautiful in such a state. There will be no mistake that you're mine. Mother to my child. My wife." 
The possessiveness that streaked through his words made you arch into him, driving the metal clasps of his doublet into your flesh, causing the skin to sting. You can hardly pay it any mind though. Not while you are hurtling towards your peak. The promise of your release rushing towards you with the intensity a liquid fire. He too is close. You can see it in the furrow between his brows, the pale stutter in his breath which begins to meld into low groans; feel it in the slight falter in his pace. 
"Please, Aemond." You moan, just barely managing to get your tongue to cooperate in forming the plea. His eye locks onto you with the concentration of a hunter, but that softness, his need is beginning to melt it around the edges once again. "I want you to let go. I want to feel you filling me up." 
His hips flounder for a good moment, and it takes him a bit of correcting to regain the fluidity of the brutal stride that he had set, though once he does it is like he had never faltered at all. The almost violent bliss smoldering along your being still engulfs you and nips at you like it means to rip you apart. He swears sharply again. The sound of your wish, both a beg and a command having the most delicious effect on him as he continues to build that euphoria within the base of your stomach, causing the muscles there to clench tight.
"I'm yours. All yours." You assure breathlessly, aiming to appease the proprietorial nature that he has shown you. That is all you can manage before the euphoria finally crests and completely blindsides you within the deluge. You feel outside of yourself as your body writhes, cunt clenching around the deep stretch of his cock as he continues to pound into you, tipping you into something akin to a drunken stupor. It is rapturous. The sheer weight of the pleasure that possesses you and leaves you little more than a vessel that can only lie and try to survive the onslaught. 
Aemond's body shudders over your own, spine curling inward to tuck his face within the crook of your neck as his own peak seizes him. His groan rattles along your throat, followed by a strained fuck as a burst of liquid heat floods inside your stomach, filling you with warmth. His hips jerk shakily, meeting the languid pace of your own as you both work to assist each other in riding out your shared highs. Though it does not take long for either of you to lose your vigor, muscles and bones going lax as you both relent to the weight of your spent bodies. He does not bother in removing himself from the grip of your cunt as he all but collapses on top of you, effectively pinning you to the mattress with his weight. 
You make no effort to move him from you - you find no desire to. The air around you is thick with the scent of sex, still thrumming and alive with the fervor of your shared lust even as it ebbs from your body, replaced with the temptation of sleep. Contentment and exultation pools in your chest, syrupy and thick from the pleasant warmth of his form along yours, and it guides you to glide your fingers through the silken strands of Aemond's hair. He has made no efforts to extract his face from your neck. Perfectly at peace to keep himself tucked against you with his flaccid cock still buried deep, as his breathing levels out into steady puffs against your skin. 
"We cannot sleep, my Prince. The servant girls will be here soon to prepare me for supper." You warn, though he does not stir in the slightest. A hum leaves him. The only confirmation you receive that tells you he has heard you. He almost seems to clutch onto you tighter, as though he longs to burrow into you and meld into one. So desperate for your touch even while he hides so many facets of himself from you. There is no way to truly foresee what the future has in store for you and him. For the welfare of the kingdom. The home of your children. There are many uncertainties. Many stimming from your Aemond himself, the many lethal edges that create his being. But that is fine. You are patient. Tonight has marked a new turning point for you and he, you are certain. You will wait no matter how long you must for him to come to you, and to reveal himself and his truths to you unabashedly. No matter how damaged and bloody and wild those parts of him may be. 
You are certain that you will marvel in the twisted beauty of it regardless. 
"I will get up shortly." He finally replies, tone gentle and rich in your ear. "Let us just lie here for a moment; just you and I." 
Tumblr media
Does this truly please you, wife? - Gaomas bisa drējī kostilus ao, ābrazȳrys? To be here with me? - Naejot sagon kesīr lēda nyke I believe it does - Pāsan ziry gaomas It has me wonder of all the other ways I could please you - Ēza nyke pendagon hen mirre se tolie ways nyke could kostilus ao
So beautiful and sweet like this, my wife - Sīr gevie se dōna raqagon bisa, issa ābrazȳrys Do you taste just as sweet? - Gaomagon ao sylutegon sepār hae dōna?    
Tumblr media
1K notes · View notes
suguae · 8 months ago
Text
Haunted
part one
Tumblr media
I tried my best to tag as many people!
The long awaited part two! I'm so sorry if this doesn't live up to your guys expectations! I really felt like so much people were waiting for a part two and I've been so busy, but hopefully you all enjoy!
Tumblr media
You were like a shot of espresso, a ray of sunlight and one would be so lucky just to even be in your presence.
That's how he saw it at least. The gummy smile that was glued on your face as you listened to Megumi's silly stories he'd make up just to entertain you.
Wherever you stepped foot, the mood would lighten drastically.
He knew that because if you were here with him right now, Megumi wouldn't be crying his heart out begging his dad to call you. Toji wouldn't be struggling to fall asleep as he looked at your side of the bed imagining you there. He wouldn't be crossing his fingers hoping that every notification on his phone would be you.
"The princess and prince got married and lived happily ever after." You smiled as Megumi watched you close the book in awe. His cheeks were painted with a light pink, "You and Daddy?" You couldn't help but giggle at cute sleepy Megumi.
"No..." You whispered, noticing his eyes getting heavy.
Toji's eyes shifted towards you and his baby boy on the shared bed, Megumi of course having one of his fits and you never being able to say no to him. His heart felt heavy, hearing the cold truth slip from your mouth.
"You've been out of it Fushiguro..."
There he was back to reality in his cold—big office. Standing in front of him was Shiu, his best and his closest employee. "Zenin." Toji corrected which caught Shiu by surprise. Toji was proud to have his wife's last name, yet here he is using his last name.
No wedding ring? Shiu thought to himself, looking at Toji’s empty fingers. But in fact his fingers were not empty, because there sat the dark purple promise ring you had gotten him for your third year anniversary. Shiu smiled to himself, he was moving on—for the better. 
“You and Y/n are doing better, I guess?” He sighs, taking a couple steps towards his boss’s desk and plopping himself on the chair in front of him. His smile fading hearing the vague no, coming from his boss. 
“She left actually, but it’s better this way.” 
“Is it?” 
“No, it’s not.” You smiled as the soft yellow light from the candle illuminated onto your face. How Toji’s heart melted when he saw that little sparkle in your eyes. “I actually love kids.” Your eyes shifted to the little stroller after Toji mentioned how stupid it was to try to go on dates as he had a whole baby. 
“It’s been rough ever since my wife passed.” 
He remembers that look on your face when he told you how recently his wife had passed. It was the first date, he brought his son and mentioned his dead wife. There was no way he would ever see you again after that. But he was wrong because you always found your way back.
“Daddy—gumi hungry!” The little boy pouted as Toji noticed the burning smell of the food. It had been way too much now, spacing out every chance he had just to think about you.
Where are you?
Are you okay?
He wonders if you��re doing better now that you left him.
Probably, right?
Wrong.
“You need to clean this place up, it’s a mess y/n.” Your mom says entering your small apartment. The tiny cans of energy drinks scattered around the place, tissues and a pile of blankets on the couch.
She sighed watching your frail body sit up from the couch, her arm wrapped around your body and she placed small kisses on your forehead.
“It’s gonna take a while to get back on his feet. When your father passed away, it took years for me to officially realize that he was gone y/n.”
That’s what hurt the most, how long was Toji willing to take to realize? What if he forgets about you?
“Go back to your daily life, my baby he will call you when he’s ready. I see the love in his eyes.” She smiled once more before bringing you closer in her embrace.
This is what you needed.
The embrace of someone else’s while your life was slowly changing.
His thumb hovered over your contact. His hands shaking as the tears swell in his eyes. It’s been well over six months since the break up.
Toji was more than ready.
He was just afraid now, afraid of the fact that the women he had a past with moved on and would reject his return.
His thumb firmly pressing the dial button as he brings his phone up towards his ear. He could feel his throat closing and his stomach churning.
“Hello?”
Tumblr media Tumblr media
<- previous next part ->
Tumblr media
taglist: @ssc7514@utarts@my1guilty1pleasures@bangchansthings@nxxun-blog@sidelnes@khaleesihavilliard@wr4inn@r0ckst4rjk@iwishigotswallowed@ryumurin@traacy-lin@aikori6@slowlyswimmingmoon@mikyapixie@dreamlessnight@maliakealoha
3K notes · View notes
gremlinmodetweeker · 3 months ago
Text
Big Guy Big Belly
König is a big man, and with a big man comes a big appetite. We’re talking about a 6’10 man constantly maintaining his peak physique. He needs to be consuming as many calories and as much protein, carbs, fats, fiber and more to keep himself in fit and fighting shape.
At the canteen, he’s a nightmare. I bet that people rush to the cafeteria just to make sure they get something to eat before the big man on base rolls up. He’ll clear out the bins if he gets a chance. There’s a rumour on base that the reason König fought so hard to climb the ranks so quickly was just to be able to eat more and get away with it. Little do they know that they’re absolutely right, but König will never say that out loud. Ever. There’s some secrets you take to your grave. 
Either way, König is a menace in the canteen. He’ll pile his plate as high as he can when he gets a chance. He’s packing away all he can get in the shortest amount of time he can, and everyone has to suffer for it. The worst part is that everyone has to rush to get to the caf before König, and König knows exactly what others are doing, so he’s in a daily race against the entire base to eat his fill. It’s always a photo-finish to see who gets to the cafeteria first.  König currently has been slacking, so he’s not been eating like he normally has. Is he mad? Not really. He’ll clean out the snack cart later. 
He’s a monster late at night. Everyone knows that you need to leave the big man to his snacks, lest you face the wrath of the colossus on base. Well, wrath in a peculiar way. He just gets quiet and angry, but it’s still not a fun experience to try and fight him for a sandwich. If you take the last egg salad sandwich you’ll be at the top of his shit list for the next week. Don’t even think he won’t track you down. He’ll throw around his rank just to get his hands on the poor bastard. Nobody is safe, either.
Stiletto only once took the last pudding cup. Once. She never made that mistake again. For a week he was giving her dirty looks over a cold shoulder as he bumbled down the hall. She eventually had to give in and sacrifice a desert to be able to get back in his good graces. She still thinks he’s a massive bitch because of it. And you know what? She’s right. Everybody knows she’s right, König included, but he’ll keep going after whoever ‘steals’ ‘his’ snacks. They get along a bit better now that they’ve both advanced in rank and worked together, but there was a good period of time where Stiletto had to sleep with one eye open.
It gets a bit better for everyone when König finally finds a partner and doesn’t stay on base so often. Everyone takes a moment to pray for the poor soul who has to cook for König whenever he gets home from deployment.
See, during deployment, König can’t be such a massive bitch about food. He gets his rations, and that’s that. He can’t steal from anybody else, so he gets stuck with these pitiful MREs that barely fill him up. It’s miserable, and he’s losing weight like crazy when on the field. He’s running on fumes and burning calories like crazy as he’s risking his life out there. It’s gotten to a point where König has taken to eating with hostages post-rescue to ‘help them feel safer’ (read: get more food into his gullet). Thankfully, he puts his best foot forward when dealing with victims of trauma and ensures that he has somebody else do all the socializing while he plays with the kids after dinner. Apparently, after the inevitable shower of tears whenever kids have to face König, he becomes pretty popular. They love to use him as a jungle gym (and make fun of him) and he’s just happy to get more to eat. He’ll take being called ‘bigger than even my dad!’, being told ‘you’re weird’ or being asked ‘why are you so big and scary all the time?’ any day for a little extra to eat. He can tolerate a few kids. He won’t ever admit that hanging around them makes him want some kids of his own, or at least not to Horangi, who’s already teasing König about being a surrogate father to the kids. König tells him to keep it to himself, but Horangi is already buying things for the baby shower.
Once König finally comes home, that’s when all Hell breaks loose. This man has been starving and he needs food NOW. He won’t take no for an answer. If you don’t have something prepared, he’ll be ordering a massive order of takeout the likes of which you’ve never seen before in your life. He’ll hit multiple places on his way back to your place if he doesn’t think you’ve been able to get something together for him. If you can’t cook, he won’t even bother telling you to cook for him and just focus on getting a whole banquet of junk food ready for when he arrives home. He brings the pizzas in the door before he even brings in his own bags. You’ll have to go out and grab his bag as he sets up his personal buffet table. The worst part is despite how much he can shove down, he always buys more than he can eat, so you’ve got a couple of days worth of food to shove in the fridge at the end of the night.
If you can cook, this is a multi-day experience. Is it rewarding? Absolutely. Is it painful? Abso-fucking-lutely. He’s got you slaving for hours a day just to get him a nice home cooked meal. You’ll be going all out to get him a big enough meal. We’re thinking a tray of mac and cheese, a whole roast chicken, easily a handful of loaded baked potatoes. If you have something from your traditional cuisine, he’s not picky, he’ll gobble it up in a heartbeat. Knowing you made it for him is more than enough for him. Food is the way to a man’s heart, some say, and König will never let you go if you treat him like the king he is.
The good thing about cooking König such a big meal is that he gives back. He’s not a fan of cooking, but for the next few days he’ll take over cooking and cleaning in the kitchen. It’s just an easy way for him to give back, you know? He can’t thank you enough with words, so why not with actions?
But the best part of König giving back is that he’s an excellent cook. He cooks mostly traditional food from his culture, but he’s down for some french or italian cooking if you’re into it. He can make a mean lasagne. He does not skimp on the cheese, this man. No he’s a cheese fiend. If you’re lactose intolerant, you’ve got another thing coming for you. He will hand feed you lactaid just for the meal. If you have a dietary restriction, he’ll learn how to cook your types of meals in abundance. He’s perfect that way. Vegetarian, vegan, keto, no matter what, he’s got your back. He’s learned how to make an excellent spread for a dinner party, and part of learning to cater to others is to work around other people’s diets; his mother drilled that rule into his little head as a kid. He does it without complaint, too. For at least a week after coming home, he’s just so happy to be around food in abundance again. He’s absolutely thriving in the kitchen before the thrill wears off and he’s back to avoiding cooking like the plague again.
He loves to eat, but usually hates to cook. He’ll mostly eat takeout until he actually has to eat a nutritious meal again for a change. It’s not that cooking is awful, it’s just that he hates doing the dishes. He’d be far more inclined if he didn’t have to do the dishes afterwards. If you take over dishes, he’ll definitely step up his game for the both of you.
All in all, König loves to eat. He’s a big man with a bigger appetite, as hard as that is to believe. Once he retires he has to learn to cut back a fair bit, but he never loses his taste for sweets and snacks. It’s just something you’ll have to learn to live with.
765 notes · View notes
redvexillum · 20 days ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Of course, anonnie! This is flufftober after all. I would like to dedicate this story to my wife @nyx-umbrakinesis, my poor nyxy has been feeling unwell. Here's to all the readers battling chronic pain - Alastor will hug it all better!
Tumblr media
Pain coursed through every fibre of your being, muscles burning and twitching as they stretched and strained beyond endurance. Each breath was a test of your will, your jaw clenched tightly that the insides of your cheeks ached. The tremors that wracked your body were almost too much to bear, and you wondered, as you always did, if this was your eternal punishment.  
Hell was your new home, but to be condemned to carry the same human frailties, the same agonizing ailments that followed to the grave? It was almost too cruel, yet, fitting for where you were. 
Perhaps even God had abandoned you. You weren’t just damned – you were forgotten, left to rot with the relentless pain that burrowed deep into your bones, a ceaseless torment that whispered you deserve this.  
Some days, you could push through it, the ache a dull roar in the background of your suffering. But today? Today it was unbearable, a storm of agony that left you feeling raw, broken and utterly lost.  
Your eyes flickered toward Alastor, who stood across the room, his ever-present grin almost sharp, as if it hid the grimace of someone witnessing something distasteful. He adjusted his bow tie with a haughty scoff, and for a brief moment, you swore you saw something flicker in his eyes – a glimmer of impatience, perhaps, or even frustration. You couldn’t be sure.  
Still, you forced a smile. It was all you could offer him, even if the effort to do so made your body scream in protest. Alastor had been your saving grace when you first arrived in this forsaken place – lost, terrified, and utterly alone. Like a fragile, starving kitten, you had been desperate for shelter, and he had taken you in. You had never quite understood why, but you hadn’t dared question it.  
Now, your fingers absently played with the silk scarf around your neck, its vivid red a stark contrast against the dim, oppressive atmosphere of Hell. It was one of the many gifts Alastor had given you over time, though you never felt deserving of them.  
He had always showered you with such extravagance, his gestures grand and unapologetically bold, as though he were trying to fill the empty spaces inside you that the pain had carved out.  
 You were just a mere assistant to Alastor, though his enemies would disagree and call you his pet. Perhaps, in a way, they were right. You were always there, just a step behind him, tending to his whims, assisting with his daily tasks, ensuring you were never far from his side. You didn’t care what you were in Alastor’s or anyone’s eyes. It was the happiest you had ever been – in life and death.  
Chronic pain had been your constant companion, dragging you into a void of loneliness so deep it became an invisible wound, festering beneath the surface until it felt like it would swallow you whole. No one had ever seen it, no one had ever cared to notice the quiet suffering that gnawed at your very being.  
Until Alastor.  
He was Hell’s most feared Overlord, his power, and reputation, enough to make even demons tremble. But to you, he was something else entirely – something inexplicably special. He was the only one who had ever been able to stop that wound from consuming you completely, as though his very presence cauterized the edges of your loneliness and dulled the pain that tormented your body, keeping them from spreading further.  
“Can you believe it?” Alastor’s voice broke through your thoughts, his tone dripping with exaggerated disdain as he fiddled with his bow tie for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. “I swear, who would've guessed being an Overlord is nothing more than babysitting fools!” He sniffed, his ears twitching flat before springing upright again in irritation.  
You managed a soft laugh, though it felt weaker than usual. The first wave of pain hit, sharp and persistent, but you didn’t let it show. You couldn’t. If you continued to burden him too much, if you became too much of a hassle, he might leave you – just like everyone else had. That thought terrified you more than the pain itself.  
Your steps were uneven as you moved to pick up Alastor’s pinstriped coat, every motion sending a fresh jolt of agony through your body. But you swallowed it down, took a deep breath, and forced yourself to smile. You had learned how to reign in the pain, to push it down until you were alone, where it couldn’t burden anyone but yourself. If you could just keep it together until he left, then you could handle it on your own.  
You always did.  
“Here you go, Alastor,” you said, your voice gentle as you held up his coat with a bright, cheerful smile that felt more like a mask. “Maybe today won’t be so bad.” You beamed, pushing the brightness of your smile to its limit. “Oh! I could also stop by your favourite butcher shop while you’re out, pick up some of your favourite cuts for you!” 
Alastor sighed, a wistful sound, as if indulging in a well-worn ritual. He raised his arms, allowing you to slip the coat over his shoulders, your movements slow and careful despite the pain gnawing at your every joint. “You truly are, my sweet darling,” he murmured, his voice soft as he straightened the coat, then brushed back his bangs and adjusted his monocle with that same practised grace.  
You giggled, the sound light and teasing as you watched him preen, admiring his own reflection. “Alastor, you look perfect,” you said, your tone warm, the smile on your face genuine for a fleeting moment as you saw his tail twitch beneath the back of his coat. He’d always told you it was an involuntary ailment of some sort, something you shouldn’t worry about, but you found it endearing all the same.  
But even as you laughed and shared in that small moment, the pain remained – a shadow lurking beneath your skin, waiting for the moment you could finally let it show. You were determined, though.  
You would never let it burden him.  
Not Alastor.  
He was too important, too precious to risk losing.  
Sweat clung to your skin, rolling down your temples as the pain intensified, pressing on your chest like a crushing weight. Each breath you took felt like dragging air through shattered lungs, but you forced yourself to smile, as you always did, your hands clasped together in a mockery of prayer.  
But this prayer wasn’t to God. No, you prayed to Satan, to Hell itself – please, just let you hold out until Alastor left. The physical agony was nothing compared to the thought of being abandoned again, swallowed by the suffocating emptiness of your own solitude.  
Alastor’s sigh, deep and exasperated, cut through the haze of your pain. He turned toward you sharply, his eyes narrowing, and your entire body tensed in response. You straightened up, biting back the tremors that threatened to ripple through you, squeezing your hands together so hard your knuckles turned white.  
He cocked his head, studying you, his sharp eyes seeming to pierce right through the mask you wore.  
“Are you in pain, darling?” 
The question sent a chill down your spine. Your heart lurched, and for a moment, it felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. Fear gripped you, cold and relentless.  
For you knew, no one wanted to deal with someone else’s burden. You had learned that the hard way, over and over again. Every time someone asked you that question, you saw it – their faces, vivid in your mind’s eye.  
Faces twisted in frustration, exasperation, and annoyance.  
Faces that silently screamed, why won’t you just get better? Why won’t you go away?
Faces that turned cold and indifferent, backs turned as they walked away, leaving you behind, hoping you would simply disappear – too much trouble, too much of a drain on their time, energy, resources.  
It had always been the same.  
Always.  
But with Alastor, it was different. For the first time, you felt needed.  
You felt wanted.  
When the pain became too much, he would hold you, comfort you. But how many times? How many times could he bear your weakness before he decided you weren’t worth the effort? Alastor loathed babysitting fools, and you feared becoming just that – a burden he’d eventually grow tired of carrying.  
Desperation clawed at your throat as you forced out a laugh, the sound far too bright, too strained. “I-I’m not in pain, Alastor,” you stammered, but even as your words left your lips, your voice betrayed you, trembling and unsteady.  
You tried to shake your head, but the movement threw your balance, and you stumbled, nearly collapsing under the weight of your own failing body. Shame burned deep inside you. Oh, how you despised this weakness, this cursed body that refused to let you be anything other than fragile and broken. You would give anything – anything – to be strong, to be whole... 
To not be a burden.  
“A-aren’t you going to be late?” you pushed, your voice a little too eager, too desperate to change the subject. “The other Overlords, they always kick up a fuss when you miss their meetings...” 
But Alastor wasn’t fooled. His eyes narrowed further, dark and calculating, and he bent low until his gaze was level with yours. His red, clawed hands reached out, and you flinched despite yourself.  
He gripped your cheeks, squeezing just enough that your lips puckered together like a fish, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for some hidden truth. He turned your head from side to side, examining you as though you were a fragile specimen he didn’t quite understand.  
“Darling,” he sighed, letting go of your face at last, though the weight of his scrutiny lingered. He began to shrug off his jacket, the smooth fabric whispering against his skin as it slid to the floor. “I’ve told you many times before,” his voice softened, but there was a warning there, sharp as the claws he extended, “if you’re in pain, you are to let me know immediately.” 
His words were firm, but they stirred a new kind of fear inside you. The fear of how far you could push him before he finally grew tired of you. Before he saw you for what you truly were – an unbearable, broken thing.  
Guilt, thick and suffocating, clung to you like a weight you continued to bear. The apology burned on your tongue, heavy with the knowledge that there was nothing Alastor could do to fix your pain. “It’s not bad, really,” you murmured, but the words fell flat between you. It was too late. Alastor’s fingers wrapped firmly around your hand, pulling you deeper into his room, into the place he had made for you.  
He had brought a bed into his room, just for you – a place to rest, though he himself barely needed sleep, if at all. The gesture alone was enough to send a pang of guilt straight through your heart, sharper than the pain that gripped your body.  
Gently, he guided you to sit, and then, with an almost reverent care, he pushed at your shoulder, coaxing you to lay down. You obeyed, but the guilt gnawed at you like a beast with insatiable hunger, tearing at the edges of your mind.  
When Alastor finally laid beside you, he opened his arms wide, a signal that had become a private ritual between the two of you – an unspoken invitation for comfort when the pain became too much.  
Hesitantly, shyly, you inched toward him, slowly closing the distance until your face pressed against his chest, the warmth of his body enveloping you as his arms wrapped around you with a tenderness you didn’t deserve.  
It felt...safe. Too safe.
Too good to be true.  
His arms wrapped around you, holding you as if he would never let go. And yet, as comforting as it was, every ounce of gratitude you felt began to sour, twisting into a cold knot of fear deep inside.  
Until when? 
How long could this last? 
How many times would he hold you, rearrange his life around your fragility, before the day came when it was all too much? 
Tears burned in your eyes, but you fought them back. You refused to cry. Not again. Not when this ritual – this twisted dance of comfort and guilt – only deepened your fears, choking the breath from you in ways the pain never could.  
Each time he held you, each time you ruined his plans, each time you dared to hope that maybe this could last forever, it only hurt more. The guilt, the fear, the shame – it stole the air from your lungs, hollowed you out from the inside.  
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice trembling as your body began to shiver uncontrollably. “I’m so sorry,” you whimpered again, squeezing your eyes shot, biting your lips until you tasted the faint tang of blood.  
You wouldn’t cry. You couldn’t. It was your fault his day was ruined once more, your fault you couldn’t be stronger... 
... your fault that you couldn’t...just get better.  
“Come now, darling,” Alastor’s voice cut through the suffocating silence, still bright, still full of that eerie, unsettling joy. “If anything, I should be the one apologizing! How unfortunate for you to have to endure such a pesky illness. But fear not!” His cheek pressed against the top of your head, nuzzling you with a comforting affection. “I’m sure we’ll find a cure soon!” 
A cure. You’d given up on that a long time ago. The hope of it had dried up, shrivelled into dust. But you couldn’t bear to let him see that.  
So, you did what you always did – you played along, forcing yourself to believe in his boundless confidence.  
“Really?” your voice trembled, the unshed tears making it sound fragile, like it could break at any moment. “If you say so...it must be true.” 
Alastor hummed in response, pleased, his grip tightening around you as if he could squeeze away the pain with sheer will. The silence that followed was thick but not oppressive, filled only by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear, his breathing slow and calm – a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. For a moment, the world seemed to quiet, and the storm inside you stilled, if only just.  
Your fingers absentmindedly played with the fabric of his shirt, tracing the smooth lines, grounding yourself in his presence. You breathed in deeply, the scent of him, a heady mix of something rich and dark – filling your lungs. The warmth of his body seeped into you, thawing the ice that had long encased your lonely heart.  
And yet, even in the safety of his arms, that question remained.  
Until when? 
“Alastor...if you ever get tired of me,” your voice wavered, barely more than a whisper as you clung to him, “y-you’d tell me, right?” 
He sighed, not in frustration, but in that tired, familiar way, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he pulled you tighter against his chest. “Darling, this again?” his tone was weary, but there was no malice in it, only the weight of a conversation you’d had too many times before.  
This was your ritual – one that had repeated itself so many times it was etched into both of you. When the pain came, he held you like this, his arms wrapped around you as if to shield you from the world. He’d talk of a future free from agony, and you’d ask him – beg him – to promise, to swear, that he’d tell you if he ever grew tired of you.  
You needed him to know he wasn’t trapped, that you weren’t a cage, a burden he had to carry. He was free – free to walk away whenever he wished because as much as the thought of being left alone terrified you, the idea of being a source of misery for him was worse than any pain you could endure.  
“You would, right?” The words came out a little firmer this time, a desperate need to hear the reassurance in his voice, to quiet the gnawing fear in your chest. You closed your eyes, trying to capture this moment in your mind – his warmth, his touch – before it could slip away like a fading dream.  
“I’m quite fond of our little routine, you know,” Alastor replied, his voice light, teasing, but not without affection. His arms held you firmly, one hand wrapped around your waist while the other played with your hair, his fingers moving from your scalp down to the nape of your neck.  
Slowly, gently, they traced the curve of your spine, dragging downwards in a soft soothing stroke. Each caress felt like a whispered promise, his touch tender, calming. 
You let out a shaky breath, shivering slightly as you pressed yourself closer to him, craving the comfort his touch brought. There was something hypnotic about the way his fingers glided down your back, a rhythmic motion that grounded you, as if he were coaxing the pain out of you with each gentle stroke.  
“Who would brew the perfect cup of coffee for me every morning?” Alastor mused, his lips brushing against the top of your head as he inhaled deeply, savouring the moment. His fingers continued their steady, soothing dance along your back. “Who would accompany me on strolls through town, eagerly listening to me about all the latest gossip with such captivating eyes?” He chuckled, his chest vibrating pleasantly beneath your ear, a sound that brought warmth to your aching soul. “And who else would help me decorate my office every Tuesday?” His tone was light, almost playful.  
The last comment pulled a soft laugh from you, a small, involuntary snort escaping your lips. The sound was weak, but genuine, and your arms, trembling from pain, from insecurity, finally wrapped around his waist.  
You hugged him back, a little tighter this time, allowing yourself to melt into the comfort of his embrace. The pain, which had been a constant storm raging through your body, faded into a distant rumble, no longer the monster it once was.  
“Decorating, huh?” you murmured, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “You mean moving everything just slightly to the left, or right?” 
“Decorating,” he confirmed with absolute certainty, his voice dripping with confidence, as though no one in Hell could convince him otherwise. 
You let out another quiet laugh, burying your face into his chest, letting the warmth of him wash over you. His fingers continued their steady path up and down your spine, each touch as soft and delicate as a kiss.  
It was moments like this that made the pain bearable, moments when it was just the two of you – safe, together, and for just a little while, the world outside couldn’t touch you, pain couldn't touch you.  
A soft trembling laugh escaped your lips, and in that instant, Alastor’s breath hitched, his arms finally pulling you closer with a firm unyielding embrace. It was as if he were afraid you might slip away, and you could feel the tension, the raw emotion behind his usual calm demeanour.  
His grip was not just protective – it was possessive, as though the very thought of you leaving was intolerable.  
“I don’t very much like change, darling,” Alastor murmured, his voice low, soothing, but laced with an intensity that made your heart clench. His touch, strong yet gentle, was a reassurance, his fingers tracing patterns along your back, grounding you at the moment. “And you,” he continued, with absolute certainty, “are very much a permanent fixture in my life.” 
You opened your mouth, starting to protest, to voice your ever-lingering doubts. “Alas-” 
But he interrupted, his hand coming up to cup your chin, tilting your face upward so you could meet his gaze. His crimson eyes, sharp and burning with an almost predatory focus, locked onto yours, filling your vision entirely.  
“If you ever wanted to leave me, darling, you should’ve ran away the moment you had crossed my path,” he said softly, his voice a whisper of velvet that held a darker undertone. The hand on your chin was tender, but his grip on you was firm, keeping you close, tethering you to him.  
His forehead rested gently against yours, his breath mingling with your own, and his eyes – oh, his eyes – burned into yours, leaving no room to escape. “You should’ve left before you decided to invade my routine, my space...” His words trailed off, quieter now, as if they held secrets meant only for you. “My mind,” he finished, his grin curling at the edges, tightening with unspoken emotions that he rarely revealed.  
There was a deeper meaning hidden in his words, one you didn’t need him to spell out. You could hear it, feel it, as clearly as if he had shouted it. You were his, entwined into the very fabric of his existence, and he had no intention of letting you go.  
A single tear slipped down your cheek, a reflection of the overwhelming emotions bubbling within you. Despite the heaviness of it all, you smiled – a bright, genuine smile. “I want to stay with you,” your voice trembled, your desire so familiar, so fragile, as if revealing the very truth that hid in your heart would somehow shatter the delicate balance between you two. “Even if I don’t get better, is it alright,” another tear rolled down your cheek as if expelling the painful memories of your past, “to still stay with you?” 
And as always, as you’d heard countless times before, the answer you longed for came, steady and unwavering, grounding you in its certainty.  
“Always.” The word slipped from his lips, firm yet soft, sinking into the depths of your heart and settling there like a balm to every wound you carried. He closed his eyes, his head dipping to rest in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “Always, darling,” he whispered again, his arms wrapping even tighter around you, as though he feared you’d disappear if he ever let go.  
And at that moment, as you lay in his arms, the doubt that had haunted you for so long finally quieted. Because for as long as he whispered those words, for as long as his grip remained steady, you knew this – this bond – would never fade.  
Tumblr media
Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!
246 notes · View notes
stuckinapril · 2 years ago
Note
how to feel like a person?
digital detox. if your phone was taken away, how much free time would you have? how empty would your day be? do you have things to do outside of scrolling endlessly on different apps? if you come to the realization that a lot of your time consists of being glued to your screen, you need to start considering incorporating no-phone time blocks into your day. a big part of our daily misery boils down to consuming so many things in 24 hours, to the point that we feel too burned out to do anything else that truly nourishes our body and soul.
establish a routine. discipline is so important for happiness. start out small—schedule your day, get consistent with your skincare routine, take daily walks—and then gradually add more and more things. don’t try to revamp your life all at once. that’s a surefire way to quit altogether. be realistic about your limits, but also push yourself where appropriate so you don’t stay static.
journal. mentalize your feelings. don’t suppress your emotions. be curious about your thought processes and what makes you tick. always be self-compassionate, but hold yourself accountable where it’s due.
start pursuing hobbies. make a list of all the things that interest you and try them out. there are so many things out out there; one of them is bound to stick. don’t go into it with the negative mindset that you know you wouldn’t like doing x and y. some things you might know in your heart are not for you, but don’t rule out possibilities you’re ambivalent about. be open-minded and see finding your interests not as a chore, but as an exciting prospect.
practice gratitude. this is such a popular advice bc it works. start off your day by listing 3 things you’re grateful for. it’s crazy how so many people don’t realize it’s a blessing to just be alive, when so many people get robbed of their lives so early on. i’m not saying to never shoot for more, but having a foundation of contentment goes a very long way.
have a solid set of friends, but march your own march. you don’t need anybody; you just want them. same thing with friends. friends are good for us because we are a social species, but if one person were to leave your life, it’s not the end of the world. your life is already colorful, filled with so many things you’re doing for yourself—furthering your career, improving on your skills, working on your fitness—that a person leaving shouldn’t be detrimental. never be so dependent on someone you can’t envision a life without them. you need to make your life exciting on your own; you can’t have someone else doing all the heavy lifting for you.
have an abundance mindset. if one thing fails, that just leaves room for something better to take its place. you are always bound to find better. there are 8 billion people in this world. there are countless different possibilities. failure or loss does not mean it’s game over for you.
see pain as a learning experience. true growth spurts do truly come from heartbreak or failure. it teaches us to pick ourselves back up and try again. always have a growth mindset. that relationship didn’t work out? now you know what to avoid for the next relationship. you’re single again? now you get to focus on and learn more about yourself. that friendship ended? at least you won’t waste any more time on someone who doesn’t value having you in their life. you didn’t get that job? that leaves the door open for other possibilities. you didn’t get the score you wanted? now you know what to work on to do better next time.
action-directed things to improve your self-esteem. you can sit in your room all day and tell yourself you’re the best thing since sliced bread and everyone’s obsessed with you, but truly building up your self-esteem comes not only from thinking positive things about yourself, but also acting on them. work on things you care about. work on yourself as a person. love who you are, but also strive for self-improvement. do things that can act as proof—to you—for why you’re worthy. it’s a game changer.
dispense of the victim-of-life mentality. it’s safe to dwell in your misery and keep blaming things on factors out of your control, but where would that get you? it’s just resulting in you expending your energy needlessly. stop seeing life as jumping from tragedy to tragedy. actively fight against your negativity bias. recognize that for every bad thing that happens, 100 good things happen, but we as humans have a tendency of focusing only on the negatives. sort through your emotions, make peace with what happened, but pick yourself up and move on. the most valuable thing we all have on this planet is time. it’s limited and it will come to an end eventually. you don’t want to look back and resent yourself for not simply letting go of things and appreciating what you have around you.
5K notes · View notes
illusioninfnty · 14 days ago
Text
Of Honor and Duty
જ⁀➴ Peeping Tom : Day 9
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
feat. Miguel O'Hara ᯓ★ Being from a different dimension won't stop Miguel from watching you.
warnings! : NSFW 18+, non-consensual voyeurism, masturbation, delusional thoughts
ᯓ★ kinktober m.list || read on ao3
Tumblr media
The glow of the screens that surround Miguel illuminate his dark office as he watches you come home.
His cock jumps up instantly to your image, throbbing against the confines of his suit.
He’s gotten used to your routine by now. You come home at the same time every day you work, and he’s always there to greet you from afar.
You are a creature of habit, just like he always remembered you to be. You drop your keys on the table next to your front door, slipping off your shoes—right one first, always—and heading to your bedroom to get ready for a shower.
Miguel knows this is wrong. That looking into other dimensions should only be work, for serious business.  For the sole purpose to maintain the balance of the multiverse.
But who is he to deny himself the pleasure that he’s been missing, the woman that’s been missing from his world, the body that makes his own come back to life?
Besides, he’s not interfering with her, not disrupting any canon events. Only watching. It’s his role as a leader, a protector, to watch over those who can’t do that for themselves.
And you are no exception to that.
Poor, poor, you. Clueless about the man who watches you every night, who strokes his cock to the most innocent movements, to your monotonous, daily routine.
Miguel hisses as his cold, calloused hand makes contact with his aching member.
It’s been so long since he’s touched your body. He has all of your curves memorized, to the point that he could draw them out perfectly with his eyes closed.
His gaze travels down your frame as his hand squeezes at the base of his cock. Precum beads at the slit and he swipes it alongside the rest of his length, producing a slick sound as he strokes himself to full mast.
Exhales leave his lips in ragged breaths, practically panting as the view of you undressing fills his screens, taking over his entire vision. He wishes he could burn the image of your naked body into his mind, a sight only for him.
His cock throbs in anticipation, and it’s moments like these where he is especially prideful in his self-control. A man with a shred less than his own would have clawed his way into your apartment, disrupting your solitude.
You should be thankful it’s him who watches over you, and not some degenerate creep who wouldn’t be able to take care of you.
“Fuck, mi vida.” His words vibrate in his throat and his pace quickens around his cock. He thrusts his hips into his fist, imaging your body beneath him. His hands grip the side of his brand new desk. 
(His old one broke after a small fit of rage he had when another man’s name tumbled off your lips when you brought yourself to orgasm. But he didn’t need to worry about that anymore. He was a mere anomaly that had to be…taken care of.)
His tip is sensitive from all of the stimulation he’s given it. He allows his fingers to stroke it at a languid pace, teasing himself in a way he knows you would. You would be such a good girl, propped on your knees before him, looking through those long lashes with your doe eyes.
A pleased sigh from you—the real you on his screen—interrupts him as you step into your steaming shower.
He imagines that’ll be the noise you make when his cock finally enters you again. Your walls will stretch to accommodate his girth, squeezing him like a vice. He can practically feel your nails clawing into his back, whimpers silenced into his neck as he whispers praises into your ear.
But he knows you can take it well. You have before.
His eyes follow your wet naked body, following your hands as you lather soap all around. He can’t silence his groan as he sees your fingers trail to your pussy, throwing your head back as you begin to play with yourself.
Miguel’s hand quickens, matching the pace of your own as he fucks his fist furiously. It’s moments like these that feel so intimate to him.
He’s glad you can share such private moments with him. He just wishes that the universe would place you into his grasp again.
He can almost feel your breath against his neck, tickling his collarbone. His cock throbs at the thought of you being so close to him again. 
“You miss me, mi vida?” He grunts as he squeezes his throbbing head, the sounds of his arousal squelching as he does so. He humps pathetically into his hand, chasing the warmth of your body that could never be replicated. “Missing my cock? Your fingers can’t fill you the way I do,” he rasps.
He can see your frustration; he feels the same way as you do. He knows that you are craving something more, something that will never fill the void inside of you because it is universes away, peering in on you, watching over you for your own good.
His heart aches for you, as does his cock.
On his screens, your legs begin to shake and you bite your lip tightly. Miguel is quite privy to the sight; he knows all the tells when you’re about to cum. He can feel his own orgasm approaching too. His hips snap rabidly into his hand, and he puts pressure on the angry red tip.
Your melodic moans fill his speakers, fill his brain, and he can’t help but to come on cue to the sound. You come synchronously with him. He smiles, baring his fangs as your body quakes with your release. It’s like you were waiting for him—knew he was watching you and you put on a show all for him.
He wishes that he could come and unveil himself to you, take you away from your miserable world and fuck you dumb until all your cock drunk tiny mind thinks of is Miguel, Miguel, Miguel.
But Miguel is an honorable man.
A man of control.
He knows what his duty is, and he performs it well.
But he isn’t afraid to enjoy the view when he can.
Tumblr media
163 notes · View notes
perkqularkreashions · 9 months ago
Text
Living with the Enemy, Joe Goldberg x Reader
Part 1: Last Nice Guy in New York??
Tumblr media
Prompt: YN is close friends with Peach, Annika, Beck, and Lynn. She doesn't fit into their circle, nor does she try to. Joe soon sets his sights on YOU, leading to a domino effect within Y/N's life.
Requested: YES | Requested are OPEN|
Warnings: Mature Content, Manipulation, Stalking, Slightly Proofread.
It had been some time since you last spoke with Peach and her willing and obedient entourage. You blissfully ignored them, avoiding the usual hangouts and skipping daily walks with your son. You took different routes and dined at other eateries, and for a while, you enjoyed this simple and slow-paced lifestyle. 
It was a particularly warm day in New York; the increasing winds had died, allowing you to turn off the space heaters that litter your apartment. You relished the smell of cleaning products and baby formula rather than burning rubber. You watched as Rafi bounced around in his walker from his room back to the living room. His hand slapped against some trinket that sang a quick tune of “You are my sunshine.” It was probably his favorite plaything on that bouncer, but it annoyed the absolute hell out of you. The loud and high-pitched continuous loop of "you are my sunshine... my only sunshine", but he loved it, so you endure it. You cracked open the window, allowing the fresh air to filter into the apartment, the warm breeze washing over you briefly before returning to stillness. Contently, you sighed. Your eyes flickered to the door; a hesitant knock followed by two more confident knocks. You shuffled off the couch, unable to gaze through the peephole due to the grime built up over the years. You mentally noted that you need to tell the landlord about that. Unlocking your three deadbolts, you pressed your ear against the door, hearing the muffled female voices.
You opened the door and noticed Peach, Beck, Lynn, and Annika. Your eyes widened as you stumbled back, Peach charging into the apartment. Her eyes glanced around as she brightly smiled at Rafi before returning her cold gaze to you. She crosses her arms, waiting for you to fill the silence with an apology. The tension hung in the air like a heavy fog, palpable and suffocating everyone as they all watched you, their once easy rapport replaced by an uneasy silence. Every word left unsaid seemed to echo between them, filling the space with a sense of unease that was almost tangible. You chuckled before turning away, gathering some of Rafi’s items out of habit. “You don’t just go MIA for weeks like that!” Everyone slowly shifts into the apartment; you feel suffocated. “I called, you never answer.”
You plainly answered, “I know.” You shoved some clothes into the hamper before returning to the group. You tried to think of something to say and formulate something harsh and crude to say back to Peach and her brainless minions that followed her every call, jumping at the snap of her fingers and pleading for some sort of acceptance from her. You sighed, sitting on the sage-colored love seat, your elbows resting on your knees as you rubbed your temples gently. “Peach, you and your…whatever this is. Can happily get the fuck out of my apartment. You can’t just storm into my home and expect me to drop to my knees begging for you to what…forgive me?” 
You felt the couch dip next to you, the smell of her engulfing you. It iterated the fuck out of you yet offered you a warm feeling. She was home; despite her manipulation, gas-lighting, and bitch behavior, she was home. You finally looked at her, your face growing warm as you pressed your lips together. Her smile growing as she knew, she squealed, wrapping her arms around you. “Say you forgive us… me?” You nodded against her before pulling back. “Great, let’s go out to eat! We’ve missed you and have lots to catch you up on!”
You nodded, pressing a feigned smile on her lips; Annika smiled, wrapping you in a brief, one-armed hug. She was followed by Lyn, who seemed more than pleased that you had returned. They moved away, gawking at Rafi as they spoke with him in an annoying, high-pitched tone. They were flashing toys in front of him before snatching them quickly as he giggled loudly. You stood beside Beck; an awkward silence washed over you both. Beck wanted to speak… she wanted to ask if what Peach had been filling in her head was true. Suppose you had been trying to pine after Joe; how would she feel? She admitted her feelings for Joe were growing; she liked having him around and the attention he provided her when Benji was off on a binge of whatever drug would provide him with whatever relief. “We missed you… I missed you,” Beck spoke, cutting through the silence. 
“I’m sorry,” You mumbled, bumping into her shoulder and offering her a half smile. She tucked a small piece of hair behind her ear.  
“I’ve been dying to tell you about everything, I mean everything,” Beck whispers through her laugh as she watches you for a moment. Beck confided you about everything; you weren’t judgmental and never gave advice—you were just a lending ear that she craved in the whirlpool that was Peach. You sighed, knowing that no matter where you were in your life and how far you thought you had escaped Peach, she was always lurking in the shadows, ready to devour you at any minute.
Tumblr media
You hummed softly, your hand occasionally, moving the visor back to check to see if your son was still alive. Your hand fluttered in front of his face; quickly, he reached for your fingers. You had spent most of the morning shopping for groceries and wanting to find some fresh produce. You gathered green apples, strawberries, and some blueberries. It has been a slow-paced morning; class was canceled, you were finally caught up on your assignments, and only needed to grade some papers from some of your classes. You hadn’t seen Peach since your lunch date with the girls two weeks ago. It was spent, for the most part, talking about Beck’s choices in men and the plethora of men that have taken her to bed… all this steaming from Benji ghosting her. You didn’t know what she saw in him, but he was a poser and couldn’t hold down an idea, let alone his own business. She had fucked, Mr. Bedroom Eyes, someone that she had met in the library, all while leading on Joe and worrying about Benji.
Your eyes shifted slightly; noticing him underneath the navy-blue baseball cap, he examined the fruit before placing it down. You smiled brightly, peering left and right before approaching him. You stuttered for a moment; wait is it weird that you were approaching him? Did you even need to say hello? You stood behind him, mindlessly watching his gaze at the fruit. Weaving through the throngs of people as your eyes held steady on him, your hands tightening against the stroller. Panic surged through you, threatening to overwhelm my senses as your hands hesitantly reach out to his shoulder. Joe jumped as he spun around; a toothy grin fell on his lips as his eyes shifted to Rafi. “Sorry, this must be weird.” You quickly tried to explain, and yet there you stood. 
“No!” Joe smiled, “No weird at all.” He watched you, taking in your beauty from the curve of your lips to the furrow of your brows. Your eyes are a soft color, filled with so much emotion. He contained his excitement, continuing to handle the slightly ripe peach in his hand. A soft breath of relief escaped your lips; Joe watched you, taking in every moment, from the twitch of your eye when you smiled to the slight tightening of your hands against the stroller’s handle. Were you nervous? You didn’t need to be! I am all yours! Joe’s thoughts muddled aggressively through his head, his eyes concentrating more on your slight movements, the way you shifted your weight to your left hip as you stood there, watching him. Your index finger nervously taps before stopping.
“Good, I thought it’d be weird if I recognized you in this crowded space,” you laughed; it was soft. A small smile crept on his face as he moved closer to you, a single step to be closer to you. You slightly shifted, leaning against the stroller as you pushed it in front of you before bringing it back. “It’s nice to see you again.” Your heart fluttered as you watched his goofy take hold of his lips. His cheeks dusted pink as he nodded hesitantly; he stepped forward, watching you walk away in the crowd, occasionally wiggling your fingers in front of your son’s view. 
“Are you alone?” Joe mentally cringed as you paused, peering over your shoulder in confusion, “I meant, I could keep you company while you go shopping… If you don’t mind.” Do you mind? You wouldn’t mind, would you? Joe thought; he watched you ponder his offer, and you fully faced him as you smiled, nodding at him. Joe joined you, shoulders bumping into each other as you continued to walk through the farmer’s market. Looking at the different herbs and vegetation sprawled on the tables, you fingered at them, rubbing your fingers with a concentrated look on your face as Joe pushed Rafi. Joe watched you in awe, his hand gripping against the stroller in angst and yearning. He watched you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear; you quickly turned to him, putting a strong-smelling herb in his face. He winced as he swatted at his nose; you laughed softly before agreeing with the saleswoman that the left one was more pungent. 
“My mom made this weird-tasting soup for me when I was sick, but it always helped. It helps when Rafi has a little bug. He hates it; he scratches at my arms when I force-feed it to him.” You laughed, showing him the small craters in her skin that hadn’t healed properly. Joe took your arm, letting his thumb trace over the craters. “He’s so mean when he wants to be; I guess he gets that from his dad.” Joe watched you, taking in every word that was said. 
“His dad hit you?” You were stunned; you placed the herbs in your tote bag before looking at Rafi, making a slight face and tickling him. Joe observed you, your face tense as you seemingly tried to feign enjoyment in the brief time with your son. He watched how you weren’t standing so close to him; your shoulders still touched every again, but not the same as before. Joe cursed at himself for bringing it up; Joe hated that he made you feel so small and helpless again. You froze at the sound of your name; Joe noticed it, too. He peered over his shoulder seeing someone rush to you, his hand waving wildly as he began to jog to catch up to you. He called your name again. Joe’s eyes flickered at you, and you were frozen, eyes wide in fear. Joe leaned closer to you, but you were snapped out of thoughts when the man stood directly behind you. You slowly turned, now facing the stranger. Joe watched the man; something about was familiar, the curve of his lip and the bushiness of his brow. His hair was long and pulled into a rendition of a man-bun with some pieces falling in front of his face; he was clean-shaven and muscular. His skin was a deep cooper color that glistened but wasn’t sweat…more of an oil-based lotion. 
“It’s been so long!” he smiled with a bright smile, teeth perfect and in a row, no obscurities or imperfection. He tried reaching out for a hug, but you backed away, letting a small smile rest on your lips. You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t have to for Joe to notice how uncomfortable you were. “Who’s this?” His eyes never left yours. Joe could see the intimidation in his eyes, and his smile never reached his eyes when he spoke. 
Joe moved the stroller before him, stretching his hand in the process; a bright smile rested on his lips. “Joe.” The man didn’t acknowledge him or care for his name. Finally, he passed him a glance, his face churning into a distasteful look. His eyes moved to the stroller, and as a bright smile crossed his lips, he bent down for a moment. Wiggling at Rafi’s shoes, speaking in a babbled baby talk before looking up to you again. 
“You know he misses you and him; you shouldn’t run away. Especially with his child.” The man spoke, and he stood to his feet. “See around.” He spoke before brushing past you. Joe grabbed your arm, and you winced momentarily, flinching away from him. Your eyes finally connected with Joe’s; you sucked in a deep breath before grabbing unto the stroller. A sense of comfort washed over you. 
“Thanks for today… for this. I appreciate it,” you hummed. Joe nodded, watching you walk away; his eyes focused on the man who had ruined your perfect day together. It started innocently enough, stumbling into an impromptu game of hide-and-seek. Plunging into the maze of crowds, Joe found himself, trailing the stranger, drawn by the same curiosity that everyone in the market has. Joe shadowed his movements, picking up a weathered journal or a fruit that was slightly ripe. His eyes cut to the man every chance he had gotten. As Joe meanders through the maze of makeshift booths and colorful displays, the man he’s following remains blissfully unaware of his presence. They weave through the crowd, partaking in a dance that only Joe is aware of. 
“Dom! Dom! Dom Batista! As I live and breathe in the flesh it is you!” Joe groaned at the dramatic nature of New Yorkians, every word that stumbles out of their mouth an illicit affair with Shakespeare and a Soap Opera. “It has been so long since we’ve last seen each other!”
Tumblr media
Joe followed behind you, face low as he watched you hurriedly move through the streets, passing men and women alike. 
Batista….Batista….Batista is the name of a Judge in New York City; their mother was an actress who starred in plenty of movies before her fall from grace and getting addicted to cocaine. They had three children, three boys: Jonathan, the oldest—who was a criminal defense attorney. He was married with two sons. He didn’t post on social media, but his wife, Mary Glassgo, came from an Affluent family in Virginia who had established wealth through “other means.” during the late 1700s, did, in fact, post and posted often. She was overly descriptive and pictured all the locations where they dined, shopped, and vacationed. She was on a trip with her two sons, enjoying the mountains in Vermont.  The caption was, “Can’t get away from life all the time, but when I do, it’s always with my two favorite boys.” Joe followed you across the street, scrolling through her Instagram until he came across a photo from Thanksgiving; he dragged his thumb across the screen, revealing a picture of her and another man who looked similar to Jonathan, tagged was St_Do_Batista. Dominick, the middle— Joe, recgonized him as the man he saw today; he frequently posted almost every day at the gym. He was a professional boxer; his face wasn’t riddled with too many lacerations and scars, which indicated that he was good at his craft. He had a girlfriend, one of many girlfriends. They all came and gone, as soon as a new one would be posted with a bright smile, not knowing her fate. Petite blondes, curvy brunettes, tall red-heads, even some bald girls with tattoos riddling every surface of their bodies.  
“Hello….” Joe thought; he scrutinized the photo, and you were smiling, your cheek pressed against him as you embraced him. He just won a fight; he hugged you tight. Joe scrolled to the following image… it was a video; he played it. You giggled as he spun, cheering as one hand held you tight against him. You spoke gently, words that the camera didn’t pick up, nor did anyone else. He continued to scroll as he noticed that most photos were of you cooking in his house, at the park with him, on his couch with the laptop tucked on your thighs as you carefully examined whatever was on the screen. You took up a majority of his life and then nothing. Joe saw a picture of him and another look similar to the Batista family; he clicked on the tagged name. RafiBat didn’t post much, but when he did, he generated a lot of attention from women. He was a boxer, too, and he and his brother were often referred to as the Basista Brothers. He didn’t post you often, once or twice; that was in photos with Dominick. But it was evident that you both were friends. He was attending a university known for its Marine Biology program. He had been traveling overseas, where he had been for the last few months, pictures of him with sharks, fish, turtles, and some other classmates. There was a picture of you, smiling brightly in his bed with her belly exposed; it was small, possibly in the early months of your pregnancy. His caption read “My Everything.”
Joe’s attention was averted to the left as he noticed someone briskly walking, eyes concentrated on you. His hand dug into his pocket as he pulled out his phone, dialing quickly. He spoke before hanging up. Did you not notice? Did you feel someone following you? Joe broke off in a sprint, laughing softly before calling out your name; you peered over your shoulder in confusion, hesitating as you squinted your eyes at him. 
Joe’s body collided against yours, taking your hand as he smiled gently. “Why’d you run off like that? I was looking for you everywhere!” he calls out exaggeratedly loud, his hand falling at his side; he watched your wide eyes swiftly snap to him while he continued to guide you forward, Joe’s hand pressed on your lower back. “Someone has been following you,” he whispered through a gritted smile. Her body stiffened as his words echoed through the stillness in the air; you were tempted to look, her head inching to the left slightly. “No, don’t look… Just keep walking baby.” You hummed in understanding. Joe peered over his shoulder, watching the man avoiding the dim street lights, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his body focused ahead of him, but he could see the whites of his eyes and the darkness of his orbs staring deep into your side. Then Joe remembered the small encounter you had at Peach’s party, the drunken party-goer grabbing you, retelling his woes of missing their friend group and a man who seemed to miss you just as much. Your body reacted negatively, your eyes watering, and your skin paled as you stumbled away from him.  Joe watched your hands dance against your face, trying to wipe the anxiety that was trailing through your body. Joe wanted to lead you home, protecting you from the evils lurking in the shadows you weren’t aware of. Joe allowed you to lead you both to your apartment complex. Joe swiftly grabbed Rafael, allowing you to close the stroller. You put in the code 76477; Joe held open the door as you shuffled in your hands, digging through your satchel in search of your keys. He noticed three locks; just as if you practiced this a hundred times, you easily unlocked the door. 
Joe smelled deeply, taking in the scent of baby powder and your aroma. Rafael rested against his neck, his chest breathing gently as he slept. His tiny breaths could be heard as they smacked against his pacifier. Joe scanned your apartment again; it was vastly bigger than Beck’s and his. His eyes fell on an opening; it wasn’t too big but just big enough to have a window, an oak-colored crib decorated with white and green. “You can just set him down in there…He won’t last too long in the crib,” He heard your voice as you locked the front door. You were latching on the deadbolts and other self-brought knick-knacks. Joe set Rafi down, brushing his hair out his face; he squirmed slightly in a panic. Joe quickly turned on the mobile, slightly out of reach for Rafi. He pressed a button; the mobile began to hum to live, and soon, water sounds came on. Splashing, sounds of whales and dolphins, and what seems like rain hitting the waters. It was soothing, and Rafi’s face soon mellowed. Joe allowed Rafi to hold unto his finger; his grip was tight as his body sprawled on the crib’s mattress.
“He usually isn’t so peaceful to put down. He must like you.” He heard you whisper; Joe peered over his shoulder, watching your head pressed against the door’s frame. Joe removed his finger, returning his attention to you. You walked out of the room as Joe followed you. The silence washed over you as you paced around the room, trying to find the right words. Joe stood there, waiting, allowing you to take as much time as needed. 
“Joe?” You finally whispered, your eyes finally landing on him. In that moment, Joe felt your souls tying together, latching and burning into each other. “Thank you.” you pushed out, tucking your bottom lip into your teeth. 
“I noticed him following you after the market…I didn’t know what to do but when I saw him trying to cross the street… Who is he?” 
“Dominick, my ex’s brother. Rafi’s father.” Joe nodded; you trusted him, you trusted him. You weren’t a liar like Beck, “Dom and I were close; I even thought we would be together, but then he got a girlfriend. He stopped coming around, that’s when I met Rafael, he was gentle at first…but I guess that was the point. I had a fling with him and then with his brother, shit just got messy fast, and I got pregnant. That’s when he got abusive… I tried pressing charges, but his dad always dropped the cases, saying that I was a daughter of a junky prostitute and a “john.” I asked for a different judge and each time I was denied. I was finally….finally allowed to get a restraining against him, but it expired, and I wasn’t allowed to renew due to no current impending dangers.” Joe watched you; he stepped close to you, grabbing your arms. You sighed, looking up at him. 
“If you need anything, anything… I am here for you.” Joe whispers; you nod, folding your arms underneath each other.
Please ask me to say; please beg me to stay. Joe thought; he nodded as he moved away from the couch. “Joe, wait!” You stood up, “You don’t mind staying for the night, do you? I would feel comfortable with a man around the house… just for the night.” Your voice is soft, and Joe could tell you needed him. He couldn’t deny you. He peered over his shoulder and smiled. 
The night progressed as you lay in the bed, shifting uncomfortably in the bed. Your eyes squeezing shut, trying to feign being asleep in hopes of tricking your mind into slumber.
“Joe, are you sleeping?” You called out into the darkness, “Joe?” You called out once more, panicked; you sat up quickly squinting through the darkness as you watched his chest slowly fall and rise. You sighed for a moment, shifting comfortably in the bed.
“Yes?” 
Joe rises from the couch, groaning as he shuffles to you. He crawls into bed, and you open the covers, allowing him to slide in. His eyes were low from being awoken from his sleep, his hands tight as he observed you move closer to him. You craved his warmth; a sense of comfort and protection seeped through to you. Your eyes focused on Joe’s, watching through the stillness of the night and the slight light that the moon gave you. His hand gently reached out, tucking your hair behind your ear, holding onto the strand until he reached the end. He moved closer, pressing a kiss on your forehead. He held it, trying to compose himself. He didn’t want to push himself onto you; he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He wasn’t going to be like your ex or your father. Joe pulled back, your eyes fluttering open hesitantly, and you moved closer to him. Your lips molded together, smacking in the silence as your slight hums vibrated into his mouth. He pulled away; you were vulnerable and seeking out comfort in him. He needed to wait to see if this feeling rang true. He wanted you more than you could know, more than he thought possible. He couldn’t take advantage of you like this, not right now… not ever. He cuffed your cheek, kissing your forehead before you, wishing you a good night.
Tumblr media
Burning something evoked a wide range of emotions in Joe, a symbol of something new shifting in the atmosphere. The flicker of a match igniting, the scent of smoke swirling in the air, and the crackle of flames consuming the body— the overwhelming sensory experiences that engage him in the death of Benji. He stood over the growing flames, watching them dance against his body; Joe thought he would feel at ease. He couldn’t–his mind racing back to you and Rafi. Joe grew angry, feeling compelled to kill Benji; he was powerless against the woe of Beck, her smile and innocence being stripped away. It's as if his autonomy is being stripped away, leaving him feeling vulnerable and exposed. The heightened feelings of frustration and resentment began to grow through this loss of control. 
He thought of you as he smelled the charred remains of Benji, your face dancing in the flames. He sighed, pushing his forearm against his brow. He quickly dialed you; he needed to hear your voice. 
“Joey?” Joe heard you whisper, soothing all anxieties that rushed through him. His hand gripping the steering wheel. “Joey? Everything alright?” He hummed, letting his head rest against the steering wheel. It has been one month since he had forced his way into your apartment, leaving articles of clothing behind and coming up with any excuse to stay the night, not that you minded. He had a key to your apartment now, coming in the mornings and getting Rafi together for daycare as you prep for classes and graded papers. Your glasses hung off the bridge of your nose while you gnawed on the cap of the pen—your eyes shifting from the monitor to the paper as you scribbled some markings on it before moving on to the next. The way his lips danced against yours, his hands gently caressed your skin as your lips tangled.
“Yes, everything is alright.” He heard you shuffling, the covers shifting off your body. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No, Joey, no, you didn’t. What’s wrong?” You could always read him; you would always tell. You didn’t even have to look at him to see that something was picking at him. He knew that you were good for him; you were everything that he needed you to be. Joe remained silent; the only that was heard was Rafi’s babbling. “Just come over and well talk, okay.”
“Okay.” Joe hung up and made his way to you, his head spinning from his recent murder. His fingers trembled as he pulled down your street, finding a parking spot adjacent to your apartment building. He moved out of the car. His key jingled in the locks swiftly; you swung open the door, watching in bewilderment. Worry drawn on your eyebrows and lips. “Joey, what is going on? Was it—”
“No…no, just Beck.” You nodded for a moment, allowing him to enter the apartment; slamming the door, you proceeded to deadbolt the locks. You stared at the final lock, trying to compose yourself; he wasn’t yours. You were just friends. Why did it hurt at the mention of her name at the thought of him being at her apartment, embracing her? “She just makes me insane, always having to watch her and look out for her. All the lies and the—” You picked up the clothes that scattered the floor, tossing them in Rafi’s dirty clothes hamper. Mindlessly, you grabbed the toys, tossing them in a bin as they interrupted his sentence. 
“I see.” was all you could mumble out, your eyes flickering to him. He continued to ramble about how he didn’t trust her–how she was always so secretive around him. But that was Beck; the doe-like look in her eyes always masked the truth that crawled beneath the surface. She was manipulative; everything she did was calculated and meticulous. Her bold red lip contrasted against her pale skin, and her dress revealed just enough of her thigh to keep her professor yearning for more. The way she teased and poked at man’s most animalistic and primitive yearning, dangling it in front of their face before yanking it. You turned to face him, letting the hamper fall against the floor. 
“I frankly don’t want to hear about Beck. I understand she’s your girlfriend or whatever she is but, I can’t take hearing about her. When you’re sitting in my apartment, helping me take care of my son… playing house with me. I don’t want to hear about Beck. I get enough of her when I am with them. Every issue that plagues her, I hear about, all the damn time. Benji, you, the Captian. I can’t–I just can’t do it.” You turn away, heated you move into the bathroom face burning with embarrassment and angry. Angrily you slapped at the knob, turning on the hot water on. It screeched for a moment before the hot water spit out.
As you step into the shower, the hot water cascades over your skin, offering a momentary reprieve from the turmoil. Droplets dance across your body, carrying away the remnants of anger and frustration that cling to you like a heavy cloak. With each passing second, the tension melts away, replaced by a soothing sensation of renewal. You close your eyes, allowing the water to envelop you completely, washing away the Beck and Joe's monologue that echoed in your mind. Steam fills the air, wrapping you in a comforting embrace as you stand beneath the gentle stream, letting it cleanse your body and soul. Slowly, the weight of the conversation begins to lift, replaced by a sense of clarity and calm. In this sanctuary of steam and solitude, you find solace. You sighed as the shower opened; you saw his feet planted in the shower and the sound of a soft sigh resting in the air. You feel his hands gliding against your waist, pulling you closer to him. His lips pecked your shoulder, sucking in the aroma that cascaded around him. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?”  His hand gently drummed your abdomen, his cock hardening against you as he pecked at you, his hands moving to your breast, kneading at them slowly, letting his fingers squeeze and tug at your nipples. 
“Please, forgive me” he whispered; you couldn’t say no to him. So, you nodded, turning around fully to face him. Pressing a gently kiss against his lip, stepping out of the shower, grabbing the towel as you instantly moved to Rafi’s crib. 
Tumblr media
As the tears streamed down his Rafi’s flushed cheeks, Joe’s heart ached with empathy. With gentle hands, he lifted the sobbing child into his arms, cradling him against his chest, his hand rubbing circles against his back something that he noticed his mom and he liked. Leaning close, he murmured soothing words in a soft, reassuring tone, his voice a balm to the boy's distressed soul. With each gentle stroke of his hand and whispered promise, Joe felt the tension begin to melt away from his Rafi’s trembling form. He rocked him back and forth, a steady rhythm that mirrored the beating of his own heart, a silent vow to always be there to chase away the shadows and dry the tears. Joe moved back your bed, and you reached out your arms, allowing Rafi to settle into your chest and Joe to cuddle back into your side. Rafi was a crybaby and wanted you to hold him 25/8; you wanted to break him out of that habit. Joe and you had been working on getting him to sleep through the night in his crib, it would only last two nights out of the week before Joe caved and dragged himself to Rafi’s crib, engulfing him in his arms. You didn’t bother to correct him; you could tell that something was off with him. You two didn’t speak much after your moment the shower; you didn’t try to get him to speak either.
A heavy knock on the door had woken Joe; he hissed in frustration, moving the walker out of the way as he stumped his toe against it. He looked back, seeing Rafi whining for him, his arm stretched as he crawled closer to the edge of the bed. Joe scooped him up, snatching your phone and checking the time—7:37 AM. He grunted as he moved to unlock the deadbolts and finally the door. The door swung open, revealing Peach. Her eyes widened as she glanced at Joe; quickly, she shook her head, trying to find the right words to say but couldn’t. Peach observed him, eyes squinted in fury and confusion. “She’s sleeping Peach.”
She called out your name, moving into the living room, her eyes falling on you as you lay in bed. Her head snapped to Joe, realizing that he was in his boxers. “What the fuck! What did you do to her?” Peach asked as she tried to grab Rafi. Joe stiffed her and backed away as she continued to reach for your son. 
Joe held Rafi tightly in his arms as Peach had her outstretched arms and a determined frown on her face. Ignoring Joe’s protective grip, Peach reached for the child, her fingers brushing against Joe’s before clasping around the little one's hand. Joe’s heart skipped a beat, a surge of protectiveness welling up within him. He pulled back, his hand resting against Rafi’s back as he watched Peach’s face morph, her eyes narrowing before he turned her attention to you. 
“Peach? What–What are you doing?” You shifted from the covers, you were in a grey crewneck, a B printed in brown and outlined in red. Your hair messing tied away from your face as you squinted to fully focus on her. 
“No! No—what are you doing?” She hisses, stomping towards you, your finger jabbing into the air as she throws her hands dramatically. 
“Peach, he was just—I saw Dominick. Since then, he has been here for me. Nothing… Nothing else has been going on.” You shouted over her rambles. Something in her face changed; she slammed her mouth shut, looking at you, taking in your words. She grabbed the back of her arm, holding it tighter to her person. Joe noticed the slight change in her demeanor at the mention of Dominick; he scared her. 
“Did you–” You quickly shook her hand, stretching out your hands for Rafi; Joe quickly moved to your side, sitting on the edge of the bed as Rafi crawled into your lap. Joe’s hands rested on top of yours; he pressed his lips against Rafi’s head before cuffing your chin. He rose to his feet. He grabbed his things, placing them on his clothes. He jiggled his phone before leaving out of your apartment, a silent single for you to call him when she leaves. “When did that happen?”
“Nothing happened. He just was here for me at the time and… I trust him.” Peach laughs, sitting on the bed. 
“Trust him, absolutely not. You know he’s playing you just like he’s playing Beck!” You rolled your eyes, unsure of what to make of her accusations. I mean, they weren’t incorrect in their entirety. Joe had a fleeting romance with Beck and probably still does. “He’s using you. I lost Beck to him, and I am not going to lose you. In this stupid ideology where you think you need him! You don’t need him! I am here for you; call me if you are feeling scared; call me if you are feeling down!” 
“I know” you mumbled, caressing Rafi. “I shouldn’t trust him” you confessed. “I really shouldn’t” a bitter laugh left your throat as you chocked on a sob that rose in your throat. 
“He could be like Rafael! You are so blinded by love that you didn’t see it then, but I did, and now, I do.” Peach whispered, as she inched in Joe’s spot. Resting her head against your chest, her hands wrapping against your torso. 
 Joe stood outside the closed door, his fists clenched at his sides, he strained to hear the muffled voices from within. Anger simmered beneath his skin, fueled by the snippets of conversation that reached his ears. Each word felt like a dagger, piercing through the thin veneer of his composure. He could hear her strained voice, a mixture with a Peach’s voice—a voice that grated on his nerves like sandpaper. His jaw tightened, muscles coiling with tension as he fought the urge to burst through the door and confront the source of his jealousy head-on. The temptation to intervene, to demand answers, pulsed through him like a steady drumbeat, drowning out reason and restraint. With every passing moment, his anger mounted, a raging inferno threatening to consume him whole. Yet, for now, he remained on the other side of the door, a silent witness to his own unraveling emotions. Something needed to happen, Peach was always in the way, the intricate dance of relationships that she always blocked. Stepping on his toes and stealing you away from him. Tangling you in her grasp, the same spell that Beck was under.  She was a figure looming in the background, casting a shadow over any potential romance that Joe worked so hard to grow and nourish. Her presence was like a shield, deflecting any attempts at romantic advancement with a casual remark or a well-timed interruption. 
He needed to kill her; her undoing was all the fault of her own. 
Goodbye Peach Sallinger. 
642 notes · View notes
little-cereal-draws · 9 months ago
Text
If Ghosts had a more mature rating and was able to do more creepy ghost powers/death side effects:
Pat, Humphrey, and Thomas are eternally bleeding. Their clothes are wet, their hand gets wet from touching it, they'll leave trails of blood down the hall, etc. The blood on their hand or the floor disappears pretty quickly as their ghost powers make them reset but their clothes are always soaked
Thomas's whole stomach and the top of his pants are bloodstained. Pat's is all located on his shoulders/necktie and has the most obvious stains due to the color difference of his clothes. There are a few drops here and there down his sleeves and chest. It's pretty heavy because of the major arteries the neck that would've been punctured. Humphrey's is by fair the heaviest and is all over the front of his torso. Like the whole thing. When he died he fell face down into the growing puddle of blood that would've been pooling from his stump
Fanny can turn her head frighteningly far. There's a sick crunching sound that happens when she does this and it always sends shivers down Alison's spine even after years of hearing it. The other ghosts have joked and compared Fanny to an owl because of this and she chews them out every time
Pat coughs a lot because he's got blood stuck in his throat. He'll randomly have a huge coughing fit, cough a bunch of blood into his hand and then go "Oh no. Anyways..." He also has trouble breathing and has to take breaks to sit down during physical activities like dancing or running. It annoying but not too much of a hindrance to his daily life; it's like having asthma or allergies. The blood can make his voice sound a little weird sometimes too, like he's gurgling smth while he talks. He just clears his throat and keeps going
The plague ghosts vomit up bile every once in a while. It's black, steaming, and putrid but disappears almost instantly
Kitty also throws up when she's excited... which is a lot. She also gets chills, lightheadedness, fevers, and uncontrollable shaking. There's not much the other ghosts or Alison can do to help her besides sitting with her/trying to distract her. She'll lay down and try to breathe through it while Alison reads her a story or the Captain infodumps abt smth or Robin holds her hand. Sometimes she falls asleep, sometimes she doesn't. She's always better after a few hours tho
Fanny gets really bad migraines. Alison's theory is that they're caused by her broken vertebra. Fanny doesn't particularly care why they happen. When they happen, she's in an even worse mood than usual so it's best to steer clear of her. She doesn't have the energy to yell at ppl but will remember the slightest fault and wait until she's better to go on a lecture. Again, there's not much Alison or the other ghosts can do to help besides let her lay down and try to be quiet
Mary and Robin's skin peels off. It's white and flaky and leaves raw red spots underneath. The dead skin disappears once it leaves them but the skin underneath is never healthy and flakes off too
Both Robin and Mary smell like burning flesh but only Mary is detectable by living people. Robin only smells when he uses his powers. It really puts a lot of the ghosts off, especially newer ones
Robin's body also gets affected by his powers in other ways. If it's something small like flickering a light, his hair will stand on end. Something bigger like turning a light on/off or flickering a more powerful light will cause him to spasm. It's usually just his arms and wears off after a minute. Smth really big like redirecting that lightning bolt for Mike will be the equivalent of him actually getting hit w the lightning. His body seizes up, falls over unresponsive and twitching for several minutes, but he's always ok in the end. Alison and the other ghosts get very worried but he walks it off
Julian and the Captain both feel remnants of their heart attacks. Shortness of breath, tingling/numbness in the arms, dizziness, heart palpitations, etc. They both choose to keep it a secret from the others and cover it up but if they're particularly stressed abt smth, they'll start getting chest pains which is harder to cover up. The Captain has excused himself from many social situations to go sit on the floor and try to breathe through the pain and calm his heart. Robin's the only one who knows about Julian's because it happened once while they were hanging out. Logically, they both know they can't die again but it's still scary
Mary likes to sit in the lake because even tho she can't feel it like she would if she was alive, the cold water is soothing on her burns
All the ghosts have days where they just lay abt bc the pain is too much to move. From who does it the most to who does it the least it goes Mary, Humphrey, Pat, Fanny, Thomas, Kitty, Robin, the Captain, Julian
502 notes · View notes
dyeher · 10 months ago
Note
Still thinking about your Osamu drabble where reader called him crying bc her pants wouldn't fit, and he was trying to pay attention to her and not how her thighs looked 🫣 (I think about it daily)
“Samu,” you sniffle through the phone. “They don’t fit.”
Osamu’s locked himself in his back office, a reflexive action whenever you call while he’s at work because you never call while he’s at work.
“Sweetheart?” he props his phone on the stand you got him for Christmas and sits back in his chair. “What doesn’t fit?”
“My jeans, ‘Samu,” there’s shuffling as you position the phone in a way that gives him full view of your top half. He frowns at the puffiness of your eyes, obviously you’re genuinely upset about this. He’s determined to figure out what’s got his princess so upset and fix it.
That’s what he tells himself before you make a cute little hop backward and it gives him a full view of the jeans that won’t fit and why. Your thighs are too big. The waist is stuck half way up the delicious fatty area that he spends afternoons with his face buried in, prohibited from going further by the fact that the fat is spilling over the top.
Osamu forgets for one horrible second that this is something you’re apparently not okay with as he groans. He almost asks you to turn around so he can see the back. You misinterpret this sound of distress as something negative. After he scrambles to explain to you that you should just get new jeans he realizes he’s only digging himself a deeper grave. Osamu decides he can’t console you from his tiny office at the back room of Onigiri Miya so he goes home.
He kisses every inch of your body, whispers reassurance and affirmation, fucks the soft, plush thighs that he loves. That he sponsors with every new dish he tries out on you. That he is entirely responsible for with the way he constantly feeds you, dotes on you. His life revolves around food, and it makes him feel a little guilty that he’s dragged you into orbit with him.
He burns the jeans, dramatically douses the offending material in gasoline and sets it on fire in his backyard and then makes you your favorite dessert from scratch. He ends the day like he always does? With his face buried in your thighs and your fingers carding through his hair.
sending you kisses baby!
594 notes · View notes
tojisbbg · 1 year ago
Text
𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙢𝙮 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚
Tumblr media
❝call out my name when i kiss you so gently.❞  
♡ uzui tengen ♡ 
a/n: first demon slayer piece!! i picked up the anime after a long time and i forgot how horrendously down bad i was for this man. 
a/n (cont.): also! my apologies if tengen’s a bit out of character, i tried my best lol. this writing piece is very long because i don’t believe in porn without plot, i need plot and context. word count is stated below!
word count: 12.2k
content: uzui tengen x fem!reader, tengen isn’t married, reader is one of the hashiras, enemies to lovers, minor plot (if you squint), spoilers (sorry), lots of teasing and bickering, smut smut smut!!, all acts are consensual, not edited for grammatical errors.
...
“god, i hate these uniforms.” you groaned in annoyance, shuddering as the soft skin of mitsuri’s fingers grazed your chest while she helped you button up. the girl giggled at your daily complaint. 
it was true, you truly hated these god awful uniforms that were provided to you by the demon slayer corps. the shirts were so tight, you’d think that the manufacturers forgot how human anatomy works and that everyone’s body isn’t the same. 
needless to say, the shirt didn’t fit your chest, so you’d had to go with the mitsuri-style of wearing your uniform. 
“hm, well, now whose fault is it for having these huge tits?” she shamelessly asked, poking your boobs jokingly, which made your cheeks burn. 
“hey! it’s not like i personally asked the gods to give me them. besides, you have them too!” you defended, averting from her teasing eyes. 
“yeah, but i’m proud of having these babies. anyways, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. they sit so nice and pretty, if i was a guy, i think i would purposely hug you face first on your chest.” mitsuri smirked, making you gasp as you playfully landed a smack on her upper arm. 
“mitsuri! geez, you’re such a little perv.” you said as you squished her cheeks, making her laugh as the sound was contagious enough to make you crack a smile.  
you love mitsuri with all your heart, she’s the ball of sunshine in your life that you needed. you’ve been a hashira for about two years now and she was your first friend and now your best friend. 
it’s important to mention that you were very disliked in the demon slayer corps at first. the other hashiras, such as sanemi, obanai and giyuu didn’t speak to you for months because you were taken in for a hashira position so quickly. 
less than a week to be exact. 
the amount of skill that you have is almost inhumane and was never seen before. you were given the position without any prior training or requirements. 
after all, you took an upper moon down by yourself, which was pretty impressive for a first timer who claims to have no experience. 
nonetheless, mitsuri and rengoku were your only friends. you have a huge soft spot for both of them, but after the incident that occurred in the mugen train, both you and mitsuri went down a pretty dark path. 
but, you made sure to comfort her as much as she did to you. you both have each other and you swore to protect her just like how she did to you. 
you both were platonic soulmates without a doubt. 
“y/n!” you heard tanjiro’s voice behind you, making both you and mitsuri turn around. 
“oh, ‘jiro!” you flashed him a smile as you waved at the redhead. 
“the crow spoke to me this morning, we got assigned a new mission.” he said eagerly, panting a little, which indicated that he probably ran around in circles to find you. you hummed in response, ruffling his hair. 
“ah, so you’re with me. inosuke and zenitsu are on it too, i assume?” you questioned, accepting the cup of green tea that mitsuri handed you as you took a sip. 
“yup, and also mr. tengen.” tanjiro nodded with a nervous smile. you choked on your tea, coughing as mitsuri patted your back. 
“what?! why is he coming??” you yelled, making tanjiro’s eyes widen as he gulped. 
“u-uhm, it’s ‘cause i heard that we’re fighting an upper rank six. the more help we get, the better.” he tried to calm you down, but the information he relayed only angered you further. 
“huh?! do those shitty higher ups think that i can’t kill an upper moon myself without that cocky bitch?!” you raised your voice, eyes glaring in the distance as tanjiro gasped. 
“n-no! y/n, you got it all wrong! i di-”
“i’m gonna have a word with those stupid hags.” you spat out angrily, marching off before you felt tanjiro wrap himself behind you in an attempt to halt your movements. 
“let go, tanjiro. i’m not going on a mission with that stupid freak.” you tried to desperately peel yourself away from his hold, but tanjiro’s hold was tight. 
“please, y/n! why don’t you understand that this is not the time for your pride or his pride to get in the way. inosuke and zenitsu already suffered from minor injuries because mr. tengen lashed out from hearing about you joining the mission.” tanjiro informed, making you scoff. 
“that arrogant little shit. i’m gonna kill him for sure now!” you exclaimed, making tanjiro cry out as he begged mitsuri to help him cage you inside the room. 
“y/n! please, just listen! after losing one of the hashiras already, we need to be sure that we don’t lose another. i don’t want to lose you or mr. tengen. so, please, just try to get along with him or you can just stay with me and the other two.” he suggested, and as much as you hated the idea of being stuck with tengen, you adored tanjiro like a little brother and saying ‘no’ to him was pretty hard. you let out a heavy sigh in defeat.
“fine, but if he pisses me off, i’m gonna slice his throat with my blade.” you threatened, making tanjiro’s face turn pale as he let out a nervous laugh. 
“everything will be fine, y/n. don’t worry.” tanjiro assured, but you didn’t pay mind to his words because it will go down like how it usually does when you get placed together with tengen. 
with you both at each other's neck, of course.
“hmm, i think you secretly like tengen, y/n.” mitsuri flashed you a mischievous grin, making your jaw drop to the ground. 
“did you not hear about me wanting to execute his murder literally a few minutes ago?” you asked in disbelief, wondering if your best friend was okay in the head. however, the two-toned hair colored woman simply laughed at your words. 
“you both quarrel like an old married couple.” she giggled, making you let out a fake gag in response.
“disgusting, i’d rather marry obanai’s snake than him.” you retorted, making mitsuri gasp from your obnoxious words. 
“you’re crazy!” mitsuri looked at you with wide eyes. 
“no, you’re crazy for even thinking that i wanna even breathe the same air as that shithead!” you sneered, making mitsuri scoff. 
“don’t be silly, he’s totally your type. you told me that you like tall guys, more on the muscular side, extroverted to fit your opposite personality and someone who’s very sexy.” she smirked, watching how a deep blush tinted your cheeks as your lips twitched, trying to formulate words to defend yourself. 
“i was not referring to him!” you quickly blurted out, walking ahead as you wanted to leave the conversation. 
“mhm, whatever helps you sleep at night.” mitsuri said as she ran up to you, linking her arm with yours as you rolled your eyes. 
“shut up, i don’t like tengen. he’s an arrogant jackass that pisses me off.” you grumbled under your breath. 
“i’m a what now, princess?” you suddenly heard a deep voice coming from behind you, making you yelp from how startled you were. 
“what the fuck is wrong with you?! can’t you let your presence be known, creep.” you glared at him, mitsuri happily greeting the giant as you ignored his presence. 
“creep? no, no, no. you must be mistaken. i am the god of festivals, the flashiest being on the planet, and the best of the best!! i also happen to have very good ears to hear a certain little rat talk ill of my superior being.” tengen cockily gave his speech, making you groan in irritation. 
“spit out one more word and i swear i’m gonna rip your tongue out.” you threatened in a low voice, to which didn’t scare the 6′6ft man, as he only gave you a chuckle in response to mock your attempt of being intimidating. 
“what was that? i couldn’t quite hear you from down there. it just sounds like squeak squeak squeak i’m stupid squeak squeak lord tengen is the best squeak squeak!” he said in a very obnoxious and annoying fake high-pitched voice, making your blood boil as you turned around to face him. 
“you little shit!” you yelled, before lunging at him and jumping to cling on his very inconveniently tall body. your actions caught tengen by surprise, quickly placing an arm on your hips to make sure that you don’t fall on your ass. 
“i said that i’m gonna kill you if you don’t shut up, uzui tengen!!” you said in a louder voice, closer to his face as you harshly pinched his cheeks. 
“ouch, ouch! it hurts, y/n!!” tengen whined, trying his best to release himself from your deathly grip. 
“good, that was the whole point.” you grinned in satisfaction, sticking your tongue out at him. 
“look at you being so close to my face and with your tongue out too. you wanna french kiss me that bad, princess?” tengen teased, making you immediately pull your hands and face back to create distance between you both, your face scrunching up in disgust. 
“as i said before, i’d rather kiss kaburamaru than you, freak!” you quickly defend, trying to slip away from his embrace, but tengen only tightened his hold on you. 
“hmm, i don’t think i’ll let you goo~.” he sang out, making you cry out to your friends to help you escape the beefy man’s hold. 
“they’re definitely in love, right tanjiro?” mitsuri asked the boy who was standing next to her and witnessing the entire thing. 
“oh, for sure. i’m a strong shipper of y/n x mr. tengen.” tanjiro responded, making mitsuri squeal. 
“oh my, me too!! let’s start our little club and play cupid with them.” she eagerly suggested, making tanjiro laugh and nod. 
you were finally able to peel yourself away from tengen, which was not as easy done as said, but you somehow did it. you threw a sharp glare at tanjiro and mitsuri who were giggling at god knows what while you just battled death. you stomped over to them before crossing your arms over your chest. 
“you traitors.” you spat out, making the both of them grow silent as they side eyed each other, trying to contain their laughter. 
“sorry, y/n, but tengen is strong for us too. we wouldn’t be much of a help.” mitsuri said, which was a total lie that both you and her knew, but you were too tired to argue. 
“ugh, whatever. ‘jiro, get inosuke and zenitsu to meet up with us in front of the gates. it’s almost sunset, so we should start moving.” you instructed the scar-faced boy, making him nod as he obliged. 
you turned around, about to walk off, only to be spun back around before getting pulled into a bone crushing hug. you let out a heavy sigh, already knowing the words that would come towards you now. 
“hey!! you jerk, don’t just walk off without telling me goodbye. tch, you better come back to me in one piece, alright? i have to braid your hair tonight, so you must come back. i know i tell you this before every mission, but i really love you, y/n. you’re my best friend, and i can’t lose you. so, don’t be stubborn. if you need help, then ask the others, okay idiot?” mitsuri softly spoke, her squeeze on you tightening with every word. 
your heart melted as you returned her hug, a smile forming on your lips. no one in this entire universe would be able to describe the bond that you both had as it ran too deep to even measure. 
“i love you too, mitsuri. how can i leave you when i still have to attend your and obanai’s wedding, hm? i’ll be back home tonight, in one piece, i promise.” you assured her, looking into her gentle green eyes that held so much adoration for you. 
she was the love hashira after all. 
“i know you will, y/n. you’re a strong little thing and i believe in you.” she gave you a warm smile before you both pulled away. 
both you and tengen waved mitsuri goodbye before taking off. needless to say, tengen’s serious mode is quite enjoyable because he finally shuts up. 
---
“yeah? well, maybe if you weren’t such a manwhore, then you’d probably have a wife right now.”
“are you jealous that i can pull bitches and that you can’t?”
“i could have a whole harem full of men if i wanted to.”
“but would they offer to be your husband?”
“...”
“then we’re equals!”
“i would never want to be your equal, that’s just me disrespecting myself.”
“excuse me?! i am the god of fe-”
tengen was rudely cutt-off midway his sentence as the ceiling broke down, his hands instinctively pulling you towards him as your back collided with his hard chest. there were multiple screams coming from everywhere as the commoners looked horrified. 
“huh, i guess finding our little friend tonight wasn’t as hard as we thought.” you sneered, walking further in to find the source of all of this commotion. 
your eyes widened as you saw tanjiro on the ground struggling to tame nezuko who was in her full demon form. however, tegen seemed more surprised than you because this was his first time witnessing it. 
“damn, what a flashy way to demonize your sister.” tengen said in awe as the poor girl was out of her mind and clawing at the air. 
“holy shit, then we’ve come pretty late. you look very beat up, ‘jiro.” you said with apologetic eyes, taking note of how tired he looked as he panted and was covered in some blood. 
“yeah, the demon’s pretty strong. she- nezuko please! just go to sleep!” tanjiro begged, tears pooling in his eyes as you felt useless since you had no solution for him. 
“take her outside in a safe place and try to think of something that would bring her mind back to something that is close to her. maybe like a song or tune that your mother used to sing. we got this from here.” you gave him a small smile, making him nod his head as he quickly grabbed a hold of nezuko before leaving. 
“hey!! why aren’t you guys paying attention to me!” you heard a high-pitched voice yell, making both your and tengen’s head turn. 
“god, your voice is so annoying, it nearly made my ears bleed.” you grimaced, taking a look at the female in front of you. it was the demon that tanjiro was talking about, but she looked so... weak?
“huh?! you dare to say that to me, you ugly looking shit!” she angrily remarked, making you giggle. 
“of course, if i were you, i wouldn’t even need a demon slayer to kill me. i’d just kill myself if i had such a hideous voice like that.” you shrugged, making tengen let out a muffled chuckle as he tried to hide it behind his palms. 
“you fools, you may be hashiras, but i’m one of the strongest demons out there. i’m one of the upper moons, ranked in number six. the name’s daki, so don’t forget it when you’re on your last breath by the end of this battle.” daki smirked, but both you and tengen exchanged an expression of amusement. 
“what? there’s no way you’re an upper moon six. you’re so weak and unskilled, i could end you in two seconds.” tengen scoffed, making daki’s eyes widen at the insult as she gritted her teeth. 
“the fuck did you just say to me, you meat sack?!” she snarked. 
“what a pity. not only is your voice ugly and you’re weak, but you’re dumb too! jeez, that’s just foul. here, would you like to take my katana and just end your sad little life on your own before we do?” you pulled out your katana and offered it in a way to taunt her. daki’s eyes twitched at your words as she ran at you, only to have her head laying on her lap in just seconds. 
“h-huh? did you just cut my head off?! it’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair!! you both are so mean to me and this is just bullying!” daki cried, making you confused as you looked at tengen who looked equally as lost as you were. 
“is this some kind of a joke? there’s no way she’s throwing a tantrum right now.” tengen chuckled in disbelief. 
“what a child.”
“i know, right? her parents must’ve been so fed up with her. she’s so not flashy at all.”
“ugh, and she has white hair like you, so she’s automatically ugly.”
“excuse me?! do not compare me to that thing. i’ll dye my hair to black then with mitsuri’s dye.”
“you both deserve to die for ganging up on me like this! big brother i need your help!” she suddely called out, and you gasped as you saw another demon emerge from her body. 
“holy shit-” you were struck, not even being able to form proper sentences. 
“oh? how interesting. the fun has just begun.” tengen smirked, his hands gripping the shaft of his katanas. 
this was going to be a long battle. 
---
“you stupid bitch! you have some nerve to insult my looks when you look like you were picked up from the trash. i’m a beauty icon!” daki cackled, watching you struggle to sit back up after forcefully thowing you across the building with her belt. 
you groaned in ache as it felt like your bones were nearly shattered to pieces. you lost sight of tengen, assuming that he was probably handling the brother. you heard the clacks of her heels grow closer and you knew that if you didn’t get back up on your feet soon, things won’t be good. 
so, you focused on your breathing to heal. 
“beauty icon? don’t make me laugh. you look like the fat shit that i took earlier in the morning. actually, no. you don’t even deserve to be compared with my shit.” you frantically laughed at her, watching her ball her fists, grinding her teeth at your words. 
“that’s it, i’ve had enough of you. it’s time to put an end to you right now.” she maliciously smirked, her belt coming towards you to wrap around your figure, only for her to lose sight of you. 
“huh?” she looked around in confusion. 
“too slow.” you scoffed, holding your katana tightly before beginning to slice her belts. being partnered up with tengen on missions and training allowed you to adopt some of his notable skills. one of them being to move very fast to the point where it almost seemed like you were teleporting. a blue flame began to wrap around her belts, burning them to crisps as daki bellowed in pain. 
“you burned my belts!” fat tears began to roll down her cheeks as she fell on her knees, gasping and crying out in pain. 
“i wish i could hold even an ounce of sympathy for you, but sadly i don’t.” you coldly said before harshly landing a clean slice on her neck, making her decapitated head fly far from her body. 
a sigh of relief left your lips, but you let your guard down way too soon. forgetting how demons work, it slipped out of your mind that even though her head was cut off, her body was still functioning. 
you both were still on the roof of a very tall building and you didn’t notice when daki’s body came behind you as you were now pushed off. your eyes widened in horror as you felt yourself lose balance, feet slipping of the edge as you didn’t have the opportunity to grab something. 
you screwed your eyes tight, waiting for the impact of the cold soiled ground to come into a harsh contact with your already weak and aching body. however, that never happened as a strong pair of arms caught you, your eyes opening to see tengen look down at you with a playful smile. 
“you just can’t do anything without my help, can you?” tengen narrowed his eyes. 
“tch, i didn’t even ask for your help.” you rolled your eyes, yet you were still thankful for him saving your life. 
“ugh, this is why you’re not very flamboyant, y/n.” he let out a dramatic sigh before completely dropping his hands to the side without warning, making you crash on the ground with a yelp. 
“you absolute shithead!” you yelled at him, groaning in pain as you shot him a glare. 
you glanced up to the roof to see that daki’s body was now laying hopelessly, and you know that you should probably go look for her head, but you were too tired and pained to even move. 
“did you take care of the crybaby?” tengen asked, referring to daki. 
“kinda.” you replied, a hint of embarrassment in your tone. 
“kinda? what do you mean?” he furrowed his very thin white eyebrows. 
“i managed to slice off her head but i let my guard down too soon. so, i don’t know where her head went and her body is pretty beat up but could still function.” you informed him, watching tengen’s face turn into one of disappointment. 
“you’re not that careless to mess up like that, y/n. i’ve sliced her head off almost twenty times, so you know that’s not an effective method to kill her.” he nagged at you, making you feel slightly irritated. 
“you think i don’t know that, genius? my body can barely stand and i’m losing so much blood that i feel like i can pass out any moment.” you tried to reason with him, only for him to scoff. 
“if you can’t handle a little bit of blood loss and body ache then why are you a hashira? this shouldn’t be new to you, y/n.” tengen’s words felt like a jab at your pride with every word that he spoke. 
“i made a mistake, okay?! i can’t do anything about it!” you spoke through gritted teeth. 
“yeah? well, it was a very stupid mistake that only brainless people make!” he yelled back at you before giving you a glare. your jaw dropped, unable to even form words to defend yourself. 
he was right, it was a very stupid mistake. 
tengen almost immediately regretted his words, but it was too late to take it back now. he saw how you grew quiet, eyes planted on the ground as he watched you slowly slide back to lean against the wall. he wanted to say something, but would soon be interrupted by gyutaro, who has found him once again. 
even keeping your eyes open at this point was draining. your head throbbed and your body felt completely numb. you had no clue where daki’s head went and you didn’t know where tanjiro was either. 
you felt your eyelids growing heavier and before you knew it, you passed out. 
---
“y/n! y/n! wake up, please! y/n!” you heard a voice desparately call out for you, your body being shaken back and forth. you slowly opened your eyes, vision still slightly a little blurry as you were able to make out some fuzzy burgundy and green bits on the figure. 
“tanjiro?” your voice came out as a whisper. 
“yes, it’s me, y/n. are you okay?” tanjiro softly asked, helped you sit up straight as you grimaced in pain. 
“i’ve been better.” you tried to laugh it off, but it even hurt to laugh. 
“mr. tengen and i managed to weaken the brother, but it’s not enough to kill him. we’re just buying some time to recover ourselves.” he said, gulping harshly and you could sense the fear in his voice. 
“hey, we’re not gonna die, okay? help me stand up so that i could go over to that airhead over there.” you pointed a shaky finger at tengen who was panting in the distance while gyutaro’s body was at a farther distance. 
tanjiro helped you up and held onto you as you walked over to where tengen stood. you could see how fatigued he was, the poison that was injected into his body earlier began to spread. he was so out of it, that he didn’t know that gyutaro was creeping behind him, claws out with the intent to chop a limb off. 
both you and tanjiro began to yell his name, but tengen was too distracted to even hear you both. you quickly got out of tanjiro’s hold, sprinting towards the weak man with whatever energy that you had left in your body, throwing yourself onto him. you both came crashing to the ground, rolling off to the side and dodging the attack. 
“y/n?” tengen called out your name in surprise. 
“this is me paying off my debt to you for saving me earlier.” you quickly muttered, before standing up as you pulled out your katana. 
“missed me?” you heard the familair high pitched voice coming from behind. your head turned around to see daki, full recovered before she took one of her belts and wrapped it around you. 
gyutaro took this an an opportunity to get back to the unfinished business him and tengen had. 
tanjiro quickly sliced through the belt to release you. as far as you know, inosuke has been taken down by daki as he was now trying to recover the severe wound he got. you don’t know where zenitsu went. 
“tanjiro, go help tengen fight the brother. i don’t think he’ll be able to hang on by himself for long.” you quickly directed him, but tanjiro seemed conflicted. 
“but, what about you, y/n?” tanjiro asked with concern washing over his face. you thinned your lips, only to have some hope in your eyes as you saw a sleeping zenitsu creeping up behind daki. 
“zenitsu and i got it from here.” you gave him a small smirk. 
---
it was finally over.
both daki and gyutaro were taken down. you laid on the ground, feeling like your heart was going to explode any moment from how irregular your breathing was. there was a huge blast, landing you at a distance and you had no idea where zenitsu was.
all you knew was that the demons were taken down. you saw tanjiro running off to somewhere, along the lines of saying how he won’t be at peace until he found both of their heads. 
as bad as it sounded, you had no energy left inside you to care. you felt like a dead corpse. you’ve fought many upper ranked demons before, you even took some very powerful demons down on your own, but this by far was the one that nearly knocked you off. 
it was because there was two to deal with, double the trouble. 
you’ve been laying on the ground for god knows how long, probably fifteen minutes or so. you tried to control your breathing, trying to envision every single blood vessel within you to deal with the aches and wounds that you had. 
from what you know so far, everyone was still alive to some extent that can be taken care of. other members of the corps were on their way, such as kakushis and obanai was said to be on his way as well. 
although, the serpent pillar was taking his sweet lovely time. 
after some time, you finally felt your body somehow become a little more alive. so, you tried to slowly stand up, knees still slightly a little wobbly but you regained your balance. you walked, well more like limped, around the area as your eyes scanned for tengen. 
finding him didn’t take very long as you saw him resting on a pile of rubble. you scoffed, walking to him before crouching down as he glanced at you weakly. 
“you look like shit.” you blurted out, making him chuckle at you usual sharp tongue. 
“thanks, you look even shittier.” tengen replied, his words having a little lisp added to them but you didn’t pay too much mind to it. 
there was a thick silence that was placed between you too, the only sound that could be heard was the heavy breathing that was coming from tengen. 
“you alright?” you asked in a gentle voice.
“could’ve been better, although, i don’t think i can hang on much longer.” he gave you a sad smile, making your heart drop to your stomach. 
“w-what do you mean?” you stammered, gulping down the lump that formed in your throat. 
“the poison he injected inside me is way too strong for my body to fight against it.” tengen let out a pained groan, making you rush to his side as you examined his body. nearly all of the skin he had exposed right now was purple from the poison and worry took over your mind. 
“stop talking like that, you idiot. you’re gonna be fine, you hear me? the kakushis are on their way and they’ll have an antidote to reverse this. you’ll be okay.” you said with soft eyes, grabbing a hold of his cold hands to provide some warmth to him. tengen hummed is slight amusement. 
“oh? do i see the cold-hearted y/n being mushy for the great god of festivals?” he teased, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how unhinged he can be sometimes, even when he’s nearly on the brink of death. 
“unfortunately, yes. you get on my nerves a lot and you’re a complete idiot, but i need you to stay alive and continue doing that. i need you to keep bothering me and making me wanna strangle you. so, you can’t die on me, okay?” you gave his hands a gentle squeeze, making him gaze at your face. 
in tengen’s point of view, you looked so beautiful, even though you were covered in blood, scars and dust. he noticed the scar on your cheek, which you got from gyutaro when you saved tengen from losing his arm. 
“does it hurt a lot?” tengen asked, a weak finger coming up to lightly graze the scar on your cheek. 
“not so much.” you winced a little after feeling his touch. 
“i’m sorry.” he suddenly apologized, making your breath hitch. 
“it’s okay, it was just a defense inst-”
“no, not for that. i mean, i’m sorry for the scar too. but mainly for what i said earlier to you.” tengen’s voice was laced with guilt as you tried to think back to what he was talking about earlier. 
oh. 
you realized what he was referring to. 
“it’s fine, don’t worry about it. in one way, you weren’t wrong about it.” you admitted as you shrugged your shoulders. tengen shook his head before opening his mouth to speak. 
“no, i was in the wrong. i was so angry and frustrated at myself for not being able to take down either of them that i lashed out on you. i know it was a mistake, but i used it as something to attack you with. so, for that i’m sorry.” he sincerely apologized, and you knew that there was not even a speck of bullshit in his words. 
“we’re okay, tengen.” you offered him a comforting smile before stroking his messy white locks which came undone from his ponytail. 
tengen could feel the poison slowly making his heartbeat irregular, from erratic to dangerously slow, his vision was growing fuzzy and his tongue was getting stiff. 
“i need to let my last words out, so hear me out, please.” tengen requested and your heart shattered to a million pieces. 
“stop talking crazy! you’ll be fine.” you panicked, feeling useless and desparate as your eyes scanned for any source of help. 
“you’re an amazing hashira, y/n. i mean, being able to climb into these ranks and this position in less than a week without any prior training is beyong impressive. i’ve always admired and respected you. you’re very flashy and flamboyant.” he gave you a wide smile, making your heartbeat increase as his words flustered you. 
“i think he injected you with too much poison, ‘cause you’re out of your mind.” you giggled, trying to lighten the mood, which worked as the weak male in front of you laughed. 
“there’s something else i’ve been wanting to tell you too, y/n.” he cleared his throat, making all your attention go to him. 
“hm?” you hummed. 
“i l-”
suddenly, his words came to a halt. his expression pained as he slouched back, his mouth closed. 
“tengen? tengen! oh god, what the fuck is taking them so long to come?” you yelled in frustration and fear as you stood up and started to call for help in every corner, but it was futile. 
you came back to where tengen sat, sitting on your knees as you gently cupped his face. you saw how his eyelids fought to keep open, tears welling in your eyes. 
“don’t try to speak, just focus on your breathing, okay? y-you’ll be fine.” you stuttered towards the end, your voice breaking as you let your tears fall. tengen’s eyes softened upon seeing you cry, bringing a shaky hand to wipe your tears away as he shook his head, an attempt to tell you to not cry. 
you heard rushed footsteps coming from behind you, turning around quickly to see the kakushis hurrying to your side. you moved over a little, allowing them to take a look at tengen. 
“he’s been poisoned and it’s really bad. give him a strong antidote, please.” you begged, watching them nod at your words as one of them dug into the medical kit to pull out a small bottle before handing it to you. 
you opened it before placing the bottle near his lips, as tengen obliged and drank the medicine. 
“this is the strongest antidote that we have access to. it works almost immediately.” one of the kakushis informed you. 
but nearly five minutes has passed and nothing has improved about tengen’s condition, it only seems to have gotten worse. 
“it’s not working. do you think maybe a second dose would work then?” you asked, eyes pleading for any kind of solution that could reverse this mess and put your heart at ease. 
“miss. y/n, there’s no other option. i don’t think-”
“no! no, you can’t say that!” you cried, looking over at tengen who tried his best to keep a small smile whenever you looked at him. you chewed on your lips, knowing that he was trying to mask away his pain to make you feel less shitty. 
you couldn’t help but throw yourself on him, straddling his lap as you shoved your head in the crook of his neck. you started to sob, it sounded really loud and ugly, but you didn’t care.
you don’t want to lose him. 
“you can’t die, tengen! this is not how you’re supposed to go, you little shit. being killed by poison is not a flashy nor flamboyant death that is fit for the great god of festivals. please, don’t leave me.” your tears began to wet his clothes and the flesh of his neck and shoulder. 
tengen’s heart clenched in pain as he heard your broken cries and pleas. he wishes that he could speak and comfort you, even if his words would’ve been a bunch of lies. but, sadly he couldn’t do anything other than trying his best to embrace you as tightly as he could. 
you were so busy crying and sobbing as you begged tengen to not die, followed by a bunch of empty threats darted to him, you didn’t realize when nezuko and tanjiro arrived. 
nezuko gently placed her hand on tengen’s bicep and he felt the small touch, glancing down to see the smaller figure giving him hopeful eyes. then, both your and tengen’s body was place in a huge pink flame. 
you were still unaware of all of this going down, not even bothering to pull away from tengen even for a second. although, you felt your body temperature slightly rising and it was almost as if your body aches were magically going away. 
“jeez, i thought that demon was a crybaby, but surely you’ve taken over that title, princess.” you heard tengen speaking normally, feeling the vibration of his chest as he let out a chuckle. 
you quickly pulled away from the hug to look at him, your face teary and eyes glossy with tears. you quickly scanned him and noticed that the trace of poision was gone as his flesh returned to its normal color. 
and, his lips drew a shit eating grin.
“you idiot!” you scolded him before tightly wrapping your arms around him as you hugged him, trying to be as close to him as possible as your heart was slowly being put to ease. 
“you’re alive and okay.” you said, which was slightly muffled. tengen hummed in response, arms tightly wrapped around your waist. 
“can’t leave you now, can i?” he said, comfortingly stroking your back to calm you down. 
“i’m glad that you two are okay. we both checked up on inosuke and zenitsu, too. they’re both doing good as well, the kakushis are treating them.” tanjiro assured with a smile, making tengen reciprocate. 
you pulled away to look at nezuko who was sitting next to you and tengen. tanjiro came closer before ruffling her hair. 
“nezuko’s blood demon art includes healing powers. although, you both shouldn’t move too much as it might make the wounds worse.” tanjiro advised, and both you and tengen nodded. 
“thank you, tanjiro and nezuko. you both saved my life and no action of mine can ever repay you for what you guys have done.” tengen graciously thanked them, and both siblings offered him a smile. 
“thanks, nezuko.” you gave her a big smile, holding your arms out so that the little girl could come into your embrace. you gave her a gentle squeeze before placing a kiss on her forehead. 
“and thank you, ‘jiro. you’re always looking out for us.” you ruffled tanjiro’s hair, he looked more than just beat up, giving you a smile as his tired eyes tried its best to stay awake. 
“now, let’s all return home in the most flashiest way possible!” tengen’s loud voice boomed, making everyone cheer. 
---
you sighed in bliss, stepping out of the huge shower as you dried yourself. you hummed a small melody, feeling refreshed to wash away all that blood and gunk with a warm shower. you wrapped your hair in a towel and your body in a robe before exiting the bathroom. 
you nearly let out a blood curdling scream when you saw someone laying on your bed. after realizing that the person in question is none other than your best friend, mitsuri, you calmed down your elevated heartbeat. 
you forgot that she’s the only one who knew your password combination. 
“holy shit, you nearly put me in a heart attack just now.” you placed a hand over your heart, closing the bathroom door behind you before shuffling over to the bed where mitsuri now sat up. 
she wore a facial expression which made you grow worried. usually, she’s never this quiet and is all smiles and giggles. but, her lips are frowning and you could see her eyes swelling with tears. 
“mitsuri? what’s wr-”
you were cut off by her jumping on you as you let out a yelp. she sobbed on your chest as she tried to say something to you, but all her words were incoherent and muffled. 
you patted her back and stroked her hair to calm her down, feeling her arms tightening around your waist as if she was afraid that she was gonna lose you. 
“i-i was so scared, y/n! when the order came for the assistance of another hashira because you and tengen were down, i lost it. i wanted to go and help you guys, but obanai refused to let me go. i thought i lost my best friend!” mitsuri cried, looking up at you as tears nonstop poured out of her eyes, landing on your neck. 
“i’m sorry for worrying you, mitsuri. but, you know that i’m a woman of my words, right? i promised you that i would come back in one piece, and i did. i can’t leave my one and only best friend, now can i?” you gave her a warm smile, making her smile at you too. 
“don’t ever leave me, okay? i love you too much to lose you.” she sniffled, and you nodded your head as a small chuckle left your lips. 
“i love you too and i promise. now, let’s stop with all of this sad stuff and talk about something else. come on, help me dry my hair so that you can braid it.” you suggested, making her quickly sit up and smile brightly at you as she eagerly nodded at the idea. 
so, here you both are now, munching on the red bean mochi that she made earlier while she braids your hair. 
“so, i heard that you and tengen shared a pretty special moment together.” mitsuri suddenly said out of the blue, making you choke on the mochi that was trying to pass down your throat. you could feel her smirk behind your head. 
“said who? no such thing happened.” you quickly dismissed her assumptions. 
“nope, a little birdie told me that you hugged him and you both got all sappy with each other.” 
“...”
“so, i’m correct, right?”
“tanjiro told you, didn’t he.”
“i never said any names. so, that means i was right!!”  
“i never said that.”
“ughh, you’re so mean, y/n.” mitsuri whined, shaking you back and forth as you let out a heavy sigh. 
“listen, even though he’s annoying, i was scared that he was gonna die. i just got a little too emotional, alright?” you explained, your cheeks tinted with an angry blush right now. 
“oOooOo~ y/nie’s in loovveee with tengennnn~” she sang out, making you grumble as you were trying to shush her. 
“i don’t know anymore, he makes me confused. sometimes he’s a little mean and annoying but then he’s so sweet and caring.” you admitted honestly, making mitsuri hum in response. 
you’ve taken note of the small actions tengen would do to fluster your heart. him putting you before himself, moving you away from harm, his sometimes suggestive or flirty comments, and the numerous skinship you both unknowingly shared. 
“do a little trial on him for these next few days that you both get off. see if he acts the same or a little different with you.” mitsuri peaked her head around to shoot you a wink. 
“different?” you questioned, eyebrows pinched together in confusion. 
“mhm, different. you’ll be able to realize, don’t worry. oh! and i finished doing your hair. you should go to sleep, you must be tired.” mitsuri hopped off your bed, leaving you a little dumbfounded. 
“huh? but i thought we were gonna have a sleepover.” you said, causing her to laugh nervously.
“o-oh, well that, uhm i just realized that nezuko told me to sew up her kimono.” she replied, which was a total lie, but you decided to mess around with her a little more. 
“really? why didn’t she just give it one of the kakushis?” you interrogated further, making mitsuri thin her lips. 
“because the kimono is special to her and she trusts me the most with it. besides, you deserve some peace and quiet to rest. i’ll see you tomorrow in the morning.” mitsuri quickly waved to you before scurrying out.
you giggled at her strange behavior as mitsuri never hid anything from you before. but, you knew that sooner or later you’d find out. 
you turned of the lamp light before snuggling into your bed as you pulled the covers over your body and fell into a deep slumber. 
---
you were awoken by a cold breeze that entered you room, goraning as you rolled around you bed for a little. after stretching your body and doing that weird shaking/twitching thing, you sat up and turned on your lamp. a yawn left your lips as you rubbed the sleep away from your eyes, glancing at the clock rengoku gifted you on your last birthday. 
it was almost five in the morning. 
it was still pretty early but you knew that you weren’t going back to sleep any time soon. so, you decided to go to the hot spring for a soak since you knew that everyone was still asleep at this hour. 
you went to the bathroom and brushed your teeth before washing your face. you then grabbed a fresh set of clothes and a towel before heading out. as you were walking outside, you noticed the familiar white scaled reptile freely roaming the place. 
you cocked an eyebrow in confusion, knowing that the animal was almost never without his owner. you walked over to obanai’s pet snake, kaburamaru, before leaning down. 
“morning, why are you out here all alone, ‘maru?” you asked, as if the snake could understand and respond to your words. nonetheless, kaburamaru simply stuck his tongue out. 
“come on, let’s get you back to obanai.” you extended your arm, allowing the snake to slither onto you before wrapping itself on your neck. 
luckily, obanai’s place was on the walk to the spring, so you didn’t have to make a double trip anywhere. 
you finally reached his place, knocking on the door as you waited for a response. the door finally opened, revealing obanai in his robe. 
“good morning, i just came to return your little friend here who was roaming nearby my place.” you gave him a smile, extending your arm out to let kaburamaru slither back onto his owner as obanai thanked you. 
“who is that, honey?” you heard a familiar voice speak from inside his room. you looked at obanai with a questionable expression, but, he simply averted his eyes away from you as a blush crept up to his face. 
“mitsuri kanroji. come out here. now.” you strictly called out, hearing a faint gasp coming from her as you could here her shuffling around the bed. you saw her come into your view in just a robe as she harshly pushed obanai aside. 
“y/n! what are you doing here?” she nervously laughed as an obvious blush embrace her, while she scratched the back of her nape. 
“i just came to return kaburamaru. what are you doing here?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. 
of course, you didn’t need her to answer. 
the visible hickeys that were littered across her neck gave it away. 
“i can’t believe you left me for obanai. is this how deep our friendship runs?” you pretended to sulk, making her quickly shake her head. 
“no, no! it’s not like that, y/n, i swear!” she tried to reason. 
“i was going to invite you to join me in the hot spring, but i assume you’re to busy.” you let out a dramatic sigh, making her face wash with guilt. 
“i promise, i’ll join you later!” mitsuri grabbed your hands, giving you apologetic eyes. you chuckled at her futile attempts. 
“i’m just playing around, mitsuri. have fun, i’ll see you later.” you winked at her before walking off. 
the sun was still shying off, not fully risen as it was still a little dark outside. but, you didn’t mind it. you liked the dimmed lighting, the quiet atmosphere and how it was warm outside. 
you finally reached the hot spring, untying your robe as you took it off before settling your clean clothes and robe on the bench that was provided by the corps for use. 
you were now in your naked glory, being one with mother nature as the warmth of the earth embrace your skin. you dipped your toe in the water, testing the temperature, which was just perfect. you slowly began to emerge yourself in the water, moaning in bliss as the warm water hugged you with warmth. 
you leaned against the edge, allowing yourself to close your eyes as a contented smile was plastered on your face. 
“mind if i join you?” you heard a loud voice boom, recognizing it almost immediately. you opened your eyes to see tengen in nothing but a towel around his waist that was barely covering the lower half of his body. 
he was bare faced, snowy locks untied and his jewelry was removed. 
“knock yourself out.” you bluntly responded, averting your gaze as you realized that you spent way too much time checking him out. you looked the other direction to give him some respect of not looking at him completely nude. 
the only people you’ve been in the hot spring with was you friends, mitsuri and rengoku. other than that, you rarely come here unless it was a tiresome mission or mitsuri needed some company. 
you heard the splashing sound which indicated that tengen got inside the water, facing him as you both now sat across each other, an awkward distance if you were to be honest. 
after about a few minutes that had past, you suddenly heard tengen chuckle. 
“i feel like i’m about to have a serious conference with you. come closer, i’m not gonna bite you, ya know.” tengen gave you a sheepish grin, leaning back to become a little more comfortable. 
you suppose that he was right. 
you wrapped your arms around your chest as you got up, thankfully, the water covered your waist. you didn’t want to accidentally flash him. 
you took a seat next to him, feeling a little shy. 
“why are you so quiet?” you broke the silence, turning your head to the side to face him. tengen looked down at you with a cheeky smile. 
“why? you miss my voice that much?” he asked in a flirtatious tone, making your cheeks heat up. 
“no! it’s just unusual for you to be this silent.” you murmured, pushing yourself further down inside the water from embarrassment. 
“i’m giving you a day off from our bickering today. but just today! so, don’t get your hopes high.” tengen said, making you roll your eyes. 
“why thank you, lord tengen, how kind of you.” you said in a sarcastic voice. however, the foreigness of the honorifics used for him slipping out of your stubborn mouth made his eyes widen. 
“you should use honorifics with me more often. you sounded so hot.” he remarked, looking at you with a smirk as he licked his lips. 
“oh my god, shut up!” you splashed him with water, making him yelp. 
“hey! not fair!” he scoffed before returning the treatment to you as you both were now too busy wetting each other by the brutal splash attacks. 
which was you mostly getting drenched as his large hands caused huge splashes while your comparably smaller ones were not much help 
“why are you acting like we both didn’t have a romeo and juliet moment yesterday, princess!” tengen teased, continuing his attacks as you struggled to keep up with him, too busy as you were dodging. 
“don’t get any weird ideas, i was just an emotional wreck yesterday ‘cause i didn’t want to experience the whole rengoku incident.” you responded, using all your strength to form a huge wave with your hands before splashing him. 
“is that so? and how do you view rengoku as?” tengen paused, cocking an eyebrow as he waited for your response. 
“a brother of course!” you blurted with no hesitation as if it wasn’t obvious. 
“then how do you see me as? a brother?” he scrunched up his nose in distaste as he fake gagged. 
“what the fuck, hell no.”
“then?”
“i see you as a colossal dumbass.” you smirked, earning a gasp from him before the water attacks continued to be thrown at you. this would go on for another couple of minutes before you waved your hands in defeat. 
“okay, okay! truce.” you held out your hand, waiting for him to shake it. 
“fine.” he agreed, taking a hold of your hand; only to pull you against his chest as he smirked. your eyes widened, feeling the bare skinship between your tits and his well-scultped abdomen. 
tengen leaned his face down before his hand cupped your cheek, grazing the healing scar that was created from yesterday’s battle. 
“does it still hurt?” he softly asked, his voice sounding so hypnotizing and you couldn’t tell if your body was getting hot because of the water or the close proximity between you two. 
“not a lot.” you meekly responded, making him hum. 
“you were so good to me yesterday, saving me from that demon and scarring this pretty face of yours for me. yet, you look beautiful as ever.” tengen whispered sensually, making you release the breath that you didn’t realize you were holding in. 
“really?” you asked, mind slowly fogging up. 
“mhm, the prettiest. so fucking pretty that i could just eat you up, princess.” he began to leave soft kisses on your jawline, his lips feeling like soft pillows as you let out a whimper. your hand snaked up his nape, pulling him closer to you as he continued to kiss down your neck. 
suddenly, you felt something wet on the flesh of your neck. his tongue began to lick and bite your skin, making you moan. tengen made a few kitten licks before harshly sucking on the spot, determined to leave his mark. 
“tengen.” you called out his name, which came out as a whisper. 
“hm? tell me what you want, and imma give it to you all.” his thumb stroked your cheek as he looked at you with lust clouded eyes. without thinking twice, you pulled his head towards your face, crashing your lips onto his. 
the kiss was steamy and intense, the lewd noise of sucking and clash of teeth from how needy the both of you grew. you nibbled on his lower lip teasingly before licking it as an apology. tengen smirked into your little antics, grabbing a hold of your jaw before kissing you roughly. 
you felt his tongue swiping against your lips before his free hand cheekily went down and groped your ass, making you gasp. he took this as a chance to slide his tongue in your mouth, exploring every cavern he could find. you sucked on his tongue, completely drinking and devouring each other. 
you could taste the fresh mint he uses every morning. 
tengen pulled you more into him, as you could feel his hard cock now resting on your thigh. your eyes widened at how long, heavy and thick it was. he noticed your reaction and couldn’t help but let a cocky grin dance on his lips. 
“you feel that? it’s what you do to me.” he spoke on your lips before placing a sloppy wet kiss on them one last time. tengen pulled away, both of your lips connected by a string of saliva as you both panted for air. your lips were swollen and your face was burning red. 
tengen bit his lips, seeing your tits on full display for him to enjoy. of course, your tits borderline flash him every day because those tight uniforms are too small to cover them up.
not that he’s complaining. 
although, now it was completely exposed. your perky nipples swollen and begging for some of his attention to which he’d be more than happy to provide. 
tengen took one of your tits in his mouth, his hand fondling with the other one as he pinched your nipple, before rolling it between his index finger and thumb. tengen was the king of fairness, using his mouth equally as he suckled on your nipples before lightly biting it. he swirled his tongue around the bud before releasing it from his mouth with a ‘pop’ sound. 
your breath hitched as you entangled your fingers in his wet snowy locks, pushing him further into your chest. of course, tengen made sure to leave plenty of hickeys on your chest too, just for good measure. 
“come on, princess. let me please you how you deserve to be pleased, yeah?” with that being said, he lifted you up as you wrapped your legs around his waist and wrapped your arms around his neck. tengen made sure to securely hold onto you as he stood up and exited the hot spring. 
the area had two benches, one of them was occupied with both of your stuff. so, tengen used the empty one to sit you down. a sudden shyness took over you as you realized that you were completely nude in front of him. 
you look down at your feet before he grabbed a hold of your chin, lifting your face up to meet his burgundy ones. 
“come on, baby, let me see that pretty little pussy of yours.” tengen begged, kneeling as his palms were placed on your knees. there was a growing ache between your legs that you knew only tengen could cure. 
so, you pushed away those stupid worries swarming in your mind and said fuck it. 
you opened your legs, giving him a beautiful view of your wet cunt. tengen grinned in satisfaction, licking his lips as placed teasing kisses on your thighs, trailing up to your inner thigh. 
“tengen, please.” you whimpered, looking down at him with pleading eyes. although he wanted to toy around with you, he has waited way too long for this, so he wanted both you and him to indulge in this. 
tengen leaned forwards before licking a fat stripe on your folds. you let out a heavy breath as you felt the wet muscle part your folds open. he began to sloppily makeout with your pussy, sucking on your lips before lightly biting it. multiple swears and curses slipped out of your lips along with sinful moans as his tongue worked wonders. 
tengen sucked on your clit before placing a kiss on it, making the most lewd sounds ever. you soon felt the intrusion of something entering your hole as tengen pushed in a thick finger. he began to tongue and finger fuck your dripping cunt, his chin wet with your arousal as he continued to circle the tip of his tongue on your clit. 
he soon added a second finger, the sounds of your pussy squealching was like music to his ears. he experimented by moaning against your pussy, the vibration of his voice sending a shockwave through you. 
“fuck! s-so close, tengen.” you moaned out as he continued to scissor his fingers inside you while his tongue continued to lick, suck and bite your clit and folds. your stomach began to form a tight knot, your chest feeling fuzzy as your eyes rolled back from the intense amount of pleasure that you felt. 
“cum for me, princess.” he demanded, speaking against your sensitive pussy, nose bumping into your swollen clit while he continued to eat you out. 
you gasped and let out the most pornographic moan that your throat could produce, cumming all over tengen’s face. he happily drank in all that you had to offer, using his tongue to clean you up as his gracious actions began to overstimulate you. 
tengen gave your clit one last playful bite before giving it a kiss as he pulled away, looking at you as he wiped his wet chin. you were still trying to catch your breath from that powerful orgasm that he just put you through, looking at him with a flushed face. 
“i’m not done with you yet.” he mumbled, picking you up as he began to walk to his place. you forgot that the hot spring was located pretty much in his backyard. 
you both were now inside his bathroom, as he turned on the showerhead, the both of you now becoming wet once again. you felt his hard cock poking your thigh, wrapping your hand around it as you lazily pumped it while kissing him. 
he gasped in the kiss, a low moan leaving his lips as your thumb circled his tip. you grinned, looking up at him with an innocent face. 
“you know, i could put my mouth to other uses than just bickering with you.” you seductively said, licking and biting his peck playfully, making him groan. 
“is that so? why don’t you show me, i’m a visual learner.” tengen replied, making you giggle as you got on your knees to come eye level to his cock. 
this man was 6′6ft, it was expected that he’d have a huge cock. but, now that you’ve come face to face with it, you felt a little intimidated. tengen was massive, an erected shaft standing at no less than nine or ten inches, thick as the girth of it barely fit your hands, twin veins running on either side which throbbed under your fingers and his tip leaking precum. 
you placed a teasing kiss on his tip before swirling your tongue around, knowing that it’s the most sensitive part. tengen’s breath hitched, as he stroked your hair lovingly while you toyed around with his cock. you licked up and down the sides of his cock, making sure to specifically go over the twin veins, feeling him shudder. 
without warning, you took his cock inside your mouth, trying your best to fit most of it in. you gagged at first as you didn’t expect it to hit the back of your throat so soon, but you regained control. you bobbed your head back and forth, making sure to use a lot of spit to lubricate it and make it more slippery. 
tengen felt like he was in heaven, just on earth, in his bathroom. your teeth lightly grazed his shaft, the new sensation sending him over the edge as you continued to throat fuck his cock. you sucked and licked the entire length before sucking on his tip like a lollipop. 
you fondled with his balls, trying to stimulate more pleasure within him as you knew he was getting close with the way he was twitching in your mouth. 
“f-fuck, you’re such a good girl, doing so good for me.” he breathed out, encouraging you to continue your actions as he began to thrust his hips into your mouth. you heard him let out a whimper before a guttural moan exited his lips, his warm cum flowing down your throat. 
you made sure to clean his cock up, not wasting a single drop of cum that he poured inside of your mouth. you placed a gentle kiss on his tip, before standing up. 
tengen pulled you into a heated kiss, tasting himself a little on your tongue as he looked at you with darkened eyes. his hands travelled in between your thighs, fingers slipping past your slit as he rubbed your pussy. 
“need you so bad...please, tengen.” you whimpered, desparately grinding your wet cunt onto his hand as you continued to leave sloppy kisses on his jaw. tengen smirked, feeling himself get hard by your pleas. 
“you poor thing. need me to make you feel good, princess?” he tauntingly asked, but you were too fucked out in pleasure to care about his tone. you nodded your head eagerly before he pinned you against the wall. 
tengen grabbed a hold of his thick cock, using the tip to prod your slit open. you felt his tip graze against your clit, making you moan as you gave him pleading eyes. however, tengen intended to play around with you a little more. 
he coated his cock in your juices, sliding the long shaft between your folds as it ocassionally bumped into your clit or poked your entrance. you were on the verge of tears because your hole was clenching on nothing. 
“no more teasing, tengen. i need you inside me.” you said in between your pants, trying to convince him to give in to you by kissing him, sucking on his lips and biting his tongue. 
perhaps if tengen was feeling generous today, then he would’ve given in. but, he needed this. 
“tell me how bad you need it and maybe then i’ll consider if you’re worthy of my cock.” tengen evilly grinned, making your eyes widen at his request. 
“you little shit!” you cursed at him, only to receive a harsh smack on your ass. 
“disrespect me again and i’ll leave you in here all hot and bothered, i swear.” he threatened, making you harshly gulped as that was the last thing that you needed to happen. 
“please, tengen. i want you to please me, i need you inside of me so bad. make me cum, please?” you tried your very best to sound as pleasing as you could to make him happy, to convince him that you deserved to be fucked by his cock. 
“hm, have you forgotten that i am superior to you?” tengen scoffed, wrapping an arm around your waist to make sure that you don’t slip when he lifts one of your legs to wrap around his waist. he takes his free hand to slap his heavy cock on your clit, making you wince in pain. 
“say it right or you won’t get it.” he spoke and with every word was a smack on your clit with his cock, to which you were sure made your clit swell with both pleasure and pain. 
“please, lord tengen. make me cum, please.” you begged once more and this time he was satisfied with your answer, a proud grin plastered on his face as he leaned in to give you a longing kiss. 
“see, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” tengen playfully asked, but you were too distracted by the way the tip of his cock was splitting you in half. your face expressed a grimace as the stretch of his cock entering your tight hole burned a little. 
“just breathe, baby. you’re taking me in so good.” he encouraged you, a finger toying with your clit to stimulate you with some pleasure as he slowly continued to push more inches of himself inside you. 
“mhm.. it’s too much, tengen.” you mumbled against his lips, feeling incredibly full as he still hasn’t bottomed out inside you yet. 
“you can take it, princess, i know you can. this pussy was made for me.” tengen groaned, pulling out of you completely before slamming his entire cock back inside of you, a loud moan escaping your mouth as you clawed his back in both a mix of pain and pleasure. 
“f-fuck, so tight.” he stuttered, feeling your walls welcome his throbbing cock in a tight hug as he continued to thrust in and out of your went cunt. you were breathing heavy, the feeling of fullness from his cock threw you into a whole other dimension. 
“feels so good.” you whimpered, biting down on his neck as he continued to piston his hips into you, balls smacking against your thigh. his twin veins grazed your slick walls so perfectly, the friction increasing your pleasure. 
“been waiting for so long to fuck this sweet pussy of yours. god, if only you knew how many times you’d make me so hard and i had to jack off at the thought of you. and now? this pussy is mine.” he lowly chuckled, increasing his pace as his stamina was absolutely wild. 
a ring of white cream began to form at the base of his cock as you were fucked out dumb from his huge cock. your eyes rolled back, vision growing blurry as your mind was filled with nothing but tengen. 
“i’m gonna cum.” he moaned out, making you gasp as he twitched inside you while his tip kissed your cervix. 
“i-inside.” you managed to stammer out, and he nodded. the familiar knot continued to tighten as your climax was near. you moaned like an absolute bitch in heat, purposely squeezing him with your walls, feeling him choke on a breath from how good you made him feel. 
“gonna cum-” you whimpered as your body shook with pleasure, cumming all over his cock and a few seconds later, tengen painted your walls with thick ropes of cum. you shuddered at the warm feeling of your pussy being pumped full of his cum, as tengen still lazily thrusted inside of you. 
you were completely delirious.
you cupped his face, pulling him in for a kiss, nothing too suggestive. it was a simple and loving kiss. 
you pulled away, looking at him with a bashful smile. 
“come on, let’s properly clean up now.” tengen chuckled, and you nodded your head. he pulled out of you, watching the sight of your pussy leaking his cum and he could feel his cock struggling to contain the urge to get hard again and plunge deep inside your cunt again. 
“don’t waste it, pretty. i worked too hard to fill you up.” he scoffed, plunging two fingers into your cunt to shove his cum back inside you. 
“tengen!” you smacked his bicep, your pussy still sensitive. you both broke out into a fit of giggles as you guys finally decided to cut it out. the rest of the shower consisted of you two bickering as usual about who made who feel more pleasured. you washed his hair and he washed yours, it felt very domestic. 
after about another half an hour or so, you both finally got out of the bathroom. tengen went outside by the hot spring to grab both of your clothes from the bench. 
he saw mitsuri heading to the hot spring, waving her good morning as the woman happily reciprocated. 
“oh! why do you have y/n’s clothes in your hands? and speaking of y/n, where even is she? i told her that i’d be joining her in the hot spring later.” mitsuri pointed at your clothes as she asked in confusion. 
“don’t worry, i took great care of her. she seemed a little tense, so i helped her relieve it.” tengen smirked, giving mitsuri a wink. she gasped as she saw the marks left on his flesh, a squeal leaving her lips. 
“i knew it, i knew it! hehe, she’s never gonna hear the end of it from me!” mitsuri jumped in joy from her victory. 
“hm, looks like you and obanai had some fun like us too.” tengen pointed out, noticing the bluish-purple marks left on her neck. she laughed in embarrassment, to which tengen didn’t pick on her any further, patting her head before taking his leave to let the woman enjoy her time. 
tengen returned with your clothes as you both dressed more comfortably. it was only seven in the morning, still pretty early. 
“i should head back to my room.” you said, standing up from the bed, only to have tengen frown. 
“why? just stay here with me for a little longer.” tengen grabbed your hands, pulling you down on his lap as he protectively wrapped his arms around your waist. 
“what if someone finds out?” you asked in worry. 
“so? who cares? you’re mine now anyways. also, mitsuri know.” tengen dropped the bomb as he kissed your neck. 
“what?! how??” your eyes were the size of two full moons. 
“i met her by the hot spring just now, she was asking for you and i told her that you were with me.” he shrugged it off. you groaned as you shoved your face in the crook of his neck. 
“fuck, i’m screwed.” you whined. 
“why? you don’t wanna be with me?” his voice was tainted with disappointment, making you quickly pull back to cup his face. 
“no! that’s not what i meant. it’s just, i’ve been in denial with my feeling for you for so long and mitsuri was right. so, she’s gonna eat me alive for the next few weeks.” you let out a heavy sigh, making him chuckle. 
“oh? you know, you saying that now makes me wanna eat you again.” tengen grinned, and in a swift motion you were now on his bed with him hovering above you. 
you giggled, locking him between your legs as you wrapped your arms around his neck before pulling him in. 
“you’re so dirty, geez. i’m so tired and sore, so let’s just sleep.” you suggested, watching his eyes glimmer with love as he nodded. tengen laid on the side, pulling you close to his chest as he kissed the top of your head before looking down at you. 
“tengen?” you called out to him.
“yes?” he responded, as you looked up at him. 
“i love you. well, i love you a lot actually. i was so scared that i was going to lose you yesterday. so, don’t ever scare me like that, okay?” you hugged him tighter, making him laugh at your sudden confession. 
“i love you too, princess. as long as my heart beats, i promise to protect you.” tengen leaned down to press a kiss over the scar on your cheek before finally planting a soft and loving kiss on your lips. 
you both smiled at each other before snuggling into one another’s embrace as sleep slowly began to take over your heavy eyes. 
1K notes · View notes
loveindefinitely · 10 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ PRINCESS TREATMENT — price + gaz x reader
01 — THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT
featuring. kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price
warnings. fem!reader, fmm, friends to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence, frequent mentions of drug and alcohol abuse, discussions of mental health
series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.
<- previous part | next part ->
Tumblr media
If you had to say when, exactly, everything changed, you’d put it down to a single monarch butterfly.
Walking down the tight alleyways of Las Almas, the sky a four o’clock black, a lone street light casts a gentle yellow over your frame. The air is stagnant, the warmth of late spring mixed with the type of humidity that only comes before a storm, your boots clicking against the stone beneath your feet.
With a leather jacket wrapped tight around you, you fall into the rhythm of it all. It’s just before five in the morning, and you know that you should be heading home any minute, but you find yourself rejecting the idea.
Everytime you leave for the night, just to breathe, to live for no one but yourself, it gets harder and harder to make your way back through your bedroom window. You know the guards are getting antsy, too, your payoffs for their silence on the issue becoming less and less worth it. Not when it’s becoming an ultimatum between some quick cash and a slow death.
You wish you were given that choice. Mightn’t even care which option you happened to receive.
It’s quiet, in these parts. No sign of the city that had been ruined by mercs, no sign of the destruction that had once lay beneath one man’s boots. 
Instead, this city now sits in the firm grip of El Sin Nombre – the way it had once been, and if your family has it how they want it, the way it shall forever be. 
Underneath your breath, you hum, a tune you’d picked up from the local radio. Every morning, you listen to the daily news reports, the weather, the latest celebrity gossip. Without fail, El Sin Nombre is never mentioned. Neither are the missing persons, the families torn apart by the woman you call boss.
The end of the alleyway is coming up, the main street ahead barren of people, except the odd homeless person or fitness nut getting their morning fix.
Just as you’re about to turn around and manually move your feet back to your home, the smallest of movements catches your eye, right by a potted plant sitting at the street corner. You’re not sure how, or why, it catches your attention – but it snags it, hook line and sinker.
Quickly looking both ways, you take a cautious step towards what appears to be a small aloe vera plant, stopping in your tracks when you realise what’s perched upon the tallest of the stems, its burnt orange wings fluttering with the small breeze.
A butterfly.
It hasn’t spooked – not yet, not with your careful movements – and it seems so insignificant. So small, with the family homes lining the streets, the independent stores setting up for the day.
With you, your massive life, your massive boots to fill.
And it just sits.
Flaps its wings.
A shot sounds.
Jumping back, your eyes catch the butterfly taking off into the sky, its sun-kissed wings taking it as far away from the horror as possible. Exactly as you should be doing.
Screams echo around you, another bullet sounding, and then another, and another – 
Hand resting at the gun sitting in your thigh hollister, you whip your head towards the sound, the yelling, the rushed Spanish leaving people’s mouths. Gringos. El Sin Nombre. Death. Stay down.
Taking a sharp right turn onto the main street’s footpath, another shot fires, this time much closer. Much more real, tangible. Hand fully fisting around the handle of your pistol, you take the corner to the sidestreet – the source of it all – with quiet ease.
Multiple cartel members – expendable pendejos, Valeria would say – have guns not unlike your own, aimed at two separate men hidden behind a parked car. They’re crouched behind it, peaking and launching their own retaliating shots, hitting either shoulders or necks. 
They fire off quick, dirty shots, one bursting through the car’s windows, shattering the glass, before lodging in one of the mens’ head. He falls, blood and brain matter splattering on the brick wall behind him. None of the others even spare him a look.
“Get ‘im!” A deep, rough voice calls – British, assertive, mature – the one furthest from you. He’s adorning a boonie hat, pulled down to cover the tops of his ears, facial hair decorating his jawline and upper lip.
They both seem to be exerting themselves, clearly having done a lot of activity and planning before the current scene. Nearly all of the civilians are out of the area, the two foreigners taking care to not harm any of the innocents.
Certainly a step up from the cartel.
There’s four left, all taking shots at the car, some bullets ricocheting off of the flat metal. Back to the opposite wall, you take out your pistol, switching off the safety with a single brush of your thumb. Keeping it extended in front of you, both hands holding it, you make your way silently closer to the confrontation, keeping behind them all.
The second foreigner – tall, all slim muscle, radiating warmth and self-assurance – takes a sweeping step away from the car, delivering final head shots to all but one.
Clawing against the ground, trying to gain his footing, pistol flung metres away from him, he lets out groans of agony. He’s been shot in the knee, it seems like – yeah, definitely been shot in the knee, by the way he screams when he tries to rise on it.
Doing quick head checks, the younger foreigner keeps his gun raised at a safe level, before walking over to the wounded member.
The lone soldier grunts when the lithe man smacks the butt of his gun against his temple, his head twisting with the force of it. You can tell he’s being kept alive.
“Fuck, Cap,” the younger man hisses, hooking his thumb in his vest, throwing his head back slightly. In the streetlight, from your close distance, you can see a droplet trail down his Adam’s apple. Collect at the hollow of his throat, glisten in the dim light.
The other, ‘Cap’, presses his hands against his knees, using the momentum to stand, wiping the back of his glove against his mouth. Quickly scanning his surroundings, you dart behind a small, abandoned street stall, crouching as you do so.
No shots are fired – you consider it a win.
“C’mon, we gotta get ‘im to exfil,” he grunts, and when you move back to watch them in full view, you see him jog over to stand next to his partner. Leaning down, he pulls his arm around the unconscious man, lifting him up with the younger’s help. They swing his arms around the necks of them both, their hands keeping him upright between the two.
“Ale and Rudy are gonna have our asses for the stray shots,” the black-haired one groans, but there’s a relieved smile stretching over his face. “Hopefully this guy has the intel they want.”
“If he doesn’t,” ‘Cap’ returns, a humoured look written all over his face, “We’ll have their asses.”
Intel. They want… intel. On the cartel, on El Sin Nombre. Something you have in spades. In fact, you were probably the closest thing to a gold mine when it came to information of the Las Almas cartel. Wouldn’t even need torture to get you to speak.
You’d heard of Alejandro and Rodolfo. They were considered legends by the townspeople, the men who nearly took down the cartel. The true face of the Mexican Military – not the paid off army. 
It was a shame, really, how much of their story wasn’t told.
Being shot if either name left anyone’s mouth made it a difficult one to retell. Especially to you – the Cartel’s Princess – a woman hated for nothing more than her last name.
Your step-father and ‘boss’ refused to speak of them, either. Your limited knowledge pertained to the fact that they were direct enemies of El Sin Nombre, and shared a complicated past with Valeria. You’d asked, once, what happened.
You’d never asked again.
The sun is rising, the hints of morning brushing over the deserted side street. They seem… ethereal, in this light, exhausted from work but cheerful from a job well done. At ease with each other, even with blood decorating their skin, boots covered in red.
You remember when you’d first tried to run away, fourteen and too naive to plan it beforehand,  before you knew to slide cash into the guards’ belt. It had been seven minutes and twenty-nine seconds before a bullet had grazed your thigh, and you were brought back to your house. You still have the scar – both physically, and mentally.
Having to learn that running away was never a truly feasible option was a hard reality at such a young age. Sheltered, too – you didn’t understand the true way of the world. What life was like without a bounty on your head and blood money decorating your neck in the form of a pearl necklace. Hands chained with bracelets of pure gold.
The cool metal grows clammy with your own distraught, your index finger hooking around the trigger.
When you were younger, you wanted to become a journalist. You dreamt of the ability to make things known – uncover the dark secrets your family loved to hide. A servant to the public – in the most damning of ways, a true way of protecting without the need for blood on your hands. The only black metal in your hands would be that of a pen; considerably more deadly than a weapon could ever be.
You aim your pistol.
Oh, to be free. To not have to wake up every day, dreading, hating yourself for the sins of your family. Your livelihood. Freedom in not having to choose between being a bystander, or meeting the death of a traitor.
That butterfly, gods, that butterfly. It took itself wherever it wanted – got to experience the world at its own pace. Live for the sake of it, gifting the Earth for the pleasure of it all.
Grateful for just a week of substance. A week of survival.
What you’d do for just a week.
A shot fires, and you don’t move an inch from the drawback. You just stand, watching, as a body falls, and two guns are instantly aimed at you in turn.
Just a week.
Letting the gun slide from your hand and hit the floor, you raise your hands, palms facing the two. They don’t shoot – that’s all you could’ve hoped for. Being reckless was part of being in the cartel, and your very blood ran because of it.
“You want intel?” You ask, loud enough to carry to them, taking a bold step forward. With the sun not having risen, a chill settles into your bones, the tight, silk nightdress you adorn during sleep the only thing protecting you as the breeze brushes open your jacket. “I have it.”
The youngest moves to lower his gun, but a side eye from ‘Cap’ has him raising it again. The way they stare you down has your chest rising and falling in dramatic movements, and for the first time this night, you second guess yourself.
It’s the only chance you’ve ever gotten – you think, reminding yourself – and you will accept it with open arms. Just a week.
Taking careful, precise steps closer, you keep your palms facing them and face a stubborn neutral. You’d been trained in a lot of areas, sparsely, but there was no doubt in your mind that you wouldn’t be able to take either of them in a real fight. Diego had spoiled you with riches and luxury, not sparring and gunslinging.
“Wait –” the younger stretches out his hand, looking to the other with an expression. Like he’d seen a ghost. “She’s…”
“I know,” the other breathes out, his tense stance easing slightly. 
As you stand, just a metre or two away from them, you look between them both. Calculating, watching, you slide off your leather jacket and drop it to the ground – showing that you have no other weapons, no bombs strapped to you. 
Just a silk, blood red nightdress, an empty hollister, and black leather boots.
“You guys were pretty loud when you said you needed intel,” you narrow your eyes, flitting between them both. They shroud you in their shadows; tall, muscular – military. But not… regiment. Different, more sinister, maybe, more important. “And I saw you kill my auntie’s men.”
They both lower their weapons. Partly stupid, partly an insult.  “You’re the Cartel Princess, aye?” The younger raises his brows, looking over you with studious brown. 
“I left my tiara at home,” you snark. The younger smirks, approving of your response. Maybe you wouldn’t have to be stepped all over, to be taken in by them.
Jerking his head to the dead body laying between the both of them, the older levels an unimpressed gaze your way. “Was that necessary?” He asks, folding his arms over his chest and righting his posture, looking down at you.
“He was a dick anyways,” you roll your eyes, finally lowering your own hands to rest at your hips. “He tried to offer up his daughter ‘cause he was in debt.”
Both of their jaws go slack.
You shrug.
“Where are you guys going anyways?” You ask, bouncing on the heels of your feet, hands held together behind your back. Looking around, your mouth pulls into a small frown at the shattered store windows. You’d try and leave some money for them when you got back.
The smaller one lets out an almost shocked chuckle. “This isn’t – you’re not hitchhiking.”
Rubbing at the roof of his nose, the one with the boonie hat looses a thick sigh, before giving you an exhausted look. “You’re lucky Alejandro has been after your arse for years. Gaz, get ‘er gun.”
“Yes, Sir,” he jokes, roughly saluting the man before grabbing your weapon. Sliding it into his own holster, he loops his elbow through yours, and starts dragging you down the street, the other walking a bit ahead of you both.
“This went way easier than I thought,” you mutter, realising just how… simple it had been to get them to take you. No cuffs, surprisingly, and no sedatives.
Gaz, as the other referred to him as, looks down to you with a friendly smile. “Most of us know your face. Alejandro and Rodolfo have been looking for you – something about you being ‘one of the good ones’.”
“I’ve never met them,” you admit, a small crease forming between your brows. “I’ve heard of them, but… why do they care about me?”
“Apparently,” the one up ahead darts his blue eyes back to you, “You do, in fact, have ‘intel’. And…” He trails off, before shaking his head. “You’ll see when we get back to base. I think he’ll be quite happy.”
Gaz groans with a laugh. “Hate when he’s giddy. They’re so loud.”
Falling back a little, ‘Cap’ hits his subordinate lightly up the back of his head. “You’re gross. Exfil’s just off to the right.”
“Reminds me of Amsterdam,” Gaz says wistfully, his elbow still linked around yours. This might just be the oddest way to be taken in by a supposed ‘enemy’ ever. Definitely up there.
Turning, you see a black SUV parked off to the side, the windows tinted to the nth degree. You can’t see anything within them except your own reflections, the winding streets behind you three. Looking to Gaz, you ask, “Where’s my carriage?”
He gives an incredulous look. “You’re serious?”
You and his partner answer at the exact same time, the same tone, “No.”
Opening the door to the back, Cap urges the two of you in, before getting into the passenger seat. The cushions are black, too, and comfortable as you situate yourself by the window, Gaz taking the middle seat. So much for space.
“John –” 
“Kate, they’ve been after her for years. We owe ‘em.”
A woman, dirty blonde hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, looks at you through her rearview mirror. She seems… displeased about your presence.
“You’re making us a bigger target,” she hisses, shooting him an annoyed look. “If they aren’t already trying to gun us down, they’re about to go nuclear!”
“Auntie and daddy don’t like missiles. Said it’s cheap,” you chip in, folding your knee so your ankle rests on your opposite knee, folding your hands in your lap. Damn, you think, You chipped your nail polish. Only lasted a day.
Silence fills the vehicle.
You hum that radio’s tune once more, and Kate exhales a deep, calming breath. Like she’s one step away from whipping out her own gun and shooting you all dead. And then herself.
“Can you turn on the heater? It’s kinda cold,” you ask, hands rubbing at your bare arms. Should’ve put your leather jacket back on before they took you.
“John,” Kate grits out, “I am two seconds away from –”
A shot fires, then two, then three. In one movement, you grab a hold of your pistol from Gaz’s hollister, switching off the safety once more and holding it to your chest. Kate instantly switches on the ignition, accelerating hard enough to have your head hitting the back of your chair with a squeak.
Gaz unwinds the window to his left, furthest away from you, and starts firing at where a dozen or so members stand at the main street, firing off shots at the car. Bracing yourself against the back of the driver’s seat, you take aim.
True as the way the sun is set to rise, you land multiple shots through vital organs, some lucky ones blasting right through their heads. Your wrist aches from the strength of your hold around your weapon, a break from childhood coming back to haunt you. You don’t stop, however, not when you’re nowhere near your breaking point.
Within seconds, Kate drives the car out of their view, dodging potholes like a professional. 
It’s five minutes later, when you’re out of the main business streets of Las Almas, that your back hits your seat once more, eyes fluttering shut as you flick the safety back on.
Gaz does the same, his shoulder bumping yours with the width and sheer height of him. You feel small, between him and the door, but not unsafe. Quite the opposite, actually, with the way he sliced through those men with buttery gunmanship.
The silence, this time, is electric. A buzzing in the air, an excitement flowing through your veins.
And then, it hits you.
“Oh, shit,” you whine, dragging your hands over your face and sloping in your seat, lips forming a disgruntled pout.
“What – what happened? You good?” Gaz asks, leaning forward, placing his hand on the back of Kate’s headrest to look over you. His arm is corded with muscle, the sleeves of his shirt pulled up to his elbows, allowing a decent view of his military-grade skin. 
You sit your head against the window. 
“I left my favourite nail polish at home. And my favourite earrings,” you mumble, upset.
Gaz coughs, then sits back in his seat awkwardly. “...Right. Can’t you just. …Get more? If you’re cooperative, Ale–”
You punch him in his throat, and he wheezes, tears sprouting in his eyes as he coughs. “You don’t get it,” you glare at him, before patting his back. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to hit so hard.”
It’s only then that you realise John and Kate are speaking quietly up the front, low enough to not be heard by the two of you. 
“Who do you guys work for, anyway?” You ask, when Gaz stops coughing, instead swallowing mouthfuls of water from the skin in his pack. He stops to stare at you.
“You ask this… now?” He questions, looking at you like you’ve lost your mind.
You shrug. “Even if you guys were mercs or something, I probably would’ve asked to be taken. Wait –” You pause, eyes going wide, mouth going slack, “You aren’t mercs, are you? Please say you aren’t.”
“We’re Special Ops. Dunno how much the old man wants me to say, so, there you go,” Gaz shrugs, pulling on his gloves. His gaze remains on yours as he does so – pulling them off by the tips of his fingers, revealing slender hands. They look oddly graceful, for a seasoned operator, and you can see the tendons pull when he takes off the other.
The sun is high enough to paint the sky in streaks of yellow and orange, swirling with the night’s dark blue. Clouds decorate the canvas like swipes of cotton, the beginnings of what looks to be a perfect Spring day. As you look out the window, watching as you pass the streets of your city, you feel an odd seed of doubt.
Not for what you’re doing – but for what you’re leaving. All of the bodies lining the streets under cartel cloths, never getting to do the very thing you’re experiencing. So many families torn apart without the option of freedom.
The glass is cool against your cheek as you drum your fingers over your lap, the tap tap tap of that song in your head looped.
“You don’t look like your pictures,” Gaz says, then, and when you turn, it’s to find him watching you studiously. He appears so relax, seated beside you, tall enough to have his head nearly hitting the roof of the car.
You raise a brow. “Didn’t realise this was a Tinder date.”
He laughs, the sound melting down your spine like the cocoa body butter you favourite. Maybe he was right about the cooperation thing – you could play nice if it meant you got to have your routine.
“I just mean,” he starts, before rolling over the words in his mouth, looking out the window before making eye contact once more. His eyes are so brown. “You’re a lot less… snobby-looking.”
You bite out a sharp laugh in shock. “Excuse me?”
He raises his hands, now, a direct copy of how you’d appeared when you first made eye contact. His smile is devastating as he says, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Just meant you have a lot more personality than expected.”
“Thought I was the type to be docile and pretty?” You quip, pulling your hair to rest over your shoulder. “How typically… male of you.”
Placing a hand over his heart, he pretends like he’s been wounded, expression twisting into one of pain. “Ouch, Princess. Way to hit a man where it hurts.”
“I know of many other places that’ll hurt,” you mutter, side-eying him. “Don’t test me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Your Majesty,” he returns.
The car starts increasing in speed, then, at a harshly quick rate – enough to have both you and Gaz sitting up straighter, checking out your windows and tightening your grips on your guns.
Price turns, twisting where he sits in the passenger seat, looking out the back window. He curses under his breath, before looking between the both of you.
“We have company.”
Tumblr media
author's note. please leave a comment or quote reblog if you enjoyed!! i hope you all enjoy this journey with me :) xx
taglist. nothing to see here.
396 notes · View notes
thatgirlie-diaries · 11 months ago
Text
How I have improved my routines and consistency
Hello girlies! This first week of my vacations period I have been using it as a test for my ideal routines and schedule, identifying what goes right and wrong and what changes do I need to do to be consistent and have an efficient systmem. What you'll be reading next are all the things I have done and learned to apply to have a calm, healthy, fun and fulfillling routines and daily schedule, overrall improving my lifetyle.
Identify
Energy levels: Are you a morning person or a night owl? Do you identify when do you have the most energy and when it goes down? What would be my ideal time to sleep and wake up?
What negative habits do I have? And why do I have them? With what habits I can switch them?
Why do I procrastinate? In which ways I procrastinate and distract myself?
How I want my lifestyle to look like? What habits, routines, hobbies and activities are included in my daily life? How do I act on a daily basis?
Creating my schedule and routines
Set a sleeping schedule that fits you based on your energy levels.
Create a morning, night and pampering routines that you enjoy doing, that you are comfortable with and makes you feel fulfilled.
Create (if neccesary) other routines that you need:There are probably other things you want to do that you need a routine for! For example, I have a mini manifesting routine and a weekly spiritual healing routine. I also want to create a language sudy routine too.
Include non-negotiable healthy habits: this habits are the ones that keep you healthy in body, work with your mind and give you peace. For example, some of mine are: eating 3 healthy meals, tidying up my space for 30 minutes, listening to a podcast, don't use my phone for more than three hours, etc. Also, include fun habits to help you romanticize the day and feel good.
Have time to do things I love: I have noticed that if I don't do the things I love after long period of time, meaning productive only days, I get burned out and more prone to procastinate and get distracted when I get the chance. Make sure you have time to yourself, either be it hobbies or fun activities, you will keep your mind, heart, body (if it's physical) and soul healthy!
Have time to rest and be still: We need to understand that we need rests, so we have to respect it and let us be. Also we need some minutes in silence to connect with ourselves, body and creativity out of all the noise and stimuli.
Maintaining consistency
Plan my day: I plan my daily tasks and my daily schedule, this to not procrastinate overthinking "what I'm going to do?"
Add a place and hour: For any routine, habit or activity decide "Where am I going to do it? At what time or after what habit?"
Habit stacking or multitasking: If I have a "listening habit" (podcast, subliminal, listening to high vibe music) with a "not-thinking alot habit" (tidyin up my space, do the dishes, cooking) habit I do them both at the same time. If I need to do a habit that needs my full attention then it will be done that way.
Include timers (if needed): This helps me know how much time do I need to do my habits and to know if it's taking me more or less time to complete them. I use an app where I have my routines (morning, night, weekly reset, mini manifestation and spiritual healing activities) with each habit having a timer.
Have a habit tracker: In here I write a daily log that includes filling boxes of my daily non negotiable habits and extra habits (that romanticize my life or keep me healthy). Also includes two questions: "What progress did I made today with my goals? Is there something I need tom improve or change in my system?'.
Romanticize! Your habits and activities, routine sets, daily schedule, romanticize your days your way! It's different for everyone, so find out how to add magic into your life.
Wasted day? It's never too late to do something useful. Keep going or journal about what went wrong. I like to remind myself my motivations and ideal lifestyle to mantain myself going forward.
Let's be healthy and organized together! 𑄽𑄺ྀ
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
449 notes · View notes
ravenfenty · 15 days ago
Text
WINNING STREAK 18+
Tumblr media
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Pairing: Quarterback!Steve Rogers x Wife!Reader
Warnings: ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ᴘɪᴠ, ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠɪɴɢ, ᴏᴠᴇʀꜱᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ,ᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀᴅᴜʟᴛ ᴛᴏʏ ᴏɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʀʏ, ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ, oral ꜱ*x ᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ꜰ��ᴏᴛʙᴀʟʟ ᴊᴇʀꜱᴇʏ, ᴅᴏɢɢʏꜱᴛʏʟᴇ, ᴀɴ*ʟ ᴘʟᴀʏ.
A/N: I think that covers everything. Oh yeah, and fluff, and a lot of horny thoughts. Inspired by a real-life event. Watched the Bengals vs. the Giants this week. I'm really proud of how the bengals went. Anyway, I hope you like it. I obviously do not own Joe Burrow and Ja'marr Chase, just written a fictionalised version, I guess. Images and gifs are not mine, and Bengals team name.
It was a nice sunny day, accompanied with a cool breeze, the start of spring had brought beautiful flowers and luscious green grass.
That could be evidently seen on the very green football field, your husband Steve was running on. It's week six of the football season. Today's Sunday game is Cincinnati Bengals versus Oakhill Stingrays.
You watched as he manoeuvred and dodged incoming defences on the opposite team.
He sprinted as fast as his body could allow him to, muscles straining and sweat building in his helmet.
He didn't care about the burn, he only cared about scoring that winning goal for his team. He’d worry about sore muscles later.
Coach Fury, crouched from the sidelines, nervousness written over his face, Joe Burrow and Ja'marr Chase were following closely behind him but they were no match for Steve.
Those of the team who weren’t playing watched along cheering your husband along. You were in the VIP section, watching along with Natasha and Mrs Fury.
You cheered as loud as you could, much quieter than your cheerleading days.
You didn’t want to strain your voice too much. Your shout of Steve’s name caught his attention for a brief second.
His stark blue eyes landed on yours. He blew you a kiss, and winked at you, mouthing “ this one's for you baby”.
You caught it and blew a kiss back to him. He grinned, he continued running, finally reaching the goal and scoring a touchdown. Just as the last quarter, sealing the fate of Brooklyn Panthers.
They’d won the game. Sam and Bucky joined Steve as they celebrated, a bunch of others ran up and carried Steve.
The sports announcer and journalists worked overtime, trying to capture Steve, for an interview.
Soon he got roped into post game interviews. You waited in the area reserved for family members and friends of players.
You had a giant bouquet of flowers that you wanted to give Steve, along with his favourite brooklyn donuts, his favourite being the cookies and cream cheesecake flavour.
They had become your favourite as of recently. You were very proud of him. So you thought they were the perfect gift for him.
He’s worked so hard the past few months, early mornings, strict diet and regimen. He also had been away from home for a couple weeks.
But he always made sure to call you and send you text messages, telling you about his activities throughout the day. Something you found adorable, you returned the calls and daily updates as well.
Since it was a home game, you’d had plans for tonight, something cute and chill. You’d go to the diner that Steve took you on, on your very first date, in the eleventh grade. Go to the beach later if you have time to and spend the night catching up on anything and everything.
You’d missed his company so much, the calls nor face times weren’t enough most days.
When you were able to, you did fly to his away games. Tonight you wanted to hug, cuddle him, everything really, and lucky last you really wanted to have sex with him.
Whether slow or rough would be determined by how Steve’s muscles were. You don't mind either, you just wanted that intimate connection.
You catch Steve coming out, duffle bag swung over his shoulders, he had a nice pair of jeans, Nike Jordan's and a fitted navy blue t-shirt that stretched over his muscles.
He fixed the chain that you'd bought for him on his birthday last month. He caught you oghling him and Steve grinned like a Cheshire cat.
You squealed as he approached, he was engulfed in big. You melted into him, loving his warmth and fresh shower smell and the mens gucci perfume he wore. He smelled divine, so manly.
He pulled back and captured your lips with his. At first the kiss was light then he deepened it, its full passion and filled with hunger. The sensation sent heat rushing to your core and you could feel your core pulse.
The emptiness was real. But you knew you had to wait a while. You loved a slow burn. Letting the pent up tension build it made for a perfect release.
One where you hoped, you'd be filled with your husband's cock, in any of your favourite positions. You pulled away to catch your breath.
You were sure you'd captured the attention of others. You sure had, you found Bucky and Natasha eyes wide. Coach Fury and Mrs Fury only smiled then quickly returned to their conversation.
“Hey honey, great game”.
“Thank you, I had the best cheerleader out there. Your cheers meant a lot of love”.
“no problem, here I bought you some sunflowers and your fave donuts.i have a few activities planned for us”.
“Thank you, sweetheart, can't wait to plant these. And devour these donuts and you later”.
Steve gave you once over eyes dilated, lust filled them. You looked away blushing. Steve had a way with words, it was a lot sometimes but you liked it.
“I'll hold you to that common lets go”.
The sun had now set, the last remaining light illuminated your living room in pink, yellow and orange. You and Steve were playing a game of twister. You took turns to see who lasted on the mat longer.
Steve was in grey sweats and a white t-shirt. You were dressed in the first football jersey the team had given him and sport shorts. They were Steve's favourites because they really accentuate the round of your ass and curves.
“Okay Steve I don't I can hold on much longer”. You dropped onto the mat because your right arm had given in. You massaged it.
“you're on a winning streak today Steve”.
“I am, I think it's time I get my reward”.
“Is that so?”.
“Uh huh”.
“I'll be happy to facilitate that”.
Excited Steve worked fast to pack away the twister mat and other board games. He bought pillows, blankets, towels, your dildo and blueberry flavoured lube. That you used when changing locations of where you had sex around the house, when comfort was needed.
_____________
“Legs spread wider sweetheart. Hold them up for me, yeah just like that.
You did as Steve asked, you were in nothing but his football jersey, and your pussy bare for him. He kisses along your thighs, and places soft bites. He trails down landing right at your entrance.
“Such a pretty pussy”.
He works his tongue through your slit, tantalisingly slow. You jerk you to get more friction, Steve moves hands to hold you down on you abdomen.
“patience sweetheart, we just started”.
“quit teasing”.
“like you haven't been teasing me all week with photos you've sent me”.
“fair, but still. Please Stevie I need more”. You rasped, kneading your hand through his beautiful hair.
“Nope, not after all the cold showers I've had to take”. Steve shakes his head as he continues, working his tongue inside your core and through your slit.
You moan at the sensation of his warm tongue. In pushing in and out, then did you do justice by adding two thick fingers, it was a little uncomfortable but soon you welcomed the stretching.
Steve moved his long fingers in a nice rhythm, he curled his fingers inside of you and worked his thumb on your clit.
It was a little too much, you were now panting, and moaning wantonly. Embarrassed, you took a pillow and covered your face.
“Uh Uh, let me hear those pretty sounds”. Steve took the pillow and threw it far from your reach, he even threw the other ones as a precaution. The only one left is the one your head is resting on.
“it's embarrassing”.
“it's not at all, I think it's a good sign, I love your moans, it lets me know if I'm doing a good job”. Steve adds a third finger and picks up his pace.
Your legs started to shake. You can't hold your legs up for much longer, Steve realises so he holds them for you with his forearm.
The last curl of Steve fingers of your gspot pushes you to the edge. You moan out loud, Steve then manoeuvres to get more comfortable and starts sucking on your clit.
You pushed him away, it was all too much. Given you were still riding on the wave of your first orgasm of the night.
“Your turn, Stevie”. Steve quickly takes off his clothes and boxers. He cock springs free, hitting his lower abdomen and lightly coating his happy trail in his precum.
“I want to try something, I loved the video that you sent of you riding your dildo, and it gave me a few ideas”.
Steve, took a small block and pressed your 6 inch dildo down, so that it could stand on something. It was a complete replica of Steve's cock that he'd gotten made for you.
It was a fun 1 year anniversary gift.
“I want you to ride that, as you suck me off”.
“Okay”.
You were kinda excited, the double pleasure you were about to experience. Steve pulled the special chair that you guys used for sex and he sat down.
Steve added, lube for you, you lowered yourself on the dildo. Then move your attention to his dick.
You lick it from base to tip, then the reverse. Your other hand massages his balls and thighs. You opened your mouth, and took him as far as you could fit inside your mouth.
Then you bobbed your head up and down, slightly gagging on his dick a little. Steve's deep grunts and growls, encouraged you.
“Keep up the pace, just like that honey. Doing so good”. He whined, you shifted your eyes to his. You held eye contact as you sucked him off.
Steve held your braided ponytail, but he still let you control the pace. A few curls that had been gelled back when now loose. You didn't mind, because Steve loved when you were a mess for him.
"My good girl, doing such a good job. Almost there dove, almost there.". Steve pants. His voice breaks a bit towards the end. “You look so sexy bouncing on your dildo like that, keep going. I watched your video an embarrassing amount of times and I came so much each time. I imagined you swallowing it all”.
“you gonna swallow it all like a good girl?”.
“Yes Stevie”. You answered and placed your mouth back on him.
You could tell that he was about to cum soon. His hand usually held your hair tighter, slightly pulling. His cock twitches in your mouth and his breathing becomes deep and slow.
You move your head to look up at him. You loved the look on his face. He was dazed, blue eyes dialated, sweat on his face, cheeks flushed pink and mouth open.
Eventually spurts of cum fill your mouth and you swallow every single drop. With the pop of your mouth, you move to the tip of his dick over your nipples.
Steve assessed you slowly you as he also kneaded and massaged your boobs.
“take off the jersey”. You did as he asked. You handed him the jersey. “face down and ass up, hands behind your back.
Steve tied the shirt making it into a makeshift blind fold. Since you couldn't see.
Steve helped move you into position.
Then once you find a comfortable position, you put your hands behind you. You were completely relying on your other senses.
The sound of a slap to your ass fills the air. It stings, but then Steve massages it replacing the previous sensation with pleasure.
Steve then takes the lube and adds a few drops between your cheeks. It's cold on your skin, it gives you goosebumps
You feel the tip of Steve’s cock at your entrance. He pushes inside you, just the tip. He pumps inside just a little pushing further he teases like that then, finally is buried inside you to the hilt. He's much deeper in this position, Steve starts pumping his hips, at a fast pace.
“Steve, I can't take it”.
“Yes, you can, you're already doing so well”.
“Such a pretty sight”.
It's all too much, Steve pushes a thumb through your puckered hole. The sensation of being filled in both holes is all consuming.
It feels amazing.
You wantonly push your hips against Steve to meet his thrusts. Steve lets you control the pace.
“Good girl, good fucking girl. Fuck yourself on my cock like that”.
Steve, fingers your puckered hole as you thrust against him. You were dizzy with pleasure. You slowed your thrusts to catch your breath and blink a few times.
“Fuckk, Stevie, you feel so good”.
“It feels so good, doesn't it? We fit so well together, don't we? Your pussy was made just for me. My cock just for you”.
“Yes Stevie, your cocks all mine”.
“All yours princess, all yours”. Steve takes off the blind fold and moves you onto your back, and ties your hands in front of you. He holds your legs and spreads them with your thighs and easily slides into your sex again.
Steve picks up the pace, he's completely in control. Slow or fasts, that's all his choice. You have no choice but to take what he gives you.
Steve's thrusts are deep but slow and he shifts his hips at a slight angle. Your eyes closed, Steve doesn't like that.
“eyes on me, keep them open and no biting your lips I wanna hear you”.
You open your eyes and find him watching your face and the bounce of your tits with each thrust. He picks up the pace and thrusts deeper.
“Look at you, you look so good like this. Pussy filled with my cock. Could stay like this forever”.
You try with, with your hands to push Steve away, to help control the pace.
“move your hands, you're going to take what I give, you're doing good so far, we're almost there”. Steve cock twitches, and can feel the familiar coil inside you.
The last stroke of Steve's pelvic bone against your clit sends you over edge. You hold onto his back tightly, his climax shortly follows yours.
“I missed you so much, my love. Let me know when you're ready for round two”.
“Stevie!”.
Tumblr media
138 notes · View notes
xrag-dollx · 6 months ago
Text
𝑩Ü𝑪𝑲 𝑫𝑰𝑪𝑯 (𝑩𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓)
~ Kai Anderson x fem!reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Tumblr media
SUMMARY: Reader gets humiliated by Kai after he failed his night of a thousand tates. Reader's getting punished for it.
WORD COUNT: 1,980
WARNINGS: smut, rough and unprotected sex, public sex, knife play, Kai being a dominant ass :) (not requested if you're under 18!)
A/N: got inspired by Rammstein's song "Bück dich!" sooo I had to write something Kai related (he gives me huge Rammstein vibes ngl) Also this is my first ever Evan character fic 🙃
"Bück dich", befehl ich dir Wende dein Antlitz ab von mir Dein Gesicht ist mir egal Bück dich"
"Bend over! is what I command you
Turn your face away from me
I do not care about your face
bend over!"
The last days were hard for you, at least being together with Kai. He had no success in his upcoming disaster for his „night of a thousand Tates“, so he had to re-think his strategy. It was quite time consuming for him to re-construct a whole new plan and, of course, nerve-wrecking. So he was treating you basically like an object for the past few days. Yet, you got used to it. Was there a desire inside of you to burn him alive? Yes. Do you still love him? Yes. But you just couldn’t let go of him. You just didn’t really know why. Was it because he was so charismatic? So damn attractive? He had you with a flick of his wrist the first time you saw him…
 It was last summer as he held one of his public speeches for his election as a councillor. You were immediately hypnotised by his whole presence, the way he spoke, the way he gestured along his speech…he was simply mesmerizing. You believed every single word of his, everything he made up. That’s when you fell down a spiral of delusions. He made you feel better, he promised you a successful life, actually being worthy! But now, you’re just worthless…
He was dragging you by your hair downstairs his basement as you went on all fours, crawling down the cold and creaking stairs. This will surely leave some bruises on your knees, but as if that wasn’t just the beginning of Kai’s fit of rage.
„SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!“
He yelled at you as he violently tucked your hair by every line he spoke. The immense pain on your scalp was running through your every nerve of your body, as far as you still had some and your nerve system didn’t go numb yet by the pain you received on a daily basis. Tears of pain and inner rage were streaming down the sides of your eyes, leaving stains of black mascara on each side of your cheeks. You went silent completely, as you weren’t quite sure if he’d kill you in the next moment. You couldn’t help but let out a few huffs as your teeth clenched to restrain the pain.
Tears blurred your sight as he dragged you to the middle of the room as you got surrounded by his followers wearing their silly clownmasks. Kai chuckles in amusement, his head was tilted to the side as he looks at you with a dirty grin…
„Look at her... Such a dirty, little whore…you get what you deserve. After all, you’re the reason we failed the night of a thousand Tates. You’ll pay for that...“
You kneeled onto the wooden floor as your head was hanging down. You remained silent.  You just wanted to avoid to look at Kai nor his filthy followers. Just puppets of Kai‘s and victims of their pitiful selves…
„Now… wanna give me an explanation?“
Kai looked at you… you could feel his impatience was roaming the room. Tension was building up. But you refused to speak. Not even a minute was passing by and Kai pulled your head up by your hair in an instant, as he forcefully made you look at him.
„Our whore isn’t speaking…hmh…“
He threw you onto the floor as you were sobbing and still refusing to talk to him.
„Suit the action to the word, the word to the action!“
Kai spoke out as he raised his hand and snapped with his fingers as madness was coming over him…
„Chair!“
Kai demanded as one of his followers handed him a chair as he was placing it in the middle of the dimmed room as light spots shone from the ceiling, giving it an oppressive atmosphere.
He took a sit. The silence was so thick, it could be cut with a knife. It exchanged the oxigen you needed to breathe. He pulled you up by your hair as you grunted, he pulled you over his lap, your blank ass facing him as it got exposed by your lose skirt. You could feel the dimmed light beaming down as it was just right above you, it made you feel like you were an exhibit in a museum. It made you uncomfortable. So did the followers, standing around Kai and you in a circle like mannequins, as if they were about to stare holes into your flesh.
„You won’t speak…so this will be your misery you’ve put yourself in.
You could feel how Kai’s hand prowled over your exposed skin, as he softly trails over your ass with his cold fingers. He closely leaned into your ear, his breath just stroking the delicate skin…
„You went away with it for too long…you’re disappointing…you’re worthless…you’re nothing, you hear me?“
His voice was so low and calm, still so terrifying. It creeps into your ear as it oscillates with a soft reverb. You were waiting for his next move. Maybe you’re going to die today, you already prepared yourself mentally for it.
„I’ll say it one time, and one time only. Don’t you dare to look at me. If you do, this’ll be your last day. Am I clear?“
Your blood froze as he spoke out these sentences. You knew he could be serious. But maybe he was fooling you. Something he enjoys to do to torture somebody’s nerves to death.
You shook your head in agreement. You could hear a soft chuckle escaping his throat. He reached into his pocket of his jeans as he pulled out a jackknife. You could hear the prominent ‘click‘ sound as he flipped the knife.
„I’m gonna call you ‚whore‘ from now on…fits better after all, doesn’t  it?“
His stupid small talk only made your stomach turn. You could actually feel how a dirty smile formed on his lips. You’d rather play a reverse card on him only to stab him with his knife. Then you’d be a free woman. You thought. But instead, you kept as silent as possible, not to upset the blue haired psycho any further. You could feel the cold blade was grazing tantalizing over your ass, and with a swift move, he cut your panties on one side, and one cut through the middle part. He removed the garment from your body as your shivered, dropping it onto the carpeted floor.
„Oh? What do we have here? A needy whore?“
He spoke as he spotted your aroused entrance, as it was begging to get fucked by Kai. But you couldn’t help but to pull yourself together not to make any noise. All you could do was to stare onto the floor…what was his next move? You thought. It could get worse, definitely. You were waiting for it. You reflexively wanted to turn your head up to Kai but there was that one damn demand of his…and you didn’t want to die yet, so you kept silent instead. You felt how Kai was spreading your ass cheeks, as he spits directly onto your asshole. You were slightly trembling, as you felt how the warm liquid was touching your exposed skin. You knew what he was about to do…you knew it would contain pain…
„On your knees and bend over, now!“
He spoke in a loud and demanding manner, but you didn’t move, not a bit…and it made Kai lose his mind…
„I SAID NOW, YOU FUCKING WHORE!“
He shouted as his usual bariton voice became scarily angry. He grabbed a fistful of your hair as he pulled you off his lap to throw you onto the floor and made you go onto your knees as he basically forced you to do it.
With trembling arms and knees, which held you up with the last strength you had, you forced yourself not to faint as a mixture of sweat and tears was running down your cheeks.
„AND DON’T YOU FUCKIN‘ LOOK AT ME!“
He shouted as he undid the buckle of his belt, removing it from his jeans, as you heard the belt sliding through the belt loops.
Your mind wandered though hundreds of possibilities of what he was about to do…is he going to-
But ‘til you could finish your spoiled thought he already did it; he placed one firm and painful whiplash onto your bare ass as the pain electrified your nerve system. You cried out in pain as you collapsed….you could feel the sheer bliss of Kai’s oh so beloved clown puppets (as they were not more than that), you could actually feel how they were laughing internally, as they weren’t even moving one bit.
„GET UP! C’MON!“
He hissed as he harshly grabbed your tousled hair, using it to put you back to your previous humiliating position, as you did so as you positioned yourself back on all fours.
„Tss…you’re so pathetic…“
He murmured as he was slowly walking back and forth in front of you in such a teasing way as he looked down at you in a rather pitying manner, a smile almost invisible yet visible graced his lips as his gaze did not leave you for even a nick of a second.
„…You dissapointed me…“
Kai spoke while he unzipped his trousers, as he stopped in front of you, his eyes, pitch black were looking at you with such anger, he was able to kill you just with his gaze if he wanted to. You knew you couldn’t look at him so you carefully listened to his degrading words instead.
„You cannot destroy me…“
You heard him speak while rustling noises filled the room; Kai took off his pants along with his boxers as he now placed himself behind you.
„But I’ll destroy you…“
With these words he rammed his rock hard dick right inside of your asshole, your mouth was agape as you let out a drawn out moan.
„Yeah, moan for me you stupid whore, take it all… you want it so badly, right?“
He huffed as he mercilessly pounded into you like an animal, as he grabbed your hair for friction.
„Hmmh…you’re so worthless…so…ugh…fuck…“
Kai groaned as he fucked you ruthless from behind, as he grabbed your ass with his veiny hand, while his other hand was pulling your hair towards him.
„Repeat after me… I’m such a failure“
He spoke as he wanted you to blame you for everything. You’re the reason he failed his masterplan. But everything you wanted to do was to stop Kai from the worst before things went out of hand …He was just going crazy. But you just obeyed, or you’d get killed.
„I-I’m such a…uggh…failure..hmmh..“
You breathed between each thrust, as the pain made your body numb. Sweaty straints of hair decorated your face.
„Yes, you are…argh…shit…I’m gonna -„
He couldn’t even finish his sentence as he reached his orgasm as you felt how his warm seed filled you up, Kai loosened his grip from your hair as he pulled his dick out of your asshole, leaving you unsatisfied with physical and psychial pain. You collapsed onto the floor as your breath was trembling. The circle of Kai’s followers split apart as they marched upstairs and left the basement without a word. Kai put his jeans back on, as he was using his foot to flip you onto your back as you were totally wasted, lying on the floor sobbing and crying out of pain you received by Kai. Kai couldn’t care less about your condition, as you were one of his many mannequins. He took you for granted for his own pleasure.
„This is what you get for not obeying…whore.“
He spoke, his voice…dark and frightening. He spit right into your face before he left, leaving you on your own. You wiped the tears mixed with Kai’s saliva out of your face, thoughts were passing your mind like bullets of regret...
 Why do you still love him?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Wanna say thank you to @fear-is-truth and @doll3tt33 for being my biggest inspirations ❤🙏🏻 you gave me the courage to write 😽)
Gonna tag my favourite blogs @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re , @silverzoomies , @taintandviolent
《 gifs belong to their owner, xrag-dollx all rights reserved. Copying my work is prohibited》
178 notes · View notes
a-d-nox · 6 months ago
Text
pac/pap: how can you grow/blossom?
take what resonates leave what doesn't - nothing is 100% for you because these aren't personalized so please no angry comments or dms about what i am saying not being a good fit for you or that you "don't claim" just keep scrolling if that is the case. be kind, self reflect, and have fun.
last pac/pap: how can you rejuvenate yourself this spring?
masterlist of pap/pac posts
want a personal reading? click here to check out my reading options and prices!
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
pile one
don't fall for short-cuts. the process is why things work. taking time is a positive, not a hindrance that you may believe it to be. keep putting in effort daily - it will lead to long lasting results. be present and get enthusiastic about your projects - abundance breeds abundance. keep setting goals and take realistic steps to avoid burnout/disappointment. be patient - you are on your way.
your intuition is your friend - connect to your inner self/desires. try to keep a clear mind - you'll find the answers you seek are already inside of you. trust yourself.
there is ambition and then there is greed. stop pushing yourself or others to the extreme. very little is worth what you believe it is. you are on a path to burn out in that regard. take a moment and reflect on whether you are exhausting yourself or actually being productive.
pile two
take a minute - it's okay to standstill. you aren't behind or unable to move forward. you are "on pause" for a reason. there is something in front of you that still needs to be sorted out so take time and do so. in other words, focus on the present instead of pushing forward to the future.
you are very capable - realize that you are and accept that you are. just make that sure you keep your intentions and passions clear. your thoughts are likely to manifest quite quickly. you are powerful enough to create your own world.
right now something is out of balance in your life. having an equal give and take can be hard but it is necessary if you want to grow. start saying no to certain things, situations, and people to create more space in your life for what fulfills you.
pile 3
you work best alone - you are an independent person. stop trying to make yourself align with others when you are your own entity. seek your inner truth. align with it. spending time alone is not a negative - it is actually quite good for you and helps you to recharge and reconnect with your desires. do some soul-searching when you are alone, so you can connect with your inner truth/wisdom.
share your ideas with confidence. they are great you just have to believe in them and more importantly yourself. focus on your projects and passions because they are worthwhile. don't doubt your abilities/skills. you have what it takes to make a prosperous future for yourself.
you are in need of some self-care. so what if things don't go as planned? that's fine - all in the universe's plan. when things don't go according to your plan, realize/understand that the universe is guiding you where you are meant to be. be kind to yourself in the meantime. things will get better - trust the universe.
334 notes · View notes