thegalas-jacket

[theawkwardvirgin]

An interesting Gospel today, on marriage. Now I know most of this Gospel well (“male and female he created them”, “what God has put together man must not separate”) but I hadn’t heard what happens after the teaching on divorce.

Jesus’s disciples respond in a very modern way, which is kind of funny in a depressing way: “If that is the case of a man with his wife, it is better not to marry.”

Yeah, who wants the burden of a covenant with God being actually, you know, binding? Shock and horror!

(Side note, but when Jesus says that Moses allowed divorce because of the hardness of people’s hearts, He’s referring to the fact that men would have their wives killed to get around the “‘til death do us part” thing. Yeah.)

And Jesus looks at them and says this: “Not all can accept this word, but only those to whom that is granted. Some are incapable of marriage because they were born so; some, because they were made so by others; some, because they have renounced marriage for the sake of the Kingdom of heaven. Whoever can accept this ought to accept it.”

This is a fascinating statement, and one I haven’t heard before! Jesus acknowledges that marriage isn’t for everyone, that not everyone is capable of that sort of commitment. But here’s the crucial part: this doesn’t excuse them from the binding nature of marriage. His phrasing makes that clear, from “some are incapable of marriage” to “renounced marriage”.

So what do you do if you’re not cut out for that kind of commitment? Simple really: you don’t get married. People who are incapable of upholding a covenant with God shouldn’t and can’t make such a covenant. Which is obvious when you think about it.

Despite common misconception, the Catholic Church doesn’t just throw young people together and push them to get married for the funzies. Before you get married, you have to pass a class called Pre-Cana (yes, named after the Wedding at Cana), where you and your fiancé go through counseling and training to make sure you understand the commitment you’re making , that you and your fiancé are a good match, and that you’re ready to make that commitment and live together. You’re usually required to be married by your parish priest, who hopefully knows you well, probably did your Pre-Cana, and can be confident in witnessing and presiding over your covenant.

There’s a lot that goes into preparing for marriage in the Catholic Church, and it’s precisely because we understand that a valid marriage is indissoluble. Once you’re validly married, there is nothing anyone on earth can do to change that.

Now, an important note: This does not mean people have to stay in abusive situations, even if their marriage is valid. Separation in the Church is allowed in serious situations like abuse, and in fact you can get legally divorced in that situation, since a piece of paper doesn’t affect your binding covenant in any way. However, in this case, you’re still married to that person and this can’t get remarried. (There are caveats and technicalities that could deem an abusive marriage invalid and thus dissolvable, but this post is too long already. I recommend this website by a canon lawyer for anyone who’s curious about the details and requirements of a valid Catholic marriage.)

[venmondiese]

SECRET TEAMWORK

a request from my lovely @slytherincursebreaker ♡ thank you so much!

Summary: Having a non-commited relationship with Aemond is hard, but as you find yourself pregnant, it might just be harder.

✧Pairing: Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader ✧Warnings: MDNI 18+, MENTIONS OF ABORTION, p in v sex, pregnant sex, dom and sub undertones, fingering, boss/secretary adventure, slight degradation kink, slight praise kink. ✧Word Count: 6.02k

Aemond placed his own hand around your mouth, to keep your little squeals and moans away. Your pencil skirt all the way up to your hips, it was almost funny, as Aemond kept you seated atop of one of the broken tables in the storage room of the building. 

“A-Aemond!” You press your hands on his chest, moving the hand on your mouth. “You are… going to be late!” You whine.

“Let them wait” he says softly, his hand pressing against your mouth as his right hand is between your legs, tormenting you as he likes.

He is knuckles deep in your pussy, and he watches your expression as you mewl, holding on his shoulders for dear life. This is probably one of the things he enjoys most in life; tormenting you to his delight. Having you drool and moan like a wanton whore, and how your cheeks get red from the effort to be quiet. 

Your pussy might be one of his favourite things, how warm and wet it is for him. Gives him a sense of power as he knows that he can have you melting on his arms just by fingering you. 

He knows the effort you put to look nice, your face of makeup, your hairstyle, your little outfit. He loves to mess it all up. If it wasn’t for the presentation with affiliates of the company of his family, he’d probably be fucking you with no problem.

But he cannot risk not being presentable as he is the main speaker during the conference. He has a lot of things to explain, and he prefers not risking his image. 

“Shh, shh, moaning like the little whore you are” he says, smirking, as he tries not to allow any little scream to get out loudly. “Come on, baby, delight me. Cum on my fingers” he says, saying sweet nothings in your ear along with it. 

Your big nervous eyes, looking at him as he covers your mouth, is a sight that he doesn’t want to forget, truly.

He is hard, and he hates how he can’t do anything about it. He just looks at you and tries to give you all the pleasure he can’t get. 

“Wanna show me your little moans, baby?” He asks as you nod, and he can picture your pout as your eyebrows go up in a needy way. 

You feel his thumb, going in circles around your clit. It is probably the most delightful thing he does, because it is always precise and pleasurable, as if he has perfected his technique to be at its very best.

Your grip on his shoulders, as he liberates your mouth from his palm, and you let out a sob of pleasure, trying not to scream so loudly, because if you did so, it was over for you and him.

He relishes himself in the little moans and whimpers, in the way your pussy clenches around his three fingers, and he kisses your lips; his hand on the back of your neck is firm, keeping you in place as he kisses and plays with your tongue. 

“Open your mouth” he whispers, and you look up to him, knowing exactly what he is up to. 

You love how he can dominate you so easily. Most men had to make an effort to try to look dominant. Aemond had it naturally. 

He spits on your mouth, making sure to look at you as it falls on your tongue, and the way your pussy clenches as you swallow.

Gods, you are soaking wet. He knows you are close by how loudly your wet pussy sounds as he fingers you, and the little mewls you let out as you press your forehead on his shoulder lets him know that you are losing composure, and your legs are becoming numb.

“I need it, you know that… Give me good luck, baby…” he says softly, and as you let out a loud moan, your thighs squeezing his hand, he leans down to capture your lips on his.

He knows how you need tenderness after cumming. You are prone to become sensible, and more these days, when you always need reassurance. 

He kisses you, sloppy and a bit urged, but not too messy. His tongue makes its own way on your mouth, and he can feel how you are trying to keep up as you let out a muffled loud moan, and he can feel how your walls involve his fingers as you cum.

As you rest your forehead on his shoulder, he takes his fingers out, just to suck them to enjoy your taste, even if it is just a bit. It drives him wild, but he has to restrain himself and nothing makes him more frustrated. 

He rubs your back, as you pant loudly, holding the edge of the broken table, which luckily didn’t break further. He moves to watch the hour on his expensive clock, and he still has twenty five minutes to arrive. He sighs, knowing that he cannot put it on hold any longer.

“We have to go” he says softly, and you whine, not wanting to. 

He moves a bit back, and you let your head fall down as you try to relax your breathing. He makes you lean slightly back, your hands hesitantly going back on the table to hold your weight. 

He moves your panties, which he moved and made sure they remained on the side, so it doesn’t bother his work. He places himself between your legs, as he looks down and both of his hands move to accommodate your panties gently, without a hurry. His fingers tentatively caress your clit, but don't press their luck. 

“Come on. We can go to the bathroom and get presentable again” he whispers, grabbing your hand, pulling you to your feet. 

The heels you wear are probably uncomfortable, and he sighs, suppressing the urge to roll his eye. He pulls down your carefully ironed pencil skirt, and he tries to make it presentable again. 

“You didn’t bring other heels?” He asks softly.

“No” you murmurs, looking at him with tired eyes.

“Gods, woman.” He says rolling his eye “I am going to start to buy you comfortable shoes and leave them in my office, so you don’t have to wear those things”

“It is protocol” you say looking at him, as he takes your purse and hangs it on your shoulder.

“I am the boss. If I want you to walk around naked or in pyjamas, it is my call to make” he states softly, and he leans to kiss your cheek lovingly. “Come on” 

He grabs your hand, and you follow him quietly, as he makes sure no one is around as you two walk, hand in hand to the bathroom.

He goes into the men’s bathroom and you to the opposite.

He is quite meticulous, and so your appearance isn’t messy or ruined. If something, you look exhausted. You reapply your red lipstick, and put a bit more mascara. Not too much, you don’t wanna look vulgar either.  

You place some loose hairs back into position, and accommodate your clothes again. You sigh, looking at yourself in the mirror.

The secretary and her boss. You think, as you press your lips together, nibbling the inside of your mouth. 

Once you go out, Aemond was outside waiting for you, using his phone to probably answer some texts. 

“Ready” you say, and he looks flawless once again. If he had an erection, there is no trace of it. He is truly surprising, like a little box of mysteries.

“Let’s go then” he says as he looks at you, hesitating before walking away and pressing the elevator button.

The way to the auditorium is silent. He checks his phone, and you check the little agenda where you write down everything he has to do. 

“Westeros' investors group will be here” you remind him. “And so will the Yi Ti’s empresarial boss, as you know…”

“Uh huh” he agrees. “Will my half sister…?”

“Yes. Rhaenyra will make her appearance as the heir of…”

“Don’t”

So you don’t. “Edyr Karstark will be as well” as the lift doors open, he walks out and you follow him. “Coryanne Dayne and Morgan Martell as well, from Dorne…”

You walk with him as he stops, and you see his mother and grandfather waiting for him at the door. 

Aemond looks at them, sighing. He turns to you, and you have to take a moment to move your gaze away from them.

You see the posture of Alicent straighten as she looks at you, as if squinting her eyes slightly. She holds her arms, her green dress is elegant and she looks intimidating. Otto Hightower makes no effort to hide his disgust, and he looks at you as if his eyes could throw daggers at you.

“Don’t mind them” he whispers to you “They just…”

“Hate me” you finish for him, accepting the fact.

“They… It’s just complicated”

“I am the whore who lies with my boss for his money.” You say the words that his family thinks but never say out loud. 

“You are not… You are more than that” he says softly. 

You walk behind him, as he goes to greet them. You always follow him everywhere, most of the time. You take care of the tiny details of his work life that he didn't care about. Learning names in meetings, learning the interest of the people to help him. Reminding him of his busy schedule.

“Aemond” his mother greets him, a kiss on both sides of his cheeks.

You two becoming closer was just natural, you’d told your friends. You two were single, and you spent more time with him than in your own home. And otherwise. 

It was not long ago when his sister and brother found out about you two, and so his mother knew naturally, and so did his father, grandfather, half sister… It scared you to death.

Alicent had talked to you about quitting, how easier it would be than a scandal. You never could realise if she was saying this from the goodness of her heart or to keep you away from his prestigious son. 

Otto Hightower was more direct, as he presented you with a letter of dismissal, which Aemond had to defend you. It was embarrassing, but you just… liked him, to endure his odd family.

“Hello, miss” Alicent says, and Otto greets you as well. You force a smile, and nod a quick greeting to her. “They are all waiting for you” she murmurs, and looks at him. “Your father has come for this, as well”

“Ah” he says, you can see how his mouth turns down in disgust. 

“It is well prepared” Otto adds “It is fine work. If your project is approved, those months in Yi Ti will be all for you” 

You look at your hands at the reminder. You won’t be going along, and it was a bit odd. On purpose, if even. But you have never said it outloud, less to Aemond, because it was truly an amazing project.

 “If you could bring me a glass of water…?” He asks you, and you nod. 

You walk to the presentation table, looking at the people around, chatting and greeting, no one really watches you. You take some of the bottles and pour it down in a glass for him, walking to the door, as you almost stumble against Alicent and Otto. 

“I wanted to thank you” Alicent says, and you stop a bit confused, looking at her. “He wouldn’t have done it so smoothly. You two do a great teamwork” 

It is half a compliment, you guess. She is trying, at least to be cordial. “Thank you”

You are quick to escape, and you watch Aemond at the door waiting for you. He doesn't seem too nervous, he never reveals his feelings so easily.

“Thank you” he says, in a softer voice. Drinking a bit of water, leaning out to see the people inside “I’ll remember those names you said. Any particular… thing you recommend me to say?”

You look at him, and say “Well, a greeting is much more welcomed than just starting speaking.” He looks back at you, and he nods softly “And look at them in the eyes”

“It is them who don’t see me in the eye.” He says trying to be funny.

“I am serious” your lips curl up, and add “Don’t be nervous. No one here knows more about it than you. And try not to fight” 

“You know me too well, for my disgrace” he says smiling. “How do you feel about that great bonus in your next check?” He asks slightly amused.

“Feels like the Gods have take mercy on my soul” 

You move to take a little lint on his shoulder, dangerously close in public. He isn’t one for public displays of affection, less with you. 

Perhaps that’s why his mother and family disapproved more than if you two were something. You were his secretary, and him your boss. Not partners, no compromise. 

It makes you anxious, sometimes. How could you even ask him? Not that he would take advantage of his power position over you. It wasn’t about asking your boss what exactly you two were. It was about asking him, Aemond Targaryen, what he truly felt about you. 

You could find another job, but you couldn’t find another him, another Aemond. 

“You’ll do fine. I made sure there is water, and those mint sweets” you tell him. “The control of the presentation is ready, and there are no cables for you to stumble on. The table is seated so your blind spot doesn’t face the public. It is rotated so you can read the presentation as well, so don’t worry.” 

Aemond looks at you, looking inside for a moment before wrapping one arm around your body, pulling you both out of sight as he leans to kiss you passionately, for a few seconds.

You kiss him back, if anything a bit surprised about his bold action. As he pulls away, he is quick to recomposture himself, and smirk. 

“I don’t have lipstick on?” 

“No…”

“Good” he says with a smirk. “Go and take a seat. You have earned it” 

With that, he walks inside. You blink, a bit flustered and surprised. When you look inside, you see Alicent Hightower watching you, all tense up, sitting next to her husband, who is talking to Rhaenyra. She saw you. 

You were about to be sick. You turn around as a gag comes out of you, covering your mouth, yet you don’t feel the disgusting feeling of something coming up your throat. Perhaps because you have not eaten anything today.

You try to act normally, as you walk to sit at the side of the window, looking at the cars in the street passing by, as you hear how the conference is to start. 

“Where is he, again?” 

 “Probably Yi Ti right now” you say, sitting on the kitchen counter as Amanda prepares the lasagna. 

“And he got funds for this? Like his rich family couldn’t just… allow him to borrow money?”

“Doesn’t work like that” you say amused. 

“Ha. I know” Amanda says, chuckling. She was one of your ex coworkers, and you used to have lunch with her everyday, before she quit for a better job. “How is he?”

“In what sense?” you ask, looking at your margarita yet you haven’t drink any of it yet, too occupied in the chatting.

“Happy, I mean. I don’t think I have ever seen him… Happy. Or smile. Have you?”

“Yeah” you say smiling at how silly that question is. “Duh.” You say rolling your eyes. 

Amanda turns on the furnace as she waits for it to get a bit hot before putting the lasagna, and she looks at you. 

“And did his family was there? His mum? The Alicent Hightower?”

“All of them. Viserys, Alicent, Otto, even Rhaenyra. Helaena went for moral support” you say chuckling. 

“And what about the mistress?” she asks, raising an eyebrow, and you roll your eyes.

“Alys Rivers?” You ask her. “I think she was there…”

You try to shrug it off, but it boils your blood the thought of her. More with her story with Aemond, how intimate they had been. It makes you gag.

“Oh, it burns you from the inside!” She giggles, and she places the lasagna inside the oven. “Is the Margarita good? I haven’t tried it…” she asks, moving across the kitchen to take a sip. 

“I will try it…” you say, moving your straw around, and you are hit by the hard scent of alcohol.

“It is good for a drink bought in the supermarket, you know? I waited for…”

“I am going to throw up” you say standing up from the seat, as you make your way to the bathroom of her house.

Aemond has been gone for maybe two weeks at this point, and you keep on gagging at smells, of any disgusting kind. There were only four things you relished on; the smell of the mints that Aemond liked, gasoline, hot dogs and coffee. 

Throwing up is not nice; the first time is because of the sickness, and the rest is purely out of disgust for the vomit. 

You wash your mouth, and try not to leave her bathroom with the scent. Once you come back, you see that Jasper, her fianceé, has arrived.

“Are you okay?” Amanda asks, as she walks over to you. “You love Margaritas, are you not sick? Oh! Is that restaurant where you went with Aemond to the triumph meal?” 

He made you accompany him, with his family and associates, to a dinner that his grandsire organised, in an expensive restaurant, after the triumph of having his project accepted and founded. You vomited all the food at night, probably because of the lobster. 

“It was over two weeks ago” you say, shaking your head. “I always get sick when I am about to get my period. Being irregular has its disadvantages ” 

“Oh, I get that feeling” she chuckles, going back to the kitchen as her finaceé is drinking her margarita.

You stand still for a few moments, and you realise the possibility. Probably the reality, as you had all the symptoms... it made total sense, and you stood frozen as you realised.

You were pregnant.

It is two months later when Aemond comes back. Half of his project has been completed, a total success. But his business in Yi Ti was more than done, and the oriental atmosphere was too much for a Westerosi man like him. 

He was not surprised with your resignation letter as he came back to the office, which was why you wouldn’t answer any of his texts or calls. Three weeks into his journey, he got your resignation letter, accepted by his grandsire, which only needed his signature. 

He called, and called. And nothing. You probably ghosted him, and he called Helaena to check on you. He didn’t trust his mother or grandsire. 

According to his sister, you just needed to let go of some things of the past as you realised you had more ambitions than being a secretary. 

On Friday, he is in your apartment. The building was old, and it had barely four floors, and you lived at the end of it. He has stayed in your apartment once or twice, but mostly he just passed when he dropped you off.

Luckily, he comes at the time where the old lady of the first floor is getting inside with all the supermarket bags.

“Let me help you” Aemond says as the lady is struggling between managing the heavy bags and opening the door. 

“Oh, thank you, young lad” the woman says, as he takes all the bags from her arms. He enters first, and waits for her to walk, very slowly.

The woman opens the second glass door to enter the building, and she stops at the mailbox, checking for her apartment number.

“You want me to grab yours too?” The sweet lady asks, and Aemond hesitates.

“Uh, sure. Thank you” he says, and in the silence he realises he has to say the number “41” he remembers the number of your apartment, and the lady grabs the mail for today. 

They make an exchange, where he leaves the bags in her house, and she gives him the mail. She is sweet and Aemond has a smile as he has to go all the way up to the fifth floor. 

He is not one to spy, but you have a lot of mail. Mostly about some subscriptions you made, he is curious to see if you have anything from your new job. 

He stops, mid stairs as he watches the pink envelope.  A woman’s choice. 

He hesitates a bit, before he pulls out his phone. He remembers that. Helaena and Rhaenyra both made a contribution for that clinic, didn’t they? It was the woman’s building of the hospital in Visenya’s Hill. He walks slowly upstairs, he is midway the third floor, as he walks up slowly. 

He searches for the name of the clinic, and he hates how bad the signal is. He sees the three dots moving, loading the page slowly. 

His stomach drops as he reads. Pregnancy termination clinic.

He doesn’t understand anything. 

He stands frozen, with phone on one hand as he holds the envelope behind. His mind is racing. He knows you are not subscribed to it just because. He hasn’t heard in months about you, and he doesn’t know what to conclude about this information. 

It feels an eternity before he knocks on your door. Once. Twice. Nothing.

He doesn’t hear the wood crack under your weight. It was painfully obvious when someone stepped on it, he remembers one time when he dropped you at your house, drunk, and you both laughed at how silly it sounded at every step you both took. 

He missed you, he realises. Scratch that. He knew that he missed you, but not that much for his heart to ache like that at the memory. He misses you. He feels incomplete. 

You open the door, obviously expecting anyone but him. 

You are wearing a black hoodie, using a face mask, probably orange scented. You always made sure to be well looking  in the sense that you took care of your appearance. 

You look different. He blinks slowly, as he looks at you, frozen in his place. He isn’t normally so stiff, he is usually more straightforward, a man of business. 

“Aem– Mr. Targaryen” you say, a bit surprised. The way you refer to him stings.“You are back. To what I owe the pleasure?” 

It is at the same time that you realise that he was holding your mail, as his eye trails down to your hidden stomach. Your clothes are too big to realise, which only makes him more confused, and suspicious. He can’t see anything to confirm, but it is unusual, you don't like to wear these kinds of clothes.

“You… quit” he says, dumbfounded.

“Yes. Nothing personal” you say tapping your fingers on the door. You were anxious. “I am sorry if it came at a bad time.”

He looks at you, as the lie comes naturally to you. 

“Can I come in?” 

Your place is a bit messier. He knows something is up. You move your hands to take off that stupid face mask, and your face is all shiny from it.

“I am not really… I was not expecting… visitors”

He was more than a visitor, and you knew it. You missed him. He looks as handsome as you remembered. You didn’t go to the airport, but you kissed him farewell in his office. 

“Are you… pregnant?” 

You blink at your boss. At your something. At your baby daddy. At Aemond Targaryen.

He can see the little panic in your eyes, and he lets a scared sigh. He covers his mouth as he looks at the side.

“I should have been with you” he says regretfully, and his heart feels at the floor. “I was away, and you…. You should have been so…” he doesn’t know if it is useful to say it, it was probably traumatic to you. “Forgive me. If there is anything…”

You hear his heartbroken words, still holding the door as you blink. “ thank you…” 

“We are still a team” he says, looking at you. “We… we always had been. I would have dropped everything to be with you at that moment” 

He looks at you, so calm and collected. He feels like losing his mind, and he feels pure guilt. He wants to ask you. Why didn’t you tell him? Why didn’t you? He knows it is selfish to ask, but it was also his mistake. He would have helped you, held your hand and all of it. He would have been prepared, read about it, to comfort you in the grief, all of it.

“And forgive me for… spying on your mail, I just wanted to see if you had a new job…” he says, extending the mail, embarrassed and vulnerable. You have never seen him like this, it is almost scary.

You take the mail, and you see the pink envelope first, among the white ones. It was atop, and you looked at him.

“Maybe you should get inside” you say, moving to let him in. 

He sits on the couch, and you sit by his side. The silence was crushing, and so you speak.

“I should have told you..”

“I understand-”

“Let me speak” you say, and he shuts up. He looks at you, and you keep talking. “I… I didn’t get an abortion, Aemond” you say softly, looking at him, at how his expression changes, trying to get the words in. 

“What?”

“I just… It was an option. I was… I was scared. I am still, a bit. But… I want this baby” you admit softly, not looking directly at him, as you so shyly admit your feelings to him.

He is confused. “You… You didn’t?”

“No…”

He leans back on the couch, breathing hard at the realisation. He might faint, he has gone through many emotions in little time.

“So you are…”

“Still pregnant. Very much” you confirm, and he lets out a sigh. “And… you are the father”

Aemond bites his lips on the inside of his mouth, and he looks at the ceiling, passing a hand over his face. 

“Oh” 

“Yeah…” you say, at how stiff he is. “Three months and a half.” 

As you stand to grab your wallet, he thinks. Three months and a half back, it was probably the time when he had so much work left, that he fucked you in his office. Or was it the time where you two fucked over the cabin? 

“Here” you say showing him the ecography picture. 

In the middle of the black part of the ecography, he could see the curled up little figure. He looks at it, as if it would disappear if he moved his gaze away. It is wonderfully diminutive, yet it fills him with pride, seeing something so little that makes him feel so many things. 

He missed it. It was the most important ultrasound, and he missed it. He wasn’t there to hold your hand either, when you took all the exams to determine any genetic syndrome. He should have been, right at your side, to be part of it as well.

“It is… wonderful” he says, with a small chuckle. “You think, I could… get a copy?”

It is the subtle confirmation that you didn’t expect. He wanted this, as you did. You never talked about having kids, less so when you were never anything serious. 

“Keep it” you say softly. “I already took like hundreds of copies, you can keep it.” 

It is a surprise that he sobs, and he looks at the image. 

“You… Oh, gods..” he says, feeling utterly hopeless as he watches the little paper. He is going to be a dad, it was so… odd. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have left..”

“I didn’t either” you say. 

He looks at the image, he doesn’t even cry on purpose, just some tears falling naturally. His thumb moves to caress the paper, as if it was a soothe for him and the baby.

“You quit, how are you… affording all of…?” He makes a gesture. Everything, he wants to say, but he doesn’t want to be invasive.

“I have a part time job at a friend’s coffee shop.” You say with a nod “And a fair bit of savings” 

He looks at you, shaking his head as he feels his tears dry. He was thinking so many things. He is going to be a dad. He has not contributed anything. He has to take care of you. And the baby. He has to help you. He was going to be a dad.

“you shouldn’t have quit. It was a stable, good paid job, and the office has great maternity leaves.” 

“And would they give me more months because my boss is my baby daddy?” You ask, not from malice, but he bites his lip.

“They told you to quit, didn’t they?”

“Nobody told me” you assure him.

“They paid you.” 

“They didn’t. I wouldn’t have accepted it”

“Why didn’t you tell me, then?” He asks, almost heartbroken.

You look at him, nervous, and you don’t dare to look him in the eye. “I did the maths, Aemond. You didn’t seem the type to… you know. Compromise” 

He looks at you. It was right. He wasn’t one to show his emotions. It was probably the first time someone saw him cry, since he was like twelve, and he always made sure to keep a distance between him and the rest.

“I am not.” He says softly, looking at the image, and he sighs. “But… you and I are a family” he says, licking his lips. “and we will always be a family, with… them” he adds, pointing with a tilt to the ecography.

It is a haunting truth, that you knew. You’ll always be bound to Aemond. A scary thought. 

“We will. But I want to know, what are we?” You finally ask him. Decisively, you need to know. 

“You have my body and soul” He admits softly, and he bites his lip. “Both of you. I am committed to you two…, always. Always, of course. There is no one else I want, that I choose.”

You truly don’t know how or when you end up in his lap, kissing softly as he holds you on it. It is different from his dominant demeanour. 

He is almost rewarding you with caresses and kisses, holding you gently. He would do anything you ask him to, and he is so afraid to lose you two. He almost did, both of you, and he doesn’t want it to happen ever. 

He holds you as if you were fragile, and to this moment you are; he holds both of his most precious things, and you carry his baby.

“I am not going to break” you say against his mouth, pressing a little tighter. “I need you” you add, your hot breath on his mouth as his hands presses in your back.

“I need you too” he admits, as he accommodates on the sofa to hold you. “Here or on the bed?” 

“Wherever…”

The bed it is.

He held you all the way there, which was not a long way either, but it is good to be in your bedroom, where it smells like you, and some strange mint scent that reminds him of the mints he eats.

“Look at you, baby” he says as he takes off your clothes, eagerly, and desperate. “So beautiful as always, dripping wet for me” he says, and you blush slightly from his compliments. “aren’t you?”

“yes. i am”

“how am i even going to go on with my work when you are not there to indulge me a bit?” He asks, as he is the one to desperately take off his clothes, as you lean against the pillows, watching him. “When the idea of leaning you on my desk was enough to make me finish all of it quickly, and call you to my office.” 

He accommodates behind you, both of you laying as he kisses your shoulder, and then your nape, and leaves soft love bites, not meant to last long.

“But now you’ll just wait for me at home, hm? In my own bed, all for me” he says and you search his lips and share a sloppy, messy and wet kiss, needy and primal. 

You missed him. You needed him. 

The pregnancy hormones drove you insane. And missing Aemond was something your little babe was sure to make you feel it at all times. 

“Yes, yes, I need you inside” you feel his hand, moving to wrap your waist, and he moves behind you, holding your leg with his other hand. 

He cannot wait to see you heavily pregnant. You have a little belly, which is adorable. He supposes that, as he was, the baby will be small too. 

But he craves for when you’ll need his help to do anything. And he’ll delight himself in it.

“you missed me?”

“So much” you turn your head, for your arm to be around his neck. It is probably a twisted position, but he is not one to complain. 

His lips capture yours as his cock finally slides into you, you moan against his mouth, and his grip on your body tightens a bit. He is going insane.

He is ruthless at every thrust he gives you, and you surely are more tender at each movement of his cock in your pussy. The time apart, or your hormones, he didn’t care, as he immerses himself in pleasure. 

“So big” you moan against his mouth, and his hot breath hits your mouth as well. “I love it”

“I love you too” he says, his face nuzzling your cheek as he doesn’t think too much about what he just said, and just focuses on the way your cunt clenched around him, warm and soaked, a very warm welcome.

He holds you as precious as you were to him, but firmly, tightly. His hips swing as his cock moved and makes it’s way in your pussy, the little way his cock throbs inside, leaking the precum inside. 

“You already marked me. Everyone will know that i am yours– so fucking yours…”

The thought makes him moan. He always loved that, making you go out of his office full of hickeys and love bites, sending you back to your desk all flustered and shaky.

“Hm, you love that, don’t you? They can’t fuck you like I do” he adds smugly, as he presses open mouthed kisses on your neck.

You moan as his fingers search your clit, and are quick to find it, and he groans at how receptive you have become.

“I’ll fuck you so hard, baby. So, so hard” he promises, for the future. For now, he just needs you. “Such a good girl. Always a good girl” 

The way you squirm, and your whimpers drive him into release as well. Your legs always do that thing that he knows very fondly, they shake and your muscles tense up when you are cumming, in a very certain way. It is almost always the same, and he has grew to find it endearing, everytime he fucks you he waits for that moment. 

He thinks he is much simpler, he holds you closer to him, as if forcing you to remain there, as his balls tighten and he cocks throbs before cumming deep inside. He lets out a loud groan, rolling his eye back as he holds you. 

The way you two remain naked, yet laying together it is something he never does usually. With you, a few times. He always tends to you, and made sure you were relaxed. But you never did pillowtalk after it, you usually were exhausted and he was tired too. 

“You know what? It is almost unfair” he says, moving to search his pants.

“Oh?” You ask curiously, as your eyes follow his frame. You don't get what he means exactly, but you wait for him to elaborate.

“I brought you a present. Well, I brought two things–” he finds it in his pocket and extends it to you, and you smile upon the realisation.

“oh, Aemond…” you say looking at the bracelet, and you smile at him. “It must have been… so expensive”

“It is your favourite colour” He points out “Isn't it?”

You nod, as he moves to leave it in your nightstand, just to pull you closer to him. 

“You have given me more… expensive gift” he adds, moving to your side again, and he wraps his arm around your waist, leaving one of his hand to rest atop of your belly, firm and growing. “Thank you”

You see the gratitude in his eye, and you smile softly. “Well, to be fair it is a product of very extensive teamwork…”  

“It truly is, hm?” He asks, smiling as he moves to your side again. “We truly do make an remarkable team”

[togenabi]

things I won't tell you

vinsmoke sanji (opla) x princess!reader

♡—the new royal chef doesn't seem to recognize you without your crown. who's going to tell him? . . . certainly not you.

word count♡— 7.3k (cries)

genre♡— fluff, royal chef x princess au

content notes♡— opla sanji, afab!reader is a princess, reader wears dresses, reader has siblings (oc's), sanji made me google fancy food, mentions of zeff, sanji gets jealous if you squint, no use of y/n, proofread (but only a little)

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— this is detached from any canon, its basically just a big chunk of sanji fluff. please enjoy!

You've never really dreamed for yourself. You had always just let life fall into place around you.

The kingdom is prospering, entering a new age of commerce. Artists, craftsmen, and inventors sail seas just to be part of it.

Your sister Chrysanth is a wise queen, as you always knew she would be. She’s fair and just, always knowing what’s best for her people.

On the other hand, your brother August is Captain of the Royal Guard. He’s an excellent swordsman, who has yet to be beaten ever since he took command.

As for you, the youngest of the three, you have no idea what you’re doing.

The most likely outcome would be for you to be married off to settle some political arrangement. Unpleasant as it sounds, you would have agreed to it for the sake of the kingdom.

But the moment you said so, Chrysanth gave you a look unbecoming of a queen and immediately shut it down.

“Look,” She gestured to the view outside. “Does that seem like a kingdom who needs help to you? I work my butt off precisely so that we won’t have to depend on anyone else.”

“Besides,” She adds, “if anyone wants your hand, they should fight to the death for it.”

And so, for now, you work for your sister. Helping manage general affairs and the kingdom’s business agreements—even though she could easily hire someone else.

“I love that you insist on working,” Your brother told you once. “You could have been a socialite, but you’re here with us, serving the people.”

Of course you are. Because even though you didn’t necessarily plan it, you are proud and committed to your work. You’re happy with your own, mundane accomplishments.

Or at least that’s what you try to remember when you glance at the tall pile of documents on your desk. You’ll relish the satisfaction that will come when it’s gone.

The candle beside you burns low, flame becoming dimmer and dimmer as the hour grows late. You should probably replace that. Pulling open your drawer, your eyes scan its contents for a candle.

You’re fresh out of the tall ones that fit in the candleholder, but you have one sculpted like a cinnamon bun—a gift from August a few birthdays ago. It’s not exactly the best for illuminating your work, but something makes you strike a match and light it still.

It smells like freshly baked cinnamon rolls, you can’t help but inhale the decadent scent deeply.

The aroma triggers an embarrassing grumble from your stomach. You feel your ears burn despite the fact that no one else is around to have heard it. Perhaps a midnight snack is in order.

Unexpectedly, light seeps through the gap beneath the large wooden double doors to the kitchen. In all your years, you’ve never encountered anyone in the kitchen at two in the morning.

Normally, you wouldn’t want to disturb them. Knowing the chefs, they would likely fuss over you and put whatever they were doing on hold.

But you fear that your stomach will disagree with that, so you decide to knock and enter the kitchen anyway.

There’s only one chef inside—a tall, blond man with his back to you. You don’t think you recognize him. He must be one of the new hires.

When he hears your footsteps on the stone tiles, he turns around.

His expression, at first, is curious. But after a beat, his mouth curves into a charming grin that catches you completely off guard.

“Hello there, miss.” He nods in greeting, eyes alight with a look that no one usually dares when it comes to you.

“I’d be happy to fix up something for you if there’s anything you’re… craving.”

When you expected the chef to fuss over you, this isn’t what you meant.

Your first instinct is to look at his surroundings for alcohol. Perhaps he’s intoxicated and not in his right mind?

But the (sober) chef seems to have mistaken your silence for bashfulness, because he presses you further, “Trust me. I may be new around here, but I know my stuff.”

Unsure how to respond to his blatant (or insolent, your sister would say) behavior, you try to gently decline his offer.

“It’s alright,” You say, still uncertain about him. “I was only going to make a sandwich and be on my way.”

“Nonsense!” He insists. “If you’re hungry at this hour, it means you’ve been busy working too hard.”

He approaches the pantry, retrieving one too many things for a mere sandwich. Your concern grows when he grabs garlic, several leafy vegetables, and a lemon.

“You, my dear,” He points at you with, is that a cucumber? “—deserve a proper treat.”

You sigh, it looks like he doesn’t intend to back down. Maybe you should just let him do what he wants and see if he can back up all the talk. Pulling one of the chairs from beneath the kitchen island, you take a seat as you observe the flirtatious chef.

At least he seems to be enjoying himself. His hands work with the kind of precision that only comes from years of experience; and he smiles proudly when he sees you watching.

“I meant what I said, I’m a damn good cook.” He’s begun chopping the vegetables. “My name’s Sanji, by the way.”

The question now is whether or not you properly introduce yourself. It's difficult to deny that you enjoy his attention. The casual and relaxed manner he addresses you with is… a nice kind of different. When else are you going to experience that if you let this go?

Alright. For tonight, you're not a princess. You're someone who stumbled upon a chef—a handsome one, it dawns on you. This is a chance encounter in the palace kitchens. And, you glance over at the dressing and ingredients he prepared, why should you turn down good food?

You decide to only give him your name. It feels strange introducing yourself without your title, but you don't tell him that.

“It makes sense that your name is as captivating as you are.” Sanji's voice is smooth, easygoing as he moves around the kitchen.

Nothing about his demeanor changes. Either he really doesn't know anything about this country's royalty, or he's skillfully controlled his reaction and is hiding that he knows.

There's also a third possibility: that you look so haggard and tired that you simply do not appear royal anymore.

Subconsciously, you look at your typical office clothes… Maybe you should go on that fitting the royal stylist has been pestering you about.

On the topic of style, however, your companion has unusual attire for a chef. He’s wearing a buttoned shirt with a necktie. His black slacks match the suit jacket draped over one of the chairs.

Your attention is diverted when Sanji begins rolling up his sleeves. He juices the lemon he had sliced in half, arms flexing as he twists the fruit.

Clearing your throat, you ask him a question to distract yourself. “What are you making?”

He smiles as if he’s glad you asked. “A dish that suits a beauty like you, of course.”

Several minutes later, he presents you with a sandwich. The slices of bread are whole wheat; the layers of ingredients between them are all in varying shades of green.

“A green goddess sandwich, made with care for the goddess in front of me.” Sanji pushes the plate towards you. 

It's easy to stay composed despite the flattery because your hunger makes you focus on the food. “It really does look excellent.” You compliment earnestly.

He gestures to the plate before placing his hands in his pockets. “Tastes excellent too, try it.” Shaking your head at how confident he’s being, you pick up the sandwich.

It might just be the best sandwich you’ve ever had in your life. The flavors are fresh, and you catch the hints of lemon blending with the dressing. The bread is soft, contrasting with the crunch of the cucumbers and sprouts.

You're completely surprised, and it must be obvious based on how Sanji reacts. He lets out an adorable, pleased laugh that makes you want to hear it again.

“I knew you’d like it, ma chèrie.” Sanji reaches a hand towards your face. Your heart just about stops when he brushes his thumb to wipe at the corner of your mouth. His eyes look so intense, like you'll drown in them if you stare too much. 

It feels as if your face could burst into flames at any second, so you turn away to hide your flush.

As Sanji grabs you a glass of water, you ask him if he’s eaten. “I did, but it’s nice that you’re worried about me.” He answers. You almost choke on your drink.

Once you've finished your meal, you stand then grab your empty plate and glass. But Sanji mirrors you, blocking the way to the sink. Why must a chef have such broad shoulders?

He shakes his head, trying to get the dishes from you. “Can’t let you do that, love.”

“Why not?” You frown, pulling your arms back so he doesn’t reach them.

“It’s late. You shouldn’t be working any more—”

“But you’re allowed to?” You look up at him defiantly.

Sanji stares at you. You stare back. There's a few seconds of silence before you sprint the other way, running around the kitchen island to get to a different sink.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Sanji yells after you.

You’re almost there, but Sanji catches up to you easily. Before you know it, he’s blocking the way again and you curse, remembering his long legs.

“Sanji, let me do the dishes.” You plead, but he’s as stubborn as it gets.

“The knives I used need to be washed anyway, and I’m not about to let your pretty hands do that.” Sanji winks, and you give up. He pries the dishes from your hands.

Seeing your shoulders slump disappointedly, he offers you a compromise. “If you really want, you could throw the rubbish in the bin and wipe down the counters.” Okay, you can do that.

“Are you sure this is the only way I can repay you?” You ask, grabbing a washcloth to begin cleaning up.

“That’s plenty of help, my dear.” Sanji answers.

But after a moment, he seems to have gotten an idea. Your brows raise in curiosity as you question him, “What?”

“...I was just wondering,” He begins, looking at you with that flirtatious glint in his eye. “Since we had such a wonderful time tonight, would you be willing to join me again?”

“That depends,” You press your lips together to suppress the smile blooming on your lips. “Will you cook for me again?”

Sanji laughs, throwing his head back. “Darling, that’s a given.”

He gazes at you while he dries his hands. There’s a grin on his face as he asks, like he already knows your answer. He probably does. He’s probably right.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Even though you got back to your chambers at an ungodly hour in the morning, you woke up feeling the most refreshed you’ve ever been. There’s a spring in your step as you get ready for the day, and you pick clothes that are slightly more dressy than your usual attire. Sanji shouldn’t be able to notice that you dressed up for him, right?

But your sister does. 

Seated at the head of the table, Chrysanth stops eating to analyze your clothes the instant you show up to the dining hall for breakfast.

You could practically hear the gears in her head turning. Avoiding her gaze, you bow to greet her before taking your seat, “Good morning.”

The queen only smiles at you knowingly, eyes still flickering over you with enraptured excitement. Very much unlike a queen, however, she kicks your shin underneath the table.

“Ow!” You yelp.

“So…” She lets the syllable drag on. “Who’s the guy?”

You focus on piling food onto your plate, choosing to ignore her. “What guy?”

“Your guy.” She says, giddy. “Is he your guy yet?”

“Hm?” Is your only response. Breakfast looks lovely. Should you ask for coffee or tea today?

Chrysanth kicks you again.

“Hey!” You rub the skin to dull the pain. “Stop that!”

“Stop avoiding the question!” She persists, waving a hand to gesture at your clothes. “You only wear that skirt when you want to impress someone.”

Mentally cursing her for knowing you too well, you continue to act nonchalant.

“Really, it’s nothing.” You try to clarify. “I just thought that it would be a nice change.”

She doesn't believe it. Not one bit of it. Thankfully though, she drops the topic. Your shoulders relax as the discussion switches to work-related ones. She’s telling you about her plans to approve a restaurant in the museum when your brother joins you for breakfast.

Once he’s seated, August takes one look at you before tilting his head. “Who’s the guy?”

Chrysanth looks far too smug and triumphant than you’d like. You bury your face in your hands. Would Sanji also tease you if he knew?

The rest of the day is uneventful, the only change to your typical work day being that you avoid your siblings like the plague. You have lunch brought to your office and skip on dinner.

Sanji had already started cooking by the time you got to the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind,” He says. Of course you don’t, whatever it is smells amazing. “I thought I’d start early so you wouldn’t have to wait too long.”

“Thank you for going through the trouble.” You say, glancing at the ingredients he had laid out: there are crushed tomatoes on the counter. Pasta simmers in a pot on the stove. You recognize the tubed shapes with ridges surrounding them.

“Rigatoni?” You ask, turning to the chef.

Sanji nods, “With a simple, creamy tomato sauce. Nothing too extravagant, but still specially made for you.” 

He puts the pasta into two bowls, grating parmesan cheese on top. Your mouth waters.

“Here you are, darling.” It pleases you more than you thought it would when Sanji sits across from you to eat as well.

There’s something homey and yet luscious about the taste. He really outdid himself. “It’s delicious, Sanji.”

“I live to please.” Sanji says before standing to retrieve two wine glasses and a bottle of red. “Zweigelt.” He says as he pours for you both. “Juicy and fresh, with just the right amount of acidity.”

You almost swoon at the rasp in his voice. You never realized someone could be so attractive when talking about wine.

As he clinks his glass with yours, you think to yourself that this might be your favorite dish from him. However, true to his word, he surpasses your expectations every time.

After a few weeks, on your sixth (or is it seventh?) time meeting Sanji past midnight, you've reached the point where you're able to open up to each other beyond the pleasantries that come with the food.

He tells you about his dream of traveling the seas in search for the best ingredients the world has to offer. You admit how you sometimes feel like life is just taking you along with the current—that you’ve never had a burning, passionate dream to aspire to.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” Sanji hums contemplatively. “There aren’t any deadlines when it comes to finding dreams.”

“I do worry that you’re working yourself to the bone, though.” He adds, and for once, his smile looks different somehow. It’s a fond, gentle smile that’s sweeter than the macarons he made for you.

“What do you mean?” You take a sip of water.

“While I'm flattered you enjoy my food so well, do you eat properly? Shouldn't the palace be treating you better?” This time, you actually choke on your drink.

Could it get more embarrassing than this? Your ears burn as you cough, trying to clear your throat and settle your heart.

“Breathe, love." Sanji, ever the gentleman, is next to you in a flash of a second. He pats your back gently and supportively. “I'm sorry if I startled you.”

“It's alright—and, I do eat,” Your voice comes out raspy. “It's just that I don't usually have an appetite for dinner.”

“But that leaves you hungry for a midnight snack?” Sanji asks, a knowing expression on his face as he refills your glass.

“Exactly.” You smile. Thankfully, your throat has calmed down. Picking up a vanilla-flavored macaron, you savor the taste that melts sweetly on your tongue. Returning to his chair across from you, Sanji watches you eat happily. 

“I take pride in my desserts, but that chocolatier in Belltower street… The sweets are just—out of this world, I tell you.” He looks so excited as he talks, eyes aglow and gestures animated. “The chocolates are handmade and everything. I'm sure you've heard of it?”

“Um…” Hesitating, you certainly remember issuing a business permit for a chocolatier; but you can’t say you’ve gone there yourself.

Sanji’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Surely you’re pulling my leg. You haven’t been?”

“...”

He observes you quietly, like he's considering what to do next. There have been instances when Sanji stays quiet, doesn't eat, and only watches you chew. The times where he insists that he's content with seeing you eating well. Those were awkward at first, but you learned that was just part of spending time with him. Your reaction was a reward on its own.

But this isn't like that. Something feels oddly different in the way he seems to be gathering his composure. The silence almost worries you, but thankfully he breaks it first.

“You’ve saved me the trouble of thinking of a place to take you to.” Laughing, Sanji practically glows in elation. “You’ll love it, I promise.”

You had a peculiar sense that you would’ve loved going anywhere, as long as you were with him. 

Feeling bold, you suggest, “I’m free this Saturday if that’s good for you?”

He gives you that soft, enamoured look again. Something makes you hold your breath, your fingers tingle and the entire rest of the world slows down. You’re almost certain you’re giving him the same look.

“Even if I wasn’t, love, I would have gone to you anyway.”

The next day, a Thursday, your brother unexpectedly knocks on your office door.

“Hey,” You smile. “Is something wrong?” 

It’s rare for August to look for you in the middle of the day. If either of you need to speak, it’s usually you who heads into the training grounds to talk to him. The other way around occurring is curious.

“I wanted to invite you to watch the knights train this Saturday.” He says coolly. “It would boost their morale if you spoke a few words.”

The commander goes on to speak, not catching that you’ve short circuited somewhat, trying to rack your brain for a valid excuse to decline him.

“And maybe, you could pick out a personal knight like I’ve been telling you.” August prompts. “You really should—”

When he pauses, squinting his eyes at you suspiciously, you suddenly recall why you stopped trying to hide anything from him. 

“You already have plans.” He says, face carefully blank.

“Yes.” Thank goodness he understood. But wait, his eyes are widening. Why is he making that face? Why is he looking at you like he just figured out—

“You have a date.” Darn it all.

August is bewildered, not knowing what to do with the information he put together. He awkwardly brushes his fingers through his hair.

“...Is he a good guy, at least?” He settles with, asking carefully in that concerned way he does when he looks out for you.

Biting your lip, you nod. “He seems to be, so far.”

“Okay.” August responds. “Does Chrysanth know?”

“It’s nothing serious.” Yet. Yet? Do you want it to be? “You’re the first I’ve told.”

A worrying thought suddenly pops in your mind. Your turn to him, distressed. “Please don’t tell her yet, August.”

“Why?” His frown deepens, like he’s about to ask more questions. Unfortunately for him, you decide you’ve had enough talking about Sanji to your brother for today.

“Aren’t you busy?” You grab his arm, guiding him out of your office. “Don’t you have training to get to?”

“I do, but—why can't Chrysanth know?” You open the door for him and try to push him out, but August plants his feet; still trying to figure you out. He doesn’t budge an inch.

But then he makes that face again. That annoying ‘aha!’ face.

“You really need to go, good luck with training! Tell the knights I said hi—” You manage to shove him out with all your strength, but at the last second before you close the door, August turns around again.

“He’s a commoner, isn’t he?” You slam the door at his face. 

It doesn't matter. Sanji's status will never matter to you. Not when he's holding your hand so sweetly while he guides you through the winding streets of the city. You recognize some shops by name, knowing who owns what and when they established their business. But Sanji knows these streets, and he's more than happy to show you.

“Ah, one moment, my dear.” Sanji pulls you towards a quaint little cart overflowing with flowers. He flicks a coin to the vendor, eyes scanning all the vibrant colors and bursting petals. 

Somehow, without you needing to tell him, he picks one in your favorite color. You're starting to feel like that's just part of being with Sanji—that he knows what you want, and knows what you need before you do.

The flower is soon tucked into your hair, behind your ear. His fingers linger on the side of your face—and normally, you'd break eye contact and shy away. Maybe let out a halfhearted excuse that you should continue on your way. But you don't.

You smile back at him, not bothering to hide the genuine happiness you feel. And when Sanji pulls back, you're already holding out your hand before he reaches for it. There’s something in his eyes. Something that makes you feel like you're walking on air when he tugs you along again.

As planned, Sanji takes you to the chocolatier he told you about. The building is small, tucked between larger shops in the middle of a busy street, but there’s no doubting the quality of their confections.

The elderly chef behind the counter greets Sanji like a grandson she hasn’t seen in forever. She ushers him in, enthusiastically pointing to this and that, saying she moved some furniture around as he suggested.

“It looks perfect, grand-mère.” Sanji smiles, taking in the beautiful glass display. Chocolates of every flavor cover the shelves from end to end.

Grand-mère’s eyes light up when she sees you. She casts an approving look at Sanji, “I like this one. She might even be too good for you.”

“That’s because she is.” Sanji laughs, and you pretend to browse the menu while they talk.

“No need for that, ma chèrie.” The menu is plucked from your hands. Sanji sets it aside, pointing instead to where grand-mère is behind the counter. She's wrapping up a box of chocolates that she hands to you.

“No need to pay, dear.” She smiles, patting your hand. “If he ever gives you trouble, let me know.”

Sanji whisks you away through the streets again. You've never been this far into the city before. Looking back at the path you've taken and not recognizing any of it, you know you’d be absolutely lost without Sanji by your side.

“Almost there.” He tells you, pointing to a cobbled path that inclines upwards. 

What meets you at the top of the path is a small clearing. A stunning tree with blossoms on its branches stands at the center. Flowers and petals flutter away and fall onto the iron bench beneath it.

“Sanji, this is lovely...” You trail off, letting go of his hand to catch a flower into your palms. The flower twirls delicately between your fingers before you turn back to Sanji, tucking the blossom into the pocket of his suit.

Sanji takes your hand before you can pull away, bending down to press a kiss to your knuckles. 

“Not nearly as lovely as you.”

The two of you spent hours under that tree, sharing chocolates and stories—feeling like this is how things are supposed to be. Not necessarily the flowers, or the chocolates, or even the sun setting beautifully in so many warm colors.

Just Sanji. With you, next to you. 

All at once, it sinks in that he could be the dream you've been waiting for. But you don't tell him that.

Being enlightened on your feelings for Sanji becomes a second thought, however, when you’re swamped with work the following week.

“Don’t these people ever get tired?” Chrysanth groans, leaning back on her chair. “Why is planning a festival so hard?”

You approach her desk and place another stack of documents onto it. The numerous piles are getting concerning.

She scowls at the papers, then scowls at you. “Don’t you ever get tired?”

“Of course I do.” You tap a stack of documents to her left. “The guest list for the ball needs to be approved by tonight so we can send invitations out.” She groans again, but picks up the list anyway.

You’re unable to see Sanji as often as you’d like, but you both promised to meet once a week. Even if it’s only for a few short heartbeats together.

You dearly miss him. You think about him as you hand Chrysanth menu plans for the ball. If he saw it, he’d say that he could come up with something better.

She glances at the menu, studying it. Or at least, that’s what you thought she was doing—until her next words proved you wrong.

“So, how are you and that chef doing?”

Your heart isn’t in your chest anymore. It sank down, deep into the depths of the earth. It also must have taken all the air in the room along with it. How did she—

“August?” You blurt out.

Chrysanth shakes her head, “Zeff.” Oh no. Sanji’s boss knows? Does Sanji know that you’re—

“According to Zeff,” She proceeds, cutting off your thoughts. “One of his subordinates has been cooking a lot of personal meals over the last few weeks.”

“I can explain—” But your sister holds up a hand. Your mouth snaps shut.

She calls your name, and then you realize how serious her tone is. “Are you familiar with the kitchen’s rules when it comes to using ingredients and supplies for personal use?”

“...I’m afraid I'm not.” You didn’t know the kitchen had any such rules… but surely Sanji does. Your voice stutters, “I, did—is he in trouble?”

“He isn’t.” She answers, though her expression is still grave. “But I think that you should be aware of how much he’s doing for you.”

Chrysanth opens a drawer to retrieve a list of kitchen rules. Reading it over, everything is standard and straight to the point. You find the answer to your confusion towards the end, a small, nondescript bullet that reads:

All staff must reimburse the cost of all ingredients used for any reason outside of official duties.

“He must know who I am, then.” You say, feeling relieved that he didn’t break some sort of impossible rule. “He wouldn’t have done so much for me if he didn’t.”

Your sister purses her lips, letting the silence linger for a second before responding, “He doesn’t know, love.” She hands you another document. “He’s been paying back every cent out of pocket.”

Tracing over the timestamps and the different ingredients listed, you stare at an outline of your time with Sanji. It’s nice to reminisce, but you can’t help but wince whenever you spot something particularly pricey. What on earth are you to do with this man?

“Zeff recognized your name when he asked Sanji who he was cooking for.” Chrysanth explains. “He didn’t tell him, but he came to me and requested for Sanji to be repaid.”

“Since anything served to me counts as official duties of a royal chef.” You piece together. 

“Exactly.” Chrysanth nods. “However, doing that would expose your title to him. Which is why I wanted to speak to you about this first… You should tell him.”

“I know.” Letting out a deep sigh, you agree. Sanji deserves to know more than anything. Nevertheless, the thought of him changing how he treats you—or worse, leaving—because of your status, frightens you to your core. 

“I’ll talk to him tonight.” You say, but your sister’s expression slowly changes. What did she plan this time?

“Or maybe, you could put the kitchen dates on pause and tell him in a few weeks.” Surprisingly, she hands you an invitation to the ball.

“I can’t bring Sanji as my date.” No matter how much you wish you could.

“Are you sure about that?” Chrysanth is unable to contain her grin. “Open it!”

‘…you are cordially invited to the spring masquerade ball.’

You gasp, “You turned it into a masquerade?”

“Yes, I did. You won’t believe how much convincing it took for the ministers to agree.” She rolls her eyes, but then her smile returns. “Don’t waste my hard work and have fun with your man, littlest sister.”

You laugh, not expecting this outcome after all that. “I love you, even if you made me go through so much emotional turmoil for fun.” She cackles.

“Of course I had to make you sweat after what you put me through.” Chrysanth scoffs, “I can’t believe I had to hear about your love life from Zeff, of all people.”

“Ah,” She says, remembering something. “Speaking of, why’d you guess August first earlier?”

“...”

“...Did you tell him before me?” She gasps. “How could you! Give that invite back!”

“I didn’t think you’d approve.” You admit shyly. “He’s a commoner.”

“If he treats you well—which, he obviously does—I could care less about all that.” Chrysanth reaches for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Only those stuck up ministers will react negatively, I’m sure. We can deal with them easily enough.”

When she lets you go, she abruptly adds, “He better be cute though.”

That sends you laughing again. “Oh, Chrysanth, he’s the cutest!”

He certainly is. Especially when he sees you and grins, opening his arms wide in expectation. You fall into his embrace when you’re near enough.

Sanji takes your hand and places it on his arm, leading you away from the kitchens.

“Some of the others are still in there planning for the ball.” He explains. “It seems preparations are keeping us both busy.”

Sanji takes you to the greenhouse, which you’ve never seen at night before. Various patches of vegetables and shrubs line the space. There are trees and flowers towards the back too. It feels like a secret hideout, being here with Sanji. 

“I miss spending more time with you, love.” He whispers.

“Me too.” Your heart melts thinking about how much he gave for you. You wish you had the courage to tell him the truth now, while he’s looking at you like you put up the stars in the sky, but you can’t. You’re not ready yet.

Reaching your hands up, you caress his face gently, brushing your thumb across his cheek. He places his hands over yours, keeping them there. 

Sanji closes his eyes to savor the moment, and you let him. You two stay like that, your hands becoming enveloped in so much of Sanji you feel like you could recognize him with your eyes closed, with a single touch.

There’s a certain familiarity to him at this point. You would probably have some difficulty adjusting back to life without him in it. He’s so familiar that you could probably draw him. He makes you want to try.

“...I was just wondering,” You say with a knowing glint in your eye. Does he remember those words when he said them to you that first night? “We’ve been working hard for this ball, wouldn’t it be a shame not to enjoy it together?”

You give him the invitation, and he throws his head back laughing. You send him a confused look, but it all becomes clear when he pulls out an identical invitation from his jacket.

“Ah, how brilliant you are, mamour.” Sanji embraces you again, and you bask in how perfect it feels to tuck your head into the curve of his neck.

“It will be easy to find you even with a mask.” You murmur into his skin. He shivers. “You’re so goddamn tall it’s not fair.”

“I’m not too worried about you finding you, either.” Sanji begins to sway slowly with you still in his arms. It makes your heart skip a beat. You can’t wait to dance with him.

“Are you confident you’ll find me first, then?” You ask, adjusting your hold around his middle to snuggle in better.

“I’m not sure about being first,” He ponders. “But I’ll be sure it’s you when I find you.”

The greenhouse became your new meeting place while the palace was buzzing to prepare for the ball. You could only meet for a few minutes, but you treasured the time you shared just the same. 

Once, Sanji tried to feed you one of the expensive fruits growing there, but you declined, making up an excuse that you were allergic. He had looked at you strangely, but didn’t press you further.

You couldn’t find the time to see Sanji the week of the ball at all. Your time was spent welcoming foreign dignitaries, discussing business and trade. You and your sister had a marvelous time shutting down a marriage proposal from some duke from the north.

It amazes you how much you’ve changed since meeting Sanji. Had the duke asked before you met him, you probably would have considered it seriously. Whereas now, your standard is far too high. The man you choose must be able to get to your heart by cooking you the best food in the kingdom and all the seas. 

You’re glowing by the time you finish getting ready for the masquerade. The dress you chose is in your favorite color, with the skirt twirling dreamily when you turn. 

Chrysanth permitted you to enter the ballroom a few minutes late to avoid a royal entrance. You use the time to compose what you want to say to Sanji when you tell him the truth.

‘I’m a princess, and I think I might love you’, is that a lot to say? You sigh, smoothing your hands over your dress.

The clock on the wall chimes. It’s been fifteen minutes since the ball officially started. You put on your mask, tying the ribbon behind your head to secure it.

After one last glance at yourself in the mirror, you head to the ballroom—looking much more collected than you actually feel.

Maybe you shouldn’t have bragged to Sanji that you would find him easily, because you don’t.

You were mistaken when you thought all you’d had to do was look for a tall, blond man with a blue mask. (Sanji’s mask is surely going to be blue. He wouldn’t consider any other color. You bet your foot on it.) It’s unnerving how many people fit that description tonight.

You even find your brother before you find Sanji. August is dressed in surprisingly simple, all black attire. He looks more like a gentleman than a commander, lacking all those sparkly medals he’s usually required to wear at events.

“Where’s your date?” August asks, ducking his head slightly so that you can hear him over the crowd. “Chrysanth bragged about setting you two up.”

“I haven’t found him yet.” You answer dispiritedly. “I thought it would be easy.” 

August looks around, and you know that if he knew what Sanji looked like, he would be able to track him down in a flash. You’re about to ask what you should do when August suddenly bows, extending a hand to you.

“May I have this dance, fair lady?” He asks in a fake pretentious accent that instantly makes you laugh.

It would be nice to say yes, but you desperately want Sanji to be your first dance. August would understand. 

But you aren’t able to decline, someone else beats you to it.

“I’m afraid her first dance is spoken for.” Sanji’s voice reaches your ears and suddenly the room is brighter than it was.

You almost gasp, elated that he found you. Were it not for that frown on his face, you would have voiced out your joy.

August and Sanji stare each other down. Neither of them say anything, but it’s clear that their first impressions of each other aren’t the most pleasant. Not liking the hostility you’re sensing is building, you tug at Sanji’s hand. 

Your brother’s eyes soften at that, and he bows again, this time to say goodbye. “I’ll see you later then.”

You watch August go, and Sanji grumbles something you don’t catch under his breath. You'll have to properly introduce them at some point, but worrying about their relationship can wait. You really must cheer up this grump who thought he was going to miss your first dance.

“Dance with me, stranger?” Intertwining your fingers together, you smile and take in how handsome he looks. His suit is still black, but there are several accents in dark blue—the same color as his mask.

The deep navy color makes his eyes look almost crystalline, and you recognize why you love him so immensely when he smiles.

“I would be honored.”

Sanji is more graceful than you expected. His movements are controlled and precise, never moving too fast and always making sure you’re falling into step beside him.

He’s proven, once again, that he can surpass your every expectation. Sanji spins you around, catching you by your waist and grinning before sweeping you off your feet again.

By the end of it, you’re left breathless due to far too many reasons, and they all involve him.

You had tried bringing Sanji to a romantic spot; maybe a balcony, or somewhere by a fountain in the gardens—but it seems that a lot of other people had the same idea.

Everywhere was crowded, but you suppose where you ended up is romantic in its own way. With the sky being cloudless tonight, you could see every star twinkling away through the greenhouse’s glass roof. 

Let the stars bear witness to you pouring out your heart to this man.

“Sanji…” You start, mentally preparing yourself.

“Yes, ma chèrie?” Sanji tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear, you have his complete attention.

“There are things I must tell you.” You swallow the lump in your throat, not brave enough to look him in the eye yet; though you grip his hands tightly in yours.

Sanji waits. He doesn’t complain that you might be holding onto him too tightly, or nag at you for taking too long to put your words together.

When you finally look up to meet his eyes, you find the strength to breathe it out, “...I’m a princess.”

There’s this moment again, when you hold your breath and wait for his reaction; like when you first told him your name. Suddenly, it feels like you’re in the kitchen eating sandwiches with him again.

And, just as it did back then, his reaction surprises you.

His expression barely changes, the only difference being the barely-there furrow of his brows in concern. 

“I know, love.” He says.

“What?!” You drop his hands in shock. “Since when?”

Sanji blinks. “Since the moment we met.”

“But, I—why did you pay everything back? Why didn’t you ever mention it?”

His eyes widen, “Ah, is that why you wouldn’t eat anything from me these past few weeks? I knew you couldn’t be allergic to pineberries.” 

“Sanji, answer the question.” You pout, and he rubs your arms in an attempt to soothe you.

It’s Sanji’s turn to compose himself, you notice. He looks like he wants for your time together to stay lighthearted, when the thoughts in his mind are far from it.

“You didn’t want to talk about your duties, so I never asked.” Sanji shrugs, but you can see him getting nervous. 

“As for reimbursing the ingredients, I suppose I was worried that… you wouldn’t think of our time together dearly if I was just another chef on your staff.” 

Your heart shudders when he lets out a shaky breath. Oh Sanji.

“But that’s the truth isn’t it? I am, and yet I—” He pauses, eyes searching yours desperately. “If I didn’t pay for it, I would be admitting that a chef was all I’d ever be to you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off. “I don’t regret it. I would make the same choice if I had to.” Through the mask, you can see his resolve, but his hands shake as he holds you.

“I didn’t expect to feel this strongly about you.” Sanji continues, “You’re just so lovely, making me feel like I could take on the world for you.”

With your hands quivering the slightest bit, you pull at the ribbon behind your head. Your mask clatters to the floor. Raising your hands towards him, you push his mask up until it’s off, revealing the face of the man who has completely enamoured you; body and soul and all.

You think back to how the colors lit him up beautifully, that one sunset you shared under that blossoming tree. And now, he’s still just as beautiful, in this greenhouse under the moon and the stars. 

You love him all the same as you did then and every moment before. With the weight from keeping secrets gone from your chest, you finally let yourself admit it out loud.

“I love you, Sanji.” You confess. “I’ll go with you, if you’ll take on the world.” You try to say it calmly, but tears build up in your eyes. “You mean so much to me. You’re my dream.”

Sanji inches you closer, wrapping one arm around your waist while his other hand cradles the back of your head. “I love you too. More than you could possibly imagine.”

You quip back at him while wrapping your arms around his neck, “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Sanji leans in the same moment you do, lips meeting in a passionate kiss that sends sparks running through every inch of your being. He pulls you impossibly tighter against him, strong hands caressing your back and holding firm at your waist. Your fingers rake through his hair, touching him to make sure he’s real. He’s here. He loves you. He knew. He always knew.

That night, you realized that your favorite taste from Sanji is his lips on yours. But, once again, he won’t hear you tell him that.

…

Sanji first saw you when a ceremony was held to welcome the new palace staff.

Everyone’s attention had been on your sister, the queen. Understandably so, but his eyes always strayed back to you. You looked gorgeous, wearing a stunning dress perfect for a princess as yourself. A cape draped tastefully down your back. And your crown sparkled brightly under the sun; but try as it might, it couldn’t be as dazzling as you.

Sanji was drawn to you instantly, and he thought he would go on with his life never understanding why.

That is, until you walked into the kitchen at two in the morning to make a sandwich.

It would have been impossible for him to not recognize you. Regular office clothes or not, something was different in the way you carried yourself. It was difficult to miss.

Other people would have thought you appeared mundane. And yet, Sanji found you the most beautiful then.

Because you let yourself smile more when you don't wear your crown. 

But he won’t tell you that.

© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added to my taglist ♡

tags: @songsofadelaide-archive @amitydoodlez @sweetexistentialism @writingmysanity @hotchocolattee @dimplewonie @hearts4zoro @kenkenmaaa @ay0nha @watercolorskyy @holymusicalmothman @appalost

author's note (yes, again)♡— sooo, what do we think about sworn knight!zoro x princess!reader ? 👀

[rizsu]

"i fucking give up," satoru complains, throwing himself on your bed.

"get off my bed?" you complain, throwing the chips at him.

not only was he uninvited, he also messed up your freshly made bed with clean sheets. surely he isn't going to force you into a therapist, right..?

"don't tell me what to do," he speaks, voice muffled as he's face down on the bed, "it's your fault i'm like this anyway."

you pay no mind to him, tossing your phone onto the bed before you go to the bathroom.

"yeah, yeah. i'm the big bad wolf."

satoru turns his head to face your direction. the side of his face's squished, enhancing his pout. ever since he had that dream he's been like this. it's always some fucking dream and never something that happens in real life. to say he's tired is a severe understatement and just disrespectful.

technically, this entire ordeal is his fault — but technically, you're the one who's at major fault! it's not his fault he caught feelings for you which was against the conditions you laid out. it's also not his fault you're exactly his type. totally not his fault you care for him in a way that blurs the line between platonic and romantic. yeah, not his fault.

‘friends with benefits my ass,’ he curses in his mind, watching the closed door of your bathroom. ‘what is she doing? it does not take that long to pee.’

soon after you re-enter the room, wiping your hands on your thighs before calculating your precise landing spot as you jump.

location: on top of gojo satoru's back.

action: completed successfully.

"what the fuck," he groans, turning to throw you off his back.

you laugh softly, patting his leg with your foot. "that's what you get."

he glares at you, mocking your words in a childish tone.

a silence settles in, both you of go on to do your own things. satoru fiddling with the rubix cube on your bedside table, and you were switching through apps on your phone.

it's comfortable, being in a moment of silence with another person. there's no forced feeling to start a conversation; just the way you like it. peace, beautiful peace.

"OKAY!"

startled, you looked at satoru with the physical expression of ‘???’

"are you malfunctioning?" your tone's disgusted, so too is your expression.

satoru sits up, "(y/n), i decided."

"decided what?" you reply, mirroring his action.

"remember that dream i've been talking about?"

"yeah?"

"it was about us. so, basically, i fell in love with you and i know you said you don't want any romantic relationships because of the commitment but i couldn't help it after the dream — i want it to be real, i really—"

"take a breather, satoru," you cut him off, placing a hand over his mouth.

maintaining eye contact with him, you slowly removed your hand, "don't rap your words, ‘kay?"

"yeah," he voice goes soft, breaking the eye contact to look at your hand.

"it's true i'm not looking for any commitment, but who knows? maybe i want you the way you want me," you shrugged.

satoru doesn't replicate your nonchalance. in fact, his jaw dropped approximately thirty degrees down! slamming his hand down on the bed, he leans forward.

"please, please don't be rational right now. thy must listen thee heart, not thou mind," he speaks, pretending that he said a ground-breaking philosophy quote.

"what's with the old english? anyway, i'll try to not be rational."

‘he's nervous,’ you think, noting his habit of biting the skin off his lip.

"don't do that," your arm extends to his face, using your thumb to pull his lip out his teeth. "you'll bruise your lip."

the action causes him to groan, throwing his head back.

"oh fuck you, (y/n). just kiss me if you're gonna do that," he complains, pouting at you.

"if you say so," shrugging again, you pull him down to you, initiating the kiss first.

like he said, you won't be rational. you'll save the regrets or whatever for tomorrow.

[wolvietxt]

★ comforting bucky after a stressful day

(roughly 800 words, also i’m trying to write a little more for bucky, hope that’s ok☹️)

the door creaked open, and you glanced up from your book, instantly noticing the tension in bucky’s posture as he stepped inside. his shoulders were rigid, and there was a tightness in his jaw that told you everything you needed to know - today hadn’t been easy for him.

he didn’t say anything, just quietly hung his jacket on the hook by the door, his movements precise and controlled, the way they always were when he was trying to keep it together. the weight of the day was still heavy on his mind, you could tell, and the silence between you felt charged with unspoken frustration.

“hey, baby.” you said softly, setting your book down. “rough day?”

he let out a small grunt, his only response as he headed toward the kitchen, probably to busy himself with something - anything - to distract himself. bucky didn’t usually talk about his feelings right away. it wasn’t really his strong suit. but that didn’t mean he didn’t need you.

after a few minutes, you stood and followed him, finding him leaning against the counter, staring down at the floor. “you wanna talk about it?” you offered gently, already knowing what the answer would be.

“no,” he muttered, not looking up. “nothing to talk about.”

you leaned against the counter next to him, close but not touching. he’d come to you when he was ready; you just had to give him space. “well, i’m here if you change your mind.”

for a moment, it seemed like he wasn’t going to respond. but then, with a quiet sigh, he pushed off the counter and turned to you, his blue eyes meeting yours. “it was just… one of those days, y’know?” he said, his voice low. “too much noise, too many people.” he uttered, shrugging it off.

you nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. bucky never did well with chaos - he preferred control, order, and quiet. days that pushed him out of that comfort zone wore on him in a way most people couldn’t see, but you did. you always did.

“c’mere,” you said softly, opening your arms to him. at first, he hesitated, his pride and need for independence making him pause. but then, after a beat, he stepped into your embrace, wrapping his arms around you, resting his chin on the top of your head.

he wasn’t usually one for big displays of affection, but in moments like these, when everything felt like it was closing in on him, he let himself rely on you. the weight of him against you was grounding, and you could feel the tension in his body start to ease, little by little, as he held you close.

“it’s okay to need this,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest. “you don’t always have to carry everything on your own.”

he didn’t say anything, but his grip tightened slightly, and you knew that was his way of agreeing. he didn’t always have the words, but you didn’t need them. just being there, being his quiet place to land, was enough.

after a while, he pulled back just enough to look down at you, his brow furrowed but softer now, like the storm inside him had started to calm. “you’re good at this,” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek.

“at what?” you asked, a small smile playing on your lips.

“making me feel like everything’s gonna be okay.” his voice was quiet, but there was a warmth in it that made your chest tighten.

“that’s because it is, baby.” you replied, leaning into his touch. “even on days like this, you’ve got me, and i’m not going anywhere.”

he didn’t respond right away, just studied you with that intense gaze of his, like he was trying to commit every detail of your face to memory. then, with a small sigh, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment longer than usual. it was his way of saying thank you without actually saying the words.

“you wanna watch a movie?” you suggested, sensing that he needed something simple, something familiar to wind down.

he nodded, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “yeah… that sounds good.”

the two of you made your way to the couch, and bucky settled in beside you, his arm draped lazily over your shoulders as you started the movie. he didn’t say much throughout the film, but every now and then, he’d shift a little closer, his body relaxing into yours more and more as the minutes passed.

by the time the credits rolled, he was fully reclined, his head resting against your shoulder, eyes half-closed, a contented sigh escaping his lips. you ran your fingers gently through his hair, feeling the last of the day’s stress melt away from him.

“feel better?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“yeah,” he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion. “thanks, doll.”

“anytime, james,” you replied, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

he didn’t respond, but the way his hand found yours, his fingers threading through yours as he drifted off to sleep, said everything.

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[jolapeno]

5. pepper red

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter five of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 2.5k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] SMUT. p in v. dirty talk/mutual appreciation. minor competency. frankie is pretty, thick and sexy. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. you wear a date outfit but not specified. no use of y/n. an: if this was a sitcom episode, it wouldn't be allowed to be aired and also, i passed my exam, wahoo.

prev chapter | series masterlist

For some reason, it doesn’t surprise you that his bedroom is forest green. Or, that it’s accented by strong whites and similar dark woods as the living room. All earthy tones, him.

In the same way, it doesn’t surprise you that his skin is soft, all smooth as your fingers brush over his skin when you lift his t-shirt from his frame.

Because he looks as good as he did in those videos you’d watched over and over. Getting the chance to see if the silver scars were tricks of the light or stories he hadn’t shared. Your fingers discovered it was the latter.

“God, you look good, Frankie.”

He snorts, before sliding a thumb under your jaw, forcing you to confront big, doe brown eyes. Ones that you’d fall into if you could, especially as they pause, stare from one eye to the next, likely to see if there’s a lie there—a slither of untruth to your confession.

There isn’t.

A thing you ensure sits at the forefront, a silent plea for him to believe you. You suppose he must do when his mouth slides back over yours. Tongue pressing at your lower lip, seeking entry that you happily allow.

You lose yourself in it, him. How good it feels to have his lips on yours again. To have the added feel of purposeful and intentional fingers taking their sweet time to slide your outfit from you.

Because his hands trail over as much as they can. Doing so as though he’s busy carving a memory of you in his mind, making you real. A thing you won’t admit you’re doing too, too busy committing the way he feels, as you run your hands across his shoulders. Feel the expanse of them, the width, wondering—as his tongue swirls a shape on your neck—if yoga will really help you fit his broadness between your thighs.

Frankie must notice you’re drifting, thinking, because his mouth finds yours. A thing which cements you to the moment. Kissing you slowly, deliberately—a hint of mint amongst the drink he’d provided and you smirk, smiling against him.

Because he’s eaten a TicTac.

It mixes, fighting to refresh as though you hadn’t eaten and consumed the same fast food. But the act, the way his lips slide against yours, makes that joke melt as quickly as it appeared, because he’s completing his mission: the one to leave you breathless.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you choose to pull him closer, deepening the kiss. Tongue sliding back behind his teeth as a soft moan escapes him; swallowed by your own as his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. The feel of him, hard and ready against you sends a thrill of anticipation darting through you.

It’s easy, simple, to allow the rhythm of your bodies to become a language all of its own. A two-way conversation being sketched out and written in sighs and moans, punctuated by the occasional gasp. A symphony of desire.

And then you make things shift. Change the tempo when your hand descends between the two of you. Feeling him, grasping his cock, taking note of the way he inhales at the feel of your fingers. For a moment, his mouth hovers over yours—both open, just breathing. His palms flat to your side—as you hold him, feel his cock twitch in your hand. Moving, slowly—almost torturously, but it’s actually with precision.

He’s so hard, thick. Your fingers tighten their hold, wrist moving more, palm sliding up and down as you taste the way he says fuck.

“Bed,” he groans, almost through gritted teeth.

Smirking, you bite his lower lip. Light. Not piercing or enough to leave an indent. “In a minute.”

And it leaves his tongue again. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, baby.

All you can think about is how good he sounds, looks—feels. His head tipped back, neck elongated—lips parting as each expletive lasts longer than the four letters that make it up. It’s cliché to say it’s never been like this, but a truth that personal isn’t always easy to confess.

“Not waited to do this right with you to come before you have, Rainy.”

His fingers, those calloused ones attached to those hard-working hands, wrap around your wrist. Light, but determined.

“Oh, Butterscotch,” you tease, mouth close to his. “You been thinking about this?”

He smirks, just as he clasps his other hand to your side—tugging, yanking you flush. Feeling him, all of him, as you’re guided, moved, backs of your legs meeting the well-made bed you’re about to mess up and ruin.

“Since the moment I heard you laugh.”

Your body falls back, the sheets cool, smooth, pressing against your bare spine, before his body comes up—caging you. Nudging your thighs apart with his knee.

“Just kept thinking, bet you make other pretty noises too.”

Lips parting, you knot your fingers in the curls at the base of his neck, letting his lips slide into his cheek. That dimple appearing. The one which tries to hide under wiry hair and shyness, but is deeper than ever now, nothing held back or hidden.

And you can’t help but watch, completely transfixed by the light from the lamp he'd flicked on. The one lighting up his face, making him appear golden, ethereal. Able to discern each of the shades that make up his eyes, the flecks within them, the different browns that make a colour you dream and think of constantly, but you’re not sure has any other name than Frankie.

“Can I touch you, baby?”

You find you can only nod.

Words failing, falling, simply replaced by a gasp as he slides them between your partly spread thighs—feeling it, how wet you are. How slick and desperate you are to have him. A mess, all for him, by him. It likely ruined the underwear you’d left on his floor and dampened the sheets under you.

“This all for me?”

The rasp of his voice only makes you ache more for him. Hips desperate to shift so his fingers do more than trace and tease, but plunge and curl.

“Yes,” you moan.

It's like he knows you. A thought that bubbles and bursts when your fingers grasp at his sheets, his two fingers feel so much different than your own; Than the toys you own that are shoved in protective bags inside your sock drawer. His seek, aiming to find that spot inside you, stretches you, making your toes curl and your knuckles ache from how tight they hold the sheets.

And he’s talking. A sea of things that you half-catch and miss the rest. That you look good, feel good, that he wants to watch you come apart before he even thinks about giving you his cock.

Words almost leave your mouth, but you’re barely present.

More electric than person; more liquid than solid. So fucking close already you can feel the tremors in your thighs from not rutting yourself against his hand when the base of his palm presses flat to your swollen nerves.

“Fuck, Frankie—”

“Do you like it when I talk, baby?” his voice becomes an anchor. Keeping you here, not allowing you to float too far as you nod, crinkled pillows sounding as you do. “I think you do. I think you like hearing how hard you make me, how much I think about you in this bedroom, in the shower—at work—“

You’re arching. Barely clinging to the present as your feet flatten to root you, to grip to reality as your ears ring and pleasure does more thrum, but builds and builds—all compressing, hot, closer to liquid fire.

“—look at me, baby.”

And you do.

Lids flipping open as you’re met with nothing but desire, lust and need. It pushes you, suddenly freefalling. Your throat aching, scratched with the syllables of his name as you dig fingers into his curls and curl your body as much against him as possible as he works you through it. Him coaxing, mouth on your collarbone as he licks and lathes as you moan, and pant.

It’s then you look at him again.

Bathed in a sandy glow, sweat peppered on his chest, glinting and glittering as you find his eyes on you, taking you in as you catch your breath.

He’s so handsome, beautiful. In a way that ruined you before, that made you think of nothing but him, which now devastates you—in a way you only want him to do over and over.

It’s easier to kiss him than say it.

To trace the words over his mouth as he hums, as the vibration tickles across your lips before you’re manoeuvring him. Only paused in doing so as he dragged his lips down your neck, the sound of a drawer opening, closing, hearing a wrapper crinkle.

It’s a blink and you’ll miss it moment when your hand snatches it from him, placing it between your teeth, trying as they do so easily in movies to lightly rip it over with your teeth. You struggle. Suddenly nervous about piercing it, mind in overdrive because what—

"Easy, baby. I've got it," he growls into your ear, taking it from you, opening it more with ease than you'd managed.

And it makes you crash your mouth back to his. Etching more things to his mouth, smudging them over his tongue. How much you want this, want him.

It’s why you’re grateful that Frankie moves with ease until he’s on his back and you’re on top of him. A hand finds a home on your back, once the empty wrapper is discarded, fingers spreading out, flowing warmth into your bones. Then the other begins aiding, lining himself up as the head presses against your opening.

When you take as much of him as you can, fingers soothing your hip at the stretch, the hiss drawn from your lips at the light sting, before your forehead meets his. It's a moment before you move again. His words are there, guiding, before the room is flooded with a moan that's unearthed from your soul. One that is almost smothered in his own, a groan that makes heat flood your ears and a smile grace your mouth.

“So good for me, feel so good—“

“Can take more,” you interrupt, breathless. Slowly moving again, lifting up before sliding back down his cock—walls welcoming him, stretching, taking him to the hilt. “Y’feel good, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you roll your hips slowly, torturously if anything. Still sensitive. Little gasps escape as you begin to find a rhythm, one that makes his teeth bite down on his lip.

Taking his hand, pulling it to your breast, wrapping around it as he cups it—as his groan stains the air between the two of you—you draw an O with your hips, feel that heat in your stomach.

“I like your hands, Frankie.”

A line appears, deep between his two brows. A look of shock, surprise—awe—spreads over his face like a sunny day suddenly appearing in a storm. Before, it’s slipping away, hiding, wriggling away to some depth of him you wish to call back.

“I like your voice, your smile—fuck, oh my god—and-and I like your thighs, and your…”

You continue, babbling, rambling as his hands find your hips, steadying, moving you, thrusting up into you as little spots appear in your vision, as your own voice becomes distant and easily forgettable.

But the look on his face is anything but the latter.

He’s spellbound, utterly captivated—appearing as though if his mind was a camera, he’d have filled up several memory cards with what he was trying to capture.

And it feels good.

A wanting so bad that it almost makes you snap there and then, more so as the head of his cock kisses that part of you once again, a whine coated in both a gasp and a moan—

“Put your hands on the headboard, baby.”

And you do, assisted by him moving you with him sheathed inside of you before palm after palm is placed. The fabric underneath is soft, almost like velvet—leaving marks of your touch behind in its wake as you feel his mouth on the underside of your breast.

“You look good like this,” he continues, mouth pressing kisses to your skin, “But then, you always do.”

Your eyes snap to his, finding nothing but hunger paddling in brown. You don't fight the heat that flares out to the last few places pleasure hasn’t touched. Where only compliments and adoration can kiss and warm.

Then he says your name.

Not baby, not Rainy, but the one you’d handed him in that paint aisle and set yourself on a course for unravelling. A thing you don’t regret, but rather wish had happened sooner.

Your name rasped in that deep way that echoes through the room long after the last letter is spoken, digging deep into your soul as it unlocks something. It makes every sound amplified; the rustle of sheets, the creak of the bed, the sound of skin meeting skin.

“Let me hear you, baby,” cuts through, slicing,

And you do.

Your whine shifts into a sob, almost choking on it as it snaps—as pleasure rips through you and drowns you in waves. There’s nothing but white, a much louder ringer, and the distant knowledge that you’re spraying his name across the room as your hips stutter and he thrusts up into you, twitching, fucking breathless from it.

His hands, large and holding tight, keep you rooted—slowly hearing him groaning, grunting, low hisses of your name and how good you feel tight around his cock.

His fingers dig into your skin when he follows you. When his eyes clench, and his mouth parts around your name, lighting it up, making it seem as special as he makes you feel.

You collapse fully against him, thighs still shaking, little tremors in your muscles as your fingers brush back his damp curls from his forehead. A smile easy to find, to let slide over your mouth as you kiss him.

The light from the lamp drapes over you—still sticky, a mess between your thighs as you kiss him again, bodies flush. More gentle, a light lick across his bottom lip as you feel him grin, hands roaming over your body, tracing the curve of your waist, the slope of your back

He murmurs your name, palm sliding up your cheek, tip of his nose brushing against yours. “Should clean you up.”

“Hmm…”

His thumb swipes, hearing him swallow as your eyes open and find his already on you. “Don’t go.”

"To clean up?"

"Tonight."

Biting your lip, you try to fight it—less a smile and more a grin. “Okay. I won’t.”

And his lips capture yours once more. A thing you relax into—easily. Just like you keep finding so effortless to do with him.

next chapter ->

[heizours]

YOUR FIRST

summary. he overhears a conversation about who was your first favourite character in the game, and they grow jealous about it

tags. gn! reader, grammatical mistakes may occur

cw. none as far as i have check

feat. scaramouche, thoma, childe, xiao, dottore

< back to event m.list

INTRO.

"Who was my first favourite character during the early days I was playing it?" You repeated the same question that your friend was asking you.

"Precisely! C'mon, I'm sure there is someone who had really caught your attention the moment they entered a quest you were playing or something like that."

They responded back, as they waited eagerly yet patiently for you to tell them, while you were busy thinking and reflecting back on who it was.

Little do you know, that they are not only one who's itching to know your big revelation.

If the doors have eyes, then the walls or perhaps the screens have ears as well.

"Well, I'd say that the first character who caught my attention and became my favourite in a short span of time is-"

SCARAMOUCHE.

"-Childe! 

Scaramouche acts like he is not deeply affected by it and acts like it wasn't a big deal to him, but the expressions that were painted on his face betrayed the best of him.

Why are you smiling when Childe's the topic?

What did he do to make you joyous like this?

But... if he is the first character you like, is it now a liked?

There is this some sort of uneasy feeling that continues to brew and swirl inside of him the very moment your face had brighten up at the mention of the harbinger's name, and he has no idea how to stop it and why was he feeling it in the first place.

Is this another emotion that a heart can experience and learn, from time to time? What was it called again?

Ah yes, jealousy.

Scaramouche suddenly scoffs at the realization, finding it hard to believe that he would feel the bitterness of what enviousness is like sooner than he had anticipated, and the primary cause that triggered it was none other than that side character.

Childe? Cool and Captivating? Please, you haven't even seen how he could be a million times better than him.

"You mean to tell me that I'm simply getting worked up all for this? Why should I be bothered over it, when I could be a whole lot better than him? Heh"

THOMA.

-Itto! 

Thoma rarely taste the medicine of jealousy but seeing that look on your face when you rambled on about the oni, somehow snapped him into his senses. He felt the need to grab your attention from the screen to tell you that he is here too, and maybe - just maybe you could switch your favours around. 

I'm not jealous...being one is simply irrational

Maybe — I am a little bit jealous

Alright, I am jealous...

While he would be in denial at first with the jealousy he is dealing with, he would still come to the generalization that he is indeed jealous, and if he will have to cope up with it, he would put back on his smiley facade, only this time something about his smile is a little unpleasing, that even Itto himself will not dare to breathe around him.

But, instead of continuing to bottle up his jealousy and act petty like the others, he would understand why you favour the oni and would put that first before his feelings.

Don't be fooled though, compliment him too while you're at it!

“Oh...I didn’t know they like him. It sounds very surprising coming from them, but who am I to judge? Well then, has anyone seen Itto? I bet he will be delighted to hear the news!”

CHILDE.

“-Thoma! 

Childe laughs it off - Yes, it’s the laugh that you are thinking right now where he is this close from committing another arson. He is definitely not a second away from taking a trip to Inazuma and is on the go to plan a competition with the housekeeper, because he’s too cool to even to something like that.

I see, another challenger perhaps?

Hmph, what’s the point of challenging him if I know that I am the strongest?

Clear skies Ajax, clear skies

At this point, it is quite clear that he is turning into the embodiment of jealousy due to the amount of assurance that he is telling to himself, not because he is threatened by Thoma but because he is threatened that your favouritism about him will be the reason for his downfall.

He is threatened by the fact that you could easily evict him from your main team and replace him with someone else from another region who is just newly released and is almost a carbon copy as him, if not for the differences of their physical appearances.

It is indeed true that jealousy is a disease, that not even Ajax himself could flee from it.

“Thoma? I have heard of that name, but I also heard that I can excel ten times better at the things he could do. No- I’m not showing off, I am simply describing that I am a way better option than him, that’s it.”

XIAO.

“-Scaramouche! 

Xiao stays the same as he is, or -  that’s what he thinks. Truth to be told, he doesn’t even realize that he is jealous, but as they say - actions speaks louder than words, and the way he is acting right now shows how he is envied by this favouritism topic.

Did I expect too much?

I don’t like this feeling...

Is this what those mortals call as jealousy?

It takes a while for him to accept that he is jealous, but after that whole feeling finally sinks in, well let’s say he is displeased by this realization because by every second, that feeling continues to sink deeper and deeper as if it’s attempting to land in the deepest depth of the ocean. 

But, like Thoma, he is another who tries to get over with it and respects why you favour that character the most. Maybe it’s because you see them in a different light that others can’t, and he understands that.

Everyone has favourites, and he can’t blame you for that because even him has one which is you but he would rather not say it.

"Hm, while I do not fawn over him, I suppose I understand why you like him in the first place. Whatever makes you happy, is simply enough for me to know why."

DOTTORE.

- Alhaitam!

Dottore remains indifferent or so what he assures to himself, because if anyone where to see right through him, displeased is not even used enough to describe how disturb he is by that revelation.  

The Akademiya scribe is what they fawn over the most, hm?

How interesting....

Though, irritating would be the right word for it

His pride is wounded, and what makes it even more worse for him is he is a man of intelligence. So naturally, he is intimidated and threatened that the scribe who is also intelligent but not as him, could be the reason why he can’t turn the favour of you to him.

To get rid of the jealousy that he is feeling, he will dedicate most of his time (like he isn’t in the first place) inside his lab, doing things where only he knows what it is. He is one of the upper rank harbingers and dictated as the doctor for a reason, and the only way he could could get off the steam he is feeling, is to be busy.

While he is ordering around his clones and agents at the same time, any step or news that he gets from them and will be deemed as a failure, will have to face some serious issues from him, especially that Dottore is not in the mood to be in a dilly dally manner.

“Anything I need? Perhaps you can give me a little information about the scribe - take it or leave it. Either way, leaving it is not even an option in the first place.”

[ripleylove]

SFW alphabet ; Rhea Ripley.

pairing: Rhea Ripley x fem reader.

genre: fluff <3

A/N: I miss Rhea. These are my thoughts.

⋆ ˚｡⋆𔓘⭒๋࣭

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Rhea is for sure clingy. Like, she'd be always close to you, holding your hand or wrapping her strong arms around your waist,and she always wants to feel your touch.

I think she loves to show affection through kisses and,more precisely,with sleepy cuddles. Her arm draped over your body carelessly,while her left arm is under your head,serving as a pillow (best pillow ever besides her chest).

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

She would be those kind of friends that are a "ride or die": you and her would do the most stupid and insane things together,all while enjoying each other's company. Also, she'd be your safe place to run to at hard times,her always listening and always giving you advices would always make you feel better and,most importantly,special.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Cuddles with her are MAGNIFICENT!!!! Like,of course she cuddles (and loves to be cuddled) and of course she'd be like a mama bear,cause her strong arms and her big figure would wrap you up like a burrito so perfectly, that you would never want to go out of her arms. Also,she loves to just spend days in bed with you,under the covers,in which the only thing that will be done,is giving and receiving cuddles.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

For sure,Rhea would be the most excited about settling down with you and starting a family: she only wanted you as her girlfriend, wife,and mother of her children. When she would see you playing with little girls and boys,she'd always have major baby fever,with one of her biggest smiles on her face.

To her,cooking and cleaning doesn't feel like any chore at all,if she gets to do it with you. For example, she would be eager to do the dishes with you after lunch or dinner,you would be washing and cleaning and she would be drying and placing the dishes in their respective places.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

If she wanted to break up with you,of course she would talk to you about it. For any reason,for example the distance while going on the road or any lack of communication, she'd always respect the way you think and you would do the same for her.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Rhea,being head over heels for you,would be the most loyal person you've ever met. If someone tries to flirt with her,she'd always shoo them away,because no one could ever get her like you do. If,for example, you would get jealous of her TV relationship with Dominik,she'd do anything it takes to show you that it's all fake and that you're the only one ruling her heart.

She would like to get married 2 or 3 years in the relationship, because she doesn't want to rush things,but if the love you felt for each other was too strong,she'd propose as soon as possible.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

She'd be so so so patient it would make you want to cry. If you struggle with past traumas or anxiety, in the first months of this relationship she would do late night researches on the topic while you were sleeping,reading any tips about panic attacks etc.,so she could help you without feeling helpless.

Physically, she's also very gentle and sweet. After you'd come home late at night,very exhausted, she would remove your jacket and your shoes, before wrapping you in her embrace. I also think she's the type to lay you on the bed, and to massage your sore shoulders,slowly lulling you to sleep.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Oh,as said before,she's THE hugger. Almost a professional hugger,I must say. Head on your shoulders,arms wrapped around your waist,and you caressing her back: that's how she likes it. If she could, she would be attached to you 24/7,because your arms are so warm and so lovely and the list could go on!! Hugging her would feel like heaven, literally. Especially if she'd start to tickle you,that would be literal paradise,but anything she does is heavenly (duh).

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Oh,I think she'd say it in like 2 or 3 weeks. I SAID WHAT I SAID!!!! Because,c'mon,it isn't impossible to fall in love with you and your personality. The way you'd always blush around her,or how you'd always share your food with her,or even the way you'd shily slide you soft hand in hers. She would be head over heels for you,like,I'm not even joking. Also she'd be saying that she loves you every single minute. Over text,with calls, while colliding her lips with yours etc.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Rhea doesn't get jealous easily,because she knows she's yours and you're hers. But,sometimes,you don't even realise that someone is actually talking to you to get you in bed,and often you just mistake that intent for a simple and unhurtful small talk. And this thing happened many times in many places,for example in a a bar. Rhea,ever so caring and attentive,would notice that,and she would come over to you (and the person you're talking with) and put her arm around your waist. "So,baby,where do you wanna go now?"

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

The feeling of her kisses would be like feathers,her plump and soft lips lovingly meeting yours in a passionate and sweet kiss. While kissing,she would hold your cheeks with her rough hands,and you would caress her long hair,sliding your fingers through her black strands. Her favourite places to get kisses are: lips (obviously), neck,hands and head. (although, sometimes you would kiss the tip of her nose,and she would act like she hates it,but she actually loves it).

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Around children,at first she might be anxious, but when you'd help her to hold little babies or when you would join a toddler that was playing with barbies,she would start to warm up to the children. She'd have the preference to newborns and little babies,because she dies from their cuteness,but she also loves toddlers! This whole babies thing started when your bestfriend Mina asked you to babysit her children while she worked,and Rhea joined too. (Now she got a little attached to the babies,but this is a secret).

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

To be honest,mornings with Rhea are different based on her and your mood. If you both are tired,you would stay in bed until afternoon while either sleeping or cuddling while watching any TV series; If you both want to try cooking breakfast, you would try cooking pancakes (which often would come out either burned or raw) or,if you both feel motivated enough,you would even go to the gym with her.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Obviously, she's a night owl. She goes to sleep at least at 2 or 3 AM on a daily basis,and,as much as you try to keep up with her sleeping schedule,you just fall asleep as soon as possible. But,when you would manage to stay awake with her,you would be doing the most random things: playing uno,watching south park together,doing each other's make up... in the end,nights with Rhea are never boring.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Rhea would talk about herself and her past only later in her relationship. During your first date,she would talk about her passions,her likings and her disliking, but she wouldn't go past that. Only when she started fully trusting you,she would talk about her experiences, and about the sad and happy things that happened to her. And you would do the same thing for her,of course.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

As I already said before,she is the most patient person ever. She understands your struggles,and doesn't shame you,instead,she helps you to overcome them. She hardly gets mad at you,but when she does,she doesn't shout or raise her hands,she just closes herself in your shared room to cool off. And,obviously, everything goes back to normal after a good talk <3.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

She would be the human version of a memories box: she would remember any little detail of yours,your favourite color,what you like to do and even your habits. Everytime you tell her something about you,it's like a little drawer in the back of her mind opens,and in there gets stuffed the new information.

She would buy you a purse you told her you've always liked,and you would be surprised. "You remembered?" You would ask,and she would answer: "Obviously! It's the australian memory!"

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Rhea's favourite memory could be when you went to the beach together. You played in the water and even had a swimming competition (that she let you win). Also,you tanned,and while doing this,Rhea had her hand over your waist,and the print of her hand was very noticeable. She had to take a picture,that she even posted on her Instagram stories,and she laughed her ass off for almost 30 minutes,while you were sat here pouting.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Saying that Rhea is overprotective is and understatement: when you go out,she always holds your hand and always protects you from paparazzi,to keep you safe from any uncomfortable situations.

When you protect her though, she feels butterflies making their way in her stomach. For example, if a nosy fan would bother Rhea with uncomfortable questions,you would immediately jump in the situation and protect you girlfriend without hesitation (she thought about it for weeks).

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Even though she's often on the road,she always finds time and effort for dates during special occasions (or even to pamper you). Taking you to fancy restaurants, going on a walk together, taking you on the beach or even going to get nails together were things you would do on a weekly basis,since Rhea always likes to spoil you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

One of her bad habits is that she always cracks her knuckles, and you always scold her,and during your scolding she looks like a lost puppy (but she never listens and you keep on scolding her). "Rhea stop doing that!" You'd shout,and she would raise her hands in surrender. "Okay,Okay,damn!"

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?

She doesn't care that much about her looks,because she knows she's beautiful, and you even tell her everyday that she doesn't need makeup because hers it's a natural beauty; but she likes to take care of herself: doing her hair,her skincare,and choosing carefully her outfits. (she might get ready just to hear you compliment her,but nobody knows).

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Oh,without you,she would feel like every piece of her puzzle was missing,and she would make sure you know that. When she's on the road for RAW,you'd get a "i miss u :(" text at least every hour,and when she'd get to her hotel,she would immediately videocall you to stay up Kate while she watched you sleep <3

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

She would totally have a photo album in her gallery which contained 1000+ pics of you in any context: sleeping with drool coming out of your mouth,eating burnt pancakes,getting your make up done,and her favourite one is the one she took with her professional camera on your first date,that she still has in the back of her phone,in her cover.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

I think Rhea would hate people who ghost others. This might be,as she thinks,one of the worst trait a person could have. Also she hates people who don't help people in need for their own dignity and image. These are the biggest red flags a person could have!!

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

She just has to be next to you,or else she won't even close her eyes. Your heat and your natural smell lull her to sleep,and,without having you sleeping next to her,it would be impossible for Rhea to feel comfortable in a cold and lonely hotel room. That's why,like I have said before,she needs to facetime you,because even seeing you sleep,makes her feel better. <3

taglist: @stellakiddsblog @bibibi-tchx @p-mp @teenagedramaqueenlisa @thegalacticnacho091 @judgementdaysunshine

[moonstarsunearth]

Sincerely the way I don't agree with many Challengers takes is because many of them are based on this idea that Art since the beginning didn't have passion,drive,ambition and love for tennis like Patrick. where this idea came from?. The movie is telling you he is in a losing streak because he is falling out of love with the game,but is something recent,he is fighting with a desire to retire vs wanting to love the game again,that is very understandable after a surgery,lack of confidence returning and living the demanding life of an elite player and winning almost everything in his career with the desire of living other aspects or his life. But where is shown that he didn't have the passion or drive during most of the flash backs? He even became a better player when he was in Stanford without Patrick and became a professional with success without Tashi, because when Tashi met him again he was already playing in the big league of tennis like Cincinnati not challengers or low level tournaments,so even if it still connects to Patrick and Tashi,Art's drive isn't just about Tashi or Patrick's validation. He had also played for himself all his career,when he tried to stay just for tashi he began to lose,Tashi gave him the ultimatum of leaving him and it didn't work.

I think people confuse Art being ice and Patrick being fire with less passion or love for the game,when that is about having different styles of playing tennis that can be reflected also in their personalities. Patrick being more explosive ,raw,improvisation while Art being more precise ,in control and calculated. And may be it show us Patrick being more confident,taking risks quickly but not that Art loved tennis less.

And he obviously wouldn't love tennis like Tashi, especially when Tashi lost the opportunity to play and still had that hunger in her all her life,bu If we use tennis as a fourth character or a metaphor for their relationships,I think one the reasons Tashi is with Art is because she can still talk with him in some way the same language of what she loved the most that is tennis,for her tennis is a relationship,like being in love, understanding each other, and we saw it since their first conversation,Art wanting to talk about points or noticing her scream or connecting with both playing in Stanford, Art falling for her after watching her play and noticing her backhand. And may be Art losing passion for tennis is a metaphor for their marriage crumbling,because he and Tashi weren't talking the same language anymore. But also during all their relationship Tashi couldnt give everything from herself to Art because she couldnt play tennis anymore,she is giving what she can. So how didn't he love tennis like Patrick but just had discipline all his life?

I don't agree with this idea of Tashi comes back to Patrick because he had the passion and love for tennis that Art didn't have,at contrary I think she isn't with Patrick because she felt Patrick's didn't love tennis enough,how can you love something and not have commitment to it, and commitment to tennis is also a metaphor to comminment to a relationship with her.But Tashi is fire and ice,so she live with each of them very different aspects of her,not that fire is just the real her or that is the only side with passion and love for tennis. Oh god this is so long !😅

[utytimeline]

I might make some people mad, but I'm gonna say it, anyway.

So, Ceroba's reason for choosing Chujin over Star was because she wanted someone more mature. At least, that's my understanding. Star was playing cowboy and role-playing with his friends while she wanted to settle down and raise a family.

And... yeah, Star had a lot of growing up to do. And he did almost none of it until Ceroba stopped him from shooting us.

Star's main character flaw is his ego, but it's even worse than just an ego. Half the reason he set up the Wild East was to help everyone else. He wanted to bring in money to help his family when the Swelterstone's effects caused a drought; he wanted monsters to get a taste of what the surface is like so they don't drown in despair; and he wanted to make Ceroba happy after she lost both her husband and her child. All of this on top of feeling like he was a "nobody farmer" that couldn't do anything or help anyone.

So Star's primary character flaw isn't as simple as just having a big ego. His primary character flaw is trying to fix others as a way of fixing himself.

Sometimes this is a good thing, tho. I often think of Star as the "papa" of the Feisty Five. He's the protective one, he's the one teaching them ethics (reminding Mooch that they're not supposed to be bandits, playing dead to teach Clover about the responsibility of potentially hurting someone), he takes care of the town, he's made ALL his own money from this town that he built himself (enough that Mooch wants his inheritance, so it's a sizeable amount), he even gave his posse a designated nap time, gave Ceroba a home (and possibly gave her his bed while he crashes on the couch), sews his own clothes, set up all the rules and regulations... and I could go on, but I think I've made my point. Star is not wholly irresponsible. He's not perfectly responsible- he, and the rest of the posse, have a habit of breaking and losing Blackjack's weapons, they're all loud and rowdy, and they have a tendency to forget to turn off their boulder machines out in the Dunes.

So, yeah, Star does still have some growing up to do. But he's got a good start.

As for... everything that went wrong... That was entirely due to Star's worship of humanity. Star fell in love with westerns and with the justice and overall sense of romance that they portrayed, so much so that he not only tried to make himself into one of his western heroes, but he then extended this worship to the first human to ever set foot in the Dunes- namely, Clover. And because of this, Star completely threw everything that was good about himself out the window. He sees a human an immediately decides "this is my deputy," without even really giving Clover a fair chance to see if they even are deputy material. He forgot the safety glasses, got so worked up he forgot how to pronounce "duel," became extremely temperamental, apparently forgot that Vengeful Virgil was scheduled for the train mission that day, locked up a Royal Guard against her will (arguably committing treason in doing so, I might add), and just generally began running over everyone's words and emotions, including Ceroba's.

So when it came down to the Showdown... Star blamed Clover. Star's not an idiot. He knows good and well it's not Clover's fault. It's Star's fault- or more precisely, it's his worship of humanity that is to blame. But the problem is, he's taken it upon himself to guard the feelings of other monsters, to make them feel hope and joy. And he just screwed up and stole all that from them. So he's conflicted, not willing to admit that he has done the exact opposite of everything he set out to do. And since it's his worship of humans that led him to this point, he decides to blame the human.

Hence, the Showdown.

But he doesn't want to do it. He says himself, "Monsterkind's Hero is a title soaked in blood." He loves humans. And he sees Clover as a friend. He doesn't want to kill them. He's not a killer, and he doesn't want to be one. He doesn't believe in it. Justice is one thing, but... how is it just to kill someone that did nothing wrong?

So. Here's where Ceroba comes in. Telling Star he needs to calm down and go back to who he used to be. And Star points out that she's changed, too. Even Ceroba says, before taking Clover to the Steamworks, that she doesn't know if she has room to tell Star to go back to the Starlo she used to know.

Ceroba, tho, is no different than Star (this is the part that I said might make some people mad). Ceroba worships Chujin just as much as Star worships humans.

Ok, look. Chujin was a great craftsman. He built so much- furniture for Dalv, his and Ceroba's house, the space heater at the Honeydew Resort, many other items in use throughout the Underground, Kanako's toys (even programmed a video game for her), and so much more. So much that even Star respects him for all that he did for everyone.

However, there is also much that indicates that Chujin wasn't the best at his job. His only award is "You Tried at Engineering," and it took 14 tries for him to build a working robot. In Chujin's defense, I will say that it is impressive that he did build a working, sentient robot without the use of a SOUL, which is how Alphys made both Mettaton and Mew Mew; however, if Chujin is really such a genius, why did it take 14 tries to get Axis to work, when it apparently only took 1 try for Guardener?

And then Chujin didn't just stop with robotics, but went on to SOUL research. Two completely different fields. (And before anyone starts commenting on Alphys, I just want to point out, yet again, that both of the robots she built did use SOUL power; so, realistically, Alphys never was a great robotics genius, but rather, everything she did was a part of SOUL research- hence, the reason Asgore hired her as the Royal Scientist). But Chujin decided to press on with his SOUL research, despite there being no indication anywhere that he had ever done any such research before.

Now, I'm not trying to say that Chujin wasn't remarkable or a genius. I'm just pointing out some things that indicate that maybe he wasn't quite the genius that Ceroba wanted to make him out to be. And... Ceroba's reaction to his "You Tried" award. She's proud of him. More pride than what is warranted by such an award.

Ceroba said she met Chujin when he pretty much rescued her after she twisted her ankle, fell into a ditch, and laid there for several hours, unable to move. She also said that she had considered dating Starlo before meeting Chujin. So... hate me for this if you want to, but I feel like she may not have the best judgement when it comes to guys. Now, that's not to say she picked losers or creeps. Both Chujin and Starlo were/are sweethearts that care deeply about everyone around them. But the fact remains that Ceroba left behind the guy that she'd known all her life for a guy she just met, just because he rescued her from a bad situation.

And I'm not even saying she made a bad choice! By all accounts- including Ceroba's, Martlet's, and even Starlo's- Chujin was a good, kind-hearted, hard-working monster, and a wonderful husband and father. But... he wasn't perfect. And I think Ceroba, even though they had to have been married at least 10 years, just always had stars in her eyes where he was concerned. He was her everything. She believed he could do no wrong. She believed it so strongly, she was willing to do... many horrible things.

Ceroba's drive to kill Clover started with her love for Chujin. She wanted to do anything to keep him alive in her own heart. And when their child begged and pleaded for a chance to help, Ceroba agreed, because Kanako woshipped her father, too. Ceroba's misguided belief in her husband guided her to do things she would never have done otherwise.

Thus the reason for her guilt. It's not just guilt over killing her own child. It's also guilt over knowing that it was her own misguided worship of a monster that wasn't as perfect as she thought he was, that this was what led her to kill, and to kill again.

Ceroba worshipped Chujin. Just as Starlo worshipped the ground Clover walked on, Ceroba worshipped the ground Chujin walked on.

So when people point to Ceroba's comment that Starlo didn't grow up... yeah. She's right. Starlo needed to grow up.

But so did Ceroba.

One of the hardest parts of growing up is realizing that the people you worship are just people. They make mistakes, and you, yourself, are mistaken for believing they can do no wrong.

So, anyway. There's as much Staroba (Starfox, I call them) hatred as there is love for the ship. I've seen both sides of the argument: Starlo isn't mature enough; Ceroba is insane. Yeah. You're both right. And that's why they're perfect for each other. They both made the mistake of changing everything they were in an effort to continue worshipping their idols. They both went nuts. They were both driven to kill. This is the inherent danger of idolatry, believing so much in something that isn't real, that you will do anything to make it stay real to you.

[warping-realities]

Commitment - Part I

"I thought you liked my body."

Peter said with a slightly hurt tone of voice into the phone as he looked at the video of the overly muscular man that took up most of the device screen advertising a personal training studio that had recently opened near his apartment.

"I like you, babe, but it's just that you spend so much time at work and... well... I'll be honest, I've always liked your thin appearance... but in the last few months you've been growing a belly. It's no big deal ...but you know how much dedication I put into my body, just for you. A little reciprocity would be nice. Do this for me baby, I've already scheduled an appointment for you.

" Concluded the voice on the phone, belonging to Julia, Peter's longtime girlfriend. The two met while still in college and he always wondered what a woman with a sculptural physique and a beauty worthy of the catwalks saw in him. Not that he wasn't attractive, with his elegant face and slim body, coupled with the air of class and sophistication that many rich people seem to carry with them without even realizing it. Still, the difference between the two in terms of attraction was huge. Which made many people whisper that she was nothing more than a gold digger. But Peter preferred to turn a deaf ear to those comments because he really loved Julia and wouldn't accept that kind of conversation. In fact, he loved her so much that even against his nature he found himself putting on gym clothes and going to the address indicated in the pamphlet.

Furthermore, Julia knew him very well and had pressed the right button to force him to do what she wanted, appealing to his commitment to their relationship.

Arriving at the indicated location, Peter realized that the studio was a small room with some equipment and thus understood that Julia was thinking about his inhibitions when choosing that place. Despite coming from an influential family and being forced to participate from an early age in the most different social events, he had a real horror of exposing himself.

Therefore, a small studio like that would be the place where he would feel at least a little more comfortable. But perhaps she had purposely ignored another of Peter's horrors: intimidating muscular men, which was precisely the case with the gigantic guy standing with his arms crossed in the center of the room wearing the same shirt and making a pose identical to the one in the ad Peter had seen earlier.

Peter justified to himself that this would be the standard expected of a personal trainer, but that didn't change the feeling of absolute fear that had overcome him the moment he laid eyes on that figure.

The monstrous guy opened a smile that exuded so much self-confidence that it was overflowing with arrogance.

"Hey man, I'm Dan, you must be Pete, right?" The instructor asked as if he were intimate with

Peter and making the mistake that was perhaps the only thing that gave him the courage to speak out, calling him by his diminutive.

"Peter. I'm Peter Wexhan and I like to be called by my name."

"Wow man, I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I just wanted to break the ice since we're going to spend some time together." Dan said without letting his smile falter.

"I-I don't know if we'll go... I just thought about taking a experimental class." Peter replied.

"Nah, you'll see, once the iron bug bites you there won't be any return. So, the girl who arranged the class for you mentioned that the goal is to lose some belly fat, is that it?"

"Julia, the girl's name is Julia. My girlfriend and that's what she would like..."

"But what about you, what would you like? You are my client!" The truth is, Peter would rather be home. But he didn't have the courage to say that for fear of the big man in front of him and of

disappointing his girlfriend.

"I...that's what I want."

"Dude, you need to learn to assert yourself, man. And you know a great way to assert yourself, grow up!" Dan said, flexing his powerful muscles pushing his shirt to the limit, stretching it so much that it became transparent, exposing the glory that was hidden by the thin layer of fabric.

"I... I.." Peter began, not knowing what to say as he looked at that pile of stacked muscles with wide eyes.

"I'm kidding Peter. Who am I to say what you should or shouldn't do? Although I think a real man needs to know how to impose himself, I also think he also needs to know how to please a woman."

Once again, not knowing what to say, Peter preferred to remain silent. Giving Dan space to ask the question he would know was coming.

"So, Peter Wexhan... any relation to Senator Frank Wexhan?"

"Yes, I am his son."

"Wow, one of my first clients will be someone important."

"My father is important, I'm just a regular guy." Peter replied, knowing that as much as he wanted it to be real, it didn't actually match reality. After all, besides his father being a senator, his family was extraordinarily rich and Dan certainly knew that. But demonstrating more professionalism than the interaction between the two up until that moment made it clear that it would be possible, the instructor did not comment anything about it, preferring to continue the class.

"Let me work with you for a while and you will be anything but regular. And the best time to start is now. He responded with a new smile before putting Peter to perform the greatest physical effort of his life up to that point.

While helping him, Dan tried to start a conversation with Peter. He talked about cars, football, parties, all subjects with which the other had no affinity whatsoever.

"What do you mean you don't have a football team? Not even the one from your college?”

"It was never something I was interested in, sorry."

"Stop apologizing for everything man, although really in this case you have to apologize. Just kidding!!! But weren't you at least going to see the cheerleaders?" Dan asked, delving into another delicate subject, women. Julia had been the only woman in Peter's life and he adored her. He saw no reason to look at or even think about other women. So deep was his commitment.

Upon hearing this, Dan just smiled again and corrected Peter's posture, resuming his focus on the exercises. Making the latter amazed at how good the other was at his job and how quickly this was showing. At the end of the session his arms, shoulders and legs are looking slightly bulkier and he can't help but give himself a self admiring look in the mirror at how good looking he was making his opinion of Dan improve a lot. Sure, he was the kind of guy that Peter preferred to stay away from all his life, but now he saw that he could be someone fun and with whom he could interact. So much so that he ended up scheduling a new session for the following day. Saying goodbye to the other man with a hand shake and going home with the impression that in the end all in all, that was a great decision.

Upon arriving at the simple but comfortable apartment he shared with Julia instead of his family's currently uninhabited mansion, he found himself invaded by a hunger he had never felt before. Looting everything he had in the fridge and cupboards, and without taking a shower, he lay in the couch devouring everything he had looted while flipping through one channel after another on the television until finally stopping at a game of university football for his college team, which he began to watch, while he absently massaged his sore muscles, with a feeling of pleasure bordering on sexual. And that's how Julia found him two hours later when she arrived home.

"Hey babe... what's that smell? What's going on?? Peter you stink!"

That was her comment when she saw her boyfriend lying on the sofa in the living room, which at that moment was infected by the pungent smell of masculinity.

"Sorry babe, I got home from the and lost track of time." Peter replied as he smelled his ownarmpits and made a face. "Eww, I really stink."

"Peter, I can't believe you sat all dirty on my couch!"

"My couch, the apartment is mine and I can lie on my sofa and watch football however I want!" He

responded aggressively, scaring his girlfriend and himself in the process."

"Sorry babe, I don't know what came over me, let me take a shower and make up for it. I'll cookyour favorite dish for you."

The rest of the night passed without any major incidents, with the two having dinner and making small talk and ending up in bed where he rewarded Julia with the best fucking she had had in a long time.

To be continued…

[lady-of-endless]

omg hai ! i was waiting for u to have no pending hcs. can u write some hcs about bruno and giorno preparing to and then proposing to their s/o? :> love ur stuff btw ;3

Author's Note: I'm so sorry for making you wait. Thank you for this request and above all thank you for your appreciation. Seeing you in my notifications makes me happy. Hope you'll enjoy it! The GIFs are not mine and I thank the owners.

Bruno Bucciarati, Giorno Giovanna x reader proposal headcanons

Bruno Bucciarati

- He will take care of everything alone, planning each detail. At least that's how it goes at first for only a little while because the others decide to join in, too happy that he finally decided to take this step. He will be pestered with crazy ideas from everyone.

- At first, he thinks about doing something big for you, after all, it's what you fully deserve. Something elegant, grand. But he starts thinking that it probably wouldn't be comfortable and heartfelt for you. He fell in love with how profound you are so something fancy and over the top wouldn't be as impressive to you as others think.

- After feelings of excitement and joy because he had reached this point in his life, comes nervousness. A heavy worry about what can go wrong. He's anxious and it's rare to see him like lose his cool like that, it's visible to everyone. However, Bucciarati will slowly calm down by replaying in his mind all the conversations you two had about the future so many times. He wants to make all the dreams you have about this moment come true.

- However, the strongest emotion of all, it's devotion. Devotion is a very powerful feeling that comes from a sense of commitment and loyalty. For Bucciarati, it also comes from a sense of admiration and respect that he has for you. He wants to show you all of these with this proposal.

- He decides to propose to you on a trip to the coast of Napoli. More precisely, his hometown. The last time he was there, his heart was torn apart, now he wants to create a new memory there, a loving one that is going to heal even the last thing in him that's broken. Some might say that it seems too self-centered but it's not. You asked him to take you there so many times after he opened up about his childhood and what happened.

- One late night, Abbachio will notice Bucciarati alone looking at the ring, lost in thought. He will understand right away that Bucciarati is asking himself if you'll say yes to him, after everything you know about him and everything you've been through because of him being a mafioso. Abbachio will sit down next to him sighing, before reassuring him that your wish to be with him will surpass anything, he just knows it.

- Of course, Bucciarati wrote down his confession and even memorized it but as he gets on one knee, his mind goes blank. He ends up talking from his heart.

"I know I was supposed to wait until the right time, but my heart can't stand without telling you. Everything feels right for me when I'm with you. I never thought I would be so lucky to find someone like you and not be taken away from my life. You fill the missing pieces of my heart. Will you marry me?"

Giorgio Giovanna

- He too prefers getting everything done alone and that's why he doesn't tell anyone, knowing how the others will want to be involved with the preparations. However, everyone starts noticing how he's more distracted than usual but no one knows what's on his mind that's so important.

- He wants to do something intimate, different than those basic ideas he has seen, and away from any hassle. Giorno thinks that this moment is only yours. A profound moment between your bound hearts.

- Giorno chooses a sunny place, close to the sea. More exactly, on the Amalfi Coast, where the Bougainvillea flowers bloom (visual). Why? Because he knows how your face lights up when he uses his stand ability and flowers bloom around. His heart also skips a beat when he sees you around flowers, it makes it look like his paradise. And because it's a calm place not many know about.

- The emotion Giorno feels the most is longing. Longing, that sense of yearning for something or someone. Giorno yearned for you and now he yearns for a future with you. It took him some time to make this transition, but now it's so very intense.

- At first, for a long time after deciding it's time to propose to you, Giorno doesn't feel nervous about it because he knows that you two shared a dream for a profound commitment. But in time, as the moment approaches, there is one question that makes him overthink everything.

- Giorno sometimes will look at you from afar and clench his hand around the ring in his pocket. One time, it's noticeable. Mista stepped closer to him, sensing something wrong, but not saying a word yet. Without moving his gaze from you, Giorno asks himself in a quiet tone so that Mista can hear too, if he will be able to make you this happy forever. Mista nodded, understanding everything but not knowing how to reassure him. He tells Giorno that because he worries about your happiness, he is already halfway there.

- Giorno doesn't want to write down his confession, thinking that such a thing shouldn't be planned. He wants to speak from the bottom of his heart, holding your hands as he always did when he was alone with you. However, when he's on one knee, he starts wishing he had written down at least some phrases because he's lost. When he looks into your eyes, he knows, he is ready.

“As I look at you now, I realize that the world is a better place with you in it. I cherish every second we have together, and I feel like I can breathe freely when you are beside me. I don't want a future without you. I, Giorno Giovanna, have another dream now. To make you happy. Will you let me try and will you marry me?”

[sugar-grigri]

What is a family?

Hello everyone, I'm in exam period so we're going to start with a very short analysis

We saw in the previous analysis, in chapter 152, that Denji wanted to be a CSM and that suffering, mental and physical pain, was inherent to being a CSM. Suffering was a claim for the protagonist, that of accepting his suffering to the point of finding pleasure in it, that of accepting that experiences can be painful, of not being protected

Especially by Nayuta, the control devil who can only conceive of happiness with one person, and that's enough for her.

But above all, I think that since Denji had accepted the fact of committing himself to the path of suffering, he didn't want Nayuta to join him, hence his desire to keep her away from him.

But what this chapter shows is that a family can't be chosen, it's simply there.

People do what they do, always projecting all their frustrations onto CSM, this faceless chimera. CSM is as much a good-luck charm as a match to be burned for bad luck.

Denji's dream of being seen was full of meaning, because what people see in CSM is precisely their suffering and despair.

Yes, CSM represents suffering - yes, you have to suffer to be him, just as he will only evoke suffering for others.

The contract with the fire demon was simple: become what you want. As he had suggested to Yuko, the thought-hearing monster was suitable for a socially eccentric girl who had trouble understanding others.

So when people try to burn CSM, they're burning what they want CSM to be: their suffering.

The lighter was an image that had already been introduced by Barem, who ironically presented himself as a CSM fan, foreshadowing the fact that many CSM fans had pacted with the demon of fire, fire capable of destroying them in return.

Burning CSM to make the wannabe CSM disappear always comes down to the same logic: CSM is there to save, whether this is done by reigniting him or by killing him.

So the fire is there to atone for the suffering, Denji simply tries to tell them that the fire is already there, burning down his apartment and his Meowy family and the dogs.

Why burn Denji? When he's already burning. He has already lost a part of himself.

Denji proclaims that he seeks suffering because he wants it to be his alone. He realised that even if he stopped being a CSM, those close to him would continue to be attacked as if the cycle had never been completed.

Denji has never had any confidence in himself, obediently following the rules laid down for him every time. Nayuta's rules, which symbolise this apartment, didn't work, and neither did those of the public hunters, because even if you respect the contract, suffering will always be the end result.

So Denji tries to free himself from all these rules, because they don't allow him to escape suffering.

He also tries to free himself from his loved ones, because it doesn't allow them to escape either, but humanity won't let Denji be free.

Denji had made it clear that he didn't want to hurt mankind because he wanted to preserve the last link that bound him to them: the kiss he had with Asa (Yoru). He doesn't want to belong fully to the demons, as Nayuta had recommended, but why not become one after all?

Denji loves violence, even against humans. He likes it because he is still CSM after all, a monster whose raison d'être is suffering. Yet the link that allows him to consider himself still on the other side is a simple kiss that didn't cause him any pain.

Because this kiss is exactly Denji's life, a touch of pleasure in an existence that is always painful. A boy who can't even say he can't betray humanity because he has friends because he has none.

Nayuta has never thought of her existence as separate from Denji's, the reason for her happiness, her beloved big brother. So she is now facing her worst fear: being cut off from this dearest of beings, being rejected by him.

But as they try to keep her away from her ailing brother, telling her he's no longer her family, she realises that this thing that rejects her, that hurts himself horribly, is still her family.

More to the point, it's the person behind this faceless monster who's reaching out to him, because CSM isn't a being capable of embracing with his chainsaws. Denji's arms are outstretched to him, as if he's standing between CSM behaving like a monster and his own anxieties: there's an obvious love there. She shouldn't see her fear in the foreground, what she should see is Denji.

This thing that dares to cut ties with her, to put itself in danger to the point of suffering so much, has never ceased to be her family.

The only way to see anything apart from CSM, apart from this figure of suffering, is to love Denji.

is to see the boy behind it.

A boy who can't stop laughing despite suffering, in a way that may be terrifying, but which gradually gives the impression of a brother forcing himself to smile to avoid putting his sister in danger. Look, I'm crazy, so stay away from me! And I don't want you anyway!

His laughter is as uncontrolled as his gestures, all acting as reflexes to keep Nayuta away from danger.

CSM is a being who belongs to neither world, hero of humanity when it suits them, hero of the underworld terrified by his fellow creatures, he is held responsible for both worlds, the suffering of demons and that of men.

But Denji may not belong to either world, but he does belong to a family.

Denji may not be seen by people, but he has been seen by a demon who loves him deeply.

The hero has always been hunted because he has never been accepted by humanity, suffering while swallowing that of others, he has always had to be rekindled, to serve someone once again.

And finally he's given permission to run away.

No CSM, don't swallow the suffering of others

It's hard enough to swallow your own.

Denji, you are loved by the demon of control who now agrees to do something unnatural for her, to allow you to escape her control, her vigilance, her protection. Because she knows she doesn't have to lock you up in a gilded cage to be able to find you.

A family always waits with open arms, don't they?

[tacticalfiend]

while obviously not made by the same people lol, I do think Mouthwashing serves as a really great companion piece to Silent Hill 2. The more I think about both of them, the more similarities I see, and the more I see ways in which Mouthwashing really fleshes out the exploration of misogyny Silent Hill 2 has going on. It's a big reason why I'm completely disinterested and unconvinced of the popular fan interpretation of Jimmy being gay in some way. I initially joked about him being the most evil bisexual man ever with friends, but I actually think Jimmy (and Curly) being heterosexual is important to the game. In SH2, James's heterosexuality is important to his character. He loved his wife, he shows concern for Angela, but he also harbors some clear resentment for the sensual marriage he was "robbed" of due to Mary's illness. His love for her did not prevent him from committing an act of violence that was at least in part self serving. Jimmy's obvious obsession with Curly, while not being attracted to him, is kind of The Point in my opinion. He sexually abused Anya, impregnated her, and clearly harbors no guilt over what he's done. On the other hand he is overcome with guilt for what he did to Curly, precisely because he's a man. So many heterosexual men are like this, idolizing and romanticizing the other men in their lives, because men are more worthy of their adoration. They may love their wives (as pets, as property), but they worship men (as gods, as an aspiration), and who doesn't besmirch God in times of strife? Curly, in a way, is no different. He clearly deeply cares for Anya (very likely loves her), but he only treats Jimmy as an equal. Jimmy is outright abusive, but Curly's paternalism and people pleasing served as a lubricant allowing the abuse to happen in the first place. Attraction to women is not mutually exclusive to misogynistic violence. And loving women will never be enough.

[darklinaforever]

I don't really understand what Daemon's fault is.

Aemond was a request from Rhaenyra and in HOTD they made B&C an accident.

Then, what do we really blame Daemon for ?

For doing his job as a consort and acting when Rhaenyra was unavailable in 1x10 to allow their house to have defenses after Rhaenys warned that the Greens were coming for Rhaenyra and their children ?

For not wanting Rhaenyra to consider a deal that would send their sons as hostages ?

Really, this is supposed to represent Daemon re-establishing the seriousness of Rhaenyra's claim to the throne for people ?

Plus it didn't bother Rhaenyra to be accused of Laenor's murder all these years... Nor that Daemon officially acted without her word in the eyes of others (even if she gave him silent / non-verbal permission to a nod) when he decapitated Vaemond. precisely because it was for their family and their safety. Just like the concil in 1x10 and not agreeing with Otto's cardboard peace terms...)

I am confused.

Are they aware that what they write does not correspond to what they are trying to project ?

Daemon is literally Rhaenyra's greatest ally in Fire and Blood just like HOTD, but for reason the writers constantly try to make people doubt Daemon's loyalty to no avail, because they don't even understand what they're writing about anyway, nor the world they write for.

In context, there is no reason for Blood and Cheese to be a problem for future supporters of Rhaenyra, it never was for a good reason in F&B and it should be the same for HOTD.

The Greens shed the first blood of an innocent man. Who happened to be a member of their family and messenger. They committed 3 big crimes.

But apparently in HOTD we don't care about lore.

No mention that killing a family member is actually a horrible crime in Westeros, no mentions of the messenger's law, or for example the right to invite for season 1 with episode 5 where Criston Cole literally kills the lover of Laenor who was a guest. Normally, he would never have been able to keep his job and get a promotion, it's ridiculous. I agree that Viserys was stupid, but there are limits.

It was just there to make a marriage turn bloody. Nothing more. Gratuitous violence once again.

I swear the only thing keeping me going on this purge is Daemyra / Matt Smith & Emma D'Arcy.

That's all.

[fuzzyautumninmetal]

Games

MafiaBoss!König x Mafia!FemReader

Warning: Baby trapping But it's not really baby trapping

There's no German because I don't trust google translate I'm sorry

MNDI!!

In the midst of the opulent ballroom, a towering figure cuts an imposing silhouette. Dressed in a tailored tuxedo, his broad shoulders stretch the fabric to its limit. His blue eyes, sharp as shards of ice, sweep across the crowd, taking in every detail with predatory precision. His gaze lands on a young woman, You. Your presence almost unnoticeable amidst the flurry of high society. You stands alone, your posture exuding an air of defiance and pride. Your attire is simple, yet striking, a stark contrast against the ornate décor surrounding you.

There's something captivating about you, a certain allure that draws him in despite himself. He watches you, intrigued, as you navigates the crowd with an ease that suggests familiarity. Your eyes dart around the room, taking in the sea of faces. You find yourself drawn towards the bar, where you order a drink without looking at anyone. The bartender nods in acknowledgment as he pours you an expensive glass of red wine. You were born into the high life after all.

As you turn around, you catch sight of a man watching you. There's something about him that sends a chill down your spine. He's tall, too tall. His piercing blue eyes are fixed on you, studying you like a scientist would a specimen under a microscope. His presence is overwhelming, intimidating even. But there's also something else there, a hint of curiosity that makes you pause. 

That is the infamous Mafia Boss König. 'Interesting' you thought to yourself with a smirk.

You easily move through the crown, easily charm the single men, married men and committed men out of your way. Giving them empty promises of a good night until you are stood by König, by the way he looks at you, he doesn't know who you are. "Do you know it's rude to stare?" You questioned with a small smirk on your face as you take a sip of your wine. Not looking at him rather the sea of people in front of you.

A low chuckle escapes his lips, the sound rumbling deep within his chest. His gaze drops momentarily to your lips, then flicks back to meet your eyes that aren't even acknowledging him. "Is it? I wasn't aware," he responds, amusement dancing in his icy gaze. His height adds an element of danger to his presence, casting a shadow over you. Despite the room temperature, you feel a shiver run down your spine, a reaction to his sheer size and intensity.

'Aren't you a little kitten, all claws and sass,' he thinks, studying you closely. He can see the defiance in your eyes, the fire burning bright beneath the surface. He extends a hand towards you, offering an escape from the relentless gazes of the others. "Allow me to show you around," he proposes, his voice carrying an undertone of command. "I would," you say, finishing your glass of wine and placing it in his hand like he was some kind of servant. Big mistake, but you don't care. You're playing with fire, and you're enjoying the heat. "But my father is expecting me. I haven't let him know I've arrived yet."

You give him a sultry smile, a slow, languid caress with your gaze. Then you disappear back into the crowd, leaving König holding your empty glass. He's intrigued. He's challenged. He's already hooked. And you, my dear, are just getting started. The glass slips from his fingers, clattering onto the marble floor. A sharp intake of breath echoes throughout the room as everyone turns to look at the shattered glass. But you, you're long gone. Your words hang heavy in the air, a challenge accepted. His jaw tightens, a spark igniting in his eyes. He had been dismissed, by you, a mere stranger.

"Who does she think she is?" He mumbles under his breath, his mind racing with thoughts of retribution. However, something about you intrigues him. The fire in your eyes, the defiance in your actions. It's refreshing, unlike any other he has encountered before. You slip between the bodies, moving with a grace that belies your confidence. You weave through the crowd like a snake, sinuous and deadly. Every step you take is deliberate, calculated, designed to draw attention to yourself. You're a creature of habit, always have been. You love the thrill of the chase, the power you wield when they realize they want you.

And you're good at this game. You're the best. Because you're the daughter of a mafia boss. You've grown up surrounded by power and wealth, learning how to use both to get whatever you desire. You're used to having men fall at your feet, begging for just a moment of your time. Every glance, every whispered compliment, fuels the fire in your belly. You are the daughter of a king, destined for the throne, and tonight, you're playing your part flawlessly.

With a growl of frustration, König pushes past the crowd, determined to track you down. His blue eyes gleam with a dangerous light as he prowls through the guests, his towering frame creating a path wherever he goes. A muscle ticks in his jaw as he scans the crowd, searching for that familiar fiery gaze. He won’t let you get away so easily. No one rejects him and lives to tell the tale. He finds you again, standing by the window overlooking the cityscape below. Your profile is outlined against the moonlit sky, making you appear ethereal, untouchable.

Without warning, he steps forward, closing the distance between you two. His large hand reaches out, gripping your arm firmly. The action is swift, almost violent, but there’s a strange gentleness in his touch. As if he wants to prove that despite his rough exterior, he can be gentle too. "Listen here," his voice rumbles like thunder, echoing across the room. "Don't walk off like that. It's disrespectful." His grip tightens slightly, reminding you of his strength. Yet, there's no malice in his touch. Just a firmness that says he means business.

His blue eyes bore into yours, searching for something. Maybe it's respect or fear, but right now, all he sees is defiance. He takes a step closer, invading your personal space, making sure you’re fully aware of his size and presence. He was studying you, his eyes taking in every detail of your carefully crafted persona. You smiled at him, an innocent, teasing smile that danced around your lips, the corners of your eyes crinkling in a way that was both playful and alluring. You felt his gaze linger on the plunging neckline of your dress, the way the fabric clung to your curves. It was exhilarating, the power you held in that moment, the knowledge that you were captivating a man like König.

König's grip tightened on your arm, a possessive gesture that sent a thrill of excitement through you. You could see the curiosity in his eyes, the flicker of something else behind the steely façade. Just then, a voice interrupted the intimate moment. "Oh, König, I see you've met my daughter," your father boomed from across the room, his presence as imposing as a storm cloud. His eyes, sharp as knives, landed on König, and the room seemed to hold its breath. König's grip on your arm loosened dramatically, his eyes widening slightly as he registered the truth.

At the mention of his name, König's gaze shifts from you to your father. There's a pause, a moment where everything seems to freeze. The realization dawns on him slowly, a creeping dread that seeps into his bones. The pieces fall into place, the puzzle finally making sense. The ice queen he'd been chasing was actually the daughter of his new ally. His grip eases on your arm, a clear indication of his surprise. He recovers quickly though, masking his shock with a smirk that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course," he murmurs, nodding as if he knew all along.

You place your hand on his arm, the touch light but purposeful. It's a warning, a silent acknowledgment of the tense game being played. "Yes, we were just getting acquainted," you say, your voice a low murmur in the raucous din. You smile, a dazzling display of white teeth against your scarlet lipstick. The smile is for König, a silent message of your audaciousness, your willingness to play this dangerous dance. Turning back to your father, you continue, "And I was just about to tell König what a wonderful party he's thrown for our family." The words are a featherlight barb, a subtle reminder of your true purpose here.

He watches you interact with your father, the way you move seamlessly between them. There's a hint of admiration in his eyes, mixed with a healthy dose of intrigue. You were more than just a pretty face; you were cunning, strategic, and damn near irresistible. He offers a slight bow, a gesture of respect that's rare for him. "It truly is a pleasure," König says, his voice smooth as silk. His gaze lingers on you, appreciating the curve of your hips, the sway of your breasts beneath the delicate fabric of your dress. He's not blind to your allure, nor does he pretend to be.

As the conversation continues, König remains attentive, his ears pricked for anything useful. He's a predator, always scanning for opportunities, and tonight, he senses one.

You notice how König's eyes roam over your body, taking in every curve and contour with an appreciation that sends a thrill down your spine. You're used to men looking at you, but there's something different about König. His gaze isn't lecherous, it's hungry. Hungry for more than just your body. You turn back to König, offering him another of those dazzling smiles. But this time, it's laced with challenge, a promise of things to come. "Well, König," you purr, your voice dripping with sarcasm as you walked up to your father. "I hope you don't mind but I'd like a moment with my father. Alone."

As you walk away, König can't help but watch, his eyes following your retreating form. A low growl rumbles in his chest, a primal sound that echoes his displeasure. He downs his drink in one go, the burn of the alcohol doing nothing to soothe his irritation. You had dared to dismiss him, and he didn't appreciate it. Not one bit. He makes his way towards the bar, pouring himself another glass. His thoughts drift back to the earlier encounter, replaying it in his mind. He had found you intriguing, a spark of life in a world often devoid of it. He shakes his head, dispelling the thought. Now wasn't the time for distractions. He had a party to attend, an alliance to cement.

You walked towards the ballroom with your father, your hand placed on his arm. The air thrummed with the anticipation of the night; a night that could make or break your family's future. The scent of expensive perfume and cigar smoke hung thick in the air, a potent cocktail that spoke of wealth and power. Once you were far enough away from König, you glanced at your father and whispered, "I know how to make sure this alliance stays. Make it stick in stone."

"Oh really?" your father muses, "Please do tell."

You glanced at your father with an evil smirk, your voice still low as you leaned in. "A child," you whispered. The look on his face was a mixture of disbelief and intrigue. "If we have a child together, then König can't play us. Ruin what you've spent years building. It wouldn't be fair on the child," you explained.

Yes. Baby trapping someone is wrong. You know that, but frankly, you couldn't give a fuck. You were playing a game, a dangerous game, and you had to win. Your father, a master of this game, saw the brilliance in your plan. His eyes, usually cold and calculating, softened with a hint of pride.

As you enter the ballroom, your eyes meet König's, the crinkle in his eyes tell you he's smiling at you. For a man like König it will be a predatory smile. Little does he know, he's already fallen into your carefully laid trap. You'll give him an heir, a child to solidify their alliance, but you'll also be using it to keep him bound to your family. In this twisted game of power, you're playing for keeps. The sight of you sends a jolt through his veins, a rush of adrenaline that leaves him breathless. You're a vision of elegance and seduction, a goddess among mortals. He steps closer, his blue eyes locked onto yours. "Such a beautiful creature shouldn't be alone," he murmurs, his voice deep and husky. He extends his hand towards you, inviting you to dance.

You glance at his outstretched hand, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. You place your hand in his, letting him lead you onto the dance floor. As you move to the rhythm of the music, you lean in close, your lips brushing against his masked ear.

"I'm not here to make friends, König," you whisper, your voice dripping with sarcasm. Despite your words, you can't deny the electric connection between you two. The chemistry is palpable, a volatile mix of lust and danger. "I'm here for my sister, she seems very in love with Marcus," It wasn't a full lie, you did originally come for your sister. He pulls you closer, his strong arms encircling your waist. He can smell your perfume, a blend of sweetness and spice that is driving him wild. He leans in, his breath hot against your neck despite the mask.

"You came for your sister," he says, his tone teasing but laced with a hint of possession. "And I suppose I should be grateful for that." Despite his words, he doesn't let go of you. Instead, he guides you through the dance, each step bringing you even closer. "But if you're not here to make friends," his voice drops to a low growl, "then why are you dancing with me?"

You placed one hand on his shoulder, your other in his. The warmth of his skin through the glove was a shock, a delicious contrast to the cool silk of his suit. Pressing closer, the silk of your dress brushed against his tailored fabric, sending shivers down your spine. It was a dance, but not just any dance. This was a game, a carefully crafted trap to secure what you wanted: König's legacy, his power, his bloodline, and a stronger alliance.

"Well, when my father steps down and I take over," you explained, your voice low and dangerous as you both began to dance together, "we'll be working very closely together." You leaned closer, your voice a silken whisper in the din of the party. "So it only seemed..." you paused, pretending to think, "appropriate to get to know you a bit more."

A smile played on your lips, even as a wave of apprehension washed over you. You were playing with fire, but you were ready to burn. The alliance was not enough, you needed something bigger, something that would cement your power and tie König to your family for generations. This was a calculated risk, a gamble fuelled by ambition and the intoxicating fear of the unknown.

He felt your body press against his, the curves of your form fitting perfectly against his muscular frame. His grip tightened slightly around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He could feel every curve of your body, every swell of flesh pressing against him. The sensation sent a surge of heat coursing through his veins. His blue eyes glinted dangerously as he listened to your words. There was no missing the implication behind them. You weren't just here for your sister. You were here for him, for his power, for his name.

"And exactly how do you plan on getting to know me?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low rumble. The question was innocent enough, but there was a clear edge to it. He knew exactly what you were implying, and he was intrigued. Very intrigued.

The music thrummed through the opulent mansion, a symphony of power and seduction. You move in König's arms, the silken fabric of your dress whispering against his suit. He's a shadow in the dim light, his face hidden by a mask that adds an air of mystery. "I think we should finish this dance," you say, your voice a silken whisper. You look up at him with your big doe eyes, flashing him a smile that makes men fall at your feet. "Then...well, let's just see where the night takes us," you finish, your voice low and suggestive.

König was falling further and further into your trap, his intentions clear to you. You were going to have him wrapped around your little finger, and then, you'd give him the 'gift' of a little heir. A prince to carry on his legacy, and a way to ensure your family's continued dominance. But what you failed to realize is that you were also falling into his trap. You were playing his game, just as he was playing yours. The night was young, and the battle for power was just beginning.

His gaze is drawn to your lips, which part slightly in a smirk. The scent of your perfume fills his nostrils, driving him wild with desire. His heart pounds in his chest, echoing the rhythm of the music. His body presses against yours, every inch of him throbbing with anticipation. His eyes lock onto yours, a silent promise passing between the two of you. "Dance with me until dawn," he whispers, his voice a seductive murmur that sends chills down your spine. "Let's see where the night takes us."

You nod, a coy smile playing on your lips. Your hands slide up his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath the fine fabric of his suit. You can almost taste the victory, the power that comes from being so close to your target. "Until dawn," you echo, your voice barely above a whisper. You press yourself even closer to him, feeling the hard lines of his body against yours. Every touch, every brush of skin against skin is like a spark ignites within you, a flame that grows hotter with each passing moment.

As the night wore on, you danced, drank, and flirted with each other. By the time dawn crept over the horizon, you found yourselves alone in a secluded corner of the garden. The rest of the guests had long since gone home, leaving you alone with your desires. You were sprawled across a velvet chaise lounge, your dress hiked up around your hips as König knelt before you. His fingers trailed along the bare skin of your thigh, slowly moving higher towards the lace edges of your panties. His fingers trace the delicate lace of your underwear, teasingly close to the heat of your core. His touch is gentle yet firm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He looks up at you, his eyes dark with lust.*

"I want you," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "Right here, right now."

"Then take me," you whispered, your voice laced with honey. You reached his mask, the fabric cool against your fingertips as you slowly peeled it away. The smirk tugged at your lips, a mischievous glint in your eyes. As his eyes met yours, their icy blue glinting with a mixture of shock and desire, you knew you had him exactly where you wanted him. This alliance, forged in blood and steel, was about to become something much more personal, much more dangerous. The thought of a child, a heir to both empires, a symbol of their shared power, sent a thrill through you. Nothing could stop you now.

With a growl, he discarded his own mask, revealing the harsh planes of his handsome face. His eyes locked onto yours, filled with raw hunger. Without another word, he gripped your thighs firmly, spreading them apart. Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth against the damp fabric of your panties, his hot breath searing through the thin barrier. His tongue flicked out, tracing the elastic band before dipping lower, seeking the warmth beyond.

A sharp intake of breath escaped you as his tongue traced the elastic of your panties. Your body arched off the chaise lounge, pushing against his mouth. The sensation of his hot breath against your sensitive flesh made you gasp, a moan slipping past your lips. You grabbed his hair and pulled him closer between your thighs, not caring who sees. After all, nobody would dare interrupt König, especially when he's feasting on a delicacy such as yourself. Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him deeper, as you met his gaze with a smirk.

You had him exactly where you wanted him. A future with him was the only thing you yearned for, and you wouldn't hesitate to use any means necessary to secure it. The baby trap was already in motion, a silent weapon in your arsenal, a guarantee of your future. König, so consumed by his own desires, was oblivious.

His fingers curled around the edges of your panties, pulling them aside to reveal the slick folds of your pussy. With no warning, his tongue plunged inside, exploring your dripping cunt with abandon. His thick cock throbbed painfully behind his trousers, desperate for release. His movements were rough, primal, but there was a tenderness there too. He knew he needed to be careful, needed to be gentle. Despite everything, despite the power struggle, the fear, the tension, he cared about you. Cared enough to worship your pussy with his mouth, to make sure you came undone under his ministrations.

Your body writhed beneath him, a symphony of pleasure. His tongue delved deep into your depths, exploring every inch of your wet heat. Each thrust of his tongue sent jolts of ecstasy coursing through your veins, causing your back to arch off the chaise lounge. A low moan slipped past your lips as he continued to ravage you, his stubble scratching against your inner thighs. The pleasure was intoxicating, overwhelming, and you found yourself lost in it, surrendering completely to the sensations coursing through your body.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer as you bucked your hips against his face. You wanted more, needed more. The need for release was urgent, a burning desire that threatened to consume you whole. Feeling your nails dig into his scalp, he increased his pace, the tip of his tongue probing at your entrance. He sucked gently on your clit, swirling his tongue around the swollen nub before sucking harder.

His hand moved down to cup your ass, squeezing the soft flesh as he lifted your hips higher, angling your pussy perfectly for his devouring mouth. He was going to make you cum, make you scream his name, and then he'd fuck you senseless. He wanted to mark you, claim you as his own. He wanted everyone to know that you belonged to him. And he intended to start right fucking now.

The sudden increase in intensity sends a jolt straight to your core. Your walls clench tightly around his tongue, a clear sign of your impending orgasm. The way he sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue around the swollen bud, is driving you wild. You let out a loud moan, the sound echoing throughout the garden. It is raw, uninhibited, and it feels good. Really fucking good. You wrap your legs around his head, squeezing your thighs together slightly, making sure König doesn't move as he devours your pussy like it's his favourite meal. It probably is, or it will be at least.

Feeling your thighs tighten around his head, he continues to lap at your soaked slit, savouring the taste of your arousal. His tongue probes deeper, curling to hit just the right spots. He felt you tense around him, and he knew you were close. With a growl, he increased his efforts, determined to push you over the edge. He wanted to feel you shudder and quiver around his tongue, wanted to hear you scream his name as you came on his face.

And when you did, he drank you in greedily, savouring the sweet release of your orgasm. He'd worked hard for this moment, and damn if it wasn't worth it.

Your body convulses as an intense orgasm rips through you. Your walls clench tightly around nothing, your pussy spasming wildly as wave after wave of pleasure courses through your veins. König's name slips past your lips in a long, drawn-out moan, echoing through the quiet garden. Your thighs tremble around his head, keeping him close as aftershocks ripple through your core. Panting heavily, you finally loosen your grip on his hair, letting your legs fall open. A satisfied smile graces your lips as you look down at König, his face glistening with your juices.

Watching you come undone under his touch was one of the most satisfying sights he’d ever seen. He licked up every drop of your cum, cleaning you thoroughly before pulling away. As you relaxed beneath him, he stood up slowly, adjusting himself as he towered above you. His cock strained against his pants, throbbing with unspent need. Without wasting another second, he unbuckled his belt, releasing his imprisoned member from its confines. His cock sprang free, fully erect and pulsing with need. It was big, thick, and veiny, promising a rough, brutal fuck.

He didn’t waste any time positioning himself between your spread thighs. Without warning, he thrust forward, burying his cock to the hilt inside your still trembling cunt. You gasp as König thrusts into you, filling you up. The sudden intrusion has you arching off the chair, a sharp cry tearing from your throat. Your walls flutter around him, trying to adjust to his size. You're still sensitive from your recent orgasm, but the pain mixed with pleasure is something else entirely. It's intense, raw, and exactly what you needed.

Feeling your tight walls gripping him so fiercely, he groaned deeply. It was a sound filled with lust, possessiveness, and satisfaction all rolled into one. He started moving immediately, setting a punishing rhythm designed to stretch and fill you. Each thrust was powerful, deliberate, meant to claim you. To brand you. To show everyone who saw you that you belonged to him. He grabbed your hip firmly, holding you steady as he pounded into you. There was no gentleness here, no soft caresses. This was pure, animalistic fucking. And you loved every second of it.

König's grip on your hips is firm, possessive, as he pulls you back onto his cock. You can't help but throw your head back, exposing the delicate column of your neck. Your moans echo through the garden, each one louder than the last. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles together. You clutch onto his shirt, making sure he can't pull out. With each thrust, König could feel his climax building. He was close, so fucking close. But he held back, not wanting to finish just yet. 

Instead, he reached down between your legs, finding your clit with his thumb. He began to rub it in small circles, adding another layer of pleasure to the already intense experience. His other hand moved to your belly, tracing patterns on your skin as he whispered sweet words in your ear.

"I want you. All of you. Body and soul... I'm going to fill you up until there’s nowhere left for anything else... I’m going to put a baby in you... and then I’m going to marry you... because I can’t stand the thought of anyone else having you..."

His voice was low, husky with desire. Each word was punctuated by a deep thrust, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. Your eyes snap open as you hear König's words, those filthy promises. He's planning on trapping you with a child, just as you had planned to do to him. The realization hits you like a ton of bricks - he's playing you at your own game. But as you look into his eyes, you see that he's not doing this for power like you were. No, his intentions are much more intimate.

He's doing this for marriage.

You can't help but smirk at him, your legs still tightly wrapped around his waist. "Why, you naughty boy," you purred, unable to hide the amusement in your voice. But you have no intention of pushing him away. Instead, you tighten your legs around him and snake your arms up around his neck, pulling him in closer. Hearing your response, he growls, feeling his control slipping. The way you tightened around him, your body writhing underneath him, it drove him wild.

The sounds coming from your mouth were music to his ears, driving him further. He slammed into you harder, almost brutally, his large hands gripping your flesh firmly as he fucked you. His thrusts became erratic, his breathing heavy, his eyes darkening even more with desire.

"Fuck... Fuck..." He cursed between thrusts, his voice thick with lust.

Then, without warning, he buried his face into the crook of your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. The action was possessive, claiming, and utterly primal. It was clear he was losing control, his thrusts becoming erratic, but he wasn't stopping. Not yet.

The bite on your neck sends a jolt straight to your core, causing your walls to clench even tighter around his cock. You let out a strangled cry, your nails digging into his skin as you hold onto him for dear life. Every thrust becomes harder, deeper, faster. Your whole body shakes as another orgasm builds within you, threatening to tear you apart. You can barely think straight, but you manage to mumble out a challenge, "Come on, big guy. Show me how much you want this."

His thrusts became even more forceful, brutal even. He fucked you like an animal, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his release. His large hands gripped your hips painfully, bruising them as he used you roughly. He bit down on your neck again, marking you as his once more. "Show you? I’ll fucking show you." His voice was guttural, laced with lust and possession. Then, without warning, he pulled out of you suddenly, flipping you over onto your stomach before slamming back into you.

His next few thrusts were aimed directly at your cervix, hitting it repeatedly. He wanted to breed you. Now. Here. In the middle of the garden where anyone could see but nobody would dare interrupt. As König flips you over and slams into you, you let out a scream that echoes throughout the garden. The sudden change in position only intensifies the sensations coursing through your body.

Your breasts swing freely with each thrust, bouncing against the chair beneath you. The sensation of being taken from behind, so roughly and aggressively, sends waves of pleasure crashing over you. You reach down between your legs, rubbing your clit furiously as if trying to match König's relentless pace. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge of another orgasm.

König grunted loudly as he felt your hand on your pussy, working your clit while he fucked you. The sight of you touching yourself while he was pounding into you from behind, was turning him on more than he’d care to admit. His breath hitched in his throat as he felt his balls tighten, signalling that he was getting dangerously close. A surge of determination washed over him. He needed to cum. He needed to fill you up right now. "I'm going to fuck you raw every day until you're pregnant." His voice was strained.

At König's declaration, you couldn't stop the moan that escaped your lips. "You better keep your promise," you said breathlessly. Feeling his cock throbbing inside you, knowing that he was about to spill himself deep within your womb, pushed you over the edge. With one final stroke of your clit, you came hard, screaming out loud as your inner walls clenched around him tightly. König groaned as he felt your tight cunt squeeze him like a vice. The sound echoed off the walls of the garden, mingling with your screams. 

His control snapped completely as he felt your orgasm trigger his own. With a few more powerful thrusts, he spilled himself inside you, filling you up to the brim. He groaned deeply, holding onto you tightly as he rode out his orgasm. For several long moments after he finished, he remained inside you, his body trembling slightly from exertion. Then slowly, he withdrew from you, stepping back to admire the mess he'd made. With a satisfied sigh, König looks down at you, panting heavily. His eyes are dark with satisfaction and desire, scanning your body appreciatively. He reaches out, running a finger along your arm before moving lower to admire the bruises he left on your hips.

"You’re mine now." He murmurs, leaning down to press a gentle kiss on your temple.