#are you forcing them to have conversations they would otherwise be unable to have

[antirepurp]

the unfortunate state of sonic cartoons where everything from the 90s looks Like That and even if one of them has a supposedly interesting premise the aesthetic repels me, sonic x has chris and a pacing that iirc was the main reason i ended up dropping it, boom exists to be funny and while it accomplishes that goal and is an enjoyable watch it isn't terribly compelling beyond that and fun aesthetics, and prime is multiverse slop that i would not be able to digest even if i tried to. like you'd think they could do more with a furry guy who oozes the dictionary definition of cool and yet

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

You know, all I want is to spend some time with Nikto on his off-days and have him read Dostoyevski to me, if you don't want to make this like a single fic you can maybe incorporate it into "ravishing allure" some time later 🥹

"…and there can be no love otherwise."

PAIRINGS: Nikto x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: If anyone could make the bad days better, it was Nikto.

WORDCOUNT: 2.3k

WARNINGS: Stress from work/life, lack of sleep, mostly fluff, comfort, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There were times you wondered if putting up with your job was really worth it. Sure, you needed the money to pay rent, food, and bills, among a laundry list of others that just seemed to never end, but was the cost of your sleep the metaphorical soul you had to hand over? 

Every day you came home tired to your little apartment—neighbors loud and the light in the bathroom flickering because the electrician had never shown up to fix it. Tired, but unable to fall asleep until everything else was done. So, you’d make dinner, clean, shower, sit down to mindlessly watch a show on TV for half an hour, and then stumble into bed. 

Only to stay awake and stare at the ceiling. 

You can’t say why you do it, thinking over the things you did wrong and the awkward conversations you have with coworkers; you shouldn’t care about it—really, you shouldn't. Yet you can’t stop your brain from slipping like a slide to every instance, every millisecond where you felt the air of the interaction change. Side-eyes and confused looks. 

And then at six o’clock, you’d drag yourself out of bed with bags on your face and a drained expression to do it all over again. 

“Hi, how can I help you today?” 

“Oh, of course, we have some in the back—I’ll go grab it for you.”

“Thank you! You have a good day now, Sir. Come back soon.”

It just felt fake. Greet, help, take money, wave and smile, repeat, repeat, repeat. But maybe today would be slightly different, by the second pair of shoes that were placed in your apartment entry as you slowly opened the front door. 

Boots—black and set an equal distance apart with a cleaned surface despite the places they’d been and what they’d probably stepped through. They were neatly situated under the small bench you had for convenience, and you blink at them as you softly shut the door and lock it. A large, and matching in color, jacket was folded and placed atop the flat surface—keys sitting in an indent. 

Nikto, ever the neat and tidy one. He must be back then. 

While the two of you didn’t live together, the bear of a man had made a habit of coming over when he returned from deployments with KorTac—you’d given him a key the second year you’d been together. 

Your ears faintly twitch to the sound of cooking, nose moving just a second later to the scent of something on the stove. Clinking pans and silent footsteps. He knew you were here, sure as anything. Weakly sighing, you shift out of your jacket and shoes; tossing them in the general direction of the bench as you rub at your eyes and drop your purse to the floor with a slap of canvas. 

How do you explain looking like shit? 

Shuffling into the kitchen, you undo some of the buttons on your blouse to let yourself breathe, dress pants running along the carpet as your feet pad like a hound’s slapping paws. Vision blurry and eyelids threatening to close on you, you find the tall man in front of the stove, moving something in a pan with sizzling oils with the wide flex of his shoulders.

On another burner, there’s a large pot of simmering water—the counter has already been cleaned up of flour and mess, a tidy pile of dirty items sitting in the sink to be washed. You stare for a second before you grumble a hello, forcing your body to sag into his back as you walk over and slap your forehead into his spine. 

Nikto grunts lowly in response and continues what he’s doing. 

While it wasn’t rare to find him in the kitchen—in fact, you prefer it when he cooks—but usually when he got back you opted to order supper. He always insisted, gruffly, that he wasn’t tired, but you just wanted him to relax.

It was fun to baby him. 

“Didn’t know you were going to be back today,” you whisper into him, arms hanging by your sides. 

“We were released early,” his voice is deep and harsh—a bark of his Russian accent and rasp. Every word is thought out and said with purpose. “Conflict in schedule.”

You hum lowly, and it’s immediately after that Nikto stiffens, back going straighter. It’s the fact that you don’t even notice that you’ve completely screwed up your own routine that tips him off; how your change in pace had made him initially suspicious as he’d heard you enter the apartment. 

You hadn't commented on his eyes. Hadn’t tried to get him to turn around to see them. 

There was a running gag that Nikto tolerated—you’d grab him carefully by the chin and tilt his blank eyes to you in all of their icy glory. Sparks of glass and chilled storms inlay near the pupils. You’d stare, smile, and then say, “Yup, he’s still in there.” 

Even if you couldn’t see it under his balaclava, Nikto’s lips would part and he’d study your face for a minute in silence, before lightly bonking his forehead to yours. A strange and unique kiss that only he could perfect in his intimidating way. 

You hadn’t even attempted that. 

Nikto puts down the fork he was using to push around the fried potatoes and mushrooms; Pelmeni still simmering in the pot for another five minutes. The cut-up dill and melted butter on the counter are pushed from his mind with a purpose in his veins.

“What is wrong with you?” Nikto turns and you stifle a fatigued snort as you look up at him. It wasn’t his fault, of course. English isn’t his first language, and you found his broken, or sometimes bare-bones blunt, sentences to be endearing.

“Such a way with words, hm?” You can’t help but tease, and you can see the annoyed furrow of his brown brows, nose huffing a breath. “Just tired, Nikto.” Your words make his gaze slide along the very visible bags and the red veins of your eyes. 

He mutters something in Russian under his breath, lids narrowing on you as he grasps your shoulders and moves you back so he can look you up and down slowly in a near clinical breakdown of atoms. As if he can peel back clothes and splay nerves to light. 

“You look horrible…Sickly.” You can see the brain working as your lips go into a line to stay off your loud laugh. “Like dead woman walking.”

He was so much better with actions than words, this beast of wide shoulders and shifting thighs that could crush your bones to dust in an instant. You liked that about him—you never had to guess when he was being genuine or not.

“Work’s been rough,” you chuckle lowly, sliding on a fake smile that doesn’t fool him for a second. “Nothing I can’t…figure out, okay? Thanks for making supper, I love when you cook.”

Nikto’s eyes soften just a smidge, his hands holding your flesh just the littlest bit tighter. His expansive chest rises and falls in a heavy sigh, the bulk of his stomach and pecs visible under the tucked black t-shirt and his spare cargo pants.

Without a word, you’re being lifted with little more than a huff of, “моя нежная девочка… keep awake.”

You squeak as you’re settled onto his shoulder, hanging off like a sack of grain as his arm wraps over the top of your tailbone—large other hand on your thigh and fingers firmly grasping your skin. 

“Nikto—!”

“Hush,” he grunts, a bark of a chuckle wafting out as your hand playfully hits his back with a pathetic slap. The man raises a brow, smirking under his face covering. “What do you expect to do with that, girl?” 

“To let you know,” you poke at his spine and he shifts your farther down his shoulder in retaliation as you scramble and grasp at his shirt; giggling as your head sways to his steps. “That I won't go quietly!” 

“Good to know,” he grumbles. “I would want nothing less, eh?” 

His hands make sure that you don’t fall, even if you were to start wiggling or slipping.

You go limp and let him carry you into the living room, face burning with appreciation as your limbs let themselves rest. Nikto slings you back over his shoulder and drops you to the couch as you laugh, head purposely hitting the pillow as your chest rises and falls with breaths. 

The man stares down at you as you chuckle in gasps, always one to stare at any chance he gets. His arms crossed at his chest, feet apart, and shadow slipping over you from the overhead light. You gaze up silently, a smile on your lips, and quizzically raise to your brow.

“Stay,” is what he says to you, icy vision sliding down your body with a hum of approval. He sends a teasing slap to your thigh before striding back into the kitchen, narrowly missing your leg kicking out at his arse. 

Nikto scoffs at your attempt and disappears.

Normally you’d run at him and jump on his back, hanging off like an animal, but being as fatigued as you are, you call a mumbled curse at his name and curl sideways. Your face nuzzles into the pillow, smiling lightly before you let your eyes momentarily close.

You must have taken a quick nap because it seemed not even a second later that you were being shaken awake by a hand on your arm; spreading up to run over your cheek as your lashes flutter. “Милая.” You sigh, vision blurry and your head pounding. A strong scent hits your nose and you perk—rubbing at your eyes and face. “Eat.”

A plate of fried potatoes with mushrooms and another bowl of Pelmeni are on the coffee table, and the former is shoved into your face by a strong hand, the small dumplings topped with melted butter and dill. 

“Pelmeni,” Nikto states in a monotone, blinking at you as if you don’t know his own culture’s food by now. He made them often enough, which was why you liked him so much—food was truly the way to your love.

You’d taken up baking some of Nikto’s favorite desserts once, had failed horribly, and left most of the kitchen work to him—but the funny thing was that whenever you did bake, the man still always cleaned his plate. You’d never seen him turn down your food, even when you could see his eyes scrunch with restrained aversion.

“Да,” he would grunt out, “good.” It was so strained you always laughed so hard your lungs hurt after. On the off-hand, Nikto’s skills in the kitchen were enough to get you to sell your car for just another bite. 

Sitting up, you carefully take the bowl and look up at him, smiling deeply. 

“Thank you, Nik.” The man hums and turns his head away, still unused to outright affection even two years in. “Nikto~” you draw out his name, tilting your head to the side and trying to catch his gaze again. 

“Silence, woman,” he growls with no real heat, huffing before carefully placing his forehead to yours again as you expected him to. You giggle and stare into his eyes smugly. 

You knew what he was waiting for. Your blood runs hot, face going into a picture of care. His blues blink at you as snowflakes mingle with mist; a mix of cold and desolate landscapes that offer no reprieve from harm besides the small glint of fire they gain when they lock with yours. 

“Yup,” you whisper, and Nikto’s shoulders loosen as he presses more deeply into your skin. “He’s still in there.” 

He stares intensely, and the faintest of twitches under his balaclava tell you all you need to know. 

Nikto makes sure you eat your fill and when you’re done he takes the dishes and washes them while you shower and get into pajamas. Sluggish, but warmed by a full stomach and your boyfriend’s care. You come out to find he’s already reclining on the couch, book in hand as the other bends behind his neck. Lights were low and the heat turned up. Nikto opens his side to you and your body snuggles next to him—it had taken a long time to earn his trust like this; to be near him and to freely give affection.

It would be longer still until you saw his face, but you can live with that. There was no rush, and you knew it was a large soft spot even if he’d never shared the details as to why.

You sigh deeply and Nikto grunts, moving his arm behind your back and keeping you to his chest as he reads. 

This is a common sight from him, and he begins reading to you in his mother tongue from the works of Fyodor Dostoevsky, the grit and gravel of his voice sliding into words and sensations as you practically feel it coming from his chest and throat. Your head situates itself under his chin, feeling his free hand playing with your hair until you go brain-dead except to the way he feels and sounds. Harsh words had never been more gentle.

Halfway through he switches to English, his sentences now more slow and thought out and your lashes flutter; breath soft as you take in his scent of oakmoss and amber. His heart beats steady and true. 

“‘To love is to suffer,’” he reads, fingers rubbing circles into your clothes and letting you sleep as the day grows faster into a cold night. He glances down with easy eyes, gripping you just a bit closer as your body entirely goes limp in his embrace. “‘...And there can be no love otherwise.’” 

He silences himself and watches for a moment before he closes the book, dropping it silently to the coffee table and staring past you at the ceiling. The man feels your warmth bleed into his scarred and damaged skin and whispers something akin to vindication.

Nikto listens to your steady breathing and holds you. Steady. Noiseless. 

He grunts to himself and only presses you closer.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[tadc-harlequin-au]

Touch-Starved (canon)

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otherwise known as; the part where The Puppetmaster finds out he has THE FEELINGS(™, patent pending) for the Combat Harlequin. lmfao

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"Almost..." His hand trembled at the last piece required. He carefully slotted the optics in place, and twisted the eye multiple times to stick it in place. Within moments, he steps back, and Bubble flared up alive again, checking out his new, updated vision. “Wow! I can see more colors now!” The Blimp spun in place.

“Those new eyes should allow you to broadcast anything you see to me, if I so wished.” He explains, pulling out a small, thin black screen from one of the the desk’s many compartment. He switches it on, and Bubble’s eyes suddenly have a tiny red dot blinking in the middle of it.

So far, so good. The device was working as intended and he could see the top of his dentures from Bubble’s perspective, making Caine grin proudly.

“You may proceed to do your chores once more, the upgrades are done.” He sends the blimp to his merry way, and Bubble only nods before turning away to make his way out of the office. He leans back with a content sigh and closed eyes, satisfied with the work done for the day.

At that very moment, Pomni also opens the door.

She looked… disheveled, to say the least.

“Oh hey Pomni!” The butler blimp greeted with his usual reply. The Harlequin only sent him a look of acknowledgement, knowing that it’s useless to try to spark up a conversation, as Bubble was already making his way out.

Caine blinked once, and then he blinked twice just to make sure he’s seeing things right.

Was she always this… dazzling? Literally? He could see sparkles forming everywhere.

She flipped her hair in a messy attempt to get rid of the strands currently stuck to the skin of her nape. Her trademark golden ponytail missing, most likely a B.O.S.S.’s doing. She made her way to Caine’s desk and he swears he could feel his heart beat faster and faster with each step she took. The Harlequin’s trademark squinted brows with half-lidded eyes meeting his own wide stare, a gaze that would typically make any person with a still-functioning sanity cower in fear.

She took a seat on his desk with her legs crossed and her back turned against him and leaning on her right arm, as she usually did.

“Here’s the die you asked for. Took me a bit, but still got the job done.” She checked her left arm for damages after she placed the multi-colored puppet heart in front of him, while she flashed her teeth with a victorious, smug smile. His words are caught in his throat and her entirety shines too brightly for him. He couldn’t understand it.

Why… did she seem like a flame, and he felt like an unsuspecting moth, drawn to her light?

He shook his head clear and forced his stare away from her direction, clearing his throat while clutching the die. “I-I see, thank you, Pomni. You-you’ve done… a… wonderful…” Her hand grasped his own and his heart leapt at his own throat. Her synthetic, calloused fingers felt so rough, yet so gentle against his own gloved ones that he considered taking them off.

“...j-job.” His breath hitched as he struggled to finish the end of his sentence, unable to tear his attention away from her eyes. He found himself gawking at her intense, golden eye matched with blue and red pinwheel ones.

“Aren't you forgetting something, Puppetmaster?” Her expression questioning, yet with a slight and subtle undertone of mischief glinted at her optics. 

He couldn’t speak. He struggled to form coherent words. It felt like he was being strangled by an unknown force clutching at his neck, yet there was clearly no malice behind it. 

“Wh… What am I forgetting…?” He asked in such a feeble tone that made her chuckle in such a low rumbling tone, snaring his full attention.

“Well, I think that I deserve a reward for my services. Don’t you think?” She stands up. Warm hands suddenly felt so cold and empty, and already he missed the warmth present just about a second ago. The Harlequin made her way towards him as he spun his chair to meet her halfway. Hand at her hips as she towered over his sitting form. He’s all of a sudden clutching at the armrest so intensely.

“Y-yes, of course! H-how could I forget!” He nervously chuckles, he would pull on his collar right about now. “What is it you wish to be rewarded with?”

He offers her his best smile, and she giggles as she shakes her head. Without any warning, she took a seat on his lap, and he went frozen. As if making one single move would shatter the very fabric of the universe. She leaned her head to his shoulder, fiddling with the collar of his shirt then her fingers trailed onto the underside of his chin to make him look at her. He shivered from the contact.

“You.”

He trembled as his face warmed up to uncontrollable degrees, and produced visible heat waves. Not even his self-installed coolants were helping him tone down the sudden rise in his body temperature in the slightest. He couldn’t control his shakes, making the Harlequin smirk, knowing that she had the Puppetmaster all wrapped around her finger.

He didn’t know what came over him, because now his own hands were making their way onto her thighs to pull her closer to him entirely, the other shakingly placing itself onto her shoulders and he could feel the way she sighs contentedly against his touch. He exhales a shaky breath himself, attempting to steel himself.

“M-my dear, a-are you positive that… that is what you’d like?”

It was better to be safe than sorry. She sits up straight, and for the first time, he regrets ever asking that question in the first place.

“Actually…” Her voice trails off playfully, while she stands up. “... Maybe I’d like something more.”

It only took her a finger underneath his chin to pull him as she leads him to a nearby wall. As if his own body had a mind of it’s own, he pins her in place with both arms adjacent to her head. His face leans in closer and closer to her with eyes closed, and she’s leaning up close to him, fully ready to accept his advances.

Pomni’s soft lips met his teeth, and Caine could smell the faint traces of grass and sweat rolling down from her synthetic skin, evident of her hardships from the recent battle. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and his loops around her waist to pull her closer, while the other cups at her face intensely. He savored her mouth as their breathing became heavy and fast-paced, only breaking apart for a mere second, gasping for air before delving back in to their desires.

Desire…

Quite the accurate depiction of how Caine truly felt for the Harlequin at this moment. He couldn’t quite decipher when this had started, though.

As if her intentions were to pry him away from his overbearing and unnecessary thoughts, Pomni pushed him away to pin him to the wall this time, continuing the liplock. He grunts from the impact, but gladly returns her enthusiasm with fervor as he loops his arm around her back, pulling her flush to him once more. Her hands made their way to the lower sides of his jaw to caress so gently, and he finds himself melting at every contact their touches made.

Without breaking the teeth-on-lip-lock, he steered their bodies onto the direction of his desk, leaving the Harlequin laying on it as he loomed over her, ravaging her mouth once more like the touch-starved man he was. He adjusted her thighs just enough to make room for him without making the position uncomfortable for the both of them, their heated make out session felt like it could go on forever as he gripped her waist tightly.

It felt like if he let her go, she would disappear all of a sudden. And he didn’t want that.

He made sure to not lean too much of his body weight onto her by propping himself up with his elbows, both hands find themselves cupping her face to keep her in place as her hands trailed all the way up from the lower arms to his shoulders to do the same to him. He broke the kiss to gasp for air, a string of saliva being the clear proof of their heated action, but quickly delved back into the riveting sensations of their activity. 

Her touch against him were like magic; every contact sent shivers and jolts down his spine as she switched from holding his shoulders to holding his chest just above where a collarbone would traditionally be, pushing him away to let herself up. For a nanosecond he thought that maybe he went a little too far with his advances, until she disproved his theory by shoving him to one of the nearby long couches, only a pillow to cushion and soften his landing onto the furniture.

Quickly making up for lost time and contact, she quickly crawls to straddle his waist, clutching the back of his head to make him look at her, and her only. His hand found itself gripping at the back of her waist tightly once more, the other clutching her own head just to make sure she’s still there with him. Both were panting heavily, the room temperature very much heated as a result of their affairs.

His eyes looked at her longingly as he breathed heavily. “Pomni… I… I don’t think I want this to end.”

She flashed him a consoling smile.

The alarm rings, deafening the surroundings as he jolts awake, falling from his chair comically with a loud, slightly high-pitched scream emitting from his throat. He groans from the headache he had received from the impact to the ground, clutching at the top sides of his jaw, as he leans his head onto the desk for support.

His false heart was beating faster than when one would run; His face was flushed and he frustratingly ignores the heat from the rest of his body with a grumble.

He shifts his eyes to look around. Nothing’s changed. Everything was the same since Bubble left to do his daily chores.

He shakes his head and slams his face down onto the elegant desk, groaning depressingly and half-sobbing.

What the fuck? Was… WAS IT ALL JUST A DAMN DREAM!?

Oh, he could scream and cry into a pillow right about now. But the panicked angry screaming of a certain someone being bothered by the recent addition; the Ragdoll Mannequin that was “Ragatha”, suddenly grabs his attention. Now, he’s looking outside into the manor grounds from his office’s windows with a tired and questioning gaze.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”

“But Mistress! You still haven’t tried out my trademark cookie recipe!! It’s GUARANTEED to be your instant favorite!”

“STOP CALLING ME MISTRESS! FOR THE LAST TIME, I DON’T CARE, GET THE FUCK AWAY-”

Caine sighed disappointingly to himself, dragging his hand across his eyes.

God fucking dammit. He actually feels something for her.

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I would say I'm sorry, but we all know I'm not. :)

[dottiro]

Power Struggle

Unreliable summary: Pantalone is a Svengali figure. He dominates reader's life in the most backhanded and subtle ways without trying to be subtle. // Pantalone consumes everything he touches; he is a black hole with no affection but only the need for possession. Warnings: Yandere, unhealthy relationships, power abuse, toxicity, manipulation Note: We're breaking free from the rewrites with this one >:3

Business is profitable for any banker in the current season. Every year, a few days after New Year's celebrations, people can’t resist the urge to take loans and make uncalculated decisions to achieve the goals they have set for the year. 

For as long as you have known Pantalone, he’s been unavailable until the season of new debtors passes,

—every year, except this one. 

Despite being overworked and underslept, tonight, he has decided to make time for you.

Pantalone’s voice is less sharp than usual. It’s the only way you can pick up on his exhaustion. Otherwise, his outfit is as clean as his calm expression is; a neverending masquerade where he hides his real thoughts and self. 

Yet, despite his exhaustion, he talks as if he hadn’t been able to in weeks. And because Pantalone tends to monologue, you naturally take on the role of dutiful listener. 

“I’ve mentioned this in our last meeting, but there is an upcoming party. One that promises to be quite bothersome. I wish I could take you for it’d bring me a sliver of joy, alas, bringing a commoner would be an insult. Not that I’d think that. You do know I adore you, right? Either way, you wouldn’t be interested in coming. Politics don’t suit you. You’re too meek.”

The words fly past his teeth without any guard. Part of you takes offence, yet another part can’t be bothered to care. 

Today, it’s much easier to let everything drift by. The promise of the clouds in the air and the lingering freedom they bring guide you towards a new future. Your eyes drift lower out of the window. Many tall and imposing buildings flash by as the car drives forward. Those, too, are but a nuisance. 

You wonder…

Will Pantalone accept your choices when you share them tonight? 

He has always been peculiar and too specific with how he prefers things. 

Would he judge your future? 

In the background, you hear more words escape his lips. You enjoy the sound of it. 

Pantalone’s voice has always been soft. He despises it, but you like how it lingers over your thoughts and blocks out your worries. 

It’s a reminder of his presence and how he keeps you close to him—grounded.

“—one of the maids working in my mansion seemed to take offence when I arrived at my own home unannounced. People truly are despicable. No matter how many chances you give them, they can’t help but disappoint.”

More words, yet the meaning behind them gets lost the more he talks. 

Normally you’d listen closer, forcing yourself to stay close to his thoughts. 

Right now, you’re unable to blame your distraction on the long words he uses. 

Today, something bigger has consumed your mind.

“Y/n?” 

Pantalone calls out to you. 

Only after he calls out your name you notice that the car has stopped at his chosen destination. Quickly, you glance through the dark-tinted window separating the car from the outside world. You catch grand doors under a lit-up sign; ‘Northland’s Delight’.

How did you miss your arrival? 

‘Northland’s Delight’... 

—why does the name spark familiarity?

Despite you being the one who had not-so-subtly dropped hints about wanting to meet up with him, Pantalone took the initiative to pick a date, time, and place to meet, and perhaps that’s where recognition falls. Surely he’s mentioned the name somewhere in your prior conversations. You likely forgot about it.

As sudden as your arrival had been, Pantalone appears in your vision, blocking the sight of the restaurant from your eyes. Instinctively your hand reaches for the seat next to you, only to find it empty. 

You frown. He’s not there.

Are you really that out of it?

Dazed, you stare as Pantalone opens the door for you, something he insists on doing whenever you ride with him. A smile is on his face when he looks down at your sitting form. You notice how his figure casts a shadow over you and consumes your entire line of sight.

“You are preoccupied today.” Pantalone doesn’t sound angry, but his words make you feel nervous. You crane your neck upwards, hoping to catch a glimpse of his expression and thoughts. “Am I supposed to be offended?”

His hand outstretches in front of you. Without a second of delay, you reach for the grasp of his cold leather gloves. 

You’ll have to mind your daydreaming from this point forward. It’d be rude of you to be distracted when he had cleared his busy schedule in favour of you. 

“I’m sorry. It isn’t my intention to be distracted. Honestly, I am more excited for tonight than you could be.” 

There is a small interruption between your sentences as he brings you up on your feet and out of the car. 

“I didn’t expect that you’d take time off for me. I knew you would be busy and I didn’t want to cause you trouble,” you admit, though, your nerves are only partially to blame on him clearing his schedule for something less important—like yourself. 

His eyes linger on your figure as he smiles wider. “An evening spent with you is an investment worth making. Though, I hope you’ll make it worth my time.”

His voice is laced with enough joy to make it sound like a tease. In the end, you can’t fight the smile forming on your face as his thumb caresses the top of your palm.

Feeling more at ease, you move to link your arm with his non-dominant one, knowing he’d shake you off if you tried to go for the other side. 

Pantalone has always been a touchy man, even when you first met him. If your arm wasn’t around his, he’d put his hand on the small of your back or your shoulder. It seemed like he preferred to be as close as possible, never letting you escape his presence.

And while you hadn’t seen him around other people, you assumed it had to be a habit of his. 

Over time, you shrugged the action off as noble formalities and offered your arm without him needing to ask.

Pantalone tugs you closer with his arm. By his side, you smell the rich perfume he’d put on. His other hand moves to your arm, gently patting it as he leads you forward. 

When you walk up the stairs leading to Northland’s Delight, you notice two bulky men standing on either side of the grand doors. By the time you’ve reached the small staircase leading up to the entrance, they’ve moved to open them, inviting you into the warm interior of the luxurious place. 

You can’t help your visible awe as you take in the entrance hall of Northland’s Delight.

The first thing your mind catches is the almost overwhelming grandeur of the interior. The entrance hall is expansive. Broad, high ceilings adorned with exquisite chandeliers cast a warm and inviting glow throughout the room and decorate the reflective floor with shimmers from their crystals.

Your eyes dart over to the walls, which are decorated with wallpapers complimenting the royal theme of the restaurant. As you look closer, you notice their intricate designs drawn with subtle colours. Small curls and elegant shapes move from the ground to the nooks and crannies, filling the entire space with luxury.

As your feet step on top of the red carpet that drags into another room, you see yet another space—one more grand than the current. 

With only a glance, you can captivate its carefully arranged seating; noticing that it must be the main dining room. Further, thick velvet curtains create a sense of privacy for the patrons within the room. Another chandelier hangs above the people, and each table is decorated with plates that resemble art rather than food.

You feel out of place amidst everything, but this certainly is a place Pantalone would dine at.

Distracted by the luxury, you only notice the woman who has approached you when she pulls out a standard greeting. Dressed in deep reds, golds, and browns—similar to the interior—the hostess of tonight introduces herself to Pantalone. 

While the ‘good evening’ and ‘I hope your travels were safe and without trouble’ passes, your thick winter coats are taken by other personnel. 

Through it all, you continue to hold Pantalone’s arm.

Between all the things overwhelming you, you realise that the hostess had addressed your company as if she recognised him. You silently note that Pantalone must come here often on business dinners, too. 

“We reserved your usual seat, my Lord.” The woman informs him. 

Pantalone doesn’t do more beyond nodding his head subtly.

“Please follow me, my Lord.” The hostess takes a short bow before she leads the two of you out of the entrance hall and into the main scene.

Being led deeper into the building, previous distant conversations become clear. As you move in closer, your eyes instinctively move closer to the rich joy of the others.

From what you can see, tables are spread wide and far enough to grant each patron a feeling of seclusion yet a sense of fullness and intimacy from the decor that fills the empty spaces. From every side, laughter chimes like a song and an irresistible warmth hangs over the room. 

You are certain; this is a place for get-togethers, somewhere no business is dealt—safe for the exchange of smiles. 

Here, lovers from rich families are able to retreat. They can enjoy themselves from the prying eyes of the public or their families. 

Not a single person looks out of place.

As you come close, the hostess suddenly changes enroute, instead heading to the stairs. 

You are led to the first floor, and almost instantly as you step up, the atmosphere changes.

A part of you should’ve known today wouldn’t be the day where Pantalone would mingle with others. He is paranoid to the point where he believes any person is out for his demise. 

With this, you guess that he must’ve hired a private room for tonight. 

By the time you reach the top of the stairs, the laughter has become a background noise again. Then, it takes a few more steps before you arrive at tonight’s dining room, which is basically a large closed-off room with a single table in the middle.

You watch the candle that’s been lit and placed on top of the round table. It is the only source of warmth, much unlike the space below you.

Pantalone pulls one of the chairs back and helps you get settled into the lush, upholstered seating before he pulls out the other chair for himself. 

When you’re both ready, the hostess has been replaced by a common waiter and Pantalone awakens the evening by ordering a bottle of his favourite wine—something that’s become a routine. Always insisting on pouring your glass without consent or questions.

In repressed silence, you let him.

“How was your day, darling?” Pantalone’s voice is relaxed. Unlike before in the car, he is now fully alone with you. Thus, he feels some sense of safety in exposing the barest of his vulnerability. 

Crossing one leg over another while straightening your back, you ineptly mirror his relaxed but undoubtedly composed (if not perfect) posture. 

You lower your head. 

Truth be told, you’ll always feel out of place in these affluent settings. 

Growing up in the middle-to-low class has made you feel guilty whenever Pantalone brings you luxurious places. You know that you can never repay him, but you also know that if you were to share your discomfort he wouldn’t bend. 

Pantalone would never lower himself to anything but opulence, so he forces you to become one with him instead. He lifts you up in status, merging you into his ideals as he takes you wherever he wishes to go.

Your lips find the rim of the wine glass and you take a sip as you try to relax your nerves.

When you set it down on the table again, you look up at Pantalone, who is already looking at you, waiting for an answer. 

A slight flush forms on your cheekbones under the weight of his golden gaze. 

“It’s been nearly two months since I’ve last seen you. I know you’ve been busy, and you still are, but I have something important I’ve been working on too. Ever since the moment you told me about tonight’s plans, I’ve been excited to share them. But, perhaps, a bit nervous too.”

While a smile forms on your face, Pantalone’s dips. It is for only a second, but you swear you saw his lips part and the uncertain furrowing of his eyebrows. 

He sits up straighter, uncertain in only the seconds before he speaks. 

“Hmm. It is nearly impossible for someone to bring me something I don't already possess. You almost make me curious for this ‘exciting news’.”

Is he mocking you? 

You blame it on ignorance.

“I would hope so. Though…” You fiddle with the lace ends of the cloth that spread over the table. 

In case your news is unwelcome, you’d like to delay the moment for as long as possible. If it goes well, you can ask him to stay, if not, you can simply leave by the end of the night. 

“—is it alright if I tell you at the end of dinner?” 

The way your voice came up at the end of your sentence made it sound as if you unconsciously sought approval. It had made it seem like a question when you had already made up your mind. 

Lucky for you, Pantalone doesn't seem particularly bothered by what you had to tell.

“Of course, my dear.”

His smile is back on his face and he falls back to his act of casualty, being quick to brush you off as he resumes his monologue.

And as the night continues, the space you occupy becomes smaller. 

The previous distance and coldness in the room are filled by his endless chatter, being further accompanied by gentle touches as he compels to invade your space. His actions make any stretch between you null. 

Soon, hours have passed, and before you know it, Pantalone has ordered dessert. One for you, none for him. A treat, or so he’d say.

You attempt to ease into the topic you want to talk about. 

“Pantalone,” you hesitate.

With a slight delay, he answers your call with a casual tilt of his head as he intertwines his hands in front of his chest. 

“Remember when we first met?”

A chuckle escapes his lips. “I recall correctly, you were but a freshly graduated student with more debt than one could pay off in a lifetime. More importantly, you were serving me in a restaurant similar to this. Your uniform was always stained from your hard work.”

You make a bow, as is customary before introducing yourself. 

Tonight’s patrons are ‘VIPs amongst VIPs’—as had your boss mentioned before. Initially, you weren’t supposed to serve them. Your task was menial, greeting the people at the entrance hall and taking their cloaks. 

It was supposed to be that easy, but…

“Y/n…” The man with hair as dark as ink echoes your name. While you avoid staring as much as possible, you catch his eyes darting over your figure; from your face to your neck, down, and up again. 

He is gorgeous…

The man speaks again. His voice is gentle and smooth, yet he talks with authority and control—as if he owns the place and its people. “Are you serving any tables tonight?”

“No sir.”

“Delightful. Then, tonight, I’d like you to serve me.”

It turns out he needs only a single word to change the entire plan for that evening. 

One word, and he changes everything. 

At first sight, Pantalone had taken a liking to you.

“You graduated from one of the most respected universities in Snezhnaya, yet someone like you ends up in a restaurant. Truly a pity.”

“...”

“If and when the opportunity arises, would you be willing to change your predicament?”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“From what I see; you either take fate in your hands and bend it to your favour—taking every opportunity for yourself, or you stay in your current position—surviving, but never more than that.”

“I think anyone would want to take control of their fate.”

“In that case,” he gestures to the other end of his table in the private room. “Convince me to hire you.”

Meeting him had changed your life. 

After graduating you fell into an impossible situation. While months passed of you applying anywhere and everywhere, you were unable to secure a job. Before you knew it, you got in trouble with debt collectors trying to collect what debt you had accumulated during your academic years. 

To keep your life from crumbling apart, you worked multiple low-wage jobs that you were overqualified for.

Then, during that fateful evening of you acting as his server, Pantalone had invited you to sit with him. He ate, and you promoted yourself and your qualities. Supposedly, he liked your polite attitude or unwavering patience for his endless questions, because by the end of that night, he offered a proposition. 

You could either continue to work multiple low-wage income jobs, or you could work for him.

As the night came to a close, and he outstretched his hand to you one final time, he had left with you by his side. 

You haven’t looked back since, and with all in consideration, it is a happy memory. Since that moment, things have gone uphill. Your debt has been cleared; you work a job you’re qualified for; life positively challenges you, and you still talk with Pantalone. 

Still. 

Why does it sound like he’s pulling you down when he recalls it? 

Shame settles in when you remember where you come from, then resolve seeps through as you realise he hadn’t forgotten either. Over the years you have proven yourself. 

Surly, him remembering where you came from must give you credit. 

You suppose… these dinners are one way of showing his affection to you, albeit it being a bit roundabout. 

…

Right?

Pantalone taps one of his intertwined fingers against the knuckle of the hand it rests on. His rings and the gemstones on them shine against the candlelight.

Again, you try to get to the point, “When you had asked me about my dreams that evening, I answered: ‘I want to see the world someday’. Back then, that seemed impossible. Without you, I wouldn’t have made it past the shabby part-time jobs and my run-down apartment—”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Pantalone’s nonchalant voice drips with ego and pride when he cuts you short. “I know you are appreciative.”

Your lips purse for a second and you fiddle with your fingers below the table. “That is not what I was trying to say.”

“So, you’re not?” He raises an eyebrow, either in offence or amusement. You’re not willing to guess. 

“I—…You know that is not what I meant. I am indebted to you, I know that.” 

Frustration bubbles up when you see a soft smile on his face. It makes your anger feel out of place, especially considering your meeting with him was supposed to be a good memory. 

The news you’re about to tell is supposed to be good news. 

Are you the one in the wrong?

Pantalone relaxes by leaning back into his chair. A gentle turn of his wrist urges you to continue, despite the mixed feelings in your chest.

You sigh,

“I have the opportunity to make my dreams come true and I wanted to tell you first. I’ve finally taken fate into my own hands. I am planning to leave for Snezhnaya.” 

The news falls flat. Your previous frustration at Pantalone seeming to disregard you.  has made your voice devoid of joy. Only a sense of letdown remains. 

Out of everyone, you felt most proud to share the news with the one who made you fight for your future. 

Your fingers hover over your pocket. The business card given to you by your friend brings a sense of pride and freedom. You’ve waited all your life for this—worked day and night. 

Shouldn’t Pantalone be happy?

You look up from the half-finished dessert plate. 

Pantalone's face is twisted in an unusual expression. His mouth is turned in a way that looks strained and awkward. His hands are still intertwined, but the grip has strengthened. Then, as you meet his eyes, you hold your breath. 

The man sitting in front of you has always had a difficult time controlling his expressions. 

Though, it is obvious you’ve never seen him this apoplectic before.

Then, 

—he smiles.

The room grows cold, and a sudden chilly breeze brushes against the nape of your neck, making the hairs stand up straight. That laughter… You don't know what makes your skin crawl more, the disgust on his face or that vile condescending laughter.

Shocked beyond what you know to do, you mimic him with a nervous chuckle. If you didn't know better, you would've felt like you were in danger—prey to the predator.

After a few seconds, you carefully call out to him. 

“Do you feel lonely, Y/n? Is that why you’re doing this?” Pantalone’s voice is unwaveringly strong and conclusive. It feels as if your answer won't matter because he already has his truth set in mind. “Do you feel neglected by me?”

Your throat is painfully dry when you swallow. You're both thirsty for water and a way out of the current topic. When you answer him, you sound like one of tonight's waiters bending and nearly snapping to his extreme expectations. “No, sir.”

“You know that I hate when you do that.” He stands up from his chair and instantly, one of the waiters on standby comes to his side. 

Pantalone’s voice is cold and distant, “We’ll be taking our leave.”

“Yes, my Lord.” The rehearsed reply falls out of the worker’s lips instantly. 

The young man who was unfortunate enough to serve him tonight hurries off to, what you assume to be, the hostess, so she can let the curtains fall after the last formalities have been told.

You’re still in your seat when Pantalone walks up to your side. 

From the moment you met him, he has radiated grace, kindness, and a friendly appearance. Now, he hovers over you in an authoritative, if not menacing, manner. 

Your hand shakes when you move to grab his. His fingers snake over your skin, holding on to you as if you’d disappear—tightly and oppressive. 

Where did tonight go wrong? 

Was it the news? 

…

Though… why?

…

…

…

Have you always walked on eggshells around him?

The walk out of the restaurant feels heavy and solemn. The once lively background chatter goes now unnoticed. The opening hall also appeared less warm. From the moment Pantalone set his foot onto the last step of the stair, all the workers were focused on him, but never on you or the bruise forming on your wrist as he pulled you along. 

By the time you reach the car, silence chokes you.

In the absence of his usual overly-present voice, you become more aware of Pantalone’s eyes. Those orbs, usually hidden by his thick dark lashes cling onto you, possessive, owning.

You don’t recall your arrival home, for Pantalone’s grip haunts your body like a burn that’d scar. 

Somewhere between your arrival and now, you had walked deeper into the space. A trial follows you. It falls onto the cold tiles leading up to the bathroom, piece by piece getting rid of the fancy clothes Pantalone had brought, forgetting the necklace he had gifted, ridding yourself of the scent he had worn.

Hot water crashes into your neck and falls onto your body as you stand in the shower. You wonder, how can the world be so deafening quiet? Droplets trail down, racing to meet the drainage below, and your only thoughts consist of wanting to do the same.

On your wrist, you see the outlines of his hand by the bruises he gifted. 

Your chest hurts. Your body aches. All you can do now is rub tonight’s events off your body until your skin is red and threatens to break. 

You feel disgusting. 

You feel trapped. 

You feel alone.

You trace the mark of Pantalone’s hand on your wrist, finding that the marks remain even as time moves on. 

By now, you realise it’s impossible to fall asleep when even in your dreams you feel his presence consume your life. 

Soon, sunshine creeps through the windows, failing to wake you, for you hadn’t fallen asleep in the first place.

You sit on the ground with your phone in hand. In the other, you feel the business card that’s been ripped out of yesterday’s pockets. 

Around you, littered throughout the luxurious apartment, lie two packed suitcases and a trail of the belongings you hadn’t deemed important enough to bring with you. 

If you could, you would've left Snezhnaya yesterday.

In the capital’s streets, you recently had the pleasure to meet a familiar face. A friend from your university had found a job and has been travelling the world, turning their business course into a travelling agency so they can sustain their life.

After catching up with you, they had offered to take you with them, for—“dreams are meant to be chased. If we can’t, what else do we live for?”

The first chime of the clock hits and you click the button on your phone, dialling the number on the business card. 

The call goes through. 

“Beep… beep… beep… Hi! If I am unavailable, I am most likely busy. Don’t leave a message, just call again later. Thank you!”

Voicemail. 

You try again. 

Voicemail. 

Again.

Voicemail. 

And again.

After failing the call a sixth time, a gloomy feeling settles in. 

You weren’t keen on going to work today and hoped that solidifying your plan with your friend would give you some positivity to make it through. Recalling the events from yesterday only made it more awkward to work in Pantalone’s bank, even if you never saw him at your workplace. 

In theory, you can call in sick, but that’d only lure Pantalone out more.

A sigh escapes your lips and you lift your hand to your forehead. 

It’s too early. Your friend must be asleep. By the end of today, you’re certain you'll get a callback. After all, when you met, they seemed just as excited to travel with you. 

Now, you only needed to hang on a while longer. Soon, you’d be gone. Gone from this feeling. Gone from the control you’ve lost since you left university. Gone—reclaiming freedom once and for all.

The only one who knew about your plans was Pantalone. 

Surely, if you ignored the unsettling feeling in your stomach, today would be like any other day. 

“My Lord has requested your audience.” 

You recognise the chauffeur in an instant. The car parked in front of your apartment is impossible to not recognise. Pantalone is here? With two suitcases in hand, you watch the chauffeur open the back door. 

Fortunately, you find the inside empty. 

Your eyes move to Pantalone’s chauffeur. “Why?”

“I apologise. My Lord only ordered for me to accompany you. He did not tell me why. Please, allow me to carry your bags to the car.”

You nod, grasping the phone in your pocket tightly. Ultimately, you had neither gone to work nor called in sick. Once the sun had risen, you had made up your mind and left your home with the idea of no return.

Is Pantalone upset? 

Things were left on a tense note yesterday, you wonder if he wants to talk about it. Either way, now there is no chance of avoiding him. He made certain to stress that by sending one of his personnel to fetch you.

Did he decide to let you leave on amicable terms?

The drive from your home to Pantalone’s office is long and silent. You know he only hires the most competent people, and so, you are left with only your thoughts when the chauffeur refuses to keep you company.

The outside world shifts by in a blur. Soon, you find yourself in front of a familiar business. 

‘Northland Bank’. 

 Ah…

When you finally step into his office, you meet Pantalone. 

He sits behind a grand desk. And while his office is as luxurious as you had imagined it to be, you can’t appreciate it in the moment. Comfort and status radiate from his occupational area, and even the obscure spaces such as the wooden outside of dark cabinets against the walls were engraved in details and gold. 

It feels stuffy, crowded, too much.

Your eyes meet his. Pantalone’s golden irises eerily match the furniture and affluence. Even while you’re standing as he sits in his chair, you feel as if you’re below him in every way—status, power, and control. 

“I assume you’ve heard about your promotion?” 

Pantalone intertwines his hands in front of him. 

You’re surprised to hear his usual calm and soft voice. 

He does not acknowledge yesterday’s happenings. 

Wait, promotion?

“...what?” 

“Sit down, my dear.” He signs to the chair on the other side of his desk, facing him instead of the room. It is much smaller than his, yet it is beyond extravagance when compared to the seats you usually sit in. 

For a second, you’re unsure whether to bring up yesterday or to let it go and pretend it had never happened. The latter sounds more alluring at the moment. 

Pantalone continues.

“I have been searching for a new assistant since the previous one unexpectedly… quit.” 

He takes a second, looking into your face patiently as he tries to fish for a reaction. The grandfather clock that ticks throughout the room feels like the last digits counting down before a bomb goes off. 

He continues, “After careful consideration, I felt you were best suited for the job.”

“Thank you, sir, but—” 

“Pantalone,” he corrects you. 

“Yes… Pantalone,” you hesitate. “I am extremely grateful for your generous offer but I have to refuse.”

“Nonsense.” He smiles, waving you off like a fly. “You’ve worked for me as an administrator for long. I know you have the skills and rigour for the task and I certainly don’t doubt your potential under my guidance.” 

His words snake out of his mouth like tiny daggers pinning you down. 

“No si—Pantalone, that’s… I am thankful for your praise, but I recall mentioning my plans to travel to other nations. I-it has been a dream of mine since I was younger. Now that my debts have been repaid—I—”

“Debts repaid?”

You watch as Pantalone’s smile broadens. He gently shakes his head.

“If I recall yesterday’s happening correctly, you admitted you are indebted to me. Is that not true? If so, do you believe you are in a position to refuse me? Is this not the perfect chance to pay off your debt after all I’ve given to you?”

Your resolve waivers at his words. He is right about the first part, but you always worked for him and he paid you. As much as you feel indebted to him, it was baseless. Chains made from nothing but air. 

This, everything, is a fair exchange.

When you try to interject, Pantalone returns to the paperwork on his desk. 

Without a second glance, he shakes his hand into the air and disregards you with little to no more respect than he does the waiters in the restaurant—always below him, ready at his disposal with a single word.  

You barely get a single word past your lips when he overtakes the conversation, turning it into a monologue in the absence of your input.

“For now, be a dear and fetch me something to drink. I’m sure the kitchen staff will help you figure out what I usually get. I’ll explain your tasks once I’m finished.”

Your eyes move over to his desk.

Your friend’s business card. 

Where did he find that?

The phone in your pocket is heavier than ever. Refusing him at this point would bring you more conflict. 

Your plans with your friend were still intact. 

You can and will leave this nation. 

You only have to remain strong for a while longer.

It takes a second, but you eventually move up from the chair. “Once I’ve brought you your drink, where can I find my desk?”

“Desk?” Through his glasses and long lashes, he looks up at you. “Do you honestly believe I’ve brought you here to do administrative work? No, your new job is to keep me company.”

When your confused expression bemuses him, he dismissively continues. 

“Just sit in one of the chairs, or the couch. I don’t particularly care as long as you remain in my office. Feel free to read one of the books on the shelf. As long as you are able to put it down whenever I want you to, I’ll allow it.”

You stand still, letting the words fall over you as you grow numb.

“From now on, your job is to listen to me, understood?”

For the first time since you met him, you realise why you feel so detached from him. You’ve become so accustomed to luxury, it became hard to look past the shimmer and gold. 

But now, when you look into Pantalone’s eyes, they’re worth nothing.

Once you stop idolising the gold that surround him, you find a dull and exhausting life filled with nothing but vengeance and spite. 

You’re nothing but a pet to him.

You never had the chance to be anything else. 

“Beep…beep…beep… you have one voicemail. Press 1 to hear it.”

BEEP.

“Hey, Y/n. Sorry, I missed your call. See— I, uh… well… I needed to leave Snezhnaya. I can’t bring you with me. So please don't try to reach me again… …stay sa—” 

“End of voicemail message.”

…

…

…

“Beep… beep… beep…

Unfortunately, the number you have tried to call no longer exists. Please check the number and try again later. 

Beeep—”

©dottiro. Do not copy, repost, translate, feed to AI, or take heavy inspiration from my content. Thank you for reading ♡

[longhardtransitionreturns]

Author's note: This is a fictional story about a graphic medical birth in which the pregnant woman is presumed to be in a vegetative state but feels every moment of her agonizing birth.

Tara Strahan, then 22, was seven months pregnant with her first child when she and her husband, Brian, were involved in a horrific car crash during a winter storm. Brian died at the scene; Tara was rushed to the hospital where doctors eventually declared her to be in a ‘vegetative state’ as a result of massive head injuries.

Two days later, Tara regained consciousness but quickly realized she couldn’t move or speak. 

“When I woke up, I immediately wanted to know if the baby and my husband were ok. Then I realized I had a tube down my throat, and I couldn’t move at all, even a finger.” 

Tara had become the victim of a rare condition called ‘locked-in syndrome,’ meaning she had full cognitive and physical awareness, but complete paralysis off all voluntary muscles. She was able to feel pain and understand conversations, but unable to let anyone know of her plight. 

“I realized pretty quickly something horrible had happened to Brian. Otherwise, he would have been there. Instead, it was just an endless parade of doctors, and all of them had already given up on me. All the conversations were about how long they needed to keep the baby inside me, and how they would get it out.” 

Tara’s doctors eventually concluded that the risks of anesthesia were too high to perform a c-section. Instead, they decided to induce her labor, and allow her to deliver the baby naturally. 

Tara, who’d told friends that her greatest fear about giving birth was the pain she’d feel before the epidural took effect, had almost two months with nothing to do but think about labor and delivery with no drugs, unable to move or scream or even regulate her own breathing.

“I was scared to death. It was pretty much all I could think about, and hearing people talking about it all the time made it even worse. There were a group of interns, every day during rounds, who’d joke about whether the labor pains would bring me out of my coma. But the worst was when one asked the head obstetrician if I’d be able to push. He said no, not in the usual way, but the force of the contractions would expel the baby from my body. I kept replaying that sentence in my head, wondering how long it would take.”

Because she was unable to tell doctors if she was having contractions, she was monitored closely throughout the rest of her pregnancy. She knew there wasn’t a set date for her to be induced; instead, the procedure would be performed when she started showing effacement or dilation. 

“There was this one nurse who’d talk to me while she cleaned me. She said, ‘today we’re going to induce your labor and you’re going to have your baby, but you’re so lucky, you won’t feel a thing.’ I wanted to scream so bad, let her know that, no, I was going to feel everything.” 

Three years later, Tara still has panic attacks when she remembers what happened that day. (Editor’s note: what follows is a graphic description of traumatic natural birth, and graphic medical procedures. Reader discretion is advised.) 

“There was an air of excitement, and there were about 15 obstetricians from around the country who’d come to watch. They’d given me muscle relaxants so they could spread my legs, because my muscles had started to atrophy. They strapped me into the stirrups right at the start, and my gown was pulled up to just under my boobs. I felt so exposed, but the crowd of people didn’t even shut up when my doctor reached up inside me and stripped my membranes. I remember thinking how humiliating this was gonna be, which I don’t think I’d considered before.” 

Doctors used pitocin to induce Tara’s labor. Unlike the slow build of natural labor, pitocin often induces strong contractions right away. 

“I could see the clock on the wall. About thirty minutes had passed between the shot of Pitocin and when I had the first contraction. It felt like a vice had been wrapped around my uterus. Had I been able to speak, I’d have been yelling from that very first one.” 

Tara endured ten hours of hard labor, with the contractions getting increasingly stronger. While she suffered, doctors and nurses made small talk about their weekend plans. As the labor went on, some started to complain about how long it was taking. 

“I was in agony. I’d never imagined anything could hurt that bad. I wanted to pant, like I’d seen in Lamaze videos, but the ventilator was controlling my breathing. I couldn’t move at all, and being strapped into the stirrups for my entire labor was torture. My hips hurt so bad, especially as the baby moved down farther and the pressure increased.

There was one doctor who kept talking about his dinner reservations. On and on about wishing I’d hurry up and pop it out. He actually walked over and tweaked my nipple, and made a joke about that speeding up labor. Not only did I feel violated, it set off a horrible contraction, like the worst one yet. I got no comfort, no words of support. I was going through the worst thing I’d ever experienced, and it was like no one even considered I could be suffering.”

As Tara went into transition -- the most difficult, painful part of labor -- she says she heard some of the female medical professionals in the room joking about how much pain she’d be in, if she weren’t in a coma.

“There was this machine, they could tell when I was having contractions. They’d started coming one right after another, lasting almost a minute. It felt like I was being stepped on by an elephant. My back hurt, my cunny and arse were starting to feel like they’d explode. One of the women in the room said, “Whew, we know she’s really in a coma, she’d be screaming her head off if she could feel this.” 

Tara was in transition for over an hour before she finally felt the overwhelming urge to push.

“It was the strangest sensation, I’m not ever sure I can describe it. I needed to push so bad, it physically hurt not to push. But I couldn’t. None of those muscles would obey my commands. And then it was like the doctor said, the contractions got even stronger to push the baby out. I could feel him moving down but it was so, so slow.”

Tara watched the clock on the wall for five hours as she endured the excruciating pain of her baby making its way down into her birth canal.

“I wanted to die. I thought it was never going to end. I was praying for a c-section. I knew they probably wouldn’t give me anything for the pain, but I figured I’d have a heart attack when they sliced into me and that would be better than the agony I was feeling.” 

Tara eventually started having chest pains, and the monitors on her and the baby started to alarm. 

“I remember my chest started hurting after the baby had been stuck just behind my entrance for about two hours. I was so hopeful that they’d finally noticed something was wrong with me, that I was dying in pain.”

In fact, the doctors still didn’t know Tara was in distress, but her baby’s vital signs indicated he was. 

“The air changed in the room. All the laughing and joking stopped. One guy started pressing his whole body weight down on my uterus while I was in the middle of a really bad contraction. It hurt so bad, I actually thought it ripped.

He did that for a while, and then I heard them call for the forceps. I was so afraid, my chest was aching, and my cunny was on fire. I just wanted it to be over. I couldn’t see anything over my big belly, so it was a complete surprise when they jammed the first one up there. It felt like the metal was cutting into my pelvic walls. By the time they got the second one in, I was having a horrible contraction, and it felt like my entire stomach had ruptured.

One of the things I remember so clearly was that they cut the episiotomies, on the top and near the bottom, while I was at the peak of a contraction. I was suffering so much, I don’t know why that stuck out to me, but I remember thinking, ‘those bastards just cut me during a contraction.’

Citing pending legal action, Tara’s doctors won’t confirm how long it took to pull the baby out. Tara says it was at least fifteen minutes.

“They kept tugging and tugging and it really felt like my insides were breaking. My cunny was a mess, and they were pulling so hard I kept getting slammed back down on the metal table.”

Tara suffered a separated pelvis in the attempt to get the head out; it’s the moment she calls the “worst pain anyone could ever suffer.” 

“I couldn’t really even think after my pelvis separated. It was all pain, and I didn’t think it would ever end. I know it took a while to get the shoulders out, because the doctor kept putting his hand inside me, trying to dislodge them.” 

Tara says she lay there, splayed and bleeding from her ravaged genitals, for forty minutes while they worked on the baby. She says she was worried for her child in an abstract way, but was hurting so bad she couldn’t focus on anything other than her gaping sex. 

Tara says she passed out when a doctor pulled her leg back to stick his hand inside her, jarring her broken pelvis in the process. She woke with a pelvic fixator, 40 stitches in her genitals, and absolutely no pain medication.

[vnti-vntiety-recs]

Oo how about a yeosang x reader smut? He's an idol she's a fan but she has never met an idol before. So she gets nervous etc. And she's a hybrid so since she's nervous she goes into heat and he quickly takes her away from the crowd sensing her distress. After speaking with management takes her back to the hotel and asks Seonghwa what to do. So he tells him how to help her and get back to clear (creampie her) and so he does but he makes her squirt for the first time and he ends up asking to go again etc? Please

These asks were similar enough i combined them. This was my first crack at writing hybrid so hope its on brand.

Unprotected sex, creampie, mature, MDNI (lowkey I forgot what I wrote and I don't feel like proofreading sooooo WARNING WARNING)

Hybrid! Reader's first heat with Yeosang (M) ₊˚౨ৎ˚₊

Today was lively, filled with people bustling in and out of the shopping district. You had planned to run a few errands and pick up some clothes, especially since you had recently been paid—and shopping was your guilty pleasure. As you were window shopping, you caught a glimpse of him through the shop's glass pane: Yeosang from ATEEZ. You were so taken aback that you could hardly move. You had known they were on tour in your city, but the tickets had been out of your budget at the time, so you hadn’t been able to attend. It was shocking to unexpectedly encounter a member in such a casual setting; you would have thought they would be on the road by now.

You felt a wave of nervousness wash over you; you had never seen an idol in real life before. Yeosang was accompanied by what appeared to be his manager. As a huge ATEEZ fan and Yeosang bias, this was an incredible, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to speak with him. You knew you had to seize the moment.

The store was bustling with holiday shoppers, making it challenging to navigate through the crowded aisles. You carefully maneuvered your way in and out of people, your heart racing with every step. The closer you got to him, the more intense the feeling became. It wasn’t just nerves; something deeper stirred within you, but you pushed forward nonetheless.

“Excuse me,” you manage to say, your voice weak and shaky.

Yeosang, who was engrossed in a rack of clothes when you approached, turned to look at you. A small smile spread across his face. “Yes?” he replied.

“Are you Yeosang from ATEEZ?” you asked, wincing at your own question. Of course, he was; you wouldn’t have approached him otherwise.

He chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling, and nodded in confirmation. “Yes.”

“I’m a really big fan, and I just wanted to say hi and tell you how much I love your mus—” You suddenly feel lightheaded and clear your throat, forcing yourself to finish. “Music,” you manage to add weakly.

“Are you okay?” Yeosang asks, concern etching his features. His hands reach out to steady you, and it dawns on you that you’ve been swaying.

When he touches you, it's as if your skin ignites. A wave of tingling warmth rushes through you, leaving you unable to concentrate. The noise of the crowd swells around you, becoming almost deafening, and it feels like your ears are ringing. Your vision starts to blur, and suddenly there are two or three fuzzy images of Yeosang before you.

Then everything goes dark.

When you wake up, it feels like your body is ablaze. You writhe in discomfort, the heat radiating off you so intensely that you throw off the covers you hadn’t even noticed before. As you sit up with some difficulty, it dawns on you that you’re no longer in the bustling mall. The room around you resembles a hotel suite—tastefully decorated yet overwhelmingly unfamiliar.

You strain to hear, catching the faint sounds of muffled conversation coming from the bathroom.

“I couldn’t just leave her there!” Yeosang’s voice carries through the door, laced with urgency. After a brief moment of silence, he continues, “I don’t know what’s wrong with her. Seonghwa came and said she was a hybrid… He thinks she’s in heat.”

A heavy silence follows his words, and confusion swirls in your mind like a thick fog. You’ve heard whispers of hybrids before—beings that blend human and animal traits—but what could it mean for you? You’d always believed your parents were entirely human; could they have concealed something so significant from you?

An unsettling realization washes over you. What kind of hybrid could you possibly be? You think back to the odd things about yourself—things you’d always brushed off. Unusually keen senses, a strange affinity for certain animals, but nothing overtly visible. Usually, hybrids had telltale signs like tails, pointed ears, or even sharper teeth, all characteristics that would have required concealment.

But you don’t recall anything like that in your life. What was happening to you? As your mind races, you find yourself grappling with questions that feel far beyond your understanding. You try to calm your racing heart, focusing on the warmth you still feel radiating from your skin and the lingering memory of Yeosang’s touch. Would he have really brought you here? And why would he think you were in heat?

Just then, the bathroom door creaks open, and Yeosang steps out, his expression quickly shifting from concern to relief when he sees you awake. “You’re okay,” he says softly, as if trying to soothe both you and himself

Your eyes land on him, and it’s as if all your senses have been cranked up to a hundred. Every nuance, every detail about Yeosang is amplified, and your body feels strangely magnetized to him, an overwhelming urge to pounce surging through you.

“Ughhh,” you groan, curling in on yourself. You’re not writhing in pain anymore, but rather it feels like an instinctual restlessness coursing through your veins, one that’s unfamiliar yet potent.

His scent wafts toward you, a heady mix that sends your senses into overdrive. You find yourself clawing at the covers, desperately trying to keep yourself grounded. “What’s happening to me?” you ask through clenched teeth, the words escaping in a breathless whisper.

“I think you’re in heat,” he replies cautiously, his eyes searching yours for understanding. “I can help you, but you have to let me.”

His voice sends a shiver down your spine. “I don’t care,” you insist, your voice forceful despite the chaos inside you. “Do whatever you have to—just make this go away.”

He nods, but there’s a noticeable hesitation in his demeanor. “Okay, um… You’ll have to get undressed,” he says, his voice quiet and uncertain. “I can help relieve you, but… only if you’re okay with that.”

He glances away as he fidgets with his hands. “I don’t want to pressure you, but I really think it would help ease your discomfort.” There's an almost palpable tension in the room as he waits for your response, hoping you’ll trust him amidst the chaos swirling inside you.

You quickly shed your clothes, desperation driving your movements. Crawling to the edge of the bed on your knees, you looked up at him, your breath quickening. “Please… help me,” you panted, the weight of your need pressing heavily upon you. You were gradually losing your mind—literally. Every ounce of your being was screaming at you to devour him. You needed him to do something fast.

You see him take a deep breath before he sheds his own clothes. His touch is light as he guides you to lay on your back but the moment his hands touched your skin, you lost it. Your body reacts like a spring-loaded trap and your limbs cage him in. Your legs wrap around him and you pull him flush to your body. He lets out a groan, his already hard cock slipping through your impossibly wet folds. You were soaking.

“Fuck, should we go slow?” he asks with a shuddered breath.

“I can’t wait. I feel like I'm dying every second your not in me” You growl primal instincts screaming at you to let him breed you.

He leans back as far as you let him and slips a hand between your bodies to line himself up at your entrance. When he pushes into you, it's like nothing you've ever felt before. Yeosang must have felt like that too because his grip tightens and he's driving into you at a bruising pace and you're grateful because if he gave you anything less, you would have cried.

You still do cry, but these are tears of pure, unfiltered pleasure. It was like he was made for you, made to fill you up and fuck you over and over. He pulls away and your hands reach out to grab him but he's quicker than you; he presses you back down into the mattress with your legs pressed up against your chest before he's thrusting back into you. The room was filled with lewd noises, his throaty groans, your unabashed moans and the slick sounds of your core slapping against his balls.

“Im close” You whine.

“Me too,” Yeosang moans, not letting up for a second.

Soon he's spilling deep into you. The feeling of his warm seed filling you up pushes you over the edge and you're riding that wave with him.

He doesn't pull out right away, and you savor the feel of the way your bodies entertwine. Hes pulling out and you think hes about to get off of you but hes thrusting back into you with a new hunger.

“Ah! Yeosang,” you moan. You felt a lot better now but you weren't complaining as he continued to please you. You felt that familiar tug in your gut and you knew you were close again but this time felt different. You can feel your legs start to quake and then you were making a mess.

Yeosang tried to fuck you through it but the pressure of your release pushed him out. You squirt all over his thighs, surely ruining his sheets.

Your embarrassed but when you look up at him, he doesn't seem phased.

“Can we go again?”

[lonewolfwriting89]

GAMES WE PLAY

Vincent De Gramont “Marquis” x Reader

Warnings: NSFW. Smut.

A/N: Just a short little smutty drabble, saw John Wick 4 not long ago and yeah, I was suitably distracted. Anyways, another venture into another fandom! I hope you enjoy 😘 xoxo

————

Rejoining the conversation you stayed close to him, his arm around you as though you’d been that way all your lives. You waited until he was engrossed in conversation with a member of the High Table and then caught his eyes. Running your tongue over your lips, you smiled and his words faltered ever so slightly. Knowing you were having the effect you wanted you purposely ate slowly, eyes locked to Vincent’s. Soon his face was slightly flushed and he was clearing his throat. When you were sure you had his attention you drew the edge of your champagne glass down your throat letting it trail over your cleavage lightly before setting it down. His eyes followed the path of the glass with a predatory gaze and you excused yourself to the others.

Turning to whisper to him softly before standing you said huskily against his ear, “I want you inside me..now”.

Vincent sat upright in his chair and you laid a hand on his suit covered shoulder smiling softly as you stood and moved toward the corridor. You thought he would wait, give it a moment so it was less conspicuous and perhaps meet you there but before you could get through the door you felt his hand on the small of your back guiding you from the dining room firmly. No sooner had the door closed he turned, his body pinning you against them.

You smiled slowly in triumph and he arched a perfectly shaped brow. Gripping your wrist he turned and looked around almost desperately. You tried to suppress the laugh but it escaped and he growled tugging you down the hallway toward the first door he saw. You found yourself in a large butlers pantry, forced against the cool wall. His thigh pressed between yours lifted you onto your toes as his hands gripped your wrists pinning them to the wall. You could barely breath and the uncontrolled lust in his eyes was reflected in yours.

“You know I don’t like your little games chéri”.

You smirked, “Your actions say otherwise”.

Vincent took your mouth roughly. Desire like a demand as his tongue parted your lips fiercely. You met his need with your own, heated and urgent as your tongues explored and coaxed the flames higher between you both. Your hands went to his hair, curling into the blonde silken strands. Fingers gripping lightly as you felt him lift you off the floor swiftly. His hands moved up over your ass, drawing your skirt up around your waist to free your legs. He didn't take the time to remove the lacy thong, forcing it aside as you felt his long fingers bury themselves deep inside you for the second time that night.

Gasping you moaned, head falling back as his mouth moved lower over your throat, biting as he went, seizing your nipple through the silk. One arm wrapped around the small of your back like steel, the other hand working between your legs till yoi felt him shudder and moan unable to wait any longer. You reached down between you both, loosening his pants, drawing him free of them, your fingers encircling his thick shaft as you brought his other hand up to your mouth, sucking your taste from his fingers.

His eyes met yours and for a moment you heard his breath catch in his throat. Then he was inside you, no teasing no coaxing, one thrust buried to the hilt. You cried out in pleasure and wrapped your legs around his hips, arching your back to force him deeper. He laid his head in the crook of your neck and drove into you relentlessly, groaning as you tightened around him in response.

Your hips bucked wildly to meet his thrusts, hands moving down to his neck, aching to touch his skin but you were both too far gone. Lost in the sea of euphoric pleasure. Like a raging fire it consumed you both and you felt him surge inside you. He cupped your face bringing your eyes level with his and whispered gruffly, "Regarde moi".

Doing as Vincent commanded, you opened your eyes, trying to focus, your whole being alight and ready to flame. He met your eyes, holding your gaze and you saw his smile broaden as he watched you orgasm. You shuddered, tensing with a soft cry and felt him flood into you with a force that took your breath. Clinging and shuddering he held you so tightly you couldn't breathe properly. The room spiralled as you gave him your weight, still spasming around his cock tightly.

He set you on the floor supporting you with his body till your legs would hold you upright again. Leaning down he kissed you slowly, lingering as his hands smoothed your skirt back into place. Whispering against your temple his words brought you back from the warm tingly place you were dwelling.

“Don’t think that’s the end of it chéri”.

————

[farity]

Enemies

Pairing:  Aemond Targaryen x you

Summary:  Reader is Rhaenyra’s second child and her father is Laenor Velaryon (the only child they had together, the boys are still Harwin Strong’s)

Warning:  Future smut

“Final tribute,” Aemond said, striking his fist on the table.

You glanced at your mother, who seemed surprised, and at queen Alicent, who seemed worried.

“I would like to raise my glass to my niece,” he said, looking at you, and you nearly scowled at him.  Whatever he was playing at, you wanted to part of it.  Your mother motioned for you to smile, and you pretended to not have seen her.

“Her pureness of blood is a welcome highlight,” Aemond continued, and with all eyes on you, you raised your glass in front of your face, trying to cover the fact that you weren’t smiling at him.

“My nephews,” he added, “Jace, Luke, Joffrey, all of them wise, handsome,” you looked at the queen, who seemed to be terrified, and you realized what was about to happen, “strong.”

“Let’s raise our glasses to these three strong boys.”

What happened next was a blur, fists flying, bodies being pushed and shoved, but it was when he smiled that you finally snapped.  Grabbing your cup of wine, you walked through the chaos and threw the liquid at Aemond’s head as you headed to your chambers.

You felt a hand on your arm and turned to see your mother’s husband, Daemon, looking at you angrily.  “The last thing we need is you making things worse.”

“Because it’s going to well otherwise?” you snapped back, and saw the way his free hand twitched.  “Do it,” you said, “hit me, and I will murder you in your sleep.”

He let go of you and you went to the rooms you’d been given, empty cup still in your hand.  

You’d known, sooner or later, something like this would happen.  The rotting old king was far more gone in his head than the maesters thought if he, for one moment, imagined the families would all get along. Through the forced laughter and even more forced conversations of the evening there had been a simmering rage that sooner or later, had to boil over.  And Aemond Targaryen had been unable to resist the urge to burn it all down.  

You put your feet up by the hearth, scooted your butt to the edge of the chair, and closed your eyes, breathing slowly to put the evening behind you, and you had nearly dozed off when the door opened.

“Princess,” the maid said, “your mother wishes to see you.”

You sat up, and realized from how numb your ass was that a long time had passed.  An hour, two?  

You rubbed your eyes but followed the maid until you were led into a large room where your mother and queen Alicent stood on one side of a desk.  Daemon was walking out as you went in and as he passed you, he stopped to whisper in your ear.  “You won’t be around to murder me in my sleep.”

Ignoring him, you curtsied before the queen.  “Lady mother, I was told you wanted to see me.”

“Sit down child, we have much to discuss.”

“Where are my brothers?” you asked, realizing that you had passed by their rooms and had heard nothing, which was unusual for them.

“Jace is headed back to Dragonstone.  Luke is going to Driftmark, and Joffrey is sleeping.  He will go home with me tomorrow.”

You sat down, wondering why she hadn’t mentioned you going back to Dragonstone either with Jace or her and Joffrey.  

“Clearly something must be done, we have left this go for too long,” the queen said, “I have spoken to your mother and we have come to an agreement.”

“That involves me,” you said, starting to dread what was coming.  Why would you not be going back to Dragonstone?  Why would Daemon have said what he said?

The door opened behind you and you heard steps.

“Aemond,” the queen said, and your stomach dropped.

You looked at your mother, caught the regret in her eyes.  “No.”

“Child.”

“I refuse.”

Rhaenyra closed her eyes for a moment and you nearly felt badly for her.  But not quite.  “We all make sacrifices for the good of the realm.”

“Sacrifices?” you stood.  “What sacrifices have you made?”

“It is not a sacrifice to be wed to a prince of the realm,” the queen said, and you turned to her.

“Really, Your Grace?  Did you like being wed to someone you didn’t love and having child after child, knowing your entire worth was what you carried in your belly?”

Aemond stepped around to grab your arm.  “You will not speak to the queen in such a manner.”

You looked at him, at the pink stains in his hair and covered your mouth when a bark of laughter escaped you.  Aemond was furious. If looks could kill, you would be ashes by now.

You weren’t done, however, and turned back to your mother, “you know he admires Daemon, do you not?” you said, indicating Aemond.  “will you weep, mother, when you receive news of me being found dead with my head bashed in?  Was that Lady Rhea’s sacrifice for the good of the realm?”

Rhaenyra froze.  “You will be quiet,” she spat out.

“I will not be quiet,” you said, taking a step toward her.  “I have many things to say and I will say them.  Why does Ser Criston Cole hate you so?”

The room was deathly still, but you continued.

“Why did my father have to die?”  You felt tears begin to gather in your eyes, but you wouldn’t be stopped.  “Why am I paying for your father’s weakness and your own wantonness?”

Rhaenyra walked around the desk and slapped you.  It hurt your heart far more than your cheek, but you smiled bitterly.  “I will add the name of Lady Rhea Royce to my prayers, and take another off the list.”

There was no doubt in anyone’s mind whose name you meant.

* * * * * 

Aemond knew well what incandescent anger was, but had never seen it in another.  The rage, the bitterness, the knowledge that it was all unfair and yet no one would do anything to change things.  He saw it all in her.  And he knew she, too, could burn down the world with her anger.

He had heard about Daemon’s first wife, of course, but he had always thought that Ser Criston’s devotion to his mother was because she pardoned him after some melee at a wedding.  It turned out there was more.

He had enjoyed the bit where she nearly called her own mother a whore.  Everyone knew that.  But to see Rhaenyra confronted so openly by her own daughter had been a treat.  

So he stood facing his red-eyed bride, who stared at his boots the whole time and mumbled the words.  He didn’t even try to kiss her at the end, and when he started to walk down the steps, she stayed up there, still staring at the floor.  When Rhaenyra tried to grab her arm to guide her down, she pulled away, and never looked at her mother.

“She will come around, you know that.”  He heard Daemon whisper to Rhaenyra.

“I am not so sure,” she’d replied, watching her daughter walk away.  

Queen Alicent grabbed Rhaenyra’s hands.  “We will take good care of her,” she said, and his half-sister immediately looked at him.  He stared back, saying nothing.  “Maybe in a few weeks you can visit,” his mother was saying.

“Maybe my wife will have learned some manners by then,” he spat at Rhaenyra, wanting her to hurt.  He turned before she could say anything and headed to his chambers.

He saw two maids leaving hurriedly, eyes wide, and went in to find his new wife ripping off her dress, quite literally.  She’d torn off one sleeve, sending tiny beads flying everywhere, and now stood in her shift, bundling up her dress.  When she saw him, she narrowed her eyes at him but then continued.

“This behavior will end.”

She pulled off the jeweled circlet she had worn to the hasty wedding and threw it, along with the dress, into the fire.  Her feet were small and bare as she stood watching the whole thing burn.

“You are being ridiculous.”

Ignoring him, she walked back to where the beads were scattered and began picking them up.  Aemond didn’t mean to look, but kneeling as she was, he could clearly see her breasts against the thin fabric of the shift.  

He reached down and pulled her up.  “We have servants for that.”

She tried to pull away and when he didn’t let go, closed her hands into fists.

“You’re going to hit me with those little things?” he smirked at her.

“Let me go, this is not your business.”

“I am your husband, everything about you is my business.”

She looked at him, her face a mixture of anger and confusion.  “You don’t want this any more than I do, why did you not protest?”

Aemond, still holding on to her, tilted his head as if she was an idiot.  “Because, you stupid girl, one wife is the same as any other.”

“Your father would beg to differ.  If he could, I mean,” she said defiantly, and he knew, he knew very well she was trying to goad him into being angry.  But all his anger was gone after the evening’s little entertainment, and she could goad all she wanted and he would not take the bait.  “Is it true he calls your mother by his first wife’s name?”

Maybe he was wrong, Aemond thought, maybe she could enrage him after all.

“You will stop your talking.”

“If my mother didn’t stop my talking even though I have respect for her, do you really think you can?”

He had been wrong.  She could definitely enrage him.

But he had no real anger and on impulse, he pressed his mouth to hers.  For a few seconds, Aemond felt her go still, and then she began kissing him back.  When he let go of her arms she wrapped one hand around his hair and the other began pulling up his tunic, freeing it from the breeches he wore.

He pulled back and she yanked on his hair to bring his mouth back to hers, then wrapped her arms around him when he lifted her off the ground.  Placing her on the edge of the bed, he frantically began undoing the laces on his breeches while she pulled her shift up to her waist.

“No,” he said, “take it off.”

“You, too,” she said, pointedly looking at his eyepatch.

He pulled it off, throwing it on the bed, while she removed her shift and then began lifting the tunic he wore.  

Aemond shoved his breeches down and off his feet, then spread her knees apart.  He wanted to ask her, wanted to make sure, even though she was a vile girl who hated him and everyone and everything, but she was running her hands up his chest, her small fingers tracing every muscle and scar, and he couldn’t wait any longer.  He began pushing into her, felt her thighs tighten around his hips. 

“More, more,” she demanded, and he thrust, hard.  She gasped and her nails sank into his shoulders.  

She’d been pure and innocent, he thought over and over as he filled her, as he felt the beginnings of  release.  He wrapped his arms around her, felt her breasts bouncing with every thrust, and he groaned, unable to stop the orgasm from tearing through him.  

Long moments later he realized her face was buried against his chest and she was saying something, so he pulled back.

“I couldn’t breathe,” she said, her face flushed, her eyes watery.  “I hope you don’t mean to murder me by smothering me.”

Aemond pulled out of her, gathered his clothes.  “I’m considering it,” he said as he went to the bathing chamber.

“There is still pink in your hair,” he heard her say as he slammed the door shut.

* * * * * 

@arryn-nyx​   @  girlwith-thepearlearring    @greenowlfactif  @hydrationqueensworld    @megzdoodle   @melsunshine  @queenofshinigamis     @throughgoeshamilton   @travelingmypassion    @watercolorskyy

Aemond fics only

@hb8301   @kaemond-zafiro    @arcielee

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟖 (𝟐/𝟑)   ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜   |   EARLY OCTOBER 1991

❧  𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲  /  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

→ 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍 The performance lineup was long, mixing dilettante regulars with real, true artists. Renzo hadn’t told her in advance what he planned to do; she knew he would be accompanying Fluke at some point, but his turns at the front were rare and unpredictable. Tonight, he used his voice, one that Leonor found impressive if not astonishing, to serenade the room. That was the illusion, anyway. He held her gaze the entire time, which was enough to convey intent. The songs announced were all covers—music from her aunt’s milieu, or quite possibly her discography. While Leonor didn’t recognize the song and rapidly became unable to hear the lyrics as words with a meaning, the unmistakable mood gripped her. It wasn’t a caress so much as a stroke, a fondle, a pinch. It made her skin crawl in the best way.

❧ "venus in furs" won the poll but "time of the season" ended up fitting better (and also the clapping in this performance was compelling dsfsjg) ... anyway, i am SO pleased with this post specifically

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

The performance lineup was long, mixing dilettante regulars with real, true artists. Renzo hadn’t told her in advance what he planned to do; she knew he would be accompanying Fluke at some point, but his turns at the front were rare and unpredictable. Tonight, he used his voice, one that Leonor found impressive if not astonishing, to serenade the room. That was the illusion, anyway. He held her gaze the entire time, which was enough to convey intent. The songs announced were all covers—music from her aunt’s milieu, or quite possibly her discography. While Leonor didn’t recognize the song and rapidly became unable to hear the lyrics as words with a meaning, the unmistakable mood gripped her. It wasn’t a caress so much as a stroke, a fondle, a pinch. It made her skin crawl in the best way.

The Den possessed an unexpected number of quiet backrooms beyond the bustle of its main space. People who were just passing through experienced the stage, the bar, the shadowy corners that ringed them both. Friends got to see the enviable wine cellar and the room where the gambling happened; although less exciting, they might also see the liquor storage or the disorganized mess that barely warranted the title of “office.” Leonor had probably jiggled most of the doorknobs before she went onto the roof. Of course, Renzo’s favorite backroom wasn’t in the basement with the others. It was the small section cordoned off from the main space, drenched in red lighting, with a sectional on which he could sprawl. It was where Leonor had first met him, and it was where they tended to retreat as any given night progressed. Tonight had been no exception. It was a place to fully crawl out of her skin, and the knotted satin of her costume, and the nervous confines of her mind. 

With delusional buoyancy setting it, an urgent question had bubbled up unbidden. It force itself out like a hiccup. Renzo caught it, if with surprise, rolling along with her as she wondered aloud. ‘Do you love me?’ A terrible question, this one. Had she not already felt so much, had she not been overflowing with shapeless and blooming euphoria, she would have felt ashamed. He didn’t recoil. Against her fingers, he answered, ‘I love ... the idea of you.’ She didn’t recoil from the honesty either. It wasn’t a wave; it was a rainfall that soaked, heavy, gentle, to the bone. She followed up with the same earnestness, ‘Do I love you?’ He swirled his tongue around her thumb as he considered it. Then, ‘You love who you think I am.’ Did she? ‘Really?’ ‘Really.’ It was settled. She did. Otherwise, it had to be a fleeting concern, one sinking beneath the surface again, that couldn’t really matter.

TRANSCRIPT:

[Music, overlapping conversation, laughter]

RENZO | Come on, don’t be shy. Look, all of this—live plants, the murals, fucking real rabbits to play with—all courtesy of Nora. She’s been busy employing artisans and patronizing florists and shit. Did you know she came up with the theme, too? Can’t forget that. Because she loves this place. She loves all of us. My moon goddess.

[Music, conversation, laughter continues]

[Crowd cheering]

[Music, crowd singing along]

[Discordant, playful strumming]

[Music begins, Renzo singing]

[Rhythmic clapping]

No, no, too much! No? Yes! Fuck. It’s fine. Yeah? Too late now. Oh, baby—

[Laughter, echoing]

[Muffled music, Leonor sighs]

Do you love me? I love ... the idea of you. Do I love you? You love who you think I am. Really? Really.

Is that real? The rabbit? The fur? It’s so ... That’s a lot. Poor rabbits, huh? Yes, but ... It’s soft! Oh, it’s soft. You have to leave the, um, the—[laughs] The chaps? Yes! It’s so important. I love them. If you want. Please! I do.

[Urinating, sink running, door opening and closing]

?1 | —such a cute theme, though. Little bunnies? I look so good. ?2 | Yeah, but can you believe what she did? No one else is yellow. ?1 | Not surprised. Princess has to be the center of attention, duh.

?2 | It’s so weird. Because … why? ?1 | Why? What do you mean, why? ?2 | Why does he let her do that. It’s kind of unfair. ?1 | [Laughs] Jealous? ?2 | No. She has nothing to contribute! Money? Or, you know—

?2 | But, I would be so fucking bored if I were him. ?1 | I only talked to her once, and I’m still bored. [Snickers] ?2 | Blah, blah, my mom is dead, blah, blah, blah, I do government stuff. Where’s the camera, look at me, I’m a Reyes, blah, blah, blah. ?1 | [Laughs] So dumb! That’s it, though.

?1 | Maybe she’s just hot, in a cute way? She’s new. Doesn’t know how to do anything fun. A "yes" girl. Ooh. We’ve been there. ?2 | Yeah, I don’t get it, but, oh, well—Okay! [Smacks lips] Let’s go! [Footsteps, door opens and closes]

[Door closes]

[eunseoksimp]

Hi! Can you write jealous reader x Sungchan (could be same y/n from poison)

You writing is so good !!x

hey anon, thank you so much for your kind words. i wrote a completely different reader because all my poison creative juices have been exhausted, i hope you don’t mind.

i also low-key got carried away with the insanity, this might be a step further than simple jealousy whoops.

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

it wasn’t a hidden fact that the bounds of your jealousy did not mirror those of a normal person.

you found that you tended to like people a lot more passionately than others, but you assumed it was overall a healthy amount of course, the type that any person might feel when they liked someone.

that was until you met jung sungchan.

you weren’t sure what it was about him that induced a scary amount of rage every time you saw him draw near to another girl.

you had no right to dictate who he could and couldn’t speak to, because the truth was that the relationship between you and sungchan was complicated.

you couldn’t exactly call each other lovers, but the things that you both did was nothing becoming of friends. so you were stuck in a weird sort of limbo, forced to ramble to your best friends and hope it would alleviate the burning flame that resided in your chest.

‘i don’t get it. it’s not like the both of you are dating, so why do you care that he’s around other girls?’ wonbin spoke up, tossing another skittle into his mouth successfully.

‘she likes him stupid, why else would she feel this way?’ chaewon, who was resting her head on her shoulder had her eyes closed, almost as if she was sleeping, but you knew she was listening.

‘my point is, if you like him why don’t you tell him that?’

you loved wonbin, you really did, but sometimes you wondered how someone so pretty could be so empty headed. he often was unable to pick up on context clues and you thanked god that chaewon was always with you, otherwise you might go crazy.

‘i don’t want to ruin our friendship. what if i lose him forever.’

‘i’m pretty sure your so called friendship was ruined the moment you both decided to fuck like rabbits,’ you lifted your head to give wonbin the middle finger, but quickly dropped it as you sighed.

a drunken night at a party is what led to the situation you were in. at the time you were sure that it was nothing more than sex, and given that the both of you were best friends and trusted each other more than anything, you decided on keeping a friends with benefits dynamic.

it was great at first, being able to sleep with someone without having to worry about feelings, or inviting strangers into your home and your body. sungchan was such a gentleman, looking after you in and out of the bedroom.

when you fucked, it was magical. he was always more concerned with your pleasure than he was his, drawing orgasm after orgasm out of your first before he would finally retire for the night, satisfied that you enjoyed yourself.

eventually, you found yourself craving intimacy outside of the bedroom, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to stay over after to cuddle, or to make the both of you a quick meal.

before you knew it, you started to become dependent on sungchan, needing him nearby at all times, wanting to be the only one he touched, or the only one he looked at. there was a desperate desire for him to be with you forever, and you thrived off of the feelings you got whenever he touched you.

‘i hate that he talks to other girls. it makes me want to hurt them,’ you confessed, truthfully, because you felt like you could trust your friends.

for the first time since you had started your conversation, chaewon’s eyes opened, scrambling to hold your head in her hands as she stared directly at yours.

‘you’re joking. right?’ a part of him knew the answer to that question, chuckling nervously as he observed you.

‘she’s not. that’s the scary part.’

lately it felt like your feelings for sungchan were bordering on obsession. you relied on him heavily for emotional support, seeking attention and validation from him in everything you did.

he had the ability to make or break your day, and you realised that as dangerous as it was, you placed the responsibility of your happiness onto him. depending on when he paid attention to you he could make you feel like you were on top of the world, or in the deepest pits of hell.

‘why is it so serious in here,’ sungchan walked into a tension-filled room, duffle bag slung over his shoulder, hood covering his messy hair.

chaewon moved away to make room for him and wonbin cleared his throat, but you paid no attention to them both, a wide smile forming on your face as you looked at the man you were in love with, even without trying he was beautiful, the ability to take your breath away something that came so easy to him.

‘hey,’ he was standing in front of you, crouching down till you were eye level, his smile mirroring yours as he messed with your hair. there was no way he couldn’t feel the intense connection between the both of you, how perfect you both were for each other.

‘where were you?’

‘karina needed some help so i stayed behind. she got me some coffee to thank me,’ he was nonchalant in what he was saying, but you furrowed your eyebrows at the pink that faintly painted his cheeks.

‘you’ve been spending a lot of time with karina lately,’ you dug your fingernails into your palm, hating the mention of her name.

karina, or yu jimin as written on her birth certificate, was the evil bitch trying to keep you away from sungchan. ever since they started sharing some classes together she had been hanging around him more and more, like a fly hovering over him so persistently.

you recall moments where sungchan would cancel your movie nights, or invite her out when your group would go to the cinema together, or even eat. it drove you mad, watching her flip her hair over her shoulder, flashing him a smile as she playfully pushed his shoulder.

each time your stomach would turn and it would make you want to throw up on the spot. why was she trying to steal your favourite person?

‘i actually wanted to tell you guys something. i-um, we’re going on a date this saturday,’ his eyes darted towards yours and you chew on your bottom lip, afraid to allow your thoughts to spill out.

you were sure he felt the same way you did. he had to with the way he looked at you. he wouldn’t be able to fuck you so good if he didn’t.

so why did he need another girl? what did karina have that you didn’t? how desperately did she push up on sungchan to get him to fall for her.

‘i have to go,’ you stood up abruptly, grabbing your things from beside you and making a beeline for the door, suddenly feeling the room close in on you. you could hear sungchan’s hurried footsteps coming after you, but it only made you want to go faster.

‘please slow down, i need to know if you’re okay,’ he finally succeeded in grabbing a hold of you, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath for a couple of seconds.

‘do you love her,’ your voice was quiet, barely above a whisper as you looked at him expectantly, awaiting his answer.

‘love? what no, i barely know her.’

‘then why are you taking her out?’ a tear spilled down your cheek, but you refused to make an attempt to wipe it.

‘i just- i like her i think,’ you could tell he was trying his hardest not to hurt your feelings, but it only made your heart ache more. how could someone so sweet, someone so caring, want to be with karina and not with you?

how could you carry on knowing the one you love unconditionally, the one that you go to for everything, the one who helped you breathe, was thinking about another girl.

it was hard to hear, to see that his whole world did not revolve around you, like yours did around his. that not hearing from him made you anxious and paranoid that he would one day abandon you.

‘i still want us to be friends, you mean so much to me,’ he was sincere in his words, but your ears were ringing as you thought about the date he would be on with that girl tomorrow.

it left a bitter taste in your mouth, and the rational part of your mind would tell you to see this as a sign to move on, to look for someone else who would love you the way you wanted.

but the loss of sungchan was just too much to bear, so much so that you would do anything to keep him.

this was why you spent the rest of your night stalking through her instagram pages, seeing her likes and dislikes, her personal style.

it was why you were haphazardly dying your hair blonde, having only the tiny mirror in your bathroom to guide you.

it was also why you desperately searched in your cupboard for clothes with the same cuts, or prints as her.

you were changing your self-identity slowly, lost in the hope that this would make sungchan return back to you.

maybe then he would like you.

and when you showed up to sungchan’s house, merely a few hours before he was meant to go on his date, you took the shock on his face to mean a good thing.

‘you look… different,’ his voice trailed off, carefully studying your features.

he was always so perceptive, you were sure he had figured things out by now. but that didn’t matter, as long as you could keep his attention on you for a little while longer.

a faint line between faith and blindly waiting.

[hockeyshmockey]

FEA- Daniel Ricciardo

summary: in which daniel's return to the redbull family brings her back into his life too

warnings: none other than some cursing

“Did you hear?” Max asked her casually in between interviews, the Dutchman trying to be nonchalant but failing epically.

“Hear what?” Shay asked the driver as she looked up from her phone with squinted eyes.

“Mclaren dropped Daniel,” Max revealed with a frown, making Shay's jaw drop.

Rewind to 2016.

Shay, a young assistant media manager had been called by a frantic Stella, who was the head of Red Bull F1 PR at the time. One of the two media managers had come down with pneumonia and been unable to travel to Melbourne for the first race of the season.

It was that moment that Shay had been thrown head first into her role she held now. Stella had told her that Shay was now the Media Manager for hot shot Daniel Ricciardo until told otherwise. The moment the Aussie and the girl from Cambridge started working together began what many called two years of pain.

Professionally, Shay and Daniel were a dream pairing. The two had a rapport many other drivers tried to have with their media managers. There had to be a delicate balance of friendship and work, which Shay was able to achieve with the never ending enigma that was Daniel. She never hesitated to joke around with him, but was also able to bring him back to earth and out of the slumps that became more common further on in their partnership.

Personally, Shay and Daniel were the biggest “will they won’t they” the paddock may have ever seen. Shay had blushed around Daniel their first few weeks working together non stop. Daniel would never hesitate to flirt with Shay, smirking when eventually the girl learned to give it back just as good as she got.

On celebration nights, Daniel and Shay were almost always found together in a dark corner leaning in close and sipping their drinks. The two spent time together away from the track, Shay meeting his family and Daniel going on vacation with Shay and her brothers one summer break. When Daniel was on the podium, Shay was on the barrier waiting with a hug.

When Max joined Red Bull, even as tensions within the team rose, the Dutchman never failed to tease Daniel about Shay. When the time came for Daniel to announce his move to Renault, most of the Red Bull staff expected him to announce at the same time he and Shay were in love and she was heading across the paddock with him.

Little did they know, Shay heard about Daniels departure at the group meeting with everyone else.

Things after that were tense. Daniel spent the rest of the season soaking up his last moments with the team, but things with Shay were off. He understood he had hurt her, but her never realized how badly until she iced him out. The last five races of the season, there was none of the banter that their relationship thrived on. Shay was all work while Daniel tried to revert back to their normal.

The last race of the season ended with a party in a club. And instead of hanging out in a corner, Shay and Daniel were in a screaming match that ended with Shay in tears and leaving and Daniel pounding beers till he couldn't see straight.

The next four years, Shay and Daniel kept their distance. They nodded to each other across the paddock, but there was no chats. They usually ended up having polite conversation when Max would force them together. But overall, Daniel's handling of his departure from Red Bull had clearly damaged their relationship.

"God, what is he going to do?" Shay was unable to keep the concern out of her voice as she looked at Max.

"I don't know yet," Max shrugged. "Theres some options, but I'm sure they aren't ideal for him. I'm sure Blake is working in overtime."

"God," Shay shook her head. "I really thought after all the comments made about his contract, Mclaren would've been smarter than this. Dan better get his money out of that one."

"Maybe you should reach out," Max said lightly, throwing his hands up in surrender when Shay whipped around to glare at him.

unknown

fuck em all. show them what they've lost

daniel

did you literally change your number to ignore me?

shay

and now im going to do it again

shay

I was trying to be nice but nvm

daniel

no no. I appreciate it

daniel

FEA

"Hello?" Shay asked with stuttered breath as she answered her phone. Her chest had gotten tight as soon as she saw the caller ID.

"Hi Shay," Daniel sighed into the receiver. "I'm sorry to call out of the blue. Do you have a sec?"

"Yeah Dan," she smiled slightly as she leaned on her desk in the Red Bull F1 office. "What's going on?"

"I just," he sighed. "I want you to know I understand that the blame of how things went down between us is on me. I should've-."

"No Dan," she cut him off. "It's not all on you. I reacted poorly. I knew you were struggling and I could've cut you some slack, but I let my hurt cloud everything. I could've been a bit more forgiving."

"Well, thank you for saying that," he smiled to himself. "I do regret things. And thats why I wanted to be the one to tell you this. Christian wants me to come on as the third driver. And as long as you and I are good, I want to say yes."

"Oh Dan," Shay beamed. "You are so fucking back baby."

And so the game began again. Daniel was back with Red Bull and in the garage, and though Shay was Max's Media Manager this time around, it just meant the three of them were attached at the hip. But the Daniel and Shay betting pool had absolutely been restarted.

The energy in Red Bull was at an all time high. The team doing so well, and having Daniel back was like a double boost in morale. Daniel's reputation within Red Bull was excellent, clearly so since Christian had jumped at the chance to bring the Aussie back.

The team though had a lot of new faces since Daniel had left. And so he was learning a lot of new names and team members. And he already had a few to keep his eye on based on the way they acted with Shay.

"Have you not shut that down?" Daniel asked Max quietly as the two stood in the garage and watched as one of the newer mechanics put his hand on Shay's shoulder as the two spoke.

"Mate," Max laughed. "No. She's my friend, I don't care if she dates a mechanic."

"She's too good for them," Daniel frowned. "I always gave my boys the shovel talk back then."

"Dan, you did that because you wanted to be the one dating her," Max said dead pan. "You gave me the shovel talk too. Everyone knows why you're doing it."

"Do you think she knows?" Daniel asked with a panic, running after Max's retreating form

*

"You okay?" Shay asked as she peaked into the drivers room in Alpha Tauri where a down trodden honey badger resided.

"Think it's broken," Daniel said with a sad smile. He had been racing for three weekends before it was ripped away again.

"Okay, we can work with that!" Shay tried to encourage as she went as sat next to him, resting her hand on his thigh. "You'll see a doctor, and then we can get a treatment plan in place and-"

"You know I'm in love with you right?" Daniel interrupted, watching Shay's face as his comment sunk in.

"I mean I love you too bud," she laughed nervously.

"No, like, I'm in love with you," Daniel said assuredly. "I think we're meant to be together. And today, flying toward that barrier, I couldn't help but think that I didn't want to go another day without saying it."

"Daniel," Shay murmured as she looked into his brown eyes for a moment before smirking. "Come here you idiot," she grabbed a hold of his collar and yanked him in for their first kiss of many.

*

Christian and Gerri split the multi thousand dollar pot, compiled over years of betting with attendees across the paddock. A phone tree had to be used to inform everyone that the bet terms had been met. Retired drivers, old team principals, and even ex partners had to be called to let everyone know that Daniel and Shay were finally, Daniel and Shay.

[oxygenbefore1775]

am i wrong giving my all making you stay tonight

➥zeke x fem!reader

➥tags: canonverse, the year is 850 just before zeke is deployed to paradis

➥cw: major mentions of hatred towards eldians, star-crossed lovers and forbidden relationship trope, zeke is a narcissist and a dick here, the reader is also not that nice tbh, twisted marriage proposal and all that comes with it, zeke has some morbid fascination with his death, derogatory treatment from zeke (it's hella toxic); nsfw! (mdni) but it's at the very end so don't hesitate to scroll all the way down if you wanna skip all the explanation to them fucking, rough fucking, man handling, prone bone, kinda dacryphillia, talking during sex, one instance of hair tuggung

➥wc: 8.4k — no beta we die like my sleep schedule while writing this

➥summary: the night zeke tells you about his upcoming mission on paradis doesn't go without its consequences.

➥a/n: so i have this huge-ass zeke fic that i'm writing in my mother-tongue and because i'm sooo original w my content on tumblr rn i'm just gonna translate some parts of it here with some alterations - prepare for some incoherent shit, i warned you, that's like the most delulu zeke i have ever written

He is not to be trusted.

There's a deceit lacing his each word.

Cold and cunning, he was nonetheless charming. You would be lying if you denied the scorching languor that the ice of his blue eyes kindled in you.

Fleeting sentiments filled your mind in his presence, renderring you deaf and numb to your own thoughts. Not to mention his words, their poison failing to fill your absent body as you often lost the thread of the conversation. A lopsided grin curled his lips whenever you found yourself confused and unable to answer his simplest of questions, yet again, your thoughts a molten and twisted mass. You knew no end to his teasing for your frivoulness that he elicited from you with naught but a look.

Who were you, compared to the War Chief Yeager? Neither wits nor status was on your side to rebuke his taunts. Courage was failing you, fleeing at the mere sight of the red gracing his left arm. Retaliatory jabs never landed, the harsh words melted at the tip of your tongue before ever reaching him. How he reveled in seeing you like this, feeble and helpless. Just some stupid Eldian girl, that's what you were in his eyes. Unfit to be by his side.

And yet, he yearned for it nonetheless. Otherwise there was no other explaination to the slight arrogance bleeding into the way he spoke to you, leaving no other interpretation but that of a hunter taunting a mortally wounded beast. A whim, display of power, oversaturated and evident.

Occasionally he would condescend to your polite and humble requests, presenting them in a way that painted him as virtuous, as if you should be overflowing with gratitude and praises for his mere consideration of your proposals. He, however, never stooped to an open request himself, whether it be willful ignorance or inability to put thoughs into words. In such cases you were left to rely blindly on your own insight, forced to navigate through the murky water of his genuine intentions.

But witnessing this facade of complacency that masked his features most of the time disappear never failed to amuse you. How easily it could be shattered with a simle act — merely increasing the distance between you by a few steps during your routine strolls or better yet vanishing entirely from his line of sight amidst the crowd. That's all it took for the cold arrogance to crumble away and give way to a barely palpable unrest as he sought to bridge the unfavourably long gap that had grown between you unbeknownst to him. Not too close, though, being wary of avoiding the contact between your bodies.

The game he played to you was cruel yet he persisted in subjecting you to it, time after time. The true nature of his motives eluded you. The shadow of pleasure he took in poisoning your thoughts was hard to deny. Until he inhibits you whole, there would be no stopping to the suffocating hold over you. You were keep falling victim of this, though, the torment gnawing at your body and mind.

His unbroken gaze was the image etched in your memory for eternity. As well as the burning need to keep you near, by his side. Like you not staying at his apartment for the night could cost him his sleep. Like not laying his eyes one you could cost him his peace.

He remained oblivious to the fact that you noticed all of this. How could he possibly entertain those suspicions? A stupid Eldian girl would never. And still...

His gait lacked definition for someone who got the military drills beaten into him from the young age. Strange — even the deepest of thoughts usually failed to lure out a reaction from his body. Always static and phlegmatical, now he paced up and down the room, forgetting you were here in this room with him altogether.

With quick glances, you attempted to read his expression whenever he would pass your form curled up on the couch, and all in vain. His features remained an unpenetrable mask robbed of any emotion. Maybe it was the coffee. Shifting your gaze to the table covered with dirty mugs, your assumption had some reasoning behind it but you quickly brushed it off. He'd been like that long before resorting to the caffein.

Hesitation coursed through your every movement as you struggled to come up with a proper reaction. As intriguing as it was to find out what exactly had been plaguing the mind of steadfast War Chief, you couldn't muster up the insolence of striking up a conversation first. Who were you to inquire, anyway.

"One could hear your thoughts from a mile away."

His voice shook the cushioned silence of the room, bearing the same shadow of amusement he usually graced your way, as if the last hours weren't filled with restless pacing. Looking up to meet his gaze, a spark of amusement melted the cold of his eyes. The chance to divert his churning thoughts towards such a trivial remark seemed to bring him a little relief.

He prompted you with a quirk of his brow. "Speak what is it you have on your mind, or else you might burst."

There was that grin again, dark and painting his features in shadows. You shifted on the couch, nails digging into the flesh of your palm. At this point, each word you were going to say hardly veiled any obscurity since he'd already knew the nature of her question. He liked being proven right.

"Nothing really," your voice lacked the lively rebuke that usually sounded in your constant bickering back and forth, his unrest had seemed to rub off onto you as well. "You just seem off."

Your overtly careful choice of words elicited his soft chuckle. For a few moments he looked down on you, pondering just how much of information he should tell you. If he should tell you. After all, it was the knowledge not meant for the likes of you, civilians.

The light-hearted tone of his voice bore a stark contrast to the atmosphere and the words he was saying. "They're sending me to the island." His lips pressed into a thin bloodless line once he fell silent, his unbroken gaze on your face.

A deep line etched between your eyebrows. Still puzzled, you looked up at him searching for some sort of visual purchase.

The island of devils — any warrior would be elated at the prospect of proving their worth to Marley in battling the spawns of Paradis. Yet this sense of pride never captivated Zeke. More than anything, frustration seemed to have bled into his fair features.

Question, perhaps stupid in its naivete, plagued you so you let it leap off of your tongue. "Is this good or bad news?"

"And what do you think?" He retorted, pained playfullness still lingering in his voice. "When you send four Titans to an important mission and this is followed by five years of silence, how good can those news be?"

The air in the room became thick with smoke and smell of tobacco — Zeke must've lit a cigarette without you noticing. Your nose wrinkling, you slid to the other side of the couch where the gray thick cloud couldn't reach you. Uncanny thoughts soon started festering in your mind.

You cringed at your own way of thinking yet you couldn't help but to ask once more. "Are you—" unflattering crack snaked its way into your voice. "Is it going to be for a long time?"

He must've found your seeming worry endearing. His shoulders trembled in a fit of silent laughter, taking amusement in you. Like a pet who suddenly pulled a trick unbefitting of their intelligence. Artificial light cast dark shadows on his face as he neared the kitchen table, taking a sip from one of the half-empty mugs.

"I can only imagine." He stole a gaze at you, eager to capture the row of fleeting emotion painting your features. "Those four must've done a gravely mistake and now fear to face the punishment or died a long time ago. Now they expect me to clean up after them." Benevolent grin tugged at the corners of his lips. "Warrior children, what a joke to Marley's army."

You shunned the way you had received the news. The insolence to fear, to assume the worst when you'd come to imagine him away on his mission was unacceptable of you, stupid Eldian girl. Your mind shouldn't be a harbor for such doubts. Zeke Yeager is a powerful warrior, the strongest in the unit. The red armband akin to the blood he'd spilt as an honorary Marleyan, a testament to hsi long service for the country. The island devils would be a little challenge for someone like him as his strength a prowess doomed him to imminent success. Your eyelashes fluttered as you sought solace in embrace of your arms, hiding your face in between your knees, away from his piercing stare. And yet you had the worries and you let them slowly eat away at you.

A temper tantrum would hardly influence Marley's decision and rid you of your predicament, but it didn't make you backtrack on your blind desire nonetheless. And he'd be thrilled to see your tears, especially if he was the cause of them.

Solitude started to weigh over your head like a dark stormy cloud. To be apart for such a long time rang so foreign to you. Foreign and cruel. Being at Yeager's side bore its benefits which you didn't hesitate to reap and now that the threat of those upsides being ripped away from you hung in the air, you felt... annoyed. You smiled to yourself at the fact that you'd finally been able to pin down your emotion. Annoyed sounded about right. And nothing else.

Noticing your downcast look, he decided to seal off your state with another barbed remark. "Spare Liberio your distraught sentiments. You weren't supposed to know about this in the first place. And I'd like to keep it that way in the eyes of the other people."

The ice in his gaze was persistent as he locked eyes with you. Not persistent enough to prevent the lopsided grin from twisting your lips.

In a fit of distorted glee, you inquired, your voice barely above whisper, "Why did you tell me about this then?" The words dripped with a mix of curiosity and spite, as if you had unraveled a hidden agenda beneath his carefully constructed facade. Your eyes bore into his, searching for a glimpse of vulnerability or truth amidst the web of deceit that surrounded him.

He was never easy to nail down so you didn't believe your luck when you caught a glimpse of emotion, as weak and light as the candle's flame, flicker in his eyes. And you didn't care for the nature of it — be it the amazement at the precision of your question or the anger with your insolence — it pleased you as long as it wasn't the usual cold spite. You found comfort in the knowledge that he, just like you, may be subservient to something other than his logic. That you're not the only one affected by the news of departure. The satisfaction was short-lived though as his features quickly acquired the same expression as before, a blank canvas you couldn't read.

The nicotine must've cleared his senses seeing as he scoffed at you in a condescending rebuke. "So that you won't make any fuss once you find the house empty." His hand reached to rest under your chin but you didn't accept the gesture, turning your head the other way. Stubborn behavior befitting the image of a stupid Eldian girl he painted you as in his mind. "It's still very much a secret mission so only limited number of people are allowed to know."

His touch rejected, he returned to the table, from which he continued keeping his unwavering gaze on you.

Did his remark suggest that his family was included in this selected group? Meaning, he went out of his way just to tell you? And for what? For you not to worry? Watching him form the corner of your eye, you couldn't help but to adore the stark discrepancy between his words and actions.

"I'll consider this your act of courtesy towards me." You shot back meekly, the tone of your voice suddenly growing more humble. At least you would have the satisfaction of having last word even if it meant resorting to your obsequious self.

Now, after a cigarette or two, he appeared utterly unfazed as if he weren't gambling with his own life by venturing onto the island of devils. When it came to his life, he never seemed to hold it at great value. You were the one to do it in his stead.

Curiosity took the better of you as you turned your head to face him, a hint of concern seeping through your facade. "How dangerous will it be? If the other Warriors had been on the island for five years, then those devils must be strong enough to pose a threat." You couldn't help but shudder at the thought of the mission potentially stretching beyond five years for Zeke. As capable and talented as he was, five years to his life were something that he just didn't have.

Zeke leaned back in his chair, the lazy twirling of smoke rising up out of his cigarette in contrast to the sharpness of the sneer that quickly appeared in the depths of his eyes. "For someone so uninvolved in the military campagns of Marley you seem to have too many questions about this mission. What's with the constant inquiries?" His words dripping with misleading benevolence.

His question momentarily silenced the room, knocking the air out of your lungs. Perhaps you indeed asked too many questions for someone of your station, someone who's supposed to be in a strictly comradely relationship with Zeke. You felt the tension growing more palpable the longer you kept him waiting. The glint in his eyes spoke volumes, a mix of amusement and knowing, hinting at the fact that he'd already got himself a satisfactory answer to his own inquiry. Part of you sensed that he'd guessed it right.

Nonetheless, you rushed to state the opposite in a futile attempt to undermine his own conclusion. "I think it's only logical of any Eldian to take interest in this mission." You pursed your lips before speaking again, feeling how artificial your words sounded leaping off your tongue. "The fate of the whole world depends on its outcome, does it not?"

At this point you'd grown too weary of him, his presence already intoxicating as it is. Why'd he brought you into his house? Just to tell you about his leave, take joy in seeing you shedding a shred of worry towards him but to mock you later for expressing those? Your drilled, bordering on automatic, response didn't win any favour with him yet managed to amuse him to some extent, evident in the way a mischevious grin split his face as he stood up from his chair.

His steps rang louder and louder with him approaching the couch you were sitting on. You let out a relieved sigh, cradling the hope that he'll finally grant you with leave, having had his share of playing games with you.

His eyes told otherwise. "No." He simply shook his head, denying you the last opportunity to leave his house. "I'll argue that there's more to it."

With that, his voice took on more sweetness that he usually allowed himself whilst talking to you which surprised you. At this point of your conversation he'd usually stoop down to tasteful taunts, a stark contrast to the moderation he was currently excercising, making your mind teem with thoughts.

"All the correspondence is forbidden for the Marleyan warriors whilst on the mission. Were you aware of that?" Still lacking a full comprehension of his motives, you nodded your head, your eyes big and doe-like. Nonetheless, he accepted your curt response, elusive benevolence seeping through his features. "Not if it's meant for the close family members, though. Also honorary Marleyans, like me. On that front Marley had been exceptionally allowing."

Again with the obscureness, as if expressing his thoughts in straight sentences would rob him of his last breath. Still, you continued to look at him, your eyes fixated on the enigma that was the fleeting chain of emotions lacing his features. The tips of your ears burning, the supressed frustration at having to sit here and listen to him welled up inside you. His monologue had just took off yet he was already dousing you with mental excercises you were unwilling to solve at this late hour.

Feather-light touch grazed against your temple, his fingers tucking an unruly strand behind your ear, bringing you back to the sound of his musings. "Wouldn't you be worried not knowing about my whereabouts on the Paradis?"

You rushed to deny his groundless assumptions but you found your lips too heavy to utter a word. Thus, he continued, a sliver of benevolent amusement in his tone. "Who knows, perhaps I would be captured or even killed and you would have no idea of my fate?"

The words sounded strange coming from him. He never paid any mind to the morbid consequences that may happen to him whilst on a mission and now that he was shedding light to it in front of you, it filled you with more confusion.

Still, you leaned in closer, intrigued by this newly discovered oddity of his, wanting to her what else he had to say.

"Aren't you?" He called out to you yet there wasn't a hint of condescention to his voice. As if he genuinely took interest in your answer, waiting for you to respond.

And you did answer, with a shallow "yes" whispered in the room. Usually you refrained from such vulnerability as this was often followed with barbed taunts, punishing you for the display of affection to someone as unfeasible as him. But this time, he seemed to had welcomed it.

The spark in his eyes was warm, an exception of his facade you rarely got to see. "Well, I just might help you to get rid of your worries. Would you like that?" You let him touch under your chin, lifting your gaze to see his.

In that moment, the fog of confusion clouding your mind began to lift, revealing glimpses of his true nature. Your eyes widened in surprise as you finally captured what was lurking behind the blue irises. He captured your gaze, too, as well as the sudden recognition, hence the smile, soft and warm, melting the curve of his lips as he opened his mouth to speak. You didn't have to listen to him to know what he was about to say yet it didn't substract from the surrealism of the situation.

"Be my wife."

Out of all the blows, this was by far the most cruel and perverted. The idea seemed too far-fetched, too out of reach for it to have any meaning behind it. You had grown accustomed to his teasing, his banter and the way he seemed to enjoy keeping you on your toes. Can this be another one of his games? Another way to rattle your composure?

Your gaze quickly turned skeptical. You couldn't risk remaining vulnerable in his presence and at this moment. You kept waiting for the mask of pretense to slide right off his face, for him to announce that he had indeed tried to trick you. Yet it stayed all the same, as if the expression was genuine, eyes brimming with inviting warmth like before. Still, doubt lingered within you.

Why should this day be a precedence? An upcoming operation on Paradis couldn't possibly cause this shift inside him. He'd been on other missions before and never before had his unwavering level-headedness left him.

He is not to be trusted. The words that were still echoing in your head are not to be trusted. The mantra sealing your lips, you tried to ward off the terrible temptation to give into what he was saying. He wouldn't hesitate to drag you through the mud if he finds out that you'd fallen prey to his words.

"You can't mean that." It was your final verdict. If he wasn't the one to aknowledge it then you had to be.

The smile on his lips gave way to a lopsided grin, as if your response didn't come as surprise to him. So it had been a game after all, you mused as you allowed yourself a mental praise for your own foresight.

"But I can." The rebuke remaining soft, he kept looking at you, waiting for your eyes to meet again.

It was of no use to you, though. All that you would see in the icy pools would be either that inviting warmth again or a blind wall. And neither of those would cast any light on what had been truly driving his actions all along.

The air felt silent and still. This — all of this — wasn't happenning to you. No night being spent at his house, no awkward pause between you two, no twisted words of proposal. It was all too much for the likes of you, common Eldian girl.

Regardless of your thoughts, he rushed to crush them, bringing you to the undeniable and inevitable reality.

He called out to you again, "So what?" the grin that seemed to appear on his features so often suddenly faded. "Will you be my wife?" You could only chuckle at his courtesy to having finally asked you, instead of bluntly stating his wishes.

With that, he sanked down on the sofa cushions, sitting next to her. The knowledge of his taunts, sometimes ruthless in their nature, implored you to momentarily refrain from answering his question and allowing him to continue, instead. The sincerity had no place in the words he was directing towards you. His statements were not to be held at face value, you had to remind yourself.

Nevertheless, you succumbed to the temptation that had been gnawing at you for a long time as you let your head fall onto his shoulder, the precise movement leaving no room for interpretation of your intentionall gesture. He would be hardly angry with you for such a display of weakness. Quite on the contrary, as your begrudgent vulnerability flattered him immensly.

The weight of the gone day suddenly crushed over you in waves, robbing you of any strength. "A lovely young captain's wife." The saccharine in his tone started to taste bitter. "Mrs. Yeager who would wait for her husband to return from military operations, her body and and soul devoted to him only. Who would meet me with joy and every evening after a working day take off my boots for me."

Wrinkling your nose, you otherwise didn't let your momentary disgust become apparent to him via your posture.

Alerted by your silence, he turned his head in your direction. His breath, hot and tart with tobacco, seared your face. "What do you say?"

Wife. The time had long come for you to forget this word. At this moment and in your position, it was an unthinkable thing for you. Who were you in comparison to the prized asset that Zeke was to the country? He was also no exception, even if the red armband signified otherwise. Bound by his service to Marley, he would never be allowed to dedicate even a sliver of his attention to something not pertaining to his warrior duty.

But on rare occasions you granted yourself the indulgence but also the freedom to your own dreams and you intended to do it today as well. Even if it was the first time for you to voice your hidden desires to someone else, let alone someone who figured in your dreams so often.

The warmth slid along her thigh where he ran his palm across your skin in a thoughtless caress, his touch radiating with heat. Just as thoughtlessly, you caught his movement, taking two of his fingers into your palm.

Being an Eldian in an internment zone, your fate had been sealed long ago yet you found comfort in the knowledge. With your future set in stone, you had all the freedom to fantasize about your chimerical impossible life.

Soon enough you started speaking, your words bearing the same bliss that his were. "Then your huge bath would be all mine and I would bathe in it every day. Definitely with bubbles. And you wouldn't be able to tell me anything against it."

Your ears caught a faint chuckle escaping his lips, accompanied by a subtle exhale.

The prospect of sharing a life with the captain held an irresistible allure. Despite all the taunts lacing his words, a grain of truth resonated within them. This was perhaps the best outcome an Eldian from the internment zone such as yourself could ever hope for. A sharp-tongued and occasionally unbearable husband aside, the advantages of such a union far outweighed the disadvatages. As the capitan of the warrior unit, his duties would often take him outside of Liberio, leaving you to revel in the opulence of your home for many days and even weeks to come.

Contrary to his words though, you would hardly harbour any sentiments over him not being by your side as he had teasingly described to you. Your heart would be unlikely to languish in lamenting the frequent separation, seeing as the luxury of your home would occupy your whole mind, sparing not a single thought for your warrior husband. Even in your sweetest dreams the love that typically exists between the spouses was conspicuously absent in your marriage. Such an emotion was barred for the two of you, as you remained essentially strangers to one another.

Your eyes dropped to the entanglement of your fingers from which he was in no hurry to free himself.

You started to forget yourself, as the most sincere of words weighed heavy on the tip of your tongue. "But also the coffee that you would brew every morning. I really like it."

His lips momentarily twitched, as if your timid praide had either amused or touched him.

A casual impudence found its way into his retort. "Oh no. After I get married I won't go into the kitchen at all so it will all be the responsibility of Mrs. Yeager." He dragged out the last words a little. "I don't want a wife who can't even make me coffee."

The warmth of his body enveloping you, you pulled your knees to your chest and settled into the comfort of your position. Usually, neither of you was insolent enough to seek proximity in each other's presence in this way. Besides sex, your bodies rarely touched, but at this moment it was all too tempting to mind your self-restraint. And yet, your move didn't provoke irritation in him. Instead, it seemed to have awakened a temporary surge of affection within him. He even opened his arms wider, as if embracing you more deeply. However, you couldn't ignore the subtle stiffness in his gestures, a reminder of the hopeless underlying truth about your relationship. You two were far from being a married couple and the likelihood of you ever becoming spouses seemed increasingly remote.

Possible or not, the illusion was sweet enough to numb the cynicism of your predicament.

Yet another breath of his scorched the shell of your ear. "But will you teach me? How to make coffee?" Your inquiry laced with naive politeness, you smiled as you felt his chest, a barely audible hum rumbling the air. "Will my husband have any other expectations of his poor tireless wife?"

In a feigned attempt to challenge him, your palm closed around his fingers even tighter, as if she wanted to attract even more of his attention to her.

This ploy of yours appeared to be succesfull, seeing as his hold of you grew closer. "Your husband would like you to spoil him with your cooking every day." He said with a soft chuckle. "Not that I have tried your food but that is all trivial. My regeneration can withstand the effects of any poison so your cooking would hardly deal any damage to me, no matter how disgusting it may be."

You fell silent at the lack of a proper rebuke, letting yourself get lost in this moment that you doubted you would see again any time soon.

And you were proven right. Just as you began to embrace the newfound comfort of your position, your hopes to have this moment last a bit longer were swiftly shattered. The warmth in his voice dissipated, replaced by a chilling tone as he leaned in to whisper into your ear. "Why deceive yourself?" His words dripped with cold determination. "I know all too well why someone like you would like to meddle with someone like me."

With no further explanation, he presented you with his armband, bright red fabric carelessly thrown onto your hand. The shift in his disposition was so sudden that you took a second to even register the feel of rough cloth against the skin of your palm. Disturbed by the intrusive nature of his inquiry, you tried to pry yourself away from him yet he didn't let you, his fingers finding their place under your chin to turn your face to him. The pools of his blue eyes were colder than ever, studying your expression, not losing sight of each fleeting emotion painting your features, as if the silent observation would provide him with more answers instead of just asking you directly.

Yet you didn't feel fear. In all the time that you had known each other, he never gave you the reason to be afraid around him. This surely had to be attributed to his charms since his each action, no matter how twisted or condescending, held a certain allure over you. Even now as you were pinned down in your place and forced to continuosly look back at him, all you could feel was frustration welling up inside you.

Your exasparetion started to overflow, evident in the way your brows knitted together. "You're hurting my neck," you voiced your discontent in a soft manner, only to be met with his unamuzed gaze.

He only got closer to you, your bodies pressing up against each other, his lips so near to yours that your mouth began to water at the bitter taste of tobacco dancing on your tongue.

Your protests were heeded, and he released his hold on your chin, seemingly satisfied with gazing at you. Another whisper, hot and sibilant, flowed into your ear. "It was hard not to notice, you stared at it too often." Instinctively, your hand tightened its grip on the red fabric, drawing it closer to your chest. "But I can understand your fascination with that thing. What is it that you want exactly?"

Considering all his past actions, his question sounded almost too caring, too soft and too thoughtful for someone like him. Were you a bit more perceptive in that moment, perhaps you would have been touched by his genuine interest but instead you couldn't help but to feel exposed. Maybe you did stare at it too much, as hardly a conversation with him went by without your excessive attention being drawn to some piece of fabric instead of the person it belonged to. You hoped that he hadn't been awake during the nights when you dared to harbor enough insolence to take the armband from his nightstand and pose with it in front of the mirror, the reflections of you with a red ring circling your left arm looking so dreamy and beautiful.

Hardly any Eldian in the internment zone didn't want to be an honorary Marleyan, and you were no exception. In fact, you were the most trivial showcase of this bold desire. It can give you a better life and safety and freedom, most of all. Freedom to go beyond the stone walls of the internment zone, even if for just a while.

In all your life you never came to think that the armband could be attained through the means Zeke had proposed to you not so long ago.

You were thankful to him for still keeping his composure. At least one of you had to. "So what is it? Everything, I assume?" You felt his breath hitch as soon as you answered with a curt nod. "Then everything it is. And I will give it to you."

The right words were coming hard to you yet you couldn't wait any longer to voice them. Pulling away, you finally put some distance between you two, finally free from his suffocating warmth. "Are you hearing yourself right now?"

Your attempts to reason with him were quickly put to rest with a single gaze he graced your way. The intensity in his eyes made your words falter on your lips, as a knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Right now, each of my word has weight so listen to me while I'm still talking."

Surprisingly, it worked. But it wasn't for his concise argument but rather the oddly familiar expression in the depths of his eyes. As you gazed deeper into those pools of blue, you saw a reflection of your own yearnings, a crack in his flawless facade. A pained smile bent your lips as you reveled in the realization that Zeke had given way to the same sentiments as you. And you thought once that he was insusceptible to this. A dark chuckle escaping your lips, the gravity of your predicament started to set in. Fools, both of you.

In a haste you took off his glasses before kissing him. You didn't want the metal frame to poke you in the eye again should the angle be not right.

His lips felt dry against yours, the tart taste of tobacco doing little to prevent you from sliding your tongue into his mouth. He smiled into the kiss as he felt you settling back into his embrace, the cushions collapsing under the collective weight of your bodies.

Your aggressive initiative was a welcome dynamic, with you quickly straddling his lap as he was left to take in the feel of your body. The coil in your stomach began to wind up with each painstakingly slow movement of your hips. The sloppy sounds of kissing rang loud in the room, interrupted only with your breathy whimpers whenever you grazed your sweet spot.

It took him all his strength to pull away, fake and long-soiled paragon of self-restraint lacing his tone when he spoke to you. "The couch would be too narrow for this." The voice barely above whisper.

With that, he grabbed you under your knees, drawing your legs closer to his body for a better purchase. Instinctively, you wrapped your hands around his neck and leaned into his chest so you wouldn't fall when he picked you up. His fingers sank into the pillowy flesh of your thighs as he carried you into the bedroom, your body barely a burden for him. A curt laughter rose from your chest and got lost in the tussels of his fair hair. You hadn't thought him to be so strong outside of his Titan form.

The springs of the mattress wailed as he let go of you, initiating your short fall. He looked down on you, his movements suddenly lacking resolve but his eyes still transfixed on your form. Reluctant to give any more thought to the ponderings teeming his mind, you didn't intend on waiting idly for him to join you. In the growing heat of the room your clothes became a nuisance, just another one of the barriers standing between you two.

Your fingers untypically spry for the state that you were in, you reached for the rows of buttons on your clothes, unburdening yourself layer by layer all the while watching him watch you.

Evidently, the sight of your naked form helped him come to his senses quickly as he stepped closer to the edge of the bed. In a bout of anticipation coursing through your veins you extended your arms towards him in an alluring invitation, starving to taste the tobacco on your tongue again.

All the same dark grin of his told otherwise. Instead of granting you the satisfaction of having his mouth on yours, he grabbed the hold of your hips to flip you over, tight grip sure to leave marks on the skin in the morning to come.

His weight came crushing over you, knocking the air out of your lungs and pinning you in place. Although he was using both of his hands to support his body, with each at the either side of you, it brought you little relief.

"Like I was saying," his lips pressed against the shell of your ear, you felt as if the reverberations of his voice reached your brain. "Marley allowing me to marry is more real than you think. Don't think they would refuse their most valuable asset in such a trivial matter. Maybe I'll even start winning more wars for them."

Your mind refused to give any more attention to his words, demanding a tangible satisfaction instead. You tried to arch your back in hopes that the sudden contact of your pelvises would make him forget his musings, forcing him to stoop down to the same level that you found yourself on, but it was all futile. Under the immense pressure your lower torso was rendered immobile, as if fused with the plush mass of the mattress.

The skin on your shoulder tingled with faint prickles where he rested his chin. "The armband, as significant as it may seem, is not the solution to each of your problem in the internment zone. A glorified scrap of fabric signifying that you're just a bit less miserable than all the others, that's what it is, really." he spoke, his voice tainted with sullen knowledge.

You absolutely hated how he remained so stationary while in arguably the most compromised position and how you lacked the power to change it. "Then why are you willing to go through the trouble of giving me one?" You hissed into the cradle of your palms, tone brimming with impotent dissatisfaction.

The next moment you felt him grabbing a fistful of your hair, with a violent tug forcing your head to turn to the side, your neck almost snapping from the sheer power of the motion. You were met with his gaze, angry yet at the same time seemingly insulted by your insolence to question his motives again. You responded in kind, your eyes watching his lips in anticipation of yet another one of his countless self-serving musings to be voiced. But you didn't hear any. He let go of your hair just as suddenly, nudging you to face away from him.

Sitting up straight, his body weight shifted towards your thighs as he was straddling them. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed his shirt falling to the ground. The sound of the belt buckle coming unfastened was the next thing you heard, the soft clang of the metal clasp filling you with thrill.

His hand snaked its way to your abdomen, pressing against the small of the belly to make you raise your hips and you felt happy to oblige, displaying yourself nicely to him. His touch lingered on you for quite some time after that as both of his hands traveled to the back your thighs, absentmindedly caressing the supple flesh in lazy broad strokes. A surge of goosebumps cascaded across your body, each wave driven not only by his scorching touch but also by a sudden flash of realization.

He must have noticed how shamelessly wet you were. The positioning of your hips left barely any room for his imagination and presented him with the delectable view of your slit, slick covered and pulsing with heat. Exasperated, you bit down on your lower lip to supress a desperate moan all the while he took his sweet fucking time to revel in the way your cunt flutterd around nothing begging to be filled. As much as you wanted to feel him inside you, you kept your pleas to yourself, left solely at the mercy of his self-restraint which you hoped had started to diminish already. You'd rather die than make your weakness for him known again, as if your body wasn't enough of an indicator already.

Eternity might have passed but he eventually moved, shifting some of his weight back onto his arms as he mounted you.

You couldn't help but gasp at the way your walls enveloped him, struggling to take his girth at first. A drawn-out raspy fuck emitted from his chest once he entered you, his motion slow yet persistent as he slid his cock deeper inside you. Careful not to harm you, he halted whenever your breaths became too shallow and frantic from the stinging of the stretch, not moving any further without your leave.

Minutes later you felt him reach the deepest part of your cunt, the immense pressure from his continuous thrust built at the bottom of your stomach, so unbearable that it rendered all the other sensations non-existent. There was no way he couldn't feel your body tensing up below him. Nonetheless, he kept on pushing, as if trying to break you. Even as you tried to get away from the uncomfortable feeling, he stopped you, putting his palms over yours as another way to pin you down. The weight of the pressure bore down on you relentlessly, within mere seconds, tears began to bead on your lashline, threatening to cascase down your cheeks and fall onto the sheets.

The skin of your nape grew hot where he doused it in kisses. Twisted sense of comfort welled up inside of you in hopes that his caresses, so out-of-place yet so warranted, would at the very least provide some relief to you. It seemed that he would persist until you fully succumb to him. A whispered praise poured into your ear once all the struggle left your body and your flesh became pliable to him.

Only then did he back down. Letting you catch your breath as one of his hands traced its way to your face, brushing a strand aside to get a better look of your eyes glistening with tears.

Little did you know that it would be the final act of gentleness he bestowed upon you for a long time, leaving you yearning for more. You didn't even had the time to savour it as he set a new unforgiving pace.

Beyond the tingling sensation of his cock dragging against your walls in a brutalizing manner, sharp hissing grazed your ear. "Why in hell would I go through the trouble of giving you one," he tantalised, each of his thrusts only adding to the mockery. "So you won't forget that you're mine while I'm be away".

"Mine and safe," he murmured then, confident that you won't hear him.

It wasn't his voice. It sounded so unlike him in this moment, frail and vulnerable, but you were the only people in the room so it must've been him.

A jolt of pleasure railed through your body with the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot over and over again, driving you wild. Your pleasure became apparent to him as well, his motions gaining more precision to increase the blissful sensation for you.

Struggling to form words you nonetheless tried to, your lips and tongue heavy. "So this is what comes with being your wife?" You couldn't believe the tenderness lacing your tone at this moment. The sentiments were a cruel thing, not something you were supposed to have towards him, nor he towards you.

His reply was overtly eager, as he leaned closer to you, your bodies pressing together almost seamlessly. "Pretty much," his voice rang in your ear. "You must admit that you're very fortunate."

You craned your neck to face him, curiosity sparkling in your eyes. Taking in your alluring look, he couldn't resist the glowing skin of your shoulders, so transfixed on tasting the salt of your sweat on his lips that he ground to a halt inside you.

All you could do was rile him up even further, a chuckle escaping your lips. "Oh yes, the prospect of having you cater to my every whim sounds like a remarkably enticing endeavor on my side."

As your words hung in the air, a mischievous glint danced in your eyes, reveling in the effect they had on him. The corners of his mouth curled into a sly grin, mirroring your own playful demeanor and growing heavy with somber tone. With that, his hold on you became tighter, his hand groping at the fat of your thighs.

His hips snapped against yours with such a force that you nearly mewled, feeling the reverberations of his thrust echoing throughout your body. "Enjoying it while you can." His voice dropped to a low, husky timbre, tinged with a hint of challenge and sneer. "You've got only five years left for that."

This level-headed bordering on indifferent demeanor in a blind disregard of his own words struck a nerve with you. You gulped some air, desperate to conceal the outburst within you.

You wished he hadn't remind you of the imminent futility of your secret musings. You wished he would just carry on with pounding into your leaking heat with no thought to it. As he moved inside you, sinking his cock inch by delicious inch, the pleasure of it faded even if your own body continued having visceral reaction to the process, your gummy fluttering around his girth. Now, only lament had residence in your mind. If it wasn't for your unfortunate fate of having been born as Eldians, perhaps you could have a chance at a normal life. Without the constant thoughts of him slipping away.

His resolve undying, he pressed your body deeper into the mattress, the pressure of his hands driving the air out of your lungs all the while his cock kept winding the coil in the pit of your stomach.

"Widowhood would suit you so good."

His voice remained just as mocking as before, as if the life that was put on the clock wasn't his. You, on the other hand, were precisely the one not entertaining such remarks. "Tell me." You could barely make out the words amongst the squelching sounds. "Tell me, will you mourn me? Funeral would be hard to organize, admittedly, with no body left for you to bury, but-"

You rushed to hide your face in the sheets. You heard enough. You didn't want to hear anymore of his taunts.

The words still reached your ear. "Will you cry for me like a good wife should for her husband?" He came to a halt deep inside you yet again, ready to break you should you not answer. "I've never seen those eyes cry before. So will you or will you not?"

The satisfaction wouldn't come so easily to him as you remained motionless under him. Only your shoulders quivered with subtle tremors, betraying the hidden distress that stirred within you. As simple thing such as breathing brought you a lot of struggle so you could only hope that your poise would last through all of this.

"It's not like I've taken your tongue away," he mocked.

A gesture of feigned compassion, you felt his fingers card through your hair, lulling you into false sense of security in hopes of luring out a desired reaction out of you. The sweet tone of his voice came off as cruel and mocking as he coaxed you for an answer, his fingers toying with your clit only adding to the torture.

Sick twisted pleasure, that's what he was getting from all of this. Your answer to his inquiries evident to him, he nonetheless wanted to hear it falling from your lips, dry and bitten at.

Yet, when he spoke again, his voice shed all its malice, barren as it trembled slightly. "At least remember me after I'm gone, would you do that for me?" He called out your name and it sounded vulnerable coming from him, his tone etching deep within your memory.

With a lump forming in your throat, you struggled to find your voice as well as enough air to form a response. There was no purchase for your mind as a scorching wave of orgasm coursed through your body, your face contourting in pleasure and your cunt squeezing in around him. With that, the last bit of poise left you and you broke down completely.

"Yes!" you pushed past your lips, hot tears streaming down your cheeks and your shoulders shaking with each sob.

In this moment you suddenly grew unaware of your surroundings, deaf to his whispers pouring into the ear and numb to the tingling stretch of your core as he was chasing his own high.

The skin of your inner thighs soiled with his seed, you would normally rush to the bathroom to wash away the stench of sex but this time you thought against it, curling up on the bed instead once he rolled off of you. Only now you began to feel the weight of your confession. Why did it have to be you alone to crack under the surge of sentiments that held immense power over you?

He decided to stay in bed as well, watching you struggle to come to terms with what you had just said, complacent grin plastered across his face. Evidently, you made him very happy this night.

"When are you leaving?" you asked in a raspy voice, watching him as he watched you in the enveloping darkness.

His fingers reached for a stray strand, sliding it behind your ear. His tone was thick with mindless glee. "In a couple of weeks, plenty of time for me to convince Marley to green light the marriage." The kiss he left on your lips acquired a bitter taste with time. "What will you say?" At the lack of suitable words, you just nodded dumbly.

He is not to be trusted.

There's a deceit lacing his each word.

But as you gazed deeper into his eyes, glinting in the dark shroud of the night, you let him deceive you yet again.

(phew)

[annalu86]

Busted

“So, are you single?” The woman looks coyly over her shoulder, biting her bottom lip as she looks him up and down.

He does his best to ignore the question, they had met less than 20 minutes ago and she had already called him handsome and sexy and told him she liked his eyes. It wasn’t to say he didn’t like strong, assertive women, he absolutely did, but this time he wasn’t interested.

“Come on darling, we’ve got some time to kill and I could make this interesting” she tried to turn to face him but stopped quickly. Somewhere to the side of the room they could hear giggling, someone was enjoying themselves. “Are you free to have some fun?”

“I have a girlfriend” he conceded, mostly in an effort to get her to leave him alone “I don’t think she’d be too happy with that”

“A girlfriend? So not a wife then. I can work with that” a smug smile creeps over her lips.

“Not yet” he replies cooly. A spluttering noise comes from the same corner that was giggling moments before. He grins.

“Sergeant Bradford” a voice comes from the doorway to the rear of the room “thank you for you patience, we really weren’t expecting so many. Officer Chen, officer Thorsen.” The man leading the joint task force greeted everyone left in the room “transport for those in custody has arrived and we can finally take them in for booking” intel had told them to expect 15 individuals in the building but when they had breached they discovered nearly 30. Bradford, Chen and Thorsen had been left to baby sit for 20 minutes whilst other officers secured the scene, collected evidence and took pictures.

“Your girlfriend wouldn’t approve, huh?” Lucy swivelled in the seat as Tim drove her, Aaron and himself back to the station in the shop. Aaron was sitting in the back, having missed his ride, pretending he couldn’t hear the couple up fronts conversation.

“Well you wouldn’t!” He raised an eyebrow but continued looking at the road.

“But that was the only reason?” She was enjoying teasing him. She always enjoyed teasing him and he did like to make her happy

“Oh totally” he deadpanned “otherwise women I’m arresting come top of my list of ideal partners” Lucy swatted at his shoulder, more gently than normal but then he was driving.

They carried on in this way as they finished the journey. Aaron was relieved to be let out. Being in a confined space, unable to escape that much flirty banter was cloying. He felt very, very single.

“Timothy”

Tim had not long arrived into the station the next morning. Had barely had chance to grab a coffee and sit at his desk in his tiny, cramped office when the door swung open.

“Timothy” the owner of the voice had fixed him with its most knowing and questioning gaze.

“Angela” Tim sighed, he had no idea what was coming but he knew it was best just to let her get it out her system.

“Are you asking Lucy to marry you?” Angela’s face was expressionless. She clearly needed facts and fast.

“Wh.. I…” Tim spluttered. He was really not expecting this “what? No. Why?” He managed.

“Grey and I were going over some of the body cam footage from yesterday.” She began

“Ahhh” the Penny dropping

“And we heard you telling that women you weren’t married… Yet!” Her voice rising higher and higher. She walked up to his desk, placing both palms flat down and suddenly Tim understood what it most be like to be questioned by Detective Lopez. “Do you plan on asking Lucy to marry you?”

“Of course I do” he answers simply, feeling much more composed now he understands her line of questioning. He smiles at the shocked look on his best friends face.

“When?” She leans in closer, excitement etched on ever inch of her face “soon?”

“It depends what you mean by soon?” He might be happy to share but he wasn’t going to make it easy.

“Timothy!” Her tone would be threatening if she wasn’t bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. Angela Lopez loves love and she had been team Chenford long before Lucy and Tim had wised up to what was going on. “By the end of the year?”

“Definitely” he smiled as she bounced faster

“By the end of summer?” She was pushing it, it was already mid April that wouldn’t leave much time.

“Probably” he had a few different ideas but he wasn’t ready to give Angela specifics, yet. He knew that time would come sooner rather than later though

“Oh… my… god” Angela perched on the edge of his desk. Seemly to overwhelmed to stand anymore “you two are going to make such a gorgeous bride and groom” then in a rush “oh and then the babies!”

“Ok, ok” Tim says standing, he starts ushering Angela towards the door “that’s quite enough, one step at a time”

“I’m sorry” Angela places a hand on Tim’s shoulder “I’m telling you the post pregnancy hormones really stay with you!” They both chuckle “ I’m really happy for you Tim”

“She hasn’t said yes yet” he says, he’s not really worried though. When he and lucy talk about the future it’s always so matter of fact. When they are married, when they have children. Never if, from the very beginning.

“We all know that isn’t going to be a problem”

[icycoldninja]

Hey, love your DMC fanfics, can I request DMC5 Dante with sweet and kind s/o in her twenties, meeting fem reader parents who are really strict, conservative and lil abusive especially the reader's mother. They have weird ideas of purity for women and are very patriarchal.

Hello, hope you're well. Thank you very much, I am more than honored that you enjoy my writing. I am afraid to say that I have chosen to omit several aspects of your request as I wish for this blog and all material posted on it to remain free from political and social reform-related biases. In order to preserve the intended mood of the piece, I have replaced the aforementioned omitted material with synonymous themes, as needed. I understand that this may be disappointing to you, and for that, I apologize. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this fanfiction and that you have a fruitful and productive day. Thank you for your patience and leniency.

Terrible idea (DMC5! Dante x Fem!Abused!Reader)

TW: Controlling parents, violence, and implications of physical abuse incoming; if you are uncomfortable with these themes, DNI.

-‐---------------------------------------------------‐-------------------------

You sighed, resting your cheek on your palm as you stared out the car window, absently watching the blurred scenery rush by. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your hands felt clammy; you couldn't believe this was actually happening.

For context, today was the day Dante had agreed to meet your your parents. Normally, this would be a joyous occasion, but in this case, it was terrifying because your parents were less than pleasant, to say the least. They hated the idea of you leaving their (abusive) household so much, they did everything they could to make your relationships--be they friendships or otherwise--crumble. At first, they'd attempted to keep you isolated, but now you had a job, and therefore, your own house, which was conveniently far, far away from theirs, so there was nothing they could do. Their only remaining tactic was to embarrass you and insult anyone you brought to see them until your guest left, either in disgust or awkwardness. The only reason Dante lasted as long as he did was because he'd never met them--you'd kept their existence a secret from him and his existence from them up until this point.

You hadn't wanted to bring Dante to meet them, but he'd insisted. Because his parents weren't alive anymore, he was unable to introduce you to them; to make up for it, he'd meet your parents instead. You never told him how horrible your folks were, however, and were seriously regretting it now, but he was so excited--you just couldn't burst his bubble like that. Maybe, hopefully, things would go well today.

"Hey, babe, you OK?" Dante asked, briefly glancing in your direction.

"Yeah," You sighed, turning and smiling at him.

"You sure? You don't sound ok."

"I...I'm fine, don't worry."

"Ok...well...we're almost there, according to the GPS."

You nodded, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, not really sure what to say. You honestly didnt want to be going to your parents' house; Dante didn't need to get involved in your family issues any more than he needed to.

"Come on, I see that frown. You can tell me if something's wrong, y'know," Dante encouraged, patting your shoulder.

"There's nothing wrong," You responded, forcing another smile. "I'm fine." Dante would have pursued the conversation, but there was a sharp turn coming up that he needed to focus on. Once he rounded the curve, you spotted the a building in the distance; a familiar building that you recognized as your parents house; the building that had never been your home.

"This your folks' place?" Dante asked, and when you nodded, a big grin broke out on his face. It was clear he was excited to meet those who had "raised" you. It was a shame he had no idea how awful they truly were. "Alright," He exclaimed, grinning, "Let's go meet the people that raised my angel!" He flung the car door open and bounded out out it, with you slowly following suit. Poor Dante. He had no idea what waited for him there, and it was all because of your weakness. Now that you were literally on the threshold of hell itself, you felt so upset with yourself for not warning him earlier; for being so selfish and keeping the truth a secret from him. You were sure that after today, he wouldn't want to be with you anymore, and so, you decided to simply accept your fate and get on with it; maybe the day would pass by quicker if you pretended to enjoy it.

Your anxiety and fear reaching its peak, you rung the doorbell and waited for the door to swing open; waited to be greeted with the frowning faces of those horrible monsters you couldn't believe you called your parents.

Sure enough, the door creaked open, and you were met with your mother, a scowl plastered across her wrinkling face.

"Y/N," She greeted, stiffly, prompting you to force a smile.

"Good afternoon, mother." Your mother then turned her attention to Dante and narrowed her eyes at him.

"And who's this?"

"My...umm....my..." You words died in your throat; your mother's scrutinizing gaze silencing you. You sighed, folding your arms and averting your gaze. Thinking you were just too excited to function properly, Dante eagerly piped up and finished your sentence.

"I'm her man, name's Dante, nice to meet ya!" He stuck his hand out, expecting your mother to shake it, but she did no such thing.

"What? A boyfriend? Are you crazy? We told you never to get a boyfriend--you don't deserve one! " She yelled, her piercing, fiery gaze directed on you. "Answer me, girl, what were you thinking?!" You couldn't. You felt like there was a burning lump in your throat, preventing you from speaking. If you did, you were sure you would cry. You knew this was a bad idea. What were you thinking indeed, coming here and bringing Dante with you? Clearly angry at your lack of a response, your mother crossed over to you and slapped you across the face. "What has gotten into you, child? How dare you disobey us and bring this filthy troll to our doorstep?! How dare you?!" Suddenly, your mother seized you by the arm and began beating you with her bony, yet painful fists; his vise-like grip keeping you in place even though you screamed in pain and tried to get away.

"Stop it, let go of her!" Shouted Dante, forcing your mother away and standing between the two of you. You sobbed, clinging onto his arm as you desperately tried to wipe away your tears.

"Get out of my way, you have no right to stand between me and my daughter!"

"She ain't your daughter if you hit her like that--the hell you thinking?! What was that even for?!"

"Shut the fuck up, you worthless loser," Retorted your mother, spitefully. "You have no right telling me how to parent my child.

"She's not your child if you treat her like this," Dante said, coldly. "Come on, babe, let's get outta here." He wrapped his arm around you and tried to guide you away, but you remained still.

"I'm sorry, Dante," You said, still crying. "I shouldn't have dragged you into this. I'm so, so sorry--I should have told you about them sooner."

"And what's that supposed to mean, young lady?!" Demanded your father, striding into view in his usual stained shirt. "And who the fuck is this?"

"Her boyfriend," Growled your mother, turning her nose up in disgust. "A bad influence, too." Your father grunted, roughly grabbing your wrist and jerking you towards the house.

"That's easily taken care of. Get outta here, loser, you'll never see my daughter again." You turned and looked at the angry expression on Dante's face, wishing you had the strength to stand up for yourself and break free. Unfortunately, you didn't; you were too afraid to do anything. You could only watch as your horrible parents dragged you inside their house of horrors and slammed the doors in your boyfriend's face.

Once again, you found yourself questioning your thought processes that led you to set foot within a 40 mile radius of your parents' lair.

You knew it; you felt it in your bones and your gut, but you did it anyway.

You were such an idiot.

This really was a terrible idea.

[whumpshaped]

can i get enthralled for vampire bingo? O.O

this was the last bingo prompt in my inbox! im always open to more :) its some more mundane whump. just some idle time. i wrote so much enthrallment already, so i decided to just make it the topic of this one

masterlist bingo card

tw vampire whumper, dehumanisation, lots of talk about mind control

"You said you'd never taken a human without magic before."

"I did say that, yes."

Beck poked at his evening fill of macaroni with his fork, pretending he was more interested in that than the question he was about to ask. He was very casual about the question, obviously. It was just a little chat over dinner. "Why'd you do it this time?"

"Why..." Helle shifted on the other end of the sofa, putting down the rubik's cube they were fiddling with. Beck glanced at it briefly — one side of it was all blue, but the rest were mishmash. "Forgive me for saying this, but I doubt you would understand the situation I had been in before I made that decision. You know... like not being able to have a single meaningful conversation because everybody is affected by your magic to an unhealthy degree, essentially forcing them to change their entire personality and all their values to please you."

Beck nodded. "Yeah, no, that's... not very familiar."

"I had a hunch. But let us explore this fantasy for a moment. I assume you would immediately use those powers to do... whatever the hell you wanted. Because you can. Nobody is objecting. Nobody is saying no to you. In fact, everybody is very eager to do whatever it takes to make you interested in them."

"But it's wrong."

"Yes. It is. But I also left out the part where your only options are this, or severe malnourishment that actually leaves you unable to obtain even the lesser quality food you had been eating up until that point."

Beck stared at his macaroni. Would he have wanted to eat it if it was sentient? Would he have wanted to make it want to be eaten? Well, if the other option was to have it kick and scream... possibly, yes. Thankfully, his macaroni was wonderfully unfeeling.

Plus, this entire monologue was supposed to eventually lead to why Helle wanted their macaroni to scream. "Sorry," he muttered. "Go on."

"So you do that for centuries. You enthrall people, you feel like you are on the very top of the world. Nobody can touch you." They paused for a moment, and Beck looked up to see them smiling at him. "Now, does it not sound a bit lonely? Is it not natural to want to be touched?"

"I still can't touch you." He turned back to his dinner and took a bite, and he found he felt less worried about stating that than he probably should've. Maybe the constant fear had tired him out. Made him numb. "You're a vampire. You're faster, stronger..."

"Oh, but you can. You absolutely can. You choose not to." The concept almost made Helle giddy from the sound of it, like it was revolutionary. "You can sit here and tell me that I am wrong. You could throw that entire plate of pasta at me. You choose not to, because yes, maybe I would get out of the way, or maybe I would shove your face into a pot of boiling water and make some Beckaroni, but you could."

Great. As if his appetite had been amazing before. He really needed the image of Beckaroni in his head.

He put the plate on the coffee table and sat back. "Okay. Fine. I could. If you're so interested in me having a choice, why are you taking it away anyway? Why are you doing all this? You do nothing but intimidate me into going along with whatever you want. At this point you could just enthrall me."

"Oh, so I am only allowed to spend immortality without getting so bored that I want to stake myself if I then respect all the humans I choose not to enthrall."

"I mean– I mean, yes! Yes, that's actually what I'm saying. Otherwise it's fucking cruel."

Helle considered him for a moment, actually thinking about his words before they responded. "I suppose with the information you have been given, that is quite a reasonable conclusion to reach. I have left out another important detail." They looked Beck in the eye, their expression darkening in a way he couldn't even explain. It was like the air was being sucked out of his lungs as they stared him down, making him tremble and immediately wish for the easy atmosphere back. "I am cruel. I want you to have those choices specifically so I can take them away from you in a more thrilling way that is fun for me, and me only."

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood @pigeonwhumps @echo-goes-mmm @whumpycries

[storiumemporium]

Aemond Targaryen - Sex and Pleasure

A series of headcanons of how Aemond is in bed with his lovers- male or female.

I have other shit planned for my favorite war criminal, but I figured I'd get my foot through the door with something fun first. ;3c

With Men

Aemond harbors no fondness for men, I’m afraid. He’s had almost nothing but terrible experiences with the same sex his entire youth, and it has heavily painted his behaviors in adulthood. (Mommies boy w daddy issues wombo combo, here.)

When he beds men, he does it solely for the immediate pleasure- and he is not kind about it.

That isn’t to say he’s cruel in the sense of his brother, though cruel is still not an inaccurate word in itself.

Aemond’s cruelty varies widely, however.

He is anything from an impish torturer to downright violent.

On his good days, he takes the former— teasing, teasing, teasing. He’ll make you beg, he’ll make you sob. You’ll be aching, burning, pleading, ready to gnaw off your own fucking foot before he gives you- and himself- the satisfaction of watching you come undone with the force of the Fourteen Flames.

You’re too limp to notice that he’s yet to cum- yet to even undress half the time- and he is simpering in your ear all the while. “Is that the best you could do for your Prince..? Tsk. Shameful.”

On his bad days though..?

Most can’t tell if you’ve come from a fuck or a fight.

Bruises, bites so hard he draws blood, absolute downright aggression from the deepest, darkest, most pent up parts of his soul. He spares you not a word, simply takes what he needs with the force of the Dragon in his veins. The only noise you are afforded are his grunts of exertion, burning through the rage he keeps so carefully locked away.

Things shift only slightly if you end up someone he likes— or rather, a favored prostitute among the pack.

With you, he likes to play out stories.

Sitting leisurely in a chair, a glass of wine in his hand, his eyepatch discarded- a discreet sign of his favor toward you- as he lets you lick at his boots, take them undone with teeth and tongue. If you can manage it fast enough, you’re rewarded with a taste of his wine.

Straight from his mouth.

He likes when you call him ‘King’, when you fulfill those fantasies he keeps so desperately tamped down, always concerned with being the good son, with not contributing to his mothers’ pain.

Otherwise he rewards you with conversation, and a- well- a lack of aggression or meanness, though if you had not witnessed that prior, you would not know you were being treated with any sort of kindness or gentleness from him.

With you- and only with you- might he sit for leisurely time even after the activities have subsided. Regaling you or even humoring your own tales when he finds himself unable or unwilling to keep conversation.

Perhaps, you might even get to see the Prince sleep. The only time you will ever see the gentleness his heart can hold.

But With Women

Ah… this poor, sweet boy.

All that aggression vanishes with women.

Now I must say, there is no casual experiences with women. None. Natta. If you think Aemond straight then he remains virginal, dry as Dornish sands until the day he finds love or betrothal.

As it stands, Aemond loves the women of his family and has seen too intimately the suffering caused by a mans’ wanton debauchery- everything from the endless stress wrought upon his mother, to the aching loneliness of his sister.

Not to mention, he daresay dislikes to mention or even think of, the things that his disgusting brother Aegon would do to the innocent women of the Red Keep.

It is for this, he only takes you once you are well and truly his, in heart if not in name.

Where he would be commanding, commandeering, even draconian with men- he is utterly pliant for the woman of his soul.

(Service top, through and through.) Aemond will border on being a sub with you, though his own pride and desire for control in all things prevents him- so expect for a very, very affectionate and almost needy top. You'll be hard pressed to get an outright dom from him, especially with how much he loves you and wants you to feel it.

He will be as gentle or as rough as you like, but affectionate always. Even his teases are sweet, calling you things like Trapped Dove as he kisses the sides of your face.

In truth, teasing would not be frequent. What Aemond feels, he feels entirely, wholly and completely. He is struck with desire for you abruptly, viciously, and it spurs him to take you without pretext or embellishment- he has no need of it with you.

Kisses, gentle in feeling but devouring in emotion. Cradling you like glass even as it feels like he wishes to slot you inside his ribs and keep you with him forever.

Asking you what you want, if what he is doing is good, if he needs to do anything better, if you needed more or less. His words are confident, but his eyes are pleading and tender, unsure. Always somewhat unsure with himself when it came to you.

The first time you see his false eye, you were the one that had to take the eyepatch off.

Riding him in his lap, your back to the fire, his stare upon you reverent as ever. You could see the sweat around the patch, could imagine how uncomfortable it must feel.

It hurt you slightly, to know he would make himself more uncomfortable out of fear that you would be disgusted.

Off it came, faster than he could react- refuse- and you were kissing the scarring around the socket even as you whimpered pitifully for him.

That was the fastest he’d cum with you.

He revels in being able to grab you in ways that would be violent- frightening- with any other man.

A hand firmly around your throat, grabbing your jaw, bunched loosely in the hair at the base of your skull.

The way even as he holds you in such a threatening fashion, you remain utterly lax- utterly trusting.

That delicate feeling of your little pulse thundering away against his calloused palm. But not from terror- no- anticipation.

It was when he did things like this with you that he understood his Dragon had to be Vaghar- a woman.

There was no greater exhilaration or satisfaction in the world than the gentle taming of a woman, no matter how timid she may already be. Great dragon, or delicate Lady.

Even if Aemond were not already utterly repulsed by Aegon, he would always feel a condescending pity toward his older brother for not being able to understand- let alone indulge- in the finer things such as this.

Always for the quick fuck, violent, forceful, forced.

He would never understand the sight of soft, firelit eyes. Of hair willingly loosed for him, of angelic plush lips parted. The way he could take flesh to teeth or blade and you would merely say his name, a soft croon, a loving plea.

He is as fond of the aftermath as he is the act. Kisses and soft, hoarse voices. Talking to you of anything- asking if there is anything you need tended to. But most of all, laying his head upon your chest- utterly exposed- and feeling nothing but love and comfort and safety.

His. His. His. All his.