#the thing you already wrote

[bigboobshaunt]

The style for the Bayonetta prequel IS gorgeous, but it's so hard to care about what it exists for.

[sykloni]

Dannymay 2023

15. Full Hazmat AU & 23. Rogue Gallery

[lauraneedstochill]

Can't help falling in love

summary: 5 times Aemond was in love with you + 1 time he finally confessed his feelings

warnings: friends to lovers (at the age of 9, 10, 15, 17, 19), a pinch of angst (Aemond healing after losing his eye), but overall so fluffy and sweet you may want to skip dessert

words: ~ 5500 (I got reeeally carried away with that love confession)

1.

Aemond is weeks away from his tenth birthday and he feels as miserable as ever. That feeling is an iron weight upon his heart, his mood irritated and face features grim more often than not. He is still without a dragon — and it’s the only thing he can think of, day and night, steadfast and stubborn in his obsession that most of his family finds to be blown out of proportion. It might have stang him less if only it wasn’t for the constant teasing and pitiful jokes that added to his distress and the never-ending heartache. He learns to keep a straight face and act as if he doesn’t really care, but deep down he does, way more than he’ll ever admit.

His training sessions are a way to channel his anger, and he lashes out at a straw man, again and again, clinging to the thought that, at least in these moments, he is not entirely powerless. He keeps his focus on the target, attentive to Ser Criston’s advice — “Soften your knees”, “Keep your feet light, your hands heavy”, and for a couple of hours he forgets about his misery.

It’s when the training comes to an end, the dreaded realization sinks in again, and Aemond is lost in his thoughts, mindlessly twirling the wooden sword in one hand, his gaze wandering around the yard.

And then his eyes fall on a bright green spot — and all of a sudden, he sees you. A girl of his age, the hem of your green dress a bit dusty, boots covered in dirt, a few strands of hair fallen loose, a coy smile on your face. You meet his gaze and wave at him excitedly.

Aemond looks dumbfounded. A girl in the training yard. Waving at him. He blinks once, twice — and in the next moment, you're standing merely a few steps away, glancing curiously at his sword.

"It looks so hefty! Is it heavy? What is it made of?" a string of questions, your voice sweet and joyful.

There’s a brief pause and maybe you mistake his stiffness for arrogance as you are quick to add:

“Oh, my manners!” gasping but showing no actual regret. “Forgive me,” you curtsy, your smile growing even wider. A timid smile appears on his face in return and he finally comes to his senses.

“It’s made out of red oak. It’s not very heavy, you get used to it,” Aemond raises the sword, letting you take a closer look. Within another blink of an eye he finds himself talking to you, your questions endless and maybe a bit naive but he genuinely enjoys it.

That’s until you both hear a loud cry:

“Lady Y/N!” your nanny comes running in, out of breath and scowling. “I told you not to wander around...,” she chokes on her words at the sight of the young prince. She curtsies, too, but it isn’t nearly as cute as when you do it.

She sprints decisively in your direction:

“It wasn’t very polite of you to interrupt the prince’s training, you little menace!”

And then Aemond, to his own surprise, moves to stand in her way.

”Y/N didn’t interrupt a thing,“ he disagrees, lips thinned into a tight line.

The nanny stops and looks at Aemond dubiously, switching her gaze from him to you.

Ser Criston is the one to resolve the conflict — he comes from behind, with a polite smile plastered on his face.

”Young lady can watch from the balcony. The guests are very much welcomed,“ he calls for the maid to escort you and your nanny up there. While you’re away, he looks at Aemond with a grin:

”Already wooing the ladies, my prince? Let’s hope you are as good with your sword as she thinks you are.“

He does make Aemond work for it but the prince fights back, winning one bout after the other. He keeps glancing at you and you wave at him every single time.

Aemond is too young to know what love is, too shy and guarded to even entertain the thought of it. But when you look at him, with your childish grin and your eyes bright with mirth, he doesn't feel lonely anymore.

2.

It's been two weeks since Aemond lost his eye and he hasn't left the bed once. The pain is still blinding, burning and constantly making his only eye water. But what hurts even more is the humiliating disability. The triumph of claiming Vhagar died down, and now the prince was faced with the harsh reality he needed to adjust to and the process wasn't an easy one. The fever has only recently gone down, leaving his body weak and freezing from the lack of movement, but he couldn't bare the thought of stepping out of the room.

His mother wouldn't leave his side and even Aegon often came to visit, clearly blaming himself for not being there for his little brother. Yet their presence barely brought Aemond any comfort and most of the time he would pretend to be asleep to avoid any conversations. He knew they only meant well and he was being cruel but he couldn't help it as his pride was shattered and he gave in to sadness.

That is until one night he wakes up to a weird sound. He's only half-awake when he hears a vigorous tapping that clearly comes from the outside. Except it's not from the other side of the door — but rather outside his window.

He's startled by this guess and suspiciously walks closer. It takes him a few seconds to focus his gaze and discern a human's silhouette — and then another few to realize that it's you standing on the window sill. He feels like his heart will jump out of his chest as he rushes to open the window.

You climb through and clumsily drop to the floor. But before he can get worried, you are on your feet again, eyeing him with concern.

“Oh, Aemond,” your gaze and voice are both so soft, it makes his lower lip quiver. You carefully approach him and put your hand on his shoulder, gently sliding it on his back in a soothing motion and then cuddling him. He welcomes your company with a sigh of relief. You smell of oranges and you give the best hugs.

"They told me no one was allowed into your chambers," your hushed whisper burns his ear. "The silliest thing I've ever heard!" you pull away from him, still lightly panting, cheeks flushed and hair messy. "I knew I had to find a way to come see you."

You examine his face, frowning at the scar that's still healing.

"Does it hurt?"

He only nods, afraid that if he opens his mouth, he won't be able to hold back a sob. You move closer, resuming the gentle motion of rubbing his back.

Ever since that day in the training yard, you kept in touch, regularly sending each other letters, chatting about everything and nothing, sharing your little secrets and observations. You recently mentioned that your parents allowed you to come see him again, but with the tragic change of events, Aemond completely forgot about the preplanned visit. 

"I will take his eye," you say out of the blue, caressing the unharmed side of his face, your voice laced with anger. Aemond thinks he might've heard it wrong.

"...Whose eye?"

"Luke’s! I shall take his eye, as payment for yours," you tell him with zero hesitation. For a girl of your age, you’re way too eager to plan such a thing, yet he somehow has no doubts that you can actually do it.

Aemond shakes his head:

"You shouldn't," his voice quiet but firm. "The King was very adamant about that, no payment is needed."

"Well, maybe he is too old to think straight," you retort. "You are his son and you lost an eye! Justice must prevail," you tilt your head at him, clearly thinking that you’re in the right.

And he knows that you are but he also knows no justice will be served. It’s the last straw for Aemond — he looks away in shame as tears, hot and angry, start falling down his cheek. You waste no time hugging him again, letting him cry on your shoulder, and the two of you stay like that for what feels like an hour.

And then, in the comfortable silence of your embrace, he hears you asking, very seriously:

"Are you sure I can't take his eye?"

At that moment, he can't stop himself from letting out a laugh — a weak one and barely audible, but still, he laughs, for the first time in two weeks, and you are the sole reason for it. 

Your cheek is pressed to his, your fingers running through his hair, and Aemond realizes he can't lose you.

He begrudgingly persuades you that taking Luke's eye isn't worth the trouble.

3.

By the age of fifteen Aemond becomes quite accustomed to the eyepatch and it gives him a boost of confidence. Losing an eye only made him train harder and his persistence pays off when he’s the one to win, time after time, no matter who his opponent is. His hair grows longer, now silky smooth and with no sign of his boyish curled ends, his face features sharpen. He learns to walk with his head high and hands clasped behind his back, mastering the intimidating look that makes most people want to stay away from the one-eyed prince. 

His tricks could’ve never worked on you, though.

You come to visit him a few times a year, and he eagerly awaits your arrival. All the days in between, you keep talking through letters, them getting longer as you get closer. He keeps those letters locked in a hidden compartment of his table. And sometimes, for no specific reason — or maybe for the reason he can’t yet formulate — he is drawn to reach for them, which always ends with him rereading the letters for hours. Some of them he knows by heart and yet it never stops him from having the pleasure of seeing your handwritten stories and little jokes that were only meant for him.

Today is no exception and Aemond is so enthralled by reading, he almost misses the knock on the door. The sound brings him to reality but he is in no hurry to react. The knocking comes again, and the prince groans, annoyed at the maid's persistence. He carefully puts the letters back and goes to the door, armed with his cold gaze.

And then he opens it — and it's you standing in front of him. 

Aemond barely has time to register what's going on when you launch yourself at him, your arms immediately enveloping him in a tight hug, your laugh ringing in the air. He hugs you back and, while you can't see it, he's grinning from ear to ear.

“I swear you’re getting taller every time we meet!” you look up at him, beaming, and he lets you in. “I soon will need a ladder just to hug you properly".

"I’ll be sure to let my body know of your disapproval," he sneers and you stick out your tongue.

"While you are at it, shall you also work on your friendly face? I overheard the maids being frightened to go into your chambers," you try giving him a scolding look but end up giggling at his reddened cheeks.

"I am friendly enough!"

“Yes, nobody glowers quite like you,” you snicker and flop right on the floor, the move always making him smile. Aemond tried persuading you to sit on any other surface that’s actually meant for sitting but you insisted that his fluffy rug works just as well, so he eventually gave up, deciding to join you. He never complained since.

Before he knows it, he’s immersed in the conversation while you enthusiastically share the recent news and everything that’s happened to you on the road. Only about half an hour in, he notes a small bag you're clasping in your hands.

“You come bearing gifts?”

“Oh, I almost forgot I had it,” you laugh, abashed. “I decided I should bring you something to replace this crumpled-looking thing".

It takes Aemond a minute to realize that you're talking about his eyepatch. But he has no time to protest as you silence him with a gesture of your hand:

“I took it upon myself to count for how long you’ve been wearing this one already,” your tone gets serious. “I must say, that number is disturbing.”

There's a moment of silence and then he clears his throat, his voice unsure:

“Very kind of you to think of that, I shall replace it later on.”

He reaches his hand to take the bag but you quickly cover it with yours, fingers brushing over his, and he freezes.

“Are you still not convinced that I can take a look at it?” you try to make eye contact but he averts your gaze.

“Aemond, I was with you and I think I’ve seen enough back then — none of it scared me.”

“It is not a sight for the faint of heart,'” the prince mumbles, his bravado faltering.

“Well, I don’t remember fainting the first time. You should have more faith in me,” you try to reason, holding his hand.

Aemond ponders for another minute — or maybe ten, he isn't sure, and you patiently wait, not wanting to press him any further. Then he finally makes a decision and, after taking a long, sad sigh, he removes the eyepatch and looks at you, the sight of him is the very definition of insecurity.

You stay silent for about five seconds before concluding:

“Oh, it healed so nicely!” with no hint of uncertainty in your voice. Your smile reassures him a little as you peer at the sapphire, looking very pleased.

"The gem compliments your eye very well," you give him your verdict, taking the new eyepatch out.

"We might have a different understanding of what a compliment is."

"This is me trying to say that I really like the way it looks," you chide him lightly. "And I consider myself to be quite understanding, thank you very much. Will you stop pouting and let me put it on?"

At this point he surrenders, giving you permission, and you move closer, giggling with excitement. You gently fix his hair, making sure it’s all combed back, and then lean to put the eyepatch on. You have a habit of biting your lower lip when you're too concentrated on something, and Aemond can't help but gaze at that part of your face while your teeth graze over the pillowy surface. 

He’s never let anyone this close — and not just in the sense of physical proximity. The moment is very intimate, and the softness of your movements tugs at his heart. He is suddenly very aware of the very short distance separating you two, and he holds his breath. You are oblivious to his stare and soon lean back, satisfied with the result and glaring at him with something akin to fondness.

He wishes he could paint a picture of you right at this moment, so tender and caring and sitting by his side.

He also wishes he could kiss you — and that thought scares him to death. And yet, once it appears, it never goes away.

4.

Aemond is seventeen and his life has been pure torture since you stopped visiting him. He hasn't seen you in over half a year (seven months and eleven days, not that anyone's counting). It's not your fault as your father has unexpectedly fallen ill and you couldn't leave his side. The prince exhausted the maester with questions, asking for advice to write back to you, worried sick that your separation would be stretched for way longer than he could handle.

Luckily, the Gods took pity on him, and he was glad to learn that your father got better, and you will come to the King's Landing soon. Your visit coincided with Aegon's birthday, but Aemond didn't care about the feast, his mind only occupied with the thought of seeing you. He was both nervous and excited to the point of not even hiding it, which led to Aegon teasing him relentlessly. Helaena, on the other hand, wholeheartedly supported Aemond's sympathy for you.

“She will be delighted to see you, too, I am sure of it,” his sister tells him the day before the event.

“But the reason for it might be of a different nature,” Aemond remarks, and Helaena gives him a compassionate look.

“You will never know her true feelings unless you ask,” she encourages. “The two of you are so close, I consider Y/N part of the family.”

Aemond knows that he’s of age and his mother hinted that, despite him showing no interest in courting, some ladies still found him attractive. He dismisses the idea but then finds himself thinking of it from time to time. When the realization forms in his head, it’s nerve-wracking but oh so compelling — he thinks he would’ve really wanted to marry you. He just doesn’t know how to tell you about it.

The day of your arrival comes, and Aemond wakes up at dawn in anticipation, determined to confess his feelings. He tries to come up with a speech, but it feels wrong and sounds weird, and he decides it will be better to improvise. He all but runs to the courtyard to be the first one to greet you. However, when you step out of the carriage, smoothing your dress, and your eyes meet, Aemond stops dead in his tracks and the world around him stands still.

His confidence might’ve blossomed — but not nearly as much as your beauty did. Somehow in those recent months, you’ve matured into a woman that takes his breath away.

It’s not a drastic change, it's all in the details: the contours of your face are more defined, the cheekbones prominent, your hair knotted up high in a perfect style and even your pace is much slower and gracious. You walk towards one another, both suddenly cautious. But when you are a couple of meters apart, a well-known smile appears on your face and you hold your arms out to him and he finally hugs you again, after all this time. Aemond relaxes, inhaling the familiar scent of fruits that you undoubtedly munched on your way here.

“You look exactly as I remembered you,” you say as you slip from his embrace.

“And you are a sight to behold,” he breathes out, taking you in, and your cheeks heat up at the compliment. You’ve never been shy with him before, so this is also new. He wonders what might’ve caused this change.

As the two of you walk around the castle, it feels a bit awkward at first, and you keep glancing at him with emotion he can’t read. But Aemond is too happy to see you to give it much thought, and within an hour you ease into the conversation, too. By the time the evening comes, the tension disappears, and you are laughing at his sarcastic remarks again, and he savors every second of it.

The feast in honor of Aegon is lush and crowded, but you stay by Aemond’s side, enjoying each other’s company, and he only has eye for you. When the music gets too loud, you sneak out and soon find yourselves in his chambers, just like in the good old days. Aemond is in the middle of telling you about Aegon’s recent foray to the Flea Bottom, when you say:

“It’s just the two of us,” your fingers sink into the fluffy rug. “You don’t have to wear it with me. You know it, right?”

He wears the eyepatch with everyone, only taking it off before going to sleep. Moreover, he actually cherishes it because it’s a gift from you. Aemond hesitates:

“I thought you quite liked it.”

“I only gave it to you because yours started to look like it was pulled off a dead man’s body!” you laugh.

Before he can think of an answer, you lean closer — your shoulder brushing his, your hand touching his face, the same gentle warmth he remembers so well, — and remove the eyepatch yourself. The sight doesn’t bother you in the slightest as you confess:

“I accept you the way you are, Aemond,” and then, a moment away from him opening his mouth and saying the thing that’s been on the tip of his tongue for the duration of the day, you add: “That’s what friends are for — and you are my best friend.”

And just like that, with this word alone, his plan goes out the window.

A friend. Aemond can’t even be upset at the reveal, because, honestly, being your friend feels like a blessing in itself and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. How could he be so selfish and foolish to even think about risking it all, risk losing you?

So he keeps his feelings to himself, locking them away deep in his heart, and doesn't argue with you.

Maybe he should have.

5.

By the age of nineteen Aemond reaches the conclusion that he wants to take the risk. Otherwise, he thinks he might actually die as his heart can not hold all his feelings anymore. In two years' time, there isn’t a single thing about you that he hasn’t come to love, and keeping it a secret becomes harder with each day.

Aemond is ridden with doubts to the point where he can't hide it any longer and he decides to seek advice — and the prince can't think of a better person to talk to than his mother. Unbeknownst to him, Alicent was the first one to notice. Years ago, when you were kids, she quickly sensed the effect you had on her son, and it brought her joy as she watched the two of you get closer with time.

So when Aemond bursts into her room, anxiety radiating off of him as he starts jabbering away, his pacing erratic and voice trembling, it takes her about a minute to realize what's going on.

“My dear, I think you must talk to Y/N,” she approaches him, an understanding look on her face.

Aemond cuts his speech short, eyeing her with wonder:

“You don't seem surprised.”

“Your affection for her is as bright as a fire blazing,” Alicent chuckles. “I believe Y/N is the only one who doesn’t see it.”

“Should I tell her...?” he doesn’t dare say it out loud, not yet.

Alicent briefly takes his hands in hers, squeezing them.

“You should tell her the truth.”

Her encouragement gives him a dash of hope, lifting a weight off his chest. Aemond knows in an instant that the letter won’t cut it, and you must have the conversation face-to-face. Fortunately, your next visit is in a month, so his suffering won’t last for much longer.

Aemond almost reaches the door but then sharply turns to his mother again, his cheeks flushed:

“Will you give me your approval?” and this time, he looks straight at her as he wants to see her genuine reaction.

Alicent smiles, quick to reassure him:

“Yes, Aemond. Your betrothal would only make me happy.”

The prince feels elated, almost euphoric, as he finally goes to meet you and runs the remaining distance from his chambers to the yard. But when he sees you, the smile disappears from his face because he notices that something is wrong.

You look visibly upset, your eyes watering and fingers fumbling with the dress, even though you try to force a smile in return. The hug you give him is weak and you keep looking at your feet.

“What is the matter?” he’s never seen you this sad, but you brush him off.

“It’s just a headache, no need to worry.”

Yet that’s exactly what he does, offering to call for the maester, or to prepare you a warm bath, or bring you some tea...

“A cup of water would be nice, thank you,” he leaves you in the hallway to go and get it himself, the task only takes a couple of minutes. When he returns, you stand with your back to him, your shoulders are shaking — and he hears quiet, muffled sobs. If it wasn’t for the nearby table, he would’ve thrown the cup away, his focus on you alone. As he rushes to envelop you in a hug, you don’t fight it, instead nestling your face against his chest, not hiding your tears anymore.

Aemond gives you some time before asking again:

“This doesn’t look like just a headache. What is the cause of your anguish?” now he’s the one running his fingers up and down your back.

You let out a sound that’s a mix between a groan and a whine.

“My father says I am to be betrothed soon. He says I am of age already and... and he wants me to meet some of my cousins,” you sniffle. “I told him I have no wish to get married but he refuses to listen,” you bite your lip, not wanting to cry again.

Surely, that’s not how Aemond wanted to ask you. But he decides to take his chance.

“Mayhaps there is another way out that could make you feel better.”

“Please don’t tell me Vhagar will burn them down,” you jest but the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. Aemond thinks your idea isn’t that bad — but he has to try his first.

“If he insists you should marry but doesn’t have a particular candidate, maybe you can pick one yourself?”

“I’ve met all my cousins — and half of them are imbeciles, the others are too old to survive a wedding,” you scoff.

“Then pick someone you are not related to,” Aemond suggests.

“Do you have a particular candidate in mind?” when you ask with a tinge of annoyance, you don’t think he will answer. And then you look at him — and see him grinning before he says:

“Me”.

You glare at Aemond with eyes wide and mouth agape, the expression frozen on your face for a good minute. 

“Are you laughing at me?” you manage to say.

“I wouldn’t dare,” his nerves are as tight as a wound-up string.

In the blink of a moment, your face lights up. You're looking at him indecisively, searching for words, agitated. But Aemond mistakes your confusion for rejection.

“At the very least you will marry someone you know,” he tries to reason — but it backfires, wiping the joyfulness off your face. Taken aback, you inquire:

“You pity me?”

He doesn’t grasp the poor choice of his words yet.

 “You pity me and that’s why you want to marry me?” you give him a look of disbelief, your eyes glossy, and he can't get his head around what just happened.

“Oh, it was so silly of me to think that...,” you choke back a sob, putting your hand over your mouth.

Never in his life he thought he would be the reason for you looking so heartbroken. Aemond covers your hand with his palm — and you let him, as he tries to gather his courage.

“Y/N, I only meant to say that I —”

And then you recoil, snapping your hand back.

“Aemond, don’t,” you take a step back from him, then another one. “You have said enough. Please, let me be,” you turn away and leave the hall in a hurry before he can utter another word.

... 1.

He finds you at your usual spot, under the blossoming cherry tree. You’ve always said you liked the color of it, little white flowers reminding you of early spring, your favorite time of the year. You don’t know that Aemond insisted on planting that tree specifically for you. Just so he can sit nearby and, as you were basking in the sunlight with your eyes closed, he would get a chance to look at you with all his unconditional love and have those moments engraved in his memory.

Come to think of it, he had so many memories of you — and every single one of them was bliss, and he can recall them so easily like it was yesterday.

And so he does.

“When we first met, you wore a green dress,” his voice startles you, but you don’t turn to face him, sniffling with your arms folded. “It was the color of forest trees. Black lace around the hem of it, the matching hair ribbon that you kept losing,“ he keeps his distance, his hands shaking.

"Yes, I remember it pretty well," you sigh, avoiding his gaze, baffled by his sudden outburst.

"The second time was when you climbed through my window, almost gave me a heart attack," there’s a hint of a smile in his voice that you catch even without looking. "Blue dress, you tore a huge piece of it and couldn’t care less. You were the first person to make me laugh in two weeks even though it seemed impossible. But not with you."

He sees your eyebrows furrowing, hands sliding down to rest on your knees.

"Helaena’s name day came next, your dress was bright pink. Luke tried to make fun of it and you threw a cup full of water in his face. To this day, it’s one of my fondest memories."

You dare to look up at him, perplexed, your eyes wet from crying. 

"Three months after was the light-blue dress, then the peach one and the brown one. Then the white one which didn’t survive the horse riding lesson, and Helaena gave you one of hers. Light green, too long for your liking, even though you pretended otherwise to please her," the corners of your lips tremble, your face softening.

"Then for a year you only wore violet, much to your nanny’s dismay as she thought it made you look ill. And I thought you were the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, no matter what dress you were in," he can’t take his eye off you.

Your face expression melts into a stunned one.

"I didn’t realize it back then. Or maybe I didn’t know how to call it. I just knew that your visits only brought me happiness," he takes a step toward you, uncertain, but you don’t move from your spot.

"When you were fourteen, you picked the autumn colors — orange, dark yellow, deep red. Your started braiding your hair, tried to braid mine," you can’t hold back a smile. He was fussy when you first voiced the idea but he ended up loving the process so much, he would allow it just to feel your fingers flowing through his hair.

"I think you actually enjoyed it", you mumble, and Aemond smiles, too.

"I did. I enjoyed every minute that I got to spend with you."

You stand up then, feeling your pulse quickening.

"The day you brought me the eyepatch, you wore emerald green. I was terrified to show you the scar," he pauses, catching his breath. "You assuaged my fears with your kindness. But then I was terrified to learn that I wanted to kiss you". 

You think you are dreaming. Is it possible that you fell asleep under the tree? You don’t want to get your hopes too high, but when he looks at you like this, your own fears start melting away.

“Then was the black dress, the grey one, another white one. The golden one you wore to meet Vhagar,” when he saw you that day, he almost forgot how to breathe. You showed no sigh of apprehension as you fearlessly approached the dragon. He was absolutely besotted.

“And then came the agony of not seeing you for over seven months,” he closes his eye for a second, overwhelmed. He almost misses it when you speak:

“Seven months and twenty-five days. Not that I was counting,” his eye snaps open, instantly on you again.

You gravitate toward each other without even noticing. Aemond’s heart skips a beat when you’re at arm's length, your eyes shining and lips slightly parted. Even in the state you're in, you look so beautiful, it's mesmerizing, and the words are stuck in his throat. You are the one to break the silence:

"Aemond, please don't give me false hope," your heartbeat is too loud, you don't hear your own voice. He does.

"I do not wish to marry you out of pity," Aemond takes the last step. "I want you to be my wife because I'm in love with you," he wipes away the remaining tears off your face, his fingers linger, making you shiver. "I've been in love with you for quite some time. For a few years, actually," his voice gets low. "For what feels like an eternity," Aemond murmurs.

"Why haven't you told me?" you pout, nervously toying with the collar of his shirt.

"I was afraid you didn't feel the same. I still am but maybe... Maybe I am wrong?" his gaze is fixed on you, one of his hands following the contour of your waist, your body warming at the touch.

"Tell me that I am wrong," he whispers, begging.

You look at his lips, the soft curve of them that you’ve dreamt of for so long.

Aemond always thought yours were the most kissable he’s ever seen.

You don’t know who closes the distance first — but his mouth is suddenly on yours and the sensation leaves you disarmed. Kissing him is like being swept with a wave of tenderness, and you’re floating in it, his lips so fervid and supple — truly perfect — your head is spinning. The kiss is not awkward nor modest as you hastily cling to each other, his hands gripping your waist, your chest pressed into his.

Aemond feels like he’s drowning, and he wants more of you — all of you, and then your fingers tug at his locks, eliciting a groan from him, and it is simply a miracle that his heart doesn’t explode. You move in impeccable sync, in the passionate harmony that erupts from years worth of mutual pining. His lungs burn but he resists the urge to break the kiss and stretches it out the best he can until you are breathless, too.

"Never knew that you were so fascinated by my wardrobe choices," you tease, and his hum turns into a chuckle.

“You know what my favorite memory is?” you ask, your forehead resting against his.

“When we were thirteen, and you were teaching me how to hold a sword. I tackled you to the ground and scraped my knee,” you both smile at your then enthusiasm. “And you set everything aside to spend the rest of the day with me even though it was hardly a wound. And I remember thinking,” you hook your finger under his chin, “that there’s nowhere else I would rather be than with you, with this favorite boy of mine.”

The air around you tense, and you are enchanted by each other.

“Did that help to prove you wrong?”

“I may need some convincing,” his breath fanning over your lips.

“You can take your time,” you laugh — and then the sound of it is muffled by his athirst mouth.

His favorite memory will be this.

And every other moment with you that's to come.

author's note: I'm sorry if this came out messy and rushed. I tried my best to write a shorter fic (this is short for me lmao) and idk how I feel about it. I much rather prefer them longer because I'm a sucker for stories about two people getting to know each other and falling in love BUT I get it that others don't want to read long ass fics (which kinda breaks my heart but I'm being so very brave about it) anyways, I hope this was bearable, thank you for reading!

💙 the longer version of this fic might have looked like this (yes, this is a shameless plug! because I adore this one to pieces!! bite me) 💞 my masterlist 🎵 the title is a quote from Elvis Presley's song (duh). there are quite a few covers of it but one of my favorites is by Twenty One Pilots. there's also a female version — by Ingrid Michaelson — and I think both of them fit the story really well. P.S. I'm also on AO3 (lol, who isn't), in case you prefer to read fics there.

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes!

[doodlewizardry]

Have you ever wanted to find your old Ao3 comments? Easily keep track of which (and how many) fics you've commented on? Rediscover a fic that you left a time capsule of a gushing essay on?

Well, you can! And it's simple! (* Note: it only works for comments written after you turn this on.)

Go to your Preferences:

There's a checkbox labelled "Turn off copies of your own comments". This is selected by default. If you deselect it (and save your preferences) then you receive an email for every comment you leave.

But I don't want to get my inbox flooded by Ao3!

Understandable! Luckily, most email clients allow you to set up rules for incoming mail depending on their sender and contents. For instance (using Gmail), I've made it so that these emails skip the inbox, are marked as read, and moved to a label I call my "Comment Collection".

The result? A complete, organised and fully-searchable repository of any comments you leave from this point onwards! Search by fic name, author, date, that one sentence you vividly remember leaving!

I've set up other rules, too, like starring emails that are replies to my comments - I'm always excited to receive them!

I love this system, and I think it's motivated me to leave more comments. I hope that others find it useful too. Happy commenting!

Original preferences trick from this Reddit thread. Tagging @justleaveacommentfest, which motivated me to write this post!

[molinaesque]

"You went against your word and defied our contract! In doing so, you brought the chaos of your world into mine! I will not abide it!" - Raphael (Baldur's Gate, 2023)

[erineas]

Day 3: Fun puns.

Based on this little fragment of me talking with Horror as a desperate attempt to come up with something for this day:

Don't mind me being a little crazy talking to him on my notes, you don't want to see the rest, sometimes this is how I can picture my ideas

@sansxyouweek

[grxceful-ly]

peter bringing mayday with him to do spider stuff because yeah, he had things to live for before--but now he has a child and he is going to raise this child and be there for her and maybe if she’s there, strapped to his chest, he’ll be more careful. he’ll consider his life almost as precious as hers. maybe bringing mayday to work is a precaution. 

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: this got long sorry 😔 but creepy/perv bakugou, recording, film major bkg x art major reader, masturbation, coercion, dubcon before it just becomes con, voyeurism/exhibitionism

as an art major, you typically did some works for a few students on campus; for their plays, as background pieces while they danced, a cover for their released songs. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to ask you to create something for them, and you enjoyed it more often than not. but, you weren’t usually the art itself.

Bakugou is a friend’s friend that you’ve seen a few times, ran into at the library or at coffee shops. he’s a film major, and always looks so unhappy about the whole thing, as if he didn’t choose it himself. you joke to Mina that you think he’ll graduate and become one of those directors that hate everything and yell at the actors constantly and later on get sued for being a dickhead. you never say it to him though—you’ve never spoken more than a couple words to the man.

it’s why it shocks you when he approaches you one day. it’s after one of your painting classes, and he stands outside the door with a frown and his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyebrows scrunched as if pissed at the mere sight of you. he asks you, in that low and gruff tone of his, if you could star in his final project for the semester. says it’s supposed to be a film made with this criteria and that, but, you’ve kind of checked out on the conversation after the first sentence.

“You mean, you want me to create something and that be the star of your film?” you ask him, feeling so intimidated at his stature. he always seems to loom, his hair shadowing the lights above, creates a cast over a portion of his face, makes his eyes look…unsettling. like they’re looking straight through your flesh, can find the marrow in your bones. he scoffs like you’ve offended him, rolling his eyes into his skull, mouth pulled tight.

“No.” his voice is firm, gaze concentrated only on you, like the halls are empty and you’re the focus of his lens. “I want you to star in it.”

his words confuse you—you’ve never presented yourself as an actor before, never alluded to wanting to be in the spotlight if not for what you create with your hands. but he shuffles on his feet, looks desperate even. there’s some hemming and hawing for a minute or so—why not choose Mina?—she’s busy—why choose me?—‘cause you’d be perfect for my short film—what’s it about?—you’ll find out once you get the script.

and even after you hesitantly agree and get the script—you still don’t understand what you’re doing. why you’re here, why you’re the only person, why it has to be a solo film, why there’s damn near zero lines in the entirety of the have-to-be forty five minute film.

the scenes are all so long, and maybe it’s because movies aren’t your forte or chosen major, but you just don’t get it. one scene; you’re staring at yourself in the mirror while Bakugou holds a small, black camera over your shoulder. he’s eerily quiet behind you, whispers out a faint fuckin’ go when you have to wash your face in the sink, makes you do it over because your movements are too jerky and unnatural.

the rest of the scenes go that way; you doing regular at home activities, being put under a lens, quietly barked at to do this and move that way and fix your hair and remember to frown.

“Isn’t there another way to film this?” you ask him on the fifth day of shooting in his spacious loft. there’s a bubble bath scene coming up, one you dont understand the importance of, but Bakugou tells you it’s the most necessary part of the entire thing.

“No,” he grunts out, looking at you from under his lashes as he sits on the lid of the toilet. “But I’ll make it soapy, so the camera won’t see much.” the camera? much? you weren’t worried so much about what the camera captured as you were the man behind it. he looks at you with such intensity, you feel naked already despite the robe you wear that’s suspiciously already your size.

he leaves the bathroom when you sink in the hot water, returns before you can say it’s okay, hears the water splashing and thinks that’s good enough. he kneels on the floor beside you, camera pointed directly in your face, makes your chest hot and your skin feel prickly. the scene passes on regularly enough; you run the water over your arms, tilt your head back as you sigh, whisper the few lines scripted, lean back and close your eyes, sigh again. it’s almost relaxing, makes you forget about the friend of a friend recording you naked right now. almost.

“Touch yourself.” Bakugou suddenly demands, hushed and quiet behind the camera. your eyes immediately shoot open, looking to him in question, how he’s eerily still in his spot hovering over you.

“Huh?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly, looking around the rounded lens in your face, trying to ignore the red blinking light. but Bakugou only frowns.

“It’s a masturbation scene. Touch yourself.” he repeats, voice louder, more demanding this time. your stomach twists at the thought of doing something so intimate in front of him. he’s a handsome guy, for sure, even made you consider asking him out after this, figured he was just serious about his work and awkward about certain things. but…something had been off about this entire thing since the start.

“But—but I don’t, I’m not,” you stutter, sitting up a little, the bubbles covering your chest starting to disperse with your movements. but Bakugou only sits a little higher on his knees, finally pulling the camera away from his face for the first time since he’s asked you to do this for him.

“You want me to fail?” he asks, booming voice eerily quiet in the silent bathroom, carmine eyes dull, shaded over with something terrible. “Then do it.” he tells you when you shake your head quickly.

you stare at him until he gets back into position again, camera back pointed at you. when he doesn’t say anything else, you swallow thickly, wondering if the art that will come out of this will be worth it. so you listen, sneak a hand under the water, start touching yourself in a way you never have in front of anyone.

is it bad to say that it’s exhilarating? being watched and recorded by someone who breathes so heavily every time your voice hiccups? being directed to touch your chest next when the suds start to disappear and your nipples start to peek through? is it bad that you want him to send you this portion of his film, only, just so you can watch yourself again and again? make a portrait of yourself with your fingers on your nipples and your knees raising from the water and your head thrown back from the intensity in oil pastels?

“That’s a wrap.” Bakugou announces when you finish, head spinning and still panting. you look over to him, how he closes the camera, the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’ll get you a towel.”

you wonder when’s the next time he’ll need you. or better yet—maybe he could be the star in your final drawing project? you had finished it already but, what was the harm in starting over with him as your muse? as naked as you are? camera not blocking his face so you can paint the similarities of his blushing cheeks and eyes when you direct him to look at you? to touch his chest? to play with himself just like that?

[doodleodds]

Me? Uploading a Halloween comic on November 18th, almost four whole-ass weeks late???? Yeah that’s uh. yup. yeah

Thanks for reading! :) <3

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

There's a small moment in the Hunter x Hunter 2011 anime that I thought was pretty cute. It's close to the beginning, during the Hunter Exam, when they're looking for pigs in the forest. Gon slides down a hill, and Killua follows him, only for him to crash because Gon had stopped at the bottom of the hill. This scene!

It's one of those rare little bits added by an adaptation that really add to the characters - because yeah, this was not in the manga.

I find this anime is really good at adding little moments that either

are just cute or endearing

are fun extra interactions that show off the character dynamics more

actually highlight something about the characters in question

This one, I feel, does all three. First of all, I just love seeing Killua a bit more involved in their group before the eventual reveal of "he just wanted to be friends". It's really sweet.

But mostly, I think it's interesting that Killua assumed Gon was just messing around, when Gon was actually focusing his efforts on beating the challenge. Because, sure, Killua finds Gon somewhat intriguing, and he really wants to stick around him due to his desire for a friend - but Killua still sees himself as a class above pretty much everyone else there, and also as an assassin in a category so firmly removed from "regular kid".

So, Killua totally misreads Gon here. He assumes Gon is just doing a regular kid thing and attempts to mimic it so he can join in. It doesn't actually occur to him that Gon was tracking the pigs, or focusing on the task at hand.

It's a far cry from later on, where Killua and Gon are primarily a team effort - in sync, aware of the others' strengths, and taking each other quite seriously.

And part of it, of course, is that they just don't know each other very well at this point. But I think another thing is that Killua, during most of the Hunter Exam, is more invested in what Gon represents than who he is, necessarily.

His first friend represents rebellion against his family, childish enjoyment, and the desire for connection and understanding that he is not receiving. And even though, as time goes on, he grows more and more impressed with Gon, I really don't think it fully clicked that he wanted that friend he wished for to be specifically Gon until he was confronted by Illumi.

I also think Killua takes Gon a lot more seriously after the fight with Hanzo, and especially after Gon went all the way to the Zoldyck estate to save him. Before the Hanzo fight, Killua was outright irritated by Gon being ranked higher than him overall, and was even a little bitter at the beginning of the fight ("I could've dodged that easily" comes to mind).

By Heavens Arena, I feel they both have a much firmer grasp on, and appreciation for, who the other is as a person. Killua is more consciously aware of his investment in Gon as an individual rather than an abstract, and Gon is aware of Killua's crappy upbringing and is quick to be very supportive of him as he figures things out for himself.

During the Hunter Exam though, a lot of the interactions between them feel a lot like Killua is either mimicking or acting out "regular kid" behaviours, either because that's what he thinks Gon is already doing, or he wants to see if Gon will respond in kind.

Aaaaand... he does. :)

So, while they do not have what I feel is a true depth of bond here yet, the foundation is already being laid down for their powerful friendship - Gon and Killua both show an immediate willingness and enjoyment to go along with what the other wants to do and to try out what the other is good at, and they wind up having a whole lot of fun together right off the bat.

[anna-scribbles]

h-how do you ever finish any of your work? genuine question because you seem to be productive despite your agreste syndrome and I need to learn your ways. but also how do you ever finish any of your work

unclear. last night i stayed up and finished a report worth 25% of my grade at about 5am, arrived on time for my 9am lecture, and spent about half of it zoned out while thinking about seventeen year old emilie agreste. and i was one of the most active participants in the class discussion

[kingofthering]

january-march 2024

ao3

be sweet to me baby (rosquez) by @moonshynecybin

Not written for me but it came out on my birthday and I considered it the best present possible.

butterfly effect (dovquez) by @lestelledreams

This was so soft. And tender. I was right there with them and it was beautiful.

once and almost completely (bezz/cele) by @crozley

Hot shit. Hot shit.

ace of cups, the fool, eight of wands (bezz/cele) by @baking-soda

Do you wanna know how many times I reread this? Truth is, I don't even know myself.

A House in Nebraska (rosquez) by @austenaire

As a French person, the choice of city in this one is so funny to me but that aside, it was a really nice read, I promise. And that last line is very Vale.

steamroller (rosquez) by anonymous

Yes these two were made to be playful in bed. "So I win?" !!!! Very into the banter there, I don't like being sad but it was okay there, worth it.

this is a love story (rosquez) by @anitalianfrie

Mixed Media AU. Please look at this (on a computer) for the sheer amount of work that went into it. Insanely beautiful.

kill your heroes (rosquez) by @moonshynecybin

PWP to end all PWP. I am so in love, it's so hot and fun and perfect.

young hot trouble (enea/diggia) by @anitalianfrie

Yes. Hot. Give me more.

situations like this (casey/vale) by anonymous

Things that are absolutely delicious in this : the characterization of the two of them, Valentino's lines, Casey's internal monologue, how hot they are.

tumblr

omega verse pecco/luca by @baking-soda

rosquez feminization by @moonshynecybin

pecco/luca sex thoughts by @baking-soda

mr. and mrs. smith rosquez by @topnotchquark

virgin sacrifice rosquez by @love-leah

pecco/luca harem au by @baking-soda

abo rosquez with marc's heat by @love-leah

bezz/cele kissing thoughts by @f1vegas

ski resort dovquez by @lastlatebraker

rosquez + marc topping by @baking-soda

rosquez cyborg au by @vanillow

pecco/luca moment by @uwabbittuwabbit

pecco/bezz nightclub moment by @love-leah

rosquez abo + their bond post divorce by @moonshynecybin

rosquez + reporter marc au by @moonshynecybin

bezz/marc body swap by @anitalianfrie

royalty au rosquez by @love-leah

rosquez only fans au by @hotmessmaxpress

marc knows mean (rosquez, bezz/vale) by @thewriters-world

marc/vale/bezz threesome by @moonshynecybin

bezz/cele + confession by @yekoc

And like, this feels a little self-centered but I feel so blessed every time @moonshynecybin develop any kind of FCO AU thoughts (with me and others). Turns out you can admire artists from afar and then work with them months later, how insane is that.

[osamusriceballs]

More than friends

Osamu Miya x fem! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, dry humping, alcohol

Words: ~3.7 k

About: A night drinking with Atsumu and Osamu leads to an unexpected ending~

_______________________

“C’mn, just do it.“

“Shut it, Tsumu. I’m not gonna do it.“

You silently watch Atsumu laughing even louder than before and Osamu rolling his eyes with a huff. The three of you are seated comfortably in the spacious living room of the twins, a few empty bottles of beer between you, as well as a clear bottle of strong alcohol.

“You’re not doing the dare? Not even telling y/n what it was?“

“No, I’m not. Just keep quiet for once, will ya?“

Atsumu’s smug grin doesn’t falter for a second when he downs another shot and reluctantly gets on his feet. Osamu scoffs at his childish behavior and ignores his existence completely.

“I’m gonna go to bed. Got a practice scheduled early with Bokkun tomorrow. See ya.“

Atsumu waves in your direction and smacks Osamu’s shoulder before he abruptly leaves, his shoulders slightly swaying with each drunken step that he takes before you finally hear the door to his room closing. You doubt that he will make it to practice early tomorrow, and you take a mental note to send a text to Bokuto, warning him that he shouldn’t wait for the blonde setter.

However, right now you’re painfully aware of the situation that you now find yourself in. Your hand tightens around the bottle of beer that you’re holding, your gaze now flickering between the table and Osamu, quickly taking in his appearance. His hair is messy from the way he‘s been running through it ever since you three gathered to drink, his broad shoulders almost threaten to rip the tight black dress shirt that clings to his body, and his spread legs almost invite you to sit in between them. He doesn’t look at you either, his gaze absently focusing the wall behind you, and you feel the weird atmosphere like a heavy weight on your shoulders.

You clear your throat and try to overcome this moment of awkwardness, but it doesn’t seem to work.

Talking with Atsumu is easy. He’s always rambling about something, laughing, or talking about a certain Omi-omi that seems to annoy him very much.

Talking with Osamu on the other hand… He makes you nervous. He makes you blush, he makes your heart flutter, he makes you wonder about more.

“So… what’s the big deal? Why wouldn’t you do the dare?“

He groans and his eyes focus on you again. There is something about his gaze that never fails to send a shiver down your spine. He often has sleepy and heavy-lidded eyes, but when he directly looks at you and puts all of his focus on you- that‘s when your heart always stops a beat. This man will surely be the death of yours.

“You don’t wanna know. Trust me.“

“C’mon, don’t be a party popper. It can’t be that bad if it’s Atsumu’s idea.“

“You’re wrong. It is that bad because it's Atsumu’s idea.“

His lips curl into a smile and he looks down to your empty shot glass, clearly trying to change the subject, which only intrigues you more about it. “You want another?“

“Sure. Tell me about the dare first though.“ You grin and hand him the small shot glass, and he groans again, his head falling back in playful annoyance before he takes the glass out of your hand and starts pouring the clear liquid into it and then into his own.

“I just wanna make clear that it was Atsumu’s idea. He wanted me to kiss you. Told ya, it was stupid.“

The way he doesn’t even hesitate to say it, his voice not even trembling nor is his gaze nervously flickering. He nonchalantly states this without giving it a second thought- and it feels like he just punched you.

“Oh. Okay.“ You force a laugh out of your mouth, a laugh that sounds forced and fake and cringe, even to your ears.

You’re absolutely sure that kissing Osamu would be great. However, not that you would ever get the chance to try. He rolls his eyes and simply hands you the full shot glass, his hand not touching yours for even a single second, like you’d burn him through physical contact.

“Don’t think about it please.“

“Okay.“ You take the full shot glass out of his hand and down it without a second thought. He does the same with his shot, and you admire his side profile for a brief second before your gaze starts to roam through the room again.

It’s silent.

Very much silent.

Your own breathing sounds too loud in the quiet room and you nervously grab your beer once again and take a few sips, but Osamu doesn’t move. You can’t look at him though, your gaze now trained to your own hands. You feel somehow rejected, even though you didn’t say anything. Did the mere thought of him kissing you seem so absurd to him? Sure, you both never really showed that kind of interest in particular, but you thought some of your conversations resembled some kind of flirting, and the way he always looked at you never failed to send butterflies to your stomach. Seems like these feelings were completely one-sided though.

A few more moments of silents later that are barely manageable and you decide to call it a day.

“I’m gonna go too. It’s getting pretty late. See ya.“

You force a smile on your face, a smile that you hope looks neutral and not like you’re trying to get the hell out of the apartment, but you’re caught off-guard when he blinks in an irritated way.

“Already? You know you can stay as long as you want. You can sleep on the couch if ya want to.“ He nods towards the luxurious couch in the living room, the one that feels like heaven whenever you slept on it, but now you just want to escape out of the suffocating atmosphere. Every second in his presence just makes the situation more tense.

“No, it’s fine. Really.“ You abruptly get on your feet and quickly take some of the empty glasses and bottles in your hands, not wanting to leave him to clean up the whole mess you three created.

„It’s fine, y/n. I can clean up later.“ Osamu’s voice behind your back is accompanied with the sound of rustling glasses and bottles, and you know that he probably took the remaining dishes with him.

“I can’t leave you with such a mess. I’m sure Atsumu will be too hungover to help you tomorrow, so I don’t mind giving you a hand right now.“ You quickly place the last few dirty glasses in the sink and hurry towards the front door.

You’re sure that Osamu can quickly get rid of the remaining mess, so you basically run towards the front door before he can confront you about your strange behavior.

“Y/n!“

“Hmm?“ You just managed to pull on your coat and turn around- only to find Osamu right in front of you. You take a step back in surprise, but he follows you, one big stride and your back is pressed against the front door, and Osamu is towering in front of you. Your bodies are not touching, there is still some space between the two of you, yet, his sudden approaching sends even more heat to your cheeks, that have probably been burning red ever since you started to drink.

“Ya don’t have to rush.“

His dialect is thick now, his voice somewhat quiet. His eyes are focused on yours, and you forget to breathe for a second- when he looks at you as intently as he does, studying every single of your reactions, and it feels like he casts a spell on you that makes your heart beat faster. He looks so insanely handsome in the dimmed light, his disheveled hair falling into his face, the black strands healthy and smooth after he had stopped dyeing his hair a few years ago. It makes you want to touch them, to brush the hair out of his face to see his eyes better, to bury your hands into his hair, to grab his broad shoulders and press your chest against his-

“I’m not rushing. It’s just late, you know.“ You force another polite smile on your face, a smile that doesn't feel convincing at all judging from his reaction.

“Okay.“ He hesitantly nods after studying your face for another second and takes a small step back, just enough for you to be able to open the door. When you take a step towards his direction though, he suddenly grabs your wrist and pulls you towards him, with enough force to have you stumbling the single step, but his free arm quickly wraps around your hip and keeps you from falling.

You’re too shocked to say something, you probably look like a fish out of the water with your mouth wide open and your widened eyes, yet he doesn’t release you nor lets go of you. You’re painfully aware of the small distance between the two of you- or rather: the non-existent distance, and you feel your heart racing in your chest with your body pressed against his. His hand around your wrist is warm, his grip tight, yet gentle- but your brain just fails completely at understanding what’s going on.

He leans down and suddenly releases your wrist to cup your chin, tilting your face until your eyes directly meet- and that’s when you forget how to breathe. Your body feels stiff and hot while you’re being pressed against him, and you subconsciously bring your hands to his chest to create some distance between the two of you, but he doesn’t even budge the slightest bit.

“Are ya upset? That I didn’t kiss ya?”

“What- what are you talking about?” You wiggle in his grip, but he doesn’t falter for a second. He brings his face closer to yours, so close that you can feel his breath on your lips when he’s talking again, his voice deeper this time, more attractive.

“What would you have done if I kissed ya? Tell me, y/n.” You pause with your movements, staying completely frozen and unable to move.

“I- I don’t know.” Your breath come shallow, you feel like there is not enough oxygen coming to your brain and leaving you in a hazy and hot state- and it’s hot, oh, so hot, the way his gaze flickers to your lips and then to your eyes again.

“Wanna find out then?”

Your fingers curl into his shirt, but you’re not pushing him away. You can barely focus when he comes even closer, so close that his lips are slightly touching yours, and you involuntarily close your eyes and lean forward, just a little bit to close the distance between the two of you.

His hand on your hip freezes for a second, now it’s his body that seems surprisingly stiff, now that you simply decided to kiss Osamu Miya- but he quickly regains composure and initiates a deeper kiss- still soft and delicate, his hand gingerly cupping your cheek and tilting your face to kiss you in a deeper angle. Your lips move against his, the addicting feeling of him kissing you so tenderly slowly creating a feeling of hunger in your body. Your heart rate goes through the roof for sure, but you don’t care. Not when he’s kissing you like that, when he is holding you like you would break if he just applied too much pressure. “Samu-“ you gasp when he pulls back to let you both breathe, his forehead resting against yours, and his hand now moving to your lower back to hold you steady.

“Y/n,” he whispers against your lips and takes a deep breath. You’re barely able to comprehend what’s going on, and you feel your body trembling in his hold, yet you still don’t move back.

Osamu Miya just kissed you, and it was great. So great that you want more kisses- more of him, that you’re growing greedy for more.

“Would you have kissed me back in front of Tsumu?”

“Can we please not talk about your twin brother now?” You huff at his words, not believing that he has the nerve to talk about that when you’re still in his arms, growing hotter every second- probably also due to the thick winter coat you’re still wearing.

“I need to take off the coat, Samu. Or leave- what do you want me to do now?”

You look directly in his eyes while you say the words, knowing fully well that your words carry a second meaning. Does he want you to stay? Did the kiss mean something to him? Or did he just want to proof something to himself?

“I’m fine with whatever you decide. You can leave, or you can stay. You can sleep on the couch, or sleep with me. I’m following your pace, y/n.”

“I-“ you’re caught off-guard at his words, barely able to realize that he let go of you and just stands there without touching you, patiently waiting for your answer.

“I want to stay.”

“Okay.” He nods with a small smile, quickly stepping closer and helping you out of the coat like a true gentleman.

“Thanks.” You smile back, excitement but also nervousness making you shiver, but Osamu is quickly by your side again after putting away your coat and takes your hand to lead you to the living room.

“Where do ya wanna sleep? I can get the couch ready in a minute if ya want to.”

“I… I want to sleep with you.” You feel the heat rushing to your cheeks, and you hope that you don’t look too flustered while you’re avoiding his gaze, but he squeezes your hand reassuringly and thankfully refrains from replying with a mocking comment.

“Your pace. Tell me when yer uncomfortable. I can always go and sleep on the couch.”

His words are reassuring, and that's what you admire about him. Osamu will always care about your feelings first- that’s just the way he is.

The way to his room is short, it only takes you both a few steps, but his hand holds yours softly until you reach his room.

“Here, I got a shirt for ya.” He hands you a dark, clean shirt from his drawer and nods towards the bathroom, signaling you that you can change there.

“Thank you.”

You quickly come back with his shirt on, a quite comfortable one thankfully, and decide that you will sleep with no pants- not daring to remove them already though. Osamu is already ready to sleep, sitting shirtless on the bed with the blanket covering his lower half, that you assume is only clothed in a pair of boxers. You probably shouldn‘t stare too much, but you can‘t stop your eyes from flickering down to his broad chest and to his strong arms, but he doesn’t seem to mind you eyeing him up.

He raises a brow though and smiles after scanning your figure for a few seconds, and his gaze heats up your cheeks once again. He suddenly nods and flicks a switch next to his bed, and the room immediately darkens. You can barely see his silhouette when you finally sit on the bed after quickly removing your pants.

“I’m just gonna lay here?” You ask, now slightly regretting not being able to see his face. An agreeing hum leaves him, and you quickly slip under the covers next to Osamu. You don‘t dare to move though, your body awkwardly laying on the edge of the bed.

It’s silent for a few moments, and you internally debate whether he has already fallen asleep, or if he’s laying just as stiff as you. His breathing pattern sounds relaxed, but you can’t help but to wish that you were closer to him. Would he mind if you just slipped a little closer?

You carefully inch your body closer to his, trying to cause as few movement and sounds on the bed as possible, but when you accidentally touch his bare arm, you can hear his breath stock. His hand suddenly comes up and grabs your upper arms and before you know what’s happening, you find yourself under him.

“Samu-“ you gasp, but your gasp gets interrupted when you feel his lips against yours. Not in the same way as before- there is nothing soft about it. It’s hungry and needy, his tongue flicking against your lip to urge you to open your mouth for him- which you gladly do with a low moan.

It just feels right. To lay in Osamu’s arms, to have his lips on yours, to feel his bodyweight on top of you- it all feels so intimate and good-

“I like ya. A lot.” He suddenly rasps between your kisses, his voice now thick and clouded with lust, and he kisses you again, deeper with more fever. You deepen the kiss as response, your hands slipping under his shirt and roam to his wide shoulders, feeling his bare skin, feeling how the muscles tense under your touch. You slightly scratch him with your nails- not enough to hurt him, but enough to leave a mark.

“Fuck, yer drivin’ me crazy.” He pulls back and groans against your neck at the sensation of your nails against his back, his hips suddenly bucking into yours, and you arch your back at the feeling of his hardened cock against your clothed pussy.

“Shit, Samu- do that again-“ you gasp, your head thrown back, and you moan his name again when he grinds against you a little harder, the friction sending a wave of pleasure through your body. Your legs wrap around his body, spreading you even more for him, and you’re pretty sure that he will be able to feel how wet you are for him even through both of your underwear, yet it only spurs him on further and he props himself up on his elbows and thrusts his hips in a slow rhythm.

“Feels really good, Samu,” you let one of your hands wander to his chest, feeling his muscles tense with every thrust he’s doing, feeling his heartbeat that is just as fast as yours.

“Imagine how good it would feel without clothes. When I- fuck- when I fuck you as hard and long as you want. Make ya nice and wet for me, make ya cum on my tongue, my fingers- and then- thenI would fuck ya with my cock.” You feel your cunt pulsing with every single of his words- fuck- why is Osamu Miya so good at dirty talk? Who would have thought that the ever so calm and collected Osamu would have such a dirty mouth?

“Please, Samu- want to feel you, want you to fuck me.” You whine, desperately rubbing yourself against him, and you hear him curse, you feel him throb in his boxers, but he just goes harder- not faster but harder, as if he wants to force the orgasm out of you by sheer friction against your sensitive clit.

“C’mon, y/n. Be a good girl and show me what ya look like when yer cummin’. Want ya to cum for me now, pretty girl-“ his lips are attached to your neck now, greedily sucking and biting the skin, leaving a few marks for sure- but you don’t care. Not when he’s got you so close to cumming, not when you feel like you could burst any second.

And you do.

A few more thrusts later, and you feel yourself cumming, the friction against your clothed clit enough to send you to heaven, and you grab his shoulders while you scream his name. Your body arches up, your muscles deliciously tensing and contracting, the heat now almost consuming you. So much that you barely realize that he kept on groaning your name and whispers of praises, of how pretty you look when you cum for him, how you’re such a good girl for him, how he wants you to keep cumming just for him- and you do.

You don’t know how much time has passed, when you suddenly realize that he’s cumming too- that his body tenses and he suddenly grabs your shoulders with his body weight almost crushing you, but you don’t mind it. You feel his cock twitching against your core, and a wet sensation and you swear he makes the hottest sounds you have ever heard when he’s groaning your name and moans against your skin.

Both of your chests are heaving heavily, and you barely realize that he rolls to his side and presses you against his chest to avoid crushing you completely. Not that you would have minded that. You wrap your shaky legs around him and push him closer, not caring about the fact that you’re both covered in sweat. His hands rest on your back, his right one rubbing circles on your back and softly caresses your skin under the shirt you’re still wearing, and you contently hum against his chest.

He easily manages to make you feel comfortable and worshiped, to show his affection to you with his little gestures.

“Ya wanna eat somethin’? I have your favorite onigiri in the fridge. Or do ya wanna take a shower? Or a bath?” His chest vibrates against your cheek while he’s talking, and you feel your heart swell with affection at his caring words.

“I’m too worn out for anything. How about breakfast in bed tomorrow and then a bath together?”

He presses a kiss to your temple, and you can basically feel his smile when he answers. “Sounds like a good plan. We also need to talk about “us“ when we get up.”

Your breath stocks for a second at his words, a sudden panic suddenly growing in your chest.

“So… that means there is a “us“ now?”

“I came in my underwear from dry humping ya. In case ya can’t tell, that makes us more than just friends.” You can’t see his face but you know that he’s rolling his eyes while he reassuringly rubs your back and still refuses to let you go.

“More than friends, hum?” You muse, while he keeps on rubbing circles on your back, and you know that he won't let you go tonight- or ever.

“Sounds good.”

[hcdragonwrites]

Cozy (a @jttw-monkeybusiness Drabble )

So I made another one- this one was inspired by this ask (I suck at Hyperlinks I’m so sorry)

It rolled a bit in my brain and kept begging to be fleshed out, so I decided to give it life ! Enjoy!

Snow

Snow fell in white flurries, chasing away the blossoms and birds that had been sitting in the trees just moments before. The storm was in a full frenzy now, peeling petals from overeager trees who had budded too soon, and throwing the birds from the sky. The wind whipped up the cold powder to spray back in the face of the pilgrims as they continued on their journey. They had left the warm subtropical forest only hours ago, where Sophie had rolled her sleeves up to relieve some of the excess heat. Now however, she was shivering.

None of the group, save for Wukong, was truly equipped for the snow and cold. Pigsys ears were turning purple from the temperature as he tried, and failed, to hide from the worst of it behind Sandy. Sandy silently continued on, carving a path for Sophie (who trailed farther behind) to walk through. The snow was already deep, coming to her knees as they continued to follow the tiny path up the mountain. Black rock jutted upward and outward like broken teeth into the white air. Horse and Monk both were struggling ahead, Yulongs sides shivering in the wet as the snow melted on his fur. Tripitaka called Wukong over, asking him to scout ahead to look for a place they could shelter for the duration of this storm. Sophie could see there heads bent together as Master and pupil discussed. Wukong, for once, didn’t reply with a snort or a quick jab at how Trip should be lucky for him to be his disciple. Instead he had somersaulted off, gone in a flash of fur and tiger stripes, into the air.

“Would be nice if I could just somersault out of here.” Sophie muttered.

A freak blizzard had not been on the list of things Sophie was ready for. She had faced shape-changing demons, women that turned to great tigers to devour Tripitaka, mountain gods throwing stones down into their path and the like. Sophie was prepared for any person or creature - or at least- expecting it. The weather however? She was severely underprepared for. She had the travel clothes she had bought with the coin purse she’d been given. They were meant for light rain and mild heat. Not for a snowstorm. Sophies hair was getting wet and the cold was starting to chill her ears from where it melted.

“It’s so cold…” she muttered. She kept following Sandys footpath, thankful for the giant of a river demon and his slow shuffling walk. If he was walking normally he would have left her far behind in the snow.

Her foot hit a rock and slipped, sending her flailing into a rapidly growing snowbank. “F-f-f-freezing! AH!” Snow had gone down her shirt, sending a chill up her spine. Faster than a wildcat she had hopped from the bank, shaking herself.

“Hate snow hate snow hate snow—“ she chanted her mantra as she slapped off the powder, trying to prevent it from melting and wetting her clothes. Wet clothes would only spell disaster. Sophie could recall all the cold born illnesses from one special National Geographic did on Everest and the extreme exposure the hikers faced there: pneumonia, Trench foot, frostbite, hypothermia, flu, Chilblains, bronchitis —

Her foot slipped again as her mind was listing all the things that could happen. Sophie would have been in the snowbank a second time except something caught her by the midriff and hauled her up.

“Stupid women stay on your feet!” Wukong snarled in her ear, setting her down. Sophie nodded, teeth chattering and nose turning red as the cold began to chap it. “Of all the people here I thought at least you had the common sense to be aware of ice!”

From up ahead came the faint cry and heavy fall as Pigsys fell face first in the snow. Sandy had to quickly turn to hid a chuckle as the drenched demon began wilding swinging his rake around in rage.

“S-s-sorry.” She mumbled, shoving her hands beneath her armpits. “Slipped.”

“What’s wrong with your speech? You sound like a squirrel.” Wukong cocked his head, an eyebrow raised. He rolled his eyes when Sophie didn’t banter back irritated she wasn’t snapping back at him. That agitation grew when he felt something like worry begin to itch his pelt. Of the pilgrims, the two mortals were in his charge of care and were the most delicate. While Wukong could fight off monsters and Demons and wicked minded mortals he could not fight a storm. Well- he could if he really wanted to find the celestial body responsible for its creation. But that would take time- and time was not on his side on this.

Tripitaka had put on a brave face when he had asked the Monkey King to find shelter. That didn’t mean Wukong had not noticed how his Masters hands had turned red at the growing cold, how his body shivered and his nose sniffed. Wukong would have teased, poked and prodded at his master- it was his nature to rile and cause mischief. But when he had seen the half awake expression on the mortal man’s face, Wukong had bit his tongue (with great effort) and had instead nodded.

Seeing Sophie in a similar state made the itch beneath his pelt grow worse as fire ants had begun to bite his skin.

“Damn it.” He cursed beneath his breath. He snatched her arm, avoiding her hand, and started dragging her behind him. “Come on just a bit farther you softie. I found a cave up ahead where we can get out of the worst of it. You mortals are ABSOLUTELY worthless when it comes to weather —“

Sophie was only half listening to Wukongs ranting. She allowed herself to be dragged up the mountain pass, trusting the Monkey King to find a better route than her own dimming senses. The cold was like a blanket she wanted to escape out of. Or escape into? She couldn’t remember clearly. If she closed her eyes… she was so tired. The snow looked inviting, comforting. Like the best downy comforter. Like the fluffiest pillow.

Maybe I just … need to lay … down in the comfort. Just close my eyes for a few minutes.

They had been walking for hours before the storm blew in. Her feet hurt, her hands shook and it was so cold. Cold. She just wanted to sleep.

“SOPHIE LOOK AT ME!” Wukong yanked her and she was rattled enough to open her eyes wider in surprise. Sun Wukong was right in her face, leaning so close she could see every line of his facial markings in detail. His breath came from between his teeth like some dragons as he glared.

“Ye-es?!”

“Stay awake- we're almost there. If you fall asleep while I’m dragging your ass up the mountain I will bite your pretty nose clean off!” The demonic monkey spat, then, half carried, half dragged Sophie the rest of the way. Leaning against his back Sophie sighed. Through the clothing she could feel it- like desert sand warmed by the sun. Delicious heat. Sophie - who wouldn’t in normal circumstances have cuddled so close- practically melted against the warmth. What else could she do? Wukong was dragging her up the mountain- practically carrying her. She could see the bend in the mountain pass- a steep cliff where the road cut itself around and hugged the mountain as a snake would do climbing along a vine. Almost there.

“How come you get to be so warm?” She grumbled, not realizing she had said it aloud. Wukong had heard however, and his face became a storm cloud as his heart took a shuddering beat.

“Maybe grow some fur or ask for the Buddha to make you some furry creature. Bet he would too.” Wukong grumbled back.

Stupid fucking women.

They reached the curve in the mountain where Pigsy and Sandy- mostly Sandy since the pig demon kept complaining about how cold his snout was- were setting up three tents. The tents were simple, the leather treated against wet weather and solid. All pigsy had to do was drive the stakes into the stone which, it seemed, he was failing at.

“It’s so damn cold!” Pigsy snorted angrily stamping his hands together, having missed the spike for the third time. “Blasted Heaven and whoever ordered a storm now of all times! Don’t they know who’s crossing these mountains?”

“Less talking more working.” Sandy angrily chided. He had finished setting up the second tent all on his own. When Pigsy went to open his mouth to make another comment and the usually peaceful Sandy shoved him across the shallow cave to the last tent and the one closest to the entrance.

As Wukong walked past, Pigsy lifted an eyebrow at the strange sight. The Monkey King could see the pig beginning to lift a lip in a smirk only to stop when he noticed Sophie’s shivering.

“What did you do?” Those were the last words Wukong expected to come out of his fellow brothers mouth.

“WHAT DID I DO?!” He bared his teeth, fangs on display. He didn’t have time for Pigsy or for his own feelings to confuse him. He knew Sophie was practically clinging to his back like the newborn monkeys did to their mothers back on Flower Fruit Mountain. He was very aware of it. The last thing he needed was for this thick pink idiot to start shit with him.

“I DIDNT DO SHIT YOU THICK HEADED BOAR.” He spat, continuing past. “THIS IDIOT STARTED FALLING ASLEEP IN THE FUCKING STORM. NOW SHUT UP AND GET THE OTHER TENT SET UP.”

Wukong left Pigsy behind, angrily chattering to himself and feeling embarrassed all the while. He couldn’t let that thick womanizing boar know any of Wukongs feelings. If he did, the damn brute would only press his nose to it and route deeper. The sooner he got Sophie off his back the better. Even though he didn’t entirely want that.

He reached the back corner of the cave, setting Sophie down. She huffed, letting go with some reluctance to his warm back. The Monkey King knelt, leaning in. Sophie’s shivering was less. Good.

“I’ll be back- I have to make sure the pink ham doesn’t fuck up the last tent. Once I’ve tended Yulong and seen to my masters comforts I’ll be back to check on you.”

Sophie pulled her knees to her chest. She was still so cold. She wanted nothing more then to curl up and sleep- to find something warm and hold onto it. She heard Wukong from far off - but she nodded.

“S-S-sure… just gonna fall .. asleep.”

“Don’t fall asleep you idiot.” He snapped.

“Why not?” Sophie groaned. She was tired

“Remember. You are in wet clothes. Wake up just to remember - Think. Use that reading brain of yours.” He flicked her between the eyes. That woke Sophie up enough as the pain cleared her head.

“Ow, what the hell Wukong?!” Sophie felt like she had come out of a daze. Her fingers started rubbing at the pain. It wasn’t terrible but … she felt like a child be scolded. Sophie glared up into the smug monkey face.

“Awake? Good. Now fucking listen before you nod off again.” Wukong smirked just a bit. The itching beneath his fur had eased just enough upon seeing her get mad. He spoke slowly, for her sake but also to press in how much he enjoyed giving her orders- and being right about them. “Your clothes are wet. You can’t sleep in them. Change to new ones. In fact, bundle up as much as you can. I’ll be back to check on you.”

Wukong stood up, then turned back around to flick her on the forehead again.

“Ow! I’m up, I'm up!” Sophie rubbed at the space between her brows.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes yes …” she uncurled herself and stood as well, looking down at the Monkey King. “Get out of wet clothes and get new ones. Bundle up. That really hurt you know.”

“If you are still in wet fucking clothes, I’ll do a lot worse then just smack you between the eyes.” And then he was away, already cussing Pigsy out who had, somehow, managed to rip the tent.

It was a only about twenty minutes later but Sophie had managed not to fall asleep. She had gotten into the tent and had peeled the worst of the wet clothes off. Her poor shoes were the worst for wear- the socks and the soles were soaked. She would have to wear her spare shoes tomorrow and let these ones dry. Sophie had set the wet clothes to the farthest side of the tent. She was now dressed in a pair of gray sweats, a long sleeve and her hoodie of bright orange with clementines decorating the front. She felt much warmer and absolutely exhausted. Her fingers were red where the cold had gotten them, her lips felt chapped from the dry air, and her body just kept shivering.

Sophie had retreated almost completely into the hoodie- only her face was viewable.

The tent flap lifted and Wukong stepped in, a bowl of some sort of wild berries and cold rice in one hand. He took one look at her huddled there on her sleeping mat and snorted.

“You look like some orange orangutan.”

“Hahah very funny. See how you like the cold when you don’t have fur.” She shot back. Wukong offered the bowl to her and she took it, digging into it with gusto.

“How’s Trip?” She asked between bites.

“Alive.” Wukong leaned back, putting his arms beneath his head as he stared up at the tent ceiling. “You two would have frozen if not for me- you were both starting to look pinker than yangmei fruit.”

“Thank you.” Sophie said.

“Mm? What are you thankful for ?”

Oh he was gonna ask her for all of it then? Sophie looked at him. Wukong had propped himself up enough to stare at her, waiting.

“Thank you for the food.” She lifted the now empty bowl- she had been famished - to him. “Thank you for finding a spot to rest. And … thanks for dragging me out of the snow.”

“You almost died I hope you know that.” He smirked, laying back down, eyes closing. She followed suit, too tired to sit up anymore or even bicker back with him.

“Yeah I did …” Sophie yawned. Usually she wouldn’t admit so readily to Wukong just how certain situations had made her dependent upon him. He was always, in some way or other, saving the lot of them. When Tripitaka was snatched up by some Goblins belonging to some chieftain of a nearby mountain, when Pigsy had boasted that they didn’t need Wukong and then (almost immediately) failed to find food when Wukong was sent away. He had stopped the dragon horse from foundering and taken to the care of his hooves and coat many a time. The Monkey King had seen to restoring the missing supplies from Sophie pack when a group of mischievous raccoon spirits had taken it. Wukong had even replaced Sandy’s teakettle when it was smashed in battle (Sophie was pretty sure he had stolen it).

He may act aloof and pompous but deep down, this big old brute cared for them. Even Pigsy.

Sophie felt her eyes grow heavy as Wukong kept talking about how she had stumbled in the snow like some “dumb struck fawn” until he came to help her.

As she relaxed to the sound of his voice rumbling on and on, it almost felt … cozy. Yes Wukong may like to slide the occasional wriggly salamander into her water skin, he may thumb through her things like they were his, he may call her idiot, stupid women, and softie. But. There was no real malice behind his actions.

He was also kind of … warm. She scooted closer, half listening to the Monkey ramble on about the idiocy of mortals and the greatness of beings such as him. He was rambling on about his natural prowess over mortals and how he had mastered the arts of immortality and Tripitaka couldn’t even master warding off a cold. Sophie fell asleep before he could get to the part about her looking like a slack jawed idiot in the snow.

Wukong was only a quarter way through his regaling of the story of how he had saved everyone this day when he felt hands wrap around his chest.

His heart nearly flew into his throat as he stopped dead in his speech. His mouth was open, voice cut off halfway through his speech. Sophie curled into his side, face buried in the crook of his neck and so close to his ear he could feel her breathing against its shell.

Electricity shot threw him, fur standing on end as if he had been in a thunderstorm.

He was suddenly very aware of many things. Of Sophie’s hands that had escaped that ridiculous orange sweatshirt and were now burrowed into his fur. One arm was across his chest. The second one was now, somehow beneath his head and tugging on his shoulder. Sophie’s face rested on his arm and in the curve of his neck, her face rubbing back and forth like a cat. As if … she was enjoying the feel of it.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Sophie moved just a bit, mumbling in his ear and Wukong felt his tail lash like it had just been bit. She didn’t say anything coherent but — the proximity alone—

Fucking Hell and all its Judges.

Sophie was … cuddling him.

She was practically twined around him.

And she smelled fantastic. Her scent always changed- sometimes it held a hint of lemons and the sweetness of grass, other times it floated like rain clouds and smelled of stones. But all of it together had a larger perfume beneath it. It was just her. Yes there were moments when her scent changed just enough that he felt like he was adding new spices onto his favorite dish. The essence of it, however, was just Sophie.

And now that cloud was all around him, filling his nose.

He looked at her, turning his head just a fraction to see.

Big mistake.

She was asleep, passed out completely. She looked so … fragile asleep. The dark circles beneath her eyes spoke of how she hadn’t been sleeping well. Her nose was stupidly pink like a Red Pika in her pale face. The cold must have chapped it. His eyes darted to her lips …

Mistake number two.

Wukong looked away, feeling his face flame. Fuck. Shit. He was stuck in a predicament now. He hadn’t meant to chat away about himself for so long that Sophie would fall asleep. Wukong was at war with himself. On one hand, he needed to get out of here. To leave before Pigsy and the others found out- before Sophie found out.

He couldn’t let anyone be that close to him- couldn’t let anyone be as close as Sophie was right now. It was a liability to his pride, to his reputation—

To his heart. Because if she rejected him it would ruin the friendship they had. And the feeling he had building in his chest- he would crush it in his fist before he let it jeopardize that peace between them.

I have to leave —

Wukong tried to move-

Only to feel Sophie’s fingers tug in his fur and her sleepy voice grumble “m’no don’t go.”

Jade Emperor flay me and boil me alive again.

In all the hundreds of years of living, Wukong had only felt trapped like this but once before. The first time he had lost his wager to the Buddha, having been unable to somersault out of his hand. The second time? He was trapped because he allowed it. He was trapped in a way no one in Heaven could have predicted- or had thought to do. Wukong had been placed in vats to be boiled, had wormed and tricked his way out of every trap and net that had attempted to keep his mischief managed. It had taken Buddha and his wager to finally end Wukongs terrorization of Heaven.

Wukong couldn’t move now. He was tethered here by frail fingers and the steady beat of a mortal's heart.

He could hear her heartbeat, feel it against his side. It was steady, soft. Like the steady roar of Water-Curtain Cave. Like the wind through the trees of the orchards on his mountain.

She was mortal. One day that steady beat would stop as all mortal hearts did.

That set his tail to lashing just a bit.

Hasn't she been afraid of dying? Of growing old? He remembered hearing a conversation late at night- when Tripataka and Sophie had those rare mortal conversations where he was explicitly not allowed to sit in on. He hadn’t known why it was such a secret conversation. So of course, since it wasn’t an order, Wukong had pulled a hair from his tail and made a doppel and floated somewhere nearby but out of sight to eavesdrop. The Monk and Reader had been chatting about death, about Sophie’s future.

Well her fears were unfounded. Doesn’t she know I would take care of her? Sophie shifted a bit closer as a gust of wind slipped beneath the tent flat he had left unsecured. Damn it all. Wukong carefully, o so carefully, shifted himself. He slid his body so he was now lying on his side, setting Sophie’s head beneath his chin. It was all the invitation Sophie needed to cuddle closer and escape from the wind.

“You stupid women.” He angrily whispered into her hair. He wouldn’t let her die. He would just fix that. He would fix a lot of her problems. She just had to tell him. He was Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven. He knew of a hundred different ways to achieve immortality. He could fix them all. Like her problem right now of being cold.

He was too tense to relax fully- too aware- but he grew just a fraction larger. His size now dwarfed Sophie’s a good bit and gave her a bit more to tangle into. And she did. Sophie curled her knees up, shivering slowing. Wukong waited. Watching. When finally the shivering had ceased he allowed just a fraction of tension to slide off of him. This stupid softie is gonna make me soft. The thought didn’t bother him as much as it would have months ago.

Maybe he wouldn’t get much sleep tonight but…

He could make her life Hell in the morning. It was something that she owed him on. His face was screwed furiously into a scowl because all he wanted to do was enjoy this moment but if he did- if he really truly did- he didn’t know if he would be able to stop.

She was most assuredly going to be bombarded tomorrow with the most annoying and snappish teasing and toying a King of Monkeys and tricks could give.

Sophie woke with a start as something cold and wet slapped her in the face. She panicked as any person would.

“GaH! DEMON!” She cried, grabbing at her face and throwing it aside. It was a wet rag.

“Relax.” Wukongs voice laughed at her. “Unless cloth can become possessed and has gained a hunger for red nosed mortal flesh, you're fine.”

He was at the tent flap, grinning ear to ear in a grin that promised problems. Really so early in the morning and he already wants to play games ?

“You could have woken me up in a number of other ways- why did you pick that?” Sophie rubbed at her face, feeling … huh. She didn’t feel as sore as she usually felt. When Sophie woke up there was almost a constant crick of pain in her neck from whatever odd angle she had slept in on the ground.

Maybe I had been so tired my body just finally didn’t care.

He shrugged. “You stink. Next place we stop at you better demand a bath of some sort or other.”

“Thanks….” She grumbled, letting the sarcasm drip off her words. She took the cloth up, rubbing the sleep out of her face and the worst of the dirt off her face and arms. She would kill for a warm bath, one that would wake up her bones and chase the last of the cold from her body. Once clean, she checked her wet clothes, bundling them away in a separate part of her pack to avoid them dampening the rest of her stuff. Then she stepped out of the tent, smelling the fire and the promise of breakfast being made.

Only for her feet to slip right from beneath her as a monkey foot stuck out and caught her ankle.

“WUKONG!”

He laughed, face full of malicious mischief as Sophie gathered herself up to chase after the errant Monkey. To do what, she didn’t know. He was a mystical demonic creature born of stone and she just a mortal women. As the morning light cut into the cave and Tripitaka had to order his disciple to calm down after he once again tripped her and she almost went sprawling into rocks, the pilgrims ate breakfast. They broke down their tents. And they were once again on the road.

None were the wiser of Wukongs happier mood. He hid it beneath a storm of frowns and a game of teasing torture as he became partically insufferable to Sophie. The threat of the hoop tightening spell was the only true damper to his mood when Tripataka heard Sophie scream as snow was dropped down the back of her shirt.

As the sun rose higher and the word was cast in a frosty flash of refracted gold, Wukong made a decision. He would solve Sophie problem of growing old. It was easy. And if Buddha couldn’t send her back…

Well she was a great sport for pestering and heckling. The least he could do as a benevolent King is give the poor women a roof over her head.

Maybe a few dresses down the line...

Girls liked dresses right?

“Hey Reader!” He called.

“What?”

“Dresses or suits ? What did you wear in that fake time long after this one ? Or whatever fake dimension you fell out of. What did you prefer ?”

And thus began the long hour debate that somehow pulled every one of them: Pigsy, Sandy and Tripitaka, into what was a heated discussion on the best attire for the best occasions.

[starrycassi]

Ambrosius's (indirect) champion.

Find part one here

"It's oficial. You've gone crazy"

Ambrosius, who feels thrilled with his idea, scoffs. In a quick move, he drags Ballister down to the bed, pulling him by the wrists, making the boy's head fall directly in his own chest. Had this been practice, he knows he probably would've gotten a punch to the ribs in retaliation. But they are in private, they are just teens, and Ballister allows his boyfriend to drag him down.

"Don't call me that, babe" Ambrosius whines, while Ballister tries to regain some of his dignity by lifting himself up with his arms to establish some sort of distance. "I'll cry"

"Ambrosius, this is not funny" finally managing to get on his hand and knees, Ballister stares down at his boyfriend, frowning. "This is incredibly concerning and serious"

Ambrosius pouts for a second, and giggles to himself after giving Ballister a quick kiss on the lips. He is scared, oh, so scared. He wants to cry and run and scream and punch and the best alternative he has right now is to be pretend to be charming with his boyfriend, but every good thing must come to an end, and he has to face reality.

They sit down, again, in the bed, face to face. Ambrosius's sudden burst of energy leaves as fast it came, leaving him with a dull sense of... confusion. Nothingness.

"You haven't heard my plan" he tries to grin at his boyfriend, hoping that his eyebags aren't nearly as big as he feels them be. "Come on. Let me tell you, and then you can say no"

They look at each other for some seconds, and Ballister gives in, the second Ambrosius brings out his best card on the whole deck: tears.

Crying on command is a pretty useful skill to have, Ambrosius's come to find out. He doesn't go all the way out with it, no this time, but he knows his eyes are watery and his nose is red. Ballister looks away, groaning.

"Fine!" He resigns, throwing his hands up to the heavens. "But if your plan is "something, something, we win" again, I'm out. I'm so out. You're going to have to ask Todd for help"

Ambrosius gasps, offended at the barbarity his boyfriend just said. How dares he? The old "fuck it, we ball" plan has never let them down, but this isn't the moment to bask in the glory of all of their past accomplishments.

"Okay, so..." he starts, taking in a big breath of air. This is going to be long, and troublesome. Sometimes he's sorry for Ballister, who has to learn all of this things as they go, unlike him, who's been memorizing the rules ever since he learned to read. "The duels, right. Not all noble families train their kids to be knigths. Not all knights are heirs, either. If you have an older sibling or just aren't the favor, then you're probably not a heir. Follow me?"

Ballister, who loves learning about new stuff, even if it's nobility rubbish, nods along, "Follow you"

"I am the sole heir of the family, so I have obligations. You already know this. One of those is to keep up alliances and all that stuff"

Nodding again, Ballister chuckles a bit. Of course he knows. He's been there to witness every single event that's happened ever since Ambrosius finally turned old enough to go to balls and shit as an actual member of the upper society, or whatever it is they call themselves.

"We have many allies made by old marriages, debts, whatever. If one of them asks something of me, then it usually really just falls on me to say no. Unless they put up conditions"

Ambrosius licks his lips, grabbing his boyfriend's hands and looking at him straight in the eyes. How wonderful they are, Ballister's eyes.

"Now is when it gets kinda hard, so bear with me. Mom's been saying no to everyone who wants to form an alliance by marriage. Don't make that face, Bal. It's not really a lovely affair as much as it is legal papers, for a lot of people. But if all of my allies get along and decide to put conditions on me, then we're obligated to answer"

"That's so, so bullshit"

"It really is. Specially because, since we have so many allies, they usually never get along for long enough to actually make and write a demand, but I guess I'm just that hot and everyone wants to bed me. Too bad I'm already in love with what my allies would probably qualify as a disgraceful street rat"

Ballister blushes, playfully shoving Ambrosius on the chest.

"They would get a heart attack, don't you think? If they knew about me and you"

"They would get a heart attack if they knew I'm gay. They would get a heart attack if they knew I'm a tube baby because my mom loathes my dad. They would get a heart attack if they knew I eat chocolate cake sometimes. Don't feel special" shrugging, Ambrosius continues, "So, they are threatening to call off a lot of agreements and stuff if I don't answer their demands, which, like, mature much? Not my fault all of their heirs look like horror creatures.

So, Mom, being Mom, decided to have me answer with a tournament, because apparently she believes I'm Hercules or something. I would traditionally have to fight with every single person who asked for my hand in a stupid sword duel and bla bla bla, but that would take forever, Bal. So, they came to an agreement. People fight each other, and whoever wins, figths with me"

"That sounds... extremely complicated" cringing a bit at the lengths people would go for a chance to figth with his boyfriend, Ballister grimaces. Bunch of weirdos.

"I'm not some easy harlot, Ballister. You offend me. Of course trying to marry me is complicated. But, wait, now's where it gets interesting"

"Now? Just now? This whole thing is nuts"

Ignoring him, Ambrosius takes two pillows and places one if front of the other. "There are people who can fight me and expect to win" he says, pointing to one of them. "And people who can't but want the marriage"

"So, a lot of families don't have knights. A lot of knigths aren't heirs. Even if a family has a heir that would marry me, they could just be a scholar or something. All knights are nobles..."

"Except me, clearly"

"Yeah, well. Most knigths are nobles, but a bunch of nobles aren't knigths. Like the Queen and such."

"And this is important because...?"

"Because families are going to choose champions, now. Wich means, they can just find a random good figther who's willing to commit to life to me and make them fight. Mom tried to make it so only noble heirs could enter, but they said no. You only have to represent a noble family, and there can only be one fighter per family. Wich means, you can simply sign up and beat everyone up!"

He throws his hands up in the air, a pinched smile on his face.

"You forget a very small but important detail, Amber" Ballister sighs, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands. "I'm neither noble nor a heir, and no family is going to choose me as a champion. You might actually need help from Todd on this one"

Ambrosius suddenly comes to a stop, blinking.

"I would sooner kill myself than marry Todd Disgusting Sureblade. Never. Nuh-uh. Not even if we were the last two men left in the planet. You know how some girls swear they can switch gays guys to the other team? I'm throughly convinced that Todd actually has the power to do so. Leave me alone with him in a room and I come out both a killer and ready to settle down with a woman. Hell, we'll have kids, even. Don't ever joke about that, Ballister. I'm going to have nightmares, tonight"

Cackling, Ballister pretends to apologize, while his boyfriend rambles about how horrifying it would be, to be around Todd every day of his life, and how death would be mercy if anyone ever was to ever be on that situation.

Ambrosius finally stops, clearing his throat to stop Ballister from dying of asphyxiation, "With that settled, I would like to point out that my family can't choose you because I have to represent the Goldenloins. Not because I don't want. But there's still someone, Bal. Someone who's childless, a noble, and probably would love to help us out in this"

Ambrosius's next words convince Ballister of the fact that, yes, Captain Gloria surely drank too much whiskey while she was pregnant, because there's something deeply wrong with this man's brain.

"We're going to ask formal help from the Queen. And we're going to do it right now"

He should've stayed at that orphanage. Things would've been easier.

˗ˋ ♡  ˊ˗

Ballister fixes his shirt, and then does so again. Next to him, Ambrosius is doing a pretty good job at pretending to be calm, but his lips are going to start bleeding in any second if he keeps munching on them like that, and his hands shake ever so slightly.

"If the speech doesn't work out" he whispers to Ballister, while they walk down the marble corridors of the palace, "then you put on your best puppy eyes. Pout and all. I'm bringing out the waterworks. Ugly crying, if needed. Gloreth, I'll fake-faint if it comes to that"

Ballister's pretty sure that the speech they wrote and tried to memorize on the two hours it took to get here (asking for permissions at the institute, getting into a carriage, arriving at the palace, getting the secretary to make them the next meeting using Ambrosius's status) isn't nearly good enough to convince the Queen to get involved in this mess, so he tries to remember the saddest moments in his life. There's a lot. He definitely feels ready to cry and beg.

They reach the Queen's office (because, apparently, queen's do have offices) and are welcomed by two palace guards that open up the wood doors for them to come in.

The place is wonderful. Not rich-people wonderful, it's soul-crushing, life-changing beautiful, instead. Everything is so white and golden and blue and shiny and ethereal.

In the middle of it, the Queen is seated, smiling softly at them. They both kneel down, knigth training and actual admiration manifesting in the gesture.

"Gentlemen" she greets, placing her joined hands on her desk, and they stand up straight, standing still, waiting for orders, her orders, always ready to obey to her, "you may sit down"

They do so.

Ballister's bones are trying to crawl out of his skin, and his whole face itches with nerves.

"Thank you, for receiving us in such short notice, Your Majesty" says Ambrosius, voice full with feeling. He's better at the whole "being social" thing.

"It is refreshing to see young faces on the palace grounds every once in a while" she responds, in that weird way formal people talk when they're trying to say something without saying it. "And I am honored to have two of my best cadets in here today. I have to ask, though, as to what situation do I owe the pleasure of such a distinguished visit? Specially a dual one"

"The honor is all ours" adds Ballister, who doesn't want to feel useless in the conversation, even if he feels incredibly out of place in the dances the nobility follows when they talk, when they breath, when they live.

"We come here with a plead," explains Ambrosius, and he suddenly looks older. Serious, worried, solemn. His voice is deep, calm, "One that would benefit both of us, and for which we require your help."

The Queen hums softly, slightly rising an eyebrow. "What sort of plea my I aid you both in?"

"I don't want to get married" blurts out Ambrosius, straight to the point. Ballister asked him, on the carriage, to be honest with this. He knows how... creative the Goldenloins can get when they want something, and he feels like the Queen deserves the truth. Even if it's a slightly dramatized version of it. Plus, being bold will surely add to the element of surprise.

"Excuse me?" The Queen looks clearly put off at the words, loosing her elegant demeanor for a second, "Come again?"

Seeing her eyebrows frown and her vocabulary change so abruptly, Ambrosius clears his throat, hiding a smile. Their plan seems to be going well.

"I don't want to get married" he repeats, enunciating every word, "And I'm being forced to engage in an obligated tournament for those purposes, Your Majesty"

He gives her a second to understand the words, to take the information in. In those seconds, Ambrosius remembers that one time he thought Ballister hated him, back when they were twelve, and tries to pour all the sadness he felt on his voice.

"Of course, I presume Your Majesty is aware of how vicious and outdated some traditions are" quickly, he glances down at Ballister, who's also putting on his best kicked lost helpless puppy performance, "but I am still subjected to them, as a heir."

The Queen is the Queen, but even her can't change the rules that noble families uphold each other to. That's not what they want, anyway. She nods, looking worried. Bingo.

"That's why I want to help him" cutting in, Ballister stammers a bit, like Ambrosius instructed him to; for extra empathy points, he said, "We've come up with a plan. It's not perfect, but..."

"... it's the best we can do" Ambrosius finishes, following his cue.

Now, they both stare at her, identical sad smiles plastered on their faces. If Ambrosius is as good with people as he claims to be, then they already have her heart in the bag. They just need to get her brain on it.

"And how can I help?" She asks, and both knigths know they've kit the jackpot in the instant her voice comes out. She sounds so much like a preocuppied mother. Ballister feels slightly guilty, slightly wishful. "How may I aid you both, on this quest?"

"We need someone to sign me in" Puppy eyes. Puppy eyes. Think sad thoughts. "No one else but you can do it, Your Majesty. I am a commoner, and the families despise me"

They're not even lying. Most nobles do despise Ballister. They're just... putting some heart onto the delivery of the news.

"He's my last resource" Ambrosius is about to cry. Teary eyes, red cheeks, trembling words. Such an actor. "My mommy can't do it because she's my own family, and I am so scared, Your Majesty. Marriage is the least of my concerns..."

He leans in to her, even if it's only the three of them in the room.

"Just... just, you know, thinking about what someone with control over me could ask for, gives me chills," and, to spice some politics in, he whispers to her, "there's so many things my mom would give over for me. Money, land, jews... Gloreth, even alliances, or debts. There's a lot of power tied into the family, and if I'm allowed to be honest, I fear for what would happen if all that rested in the hand of someone evil. Some villain. Some monster.

It's a well known secret that the Goldenloins could match the royal family in influence, in power. They're probably a bit over them, if one were to actually measure the impact they have on the people, on the kingdom. Ambrosius couldn't care less about this knowledge, but the Queen should be able to recognize a threat when it's in front of her.

She blinks once, twice. Ballister makes a show of giving Ambrosius a handkerchief for his tears, and he takes it with an apology for his horrible demeanor.

"I see why you've come to me," she finally speaks up, eyes fixed on them, "and I am glad that you did. This is an urgent matter. I am deeply troubled to see you in this state, Goldenloin"

Ambrosius mutters a quick thank you, still "too emotional" to talk.

"And I am glad to learn that the bond between my star knights is as strong as the walls that protect this kingdom. You both are what keep my people safe, after all"

Ballister's never been so proud to be compared to a wall as he is right now. It's wonderful.

"To show you my gratitude for your hard work, I will agree. Ballister, you can fight in representation of the noble house of Elpis, as my champion. Any armor or other supplies needed will be provided, too"

Thank Gloreth and every single saint ever for Ambrosius's manipulative ass. He's so in love with this dramatic wreck of a man. Thank Gloreth and every single saint ever for Queen Valentin's tendency to go against tradition. He's so grateful to have been born under her regency.

They both thank her, deeply, multiple times, bowing their heads. Ambrosius even sheds some more tears and wipes them off with urgency.

Then, the Queen stands up, and they follow suit, ready to leave with their victory. Before they can go, however, she shoots them a question, one that they didn't come prepared for

"You both are aware, I pressume, of how the nature of your... bond, could affect this tournament?"

Stop. Pause. What did she say? Whatdidshesay?

They look at each other, completely out of track. This time, she is the one with the upper hand. And they're so fucked. Seeing as how their silence continues, she speaks, again

"Your romance" she clarifies, and Ambrosius's choke on his own saliva isn't fake. Ballister goes so red his face burns, and, out of instinct, he hits his boyfriend on the back to try and stop his death. He hits a little too hard, but it works.

"Excuse us?" Screeches Ambrosius, high pitched, "Our what?"

"You must be confused" says Ballister at the same time, feeling like a very dumb caged animal. They didn't plan this. He's got no idea what to do next. "Ambrosius and I don't-"

"We would never-"

"We couldn't even be together! I'm just some commoner and he is..."

"Don't talk about yourself like that"

"Amber, this is not the moment to-"

"I won't let you be mean to yourself in front of the Queen"

The woman in front of them chuckles, amazed at their idiocy. They both blush even more, if that's possible. They suck at this whole "pretending to be single" thing.

"You're adorable" she coos, and Ambrosius is ready to change his name and move towns, "You remind me so much of Derek and me, back when we were young"

She brings up dead husband, as if this isn't weird enough already.

"Surely, you know that if people take notice of this, and Ballister does end up winning — like I have faith he will — they could argue that the tournament has been rigged by the Goldenloins"

They look at each other, bewildered. They never even considered that possibility. The Queen chuckles some more.

"I trust you would come up with a way to deal with that problem, Mister Goldenloin. Your mother's always had her way with schemes and theatrical dramas, and I am fairly sure that I just witnessed one of your plans in action, didn't I? Was any of what you said true, cadets?"

Of course. Of course. Of curse that, The Actual Queen, who's probably been working alongside Captain Gloria her whole life, would notice. Perhaps they didn't plan this as neatly as they could've. But they had less than a day to come up with the whole thing, so.

"I really, really don't wanna get married or have to obey to someone" argues Ambrosius, pouting. "Specially to some older weirdo"

"And I really, really don't want him to marry or have to obey to someone" agrees Ballister, apologetic. "Specially some older weirdo"

After considering them for some seconds, she nods again, agreeing to keep her word. Seeing no point on subtlety, they hug each other quickly, to celebrate.

"We're going to give back every penny you spend on Bal in this whole thing, swear to Gloreth" promises Ambrosius, one hand drapped along his boyfriend's back, "when he wins, I'm throwing a party, and you are so invited", quickly, he adds, "uh, Your Majesty, ma'am"

She lets them go after discussing some minor details, and they beam all the way out of the palace.

"I told you my plan would work" Ambrosius puffs out his chest like a proud peacock once they're on the carriage back to the institute, texting Gloreth knows who on his phone, "We're irresistible"

"She only agreed because you asked her. No one says no to a Goldenloin, Amber"

Ballister stretches, already tired. This whole thing has been draining. He's so ready to go back to the institute and join classes again. If this carriages hurries up, they might get there in time for sword training before lunch, his favorite part of the day.

"Talking 'bout Goldenloins..." trails off Ambrosius, playful smile painted on his lips, playing with the phone on his hands, "what you say we go talk to my mom now?"

"Absolutely no way-"

"Too bad" he interrupts him, placing his hand over Ballister's lips, "already told her we're on our way. She asked to chefs to prepare us something tasty"

Fuck this kid and his lack of self control.

[lover-of-mine]

Inspired by when the hardest part is over by throughfire on AO3

The hallway light catches on the sharp lines of Buck’s features, now, highlighting half of his face and making the unshed tears along his lash lines shine. He has curled a hand – seemingly reflexively – around Eddie’s wrist as though to stop him, and now they’re caught in the doorway as though they’re framed by it, painting the scene of a breathless, halted aftermath that neither of them knows how to navigate. A mess to be hung in a museum somewhere for other people to analyze to pieces.

The slightly shorter one is in love, they’ll say. The taller one has no idea.