#Gotta have some humility

[k1ngl30n]

But the stains are black -- just like your soul You tried to cut them out but you get left there all alone...

Sorry, it's their song, guys. I don't make the rules but I bet you wish I did

(I talk in the tags so if you want more, keep reading, lmao)

[introloves]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

“allowed” is not a word toji is familiar with. hardly listening to those he has an inkling of respect for- he’s now barely tolerating a “hands off” rule implemented by his coach and you.

boxer! toji + dom! toji + man handling + orgasm denial (m! receiving) + pet names (angel, sweetheart, angel face) + rough sex + toji is a mean, evil man + toji mocks you + mating press + messy sex + reuniting sex + cream pie + overstimulation + size kink + humilation + teasing during sex + praise + f! reader

— word count; approx 6k

there had always been one rule to your relationship with toji when his season was in play. dynamics changing just a bit, because the one rule wasn’t imposed by him; but by coaches- his team advising the best course of action to ensure that he would come out victorious season after season.

and that was; absolutely, under no circumstance- was toji allowed to cum.

you could remember the first time that rule was introduced, naive and innocent to the world of this sport. mouth popping open in surprise when his coach stepped next to you, having decided to join toji on one of his practice sparrings for the first time.

the line of questioning felt odd, wondering why his coach looked over at you with a known smile- like he knew what was going to be said would spark some surprise.

“he’s a beast, huh.” spoken while looking at you from the side of his eye- watching while you squeezed both hands together, trying to calm the uneven thumping in your chest when every heavy swing was directed towards your man.

“mhm.” you nodded, lip hurting from the way your teeth dug in nervously, trying hard to keep your focus on the older man standing next to you while staring at toji.

“i wouldn't worry too much, sweetheart.” he assured, speaking up to let the men know it was a good time to take a break. toji looking over past the ropes at you two with interest, hooking heavy arms against the cords to rest for just a bit, sweat clinging onto the black tee he chose to wear during practice. throwing his coach a pointed look with an arched eyebrow- zeroing in on your sweet face, sending you a wink.

stomach flipping with the cocky attitude that emanated from him in waves, now more with the fact that an angel had their eyes on him.

“you two remind me of when i was younger.” the man chuckled. throwing a rag over his shoulder and turning to face you dead on. “in love, yeah? i can see it.” he mumbled, trying to find the right wording.

“passions high, things get… intense real easy, right?” the coach spoke, after seconds of looking pained by just forming the words leaving his mouth.

finally breaking over the focus you had on your boyfriend- trying to keep the burn down from the way he chose to throw compliments at you, whistles and pet names- even during his precious breaks. your eyes looked at the man next to you, crossing your arms in confusion and interest at what he was telling you.

“yeah?” you answer, inquisitive, trying to find what you had missed to be asked this.

“well, with the season starting- i gotta advise you two to… take a step back. i'm sure he hasn’t told you that there’s absolutely no sex before his matches, right?”

a singular squeak left you, pinching your lips together- the curious stance slowly turning into crossed arms and a burning face. looking over at toji briefly, glancing at his pumped biceps, the sweat trickling down his neck, and the kisses he was blowing you before swinging his head back and laughing into the gym knowing what was being spoken about given your shocked expression. you wanted to strangle him, preferred if this came from your loving boyfriend's mouth, rather than a man old enough to be your grandfather.

“no. he didn’t tell me.” you almost whined, trying to keep composure in the face of the only man toji took any sort of direction from.

he could only shrug.

“it's a conversation you and the boy need to have, take him home- sweets.” the man said, stepping up into the ring and calling over the other man sparring against toji, giving you an opening to snatch your boyfriend away.

“toji.” you whine, walking over to his corner- stepping over the rags and bottles littering the ringside, trying to keep your pout down to a half hearted smile while you looked up at him.

“yeah, angel?” he hummed, crouching down to try and steal kisses from you- quickly discarding the gloves in a messy heap against the ring floor. hands reaching down to cup your face closer to him the best he could with the wraps still on him. tongue eagerly licking against your teeth, biting down on the swell of your lower lip- nearly growling into every push. only discouraged from showing everyone in this gym who you belonged to when you choked out a small noise- embarrassment and heat mixing into a haze that felt heavy in your chest.

letting you go with a final suck of your lower lip, letting his tongue lick at his own- smiling proudly at the dazed look on your face. eyes lidded, face lax and swollen lips glossy.

“coach said we could leave.” you finally muttered out, stepping back with your arms crossed over your chest ‘cause you were foolish enough to let him get close and now you would have to suffer even more than you already were with the rule lingering at the forefront of your mind.

“yeah? i could still go a couple rounds...” toji murmured, looking back at his team- knowing what all this about. sending a frown at his coach, only to be dismissed with a wave.

“mmm, you don't wanna go home with me?” you wondered, sweetening your words- smiling when he huffed and nodded like there was ever going to be anything else he wanted more.

letting him off the hook for the time being for not telling you what was to come… or not to come and for god knows how long.

beginning the routine of putting his wraps away, grabbing a random rag and using that to freshen himself off a little for you- even though you liked him sweaty.

bruised hands, swollen and a little too hot- big and sturdy finding your own when he was finally done. taking you proudly through the front of the gym, like a pretty little trophy that he won all on his own.

and when the two of you were alone, happy enough to bask in his attention- laying pretty before him now that he had showered and changed into nothing but gray sweatpants that were held up by his hand while he walked towards you, peering down at you like he wanted something. eyes widening before you snapped them back up to his face when you saw the unmistakable twitch of his cock hanging heavy between his thighs.

it was almost too hard to cross your legs at your ankles- shaking your head between giggles that crawled up your throat. watching how he bent his body down over you, pressing your hand between his tits; remembering the words his own coach gave him.

“nuh uh, you gotta stay away- boss’s orders.” you murmured between trying to press your legs up between the two of you, back pressed down onto the bed while he grabbed at your ankle and tugged it up against his waist like it obviously belonged there.

toji scoffed, rolling his eyes- hot hands softened only a bit by the shower, rolling up your thigh. fingertips squeezing so hard it made you squirm.

you knew he hated the thought of being denied you, of being told what to do. but this came with the job, and you knew he couldn’t… you two, couldn’t afford to lose any matches. not like he could anyways, but still, you knew if he got too excited beforehand- he wouldn’t be able to put you down and from what you’ve read, it weakened them- men and those in his profession.

“sweetheart.” he mumbled right back when you finally squeezed your foot up against the middle of his chest and pushed, setting him back on his haunches before you. hands coming up to hide from him- not the smartest move on your end because in seconds he had crawled back up; this time using just a sliver of his freakish strength to set any effort aside. letting you know with the previous attempts- he had let you move him.

“nuh uh,” he mimicked right back, “if you’re not gonna let me touch- at least let me see you, angel baby.” toji breathed, pressing his scarred lips to the same hand he had pried from your face, breathing down onto it before dropping it. the weight of him pushing aside any offending limbs to curl down; lips hungry for any taste he could get.

passing them down over your throat and right above the swell of your chest- a kiss so tender it was nearly uncharacteristic of him; like he was apologizing to your body for not doing more.

“your loss.” he groaned before rolling off of you when your hands reached up for him- scorning you like it had been your decision; leaving you gasping and whining.

turning to fight with him before the sight of his hardened cock- straining against the gray sweatpants he had chosen to wear, stopped you. his gaze pinned to the ceiling instead of you, head cushioned by his hands. biceps curling and flexing like he was trying not to move.

shutting down any feeling of anger- seeing now, how much it weighed on him too.

easier to turn around- laying on your side away from him, face hot against your hand; a pout so deep it nearly hurt painted on your face. stomach dropping like it was all your fault- already lamenting about the complications of this.

all before toji slithered a hand against your side, bringing you right to him with no effort. cradling your body to his own, acting like his dick wasn't slotted between the two of you, groaning at the contact but taking no other action.

“this is going to be hell, ain’t it.” he wondered, nose finding purchase along the path he had pressed kisses to just seconds ago. like a dog licking a wound.

“mhm, ‘specially cause you think with your stupid dick.” you murmured- halfway giggling when you grabbed at his hand squeezing against your side rhythmically, bringing it up to hug; your own lips pressing soft passes over bruised skin.

feeling the hot breath of a sigh tickle down your back, trying to keep things light even when the sweetness you both approached each other with was charged.

“actin’ like you don't like it, princess.” toji smiled, teeth bared while a smile played on a face you couldn’t see. wrapping his arms around you further- a pass of his tongue up the nape of your neck causing the frantic wiggling of your body, whining when he didn’t let go.

“how long ‘til the match?” he wondered, speaking above your still kicking body in between barks of his own laughter when you couldn’t budge a singular inch off his hold.

sighing- rolling your eyes when you finally ceded, goosebumps crawling up your back; you went limp and sighed.

“two weeks.”

the next sound was that of a giggle from you when he let out a rather loud note of pure agony- something not like him at all; before scooping you into his arms, like he was trying to absorb your very being into his own, not noticing or saying a thing when the full weight of you nestled right on top his still throbbing cock.

and just to his dismay- the two weeks seemed to drag on. he wasn’t used to being denied your body, futile attempts to just sink the tip inside of you rejected night after night; even amidst the promises that,

“angel face- i swear it’ll be just the tip, won’t even cum, i swear it.” and maybe that would mean something if it was coming out of the mouth of anyone that wasn’t toji zenin.

having gone weirdly sweet when around you, especially after hours of sparring matches- pressing his face too hard into the curve of your neck. or feigning innocence when hands that always seemed to wander crept too close to the apex of your thighs.

his pout, ever prominent when you finally caught on and shifted away from him, trying to keep space so this exact thing didn’t happen. knocking blows to your own conviction, because it was so odd to see him beg and sulk- your man who always stood so tall, unwavering- and a bit mean at times, reduced to trying a compromise because he missed your cunt so bad.

but with the tension building- there was something like a secret being swapped between the two of you. a secret promise that every day would pass faster than the last- and before you two knew it; he was fighting.

the glory of it never waned, sitting ringside in your promised seat in his corner didn’t lose its weight. hands pressed into balls on top of your thighs while the cheering all melted together into one continuous roar.

the ringside walk took too long, but the actual fight itself didn’t. your eyes never leaving off of his form, the twinkling of overhead lights glittering off fractured drops of sweat while he moved about.

all show; knowing if he got close the fight would be as good as over. your own fingers pinched together while you watched, fingernails digging crescent moons into the soft part of your hands- holding your breath while he finally circled in, stepping close and letting just one fist swing upwards to the tired opponent. his coach sat next to you leaned in to congratulate you- as if you were the one who won before the man even fell down onto the vinyl.

acting like this was a dance between the two would have done a disservice to toji, he was dancing; the other man looked like he had been running for his life since he stopped foot inside the ring. your head coming forward to rest against your knees at the sound of the bell- signaling the fight was over.

standing with tears hanging heavy against your lashes while they toted toji about; the veins prominent on his curling biceps with every shake of his gloved fist- showing everyone who’s winning hands they belonged to. something like a smile and smirk playing on his lips when he looked down at you. a promise shared while everyone else was celebrating him.

holding breath after breath in your chest following a small reminder to breathe with every intake; he was yours, but the glory of having a man so hailed and adored by people never ceased.

step after step taking you to the locker room, standing still- nearly biting your fingers with unnecessary anxiety while waiting for him in the room powered by fluorescent lights.

waiting on him while others who wanted just a sliver of attention circled like sharks to fresh meat all the way to the same spot you stood.

too in your head to feel the warmed hands reaching for your upper arm, blinking away the haze and looking at him.

feet awkwardly moving from their previous perch on the solid floor, nearly tripping on the porcelain; exclaiming out something that sounded like his name, trying to remind him to treat you with more care, fragile in hands that still had adrenaline pumping through his very being.

but just like it was difficult for you to keep yourself from dissolving into a bundled mess of nerves, it was hard on him to not act on the all consuming lust growing with each passing second, bypassing any necessary interviews or just plain praise spat in his direction- he had you. it was all he was going to need for tonight.

driven by the single thought, he didn’t stop until you were pressed down into the corner where he had shoved his bag and clothes toji had walked in here with; sweats and a too tight black shirt. hands braced against either side of the metal locker; caging you in, already dizzy with the smell of sweat and a metallic twist.

eye’s wandering down to his body at the thought that this could be his blood.

“whose blood?” you questioned, trying to keep lucid- even while pinned back against the wall, hands roaming down swollen muscles. veins thrumming with heat after taking the ring.

smelling nothing but him and a sickly metallic tang that flipped your stomach over- trying to keep your hands innocent when all you wanted to do was dig in and pull him into you.

damn the eyes still pinned to his back, even while his body crowded yours. no one would look at you if he had any saying in it, and with the adrenaline still coursing through him- he had half the mind to grab your legs and hitch them over his shoulder just to prove a point.

“the other guy’s. but you knew that.” toji stated and it was true; but there was still a part of you searching to make sure none of it was his. even words heavy with discontent- not with you, never, but with the fact that he wanted you and couldn’t do anything about it. not yet.

you nodded, tears already dotting your lash line with how long it had been since you had him, and now all that was left was to wait just a little bit.

“take me home, toji.” you whine, shaky hands leaving a trail of clean skin over the blood splattered on him before wrapping your fingers into his wet hair- tugging on the strands eagerly. lips brushing over the curve of his jaw, breathing down onto his chest. tasting something like sweat and blood, nose scrunching at the thought that he was marred in any capacity. but you knew it wasn’t his, any scrape was miniscule- bruised stomach and side, the areas where his opponent briefly made contact would be gone by tomorrow.

“ah, fuck.” toji groaned, looking up at the lights of the locker room- stomach tensing with pool of lust simmering in his stomach, knowing he would have to calm down, if only a little, if they were ever going to make it out of there.

and when he felt like he could breathe once more, when the tight coil of pure arousal waned enough for him to gulp down lungfuls of air- toji took you home.

stopping for just seconds to grab his check and eagerly pulling you behind him, catching glances of you while he turned around. spoiled and greedy with the sight of you giggling at how eager he was, making you feel just that more special.

it felt like an eternity before you were tugged over the threshold, hands reaching for you before the door closed. body arching down to meet your pouty lips- hungry for you like he's never been before.

denied of you for what was too long- it all came to a halt.

cock pressed against the material of flimsy sweatpants, it begged to have you. pulling away for seconds to actually breathe, toji reached down to pinch your face, tilting your gaze up at him. watching you blink away tears and fit tiny fingers into the space of his palm and your chin, wanting to stop with all the pretense, the wait- the swelling of want.

“toji.” you whined, lips puckering against the dimpling of your cheeks thanks to his fingers still pressing in.

acting like he was mad at you for not giving in, like all of this was your fault- eyes watching to see the simmering lust he had grappled with for nights, and days between when it had been allowed.

the singular word leaving a sour note on his tongue- “allowed”. he was toji zenin- ‘allowed’ was a word that had never pertained to him, and it never would be.

leaning in to grab at you again, like a doll he could have his way with. the sweetest reward for waiting, digging in with extra force with that simmering anger that was flipping back and forth from his stomach to chest, a slip of just how strong he was.

knew it was hard on you too- could feel it late at night when you thought he was asleep to helplessly stick fingers inside, too spoiled and used to what he gave that it wasn’t enough. let you think he was asleep because when you tried and ultimately failed- it did something to him.

hearing you try to stifle whines, hide from him by curling into a ball right next to his heated body. attending to yourself in a hopeless attempt and knowing nothing could compare to him.

his lips peeled back into something that resembled a smile, black tresses of his hair stuck onto his forehead and tickling your own when he leaned in and kissed you.

tongue hot, and strong- it licked inside your mouth, swirled along the sides of your teeth, and stopped right in front of your lips.

caught between breathing and holding it in your burning lungs, treated like a victim of his- the unbridled strength he carried resting just beneath the surface.

you couldn’t tell if you were scared, it felt like it, but there was also a tinge of lust playing right next to it. but you just blinked through that tight grip of panic; it was okay to be scared sometimes, scary felt good with him.

a singular whine escaping between the captured air- bringing down that smile of his once more.

but it was softer, no longer tinged with that seething warmth.

toji blinked, and actually looked down at you- eyes focusing on different parts of what was right in front of him, lips pouty and painted glossy with his spit- fingers still dimpling the fat of your face, your own digits wrapped around his thick wrist in a feeble attempt to pry his hand off.

“cute.”

it felt mocking, like he could laugh at you any second for getting off on how he was treating you; it was so tempting to bite back that it was the same with him, he was getting off on humiliating you like this- holding you open to gaze down at the very chords of your being.

but you didn’t, you were *good* and toji knew that too- it’s why it was so easy to shift the hold of your face down to either side of your neck; fingers pressing into the thrumming veins settled right there. easy to let go once satiating the need to make it hurt, bringing his arms down to where your ass meets your legs to tug you up. letting you wrap your arms around his neck- dependable and strong enough to carry you with ease, trying not to bump into the edges of things while he looked up at you. taking seconds from this moment to simply press his face to the center of your chest, kissing you like you’d even feel it given the clothes keeping you away from him.

your own fingers moving from their hold to ensure you wouldn’t fall to the stray strands of hair littering the nape of his neck. liking the fact that it was getting longer- there was just something about his long black hair you found comfort in; liked it when he was wound down enough to let you run your hands through it- softening the edges of his being with your love.

thoughts of how sweet he was to you, and only you, interrupted when he finally made it into your shared space. unceremoniously dumping you down onto the bed like he wasn’t just adoringly looking up at you, knees dipping down against where your legs folded into your waist; dipping you down with how heavy and big he was. making a show in how slow he was to place his palms against either side of your face.

every movement calculated, like he was waiting for you to comment on the slow pace he’s chosen to take, and just like he thought. it didn't take long to look up at him, pout already forming on your lips.

“toji.” his name whined and already breathy, hands searching for anything that would tug him back up to you. needing him so much it hurt, the singular chord of need seemingly moving any limbs for a chance to entice him further. like he wasn't also panting and wanting.

dizzy when you looked away from his lidded eyes for just a second to see his sweats hanging lower than they had been seconds ago- the imprint of him heavy and low. eyes rolling to the back of your head with the wet lust pooling between your legs.

trying so hard to keep your body from squeezing down onto nothing, stomach clenching in its stead.

“toji.” named whined again, like he didn’t hear you the first time.

“talk to me.” you whimpered, trying to keep a creeping panic down. trying to worm itself up from the odd coil of lust mixed in- seeing him look down at you. jaw set and hands shaking; palms warm and rough against the round skin on the fat of your face. thumbs tracing the start of your hairline over and over- trying not to vocally grunt when the twitch of his cock was so forceful it knocked air from him.

he could only laugh, bringing the pads of his thumb down to swipe under your eyes.

“what do you want me to say, angel?” toji questioned, distracting you with the answer he knew you wanted.

too spoiled and needy, knowing you we’re nothing but a creature of want bundled up with a pretty bow and pleading eyes.

“want me to tell you how much i want you?” toji asked, bringing both hands- finally latching onto the waistband of your bottoms before tugging without restraint of his strength.

pulling you down with the force a good inch before leaning down and placing a kiss to your forehead.

“want me to tell you how i heard you touch that dangerous little cunt, every night? right next to me?” he hissed, remembering it all. tipping over the swirl of emotions settled deep into the pit of his stomach. brought forth with the adrenaline slowly waning, replaced by want.

a hand slipping between both of your bodies to cup at the heat he was just speaking on. pulling fingers away saturated in slick, smiling something sick before pressing his fingers to his lips.

canines glistening against the low light, prying out another uncontrolled spasm- hips jutting off the bed to plead better than any words you could stupidly come up with.

wet mouth coming down, those same teeth catching the soft skin under your ear, bucking once more- hips caught down with those hands of his. waiting for you to notice the heaviness of his cock, freed from any confines, painting lines of lust across the apex of your thighs.

“too sweet.” toji whispered, uncharacteristically, once more. teetering you over that small and tiny space he seemed to shove you in a moment's notice. nose tipping up to breathe, to catch any sort of lucidity you still held.

excitement pumping through your veins with every throbbing push of hot blood, you could see your heart beat now. could feel the swollen and equally hot cock head poke against your swollen little clit, nothing but jolts wrecking through your body with every passing second *he* was making you wait.

and toji was a sick, twisted man- letting you look at him and start another plea before finally pressing himself inside. physically feeling the contraction of your pussy before you relaxed, tears dotting your lashes. swallowing down his name with a cry when his swollen head popped inside, head pressed back into the bed to cry out nothing but his name over and over.

too dizzy to notice the way he picked up your limp legs, hooking them over the curve of his arms before coming back to you. trapping you, keeping you bundled up and tiny.

viscous, teeth gnawing against one another- toji groaned. adrenaline waning, dizzy in his own right, body strung up with nothing but physical strength.

thankful for his own power because the cunt squeezing around his cock so tight- he had to fight to fit inside seemed to sap any better judgment or mental fortitude.

“come on angel- your turn. you talk.” toji nearly bickered, trying to bring the focus back in your eyes. and since he was a sick, and mean man- he enjoyed seeing your face scrunch up, sucking in little breath after little, hiccuped breath.

knocking that focus clear off your face with pistoning thrusts so hard, the jolt itself tempered him through the thick fog of lust and pleasure. barking out something akin to a laugh and groan watching you shake your head and squish your nose up something cute.

how was he ever supposed to stop? how could he ask to keep his hands off you, when you received him so well- even now, while he bullied his cock into your already battered pussy all you did was shake your head back and forth and plead for him to give you more.

hands gripping onto the curve of muscle settled on top his bicep, anchoring yourself to the very thing knocking the wind and thoughts out of your body. feeling the push of your muscles against his hold on you, acting like you were-

oh.

toji has to bite down, gnash his teeth and breathe heavy tufts of air out of his nose to keep himself at least somewhat grounded. watching you twitch weakly, feeling you spray his wiry hair, and coat the sliver of cock that doesn’t fit inside of you with cum. hitching your legs further into the cradle of his arms while he fucks and fucks into you over and over.

“fuck.” the singular word spit out through his gritted teeth, balking with the fact that you came so easy. finding it unfair that you were so sensitive, you who was allowed to touch yourself. who was allowed the little moments of reprieve even if it might not have been with him.

he would have swallowed his pride for the time being, letting you do what you needed to get off.

but since toji is such a nasty, vile man. he knows that’s not true.

lips curling to smile down at you, like you did such a good job for him- making a show of grabbing the back of your knees, and pressing them further down onto the bed.

his eyes pinning yours down, like a wild animal sizing up their prey before pouncing. daring you to look away, wanting you to be the one who pushed through the hazy fog of burning overstimulation.

“that’s it.” he praises, despite what he’s putting you through, unrelenting thrusts, keeping you down small and unmoving underneath him he sees the way you’re slipping in deep. sharp smacks of his balls battering the curve of your ass that has been lifted an inch off the bed the only thing heard, apart from the sharp trills of your cries.

“please, please!” you cry, over and over- too dizzy to even pick your head back up, letting it roll to the side when he comes in close once more. tongue laving at the curve of your cheek, a simple gesture of comfort.

“my good girl. please what?” he asks, the vibration of his words reverberating against your clammy skin.

and toji never expects an answer, this is good enough- you do well enough in your own right to keep somewhat lucid while his thick cock throbs with every push inside.

it feels like an uphill battle from him too, watching every orgasm overtake your body- slowly eating away at the unshakable control he has over his own figure.

wonders why, after everything he’s done bad in his life, is he able to have a little piece of nirvana right here.

toji is gluttonous anyways, has always wanted more than what was offered- from you too. grits his teeth down so hard, even through the haze you can see the vein working its way down his thick neck.

holding off just for one more, one more orgasm from you, pretty little thing.

coaxes it out of you with those snapping hips- thick cock noisily sliding in and out of you with no remorse for the integrity of your walls. battering you into something soft and malleable, shaping the figure of his cock into your tummy.

you cum again, weak- sensitive. barely able to distinguish what hurts and what doesn’t, whole body shuddering in the midst of his strong hold. squeezing around him, beckoning him closer and closer.

in the end it’s worth it, letting yourself get used by him to watch the way he tips his head back- looking at the ceiling of your room before tremors wrack his own body. lips open while he pants out the singular-

“fuck! fuck-“ over and over, sealing himself against you with one last thrust. digging in as much as he can to make sure you take it all- make sure his cum is well received inside of the same walls still trying to push out his unrelenting cock.

and you feel so full, warm and shaky while toji slowly gains his own bearings- having gone limp long ago, waiting for him to come back to you. shivering with every weak throb his cock gives you, like he’s trying to push out every last bit of cum he has for you. the heat simmering low in your very being.

“pretty thing.” toji finally breathes- relieved. whatever pent up energy left now forming into nothing but pure adoration for you. something he had never felt before. coming to him as naturally as all the other mean, vile, nasty tendencies he has.

letting you whine like a little puppy while he lets your legs fall back onto the bed. kissing you, teeth nipping at the curve of your tear stained cheek- lowly chuckling with how shaky hands reach for him. wondering if you know how ironic it is to be begging for the very being responsible for making a mess of you.

“toji.” it’s sweet, called out in a way he’s not used to hearing his name in.

“yeah angel, ‘m here.” he huffs, feigning like there’s effort in bringing himself down to hold you. strong arms used in a manner foreign to their creation- wrapping you up against him.

“you did good, cunt missed me that much?” he wonders out loud, catching a glance at the pool of cum trailing down the middle of your thighs. letting both of you lay in the messiness of it all- too indulgent to clean it off.

watching you nod, eyes heavy- bleary. fucked out like an angel created for just this. his own breathing ragged with the singular pout, feeling your hands grab as if he’d leave.

wonders how the fuck he’d ever get through next season, and the season after that. knowing temptation itself holds its form in the shape of you, right here with him.

toji kisses you- trying to make you the singular thought in his mind. letting you rest before he puts you through it again and again, a creature of indulgence in his own right.

knowing he wants it all; victory and your very being. wonders how you drift off so easy with a man like him looking over you.

[asumofwords]

Unsought Betrothal - Part 2 - Part One Here

Dark!Aemond x Reader Velaryon x Cregan Stark

Summary: After attempting to humilate your betrothed by laying with Lord Cregan Stark the night before your wedding in the hopes that Aemond would call the wedding off, you find that not only is he determined to still wed you, but also to punish you for your indiscretions. Part One Here

Pairings: Dark!Aemond x Reader, Cregan x Reader, Cregan x Aemond

Warnings: Arranged marriage, threats of violence, acts of violence, forced voyeurism, dubcon, elements of noncon, naked reader, clothed men, fingering, finger fucking, pussy slapping, p in v sex, creampie, pussy eating, cum eating, degradation, praise, voyeur.

Word Count: 13k oops... sorry

Notes: Wow, whelp, its been a while since I have posted some of my writing, and even longer since I wrote the first part of this abomination, but when you get the urge, you just gotta scratch it. Thank you all for all your beautiful messages of kindness as usual, I'm sorry I've been gone a while. I have had a bit of a rough time this year but hopes for a brighter future! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this, and I hope I can write again very soon for you, hehe ;) Enjoy! <3

The wedding came just as it was planned. Just as it was arranged. Sleep had evaded you, anger and confusion clouding your mind with memories of the night before, ache still throbbing between your thighs. Your little attempt at stopping the engagement had no affect on your betrothed. No affect on the uncle you had grown up with. On the man you would now call husband. 

You had thought that if you could humiliate Aemond in court by flirting with Lord Cregan Stark that he would call off the engagement. That the embarrassment would be too much for the pious prince. That the shame would turn him away from you, making him demand to his mother that they call off the engagement. 

You had thought that maybe if you lost your maidenhead to the Northerner, Aemond would be so disgusted, so filled with rage, that he would call the engagement off, what with him being a dedicated follower of the Seven. 

But you were wrong.

And so you spent an evening limping back into the Keep, escorted by none other than the One-eyed Prince himself and Ser Crispin. The front of your bodice had been ripped by Aemond's hands, but thankfully your hooded cloak covered up your sullied gown, the bottom of it dirtied with mud from where Aemond had bent you over in the alleyway and taken you roughly. With each step you took, you felt his seed slide down your legs, sticking to your inner thighs tackily. 

When you got to your chambers, you used the small basin at your dressing table filled with water to wipe and wash away the blood and seed from your body, pain and a lingering dull ache causing you to jerk with each swipe. 

You didn’t get much sleep that evening, staring blankly up at the ceiling. The urge to run was strong, to just leave out into the night through one of the secret passages and onto your dragons back, but the urge to stay was stronger. You hated him, truly hated him, but the way he had treated you that night, the fire in his eye, it lit something inside of you. It almost made you want him. 

Need him. 

Yet, there was another urge to stay, to make his life hell. To humiliate him at every turn, to ensure that he knew that forcing the engagement to continue would ensure him a life long marriage of discontent and disharmony. 

You were not going to bend to his will. You were not going to bend to his needs, to bow at the husband, and say ‘yes’, and ‘thank you’, and ‘please’. You were going to be who you have always been. 

A Valaryian. 

Your eyes stayed open, watching as the ceiling eventually became light with the sun, indicating the break of dawn, and soon enough your maids were entering your chambers to get you ready to be wed. You were thankful that none of them asked questions about the dirtied ripped gown, or the bloodied rag in the basin, though you knew they were likely already aware. 

The doors to your chambers opened as they pulled your hair back, pinning it atop your head in masses of braids with gold pins, tips glowing red with circular rubies. The colour of your mothers house dripping from you. Footsteps moved through your chambers, your head lifting to find Rhaenyra coming towards you, wearing a dress of black. Her silver hair half up, half down, small braids weaving around the back of her head beautifully. 

A soft smile pulled on her lips as she came towards you, causing you to turn in your seat to fully face her. She looked sad and also lovingly devoted all at once. And whilst you knew it was not her greatest wish to marry you off to her half-brother, you also both knew that it was the only way to prevent bloodshed.

“My sweet.” Rhaenyra cooed, a slender hand coming to brush against your cheek dotingly, the scar on her arm from Alicent peeking beneath the cuff of her dress.

Blood already shed.

“Muña.” You smiled back, pulling her hand down into your lap.

Your mother leant forward and placed a kiss atop your head, “You look so beautiful, my love.”

“Thank you, mother.”

“Are you ready?” Her tone was gentle, as though she didn’t wish to startle you. As though she didn’t want to break the bubble that was the safety of your chambers. 

The last time in your chambers as an unwed woman.

You gave her a reassuring smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes, and she could see it, “I must be.”

The small smile she had worn slid away, “This is not what I had intended for you. I did not wish to force you as I had been. I wish-“

“-I know.” You squeezed her hand, “I understand. It is my duty as your daughter to be wed to the Hightower’s to prevent bloodshed and war. To ensure your ascension to the throne. Let me perform my duty for you.”

“You know that we love you.” Rhaenyra squeezed your hand back, “Daemon has almost gone mad with rage. He does not wish to see you be wed to him. Luc feels that it is his fault.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from either of them.” You stood, still clutching her hand.

Her violet eyes roamed down your body. 

The dress you wore was similar to the one she had worn for her wedding to Laenor, white with gold and licks of red in the lining. The dress sat below your collarbones and drooped against your shoulders, pearlescent beads sewn onto the short sleeves like dragon scales with a red silk peaking underneath.

“I wish this could be different for you.” She came to your side, placing a white cloak atop your shoulders, the Velaryon House sigil embroidered on the back, readying you to leave your chambers.

You looped your arm in hers, steeling a breath before you gave her a confident smile, “I don’t.”

-

Your heart rattled in your chest as you tried to stop the anxiety that churned nauseatingly in your stomach. Your hand was clenched tightly against Daemons arm, who slowly walked you down the many tables filled with people towards the man who would soon be your husband. 

“Breathe.” Daemon cooed softly in your ear, his hand attempting to soothe you with soft brushes against yours. 

Your eyes had not once left Aemond, who watched you with a dark glare. 

The second son stood before the table, Viserys slumped behind him in his chair, the barest of smiles on his rotted face, half covered by a golden mask as you came towards them all. Your mother and Alicent sat on either sides of the King, followed by your brothers, your uncles, your cousins, and your aunt.

Aemond stood stiffly as he always did, the perfect posture with his shoulders back. He was higher on the stairs so that he looked down his nose at you, which wasn’t different to any other time he did. Each step towards him was nerve-wracking, the Lords and Ladies who had travelled far and wide watching you with keen eyes.

When finally you were standing before him, Daemon let go, coming to stand between you and Aemond momentarily, breaking your eye contact for the first time since you entered the room. Your uncle Daemon’s face was a kind one, and one you had grown to love as a step-father. He did not offer you a reassuring smile like your mother did, nor did he offer a consoling one. Instead, he leant forward to press a kiss to the side of your face before standing straight, towering over the both of you in both height and size before he moved back towards the table, sitting beside your mother. 

And so the ceremony began. 

In the light of the chambers Aemond looked sinister, shadows cast across his sharp face as he continued to look down his nose at you, chin still raised high. The Prince’s hair was styled in the way that it always was; straight and down his back, with two plain pieces pulled away from the sides of his face, tied neatly behind his head. He wore all black, the lining and undershirt the deepest of greens that was almost onyx. A symbol of his mother and her war that she had declared on a night such like this, many years ago. 

The room felt hot, the back of your neck sweating as you stared at each other, all eyes pinned on you as the Septon’s voice boomed throughout the room.

“Father, Mother, Warrior,” The old mans voice was so loud in your ear that you winced,  “Smith, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. Hear now their vows.”

You swallowed thickly, momentarily looking down at your hands before back into his sole lilac one, watching as his posture straightened further, surprised that he could even do so.

“I am yours, and you are mine.” Aemond’s voice dipped lower, “Whatever may come.”

Your throat felt dry, but your gut was filled with anticipation. You were frightened, but there was something else simmering beneath it all. A need for the danger he brought, a feeling of protection from him. Not from him and his anger, but from others.

A possessive desire.

The Septon looked at you impatiently to say your vows, and a small wave of quiet whispers spread across the room as you stood silently. The Prince shifted on his feet, muscles in his jaw clenching.

“I am yours,” You breathed softly, hands gripping each other tightly in front of your dress, “And you’re mine. Whatever may come.”

The purple of Aemond’s eye was half hidden by his lid, his gaze having softened at your short vow. You watched as the corner of his sharp lips twitched upwards lightly into a small smirk.

The Septon continued, “Here in the presence of Gods and Men, I proclaim Aemond of House Targaryen and Y/n of House Velaryon to be man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Man and Wife.

Wed to Aemond Targaryen. 

Your husband.

Now and forever.

An eruption of congratulatory joy spread throughout the room, the noise almost deafening as everyone celebrated what could be your demise. And though the noise around you was distracting, you could not look away from him, even as he shifted closer.

Aemond’s hand lifted and you flinched, the only people having noticed was your family seated behind you. His hand continued despite your shock to cup the side of your face and jaw, and as quickly as it happened, it ended. Aemond’s face grew closer as his eye slid shut, pressing his lips tenderly to yours in a brief moment before he pulled away, hand dropping back down to his side. The hand that had cupped your face grasped your hand for all to see, before he led you around to your seat at the table. 

-

The night of celebrations became a blur, too in shock to really enjoy yourself, but wine still flowing heavily. Most of your evening you spent ignoring your new husband, opting to speak mostly to your mother and brothers, as well as Daemon and his daughters, who threw you pitying smiles, yet words of encouragement. 

Aemond sat by your side, though he made no effort to join your conversations or create ones of his own. He had always been the quiet of his siblings, always sticking to the shadows and tomes of the library, never quite fitting in. 

Helaena leant forward towards you, Otto eyeing her warily whilst Alicent looked as though she was about to chastise her daughter. In your aunts hand was a beetle, all black, though when the light of the candles shone on his shell, it seemed to glow. Greens and blues, and purples and pinks, danced across the beetles wings as it crawled atop her hand. 

Your aunt had always loved insects, and had always been a sweet and kind person. You loved Helaena, and if there was anything that could help you endure living in the Red Keep alone without your family, it would be her. 

“He appears dark,” She breathed watching as it crawled through a gap in her fingers and back towards her palm, “But if you look closely, you’ll find that he’s not.”

You shuffled in your seat, your shoulder pressed to hers as you ducked your head to look closer at the beetle, “He’s quite beautiful.”

Healaena lifted her face towards you, as she smiled at you dreamily, “He is, if you let him.”

Frowning, you looked back to the beetle, “How do I let a beetle be a beetle?”

Helaena did not answer you, instead continuing to twist and turn her hand as the bug crawled around on it. 

Aegon watched from above the rim of his cup, drunk with red rimmed eyes. His hair was oily and wavy, unbrushed atop his round face. You could not help but feel a shiver crawl over you as he smiled.

“Our sweet niece and brother are finally married.” Aegon purred, Helaena barely giving him a second glance as though over the years she had attuned herself into pretending that he did not exist.

“A joyous occasion, uncle.” You smiled falsely back, picking up your own goblet of wine, ready to go back to talking with Helaena. Or the beetle.

Anything to escape Aegon.

“Do you know what happens tonight? After the celebrations of course.” Your uncles voice creeped along the surface of the table like a snake, so that only you and his siblings could hear. 

You swallowed thickly. 

Of course you did. 

You had done it last night.

Bar a bed. Or walls.

In fact, it wasn’t even in the Keep, and instead in a dirty alley in Flea Bottom, hidden amongst the shadows.

“I’m aware.” Your voice was clipped, which seemed to goad Aegon.

“And how does our sweet little niece know of such things?”

You swallowed thickly, head turning to look at Aemond, whose eye was trained on his brother.

“My Septa.” You tuned back to face him, “And your whoring.”

Aegon chuckled, filling up his goblet with wine once more, “I suppose then you know what to expect.”

“Yes.”

“Should you ever be in want of a demonstration-"

“-Leave her be.” Came Aemond’s voice, almost a growl. His hand was clutched tightly around his own goblet as he challenged his older brother to say something more. 

Aegon laughed loudly, eyes on his brothers clenched hand before looking up to watch him, “I only jest, brother! It is a night of celebrations!” He thrust his goblet towards the One-Eyed Prince, “It’s not everyday that my little brother is married off to such a beautiful princess. The daughter of the Realm’s Delight, no less. Do you think-“

Helaena shifted, turning her body towards you, “It isn’t so bad.” She spoke emotionlessly into your ear to distract you from Aegon, “It only hurts the first few times.” Your aunt paused in thought, lavender eyes still on the beetle as it moved, before looking at you, “Or when he’s angry. Or drunk.” She added as an afterthought, “But mostly when he’s drunk.”

Sorrow coursed through you for your aunt, your gaze immediately staring into Aegon’s angrily. How could he do this to her? How could he treat her like one of his whores? If not because she is his wife, but because she is his sister. Aegon seemed to sink into his chair after Helaena’s comment, soft anger simmering off of him in small waves.

But Aegon has never truly known when to stop.

“I am sure my brother here will barely draw blood.” 

“I am sure your interest in your brothers cock speaks loudly.”

Elbows sloppily placed on the table he leant towards you, “I tried to take him once you know, to a whorehouse.” His voice became more hushed, “He hated it. Made me think that maybe our dear Aemond was perhaps like your father, Laenor.”

Blinding rage shot through you, “Don’t speak about my father.” You hissed, “He was more man than you shall ever be.”

A cruel smirk pulled at Aegon’s lips, “I am sure he has had more men than I ever shall.”

Your hand shot forward to grasp your goblet, ready to hurl it across the table at him, peace be damned, but Aemond was quicker and snatched your wrist before the tips of your fingers could even reach the cup. 

A quiet fell over your table as all watched the interaction, your wrist in Aemond’s hand, Aegon smirking cruelly at you, and your face hot with anger.

“I pity you.” You quietly seethed, “Always so desperate to get a reaction out of the people around you, because if you didn’t you would simply cease to exist. Though you are the first son of Viserys, a peasant bastard from Flea Bottom would garner more respect.” 

Aegon’s gassed darkened, his mouth readying to fire back at you.

“Aemond.” Alicent called to her son, a questioning and yet chastising tone in her voice. 

Aemond looked at his mother, and then back to you, checking to see if you were going to continue on with your thought. But you had grown tired of the grip he had on you, his large hand squeezing your bones painfully as they shifted beneath the skin. 

“Don’t touch me.” You sneered at him, snatching your hand away as you stood, chair scraping loudly against the flagstones.

The throne room quietened, all stilling to watch as you stood at the table, seething down at your husband. The rest of your family all watched warily, except for the Rogue Prince who smirked broadly at you. Your chest heaved with anger as you looked down at Aemond, who stared up at you with similar rage. 

King Viserys sensing the tension smiled, though it looked more like a grimace, “Our young lovers wish to dance!” A distraction on his end, and a clever one at that. 

The room erupted into cheers and clapping, and the musicians in the corner began playing music loudly for all. Lords and Ladies stood from their seats and moved into the centre of the room to dance together.

Glaring down at your husband, your hands clenched into fists, waiting for him. Aemond slowly stood, towering over you, a large hand stretched out towards you, palm up. 

“Wife.”

“Husband.” You growled, taking his hand roughly, digging your nails into his skin as you led him down the stairs towards the people.

The court parted to the sides like a wave, creating a path for you straight to the centre as you lead Aemond down to it, almost like a dog. Each man and woman watched with excitement, either for the celebrations or the rising tension between the two of you. You’d be a fool to think that the court wouldn’t love a quarrel to arise so that they may whisper about it in corridors later to come. 

It could be a way to press the wound so to speak with Aemond later.

You stopped in the centre, finally letting go of your husband as you spun to face him. 

He stood as he always did, stiff, emotionless with a hint of arrogance, watching you with a cool glare. The court waited for you to begin, as the music continued to play, but even then you couldn’t push yourself to touch him. To feel his hands on you once more, alighting a fire within you that you did not know was possible, the embers still burning from the night before.

Would they be able to tell?

That he had already deflowered you in Flea Bottom?

In a dirty alley like one of Aegon’s whores?

In a way, you hoped they would. Let it bring him dishonour. Let it bring him humiliation from the court that his wife would take him in such a filthy, commoner way. You wished for his disdain, you wished for his anger, anything but the clear desire which seemed to move through him as he watched you from down his nose. 

“Well?” You snipped, waiting for him to make the first move.

Aemond came forward swiftly, much like he had in the alley, and you had to bite your cheeks to stop the gasp that would have escaped your mouth. 

It came to him so naturally to touch you, to hold you. One large hand immediately grasping yours by your side pulling it up, the other skating up your hip, over your collar bone, slowly down your shoulder, and down, down, down your arm. 

Goosebumps rose on your skin, a shiver running down your back as his other hand connected with yours, and slowly but surely, the dance began. Even with the noise of the room, the music playing, the talking, and laughter, and joy from the guests, you could still hear the small little gasps and breaths you let free as you danced with Aemond. 

It was likely one of the only times you hadn’t bickered after so long in his presence, let alone whilst touching him. The two of you stayed silent, moving this way and that, your gaze occasionally flitting to the table to your mother and Daemon, who watched with kind eyes. 

“Don’t let Aegon goad you.” Aemond finally spoke. 

His hand brushed against your shoulders, and round the back of your neck, a heat beginning to simmer in your gut from his touch. You turned to face him, watching as he observed you closely.

“He won’t stop if you show it bothers you.”

“He always bothers me.” You snipped, but this time with much less anger, “He is like a fly you wish to swat but can never reach."

Aemond’s lip twitched as he looked at you, turning around you slowly, “Mm.” 

“Mm.” You mimicked, turning away from him.

“Behave yourself, wife.” Aemond purred, irritation flitting through you momentarily.

“What? Like how behaved yourself last night?” 

“I could say much the same to you.”

“A shame then.” You sighed, moving to come chest to chest with him, your breath stilling in your lungs as you looked up at him. You would never get used to how tall he had grown over the years, “You bring much dishonour to your mother.”

“As do you. Whoring yourself to a Lord of the North-“

“-King of the North-“

“-In a dirty, whore riddled tavern.”

“A dirty, whore riddled tavern that you knew about.”

Aemond stilled, his head dipping towards you, “Did you think that I wouldn’t know of your movements in Kings Landing? Did you truly believe that I would be so foolish as to think that you would come to me willingly?”

You swallowed thickly.

“No.” He continued, sucking on his teeth, “You forget that I know you. You are much like your brothers. Getting into places where you don’t belong.”

“And what of yours?” You became defensive at the mention of your brothers, remembering how he and his would call you all bastards, “Loudly and brazenly whoring himself to any and all who would dare risk fucking him.”

“My brothers whoring does not concern me.”

“Then I suppose I am not a concern either.” You sniffed, “You needn’t worry, I am sure that he should find his way into our chambers one way or another.”

The hand on your arm tightened to the point of pain, your cheek twitching as you tried to hold in a wince, “I told you, he is not of concern.”

“I know Aegon. I have heard of what he does-“

“-And you know me. Know that he will not-“

“-He will not, what? Sully me? Taint our marital bed? It is already tainted. You made sure of that last night.” You stood closer to him, still as the others danced around you, your gaze peering up into his as your chest heaved, “But what if I want him to? What if I willingly invite him to take me? I’m sure you do not mind sharing after all, he is your brother.”

Aemond’s eye flashed with anger, before his head slowly ducked beside your ear, “If you think I am fool enough to stoop to your provocations then you must forget that we grew up together, side by side. I know your tricks.” The hand on your arm released its strong grip, coming to brush against the back of your neck, “I know that you despise him just as much as I. I know that you used to cry at the Godswood when he called you bastard.”

You bristled, purposely stepping back as you stared at him angrily. You hated that word. You hated what it meant for you and your siblings. You hated that he and his brother and his mother and the court whispered about all of your parentage. You hated that once, when you had been young, despite all of this, you had been friends.

Rage bubbled up inside of you, and before you could stop yourself you leant forward, hand coming to touch the side of Aemond’s face with his one seeing eye, the other covered by his leather patch.

You rubbed your thumb atop his cheek, “Imply that I am bastard once more, and I shall blind you with the purpose that Lucerys lacked.”

Aemond’s chest rose and fell jaggedly, inhaling breaths faster than yours, anger coursing through his veins. His sharp lips twitched as he watched you, “I wouldn’t dare. I know just how Strong you are, Princess.”

Your thumb moved fast, but Aemond was faster, anticipating your movements. His hand caught yours against his cheek, trapping your fingers between his hand so that they may not move further to pluck his remaining eye from its socket like intended. 

“People are watching, ābrazȳrys.” Wife, He purred, though there was a lick of danger behind it. 

A warning.

“Ivestragī zirȳ urnēbagon.” Let them watch, You sneered, “Nyke kessa laesdaor ao hae iā dīnilūks irudy.” I shall blind you as a wedding gift.

Aemond’s silver brow lifted, “Skoros iā sȳz irudy.” What a good gift, His eye turned dangerous, “Eman iā irudy syt ao, mēre nyke gōntan daor jaelagon naejot tepagon.” I have a gift for you, one I did not wish to give.

“Is it your death?” You countered cheerily, not wanting to show him that the way he spoke to you set your hair on end.

“No. I think it will be much better than that. We will both come to enjoy it.” The danger in his eye still flickered like a flame, “I was considering not giving it to you, but since you are behaving so wonderfully, I simply must insist.”

You turned away from him, moving to go back to your seat, “I want nothing from you.”

“And yet, you'll have everything.”

-

As the night grew long, your fears grew larger. And though he had taken you the night before in an alley, his subtle threat of what may come tonight lingered in the back of your mind. Each cup of wine was drained eagerly by your lips, hoping and wishing that you could somehow make yourself sick enough to not have the bedding ceremony. 

But it came all the same, just as the wedding had.

Aegon was the one who initiated the beginning of the end.

A large clap came from in front of you, the short haired Prince leaning towards you on the tables with his hands clasped together, silver and gold rings adorning them. A sinister smile pulled at his lips as he beamed at you and his brother. 

“The night is late!” He proclaimed loudly to the chambers, many Lords and Ladies turning their heads to watch, “I think we have held these two young lovers hostage for far too long!” Aegon smiled out to the room and then stood, lifting his goblet. 

His shirt was untucked, his gait unsteady and he swayed on his feet as he continued, “My brother is too polite to remove himself from festivities such as these! But brother,” He thrusted his cup towards you, “I can see that you wish to take your new wife to bed! The love these two share is a tale for story books, though they are too polite to say a thing.” He chuckled, and laughter followed from the Lords behind you, “Worry not! We will continue the festivities without you!”

Cheers were heard from about the room, though none came from your own table. Aegon sipped his wine greedily, eyes watching you from above the rim of his cup. The Prince took the goblet from his lips and clicked his fingers impatiently beside him, pointing at an uncomfortable Criston Cole who came to his side like a well trained mutt.

“Ser Criston, take these newly weds to my brothers chambers. It seems it is time for the bedding ceremony.”

Ceremony. 

Your blood ran cold. 

Aemond stood abruptly beside you, head on with his brother. 

“No need, Ser Cole.” His smooth voice icy, “I shall escort the Princess there myself.”

Aemond pushed his chair backwards as you continued to stare at Aegon, not quite ready to be alone with the Prince. 

Your husband.

You blinked, turning your head towards your family, who all gave you pained smiles. But it was your duty. And you had given your mother your word. Slowly you stood, letting your eyes scan the table, softly landing on your grandsire before meeting with a pair of large brown eyes. Alicent Hightower watched on with a nervous energy, her hands shifting on her lap as you assumed she picked at the skin around her fingers. The look in her eyes almost held empathy. 

Almost. 

You bowed your head to the King and Queen, ignoring Aegon’s shit eating grin. 

“Your Grace.”

Pushing your chair back you ignored the outstretched arm of Aemond and made your way down the stairs, Lords and Ladies watching as you made your slow exit from the room, taking false prideful steps through the court to delay the inevitable, giving all who watched smiles and nods of your head. 

The shifting of armour moved loudly behind you, before soon enough, Ser Criston Cole was overtaking your step to lead you out of the chambers and soon to Aemond’s. The white cape attached to his shoulders billowed behind him as he speedily kept on.

The skin on your elbow burned, a hand gripping it tightly as you were momentarily slowed as Aemond came to your side. You refused to meet his eye, feeling his gaze upon the side of your face as you exited the chambers, the sounds of cheering and laughter loud behind you. The chamber doors shut with a thump, the sound dampened and muffled, footsteps echoing down the darkened corridors of the Red Keep.

“Does Ser Criston not wish to watch you bed me?” You sneered, eyes flickering to the lit lamps on the walls as Aemond led you down a wing of the Keep you had scarcely been down. 

“I have instructed him to prepare my chambers for your arrival.” Aemond replied, his strides long and rigid as he almost hauled you with him. 

“Do not pull me.” You yanked your arm back, halting your steps, “I am not your dog.”

Aemond stilled, looking down his nose at you as he towered above, “Dogs are better behaved.”

The Prince’s head snapped to the side, pain spreading through your palm as you sneered at him. The side of his cheek bloomed an angry red, yet Aemond did not react to your slap, nor did he hit you back, instead, a slow smirk pulled at his lips. 

“I shall allow that, but only because I know you will regret it.”

Rising to your tiptoes you tried to make yourself come to eye level, “I regret nothing.”

“Mm.” He looked at you blankly, “I shall give you a choice.” Anger rose within your chest, heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks, “Come with me to the Godswood.” Your brows furrowed, “Pray to the Gods for forgivingness for striking your husband, kneel and apologise. Swear obeisance to me-”

“-If you think-“

“-And I shall let you go to your own chambers alone. No need for a bedding ceremony after last night.”

You flushed, swallowing thickly, “I would never lower myself to apologising to a second son. And especially not to a Prince who is owed no inkling of respect.”

Aemond watched you for a beat, eye scanning your face as his held flat, “Then we continue to my chambers.” The hand that pulled you began again, and your feet struggled to keep up with his, bruises no doubt to be on the tender flesh of your arm in the morning. 

Your heart raced in your chest as you felt yourself get closer to his chambers, his strides not once slowing down, though you tried to dig your heels into the flagstones to slow him. 

“You care not to have a woman enthusiastic in your bed?” You tugged fruitlessly at your arm, “You wish to drag me to a night of suffering, like a savage. Like your brother, Aegon.” You sneered, fruitlessly tugging your arm to escape his grip.

“A savage would have had you atop the table before all to see when you first defied me. I gave you a chance to apologise, remember that you scorned it.”

“A chance? What chance was I given? A loveless marriage with a man who is not my equal? A burden I am forced to bear as I am forced to lay beneath him!”

Aemond’s steps halted once more, almost causing you to crash into him, his fingers tightening against your arm as he yanked you against his chest angrily, “You needlessly make this more difficult. I extended an offering to you of peace, and you burnt it.”

“Peace?” You screeched incredulously, “You have done naught but provoke me! Naught but push and prod and goad me into reaction so that you may justify your sick desires.”

“Provoke you? I seem to recall you sneaking into Flea Bottom to try and lay with a Lord to spite me.”

“I was trying to save us from a loveless and cruel union.”

“Us? Or yourself?”

You paused, mouth feeling dry. Anger and fear swirled within your gut viscously as you stared at him. The both of you panting heavily at one another. Aemond shifted, moving away from the wall beside you, revealing two large wooden doors. 

You were there.

And you had not even realised.

“Wife.” Aemond purred sarcastically before pushing open the door, the smell of his room engulfing you. 

It smelt of him, but far more intensely. Of leather and smoke, and spices which he dabbed his skin with, and still, behind all of this, the natural scent of him. The smell that was only his and his alone. A scent that had wrapped around you in that alleyway the night before. 

The fireplace raged wildly, the room filled with dark mahogany furniture. There was a chaise, arm chairs, a table seated for six, a large bed on the other end, a reading desk with piles of books and scrolls, and candles sitting on every surface, lighting the room. 

The second thing you observed as your eyes roamed the space was that you were not alone. 

Your heart skipped in your chest. 

There by the bed, was a man sat in a chair. Arms tied down to it as his feet were tightly bound to the legs. His long dark hair was knotted atop his head as he stared at you in shock, and beside him, Ser Criston Cole.

“Cregan?” You breathed in shock, running towards the Northerner as you dropped to your knees, hand reaching out to cup his face as he only looked at you with sorrow, “Are you hurt?”

“I did warn you,” Aemond growled from behind, “That you would regret it. I had a plan, you see. A moment of mercy to let you apologise at the Godswood, for you to go-“

“-Let him go!”

“-To your chambers untouched and unscathed. I had given you a choice, and this is the one you have chosen.”

You turned your head sharply to face Aemond, “What have you done?”

“This man was caught conspiring against the crown. He planned to take the Princess’ honour and humiliate her betrothed. A Prince.” His lilac eye held Cregan’s icy blue ones, “I have done my duty by capturing this traitor to the realm.”

Fear began to bubble inside of you, eyes looking back to Cregan. The left side of his face was bruised, small cuts littered across his cheek and brow. His soft lips were swollen and split, and dried blood had gathered in one corner.

“He is innocent.” Your knees ached as they dug into the stones below, your upper body turning to face Aemond again, “He knew naught of what I was doing. Punish me. Let him go.”

Aemond hummed and walked towards you, “Brave. Admirable if it wasn’t for nothing. No. I gave you a choice before, and you have made your choice. I gave you the option to apologise, to bend to me as your husband, to go to your chambers alone, but this is what you have chosen. This was your choice.”

“You gave me no choice!” You sneered, moving to stand, shielding Cregan’s body with your own, “All this talk of choices when all you have gave was an unknown ultimatum.”

“A choice nonetheless. Godswood or chambers. And so here we are. The consequences of your actions.” The Prince came closer, shadows cast across his face, “I told you that you would regret it.”

“You’re a savage! A foul beast.”

A smile pulled at Aemond’s lips, “Choose your words carefully, wife. I have no qualm with slitting his throat where he sits should you continue to defy me.”

Cregan pulled against his restraints, angrily sneering at Aemond, who simply hummed once more as he came to stand before you, looking down at you with false pity, “But, it is the night of our union, and the betrayal is still fresh and something I am willing to move past. I shall give you another choice. One that I feel may be far too lenient.”

Tears began to well in your eyes.

This was all your fault.

“The Lord of Winterfell shall sit where he is, and watch as I fuck you in ways that he never shall-“

“-You disgust me!”

“-Or he shall be tried and hung for treason.” Aemond came closer, his chest almost brushing against yours as he stared at you, “The choice is yours.”

You sneered upwards at your uncle, tears gathering in your eyes, “I would rather die than let you touch me again.”

“I recall you seeming to enjoy it, wetting my cock in that filthy alley as you begged for it.” He purred, hand lifting to brush hair from your face as he sighed, “I don’t mind what you choose, I could simply slit his throat myself right now? If you'd prefer it?”

A lone tear fell down your cheek as you turned and held Cregan’s gaze, his brows furrowing as he saw you come to your decision. 

“Y/n, don’t-“ Cregan’s head was jerked back roughly, Ser Coles hand in his hair as he stuck a blade beneath his chin. The edge of the blade nicked the skin lightly, a small bead of blood travelling down his neck. 

He would die.

He would die and it would be all your fault.

“Please, Aemond.” You begged, “Please do not do this. Let him go. Let him go and I swear to you I will obey your commands. Let him free and I am yours.”

The silver haired mans head tilted as he cooed you, “I am sorry, my love. But it is too late to beg for my mercy as I offered it to you before. What kind of man would I be if I excused such treason?”

You stepped forward swiftly, “A strong one. A merciful one. A man who can see the error of my way. That I am repentant.” You tried to cajole him, “I promise you I will be good. I will perform my duty and do what is expected of me.”

“You are sweet when you beg, but it is too late.”

“Uncle, please! I will do anything! Anything you ask of me. I swear to the Seven.”

Aemond smiled at you, “I know you will. And that is why you will do this.” Aemond swallowed, eye roaming down your wedding gown hungrily, defiantly. 

Angrily. 

“Strip.”

“Aemond-“

“-Strip, or he dies.”

Tears rolled down your cheek, your stomach rolling in disgust and fear. 

“Please do not make me do this.” You sobbed, arms limp by your side as you looked down at the flagstones, feeling defeated.

Your husband tutted you, long slender finger brushing the tears that fell from your eyes away, “Do not waste your tears on him, my love. I can be gentle, and soon you will come to love my touch. This, I promise you.”

Pain bloomed in your jaw as you ground your teeth together, wary to not trigger Criston’s excitable hand. Short breaths puffed from your nose as fury and sorrow rose within you like a tide, little by little building in a wave. In your periphery, Aemond stepped back, a pale hand presented in front of you, palm outstretched for you to take.

Slowly, you let your gaze meet his, heated glare ignoring his offering as you refused to move. One last act of defiance. And one Aemond did not take lightly. Pain bloomed in your shoulder as you were roughly yanked forwards, and thrown backwards against the bed. Cregan shouted from behind you, the chair creaking beneath him. 

“I said, strip.” Aemond growled.

Your eyes flicked to Cregan, and then up towards Ser Cole who watched with conflicted eyes.

“Please,” You begged softly again, keeping your eyes on Ser Criston, “Not him too. Not Ser Cole.”

A shifting of armour moved from behind Aemond, and a small ‘Your Grace’ fell from the knights lips. 

Aemond spun, momentarily ignoring you as he turned to the knight standing awkwardly beside Cregan Stark, “You may leave, Ser Cole.” Aemond sniffed, “I am certain our guest will behave accordingly.”

Ser Criston’s eyes flickered to yours and then to the Prince as you tried to plead to him with yours for help. 

To help the daughter of the woman he was once sworn to. 

But no help came. 

The Dornish knight bowed his head and left without another word. 

“Let her go-“

“-Ah.” Aemond turned slowly towards Cregan, slow steps coming forward until he stood towering over the northerner, “Speak again and I’ll cut out your tongue.”

“Kepus,” You stood from the bed, grasping Aemond’s elbow tightly, hoping, praying that if you asked once more that he could see reason, “Please, let him go. I am yours. I will always be yours.”

Aemond stared at you, his pupil dilated as he stared at you intently.

“Strip.”

You fought the sob that threaten to rise up your throat and slowly lifted your chin. 

You would not show weakness. 

You would be strong. 

With shaking hands, you let your fingers find the strings at the back of your dress, and slowly but surely you pulled the laces, keeping your eyes on your husband who watched with intent. 

The gown sagged against your frame, the soft material falling down your chest slowly as you held it for one last moment, hoping that it was all a test, that he would change his mind and stop this madness. 

But he didn’t. 

Breath held in your chest, you let the gown fall to the floor below you, leaving you in your thin shift before the two men. Cregan looked away, his eyes focusing on the stones of the wall in shame, his hands tucked into tight fists against the arm of the arm of the chair, knuckles turning white.

A shiver ran down your back as the cool of the chambers stiffened your nipples into peaks, brushing against the white of your chemise. Aemond took a slow step towards you and then another, hand lifting to brush under your chin, an attempt to direct your gaze to him. You turned your head defiantly; looking to the wall where Cregan’s gaze laid. 

“Y/n.” Aemond warned softly, thumb and forefinger pinching your chin as he turned your face towards him, “Look at me.” 

Reluctantly you let yourself, and all you saw was the black of his pupil as he devoured you with his darkened gaze, “You’re so beautiful.” He cooed, “My wife.”

You swallowed thickly, his hand slowly skimming down your neck raising goosebumps along your skin as his fingers came to rest against the edge of your chemise. The tips of his nails scraped softly against your skin as it slipped beneath, and with an even slower movement, he tugged the chemise down off of your shoulders, the thin material floating down to the floor below leaving you completely exposed to the two men in his chambers. 

“I will not harm you, though you would deserve it.” Aemond purred, his eye roaming your exposed body, your stomach and core clenching in anticipation, “I plan to make you beg for it.”

You opened your mouth to snap at him, but in the moment his long fingers came to brush under your breast, fingers teasing your nipple softly, your mouth clamped shut. You shyly glanced at Cregan, who’s eyes were scrunched tight. Aemond followed your line of sight, sighing.

“If you do not watch,” Aemond fully turned to Cregan, “I will take out your eyes.” 

Even at the One-Eyed Princes threat, Cregan did not lift his gaze from the wall. The Lord of Winterfell willing to risk his sight so that you may keep your dignity.

“Fine.” Aemond grunted, pulling the blade from his belt, “Then I shall take hers.”

Fear shot through you as you stared at Aemond tearfully, watching in your periphery as Cregan’s head turned towards you and yelled. 

“No!”

“Then,” Aemond sneered, “Watch.” 

With eyes filled with shame, Cregan looked up at you. You didn’t know what to do, what could make it better. What could make any of this not what it was, and so you tried to offer him a reassuring nod. A small promise that it was okay to look when all you knew was how very much it wasn’t.

“Good.” The Prince hummed. 

Aemond resumed his touch against you, hand coming to cup your breast fully as he rolled your nipple between his fingers. His touch sent sparks across your chest, shame washing over you in a wave. 

Aemond ducked his head towards your face, beckoning you to kiss him. Would he be gentle as he was when you were married? Would it soften his actions? Or would it only make him worse?

Deciding that you didn’t want to push what little patience he had, your eyes slid shut, breath stuck deep in your chest as you felt the heat of his body come closer, the hand on your breast skating around your ribs to pull you closer to him. 

When his lips pressed against yours it was light, gentle, almost cautious, your hands staying stiff by your sides. But that softness was short lived, and soon Aemond deepened the kiss, his teeth clashing against yours roughly. 

You gasped softly as his other hand wound into your hair, tugging you closer as he nipped your bottom lip roughly. Your hands instinctually came up to his chest, gripping onto his jacket tightly to steady yourself. Anger poured into the kiss, and from behind you could feel the reluctant glare of Cregan. 

Aemond pulled away, your eyes fluttering open to look at him. His lips were swollen, having turned a rosy pink as a blush settled across his cheeks. His chest heaved against yours, the stitching on his coat brushing roughly against your stiffened peaks. 

“Have you ever bed a woman, Stark?” Aemond asked smugly, brushing the back of your neck as you turned you to face the Northerner again, your back to Aemond’s chest.

Even as exposed as you were, Cregan’s eyes did not shift to look at your body, keeping his simmering glare on Aemond.

Clicking his tongue, Aemond continued, “I’m sure you’ve fucked wildlings and mudmen alike, being a man of the North.” An arm wrapped around the front of your chest, breasts squeezed beneath the toned arm of your uncle behind you, “Tell me, are Winterfells brothels full of sheep like the Vale? Or maybe they’re full of pigs since you’re both fond of the mud.”

The chair beneath Cregan creaked, his jaw tensing in anger as Aemond taunted him. His pale eyes narrowed, lips tensed together in a sneer as his nostrils flared, breathing heavily whilst his hands gripped the arms of the chair tightly.

“No? Hm.” Aemond’s other hand slid across the skin of your back, travelling around to the front of your stomach slowly, brushing his fingertips along your hip bone as he continued, “You see, Stark, mudmen of the North have no place with the blood of Valyria. The Blood of the Dragon would never sully itself by laying with a Northerner. Nor would a Princess.” His hand continued to dip down, fingers brushing into the hair atop your mound. 

Your back arched in instinct, trying to escape his hand, but it only pushed your backside into his clearly hardened member, “Targaryens don’t fuck like animals,” His voice dipped lower, “We bring pleasure to our lovers.”

Aemond’s hand continued down, parting your folds with a finger, seeking out the heat and slick that had gathered at your entrance. Once found, Aemond’s chest vibrated from behind with an appreciative hum, dragging a long slender finger from your entrance, back up to your pearl. You jerked in his hold as he pushed lightly against it, slowly and torturously swirling the digit against your bud, your arousal aiding his movements. 

You watched Cregan curiously, the urge to hide yourself strong. His eyes never once left Aemond as he continued to bring you soft pleasure. The Stark’s chest rose and fell shallowly as he glared at the man behind you, who watched back with impatience. 

“I won’t tell you again.” Aemond purred, fingers dipping down to your entrance as he suddenly shoved one long finger inside of you, causing you to gasp at the small sting, “Watch her, or I blind her.”

Cregan’s eyes shut as he took a shaky breath, Aemond’s finger crooking inside of you, pressing against your front wall roughly. A whine fell from your lips causing the icy blue eyes to catch yours finally. Cregan swallowed thickly as you stared at one another, your hands gripping the sleeve of Aemond’s arm across your chest, twisting the material between your fingers as you shifted your hips back, pressing against him as he sped up his fingers movement. 

Cregan’s stare was hard, his eyes apologetic, watching you shift against your husband behind you as he began to fuck his finger inside of you, the sound of your slick filling the room. Your face flushed with embarrassment. 

“She’s quite reactive,” Aemond purred, slipping his finger from within you to rub at your bud again, causing you to jerk in his hold, his arm tightening further around your chest, “Her body knows what it wants, even when she tries to fight it. Do you hear how she needs me?” 

Aemond’s finger moved back to your entrance, but instead of one, he forced in a second, the ache from the night before settling within you again.

“Gods.” You whispered softly, pain and pleasure mixing into a confusing blend. Your head fell back against Aemond’s shoulder as he sped up his hand, fucking his fingers inside of you roughly. All you could do was lean your weight back against him, his arm the only thing that held you upright as his arousal pressed into the small of your back.

A familiar warmth began to build within you quickly, a coil rapidly tightening within your gut as Aemond switched from fucking you with his hand, to rubbing slick circles against your pearl. You scrunched your eyes shut, mouth going slack as your breath hitched. You were so close, so close, to reaching your peak, but each time you would almost get there, Aemond would slow his hand down. 

You whined in his arms, shifting as you just wished it would end, wishing he would let you peak. It was torture. And with each time he did it, the frustration and desperation built, a light sheen of sweat covering your skin.

“What is the matter?” Aemond cooed into your ear, his fingers slowing to almost a halt, “Did you need something?”

You huffed a breath through your nose, eyes scrunching shut as you tried to thrust your hips into his hand, anything to alleviate the pressure that was strung to snap at any moment. You didn’t care anymore, you just needed it to end. Aemond’s fingers stopped, hovering over your pearl.

You didn’t even want to think of what you must have looked like, bare, hair likely a mess, and body aching for release.

All while Cregan Stark watched.

“If you want something,” Aemond’s lips came to the side of your ear, pressing a ghostly kiss to them, “You need only ask.”

You bit on your bottom lip, willing yourself to not give in, to not give him what he wanted, but all you could think about was reaching your peak. Logically, you told yourself it was for Cregan’s sake so that it could all end quickly, but in reality, it was so that the throbbing in your core would cease, and the sweet feeling of relief could wash over you like it had the night before. 

“Come now, you’re not one to hold your tongue. Ask.”

You wet your lips timidly, keeping your eyes shut in shame, not wanting to see Cregan’s face as you begged for the man behind you to touch you again as he watched. 

A sharp sting shot through your centre, your eyes springing open as you gasped, you gaze immediately meeting the cold icy glare of Cregan, who’s fists tightened around the arms of the chair.

“Speak.” Aemond commanded, voice sharper in your ear as he watched Cregan tensing to the chair he was tied to.

Your mouth felt dry, and you licked at your lips once more before you softly whispered, “Please.”

“Please what?”

Cregan’s gaze looked back to yours, his eyes softened.

“Please,” You begged softly, “Touch me.”

You heard Aemond hummed from behind you, his finger slowly pressing into your cunt as he gathered slick from your entrance to drag back up to your bud.

“Like this?” He purred, slowly making circles against you, the coil within tightening again.

All you could do was nod, but that was not the answer that Aemond demanded. His fingers left your pearl as he waited, and you huffed in frustration.

“Touch me. Please, Aemond.” You weakly begged, eyes darting to the floor in embarrassment, not wanting to see Cregan’s face. 

His touched resumed once more, but the arm wrapped around your chest shifted, his hand coming to grasp your chin as he lifted your head to look squarely at Cregan, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks.

“All you needed to do was ask, sweet wife.” Aemond purred, the movement speeding up, bringing you closer and closer to your peak, “I want you to wet my hand, and watch him whilst you do it. If you do not,” His voice dipped low, fingers pressing almost painfully against you, “I will know.”

You swallowed dryly and nodded your head in his grasp, feeling your peak begin to barrel towards you. Cregan watched your face, his own a soft pink and ice blue eyes half lidded. 

“Does this feel good? Am I making you nice and wet?” Aemond cooed, hand plucking pleasure from you in ways you didn’t know was possible.

You nodded weakly, “Yes.”

“You can do better than that. Tell him what it feels like.”

Your eyes widened, embarrassment flaring inside of you.

“Tell him or I’ll stop.”

“It-“ You paused, swallowing the last of your pride, “It feels good.”

“What feels good?”

“When you touch me.”

“How so?”

You exhaled shakily, shifting in his arm as his fingers softened their movements, “It feels good when you touch my cunt.”

“Sȳz riña.” Good girl, Aemond praised you, causing arousal to spark inside, “That wasn’t so hard, now was it? Does it feel good when I fuck you with my hand?”

“Yes, uncle.” You whined weakly.

“Tell Cregan that it feels good when I fuck you with my hand.”

Blinking at the man tied in the chair, you grit your teeth, “It feels good when he fucks me with his hand.”

Cregans nostrils flared as he shifted in his seat, and your head fell back against Aemond once more, “I’m close.” You panted.

You were so close, so, so close to just tipping over the edge, the smell of Aemond behind you suffocating you as heat began to rise through your body. The gaze of the man before you wavered, his eyes momentarily dipping to where Aemond’s hand was rubbing swift and slick circles. That was all it took for you to feel yourself fall undone.

You writhed against Aemond as your peak washed over you, the Northerner watching on as Aemond’s fingers became wet with your release, his gaze darting up to watch your face, jaw slack as he breathed shallowly.

“Shh, shh, shh. Good girl.” Aemond praised you, his hand finally stopping as he smoothed up and down your sides. 

A warm glow settled over your body and your eyes slid shut, head lolling to Aemond’s chest behind you as you breathed deeply, the pulsing of your cunt halting any and all thoughts that you had. 

But as quick as the calm had come, the quicker it left, your world tilting as you were spun and pushed back onto the bed. Your eyes shot open as you watched Aemond step towards you, Cregan observing with slight concern before you were yanked back down the bed towards the Prince by your ankles, legs splayed open. 

On instinct they tried to close, too exposed to the room, but your husband wouldn’t allow it, standing between them as he held them open with his hand, his lone eye commanding you to stay still from above. 

Would it be painful like the night before? Would he bring you pleasure as well? Or would it be something entirely different now that you lay down on a bed, the way that your Septa’s had told you it would happen, and certainly not inside a dirty alley in Flea Bottom?

But what your Septa’s had not informed you of was that your husband, who seemed to be more concerned with punishing you than bringing you any reward, began to kneel before the bed, his back to his prisoner.

“I need to taste how sweet you are, and then I shall fuck you.” 

With a broad swipe of his tongue, Aemond parted your folds from your entrance to your bud, collecting your release on it as he went. His eye closed as he hummed, coming to lap at your folds once more, pleasure sparking up through you. 

You gasped softly, the feeling foreign but not unwelcome. It was more intense than you had thought it could be, but perhaps you were over sensitive from the release you just had. You watched Aemond, his lilac eye opening to look up at you with a smirk.

He pulled away from your centre, lips wet with your slick, “You are as sweet as I thought you would be.”

Aemond stood, towering over you as he began to pull at his belt and breeches, wherein he began untying them, lace after lace ripped from its eyelet until they sagged. His shirt was pulled away, revealing the pale skin of his lower stomach, and the dusting of hair that trailed down from navel to pubis.

The Prince’s length strained against his breeches, the base of it just showing, a purple vein standing out against his starkly pale skin. You hadn’t gotten to see it properly the night before, and the sight of it made your core clench around nothing. 

Before he pulled himself from the confines of his pants, Aemond grabbed you once more and shifted you to lay sideways atop his bed, the plush green sheets soft beneath your skin. Your eyes rose to the ceiling, looking at the soft canopy that lay atop before the screeching of a chair on stone caught your attention.

You snapped your head to the side, watching as Aemond effortlessly dragged Cregan by the chair closer to the bed, only an arms length away. He towered over the man from Winterfell who looked up at him with nothing but contempt.

“You’ll watch me fuck her,” Aemond began smugly, “And know that it could never be you. Know that it will never be you.” Cregan attempted to sit up higher in the seat, chest pulling at the ropes that held him back, “You’ll watch me bring peak after peak from her as she wets my cock and likes it, and you’ll remember that it was me doing it.”

“Aemond.” You tried to distract him, try to take the attention away from Cregan, who watched with burning eyes, “Please.”

The silver haired Prince turned his head towards you and smirked before looking back at Cregan, “You see? She already begs for more.” Aemond walked back towards you, only two short steps from the bed as his eye roamed your naked body, gaze settling into the crux of your thighs, “She only had me last night, and already she begs so nicely.”

With jerky movements, Aemond pulled his length from his breeches, the length and girth large and intimidating. The tip was a rosy pink, and long veins travelled up its length. A bead of arousal had begun to form on top, slowly leaking down the base as he knelt on the bed, pulling you down to meet his hips, and had you not already experienced it, you would have been filled with fear. 

Aemond thrust into you quickly and sharply, pain filling you before a feeling of fullness, his tip pressing at the end of your walls. You hissed softly, hands having raised to grasp his arms, nails biting into his skin beneath his shirts.

Your husband leant down, lips brushing against your cheek as it moved to your ear, “Do you like when I spear you on my cock?” He purred, his breath tickling your neck. 

With clenched teeth you nodded, willing your body to adjust to his size quickly.

“Use your words, you’re not a mute.”

“Yes.” You grit out, turning your head away from him as he loomed above you, arms on either side of your head as he lay between your parted thighs.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Aemond.”

“Close.

You swallowed, “Yes, Husband.”

“Good.” Aemond pulled out of you swiftly before he thrust back in, “Girl.”

You exhaled sharply, the angle so far different from the night before. He felt deeper, more intense, everywhere all at once. 

It was overwhelming. 

You scrunched your eyes shut as Aemond began to rut into you, your hands not once leaving his arms as you clutched onto him, shifting your hips to alleviate the way his tip pressed harshly against your cervix with each thrust. 

His hips clapped against yours brutally, speeding up, the movement shifting you up the bed as you squeaked with each impact, a warmth beginning to pool in your gut once more. The hair at the base of his cock brushed against your pearl roughly as his pelvis slid against yours, the stimulation winding that all too familiar coil again.

A moan broke free from your lips as Aemond shook a hand free, hoisting up one of your legs atop his hip, shifting the angle entirely so that his cock brushed against the small spongey patch within you deliciously, pleasure sending sparks through your limbs. Your eyes were shut so tightly, you could see stars behind them, your bottom lip gnawed between teeth. 

“Open your eyes.” Aemond breathed from above, his pace not once faltering. 

Your head tipped to the side, away from where Cregan sat, eyes still scrunched shut as you whined beneath him. 

“I said,” Aemond grunted, hand roughly coming to grasp your chin as he turned your head back towards Cregan, “Open.”His fingers squeezed painfully against your jaw, bruises likely to show in the morning, your eyes finally opening to find Cregan watching you already.

“Lord Stark knows how to follow orders. He’s not once taken his eyes off you.” Aemond purred, thrusting particularly sharply into you causing you to wince, “Do you think he wishes he were I?”

Your mouth felt dry again, and all you could do was watch as the blush on Cregan’s cheeks depend and his eyes momentarily flashed away form you before returning, remembering Aemond’s threat. 

“I think he does, sweet wife. I think he wishes that he was in your tight, wet, cunt as I am now. Don’t you agree?” 

Your breasts moved with each thrust, the sound of your slick sliding against his length loud as it was before as you huffed beneath your husband.

Aemond’s fingers tightened against your jaw, “I asked you a question.”

“Yes.”

Another squeeze.

“I do.” You breathed, your face suddenly feeling flushed. 

The man on top of you pulled out suddenly, hands moving under your sides to flip you over onto your stomach.

“Do not-“ You began angrily.

“-Quiet.” Aemond snapped, grabbing your hips as he pulled you up onto your knees, your hands fisting the sheets as you looked ahead, uncertainty filling your features before you felt the head of Aemond cock slide through your folds, and push straight back inside. 

“Fuck you.” You hissed as he began to fuck into you, “Gods.” The angle made you feel even fuller than before, but shallower too, his length constantly batting against your walls as his hips clapped against your ass.

You struggled to stay upright as he continued, his grip on your hips painful as he pulled you back onto him, the air being punched from your lungs each time, making you gasp out small little high pitched huffs. A hand in your hair wrenched your head back and then to the side, directing your face to meet the Stark’s who’s eyes were not on your own, but instead upon your body.

The heat of his gaze caused you to clamp down on Aemond’s length, the Lord’s roaming eyes watching as the Princes cock buried itself over and over inside of you, before slowly roaming back up your body, catching sight of your breasts below you as they moved, and then finally to your face. 

Seeing that he was caught, Cregan flushed, eyes casting down briefly before looking back up at you. He shifted against the chair, hands still tightly clenched against the arm, chest heaving, his thick muscled thighs clenching against the seat, and to-

Oh.

Cregan shifted again, knowing where your gaze had fallen, his hips trying to shift back against the wooden chair, but there was nothing to hide the hardening length within his dark leathered breeches, which pressed painfully to the front of his pants.

Your core clenched again, and from behind you heard Aemond grunt. 

You should have been upset, you should have been horrified, but all it did was set the heat that was already simmering in your gut ablaze, your nipples stiffening to peaks. Instinctually you arched your back, hoping to better the view, which got another grunt of appreciation from your husband, who’s pace was yet to falter, his stamina owed to years of hard work in the training yard with Ser Criston Cole. 

Cregan’s lips parted as he watched you, the pink of his tongue coming out to wet his lips, and that was all it took for you to come undone. You cried out loudly, keeping your eyes on Cregan as Aemond fucked you through your release, triggering his own. He came with a growl, his hips slowing to a halt as you felt his seed pulse inside of you. 

You collapsed against the bed, eyes half lidded as you watched Cregan shift again against his chair as Aemond slowly pulled out of you with a hiss. Warmth dripped from your folds and down your thighs as you felt the soft press of kiss against your shoulder blades. 

Your uncle manoeuvred you on the bed again, your body pliant in his hands as he pulled you to the edge of the bed, legs spread wide for Cregan to see. The man’s pale eyes drifted down to between your thighs, watching hungrily as Aemond’s spend dripped out from within you. 

“Tell me Cregan,” Aemond stood by the bed panting, tucking his length back into his breeches whilst he brushed a loose hair over your shoulder, “Did you enjoy watching me fuck my wife?”

The taunt earnt him a sneer. 

“An honest question deserving of an honest answer. I thought Stark’s were known for the honesty and oaths?” Aemond pressed.

You breathed heavily as you watched Cregan’s gaze fell to you and only you in that moment as his answer was given. 

“Yes.”

There was no denying the edge of arousal that roughened the edge of his answer. 

“Hm.” A beat, “Would you like a taste?”

You brows furrowed as you looked up to your husband, who kept his eye on Cregan, his hand atop your shoulder brushing gently in thought. 

A taste?

Did he mean to-

Your heart leapt into your throat, watching as Aemond took his blade from his side and moved towards the Stark man. 

“Stop!” You yelled, watching as Cregan did not flinch when Aemond approached him. 

“Worry not, I mean no harm. I am feeling generous.” Aemond purred, lifting the blade towards Cregan, “He watched dutifully as I put my seed inside of you.” His lilac eye dropped to Cregan’s hardened member, “And it seems that he has enjoyed it.” The Prince turned to face you, “I only wish to give him a parting gift. Something to remember… to agonise over for years to come.”

With a swift hand, Aemond sliced the ropes that bound Cregan's chest to the back of the chair, the Northerner staying still in his seat. The tall Targaryen bent down and cut the ropes on the mans legs loose, one by one.

“Now,” Aemond stood to his full height again, pointing his blade towards Cregan’s wrists, still tied to the chair, “Know that I have your men in a holding cell, and should you try anything, I shall have them all cut into seven pieces and strung about the gates.” Aemond paused, his gaze hardening, “And then I will stay true to my word.”

Cregan’s chest heaved with anger as he watched the prince, still not speaking a word.

“Do we understand each other?” Aemond questioned him, one silver brow lifted in challenge. 

Cregan’s jaw clenched, a click audible to the chambers, “Yes.” He growled.

Aemond hummed in acknowledgement and released his hands, taking a step back as Cregan stood slowly, rubbing at his raw wrists as he looked at you on the bed. His head turned back towards your husband, uncertain of what he meant. 

Impatiently Aemond thrust his arm towards you, blade still in hand, “Go to her. Taste how sweet she is, and know that you will never taste her again.”

Cregan shifted on his feet uncomfortably, looking to you for permission, for denial. 

You didn’t know what to do, or what to say, so instead, you widened your legs in invitation, feeling desire begin to stir in you once more. 

It was wrong. 

But Gods did you need it. 

“Clean her up.” Aemond commanded, and with slow and cautious steps, Cregan walked towards you.

The scent of Aemond was overpowered by that of Cregan’s. He smelt of cedar wood and fur, and the soft smell of musk beneath it all that just felt right for a Northerner. 

It felt as if each stepped dragged on for days. You shifted against the bed nervously, casting your eyes to Aemond, who watched with a desire of his own.

Cregan dropped to his knees, his hands twitching by the side of your hips on the bed, cautious to even touch you, a stark difference to the way Aemond simply took. The dark haired man looked up at you breathlessly as you gave him a nod, shifting your hips towards him again, likings the way his eyes dropped down to your centre and then back up. 

His large calloused hands grasped the soft meat of your hips, his eyes keeping on yours as he leant froward slowly, the heat of his breath fanning across your sensitive folds. Your mouth parted as you panted above him, watching as he wet his lips before finally pressing a chaste kiss to your core. 

A soft moan escaped your mouth, head dropping back momentarily, giving him a strike of confidence before burying his tongue between your folds. You dropped back onto the bed, hands coming to grasp his hair as he licked and suckled at your folds, lapping at both your and Aemond’s release which only served to spark your desire further, that same familiar coil winding rapidly.

You tilted your head to watch him, his eyes still on you as you began to come undone on his tongue. Your name pulled you away from his stare, and you turned your head to face Aemond who watched hungrily from beside, his jaw tensed. 

Already sensitive from such an intense night already, you writhed against Cregan’s mouth with a moan, his ministrations bringing you to your peak swiftly, your slick gushing into his mouth. You kept your eyes on Aemond this time, watching as he breathed deeply, his cock already beginning to swell in his breeches.

You panted and whined as the pleasure became too much, and only then did Cregan remove his face from between your thighs, roughly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The chambers became still as you all breathed deeply, warmth spreading through your limbs as you couldn’t decide who to look at for longest. 

Your husband.

Or the Northerner.

All you could think about was what you had done. 

What had just transpired.

Your husband had trapped a Lord of the North in his chambers and forced him to watch you be fucked by him, and not only that, commanded that he cleaned you after. But what was the most confusing part of all, was that all in the chambers seemed to have liked it.

“Cole.” Aemond’s voice broke the stillness of the room, the door to the chambers opening swiftly. 

Cregan stepped in front of you to shield your body from Ser Cole at the same time Aemond did, his back turning to his knight as he grabbed the sheet of the bed to drape over your exposed body.

The knight entered, flagged by two guards.

Confusion flashed across Cregan’s face as he stiffened, body gearing itself up for a fight.

“Relax, Stark.” Aemond mused, not even bothering to look at the man as he observed the guards, eye landing on Ser Cole again, “Take Cregan and his men to the travel roads. Ensure they have food for travel and water for the ride. They are to leave Kings Landing immediately to return back to Winterfell.” 

Ser Cole nodded, as did the guards who swiftly approached Cregan, grabbing each arm as they began to remove him from Aemond’s chambers. The dark haired man looked back at you in confusion as you clutched the sheet your chest, unsure of what to do.

“Stark.” Aemond called out before the dark haired mans foot could cross the threshold. The Northerner stilled, eyes suspicious, “Expect a raven.”

Without another word, the guards pulled Cregan out of the room, Criston shutting the door behind them. The silence in the chambers was nerve-racking, and you turned to look at your uncle, who was already making his way to fill two goblets of wine. 

Your mouth opened, a myriad of questions ready to pour out your mouth, but as usual, Aemond seemed to be one step ahead.

“You’re my wife.” He began, the sound of wine filling goblets. He turned with them in hand, coming to stand beside the bed as he handed you one. 

You kept one hand with the sheets against your breast, the other shakily grasping the goblet, fatigue weighing your body down. Aemond spun to sit in the very chair that Cregan had been tied to, the ropes still on the floor in a heap.

“Our marriage is one of a prospect of peace, not love.” His words stung you in a way you didn’t realise they could, “Though, I do hope to change that one day. I wish to make you happy,” He paused, taking a sip from his goblet as he thought carefully, “And it would be remiss of me to say that what just happened didn’t spark something within me.”

You frowned, “I do not understand.”

“You looked like a Queen having him kneel before you.”

A beat.

“My Queen."

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to any tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! <3

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[fdelopera]

shoutout to the time a few summers ago when i went to Paris, basically lived in the Palais Garnier for a week, and snuck into Box 5.

i walked up to the door of Box 5 that day, and saw it was open! the staff must have forgotten to close the door after cleaning. back in the early 2000s, the Palais Garnier administration put a plaque on the inside and outside of La loge n°5 that reads "Loge du Fantôme de l'Opéra". it is officially Erik's Box.

here's what Erik's plaque on Box 5 looks like from the outside. note all the fingerprints from phans (some of which are mine).

here's where Box 5 sits in the auditorium. contrary to popular belief, Erik didn't choose the Emperor's Box (the large, ornate box close to the stage) or even the box next to it. Erik chose the plain box on the other side of the column. Erik is Emperor's Box-adjacent. he's gotta keep some semblance of humility!

i immediately went and sat in Erik's seat (the second seat on the left side of Box 5). i also knocked on the column, like Gaston Leroux instructed us to do. the marble column itself appears to be solid, but the metal base is hollow. (Leroux claimed this was where Erik hid when he performed his ventriloquist tricks, like making poor Carlotta croak like a toad)

this is the view of the stage from Box 5 (what Erik would have seen when he watched Christine perform)...

aaand here's Erik's view of the chandelier, as he dreamed of dropping it on the audience... ("Erik no! don't do it!" –the Daroga, probably)

aaaaaand then shortly after this, security came and chased us out... au revoir, Erik!

[bigtreefest]

watermelon juice dripping down his throat, onto his chest hair LEMME LICK

I don’t even like watermelon that much😅, but I like him. A lot. 🫣

Drip… and Lick

Pairing: Curtis Everett x reader

Wc: idk, written in drafts, but it’s gotta be at least 1k

Warnings: um, licking, and Curtis… so, yeah 18+ only, minors DNI

A/N: Inspired by this post and some of my beautiful hoe friends @thezombieprostitute @krirebr @stargazingfangirl18 @brandycranby This is me kicking off the 300 follower summer celebration with my own mini fic. Hope you enjoy and I can’t wait for your your feedback on this one😈

Made with the prompts: a long drive together + “I’ve got something else you can lick” + [watermelon] dripping down someone’s skin

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Curtis had wanted to have a picnic with you all summer, but your busy schedule hadn’t allowed for it. And honestly, neither had the weather. The days had been long and hot, unbearably so, with UV indexes maxed out. Stepping outside was like asking to be baked, which is why he was grateful for all the rain that hit this past week.

It was a great reprieve for everything: the grass, the garden, the sweltering temperatures. Now that the outside was actually bearable, Curtis could finally go through with his plans.

Before you got off work, he packed up his picnic basket, preparing the summer goods for you. A nice little salad, some sandwiches, and a beautiful watermelon he found at the farmer’s market the other day. He was all prepped once you got home.

As soon as you walked through the door, you were greeted by a kiss on the cheek and Curtis holding your favorite comfy sundress. After a long day at work, the last thing you wanted to wear was pants, so you went to change.

Once you emerged, hair tied up and off your neck finally and flowy dress adorned, you were ready to go. You grabbed Curtis’s outstretched hand and let him lead you to the truck where you slid up in to the middle of the bench seat.

An evening drive like this was one of your favorite things to do together. Letting the breeze flow with the windows down. Seeing the scenery of passing houses turn into open fields of wildflowers on the rolling hills.

After taking the long way around, Curtis pulled into the spot he always did at the end of the road on the back side of the airport where the two of you would lay in his truck bed to watch the planes take off and land. He hopped down out of the cab and held a hand out for you, taking you back for the cozy, yet cool setup he had made earlier.

The two of you got settled, Curtis pulling out your sandwich and handing it to you just as the sun began to reach the horizon. The sky was painted with hues of red and light purple, wispy clouds making way for the stars that would soon twinkle, framing the moon in the open sky.

You settled up close next to him, the two of you enjoying the main part of the meal as the planes flew overhead, the lights of the runway flicking on as the sky dimmed. All you could think about while you were eating was how sweet this was, how sweet he was for doing it so often for you. Curtis was a gruff, hardworking man, and with you, that prickly shell turned soft, as he used his efforts to show you his appreciation for the love and peace you brought to him. The feelings he thought he’d never have, the ones he thought he didn’t deserve. His humility and bottomless affection was all you saw, though, the deep care you held for each other tying your souls together. In this moment, you realized if he was all you had for the rest of your life, that would be more than enough, and you wanted to show that. You needed him, and could feel it start to burn in the depths of your belly: a love that you had to show, that you wanted to show, again, and again, and again, for eternity.

You climbed into Curtis’s lap, giving him a peck, your sundress falling around your legs, leaving your core settling right over him in his worn jeans. Your hands gently came up to frame his face, his beard lightly scratching your palms. Your body was growing warm against the cold evening air, buzzing with desire from the way he cared for you, the way you cared for each other.

“Thank you for this, Curtis. It’s perfect. The food was delicious, but I think I’m ready for dessert.”

Curtis’s large hands settled on your waist as he looked up at you. He could see the warmth in your eyes at that statement. It was evident this little date made your day so much better, but he hadn’t quite caught on yet to the true fire in your gaze.

“Yeah? I’ve got this beautiful watermelon. Thought that would be nice and refreshing.”

He looked up at you with the softest features, eyes switching between yours, looking for approval. Your thumbs brushed over his freckled cheeks, more prominent from the summer sun, as you nodded with a breathy giggle.

“Um, yeah. That sounds good.”

He beamed up at you, turning to the side to pull out the fruit before he went still. He hadn’t cut it. Or really even brought anything to cut it, unless you counted the flimsy plasticware the two of you ate your salads with. He looked up at you with big eyes as you laughed again, catching on to what happened.

“Hold on, give me a second, I can fix this. You don’t mind if it’s not perfectly cut, right?”

You shook your head, curious to see what he could possibly have in mind. He turned the watermelon upright as he grabbed a plastic knife, adjusting it in his hand so it seemed stable enough. He raised his hand, stabbing the edge of the utensil into the tough rind. That obviously wasn’t doing much, but it did enough. You watched as Curtis’s thick, yet surprisingly nimble fingers widened the nick into a gap as he put both hands in and pulled, the robust fruit splitting in two as some juices leaked out. As did yours, as you felt a flush of arousal at the show of brute strength. So casual, he probably had no idea what he was doing to you.

If that knife was any indication, there probably wasn’t a good way to get the flesh out, either, so he opted to just keep with his bare hands, scooping out a piece to feed to you. You opened your mouth, eyes never leaving his as your lips surrounded his thumb and pointer finger. The juice from his hand ran down his thick forearm, over the hair that covered it. As he moved to pull away, your hands quickly snapped to stop him, eyes still locked. You dipped your head to the drop that had trickled down, now about to reach his elbow, and stuck out your tongue, tracing the path of watermelon juice up to his palm, all the way back to his fingers, sucking them and releasing with a pop.

Curtis watched in real time as your pupils blew wide and you began to unbutton his linen shirt before reaching over and grabbing your own piece of watermelon to feed to him. Oh. That was where this was going. How did he not see it before? He was never going to slice a watermelon again, but he planned to get a lot more before summer was done. And he’d gladly pay a fortune to get them out of season if they made you react like this.

You popped the piece in his mouth, watching as the juice dribbled down his chin, and down to his neck, over the course hair of his chest. You pulled back slightly, watching the stream right next to his nipple, and you ducked down again and flattened your tongue against the firm warmth of his chest, circling the peak before tracing up again, tongue being deliciously scratched until you reached the smooth, slightly salty skin of his neck, dressed with the humidity and a thin layer of sweat.

You pressed a kiss to his jugular as he swallowed the sweet fruit, his lips parting in a gasp, waiting for what you were going to do next. The fire in his eyes grew, though, to meet yours, as his awe-struck, enamored look turned into a smirk. Curtis finally spoke up in a strained, deep voice, silky with seduction.

“You know, I’ve got something else you can lick…”

Bonus A/N: for your fantasies, brandy bean. Eat your heart out.

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly

[neptunes-sol-angel]

BOO! 👻🎃🕸 How are you scaring people with their shadows? Pick the picture(s) that you're drawn to the most then scroll down for the corresponding message(s). Happy Halloween my Sol-cherubs!!

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Pile One

"SHE AIN'T NO DIVAAA!"

You trigger others in a way that threatens their confidence and provoke them into a cycle of evaluating their self worth and identity after an ego death that's probably been long overdue. Some people in this group may hinder themselves back from speaking to people about anything in general, like expressing your opinion on something, talking about yourself, joining in a conversation so that you can be outgoing and network with others because you could feel like developing normal interactions with others is difficult for you. You could feel that people may find what you have to say as meaningless, they could even talk over you, or maybe you fear that people will hate you for what you say. You could also find yourself in too many situations where people are dedicated to misunderstanding you by twisting what you say or snubbing you. But despite their reactions, people strongly value what you say, and are often changed personally by even just a few words that you mention and could still think about what you've said years later whether it's from a normal conversation or an argument. I feel called to mention to this group that you shouldn't restrain yourself by muting your verbal expression in order to please others, because I'm getting that even though you aren't aware that there are people who want to listen and do listen to what you have to say and will like and respect you for who you are, you understand the weight of your words and the repercussions you face when you defend yourself and but there are times you don't in order to keep the peace. You must understand that peace is simply an illusion when you keep putting your feelings and wellbeing aside to keep people that are not even for you in your life. Tip toeing around others is not what's going to keep you safe—you gotta step on some toes to free yourself. This group has to learn both when it isn't your fault for when you trigger someone and when it is. Because I'm getting that another part of this group is more so in the darker aspect of this trait, you don't hold your tongue for anyone and when someone goes low, you go to straight to the pits of hell. You're fully aware of how you know just the right words to break someone and to intentionally offend them. Your brutal honesty isn't needed all of the time and sometimes you're not being blunt, you're just being an asshole. Reserve your poison for the people that deserve it, but it will benefit you to learn that the same way the magnitude of your words can be poison to others it also be venom used to help others heal. I know it may feel like that someone's always trying it with you but you gotta calm down and start seeing the good in humanity, because not everyone is a piece of filth that you need to sweep. The shadow work that you make other people do eventually creates a balance that keeps their egos in check and where their humility is holding them back.

Pile Two

What's chilling about you is how elusive you are. This can mean a variety of things, but one of the scenarios that I'm getting is that this pile could be adamant when it comes to holding grudges. People hate that you don't forgive them because it gives them a reality check with how entitled they feel to treat others and how they expect them to react about it afterwards. You seem to unfortunately attract a lot of people that don't take any accountability. They show up as either someone who feels like they have the right to mistreat others and have control over how their victims feel or perceive the situation or people who have lived their entire lives as victims but are in disbelief when they are in situations where they have made someone else a victim so they manipulate the situation to confirm their bias and lack of self awareness. These people are possessive over outcomes and how they want to be seen. You are very much capable of forgiving others, but you are strong with your boundaries to the point where you don't make yourself accessible anymore to the people have hurt you and this confuses them. They're used to thinking that words have more meaning than their actions or that forgiveness is something that's automatically given when asked for it, but you show them that's not exactly how it works. This makes them have to unpack guilt that they will deal with for a very long time or your absence reminds them of how powerless that they feel. Both are situations that are hard to sit with alone so these people may tend to latch on others and surround themselves with company. The shadow work that you make others do is to reflect on situations where they are habitually self-undoing.

Pile Three

What makes other people shook about you, is how unmoved you are but how you always seem to ironically move others. You could have this radical intelligence and self sufficiency where you don't care who's on your level or not. You could be isolated by others a lot, and on the outside it could look like you're out of touch with humanity, but no, you're actually way ahead of your time, they just need to catch up. The same things that people have tried to shun you for, end up becoming trends in the future. You guys are very secure with yourself and it intimidates others, but you've grown or will grow to not let that effect you anymore. I see that your purpose involves leading others. You guys could be coaches to help people break habits that maladaptively stagnate their lives, you keep yourself strong, in order to pass this on to others who finally decide that they to help themselves. Your insight isn't going to be accepted by the majority because those people are still stuck on outward appearances or are complacent with their own delusions, and it's not your responsibility to help everyone, but you're good at what you do and you have the potential to save a lot of lives with the changes that you help other people make within themselves. It doesn't even have to solely be changes either, you could motivate others to recognize what they already have within themselves too and that's so empowering. If you guys are tarot readers that are feeling down about the messages that you're trying to bring to people, I'm getting that you guys need to keep going, what you're doing is meaningful even if you can't physically see it, you awaken others deeply to things that they may not be ready to publicly share with others so give it time and remember your mission. You aren't here to entertain any thoughts of staying the same, you are here to promote growth. Don't downplay your gifts, you know what you know.

[rinhaler]

on the plug sukuna subject, I often think about what will happen if yuuji proposed to the reader bc I know she's saying yesss

THAT WEEDING IS GOING TO BE SUCHHH A MESS

sukuna will be fucking the reader like 10 minutes before the ceremony, ino be distracting yuuji so they don't get caught in what they swore it's going to be their last time. At the ceremony sukuna next to Yuuji CRYING his eyes out and everyone thinks it's so sweet bc omg he's watching his little brother growing but WRONG, HE IS GRIEVING THE READERS PUSSY. And the celebration AAAA ino is trying to convince everyone to get high, sukuna and the reader having sex in a bathroom bc they can't help themselves and she looks sooo pretty, yuuji finding the whole thing out and fists fighting sukuna, megumi trying to break up the fight while nobara is recording the hole thing😭😭😭

Also the faces of everyone finding out sukuna was sleeping with the bride??? He's the one getting the blame bc everyone thinks he's such a bad influence

The whole story is ending in one of those facebook gossip reels titled "the BRIDE was fucking the grooms BROTHER" and it's a girl making a cake while telling the story or on reddit "AITA for not telling my friend my best friend is fucking his girlfriend and cover them up so they could hookup at my friends wedding" and it's from ino's user😭😭

I knoooowww anything of this is canon but I just like to think about it for funsies

HELPPPP UR RIGHT IT WOULD BE THE MESSIEST WEDDING EVER

the way im cackling at them fucking one last time before the wedding and then fucking again right after !!! JAIL!

No bc ur so right she's absolutely saying yes. She's basically wanted to marry Yuuji since they met and the fact that he's ACTUALLY proposing to her would make her head spin. Sukuna is like well.. she'd never say yes bc she'd have to live a lie for the rest of her life and then he's just DEVASTATED to see her accept as if there isn't a problem!!!

The actual wedding day would probably be the most depressing day of Sukuna's WHOLE life too. He's so heart eyes for the reader and her gorgeous dress and he wants it to be their wedding so bad but no, he's gotta be the perfect supportive big brother.

I bet he'd be saying some feral shit like he's gonna get her pregnant so she knows who she really belongs to while they're fucking. Ughhhh I need him.. why aren't we dating him again? JGDKLGHDSALJ

I think she'd actually flee the country btw if she got caught she'd NEVER be able to live it down and for it to end up all over Reddit?? AAAAAA ultimate humilation.

aaaa thank u for this ask ive never rly thought about a wedding day before but it's very soap opera for the whole truth to come out at a wedding im OBSESSED hehehe

[maryangelex]

Never Let Me Go (Pt. 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

Captain John Price x f!Reader

Summary: The doors have opened for a new dynamic between you and Price, one you're unfamiliar with but welcome with open arms, and it surprisingly only escalates when he's deployed

Warnings/Tags: NSFW, phone sex, masturbation, sexting, lingerie, panty kink.

A/N: comment if you'd send John a saucy pic!!!

Song for this one is The First Taste by Fiona Apple.

Ever since that morning at the cafe, John has become even more of a staple in your mind, occupying every waking thought and becoming the plot of every dream you've had.

The day after your little moment together, it had been hard to look at the man in the eyes without your mind going blank, cheeks a feverish red, and heart racing a million miles beats minute. And you could definitely tell he enjoyed to see you flustered by him just being in your proximity; as if he could see how your mind recalled every second of that moment, as if he could see the wetness of your panties when you thought about it. 

And you wouldn't dare tell your cousin. Even though you told her everything in your life, that you would take to your grave. 

For the past couple of days since then, John has continued his daily routine of coming to see you and spending at least an hour enjoying his coffee and your company. He's become yet another regular whose order you knew by heart. Sitting with him or even so much as taking his order and having his presence fill the cafe has become what you look forward to the most. 

Today he entered the cafe like always, picking a seat at the counter to chat with you. His closeness brought the familiar, pungent smell of his masculine cologne, a scent that flooded your nose and felt like a warm hug. You smiled at him brightly and greeted him like you did every morning, which he did too. The way he eyed you always gave you goosebumps and a chill down your spine, with a pleasant flutter in your stomach. 

You poured him his coffee and breakfast pastry, which he insisted you surprise him with a new one each time. 

"You look lovely today, love," he gave you that cheeky smirk of his, with the fake innocence behind those kyanite eyes.

You scoffed, feigning humility, "You say that every day, John." 

"And I mean it every day," he chuckled, taking his coffee with a pleased hum. 

"What do you have planned for today?" you asked, your elbows propped on the counter. You thanked the fact that it was a light morning to be able to entertain John and that your cousin had been the greatest wingwoman you could ever ask for by taking care of the store whenever John came in. 

"Same as always, talkin' to the pretty girl at the cafe, runnin' errands," he sighed, "But I'm the bearer of bad news today, actually." 

You quirked a brow, "How so?" 

"I've gotta go back to work, love," he said with an earnest sadness in his tone, giving you an achy look. And your heart sank for a moment, a tightness in your throat that came up all of a sudden. 

"I'm actually leaving tomorrow," he cleared his throat, his voice apologetic, as if he was already soothing you and apologizing for the fact that he had so evidently made you woeful, made you miss him already. 

All you could think about was the worry that this was him calling it quits, to whatever it is you two even had going on, if there was anything going on, to begin with. Maybe you had taken things a bit too seriously with John, maybe all he wanted was some company before he was off.

You cleared your throat, pushing down any sign that you were so visibly heartbroken. "I'll be wishing you all the best while you're away, John," your smile was forced as you were about to turn to the counter behind you, but John's voice stopped you in your tracks. 

"I wanted to tell you because..." he started before noticing the loudness of his voice, "I was wondering if even while I'm gone, I'll still have you to come back to." The man's request was like Cupid's arrow through your chest. 

"I'll be gone for a couple of weeks, but I'd like to come back n' still have a pretty barista to pour me my mornin' coffee," the cheeky bastard gave you a hopeful smile, which you returned and huffed a laugh. 

"Of course, I'll be here waitin'," you said sincerely. You meant it, you really did. You would be waiting for him patiently and eager for his return. Now you felt stupid for being so insecure and anxious about John's intention; and you made a mental note to go easier on him, to trust him that he was an honest man with a kind heart that had a spot for you, because thus far he'd shown you nothing but that. 

" 'M glad to hear that, dove. Does that dinner offer still stand for when I come back?" 

"My door's open," you said, biting your lip to still your racing heart. 

John spent the rest of the morning with you, chatting you up like he always did. He told you about what his deployment tends to be like, how sometimes all they have him do is linger around their temporary base and go through intel and reports and endless paperwork, and how it's up to the big guys to say what they do next.

You still didn't know the details of what he really did, he persisted that it was for your own safety, that he couldn't tell you even if he wanted to, but that truthfully he'd prefer to keep that side of him away from you because you were too good for those sorts of stories.

But you saw he made the effort to provide you at least a bit of clarity on his line of work, sparing you the gory details and instead giving you some peace of mind about what he did, and a small glance into that part of his identity at the same time. 

By mid-afternoon, he was still there, probably the longest he'd been there with you. The shop remained fairly slow when it came to customers and orders, given that it was a random Wednesday when most people would be at work and only bothered to come to grab a small bite and a quick espresso on their break.

John showed the utmost patience when you became mildly busy though, enjoying the sight of you at work and the simplicity of just being with you, you felt it in the tenderness of his gaze. You asked him about the errands he said he needed to run, but he shook his head with a dismissive shrug and told you to "never mind that," that it wasn't as important as spending his last day home with you. 

The man couldn't be any cheesier, and you loved every bit of it. 

He managed to prolong his stay until the last minute, you had lightly scolded him that he needed to rest as much as possible before heading into whatever shitty conditions he'd be in for the next couple of weeks. 

"I'd be lyin' if I said you scoldin' me wasn't makin' me like you more," said the cheeky bastard as he put his arms through his jacket. 

"I'd make one hell of a naggin' wife, huh?" you joked, and if your eyes weren't deceiving you, you caught a glimpse of a light heat dusting John's smiling cheeks. 

"A man would be so lucky." His words made your stomach flutter; his flirting never failed to make you feel some sort of indescribable way. The best way you could put it was that it made you feel giddy and wanted. 

You escorted him outside, standing by the entrance of the shop in a spot that was out of sight from those inside, allowing for a bit of privacy with John. He stood in front of you, cozily close as always, and with a hand coming up to your hair to twirl a strand around his index finger. You had noted by now how much he enjoyed your hair, or touching you in any sort of way in general. 

"So I'll see you in a few weeks, yeah?" there was hope in your tone, minding the dreadful thought that he might not come back. 

"Promise," he said huskily, an affirmative tone that read your mind, "Don't worry your pretty little head 'bout me, I'll be back before y'know it, dove." 

You took a stead forward and cupped his face gently, then stood on the tips of your toes to reach his tender lips. He welcomed your kiss, of course, declining his head to meet you, one hand on your waist and the other migrating to the nape of your neck. 

You kissed him tenderly, but more confidently than you ever had before, with a newfound certainty, as if knowing that it was okay for you to kiss him first without hesitation. John kissed you back with fervency, his rosy lips catching yours and reluctant to let go.

When you two pulled away he held you tightly against him in an embrace before he left. It pained you to say goodbye, this man that you had known for such little time had your heart in a tight lock already. 

It had been a week since John had left on deployment. You did not expect to be this worried in your life over someone. You had never had a long-distance relationship (if you could even call it that as being what you and John had). You didn't want to admit to yourself how much you missed him, or how much you thought about him, or how you dreaded something happening to him. 

He couldn't have been more reassuring though, hardly ever failing to text you his status as best he could. He had let you know before leaving that he'd become less consistent at texting you, but that he'd go out of his way just to send you at least one message a day. 

Every notification from him put your racing thoughts at ease, no matter how simple it was. Texts telling you about how work was going, in a way that made it sound like he was on a corporate business trip or as if he was a lorry driver traveling from one end of the country to another. Sometimes his texts would be about how he missed you, how the coffee in the base was sewage water and it was making him livid and exhausted, followed by the zombie emoji he had recently added to his regular repository. 

A lot of the late-night and early-morning texts were tooth-achingly sweet, though; you cherished those the most, reciprocating the messages with sincerity. 

Tonight he told you he had managed to get a tent to himself while two of his boys snoozed in another one with the third one on watch for the night. He told you he was hoping to get some restful sleep for once, given that he wouldn't have to hear someone else's snoring, but said it was just impossible to sleep with the thought of you banging in his head. 

You thought he had you wrapped around his finger, but you didn't mind in the slightest. Instead, you decided to be bold and use that to your advantage. You felt naughty doing so but that was the best part of it. The heat that had been brewing in your core had started to be bothersome ever since John had given you a first taste of what he offered you. 

So you made your way to your dresser, digging in the drawer where you kept your panties and finding a set you hadn't worn in god knows how long. It was like dusting off an old book. You only hoped it fit you still. 

And it did, to your surprise even better than the one time you had worn it since you first bought it. The little fuchsia pink thong was snug on the fat around your hips, accentuating the plump curvature of your ass, and the lace balconette bra teased your nipples through the thin transparent fabric. 

Your heart beat fast and you felt the dampness between your legs at both the sight of you in your bold garments and at the thought of sending John a picture. You dwelled on it for a moment, contemplating whether or not you should send it. Maybe it was unsafe to do so, maybe he'd get caught. 

But you decided to give in to your impulses. You snapped a picture in a pose that showed your front, your curves popping in the revealing outfit, your tits pert, and showing the evidence of your arousal. Only your body and hair were visible in the frame, choosing to hide your scarlet red face and smile. 

You waited a few moments, eyeing the photo closely before deciding "Fuck it" and hitting 'send'. 

Your breath hitched, almost in disbelief that you managed to do that. You were quite proud of yourself, honestly. As you waited expectantly you bit the tip of your thumb in anticipation, staring at the chat on your screen. 

But all you could see was the empty chat beside your picture. Then, John's chat bubbles finally popped up, only to disappear after a few seconds. They popped up and disappeared twice more after that, but no message was sent in response. 

Your face fell, your throat running dry when you cursed at yourself. Did you freak him out? Was it bad timing? 

You jumped with a shocked yelp when you heard the sound of your phone vibrating. You were getting a call from John now. You cursed at yourself once again, clearing your throat and bracing yourself to apologize profusely before you picked up. 

"Hey, John I--" you stuttered before he interrupted you with what sounded like a breathy groan from his end. 

"What're you doin' sendin' me pictures like that, naughty girl?" his voice was low and almost a purr through the phone. 

You felt like you had gone into cardiac arrest at the sound of his voice. He sounded aroused, and it couldn't be more noticeable. You bit your lip suppressing the grin that tugged at your cheeks, laying back on your bed as your skin burned hot with the pleasure that rose within you. 

You couldn't be more pleased with yourself. 

"Thought you might enjoy that," you giggled.

John hummed contently, "Oh, I'm enjoyin' it alright...you've no idea how much." You heard a deep thigh coming from him. 

"I think I have an idea," your hand trailed down your body, fingers brushing over the skin exposed skin of your breasts. 

"Is it that obvious?" 

"Mhm," you said coyly, your fingers traveling to the thin fabric covering your nipples, ghosting over the perked buds. "Would be lyin' if I said I didn't feel the same way."

"Fuckin' hell, princess," he growled, "N' I thought you were an innocent little thing." 

You chuckled, your hand now toying with the hem of your panties. The sound of wetness came through the other end of the call, making the fire between your legs burn hotter. A moan brewed in your throat when your hand finally slipped into your panties, striking your index and middle finger between your folds and collecting the slick that pooled there. 

"You toyin' with my pretty pussy, love?" 

You nodded to yourself and answered with another "Mhm," letting a needy sound out as your fingerpads pressed against your achy clit. 

You heard John's breath become ragged, the squelching sound becoming more rhythmic. Your fingers tried to match his pace as you rubbed tight circles on your clit, your pussy becoming impossibly wetter at the thought and sound of John jerking off on the phone. 

"Fuckin' miss you, dove...miss the sweet taste of your pussy. Remember those cute panties I took from ya? Got 'em here, fuckin' my fist with 'em...thinkin' o' you." 

You let out a whimper, recalling John fervently devouring you and the perverted act of him saving your underwear; now knowing their purpose made your mind hazy and your clit quiver. It felt like ages now, and your ache for him had been growing stronger since then. 

"Want you, John," you babbled, quickening your pace, your hips wiggling and rolling to grind yourself on your fingers. 

"Tell me what you want from me, sweet girl," he purred. 

"Want your mouth," you breathed, your hand leaving the phone as you held it at the crook of your neck and shoulder, migrating to your pleading cunt to dip your fingers into your entrance. You let out another audible moan as you worked your fingers on your clit and filled yourself with the two others, "Want your cock, John." 

You heard the man on the other line practically moan as he cursed at your words, "My sweet girl wants my cock, huh? You're gonna make me cum if y'keep talkin' like that." You heard him panting, the sound of him stroking his slicked cock hitting your ears, making you pump your fingers harder and faster. 

"Tell me how you're fuckin' yourself, love," he commanded, and you obeyed him. You told him how you were fucking yourself with your fingers and how they weren't enough, how your clit would only be satiated by his mouth now. 

"Oh my needy girl, 'm gonna fuck you good when I get back home to you." he cooed, a string of curses and groans falling from his lips. "Be a good girl and cum for me, yeah?" 

You moaned in response, only being able to manage a desperate "Uhuh," as you were reaching the precipice of your orgasm. John was nearing his too, you could hear it as he babbled on about needing you, about how he was gonna fuck you like you deserved when he got back home, about how he was gonna claim your pussy with his cock. 

You announced your emerging climax with a cry and a choked moan, your body convulsing and your pussy clenching around your own fingers. The desperate chants of John's name were what made him cum, the way you cried out for him breathlessly and mindlessly, your moans almost sounding like sobs. 

You heard him let out a muffled groan signaling his orgasm as if he had bitten down on something to keep quiet as he came. 

All that was heard in the call now were both of you's panting breaths, until John let out a tired chuckle and you giggled in response, feeling flustered by your exchange. You lay on your silky sheets with a mess between your legs as you exhaled contently. 

"I should send you pictures more often," you quipped. 

"I'd love it if you did," John said, "And I'll keep my end of the bargain." 

You hummed a laugh, repeating "I'd love it if you did," as your response. 

[raisedbythetv89]

Ok ooooook OK SO.

Spike was literally made for Buffy because he was made for and by Drusilla, and Buffy and Dru are the same person:

Innocent, kind-hearted young girls, with special gifts that cause them to carry more guilt/burden than others and they are used/abused/traumatized by angelus/angel, then neglected and abandoned, with Spike being there to pick up the pieces and nurture, care for, and love them the best he can to help them move past their angel trauma (which is actually an impossible task with Drusilla because of the sire aspect but isn’t with Buffy)

WHICH is why I believe William’s first act as a vampire was to try and save his mother. He was literally created to be Dru’s knight. Not only her protector but her healer. Which is why his first instinct when it should be all about blood lust is instead, to heal his mother who he still loves even as a vampire. I mean even Dru, a certified nutcase, is like you wanna do WHAT?!?! When Spike tells her his plan to save his mom😹

This is also why I believe angel trying to mold Spike into his image never really took or rather Spike was able to break free from it. Angel was created by darla for the intent of death, torment and destruction.

Spike was created to care for and love Dru. Which required an OBSCENE amount of patience, determination, humility, and love of a challenge. Which is why he was so intrigued by slayers, another seemingly impossible task - but the joy/fun was in the TRYING, the thrill of the unknown and the unpredictability of it all. Which are all the traits he needed to be there for both Dru and Buffy while also ensuring he never gives up on them as long as they want him there, and then some lol.

IM FREAKING OUT ABOUT THIS

Because also this is soooooo not where I planned on going with this but “I was made to love you” episode title is now drawing in the connection of, is this why Spike didn’t initially see the problem with the Buffy-Bot until he saw the reaction of Buffy herself who often acts as his moral compass as he relearns what is “good” after 100+ years living by vamp code because him AS A HUMAN, in his vulnerable, dejected and devastated state was killed and made into a vampire for the sole purpose of loving and caring for Drusilla selflessly, without regard for himself, much like the bots were!! So why would he see the harm in creating something like that for himself when no one was going to die in the process and it meant he could stop fixating in the real buffy? Both of which to a vamp who’s only been trying to live by human morals again for like 14 episodes vs 120 years with NO help just trial and erroring his way through becoming a white hat which his starting point is “I would like credit for not taking advantage of bleeding disaster victims” and “what do you mean building a shrine to show how deep my devotion is and chaining you up, offering to kill my ex, and forcing you to talk to me and admit your feelings aren’t the way to do this??” 😹😹😹 like he gets it so wrong, it’s comical in season 5 because he truly is so earnest about all of it because while yes it is all for a chance with Buffy, he genuinely wants to be better for her so he can earn that chance. As he says to Riley “a fellas gotta try” after saying he doesn’t think he has a chance with her.

He was an Eleanore who desperately needed his Chidi. Which Buffy is his moral compass but she ends up being a “let them fail/push them into the deep end” kind of guide. So he makes A LOT of mistakes along the way as many of us often do in general but especially those of us who were raised by abusive parents; who in our adulthood, have to learn to discern what is healthy vs abusive to be a good person to both yourself and others and be in actual healthy relationships with boundaries and respect with zero practical experience or good instincts to go on.

NONE of this excuses any harm that Spike causes at all. That is not the point of this to say “oh he didn’t really do bad”, no he did. Spike caused a lot of harm but this perspective that I’ve finally been able to put into words is why none of the harm ends up being a deal breaker for me and many spuffys because it puts his choices in the right perspective which is not that of a human even though he looks like one a lot of the time.

Spike pre-soul, making the mistakes he makes isn’t the same as a human or a vamp with a human soul making the mistakes because he doesn’t have his human soul motivating and informing the decisions he makes. It really mimics different cultures in a lot of ways as anya really demonstrates during her wedding with all her talk of demon culture and tradition (and her own struggles to assimilate into the human world again and she HAS a human soul and xander to help her) and the initiative being VERY n*zi coded and Riley being called a bigot because he is ignorant to much of demonology. So un-souled spike has a more potential for forgiveness of his mistakes than human soul havers because he is always genuinely TRYING to do right by Buffy even when he gets it horribly wrong. And the characters in the show always hold him accountable and make him feel TERRIBLE for the mistakes he makes.

Why does he have such potential for forgiveness you ask? The best example is to think of the concept of someone trying to assimilate themselves into a new culture. We can’t expect them to blend right in perfectly and get all the culture norms right, right away (again -anya-but also a real life example - when I travel in Italy and catch up with friends there I STILL always stumble and forget they’re always gonna go in for a double cheek kiss greeting - pre covid anyway - and I KNOW it’s a thing but if I’m out of practice it takes me a while to start greeting people that way again and it makes for some AWKWARD ENCOUNTERS until I get it down😹). It takes time, and normally guidance and patience from others that spike honestly doesn’t often have except in the form of being yelled at or beat up until he gets his soul. But his willingness to TRY anyways despite failure, rejection, ridicule and cruelty. How can I not love him?? He is me, I am him!! I was also met with so much unhelpful criticism and cruelty when I was just trying to learn and do a good job.

Both as someone who is autistic and didn’t know it for a lot of life; I too felt like I was blundering through without a guide or a rule book and I was sure I was making mistakes because people would get upset but I had NO help identifying what exactly I did wrong or what to do instead. So I knew I was messing up but had to keep guessing and trying anyway and getting it wrong again and again!

And as someone raised by an emotionally distant/abusive narcissist, navigating healthy relationships became even MORE difficult and I made a lot of bad choices along the way that landed me in some awful relationships much like what spike and Buffy devolve into towards the end of season 6 because both of them are up stream without a paddle when it comes to healthy relationships, healthy coping mechanisms, and communication. They know pain, avoidance, fighting, torment, and ecstasy from always living in extremes and life or death situations (notice Buffy struggles the most in the season with no threat of the apocalypse until the last two episodes - season 6 - which is SO common for people with trauma, you really fall apart when things are low stakes)

It’s why the tenderness and gentleness of season 7 means SO MUCH. Both of them experiencing these tiny pockets of true peace with each other after everything they’ve been through individually and together. Experiencing true peace like we see from them is one of the hardest things to accomplish if you have severe trauma.

I’m always really happy when I can digest these complex themes enough to communicate why I love them so much and why they’re so important to me. The fact that this show had so much in-fighting amongst the writers and misogynists trying to make spike pathetic and accidentally making him one of the most complex characters, plus episodes based specifically on neurodivergent/queer peoples’ traumatic coming of age experiences because the parallels are SO strong there no way they’re not lol. This all means I can probably spend the rest of my life dissecting the layers of this show and learning about myself in the process and always find something new 🙃🙃🙃 and clearly I love all aspects of spuffy so god damn much as they each embody a big part of my life experiences in so many beautiful yet tragic ways.

[fairyhaos]

❍ the 2k event: seungkwan + blossoms

alternative title: this is what healing is

pairing: seungkwan x gn!reader

genre: canon universe, established relationship, comfort-ish

word count: 1285

warnings: none

event taglist (send ask to be added): @slytherinshua @rubywonu @weird-bookworm @pepperonijem @amxlia-stars @hannyoontify @my-moarmy-heart @suminsfav @minhui896 @haocovr @lockburn-castle @sweet-like-caramel @horanghae8 @graybaeismytae @karionice @hopetiger10 @shuabby1994 (and @wheeboo cz. it's seungkwan)

"Y/N! Come on, we can't slow down now, we're almost there!"

"And where," you pant, "is 'almost there', Seungkwan? Almost there to my death?"

Seungkwan smiles, and it's not his brilliant, heart-bursting smile but it's close enough. "You shouldn't have offered to take me out hiking, love," he says teasingly, from where he's standing on the path further up. "You gotta deal with the consequences."

You groan, pulling yourself up with your hiking poles along the dirt path. "Yeah, next time I'll just offer to pay for a full spa day for you. That'll be way easier than this torture I accidentally signed up for."

Seungkwan chuckles, continuing to hike up the mountainside while you groan and complain and sweat to death behind him. 

Your boyfriend loves nature. He loves being surrounded by it, feeling humbled by the vast everlastingness of the earth, feeling part of the unending beauty of the world and the countless lives of animals and plants that he has the privilege of living alongside. It relaxes him, brings him peace, allows his soul to settle more comfortably in his body once he's able to see that he's important, that he matters, that nature is there for him and surrounds him and he is at once a part of it and forever under its power the entire time. 

It's a complex combination of feeling humility at nature's capability and feeling comfort at being in her care, but you get it. You understand Seungkwan. 

That's why you offered him a healing day out trekking up some of South Korea's most idyllic mountains, after all. 

You're kind of regretting agreeing to come along, though. 

Well, almost. 

"Y/N, I swear, we're almost there this time," Seungkwan insists when you wail about your legs again. He's standing at a curve in the path you're following, which isn't really much of a path but more of a wobbly line of soil where the ground has been worn down just a little more than the rest of the undergrowth surrounding you. 

"What, almost to the top?" you manage to say. Wow, you need to exercise more. 

Seungkwan shakes his head. "No, we're almost at a rest point though! There's a fallen tree we can sit on."

"A fallen tree," you deadpan, crunching through leaves. "We're almost at a fallen tree."

Seungkwan wrinkles his nose playfully at your tone. "Yes. A fallen tree. But I'm really, really certain that we've almost reached the summit, if you wanna forgo a break and carry on…?"

"No, no, let's take a break," you say hurriedly, hobbling up the remaining stretch to find the fallen tree he was talking about and flopping down. "Ah, that's better."

There's a peaceful silence then, as you drink your water and Seungkwan tilts his head back, revelling in the quiet that comes with being so, so far away from other people. You watch him out of the corner of your eye and fight the urge to grin widely. 

This is the one, sole reason that you don't regret coming on this trip. 

He has his eyes closed, the sunlight peeking through the green leaves of the trees and casting an uneven glow across his face, one cheek, half of his forehead, the tip of his nose and small spatterings of his eyelids lit up in gold. He looks like he's been blessed all over by some sun deity, but nothing can top the utterly content look on his face. 

Seungkwan hasn't been feeling himself lately, and you get it, with all that's been going on for him. He's been doing so well, and you tell him so, but sometimes those words aren't enough. Sometimes he just needs time to distance himself, to heal without having the reminders of his pain and struggles hitting him in the face. 

Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirps, and Seungkwan opens his eyes. 

"Don't you think that the day sky is so beautiful?" he says, contemplatively, squinting through the forest canopy. 

You look up with him, squinting your eyes. "The day sky?" you echo. 

He shrugs. "Yeah. Everyone always talks about the night sky, and yet no one seems to mention how pretty the sky is during the day."

You tilt your head, watching as faint wisps of white clouds drift by, in between the green leaves and up there in the brilliant blueness of the sky. 

"The moon is really, really beautiful," you say, "but I guess we never do think about how pretty the sun is too."

"The moon will forever be beautiful," Seungkwan agrees, voice softening, "but there's beauty in the day as well. There's so much light. So much vibrancy. So much potential for living."

You smile, lowering your head to look over at Seungkwan. He still has his head tilted upwards, so far up that you can't see his eyes. But after a moment, he squeezes his eyes shut and looks at you with a smile. It's a sad smile, but there's relief there, a happiness that comes from having the time to be with such refreshing scenery and his thoughts and with you. 

His eyes crinkle as he leans forward to press a kiss to your nose. "You know I love you, right?"

You hum, placing your hand on his cheek to keep him in place and quickly kiss his forehead. His skin is clammy with sweat, your hand warm on his equally warm cheek, but the softness in his eyes makes everything else rendered irrelevant. 

"I should hope so," you say drily after pulling away. "I'm here, suffering with you right now. I'm currently loving you too damn much for you not to love me back."

Seungkwan laughs at that, a ringing bell sound that sounds so much like his usual self that it makes you laugh too. 

"Well, thank you for loving me that much," he says, and it's teasing, but there are rosy warm threads of sincerity to his words. "Thank you, oh noble Y/N, for putting up with me."

"Any time," you say, and you can recognise that warm sincerity in your own voice too. "I'll do anything for you."

Seungkwan smiles. 

A wind blows around you, blessedly cool, and you sigh in happiness. Sometimes small and cold sticks to your forehead, and you dislodge it to gawk at the small blossom petal that managed to stick to your sweaty skin. 

"Kwan, look at this petal that stuck to me," you say, turning to your boyfriend, only to laugh at the way he has two on his cheek, seemingly going unnoticed by him.

"What? Why are you laughing?"

"You had a little something on your face, babe," you say, taking off the petals and showing them to him. Seungkwan blinks down at them before chuckling and shaking his head. 

"There must be cherry blossom trees further up ahead," he said, watching as more pale pink petals float around you.

You hum thoughtfully, staring at the little blossom petals. "Blossoms represent growth, you know," you say. "And new beginnings. They symbolise a better tomorrow."

Seungkwan tilts his head. "Really?" He's silent for a moment, before standing up. "Well, we better get going, I think. I want to see this blossom tree at the summit, now that we know it's there."

Instantly, you're groaning, and Seungkwan laughs as he takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, teasing you the entire way. But he doesn't let go of your hand, and the two of you walk leisurely up the mountain, skin all sun-dappled and with blossoms in your hair as you make your way to the top and to that blossom tree. 

All the way to a better tomorrow. 

[hitlikehammers]

stupid superpower

rating: teen tags: humor, brotherly ribbing, Dustin has a ✨stupid superpower✨, Dustin continues to have issues with his tone ✨for @slashify at my BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST for the prompt: Character Has Powers (requested to be Dustin)

“Look, see!” Dustin points at the mat he’s laid out on the coffee table in Steve’s living room. “This is why Dart was so easy, it makes so much sense now.”

He turns to them with the biggest grin that’s getting a little less gummy by the week, now, but…he looks so proud, is the thing.

And it is painful. The pride. What it’s for.

The way they’re gonna have to probably dash it.

“I,” Steve squints at the setup, start to finish, empty cans framing the perimeter before he sighs: “I am not seeing anything, man.”

“No,” Dustin’s voice goes pitchy, really, he should have outgrown that by now, s’looking like it’s a permanent trait, yeesh; “look.”

And he points with such…some superiority, such imperiousness, like…okay, so maybe it’s the least painful of the list, when they have to dash all that pride. Kid’s gotta fucking learn some humility, man. Like, sooner rather than later.

“I told you I could communicate with them!” Dustin pulls off his cap and throws it to the couch, triumphant. Steve watches the mat for a few more seconds before he straights up, cocks his hip and crosses his arms.

“You’re telling me,” he says slowly; “that you talk to slugs.”

Because that…that certainly appears to be what the argument has been. They’d kinda thought Dustin has been joking, in previous passing mention. Eddie, at least, definitely thought he was just being an annoying little prick for how many times he asked if either of them felt particularly chiropteran, muttering about traits from interactions, close encounters, bites would obviously count.

Like, it was Dustin, if they took all the crap he said to heart, weighed it seriously, they’d never do anything else.

Like: ever.

“Interspecial gastropodic extracommunicational phenomena,” Dustin rattles off, a little defensive, if Eddie’s gonna be honest; and it wasn’t exactly called for. Steve just asked a question.

Eddie, on the other hand…

“So slugs and snails,” Eddie confirms, droll as fuck by intention, because Eddie is actually very aware of his tone in most situations, thank you very much; “the shell doesn’t deter you.”

“No, I think it’s the whole at least the whole class, maybe the whole phylum,” and he’s so excited, but, he’s also being a fucking know-it-all about it and there is a part of Eddie that doesn’t want to squash Dustin’s enthusiasm but the bigger part of Eddie, but fucking far, knows for a goddamn fact no one could possible squash Dustin’s enthusiasm, or self-confidence, like, Dustin would happily go toe-to-toe with like, Stephen fucking Hawking, and brag afterward that the intellectual stimulation was lacking.

So Eddie doesn’t actually feel bad about any of this and Dustin rambles on.

“But I think if I got my hands on a limpet, or an abalone—“

And when he looks up he must catch something, like he must be able to tell, to read something despite Eddie being very fucking careful to keep a helluva poker face right now—and Eddie’s kinda proud, because maybe the little shithead can be taught.

“You’re joking,” Dustin concludes, dry as fuck and with the audacity to sound…disappointed? Like in a how-could-you-be-so-juvenile-as-to-stoop-to-this-level kind of way which. Which.

“Not at all,” Eddie clutches his non-existent pearls in mock offense, and Dustin’s eyes just narrow.

“I was right.”

“Might not want to say that too loud, Dusty-Buns,” Eddie shoots right back and Steve coughs unconvincingly to cover a laugh and Eddie bites his bottom lip to stop his own smile, less because of Dustin’s reaction and more just because…Stevie. Being adorable.

Steve being his Stevie.

“Yeah, that feels like slander,” Steve adds in thoughtfully, stroking his chin and everything before he turns to Eddie, considering.

“Can you slander yourself, if you’re embarrassing enough?”

And oh, oh: Eddie adores it when his boyfriend’s bitchy side comes out. He adores it so much.

“‘Course you can, big boy,” Eddie can’t help himself as he leans over and pecks at Steve’s cheek; Dustin scowls at them and Eddie can’t help himself, so he licks up Steve’s cheek for the disgusted grown from Dustin and the half-assed shove from Steve that doesn’t move him further away at all.

“You’re just jealous that I have a superpower,” Dustin ultimately shoots back which: okay, Eddie knows he’s capable of better than that, he’s kind of disappointed, that was so weak.

“It’s a stupid superpower,” Steve points out, plain and simple and Eddie wants to clap his hands. He. Loves. His. Bitchy. Boyfriend.

So. Much.

“Or is it a superpower for stupid?” Eddie asks, turning back to Steve like it’s a genuine question, a worthy debate.

“Naw,” Steve shakes his head, almost regretful; “he is pretty fuckin’ smart.”

“More than one kind of stupid, Stevie,” Eddie notes with due gravitas.

“Envy,” Dustin sniffs, so goddamn superior. “Green’s really not your fucking color,” and ooo, there’s a little snarl, a little sneer on his lips; “either of you.”

“I look good in green,” Steve points out, not even petulant, just factual.

“For example,” Eddie picks up and talks over Dustin’s comment like he never made one, leveling the little asshole with a pointed look:

“Some people are stupid about their tone.”

Steve doesn’t even try to cover his snort that time.

“You look good in everything, sweetheart,” Eddie takes the opportunity to comment, to sneak another kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth as he purrs; “and out.”

“Disgusting,” Dustin gags and Eddie turns to glare as he bites out:

“Tone!”

Like, way to prove Eddie’s fucking point for him, wow, the lack of self-preservation is overwhelming here.

“I’m gonna go find El,” Dustin announces, like he thinks it’s an airport; “she will be thrilled to have someone like her around—“

“Remember what I said?” Eddie turns to Steve, exaggerates the knowing look he gives; “types of dumb,” then he turns again to Dustin, and knows his look is pitying, because he fucking means for it to be.

“Telekinesis and slug-speak aren’t even in the same universe, man,” and Jesus H., Dustin looks offended at the suggestion, which.

Which.

“The overlap of telepathic—“

“Slugs, Dustin,” Steve butts in, cuts him off; “I drown those fuckers in little bowls of beer in the yard. They go in willingly,” and oh. Oh, Eddie loves his boyfriend.

Eddie loves his boyfriend so goddamn much.

Because he hadn’t even noticed the set up, the slight of hand, because Steve had overturned the can of PBR he hadn’t finished, that had gone warm anyway, and dumped it into the shallow little bowl that used to have pretzel sticks inside, low enough to, to—

“Well they won’t anymore,” Dustin declares, fucking haughty with it; “because I will tell them—“

“Yet behold, special super slug-whisperer,” Eddie gasps and gestures wide to the mat where the slug demonstration had originally taken place: “whatever do we have here?”

What they have there is the little bowl of beer, set on the slug mat.

With slugs already drowned inside.

“Probably maybe you should be smarter about where you stick your attention if you really want to save your precious children from their hoppy graves,” Eddie shrugs, and infuses his words with as much fake fucking concern as he can fit into them because slug-whispering.

Fucking honestly.

Dustin only wastes a few seconds gaping at the scene, mouth working around something—comprehension, maybe, or just some degree of shock—before he turns his eyes up and glares at them both.

“You’re evil,” he says definitively, pointing; “both of you.”

“Go see El, Super Slug,” Eddie smiles indulgently; “she’s absolutely trembling with anticipation at the arrival of an equal, I’m sure of it.”

“After all, didn’t you say,” Steve shrugs and folds his arms over his chest, looks Dustin up and down before delivering the final blow:

“You were right.”

And Dustin scowls, and Eddie cackles, because that’s his brother, that’s their brother.

“Fucking assholes,” Dustin mutters, and leaves his slug mat and the beer-bowl behind as he stomps out the door: these children really need to learn about cleaning up after themselves, even if they leave in a stompy little huff like a goddamn toddler, fucking hell: but still.

Dustin’s their brother.

Like they were ever going to let him get away with bragging about slug powers.

permanent tag list (comment to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 

[hacash]

"Alright, bruv?"

Sam doesn't even notice Isaac's presence until he thumps the locker next to Sam's head with his fist: the team captain's preferred form of greeting. He jumps, and then with a sigh goes back to staring at his phone. The beaming faces of the newly called-up Nigerian football team, resplendent in green and white. "Huh? Oh, yes. Yes, I'm fine, thank you."

"Bullshit," Isaac scoffs. "C'mon, what's wrong?"

Sam doesn't want to admit that anything's wrong. Treat your wins with humility and your losses with grace, that's what his father always says. But he supposes to do that you have to admit that there was a loss in the first place. Besides, if anyone would understand it's Isaac, Isaac who's never once been called up to the England team, who hadn't even looked up when Beard was reading out the roster. England team's bursting with great players anyway, he'd grunted when Colin had asked if he was alright. Even if I was good enough, don't think they're too keen to call up a guy who tried to throttle someone in the stands a month ago. Their loss then, Colin had said. That's, like, top of my list for qualities of a best mate. Not to mention team captain. Harry Kane's quaking in his boots whenever he sees you on the telly, boyo. And Isaac's face had split into this massive grin, and that had been that. "I just found out Edwin Afuko is the reason I didn't make the Nigerian team," he says. "What - that guy who tried to sign you up to his African super-team?" "Yeah," Sam sighs. "When I turned him down he told me I'd never play for the Nigerian national team. Now I found out he bribed the government - my home, Isaac, the place where I grew up - not to invite me onto the team." "Jesus Christ." "Yeah." "You think it was to do with the Dubai Air protest as well?" Isaac asks. "Like, this guy made us all look like a bunch of corrupt dickheads, we ain't gonna have him represent our country sort of thing?" Sam's eyes widen, and then slam shut as his head falls back against his locker. "Well I do now." "That's bullshit," Isaac announces. For once, Sam is tempted to agree. Isaac is staring intently at the ground. Finally he looks up and clears his throat with uncharacteristic caution. "Would you have done the same thing? The protest, staying at Richmond - if you knew it was gonna go down like this, I mean?" It's something he's not wanted to ask himself: but there it's been, niggling away like some horrible little imp in the back of his mind. Sam thinks about that photograph hanging on his childhood wall, the feeling he had strolling through the British Museum alongside Edwin. He thinks about running over the beaches of Lagos as a child, how it felt to see those pictures of the destruction and the dying animals on those same beaches. The thrill of returning to the Premier League. The teenagers who'd come up to him in the street, newly arrived and still stumbling over their English, thanking him for speaking out even as the glass was still being swept up at Ola's. Men like Gary Lineker and Ian Wright quoting his tweets on Match of the Day, and the UK government not being able to do anything to stop them. The way his heart had skipped, seeing young men just like him playing on Richmond Green wearing his jersey. "Of course I would," he says finally. "I couldn’t have taken a place on the team if it meant not speaking out." "Right. You wouldn't have been happy just sitting down and shutting up. Or playing for some rich prick who bribes people all the time. And it's totally shit, but - I guess it's, like, the price you've gotta pay right now for doing so much awesome stuff." "I suppose it's worth that." They sit together in companionable silence for a little while. Finally Sam sighs. "I still really want to play for the Nigerian national team though, Isaac." Isaac nods and sets an arm around his shoulders. "You will, bruv. I know you will."

-

For @boasamishipper​. There’s something really interesting about seeing reality ensue when Sam faces the backlash of following his heart - but I’d have loved to get a little scene like this.

[staygoldwriting]

💌 To the Steve I Loved Before: Part 5

A Steve Harrington TATBILB!AU fic

Parts 1-4 on my masterlist!

Summary: Y/N has written love letters to get over her deepest crushes. What happens when Steve Harrington gets his hands on her letter to him?

Disclaimer: This is inspired by the To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before series by Jenny Han! I have used none of her characters, but have only used the premise of a love letter in the wrong hands.

Word count: ~1200

Warnings: None, just fluff!

A/N: I'M STILL HERE!!! 🎉 I have been gone for so long and I'm SO SORRY!! I started my new job, and it's taken all of my time 😢 But I'm finally back, and I hope you guys love this next chapter! I will try my best to get another part out soon 💕Also, I know I keep teasing the letter, but know that I wrote it before anything else, so it'll be out in a couple chapters 👀Please let me know what you think, and, as always, please show love and support! ❤️✨

“Y/N?”

You were staring blankly at Steve as he waved his hand in front of your face. You snapped back into reality and looked at him.

“Sorry, okay, you said seven for pizza at your place?” you said quickly.

“Eight, but Y/N, did you write me--”

“Gotta go, Steve, see you!” you said, then rushed away before he could finish his question. As you sped walked to the front of the mall, Robin was waiting for you, shaking her head. 

“What have you done?” she asked, chuckling.

“I don’t wanna talk about it, let’s just go,” you said, not stopping as you walked past her.

-💌-

You sat at your desk, bouncing your knee up and down, planning and panicking in your mind. Robin was laying on your bed, her head hanging off the edge as she scrunched her face up in concentration.

“So,” she started, “you’re going to pretend to date Steve Harrington.”

“...Yep,” you said, squinting at the wall.

“Well, you’re going to need some ground rules,” Robin said, looking at you.

“Ground rules?”

“Yeah, so you guys are clear on this little game you’re playing.”

“I don’t think we need rules, Rob. We’re not even actually dating.”

“Are you gonna kiss him?”

“What? No!” you said, your heart beating quickly.

“Okay, then how are you gonna make your relationship believable?” Robin asked, flipping herself onto her stomach. 

“I mean, I don’t know,” you said. 

“Well, you should definitely kiss him,” Robin said. “First of all, no one would ever believe you two are dating if you don't kiss at least once in public. Second of all, it looked like you both enjoyed it quite a bit,” she smirked. You threw a stuffed animal at her.

“Bite your tongue, Buckley!” you yelled, trying not to laugh. 

“You’re blushing!” she yelled victoriously.

“Am not! I mean, yeah, he’s cute or whatever, but that doesn’t subtract from the fact that he’s a class A jerk,” you pointed out.

“I don’t know, you might be surprised,” Robin said, sitting up. “I think all the rejections he’s gotten at Scoops have bruised his ego enough for him to actually have mappable humility.”

“Steve? Humble? I’ll believe it when I see it,” you chuckled. 

“Well, keep me posted. I think you guys should both visit each other at work, but make it look natural since you haven’t done that before. Ease into it. Second, you have to make him drive us all around.”

“Us?” you smirked.

“I have to benefit from this somehow,” Robin smiled. “Anyways, third, you guys have to go to the Fourth of July carnival together.”

“We won’t be together then. Eddie will forget about the letter far before that,” you objected.

“Just stick with me,” Robin said. “Lastly, and most importantly, do not fall for him.”

“Rob, we’re not in a John Hughes movie, I’m not going to-”

“Stick with me,” Robin repeated. “Don’t rule anything out. After all, you did write him a letter, right?”

“We’re not talking about that,” you said quickly.

“Well, the truth’s gonna come out someday,” Robin said. “In the meantime, it’s 7:45. Prince Charming awaits.”

-💌-

You knocked on Steve’s front door, and he opened it, smiling at you brightly.

“Hey, fake girlfriend,” he smirked. “Looking good tonight.” You scoffed at him, trying to hide your blush. 

“Can I come in?” you asked, trying to change the subject.

“Come on in,” Steve said, moving from the doorframe. “Go ahead and sit anywhere,” Steve said, motioning to the living room. 

“Sounds good to me,” you said, sitting on the couch. Steve sat down, facing you. You smiled at him awkwardly, then he opened the pizza box.

“Dig in,” he said. You nodded in thanks, then grabbed a slice.

“So,” he smiled, taking a bite.

“So,” you repeated, nodding. 

“You like Eddie, and now we have to date?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess you could phrase it that way,” you chuckled. “I’m sorry I got you mixed up in this, Steve.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his mouth full of pizza. “What are friends for?”

“We’re still friends?” you asked weakly, making Steve look at you in disbelief.

“Of course we’re still friends, Y/N, why wouldn’t we be?” he said, looking at you confused, his mouth still full. 

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “You became so popular, and we stopped hanging out.”

That doesn’t mean I don’t want to be your friend anymore,” Steve said, wiping his mouth and looking at you in concern.

“It sure feels that way,” you whispered, making Steve look at you sadly. 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. 

“Don’t be,” you replied. “Anyway, we have some planning to do,” you said, trying to move on. You looked up at Steve, who was gazing at you. 

“Um,” you said, trying to break eye contact, “Robin had some recommendations to help our relationship look believable,” you said, looking back at him. “She says we should kiss at least once a day in public.” 

“Are you sure you can survive with just one Harrington kiss a day?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows. You rolled your eyes at him, fighting a laugh. 

“She also said we should visit each other at work, and that you should drive me around, and Robin too.”

“Hm. So now Robin gets a free ride to work every day and also sees her best friend every time she has a shift. Makes me wonder who this is really benefiting,” he smirked. 

“Well, do you have any rules in mind?” you asked, and Steve tapped his chin. 

“Will you come to family dinners with me? Maybe with you there I can actually get through a conversation with my father. And we should go to the movies and stuff, make our relationship really public. Stuff we used to do, you know? We’ll just kiss when we do it.”

“I guess that works for me,” you said. “Is there anything we shouldn't do?”

“Well, I'll stop flirting with the girls at work, and you'll have to stop drooling over Munson,” he shrugged. “Other than that, I don't think I have anything else.”

“I haven't been drooling over Eddie,” you defended. 

“Well, then start drooling over me,” Steve said, mocking your tone. “Oh, and we should go to the Fourth of July carnival together,” he said.

“Robin said the same thing, but I don't think we'll still be doing this plan then, will we?”

“Well, we don’t have to be together to go,” Steve pointed out. 

“I guess so,” you said. 

“Did Robin say anything else?” he asked. 

“Yeah, she said we shouldn’t fall in love with each other,” you chuckled.

“I’ll try my hardest,” he smirked, winking at you. 

“Alright then, I think that covers it. We’ll hang out after work, I’ll go to family dinners with you, we’ll kiss each other once a day-”

“But more is always welcome,” Steve winked, making you groan. “And I’ll take you and Robin to work, and, when the time comes, we’ll go to the carnival, all while not falling in love. Sounds simple enough,” he chuckled.

“Yeah, totally easy,” you joked. “Deal?” you asked, holding out your hand. 

“Hm,” Steve said, his smirk returning. “I'll do this all on one condition,” 

“Okay, what is that?” you asked tiredly. 

“You have to let me read my letter.”

-💌-

Taglist: @tillkummer @mlle-ayka @sonicthehedgedoggo @klaine-92 @aurumbelis @onlyangel-444 @beep-beep-sherlock @morishitoshi @onceuponathreetwoone @toomanybandstocare @underthebatcape @zeldaknight @fieldofsecretss @prettyinpunk85 @igotbasicdrag @gothicfaires @thatonecurlygirl @luvthatlovestolove @loliakeoghan23 @dearelliewrites @mslunawinchester @aphex2winn @simonsbluee @inkedaztec @dumplinshee @pastel-abyss-x @frozenhuntress67 @hawkins-hs @witheringawayagain @theshinyrock @hollandcomics @pinkgothiccprincess @persephone13 @katsukis1wife @murnsondock @fictionlandslanddreams @srapalestina @babyghouly @madformunsonsstuff @harrys-titties @middle--fingering @urmomgov @maybankstarkey @jbetches @stardustmunson @maltinonka @chaerfull @middle-of-the-earth @lilsunshine1092 @thehairington86 @the-weeping-author @bisexual-and-intellectual @loving-and-dreaming @dory-98 @carinacassiopeiae @munsonzgf @just-a-lost-princess @imvomitting @lalalyra

[ron456]

Since one of my mutuals (hehe shoutout @nato-obenkrieger) was posting about the Be More Chill book, I thought I'd post about some stuff in the book that I found intresting/or liked (I wanna yap, let me yap):

Michael stimming and singing Weezer when Jeremy says something that reminds him of a weezer song

Jeremy getting a chocolate shakespeare for Christine ( SO CUTEE- LIKE AWWW)

Jeremy being uncoordinated and missing a handshake and Michael lets him redo it:

Jeremy litterally having problems with motor control (he's me fr fr)

Jeremy struggling with mental math:

Michael reaction to Jeremy saying he'll drive by himself. It just feels so real and so sweet:

Book Jeremy is just so giving ADHD to me and I can't get over it (Also, gotta love Michael being there for Jere)😭😭:

JEREMY SAYING HE WAS IN "YOU'RE A GOOD MAN CHARLIE BROWN" ONCE?!? (I got so fvcking excited about this one because I've been in YAGMCB beforeeee. I was Sally :D )

Jeremy saying "Rockin' " as, like, a subsitute for saying "cool" or whatever. I love it.

Jeremy doing jumpkicks when he's nervous

Jeremy's humilation sheets (When I read it, I was like, "That's some shit I would probably do. 😭😭")

Jeremy having RSD?? (I've posted about this before)

ANDDD probably more that I can't quite think of right now

[thepringlesofblood]

so. i watched the trailers for the A:TLA live action netflix series. i went in expecting nothing, and I gotta admit some parts look intriguing. the casting, the set, the bending, the costuming, all look pretty cool. not a big fan of the cgi or how it always seems to be the dead of night in the fire nation, but i was considering watching the first episode at least, out of curiosity and mild respect.

then I saw Zuko's scar.

I thought well, it is really dark, I should wait to get a better look at it before totally freaking out.

are. are you kIDDING ME?

[important: I know nothing about this actor, this aint a dunk on him, I doubt he had a lot of input into his makeup.]

for reference, here is zuko in the OG show.

zuko’s scar isn’t a fucking bad eyeshadow job. His ear is half-melted. It takes up like 1/4-1/3 of his face. It’s not just his eye - it’s his cheekbones, it’s his forehead, it’s all down the side of his head, boy should not have a second eyebrow! I swear to god if they spend their money animating each individual hair on appa but don’t bother to get something as iconic and central to the series as zuko’s scar right? it'd be like messing up Spock's ears, except real-life people don't have Spock ears and struggle with how they are perceived by society because of it.*

*that I know of. maybe there's a secret Spock ears genetic condition I don't know about in which case I apologize

also... there was this bit. we get a quick flash of this shot

ok, we know this shot. we've seen this shot. it's the agni kai where zuko gets his scar. note the relative positions of the two people, and what the floor looks like.

then a little later, we get this shot

it's clearly the same scene. it's ozai burning zuko. but. why is there fire on both sides of zuko? it looks like he's deflecting it. like he's fighting back.

it. it is so so so important for zuko's arc and character growth that he refuses to fight his father in his first agni kai. he shows mercy when ozai does not. he is a child - he does not think to defend himself against his own father. throughout his whole arc, the whole show, but most especially season 1, it is so important to remember that the last time he showed mercy and humility, he literally got burned. that's why he's so aggressive and angry and scared and defensive.

so. why is he defending himself? is this why his scar is less pronounced? because they decided to mess with established history?

maybe we can give them the benefit of the doubt and say this is a different agni kai, or zuko re-imagining how it could've gone, or something, but like. why choose to show this then?

further rant below the cut bc its very long I haven't felt righteous fury this strong in a while

I just. I personally don’t have a facial scar or birthmark or anything, but when Hollywood sugarcoats or makes them look less “gross” or “obvious” it’s a real fuck you to people out there who do have obvious scars, birthmarks, differences, that don’t fall into the neat lines of what is considered “presentable” by the film industry. It’s important that it’s not downplayed bc then the people who see themselves in the original get betrayed by the adaptation that tells them they’re not pretty enough or that they’re “too much” to be seen on tv in live action.

Excuses I have seen thus far (mostly on reddit admittedly)

“They didn’t want to make it look too gruesome so that kids would want to watch it too" Think about that sentiment for 10 seconds, and tell me what it says to people out there who have scars like this. Are they too “scary” to be seen by children? Is their existence automatically PG-13? Something horrible and uncontrollable happened to zuko, and because of that, his life and body are irrevocably changed. People with scars like his who related to and felt seen by his representation and the way he struggles with acceptance, both by himself and by others, will receive the message that can only happen for people with less “gruesome” scars than that. Seriously.

“Of course it’s going to look different in real life vs in animation” Yes, it will. I’m not talking about the appearance of the burn necessarily, but the extent of it. The new series has it limited mostly to his eye. His ear and eyebrow are unaffected, as are his cheekbones and forehead. That is not the case in the animated show. I’m not expecting a big monochrome pink and purple blotch like there is in the OG show - animated visual shorthand is different from live action. But it should look like burned skin. And it should be as extensive as it was - it goes over his ear and eyebrow, and partway down his cheek. the whole point of it is that it’s big and unavoidable and horrifying, and that zuko was a 13 year old kid who didn’t deserve it, but now is stuck with it. That’s war. That’s what ozai is capable of.

“The makeup would be too hard” It really wouldn’t, especially not for something as important to the series as this. Zuko’s scar is central to ATLA as a whole - a symbol of the cruelty of his father and the fire nation, and more importantly his survival and eventual resistance to it. Even if it did take extra time to apply, which I don’t think it would, I’d say it’d be worth it. I’ve seen cosplays and Halloween costumes [and this excellent fan film] without access to a professional makeup and prosthetics team that looked closer to show accurate than what they’ve currently got going.

Let me also point you to examples of both comparable and much more dramatic makeup/prosthetics used regularly (as in every episode, every week, for many years) on 2 shows with smaller budgets, older technology (as in, from the 1990s), and many more seasons: Star Trek: the next generation & ds9

trust me. they can do it. this is a choice.

“What it if made it hard for him to act?” See above for examples of other actors in much more dramatic prosthetics crushing it.

"Well at least it's better than the other live action adaptation"

that CANNOT be the bar we measure things by. standing still and doing nothing is also better than getting brained with a shovel: that doesn't mean it's good.

"He has darker skin than the animated Zuko. the burn probably blends in more."

that's not how burn scars work. it's not just a darkening of the skin - the skin itself is fundamentally changed in texture and color. and again, even if the burn has a different general appearance, it should at least be as big and extensive as it is in the OG show, and it's clearly not.

“They probably didn’t want to shave his eyebrow” No, really I saw this as a point on a Reddit post. Drag queens and cosplayers have been making their eyebrows disappear and reappear for decades without access to a professional makeup and prosthetics team. He’ll be fine I swear.

[akinmablog]

Nautilus thoughts and minor episode 10 reaction (Spoilers, obviously)

ILOVEITILOVEITILOVEIT

It was more than I ever hoped for

I adore that it really is an origin story for Nemo. He's different from who we know him to be because he's yet to become that man, but there are moments when we see him beginning.

I am so happy that Humility wasn't some useless British lady which was admittedly one of my biggest fears for the show. She has a brain and opinions and heart and is just lovely.

I know that they're setting Nemo and Humility up for their romance, which I am all for, but I gotta say Kai and Loti have won my heart right now. He is an adorable malewife and she is That Bitch.

I did not expect what they did to Aadesh. Had me on my toes the whole time because of it.

I feared for Archie's wellbeing the entire time, not gonna lie

Blaster is just adorable and I will hunt down Lord Prat - Oops, I mean Prit - if it's the last thing I do.

Creepy Crawley, you're gonna catch these hands.

Jagadish, Benoit, I will never forget you! *sobs*

What is up with Jiacomo? Where was he from? I know he was an asylum patient, but there's obviously more to it than that. Was it electroshock therapy? Even lobotomised, possibly? Either way, I loved him!

Suyin is Mother and no one will hurt her babies! (If anything happens to her, I will riot)

Turan. Oh, Turan. From his bad poetry to his romancing a weird sea insect queen, he is just adorable.

Ranbir you went through so much, sweet boy, let me give you a hug.

Boniface, firstmate of the Nautilus, you are a great and wonderful man and I hope you find your brother, you sweet little cupcake!!

Cuff, I don't trust you after what you did!

Youngblood seems okay so far but I am keeping my eyes on you, captain!

Billy? Billy?! BILLY!!!!

The cricket scene was brilliant. I just wish we got to see them beat up the other crew more.

The fight scene in episode 9 was awesome. I loved seeing the Norse characters have their own little story arc, too.

"I'm gonna burn the whole damn company to the ground." SWOONING SOMEBODY CATCH ME.

"This is about bringing down the company." YES RANBIR!

"Not quite nothing." That's my boy, Turan!

Nemo hiding in plain sight as Crawley thinks he's got the upperhand? Oh, Nemo, stop making me fall in love with you!

Using gossip and slander as a weapon? Oh, this is good. Too good.

The whole montage in episode 10 was brilliant. So well done.

Jerico Baker jumping in to buy the mine made me giggle.

Oh my god, he was in on it! So clever. Captain Nemo, you devil you.

BYE CRAWLEY WON'T MISS YOU

Not the man's wig falling off, how embarrassing

Girl, good for you! Even if I am officially jealous.

Blaster's reaction to the kiss lmao

We should - We shOUlD - Humility, same.

"I care for you. More than I know how to tell you." MY HEART!

The final confrontation was wonderful.

GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HER YOU GIANT PRAT! KICK HIS ASS LOTI!

"That's my girl." DAMN RIGHT LADIES!

I swear to god, Crawley, you and me - outside - right now!

YOUNGBLOOD! NOOOOO! I WAS SO WRONG TO DOUBT YOU!

He did it for Blaster. He did it for Nathaniel!

YOUNGBLOOD! NATHANIEL! RANBIR!

"Thank you, Mr Harris." Oh look now I'm heartbroken.

Oh, Kai. The worse thing is that he knows, on some level at least, that Nemo is right and that's what's really heartbreaking.

Aww, Loti and Humility. That's my girls!

Wait, is that - are they - is he - OH MY GOD!

A CLIFFHANGER? IT ENDED ON A CLIFFHANGER? (I was warned about there being a cliffhanger, FYI) BUT A CLIFFHANGER!!! *aggressively shakes laptop*

My beautiful ocean-based found family I love you and I miss you all already!!!