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swordgrace · 11 months ago

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𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇, 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ aegon ii targaryen x wife!reader.

SYNOPSIS: in the wake of his burning, aegon’s recovery is marked by rage and insecurities. he pushes you away, but it is your comforting embrace that he desires above all else.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anon.

{ WORD COUNT: 7.4K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), hurt/comfort, post rook’s rest aegon, aegon isn’t a good person but he’s tormented, unstable marriage, talk of insecurities, wound/scar descriptions, p in v sex, unprotected sex, gentle sex, body worship (m & f receiving), lots of kissing & comfort/reassurance, very desperate aegon, begging, sub-ish aegon, reader is on top, riding/cowgirl, mutual orgasm, fingering (fem!rec), soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is my first time writing for Aegon, so please be gentle + any feedback/critique on his character is appreciated! He’s quite difficult to write for. Either way, I absolutely loved writing this, and I hope that you all enjoy it, too! As always, thank you for your continued love & support. ❤️

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 — 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐩��𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞. It spread its blazing roots to those cast within it, leaving them hideously scarred or deformed, or perhaps leaving them with nothing left at all.

Grand Maester Orwyle had said that your husband may never walk again — that he may never draw breath again.

The harrowing memory of soot-stained knights hauling your husband in on nothing more than a swath of linen tied to sticks, placing him gently onto your marital bed had haunted you for several weeks since its occurrence. You could recall the pungent scent of charred flesh, the ragged rasps of Aegon’s breathing, the labor and sweat of Maesters working tirelessly to save him.

It was the labored wheeze of his breathing that continued to linger within the recesses of your mind, a sound so hoarse and weak that you wondered if he would survive. Watching your husband become a shell of his former self was never pleasant — you wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, even your worst enemy.

Aegon showed a resilience that few thought him capable of — the will to survive, to endure and spite his brother served him well. Even if each breath made him ache and each step had rattled his bones, he continued to progress, showing an astounding level of improvement in a short amount of time.

Fire was the end of all things, but not for him.

The observant gazes of those denizens dwelling within the Red Keep often looked upon Aegon with despair, and perhaps pity — it was a pity that he despised, one that made him quiver with rage. He had been made a cripple by his brother, an undesirable.

No one would want him now — not even you, his resplendent wife, a dutiful creature who had solemnly stood by his side, even after his numerous sins he committed against you. He was burnt and ugly, half of his face marred by a web of scars, ear twisted, silvery hair missing on part of his skull.

It was contempt that fueled him now, and he continued to play the part of a wounded, forgetful dog whenever Aemond was near, but in the sanctity of his chambers, he cursed his brother to whatever Gods would hear him.

If they heard him at all.

With each passing day, Aegon regained strength, yet he used a cane to aid in his unsteady gait. He rarely emerged from his chambers, not wanting to be looked upon as if he were some wounded animal in-need of coddling. Wallowing within his own misfortune became commonplace.

You visited him each day when he was still unconscious, sitting by his bedside, holding his hand within yours, yet Aegon had convinced himself that you no longer loved him. What woman would sensibly love him, after everything he’d done? If you were intelligent, you would dissolve your marriage and find a new lover, cast him into the shadows where he belonged.

Aegon had forbidden you to see him for weeks now, likely out of his own fear of rejection, or seeing the horrified look on your face with his own eyes. Orwyle spoke of your tenderness, how you never left his side when he lay bedridden — he could scarcely fathom it, if he were honest with himself.

The evening was a dour one in King’s Landing, marked by the encroaching threat of war, and supposed riots that had broken out across the city. Aegon sometimes laughed to himself — Aemond never cared about the smallfolk nor their desires, and his former hand had discouraged him from catering to those less fortunate.

It gave him some twinge of satisfaction, knowing that he wasn’t that stupid — not as dull and thick-headed as so many believed him to be. The burden of being King had been forced upon him, even when he never wanted it, and so he had no choice but to simply adapt.

He molded himself to a role that never belonged to him anyway, attempting to fit himself into a puzzle that he was never in to begin with.

Acceptance — he had come to realize that perhaps, unseen forces had tarried and toiled to put him on a Throne that wasn’t his birthright. Even then, Aegon was still the King — but a broken one. Who would ever look to a shattered King for guidance, or to lead them?

Dusk blanketed the city, casting its shadow over the Red Keep, a starless sky — it was instead marked by the black haze of clouds that concealed all, even the moonlight. The Keep itself seemed wrought with tension, one that threatened to snap at any moment.

With Aemond on some warpath, the smallfolk calling for blood, and his own mother dismissed from the Small Council, part of him simply thrived within the chaos, the mess made by his younger brother. It was satisfying to know that even he was not fit to rule — not like he imagined himself to be.

His walk around the corridors had been cut short when he caught a glimpse of Aemond, with Orwyle taking him back to his chambers. Aegon could walk without assistance, yet the distance was never one of any merit.

Much of his unoccupied moments were spent drowning in Dornish Red, or perhaps the most surprising thing of all, reading. He was never the studious child — he preferred merriment and whoremongering over the study of High Valyrian and the histories. Being gnarled like this had forced his hand — perhaps he could still become a learned man.

The Kingsguard he had appointed were gone, sent to join the Night’s Watch or beheaded for insubordination — he had no friends here, nothing left except himself and his mind, still perfectly intact. Now, Aegon intended to sharpen what was left of it, if he could in such a short amount of time.

He spent many of his days in fear — fear of Aemond poisoning his drink or slithering into his chambers like the fanged viper that he was to torment him, or perhaps stick Aegon’s Dagger into his chest. There was time left still for his mad cunt of a brother to finish what he’d started.

As the doors to his chambers rattled, Aegon immediately grabbed the shortsword he kept alongside his cane, breathing becoming strained and heavy. “Who is it?” He barked, palm planted against the sturdy mahogany of his large table.

“The Queen, your Grace.” Ser Belgrave, one of the last decent Kingsguard left in the Red Keep, opened the door just enough for you to see your husband, alive and conscious. He stood watch for a beat, and then closed the doors behind him, leaving you alone with Aegon.

Aegon didn’t know what to say — he was rageful and bitter, and having you here to gawk at him did nothing to quell those feelings. He did admire you from across the room, taking in the plane of cerulean silk you wore, shrouded by a pale robe. Your eyes were indiscernible — he could not tell how you felt from where he sat.

You were, perhaps, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon — and he had seen so many. He recalled when he first saw you in the Grand Sept in your wedding gowns, so shy and saccharine, like the first warmth of springtime. It wasn’t a union he cared for or desired, but duty demanded that he wed you, and you would give him heirs.

So much of his time was wasted in the arms of whores who cared for nothing save the size of his coin purse, when it all should’ve been dedicated to you — the last person who truly cared for him.

“Aegon,” There was not an ounce of reproach within your voice, and instead, it was all a breathy sigh of relief. You had only seen him in-passing, walking alongside Grand Maester Orwyle or Lord Larys Strong. He had not allowed you to see him fully, until now. “I …”

“Save your pity,” Aegon quipped, turning away from you as he turned inward upon his books, instead. Gods, he felt wretched for constantly causing you such agony, but he could not endure the sight of you seeing him. “Have you come to see the withered King?” He mumbled, voice riddled with disdain.

Aegon was not an easy husband — and your union had been fraught with strife, hallmarked by his love of whores and wine, his absence felt by you each and every moment. You had passed this off as reality — this was what marriage was, and you had no choice but to accept it or crack beneath the pressure.

Even now, you were willing to forgive him.

Instead, you gathered your skirts and inched closer, longing to look upon him again with your own eyes. He had always been a beautiful man, so handsome with those regal Targaryen features that it often stole your breath away — and that hadn’t changed.

“I missed you,” You confessed, and it made Aegon’s throat become unbearably thick. Tears stung his eyes, tears born of frustration, an inner hatred and disgust, a disbelief that you truly meant any of this. “I thought that I could stay with you this evening.”

“No,” Aegon retorted, voice trembling at the bottom of his throat as he shook his head. “I do not want you here. I forbid you from seeing me. What part of that do you not understand?” His rage swelled — but not at you. He was so angry with himself that it began to manifest in uncouth ways.

It stung you, but not as much as you thought. Aegon kept you away, pushed you out to arm’s length because he feared what you might think of him. Being beloved and liked by those around him, the desire for attention and adoration, was perhaps one of his greatest flaws. When he could not find validation, it was easy to find it with a whore instead, or in the simpleminded lickspittles.

If Dornish Red could talk, perhaps he would find whatever comfort he sought there, too.

He reached for his goblet of wine, hand unsteady as he held it to his lips, and even then, he looked absolutely pathetic when taking a swig. “I cannot even drink without looking fucking pathetic,” Aegon snarled, letting out a bark of humorless laughter. “I cannot walk without being gazed upon like a wounded animal.”

At last, you began to understand where this anguish came from, where it all manifested. As much as you pitied your husband for the tragedy that had befallen him, you admired his resilience, his desire to endure and push on, even if it was most unpleasant.

“Aegon …” As your soft palm reached to rest against his shoulder, he violently jerked away, recoiling as if it were you that had burned him. “I am here for you. We are still married — allow me to continue to be your wife.” You whispered, flinching when he let out a sardonic laugh.

The scars were everywhere, enveloping half of his body, still aching with a dull pain that he muddied with poultices and Orwyle’s draughts. Aegon refused to take Milk of the Poppy, enduring his agony in different ways, ones that many would consider to be harder.

“Gods, how cunning you are — you play the role of naivety so well,” Aegon hissed, attempting to pull himself up from his table, hand reaching for his cane. “I am burnt, I am disgusting, and I am a cripple. You are not here for me — I do not want your pity!” He growled, voice raising to a tempestuous level.

You did not press him further, but you could see the tears glistening within his lilac hues, spilling down his cheeks as he began to laugh. The sound was grating and hollow, devoid of any amusement — just emptiness. He used what momentum he had to stand, grip ironclad and white-knuckled around his wooden beam of support.

“Why must you continue to push me away, Aegon? Have you not done it enough?” You questioned, voice sharp and wrought with emotion, sentiments that you had been repressing for so long, for the entirety of your marriage. “Must I always justify why I want to be your wife? We are married — I love you.”

Aegon froze, tears spilling over his face, countenance one of complete and utter bewilderment. He could not discern if you were genuine or simply conniving, or if you were being true. You had told him that you loved him before, and he always cast it aside — maybe you had truly meant it all this time, and he was too indifferent to realize it.

His back was partially turned to you, as if warding you away from seeing him. Aegon had been made to think that he was a failure all his life, that he was insignificant, made to do nothing instead of act. Whenever he did act, it was impulsive and reckless, branded acts of stupidity.

Maybe the one thing he could do right was you — mend the divide, mend the bridge that had kept you distanced for so long.

That cold, bitter laughter soon dissipated into what were choked sobs, ones of despair — he had been holding himself together for so long, for the sake of the realm, for the sake of a family that cared so little for him. His body ached and trembled, and as much as he attempted to move away from you, he couldn’t.

The nearest settee happened to be where he fell, landing against the velveteen cushions, head hung in despair, body wracked with sobs. He was undesirable, undeserving of you and your love. He was some withered husk, a shell, a monster still dressing in the clothing of a King — he was nothing.

Yet, you made him feel like something.

Silently, you crossed the cold stone to join him on the settee, sitting at his side as you gingerly let your palm settle against his back. “You underestimate how much I still care for you, husband.” You whispered, caressing along his spine with a feather-light touch.

Aegon felt drawn to you, pulled into the warmth of your comforting fire, knowing that if there was still one person left in this world who cared enough, it was you. Tears stained his visage, leaving behind streaks of red, eyes wet with many left unshed.

“Why should you?” Aegon questioned, his voice beginning to lose the fury and rage it held before, and it was melancholy. Anyone would’ve asked themselves such a question, but you didn’t — you remained steadfast. “I have brought nothing but misery upon you.”

It was complex, his statement — you had been miserable for some time, but this tragedy that afflicted you both was something worth overcoming. You were beginning to see the true Aegon, the one buried beneath the weight of the crown, the weight of inferiority.

“There is still time for forgiveness.” Your words were poignant and soft, and they were enough to move Aegon to tears again. He sat there beside you, crying to himself, breaking down completely. You had never seen him like this before — and perhaps, it was long overdue.

The comfort you provided was one he so desperately sought, even if he felt so guilty. He hadn’t done anything to deserve this, to deserve you — and yet he welcomed the grace of your palm, the sound of your songbird’s voice, soothing him with your gentle smile.

He was ashamed for you to see him this way, a man lacking the strength of physicality, the strength to hold a shortsword. It often wavered within his grasp — he would never be able to protect you. His beloved dragon was left in ruins, recovering in the Dragonpit — everything he had that made him strong had been taken.

Aegon was terrified to look upon you in such close quarters, afraid to feel the bitter jab of rejection, the horror and abhorrence within your gaze as you found his scars. He dared not turn, only keeping the intact side bared to you, still perfectly handsome.

Orwyle had harkened this to some miraculous recovery, a sign that the Gods favored him — Aegon did not feel favored, nor did he feel that he deserved it. Whatever he used to think, that his father wheezed his last breath desiring him on the Iron Throne, was nothing more than a twist of words.

There was nothing miraculous or prophetic about him — he was a sad, drunken cripple left to rot.

As much as he commiserated over his woes and the foul hand dealt to him by his brother, Larys had convinced him to live out of spite — and you convinced him that being alive, even in this wretched state, was a reality that was worth seeking.

He nearly crawled away at the sensation of your fingertips brushing along his jaw, unmarred and unscathed by the garish tangle of scars. Aegon shivered at your embrace — he had gone so terribly long without it, wondering if he would ever feel it again.

“I remember when I saw you for the first time, in the Grand Sept — I thought that you were the most resplendent man that I had ever seen,” You crooned, feeling him nudge his cheek into your palm. You gently swiped away a stray tear beneath his eye. “You still are.”

Aegon scoffed — a bitter, vitriolic sound that made his breath turn hoarse for a moment. He found it incredibly difficult to believe you, to find any merit in what you said given the circumstances. Even if you still loved him, that did not include his horrific appearance.

Tears trickled down his face, ones that you collected with your thumb before he shook his head. “Do not patronize me,” He murmured, visage furrowing together. “You cannot mean any of that. Look at me,” Aegon hissed, only slightly turning towards you. “I am a loathsome creature.”

His misery was an understatement when it came to his appearance — he looked like some monster, gnarled and withered beyond recognition. Whenever he looked into the mirror, he screamed and raged until he fell, or perhaps lost his voice.

Any Targaryen was often regarded as beautiful — pale, platinum tresses and lilac hues, a countenance as regal and as beautiful as a god. He was nothing more than a cockroach, now. He couldn’t fathom that you still desired him in a conventional way.

With a soft, tender touch, your hand then moved to rest against his shoulder. “If there is a loathsome creature here, I do not see it,” You murmured, head canting to one side. “What must I do to convince you, Aegon? Do you not believe me?”

Aegon’s trust had worn so thin that it threatened to snap, threadbare and nonexistent. He could only allow himself to trust so much — everyone he thought he could confide in or rely on had now turned against him, or attempted to slaughter him.

“It is hard to believe anyone anymore.” He murmured, staring down at his hands — one trembled, wreathed in burn scars, and the other clenched into a tight first.

He was made to believe that he was the rightful heir over Rhaenyra, when that was never the case. He was made to believe that he was a good ruler, when his Small Council plotted behind his back without his knowledge. He believed that Aemond was loyal to him, that he loved him as a brother would.

Lilac hues flickered from the void of his chambers to you, peering at you from beneath the curtain of pale tresses that still clung to his head. Despite the accusations of disloyalty he had hurled at you, his mistrust and doubt of your true intentions, you still maintained an amiable gaze.

You stared at him as if he had moved mountains, pulled the stars from the heavens for you — and he realized that no one, besides you, had looked at him in such a way before. It was profound and affectionate, wrought with a palpable adoration that came from a deep-rooted place of good.

Aegon’s throat grew tight, thick with emotion as he drank you in, tracing over the delicate plane of your features, the spark of warmth that brightened your eyes. Such divine beauty that he had robbed himself of for so long — he only felt like a fool, the greatest fool there was.

With an unsteady, quivering hand, he hesitantly reached out to you, unburnt fingertips tracing the curve of your jaw. He sucked in a sharp breath whenever you shuddered, face turning inward to press a kiss against his palm.

“I want to see you, husband.” You whispered, grasping his hand with both of yours, digits oozing with the radiance of heat that blossomed from you. The burn scars were carefully concealed behind silken garments, hidden from sight. Aegon grit his teeth together, not wanting you to see how disfigured he’d become.

“No,” Aegon quipped, shifting away from you with a scornful, wary expression. Whatever handsomeness he possessed before, it had all been burned away, turned to ash — and it left him, this husk of himself, with a physique that was repulsing to behold. “There is nothing pleasant about it — it is rotten.”

Rotten was perhaps a vast exaggeration for his wounds and scars, something that you found to be perplexing. Scars did not bother you, and you wouldn’t let your husband’s insecurities dissuade him from your comfort and care. Still holding his hand, you moved closer, pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

Aegon shivered beneath the chaste kiss, wanting nothing more than to collect you into his arms. The gnawing fear of your potential repulsion made him hesitate, and the bitter stab of rejection seemed to dig into him more than anything else.

“What woman would want this?”

Aegon’s forlorn, despondent inquiry hung above the both of you like some dour cloud. His grim outlook was something that you could sympathize with, given that his appearance had been torn apart within an instant. He swallowed the sob building within his chest, violet hues glistening with wet tears.

At last, he looked at you fully, exposing the marred, scarred side of his visage, tangled with a web of textured burns. His eye was sunken in, vessels having broken the white around his iris, ear nearly missing entirely, countenance partially mottled.

It was the same with his body, nearly half of it covered in the same fleshy web, scars spreading out like the roots of a tree. Aegon looked to you with a shattered expression, one that possessed a vehement swell of rage and frustration, yet still retained a sense of desperation. He was desperate to have your approval, for you to tell him that he was still perfect, regardless of his disfigurement.

Without a word, you moved your hand toward the maimed side of his face, expecting him to rip away or recoil entirely. Instead, he stayed there, rooted in-place, shuddering when the softness of your palm cupped his jaw. The pad of your thumb gingerly raked over his cheek, feeling along every scar and rough surface.

“I want you, Aegon,” The soft, silky resonance of your voice had brought him to heel, gaining his subservience, despite his inner battle with his insecurities. He feared being ugly in your eyes, as if his heart weren’t black and decayed enough. “I want you still.” Your lips twitched into an amiable smile.

For a moment, his eyes had fluttered shut, and he soaked in the sensation of your touch, warm and real against his cheek. It felt incredible, something he had craved for so long — it had left a gaping hole within his chest. Any tears that fell, you collected them with your fingertips, swiping them away.

Again, you inched closer, leg-to-leg with him, gaze drifting towards his lips. Aegon did not dissuade you from it, breathing becoming somewhat laborious as you pressed forward, mouth molding against his. It had been a long time since you had kissed him — truly kissed him.

A low, stirring groan reverberated within the depths of his throat, and at last, he reciprocated. Aegon’s kiss was done in a flurry of passion, realizing what he hadn’t had for so long. You tasted saccharine, warm and soft against him, mouth pliant and willing.

Gods, how blind he was — foolish, fragile, moronic.

He had abandoned you for unattainable things, for insignificant people that cared little about his wellbeing. Aegon had you — you, so devoted and loyal and forgiving, even when he deserved none of it. He very nearly sobbed again, knowing what error and sin he’d committed against you, but he shoved it down.

His insecurities seemed so small, as if they were wiped away by the curve of your mouth that so desperately kissed him. Aegon moved his good arm, bringing it to the swell of your hips, feeling your supple physique through the thin silk of your nightgown.

A sweet, simpering moan bubbled within your throat, a sound that so clearly vocalized your desperation for him, your repression and longstanding suffering. “Aegon,” You whispered, sending tremors down his spine as he kissed your jaw. “We don’t have to, we — you’re in pain.” You didn’t want to subject your husband to such agony.

Aegon shook his head, willing to push through the dull aching if it meant that he could have you again. Despite his fractured confidence, you made him feel so strong again, as if he still looked as he had before the burning. “Fuck agony,” He panted, hot breath fanning across your flesh. “I need you.”

That was enough to send a surge of molten heat throughout your belly, thighs rubbing together to alleviate some of your mounting arousal. “To bed, then.” You whispered, and Aegon swore that he moved quicker than normal, as if you had rejuvenated in some mystical way through words alone.

Using his cane to support most of his weight, he sluggishly walked toward your marital bed, feeling you hover around his side. You did not help him, and he didn’t want it, anyway. He was growing stronger by the day, capable of making it to his bed without support.

Fresh linens, silks, and feathered pillows had replaced ones used yesterday. It was all clean, smelling of lavender and honey. As he sat along the edge of the bed, he nearly chuckled at all of this — finally laying with you out of desire, and not duty, looking positively abhorrent.

If only it hadn’t taken him so long to get here.

“Are you certain, Aegon? I do not wish to hurt you, I —” Before you could prattle on about your concerns, Aegon silenced you with a kiss, coaxing you down by his side. His lips remained unblemished and unburnt, the taste of Dornish Red and sugar permeating his tongue.

“You won’t,” Aegon uttered, lilac hues raking over you, hungry and rapturous. “And if you do, you will not stop until I tell you to.” His tone retained a sternness to it, one that pleaded with you to allow him to drown in your affections, just like he always wanted.

With a gentle nod of your head, Aegon pushed your tresses away from your neck, thumb caressing along the column of your throat before he pressed a kiss there. You scarcely recalled the last time he’d done something like this, but you weren’t about to protest.

He wanted to hear your sighs and sweet whimpers, the sound of his name, breathy from your tongue. Aegon did not have the stamina he used to, but he would rather damn himself instead of stopping so quickly. He kissed and bit at your neck, soothing each mark with the languid lap of his tongue.

Gods, that sound — Aegon delighted in listening to your soft, wanton moan, pearlescent teeth nipping at your sensitive skin, kissing wherever he could reach. His burnt hand trembled, the flesh tender and still pulsating with a dull ache, but he elected to ignore it as best as he could.

Your hand pressed against his unmarred thigh, gripping into the flesh there as he groaned against you. He had finally gotten rid of that horrid, lengthy nightshirt, back to linen trousers and a silken, emerald tunic. His growing erection wasn’t subtle in the slightest.

“Let me see you.” Aegon murmured, wanting to look upon you with renewed eyes. You had always been beautiful to him, but now, you were captivating — a goddess incarnate, come to grace him with your presence. He watched as you stood, unraveling your robe as you draped it across the foot of the bed.

His mouth became dry, desire swelling within him like the urgent crash of a tidal wave. Aegon’s violet gaze remained transfixed, unable to tear themselves away from you and your perfection.

You stood in between his legs, shedding the thin, sheer gossamer of your nightgown, allowing it to pool around your feet before you nudged it aside. The last time you had undressed for Aegon, he was drunk and needy, several months ago.

His intoxication was of a different sort now, drunk upon your resplendence, your beauty, living and breathing before him. Aegon gripped your hip with his good hand, learning forward to press kisses all along your abdomen and stomach.

The sensation of your hand, so gentle and sweet, slipped against his marred cheek, gingerly caressing over his uneven web of scars, encapsulating over half of his skull. Aegon nearly groaned at your heavenly touch, the touch of a wife who loved her husband, scars and all.

He did not feel so monstrous anymore.

Aegon turned to press a kiss against the inside of your wrist, savoring the feeling of your fingertips roving across his scars. It was only when you moved to kiss the top of his head that he nearly faltered, breath warbled and wavering, surprise settling into his features.

He moved back, countenance twitching with pain for a fleeting moment, finding comfort within the silken duvet and soft sheets of your shared bed. You nearly moved to sit beside him again, but he stopped you, swallowing the growing lump within his throat.

“No,” Aegon whispered, tone a low, husky resonance, strung out with desire as he coaxed you into his lap with certainty. “Come here.” Those lilac hues were blown-out with lust and bewilderment, enthralled by you as he felt you settle down against him, thighs firmly caging him in on either side.

A grunt stirred within his chest, a dull throbbing pulsating throughout his body, but he persisted, feeling your plush form sit right in his lap. His good arm stroked along your spine and hip, faces mere breaths apart, and he kissed you with a blinding fervor.

Aegon never kissed you like this — not until now.

Whatever sentiments you felt for him, the ones that drove you to complete devotion, began to resurface — you still loved him fiercely, despite everything. “Will you allow me to see you, too?” You whispered against his mouth, digits dancing toward the hem of his tunic.

A beat of hesitation passed through your husband, who almost seemed to revert to his reclusive state. His jaw became tense, an inner war raging within him as he contemplated letting you disrobe him. Aegon looked at you, torn yet wanting, tugging you closer.

You gave him time to deliberate, not wanting to push him into something that he wasn’t prepared for. As if to soothe him, your fingertips traced along his brow line, and into the tangle of scars. “If you do not, I will understand, husband. It will not make me love you any less.”

That alone made him want to remove his tunic.

Aegon tilted forward, burying his face against your collarbone, mottled flesh textured against your own skin. He felt your palm glide against the nape of his neck, carding your digits through his wisps of pale hair. “It is hideous,” He uttered, insecurities bubbling to the surface. “I wouldn’t dare subject you to it.”

“Aegon,” The tenderness of your tone seemed to grab his attention rather swiftly, lilac hues drifting up toward your visage, perfect and comely. “It is all you — every scar and every imperfection, and I will love it all the same. My desires haven’t changed.”

His breath hitched within his throat, eyes swimming with an amalgamation of emotions, some of them too overwhelming to fully comprehend. He had sorely missed your embrace, and to further deprive himself of it seemed like an unimaginable torture.

You wanted him to take his time, neck craning as you peppered your lips against his throat — the burnt side, flesh marred and uneven, the sensation akin to a leathery surface. Aegon exhaled, gripping you tighter as he reveled in the feeling of your mouth.

It was he who initiated the removal of his tunic, attempting to pry it away and over his head, but he struggled, a low groan escaping him. Aegon wanted to feel independent, to do something himself, but he relented, accepting your assistance.

Removing the garment felt like an eternity, born out of his own nervousness and crippling insecurity of you seeing him this way, marred and mottled. Only half of him was covered in that tangled, leathery web of scars, spiraling down his entire physique.

Hovering your palm above his chest, Aegon’s lilac gaze silently pleaded with you to touch him, grace him with the touch of your resplendence. The scars were rough and uneven, innumerable and etched into his flesh like a blanket of leather.

Yet, you did not recoil or shy away, tracing patterns over his skin, pressing your sweet kisses wherever you could reach. Aegon felt his cock twitch and throb with desperation, longing to be inside of you. The tender care you showed him meant more to him than any crass or lewd act did.

You kissed his scarred shoulder, a gesture so comforting and kind that Aegon shuddered from exhilaration. That pattern of soft worship continued, as you kissed his scars again and again, reverence seeping into each grace of your mouth.

“Gods, how divine you are,” Aegon exhaled, quivering hand finally extending just enough to knead against your thigh. The palm that held your hip traced towards the warmth between your legs, and he shivered at the slick arousal there. “What a pleasant surprise.”

You squirmed, cunt aching for him in every way imaginable, hips jolting into the sensation of his practiced digits. Aegon was swift to reward your kindness with quick strokes of his fingers, tracing along your slit before caressing your clit, toying with the sensitive pearl.

The game of waiting was an agonizing one, as he longed to be inside of you, let you feel him again with renewed vigor, drown himself within your love. Aegon groaned when your lips met his, connecting with a thinly-veiled ardor, passionate yet tender.

Agony and pain became a thing of the past — even if his body ached and contorted with a continuous sting, he didn’t care. He wanted to endure for you, savoring each moment, digits greedily stroking away at your cunt in order to warm you up.

Desire made him dizzy, head beginning to spin in a delirium, induced by the growing haze of lust. He couldn’t recall the last time he laid with a woman and truly enjoyed it — but he was enjoying this — he loved your body, and above all else, he loved you.

“I want you inside of me,” You panted, hot breath fanning across the shell of his ear. A shiver cascaded along his spine, prompting him to slow the steady strokes of his digits. “Aegon, please.” With a pleading tone that brought Aegon to heel, he nodded, letting out a grunt of discomfort.

He gently removed you from his lap, but only to readjust, moving himself back against the mound of feathered pillows and cushions. Those violet hues silently observed you, rapturous and starving, like a hound preparing to devour its meal as you clamored forward again.

Your hands moved to the leather ties of his breeches, loosening them up enough to free his cock from its confines, flushed head oozing with tendrils of precum. Aegon wasn’t shy about how aroused he was, how desperately he needed you.

“Sit,” Aegon groaned, hand kneading against your hip, attempting to coax you onto his hardened length. “Please, I — I need you.” You hadn’t heard him beg before, but the sound was husky, timbre strung-out with desire as you crawled back into his lap.

As you gently lowered yourself onto his cock, Aegon nearly moaned at the sensation, head rolling back against the pillows as you sank down completely. He couldn’t move like he used to, guide you along or assist, but he did squeeze your hip, caressing all along your side.

Depriving himself of you for so long was perhaps one of the greatest faults he’d ever made, filling him with a wave of guilt. He could not make up for it anymore, properly ravage you in the way that you deserved, but he hoped that this was a start.

Everything began to ache with more of an intensity, a dull throbbing sinking into his bones, but he relented. Aegon would not deny himself, and he would not deny you, above all else. A myriad of throaty groans escaped him as you began to move, hips rocking forward, disarmingly gentle and sluggish.

You did not go quickly at all, each movement slow and steady, thighs stinging from exertion. Slowly, you reached for his hand, the one that had stayed closer to his chest, longing to hold it, if he was able. Aegon’s breath hitched when you did, gently twining his fingers with your own as you rode him.

His cock filled you perfectly, filling a void within you that had been left half-empty for so long. At last, you had your husband again — the one that you yearned for since your wedding day. With gentle gyrations, you moved yourself up and down along his length, continuing your sluggish rhythm.

The palm that cupped your hip and thigh soon slithered toward the apex of between your legs, hoping to stimulate you just as you did him. Your moans, breathy and high-pitched, filled your chambers, noises that he had been longing to hear.

The full, lovely swell of your breasts bounced gently atop your chest as you continued your ministrations, repeating the monotonous motion of rocking along his cock. Your stomach sloshed with molten heat, and it quickly spread to your loins when Aegon’s thumb caressed the pearl of your cunt.

He wasn’t going to last much longer in this state, cock throbbing with tendrils of precum that released themselves inside of you. The way in which you milked him, moved agonizingly slow, allowing him to feel your cunt tighten around him — it was nearly overwhelming.

Your cunt clenched pathetically, snug around his length as you continued to ride him, his cock bottoming out within you. It was a perfect storm of sensations, between the fervent circles he traced into your clit coupled with the feeling of him inside of you, you knew that your release was near and inevitable.

A breathy sigh of ‘fuck’ emerged from Aegon’s mouth, countenance contorted into a look of complete and utter ecstasy. “Gods, do not stop,” Aegon commanded through wanton groans, hips desperately wanting to buck up inside of you, but the pain was becoming too great. “Please.” He pleaded.

Everything felt so raw and sensitive, nerves set ablaze, arousal gripping him tightly as you continued to ride his cock, ensuring that you were still incredibly gentle. He thoroughly enjoyed watching you move, cautious and mindful of him, lips agape and visage one of sheer bliss.

The delight you felt was immense, holding onto Aegon’s hand, wanting to grind yourself into his thumb. “Aegon,” You moaned, looking down upon him with reverence and awe, no inkling of disgust to be found — it was ardor and want, all tangled into one. “I—I’m close!” Your whine made him want to tear you apart.

It only took one more roll of your hips for him to fall apart, in shambles beneath you, hot ropes of virile seed filling your womb with desperation. Aegon saw stars from the intensity of his release, nearly collapsing in the aftermath of it all.

His breathing quickened, hoarse and labored as you tilted your hips forward, finding a much-needed friction as he caressed your clit even still. Watching you reach your release with his own eyes was a captivating sight, mesmerizing to behold as you shuddered, trembling and aching with relief.

He huffed, attempting to recuperate as you stayed in his lap for a moment longer, slick with your nectar and his own spent, its sheen coating the inside of your thighs. You removed yourself from him to give him some reprieve, stepping away to clean yourself up and retrieve your nightgown.

Aegon’s visage became one of immediate concern as he watched you move away, worried that he had offended you. “Where — Are you not staying?” He questioned, hastily maneuvering his breeches up around his hips again, doing his best to lace up the leather ties.

Surprised, you stopped near the basin of water sitting along the vanity, head canting to one side. “I intended on staying with you, unless you do not want me to.” You replied, sliding the silken garment back on after having taken a swatch of cloth to the warmth between your thighs.

“I want you,” Aegon’s tone had become a rather desperate resonance, as if imploring you to stay even when there wasn’t a need for him to do so. “I want you to stay.” He uttered, lilac hues somewhat shrewd as you approached, helping him put his tunic back on.

“Of course.” With a soothing voice, you pressed a kiss against the scarred side of his scalp, and then to his forehead, helping to ease him back down into bed. The draught left behind by Maester Orwyle assisted with the pain — not nearly as strong as Milk of the Poppy, but it was the best choice.

Taking a swig, Aegon sighed, feeling you climb into bed, curled against the good side of his body. He immediately collected you into his arm, feeling your cheek press into his shoulder. It was the most satisfying feeling in the world, having you by his side again.

“If you are agreeable to it,” Aegon began, tracing patterns into the small of your back, “I wish for you to stay here again, and share my bed.” He didn’t demand anything, nor did he use his title and power to force you into sharing your chambers again.

He would’ve understood if you declined, given everything that had happened between the both of you.

Aegon loathed the thought of being alone again, to return to his reclusive existence of self-deprecation and endless misery when you were still here, living perfection — his beloved wife. He turned his head just enough to kiss your crown, briefly inhaling your floral scent, one that he sorely missed.

“I would like that,” You hummed, comfortable by his side. It was the first time in many moons that Aegon felt almost entirely comfortable again, scars and all. “Know that I love you, Aegon — until my last days.” With a gentle touch, you reached for his marred hand, holding it delicately within your own.

Tears swam within his lilac hues, and he had to squeeze them shut just to alleviate that feeling of sobbing. To hear you say with certainty that you loved him — he knew that he no longer needed to fear the idea of living, not when he had you.

“I love you.” Aegon whispered, barely above a whisper. He held you tightly, cradling you close, grasp innately protective even when danger didn’t hang over your heads.

Perhaps, for the first time in his life, he was finally being transparent with himself — with his inner turmoil, with his very existence, and that he loved you too.

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not copy/steal my work and claim it as your own. please do not translate my work onto other platforms.

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen #aegon the second #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon smut #hotd fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen x y/n

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briarscreek · 6 months ago

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task force 141 & how you met them on a singles cruise

nothing was working for you & your friends in the dating pool anymore. dating apps? absolutely not. meeting at clubs? too many bar fights just for a man’s attention. even trying to get set up by your parents wasn’t enough. fuck it. singles cruise it is.

Price you meet on the first night of the cruise, trying to drunkenly get back into your own room. “i believe that’s my room, love”. well, shit. a few bumbled words later he leads you back to your room which is right next to his. you are utterly mortified but he reassures you that it’s fine. as long as he grabs a drink with you tomorrow, you’ll be just peachy.

Kyle you meet during random duet karaoke night. it was a randomized list of people and songs, and you had to perform or else you would get cut off from the bar. kyle’s name was called after yours (thanks johnny) to perform a whole new world. but gaz takes it in stride, committing to the bit, even twirling you around. which also causes you to laugh and miss your cue. afterwards he chats you up “you got some pipes on you, sweetheart” he’s about to find out how loud you can be if he takes you back to his room.

Simon didn’t really think much of this cruise, coming out to the deck to smoke a cig, he couldn’t help but notice your soft cries as you sat on the beach chair. “what’s got a pretty bird like you crying, dove?” from there on, you explained in detail how your cheating ex had followed you on this cruise, hoping to get you past his ‘mistake’. you were crying because of how frustrated you were, telling your ex for the millionth time to fuck off but this was just the last straw. simon cracked a few jokes just to help you feel better but he promised to stay close and be your guard dog for the rest of the cruise. not because he wanted to hear you laugh more, definitely not.

Johnny has a huge competitive streak so winning in a game of dodgeball felt like life or death. it was down to the last two on each team, you and him. of course he’d throw the ball first, he’s got great accuracy he’s gonna— how the fuck did you dodge it that fast? he was so astounded he didn’t even try to dodge your throw. now he’s hot and bothered and dragging you to the nearest supply closet because “i gotta prove to you that i’m the real winner ‘ere, bonnie”

#john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #task force 141 #john price #john price x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #briarscreek #damn what a day

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erosiism · 1 year ago

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SACRED | YANDERE PRIEST X M!READER

prompt: yandere!priest x transmigrated!male!reader

character(s): priest (anton), you

warnings(s): mention of violence, god complex, religious imagery, dub-con, not to be glorified or romanticised

note(s): male reader, second person, past and present tense, not beta read. from twisted faith on my wattpad.

It takes a few moments for you to truly process what just happened. From the coarse sheets underneath your skin that differ greatly from the silken ones you have grown so accustomed to, to the air that smells like blood, you know something is terribly wrong.

Then you see a mural of a priest on the wall, and you remember where you are. A horror game.

Anton. It’s the name of the priest you need to find.

The first time you see the priest is the day after you transmigrate into a horror game. The said game, Spiraling into the Abyss features almost a cult like fanaticism with religion: you learn in the first few seconds of your time in the new world that they worship a priest like a God, and that they sacrifice humans to please the apparent gods of the heavens.

You’re a sacrifice. You know that. You are found to be guilty of some stupid crime you didn’t commit, and as far as you know, you are a worthless extra who will die by burning—you will do everything to prevent that.

To survive, you need to get into his good graces. You see him on the day or worship, when you come early to the Church: and his beauty astounds you. Symmetrical features—and the whole blue eyes and golden hair combination that is seen as rather cliche, in terms of beauty—but Anton doesn’t have a common kind of beauty; he is radiant. Benevolent. Ethereal. You marvel at him. His skin is without a blemish, and is fair, like he hasn’t gone out in the sun for a while...yet it has a healthy glow to it. His expression is serene. Anton's hair frames his face perfectly, and his eyes are expressive and rather captivating, with long, dark lashes that draw attention to it. His cheekbones are well-defined, his nose straight—and those only add to Anton's appeal.

He speaks to you in lilted tones, and immediately, you realize the priest isn’t just evil—he’s downright a menace.

"Sometimes I forget you are a new, naive believer. God is perfect, is he not? So his messengers, in turn, can do no wrong. He sends his messages through me. God is part of me. I'm merely ridding the world of evil." He strides to where you are, and his hands touch the top of your head lightly. His fingers fall to your cheek, and he strokes it gently.

You can only swallow. “Yes, Father Anton.”

There’s one day where you ask him why he burns those bodies. He calls it “cleansing”, apparently.

“They donate to the church out of the kindness of their hearts,” you tell him, swallowing the bile down your throat as you hear more screams. “Is that not…a little extreme?”

“Extreme? Why, no, not at all.”

“You burn people alive.”

“That is the cleanest way to proceed. Their ashes tumble away, and it makes it much easier for the people, too. If we were to use magic, or beheading, or even hanging—it would be much messier, no? And I believe fire is such an awfully beautiful thing. It can make death look inviting; and even though the heavens might cast them away…in hell, all they will see is the fiery pits. This is their punishment. To feel sorry for them is strange, Y/n.”

Despite this, for the sake of your survival, you continue to visit him. Now, such visits are rare: Anton barely makes time for anyone. But he does, for you.

Of course, this partial treatment doesn’t go unnoticed by you. He treats only you like this: it’s concerning, actually. His words are light and gentle, but the weight of it isn’t. In fact, he speaks of cleansing, he speaks of murdering in such a calm manner that you wonder if the devil truly resides in him.

But one thing is clear.

To survive, you need to get into his good graces.

You feel your sanity slip each minute you spend in the game.

Anton kills. So does the Church. And you still can’t explain the goddamn obsession he has with you. Why has he not killed you yet? Anton is no saint, not at all.

Perhaps Anton was ensnared by the promise of Godhood—ensnared by the tendrils of his own self proclaimed grandiosity. Perhaps he had been idolized so much…worshiped by the devoted believers that he had simply been led to believe in his imagined divinity. Anton was a mortal who had dared to cast a shadow that eclipsed the very stars that he had reached for. Anton was simply adorned in robes of imagined omnipotence, and smelt of the fragrance of narcissus.

Here, he was god, but Anton was completely alienated from empathy. For what was a god in isolation but a sovereign ruler over an empire of one, ruling over a realm devoid of the richness of God’s grace?

You can’t deal with him much longer. He keeps murdering: he murders those who come to you under the guise of the silly notion of cleansing, he finds it amusing to see you sob and cry…and he has no qualms about drugging you. If not for the items you have stored in your inventory, warning you of drugs, you would have succumbed long ago.

Anton is no priest.

And now he stands before you, his lips curling into a smile when he sees the look of despair on your face. He has just killed a friend,

You have to. You have to fight Anton…you have to…

Anton leans forward. You two are a hair’s breadth away.

God. Is God real? Is the devil real—has he taken form in Anton himself, twisting, persuading, begging, tempting people to court evil, to withhold the stench of death? The crimson flames have not faltered for long, and have only seemed to welcome him with fiery contempt, only surrendering when everything has been destroyed in its wake.

You long to spit curses towards Anton. You long for your limbs to connect with his face, and leave a mottled bruise there. You long for your twitching fingers to wrap around the priest’s neck; watch as oxygen slowly slips from his lungs out of your throat. You long to see his body grow limp.

“You are so perfect,” Anton murmurs, “so, so divine. So perfect…”

You don’t get why he says this. He’s been telling you this for ages: it’s the reason why you’ve been treated well. He claims you are some savior from an oracle ready to save him, he claims you saved him.

And now in this scenario, where his fingers are grazing your cheek?

You swallow. There was no way, right? No fucking way—

“I want to kiss you.”

Your heart drops. “…If I say no, you wouldn’t listen.”

A kiss. It would just be a kiss, right? That was okay. It means simply brushing your lips against Anton’s…yeah, that was possible.

You want to cry. Anton presses his lips on yours—it’s a mixture of heat and warmth; the way Anton ravages your lips has some sort of twisted hunger to it, craving and craving and craving. There is an obscene sheen of saliva coating your lips when you part.

The kiss tastes just like the forbidden fruit, plucked from the tree of desire. It is the same way that Eve sinned—eating a fruit that had belonged to the serpent. It was as if you had forged a pact with the devil himself—that in kissing Anton, it was like sealing your fate in the molten wax of sin, staining the canvas of your soul. Had matted it black.

It was shameful. So utterly shameful that the kiss…

Once Anton fully lets go, he smiles, and you collapse on the ground, tears running down your face.

He needs you, Anton thinks, he needs you. You are the savior who has brought him from the depths of hell. You are his miracle. You are his little pet; his little divine sacrifice, the white sheep with the white wool. You are the one who will follow him guiltlessly. Untouched, untainted, clean.

You are shaking like a newborn lamb.

He presses another kiss on your forehead.

[ before, Anton’s pov ]

The world was dirty.

It needed a savior. Someone to bring them out from the depths of hell—to cleanse them. After all, was that not what the texts read? Was that not what he had learnt, ever since young? Was that not what had been instilled in him since his very birth? Luke 15:11-32. The wayward son who squandered his inheritance but was welcomed back by his forgiving father—Anton had marveled at it when he was young. To think someone would have such boundless grace; such forgiveness for a foolish person…

The oracle. Anton saw the oracle as a gift—a symbol from God. It had been delivered to him when he was young, naive, and careless.

Anton remembered very little about his childhood. Extremely little. He remembered his mother, his father. But that was it—but oh, how he hated them. Anton did not remember why he hated them, why the portrait of his family had been torn out. He regarded life then, and now, as the beginning of the end.

Something fleeting, something ephemeral. Something tragic. Life was a wonderful tragedy.

People look at me with such endless wonder; such spellbound eyes and widened mouths. They see me as God—they see me as a deity above them all.

And that was true, Anton thought. That was very true. Sinners. Wretched, dirtied, horrid sinners, all of them! Anton despised humankind; they were worthless—made of brittle bones with flesh. He did not even see them as humans. They were just mere vessels in need of salvation.

“Father Anton!”

“Father Anton, would you please help me?”

“Bring me to the path of salvation!

He was anointed by a divine purpose to purify the soiled souls of the world…

Yes, that was his purpose.

It was relieving and calming to have a purpose. To drift in the vast expanse of the world; the universe without a tethering purpose is akin to being a feather in the breath of the wind. Useless, damaging, lonely. Anton could see—it was very easy for him to see who were those who were aimless in life, compared to those who had the bright, bubbly life shining magnificently in their eyes.

Oh, Mother. Anton would stand before her grave. Again, he did not remember much of what he believed was to be a mundane, boring childhood, but his mother’s name left a bitter taste on his tongue, horrid and painful. Somehow, he did not feel a single bit of…remorse, or guilt when he gazed at her tombstone. He expected to feel guilt for something he was quite sure he didn’t do.

But his lips would always curve into a smile when he saw the words etched on the grave. She was dead, he would remember. Dead. Occasionally, snippets of memories would come to him—her shrill voice, her messy, jagged hair, her crazed, crazed eyes. The way her fingernails felt on her skin when she scratched at him wildly.

Clearly, she deserved to die. How did she die, though? What exactly transpired? What kind of person was she, and what kind of person had she tried to make Anton into?

Anton found, to his surprise, that he was bothered about this. Detachment was something he prided himself on: he would never venture too close.

To have attachment with someone would be detrimental. Annoying. Haunting.

There were times—many, many times when Anton had awoken, hollow and void.

The oracle.

When is it coming? When is it coming? Have the gods lied to me?

The oracle—his lifeline since he was young—was the very proof that this world had a chance, to live on, to heal.

A savior.

There were times Anton would grow impatient. He needed to do something about the state of the world. It would be easy, wouldn’t it? Why did people falter in front of flames? What did people shun away from blood? Was the sight not wonderful, not enchanting? The heat was welcoming—a gentle caress. Those who ventured in, would have their faces bathed in mesmerizing glow. Nevermind their screams, nevermind their bleeding, rotting flesh.

The fire illuminated the world before it dissolved like nothing. Like it hadn’t existed.

“Horrible! Horrible! You’re fucking horrible!” Then the stinging of flesh. There was something piping hot, something burning him.

“Why won’t you even flinch, you monster?”

Anton smiled loosely. Another memory. They came into his mind occasionally and quickly. He never pondered over them—it was useless to; for he already had everything he wanted.

The day you came into the world, was the day he felt alive. Waiting had become a bore to him—it was the same routine over and over again, with the same stupid, foolish people—

Something extraordinary had graced his reality. The oracle. You were the chosen one. The chosen one. The chosen one. The one he yearned for; seeked for; the change in the world.

“Dear God,” You had said the first time he saw you. “I confess I have been impure in my holy spiritual presence…”

Anton had seen you before the mural; your head lowered, your words soft and quiet.

Anton had stepped before you, tilting his head to the side as he observed you. In fact, you seemed to be struggling.

“You have to be sincere. You can’t just read off the mural.” Anton sighed.

You seemed to look at him with flickering recognition.

“Forgive me, Father Anton, for I have sinned.” You appeared shocked for the words to even slip past your lips; and oh, you were beautiful. Lovely. Innocent. Anton gazed at you—this was the person he had been waiting for his whole life—fervently, impatiently, silently.

“You don’t seem to be used to this,” Anton said at last, as he took off his hood. He had not meant to come to church today—he was aware the crowd was growing more stifling, more crazed by the minute. The women of the church reminded him of his mother. There were times he wished he could draw a blade to their throat, and watch the blood spill out in a wonderful crimson.

“I’m afraid it’s been long since my last confession.”

Anton couldn’t help but smile. You were lying.

“That’s alright,” He said calmly, “you have come now. Is there something in particular that’s troubling you, perhaps? To bring you to confession?”

“I…”

Anton could read human beings exceptionally well. From the way their eyes narrowed, the way their pupils widened marginally, to the gap of their fingers…you were trembling. You were thinking of what other lies you could say.

An adorable fool.

“You…?” He prompted. “You must not feel self conscious in the eyes of God. He already knows, Y/n. He is only waiting for you to confess.”

I am only waiting for you to confess. To tell me that you are from the oracle.

“I cannot even recall it.” You admitted.

You cannot recall it because it is not true.

“What do people come here for, Father Anton?”

Many things.

“The ones who have sinned so awfully they are made to be sacrifices.”

Oh. Sacrifices. Anton did not even—

There were times he would stand before dead bodies, blood in his hand, blinking slowly. When? When had he killed them? It all happened so fast, he wasn’t even aware of the blood staining his clothes, the bodies riddled on the ground.

“You tell me, Y/n.”

“Murder…?”

Anton wanted to laugh. A textbook answer. You had much to learn, didn’t you? It was alright. Anton could teach you. Teach you from ground zero, till you would become who you were supposed to be.

“Mostly, it’s their lack of faith. Rebelling against us. It is their perceived lack of loyalty, and their utter ignorance and disregard for God that leads us to take drastic measures.”

“But that’s…that’s killing isn’t it?”

So pure. So untainted, so innocent.

The oracle. The person from the oracle.

“But that doesn’t matter,” Anton said softly, “you show a desire to learn. And that is always very splendid, always welcomed.”

Anton would morph you and turn you into something splendid, divine.

remember to reblog and like! comments are always appreciated

#male reader #yandere x reader #male reader insert #yandere x male reader #yandere male #priest oc #priest #yandere priest #priest x male reader #eroswrites

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aurora-darling · 11 months ago

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Lost to you - part 1

Halsin x F!Reader/Tav

a spin on Halsin's confession, my dearies.

NSFW warning; adult themes - some mentions of death and sexual stuff :>

In all his 350 years he had never seen a beauty like yours. You were a kind soul, with a loving heart that radiated affectionately. You were by his side through it all, and you never asked for anything in return. You had saved him from that barbaric Goblin camp and stayed by his side ever since. He was astounded by your commitment to helping those in need and your selfless way to protect the innocent. There wasn’t a day that went by that you weren’t assisting someone and you continued to do so with Halsin.

And it got you hurt.

You were fighting the shadows, keeping them from the portal while Halsin looked for Thaniel. You had begged to come with him and he refused, telling you he needed to do this alone. No matter how much you protested to go with him, he declined. Halsin stood his ground, telling you it was something he needed to do on his own. His only focus was saving Thaniel, lifting the curse and you might get in his way. When he finally returned, carrying the Fey-child in his arms, he saw your companions standing over you. You were motionless on the ground, your quarterstaff thrown far from your body. You had been tossed like a doll across the sand. You were deathly still - a corpse. Halsin felt torn as his blood ran cold since you weren't moving. “By Balduran's bones, no! Get her up, now!” He heard Wyll shout as your warlock dashed toward you. The others followed quickly, your ragtag party hovering over your body as they worked to resurrect you.

You had startled awake, coughing profusely as you sat up and gasped for air. Your hands shook, your fingers grasping your necklace tightly as Wyll knelt to soothe you. Your red locks fell across your shoulders, your gray eyes hidden from Halsin. His heart pained at your stature, it was obvious you were in shock. You were crying, sobbing into Wylls arms as remnants of the curse lingered through your tiny body. Halsin stood still, his childhood friend also unconscious in his arms. His teeth pulled at the skin on his bottom lip as he contemplated his next move; should he be at your side or bring Thaniel to safety? Before he could make his decision he watched as your warlock, Wyll, picked you up in his arms. You were small for a human, your arms around Wyll's neck as he cradled you. Halsin felt a feeling foreign to him, a jealousy as he wanted to be the one to care for you. He watched Wyll walk away with you, his teeth gritting together as your face pressed into Wyll’s neck. Halsin shook the thoughts from his mind and made his way to your camp as well.

Halsin kept himself busy, avoiding all thoughts of you until he saw Wyll approach him, still carrying you in his arms. Halsin’s pointed ears perked up at the sight of you. Your robe had been removed and someone had dressed you in your night gown. He hushed as Thaniel began to question him, tugging on Halsin's shirt and waited for Wyll to speak. “She’s alive but could use some healing,” Wyll reassured him, he could read the expression on Halsin’s face. Wyll’s hands tightened his grip on you, his left eye looking over your body as you mumbled in your sleep. You were shaking, your lips still a blueish tint and your grip on Wyll’s clothing was just as tight. Halsin remained silent as he watched you, your life essence had yet to replenish. His heart dropped as he saw the dark color of your fingertips and the ghoulish hue of your skin. You were far from alright, you were on the balance between life and death. It was as if you were a ghost and he couldn’t bring himself to stare at you. His eyes drift to the ground as his heart falls to his feet.

How could he do this to you?

How could he let this happen?

You were his savior and because of you, his Grove had their archdruid back. He gave you one night of celebrations after your victory with the Goblins before he asked for another favor. Halsin could feel his throat tighten, the feeling of crying out overwhelming him. He wanted to apologize profusely, to beg for your forgiveness. No, he wouldn’t break down in front of you. He wouldn’t burden you with the task of saving him, again. Of having to help him with another task, ever again. Halsin steps forward, “Tavlena.” he says, his brows lowered with concern. You groan at the sound of his voice and rub your face into Wyll’s chest. Halsin’s thin lips pursed together, his teeth biting them both. He clears his throat as he watches Wyll soothe you, that feeling of jealousy building in Halsin’s chest. “Little duck..” Halsin whispers as you finally open your eyes slowly, and tilt your face in the direction of his voice. Your eyes were glazed over, almost white and you seemed to look through him. Your spirit was broken, the once maiden of the forest he fell for long gone. You needed healing, and soon.

Halsin can feel tears swelling in his eyes as he blinks them away. He would not leave you, his savior, in this state. “I shall heal you, my heart.” He whispers and rubs the sweat away from his brow. “Please, take her to my tent. This way.” Halsin could barely speak, his voice cracking as he beconked Wyll to follow him. Wyll’s eyebrow raised at the site of Halsin’s tent, or lack of it. There was fabric strung up on poles to give shade but no privacy. Wyll could feel his concern for your safety building immensley and held you tighter, his fingers curling into your soft flesh. “My friend with all due respect. I can’t lay her on that.” Wyll motions toward a blanket that covers hay, a makeshift bed. Halsin looks at his bedroll and shakes his head. “Apologies but this isn’t the time to be finicky. She needs to be whole again.” Halsin motions for Wyll to lay you down and walks to obtain potions he stored away in his pack. Wyll sighs heavily but obliges and kneels to lay you gently on the ground. Halsin looks over his shoulder behind him, carefully observing the warlock’s actions. He watches as the Blade of Frontiers whispers over you, his hand stroking your cheek and stands his attention now at Halsin. “Be careful with her, please.” Wyll looked at Halsin intensely, his last word bearing more meaning that just the word. Halsin nodded, holding a healing salve in his hands. He cleared his throat as he knelt beside you, his hand over you as he spoke his incantation. “Te curo.” He whispers, his heart torn over almost losing you. Again.

Once your healing had begun, Wyll excused himself to check on the others, leaving the two of you alone. Halsin repeated his spell once more, watching the bright blue glow engulf your fragile body. His mind started racing. How many times would he put you in danger? You were far more important than he, your veins flowed with the blood of Toril a rite you undertook when you were young. Halsin had heard the tales of the beautiful priestesses of Chauntea—the Goddess of life itself, the Earthmother. He worshiped you at your feet, your very presence a gift to him. Silvanus would be disappointed in his servant, his archdruid letting a maiden of the forest perish in front of him. Halsin sat next to your sleeping body, his large frame casting a shadow over you. His eyes focused on your breathing, counting the breaths you took until you were stable. He kept his composure, his focus on your health most important. Halsin sighed in relief when your cheeks flushed a shade of rose, his healing worked. There was an errie silence, only noises coming from the torches burning by his tent. Your companions had retired for the night and Thaniel was taking a stroll by the creek. Halsin lifted his fingers to brush your arm, his lips curled into a smile as he realized how soft you were. You were so brave, so powerful, and yet so delicate. He yearned to protect you, to serve you. He was your Green Knight after all.

Halsin had moved to sit in front, his back facing you. He had removed his armor for the night and passed the time carving, his attention entirely on his task. Your eyes fluttered open and you were instantly overwhelmed with the rush of consciousness, your head spinning. Halsin’s ears perked up immediately, his face turning to look at you. His eyes opened wide as he failed to collect his thoughts. He tried to speak, his hand almost reaching out to touch you. “Tavlena.” His voice is low and thick with concern. You try to sit up on his bedroll but hiss at the pain in your abdomen and fall back just as quickly. Groaning you throw your arm over your head and sigh, shaking your head and asking your earthmother for guidance. “Mother of all flowers, please release me of this pain- it’s unbearable.” You laugh and pull your arm away, winking at Halsin. You loved to tease him, your large protector. He would normally blush, the tips of his pointed ears a deep red, and chuckle, his gaze averting yours. This time however you noticed Halsin looking at you with painful eyes, his lips turning into a frown. You could sense something was troubling him so you smiled and rubbed your face and thanked him. “I could feel my life slipping, thank you for saving me.” You stared at the ceiling of his tent, the stars present in the small opening of the top. Halsin smiles as he looks for Thaniel, watching the fey child skip stones across the water. “I wouldn’t dare let a daughter of the Great Mother perish.” He says, his face turning to look at you now, his expression is solemn. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, ever. Is what he wanted to say.

You smile and twirl your hair around your finger, your eyes observing the amber highlights in the torchlight. “She would be angry with me if she saw the blow I took.” You sigh, your face turning to observe the area around you. Halsin had hung gourds full of herbs for healing salves and potions. You smiled as you knew those exact ingredients, spells, and recipes only passed down to those of your clergy. There were scrolls depicting plants and a few animal bones scattered about. He was untidy, keeping no furniture and you would mostly catch him sitting in the dirt. To anyone else it was barbaric, to anyone else he was a wildman. Yet to you, he was beautiful. He was connected to nature, a true servant of Silvanus.“She would be proud.” He responds and your eyes look toward him, his face is apologetic. Halsin looks as if he’s about to break, his green eyes filling with tears. “You were magnificent. You were so brave, so-” He stops himself, shaking his head and sniffing back tears. “Ah, forgive me I don’t know what came over me, I-” He stops again and turns to look at you.

His heart swells at that look on your face. Did you have to look so loving?

“Halsin.” You say in a tone that has his member throbbing with desire. “What troubles you love?” You had moved your arms above your head, you were a sight to behold. Your bright gray eyes shined with kindness as always, your cute way of scrunching your nose when you caught him looking at you. You would smile and shake your head lovingly, your red curls falling across your forehead. You lie still before him and nudge him with your toe for an answer. He looks across your body and his heart warmed at the idea that his bedroll would smell like you, like honeysuckle. Halsin nodded in agreement as you whine and teased him with his name again, he knew he should tell you. That he should let go and confess his feelings for you. Silvanus had delivered you to him, he could feel it in his soul. He felt it the moment his eyes saw you, the little wrath of Mother Nature standing up to Goblins to free him from his prison. He loved you since then, his heart now in turmoil that he chose Thaniel over you. But no matter how he felt, he was still a servant of Silvanus first and foremost.

And you came second.

Halsin sighs and moves to sit next to you, dusting his palms on his pants leg. He kept his gaze from you, staring at the wood carvings to avoid throwing himself at you. To avoid begging for your forgiveness. “I’m sorry.” He says, his fingers scratching the large scars across his face. He had joked about the story behind it and regretted telling you, would you ever see him as your strong Archdruid again? Or did you see him as a pathetic excuse of a leader? You breathe in deep and Halsin can sense your frustration. “For what?” You ask your arm over your eyes again. He looks as you bite your bottom lip, your teeth raking over it as you await his answer. “You were injured. I asked you to stay behind and I took too long. I shouldn’t have asked you to.” He responds simply, his large hand rubbing his forehead. He didn’t want to admit his guilt, he was terrified that you would agree.

What if you blamed him?

You prop yourself on your elbows, your eyes looking across the camp as you gather your thoughts. You could see the candle light flicker in Wylls tent, your eyes looking back at your archdruid. “Yes, but you healed me and I’m alive because you did so. I was the one who made a mistake, not you.” You say with the same tone as Halsin. You could play this game too. Halsin sighs this time, his eyes looking at your abdomen. “Yes, but you’re still in pain. I couldn’t heal you completely.” He retorts, his nose wrinkling as he thinks of his failure, he couldn’t even heal you entirely. You groan in frustration as you move your arm to touch him, your hand clasping his shoulder. “Please don’t burden yourself with that. I’m fine, see?” You squeeze his shoulder and Halsin can feel himself faltering, he leans to press his lips on your fingertips. He breathed in your scent again, sweet honeysuckle. He could feel his desire building, his eyes betrayed him as he looked at you, your gaze trapping him instantly.

Halsin moves immediately over you, his face leaning over yours. You can see the symbol of the oak father displayed on his camp ensemble, his necklace dangling over your lips. “Oak Father.” He moans, his green eyes glowing as you tease him with your expressions. You smile devilishly, your eyelids closing slowly, your tongue gliding over your bottom lip before you bite it slowly. “Ursidae.” You call him, your fingers reaching up to trace his lips. “Preserve me.” He pleads, his hands grasping fistfuls of the blanket under you. “You’ll be the absolute death of me.” You breathe sharply as your desire for him builds as well, your breasts rising and falling as you crave his touch.

Halsin notices, his eyes taking in every curve of your body. He loved how fertile you looked, the shape of you sending him spiraling. He could recall the nights he spent in the woods, lost over thoughts of your beauty. Of your legs. Your hips. Your breasts.

Halsin groans as you spread your legs for him, the sight of your night dress sliding up your plump thighs. He could feel his need to sink his teeth into them, to devour your legs with kisses while he pleases you. You notice the lustful look in his eyes and test him, your fingers tracing up his shirt, over the small opening that exposed his large chest. His body felt so warm, so smooth and strong. You giggle as Halsin takes ahold of your hand and buries his face in it, inhaling deeply. “Please.” He whispers into your hand, his eyes looking into yours. “Please what?” You ask, your thumb stroking his cheek. “Do you know how hard this has been? How hard it’s been to contain myself?” He asks, his eyes closing as he holds your hand against his face. “I’m afraid to-” He stops himself again, his fear of showing you his weakness consuming him. You remained silent, your eyes observing the gentle giant above you. Halsin smiles painfully, his heart torn between giving in and keeping himself from what he feared most. “I won’t stop until I devour you whole.” He confesses.

He was afraid of losing control.

You smile with your eyes as he watches your lips form to whisper those three little words he longed for, his heart swelling as you say them.

“I trust you.”

#bg3 x reader #halsin x reader #halsin #halsin x tav #halsin bg3 #halsin silverbough #daddy halsin #halsin smut #bg3 halsin

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giyrut-girlie · 4 months ago

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In the wake of non stop whataboutisms in the last week about the Bibas family, I feel like I need to verbalise why I don’t consider their deaths as the same as other children who have died during the war. This is honestly just for myself but I’m bringing y’all along in my thought process.

The Bibas boys (of blessed memory) were stolen from their home during a terrorist attack that broke the previous ceasefire. As far as we can tell, they were traded like pawns between terrorist groups for money and clout, and ultimately murdered in a brutal fashion for no reason other than psychological warfare and a PR opportunity for their captors.

The deaths of G/azan children throughout the war have been awful. I will not stand here and say that their lives were meaningless or that their deaths were positive. BUT, they were casualties in a war that was not targeting them. Their deaths were absolutely preventable, Hamas did not have to invade Israel and take hostages, did not have to build their armouries and bases into civilian infrastructure, did not have to put them in harms way for their own gain. Let’s be clear: if Hamas had not committed such vile acts of terror, most of these children would be alive.

I do also want to get across that, in my mind, the cause of death is important. The children who have been killed throughout the war have not died of targeted attacks. Again, they were casualties of urban war. The ratio of civilians to combatants who have died (at best guess) is an astounding feat of harm minimisation. Most urban warfare has a much higher civilian causality rate. Air strikes, building collapses, famine etc are horrible, and again, the deaths of children in this capacity are awful. But these children were not manually strangled and mutilated post mortem. That kind of brutality is next level evil. A civilian being killed in an air strike targeting hostile military forces is a different ball game to murdering a baby with your hands.

I think that sums up my thoughts on the whole thing and I hope it makes sense, but I’ve been ruminating on this for a few days and needed to get it off my chest. Again, I need to stress that I don’t think that G/azan children deserved to die, deserve the ongoing effects of this war, or anything that antisemites would probably accuse me of. Their deaths are also tragic, and much like the Bibas children, their deaths are HAMAS’ FAULT

Bring them ALL home, may this ceasefire deal bring lasting peace.

#I hope this made sense #im self censoring a little to avoid ending up on certain tags btw #i don’t think it’s helpful for anyone for the tankies to get their hands on this #i/p //#jumblr

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astral-the-space-traveler · 4 months ago

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I've finally reached episode 1,000 of One Piece and after coming this far I have to say that it has become one of my favorite stories I've ever been privileged enough to watch and read. I have my problems with it of course and they do annoy me but the highs absolutely outweigh the lows.

I adore these characters, the world and the sheer grandiose of it all. I've never found a story that resonated quite as much with me before (probably since I really don't like the government) and the sheer catharsis of watching a rubber man and his wack ass pirate crew take down some of the most vile, despicable villains I've seen in a good while.

I love Luffy's sheer enthusiasm and cheer. I love Zoro's dedication and steadfast attitude. I love Nami's unmatched wit and awesome weather control. I love Usopp's hilarious sense of humor and creativity. I love Sanji's cooking prowess and rad kicks (can't stand his pervy shit though). I love Chopper for his unrivaled medical skill and cuteness galore. I love Robin for her incredible intelligence, astounding beauty and her sheer commitment to staying alive against all odds. I love Franky's badass machinery and lovable big bro demeanor. I love Brook for his great music, killer design and that infectious laugh. I love Jimbei because along with his incredible strength, he's simply delightful. And I love Vivi for her kind soul, diplomatic skill and love for her people.

The world is absolutely fantastic and is so detailed that I could go on for days talking about it. From more grounded locations like the islands of the East Blue or Alabasta to amazing, fantastical locations like Water 7, Fishman Island or my Personal favorite, Skypiea. Wano is also really, really cool. I haven't gotten to Egghead or Elbaf but from what I've seen they look cool as fuck.

The supporting cast is also top tier. Characters like Carrot, the Red Scabbards, Chef Zeff, Rayleigh and Shakky, The Warlords like Boa and Mihawk, Bon Clay, Whitebeard, Ace, Sabo and Yamato are some of my favorites but I'm just scratching the surface. I love them so much, man. And the villains, dude. I hate them so fucking much but it's all the better when they get their ass handed to them on a rubber platter.

Forgive me if I'm rambling or sounding like I'm riding Oda's dick. I just really like the story that he and his team as well as the Team at Toei and the freelancers have crafted (even when they move slower than a transponder snail sometimes). I'm very excited to see what comes next and I'm very glad to be on the crew with all of you in the fandom.

Cheers, y'all. See you on the high seas!

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gimmick-blog-bracket · 9 months ago

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@hellsitegenetics

I love them

I didn't know I needed to know that the weed-smoking girlfriends post was genetically a wolf, but I did, and I do. Also puts great stuff on my dash.

it’s so fun to be scrolling unhinged posts and then boom. an organism!

so many moths‼ also, unexpected comedy with some of the matches

perfect blend of silly and informative, and makes for an excellent punchline at the end of a long post. puts creatures on my dash. literally what more could you ask for

It's a really unique blog concept and a lot of times the results are pretty funny. It's great when the sequence matches the post content too!

Creatures 👍

Finds beautiful creatures out of the mess of the hellsite

Offers finality AND gives us a creechur.

I love them. English speakers talk like moths

If this blog wins, they could run the text of the winning announcement, and determine the post's genus and species!

They're also very good about tagging the type of creature depicted in the results, so as long as you mute tags of creatures you don't want to see, it's a very fun time seeing iconic legacy posts (and new submissions) being reduced down to a string of letters and assigned a random species of fish or moth or something!

uhh it’s cool

BLAST

There are so many weird bugs in the world

Yippee!!

If, as Haldane said, God has an inordinate fondness for beetles, then surely this blog proves that Tumblr has an inordinate fondness for moths.

Top tier blog as a geneticist, I love seeing obscure organisms and MOTH

Admin got rate limited after trying to blast the bee movie

the knowledge of biology to pull this off (i have taken one biology class in my life) and also the work to find all the strings honestly deserves quite a bit of praise

This gimmick blog has it all: science, pictures of animals, interaction with the text of other peoples' posts, interesting information, and a unique and fun premise. As a biologist, I'm rooting for hellsitegenetics to reach the end and take the tournament, because it is truly a standout among gimmick blogs.

If they win, perhaps this blog too shall become a cool organism :3

@making-you-in-spore

Incredible works of art from a limited medium, the blog favors quality over quantity and I am always in awe when a dancing creacher in Spore [2008] crosses my dash.

His spores often take him multiple hours to create, and he will go through astounding amounts of effort to commit to the bit. He made his cull poll in spore and then blew it up. Hes also super responsive and active and seems really eager to share his creation techniques and spread the joy of making things in spore [2008]. His blog almost singlehandedly sparked a significant resurgence in interest and playerbase of a 16 year old game that most people see as nothing but a meme. Hes just a guy who likes spore [2008]

i say vote for making you in spore because seeing them blow up their opponents after they win is hilarious

#round 6 #tumblr tournament #polls #gimmick blog

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damnfandomproblems · 6 months ago

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Fandom Problem #6761:

As someone who's all time favorite characters are villains, most villain stans are annoying as all hell. Villain stans will unironically write essays nitpicking every little action the heroes take, to call them "problematic" and "oppressive", while completely ignoring the literal mountains of war crimes the villains committed!

But nope! It's the good guys that are actually the bad guys and the ones we should be rooting against, because one time, one of them insulted the bad guys looks which is "body shaming" and reinforcing "harmful body standards". One of the good guys lashing out at people due to anger issues which is noted as a character flaw which they are supposed to overcome is now labeled as "an abuser" and anyone who supports his character arc of learning to control it is now called an "abuse apologist" while simultaneously overlooking the villain actually TORTURING their minions when they fail missions AND killing innocent people????? The double standards are astounding.

I can handle people "woobifying" villains but what I can't handle are the people "woobifying" villains AND bashing the good guys, because to me it just looks like they are breaking their backs reaching for a way to make the good guys secretly the bad guys and the bad guys the "poor little babies" that were oppressed and brutalized by the good guys all along.

I've always had a problem with this in fanfiction but this entire rant came about because I saw a post stating that if you weren't a "[Villainous faction] defender than to GTFO out of their blog". Like gee, how dare I think that the characters that are portrayed as the good guys with actual morals are the good guys, compared to the villains which have literal con-men, psychopaths, and murderers on their side. And like I said, some of my all time favorite characters are villains but I also adore a lot of the nice, "generic" sweet good guys and I'm tired of villain stans bashing them and implying that they're secretly horrible people all along just to uplift the villains.

#email submission #fandom problem 6761 #character problems

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changbinsboobs · 7 months ago

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Changbin as husband is next I'm curious for his and hyunjinss

This is the longest fucking reading I've ever had so i just HAD to split it in 2 parts so bear with me. I love him but i hate him right now😩 (no i don't)

Husband Series: Changbin pt. 1

Ugh...that guy🫠 i bet you if i let him use up my whole deck he would. The amount of "ok last card" i had to say...and yet there was still so much gushing put...and ugh, i just can't stress enough how much into details he is and how much he wants to stress on them and make sure they don't go unnoticed or get misunderstood or overlooked. Reminds me so much of my audhd friend😭. Anyways back on track - tho i don't even know where to begin from, i really think he used up half my deck. I just counted 23 cards😳 i do indeed draw a lot for the others too but thats just next level. Not on topic but i think he's a really chatty drunk😂 now i wanna read on them when drunk🙌🏻😂

Ok soooo since i have so many cards ill try to combine them as much as i can and keep the messages as concise as possible so this post doesn't become a novel - the overall energy i noticed here is not so much emphasis on him as a husband but overall him as a partner in a committed relationship. Which leads me to believe he himself doesn't view marriage with such dread as the others did (there wasn't really any dread with felix bust still a certain anxiety around responsibilities, meanwhile that with changbin is absolutely nonexistent). I would say he seems himself as capable and even ready to take on that responsibility and role if the opportunity presents itself and i think he believes he'll do a good job. He's responsible, capable and can take care of it. I actually sense a feeling of pride in him about that.

Another MAJOR theme is him being a "simp" for his partner (he insists on wife). There are many cards that im trying to sum up:

He's very protective over her and doesn't let anyone say shit about her, he's giving me guard dog vibes. Also a big bodyguardy. I can see him when being out with her eyeing people and being on alert and just idk, looking scary as to scare of any weirdos before they even think about trying something. And to clear any misunderstandings up, im really not getting this coming from jealousy (not that its not there, it is😂, but its just 10% reason, out of 100), but rather because he wants the woman he loves to feel safe and protected around him. He wants her to be able to relax and trust that he will always have her back and keep her safe. He wants her pretty little witty head not to be bothered by ANYTHING!

More from the simpy train - looks up to her a lot and kinda puts her a bit on a pedestal. This is not a very debilitating energy but feels rather like something he has made peace with and accepts - which is that she is indeed better than him and he can never be able to reach her, which means he is incredibly lucky and appreciative of the fact a woman like that has chosen him and he tries whatever he can to live up to her standard and continue to give her reasons to stay with him and continue to love him. Although she can never love him as much as he does (thats his thought🥲). But as i said this doesn't feel victimy to me at all but rather just seems realistic to him and he's a big boy and can accept reality for what it is and choose to feel lucky instead of beating himself up for not being good enough and self sabotage. Im actually really shocked looking at his energy because i can really feel the strength of his mind and ughh just how innovative and flexible he is. His will is just astounding and making me really happy, despite him obviously having some issues he doesn't let himself be defined by it and chooses to spin them to him favor. What an amazing guy💗

Back to the reading - so he spends a lot of time in his head, doing A LOT of 2 things. One is being thinking of his girl and what he can do to make her happy, analyzing previous conversations to see if he missed something or if he has remembered everything. Contemplating if she maybe gave him a hint about something, or if she maybe looked hesitant with something. Maybe her body language was off? He notes that. If there was any difference in her behaviour today, if she looked different. He's really putting LOTS of energy thinking about her and analyzing her and her behaviour. Again this doesn't seem to come from distrust (although he thinks of that as well, its just not his motivator, he just considers everything, thats why) but rather for his own feeling of safety. I think he is a very thoughtful and analyzing and sensitive person in nature so this may be something he always does, except when its something very important to him, and a relationship at that - he does it even more intensely. He doesn't only think about and analyze her tho. He does that to him too, to their relationship as well. He just wants to have a good understanding and overview of everything that is happening in the relationship so he has a sense of control and safety. You can always fix something if you know its broken. Or beginning to bend. You can fix the problem before the branch brakes i think is what he wants to say. And he wants things to run as smoothly as possible with them, and once again he has taken on the responsibility to make his girls life as easy and carefree as possible and how can that happen if he leaves the whole relationship in her hands?! He can't, so he doesn't his part very diligently and tries to keep up on the same level as her, emotional-intelligence-wise.

He also doesn't to just thinking but planing & organizing. So i think he takes lots of care for other stuff too like planing and booking fun dates. If he cant attend then books fun stuff for her. Provide her with the needed tools/means for her to be able to create, to indulge in her hobbies. He really loves that feminine creator energy and really wants to do his best to encourage and provide an encouraging environment for his wife to get in her feminine creator energy and bring him joy with it. Also thats really random but he's always ready and loves giving her massages😂💗(after her long day of crafting). He just loves hearing about it, seeing the excitement in her voice and face. It charges him.

He also spends lots of time fantasizing about her. Reminiscing wonderful dates, imagining potential future ones, creating scenarios etc. He's just A LOT in his head, his mind is really really active, and its very occupied with his love. Also another random message, commitment and love are tied with him somehow. Im seeing he cant commit if he doesn't love but he also cant love if he can't commit. So i would say he's very extreme-y. Like he's either all in or all out. No middle ground. What i mean is he HAS to be this intense in a relationship because for him thats commitment, THATS expressing love. And if he's not able to do that, then his love and interest and enthusiasm begin to fade away. He HAS to be able to be like that in a relationship and i think often he has been labeled (or was) just WAYYY TOO MUCH for the girls he has been in a relationship with. Im seeing he can get very overwhelming and overbearing if the person he's with just isn't the person to enjoy that kind of commitment and effort. But to go back to the cards, he also fantasizes about physical stuff too, for example he's riding in the car, and for the whole ride he's imagining and giggling and wiggling his feet and twirling his hairs because he plays over and over how that one time while they were still just dating she looked him in the eyes with that wet sexy look, and how his whole body got shivers and his stomach dropped and his heart skipped and his palms got sweaty and he swears some saliva started dripping out the corner of his mouth and his knees got weak and he almost felt like he was gonna black out and by the time he came back to his senses she was already sooo close to his lips and them BAM. Fireworks everywhere. He can never forget how that wonderful kiss felt and how sweet the sexual tension and anticipation before it was. He plays stuff like that OVER AND OVER again the whole damn day.

While being on physical stuff, he is pretty horny ill say. But not in a bunny way,m where he wants to fuck 5 times a day, but rather when around his girl he's always half way up, always ready to rise for the occasion iykwim. I think he gets *excited*👀 very easily and is just really weak when it comes to his girl. He's always ready to deliver whenever she ask, whatever she asks. Als im seeing once again he's a giver (and despite him loving head so much) he's focused on her pleasure and he can off just from watching her enjoy...whatever it is. So yeah thats that😂

Bro im so tired im thinking about doing this in 2 parts😭 im just halfway. Ok yk what im splitting it.

#skz #stray kids #kpop #tarot reading #asks #seo changbin #future spouse #skz tarot #stray kids tarot #kpop tarot #changbin tarot #skz imagines #reaction #skz scenarios #headcanons #stay #skz stay

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starshipsofstarlord · 1 year ago

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pretty eyes (3)

summary. picking up where you left off isn’t always the easiest thing to proceed with, especially when you and daryl are still bickering. but there are ways to make amends

warnings. smut, fingering, a lottt of making out, swearing, slapping, brief angst

a/n. again there will be another part, i apologise for this having taken so long 🖤

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

He was rough yet tender as he cupped your face, his thumbs tracing the structure of your jawline as his mouth devoured your own, the broad and crisp sunlight bringing heat to your skin. Your noses traced back and forth together, your heavy breaths became one notion of inhaling and exhaling. There wasn’t a thought surpassing your mind as you physically reconciled after your stubborn disdain at one another, moulding together as though you could melt after the other’s touch.

Alas you were forced to part from the oxygen that your lungs required, and you breathed heavily, your chest rising in a rapid motion as the two of you wordlessly stared at one another. His pupils were transformed into an enlarged size, there wasn’t anything that could surpass the silence that brooded scornfully between you, as neither of you both were sure on how to proceed. You could feel the swollen lining around your lips, and you bit nervously at it, attempting to scratch an itch to make the quiet around you less tense.

“Shoul’n’t a done tha’.” Daryl stated, however he seemed less appalled by the contact that you had made than he had shown previously. His cerulean orbs raked across your face as his feet jaggedly trudged backwards, committing some distance from you. He felt almost drunk from your kiss, and that made him feel absurdly foolish. It wasn’t in his nature to be so astounded by a simple touch, but it was definitely affecting him.

His pulse raced in the depths of his flesh, and his bloodstream pounded heavily in his ears as he awaited for your response, hoping that you would agree with him. It was a mistake, one that certainly shouldn’t happen again. Those damning eyes of yours were distracting him from his shield of resentment, and he tried to shun them from his sight, however you were staring straight ahead at him, which made it defiantly impossible.

“Daryl,” the sound of his name escaping your plush lips had him desperate to hear it fall from your lips over and over… No. He wasn’t some idiot that was willing to fall head over heels, he was simply attracted to your physical form, that was all that it could be. It was all that he would allow it to be. He never wanted anyone close, he’d be a pussy as Merle would call him if he had any feeling for you and his brother were here.

“Don’ got time for this.” He remarked as he swiftly turned around with the purpose of getting as far away from you as possible, however he hadn’t anticipated for you to follow him like a lost lamb, with a frown written upon your face. “Why the hell ya followin’ me? Huh, ain’t no one else yer wanna fuck ‘round here?” In truth, he’d inwardly resent it if you shacked up with one of the other men in your group, but he’d silence the qualms he’d have with your sexual relations.

“Honestly, no.” You crossed your arms once again, and he battled with looking in your eyes to your raised breasts, sucking in a much needed breath. “But again that’s not why I’m here Dixon, we have to sort this tension between us out; and I didn’t come on my own accord, Shane sent me here for the sake of the rest of the group. It’s not about me and you screwing, it’s about being civil. I think we can do just about that, right?”

Daryl scoffed, shaking his head. “Ya listening to Shane now.” He laughed mockingly and you rolled your eyes at his behaviour, already wishing you hadn’t bothered. You were prepared to stalk away, and so to relent from this dispersive attitude you were being given, you headed to the woods, touching your side in a double checking fashion for your blade. Yes, you had it. You were all good to go, and escape this hellish debacle. The trees surrounded you, hiding you in their shrubbery and shading of leaves as you tried to clear your head. “Ya tryna get yourself killed or somethin’ woman?”

Of course he had followed you, but you raggedly shook out your hair, ignoring him. He had wanted you gone, to leave him be in his solidarity, and the next moment he had trailed after you, in a marching stride as he recalled you to return back to the campsite that you had set up on the farm. “No.” You blankly stated, you weren’t stupid and knew damn well how to defend yourself. “No I’m not Daryl. You wanted me to leave you alone so that’s what I’m doing. So go back to being by yourself, you don’t owe me anything.”

“Wait. Just hold up a second.” He sighed, stalking alongside you to make your steps pause. “I- uh, I jus’, fuck you woman.” He closed his eyes, as your palm collided with the side of his face and the sting blossomed upon his cheek. The man was a little taken aback, but he shouldn’t have expected any different for his last words. Daryl was full of copious frustration, and he was done with it. “Fuck it.” With his body weight he grasped you by the shoulders, leading you backwards until you were trapped between him and a tall shot of bark.

You were furious, but all discretions were smothered into dismal whining as Daryl pressed against you, his mouth hungrily colliding with your own. Your eyes were closed as you could do nothing but reciprocate his motions, licking into his mouth with vigour as his hands strewed in your hair. He became lost in your kiss, as he allowed one of his hands to grapple down and pledge your ass in his grip. His administration caused a gasp to shatter from your lips as you allowed him to do as he pleased, his hands worked desperately at the fly of your faded and worn jeans as he began to pull the denim down.

“This is definitely a way we might be able to get along.” Inherently you mumbled as you felt lips and teeth tug at the flesh of your neck, and you hadn’t even thought of him leaving bruising marks along your throat. A pleased moan fell deliriously from your lips as you felt his rough hand slide into your cotton panties, feeling your cunt over as he stroked his ring finger against entrance. He ensured you were wet enough before he plunged it inside of you, and when he did your eyes flew open.

As he licked his lips in concentration, he became adherent to anything other than your eyes, even with his wrist continuing to move to prompt you pleasure. “Such pretty eyes.” He muttered to himself, allowing a soft smile to capture his mouth for a moment as he brought you to the brink of pleasure, slipping another finger inside of you. Your eyes were blow wide like those of a deer, and you grabbed at his arm, lips gaping open as you released silent moans, restraining all noise if there were any walkers nearby.

“Daryl.” His name burned like an ember on your lips, and he was compelled to capture them again, as your hands caressed wantonly down his body, grabbing at the prominent bulge he wore beneath his clothing. This was a sure way to reconcile your arrogance towards one another, and you were futilely desperate for more.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon fic #daryl dixon angst #daryl dixon series

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amarynthian-chronicles · 10 months ago

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Tip the Scales Chapter 1

Prosecutor Sun, Prosecutor Moon, Judge Eclipse x Defense Lawyer (Devil's Advocate) Reader

(You are a charismatic defense lawyer in a constant competition with two ruthless prosecutors that do not understand your ideals about criminals deserving a second chance. You are also housemates with a certain bitter and retired judge, who has a habit of operating at night as a cloaked figure known as the Judge of the Damned. Things get complicated when your old friend Monty gets accused of a murder he claims to not have committed willingly. Will you balance the scales once more?)

Warnings: suggestive themes, possessive behaviour, mentions of violence

There was a particular universal truth that court employees would never dare to admit about court proceedings: not a single one of them actually wanted to be there. Those that did enjoy being present during a session were either lying to themselves or were being paid obscene amounts of cash to pretend to care. In other extreme cases, it was all a part of unhinged ambition sprinkled with a dash of insanity.

Normally the whole process was a dreary affair, varying from sordid and depressing, all the way to showing what an administrative inferno the whole institution had become over time. True to the Dickensian fashion of describing things, one could say that the gloomy and omnipresent fog that had consumed the city with the arrival of Fall was equally present in the courtroom itself, both metaphorically and literally, entering every pore and chilling everyone to the bone.

However, in our specific situation things were getting quite heated. The cold September fog had been rudely pushed aside by the steam of intense and fiery debate you were having with prosecuting attorney Sun.

A bitter rivalry existed between you and the celestial-themed animatronic, but over the past year it seemed to have bloomed into obsessive fascination on Sun's part. We could classifiy it as another universal truth that one was bound to eventually become infatuated and captivated by their “nemesis“.

Placing you two in the same room was a very bad idea. Or a very good idea, it honestly depended on who you asked. For instance, the general public that had come to listen to your long nonsensical argument had arrived there for the sole purpose of finding out whether you two would passionately kiss somewhere in the middle of the whole discussion.

The suspense was maddening, the tension was more than palpable. One of the clerks was fanning himself with a folder, wondering whether or not he had taken his heart medication earlier.

“Could somebody open a window, please?“

There had always been an unusually thin line between love and hatred, enemies and lovers, but somehow it seemed oddly fitting for you and Sun to combine both at the same time with no problem.

After a well crafted comeback, believing himself to be the victor, Sun winked at you, triumphant and his grin wide and sinister.

“Was that as good for you as it was for me?“

“My dear sir, I cannot say, I hardly even felt anything.“

“I was under the impression that we have long abandoned this little “playing hard to get“ scenario.“

“Goodness, that sounds serious, delusions could be a sign of a system malfunction, you should get that checked, Sun.“

“Don't be so high and mighty. You will lose today, both the case and the little bet we made.“

“Oh, my, so ominous. I sure am devastated on the inside, inconsolable, I shall probably never recover.“

You were driving him insane. Healthy competition was usually highly encouraged, but this was beyond ridiculous. No matter how eloquent and skillful he was in the art of rhetoric, you refused to yield. You were still a relatively young jurist, having passed the bar examination barely two years prior, but your legal reasoning was unusually innovative and your application of creative solutions to impossible problems was astounding. There wasn't a single thing that Sun could throw at you without you catching it and throwing it ten times harder right back at him.

The judge, an elderly man that was diligently counting down the days till it was socially acceptable to retire from what was regularly a life tenure, was listening to the two of you bicker as if it were the latest installment of his favourite picture show series. He wondered if he should simply let you silly lovebirds borrow his chambers for a minute or two. Or thirty, wherever the feeling takes you. He was very supportive.

He was also the only judge in the building willing to tolerate the nonsense that you and the Celestial Prosecutors kept pulling off in the courtroom. It was free entertainment and he needed some amusement in his old age. The rest of the judicial assembly would have to pull straws each time a new case had to be assigned.

He remembered how different things had been a few years prior.

It was an open secret that the judicial assembly missed the old days when the esteemed Judge Eclipse had still been in office, before his abrupt retirement under unusual circumstances. Eclipse would always volunteer to do all the work, snatching case files from everybody's hands and closing himself in his chambers, leaving the possibility for the rest of the assembly to simply enjoy their coffee and gossip in the conference room.

Intense and immensely dedicated to his work, unyielding, unforgiving and merciless, Eclipse had been akin to a dark deity of the afterlife, deciding the fate of souls that had succumbed to corruption. His golden eyes had held nothing but pure contempt for evildoers, his mechanical heart perpetually hungry for the suffering of the wicked. Court sessions under his administrations had been a thing of horror for some and an example of a job well-done for others. Deranged and disproportionate punishments had made Eclipse quite unpopular in the criminal milieu, and there had been quite a few attempts on his life that would usually end up with the assassins themselves having their spines twisted into a pretty pretzel.

Self-defense, clear-cut, no questions asked, nobody left to mourn a few dismembered rulebreakers.

The euphoria had been too intoxicating, the flesh of Evil too delicious, the screams of the damned a symphony unmatched.

One thing had lead to another, interfering into interrogations, conflict of interest, violating every possible rule of criminal procedure, prisoners being found dead in their cells, acquitted individuals dying under suspicious circumstances mere days after their release.

The courthouse and law enforcement would always turn a blind eye. Whispers in the corridors, silent gasps in the archive rooms, everybody knew of Eclipse's tendencies, his desire to play god. Nobody had dared to make a fuss about the whole situation, not even when a few fellow judges that had been accused of bribery had one day "mysteriously" disappeared. It was all a silent approval. Crime statistics had been fixing themselves, who would dare interfere?

Deciding to return to topics less grim and vile, the current judge smiled fondly at the prosecutors and the sly defense lawyer before him. Such a sweet change, whimsy and passion reigning supreme, banishing the sepulchral dread of olden times.

Contrary to custom, Sun was working with his brother Moon by his side. It was definitely unusual for two prosecutors to work together on same cases and appear in court as a team, but nobody had ever complained about it and regulations had no explicit rule against it. It was Moon's duty to make a thorough research and keep Sun informed of any new facts or legal acts in order for Sun to prepare a proper presentation to enthrall everyone in the courtroom or ask for appropriate actions.

They used all of their individual strengths and skills to achieve the best results. Reminiscent of their older brother's inclinations, their methods and ruthless determination in the pursuit of their version of justice at all costs had become notorious, eventually making the general public refer to them as the Grand Inquisitors.

All of that aside, the two of them still had to make sure that each investigation went perfectly by the books and that there were no irregularities made by law enforcement in the initial stages of each investigation. Being a prosecutor was akin to being a sea captain that constantly kept hoping that his crew was sober. One single mistake meant that the other party would pounce on it like a feral animal.

And pounce you did.

For instance, you were easily capable of rendering a whole confession useless by claiming it was inadmissible evidence obtained through coercion. It was no trouble for you to stage a whole scene.

You had pulled off such a stunt a few times in the past and the results would always follow a hilarious pattern: the confused police officers would simply blink and question their general reality on whether they had truly applied excessive force, the public audience would try not to snack too loudly on the popcorn they had brought, the defendant would do his best to keep crying and keeping his story straight about how absolutely devastated and tortured he was, the judge would hope that no reporters would come crawling in the courtroom and asking about human rights violations. Again.

The celestial twins were unused to such audacity and blows to their pride. Sun and Moon had always been a powerful force that had never known the meaning of failure, the playing field had been theirs to dominate and it was pure madness to even think that anyone could place an end to that. And then you showed up and suddenly the courtroom was a circus, you were the ringmaster and you turned the two of them into the lead jesters of the whole show.

They were furious with you for making a mockery of their act. How dare you?

Moon did his best to remain subtle with his temper, even if his pencils did audibly snap in half from time to time. He had to keep an appearance a patient man, someone courteous and polite. It was of great importance to keep that thick layer of ice above the boiling madness that stirred deep within.

Oh, how you tested his patience still. It all kept accumulating, over and over, cracking the ice bit by bit.

He could write a masterpiece of scholarly analysis and a seemingly perfect reconstruction of events, and you would destroy all of that effort simply by telling him he wrote a date wrong, messing up the entire chronology and all further conclusions, rendering the whole thing useless. You always tripped him with the little things, formalities, so many tidbits that made the whole construction fall apart.

The devil was in the details, after all.

Speaking of which, since the majority of your clients were desperate people that had strayed from the morals of society into a life of crime for mere survival, you had earned yourself the title of Devil's Advocate among your colleagues. The world of your clients, however, was quite grateful for your services and assistance, all of them calling you their Fairy Godparent.

You got them out of trouble, you found them alternatives and new respectful jobs, you gave and gave, granting wishes and making them all happily dance to your music. If anyone had issues or needed help, they knew who to come to. You were waiting with good life advice, cupcakes, a hot cup of coffee and assurance that you would solve all of their problems. In many cases, you were the last angel before the gates of Hell for them, grasping their hand and pulling them back to safety.

After all, placing their fate in your hands was a far better alternative than sinking deeper into darkness and one day being inevitably visited in the middle of the night by the Judge of the Damned, having their life taken as the midnight bells rang.

Because of this looming threat, you did your best to save each soul you came across.

In this particular case, it was a young man that had gotten himself in some serious trouble after associating with a dangerous faction of drug dealers. Such business always came with its risks and there was no true loyalty nor help if someone got caught. Moreover, it was common practice to silence the person from revealing the others by simply ordering their assassination in prison. The young man had gotten way in over his head, too ambitious and too confident in his own abilities, intoxicated with the romantic ideas of what he had seen in movies.

His older brothers had approached you for help after his arrest and you had accepted, of course. You would get the boy out of trouble, free of charge, under the condition that he dedicated himself to getting his life back on track and you would be making sure things stayed that way.

Sun was still waiting for you to speak, and the rest of the room was wondering whether or not you were truly speechless this time or if you were simply preparing something spectacular. Of course, it was the latter. You had pulled a lot of strings and cashed in a few favours, but it was all for a good cause. You heard Sun's impatient voice:

“Ready to admit defeat? There is no conceivable way for you to counter any of this evidence, it is over.“

“Only for those that lack the imagination to do so. I call in question the credibility and the competence of your toxicology expert. You cannot claim that my client was in possession or consuming a certain substance, if its chemical components do no even match what you claim it to be.“

“Pure cocaine was found on his person. He has been known to associate himself with dangerous smugglers of forbidden narcotics.“

“A second analysis, that I took the liberty of ordering from another expert, proved that it was mere flour.“

“Excuse me?“

“He is a baker's apprentice. Poor boy, he is just keeping all of that secret out of shame, which is why we did not mention this earlier, by the way. Alas, I cannot keep this silence anymore, for I must act in his best interest. You see, ever since he was a small lad, it was his dream to make fine Danish pastries, but everyone in his general vicinity was obsessed with the whole “dashing gangster“ persona that is so popular right now, so no wonder that this sad young man, just look at his eyes, this poor innocent child tried to emulate all of that simply to get some respect from his cruel peers. So, he walked around with flour and pretended that it was cocaine. It is all because of societal pressure.“

Had Sun been gifted with a detachable jaw, it would have fallen on the floor by now. It was madness. Your claim was pure madness. He wasn't certain, but he did feel as if all of his systems were about to crash down in a sad attempt at self-preservation. Moon's crimson eyes had turned black and he seemed as if he were silently rebooting himself. It was best for everyone to have him unconscious for a bit, otherwise he would have probably gotten violent. The stenographer stopped typing and blinked at you in a very “what the actual hell“ manner and the old judge took his glasses off emphatically as people normally do in such situations for no specific reason other than dramatic effect.

“God, I haven't felt this much excitement since my last divorce.“

The defendant was very much surprised to hear this as well. He gestured for you to come closer and whispered to you:

“I am a baker's apprentice?“

“You are now. Be the role, become the role, make the rolls. Also, you start next Monday at five in the morning, I got everything already arranged with the baker on main street. This whole process should by over by then.“

“What? The only dough I know how to roll is the monetary one.“

“You learn while you live.“

The poor man looked at you with the expression of someone that would really rather just go to prison than go through such blood pressure oscillations.

His brothers, three friendly chaps in dashing suits, homburg hats and leather gloves, were all smiling and holding a thumbs up in encouragement. He turned around to look at them with a genuinely desperate expression. Listening to this nonsense was punishment enough, regardless if he did the crime or not. They had assured him that you were the best, but nobody ever said that your methods were the sanest.

You cleared your throat and spoke up again:

“In light of this and to support these claims, I enclose all the necessary documents and I am prepared to call the relevant new witnesses if you agree, Your Honour.“

“I can adjourn, I personally got no problem with continuing this on a later day of the week. I have to tell you, you kids are keeping me young, I always thought that my later years in life would be boring. Boy, I sure was wrong.“

A partially drunk man from the spectator area began to clap.

“Bravo!“

The bailiff looked over at him.

“What are you clapping for?“

“I thought this was the theatre.“

“It's a courtroom, is what it is.“

“What's the difference?“

Just as you were about to sit down, Moon was suddenly by your side, having miraculously finished his little reboot session and feeling more energized than ever. It was rather concerning, since he was capable of pulling such a stunt within mere seconds, changing location so fast before you could even register it. You had a theory that he was probably capable of some type of flight or teleportation.

You made a little squeak of surprise as you felt his hands on your shoulders, pulling you close to his face plate, crimson eyes trying to cut your soul to shreds. Nevertheless, you refused to lose your decorum and you kept up an air of aristocratic disinterest.

“May I help you, sir?“

“Don't give me that. You know exactly what you are doing. I am not letting you humiliate us like this again.“

“And you are going to make things better for yourself by intimidating me in public like this? I really want to know what the plan is, I'm curious now.“

“Curiosity will kill you one day, little devil fairy.“

“I am certain that satisfaction will bring me back. What exactly do you want from me?“

He squeezed your shoulders and began to lightly massage them. It was oddly pleasurable, since you were tense and tired. Moon's voice was low, raspy, almost a whisper, akin to that of a nocturnal demon that haunted the shadows and ruled over nightmares.

“What goes around comes around and one day I will humiliate you, as well. I will tear those fairy wings apart.“

“Do you think I am afraid of you?“

“You should be. But, yes, I do have an additional request. Meet us in the conference room as soon as we are done here. We wish to talk.“

For a moment it seemed as if the two of you had forgotten that you were in an oddly compromising embrace in front of the entire courtroom. The same man from the spectator area whispered to the bailiff:

“Is this when the smooching starts? I could have sworn I read it somewhere in the play synopsis.“

“This is not the theatre!“

“Listen, Shakespeare once said that the whole world is a stage. He also said that we should kill all the lawyers, though, but I vote that we keep these three here, I need to know what happens next.“

A normal person would refuse to accept Moon's request after his little outburst, but you wished to talk to him and Sun, as well. Perhaps the old saying of “keep your friends close and your enemies closer“ had some wisdom to it, but you also genuinely wished to somewhat make peace with them. Maybe even explain your perspective and your ideas of justice to them. If things got really wild, possibly even form some fragile bond of friendship.

“Alright, I will be there, I just need some time to get my things first and I will also fetch a cup of coffee.“

You pushed him away and he allowed you to do so. However, his gaze was still on you even as everyone had risen and prepared to leave for the day. He watched you as you cheerfully talked with your client and his family, so warm, so caring. They gave you presents to show their appreciation, bags full of chocolates, teddy bears and a ridiculously large plush rabbit. Such whimsical things, childish and ridiculous, and yet your eyes almost had sparkles from how happy you were.

You were considered a beauty by many, but you were not coquettish, ignoring any amorous comments with your usual aristocratic disdain. Your hair was long and soft, well taken care of, but there were always a few little disobedient tufts that almost appeared like tiny and cute devil horns. It was impossible to straighten them out and you simply let them be.

You had a penchant for black pinstripe suits. However, the professional sterness was mitigated by the presence of a star-shaped pink diamond brooch pinned to the striped bow on your chest area. Moon found it conveniently suitable for your “fairy godparent“ aesthetic. The diamond would catch even the faintest amounts of light, reflecting it on surrounding walls to signify that you were approaching. You were wondrous, gentle hues of pink always heralding your arrival.

Sun spoke to him as the two of them made their way to the conference room, distracting him from his reveries:

“They are so cold to us and yet so warm to them. Did you see that smile?“

“Our fairy sees value in miscreants and mongrels. It is only a matter of time before those strays bite the hand that feeds them and then the little fool will come crying to us.“

“It would be cruel of us to refuse them a warm embrace, brother.“

Moon pondered the thought, the potential image of you in a disheveled state, disappointed and heartbroken. There was something wonderfully poetic about the idea of your rose garden withering away. It was a fair trade for all the times you kept trying to ruin their own view of the world. He and Sun were the righteous hands of justice and not even you could protect your little army of demons forever, shielding them with your dark angel wings till one day their final feather crumbles to dust. A misguided fallen little seraph had to have limits.

Sun and Moon waited for good while for you to arrive. Getting coffee was serious business, after all.

The windows in the conference room were covered with Venetian blinds, creating a game of light and shadow, giving it an air of mystery and melancholy. However, the moment you entered, your diamond brooch cast little sparkles of warm pink all over the walls.

You were carrying the bags with gifts and also balancing your coffee cup. It was honestly a miracle you did not spill everything yet. You set it all on the large table and for a moment you almost seemed to have forgotten the two animatronics even existed as you were fiddling with the little treats you had received.

“These chocolates are my favourite. It is a shame you two can't eat, you are missing pure heaven. Now, what exactly did you two want to talk about?“

Sun was very straightforward and went right down to business.

“You cheated, lied and manipulated facts today.“

“Me? I can only aspire to be that productive in one single afternoon.“

“Furthermore, you shamelessly tried to avoid the consequences of losing our little bet.“

“Tell me something: are you more upset about the case or the bet? It seems to me as if the latter is tormenting you more than the former.“

“I am not answering that.“

“If you wanted a date, all you had to do was ask like a sensible man, we don't need these convoluted schemes for something that simple.“

“Would you, then?“

“No.“

“See, this is why we need the schemes.“

“Such a tragedy your problems are, Sun.“

You opened another box of chocolates and you were wondering whether to try the one with dark ganache filling or the one with hazelnut cream. You were rudely interrupted when Moon lifted your chin up to look at him.

“You are no longer going to prance around acting as if the justice system is your own personal circus. If we expose what you did today, you will be kicked out of the Lawyers' Association and you will lose your license to practice.“

“That sounds so depressing when you put it that way.“

“I personally can appreciate what you were trying to do for all those people in the past year or so, but enough is enough. We could have offered you a plea bargain, had you only asked us. We are more than happy to settle if those puppies of yours mean that much to you, but they will need to serve time, whether you like it or not.“

“When they get in the system, it's over, it will haunt them and follow them for the rest of their lives, from getting employment all the way to daily life and relationships.“

“None of that is your concern, Y/N. You cannot save everyone.“

“With all due respect, Moon, you have no right to tell me what to do. I do not hate you, but I will not tolerate you being in my way either. Do not be fooled by my kind nature, you have no idea who you are playing with. Dreams can become Nightmares fairly quickly.“

“I am saying all of this because I do not want you to share the same unfortunate fate that keeps repeating itself in your family. Always best friends with the wrong lot. You need to stop fraternizing with criminals, for your own good.“

Moon expected a specific reaction from you with that statement, foolishly assuming that he would hit the right spot, that he would cause fear, pain, uncertainty and a need to run somewhere for some emotional safety. Even Sun knew that he had gone too far with that topic.

You were not having it. Yes, you were a regal and delicate flower. However, that flower was also poisonous and with plenty of thorns. You huffed at him.

“Oh, so we are playing that card now? While we are on the subject of family tradition and dubious practices, I am well aware of the person that gets rid of the truly bad people. Did he ever come for any of my current and recent clients? No. Therefore I don't see why you are so determined to lecture me about helping those that only do crime out of necessity, not evil. If anything, this is just petty revenge because you hate losing and because you are a manipulative jerk with no empathy for the misfortunate, Moon. If you wish to punish someone, start with yourself.“

That certainly did hit a nerve.

Moon went over to the window, pulling the blinds shut and letting the room bathe in darkness, the pink light disappearing. You blinked to adjust your eyes.

“Is this really necessary?

Moon's voice was unusually low, almost a whisper:

"Is darkness not a familiar thing to you, little devil fairy? You certainly seem to linger in the shadows, refusing to see the light, you are blind and unable to grasp reality as it is."

You sighed and shrugged.

"That is still better than believing in blind justice. Also, at least I got the comfort of knowing that Sun over here cannot see anything right now, either.“

The daylight animatronic made a huff at your words.

“I still know the basic layout of the room, thank you very much.“

Sun then leaned over to you and whispered:

“Now, why did you have to tell him all that? He is very touchy on that subject.“

“Well, he started it.“

“And you had to continue it?“

“Yes. I too am allowed to be petty.“

Moon's crimson optics were the only light left and they were getting closer, wicked and menacing. Their glow suddenly disappeared and all that was heard was Moon's malicious cackling. Even with Sun present, you knew you were pretty much screwed and that it was best if you made your merry way in the opposite direction.

An interesting chain of events followed that led to even more interesting consequences. You reached for the nearby bag that had the giant bunny plushie in it, throwing it in the general direction of Moon's laughter, hoping that it would hit him and buy you enough time to run out of the room. However, you miscalculated while waving your hand, accidentally hitting Sun in the face instead. In your defense, you could barely see a damn thing in the dark.

As this happened, Sun stepped backwards out of sheer instinct, bumping right into Moon as he was trying to elegantly sneak up. This caused Moon to lose balance and fall on the floor. As he tried to catch onto the table to pull himself back up, his hand landed directly on the coffee cup and the whole contents spilled over the edge right onto him, ruining his coat, vest and shirt.

Needless to say how much noise you three idiots had made in the process.

You reached for another bag, and you began to swing it around without a care in the world.

“Stay back, both of you, I am armed with plushies and I am not afraid to use them.“

Sun's face kept being caught in the collateral damage, of course. With a swift motion, he managed to catch you and pick you up, placing you on the table and pinning your wrists to it to stop you from further attacking him with such a deadly weapon. Meanwhile, Moon was removing his coffee-stained coat and vest, lamenting how the whole fabric was ruined now.

“This is not how I envisioned this meeting to transpire.“

The whole scene was then interrupted when a clerk opened the door, seeing the two celestial animatronics looming over you while you were lying on the table, Sun holding your wrists and Moon having half his clothes off.

The man blinked a few times, before clapping in joy.

“Oh, my god, finally. I have been placing my bets on the three of you for months. I have to tell the others that they owe me money. They said you three would get together by December, but I was a visionary and I said somewhere in Fall. Ah, passion! Such a fantastic thing. Have fun, you crazy lovebirds, you! I'll tell the group of people that is standing right outside not to disturb you for the next few hours, okay? Okay, take care.“

He closed the door and left, leaving the room in darkness again. A few moments passed and you burst out laughing, unable to control yourself. The situation was absurd and you were starting to love every minute of it.

“I must say, this madness is better than some boring date. We should do it again sometime.“

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