#a whimsical dream for sure!

[mienar]

from us it begins

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[craycraybluejay]

ok seriously why is a stupid heart react making me weird

[pointsfortrying]

Thinking ab dreams,,,,

[eiightysixbaby]

santa baby

eddie munson x fem!reader

2.3k

summary: watching eddie play santa for your kids makes you want to show him some…. appreciation

cw: 18+ ONLY. reader and eddie are married & have kids, oral (m receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, breeding kink

Presents in crinkly patterned paper are placed delicately under the tree, your nimble fingers making sure each bow is perfect and every tag that reads ‘From: Santa’ is visible.

Eddie tip-toes into the living room from your bedroom, the final stack of gifts in his arms. Your two daughters sleep soundly in their beds, likely dreaming of those sugarplums the stories talk about. He hands you each present one by one, letting you find the perfect place for them around the base of your glittering tree. The tiny colored lightbulbs cast a pretty pink glow throughout the room, and it fills your heart with warmth.

When you’ve finished your work, you turn to see Eddie filling the stockings, the ball of his Santa hat bobbing with each movement. He hangs each one back on the mantle with so much care, he wouldn’t want to drop one and send one of your little ones running to see what caused the noise. A fire crackles in the fireplace, fending off the cold of the snowy landscape outside.

“Is that everything?” he double checks, giving you a sweet grin.

“Not quite. Santa has to eat his cookies,” you tease, moving closer to him and tugging on his hat as you press a kiss to his lips.

“Damn, how could I forget these delicious cookies?” he asks, kissing you on your cheek and squeezing a healthy handful of your ass before moving towards the small table that holds a plate of sugar cookies. You giggle, still blushing like you did the day you met him.

You can’t help but smile when you turn to look at the baked treats, each one having been eagerly frosted by tiny hands. The girls had done their very best, and you know your husband certainly won’t complain about a little too much icing dripping down the sides. A glass of milk rests beside the plate, and Eddie takes a hearty sip of it after polishing off his first cookie.

It makes your heart swell, the way he breaks off one little bit of the second cookie to leave on the plate. A tiny splash of milk rests in the bottom of the cup. To make it look as though Santa couldn’t quite finish it all. This is the first year your girls are both old enough to really enjoy and get excited about the holiday, and it makes you so happy to witness it through their eyes.

Having a partner that plays along perfectly only makes it sweeter. Honestly, Eddie has probably been more into it than you, making everything so fun for your children. He stops at nothing to make them happy, to make things magical for them. He makes things magical for you, too, and it fills you with an impossible amount of joy.

To your surprise, it also fills you with need. A deep, hot desire for the man you’ve made a home with. It’s insatiable, the way it hits you like a train. Something about watching him play up this whimsical figure for the sake of your kids, something about him in that damn Santa hat. Before you realize it, he catches you staring as he sits back in the comfy chair, his eyes meeting yours and his face breaking into a cheeky smile. You might as well be drooling.

“What’re you looking at, Mrs. Claus?” he asks, stretching his arms behind his head, his pajama-clad legs spreading wide.

“I just think…” you start, stalking closer to him, eyes trained on his. “That Santa works so hard…” you murmur, sinking onto your knees between his legs. “Maybe he deserves to be properly thanked.”

“Oh—” Eddie gasps when your hand palms over his clothed cock, feeling it stiffen against your touch.

Wasting not even a second you tug his pants down, his hips raising to help you, and you feel your eyes blow wider at the sight of him. You’ll never get tired of seeing his cock — never. The way it leaks for you, the way he gets so hard from the simplest things that you do. You open your mouth, letting the weight of him rest heavy on your tongue. Licking the tip gently, you run your fingers up and down one of his legs.

“Baby,” he sighs, tipping his head back a bit. “What got into you?”

“Jus’ something about watchin’ you play Santa…” you say, kissing the tip of his cock. “You’re so good to us. To me. Wanna worship you for it,” you say softly, blinking up at him.

And God, how could he turn you down?

“The girls, what if they—?”

“Just be quiet, and they won’t,” you say like it’s simple, and he doesn’t have a moment to respond before you’re kissing your way down his shaft.

He’s struck dumb when you take the head into your mouth, suckling on it with pretty lips. One hand reaches up to grip the base of him, your tongue licking his slit. A heavy breath leaves his nose, his lips pressed in a thin line. His fingers tangle in your hair, his other hand gripping the armrest of the chair so tight it could rip.

You glance up at him, licking a long and slow stripe up the underside of his length. His eyes are half-lidded and dazed as he stares down at you, watching in disbelief. You stop teasing, then, taking him as far into your mouth as he’ll go. Your nose brushes the patch of coarse hair that sits at his base, exhaling through your nose as you adjust to the way he presses against the back of your throat.

“Oh fuck,” he whispers when you start to bob your head, trying your very best to keep the wet, slurping sounds to a minimum.

The hand that was gripping his shaft moves down to his balls, squeezing softly as you hollow your cheeks around him. You can hear the way he struggles to quiet the groans that claw their way up his throat, his breathing ragged. His hands reach up, yanking the Santa hat off so his fingers can run through his hair, tangling themselves in it.

“Christ, baby, thatfeelssogood,” he rushes out, voice breathy. “Your mouth is fuckin’ perfect.”

You pull off of him, still rolling the flesh of his heavy balls between your fingers. You make out with the head of his cock, tongue running over it, saliva dripping everywhere. He takes a handful of your hair, pulling gently to make you look up at him.

“Get up here. Right now,” he says. You know he’s trying to be demanding, but he sounds so fucked out it doesn’t quite work. It makes you want him even more.

Following instruction, you climb onto his lap and straddle it, but not before slipping off your pajama pants. With just your underwear separating his cock from your heat, you grind your hips down on him, sucking in a sharp breath when his tip nudges your clit. His strong hands guide your movements, taking control as he peppers kisses on your jawline, making you tilt your head back in pleasure.

“Need you inside me, Ed, please,” you croon, your breaths staggered.

“I don’t know, have you been a good girl this year? Do you deserve it?” he taunts, raising his brows at you. His teasing holds no weight, he has every intention of giving it to you, but you still nod.

“Been so good,” you say softly, teeth tugging at his earlobe.

A strangled, breathy sound leaves him before he’s shoving your panties to the side, running a thick finger through your wet folds. Wet is an understatement, honestly. You’re soaked for him, and he’s barely done anything to you.

“God damn, honey,” he growls low in your ear. “You’re so wet.” His teeth nip at your jaw before moving to your neck, his lips planting themselves on the delicate skin and sucking. “Watching me play Santa really got you that hot, huh?” You can hear the smirk in his voice, and if you weren’t so needy for him you’d roll your eyes. But unfortunately, he’s right.

You whine instead, a featherlight sound that he almost misses through the crackling of the fire. He grips his cock, lining himself up with you as you hover above his lap. You reach down to help him, guiding him into your aching heat as you slowly sink down. You gasp in unison when he parts your walls, each of your mouths hanging open until he’s fully sheathed inside you. Calloused fingers press into your doughy hips, beginning to bounce you on his thick cock. A high-pitched squeak escapes you when you feel him press deep inside, and he instantly covers your mouth with one big palm. He stills his movements.

“Remember when you told me to be quiet? Hm? Now you can’t control yourself?” he whispers hotly in your ear, his breath making your skin prickle.

His hand is removed from your mouth in favor of guiding the roll of your hips once more, keeping you bouncing steadily. You can hear the way his cock glides through your sticky folds, pushing in and pulling out and pushing back in again. His eyes are impossibly dark as they watch you, especially in the dim light, but you can see the lust and adoration burning behind them all the same. You swear you can feel him in every inch of your body as he pushes himself as deep as he can possibly go, making you drop your forehead against his and bite back a moan.

One of his hands pulls the hem of your shirt up in order to expose your breasts to him, his open palm giving the first one a squeeze before rolling your nipple between his fingers and pinching. Your back straightens slightly, arching into his touch. He dips his head down, sucking on the nipple his fingers aren’t already toying with. He kisses the soft swells of flesh, nipping and sucking gently while you start to take some control, bouncing yourself on his cock.

“Fuck,” he mutters around a mouthful of your tits, his tongue flicking over the sensitive buds on each one.

He diverts his attention, moving away from your breasts and instead reaching a hand down down down to where your bodies connect. The pad of his thumb swipes over your clit, making a filthy, desperate huff leave your mouth. You’re getting so close, your body desperate for him to bring you to release.

“Eds,” you sigh, rolling your hips slowly on top of him, savoring every single second of this bliss.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asks, bringing his free hand up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking along your cheekbone. He smiles at you, soft and sweet as he continues to circle your clit.

“So good,” you breathe, feeling the tension in the pit of your stomach grow and grow. “Want you to cum, baby, give it all to me.”

“Yeah? Want me to fill you up?” he taunts, leaning forward and catching your bottom lip between his teeth. “Get you pregnant again? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Everything in you screams yes. Your hormones are on overdrive, wanting him to pump you full of his seed and make it stick.

“Fuck, yes, Eddie,” you agree, throwing your head back.

He bucks his hips up, his cock stretching you so deliciously, reaching the deepest parts of you. His lips kiss any part of your skin they can reach as you completely fall apart for him. Your walls clench so tightly around him as you cum, drenching his cock in your arousal. Giving you a few final thrusts, his movements get less precise as he unravels. Soft grunts leave his mouth as he fucks you through his orgasm, ropes of cum painting your walls in spurts. You cling to him, panting as you recover from your high. Gentle hands rub your back, sliding up under your shirt and soothing you with repetitive motions.

“I love you,” you say softly, crossing your eyes to watch as he presses a kiss to your nose. One reaches your lips immediately after; a drawn-out, lingering kiss that you don’t want to ever end.

“I love you, too,” he says, millimeters away from your mouth after he pulls away. You feel it, almost overwhelmingly, in the way he holds you close.

You shift on his lap, letting him pull out of you carefully. Your thighs are sticky with your own arousal and his as it drips out of you, but you don’t want to leave his comforting embrace. The warmth from the fireplace kisses your skin, making you sleepy in Eddie’s arms. You take his left hand in your own, running your thumb over his wedding band, a pleased hum reverberating within you.

He turns, looking at the clock that rests on the mantle. Just after midnight.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head.

“Merry Christmas, handsome,” you coo, reaching up to brush some of his hair out of his face.

“Can we make this a Christmas tradition?” he asks, giving you a cheeky smile as he pinches the fat of your ass.

“Whatever you want, Mr. C,” you laugh, leaning in to kiss him once more.

The night ends with the both of you creeping quietly down the hallway to your bedroom, tangling yourselves beneath warm blankets. Snow falls outside, you can see it through the gap in the curtains as sleep starts to take over your body. Blinking slowly, heavily, you feel Eddie’s strong arms wrap around you, pressing you close to his chest.

In the morning, your girls will wake you with unbridled excitement, ready to see what Santa brought them. But for now, it’s just you and the man himself, dreaming cozy winter dreams.

[cherry-leclerc]

i hate you. i hate you? ☆ cs55

genre: humor, fluff, love confessions, childhood friends to enemies/rivals to lovers (damn, tongue twister), maybe a bit angsty (don't worry too much about it though, lol), flashbacks that add to a tiny slow-burn

word count: 3.5k

The dwindling friendship that comes crashing down when you get offered the opportunity of a lifetime. Leading to a bumpy road with your best friend.

req!... i swear that when i put angst ITS NOT BAD. anyways, enjoy, anons!

Me encantaría formar parte del equipo, you muse whimsically, pigtails flying against the winter breeze. Sería un sueño hecho realidad. 

Despite being young, you knew you were different— came from a divergent background compared to those around you. Your family definitely didn’t have the resources to fulfill your dream to kart or race professionally. You partially blame your brothers for getting you into the sport. 

Si. Lo sería, a particular Spaniard, agrees. You smile. Your parents share a pitiful glance before sitting you down. It wasn’t going to happen, not because they didn’t want to but simply because they couldn’t afford such an expensive hobby that would probably kick you in the butt. 

That’s where your first guardian angel appeared. Carlos Sainz Sr. Better known as your best friend's father. Without a doubt, he offers to sponsor you, for he grew keen on having you around, enjoying time by the pool with his two girls and shy son. 

Was there a way you could ever thank him? No, not really— nothing would ever cover all he’s ever done for you, but you’d make sure to try your best to find a way. Even if it took you a lifetime. 

-

“You’ve known her for a lifetime! Probably five, for all we know!” Lando yelps, running a hand through his curls. “You can’t just call it quits on your friendship just like…” He snaps his fingers. 

Carlos shrugs. He fills up a styrofoam cup of coffee, silently offering one to his moody friend. The Brit rolls his colorful eyes. You’re making a mistake, he presses. It’s the Spaniards turn to grow serious. 

“Por favor—she should have thought about that before she stole my seat.”

That, you did. It wasn’t an easy decision to make. It could have never been, even if you had been warned. But suddenly you were getting an opportunity, the kind you only ever dreamt of. Carlos would be fine, he was a man who would eventually have a pile of teams interested in keeping him around. You, on the other hand, were surprised that anyone was even intrigued in having you form a part of their F1 team, much less— Ferrari. 

This was it, and you had to grab at the opportunity. You just never imagined losing a friend along the way.

Why would you even consider accepting? You flinch and he’s looking as if he regrets it, so you give him the benefit of the doubt. 

I know this isn’t what we were expecting, but think of it this way. I'd be coming in 2025 and you would already be too busy preparing to join Audi! It’ll work out. You’re still doing that, right? You knew he was, he had been so excited and told you as soon as he found out. Audi was in his blood.

He runs a large hand through his tangled hair, sighing. Still. You have to say no. You can’t do that to me. It’d be embarrassing.

Your shoulders drop an inch. Why? Because you’re being bought out or because a woman is keeping your seat? His silence is enough for your heart to break and for your mind to be made up.

I’m signing. 

-

There is indignation, and then there is you.

“You are such a—argh!” Pounding your fists against the locked door, you reach out to briskly twist the knob, trying your best to get out of the cramped room. The world was spinning, and you could feel a migraine rolling in strongly, but you swore—swore—you would kill him as soon as you got your hands on him. 

The morning had started off fairly simple. Show up, run a few tests on the stimulator, get to know a few of the mechanics you’d be working with, and finally, sign your contract. You had waited longer than intended, due to minor changes you had suggested, so you were extremely ready to get it done. This was supposed to be your day.

That is until the grumpy Spaniard pushed you, locked you in, and ran off before you had a chance to register what was going on. Fred had been adamant—show up on time. The next time he would be available would not be until three weeks, and that was ridiculously long if anyone were to ask. Carlos knew that.

Charles hums slowly, munching on a pack of M&M's when he hears the spine-chilling scream you let out, wood vibrating as you punch angrily. Hurrying over, he unlocks it from the outside, surprised by your appearance. Your hair is tussled, face is blotchy, vein throbbing. It’s definitely a sight to say the least. He mentions something about —he went that way— and —think about what you’re going to do— but you’re off before you settle with any of it.

The twists and turns make your head hurt, practically seeing red before you come to a halt. Smiling sophisticatedly, Carlos is sat, legs crossed, fingers pointing to his watch. No. “News for you, my dear friend; Fred just left.” The Spaniard winces playfully, already making his way out the door. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

Charles was right. You should have thought about what you would do. Jumping onto his large back, your flimsy hands dig into the forest he calls hair, and pull. He screeches, swaying from side to side as he hurriedly tries to disconnect your legs from around his waist. Let go, he groans harder when you pinch his arm. 

“Why? Why did you do this—any of this?” At this point you’re kicking and screaming, panting, heaving. “Is it really that difficult to accept it? You lost. I’m in, you’re out.”

“At least we know she’s a fighter.”

Coming to a sudden stop, your eyes flicker to the familiar voice, instantly burning up. Fred taps his foot gingerly against the white tiles, an amused Monegasque standing right behind him. Jumping off of the sulky brunette, you begin to shake your head in disbelief, pointing towards the exit. “N-no…you’re supposed to be gone. He…” Then it hits you. This was a fucking set up.

“While I’m evenly impressed by your toughness, I will say, I think we should put a hold on signing.” Your stomach drops. The older man quickly waves his hands in dismissal, grinning apologetically. “We still want you! Nothing has changed, but I think it’s for the best that you fix things with Carlos before doing so. It’ll be good for you two.” With that, he bows his head, and strolls away, heading for the airport.

“I’m out too,” Charles whispered, slowly stepping back. “Fill me in on what happens, though!” 

As soon as your breath evens out—and Carlos creates a safe distance between you two—you let out a deranged chuckle. He almost cringes at the cold sound, but keeps his chin up high. “You did this all on purpose?” It’s a question but comes out more like a confirmation, which in a way, it was. Shutting your eyes, you tilt your head with a ghostly smile. “You knew he hadn’t left and let me make a fool out of myself. Why would you do that?” you grit, orbs laser focused on him as if you could light him up into flames if you really set your mind to it.  

“Why would I not?” he stubbornly spits back.

“You asshole, I’m just trying to make your dad proud.”

A pinch of guilt dives deep into his veins as he watches you stomp down the hallway, mindlessly tugging at his heart.

-

I say we let him burn, Ana pitches the idea, laying flat on her bed as you scoff with a knowing smile. 

Does it make me a bad person if I don’t disagree with you? 

She sits up, eyeing where you calmly paint down on a canvas. She squints her eyes. “What even is that?” Holding your art with pride, you shoot a sheepish smile. Nice, huh? The Spaniard’s youngest sister giggles, nose scrunching up at the dark sight. “I’m confused—is he supposed to look like that?”

You curl an analytical brow, shooting a quick snarl. “I think it’s pretty good. And yes. He’s supposed to be getting run over by my future car. What a sight.” You dramatically swoon.

Ana drops her stare, focusing instead with a teasing curl gripping the corner of her lips. “Remember when instead of plotting his death, you’d be fantasizing about a life with him? God, I could still remember all the hearts—the glitter.” She shudders, faintly recalling the mess in her room, which led to Reyes giving you both a good scolding, but not before winking at a red-faced you. 

Looking away feverishly, you shake your head, picking up the flimsy paint brush once again, never once bothering to make eye contact with her. “I was young. Stupid as shit. I can’t even remember what I loved about him.”

“Liked,” she corrects you.

You cough. “Right. Liked.”

-

If the Spaniard took the time to sit down, roll through a philosophical journey, wonder where things might have changed for him—it would have saved him enduring a puddle of dreadfulness at this very moment.

Ana’s wedding. The first of his sisters who would get married. It was a bittersweet day, and not just because she was finally leaving the family nest. “Who is she…” he can hear himself ask. Almost demand. The brunette smirks, slightly pleased. 

“My best friend. You’re nemesis,” she jokes. 

Carlos growls slowly, lightly pinching her cheek as she yelps. “With. You know what I mean.”

“Lalo. She met him a few weeks ago. Very nice guy.” A beat. “Please don’t ruin my wedding.”

But he’s not even listening. Brown eyes follow to where you stand straight, arms crossed over your body like a shield. He always knew you’d been self-conscious, but never understood why. You were stunning. Lavender dress hugs your curves beautifully. A trace of honey fills any area you fall into. Your hair is nicely pinned up, allowing him to enjoy your silky skin. 

And it seems like Lalo too.

Rubbing a large hand against his smooth jaw—which was only neat since Reyes had hounded him to fix his appearance for his sister’s big day—he smoothly made his way over. Rupert warns the Spanirad with his eyes, but Carlos scoffs. Did everyone think he had something up his sleeve? 

“Enjoying yourselves?”

Mid-sip, your face freezes, doe-eyes flickering between Lalo, then Carlos. Then Carlos, then Lalo. God, when did the room begin to boil? Your voice gets caught in your throat, to make matters worse. Carlos’ personal trainer pity’s you for a split second, deciding to help out. “The drinks are stellar, mate. We’ve been hogging the bar for so long at this point.”

The brown eyed boy studies your so-called date, faking a cold smile. “You don’t say…Carlos, by the way,” he says, extending his arm out. “Remind me of your name again, sorry, she’s just never mentioned you before. At all, really. I apologize.”

“That’s okay, we only just met a few weeks ago. We’re taking it slow.” We’re. The word itself makes the 29 year old fear he might puke right then and there. “Eduardo, but you can call me Lalo. Huge fan.”

“Mines or hers?” Carlos bitterly questions, thick lips forming a straight line. Lalo awkwardly clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, pulling away and leaning in to hold you close. 

“Guess it’s my turn to apologize now. Hers. Always. But you’re pretty cool, too, I suppose.” His voice is light, unbothered. It makes Carlos tick furiously, though he doesn’t dare show it. You can’t pinpoint the moment tension rose up, snapping you out of your trance. Blinking hastily, you aim a sour snarl at the Spaniard. 

“We were sort of having a good time, so…” You shoo him away with a jeweled hand. “I just don’t want to kill the vibes. You understand, right?” Barely giving him a chance to respond, you turn back to your conversation, leaving Lalo and Rupert to appear puzzled, but stupidly playing along.

With a raw click of the tongue, the 29 year old takes a step forward, leveling down to your ear. “Pretend all you want, but you’re still wearing my initials around that pretty wrist of yours.” And walks away.

It was true. Your parents had gifted you a lucky charm bracelet for your fourteenth birthday, and Carlos greedily beat everyone to it. A car, for your love for Formula One. A chili, a shy thank you for his nickname. An ice cream, well, because you just loved ice cream. And a cursive CS. For him. 

Watching him walk away left you with a hole in your heart. You did not need a reminder like that on a day like this. Wearing it was purely out of habit, it had no meaning to it anymore. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself. The need to use the restroom was a complete lie as you wordlessly peek for the broad Spaniard. You spot his glossy shoes first, sticking out the photo booth. 

“Scoot,” you say, gently cramming him in deeper. Once you get situated, you slide the silver charm off, handing it over to him. “Here.”

He furrows his dark brows. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t want anything tying me back to you anymore. It was kind—sweet—but that was past you. You’re cruel, mean, rude, a fucking jerk now. I don’t like that, so— here.”

“I don’t want it,” he retorts, curling your flat hand into a fist, forcing you to hold it tight. 

“Well I don’t either, so what is there to do? You know what; I’ll just sell it. It’s not even that significant,” you mumble, already making your way out, but not before he hauls you back. Falling straight onto his thigh. You can feel your pulse quicken, your cheeks tingle, and your eyes suddenly burn. “Let me go,” you squeal, trying your best to weasel out of his grip. He groans, placing a large hand on either side of your hips, pushing you down.

“No. Just listen to me first.” Sighing, you nod. You should be climbing off; there’s room for two. He should be pushing you off; there’s room for two. But none of that happens as he clears his throat, rehearsing his words over and over before you raise a neat brow, waiting for him. “Perdón. Por todo.” 

Not what you were expecting and he could tell when you let out a small gasp. Nervously, he licks his lips, admiring your plump ones that don’t lay too far off from his own. “I used to be so proud of you when we were just kids. When you first admitted you wanted to race too. It was adorable, the way your eyes lit up.” Your breath deepens, unknowing of what this was leading to. “But I’ve always been proud. That’s never changed.”

“You’re a terrific liar,” you timidly chuckle, patting his shoulder, making him back off a little. But he only ricochets forward, twice as close. Your insides churn. 

“You don’t know how fucking happy I was when you got a seat. Over the moon. But I won’t lie; I was hurt and said some shitty things that have no excuse tied to them. I know I hurt you—I know that now. But that feeling vanished when worry came creeping in. I don’t want you to sign that contract.”

You flinch, reality crashing down on you once again as you examine the Ferrari driver. “Why apologize if you haven’t changed? My feelings aren’t a joke,” you whimper pathetically, tears sliding down your cheeks, soft brows drawn together. 

He panics, gingerly brushing them away to the best of his ability and you don’t have the power to fight him off anymore. You’re too busy getting your heart broken once again by the same man. 

She’s beautiful. Insanely—it’s insane. Her eyes are a shade of green I’d never thought I’d like.

I once wore a shade of green shorts last summer and you called them ugly. Said it looked like vomit. 

Carlos sighs dreamily, dominantly shaking his head. 

Well crap. I must’ve changed my mind.

Present him, was taking in your frantic sobs and he doesn’t know how else to calm you if it's not by rubbing your back gently. It takes a while, but you eventually ease up, occasionally letting out a shaky breath. “First of all, let me tell you why I did everything within me for you not to sign. It’s no good.”

You tilt your head in confusion, nose runny as he hands you his handkerchief. “I-I’m confused.”

Carlos chuckles. “What was the one thing I would always complain to you about when I was away racing?” Lack of privacy? “Okay, second thing I raved about…” When you don’t answer, he sheepishly wiggles his brows. “How tired I was with my team. It’s exhausting because like it or not—we’re not at our prime. I don’t think we will be for a couple of years. But for my benefit, I’ll be gone, and then it’s only going to fall on-”

“Me,” you finish, glossy eyes dancing through his painful expression.

 He nods. “Listen, Charles will be fine. Mentally not, but he’ll do just okay. It’s you I’m worried about. Not only will you dive in, nose first into a world of ruthless men, but you’ll always be the entire blame. In their eyes, it'll be you. What did you do wrong? How could you fuck up? And sure, you might sometimes—it's inevitable— but other times you won’t. But you’re a girl, and that’s enough for the fingers to be pointed at you.”

Shaking your head profusely, you instantly reach up to catch your hair from falling from its tiring up-do. He helps you out, combing his fingers nicely, though this time it doesn’t get rid of the queasy feeling. He was right. God, why did he have to be right? 

“I’m well aware of what I’m about to get myself into. But I think I can handle it. I can’t not do it—imagine how many girls it would help pave the way for? I’m sure as fuck it won’t be easy, and it might threaten my sanity, but I need to do this. And I’m sorry.”

An unfamiliar wave crashes against his warm eyes, a low breath being expanded into the air. You can feel it, taste it. Mint mojito. Your body told you, you liked it, with the way you wanted to lean in and kiss him—just to confirm. Pursing your lips, you continue. “You have your future decided and I have mine.”

With a hesitant bow, and a tide of curls flying forward, he clears his throat. “You’ve always been this way. Dedicated. And I could never decipher why. Until now.” He can’t help but brush his nose against yours. Your eyes flutter shut, allowing him to appreciate your pretty features. “If you’re sure, then I’m right behind you.”

You almost want to laugh, but are too scared to ruin the moment, so instead count his freckles. “I am…” A sharp inhale. “But what’s the second thing?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said ‘first of all’. I would assume there’s more…” You know there is, but you just want to hear him say it aloud. You’d seen the way he glared viciously at Lalo, chest firming. You’d seen the way things had shifted between you two, months prior, after his break up.

If this racing thing doesn’t work out, you would make a killer artist. He whistles.

Down boy, you joke. It’s just a swan. I resonate with them. 

He sits up straighter. Then consider me a swan, too.

You laugh loudly, tossing your head back as he smiles. Why all of a sudden?

Just.

“It took me a while to get here, but I’m here.” He cradles your delicate face. “I think I love you. I-I mean I know I love you. Your stubbornness, your compliance. Your level-headedness, your intrusive actions. Your need to persevere and be better—even if others make it hard on you.” You giggle, poking his chest. “But above all, I love the way you made me work for it. I’m glad you did because how else could I have realized if you didn’t drag that dead-beat?”

“Hey! He’s nice!”

The 29 year old tsks. “Nice isn’t enough and you know it.” His pink lips graze over yours as you lean in too. “You’ve always been a smart girl…” He’s about to kiss you when you slide back, leaving him hanging. He clenches his jaw, seeming teased. 

“I love swans because I know I can love as deep as one.” 

“I can too.”

“And I know, you know, that I love you too.”

“I do know that.”

“And I lit you up on fire, but only on paper!”

His brows furrow. “Yeah, we can circle back to that. But I don’t care. I love all that about you. And I want you to know my father has always been proud of you.” He winks. “But never as much as me.”

“We’re doing this then?” you ask nervously. “Y-you’re still going to have to grovel. I don’t give up that easily. Especially after all you’ve put me through.”

Carlos gently nods, eyes adoring you. “I’ve waited more than a decade for this moment. What’s one more?”

And he kisses you.

taglist: @urfavnoirette @lpab @d3kstar @namgification @myownwritings

*feel free to let me know if you would like to be included in the general taglist!!

[ghostlyfleur]

𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬, 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬

eddie munson x new girl

contents: new girl referred to as angel, lovesick!eddie, strangers to friends to lovers, hellfire club, dustin henderson cameo, mutual pining, inexperienced!reader, shy!reader, maybe fairy!reader but i’m not sure yet.

word count: ~1k

summary: eddie lets his love consume him, and he’s okay with it.

eddie munson is down bad. in love. completely enamored. shot by cupid. and she’s beautiful. the fairest maiden in all the land.

she’s all flowery dresses, flowy skirts, cozy sweaters, butterfly clips in her hair, fairy wing eyeliner design and shimmery glitter on her eyelids, sparkly pink lipgloss, highlighter on her cheekbones— the prettiest angel he’s ever seen. absolutely ethereal. the thing is, she’s terribly clueless. oblivious, even. her and eddie have built a lovely friendship over the last few months, ever since he met her when he picked dustin up from the library. that’s when it happened. that’s when he got hit. an arrow straight through his heart.

his angel — because she must be an angel, with the way the sun followed her around and made her shimmer — was aiding dustin with his search, trying to find books on supernatural lore that he could take inspiration from for the campaign he was putting together. it was dustin’s first campaign in his hellfire club career, and he was taking it very seriously to eddie’s amazement and amusement. but whatever thoughts about dungeons and dragons that were swirling around his head cleared completely at the sight of her; in her white sandals, knee-length white silky skirt, and alice in wonderland graphic tank top she was a sight to behold. a mirage. a dream. sunny disposition, bright smile, fidgety hands, and the most enchanting voice— a siren call, really. and eddie was hooked. it didn’t help that dustin talked his ear off about the nice girl that was quick to provide him with an immense list of folklore and magic lore books that could help him, about fairytales and whimsical creatures.

“she talked about fairies as if she were one, dude, it was sick!” dustin gushed.

eddie noticed the kid kept going back to the same library, kept entering his van afterwards with a list of books and another cute tale revolving around the pretty angel girl of eddie’s dreams. until one day dustin looked all nervous and coy and a little scared, and yeah, usually eddie loved to invoke that same reaction from him, but this time he didn’t know the reason behind it, behind the kid’s hesitant gaze. and truly it couldn’t have been a better reason. dustin wanted the mystery angel to be able to attend hellfire, to watch his campaign.

“‘s the least i can do, man! she helped me with a lot of it and she was like- super interested in my shirt and stuff, please?” eddie’s quick reply, the resounding ‘yes’ he couldn’t hold back, caught dustin by surprise but he didn’t question it. don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that, right?

angel showed up in a long skirt with a flower pattern, converse shoes, and a black queen shirt tucked in. braided hair, lipgloss, and a tupperware box filled with chocolate chip cookies for the whole club.

“my thanks for letting me crash your campaign.”

eddie was hooked. once the session was done and the boys were gone, thanking her profusely for the treats after they picked her brain for cryptid lore, she stayed behind to help eddie tidy up, and they talked about music. she was shy, incredibly so, soft spoken and giggly and socially awkward, but she laughed at eddie’s jokes and playfully teased him once or twice, and complimented his bats tattoo, so eddie offered her a ride home. she gracefully declined, claiming she drove herself, so he walked her to her car instead.

plans were made so that she attended each of dustin’s campaign sessions and through those sessions, the clean up afterwards, the talks about music and bands and movies, their time together evolved to going for milkshake afterwards, a coffee shop for some hot chocolate sometimes, and a friendship blossomed. a very strong one at that.

being alone, living alone, existing alone was kind of her thing— she preferred to be by herself, to indulge in her hobbies on her own, because she was anxious. extremely anxious. but apparently not at all reserved about it or ashamed of talking about it, which was proven by the fact that she casually let it slip pass her lips that she had an anxiety disorder the very first time she was alone with eddie after hellfire.

not a single sign of shame or guilt in admitting it, and eddie admired that.

admired that she was a loner even though she was so polite and kind, ready to send anyone she walked past a smile because she knew how much it mattered to those who needed a little kindness. a quiet soul but couldn’t shut up if you cared enough to figure out her interests, she laughed at everything, giggled without reason sometimes, talked to herself a lot, was often lost in daydreams, had a dark sense of humor surprisingly. complex but friendly. eddie couldn’t get enough, always wanting to find out more about her, to talk to her more, to understand her more.

but most importantly, in her opinion, eddie allowed her to be herself without any judgment. encouraged her even. and that was priceless. so yes, a strong friendship bloomed, but neither one of them wanted to stop at just that. the dark haired boy was quickly aware of his growing feelings, his attraction, his infatuation that turned to love, while his angel didn’t clock in on her emotions quite so fast, being entirely inexperienced and lacking any previous romantic validation. her anxiety and introverted tendencies played a part in that too, probably.

but that’s alright, eddie is more than okay with waiting for her to catch up.

♡

── harmo’s footnotes:

i love thinking about our sweet eddie falling for a soft girl. he deserves a cozy, comfy, cute love story! please remember to show your support by reblogging!

masterlist. eddie dreams.

ghostlyfleur © — all rights reserved. do not repost, copy, or translate.

[merakiui]

while in captivity, floyd encounters a human and unintentionally pair-bonds with you during a moment of biological vulnerability.

(cw: gender neutral reader, nsfw, omegaverse/abo, heats, captivity)

The marine lab has recently acquired a unique specimen—unique in that he is half-human and half-fish, hailing from deep, dark, indescribable depths. An eel merman, to be exact. You’ve only ever glimpsed merfolk in outdated textbooks and fairytales, the latter of which depicted them as whimsical beings capable of feats beyond scientific understanding. Magic. Although in the realm of biology, such folly is never entertained and so what the world calls ‘magic’ other fields built upon the foundations of research refer to it as a ‘miracle’. In your eyes those words are interchangeable, but then the idea of a miracle is far easier to digest than the concept of magic.

Merfolk have always been elusive, covert creatures, hence why there is hardly any conclusive data on them. In fact, they’re so secretive that they were believed to be mostly extinct—a figment of dreams and hallucinations. Most of what humans know stems from the tattered notes of long-gone sailors, their presences nearly lost to time itself, and for a while all anyone ever knew were four key details:

They are spread throughout the sea, living out their lives in frigid fathoms. 

They are hypnotic and deceptive. 

They are predatory. 

They rarely interact with humankind unless absolutely necessary (e.g. to hunt or observe).

But with plenty of promising technological advances, some of the theories and myths surrounding merfolk have been bolstered or disproved, respectively. Merfolk are just as diverse as the rest of the animal kingdom. Some live in solitude. Others thrive in groups. Some make their home out of caves and grottos. Some dwell within the labyrinths of volcanic rock formations. It is every marine biologist’s dream to come face to face with one of these mysterious creatures, if only for just a few minutes to glean more information.

That dream is made reality today.

The eel mer was discovered off the coast of a tiny island, entangled in fishing lines and plastic litter. His large, winding body, snake-like in its sleek build, was littered with scars and scrapes. There was a hook lodged up in the folds of his gills. Despite his thrashing, his tail swishing wildly in the sand and nearly knocking down three researchers like they were bowling pins, he was wheezing and gasping, drained of energy and air. When the first bucket of seawater came down upon his dry gills, he settled briefly, wide, crazed, mismatched eyes flicking from face to face. Likely assessing the situation or counting the amount of bodies, the report claimed.

He fell still after that, and it took two teams of ten people to load him onto the lift so he could be flown to the lab.

After he spent a week in recovery, where he healed surprisingly fast, he was transferred to a much larger and wider tank, its depths far deeper than the average swimming pool. He doesn’t swim to the surface much, and he only ever pokes his head out at night, scanning his surroundings with intelligent, keen eyes. And then he turns and disappears below. It’s a pattern he’s stuck to for weeks now. No one really understands it, and they haven’t had the opportunity to try. He’s uncooperative and unpredictable. It’s much too dangerous to send a diver down there.

So they transfer you to his enclosure, assuming you might have more luck. You’re not sure and you can’t make any promises of potential success, as you’ve only ever interacted with marine mammals. A merman is…different. Not only because he’s half-man and, by that same logic, likely possesses a human brain that is capable of a higher level of thought, albeit one that is wired to suit his mer biology, but because he’s bigger. A lot bigger.

He could kill you.

You saw the documentation. The serrated teeth, the powerful claws, the dangerous jaw, the bulky, muscular build that cuts through water like a bullet. He is a predator in every sense of the word, and you’re supposed to look after him. Coax him to the surface. Get him to trust humans. Interact with him just inches from the edge of his tank and hope that he doesn’t get hungry or violent.

He might kill you.

But there are safety measures put in place for these things. Ethics to be followed and whatnot. It’s a slippery slope because he’s part human and therefore could possibly have the same level of intelligence humans have, in which case it would be wrong to trap him here. There may be ways to skirt around it with other animals, but he’s not like other animals.

For now, he’s kept here under the pretense of recovery and scientific study. The lab treats him like the big fish he is, going so far as to buy a shark suit in your size and instruct you to wear it even though you’re not going to get in the water. “It should prevent him from biting through,” they had said, “but it won’t lessen the force of his bite.”

“What good will that do? I can’t fight him off.” Though you knew it had nothing to do with anything, you added, “I’m an omega. Merfolk might not have the same sub-genders as we do up on the surface—or maybe they do; I don’t know—but if he were human he’d definitely classify as an alpha. Put that into perspective. I can’t. Fight. Him. Off. It’s biologically impossible.”

“So you poke his eyes. Dig your fingers into his gills. He should let go of you then.”

“That’ll hurt him,” you protested, clutching the suit to your chest.

“Not as much as he’ll hurt you.”

You suppose it’s a clinical priority. Survival of the fittest, but it’s the human who has to live. The lab could afford to lose you, but they don't want to. And if they did, they might put the mer down. Shoot him up with enough tranquilizers to keep him comatose. Maybe it only bothered you because, yet again, he’s half-human and no one on the team knows the extent to which he thinks and functions.

To simplify it, they consider him a shark. But like any creature, sharks learn and adapt as they go. Death is instinct.

He will kill you.

But you don’t want to think like that, which is why you put on your best smile and trudge into the enclosure he’s being kept in. The tank looms before you, seawater clear and beamed through with streaks of light from the harsh, glaring LEDs above. The deeper the water gets, the darker the shadows. You press your palm against the glass, observing the murky darkness with a frown. Somewhere in this tank, at a depth you can’t even imagine, is an eel merman. A big, strong, powerful, scary eel merman.

You swallow a steadying breath, curl your fingers into fists, and climb the spiral staircase to get to the attached platform. Your reflection follows you with each step, countenance set in grim confliction. Once you reach the top, you peer out at the surface of the pool, listening to the droning hum of water filters and other hidden machinery. There’s a very shallow part of the tank, a dip in the design that allows for the mer to lounge if he so pleases. You’re reminded of the dolphins in live shows, who slide up onto their stomachs to face an awestruck audience. You doubt that’s what he’ll use this ledge for. If anything, it could allow a researcher to kneel in the shallows while they interact with him at an intimate propinquity.

You don’t plan on being that researcher.

Instead, you pace a healthy distance away from the edge, holding a bucket of his breakfast in one hand and a notebook in the other.

“Um!” You cringe at your voice as it reverberates around you in a nervous echo. Cautiously, you inch towards the water. “I have your food!”

You wait three seconds, expecting him to come bursting up from the darkness like the shark everyone wants to delude themselves into thinking he is. The water remains still and unbroken. You wonder if your voice can even reach such a depth. If not the sound, the vibrations might. Or maybe he’s resting. It’s still relatively early in the morning. Perhaps his sleep schedule is thrown off. Yours would be if you were taken from your home and dumped in a manufactured version of your habitat.

You lurch forwards with the bucket and watch as a collection of shrimp, crab, and small fish soar through the air in a sloppy arc before landing and sinking into the waiting depths below. Nothing happens. The tension in your body ebbs away, and when it becomes clear that he isn’t coming up to greet you and feast on your offering you relax completely, collapsing against the wall with a great sigh.

If they really want to study him, they should just watch him on the security feed, you think, peering up at the camera in one corner of the room, its red eye fixated on you and the surrounding enclosure. He’s not going to come up during the day. Not when there are humans walking around.

Still, you wait your shift out, scribbling nonsense in your notebook and occasionally glancing up to gauge the state of the water.

The mer doesn’t show, so you resolve to try again.

Try you do, and try you have. 

It’s been one week of perfunctory routine, arriving and feeding him at the same time in hopes that he might understand what you’re doing and come up to investigate. Or, at the very least, recognize you’re a recurring figure in his chapter of captivity. You don’t intend on befriending him. You only wish to fulfill your duties as a researcher, however skewed they may have become. Even though you know you ought to be grateful the mer hasn’t caused any problems, you want something to happen. Anything! At this rate, you’d sooner tire yourself out playing with rowdy sea lions than sit around in silence while waiting for an appearance from him.

It’s a quiet Tuesday afternoon when the first beat of unrest hits.

The mer’s enclosure is kept at a comfortable temperature for humans; it’s the water that’s freezing below the surface. So when you step up onto the platform and peer into the chum-infested deep, the empty bucket now set aside, you feel warmer than usual. Odd, considering the room is normally so chilly. Not extremely so, but chilly enough to give way to a pleasant cold.

Tugging at the collar of your shark suit, you cover the distance to stand under a large fan situated just near the dip in the pool. Cool air kisses your heated skin, providing you with much-needed relief, and you peer up at the propellers that spin in endless circles. Around and around and around. Your eyes follow the motions until you dizzy yourself, and you step back on wobbly legs. Your foot misses the metal platform and instead slips into the ledge built in the tank. With a startled yelp you fall backwards, landing in the shallows on your rear.

“Of course,” you mumble, bitter with embarrassment. “Leave it to me to fall right into the predator’s tank.”

You scoot further up onto the ledge, staring at the water below. It’s quite calm here, where the shallows lap languidly at your waist. If you were delusional, you might think this was a jacuzzi pool that you could dip your toes in. It’s not. Of course it isn’t. Not when there’s a beast lurking just below. But while you’re here, you run your hands through the saltwater while your own body temperature rises as if it’s a hungry flame in a stone hearth.

You place your hands on either side of the ledge, intending to push yourself up and onto the platform, when something tightens inside of you. Your heart stumbles in your chest and you lose the strength in your arms at once. With a noisy splash, you flop back into the shallows, your compromised body rigid and shaky with a tingling, all-encompassing warmth. Horrified, you raise two fingers to your pulse to feel it stutter wildly beneath your skin.

Swallowing thickly, you lower your head onto your arms and wait for the feeling to pass. The seconds slip by and in that short amount of time your state seems to worsen. Your temperature is volcanic, your every sense restless, and you’re sweating through the shark suit as if you’ve just run a marathon and more.

“Not now,” you hiss, slapping your hands upon your face. “Please not now. Anything but now…”

You intend to haul yourself up and out for good this time, desperate to get as far from the pool before your brain is completely overrun by your encroaching heat and robust omega instincts, when fingers brush against your leg. Something chitters behind you, a low, slow sort of sound that is shot through with curiosity. You turn as if you’re frozen in ice, your heart in your throat and senses on high alert.

The eel mer is right there, clutching your ankle in a firm grip. Not to hurt you, but to keep you there. And you’re not at all in a hurry to leave. Not when those claws are so close to your calf, capable of shredding through to your very bones. Even with the shark suit, you worry. He stares at you with narrowed eyes, his head angled in a cute, childish way. He appears confused and rightfully so, considering you’re a creature he’s likely never interacted with so closely before. You mirror his befuddlement, your brows furrowed, lips creased in a thin line.

For a long while, the two of you watch each other. If you look past his predatory design, he’s quite pretty with his smoky teal coloration and dark stripes. Your gaze pans over to the water, where a long, powerful tail disappears below. The paranoid side of you says he’s going to drown you, but then he doesn’t seem outwardly malicious in his intentions.

“Um…”

He flinches at the sound of your voice, his head snapping up to your throat and then your lips. Your attempt to pull your captive leg back is thwarted when he lurches, rising out of the water to grab hold of your foot. You gasp and shake your head at him, your senses sharp and dull all at once. Your heat-addled mind just barely parses the threat of danger, looming and ever-present.

“Please,” you beg, your tone sticky and breathless. “Don’t…”

The mer tilts his head the other way. The fins where his ears might be if he were human shiver, as if listening to the desperation in your syllables. He chirrups, lips widening in a sharp-toothed smile, and then he’s dragging you towards him. Panic seizes your nerves and you dig your palms into the smooth basin in an effort to get away. His expression falls when he notices your struggle and he lifts himself onto the ledge with you, draping himself over your legs like an oversized rug.

“Wait… H-Hold on; get off!” You grunt and weakly prod at his chest. He doesn’t budge. “You… You’re heavy!”

His webbed hand closes around your waist, steadying you in the shallows, while his other arm cages you beneath him. Instinctively, you arch into his touch, your breath coming in tiny, frenzied huffs. He clicks at you, and words that you can only assume are meant to be gentle and soothing are produced in a sweet melody. It relaxes you more than you’d like to admit, a lyrical balm to your terror.

You squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourself for the worst. For the searing pain and the stinging agony. For the blood that will color the water a dark, foreboding red. For the sight of him merrily tearing into your jugular, his maw spattered with crimson. But none of that ever comes. He cradles your face next, his thumb running along your cheekbone, and slowly you peel your eyes open. His face is inches from yours, looking on with an intensity that’s almost primal.

Warily, you lift your arm out of the water and touch his hand. It’s much bigger in contrast to yours, but he’s handling you with such immaculate tenderness.

“You’re not going to hurt me…” you mutter, amazed. “You’re just curious.”

As if responding, he chitters. You nod even though you have no idea what he said. He doesn’t smell like an alpha or an omega or a beta. You’re not even sure if he’s capable of releasing pheromones, but if he were you’re certain it would have driven you much crazier than you already feel.

You hold his stare and reach up to pat his cheek, and he leans into your careful touch. Your hand soon trails down to trace his lateral lines, which earns you a pleased hum. You watch in awe as the gills on either side of his body flutter.

Led on by your own wonder, you follow the pattern to his waist and press your thumbs into his hip bones beneath smooth, slippery skin. “How fascinating… I wonder if it’s possible to take an X-ray. Would you allow—oh!”

Clumsily, he lifts you into his arms to embrace you, rolling his hips against the chainmail shark suit. Your breath hitches, and you fumble to grasp his broad shoulders.

“Ah, w-wait. I’m not… You can’t…”

He clicks thrice and lowers you into the shallows, his face scrunched in annoyance. You think he might’ve understood you, but then he’s palming between your legs and it occurs to you that he wants the suit off. Carnal delight shivers through you at the prospect of being wanted to such a degree, and though you know it’s the heat muddling your sensibility you can’t help indulging him just a little. You undo the zip at the back and slide it from your body, revealing your shoulders and bare arms for his wandering, mismatched hues. He leans in to nose at your scent glands, chattering happily as he inhales. You can’t understand a word, but he sounds pleased—even more so when he runs his hands along your arms, squeezing and petting in equal measure.

His tongue laves across your neck, and what fragile restraint you have left snaps. You cling to him like he’s your anchor, meeting his searching hips halfway with every awkward thrust that doesn’t quite connect as it should. You chew your lip, tamping down a torrent of filthy moans. Your mind is clouded with lust and instinct, and you dig your fingers into his hair, holding him against your neck while he continues to lick and nip.

It feels right up until the haze parts momentarily, allowing temporary sobriety when you spy the tip of something poking free of its encasing. Dazed and inquisitive, you reach between your bodies to prod at his slit, hoping to coax more of his prehensile cock from out of its folds. But then the door below opens and the mer lifts himself from off of you, his head turning in the direction of the sound at an alarming speed. You blink up at him, lazily following his line of sight. His lip curls up in a silent snarl, the beginnings of razored teeth peeking out, and then he slithers back into the water, his hands lingering on your ankles.

Despite the dizziness you sit up, your arm outstretched. “Wait, don’t go!”

I didn’t get to cum yet. You didn’t even claim me either…

He peers at you, neutral for all of a minute before swimming over to you. He presses his face into your palm, chittering softly. There are footsteps on the stairs, and he grits his teeth, withdrawing completely before turning and diving under in a spray of seawater.

You fall back into the shallows, panting like a starved, feral monster. A researcher comes to your aid, her expression equal parts shocked and disturbed. You don’t catch her questions, each one tacked onto what feels like a ceaseless rant, while she helps you to your feet. Something about danger. About heats. About omega biology. About how the researchers watched the both of you on the cameras, swelling with queries of their own.

“I’m not sure,” you mumble as you’re helped down the stairs, stumbling in a heat-drunken stupor. Thankfully, your fellow researcher is an omega like you and that relaxes the hypersensitive part of you—the part that fears being taken advantage of when you’re vulnerable like this. But the needier, greedier part of you wants the mer—wants his hands and mouth all over you, ripping you free from your suit and indulging in the bare skin beneath. “I think he...wanted to help…”

No one can explain his behavior. But it seems promising.

While you’re led from the room, the eel mer stalks you from the gloomy confines of his tank.

In the days following your heat, you return to the marine lab with your head on your shoulders and are immediately barraged with requests. Amongst all of them, one common demand stands out: You have to get him up to the surface again. Part of you doesn’t want to face the mer again. When you truly mulled over that day, tossed the memory of it around in your mind like it was a tennis ball, you were hit with shame.

It’s not…normal. Researchers do not tangle themselves in sexual situations with their subjects, especially when said subject was an eel mer from the Coral Sea. It’s unheard of. Luckily, the team of researchers you work with swears to secrecy. You were out of it and your judgment wasn’t in the best state. That’s the excuse they’re using. It works enough to push the humiliation from your thoughts.

You wonder if you should feel disgusted by the events. Rather, you didn’t mind it. For all of his rough, scarred, monstrous edges, he was gentle.

You press your fingers to your scent glands, recalling the feel of his tongue.

Today you’ve donned your usual work attire, foregoing the shark suit and any other protective gear the lab expects you to wear. Something tells you you won’t need it anymore. Not after everything that happened the day you went into heat.

Feeling rejuvenated and refreshed after your mini break, you trudge up the staircase with a food bucket, determined to finally fill your notebook with data. You’ve only made it up four steps when color flashes in your peripheral. You turn and find the mer is at your eye level, following you up the spiral staircase adjacent to his tank.

You pause and wave experimentally. He watches your hand move to and fro and then he mirrors your actions. He swims the rest of the distance to the surface, breaching it just as you make it onto the platform.

“Good morning, Mister,” you greet, bending down to empty the contents of the bucket into the water.

Disinterested, he watches bits of shrimp sink deeper. And then he looks back to you, his mouth opening and shutting. “Fu… Fu…” he forces out, his face scrunched in concentration.

“Fu…? Food?” 

He nods and then shakes his head, hissing at himself in what you think might be admonishment. 

“Fu…ro…”

“Furo?” You set the bucket aside and scoot closer to the edge. “What’s that?”

He tries once more before the syllables fizzle out on his tongue and, with a few frustrated clicks, he swipes a fish from the surface and stuffs it in his mouth. You giggle, and the sound has him tilting his head. Without a shred of apprehension, he meets you at the ledge. You watch him munch on the fish between his lips, content to observe in silence. He polishes it off rather quickly before procuring a handful, which he dumps onto the ground beside you. You shake your head at him, smiling weakly.

“Thanks, but no. It’s all yours.”

The mer shrugs and indulges without you.

“I should thank you for not hurting me back then,” you add. He pays close attention to your lips; you think he might be attempting to read them while listening. “Um… But don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not sure if merfolk are like humans, but we have this system… Or not a system… It’s more like…groupings? Secondary classifications?” You frown. How can you explain the complexities of sub-genders to a mer who doesn’t even speak your language? “Basically, I was in trouble and you helped me out. Kind of. In any case, thank you.”

He stares at you for a while, chewing and swallowing. You think he might swim back under once he’s finished, but instead he places his hands on the ledge and hoists himself up on his arms. He’s in your face next, all eager smiles and chitters.

“Fu… Furo. Furo…ido. Furoido,” he sounds out.

You read his lips in the best way you can before it finally clicks. “Ah! Floyd, right? Is that…your name?”

Floyd points to himself, makes a few upbeat clicks, and then nods. He’s pointing at you next.

“And me? Oh, my name is (Name).” You take your time sounding it out for him, and he repeats it with an awkward tongue. You smile and nod encouragingly. “That’s it. That’s me.”

He flops back into the water with a celebratory trill, a wild smile tugging at his lips. You watch him swim laps from you to the opposite end of the pool and back. Ditching the shark suit was the right call. You’re no longer uncertain. This time, you know for a fact that you’re going to be getting along very well with him.

And you look forward to fostering this flowering friendship.

[yourdoorisunlocked]

Something Unexpected - Lucifer Headcanons

𝐀/𝐍: A fluffy bulleted fanfic in the form of bulleted points and a dash of headcanons, featuring the apple daddy of hell himself, Lucifer ;)

This is mostly me simping for the short, awkward duck-loving lil guy, and also experimenting with writing for his character.

Anyways, enjoy!

. . .

🎪 When you met Lucifer, you were honestly shell-shocked. He was so... whimsical, and captivating, maybe a bit awkward, and with his ringleader getup, it made him look equally as silly as he seemed. He just... wasn't whom you were expecting at all.

🎪 "Charlie... That's your dad!?"

🎪 "Well... Yeah? Why do you sound so surprised?"

🎪 "Look at him!" He didn't seem anything like the Lucifer you'd heard stories of from your parents, who tried to scare you away from debauchery and sin with their over-exaggerated tales from their biblical teachings.

🎪 They didn't exactly pay off, clearly.

🎪 But this? This was absolutely not who you thought you had to protect Charlie from.

🎪 You were the 'mom' of the Hazbin Crew, always looking out for everyone, and earning yourself a soft, irreplaceable spot in their hearts. And you clearly had a soft spot for Charlie, and that set off many initial alarm bells for Lucifer.

🎪 He didn't want to have another Alastor on his hands.

🎪 Lucifer cornered you about this, of course, and you were still grappling with the fact that he wasn't how you thought he was going to be at all.

🎪 And you turned out to be just as unexpected...

🎪 “I’m just worried about her… She has such a big heart, and I just don’t want her to get hurt. I should know what it’s like to be taken advantage of by people I put my trust and love into."

🎪 Though he is slightly curious about that, he decides that perhaps it'd be nice to have someone checking up on Charlie from time to time, and there is no way he's encouraging Alastor's presence anywhere near her.

🎪 You also found his love and overprotectiveness for his daughter quite endearing, although it was insufferable to watch them be so awkward around each other in the beginning.

🎪 So, you agreed to watch over Charlie for Lucifer, making sure to encourage her dreams in his stead. For Charlie's happiness, and because, well, why would you say no? You were already looking after her before.

🎪 As soon as Lucifer leaves, Charlie is bounding up to you with a wide smile, taking your hands in hers and bouncing up and down on the carpeted floors, so hard she's making indents with her hooves.

🎪 "Oh, isn't it great!? He believes in me! Me! I thought that after, well everything that happened with Mom, that he'd..." her eyes grow sullen as the mention of her mother sours her mood, and you brush a hand against her cheek with a gentle, reassuring smile.

🎪 "I have a feeling he always has, Charlie. He just never knew how to say it. And sometimes, when a parent sees themselves in their own children, it... Terrifies them." You turn to an apple-paned window with a melancholic gaze.

🎪 "He's just trying his hardest for you because he doesn't want to see you fall like he did. You can't fall farther than Hell, but if you try..." you trail off, and your implication held heavy in the air.

🎪 "But he loves you, and I know that his pride for you knows no bounds, and nor does his worry, Charlie." The demoness brightens at your words, practically tearing up as she grips your midsection in a hug. "Thank you," she whispers, and you ruffle her pale blonde hair with a fond smile.

🎪 Little did you know, Lucifer had been silently stalking watching the both of you from afar, and he leaves that evening with a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders.

🎪 As he continues to visit the hotel, he checks in with you for a moment upon the establishment's progress, Charlie, and casual conversation in general.

🎪 As more time passes, and Lucifer makes more and more frequent visits to the hotel - much to Alastor’s chagrin - after spending some precious time in his daughter's company, he'll ask around for your whereabouts.

🎪 You'll both naturally fall into more casual conversation outside of the hotel's progress, and you soon realize that there was more beneath the surface of Hell's estranged ruler.

🎪 Lucifer was captivating, alluring in every form of the word. A creative, inspiring soul who once held dreams and aspirations, and now, the fire that once burned within him was passed onto his daughter.

🎪 And you could see his desperation to keep that flame inside of Charlie alight.

🎪 Lucifer slowly grows fond of your company, giving you little sculptures of ducks, and spending near hours raving about his little creations with you.

🎪 In a haze of his sleep-deprived subconscious, he even made a little duckie for you, complete with all of your defining features that he found the most attractive prominent.

🎪 It ended up being his personal comfort/therapy duck until you found it, and putting together the resemblance, teased him about it slightly, to which he kept stubbornly denying it.

🎪 "Okay, but you have to admit, it's clear where you got your inspiration from," you held the duckie up to your face, noting just how precise Lucifer was when making it. Huh, he really hit the mark with this one.

🎪 The king of Hell turned on his heel, his jacket and hat discarded to the side, and leaving him in his striped circus-patterned dress shirt and ivory slacks.

🎪 "I don't know what you're talking about," Lucifer bent over his desk, trying to look like he was actually doing something, but his heart and mind were going a mile a minute. Damn his adorable hyperfixations!

🎪 "Maybe it was just coincidence! I don't know, sometimes I get inspired by things that I..." he glanced at you as you raised an eyebrow at him, and the small red circles plastered against his moonlight-stricken skin glowed a bright red.

🎪 "J-Just coincidence. Uh-huh, that's right..." he wasn't sure whether he was trying to convince you, or himself with that one.

🎪 Oh, yeah, you totally bought that bullshit.

🎪 "Well, for what it's worth, you did a pretty good job. This is your best one, yet!" You beam at him and tuck the small duck figure under your arm.

🎪 "So... can I keep it? Pretty please?"

🎪 Lucifer shoves some papers and blueprints off of his desk, completely focused on his work instead of how beautiful your smile was. "No."

🎪 After that, he creates a little duck of himself to keep beside the one in your likeness upon his desk whenever you aren't around. He inches them closer together every now and then or whenever he gets nervous or jittery.

🎪 Slowly but surely, Lucifer began to fall. And he is terrified of it. He's starting to yearn for your company, visit the hotel simply to seek you out, and this familiar thudding feeling is giving him a headache that can't be soothed by the fizzling warmth of alcohol.

🎪 Charlie begins to notice her father's strange behavior, and how it happens particularly around you...

🎪 Of course, the eccentric princess puts it all together, and she tries to keep it a secret, she really does, but the fact that her dad could actually be falling in love with one of her closest friends, and that he might finally be able to move on from her mother makes her heart overflow with a plethora of emotions.

🎪 The poor girl ends up spilling the details of your rom-com of a love life to Vaggie while hugging a pillow, crying joyful tears as her girlfriend chuckles and simply kisses her forehead with a small smile.

🎪 "Don't worry, hon. I'm sure it'll all be fine in the end. Just sleep it off, okay? And don't, I mean DON'T get involved in their love life, alright? Your dad needs some time to figure this out on his own."

🎪 "But I really want to help them! I know she likes him back; I just know it! And besides, he'll never confess on his own-!"

🎪 "It'll all be solved later, don't worry, Charlie. Besides, we can't just drop everything for this, can we? The hotel still needs our help,"

🎪 "Their love needs our help," Vaggie raised an expectant eyebrow, and Charlie receded with a pout. "But I guess it could wait..."

🎪 "Attagirl."

🎪 Meanwhile, as you toss and turn in your own bed, a deep fondness for the king that ran deeper than you would like to admit blossomed in your heart and was beginning to see the first rays of radiant sunlight that just so happened to be your unconditional adoration for the king of Hell.

🎪 Lucifer could make you laugh, smile, and gasp with a wonderment that you hadn't ever felt before, and your heart began to ache for more. More of his presence, and his whimsical, goofy nature that time had taught you to relish and look forward to.

🎪 All you could do was sleep, close your eyes and hope that these feelings would stamp themselves out soon.

🎪 But all of that proved to be futile as you woke with a start in the middle of the night, the hazy visions of clipped wings, magnificent and radiant in all their seldom glory, remained fresh in your mind.

🎪 The glow of a shiny red apple faded from your vision, as you clenched your arms and buried your face into your pillow.

🎪 You were in for a long night...

. . .

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: This was... surprisingly really fun and cute to write! I'll definitely be continuing this, since I really want to flesh it out more

Once again, please, PLEASE use the taglist for my sake 😭🙏 it can get sort of overwhelming when I can't remember certain usernames and tag them, and it's just to make things easier for me.

Oh and Lucifer's aesthetic is circuscore, of course. Underrated aesthetic frfr 🎪💫🍎

. . .

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @starsformydarlingmazel, @chitter-chatter, @hazzbindarlingg, @darkangel582, @matrixbearer2024, @prosciuttosblog, @frog-fans-unite, @mysterypotatoink, @burgerflipper72, @chibikochannumberone, @strawberry-gothic, @roboticsuccubus83, @lulurubberduckie

[scarletwritesshit]

🪶 Sunday x Reader 🪶 Deceptions of Divinity

Once, a man came to you in your dreams.

Or at least, you were somewhat convinced that it was a man.

Penacony had quite the reputation for its strange and whimsical dreams. This dream of yours, however, was not exactly an experience that you would have claimed to have had willingly. It wasn’t a waking dream of mystical immersive amusement parks, or anything of the sort, no. It was a distinct encounter with the most unusual of divinity in the midst of your unconscious rest.

The beginning of this dream of yours was rather foggy. Nothing about it exactly stood out to you, so you’ve neglected to retain any memory of that part. None of the mundane factors themselves were worth mentioning, but what suddenly transpired was what made this dream so notable to you.

It was if it manifested out of nowhere. No buildup, no signs from earlier on in the dream, nothing as far as you could remember.

The sight of this sudden manifestation was at the same time as clear as day and as scrambled as could be. You could recall seeing the vague shape of a man amidst a cluster of massive wings, but this strange figure as whole seemed focused on you, as if it were a manifestation of a singular giant eye from the heavens. Claiming to have been imagining things was an understatement, but this creature, for lack of a better term, was vaguely surrounded by rings of Imprisonment that felt as if they were adorned with a thousand tiny eyes seeing through your very soul.

But was the figure in the center of man or beast?? Or perhaps, some unheard of combination, taking shape of all yet none at the same time. The way this being’s wings flapped around it made it seem as if one individual wing was simply a singular feather that comprised a much larger wing.

Despite all of its strange qualities, the creature radiated a truly angelic presence. If this were the waking world, you would sensibly flee, seeking shelter in an attempt to remain unharmed. However, in a realm where you could not be physically injured, you stood your ground to observe the monstrosity that your mind had created in awe.

By now, you had become fully aware that all around you was simply a dream, yet you could not phase the creature out of existence no matter how hard you tried. You had even attempted to give it a definite shape, which would at least allow you to comprehend it.

If you couldn’t manipulate the creature, you at least had the control to ask it a few questions.

“What are you?” you shouted up at the being.

“What am I?” the creature echoed back. “Why, is it not obvious to the observant eye?”

“I would like to argue that you’re an angel, but I can’t exactly say for sure.”

“Then, you have your answer. I am but an angel manifesting in your dreams. It is as simple as that.”

“Simple? I can’t even comprehend you as it is!”

“Ah, but not everything in a dream is to meant be comprehended. That, my dear, would eradicate the point of their existence.”

This so-called angel did not seem to be willing to divulge its secrets so easily. Why couldn’t you shoo it out of your mind? Why did its voice feel as if it was echoing through your physical body? And why, unlike the dreamscape around you, did you feel as if you could reach out and touch a stray feather flying loose from its wing-like structure?

The encounter felt all too real for the setting of a dream-like world. You knew that turning and running would prove rather futile, but it was your mind after all, and you did have the potential to imagine yourself running as far away from that thing as possible.

No matter where you thought of escaping to, the creature somehow managed to follow. You could imagine yourself traveling at speeds exceeding light years throughout the universe, traversing worlds that could not even be physically comprehended, and yet the being somehow remained directly above you, seemingly in a fixed position.

“Now, why are you attempting to escape?” the creature asked. “I cannot hurt you, even if I tried.”

You ceased your attempts to distance yourself and instead stood up to creature and looked at its incomprehensible center, where you assumed its host resided.

“I can’t free my mind of you, and honestly, it’s freaking me out,” you admitted.

“There is no reason for you to be distressed. Your eyes deceive you, as my appearance alone cannot account for who I truly am.”

“That’s the freaky part. I cannot make sense of you.”

“Surely, I am a bit of an unusual visitor, but this is merely my way of introducing you to the wonders of Penacony and what it has to offer.”

“Your idea of being welcoming is, indeed, a bit unusual.”

“My mistake, perhaps you haven’t exactly had much experience talking to many wonders of the universe yet. Most travelers I have encountered thought of me as nothing more than one of this planet’s unique inhabitants.”

“There’s a difference between strange inhabitant and straight-up eldritch being,” you said, attempting to convey to the “angel” that its incomprehensible form was far from ordinary, even to one familiar with beings as twisted and warped as Aeons.

The flapping of the being’s wings appeared to have slowed down, almost drooping, at your remark.

“Hmm, I shall forgive your comment, for I believe you know not what you speak of,” it said.

Fearing that you may have accidentally upset the divine being, you quickly scrambled in an attempt to rectify your wording, but before you could begin to utter a sentence, the creature’s voice echoed once again.

“Perhaps, you would appreciate a more…approachable form?” it inquired.

“You couldn’t have offered that sooner?” you said, attempting to not blatantly allude to your frustrations.

The wing-like structures began to fold into its strange core, yet you still could not tell if it were one large wing circling its entire body or many. It seemingly morphed in a swirl of soft gray-blue feathers, with some as small as a Xianzhou Luofu tit brushing against your face. They were surprisingly soft, surprisingly gentle, and most unusually, soothing in the most eerie way.

Once the feathers had dissipated, a tall gentleman emerged from the midst, with hair a soft gray-blue like that of those feathers that once engulfed his body. He was dressed in a white coat and light purple pants, with accents of gold, cyan, and lilac adorning his suit. His eyes had an intense golden shine, and he looked at you with such a strange sense of fondness.

The most notable of his features, however, were the golden halo behind his head and the two little wings that remained behind his ears.

That was more of your definition of an angel.

“My sincere apologies,” he said, extending a gracious bow, “I should’ve exerted more caution when presenting myself to graciously welcome you to Penacony.”

You wanted to briefly snap at him as this felt like a blatantly obvious fact to consider. Welcoming someone in their dreams while appearing as a creature describable as only a mix-match of adjectives was far from comforting. Just this once, you forgave him, as a sliver of empathy caused you to consider that, perhaps, angels weren’t exactly accustomed to comfortably greeting a human.

“No harm, no foul,” you said, shaking your head. Showing the angel understanding was perhaps be your best bet as to not entice hostility.

“Now, allow me to provide you with a proper introduction. I am Sunday, a representative of Penacony’s Family,” he said, extending out his hand.

He was a very handsome man, so you decided that perhaps, it wouldn’t hurt to put just a little bit of faith in him. You placed your hand in his, and he held onto it ever so gently. Sunday lifted your hand up and gave it a very gentle kiss on top, a gesture that managed to send a shiver through your body even in the real world.

“I sincerely hope that you enjoy your time here, and experience all of the wonders that Penacony has to offer,” he said, while gently stroking the top of your hand with his thumb.

He looked at you with almost a tinge of desire in his eyes. It was as if Sunday wanted to see you in the waking world, though you had no idea how to seek him out, that is, if hunting down an angel would even be physically possible. It was hard to resist taking a chance, as something about him drew him to you, even after seeing Sunday initially present himself to you as an eldritch angel.

The most sensible explanation of his silence was that he was hiding something that prevented the reunion of you two in the real world, but you decided to not press the question.

“Ah, you seem…surprisingly comfortable now,” Sunday noticed. “Does my difference in appearance truly make such an impact on one?”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting such a creature to take the form of a handsome man in my dreams, if that answers your question,” you said, somewhat lost in observing Sunday’s surprisingly gentle mannerisms.

The wings behind his ears perked up a little at hearing you speak of him with such fondness, despite having only just met, under these circumstances nonetheless. It was as if his eyes were now filled with a sense of hope rather than an unspoken longing, yet he still attempted to retain his formal tone.

“You flatter me, truly,” he said with a gentle laugh.

The little smile that was once full of nobility suddenly went soft, and you felt the tension and stiffness in Sunday’s body ease. It was all supposed to be in your head, yet why did it feel so genuine?

He was a divine being, yet his touch felt as soft and gentle as that of a human who cared deeply. You have only just met in this dream world, and Sunday seems to have taken an immediate liking to you. It almost inclined you to jolt yourself awake and seek him out as soon as possible, but the look of happiness on his face kept you asleep, allowing you to cherish the meeting just a tad bit longer.

Sunday’s soft look of desire and refusal to separate his hand from yours were the last things you clearly remembered before you woke.

That morning, you desperately searched for some sort of sign, anything, that your experience was as real as a dream could possibly be. The physical meeting with a man in the world of dreams seemed impossible, but you knew yourself that what you felt was genuine. In your half-asleep state, it took you a while to realize that you had been gently holding a large, gray-blue feather akin to the ones that you saw in your dream.

It was all that you needed to confirm that Sunday’s existence was not your mind simply playing tricks on you.

Seeking an audience with the Family would prove to be impossible, given both their status and popularity. You hoped that by some sheer luck, the two of you would cross paths, but it seemed highly unlikely that he would be roaming so freely among the streets of Penacony.

In a back alley out of sight among the crowds, a glimmer of gold caught your attention. You turned to see what it was, only to be greeted by a man beckoning for you to come forward to join him in taking shelter from the city’s bustling streets. Letting curiosity take over, you walked over to him to get a better look, since that shine of gold could possibly mean that...

“Sorry, but have we met before?” you asked him.

The man matched the sight of the one that you saw in your dreams perfectly. He glanced down at the feather that you were holding in your hand, and so your eyes followed his gaze reminding you that you still held it. Just to be sure that your eyes weren’t playing tricks on you, you held the feather up by him, comparing it to the small wings that were behind his ears.

The characteristics of this feather matched those of his wings perfectly.

“I believe we have,” Sunday said, with his wings perking up and eyes once again filling with hope.

[bowieandqueen11]

Monkey D. Luffy Confessing His Love For You Would Include...

Request: Hi! I absolutely loved your Straw Hat Birthday post 💖 genuinely didn't fancy Luffy until I read that and now can't stop thinking about him! I saw you wanted to write another post for him so how about a classic How Would Luffy Confess/Show His Feelings for you? I just know he'd be an absolute clingy weirdo about it 🤩 thank you!!

Awww thank you lovely!! SO glad to be sharing the Luffy love, and you're so right, he would be so clingy!! :)

Imagines always take a lot of planning and time to write, so comments are much much appreciated!!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @general-cyno.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Look, Luffy HAD to release his feelings for you. Right now. If not for the fact that every time he was in a ten centimetre radius of you his whole body shook with such perfervid vibrations he's nearly left a gaping hole in the deck, Zoro's clenched jaw was dead giveaway that he was ten seconds from lobbing his Captain off the side of the ship.

If he had to hear about it one more time. It was bad enough Mr. Curly Brows finding his way to butt into every conversation: placing down his whisk so he could clasp his hands to his cheek and turn to Luffy with such pulsing hearts catapulting out of his eyes at the mere thought of romance. Even worse was being subjected to Luffy's tireless campaign; the incessant drilling of Luffy in trying to make sure every crewmate knew his every inner, cogitating... sappy thoughts about you was starting to eat into Zoro's much needed nap time.

On second thoughts, hearing solely Luffy talk about romance was far better than hearing both he and the waiter prattle on about it.

Zoro placed his palms over his eyes and tried to block out the way the cook had begun fanning himself with the bottom edge of his apron. 'You need to woo them, Luffy! Make them feel like they're the most stunning person in the whole world- the most important crewmate on this ship!'

Luffy took a break from tearing apart the third plate of roasted beef and fresh bread poor Sanji had spent all afternoon sweating in the kitchen to bake to glance down at the meat quizzically. No - not quizzically, much to Zoro's chagrin. Luffy's eyes widened; his head tilted as he rubbed his fingers together and let his meal clatter back onto the plate, his eyes brightening as if he were burnishing all the world's sunsets between his hands.

He looked yearning.

What Zoro didn't understand - heck, what even Luffy himself didn't understand, was how long this long-held devotion had been balling in the pit of his stomach like gilded butterflies, trying to flutter out through his ever-growing smile. After his dejection at Shank's departure from Dawn Island, you had been the only person left in Luffy's life whom he still felt hope from. The only person, besides the kind Makina, who didn't treat Luffy and his dreams like a whimsical joke.

When you had found him on the shore of the coast that day: his legs shivering as he ignored the chill splash of the tide soaking over his legs, his straw hat hanging sorrowfully over his eyes, you knew immediately that all Luffy needed was a little bit of optimism. A little bit, as you stepped over the shards of splintered wood that you could only make out as the remains of a makeshift mast, of belief. As you folded your legs down on the sand and settled next to your friend and gently took the torn Jolly Roger flag from his clenched hands, that what Luffy really needed was your unwavering devotion.

Little did you know, as Luffy turned with bleary eyes and that - god - that still so tender smile twitching at his lips when he spots you, that he was thinking exactly the same. As you grasped his hand between your own and pointed out to the horizon, promising that one day the two of you would sail away underneath that spot: right there. That one! That little spot: those wavering streaks of shimmering gold that lay like a transcendental passage underneath the orbed sun, you could never have realised that Luffy would only reflect your adoration tenfold.

'Wherever we go, we go together right? You won't leave me?', Luffy has asked, wiping his snotty nose with the back of your intertwined knuckles.

'Of course! I promise, Luffy', you had recoiled with a laugh, wiping it off on his vest.

Luffy's so uncharacteristically still, so silent for a moment, that Zoro's almost tempted to shout for Chopper. 'They are!', he finally shouts, nearly making the table clatter onto its side with how fervidly his knee jolts. For a moment, Luffy looks almost sad as he drops the last piece of beef back onto his plate, but his spine is quick to shoot as straight as an arrow again: his wide grin blooming across his face like roped starlight when he remembers what he had been so busy thinking about mere moments before. And every hour before that. And every single day before that as well. You.

You had always been an integral part of his dream, and now he was beginning to understand why.

'I can't stop thinking about them!', he declares, much to a chuckling Sanji's delight and a groaning Zoro's annoyance. 'They're more beautiful than all of the meat in all of the entire seas!'

Zoro pinches his temples lightly before rubbing his hands down his face and crossing them stoutly over his chest. Sanji's quick to scowl over at him. Leaning back on his stool, the first mate sighs as he watches Luffy whip his head between his two cremates like a puppy whose just been tossed a juicy bone.

'What do I do now!'

'Just... don't... don't say that to them. The beef part. The rest of it's fine.'

Sanji clucks his tongue at the swordsman, desperately trying to hold back a seething retort. Instead, he turns his attention back to his Captain, coming to clean up his plate and reassuringly pat his shoulder at the same time. 'Don't worry, Luffy. You just need to show them that you care! Spend some quality time with them, shower them with gifts, offer them your hand when they're disembarking the ship... ', Sanji's eyes glaze over as he bites his bottom lip, and Zoro tries desperately to restrain himself from picking up the bowl soaking in the sink and dumping it over the moron's head. 'Such beautiful creatures should be treated with the upmost devotion.'

The only problem with Sanji's advice is, that Luffy somehow manages to become a thousand times clingier when he finally realises he's in love.

You'll be minding your own business: trying to eat dinner with your friends when you'll sense something sprightly and warm barrelling towards your side. Before you can even register why Nami's stopped chewing on a chunk of torn bread to wiggle her eyebrows facetiously at you, the jut of Luffy's chin weighs down on your shoulder. You flush, trying not to embarrass yourself in front of your crewmates (and losing your bet with Nami to see whether you or Luffy will cave in first and kiss the other one silly), you pretend to be intently stabbing at your carrots. Definitely not squirming your legs together under the table at the feel of Luffy's jean shorts riding up the edge of your thigh. Definitely not inadvertently hitching your breath as the harsh edge of his knee bumps against your own, his leg resting heavily as he your Captain nearly climbs on top of you. And definitely, definitely not feeling your hands go clammy with the intensity of Luffy's puppy dog eyes fixedly contemplating the faint splatter of blush on the cheek nearly pressed against his nose: as if mapping out the intricacies of your body was the most interesting thing he'd ever done.

'Y/n!', he finally starts, making you jump up. Nami was not impressed when your leg reflexively kicked out and hit her shin, but you Luffy was more than delighted when you slunk it back with an apologetic smile and hit the side of his big toe. Without a second thought, he wrapped his foot around your ankle under the table and nuzzles his forehead against your jaw. 'You've been training so much with Zoro lately, I saved you some of my meat so you can get big and strong like me!'

*Cue the shocked gasps from Usopp and Sanji, the controlled exhale from Zoro as he tilted his head back against the porthole and closed his eyes, and the self-congratulatory smirk from Nami.*

'I also borrowed some cookies from Sanji! They're super chocolatey. I tried a few to make sure that you'd like them!'

'Hey, those weren't for you!', Sanji bites his tongue and flops his tea towel down onto the table, but Luffy's too busy inadvertently ignoring the cook to care. His sole focus is on the sweet delight that blooms across his face at the thoughtful gesture as he fumbles some half-broken cookies out of his pockets.

'Sorry', he murmurs as he places them into your hand. 'I got a bit hungry and ate some of them.'

'On your way from the counter to the bench?', Usopp asks.

'Yeah, what is that? Like, ten steps?', Nami teases, but the words don't even register in Luffy's whirring mind. He's far, far too busy trying to stop his heart from pouring out of his gaping mouth like choking saltwater, he's blubbering so much. His fingers shake as he splits the last cookie from his vest in half and - as gently as he can - prods it against the plumpness of your closed lips. Once you've started chewing, you decide to return the favour; you barely half to lift the other half of the cookie before Luffy's nipping at your fingers like an energetic snapping turtle. When your pointer finger accidentally enters his mouth though, and brushes against that warm velvety spot lining the inside of his bottom lip, he freezes; the faint taste of sugar of toffee melts off your skin and against his tongue, and the usually so assured man forgets, for a second, how to breath.

It's only when your finger pulls back to wipe a few stray crumbs away from his Cupid Bow that Luffy finally springs.

'Y/n, let me get your crumbs too!' He leans forward with crinkled eyes almost closed painfully tight and pursed lips. Whether he was going to kiss or lick the crumbs off your face you'll never know, because at that exact moment Sanji tackles Luffy to the floor before he could get any closer.

Just want to warn you in advance: if you want to sleep alone, you'll have to bribe Nami into keeping watch outside of your room every night. Or you'll have to sneak off and try and stowaway in some old oaken kipper barrel under deck (although the stench is so bad you couldn't sleep anyway, and Luffy went wandering around the pantry for a midnight snack that he lifted the lid and found you anyway.) Because the only preparation you'll get before being launched into your hammock is the pounding of his sandals making the gunwales shake, and the slight pant of his famished breath before your door is kicked open.

'Y/n! I can't sleep! Can I come snuggle with you? Captain's orders!'

You don't mind though, and even if Luffy can be incredibly clingy, if you told him no he would feel sad, but he would always respect your wishes. It would be the worst thing in the world for him to hurt you in any way - seeing you upset feels like his heart is being clawed out of his chest, because in a way it is.

There's barely any time to plop your book down onto the floor and hold your hands out to Luffy before you're flung into the air like a ragdoll, his rubbery arms wrapping five times around your abdomen as if he were growing sunflower roots from his fingers: winding the roots around to kiss your body, rooting his blooms within your skin. Embedded together until you were almost sharing the same breath, Luffy passes out almost immediately; he spends the whole night snoring with his nose squished just under your eye, but you can barely sleep with the way he keeps rubbing butterfly kisses against your cheek every so often. It doesn't help that he keeps whining desperately in his sleep - his already clenching and unclenching fingers leaving their home in your side to claw at your thighs and lift them closer to his bellybutton. His dragging lips left a wet trail against the pulse point as he burrowed himself further against you, only settling again when the heavy weight of his legs squirm in between your own.

One time you were spending the afternoon wandering through the delightful market square of Seahorse Shore: the sweet smell of jasmine blooms woven between sun streamed lattices was matched only by the warm sound of Sanji's friendly chatter as he walked beside you, stopping from time to time to pick up and squeeze a rare fruit.

You froze when you heard something: an echoing pounding, like an elephant stampeding away from a wild hurricane that whipped at its tail, before someone jumped on your back.

You were about to toss the guy head over ass onto the ground, when you heard the delighted shrill of Luffy's frantic voice ringing against the shell of your ear.

'I missed you so much today! Mmmh, you smell so good, like meat and flowers!'

'Luffy, how did you get back here so quickly?? You were at the opposite end of the island!'

'He followed his nose back to you.' Zoro just turned around, deciding to take his chances getting lost down the billion white sun-bleached cobblestone alleyways on this twisty island than to stay watching the two of you be all lovey-dovey for another second. Gosh, by all the seas even Sanji yelped when he you stumbled forward, steadying yourself by wrapping your fingers behind the raised kneecaps Luffy had haphazardly thrown around your hips. The man hugged onto you like a koala bear backpack, because he had been apart from you for... hmm... twenty minutes?

He's always dragging you off for some big, wild adventure, I don't know, there's just something about the two of you sitting under the speckled shade of an orange tree with interlocked arms, a few fireflies beginning to peek their heads out from between the stout leaves, like honey dripping down from bowed boughs as you leaned against each other, watching the sunset. You were here. You had made it. You were free.

And most importantly, you were together.

Luffy lunges for your hand and starts pointing at the grass swaying between your shoes, excitedly telling you about all the bugs and beetles running around the soil (to Luffy, a big part of love is trying to share what you're passionate about with each other.) He does lift up a stag beetle at one point and places it on your hand, but he starts to panic when the insect frantically starts scurrying up your arm. Somehow you end up face down in the dirt with Luffy leaning over your back; the buttons of his Hawaiian shirt sway over your spine as his chest heaves, his lips dangerously close to being only a few centimetres away from landing on your shoulder blade. You would have blushed at the proximity if you weren't too busy picking grass blades out of your hair, and trying to help Luffy's stretchy arms unloop themselves from under your armpits.

When Luffy gets to flop his head back down into your lap though, feeling you card your fingers through his hair, all is right in the world again. For a while, the two of you just exist: watching the sunset brew violet and lilac gleams across your eyeline, talking about your latest adventure against Captain Kuro at Syrup Village and playing with each others shaky fingers. Its only when you take a break from stroking his curly hair against your palm that he stops and pouts, blinking rapidly up at you. When you lean forward though, tickling that soft spot between his earlobe and the cute freckle by his jaw using your free hand to pluck a daisy from behind the rim of his hat and tuck it through the loop, a bashful burn shines across his face.

Before he can think twice, he musters his courage and determination, squeezes his eyes shut, and lifts his spine up so he can plant a wet kiss against the tip of your nose.

Your eyes flash as you pull back, tenderly rubbing your nose against his. Cupping his cheek, you press a kiss against his forehead and fold your enclosed hands against the rapid pulse of your heart. Your eyes never leave his, and his eyes trace your path in... confusion?

I mean, the two of you have been in love with each other since you were ten years old, and this is the first time Luffy's brain has stopped to think: 'Hey! Maybe Y/n likes me too!'

The real time he surprises you though is when he plops his hat on top of your head. You'd been caught up fighting some Marines off the coast of the Conomi Islands, and had unfortunately been struck down by a rather forceful cannon ball to the side of the Going Merry's railings. When Luffy bust down into the Medbay, you'd never seen such clouds thunder across his face. His whole body seemed to sag once he spotted you, his eyebrows unfurrowing as he almost tripped over his own feet in his desperation to get to you.

'I... I was so worried. I saw that Marine hit you, and I-

For once, Luffy stops talking. Instead, he takes his hat and places it over your tired eyes, hoping you won't see how flustered he looks when he leans down to press his lips against the top of your bandaged arm.

'You- you promised', his voice wavers as if he's about to start sobbing, but he hides the noise by wiping his nose with his forearm. 'You promised you'd stay with me. Always.'

'I meant it Luffy - I'm a Strawhat Pirate, you can't get rid of me that easily. What would my helpless Captain do without me?', you smile, brushing the back of your knuckles languidly down his the growing tearstains of his cheek, despite how much your whole body screamed at you to rest.

'Promise?', he asks, his voice shaky.

'I promise.'

He didn't have to say it. You both knew. You had always known. There was no one without the other. There was no dream without you.

So when he clumsily slapped his hands on either side of your cheek, smushing them together so you looked like a blabbering pufferfish, you weren't surprised. When he nearly sent the stretcher you were perched on rolling across the room by standing between your legs and pressing his torso up against your chest, you didn't blink. When he smashed his lips against yours, leaving kitten licks against the inner seam of your mouth as if he were trying to eat his way into your tongue, you didn't think twice.

All you did was kiss him back, the unwavering devotion that had always tied your lives together finally finding freedom by flooding into your hearts.

[highlandwhackamole]

A Grand(ish) Theory of What the Heck

I love the utterly unhinged, super detailed theories about what's going on in Good Omens, especially in season 2. I hope one or more of them turn out to be true, as some kind of glorious puzzle-box-hidden-code monstrosity. And also I think that there has to be a simpler explanation for things, for the people who are at least Somewhat Normal (tm) about this show. (... I assume such people do exist somewhere...) This is what I have been pondering recently.

The thing that started me thinking about this was this post, containing some promotional materials for season 2 that feature main characters with scenes in their heads. Like this:

Seeing this created a very similar situation in my own head, but with a nice shiny lightbulb.

All the weirdness: the car, the sideburns, the clock, the behavior of the folks of Soho, the vanishing storefront signs. The absence of God. I think this is all because everything we see is in their heads.

I don't mean it's made up. At least not entirely. Memory is already a plot point. Why not explore it on a deeper level? I've read theories emphasizing the minisodes' stories being retold by Aziraphale and Crowley. I think the whole season is like that.

You know that sort of conventional-wisdom-fact-concept that you can only dream faces of people you've seen before (or variations therein), because your brain can't make new faces up? So it just fills in what it thinks is close enough? I think that idea, applied to remembering or recollecting things, could explain so many things that are wonky in this show.

Wonky Things

Crowley parking in an impossible London location? He definitely remembers it was in London, so his brain just stuck some obvious London landmarks in there.

Awkward clattering happening when Crowley throws the stacks of books he's inexplicably carrying around the bookshop? He wouldn't actually throw Aziraphale's books! But he'd like to think he's cool and nonchalant enough to do that, and if he did it would definitely make Some Kind of Noise.

Jim walking toward the bookshop from somewhere mysterious? Maggie and Nina saw him first, and he came from that direction, so he must've walked all that way. They don't know about the elevator in the Donkey.

Aziraphale remembers tartan hills and the Loch Ness monster because he was having a jolly time driving through Scotland, so obviously the scenery must've been whimsical Scottish things.

Nina put the Honolulu roast sign up, so she remembers its presence, but perhaps the occult/ethereal visitors to her shop do not.

Maggie really did text Aziraphale about the rent, but a note through the mail slot is a much more dignified way for a scholarly angel to imagine he received a message.

On the Fallibility of Recall

This season is loaded with unrealistic inclusions. The colors are turned up to 11. Some of the scenes are more caricature than believable interaction. Remembering things never copies or reproduces them with what one might call high fidelity.

Scenes recalled by separate memories will inherently vary. One person's hefty jigger might be another person's dash. Who knows for sure where the sun was that day? You and I might recall an event having different lighting or a different color palette, sort of like viewing something with different lens filters.

According to Neil, Crowley is an unreliable narrator of the story of his Fall. He labels the variations in clock times as a continuity error in a show where Everything Is Meant, but he doesn't say whose continuity error it is. He insists that the Bentley is the same through the whole season; maybe it was the same, but remembered differently. Maybe this is part of why there's more CGI but it's harder to spot.

So What?

Is this all there is to it? I sure hope not. I like my Good Omens with enough layers to put to shame an onion wrapped in a cake and covered in a parfait.

Is this possibly the fancy footwork that's distracting from the real magic trick? I wouldn't put it past Our Gaiman. There are a lot of things one could hide in the narrative of unreliable memory.

Is this going to stop me from rewatching and repondering and remaking theories for the next couple years? Not even at gunpoint.

[pretty-weird-ideas]

This is so egregious that I can’t let it stand, the large IWTV blog Nalyra-dreaming is liking posts about hating critical race theory and the post she liked states that affirmative action is the only systemically racist system still around while calling fans who are upset that they were called ableist slurs, anti-white and intellectually disabled. When people noticed this last night she attempted to block people who she knew saw the racist posts and remove her likes to hide this. But I saw them several times over, and so did many others.

Also here's proof that Nalyra actively interacts with this user and on THEIR OWN BLOG and has at least allowed cosmicjoke to stand on the idea that anti-whiteness is real on her own blog.

I'm pretty sure Nalyra blocked me because I told CosmicJoke to not call people slurs and a reblog of the “antiwhite” meltdown they had with a bad-quality Walter White image. At least proving that she was looking at the post she liked.

No way on black history month did you think we wouldn’t check to see who liked and defended posts with “Affirmative action is the only current form of systemic racism”.

I saw her do this on several occasions over this week and simply asked others to check on people liking racist posts and reblogging my disdain for OP’s usage of slurs and antiblack dog whistles. I never implied that I was talking about her but these posts scared her enough to block me.

This is about the 3rd time I found them secretly liking genuinely racist treatment of fans she dislikes. This is a political stance, affirmative action, the belief in antiwhiteness, and critical race theory are not IWTV topics, this isn’t a whimsical like and scroll, these posts are all political stances that have nearly nothing to do with IWTV outside of what people were being targeted by the slurs in the first place. And the “what people” seem to be black fans that at some point in time she believes deserved to be attacked.

Targeting fans you don’t like doesn’t mean the speech should be endorsed. Anyone with half a pint of morals wouldn't be endorsing an actively hostile person slinging around altright talking points. And I will question why these posts are liked. Call us names all you like, but the second you start using the words of a reactionary racist who calls people disabled… maybe that should give you pause. Yeah?

A large IWTV blog believes in or at least is rubbing shoulders with an antiAffirmative action, slur slinging, reverse racism reactionary so that she can weaponize them against people she disagrees with.

At best Nalyra is okay with commenting, liking, and comforting racists in asks who she wields as weapons against people she disagrees with. At worst, Nalyra genuinely believes in antiwhiteness, antiAffirmative Action, and actively is okay with calling fans she dislikes slurs.

The racism on display here makes me sick. And it’s really telling how this blog feels comfortable patting these people on the back in comment sections.

Say it with your chest, but don’t mislead people who might disagree into following someone who believes this shit.

As respectfully as possible, you make my skin crawl and I’m tired of not stepping to what I really wanted to say. When I make posts about “check who likes what” never in my entire life did I expect to catch an account this large flagrantly using a racist reactionary in such a sad manner.

This is the last straw for me, you can’t keep liking explicitly racist posts and then answering their asks in private and hope fans you strategically discredit and already dislike don’t say anything.

1+1 is 2, liking and a post saying “I will call people I dislike slurs over fictional characters” can only be read so many ways.

I dislike a lot of people, I still wouldn’t defend and like a random fan’s ability to use SLURS and racist tactics on them. I wouldn’t do the same to you as you do to us.

Also some way to hide your attack dog… by having them flash in your own comment section and saying THIS

Racism is a slur… you guys… and this person is not at all a danger to fandom spaces.

[kendallroynsfw]

the other aspect of disco elysium that i’ve never really talked about, and the aspect of harry i don’t think is discussed enough, is that pre-game harry is…he’s heavily implied to be cruel. and awful. vindictive and bitter and angry, unpleasant to be around, toxic and resentful. jean and dora, and harry’s own perception of himself in his dreams and his conversations with the hanged man, make this pretty clear. but as the player we can do something amazing:

we can make him kind. right from the beginning.

and most of us do. our harry is silly, and whimsical, and sad, very sad, but he’s funny and curious. and kind. he wants to sing karaoke in a hotel bar. he offers his hat to a young girl out alone in the cold. he helps an old woman in a wheelchair search for a mythical creature, even if he doesn’t believe it’s possible. the weight is you and your hate, but you can lift it. disco elysium gives you something broken and ugly and full of resentment and lets you make it something that’s still ugly, sure, and still pretty broken, but it’s getting better. recovery and healing are always within reach. kindness is always an option.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

hey queen, for “see no evil hear no evil” pt3, would you consider doing pregnancy x speech where our girl discovers from someone that she can learn how to talk, and she secretly practices it and one day she finds out she is pregnant and she tells aemond that she’s pregnant by talking to him (she also tells him “i love you” 👀) bc that would be so cool!!!

Sorry this took a few days but my writing time had seriously been cut back and I miss it 😭

See No Evil, Hear No Evil {3}

Aemond Targaryen x deaf!fem!reader Author's Note: I may have got a little side tracked but I think I have covered this all as requested with a few extras thrown in. Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, period sex, blood, allusion to infertility struggles, canon-death, vomit. WC: 4210

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four

Half of your body was too hot and the other half was too cold when you woke at dawn. The golden hues of the sun breaking the horizon lightened the room as you looked around and found the fire had died overnight. Aemond’s arm tightened around your waist and he nuzzled your shoulder as he curled his long body around yours, providing more heat than you needed. 

Easing out of his embrace for the fifth week in a row, you went into the adjacent room and pulled the string that connected to the maids’ quarters. You had just finished washing your face to chase away the lingering feeling of exhaustion from the early rising when two handmaids appeared and grabbed the dress you had selected for the day. 

Appropriately attired, you made your way through the quiet castle to Princess Helaena’s chambers and found the whimsical woman already opening the door for you with a warm smile. “Ready for today’s lesson?”

Nervousness crept in once again as you nodded and stepped into her room while the children still slept, apparently dawn was the only time it was quiet, or so she said. You thought you had long put the feeling of self-consciousness behind you but these lessons with Helaena had regressed you to the youthful mindset of bygone times and it was a constant battle to continue to show up, until you reminded yourself why you were doing this. 

Helaena waved her hand to the cushioned chair opposite her and you flattened your skirts as you took a seat, grabbing your book and a graphite pencil that Aemond made sure you had plenty of. After writing your message you turned the book around and Helaena read the writing. 

I am to see the maesters this morning so I must leave before long.

“You are not ill,” she stated or asked, though you weren’t quite sure which.

Your hand flew across the page as your chest tightened at the mere thought of what you were writing. It had been the cause for your increased anxiety and only grew as the days passed by and your body experienced no changes.

Six cycles and I am yet with child. 

Helaena gently pushed the book back onto your lap and took your hands in her smaller, delicate ones. “You are not ill, and you will be with child soon. You will be holding a babe by Maelor’s third Name Day. I have dreamed it.”

You struggled to concentrate on the lesson as Helaena’s words echoed in your mind and hope fluttered in your chest. You loved Aemond more than anything, you loved him so much that you felt you could not contain it - you wished to take all that love and create life from it. You wanted to see Aemond as a father, knowing there is no one more loyal to his family and that the child would be loved deeply. 

Yet each cycle you would wake with cramps in your abdomen and an ache in your heart. Aemond could see the tears in your eyes on those mornings and, try as he might to comfort and assure you that good things take time, you could see the same sadness in his eye. 

You had hoped to have a moment with Alicent but with King Viserys’ ailing health she was oftentimes busy ensuring the kingdom ran smoothly and you did not want to be a burden. The queen had enough pressure on her shoulders as it was, though she could have had some more help in the kingdoms’ matters if her eldest son would do his duty.

You looked at the princess, ethereal in her beauty and kind in her disposition, she hardly saw her husband and you wished she had known a dutiful husband. She deserved to be doted upon as Aemond did you. 

“Your mind has taken you places, dear sister,” Helaena said with a smile. “It is almost time to break our fast, would you accompany me to the dining room?”

You nodded and tucked your book back in your pocket with the notes from the lesson before following her to where the twins were being ushered by their maids. Both Jaehaera and Jaehaerys waved excitedly and broke away from the maid trying to detangle their hair to wrap their arms around your legs. 

You knelt to the floor and hugged them back until they pulled back suddenly. 

“Uncle Aemond,” Jaehaera said with a toothy grin and a moment later the door opened to reveal your husband. 

Though it had not been long since you had seen him, your arms were reaching for him and wrapped around his waist as he placed a kiss on your forehead. “I thought I would find you here, my love. Are you hungry?”

You nodded and took Jaehaera’s hand as she reached for you and Aemond, swinging herself between you two as you imagined you would be doing with a child of your own one day. You looked across to Aemond as she swung again and his smile grew although the light never quite reached his eye.

Jaehaera tugged at her Uncle’s arm until he dropped to one knee to address her and his eyes darted to your, then your stomach, then back to your face. Her back was to you so you did not see what it was she said but whatever it was gave him pause. You flipped your hands over so your palms faced up, asking him ‘What?’ but he just shook his head with a smile and took Jaehaera’s hand once more.

You woke the following morning with waves of pain and rushed from the bed to the bathing chamber where the strips of clean linen were stored. You had grown to hate the natural process of your body with each passing month and when word came that Rhaenyra was pregnant yet again, you questioned yourself. 

You had seen it time and time again throughout the Red Keep and in the city beyond. You couldn’t understand why some found themself with a child after bedding a stranger for one night but you could not with over one hundred nights bedding Aemond. You were not one to delude yourself with what was fair and not fair in the life you had been dealt, but seeing the blood stain on your nightdress certainly challenged that. 

You dropped the nightdress into the basin and wrapped a robe around yourself as the weight of defeat pressed on your shoulders and tears leaked down your cheeks. Light poured into the room as the door was open and Aemond filled the space, the soiled sheets bundled in one hand.

You looked away, feeling guilty that a prince was reduced to maids activities, when he knelt before you so you had no choice but to face him as he spoke, “I have trained with the guards for much of my life, dear wife, a little blood is of no concern to me.”

Fresh tears rolled down your face as his tenderness served to catapult you far from your sadness but his worry only increased. 

“Why are you crying, my love?”

You shook your head, hoping to shake the abundance of thoughts filling you. There was no explanation that would make a man understand how turbulent emotions were in those first days of your womanly cycle, so you settled on kissing him instead. 

He dropped the sheet to the floor so he could cradle your face in his hands and deepen the kiss. You pulled away breathless as his hands untied the sash of the robe and pushed the material off your shoulders. You gasped and tried to cover yourself but there was no hiding the streak of red between your thighs, your body burning with embarrassment. 

“Don’t hide from me,” Aemond said as he bent his knees to look at your bowed face. “There is not one part of you that is not beautiful to me, nor is there anything that would change my love for you.”

You bit back the fear that filled you as you asked him something that had been dwelling in the depth of your mind for months and your hands shook as you signed, What if I cannot give you a child?

His lips pressed together sternly and your stomach plummeted within your body before he gave your shoulders a small shake and said, “There is nothing that would change my love for you.”

The air in your lungs released along with the immense pressure that you had not realised had been building in you and you sagged into Aemond’s embrace with relief. His strong arms encased you as your tears dampened his skin and he pulled back. 

“I did not know this weighed so heavily upon you, my love.” He closed his eye and pressed his forehead to yours for a moment. “I should have been more attentive as your husband.”

The thought of your loving husband being even more attentive than he already was didn’t seem possible and your lips parted with a laugh as you shook your head at the impossibility of it all. He froze and wonder fell across his features at what he heard before he crushed his lips against yours and hooked your leg around his thigh. 

“Please,” he said and you knew what he was asking as you felt his erection against your thigh. Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of the act, one that was usually saved for those wishing to not fall pregnant. If you said no, Aemond would respect your choice but you found yourself not wanting to say no - though it was possibly the lady-like thing to do. You always wanted your husband and the blood was no concern to him, so why deny both of you the pleasure?

You nodded and wrapped your arms around his neck as he guided you backwards to the bench that held the basin. The wood was cold beneath you as you sat at the edge and Aemond spread your legs with his hips as he stepped between them and pressed his manhood to your entrance.

Your fingers danced over his back as he filled you and from the smile on his handsome face you knew he was enjoying the sounds you were making as the cramps eased and a different tightness grew. You had not known the remedy his body could give but you were grateful as he chased away the pain and replaced it with pleasure. 

His breath was hot on your neck as he kissed over your pulse and you buried your hands in his hair, holding him close as you felt your heart beating hard in your chest and the same pulse throbbed at your core. 

The long thrusts were teasingly slow and you needed more, dropping your hands to his firm buttocks and pulling him closer. His response was instant as he planted his hands on the wall behind your head rutted hard and quick, leaving you gasping as he hit the deepest parts of your core until you came undone around him. 

Aemond bit his lip at the feel of your release tightening your walls and he dropped his head to your shoulder, wrapping you in his arms as he filled you with his seed through the shudders. Pulling away, he kissed you sweetly before reaching for a washcloth and he laughed as you gasped at the mess, your jaw dropping wide.

“It is blood, not poison,” Aemond teased as he dunked the cloth in the basin and wrung it out before cleaning your thighs. Once you were clean, he wrapped the robe around you to chase off the morning chill before cleaning himself shamelessly, easing the sense of taboo that had crept back in. “I’ll call for breakfast in our room this morning, unless you feel well enough for the dining room.”

Though the cramping ache had gone for the moment, there was still a dull tenderness with each move you made and you did not wish to trek down the halls and stairs to the dining room so you shook your head. You left the bathing room with a handful of linen strips as Aemond grabbed his own robe and found a fresh sheet cast across the bed, though it was not tucked in finely as the maids did.  

Another wave of emotion swamped you and your chest jumped with a hiccup that drew Aemond’s attention. He was in front of you in a heartbeat, seeing fresh tears in your eyes and he ran his hands down your arms. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head and placed one hand over his heart as the other signed, I love you.

“I love you too,” he said with a smile as he wiped your damp cheeks. “I never realised how many different tears there were. I prefer your happy tears over all else.” 

Another laugh bubbled from your chest and you pulled away, leaving him smiling to himself as you went to the dressing room. There was nothing pretty about the undergarments that were reserved for your cycle, their only purpose was to hold the linen strips in place and you quickly hid them under a fresh bed dress, deciding you were not going to venture out into the public eye at all. 

Aemond was already laying in the bed when you returned, the blanket barely covering his modesty as he watched you cross the room to him. The hunger in his eye had you stumble and you knew that look intimately, it held the promise that he would give you no reason to want to leave the bed, perhaps ever again.

Smiles came easier and there was no longer an ache in your chest when you watched Aemond play with his nephews and niece. In the last six weeks he had reassured you a plenty that child or not, he would love you until the end of time. 

Sex also came a plenty as the stress of bearing a child was eased from your mind and you took your time enjoying and learning Aemond’s body intimately. There were certainly perks to having sex purely for the fun of it, especially when you wrapped your lips around his cock and brough him to release with your mouth. That was a favourite of yours, being able to look up the length of his body and see how he reacted to your touch, to your tongue. 

“Look at me like that and we will not make it to the Vaemond’s challenge,” Aemond said as he sent Maelor toddling back to his mother so he could have a moment with you in the tower window.

You grinned and lifted your shoulders, silently asking if it would be such a bad thing. His hand wrapped around yours and lifted it to his lips to place a delicate kiss to your palm. 

“And miss the grand family reunion,” he said with a slow growing smile as he saw his sister’s carriage arrive unmet in the courtyard far below. “Come, my love, we should get ready.”

 Your stomach turned as you looped your arm in your husband’s and let him lead the way down the staircase, towards the one who had scarred his face. You knew the story of that night, and how young the boys were when the incident happened, but Aemond’s resentment still burned like the red hot embers that remained long after the flames stopped flickering.

The nervous nausea grew the closer to the throne room that you stepped and when you crossed the threshold you were sure you were going to vomit. Aegon and Helaena were already waiting with Alicent, a clear division in the room as they stood to the left and waited for you to join them.

Alicent greeted you with a kiss to your cheek and she cupped Aemond’s scarred cheek gently as if to remind herself of the pain the other half of King Viserys’ family had wrought on hers. All words that could have been exchanged between mother and son died as Rhaenyra and her family entered the great room. 

Your eyes immediately fell to the swell of her belly that her hand rested upon but you did not feel the usual pang of hurt and it was a relief. 

The relief was short lived as three heads of dark hair trailed in her wake and you felt Aemond tense beside you as his eye fell on them too. You laced your fingers with his and felt him squeeze your hand gently in thanks but he dared not look away from the ones he saw as a threat to his family. 

The group barely gave you a passing glance but their stares lingered on Aemond, or more so the scar and leather patch that hid the worst of his injury. 

Your free hand inched up your throat and flicked out while Aemond coughed a laugh at the vulgar gesture you aimed at the young man who had drawn blood from your husband. The laugh was echoed by Aegon, as he was usually on the receiving end of the gesture, and Alicent shook her head but said nothing as the corners of her eyes wrinkled like she was suppressing a smile too. 

Your eyes trailed over the two halves dividing the room but as you were not in the centre there was not a lot you could read of what they were saying. You could only judge how the challenge was going by the reactions of the faces you were seeing. It was almost a physical ripple of surprise that spread along the room and you watch row after row turn to face the doors. 

The King had risen from his healing slumbers to decide the fate of Driftmark. 

Risen may have been the wrong term, for the King was hardly upright as he struggled to cross the floor with his cane to aid him. Pity filled you for the ailing man who had been kind and welcoming to you and you wished someone would ease his struggle to the throne. 

Your respect for Prince Daemon grew as he stepped up when Viserys’ crown tumbled from his head and the second son placed it back upon his brother’s head. It said a lot about a man who could be so close to the throne and never have it to still hold love for his older brother. You had no doubt that if tradition had not been broken to have Rhaenyra as Viserys’ heir and not his first born son, Aegon, that Aemond would have publically supported his brother too. 

With Otto sitting on the throne as Hand you could read his lips, but with Viserys there was no hope, not with half of his face hidden by the golden mask he wore. You didn’t like the confusion that came with being on the outside of the conversation and it left you more than a little stunned when Daemon suddenly drew his sword and beheaded Vaemond with one foul swoop.

You could scarcely believe your eyes as his body collapsed one way but his head the other and Aemond grabbed your waist, spinning you away from the sight that stayed burned in your mind. It took you a moment to process what you had seen, the odd organ that had been bared from the strike, and you realised it was Vaemond’s tongue that had remained with his body. 

Your stomach lurched and there was no stopping the bile that rose in your throat as you tore away from Aemond and made it passed the line of witnesses before collapsing to your knees and vomiting across the stone floor. Cool hands brushed across your forehead and you knew who they belonged to in an instant. He did not hesitate to use the corner of his clean cloak to wipe away the bile that clung to your lips and draw you away from the mess you had made.

There was no condemnation on his concerned face when he turned you to look him in the eye and you were glad to find that the wave of nausea had passed with what you had emptied from your stomach. With a trembling hand, you closed it to a fist and rubbed your chest but he caught your wrist before you even completed one circle, shaking his head as he pulled it away.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, my love,” he said, placing your hand on his chest instead. “You are too pure to have witnessed such violence.”

You frowned at the statement, remembering the many violent deaths you had seen during tourneys over the years and not once had you been squeamish at the sight of a man dying on the sand and straw ground in the summer heat. However jaded it may seem, you had come to expect violence when royals and knights collide.

You looked at Helaena beyond Aemond’s profile and she was clutching her hands together, looking far too joyful for the startled response she had had only moments earlier. Her smile only grew as she stared back at you and her hands arced over her flat stomach before pointing at you. 

Your lips parted with a gasp and you looked down, expecting to see a bump in your dress but it looked as it usually did. You counted back in your head and your hands began to shake harder as you realised while you had not been paying such attention to your cycle, you were about two weeks late for yours. 

“Aemond,” you said as you stumbled back in surprise, but not as much as he did. 

“What did you say?” he asked in shock, and you feared you had not enunciated it as well as when you had practised with his sister. “Say it again, please.”

“Aemond,” you said carefully, breaking it down into the syllables as instructed. It was possibly too quiet for him as he stepped closer so you said a little more forcefully, “I’m pregnant.”

His eye widened in surprise and behind him you saw Alicent, as well as most of the guests, spin away from the throne to look at you. Many smiled at the news while others frowned but you paid them no mind as you saw a tear slip over Aemond’s thick lashes and cascade down his unmarred cheek.

“You’re pregnant?” he asked as if he couldn’t quite believe it had finally happened. “A child, our child?”

You nodded and he closed the distance, crushing his lips to yours despite the bitter taste that still filled your mouth. He did not care. The only thing he cared about was you and his child that was growing in your belly. His arms wrapped around you and you melted into his embrace as if the world around you and the body on the floor behind him did not exist, it was only you and Aemond sharing this moment.

You pulled back so you could see his face when you spoke, “I love you, Aemond.”

His chest shuddered and he swallowed deeply as he savoured hearing those words on your tongue. “Say it again,” he begged.

“Aemond,” you said with a teasing smile and he kissed you before nipping your lip lightly.

“Not that.”

Unable to tease him anymore, you gave into the adoring look on his face. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he said as you wiped his tears away and he placed his hand on your stomach. “And our child too.”

Aemond turned away at something someone must have said but when he returned his smile was tenser than before. “The King wishes to have a family banquet tonight, to celebrate the news.”

You stepped around Aemond so that you could see the King watching his youngest son and you touched your chin with your fingers to show your gratitude before bowing your head. Helaena had not stopped staring at you with a knowing grin and you returned it as Aemond curled his arm around your waist and you nuzzled into his side to look up at him.

“I was quite jealous, truth be told, when you snuck from our bed to visit my sister each morning,” Aemond said with a smirk. “But this is how you and my sister spent all those hours locked away together?”

You slapped his chest lightly at what he was inferring and rolled your eyes before parting your lips to speak, “It was for you.”

Aemond stood a little straighter, his shoulders back and his chest puffed. “I have never been prouder to call you my wife, mother of my child. You continue to surprise me, my love.”

Your lessons had not been so extensive and without seeing how some words were broken down to each sound they were harder to speak. Instead, your fingers danced and he watched them speak for you, I have to keep you on your toes.

With many pairs of eyes still intently watching you and your husband, he gave you a wink before returning his own signs that caused a heat to wash over your skin. 

Or you could keep me on my back.

Click here for part four.

Taglist: @sheetalkalkhandey , @hydrationqueensworld

[magicalbats]

Kinktober Day 15: Noncon

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 6908

Warnings: Afab!reader, gendered language, familial death, noncon, like super noncon, debt, monetary coercion, references to prostitution and public use, implied master/slave dynamic, piv sex, blowjob, throat fucking, double penetration featuring a Fatui debt collector 

A/N: at this point I think anything I write for a Harbinger is just going to be exceptionally dark and gross so tbh consider that a warning in and of itself. This one’s rough so please pay attention to the tags before proceeding any further! I love you guys and I want you all to stay safe so feel free to skip this one if you think you need to!

⭐

Snow crunches under heavy boots as you make your way through the small village you called home. It was late, and the moon was out. Its muted, hazy glow casts over the snowdrifts and the shoveled heaps piled away from silent doorways to make it all glitter and shine like mountains of precious silver. You wished that was what it was. Wished you could dig your hands into it and scoop out palmfulls to spend on food and clothes, firewood for the hearth at home so you wouldn’t have to break your back chopping it for yourself every day. Maybe even a new comb for your hair, as a treat. 

You would have been able to afford anything at all if it was something of actual worth stretching out around you as far as the eye could see, so of course you would splurge on a comb. Perhaps even two. And a dress, a fancy one that would make the other girls green with jealousy while the boys threw themselves at your feet like shameless dogs. Anything and everything would be just at your fingertips in this perfect world of whimsical fantasy. Even your freedom. 

It was a nice thought. A tempting one, even. But if snow could be somehow transmuted into silver or any other precious metal then Snezhnaya would be the financial capital of Teyvat rather than the far distant Liyue. Your father had told you about it on occasion, what kind of place it was. How bustling with business and commerce the streets were. You’d thought it sounded like a strange but exciting place. So much potential for success bursting at the seams, just waiting to be struck upon, that you’d once even dreamed of going there yourself some day. Of making a future beyond the hopeless deadend you saw here. 

But that was little more than a long forgotten flight of fancy now, much like your silver-snow. Fantasies were just idle hopes and wishes for children who hadn’t yet learned the crushing truths of the world, and the weight of that sags your shoulders as you work to jostle your front door open. You were tired and cold, and quickly running out of options. 

The door finally gives way with a creak, and you stumble inside to knock the snow off your boots before bending to unlace them. You’re halfway through the motion, one shoe already undone and half kicked off, when you suddenly realize you’re not alone. 

You aren’t sure if it’s a shift of movement at your peripheral, if the redistribution of weight had displaced one of the old floorboards to issue a squeak of warning or if it’s something in the air that just feels … occupied. But you’re immediately aware of it on an intrinsic level and your heart seems to play hopscotch across your ribcage. Frozen to the spot, you just listen to the resounding silence for a long, horrible beat. Then your head comes up to glance across the room at the open doorway that leads into the small kitchen. A warm flicker of light greets your horrified gaze, taunts you with a beckoning sputter. You certainly hadn’t left the lantern burning this entire time, otherwise you probably wouldn’t have even had a home to return to. 

Slowly straightening, you hastily shove your feet back into your boots and reach for the knife hidden under your jacket. You grasp it in a tight, squeezing fist, just the way your father had shown you, and creep towards the doorway. It feels like you're hardly breathing but your pulse still jumps when the floor creaks under you. Nothing to be concerned about though, you try to tell yourself. They would have heard you come in anyway, especially since your damn door never wanted to open right. It was fine if they knew you were there because you knew where they were and it was your house, so you still had the upper hand. Probably. Maybe. 

Oh, please don’t let there be more than one of them, you pray to whichever god might be listening. 

Edging yourself close to the entryway, you’re more than a little relieved to find that it is indeed just a single figure standing over your rickety dinner table and you almost breathe out a heavy sigh. But then that shadowy mass turns, the cast of the lantern illuminating the face, and you nearly drop your knife in surprise. 

“L - lord Regrator?” 

He smiles at you, always soft and always gentle. “Hello, pet. Finally off work are we?” 

You just stand there, mouth moving wordlessly around any number of things you could have said to him in that moment. ‘What are you doing in my house?’ for starters. Maybe even an impulsive ‘why are you sneaking around at night like a thief?’ But all you finally manage to croak out is a threadbare, “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting, my lord” because you simply don’t know what else to say. 

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about that. I haven’t been here for very long.” Still smiling, still soft, he reaches out with an elegantly poised gloved hand as if to touch the top of your table but he stops short. Seems to hesitate. Thinks better of it, and instead sweeps those long fingers outward to gesture at the kitchen at large. “Your home is lovely. Quaint.” 

Pantalone hides his grimace exceptionally well. You only barely manage to make out the slightest tension that settles around his mouth in the cast of the burning lantern that sits sentry on the table between you and him, tossing odd shadows across his face. His contempt for your lodgings is clear though and you self consciously dart your eyes around the room as if seeing it all for the first time. The old, dilapidated iron stove that looked like it was on its last leg, the crack in the wall where the foundation was starting to give, bit by bit, and the rusting coffee carafe sitting in the tub sink. It probably did look abhorrent compared to what he was in all likelihood used to but it was all you’d ever known. The only thing you’d ever had that couldn’t be taken away. 

Swallowing hard, you center your focus back on him and try not to think about how much he looked like a finely dressed specter standing in the ruins of your life like this. Beautiful and nice to look at but you knew too well the venomous fangs he was hiding beneath that deceptively pleasant veneer. Like a wraith come to life to haunt you endlessly. Tirelessly. Ghoulishly. 

“Please forgive me, my lord.” You whisper into the eerie stillness. “Had I known you would be coming I would have cleaned and made preparations. Would you like me to make tea?” 

“Not at all.” 

You wince, and try not to wither. “Then is there something I can help you with?” 

Noising a thoughtful sound, Pantalone casually shifts into motion and you very nearly go scuttling backwards to escape him. But, to your surprise, he doesn’t approach you and instead wanders over to the stove to give it a shuttered but no less judgemental inspection. You start to bring your hand up to wipe the beading sweat from your brow only to abruptly realize you were still holding onto the knife. 

Stealing a look at where you’ve got it clutched in a death grip, you quickly decide to keep it out for the moment. You very well might need it. 

“One would think that old fool would have used some of the loan he borrowed to do a bit of upkeep on the place.” He murmurs, more to himself than you and perfectly offhand, but it still makes your chest squeeze tight. You probably should have seen this coming but the hurt catches you off guard. Makes you hate him just a little more. 

“I’m sorry my home is not to your liking, lord Regrator. I could have met you somewhere else if you’d just - -“

“Oh?” Pantalone cuts across you, neither raising his voice nor sharpening his tone. It’s the same soft, gentle refinement in his voice as usual that makes you cower in the doorway when he turns to make his long cloak flutter outward like a dancer. “And why would I give you the chance to run out on me like that? I know this isn’t exactly your area of expertise, dear, but surely even you must know that that’s just bad for business.”

You find yourself prickling defensively. For him to even insinuate such a thing … “I wouldn’t do that, my lord. I’ve been working hard to pay you back this entire time, just like we agreed. I even got a second job at the mill so I could make ends meet and still be able to make my payments on time. To up and leave after all the effort I’ve put into - -“

“Then can you give me your next payment now?” 

“I … my lord, I still have another week to get it.” 

Looking at you through the creeping gloom, Pantalone finally allows a small frown to tug at his mouth. “So that’s a ‘no’? Such a pity. I’d really rather hoped you would be better than your father.” 

You feel like you’re going to be sick. Hot and nauseous, and increasingly dizzy, you just stare at him for a drawn out beat before finally giving your head a numb shake. “No. That’s not what you said. My lord, you agreed - -“

“Let me explain something to you.” He cuts across you again, the faintest note of displeasure coloring his voice now. Sedately, he folds his hands together and moves towards you with the slow, rhythmic thud of his boots on the floorboards making your heart pound even faster. It sounded deafeningly loud in your cotton stuffed ears. “Loans are not granted out of goodwill and charity. There are terms that must be agreed upon by both parties before any mora can trade hands. Would you care to take a guess what terms your father took his loan out on?” 

You shake your head and back up a step, still clutching the knife beside your hip. Every fiber of your being was screaming at you to run, flee as fast as you can and never look back, but that would just make things worse, wouldn’t it? Prove that his wariness to trust you was well founded. You couldn’t afford to test the limits of his benevolence any further, figuratively or literally, so you stand your ground even when he comes within arms reach where he finally stops. Tilts his head to one side and then draws a calm breath. 

“Twenty-five percent interest. That is what accumulates every single day you don’t make a payment in full. To put it in layman’s terms, the only way for you to even make a dent in your fathers loan would be to pay around, oh, let’s say … 16000 mora a week?” 

Your knees almost give out right from under you. That couldn’t be true. There was no way … “Do — do you really expect me to be able to pay that much?” 

Softly tutting at you, Pantalone fixes you with a truly pitying look. “Oh, sweet girl. I would never ask something so unreasonable of you. But, as it stands, you did agree to take responsibility for the loan. Rather than a personal expectation on my part, you now have the obligation to pay it back regardless of my own personal thoughts on the matter.” 

“What choice did I have?” You croak. “What else was I supposed to say when you showed up at his funeral and started talking about stuff I have no knowledge of? You made it sound like I didn’t even have a say in it.” 

“Well, that’s hardly my fault if you agreed to something without understanding the full consequences.” 

You were starting to pant even though you hadn’t moved for some time now. It was like you were a tea kettle on the brink of boiling, so hot and messed up inside that you weren’t sure what the inevitable explosion was going to look like. You wanted to scream at him, throw yourself on the floor and sob like an inconsolable baby. You wanted to curse him, spit at him, hurt him — hurt him? 

Your fingers desperately clench around the knife to make sure it was still there. 

You could hurt him. 

Maybe you should hurt him. 

“You’re a monster,” You hiss, finding strength in your conviction, in the blade that had become a part of your arm, an extension of it. Stiffly, you shift to the side so he won’t see the way you readjust your grip on the handle to make sure you’ve got a good hold on it. “A twenty-five percent interest rate? That’s insane. No average person could pay that back in a single lifetime and you know that. You’re just a thief taking advantage of people.” 

Seamlessly, Pantalone’s placid little smile slips back into place. “Is that so?” 

“Yes.” You hiss the word at him, and try to work up your courage to follow through. You’d never stabbed another person before but in this instance, for him, you were quite certain you could. All you needed to do was goad him into closing the distance and get him near enough for your knife to reach. “You prey on the poor and impoverished like it’s some kind of game, don’t you? Is this what gets you off?” 

“That’s a rather crass thing for a young lady to say, isn’t it?” He simpers at you. Then, much to your heart pounding surprise, he takes a step towards you. And another. “But since you asked I feel it would be remiss of me not to give you an answer. How does a demonstration sound?” 

Your eyes go big, startled heat warming your cheeks quicker than you can even process it. There wasn’t enough time to think about that right now though. He was almost right on top of you, looming over you like some horrible, menacing beast in his fine furs. You seem to have forgotten how to breathe when the only thought flashing through your mind was sinking the blade in your hand through his chest. His neck. Whatever you could reach in the split second chance you were going to get to deliver the blow. Jaw clenched painfully tight, you squeeze your fingers around the knife so hard it hurts. 

And you lunge. 

An unseen hand materializes out of the darkness behind you and snatches your upraised wrist before you can bring it down. You’re so caught off guard that you don’t even have the wherewithal to gasp. A rough jerk on your arm yanks you off balance and right back against a solid wall of muscle that doesn’t even shift at the impact. Your animal instincts seem to take over and you wildly jerk your head up, just catching a glimpse of a red mask, a black hood, and then sharp, tearing pain is shooting up your captured limb. The masked fiend — a man, judging by his frame — twists and mercilessly bends your wrist until you drop the knife with an earth shattering clatter on the floor. Dully realizing you were caught and unarmed now, you violently wrench against his hold in an attempt to free yourself but he just drags you against him again. 

Screaming and kicking, he heedlessly maneuvers you further into the kitchen but even trying to turn into dead weight in his arms doesn’t dissuade him in the slightest. All he does is haul you close, lift you up in the air and then slam you down on top of the table with enough force to knock the air from your lungs. You’re distantly aware of him shuffling back a step as you lie there, gasping and wheezing while you weakly try to pull your body upright again but it’s useless. The teeth rattling impact against the sturdy wood had effectively stunned you. Your limbs didn’t want to cooperate and it was hard just to breathe, let alone try to run or fight back. 

And somehow through all the agony you’re vaguely aware of Pantalone’s approaching boot steps on the floor. 

“Goodness, was that really necessary? You could have set the whole place on fire.” He tut tuts at his underling and you slowly turn your head to watch him pick up the lantern where it was tipped over. The only thing that had stopped it from shattering or rolling off onto the floor was the protective cage around the glass but you weren’t sure if you wanted to thank whoever had designed it or curse them for it. There was no telling what they were going to do to you, and you may have preferred going up in a puff of smoke when all was said and done … 

Archons above, how were you supposed to get out of this? 

“Now,” Intoning, Pantalone gracefully moves to set the lantern on the adjacent countertop where it wouldn’t get knocked over again. The glow from the flame dances and moves with him, and you groan when it seems to make your nausea double down. You’d never felt quite so sick in all your life. “As I was saying, I think a hands-on demonstration should satisfy your curiosity well enough. As an aside, though, I would suggest not asking men about their sexual proclivities in the future. It just might keep you out of trouble.” 

“Bastard …” 

He comes close again, reaching out to close his fingers around the roots of your hair so he can yank your head back against the table. Seething, you glare up at him but he just keeps smiling that same polite smile. It was hideous. 

“My, my, that really is a filthy mouth you’ve got. Did you learn that from your father? Perhaps we should wash it out with soap while we’re at it.” 

“Stop it! Do not speak of him!” 

Chuckling faintly, Pantalone slowly lets up on your hair before moving to step around the table. Wheezing, you hastily try to roll over so you can slip down to the floor but the masked man stops you dead in your tracks. He was just standing there. Watching. Still and silent as a statue but you didn’t have to see his eyes to know how attentive his focus was. Like he was just waiting for the slightest hint of real resistance so he could use it as an excuse to rough you up again. Evil and loyal to a fault. 

From out of the void, Pantalone’s gloved fingers abruptly brush over your pants leg to make you jolt and whip your attention around so fast the room starts to spin. But once your vision clears enough to see, you just find him standing over you and as at ease as ever. He would have looked completely unassuming if you didn’t know any better.  

“Do try to keep your eyes on me, darling. After all, I’m going out of my way to give you a thorough and worthwhile answer, so the least you can do is pay attention.” 

“Please don’t …” 

Drawing a stilted breath that seems to shudder at the tail end, he slowly drags his palm up to your knee and then back down until it hits the top of your boot. Casually, much too casually for your liking, he disinterestedly nudges it off your foot to hit the floor before repeating the process on the other side. You cower on top of the table, biting back a sob when he reaches up to unbutton your jacket next, but you understood too well just how trapped you really were. The masked man was standing between you and the entryway, much bigger and much stronger than you were. You’d never be able to fight your way past him. In front of you was Pantalone and to the other side … the small kitchen door that led out into the yard was a non option because you hadn’t shoveled away the snow in months. You’d thought it was a good idea to leave as few points of entry into the house as possible now that you were alone, but you realized just how foolish that really was. You had no way out, no viable exits. 

“Are you really going to do this?” You fearfully whisper into the still air. 

With a soft click of his tongue, Pantalone gets the last button undone and brings his hands up again to push the jacket over your shoulders. “Only because you asked.” 

A full bodied tremor tears through you at the pur in his silky voice. Sucking in a ragged, gasping breath, you turn your head against the table to fix your attention on the beckoning door while he works on the next layer, and the next, leaving everything bunched around the bends of your arms, until he at last gets down to the bottommost chemise. You shiver at the loss of heat and the chill that rushes in to replace it, your nipples already cutting up into the thin material, but your reaction doesn’t so much as give him pause. 

Gloved hands drag up your front to cup around the swell of your breasts and squeeze, making you whimper in the back of your throat. “Well, this is certainly a pleasant surprise. I had no idea you were hiding such a voluptuous body underneath all those clothes.” Humming softly, as if in consideration, Pantalone readjusts his hold and shoves your tits together to make them squish under the final layer. “These are nice, aren’t they … have you ever considered going into prostitution? I’m sure you could make a pretty mora for yourself.” 

You screw your eyes shut but it doesn’t do much to block out the sound of his voice. “I would never …” 

“Oh? What a shame.” Pausing, he releases your chest in favor of neatly folding the material up to bunch under your chin and you outright writhe when the chilly air hits your stiff nipples full blast. “Though, if I’m being honest, I am quite tempted to take you with me back to the palace and start selling you myself. You’d be quite popular, you know. One look at this body and every man in the room would be tripping over themselves just to give me their entire savings for a mere hour with you. Perhaps you could pay me back that way, hm?” 

Whimpering when Pantalone lightly brushes his fingers over the pebbled peaks of your breasts, the leather stiff and cool to the touch, you twist your neck back in a blithe attempt to escape that velvety croon. It was no use though. Like you were smothered under his presence you could feel him, hear him all around you. You could even taste him on the back of your tongue where the cloying scent of expensive cologne swarmed your senses. It was too much. You didn’t want this. 

“Please … I’ll do anything, just — please don’t do this to me.” 

He gently shushes you even as he takes a moment to tweak your nipples, almost idly plucking at them until you hiss and choke on a broken little sob. Leaning over you then, hunching close, Pantalone puts his face near enough to yours that his exquisite eyeglass chain slides forward to brush against your cheek. He just looks at you like that for a long moment, still pinching your teats like an afterthought. 

Then, “You’ll do anything except the one thing that might actually get you out of this mess? My dear, I think you’re even more confused than I first thought. You do not have the luxury of choice here.”

Your stomach clenches. Roils and heaves. The dread that settles over you is debilitatingly crushing but you can’t quite stop yourself from looking up at him now, brows drawn in confusion and agony alike. “What do you mean?” It’s barely more than a whisper. 

“What I mean is simple. I own you.” He hisses it, punctuating that statement with an aggressive twist of your nipples to make you shriek. “Until that loan is paid off in full, you belong to me. Your life is in my hands, pet. If I decide you’re going to go stand naked in the town square and present yourself to every man walking by until you find a taker then that is precisely what you are going to do. Is that clear enough for you?” 

You squawk out a frantic, wild sound that might be a ‘yes’ and, to your reeling surprise, he immediately lets up on your poor breasts entirely. Just like that his mood seems to shift back to the usual placid tone and soft smiles, and you violently shudder as he soothes his palms over your aching teats as if to lessen the hurt. You can’t even begin to make sense of it but the relief you feel is staggering, and you force your quaking body to relax into it as much as you can manage. Of course you’d known what he was hiding under that pleasant facade, had seen it peek out on more than one occasion, but this was far beyond what even you had thought him capable. 

Perhaps you shouldn’t have been surprised though. Maybe you should have expected it on some level, but you now knew how very fine the line you were walking really was. He could do anything at all to you if the notion struck his fancy and something told you making you sell your body on the streets was only a small drop in the bucket. He was evil and deranged. Cutthroat. You had to play your cards very carefully if you wanted to avoid the worst of it. 

You repeat that to yourself, over and over again in your mind like a mantra when he finally reaches for your pants. It takes everything you have not to scream and kick, spit at him like a wild animal, but you manage, somehow, to just lay there, allowing him to get them pulled down your legs right along with your soft drawers. Left in nothing but your socks and the rumpled up heap of jackets and shirts bunched around your arms, you shyly squeeze your legs together to hide from him. You didn’t want him to see your most intimate spot. To look upon you like a lover would, but you don’t fight it when he grabs your hips and pulls you closer to the edge of the table. 

You had to play nice. Had to be good for him so he wouldn’t sell you to anyone that could afford to pay the hefty price tag he would no doubt ask for. Just the thought of him taking you makes bile rise in the back of your throat but even in the jittery panic coursing through your system you still recognized exactly how limited your options were. This was the lesser of two evils. You hated it beyond measure, but it was the far more bearable alternative. 

So you hold your breath, head spinning at an alarming rate, when he nudges your knees apart. Let them fall open in a shameless spread that leaves you bared to him and vulnerable. Your face feels like it’s on fire and furious tears sting your eyes, but you just clench your hands into tight, shaking fists. The nails dig in to lance pain through your palms and it helps ground you. Steadies your nerves even when he coos down at you with a saccharine sweetness. 

“And such a pretty pussy too … I admit, I’m rather impressed. I didn’t take you for the sort.”

You adamantly refused to respond to him now, leaving your mouth pursed in a thin line and your head turned away so you could keep your attention locked on the door. You should have shoveled the snow. Should have considered your situation a little more carefully. 

The featherlight brush of Pantalone’s fingertips on your cunt makes you jolt, almost pulls your head back around, but you stay firm on this. Prone and pliant for him as he traces a brief path down your slit before nudging into the lips to feel for your entrance. You wince at the contact, grimacing when he worms one long digit into your body even when he meets resistance, even though your shuddering muscles try to keep him out. The drag of his glove along your inner sleeve pulls a muffled hiss from you but he doesn’t even seem to notice. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.

“Tight too. That will help your value price a great deal. Tell me, poppet. You wouldn’t happen to be a virgin, would you?” 

You don’t much appreciate the note of humor in his voice, the sly inflection that would seem to suggest he found the prospect amusing. Delightful, even. Seething through your teeth at the uncomfortable penetration, you can’t help but squirm with the overwhelming urge to run away. “No.” You practically growl the word. “I’m not, you sick bastard.” 

Chuckling softly, he takes a moment to fuck into you with his finger, soon adding a second to stretch you out, but it does little in the way of good. There was too much tension thrumming through your body; too many aches and pains, and fast pumping adrenaline, and not nearly enough pleasure to be found on his cool digits to draw any amount of wetness out of you. But you keep your legs spread because you know that’s what is expected of you. You don’t protest when he eventually withdraws his fingers and reaches up to flick your shirt back open where you’d tried to pull it closed over your chest to stave off some of the cold. And you just lay there, unmoving save the harsh rise and fall of your labored breaths, when he reaches down to spread open his cloak before working to free himself from his pants. 

You don’t look. You can’t look, your heart painfully wrenching as he shuffles close to line his cock up. The blunt pressure of the head sinking into your slit steals the air from your lungs and you freeze, holding yourself so still it makes the joints scream in protest when he slowly starts to sink into you. Inch by excruciating inch, he bullies his way into your cunt and you choke on a pitiful little sound when your body is forced to grant him entry. It hurts. The smooth, silky texture of his length does nothing at all to ease the discomfort when you were trembling so stiffly and your guts were tight with fear. Pantalone just grunts over top of you though, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your hips tight enough to make bruises bloom under the pressure. 

And finally, an eternity later, he settles against you at long last. 

A wounded groan spills from your mouth as you sensitively twitch on his cock. He was so hot, so blindingly warm inside you, it felt like he was branding you from the inside out. Leaving his mark where no one else would ever be able to see it. You’d never be able to forget the claim he’d made on your body though, with or without his stamp seared into your flesh, and you wheeze, trying very hard not to hyperventilate. Somehow spewing your guts up all over him didn’t seem like it would do you any favors. 

“Oh, that is a tight fit, isn’t it?” He murmurs, allowing himself a moment to just bask in the squeeze of your body. The weak palpitations trying to push him out which only succeed in milking at him. A pleasurable tremor works through his frame, and he reaches up to adjust the position of the glasses on his nose where they’d started to slide forward. “You certainly know how to make a good case for yourself, pet. I admit, I’m suddenly feeling less inclined to sell you for a profit and more partial towards keeping you for my own personal use.” 

Stiffening on the table, you shoot him a quick, wild look before you can stop it, but he just laughs, very softly. 

“Don’t look so surprised. You aren’t nearly as clever as you think.” Loosing a breathy, almost dreamy sigh, Pantalone starts to slowly pull out and you jolt so hard at the gripping drag against your innards that you slam your head back into the wood with a resounding thud. “I had my suspicions when you stopped struggling but you didn’t even have the decency to beg me to stop. Although I do appreciate the cooperation on your part, I still wasn’t entirely convinced you would be worth the trouble. Housing, feeding, upkeep … there are so many different things to consider when one is thinking of taking on the responsibility of a new pet.” 

He pauses, the head of his cock just wedged inside your cunt now. Tipping his face down, he regards the sight of you spread out for him, on your back with your legs curled open around his waist and his rigid length poised to spear back into you. It makes him hum a quiet groan, his usually placid smile growing a little sharper. Hungrier. He looks at you like a finely dressed conqueror about to lay ruin to a yet untouched and fertile land. His for the taking. 

Slowly, he starts to sink in again. “But this sweet little cunt of yours is taking me so well. Even without the proper preparations you still fit me like a glove. Like you were made just for my cock … tell me, darling, will you be a good pet for me?” 

“Y - yes …” You seethe, once more screwing your eyes shut so you won’t have to look at him. Flawless and beautiful, and horrible hunching over you. 

There was an end in sight though, if you could just reach out and grasp it. Clutch it to your chest with fervent hysteria and never let it go. He’d already damned you but you were willing to take your salvation wherever you could get it. The mere thought of other men having you like this, all strangers, faces you’ve never seen before; the old and the young, the sick and the drunk, is enough to steel your resolve. If this was to be your fate you would much rather suffer solely at Pantalone’s hands than anyone else’s. 

And he moans, ever so faintly, at your acquiescence. Starts to pump into you a bit quicker, ignoring the way your face pinches in pain and discomfort. “Will you do everything I say, poppet? Will you be a nice and obedient dog for me? Will you call me master?” 

The breathy quality of his voice makes your stomach wrench and threaten to regurgitate all of its contents, but you force yourself to stiltedly nod. “Yes, I will. Anything … m - master.” 

“Such a good, smart girl you are.” He laughs. “Then will you suck his cock for me?” 

You go ramrod stiff, a fresh surge of horror washing over you. It crashes against you like turbulent ocean waves hitting the rocks on a beach, slamming with enough force to slowly chip away at their density over time. You’d forgotten about the masked man. So caught up in your own misery his presence had completely slipped your mind for the last however many minutes, but when you stiffly turn your head, you find him already working to undo the front of his pants. Evidently he did not need to be told twice. 

And, to your lurching horror, you clearly had very little choice in the matter. 

“Wait — that’s not what you said!” You squeak, shooting Pantalone a wide eyed, wild look, but he just purses his lips at you. Coos like he would at a baby. 

“Although I might be willing to keep you for myself that doesn’t necessarily mean I won’t deign to share you from time to time, for my own amusement. Besides, it’s just your mouth. I’m much more concerned with this tight cunt of yours.” 

He groans, low and faltering as his pace starts to pick up more. The dull whap of his clothed hips meeting the fleshy give of your thighs grows louder, more insistent, his cock relentlessly carving out a space within you now. It seems to punch the air out of your lungs and you gasp, bleating helplessly there on the table.

A hand suddenly materializes under your chin and locks around your jaw to yank your head back at an awkward angle. You catch a split second glimpse of the cock bobbing in your face, chest hitching in surprise and distress, and horror at what was happening to you, but it was too late. The masked man angles his pelvis forward and roughly shoves himself into your mouth. You shriek around the intrusion, tears stinging your eyes at the cloying taste of him. Salty and musky, bitter enough to make your skin crawl, but there’s nothing you can do about it. He just keeps your neck pinned down while Pantalone fucks into you even harder, his moans becoming louder when your body subconsciously squeezes him every time you writhe.

It was like you were being stretched between two equally unrelenting forces and even trying to twist away does nothing to make it better. Your breasts just jostle violently with each thrust from the man positioned between your legs and your throat constricts painfully when the masked stranger tries to shove his length straight down your gullet. Coughing and sputtering, struggling just to breathe, you force yourself to go still again and just accept what was happening on the slim chance that would make it somehow more tolerable. 

But of course it doesn’t. The unknown Fatuus doesn’t stop trying until your face is covered in a slimy, bubbling sheen of spittle and saliva that slowly runs back into your hair. Finally, after many attempts that have left your throat bruised and raw, he at last manages to sink himself halfway into the squeezing passage and you violently jerk when you realize you can’t breathe. A tiny, muffled noise manages to escape your constricting airway, but he just groans in response and shudders as if it felt good. You quickly become lightheaded, stomach heaving as if to finally throw up but — he suddenly pulls out to leave you desperately gasping and choking in the aftermath. 

Weakly, you try to lift your head with the intention of sending Pantalone an imploring look but the other man just palms the top of your skull and manually turns you back towards his cock again. Not having a choice, you pitifully roll your eyes up to look at him instead even as you take his length back into your mouth. You can see him snarling under his mask from this angle, his lips pulled back in a sneer of concentration while he thrusts towards the back of your aching throat to drag out more sticky sheets of drool that run down your chin in messy clumps. 

It is not this degradation that finally breaks you, nor is it the fact Pantalone is using you like a mere toy for him to get off on. What eventually does it is the sticky wet click you just manage to make out over all the other lurid sounds buzzing around you, and you dully realize it’s coming from between your legs. Your cunt was slicking for him. Against your will, defying all logic and reason, your body was responding to this cruel treatment. That horrifies you perhaps more than anything else and, letting out a wailing sob, you let the tears spill out to track hot, stinging paths down your burning face. 

The masked man clicks his tongue as if disgusted to see you crying like this, and he finally lets up his hold on your jaw. Allowing your head to loll bonelessly on the table, you just lay there while he reaches down to grab a pinching handful of your swaying breast, squeezing it so hard you groan in response. 

Between your spread legs, Pantalone issues a quiet, insidious chuckle. “Poor thing. You already look so tired … not to worry though. I’m sure a nice warm bath back at the palace will have you back to sorts quickly enough.” 

You hiccup at the thought, distantly realizing how cold you were. Yes, this was certainly the best outcome you could have hoped for. Pantalone would take care of you. Feed you. Keep you warm and clean, and comfortable so long as you were obedient. A nice pet for him to play with whenever the mood struck. It wasn’t exactly the life you’d dreamed of, but at least it was something. 

It wasn’t the prosperous lands of opportunity in Liyue you’d longed for as a child when your father was still alive, but at least it was a marginally better life than the one you currently had. 

The toll it would have on your body and mind alike seemed a reasonable price to pay for your freedom from debt. After all, what other choice did you even have?

⭐

Crossposted: here

[missglaskin]

Do you Love Me? 

Note- Once again, it’s 3Am as I finish this. So I apologize for the many grammar mistakes. Also, this was greatly inspired by The great (hulu), come on Aegon gives off Peter vibes 

Pairing: Soft dark!Aegon II Targaryen x reader x fem!reader

Tags: EXPLICIT/SMUT, Arranged marriage, character deaths, strangely some fluff, lots of angst, pregnant!reader, Aegon is a terrible husband at first, squint of Jace/reader, love confessions, manipulation, jealousy, implied painful first time

You worshiped the prince. And how could you not? He was young, handsome, and, as mentioned, a prince. Every girl in the seven kingdoms dreamed of him. But he was yours by oath. And when you finally saw him on your wedding day, it was the happiest moment of your life. 

Your arms were linked with your father’s. Feeling your heart pound in your chest. Stomach churned with excitement. When you finally reached the altar, your father handed you to the Prince. And the second his hand touched yours, the butterflies in your stomach violently clashed with one another. 

In the sight of gods and men. The prince will become yours. And you will be his. Your eyes didn’t look away from his violet ones, wanting to drown yourself in them. They are so alluring that the Septon’s words are muddled in your ears. But you didn’t need to hear them. Memorizing the vows by heart. As you recited them to the mirror every other day. One heart, one flesh, one soul. 

After the vows were said, you and the prince sat side by side. The servant on his side poured wine into his cup throughout the entire night. He didn’t speak to you. He didn’t even ask you to dance. Watching all the other lords and ladies surrounding you laugh and dance with one another. 

His face turns to you on occasion and you smile at him every time. He didn’t return them. Maybe he was nervous. You hoped he was so you wouldn’t feel that slight pang. To distract yourself, your eyes roamed the remaining table, seeing his family. His grandfather, his mother, his sister, his brothers were all there. You couldn’t help but notice the shared look they gave you. In return, you continued smiling, even when you sensed it slowly faltering. 

Soon it was the wedding night. And the excitement bubbled once more. You remembered your times at the library back home. You were a lady, and it was a scandalous thing to do, but you indulged your curiosities. Reading such shameful books that your Septa would’ve certainly had you flocked if she ever heard of it. 

The pleasure, the desire, the yearning, the burning, the ecstasy all written in such detail. And the men in the stories. They were so selfless and giving. Meeting her every need, making her see the stars and the moon. The thought of doing all of those things with the prince crossed your mind more times than you can count. It made you ashamed, but should you be, knowing he’ll be yours someday. 

But on that night, he tarnished your dreams. 

The prince, your newly husband; Aegon crawled to you. Stinking of wine. There was no preparing, no reassurement, no kisses, no praises. Laying there as he thrusted sloppily into you. Your body moved back and forth from the force. Your eyes on the ceiling, tears welling up. He wouldn’t even look at you. 

Aegon lies beside you now, passed out. All that drinking finally got to him. Your eyes are still on the ceiling, unable to grasp the reality you’re in. There was no pleasure, no ecstasy, and you surely did not see the stars. You doubted if it even happened, if not for the aching in your legs and the cum stains on your inner thighs.

Finally, you move to get yourself clean. Maybe you were to blame. You had all these whimsical dreams and such lofty expectations. It was known that first times are always awkward, so maybe it will get better the next time. And besides, you have a lifetime together. He’s just drunk. The following morning, he will treat you much better and finally show you the love and affection you have so desperately craved.

The following morning he did not, in fact, treat you better. He wasn’t even there. The breakfast that you had the servants prepare was left mostly cold, with you being the only one at the table. His presence during the evening was nowhere in your ‘shared’ chambers. And when he finally showed himself, it was him drunk either collapsing on the bed or going on top of you to do what he must do. 

Is that what your life is to be every day. Where were the embraces, the kisses in the morning, the heartfelt confessions, the gifts, the loving gazes. He treated you as if you were some common whore, rather than his wife. But it wasn’t his constant drunkenness that pushed you over the edge, nor was it him ignoring your mere existence. 

It was the sight of him with another woman that did. He didn’t even notice your presence as you turned to leave. He finally did it. He broke you. As sobs wreck your body. You finally understood the looks his family gave you, the court, the servants, even the guards. It was a look of pity. Foolish girl, they must think. So hopeful, so naïve, so stupid. 

The morning after, he showed up at the breakfast table. The day before, it would have made you giddy in your seat. Batting your eyelashes and listening intently to every word he said. But now you have seen what you need to see. Your head down while you eat in silence.

You just couldn’t understand. He didn’t show you an ounce of kindness even when you greeted him with open arms. Even when you were ready with a heart full of love.

With all of that, you shouldn’t have taken pity on him. He came drunk as he always did, but this time it was in such a state that it almost seemed as though something had happened to make him seem so miserable. Aegon puked, filling the space with the foul stench. It seeped through his shirt. 

You genuinely despise your tendered heart as you move to assist him. Having him lean on you as you shout for the servants to run the bath. They also assisted you in taking off his clothes and getting him into the bath. During all of this, Aegon was still somewhat conscious.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a servant reach for the sponge to wash his body with. But you stop her, taking it from her hand. You command for them all to leave. Call it jealousy if you will.

As you scrubbed his body, half-lidded eyes watched you the entire time. When you were finished, it took all your strength to get him out of the bath, his wet body soaking through your nightgown. You grabbed the towel to go dry him off only for your nightgown to be tugged by his fingers. 

With his words slurred together, he murmurs "take it off". Even in this state, he was still thinking of what’s between his legs. As you finally glance down, you realize his sudden arousal. As the wetness made the white night-gown a see-through.

You could easily deny him. Slap his hand away. Push him to the bed and tuck him in. His condition left him in no position to fight. He has always gotten his wishes. And will it fill you with some satisfaction to finally deprive him of his wants. Absolutely. 

But what of your wishes, your wants, your needs. Perhaps it was driven by a sense of entitlement, but you wanted to experience the burning desire you had always heard of. Not the sloppy drunken fucks he gives you, all just to release his seed and pass out later on your side.

Hands reaching the bottom of the nightgown. Lifting the drenched fabric over your head. Drawing the violet eyes to your bare body. His lips arc into a contented smirk. You smack the hand trying to grab you. Wiping that smirk off his face when you push his chest. 

Resting your full weight on him. Palms placed on either side of his head; caging him. Feeling the soft strands of silver hair between your fingers. Through his haze, he can mostly see your face. And that's what you want. For him to focus on you and nothing else. For the rest of the world to be nothing more than a shroud. 

You reached down to grab his cock, brushing it against your pussy lips. Rubbing his cockhead in between your folds. Breathing heavily, coating the tip with your witness as the pressure builds in your stomach. This all becomes too much for you to endure. To him, the said can be said as silent pleas escaped his lips.

A hiss is let out between clenched teeth as you slowly sat down on him. He groans at the feeling of his length gradually filling you up. Your movements are halted while you inhale and exhale with the dull pain from the stretch. It wasn’t long before the said pain fades away and it morphs into the pleasure you yearned for.

As his hardened cock seeps through your pussy walls. You began to slowly grind yourself against him, slowly circling your hips. Aegon's hand slides through your body all the while he moans loudly, with no shame in the slightest. You can feel every vein on his shift. The squelch of flesh fills the air. Rolling your hips in a way that his cock brushes every inch of your inner walls.

It twitches inside you. With your body arched and head thrown back in pleasure-you are unable to contain the noises that you let out. The aroma of sex fills the spacious chambers. He tries to keep up with you, to try thrusting his hips, but all he could manage is to roam your body from your hips to your tits. Another moan escapes you as he gropes them.

You lean forward. The change of the slight position makes his cock reach further into your core. Your hands grab his shoulders and dig your nails into his skin. The sloppy sounds of you two fucking echo off the walls. Feeling your insides clench around him causes him to groan louder. 

Kiss me. You whispered it, breath touching his face. And he obeyed your command. Lips clashing against yours. A kiss filled with passion and desperation. His tongue invades your mouth, entwining and twisting it with yours. He presses you against him, your nipples briefly brushing against his chest.

It leaves you breathless, not in how he seems to inhale your breath, but in the way his arms are tightly wrapped around you as if you were to vanish at any moment. His mouth muffles your gasp as the head of his cock touches that special spot inside of you. And you felt him cry into your mouth, feeling your insides wrap even tighter around him.

Both your lips swollen when you pulled back for a gasp of air. A salvia string between your mouths. Just for Aegon to close the distance once more, a hand on the back of your neck. By now, you are both a moaning mess as you continue riding him much faster than before. The sound of skin slapping against skin identifies each second, your bounces becoming more abrupt. 

In an almost scream, you struggle to keep your eyes open with the overwhelming pleasure that washed over you from head to toe. He followed you right after. His body shivering and twitching underneath you. His swollen lips parted in broken moans.

It seems like another bath is needed.

The morning came and instead of the breakfast you thought you’d share with Aegon; it was instead shared with your mother-in-law; the queen. “Has my son been treating you well,” were the first that greeted you as you sipped your tea. You merely nod, setting the said cup of tea on the table. Alicent sighs, "Good." She then makes a brief pause before speaking, "Has he been doing his duty?"

In other words, are you with child. That was the question she wanted to ask. But perhaps it was too forward. As the heat spreads to your skin, you nod again. In all your preparation for marriage, discussing your sex life with your mother-in-law was not one of them.

Then, the door opens. You turn to face the other way. Seeing Aegon. His raised brows and slight widening of the eyes tell you that he didn't anticipate his mother’s presence. His mother asks of his arrival before you do. His eyes remained on your face even when he answered her, “You weren’t at the breakfast table.”

He was waiting for you. You briefly blinked. Aegon was waiting for you. In all your days, it was you who did all the waiting. Every morning. Sometimes he didn’t arrive, and you were left to eat the cold food. Pitying the rest that will be thrown away.

The butterflies flutter in your stomach, but you keep them at bay. Turning your back to him. You had no intention of keeping your hopes up. One night of an intimate moment and a considerate gesture in the morning won’t easily sway you to forget it all. Your heart was in his hand and he threw it to the ground then stumped on it. It still aches from that night of the wedding and seeing him with that damn woman who you were certain was one of the servants.

But he was making it all the harder for you. Gods, have you mentioned how much you hate your tendered heart. 

"I have a gift for you." When your eyes caught sight of the necklace in his hands, you couldn't help your awe. Fingers gracing the emerald stones before it’s swept away from your touch. “Let me.” He intends to put it in you, you realize. So you turned as he placed it around your neck. Back in his line of sight, you gave him a smile. Detesting the way your chest tightens when he returns it. 

Wearing nothing but the emerald necklace. The prince and you are bathing together. You truly have no idea how the two of you got into this predicament.  Though at the moment you are in no mood to fuck, but have you ever known Aegon not to. Pushing against his shoulders. “So what do you want me to do then,” he asks in exasperation, and you couldn't help but raise a brow. Has he ever done anything remotely affectionate for another other than fucking.

Relax, you told him. Just relax. All you got was a blank stare. Heaving a sigh, you turn around, leaning your back against his chest. You sensed his surprise at the act, but he welcomes it. His chin rests on the top of your head, and your lips almost curve upward as his arms awkwardly embrace you. You close your eyes to enjoy the peaceful silence that now permeates the space.

But in the end, Aegon always got what he wanted. Your wet bodies entangled on the sheets soaking it. It feels refreshing not to taste the wine on his tongue. Aegon was rough as he always was. But this time there was something different. 

He fucked you like he didn’t just want you. But like he needed you. And when he came. He didn’t move to sleep on the side as he did all those times before. Resting his cheek on your chest with his cock still inside you. Your fingers combed through the strands of his silver hair, receiving a hum that made your skin tingle.

Despite all of your self-talk to the contrary, you held the optimistic belief that the relationship changed. That he changed. 

And how could you not, given that Aegon's hand never left yours. Everything you wished at the altar that day finally came to you. The embraces. The kisses not only given in the morning but all throughout the day. A never-ending stream of gifts.

Not to mention his insatiable lust for you. It doesn’t matter the time or if there were others in the room. When Aegon wanted you, there was no stopping him. Even if you were his wife, it was still a scandal. The many scoldings and fights it caused. You promised his mother it will never happen again, only for Aegon to have you break it the same day by having you in the gardens. 

There was something you did notice in Aegon. Such as when you tug his hair back and hear a moan. Or how he never moves the hand that wraps itself around his throat. How he hangs on to your every word. But you dare not to mention it.

It was no surprise then when you visited the maester and were informed of your condition. Strangely, his family showed more excitement for your pregnancy than Aegon did. Even his grandfather was oddly proud at the announcement. 

But another announcement was heard. The arrival of the princess Rhaenyra and the rest of her family. You only heard rumors. But it seemed they have some semblance, given that Aegon doesn’t seem the slightest bit happy by the news. 

It wasn't until suppertime that you got to meet them. As you couldn’t attend the petition. Alicent demanded you must rest for the time being. Aegon tried to insist on staying by your side, but he was compelled to leave, kissing you goodbye before he did. And thank the gods you weren’t permitted to attend as Vaemond’s fate filtered through the castle. Such a sight would not have been something you can stomach. 

At suppertime though, you are utterly furious with Aegon. No matter how many times you nudge his feet or whisper for him to stop. He continues his inappropriate remarks to Baela and Jace. You offer an apologetic smile and even move to stand to raise a glass to their upcoming union.

But you assume he got his own taste of medicine when the music began and a hand reached out to you. Looking up to see it's Prince Jacaerys. As soon as you took his hand, you felt a tug on the other. It’s Aegon; giving you a silent command. To refuse. But you simply ignore him, moving to stand.

Jace says a few words, but you can feel Aegon's watchful eyes never leave the two of you, sending blood rushing to your ears. It wasn't until you were a little distance from the table that you gave yourself permission to enjoy the moment. 

With your round belly, unfortunately, you were unable to jump, but Jace only gave you a reassuring smile and opted to link your arms together instead.

You have only known him for a brief period of time, but you felt at ease in his presence. He seems to share your love for dancing, which you weren’t able to do as much even at your own wedding. With him, you allowed yourself to smile. To giggle when he whispers a jest in your ear.

But when Aemond gave his speech, that moment of tranquility was tarnished. When Jace goes to punch Aemond and Aegon pushes Luke onto the table. The guards pass you by, moving you aside and your hand protectively reaches for your stomach. 

Before Alicent could usher any of you to bed, Aegon has already grabbed your arm, dragging you along. The fury on his face tells you of what to expect later at night. And as rough as he wanted to be, there was the concern of ‘hurting the baby’.

But the following morning, your husband was nowhere to be found. 

Matters were made worse when the news of the king’s death was told to you. Standing in front of the green council, it was they who informed you of his passing. Being watched by them, with most of the focus on your round stomach, made you feel uneasy.

When you heard Otto's words, you did not try to conceal your shock. Aegon will become king. But they all swore allegiance to Rhaenyra. She was the king's chosen heir. However, you dared to keep those thoughts to yourself. You knew what it meant. That you'll be made a queen consort. And the child, who the council is already referring to as 'he' will be the heir.

A servant greeted you as soon as you returned to your chambers. But she seemed nervous, her hands clasped together with clothes that appear too big for her. She didn't perform any of her duties; just standing in the center of the room as if she were waiting for you.

Asking of her name, you make your way to sit on the bed. "Mauriel," she responds, voice trembling in unison with her body. Before you can blink, she goes down on her knees. Head pressed to the ground just inches from your feet, choking sobs pierced your ears.

You are at a loss for what to do as you hear her pleas. But at the mention of your husband, your body tenses. Finally, her familiarity dawns on you when she lifts her head. That day when you saw Aegon on top of another woman. It was her. She was indeed a servant.

It was hard to hear her words over her hiccups and sobs. You then saw her hand reach for the bottom of her clothing. And you prayed. Prayed it wasn't what you assumed it to be. But the gods were cruel when you are met at the sight of her round belly.

A hand over your mouth, taking deep breaths to keep your composure. Tears and snot ran down her face. "I tried so hard hiding it my lady, but it gets bigger every day," she cried out. You can only nod along. “I don’t ask much, my lady, only for some money to help me leave”. 

As much as you were boiling over with resentment and jealousy. You found it in your heart to pity her. 

Before you could even respond, the doors were thrown open. Alicent is there with guards on her side. Maurel's face is seen to be filled with horror. As if she expected them. Despite your protests, they drag her away. I will deal with it, Alicent assures you. “But-” “I will deal with it,” she repeats sternly this time. In no position to fight, you are forced to back down.

You decide to change the topic. "Where is Aegon?" She doesn't respond, and you ask her again. "We're looking for him," was all you got from her before she left. The rest of the guards follow after. Strangely, Ser Cole was not in sight.

When the doors close once more. You are back on the bed. Face covered in your hands, trying to process every overwhelming thing. The worst fucking thing is Aegon was nowhere to be seen. He left you. Abandoned you. You're not sure why it startled you. From the beginning, you vowed to stop yourself from keeping your hopes up, from loving him.

Then again, you don’t know if you wish to see Aegon again. You can still see her. Mauriel on her knees, tears rolling down her cheeks. A sick part of you was relieved that she wanted to leave rather than stay or, worse yet, ask Aegon to be involved in the child's life.  As if that will happen. There was also this horrible thought in that you wish Alicent had given her moon tea. It will be a blessing. She is in no position to care for a child.

You were well aware of the rumors before you were wed. The bastards that were in the street of silk. But you assumed they were simply rumors. That he was an honorable prince and such revolting behaviors were not a part of his character.

But you soon come to understand that 'the you' prior to the marriage was not in love with Aegon, but the idea of him. That he was just like all the princes you have read of in your books. He was far from them though, hell even Aemond fit the image better, and that said something. All those thoughts of the many women he has slept with and all the bastards that roamed King's Landing are racing through your mind.

It made you livid, green with envy. And you let it be known when he returned. 

Upon his forced return, you weren't allowed to see him. And when you did, he was standing at the opposite end of the Dragon pit's. His family positioned behind you. You stay close by as Ser Cole places the crown, Aegon the conqueror’s crown on his head. Then, in front of him, stands his mother. Kissing him on the forehead.

She then turns to face you. A steward comes from your side bearing another crown on the red cushion. The golden crown carved with rubies—fit for a queen—is taken by Alicent. She places it in your head before giving you a polite kiss on the cheek.

At first, there was no noise from the crowd, but as they began to cheer, it quickly gained momentum and echoed in the pit. As your husband raises the sword to the sky, you watch him soak in all the cheer and praise. Then his hand grabs yours, raising it as the applause continues, but this time for their 'queen'.

Your hands briefly entwined with his before you wrenched it away and forced it back to your side. A clear frown could be seen on his face in response. His daring to wonder of your treatment of him only served to inflame your rage.

When just the two of you were in the chambers. You let him have it. Screaming at him, using every foul word in the book, letting all your frustration seep out of your mouth. The stress finally caught up to you, feeling yourself stop when you began to feel an ache in your stomach.

Apologies were uttered over and over. You wanted to shove the hands that wrapped themselves around you, the face that buried itself in your neck. You had to use all your strength to push him off, and when you did, you weren't prepared to see his heartbroken face. 

Heading to leave, your fingers stopped just as they touched the door handle after hearing it. I love you. The words reverberated throughout the chambers. You hated how your body ached for you to turn to him. How those words made your stomach flutter. How long had you been waiting to hear those words. But after what he did, do they really mean anything.

"I love you," he says it again. And this time, you come to face him. Only for him to be standing so close to you. You tried not to falter. Not to show the effect of his words. "You love me?" You ask of it, knowing he'll just repeat it again.

“Then beg,” the words shocked you as much as they did to him. But there was no turning back now. Your face stiffens, taking a bravery gulp before opening your mouth. “Then go down on your knees and beg for my forgiveness.” 

At the moment, time seemed to freeze around you. Truthfully, you are unsure of his reaction. But to your amazement, he does it. Eyes never leaving yours as he bends down on his knees, holding you by the waist.

He puts his pride aside as he begs for your forgiveness. As he begs you not to leave him.

You blink for a moment, almost left speechless. And before you were able to realize what you are doing. Your fingers stroked his hair. He now looks at you with such longing and desperation. The fingers then moved to stroke his cheek only for his hand to cover yours. Watching as he places your palm over his mouth, giving it a few quick kisses.

And before you know it. You are pushing his silver locks to devour your aching cunt. Moans carelessly slipping from your lips. His tongue eagerly, lapping against your dripping folds. Eager to satisfy your lust and prove his love. Making such a mess of you as he drinks in your juice, your nectar.

Even with the pleasure enveloping your senses, you are able to speak out the words. “Do you love me?” You ask him yet again. Yes. He spoke it softly. You whimper at the vibration it causes on your sex. “How much,” you say, looking down at him. "More than anything.” There was no hesitation in his words.

More than the crown, you ask. Yes, he answers. More than your family? Yes. More than the wine? Yes. Each time, his response was the same. Even when you ask him this. “More than your whores?” Yes.

Your mind flashes back to Mauriel. Clenching your fists and scowling at the memory of her. So you said the words, without thinking of the repercussions that will follow. “Then be rid of them,” you demand. You groan at the loss of the feeling of his tongue as his face is revealed, your juice seen dripping down his chin.

You took a deep breath, daring to take the risk. "I want every whore you've ever been with to be gone, whether she sucked your cock or had it in her." Just the thought of them seeing his bare boy was enough to make you envious. When your words reach his ears, worry coils in your stomach. Fearing his response.

Much to your relief, with a muttered promise to do so, he returns to dive in between your legs. 

Waking up in the morning, your husband was not there. Even more, taken back when Ser Cole appeared at your door. “The king demands your presence,” is all he says before giving you a moment to dress. As you follow him, you ask Ser Cole where the two of you are heading, but he doesn’t respond.

Moving through the hallways, you start to notice the eyes that watched you from every corner. At first, you thought it was your new position. Being the queen of the seven kingdoms. But these weren't the looks of admiration or curiosity. But ones filled with fear, judgment, and even anger.

Seeing Alicent stopped in your tracks. She didn't greet or smile at you, making you feel more uneasy. “Your husband made such a commotion today,” she claims, “his first act as king all done under your name”. You can only stare at her. Utterly unclear as to what she meant. And when she said her final words to you, you were left more bewildered and even hurt. “And to think I once pitied you.”

Then it's as if the prior mentioning of his name summoned his presence. "My wife," Aegon proudly announces, beaming as he rushed to you. Embracing you as his lips met yours. You hear Alicent sigh at the display. The second he pulls away, Aegon drags you along, forcing you to follow him. With Ser Cole not far behind.

Unsure why the two of you are outside the castle. The chilly air has you shivering, wrapping arms around yourself for some warmth. It's when you look near the gates, do you nearly scream in horror. 

Wishing for it is one thing. Speaking of it was one thing. But to see it. To have it be fulfilled was another.

Several bodies lay in front of you. Every one of them hanged. Your eyes can see the darkening bruises on their necks, as it’s bent in an inhuman manner. Every one of them was a woman. Their faces unrecognizable. Against your better judgment, you allowed your eyes to wonder until they came across her. A face that you are familiar with. Mauriel.

“I was planning on bringing you their heads, but that would be too much work, wouldn’t it.” You didn’t respond. No matter how much your body cried out for you to turn away from the horrifying scene, your eyes were powerless to do so. You jumped when Aegon drew you close to him, forcing you to look into his face.

“Do you like it?” Gazing into his eyes, you see it-the ferocity-the love they had for you. But you can also make out the madness whirling around. “Yes,” you uttered, so low and shaky. Sure he must not have heard it, but he did. A smile on his face. You let out a faint gasp when feeling him tug the emerald necklace to pull you in for a kiss. 

“Let’s have breakfast, shall we? I had them make your favorite.” You could only nod. Doing all you could do not to break down.