#whelp this got long

[helicrazy]

💭

Send a ‘💭’ to learn what my muse thinks of yours.

(( Omg where to start.

He loves him in the 'two copter bros chilling in each other's personal spaces because they are completely fine with it' way. Vortex enjoys his quirky/ unpredictable behavior and how he's totally fine/ not bothered by his sadistic ways. He'll never back down on an offer to go out with Blaze whether it's an adventure off planet to the unknown or a simple date in the city. It's a thrill he looks forward to every time.

Very rarely will he lay down his life for someone outside of the Combaticons or do pretty much anything for them, but Blaze has made his way onto the list.

Tex is impressed by his growth and development, considering their first-time meeting xD. This also goes for the frisky side of him. He believes Blaze gets upgrades to distract him/ keep his servos busy more often because it definitely works.

He truly wants him to open up more, although without the bond he's lost on how to approach besides poking the bear. He's been through shit too, man you are not alone. Let him help. He's here for you. He always has a place in his spark for you.

But he also knows that Blaze is used to handling things on his own/ being alone/ having his own ideals, and he can understand that.

[methoughtsphantom]

DP x DC

not me thinking about imaginary scenarios of ten year old Tim Drake in the ghost zone (pariah’s castle)

where Tim thinks it’s strangely soothing that despite being the only one whose steps connect to the ground, there’s not that eerie silence that befell drake manor

strange blob creatures chitter softly and nip at his hair and swooshes and wisps of wind betray the presence of an invisible ghost

which after following he realizes it’s almost like he’s trailing after the black dark shadow that is batman again

which gives him the idea that, maybe, just this one time, he can play the part of robin

that in mind Tim makes out a game of sneaking to the side of ghosts that look like they’re brooding and if they can spot him he loses

most just grunt in response (very in character) while others fuss over him and ask questions which Tim uses to infodump

he also politely asks the ghost that always asks him how he’s doing to instead say the word “report”

(the ghost looks at him weirdly but humors him and besides the answer would be the same anyways)

Tim also(!!)

gets on the case of why the walls lack tangibility when he is the one leaning on them (he doesn’t live down the time he wanted to look cool only to fall through the wall)

hyperfixates on how gravity works in the ghost zone because he couldn’t do a skateboard trick he has pulled off many many times and he’s salty about it

tries to figure out where they are getting human food from (cause it’s hot enough to be homemade but also there’s no kitchen —so how could it be) (also he wants coffee)

finds out the dude that often gives him a side eye when he finds that Tim knows how to do something (math homework), is next in line for the throne and yet doesn’t have a single “mingle and talk people up” bone in his body. (despite it his networking is a solid 7/10)

gets a ghost horse to adopt him what

discovers pretty quickly that there are rooms to which he can’t phase through (a.k.a. he’s not allowed entry) to which he begrudgingly backs off even though that stands in his way of doing a very thorough layout™ of the place (robin would)

sulks over the lack of extreme sports in the place

(Danny takes him to the Far Frozen where they go tire sliding in the snow and where tim learns how to use a skateboard skate and also that ghost ice cream is just as good as normal ice cream)

sulks again cuz he caught a common cold

also because there’s no sun or moon poor Timmy’s already screwed sleep schedule gets more messed up to the point no one knows when or where he will fall asleep

(ghosts find him in the most unhinged of places with a signature purple cloak draped over him every. single. time.)

overall, be a menace

see-> the time he threatened to build ghost weapons he’d somehow memorized the blueprints of cause Danny wouldn’t let him visit the radium girls factory but yes the renaissance period

see-> that time he went through the whole ghost energy and how to work with it book section in the library and half an hour later had a prototype of a star wars laser beam made

(note: bribing only works for hot chocolate, not for letting him keep cool-looking guns)

just tim having the time of his life

clockwork being no help at all (the ghost loves being a cryptid)

and danny trying not to get attached while he progressively gets more concerned over this chaos child he emotionally adopted as his little brother

(to fit canon cause i want it to this would just be until Danny finds the dimension little Timmy is from, then they can safely yeet the child back to the moment he first went missing)

anyways before anyone knows it’s been three months

[rinshairandthoughts]

Just threw some color on this because I could.

[willczek-art]

TFTBL Rhysie sticker! or a button! or just a doodle!!

[softquietsteadylove]

I would love to read more about Thenamesh and Dane. They are invited to Sersis birthday and they go to a bar or club. And Thena is tense all the time because she worries Mahd Wy'ry will crash the party.

xoxo

"Happy Birthday Sersi!"

Sersi made a very good show of looking surprised and delighted as some of their friends came out with a cake and candles for her. According to her, she always avoided giving people a solid birthday for her, so that no one could ever accuse her of lying (and not aging). But she had been in London long enough now that it was more suspicious to not have any birthday whatsoever.

Dane clapped politely as Sersi blew out the candles, letting the other party goers cheer and jostle her around. Everyone was a few pints in by this point, if not well on their way to being pissed.

He leaned back from the line for cake. Cake and beer really wasn't that delicious a combination. And he was - not so officially - keeping his eye on another guest to the party.

Thena had been quiet all night.

Sersi had asked him hastily and quietly to just keep somewhat of an eye on her sister for the night. Thena had agreed to come solely so Sersi and Gilgamesh wouldn't feel the need to stay home and watch her. But Sersi knew Thena would be far from comfortable in a packed little pub, pounding music, a dance floor, and nothing but loud humans to drown it all out.

She seemed to be doing okay, but Dane knew better than to assume anything by this point. And despite his initial impression, Sersi insisted that Thena liked him, so...

Dane excused himself, shimmying past people with his pint glass in hand. No one paid him much mind, much more focused on his partner--the woman of the hour. He set his glass on a tray with other dirty glasses and leaned against the edge of the counter. "Want some cake?"

She shook her head.

"I'm sure Sersi would be happy to save you a piece," Dane carried on. He found that the best way to get Thena talking was to do plenty of the preamble himself. Then, she could insert her one or two words as she pleased. "Or perhaps it doesn't stack up against what Gilgamesh makes."

He was maybe using all his best moves too early.

But Thena smiled faintly at the mention of her husband, "he did offer to make one but it seems more customary to partake in whatever someone has bought."

"I suppose, yeah," Dane nodded, still watching as Sersi did her best to cut small pieces and get them to everyone around her. She met his eyes, inclining her head in such a way to indicate that he was making the right move, according to her.

"Should you not be up there with her?"

"Ah, well," he tucked the corners of his smile into his cheeks and tapped his hands against the counter. "Just...need another pint. What about you?"

"I can see and hear her just fine from here."

She was even more tense in here than she had been on the tube.

Dane clasped his hands together on the countertop. He looked over at her, "you're doing well, for what it's worth. I know you're worried about that."

Thena didn't even move, locked up so tightly it seemed that moving her eyes over to him took effort. "If I go under for a second, I could-"

"No, no," he shook his head, discouraging the sentiment before she could speak it aloud. "None of that, now."

Thena looked at him more fully now, even if it was to express her annoyance at his dismissal. "You choose now to become abundantly confident?"

Dane put a hand on his hip. "While you seem determined to worry and think only of the negative possibilities. Have I rubbed off on you?"

She continued to glare at him.

"Is that why you're over here, sequestering yourself?" Dane looked from her over to Sersi and the party again. "Protecting them, as it were?"

"Indeed I am," she asserted more poignantly, just to shut him up.

"Come on," he insisted, though. He would have to be careful about just how far he could push the literal Goddess of War. But he leaned on the counter again, "I'm not saying you have to dance, but mingling a little wouldn't kill you, would it?"

"It is not my death that concerns me."

"You seem fine right now," Dane pointed out, and watched Thena absorb that observation from someone else's perspective. "You haven't slipped, there's no gold in your skin. I think you're okay, Thena."

"Hm." Dane was by no means an expert of communication with Thena. There were a lot of nuances and subtleties to it. But that 'hm' almost sounded...unsure. It sounded vulnerable and delicate.

"Look," he said more gently, even pulling out the seat next to her, "I know it took a lot for you to come here. That doesn't escape me, and you know it means the world to Sersi."

They both looked over again, Sersi almost glowing from sharing in the human energy in the room.

"She wants you to get out more, enjoy the world as it is now," Dane expressed on behalf of his girlfriend. She had told him all of this before, particularly from a place of guilt over not having seen Thena in so very long before reuniting last year.

"That is much more easily said than done, Dane."

"I know," he nodded, and it was true, it was. "But you're doing great so far. Why not - I dunno - run with that, a little?"

Thena looked at him with a smile furrow in her brow. She didn't always excel with modern figures of speech.

Dane chuckled, which only seemed to annoy her further. "How about this?--just a dance. Not all of these songs are going to be loud bops, and when a gentler song comes on, you can get on your feet, just for a little."

"Hm." That sounded much better than the last one!

"You and--where is Gil?"

"Hey!" he announced himself, rushing over to them with his coat on but not buttoned up despite the cold London air (just for show). "I had to go grab something."

Dane happily got up, surrendering the space next to the Warrior Eternal to the man who would truly know exactly what she needed and how to help.

Gilgamesh pulled out a tiny cake--an individual little mousse, of sorts. "There's a little convenience store around the corner and they had these in the case with the samosas and stuff."

Thena brightened considerably at the sight of a dessert which wouldn't require her to brush elbows with the rest of the party. "It is Sersi's celebration."

Gilgamesh didn't listen, pulling her head in to kiss her temple. "She can celebrate all she wants."

Dane skittered a little closer to the empty tray of glassware again. It was actually topnotch move, and he would have to remember that for the next time Sersi seemed down about something (or he was in trouble for something).

"Another, pal?"

"Please," he smiled at the barkeep. He eyed the couple as Thena dug into the single serving mousse, offering Gilgamesh the first bite from her fork.

"Hey, it's not bad!"

"You could make better," she declared without any room for argument, even as she took a bite of the light and fluffy chocolate with a sigh.

"How're you doing?" Dane heard Gilgamesh asked her much more quietly. His hand ran down her back. "I was a little worried about leaving you, but Sersi said Dane would keep you company."

He blushed faintly, unsure of how to feel about being the designated company keeper for his very lethal sister-in-law.

Thena smiled, though, her hand on Gilgamesh's knee, "he is a fine man. I greatly appreciate that Sersi has him."

Dane jaw nearly dropped as he tried to sip his beer and pretend he wasn't listening. She had never said anything like that to him! Probably never would, too.

"Good," Gil sufficed to say, kissing her cheek again. "So, no flares?"

She shook her head, apparently feeling much more confident in it than a minute ago. Perhaps the little dessert really did that much to improve her mood. "We should dance."

Dane nearly choked on his beer, averting his eyes as he did.

Gilgamesh was definitely surprised by it too, but it didn't take much for him to agree to dance with his own partner, "don't mind if I do."

As Dane had promised, the club mix faded and a much more gentle melody replaced it. He had requested a few 'crowd bummers' himself, as it were, just to ensure that Thena had at least some relief from the pounding dance music.

He smiled into his beer as, on their way past, a hand gave the sleeve of his shirt a faint pinch. She didn't excel in expressing herself with words, but he had to assume it was a way of saying thank you.

[maladaptivedaydreamsx]

i stayed up til like 9am the night before just to binge read clavis' route for the lucky time (had like 100 unused chapter tickets bc im always behind as hell-) anyway uuhh so i decided to say fuck the order for once and skipped sariel's to go straight into rio's route bc ive waited like 2yrs for this and i am lwjsidehiejdd ALL up in my rio feels all over again rn. i can safely say that much.. he's always been one of my faves and i love how sweet and badass he is and so far his route has just been phenomenal imo🤩

[pagetorn]

nsfw prompts that don’t sound like a bad porno @hopeslastchxnce 29. for sex on a table/counter/desk

He can't get Charles out of his head. Time and time again, Clark shows up just to get a moment to see him and be in his presence. He thinks about their kiss, about their... activities right there in the dining room. The thought alone causes him to stall, buffering for a moment before continuing on with the chores he's assigned for himself to help out. He waits patiently for Charles to bring it up, to make some sort of mention, but there's silence that adds to the building tension surrounding them.

Frustration settles in his chest. Are they going to pretend it didn't happen? Just like their first kiss? How long will Charles keep him at arms length? He said he wanted it... Did he really mean that or was it just the heat of the moment?

Finishing his work, Clark approaches Charles; a man on a mission. He doesn't give the telepath a moment to say a word, one hand hooking around the back of his neck and pulling him in to a bruising kiss. No more holding back. No more pretending. Clark wants him and a part of him knows Charles wants him too.

"This is wrong..." he feels those words against his lips and Clark inwardly groans. Yet, Charles' mouth still molds against his and he brings his hand up to cup the telepath's cheek. ❝ Does it feel wrong? ❞ he nearly moans against the other, pulling him as close as possible. Thumb smooths against his cheek while the other hand grabs hold of his hip, a tightness growing in his pants. Only when he feels Charles acquiesce and allow himself to feel does Clark lead him backwards until he traps the other up against the wall, a building intensity in each kiss.

He can't seem to get enough of him. Fingers slip along the seam of his pants, dipping just under the fabric of his shirt to splay appendages against his abdomen. His skin feels so soft to the touch, it draws out a low groan at the contact and increases the voracity of his kisses. Tongue begs for entry, hooking against the top of his teeth before Clark bites his bottom lip, dragging back and running his lips along the other's jaw and down his neck. Both of their hands drop now, clawing at each other, fingers deftly unbuttoning trousers. His mind is empty save for all thoughts of Charles; wanting Charles, touching Charles, luring those sweet whimpers and whines from Charles. Charles, Charles, Charles.

❝ I want to fuck you... ❞ The words fall from his lips like a prayer, whispered against heated skin. He can't stop himself, can't keep himself away. Not when the other responds to him in such a way that their bodies almost belong together. It's Charles' response to his statement that eventually has Clark nearly feral, arms hooking around his thighs and lifting the telepath up like he weighs nothing. Moving in tandem, he carries him to the desk, letting one hand shove everything off the surface to rest him gently down only to curl around the hem of Charles' pants and pull them down over his shins until he slips one leg out of them and lets them hang around the ankle of the other.

Clark presses himself against him once more, a swell in his boxers and straining against the fabric creating a friction on what he feels is a similar situation with Charles. With one thrust, he rubs himself against the other, a guttural groan escaping as he presses more forceful kisses along his neck. ❝ I need you... ❞ Desperation now ruling his actions, he pulls back only to get confirmation, get the consent he needs to move forward. In no way will Clark continue if Charles tells him to stop. But the word never comes. In fact, he sees eyes heavy lidded with a lust matching his own and the softest of nods with a gentle caress of a voice in his head he's grown familiar to having.

He nearly scrambles to slide off their boxers, marveling at the sight before him as index and middle finger slide into his mouth to wet them before they slip between Charles' legs and with the softest of warnings, slides a digit inside him. Cock throbs against his restraints when he feels him clench around him, an ache growing in his belly as he tries to soothe the impatience burning him from the inside. The sounds coming from his mouth only fuel Clark, slowly stretching him little by little until a second finger is added. Despite his desire raging inside him, his focus remains on Charles' pleasure. He watches those parted lips, his flushed face, the way he sounds each time he drives his fingers just a little deeper, spreading them just a little wider. Taking his time, he preps, cares, curls his fingers inward, anything to make the other whine and whimper and squirm with need. Oh how he needs this.

Finally, Clark removes his own boxers, springing to attention and a sigh of relief escaping at the released pressure. He frees the hand that kept hold of Charles and kept him in place, coating his hand and running over his length before removing his fingers and lining the tip at his entrance. One hand hooks around his leg, propping it up upon his shoulder as lips kiss along the inside of his knee and shin.

❝ Are you sure..? ❞ Always checking in on his needs, constantly asking, Clark needs to know he wants this, that he isn't forced to do anything he doesn't want. Only with those sweet words of confirmation does Clark finally sink into him.

The sound that comes from his throat is deep, primal, a sound Charles has yet to hear from him. It consumes him, this feeling, as he slips deeper and deeper until his entirety now rests inside the telepath. Forehead presses against the inside of his leg, teeth nipping at his skin as he takes a moment for adjustment. He is not his fingers after all. And once he's sure both of them are ready, does he begin to move.

Slow and steady, eyes fluttering shut and lips parting, Clark thrusts into him. One hand curls tight around his shin while the other now presses down against the wood of the desk beside Charles' side. He can't focus on what the other is doing with his hands, only sensation he feels is the clenching around his cock and how desperate he wants to drive deep into him. He needs to be cautious of his strength, careful that this man, while a mutant, is still of flesh and bone and susceptible to his power. Clark can never fully let go of all his restraint.

Removing his hand from the desk, he doesn't notice the impression he leaves behind, focusing on wrapping those fingers firmly but gently around Charles' cock. Thrusts quicken as the pad of his thumb rubs over the leaking tip before running down along the base and timing his strokes with rolling hips. His aim is simple. Overwhelm Charles until he's bursting from within, give him what he needs, get him to completely succumb to the pleasure he provides. Clark wants to devour him, claim him, make him want nothing more than him and only him.

Soft moans and begging whines, Clark listens to the telepath's body. He knows what he likes by the sounds he makes and the way his body reacts. Stroking faster, thrusting slow and deliberate, drawing it out until he hears exactly what he wants to hear; the building desire nearing the precipice. He can feel the twitching in his hand, the way Charles tenses around him. Fingers that hold his leg now reaches to hook around the back of the other's neck and pull him as close as possible. He wants to look him in the eyes as he cums.

It happens then, a moment of clarity flashing in his eyes before sweet sweet release overcomes his partner, a grin spreading across Clark's face as he watches, all the while still driving into him over and over. Grip remains on his cock, feeling every aftershock. In the end, he's surprised with how quickly he ends up following after Charles, electricity pulsing through his entire body as he gives one final thrust before his hold slips off and hands find purchase on the desk at either side of him. Hips twitch as he takes each wave in stride until finally, and slowly, he pulls out with a groan.

Clark can't help but slowly sink down atop him after letting his leg off his shoulder. He doesn't care about the mess between them. They can shower later. Fingers reach up to tenderly brush brown locks out of his face, cups his cheeks and plants the softest of kisses against the other's lips. It's been too long since Clark allowed himself to feel anything.

❝ I'm glad... this was with you... ❞

[pleasetakethis]

WoW-free for a year and a half

...and the first urge to resub was last night, rewatching the Onyxia Wipe animation.

I’m good. I don’t have time to play, I have other goals I want to accomplish, but it was nice to miss the game.

I’m sure I’ll revisit eventually, just not now. I expected WotLK Classic to snag me. If I can resist reliving that experience (pre-launch+the expansion), I can ignore anything--including the random urge to log in after watching my favorite random internet videos.

[nvrcmplt]

@bclasaeg //. ♥

Violence was never his go to, a place of rage and anger was never a good thing for a beast like himself with an instinct to destroy things that could harm him. He knew how to control himself, a moral that most dragons have, but at times in pure duress it is easier to hate, easier to let his tongues wretch his bellowed rage and blow cities high with lightening and fire. To watch a thousand of mortals perish into ash and corpses under his feet. He knew the scent of blood and fear, the running sounds of feet through stone pathways but it was never something he could handle. It was a rough time, remembering every soul he could stare upon as he burnt them to nothingness. Dreams of plenty of brutality were common, after all - his family before himself and his brother's birth - lived without contact for thousands of years only to be near decimated in a few after colliding with the new age.

It was a generational fear that turned that wariness into fight.

And it was no different, he worried about those lesser than himself already - when he watched Ueda ease from his cave walls towards a town that was not just something of interest to them both but also a place of rumours. He heard the birds witness rape and murder, the sound of violence in taverns, and the fear of kidnapping. It was not a place that boosted safety in the dragon's mind. Watching from the helm, he stared until he could no longer see and with a heavy heart but a promise to not interfere until called for by a promise of using a rune upon his flesh. Did the wyvern settle himself in for a nap.

Long it was to find peace within but he was soon deep within his rest, until a burning sensation rattled his lungs. Choking almost awake - his tail flare crashing through a pillar of stone as his wings fluttered, and his talon clawed him to standing. A yelped hiss was vomited up from his lungs and his fears --- chilled him to the core. The rune was burning into his own chest, the scale magma orange - throbbing with a ripple of green and yellow flame. Urgent, urgently, did his human call for him…

He didn't think twice about taking on his human form as suggested before - he didn't really realize he was still in the form of his self until he crashed against the cave's opening with his shoulders, tearing through rock with his bulk instead of it tearing through him. A screech from the pain, but honestly, it was more shock to him than his ache of bruised scales. No, he cared not for that as his neck stretched and his legs pushed him through until rocks were thrown, and the pathway left to rumble as the mountain edge turned to a rockslide in his wake.

Through ashen clouds and free-falling boulders, did this beast launch itself into the sky. Extending wings and powering through airspace and cloud with ease to devour the length of the miles long walk his human took to reach that place. A shadow in the daylight - was all but deafening even on its chaotic approach. Where his jowls twist and grimace, where his fangs glisten with jewels dropping from his built-up saliva --- with wings flapping once, twice and thrive, he broke the clouds with ease, twisting his crown to stare with wide hues. Looking for human, his Ueda, his herbalist.

Twisting with ease, his bulk startled thousands, the town walls barely high enough to stop him if he were to climb it from the earth itself. His body now, though, practically rendered it useless as he flew over the fucking thing. His throat stretched, a glow in the cold skies - and his voice called with naught but a worried tone. A warble of threat for Ueda to reply - to give a sign, to give him guidance as his heart hammered in his own ears and wing tips. The tail curved with his body as he panned out, twisting in the wind currents - banking hard to stare at the human towers sideways - taking in the shambles of man in iron and leather.

No Ueda.

Nothing --- but he couldn't search like this, limited view - and slow with head turning to get the best of his sights. No, he had to see more - and thus with a powerful stretch of his wings - did his taloned feet raise and airborne he became. Lowering with a hurricane under each as he settled upon the western stretch of brick and iron. His crown arched high and his wings lowered to allow clawed joints to rest with crumbling rock beneath. A rumble of his chest vibrated and with a calming breath - did his snout stretch --- though this time, now vertically. Horizontally - he parted at the nose, splitting apart like a torn open fruit. The fleshy membrane between two parts of his skull tore with blood splatter, but also healed at the moment it was free. All the way did it tear apart - more blood, more gore - more and more until it reached his chest…

Two instead of one, the jowls of the twin-headed beast was suddenly screamed on the tongues of the weak and understanding. Luit's tongues curved and his lungs expelled skin clots to finally screech, much higher in tone but all the more demanding in his beloved human's call. By the time, the humans below had gathered their wits and orders to protect their walls, the Wyvern was pushing from brick to take to the skies yet again. Banking in a hard circle, twisting multiple-heads with multiple gazes to take it in all in. Screeching with warbling calls from large lungs, low enough to rattle buildings with his passing but high enough to remain out of high tower reach.

[ Ueda! ] [ My human… where are you?! ] [ Do not make me raze these lands to ash for they have harmed you! ]

Screeching with rage, did his body suddenly shudder - the scale of rune once more burning and his heads twisted sudden and with a powerful push of his wings - tearing apart a barn and unsuspecting stone wall. He with ease twisted towards the southern gates - his muzzle rippling with promise and flames licking the maw on one head as the other sparked with thunderous patience running out. Only then - only then did he witness his Ueda - with two crowns twisting to capture his face in the brutal arms of five men and a cart.

With metal and blood in the air, did the Wyvern's ire settle with ease… Though warning, heavy in his bulk as Luit's frame twisted and turned, angling and lowering itself to the opening provided by their smartness to allow Ueda to the place - though Luit was sure it was more to do so with the hopes of escaping. Well, that wouldn't be possible after all - Luit's foot lowered with little remorse, crushing the wagon and it's horses under his weight with a twin-bellowed roar towards those that dare hold his Ueda.

Flames spew with warning, splashing upon stone and igniting with sticky magma, whilst the lightening breath sparked along walls and left ash in its wake. Two crowns snap forward, snagging daring club-wielder within frontal teeth, searing the body in half to toss aside, another head struck out upon arrow wielder - using the mere brute force of its snout to crush them against a wall. Retreating before harm, they towered the rest of them - hissing with true intent, wings quivering as clawed hands rest upon risen wall and metal gate before crushing those through with yet another screeched demand.

Only when, those that pissed themselves release his Ueda, did the beast seem less hostile, instead - urgent upon reaching out and snagging the adult by his cloak. Carrying him high and onto Luit's own back - the secondary head remaining forward, spitting warnings and hissing at those that breathed themselves lucky. A nudge of his snout to Ueda's side and arm - apologetic for the appearance such as this one, but for what he witnessed he cared not. With legs pushing them straighter, the drake roared out with a vomit of saliva, jewels as high as the horse's corpse left behind with it and in turn - payment for his mess.

Wings tear apart and body pushes - he takes off. Higher and higher, above the castle wall, with his prize and adoration safely upon his back. Though the cave would be a good place to return too --- Luit did not aim for it. Instead, with nostrils flaring with smoke to ease his worry - he took a left and began flying east. These lands were not safe for them any more.

[ … I broke the promise. ]

[ Are you hurt, Ueda? Do you require healing? ]

[kleinstar]

summerfes infoooo

Honestly you can take Eiden anywhere! You might also find him helping out setting stuff like stalls or cleaning up at places AND also hes just very likely to help out random people and so on! Youre more likely to meet him in his SUMMER OUTFIT in most of these activities

These are just pointers what he might be doing absolutely not limited on these alone but also like damn this is a long list!!! so i just left some stuff out even if he would want to go there lmao nothing is really off limits

Android Hell: dance with Eiden or sit by to drink with him, there's also the potential option of your muse really not wanting to be there so Eiden can help them out of there. Craft Punk: He's there to watch mecha cool. Haunting of The Spiral House: Alone he's bound to be a lot more a little bit scared but with someone wayyy less so! Ophiuscus Tree: He'd definitely want to take a look fom here! Candlelight for the lost: Not dead but Eiden makes paper crafts for everyone in Klein and sends them off! Star-den Teaparty: Cute beautiful party is tons of fun right? Novel Idea: do you want to hear weidly embellished versions of Eiden's experiences in Klein, he won't admit its about him but it's very apparent from his reaction Summer Cleaning Rituals: Sure thing sounds fun, Eiden's happy to help! Spirale Firewalks Show: yes he's happy to be here! Neverending Extravaganza: loves parties! Rotation Station: HELL YEAH speed dating, Eiden's pretty eager to try it out! Too Pool: Also yes. Under the Table: Eiden will brag that he can win anyone over, does fare decently but once drunk he's a pain in the ass. Sky full of stars: Eiden drawing stuff for himself or do a sketch for your muse so whatever they want can be fireworksified A portrait to remember: Pictures from Klein maybe even a portrait of Rin aka the evil hot topic twin of Eiden's that he himself doesnt remember! Or he can see stuff from your muse 's life! Virtual Comforts: Maybe you can visit Aster's mansion or the Water Territory City, Wood Territory etc.... Dinner in the Dragoncourt: Food good. The Bun-der Dome: ofc he'd part take this so you can def see him with the bunears in any activity Hot spring in your step: Eiden needs a break too, relaxation for sure if nothing else hehe Luminescent nights: New homeward activity! He'll def pop by here!

[rinriniisthekatch]

This was not in Dick's plans today. Seriously, it was his one day off and all he wanted to do was bug the shit out of Jay and relax in the comfort of his own home before heading to the manor and practically beg for Alf's good food.

All Dick got was being kidnapped with another person and Riddler's goons. No blindfolds, hands cuffed and tied with a rope. Wow, they really didn't want them to escape today. It's time to just wait for his brothers... maybe B, too.

"So, is Fashion Disaster #3 gonna do something with us, or are we just sitting here to look like two pretty birds?" Dick didn't recognize the voice, but he did snort.

"Quiet." One of the goons demanded as he hit the other guy in the face with the gun.

"You know, you told me to talk once, and now you're telling me to shut up? How does that work? Cause I can totally make an echo." Oh god, this civilian is taunting the goons. Sir, we are still tied, and they can kill us.

Is he... he is! He's humming, Baby Shark! OK Dick, don't laugh. Don't laugh. Hold it in. You can do it. Fuck. No, he can't. Dick took a deep breath as he attempted to regulate his breathing to not laugh at all. Cause, oh my god, this guy is making him want to laugh!

"So... how's it going? Besides being tied up like a domninatrix waiting for us to loosen up." Dick looked at the other guy. He was cute and fucking hilarious. Warm ice blue eyes and shaggy crow black hair.

"Oh, you know hanging out. Trying not to die from laughter. Could be worse." Dick grinned.

"See! That's what I'm saying...! People need to loosen up around here. How do you feel like breaking out?" The smirk on the other man's face screamed menace.

This is the type of person who Dick watches out for while being a cop. The other guy gave him a look. He had said that aloud. Whelp. Too late now.

"Bro. My record is clean-ish. But like sometimes my family is all kind of crazies. Mad scientists types. Genetics, y'know?" Dick still didn't know this man's name.

Dick cackled, "You're a scientist?"

The other man smiled widely, "Engineer for WE actually." Dick noticed the man's hands were free now. The cuffs and rope weren't cut, but he somehow got out anyway.

"Oh, really? How long have you been working at WE?"

"Hey! I said, be quiet! Now, shut up and stop talking!"

The smaller man huffed, proceeded to grab the goon by the gun, flip him forward, and then kicked him in the face, knocking him out.

Dick blinked, "How..? Wha-"

"Like I asked, do you wanna break out? I'll forgive you for being a cop and a date?"

Yeah... "You know what, why not?"

[asumofwords]

Unsought Betrothal - Part 2 - Part One Here

Dark!Aemond x Reader Velaryon x Cregan Stark

Summary: After attempting to humilate your betrothed by laying with Lord Cregan Stark the night before your wedding in the hopes that Aemond would call the wedding off, you find that not only is he determined to still wed you, but also to punish you for your indiscretions. Part One Here

Pairings: Dark!Aemond x Reader, Cregan x Reader, Cregan x Aemond

Warnings: Arranged marriage, threats of violence, acts of violence, forced voyeurism, dubcon, elements of noncon, naked reader, clothed men, fingering, finger fucking, pussy slapping, p in v sex, creampie, pussy eating, cum eating, degradation, praise, voyeur.

Word Count: 13k oops... sorry

Notes: Wow, whelp, its been a while since I have posted some of my writing, and even longer since I wrote the first part of this abomination, but when you get the urge, you just gotta scratch it. Thank you all for all your beautiful messages of kindness as usual, I'm sorry I've been gone a while. I have had a bit of a rough time this year but hopes for a brighter future! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this, and I hope I can write again very soon for you, hehe ;) Enjoy! <3

The wedding came just as it was planned. Just as it was arranged. Sleep had evaded you, anger and confusion clouding your mind with memories of the night before, ache still throbbing between your thighs. Your little attempt at stopping the engagement had no affect on your betrothed. No affect on the uncle you had grown up with. On the man you would now call husband. 

You had thought that if you could humiliate Aemond in court by flirting with Lord Cregan Stark that he would call off the engagement. That the embarrassment would be too much for the pious prince. That the shame would turn him away from you, making him demand to his mother that they call off the engagement. 

You had thought that maybe if you lost your maidenhead to the Northerner, Aemond would be so disgusted, so filled with rage, that he would call the engagement off, what with him being a dedicated follower of the Seven. 

But you were wrong.

And so you spent an evening limping back into the Keep, escorted by none other than the One-eyed Prince himself and Ser Crispin. The front of your bodice had been ripped by Aemond's hands, but thankfully your hooded cloak covered up your sullied gown, the bottom of it dirtied with mud from where Aemond had bent you over in the alleyway and taken you roughly. With each step you took, you felt his seed slide down your legs, sticking to your inner thighs tackily. 

When you got to your chambers, you used the small basin at your dressing table filled with water to wipe and wash away the blood and seed from your body, pain and a lingering dull ache causing you to jerk with each swipe. 

You didn’t get much sleep that evening, staring blankly up at the ceiling. The urge to run was strong, to just leave out into the night through one of the secret passages and onto your dragons back, but the urge to stay was stronger. You hated him, truly hated him, but the way he had treated you that night, the fire in his eye, it lit something inside of you. It almost made you want him. 

Need him. 

Yet, there was another urge to stay, to make his life hell. To humiliate him at every turn, to ensure that he knew that forcing the engagement to continue would ensure him a life long marriage of discontent and disharmony. 

You were not going to bend to his will. You were not going to bend to his needs, to bow at the husband, and say ‘yes’, and ‘thank you’, and ‘please’. You were going to be who you have always been. 

A Valaryian. 

Your eyes stayed open, watching as the ceiling eventually became light with the sun, indicating the break of dawn, and soon enough your maids were entering your chambers to get you ready to be wed. You were thankful that none of them asked questions about the dirtied ripped gown, or the bloodied rag in the basin, though you knew they were likely already aware. 

The doors to your chambers opened as they pulled your hair back, pinning it atop your head in masses of braids with gold pins, tips glowing red with circular rubies. The colour of your mothers house dripping from you. Footsteps moved through your chambers, your head lifting to find Rhaenyra coming towards you, wearing a dress of black. Her silver hair half up, half down, small braids weaving around the back of her head beautifully. 

A soft smile pulled on her lips as she came towards you, causing you to turn in your seat to fully face her. She looked sad and also lovingly devoted all at once. And whilst you knew it was not her greatest wish to marry you off to her half-brother, you also both knew that it was the only way to prevent bloodshed.

“My sweet.” Rhaenyra cooed, a slender hand coming to brush against your cheek dotingly, the scar on her arm from Alicent peeking beneath the cuff of her dress.

Blood already shed.

“Muña.” You smiled back, pulling her hand down into your lap.

Your mother leant forward and placed a kiss atop your head, “You look so beautiful, my love.”

“Thank you, mother.”

“Are you ready?” Her tone was gentle, as though she didn’t wish to startle you. As though she didn’t want to break the bubble that was the safety of your chambers. 

The last time in your chambers as an unwed woman.

You gave her a reassuring smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes, and she could see it, “I must be.”

The small smile she had worn slid away, “This is not what I had intended for you. I did not wish to force you as I had been. I wish-“

“-I know.” You squeezed her hand, “I understand. It is my duty as your daughter to be wed to the Hightower’s to prevent bloodshed and war. To ensure your ascension to the throne. Let me perform my duty for you.”

“You know that we love you.” Rhaenyra squeezed your hand back, “Daemon has almost gone mad with rage. He does not wish to see you be wed to him. Luc feels that it is his fault.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from either of them.” You stood, still clutching her hand.

Her violet eyes roamed down your body. 

The dress you wore was similar to the one she had worn for her wedding to Laenor, white with gold and licks of red in the lining. The dress sat below your collarbones and drooped against your shoulders, pearlescent beads sewn onto the short sleeves like dragon scales with a red silk peaking underneath.

“I wish this could be different for you.” She came to your side, placing a white cloak atop your shoulders, the Velaryon House sigil embroidered on the back, readying you to leave your chambers.

You looped your arm in hers, steeling a breath before you gave her a confident smile, “I don’t.”

-

Your heart rattled in your chest as you tried to stop the anxiety that churned nauseatingly in your stomach. Your hand was clenched tightly against Daemons arm, who slowly walked you down the many tables filled with people towards the man who would soon be your husband. 

“Breathe.” Daemon cooed softly in your ear, his hand attempting to soothe you with soft brushes against yours. 

Your eyes had not once left Aemond, who watched you with a dark glare. 

The second son stood before the table, Viserys slumped behind him in his chair, the barest of smiles on his rotted face, half covered by a golden mask as you came towards them all. Your mother and Alicent sat on either sides of the King, followed by your brothers, your uncles, your cousins, and your aunt.

Aemond stood stiffly as he always did, the perfect posture with his shoulders back. He was higher on the stairs so that he looked down his nose at you, which wasn’t different to any other time he did. Each step towards him was nerve-wracking, the Lords and Ladies who had travelled far and wide watching you with keen eyes.

When finally you were standing before him, Daemon let go, coming to stand between you and Aemond momentarily, breaking your eye contact for the first time since you entered the room. Your uncle Daemon’s face was a kind one, and one you had grown to love as a step-father. He did not offer you a reassuring smile like your mother did, nor did he offer a consoling one. Instead, he leant forward to press a kiss to the side of your face before standing straight, towering over the both of you in both height and size before he moved back towards the table, sitting beside your mother. 

And so the ceremony began. 

In the light of the chambers Aemond looked sinister, shadows cast across his sharp face as he continued to look down his nose at you, chin still raised high. The Prince’s hair was styled in the way that it always was; straight and down his back, with two plain pieces pulled away from the sides of his face, tied neatly behind his head. He wore all black, the lining and undershirt the deepest of greens that was almost onyx. A symbol of his mother and her war that she had declared on a night such like this, many years ago. 

The room felt hot, the back of your neck sweating as you stared at each other, all eyes pinned on you as the Septon’s voice boomed throughout the room.

“Father, Mother, Warrior,” The old mans voice was so loud in your ear that you winced,  “Smith, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. Hear now their vows.”

You swallowed thickly, momentarily looking down at your hands before back into his sole lilac one, watching as his posture straightened further, surprised that he could even do so.

“I am yours, and you are mine.” Aemond’s voice dipped lower, “Whatever may come.”

Your throat felt dry, but your gut was filled with anticipation. You were frightened, but there was something else simmering beneath it all. A need for the danger he brought, a feeling of protection from him. Not from him and his anger, but from others.

A possessive desire.

The Septon looked at you impatiently to say your vows, and a small wave of quiet whispers spread across the room as you stood silently. The Prince shifted on his feet, muscles in his jaw clenching.

“I am yours,” You breathed softly, hands gripping each other tightly in front of your dress, “And you’re mine. Whatever may come.”

The purple of Aemond’s eye was half hidden by his lid, his gaze having softened at your short vow. You watched as the corner of his sharp lips twitched upwards lightly into a small smirk.

The Septon continued, “Here in the presence of Gods and Men, I proclaim Aemond of House Targaryen and Y/n of House Velaryon to be man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Man and Wife.

Wed to Aemond Targaryen. 

Your husband.

Now and forever.

An eruption of congratulatory joy spread throughout the room, the noise almost deafening as everyone celebrated what could be your demise. And though the noise around you was distracting, you could not look away from him, even as he shifted closer.

Aemond’s hand lifted and you flinched, the only people having noticed was your family seated behind you. His hand continued despite your shock to cup the side of your face and jaw, and as quickly as it happened, it ended. Aemond’s face grew closer as his eye slid shut, pressing his lips tenderly to yours in a brief moment before he pulled away, hand dropping back down to his side. The hand that had cupped your face grasped your hand for all to see, before he led you around to your seat at the table. 

-

The night of celebrations became a blur, too in shock to really enjoy yourself, but wine still flowing heavily. Most of your evening you spent ignoring your new husband, opting to speak mostly to your mother and brothers, as well as Daemon and his daughters, who threw you pitying smiles, yet words of encouragement. 

Aemond sat by your side, though he made no effort to join your conversations or create ones of his own. He had always been the quiet of his siblings, always sticking to the shadows and tomes of the library, never quite fitting in. 

Helaena leant forward towards you, Otto eyeing her warily whilst Alicent looked as though she was about to chastise her daughter. In your aunts hand was a beetle, all black, though when the light of the candles shone on his shell, it seemed to glow. Greens and blues, and purples and pinks, danced across the beetles wings as it crawled atop her hand. 

Your aunt had always loved insects, and had always been a sweet and kind person. You loved Helaena, and if there was anything that could help you endure living in the Red Keep alone without your family, it would be her. 

“He appears dark,” She breathed watching as it crawled through a gap in her fingers and back towards her palm, “But if you look closely, you’ll find that he’s not.”

You shuffled in your seat, your shoulder pressed to hers as you ducked your head to look closer at the beetle, “He’s quite beautiful.”

Healaena lifted her face towards you, as she smiled at you dreamily, “He is, if you let him.”

Frowning, you looked back to the beetle, “How do I let a beetle be a beetle?”

Helaena did not answer you, instead continuing to twist and turn her hand as the bug crawled around on it. 

Aegon watched from above the rim of his cup, drunk with red rimmed eyes. His hair was oily and wavy, unbrushed atop his round face. You could not help but feel a shiver crawl over you as he smiled.

“Our sweet niece and brother are finally married.” Aegon purred, Helaena barely giving him a second glance as though over the years she had attuned herself into pretending that he did not exist.

“A joyous occasion, uncle.” You smiled falsely back, picking up your own goblet of wine, ready to go back to talking with Helaena. Or the beetle.

Anything to escape Aegon.

“Do you know what happens tonight? After the celebrations of course.” Your uncles voice creeped along the surface of the table like a snake, so that only you and his siblings could hear. 

You swallowed thickly. 

Of course you did. 

You had done it last night.

Bar a bed. Or walls.

In fact, it wasn’t even in the Keep, and instead in a dirty alley in Flea Bottom, hidden amongst the shadows.

“I’m aware.” Your voice was clipped, which seemed to goad Aegon.

“And how does our sweet little niece know of such things?”

You swallowed thickly, head turning to look at Aemond, whose eye was trained on his brother.

“My Septa.” You tuned back to face him, “And your whoring.”

Aegon chuckled, filling up his goblet with wine once more, “I suppose then you know what to expect.”

“Yes.”

“Should you ever be in want of a demonstration-"

“-Leave her be.” Came Aemond’s voice, almost a growl. His hand was clutched tightly around his own goblet as he challenged his older brother to say something more. 

Aegon laughed loudly, eyes on his brothers clenched hand before looking up to watch him, “I only jest, brother! It is a night of celebrations!” He thrust his goblet towards the One-Eyed Prince, “It’s not everyday that my little brother is married off to such a beautiful princess. The daughter of the Realm’s Delight, no less. Do you think-“

Helaena shifted, turning her body towards you, “It isn’t so bad.” She spoke emotionlessly into your ear to distract you from Aegon, “It only hurts the first few times.” Your aunt paused in thought, lavender eyes still on the beetle as it moved, before looking at you, “Or when he’s angry. Or drunk.” She added as an afterthought, “But mostly when he’s drunk.”

Sorrow coursed through you for your aunt, your gaze immediately staring into Aegon’s angrily. How could he do this to her? How could he treat her like one of his whores? If not because she is his wife, but because she is his sister. Aegon seemed to sink into his chair after Helaena’s comment, soft anger simmering off of him in small waves.

But Aegon has never truly known when to stop.

“I am sure my brother here will barely draw blood.” 

“I am sure your interest in your brothers cock speaks loudly.”

Elbows sloppily placed on the table he leant towards you, “I tried to take him once you know, to a whorehouse.” His voice became more hushed, “He hated it. Made me think that maybe our dear Aemond was perhaps like your father, Laenor.”

Blinding rage shot through you, “Don’t speak about my father.” You hissed, “He was more man than you shall ever be.”

A cruel smirk pulled at Aegon’s lips, “I am sure he has had more men than I ever shall.”

Your hand shot forward to grasp your goblet, ready to hurl it across the table at him, peace be damned, but Aemond was quicker and snatched your wrist before the tips of your fingers could even reach the cup. 

A quiet fell over your table as all watched the interaction, your wrist in Aemond’s hand, Aegon smirking cruelly at you, and your face hot with anger.

“I pity you.” You quietly seethed, “Always so desperate to get a reaction out of the people around you, because if you didn’t you would simply cease to exist. Though you are the first son of Viserys, a peasant bastard from Flea Bottom would garner more respect.” 

Aegon’s gassed darkened, his mouth readying to fire back at you.

“Aemond.” Alicent called to her son, a questioning and yet chastising tone in her voice. 

Aemond looked at his mother, and then back to you, checking to see if you were going to continue on with your thought. But you had grown tired of the grip he had on you, his large hand squeezing your bones painfully as they shifted beneath the skin. 

“Don’t touch me.” You sneered at him, snatching your hand away as you stood, chair scraping loudly against the flagstones.

The throne room quietened, all stilling to watch as you stood at the table, seething down at your husband. The rest of your family all watched warily, except for the Rogue Prince who smirked broadly at you. Your chest heaved with anger as you looked down at Aemond, who stared up at you with similar rage. 

King Viserys sensing the tension smiled, though it looked more like a grimace, “Our young lovers wish to dance!” A distraction on his end, and a clever one at that. 

The room erupted into cheers and clapping, and the musicians in the corner began playing music loudly for all. Lords and Ladies stood from their seats and moved into the centre of the room to dance together.

Glaring down at your husband, your hands clenched into fists, waiting for him. Aemond slowly stood, towering over you, a large hand stretched out towards you, palm up. 

“Wife.”

“Husband.” You growled, taking his hand roughly, digging your nails into his skin as you led him down the stairs towards the people.

The court parted to the sides like a wave, creating a path for you straight to the centre as you lead Aemond down to it, almost like a dog. Each man and woman watched with excitement, either for the celebrations or the rising tension between the two of you. You’d be a fool to think that the court wouldn’t love a quarrel to arise so that they may whisper about it in corridors later to come. 

It could be a way to press the wound so to speak with Aemond later.

You stopped in the centre, finally letting go of your husband as you spun to face him. 

He stood as he always did, stiff, emotionless with a hint of arrogance, watching you with a cool glare. The court waited for you to begin, as the music continued to play, but even then you couldn’t push yourself to touch him. To feel his hands on you once more, alighting a fire within you that you did not know was possible, the embers still burning from the night before.

Would they be able to tell?

That he had already deflowered you in Flea Bottom?

In a dirty alley like one of Aegon’s whores?

In a way, you hoped they would. Let it bring him dishonour. Let it bring him humiliation from the court that his wife would take him in such a filthy, commoner way. You wished for his disdain, you wished for his anger, anything but the clear desire which seemed to move through him as he watched you from down his nose. 

“Well?” You snipped, waiting for him to make the first move.

Aemond came forward swiftly, much like he had in the alley, and you had to bite your cheeks to stop the gasp that would have escaped your mouth. 

It came to him so naturally to touch you, to hold you. One large hand immediately grasping yours by your side pulling it up, the other skating up your hip, over your collar bone, slowly down your shoulder, and down, down, down your arm. 

Goosebumps rose on your skin, a shiver running down your back as his other hand connected with yours, and slowly but surely, the dance began. Even with the noise of the room, the music playing, the talking, and laughter, and joy from the guests, you could still hear the small little gasps and breaths you let free as you danced with Aemond. 

It was likely one of the only times you hadn’t bickered after so long in his presence, let alone whilst touching him. The two of you stayed silent, moving this way and that, your gaze occasionally flitting to the table to your mother and Daemon, who watched with kind eyes. 

“Don’t let Aegon goad you.” Aemond finally spoke. 

His hand brushed against your shoulders, and round the back of your neck, a heat beginning to simmer in your gut from his touch. You turned to face him, watching as he observed you closely.

“He won’t stop if you show it bothers you.”

“He always bothers me.” You snipped, but this time with much less anger, “He is like a fly you wish to swat but can never reach."

Aemond’s lip twitched as he looked at you, turning around you slowly, “Mm.” 

“Mm.” You mimicked, turning away from him.

“Behave yourself, wife.” Aemond purred, irritation flitting through you momentarily.

“What? Like how behaved yourself last night?” 

“I could say much the same to you.”

“A shame then.” You sighed, moving to come chest to chest with him, your breath stilling in your lungs as you looked up at him. You would never get used to how tall he had grown over the years, “You bring much dishonour to your mother.”

“As do you. Whoring yourself to a Lord of the North-“

“-King of the North-“

“-In a dirty, whore riddled tavern.”

“A dirty, whore riddled tavern that you knew about.”

Aemond stilled, his head dipping towards you, “Did you think that I wouldn’t know of your movements in Kings Landing? Did you truly believe that I would be so foolish as to think that you would come to me willingly?”

You swallowed thickly.

“No.” He continued, sucking on his teeth, “You forget that I know you. You are much like your brothers. Getting into places where you don’t belong.”

“And what of yours?” You became defensive at the mention of your brothers, remembering how he and his would call you all bastards, “Loudly and brazenly whoring himself to any and all who would dare risk fucking him.”

“My brothers whoring does not concern me.”

“Then I suppose I am not a concern either.” You sniffed, “You needn’t worry, I am sure that he should find his way into our chambers one way or another.”

The hand on your arm tightened to the point of pain, your cheek twitching as you tried to hold in a wince, “I told you, he is not of concern.”

“I know Aegon. I have heard of what he does-“

“-And you know me. Know that he will not-“

“-He will not, what? Sully me? Taint our marital bed? It is already tainted. You made sure of that last night.” You stood closer to him, still as the others danced around you, your gaze peering up into his as your chest heaved, “But what if I want him to? What if I willingly invite him to take me? I’m sure you do not mind sharing after all, he is your brother.”

Aemond’s eye flashed with anger, before his head slowly ducked beside your ear, “If you think I am fool enough to stoop to your provocations then you must forget that we grew up together, side by side. I know your tricks.” The hand on your arm released its strong grip, coming to brush against the back of your neck, “I know that you despise him just as much as I. I know that you used to cry at the Godswood when he called you bastard.”

You bristled, purposely stepping back as you stared at him angrily. You hated that word. You hated what it meant for you and your siblings. You hated that he and his brother and his mother and the court whispered about all of your parentage. You hated that once, when you had been young, despite all of this, you had been friends.

Rage bubbled up inside of you, and before you could stop yourself you leant forward, hand coming to touch the side of Aemond’s face with his one seeing eye, the other covered by his leather patch.

You rubbed your thumb atop his cheek, “Imply that I am bastard once more, and I shall blind you with the purpose that Lucerys lacked.”

Aemond’s chest rose and fell jaggedly, inhaling breaths faster than yours, anger coursing through his veins. His sharp lips twitched as he watched you, “I wouldn’t dare. I know just how Strong you are, Princess.”

Your thumb moved fast, but Aemond was faster, anticipating your movements. His hand caught yours against his cheek, trapping your fingers between his hand so that they may not move further to pluck his remaining eye from its socket like intended. 

“People are watching, ābrazȳrys.” Wife, He purred, though there was a lick of danger behind it. 

A warning.

“Ivestragī zirȳ urnēbagon.” Let them watch, You sneered, “Nyke kessa laesdaor ao hae iā dīnilūks irudy.” I shall blind you as a wedding gift.

Aemond’s silver brow lifted, “Skoros iā sȳz irudy.” What a good gift, His eye turned dangerous, “Eman iā irudy syt ao, mēre nyke gōntan daor jaelagon naejot tepagon.” I have a gift for you, one I did not wish to give.

“Is it your death?” You countered cheerily, not wanting to show him that the way he spoke to you set your hair on end.

“No. I think it will be much better than that. We will both come to enjoy it.” The danger in his eye still flickered like a flame, “I was considering not giving it to you, but since you are behaving so wonderfully, I simply must insist.”

You turned away from him, moving to go back to your seat, “I want nothing from you.”

“And yet, you'll have everything.”

-

As the night grew long, your fears grew larger. And though he had taken you the night before in an alley, his subtle threat of what may come tonight lingered in the back of your mind. Each cup of wine was drained eagerly by your lips, hoping and wishing that you could somehow make yourself sick enough to not have the bedding ceremony. 

But it came all the same, just as the wedding had.

Aegon was the one who initiated the beginning of the end.

A large clap came from in front of you, the short haired Prince leaning towards you on the tables with his hands clasped together, silver and gold rings adorning them. A sinister smile pulled at his lips as he beamed at you and his brother. 

“The night is late!” He proclaimed loudly to the chambers, many Lords and Ladies turning their heads to watch, “I think we have held these two young lovers hostage for far too long!” Aegon smiled out to the room and then stood, lifting his goblet. 

His shirt was untucked, his gait unsteady and he swayed on his feet as he continued, “My brother is too polite to remove himself from festivities such as these! But brother,” He thrusted his cup towards you, “I can see that you wish to take your new wife to bed! The love these two share is a tale for story books, though they are too polite to say a thing.” He chuckled, and laughter followed from the Lords behind you, “Worry not! We will continue the festivities without you!”

Cheers were heard from about the room, though none came from your own table. Aegon sipped his wine greedily, eyes watching you from above the rim of his cup. The Prince took the goblet from his lips and clicked his fingers impatiently beside him, pointing at an uncomfortable Criston Cole who came to his side like a well trained mutt.

“Ser Criston, take these newly weds to my brothers chambers. It seems it is time for the bedding ceremony.”

Ceremony. 

Your blood ran cold. 

Aemond stood abruptly beside you, head on with his brother. 

“No need, Ser Cole.” His smooth voice icy, “I shall escort the Princess there myself.”

Aemond pushed his chair backwards as you continued to stare at Aegon, not quite ready to be alone with the Prince. 

Your husband.

You blinked, turning your head towards your family, who all gave you pained smiles. But it was your duty. And you had given your mother your word. Slowly you stood, letting your eyes scan the table, softly landing on your grandsire before meeting with a pair of large brown eyes. Alicent Hightower watched on with a nervous energy, her hands shifting on her lap as you assumed she picked at the skin around her fingers. The look in her eyes almost held empathy. 

Almost. 

You bowed your head to the King and Queen, ignoring Aegon’s shit eating grin. 

“Your Grace.”

Pushing your chair back you ignored the outstretched arm of Aemond and made your way down the stairs, Lords and Ladies watching as you made your slow exit from the room, taking false prideful steps through the court to delay the inevitable, giving all who watched smiles and nods of your head. 

The shifting of armour moved loudly behind you, before soon enough, Ser Criston Cole was overtaking your step to lead you out of the chambers and soon to Aemond’s. The white cape attached to his shoulders billowed behind him as he speedily kept on.

The skin on your elbow burned, a hand gripping it tightly as you were momentarily slowed as Aemond came to your side. You refused to meet his eye, feeling his gaze upon the side of your face as you exited the chambers, the sounds of cheering and laughter loud behind you. The chamber doors shut with a thump, the sound dampened and muffled, footsteps echoing down the darkened corridors of the Red Keep.

“Does Ser Criston not wish to watch you bed me?” You sneered, eyes flickering to the lit lamps on the walls as Aemond led you down a wing of the Keep you had scarcely been down. 

“I have instructed him to prepare my chambers for your arrival.” Aemond replied, his strides long and rigid as he almost hauled you with him. 

“Do not pull me.” You yanked your arm back, halting your steps, “I am not your dog.”

Aemond stilled, looking down his nose at you as he towered above, “Dogs are better behaved.”

The Prince’s head snapped to the side, pain spreading through your palm as you sneered at him. The side of his cheek bloomed an angry red, yet Aemond did not react to your slap, nor did he hit you back, instead, a slow smirk pulled at his lips. 

“I shall allow that, but only because I know you will regret it.”

Rising to your tiptoes you tried to make yourself come to eye level, “I regret nothing.”

“Mm.” He looked at you blankly, “I shall give you a choice.” Anger rose within your chest, heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks, “Come with me to the Godswood.” Your brows furrowed, “Pray to the Gods for forgivingness for striking your husband, kneel and apologise. Swear obeisance to me-”

“-If you think-“

“-And I shall let you go to your own chambers alone. No need for a bedding ceremony after last night.”

You flushed, swallowing thickly, “I would never lower myself to apologising to a second son. And especially not to a Prince who is owed no inkling of respect.”

Aemond watched you for a beat, eye scanning your face as his held flat, “Then we continue to my chambers.” The hand that pulled you began again, and your feet struggled to keep up with his, bruises no doubt to be on the tender flesh of your arm in the morning. 

Your heart raced in your chest as you felt yourself get closer to his chambers, his strides not once slowing down, though you tried to dig your heels into the flagstones to slow him. 

“You care not to have a woman enthusiastic in your bed?” You tugged fruitlessly at your arm, “You wish to drag me to a night of suffering, like a savage. Like your brother, Aegon.” You sneered, fruitlessly tugging your arm to escape his grip.

“A savage would have had you atop the table before all to see when you first defied me. I gave you a chance to apologise, remember that you scorned it.”

“A chance? What chance was I given? A loveless marriage with a man who is not my equal? A burden I am forced to bear as I am forced to lay beneath him!”

Aemond’s steps halted once more, almost causing you to crash into him, his fingers tightening against your arm as he yanked you against his chest angrily, “You needlessly make this more difficult. I extended an offering to you of peace, and you burnt it.”

“Peace?” You screeched incredulously, “You have done naught but provoke me! Naught but push and prod and goad me into reaction so that you may justify your sick desires.”

“Provoke you? I seem to recall you sneaking into Flea Bottom to try and lay with a Lord to spite me.”

“I was trying to save us from a loveless and cruel union.”

“Us? Or yourself?”

You paused, mouth feeling dry. Anger and fear swirled within your gut viscously as you stared at him. The both of you panting heavily at one another. Aemond shifted, moving away from the wall beside you, revealing two large wooden doors. 

You were there.

And you had not even realised.

“Wife.” Aemond purred sarcastically before pushing open the door, the smell of his room engulfing you. 

It smelt of him, but far more intensely. Of leather and smoke, and spices which he dabbed his skin with, and still, behind all of this, the natural scent of him. The smell that was only his and his alone. A scent that had wrapped around you in that alleyway the night before. 

The fireplace raged wildly, the room filled with dark mahogany furniture. There was a chaise, arm chairs, a table seated for six, a large bed on the other end, a reading desk with piles of books and scrolls, and candles sitting on every surface, lighting the room. 

The second thing you observed as your eyes roamed the space was that you were not alone. 

Your heart skipped in your chest. 

There by the bed, was a man sat in a chair. Arms tied down to it as his feet were tightly bound to the legs. His long dark hair was knotted atop his head as he stared at you in shock, and beside him, Ser Criston Cole.

“Cregan?” You breathed in shock, running towards the Northerner as you dropped to your knees, hand reaching out to cup his face as he only looked at you with sorrow, “Are you hurt?”

“I did warn you,” Aemond growled from behind, “That you would regret it. I had a plan, you see. A moment of mercy to let you apologise at the Godswood, for you to go-“

“-Let him go!”

“-To your chambers untouched and unscathed. I had given you a choice, and this is the one you have chosen.”

You turned your head sharply to face Aemond, “What have you done?”

“This man was caught conspiring against the crown. He planned to take the Princess’ honour and humiliate her betrothed. A Prince.” His lilac eye held Cregan’s icy blue ones, “I have done my duty by capturing this traitor to the realm.”

Fear began to bubble inside of you, eyes looking back to Cregan. The left side of his face was bruised, small cuts littered across his cheek and brow. His soft lips were swollen and split, and dried blood had gathered in one corner.

“He is innocent.” Your knees ached as they dug into the stones below, your upper body turning to face Aemond again, “He knew naught of what I was doing. Punish me. Let him go.”

Aemond hummed and walked towards you, “Brave. Admirable if it wasn’t for nothing. No. I gave you a choice before, and you have made your choice. I gave you the option to apologise, to bend to me as your husband, to go to your chambers alone, but this is what you have chosen. This was your choice.”

“You gave me no choice!” You sneered, moving to stand, shielding Cregan’s body with your own, “All this talk of choices when all you have gave was an unknown ultimatum.”

“A choice nonetheless. Godswood or chambers. And so here we are. The consequences of your actions.” The Prince came closer, shadows cast across his face, “I told you that you would regret it.”

“You’re a savage! A foul beast.”

A smile pulled at Aemond’s lips, “Choose your words carefully, wife. I have no qualm with slitting his throat where he sits should you continue to defy me.”

Cregan pulled against his restraints, angrily sneering at Aemond, who simply hummed once more as he came to stand before you, looking down at you with false pity, “But, it is the night of our union, and the betrayal is still fresh and something I am willing to move past. I shall give you another choice. One that I feel may be far too lenient.”

Tears began to well in your eyes.

This was all your fault.

“The Lord of Winterfell shall sit where he is, and watch as I fuck you in ways that he never shall-“

“-You disgust me!”

“-Or he shall be tried and hung for treason.” Aemond came closer, his chest almost brushing against yours as he stared at you, “The choice is yours.”

You sneered upwards at your uncle, tears gathering in your eyes, “I would rather die than let you touch me again.”

“I recall you seeming to enjoy it, wetting my cock in that filthy alley as you begged for it.” He purred, hand lifting to brush hair from your face as he sighed, “I don’t mind what you choose, I could simply slit his throat myself right now? If you'd prefer it?”

A lone tear fell down your cheek as you turned and held Cregan’s gaze, his brows furrowing as he saw you come to your decision. 

“Y/n, don’t-“ Cregan’s head was jerked back roughly, Ser Coles hand in his hair as he stuck a blade beneath his chin. The edge of the blade nicked the skin lightly, a small bead of blood travelling down his neck. 

He would die.

He would die and it would be all your fault.

“Please, Aemond.” You begged, “Please do not do this. Let him go. Let him go and I swear to you I will obey your commands. Let him free and I am yours.”

The silver haired mans head tilted as he cooed you, “I am sorry, my love. But it is too late to beg for my mercy as I offered it to you before. What kind of man would I be if I excused such treason?”

You stepped forward swiftly, “A strong one. A merciful one. A man who can see the error of my way. That I am repentant.” You tried to cajole him, “I promise you I will be good. I will perform my duty and do what is expected of me.”

“You are sweet when you beg, but it is too late.”

“Uncle, please! I will do anything! Anything you ask of me. I swear to the Seven.”

Aemond smiled at you, “I know you will. And that is why you will do this.” Aemond swallowed, eye roaming down your wedding gown hungrily, defiantly. 

Angrily. 

“Strip.”

“Aemond-“

“-Strip, or he dies.”

Tears rolled down your cheek, your stomach rolling in disgust and fear. 

“Please do not make me do this.” You sobbed, arms limp by your side as you looked down at the flagstones, feeling defeated.

Your husband tutted you, long slender finger brushing the tears that fell from your eyes away, “Do not waste your tears on him, my love. I can be gentle, and soon you will come to love my touch. This, I promise you.”

Pain bloomed in your jaw as you ground your teeth together, wary to not trigger Criston’s excitable hand. Short breaths puffed from your nose as fury and sorrow rose within you like a tide, little by little building in a wave. In your periphery, Aemond stepped back, a pale hand presented in front of you, palm outstretched for you to take.

Slowly, you let your gaze meet his, heated glare ignoring his offering as you refused to move. One last act of defiance. And one Aemond did not take lightly. Pain bloomed in your shoulder as you were roughly yanked forwards, and thrown backwards against the bed. Cregan shouted from behind you, the chair creaking beneath him. 

“I said, strip.” Aemond growled.

Your eyes flicked to Cregan, and then up towards Ser Cole who watched with conflicted eyes.

“Please,” You begged softly again, keeping your eyes on Ser Criston, “Not him too. Not Ser Cole.”

A shifting of armour moved from behind Aemond, and a small ‘Your Grace’ fell from the knights lips. 

Aemond spun, momentarily ignoring you as he turned to the knight standing awkwardly beside Cregan Stark, “You may leave, Ser Cole.” Aemond sniffed, “I am certain our guest will behave accordingly.”

Ser Criston’s eyes flickered to yours and then to the Prince as you tried to plead to him with yours for help. 

To help the daughter of the woman he was once sworn to. 

But no help came. 

The Dornish knight bowed his head and left without another word. 

“Let her go-“

“-Ah.” Aemond turned slowly towards Cregan, slow steps coming forward until he stood towering over the northerner, “Speak again and I’ll cut out your tongue.”

“Kepus,” You stood from the bed, grasping Aemond’s elbow tightly, hoping, praying that if you asked once more that he could see reason, “Please, let him go. I am yours. I will always be yours.”

Aemond stared at you, his pupil dilated as he stared at you intently.

“Strip.”

You fought the sob that threaten to rise up your throat and slowly lifted your chin. 

You would not show weakness. 

You would be strong. 

With shaking hands, you let your fingers find the strings at the back of your dress, and slowly but surely you pulled the laces, keeping your eyes on your husband who watched with intent. 

The gown sagged against your frame, the soft material falling down your chest slowly as you held it for one last moment, hoping that it was all a test, that he would change his mind and stop this madness. 

But he didn’t. 

Breath held in your chest, you let the gown fall to the floor below you, leaving you in your thin shift before the two men. Cregan looked away, his eyes focusing on the stones of the wall in shame, his hands tucked into tight fists against the arm of the arm of the chair, knuckles turning white.

A shiver ran down your back as the cool of the chambers stiffened your nipples into peaks, brushing against the white of your chemise. Aemond took a slow step towards you and then another, hand lifting to brush under your chin, an attempt to direct your gaze to him. You turned your head defiantly; looking to the wall where Cregan’s gaze laid. 

“Y/n.” Aemond warned softly, thumb and forefinger pinching your chin as he turned your face towards him, “Look at me.” 

Reluctantly you let yourself, and all you saw was the black of his pupil as he devoured you with his darkened gaze, “You’re so beautiful.” He cooed, “My wife.”

You swallowed thickly, his hand slowly skimming down your neck raising goosebumps along your skin as his fingers came to rest against the edge of your chemise. The tips of his nails scraped softly against your skin as it slipped beneath, and with an even slower movement, he tugged the chemise down off of your shoulders, the thin material floating down to the floor below leaving you completely exposed to the two men in his chambers. 

“I will not harm you, though you would deserve it.” Aemond purred, his eye roaming your exposed body, your stomach and core clenching in anticipation, “I plan to make you beg for it.”

You opened your mouth to snap at him, but in the moment his long fingers came to brush under your breast, fingers teasing your nipple softly, your mouth clamped shut. You shyly glanced at Cregan, who’s eyes were scrunched tight. Aemond followed your line of sight, sighing.

“If you do not watch,” Aemond fully turned to Cregan, “I will take out your eyes.” 

Even at the One-Eyed Princes threat, Cregan did not lift his gaze from the wall. The Lord of Winterfell willing to risk his sight so that you may keep your dignity.

“Fine.” Aemond grunted, pulling the blade from his belt, “Then I shall take hers.”

Fear shot through you as you stared at Aemond tearfully, watching in your periphery as Cregan’s head turned towards you and yelled. 

“No!”

“Then,” Aemond sneered, “Watch.” 

With eyes filled with shame, Cregan looked up at you. You didn’t know what to do, what could make it better. What could make any of this not what it was, and so you tried to offer him a reassuring nod. A small promise that it was okay to look when all you knew was how very much it wasn’t.

“Good.” The Prince hummed. 

Aemond resumed his touch against you, hand coming to cup your breast fully as he rolled your nipple between his fingers. His touch sent sparks across your chest, shame washing over you in a wave. 

Aemond ducked his head towards your face, beckoning you to kiss him. Would he be gentle as he was when you were married? Would it soften his actions? Or would it only make him worse?

Deciding that you didn’t want to push what little patience he had, your eyes slid shut, breath stuck deep in your chest as you felt the heat of his body come closer, the hand on your breast skating around your ribs to pull you closer to him. 

When his lips pressed against yours it was light, gentle, almost cautious, your hands staying stiff by your sides. But that softness was short lived, and soon Aemond deepened the kiss, his teeth clashing against yours roughly. 

You gasped softly as his other hand wound into your hair, tugging you closer as he nipped your bottom lip roughly. Your hands instinctually came up to his chest, gripping onto his jacket tightly to steady yourself. Anger poured into the kiss, and from behind you could feel the reluctant glare of Cregan. 

Aemond pulled away, your eyes fluttering open to look at him. His lips were swollen, having turned a rosy pink as a blush settled across his cheeks. His chest heaved against yours, the stitching on his coat brushing roughly against your stiffened peaks. 

“Have you ever bed a woman, Stark?” Aemond asked smugly, brushing the back of your neck as you turned you to face the Northerner again, your back to Aemond’s chest.

Even as exposed as you were, Cregan’s eyes did not shift to look at your body, keeping his simmering glare on Aemond.

Clicking his tongue, Aemond continued, “I’m sure you’ve fucked wildlings and mudmen alike, being a man of the North.” An arm wrapped around the front of your chest, breasts squeezed beneath the toned arm of your uncle behind you, “Tell me, are Winterfells brothels full of sheep like the Vale? Or maybe they’re full of pigs since you’re both fond of the mud.”

The chair beneath Cregan creaked, his jaw tensing in anger as Aemond taunted him. His pale eyes narrowed, lips tensed together in a sneer as his nostrils flared, breathing heavily whilst his hands gripped the arms of the chair tightly.

“No? Hm.” Aemond’s other hand slid across the skin of your back, travelling around to the front of your stomach slowly, brushing his fingertips along your hip bone as he continued, “You see, Stark, mudmen of the North have no place with the blood of Valyria. The Blood of the Dragon would never sully itself by laying with a Northerner. Nor would a Princess.” His hand continued to dip down, fingers brushing into the hair atop your mound. 

Your back arched in instinct, trying to escape his hand, but it only pushed your backside into his clearly hardened member, “Targaryens don’t fuck like animals,” His voice dipped lower, “We bring pleasure to our lovers.”

Aemond’s hand continued down, parting your folds with a finger, seeking out the heat and slick that had gathered at your entrance. Once found, Aemond’s chest vibrated from behind with an appreciative hum, dragging a long slender finger from your entrance, back up to your pearl. You jerked in his hold as he pushed lightly against it, slowly and torturously swirling the digit against your bud, your arousal aiding his movements. 

You watched Cregan curiously, the urge to hide yourself strong. His eyes never once left Aemond as he continued to bring you soft pleasure. The Stark’s chest rose and fell shallowly as he glared at the man behind you, who watched back with impatience. 

“I won’t tell you again.” Aemond purred, fingers dipping down to your entrance as he suddenly shoved one long finger inside of you, causing you to gasp at the small sting, “Watch her, or I blind her.”

Cregan’s eyes shut as he took a shaky breath, Aemond’s finger crooking inside of you, pressing against your front wall roughly. A whine fell from your lips causing the icy blue eyes to catch yours finally. Cregan swallowed thickly as you stared at one another, your hands gripping the sleeve of Aemond’s arm across your chest, twisting the material between your fingers as you shifted your hips back, pressing against him as he sped up his fingers movement. 

Cregan’s stare was hard, his eyes apologetic, watching you shift against your husband behind you as he began to fuck his finger inside of you, the sound of your slick filling the room. Your face flushed with embarrassment. 

“She’s quite reactive,” Aemond purred, slipping his finger from within you to rub at your bud again, causing you to jerk in his hold, his arm tightening further around your chest, “Her body knows what it wants, even when she tries to fight it. Do you hear how she needs me?” 

Aemond’s finger moved back to your entrance, but instead of one, he forced in a second, the ache from the night before settling within you again.

“Gods.” You whispered softly, pain and pleasure mixing into a confusing blend. Your head fell back against Aemond’s shoulder as he sped up his hand, fucking his fingers inside of you roughly. All you could do was lean your weight back against him, his arm the only thing that held you upright as his arousal pressed into the small of your back.

A familiar warmth began to build within you quickly, a coil rapidly tightening within your gut as Aemond switched from fucking you with his hand, to rubbing slick circles against your pearl. You scrunched your eyes shut, mouth going slack as your breath hitched. You were so close, so close, to reaching your peak, but each time you would almost get there, Aemond would slow his hand down. 

You whined in his arms, shifting as you just wished it would end, wishing he would let you peak. It was torture. And with each time he did it, the frustration and desperation built, a light sheen of sweat covering your skin.

“What is the matter?” Aemond cooed into your ear, his fingers slowing to almost a halt, “Did you need something?”

You huffed a breath through your nose, eyes scrunching shut as you tried to thrust your hips into his hand, anything to alleviate the pressure that was strung to snap at any moment. You didn’t care anymore, you just needed it to end. Aemond’s fingers stopped, hovering over your pearl.

You didn’t even want to think of what you must have looked like, bare, hair likely a mess, and body aching for release.

All while Cregan Stark watched.

“If you want something,” Aemond’s lips came to the side of your ear, pressing a ghostly kiss to them, “You need only ask.”

You bit on your bottom lip, willing yourself to not give in, to not give him what he wanted, but all you could think about was reaching your peak. Logically, you told yourself it was for Cregan’s sake so that it could all end quickly, but in reality, it was so that the throbbing in your core would cease, and the sweet feeling of relief could wash over you like it had the night before. 

“Come now, you’re not one to hold your tongue. Ask.”

You wet your lips timidly, keeping your eyes shut in shame, not wanting to see Cregan’s face as you begged for the man behind you to touch you again as he watched. 

A sharp sting shot through your centre, your eyes springing open as you gasped, you gaze immediately meeting the cold icy glare of Cregan, who’s fists tightened around the arms of the chair.

“Speak.” Aemond commanded, voice sharper in your ear as he watched Cregan tensing to the chair he was tied to.

Your mouth felt dry, and you licked at your lips once more before you softly whispered, “Please.”

“Please what?”

Cregan’s gaze looked back to yours, his eyes softened.

“Please,” You begged softly, “Touch me.”

You heard Aemond hummed from behind you, his finger slowly pressing into your cunt as he gathered slick from your entrance to drag back up to your bud.

“Like this?” He purred, slowly making circles against you, the coil within tightening again.

All you could do was nod, but that was not the answer that Aemond demanded. His fingers left your pearl as he waited, and you huffed in frustration.

“Touch me. Please, Aemond.” You weakly begged, eyes darting to the floor in embarrassment, not wanting to see Cregan’s face. 

His touched resumed once more, but the arm wrapped around your chest shifted, his hand coming to grasp your chin as he lifted your head to look squarely at Cregan, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks.

“All you needed to do was ask, sweet wife.” Aemond purred, the movement speeding up, bringing you closer and closer to your peak, “I want you to wet my hand, and watch him whilst you do it. If you do not,” His voice dipped low, fingers pressing almost painfully against you, “I will know.”

You swallowed dryly and nodded your head in his grasp, feeling your peak begin to barrel towards you. Cregan watched your face, his own a soft pink and ice blue eyes half lidded. 

“Does this feel good? Am I making you nice and wet?” Aemond cooed, hand plucking pleasure from you in ways you didn’t know was possible.

You nodded weakly, “Yes.”

“You can do better than that. Tell him what it feels like.”

Your eyes widened, embarrassment flaring inside of you.

“Tell him or I’ll stop.”

“It-“ You paused, swallowing the last of your pride, “It feels good.”

“What feels good?”

“When you touch me.”

“How so?”

You exhaled shakily, shifting in his arm as his fingers softened their movements, “It feels good when you touch my cunt.”

“Sȳz riña.” Good girl, Aemond praised you, causing arousal to spark inside, “That wasn’t so hard, now was it? Does it feel good when I fuck you with my hand?”

“Yes, uncle.” You whined weakly.

“Tell Cregan that it feels good when I fuck you with my hand.”

Blinking at the man tied in the chair, you grit your teeth, “It feels good when he fucks me with his hand.”

Cregans nostrils flared as he shifted in his seat, and your head fell back against Aemond once more, “I’m close.” You panted.

You were so close, so, so close to just tipping over the edge, the smell of Aemond behind you suffocating you as heat began to rise through your body. The gaze of the man before you wavered, his eyes momentarily dipping to where Aemond’s hand was rubbing swift and slick circles. That was all it took for you to feel yourself fall undone.

You writhed against Aemond as your peak washed over you, the Northerner watching on as Aemond’s fingers became wet with your release, his gaze darting up to watch your face, jaw slack as he breathed shallowly.

“Shh, shh, shh. Good girl.” Aemond praised you, his hand finally stopping as he smoothed up and down your sides. 

A warm glow settled over your body and your eyes slid shut, head lolling to Aemond’s chest behind you as you breathed deeply, the pulsing of your cunt halting any and all thoughts that you had. 

But as quick as the calm had come, the quicker it left, your world tilting as you were spun and pushed back onto the bed. Your eyes shot open as you watched Aemond step towards you, Cregan observing with slight concern before you were yanked back down the bed towards the Prince by your ankles, legs splayed open. 

On instinct they tried to close, too exposed to the room, but your husband wouldn’t allow it, standing between them as he held them open with his hand, his lone eye commanding you to stay still from above. 

Would it be painful like the night before? Would he bring you pleasure as well? Or would it be something entirely different now that you lay down on a bed, the way that your Septa’s had told you it would happen, and certainly not inside a dirty alley in Flea Bottom?

But what your Septa’s had not informed you of was that your husband, who seemed to be more concerned with punishing you than bringing you any reward, began to kneel before the bed, his back to his prisoner.

“I need to taste how sweet you are, and then I shall fuck you.” 

With a broad swipe of his tongue, Aemond parted your folds from your entrance to your bud, collecting your release on it as he went. His eye closed as he hummed, coming to lap at your folds once more, pleasure sparking up through you. 

You gasped softly, the feeling foreign but not unwelcome. It was more intense than you had thought it could be, but perhaps you were over sensitive from the release you just had. You watched Aemond, his lilac eye opening to look up at you with a smirk.

He pulled away from your centre, lips wet with your slick, “You are as sweet as I thought you would be.”

Aemond stood, towering over you as he began to pull at his belt and breeches, wherein he began untying them, lace after lace ripped from its eyelet until they sagged. His shirt was pulled away, revealing the pale skin of his lower stomach, and the dusting of hair that trailed down from navel to pubis.

The Prince’s length strained against his breeches, the base of it just showing, a purple vein standing out against his starkly pale skin. You hadn’t gotten to see it properly the night before, and the sight of it made your core clench around nothing. 

Before he pulled himself from the confines of his pants, Aemond grabbed you once more and shifted you to lay sideways atop his bed, the plush green sheets soft beneath your skin. Your eyes rose to the ceiling, looking at the soft canopy that lay atop before the screeching of a chair on stone caught your attention.

You snapped your head to the side, watching as Aemond effortlessly dragged Cregan by the chair closer to the bed, only an arms length away. He towered over the man from Winterfell who looked up at him with nothing but contempt.

“You’ll watch me fuck her,” Aemond began smugly, “And know that it could never be you. Know that it will never be you.” Cregan attempted to sit up higher in the seat, chest pulling at the ropes that held him back, “You’ll watch me bring peak after peak from her as she wets my cock and likes it, and you’ll remember that it was me doing it.”

“Aemond.” You tried to distract him, try to take the attention away from Cregan, who watched with burning eyes, “Please.”

The silver haired Prince turned his head towards you and smirked before looking back at Cregan, “You see? She already begs for more.” Aemond walked back towards you, only two short steps from the bed as his eye roamed your naked body, gaze settling into the crux of your thighs, “She only had me last night, and already she begs so nicely.”

With jerky movements, Aemond pulled his length from his breeches, the length and girth large and intimidating. The tip was a rosy pink, and long veins travelled up its length. A bead of arousal had begun to form on top, slowly leaking down the base as he knelt on the bed, pulling you down to meet his hips, and had you not already experienced it, you would have been filled with fear. 

Aemond thrust into you quickly and sharply, pain filling you before a feeling of fullness, his tip pressing at the end of your walls. You hissed softly, hands having raised to grasp his arms, nails biting into his skin beneath his shirts.

Your husband leant down, lips brushing against your cheek as it moved to your ear, “Do you like when I spear you on my cock?” He purred, his breath tickling your neck. 

With clenched teeth you nodded, willing your body to adjust to his size quickly.

“Use your words, you’re not a mute.”

“Yes.” You grit out, turning your head away from him as he loomed above you, arms on either side of your head as he lay between your parted thighs.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Aemond.”

“Close.

You swallowed, “Yes, Husband.”

“Good.” Aemond pulled out of you swiftly before he thrust back in, “Girl.”

You exhaled sharply, the angle so far different from the night before. He felt deeper, more intense, everywhere all at once. 

It was overwhelming. 

You scrunched your eyes shut as Aemond began to rut into you, your hands not once leaving his arms as you clutched onto him, shifting your hips to alleviate the way his tip pressed harshly against your cervix with each thrust. 

His hips clapped against yours brutally, speeding up, the movement shifting you up the bed as you squeaked with each impact, a warmth beginning to pool in your gut once more. The hair at the base of his cock brushed against your pearl roughly as his pelvis slid against yours, the stimulation winding that all too familiar coil again.

A moan broke free from your lips as Aemond shook a hand free, hoisting up one of your legs atop his hip, shifting the angle entirely so that his cock brushed against the small spongey patch within you deliciously, pleasure sending sparks through your limbs. Your eyes were shut so tightly, you could see stars behind them, your bottom lip gnawed between teeth. 

“Open your eyes.” Aemond breathed from above, his pace not once faltering. 

Your head tipped to the side, away from where Cregan sat, eyes still scrunched shut as you whined beneath him. 

“I said,” Aemond grunted, hand roughly coming to grasp your chin as he turned your head back towards Cregan, “Open.”His fingers squeezed painfully against your jaw, bruises likely to show in the morning, your eyes finally opening to find Cregan watching you already.

“Lord Stark knows how to follow orders. He’s not once taken his eyes off you.” Aemond purred, thrusting particularly sharply into you causing you to wince, “Do you think he wishes he were I?”

Your mouth felt dry again, and all you could do was watch as the blush on Cregan’s cheeks depend and his eyes momentarily flashed away form you before returning, remembering Aemond’s threat. 

“I think he does, sweet wife. I think he wishes that he was in your tight, wet, cunt as I am now. Don’t you agree?” 

Your breasts moved with each thrust, the sound of your slick sliding against his length loud as it was before as you huffed beneath your husband.

Aemond’s fingers tightened against your jaw, “I asked you a question.”

“Yes.”

Another squeeze.

“I do.” You breathed, your face suddenly feeling flushed. 

The man on top of you pulled out suddenly, hands moving under your sides to flip you over onto your stomach.

“Do not-“ You began angrily.

“-Quiet.” Aemond snapped, grabbing your hips as he pulled you up onto your knees, your hands fisting the sheets as you looked ahead, uncertainty filling your features before you felt the head of Aemond cock slide through your folds, and push straight back inside. 

“Fuck you.” You hissed as he began to fuck into you, “Gods.” The angle made you feel even fuller than before, but shallower too, his length constantly batting against your walls as his hips clapped against your ass.

You struggled to stay upright as he continued, his grip on your hips painful as he pulled you back onto him, the air being punched from your lungs each time, making you gasp out small little high pitched huffs. A hand in your hair wrenched your head back and then to the side, directing your face to meet the Stark’s who’s eyes were not on your own, but instead upon your body.

The heat of his gaze caused you to clamp down on Aemond’s length, the Lord’s roaming eyes watching as the Princes cock buried itself over and over inside of you, before slowly roaming back up your body, catching sight of your breasts below you as they moved, and then finally to your face. 

Seeing that he was caught, Cregan flushed, eyes casting down briefly before looking back up at you. He shifted against the chair, hands still tightly clenched against the arm, chest heaving, his thick muscled thighs clenching against the seat, and to-

Oh.

Cregan shifted again, knowing where your gaze had fallen, his hips trying to shift back against the wooden chair, but there was nothing to hide the hardening length within his dark leathered breeches, which pressed painfully to the front of his pants.

Your core clenched again, and from behind you heard Aemond grunt. 

You should have been upset, you should have been horrified, but all it did was set the heat that was already simmering in your gut ablaze, your nipples stiffening to peaks. Instinctually you arched your back, hoping to better the view, which got another grunt of appreciation from your husband, who’s pace was yet to falter, his stamina owed to years of hard work in the training yard with Ser Criston Cole. 

Cregan’s lips parted as he watched you, the pink of his tongue coming out to wet his lips, and that was all it took for you to come undone. You cried out loudly, keeping your eyes on Cregan as Aemond fucked you through your release, triggering his own. He came with a growl, his hips slowing to a halt as you felt his seed pulse inside of you. 

You collapsed against the bed, eyes half lidded as you watched Cregan shift again against his chair as Aemond slowly pulled out of you with a hiss. Warmth dripped from your folds and down your thighs as you felt the soft press of kiss against your shoulder blades. 

Your uncle manoeuvred you on the bed again, your body pliant in his hands as he pulled you to the edge of the bed, legs spread wide for Cregan to see. The man’s pale eyes drifted down to between your thighs, watching hungrily as Aemond’s spend dripped out from within you. 

“Tell me Cregan,” Aemond stood by the bed panting, tucking his length back into his breeches whilst he brushed a loose hair over your shoulder, “Did you enjoy watching me fuck my wife?”

The taunt earnt him a sneer. 

“An honest question deserving of an honest answer. I thought Stark’s were known for the honesty and oaths?” Aemond pressed.

You breathed heavily as you watched Cregan’s gaze fell to you and only you in that moment as his answer was given. 

“Yes.”

There was no denying the edge of arousal that roughened the edge of his answer. 

“Hm.” A beat, “Would you like a taste?”

You brows furrowed as you looked up to your husband, who kept his eye on Cregan, his hand atop your shoulder brushing gently in thought. 

A taste?

Did he mean to-

Your heart leapt into your throat, watching as Aemond took his blade from his side and moved towards the Stark man. 

“Stop!” You yelled, watching as Cregan did not flinch when Aemond approached him. 

“Worry not, I mean no harm. I am feeling generous.” Aemond purred, lifting the blade towards Cregan, “He watched dutifully as I put my seed inside of you.” His lilac eye dropped to Cregan’s hardened member, “And it seems that he has enjoyed it.” The Prince turned to face you, “I only wish to give him a parting gift. Something to remember… to agonise over for years to come.”

With a swift hand, Aemond sliced the ropes that bound Cregan's chest to the back of the chair, the Northerner staying still in his seat. The tall Targaryen bent down and cut the ropes on the mans legs loose, one by one.

“Now,” Aemond stood to his full height again, pointing his blade towards Cregan’s wrists, still tied to the chair, “Know that I have your men in a holding cell, and should you try anything, I shall have them all cut into seven pieces and strung about the gates.” Aemond paused, his gaze hardening, “And then I will stay true to my word.”

Cregan’s chest heaved with anger as he watched the prince, still not speaking a word.

“Do we understand each other?” Aemond questioned him, one silver brow lifted in challenge. 

Cregan’s jaw clenched, a click audible to the chambers, “Yes.” He growled.

Aemond hummed in acknowledgement and released his hands, taking a step back as Cregan stood slowly, rubbing at his raw wrists as he looked at you on the bed. His head turned back towards your husband, uncertain of what he meant. 

Impatiently Aemond thrust his arm towards you, blade still in hand, “Go to her. Taste how sweet she is, and know that you will never taste her again.”

Cregan shifted on his feet uncomfortably, looking to you for permission, for denial. 

You didn’t know what to do, or what to say, so instead, you widened your legs in invitation, feeling desire begin to stir in you once more. 

It was wrong. 

But Gods did you need it. 

“Clean her up.” Aemond commanded, and with slow and cautious steps, Cregan walked towards you.

The scent of Aemond was overpowered by that of Cregan’s. He smelt of cedar wood and fur, and the soft smell of musk beneath it all that just felt right for a Northerner. 

It felt as if each stepped dragged on for days. You shifted against the bed nervously, casting your eyes to Aemond, who watched with a desire of his own.

Cregan dropped to his knees, his hands twitching by the side of your hips on the bed, cautious to even touch you, a stark difference to the way Aemond simply took. The dark haired man looked up at you breathlessly as you gave him a nod, shifting your hips towards him again, likings the way his eyes dropped down to your centre and then back up. 

His large calloused hands grasped the soft meat of your hips, his eyes keeping on yours as he leant froward slowly, the heat of his breath fanning across your sensitive folds. Your mouth parted as you panted above him, watching as he wet his lips before finally pressing a chaste kiss to your core. 

A soft moan escaped your mouth, head dropping back momentarily, giving him a strike of confidence before burying his tongue between your folds. You dropped back onto the bed, hands coming to grasp his hair as he licked and suckled at your folds, lapping at both your and Aemond’s release which only served to spark your desire further, that same familiar coil winding rapidly.

You tilted your head to watch him, his eyes still on you as you began to come undone on his tongue. Your name pulled you away from his stare, and you turned your head to face Aemond who watched hungrily from beside, his jaw tensed. 

Already sensitive from such an intense night already, you writhed against Cregan’s mouth with a moan, his ministrations bringing you to your peak swiftly, your slick gushing into his mouth. You kept your eyes on Aemond this time, watching as he breathed deeply, his cock already beginning to swell in his breeches.

You panted and whined as the pleasure became too much, and only then did Cregan remove his face from between your thighs, roughly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The chambers became still as you all breathed deeply, warmth spreading through your limbs as you couldn’t decide who to look at for longest. 

Your husband.

Or the Northerner.

All you could think about was what you had done. 

What had just transpired.

Your husband had trapped a Lord of the North in his chambers and forced him to watch you be fucked by him, and not only that, commanded that he cleaned you after. But what was the most confusing part of all, was that all in the chambers seemed to have liked it.

“Cole.” Aemond’s voice broke the stillness of the room, the door to the chambers opening swiftly. 

Cregan stepped in front of you to shield your body from Ser Cole at the same time Aemond did, his back turning to his knight as he grabbed the sheet of the bed to drape over your exposed body.

The knight entered, flagged by two guards.

Confusion flashed across Cregan’s face as he stiffened, body gearing itself up for a fight.

“Relax, Stark.” Aemond mused, not even bothering to look at the man as he observed the guards, eye landing on Ser Cole again, “Take Cregan and his men to the travel roads. Ensure they have food for travel and water for the ride. They are to leave Kings Landing immediately to return back to Winterfell.” 

Ser Cole nodded, as did the guards who swiftly approached Cregan, grabbing each arm as they began to remove him from Aemond’s chambers. The dark haired man looked back at you in confusion as you clutched the sheet your chest, unsure of what to do.

“Stark.” Aemond called out before the dark haired mans foot could cross the threshold. The Northerner stilled, eyes suspicious, “Expect a raven.”

Without another word, the guards pulled Cregan out of the room, Criston shutting the door behind them. The silence in the chambers was nerve-racking, and you turned to look at your uncle, who was already making his way to fill two goblets of wine. 

Your mouth opened, a myriad of questions ready to pour out your mouth, but as usual, Aemond seemed to be one step ahead.

“You’re my wife.” He began, the sound of wine filling goblets. He turned with them in hand, coming to stand beside the bed as he handed you one. 

You kept one hand with the sheets against your breast, the other shakily grasping the goblet, fatigue weighing your body down. Aemond spun to sit in the very chair that Cregan had been tied to, the ropes still on the floor in a heap.

“Our marriage is one of a prospect of peace, not love.” His words stung you in a way you didn’t realise they could, “Though, I do hope to change that one day. I wish to make you happy,” He paused, taking a sip from his goblet as he thought carefully, “And it would be remiss of me to say that what just happened didn’t spark something within me.”

You frowned, “I do not understand.”

“You looked like a Queen having him kneel before you.”

A beat.

“My Queen."

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to any tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! <3

General Taglist:

@mvdhvtterxx @iamavailablesstuff @apollonshootafar @honeybunnee @kckt88 @youraverageaemondsimp @themadelinehatter @saltedcaramelpretzel @thearieunhinged @aemondsbabygirl @constantlydelulusional @superclairebear96 @opheliaas-stuff @lokisdarlingpet @casualfansoul @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @dosxxy @astrocytes-axon

@kage-no-sonzai @honeybunnee @music-of-dragons @drakar-i @moteandlight-blog @bash1018 @americanprometheuss @hb8301 @ttkttt @the-jess-life @marihoneywk @iloveallmyboys @alegria1580 @heavenhatesme @msassenach @ahristata @hiraethrhapsody @drakar-i @avidreader73 @thefireblaze @marysucks-blog

[dira333]

Cupid on a mission - Sugawara x Reader

Featuring: @screamin-abt-haikyuu x Asahi and @6okuto x Akaashi

Tagging: @lees-chaotic-brain can you spot the fic exchange I put in here?

"Whatever you can do, I can do better," you say, chewing at the straw of your drink as you flutter your eyelashes up at Sugawara and Sawamura.

Daichi groans. “Don’t start,” he mutters under his breath, but Koushi’s already leaning in, teasing smirk dancing on his lips.

“Oh? You think you’re better than me? Please.”

“Tanaka and Kiyoko? That was me,” you beam, pointing at yourself with your thumb. “What do you have to show for yourself?”

“Going to Nationals?” Daichi asks only to raise his hands when both you and Koushi turn to send him an unimpressed glare.

“Listen, hotshot,” Koushi’s putting an arm around your shoulders as he speaks. With anyone else, you might think he’s trying to flirt, but this is Koushi. You’d know if he flirted with you.

“Why do you think Kageyama is the favorite Volleyball player in all Karasuno? Among the girls, at least.”

You furrow your brows and pout. “That’s not that hard. You’re working with a quiet canvas here. As long as he doesn’t try to smile, he’s pretty good-looking.”

“You want something ha-”

“Asahi,” Daichi interrupts, “You could try and set up Asahi.”

You turn toward him and Koushi follows, his arm still snug around you. He’s wearing one of those ridiculous cardigans today that make him look like the sweetest little librarian ever, although you’ve learned to fear the prankster behind the facade. It’s also ridiculously soft and you want to curl into it, not that you’d ever try.

“With whom?” Koushi asks, one step behind you. You’ve had your eyes set on a particular pair for a while now, but Asahi is already anxious enough. You don’t want to give him a heart attack.

“I think he has a crush on-”

“Already ahead of you,” you interrupt Daichi and pat Koushi’s hand, slipping out of his grasp. “Watch and learn, young Padawan.”

You feel his eyes on you as you walk on, slip through the open door from the kitchen into the living room, where Nishinoya has challenged Hinata to a dance battle. 

It’s not that hard to spot Asahi when you know what you’re looking for. A quiet spot, away from the spotlight, but where he can keep an eye on either Nishinoya or… ah, there she is.

Zaira’s chatting with Yachi and Kiyoko, wearing a cardigan not unlike Koushi- whelp, no time to think about him, you’ve got work to do.

“Hey,” you greet your friend with a smile, “Sorry, I got distracted. Daichi brought his mother’s Pizza Pockets. Can you play along for a moment?”

“Play along?” Zaira asks, a little confused, but takes your hand. 

“Sorry,” you say to both Yachi and Kiyoko, “I gotta steal her for a second. I’ve got something to prove.”

Yachi’s mouth is hanging open - but Kiyoko just grins, probably because she’s already figured out what this is all about. She knows the Third-Years better than anyone else.

“Where are we going?” Zaira asks as you make your way through the room toward the door to the backyard.

“Asahi, Hi!” You smile, “Wanna come along, get some fresh air?”

He blushes, but nods, eyes flickering between you and Zaira as he steps out into the chill of the evening.

“Oh,” you say as if you’ve forgotten something, “Could you hold this for me, Asahi?”

You look into his eyes and drop Zaira’s hand, small and warm, into his.

His hand closes around hers and they follow along for a few steps until it registers.

Asahi’s face bursts into flames and Zaira stutters like the fool in love that she is. 

“It’s really nice outside, don’t you think?” You say, walking toward the trees in the back where the leaves have turned red and gold. From the corner of your eye, you can see that they’re still holding hands, looking in opposite directions, unable to speak.

And behind them, illuminated by the lights in the house, Koushi’s leaning in the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. He looks cozy and warm and like he might admit that he’s lost this bet.

“I’m sorry,” Zaira rips her hand out of Asahi’s grasp at that moment, ruining your little fantasy of rubbing your win into Koushi’s face. “I didn’t- that wasn’t- I didn’t…”

Asahi’s staring at his hand, completely missing the look of betrayal Zaira throws you as she storms away.

“Why did you do that?” Asahi asks, his voice strangely broken. He blinks at you. 

“I…” 

“Because she knows that you like Zaira,” Koushi announces, stepping closer. “And she’s not above using steamroller tactics to get you two together.”

“But I don’t want that-” Asahi croaks and Koushi has the audacity to wink at you as he wraps an arm around his friend. “I know, I know. Come on, let’s get inside and we’ll talk about it. I do have an idea…”

-

“Koushi’s still in bed,” his mother announces when you show up at his house the next morning. 

It worries you a little that she’s not the least bit concerned about you barging in on her son. Has she too already picked up on the fact that Koushi’s not into you? But who could he be into? Yachi? No, she’s too timid. 

You’re still debating that question when you hammer your fist against his door, wait one second, and then burst through.

Koushi blinks at you, shirtless, hair a mess, with a crease on his cheek from the pillow.

“Am I dreaming?” He asks, voice raspy from sleep.

You stare at him, speechless for a good minute before you catch yourself.

“I need to know what you told Asahi last night.”

“Mhm,” he hums low in his throat, curling into his blanket again. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I do.” You step closer. 

His room is unusually tidy for a guy his age, not that you don’t know that already. You’ve spent more than enough hours in here, studying for exams. 

On the chair by his desk rests a jacket that looks oddly familiar.

“Is that mine?” You ask, walking over. 

“What?”

“The jacket.”

“I think so. You left it here last time you came over.”

“And you didn’t give it back to me?”

“I was going to, but I forgot about it,” he waves it off like it’s nothing.

“We see each other every day in school and you forget about it?”

“I had other things on my mind.”

“Like what?”

“Graduating, for example?”

You press your lips together. You can’t argue against that.

“What did you say to Asahi, Koushi? Are you sabotaging my plan of getting them together just so you can pretend you’re better than me?”

“I am better than you. At least at this game.”

“Please,” you scoff. “Name one couple you made happen?”

He smiles, clearly pleased that you asked.

“Oh, gladly,” he slips out of bed, grinning when your eyes immediately shoot to his face. It wouldn’t be the first time you saw him in just his boxers, but the last time happened so long ago, it doesn’t really count.

“Takeda-Sensei and the cute Journalist.”

You scoff. “That was too easy. She was basically throwing herself at him.”

“Coach Ukai and his childhood friend.”

You bite down on your tongue. That one was a hard one, you had to give him that.

“Fine, that one was good,” you begrudgingly give in, “But so was-”

“Ah,” he grins, holding up one hand. He’s halfway in his pants and you roll your eyes as you wait for him to continue. 

“Akaashi and that girl that went to Nekoma… what was her name again?” 

“Nia. And it doesn’t really count if you don’t even know her name.”

“Please, they both needed that push.”

“Still-” He interrupts you again.

“And there’s that really cute couple… ah, no, I can’t tell you about that yet.”

“Yet? What does that mean? Who are you- Koushi! Are you planning on setting someone up? Who?”

“Not telling,” he smirks and pretends to close his mouth and throw away the key.

“You’re a menace.”

“You love it.”  You grimace behind his back. He’s right, but you’d rather die than admit it.

-

“Where are we going?” You ask half an hour later when he steps out of the bathroom, hair now just as messy, but in a different way. You wanna drag your hands through it, but you’d rather chew off your fingers one by one than admit that.

“Follow Asahi around as he confesses his feelings to Zaira.”

“What?” You’re on your feet in a heartbeat. “When? Why? How did you manage-?”

“I told you,” he preens, “I am better at this than you.”

“You’re not.”

“Am too. Mom, we’re going out.”

“Okay, stay safe you too.” She pops her head around the kitchen door. “And come over more often. It’s nice having you here.”

“Oh, erm, yes, thank you,” you stammer. This invite might have been cute when you were kids, but now it just feels weird. 

-

“Why are you staring at me?” You ask Koushi. You don’t know where you’re going and he’s refusing to tell you, but that doesn’t mean you won’t notice if he keeps looking at your face for over five minutes. If he’d been anyone else you might have thought he’d finally noticed your beauty or found some hidden feelings for you in the back of his ink-black heart. But this is Koushi, and you know to expect the worst.

“Nothing, just… are your eyebrows uneven?”

“They’re not!” You exclaim on instinct, though grabbing your phone to check. 

“Take a picture,” Koushi orders, and the tone in his voice has you follow through, starting the timer. Usually, when his voice sounds like this, something fun is going to happen.

He leans in, face serious, so you keep yours similar. Then, right when the countdown runs out, he presses his lips to your cheek.

Your heart lurches into your throat and you have half your mind to turn your phone away, not yet ready to examine the face you made.

“What was that about?” You all but whisper-yell, trying to be conscious of the people riding the train with you even though your heart wants to lurch out of your chest and slap him in the face.

Koushi grins and rests his head on your shoulder. “Not telling,” he hums low and even though you try to push him off, he’s staying exactly where he is. A menace, clearly.

-

There is no sight of Asahi whatsoever.

“We’re pretty early,” Koushi guides you toward a coffee shop, the colorful pastries literally screaming at you to get one. “Let’s get breakfast first.”

“I just had breakfast.”

“And now you’ll have it again. You still drink Chai Latte?”

“Yeah, but-”

“Let me guess, the lemon pie?” He points at an adorable little creation, the yellow color brightening your mood just by being in your field of vision. You pout.

“I don’t like it when you know me that well.”

“Sorry, not sorry. What do I like? You know that?”

“Of course,” you boast, “I’ve been forced to be around you for far too long not to know that. You like everything spicy, so I’d get the chocolate chilli parfait for you. And you’re a wuss, so you drink Hot Chocolate.”

“I do drink Hot Chocolate,” he confirms with a smile, “but I think I’d prefer something sweet today.”

“Ah,” you cock your head to the side to look him up and down. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Well, but it is me. - Yes, we’d like one Chai Latte, one Hot Chocolate, the Lemon Pie and the Unicorn Roll please.”

“The Unicorn Roll?” You ask him, voice dropped low. 

He smiles in a way that leads all attention back to that awful mole next to his eye. It looks like it’s winking at you.

“Yes, The Unicorn Roll.”

It’s a monstrosity of cream and marshmallows, decorated in colorful sprinkles and topped with a tuft of rainbow cotton candy. You’ve wanted to try it ever since it came into fashion, but just looking at it has your teeth hurt and you can never betray your loyalty to everything lemon flavored anyway.

But looking at it now, sitting in front of Koushi as if it’s just a normal dessert, it wipes everything Asahi out of your brain.

It almost makes you miss the fact that Koushi’s paying.

“I can pay for myself,” you insist, a little too late, but he’s already pushing you forward, a warm hand at the small of your back.

“Can I try yours?” Koushi asks and you’re still a little out of it, pushing your plate toward his.

“You wanna try mine?”

“I- yes…” You blink, before digging your fork in, taking out the left eye of the poor little Unicorn.

“I don’t think this qualifies as breakfast,” you groan once your mouth is empty again, thinking fast how you could possibly get another forkful of this delicacy.

“Doesn’t matter though, right?” Koushi digs his fork into your lemon pie and you take that as an invitation to take out the right eye as well.

-

“You know…” you ask between bites, now taking freely from both plates, “I apologized to Zaira. I said I was sure Asahi was going to confess now, and that I’d give him a little push. I still need to know what you told him so I don’t lose a friend as well.”

“Mhm…” He puckers his lips as he’s thinking, now slightly tinted pink by the cotton candy. “I suppose I could tell you.”

“I suppose you could.”

“I told him I’d confess my feelings if he’d confess his.”

Your fork drops loudly onto the table and you almost toss your cup off it as you try to grab it, trying to look as if you didn’t care about his words at all.

“Pretty… uh, pretty bold of you, don’t you think?”

“Well, not really. I’m pretty confident she feels the same way.”

“Oh, but does Asahi know that too?”

“Well, yes. He said it wasn’t a fair exchange, but he’d still try.”

“And how is he going to do it?” You ask, hand curled around your fork in a tight fist. You don’t want to talk about Koushi confessing. Asahi confessing is a much safer topic.

Koushi checks his phone. “He’s doing it right now. He’s meeting up with Zaira at that little park across from her house.”

Your mouth falls open.

“At the park?”

“Obviously,” Koushi smiles, eyes twinkling. “Do you think he’d confess in the open? Where all the people can see him? No way.”

“But… but why are we here then?”

Koushi’s smile changes to something softer and your heart lurches, slipping into your throat. Breathing is suddenly impossible.

You need to get out of here, fast.

“I need to go,” you manage to push out, grabbing your bag from beneath the table.

You don’t look back, but all the way down the street you don’t hear him follow you. 

Well… it’s settled then. You’ll have to move to Tokyo. 

No way you can show your face again after booking it out of there like this.

Now he’s surely going to think you like him.

-

The swings are vacant, the ground covered in leaves.

You pull your phone out of your bag, not surprised to find a flurry of messages from Zaira, each one of them more ecstatic.

And even though you gave them a push, it’s pretty clear that you’re not the one responsible for her happiness. At least not this time.

“Chai Latte, slightly chilled for the Miss?” A voice asks behind you.

“I’m not in the mood for jokes,” you tell him, not surprised when he still settles on the swing beside you.

“No jokes, I promise.”

You huff, but accept the paper cup of Chai Latte, sipping it instead of looking at him.

For a while no one says anything.

“If you’d confessed first, I’d have won a bet,” Koushi announces eventually, making you halt your movement to turn to him.

“You bet on me confessing to you?”

“First. I bet on you confessing first.”

“With who?”

“My mom,” he admits, blushing slightly. “She called me out on my crush during Junior High.”

Your jaw falls open. “That was when you used to pull on my hair!”

“It looked really cute!” Koushi defends himself. “And you always got all huffy and paid me more attention than anyone else.”

“That’s disturbing.”

“It’s honest. But I… I really like you. And you are better than me in some things. Not all things, but some things.”

You purse your lips. “For example?”

Koushi smiles. “Wouldn’t you like to know? I’m better at kissing though.”

“Prove it,” you hiss and his smile turns into a grin.

“Gladly.”

-

-x-

Dread’s creeping up your spine. 

“Oh no,” you announce to the table, interrupting Yachi and Zaira’s quiet conversation. “Koushi’s getting bored.”

“How can you tell?” Yachi asks.

“Can’t you?” You ask, just as the door opens.

“Baby?” Koushi asks, dragging the syllables, “You’ve not paid me any attention for at least fifteen minutes, that can’t be healthy.”

“You’re a big baby.”

“And you love me. What does that say about you?”

“That I have no taste?”

“No, you have a lot of taste.” He grins, propping his head on your shoulder and squinting down at the table. “Oh, I like that color for your nails. I saw some shoes that would fit really well the other day.”

“We cannot buy another pair of shoes.”

“Mhm, we cannot, but I can.”

You huff and roll your eyes. “You’ll never save money that way.”

He grins and presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“Girls,” he addresses your friends then, “I have to take her away for a minute or two. Important business, you understand. Zaira, Asahi’s in the kitchen. You should join him, maybe, because Tanaka’s trying to talk him into cutting his hair. Oh and Yachi, Tsukishima is-”

“Tsukishima is being annoying?” You interrupt your boyfriend, sending him a glare. He will not ruin your plans for Yachi. “We already know that. You can stay here if you want, I’ll be back shortly.”

“Mhm, not if I have anything to say in that matter,” Koushi announces, dragging you out of the room. The giggling of your friends follows you, but you don’t really think too much about it.

There are other things on your mind. 

Koushi’s hand in yours, or the smile he’s throwing at you, or the fact that he’s not pulling you into the living room or an empty bedroom, but outside, where it’s freezing..

You might love him, but you’ll shove his face into the snow for that.

Tip me?

[wolkoshka]

Paranormal II

summary: after your injury in the birthday party, Ghost takes you home, takes care of your wound - and finally gives you a night you’ll never forget… Simon Riley/Ghost x Reader

warnings: slow-burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, mutual pining, excessive drunk flirting, slightly dark!Simon, touch-starved Simon, trying to get into Simon’s pants (and sort of succeeding??), nsfw-themed

•this is a simon riley ficlet, I repeat, this is not a one-shot but contains a bit of plot and character development, bcs god knows we need 'em

•part 2/3

an: here is part ii, and yes, yes, I know! It’s long overdue. You’re gonna have to forgive a girlie and her lack of awareness to the passage of time.

"I said go get him, not split yer head open. Ooch, lassie, look at ye bruising up. That's an ugly one."

Johnny hassled over you, thumbing your temples as he examined your wound.

Ghost had temporarily dropped you at the bar to go hunting for a med kit. When your gaze had arrayed the room, your best friend had caught your eye, smirking - only to then gasp and push his way to you.

"So what happened?"

"Mating dance," you retorted dryly.

You pressed the glove back to the wound when Johnny released you, leaning against the counter in a snort.

"Did he fall for it?"

"Hardly." Your shoulders slumped defeatedly. "I don't think he likes me very much, Johnny."

"That's Lt for ye, lass. Guy wears a skull for a face. Says he sleeps soundly in it. Shudders, I tell ye. You'd think that'd make ye think twice before approaching him, eh?"

"I think my brain short-circuited precisely for those reasons. I think maybe this hit to the head will remedy that. God knows I need to get him out of my system. A full-on purge. Like those, uh, uh, really intense only-water-for-dinner kind of diets."

"It's hard to get someone ye don't know out of yer mind."

"Exactly! Jokes aside, this is insane even by drunk me standards. Never thought I'd have a crush at this age, but, whelp, here goes nothing! Will get him out of my mind as soon as I stop gawking at those muscles, okay?"

Your friend chuckled.

Over Soap's shoulder, you caught sight of Ghost's form paving way to you, broad shoulders squared, back straight and gait commanding. And yet, there was an almost endearing swagger to his stride, subtle as it was, and it only added to the unmistakable confidence simmering underneath that quiet outfit.

Suddenly, you were air-headed. In the manner people jumped out of his path like he was the most lethal being they'd ever beheld had you seeing rainbows and hearing angelic hymns.

A stupid girl with her big, stupid crush. When was the last time you got one, anyway? High school, that's when. And you felt like a silly schoolgirl again, all those eighth grade magazines on how to talk to boys and attract your crush flooding back.

You wondered what three-way advice they would spell out for someone like Ghost.

Bathe in the blood of his enemies. A sexy look can go a long way!

Rip out the heart of his enemy and gift it to him. All men enjoy a sincere show of affection every now and then!

Take a bullet for him. Take several! Nothing says I have the hots for you like bleeding out in the arms of your crush!

When his eyes found yours, uncompromising and intense even from such distance, the choir increased until you felt like your chest might implode.

"Never mind," you dreamily sighed. This particular crush wasn't leaving anytime soon.

"Johnny," Ghost voiced, coming around the man. To you, he crooked a finger. "They got band-aids, but I need to stitch you up. We'll resolve the matter in your place."

Your head perked. "We will?"

Was your night actually going to end with Ghost in your apartment? Maybe even bed?

You looked at Johnny, Johnny looked at you - and you both raised your eyebrows in a knowing look.

"What the bloody hell you two peepin' at each other for?" Ghost growled.

"Peepin'? What's peepin'?" Johnny.

"We're not peepin'." You.

Eager, you hopped down - and immediately regretted it when your vision swayed. Whoops... You clutched your head tighter.

"Easy there," Johnny voiced, hands supporting your shoulders.

Once you righted, you looked up at Ghost. Expectant. Would he carry you?

You kind of, sort of, definitely desired his arms around you again.

As if seeing right through your needs, the muscle below his eye twitched. He set a challenge with his gaze, forcing you to admit defeat and walk a soldier's walk.

You faintly winced. Shrugged. "Owh, my poor head. I feel...dizzy. So dizzy. Don't know...might even trip in the rain. Get a concussion..." Another meek yet daring shrug. "So inconvenient, no?"

"Maybe ye need to go the hospital, lass - Umpf!"

You shut Johnny up with a backward punch to the groin, attention never wavering from Ghost.

There was a soft inquisitive sound, an arch of your brow, before he conceded with a weary blink of his eyes. You had to love the way his lashes fanned every time he did that. Long, thick, and softly curled, they might just make a girl jealous.

Internally, you performed a victory dance. Externally, you outstretched an arm.

His killer biceps bulged around your frame, tugging you close, as he lifted you off your feet. When you corded your arm around his neck and nestled your face on his pec, lashes batting up at him, Ghost looked like he was near to dropping you on your arse and dragging you by your heels instead.

"Don't get used to it, poppy," he grated low.

You wore a look of mock-surprise. "Never."

Gaze too slow to leave your face he spoke to Johnny next, "I'll meet you at the base." He strode past, strong legs falling into pace. "Don't be late. And for fuck's sake, Johnny, get some rest."

Johnny grinned, the act slightly laced with pain due to your earlier assault. "Ye got it, Lt." To you, he gave you a proud thumb's up.

Over Ghost's shoulder, you blew him a kiss and mouthed happy birthday, and I love you big time, you sucker.

When the bar door closed behind you, you pointed out to Simon that he'd forgotten your umbrella and proton pack.

For the umbrella, he said the rain might help sober you up. As for your proton pack, he didn't even bother providing an answer as he took down the street, all pleased with himself as rain mercilessly pelted your face.

When lightning crackled and thunder roared overhead, you thought you felt his arms slightly draw you closer, a bit nearer, but dismissed it, blaming it instead on your active imagination and stupor.

.

What the bloody hell was he doing, Ghost questioned, standing in your open kitchen and preparing tea for two.

Steam curdled up, obscuring his masked face as he poured green tea into two cups. Clasping the handles, he turned from the counter to place them on the marbled island.

Your abode was a spacious loft with four large windows peering out into the bustling city, the London Eye and the River Thames a distant view, with a ceiling that rose six meters high.

Before him was a sitting area with a comfortable couch, plush armchairs and a TV stand. Fully-stacked bookshelves flanked either side while pots of myriad flowers and wild ferns decorated the space.

A dining table perched to his left, a family photo and Mesopotamian antiques lining the dark cherry wood surface in display. He spotted Johnny in the frame, younger than he's ever seen him, dimples deep in a cheery smile, and he spotted you, hanging onto his shoulders with an eye-crinkling laugh of your own, also young and exuding innocence.

To his far right was your bed, propped against the wall and neatly made, accompanied by nightstands and a reading lamp. To its left was the entrance, separated by a narrow wall of stained glass depicting two mermaids frolicking about. By that, he clearly meant the large cock sprouting from the merman's groin and gripped by the mermaid's slender fingers, their tails entwining as deeply as their tongues, their bodies writhing in unabashed pleasure. It was beautiful, no doubt, made to come alive in colors coral blue, golden, and violet, but Ghost also knew it was custom made.

Anyone would've missed the unorthodox tableau at first glance, but he wasn't anyone.

You had wild fantasies, it appeared, and he wanted to bash his skull in for taking interest in that.

Just like he wanted to bash the mug of green tea in his hand because he couldn't will his feet to walk away.

Granted, you'd asked he stay, at least for a little while, to thank him for taking care of your wound, and sprinting to your bathroom thereafter for a quick shower.

It's been ten minutes now, and Ghost should've been long gone. He couldn't be here. He didn't do one-night stands. He had a number for that, a special visitor, that took care of his needs without him ever needing to undress. Left just as wordlessly when the deed was done. No unnecessary pillow talks, goodbye notes, or call me laters. No strings attached, just as Ghost preferred it.

But you...

The way you wanted him, the way you watched him, eyes growing dark and heavy with desire, it made him realize he'd never been pursued that ardently. Sure, he had instances where he attracted certain women his direction - any bloke with a look like his warranted that - but a simple glower from him had them scurrying off just as quick.

He should be scaring you off too, not exciting you.

Not making you out to be an intoxication he was uncharacteristically impatient to divulge in.

Hell, with his given background and formidable expertise, no one even dared to hold his gaze for longer than three seconds. When he talked, everyone shut up. His reputation preceded him. Yet you... Bloody hell, you not only held your ground, but also eye-fucked him every chance you got.

Ghost didn't quite compute; you were a perfect stranger to him, someone he met but once, and yet you had a face that could make a man happily dream into an early death.

God, there was something about you that made his palms itch for a touch...itch to wrap that hair of yours around his fist, lift his mask, and descend for a proper feeding. A sick, twisted part of Ghost perhaps wanted to see how good you could get him to pillow talk.

It was a passing thought, but chills abraded his forearms. The challenge in it gave him a heated rush of red.

What the hell was the matter with him? he questioned for the umpteenth time.

He shouldn't be wanting such nonsense.

He shouldn't be caring for it either.

He should walk away now. But...

The moment he chose to act, turning, the exit his target, the shower stopped running. The naked pad of footsteps resounded. A towel flapped open. More footsteps, and then -

You emerged from the bathroom, all robed and clean, leaving steam in your wake. It looked like you'd just walked out of a dream, cherub cheeks flushed pink and skin dewy, almost satiny, and - fuck. He internally groaned. He wanted to bite.

What in nine hells? He popped his jaw in frustration.

Upon spotting him, excitement flashed in your eyes, and you nearly skipped over.

"You stayed," you breathily commented, the towel you were using to dry your hair tossed atop the dining table. Traces of vanilla and coconut saturated the air, infiltrating his mask, and his mouth involuntarily watered.

He needed to call that special number tonight, he decreed, or else he wouldn't survive the coming days. Days? More like hour. Keep it together, soldier.

Such unpalatable delight seeped from you, he slowly shook his head.

If only you knew he sewed another man's skull on his mask, beaten to a pulp before stripped clean of all tissue. A constant reminder of what he’d lost. Who he'd lost. If only you knew he viewed the outside world from the eyes of a dead man. If only you knew poison swam in his veins, immortalizing the infectious ichor that damned any soul to near him. Touch him. You would flee the other direction.

You would curse at him, curse him, see him for what he truly was.

A rotting corpse unleashed to the world to haunt. To terrorize.

Would you crave him then, knowing those very hands you wanted wrapped around you had ended lives, and most not so humanely?

He wasn't capable of holding you without hurting you.

Anything good and decent in him had long ago been buried away, and in their stead festered rancid tendencies that worked his mind and body tireless.

Nothing survived him, and you would be no different.

Even tonight, his somber mood a result of the death toll that ripped through his heart, deadened as it was, when he heard - witnessed - the scream of little children blown to pieces by a human bomber he was meant to stop, was no coincidence.

His main objective was to retrieve classified documents, but it had come at a cost when the enemy understood they were compromised.

He had done a bloody good job clearing the entire building, knives soaked crimson, fists even more so, but he'd forgone the basement, a bunker where bombers kept their own hostage. It was a gruesome tactic the enemy utilized to throw their foes off balance. He had a moment's decision before the bomber pressed the button - shoot him with the off-chance of saving the children, get obliterated to pieces and fail the mission, or succeed.

It was either them or the classified intel. He’d ducked for cover.

Choices have consequences, he remembered telling Johnny once, and, fuck, if he didn't hate himself for his.

He tasted the sulfur, the clogging dust saturated with human remains, in the back of his throat. He couldn't wipe those deaths from his eyes no matter how many times he bathed, scrubbed, scraped.

So, no matter you being a perfect stranger, feeding him look upon look of insatiable hunger any man would gladly sacrifice a limb for, he couldn't go down that road.

Especially when you meant so much to Johnny, his brother-in-arms, a man with a heart of gold that reminded Simon of his own. He couldn't do that to him, to you. Christ, he couldn't walk through fire again.

He wouldn't survive it.

And - bollocks, he nearly chuckled - he never sounded more miserable. It didn't matter. He'd be dodging a bullet with you, all right. All his physical needs, he could deal with them like a grown man in the confines of his own four walls.

Besides, he was a goddamn mess tonight, his feelings and thoughts blown asunder. He hadn't slept for seventy-two hours and was in desperate need of some shut-eye.

"You look like you've just seen a ghost," your lilting voice broke through his thoughts. He blinked down at you. You shrugged, a small smile forming. "Funny how that works, don't you think?"

Maybe he should give you a taste of what it meant to know Simon Riley. Maybe then, and only then, would you understand the favor he'd been extending you.

Silently, he pushed the steaming cup of green tea your way.

A soft gasp. "A man after my own heart." Your fingers came around the mug, hugging it close to your chest and taking a cautious sip. "Mmm. Just what I needed."

"You feelin' better?" Christ, he might as well have spat out shards of glass with how rough he'd sounded.

You licked your lips, pink tongue darting out. "Yeah. Much," you whispered. "Thanks."

Your lips enclosed around the rim again, plump, red and eager. Red as poppies. He imagined them closing around something else, something harder, hotter, sweetened by your spit.

His muscles stiffened, the itch flaming his palms. Palms he then curled into tight fists - before releasing.

He unsuccessfully cleared his throat. "Right, then, you get that rest, poppy."

He turned on his heel, the exit never appearing more distant as he marched to it. At the end of the island, he'd left the box of med kit and his glove, and he reached for the latter as he bypassed.

A blur of white and he was staring down at your delicate features again.

"Wait, wait, you can't just leave. And you definitely can't take this." You snatched the glove from his grasp and quickly hid it behind your back. You pursed your lips at his quiet glower. "Because I'll, uh, wash it for you. More polite that way."

Bollocks. You meant to keep what was his, you wily little thing. He could easily wrestle it out of your hands, but he didn't want to give you more incentive to put your hands on him. Or, worse yet, his on you.

"You got somethin' you wanna say?" he roughed out.

"Only that I want to thank you. Properly."

"Properly thanked. Now out of my way."

He meant to sidestep but you halted him with a soft, warm palm on his chest. His heart, for the briefest second, quickened at the gesture. Didn't need incentive at all, it seemed.

You struggled for purchase. "Well - Well, what about your tea?"

"I'll live, poppy."

Another step, another pressing of your hand against his body. More adamantly this time.

Bloody hell, such a tiny thing, you were, but he'd never encountered a bigger hindrance. Especially when he was oh, so close to the exit. He was positive you were going to lock your door and swallow the key if he did not indulge you a moment's courtesy.

His abrasive exhale of defeat finally brought your palm down from his chest, and he - what? Wanted to beat your white-bricked walls in at the loss of contact? Absolutely not - couldn't have felt better.

His lids dropped, and his look of defiance rivaled yours. For a second too intense for his liking, both of you were stuck in a battle of wills.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

Four se -

Christ. That pulled a reaction from him, primal and almost aggressive. The kind that had the blood in his veins rushing hot and wild.

His low, grumbling voice, a contrast to the sudden, violent need unfurling in his lower abdomen, vibrated the still air between you.

"Properly thank me how?"

Of all the answers he could've expected, with how your teeth worried your lower lip, nibbling at the fleshly petal, or how your lashes fluttered, somehow nervous, or even with how your cheeks dusted pink in evident arousal, that is, a meek, "Biscuits?" was definitely not it.

His head jerked back, a frown creasing his forehead. "Biscuits?"

He fuckin' loved biscuits.

"Yes. With tea?"

Hell, he loved that more.

He let your words sit for a while. Then, "You got any ginger nuts there, poppy?"

A bashful smile revealed a row of straight, white teeth. He wanted to scrape his own against them, his tongue coaxing in to steal a little taste of you. At the heady image, he tensed.

Growled.

You swallowed. "You don't have to be so angry about it. I've got them. Come on, then, I'll share my favorites with you."

In under five minutes, you had the Ghost sprawled atop your bed goddamn picnicking with a plate of biscuits and a mug of tea in hand.

Having made away with his leather jacket, he leaned back into a heap of pillows you'd placed for him, and - oh, that felt good - his muscles hissed in pleasure at having finally relaxed.

He grunted, his lids threatening to drift shut. Your bed was warm, soft, and smelled of wild lilacs - all qualities Ghost was estranged to in the field, which happened to dominate the better part of his life.

"You'll love this," you said from your spot next to him. He'd momentarily slacked off, and your voice brought him back from the abating garden of flowers he was surrendering himself to.

He breathed in deep, pulling focus.

Having dimmed the lights to your loft, you wiggled to a comfortable position and succumbed to your own nest of pillows.

You smelled like a peachy sunset over a beach of glistening sands, and if he touched you, you'd feel even better.

And now he was turning into a bloody poet.

If 141 ever saw him like this, Ghost would never live it down.

He balanced his plate of biscuits and mug of tea on his lap, but when you pressed your shoulder to his, he nearly spilled the hot liquid over his pants.

It also chased the sleep from his burning lids, and, quietly, he suffered your presence.

His body seared where you touched him, but he made no show of it.

You outstretched your lithe legs, soft and enticing, over the bed, and crossed them at the ankles. At the movement, your white robe parted in the seams, revealing the supple flesh of your thigh, but you made no move to cover it. You simply lay there, still delectable with a kind of sweetness Ghost wanted to languidly lap at with his tongue.

So much so that the muscle now ached in his mouth.

He swore under his breath, his own legs shifting to distance his body from you. His booted feet, he dangled at the edge of the bed. He wasn't that barbaric.

"I thought you were the patient one," you chided, misreading his mood. In your fingers, you clutched some kind of a remote. It possessed two buttons. "Watch this."

You pressed the green one.

A soft whine reverberated from above, and then a portion of the sloped ceiling slid up to, inch by inch, reveal the thundering clouds in the sky.

Not many things had the power to surprise Ghost, but this... Well, suffice it to say, his jaw slightly slacked open.

Rain dazedly pelted the glassed frame, the droplets snaking down in rivulets, and distant strikes of lightning illuminated the cloudy world above, and in consequence, the dark room.

You dreamily sighed, sinking further into your pillows. You reached for the biscuits on his thighs.

Simon hadn't realized he'd placed them too close to his groin, and thought you went in for a different feeding, body abruptly tensing.

The faintest drop of your hand's weight on him had his throat contracting.

Subtly, he had the plate relocated to his abdomen. Much better.

"I had it installed when I moved in. It helps me sleep better at night. Oh, especially in such nights." You hummed out a chuckle and pointed. "Look at that cloud. Kind of looks like the head of a chihuahua, don't you think?"

Lightning crackled. The sky brightened in hues murky gray and electric blue - before plummeting into darkness.

He followed your finger, and released a contemplative sound. It was all he offered, but it seemed to be enough for you.

There was something about the sound of rain and your soft breathing that had Simon lulled to a cozy quiet. Snugged by the pillows, his weight sank deeper into the mattress, and he thought he was in a haven of your making.

This could put him dead out if it weren't for the tempting graze of your shoulder against his, forcing him awake ever time his lashes sluggishly fluttered shut.

You sipped your tea and reached for another biscuit.

Slowly, he lifted his own mask 'til his nose and watched, warily, if you'd sneak a peek. You did no such thing.

Ignoring the twitch in his brows, he bit into the biscuits. The tea smoothed them down his throat, and the warm nourishment felt good in his stomach.

All the while, you talked about your sweets and pastries, the corner shop you bought them from, and how it was your favorite with it having opened almost eighty years ago. And how he also should visit it once he gets the chance.

You finished your tea and placed the mug on your side of the nightstand. Brushing the crumbs from your fingers, you plopped back down, head on your pillows this time.

You still did not look at him.

Sober you seemed to have a few bit reservations than wasted you, it appeared, faintest traces of amusement pulling at the corners of his revealed lips.

Downing the rest of his tea, he put away the empty plate and mug to his side of the nightstand. With that, he masked his lips anew.

In the silence, the only sound the pouring rain, he dwelled in the dark with you.

Then, so softly, you said his name.

"Simon."

His breath hitched dead center in his chest. His eyes arrowed down at your lying figure.

You continued to look away, spiky lashes fanning delicate cheekbones.

"You can stay the night, if you want," you made out, swallowing tentatively and moistening your lips. With a tiny jump, you turned over - and finally tilted your face up to look him in the eyes. You cupped the underside of your cheek. "We don't have to do anything. Not that you - Not that you said you wanted to. I'm sorry. I only mean, it's late...and you must be tired." Then, oh, so gently, "Heard you had a long night, too."

Ghost remained silent for the duration of your speech, and at the last sentence, quirked a brow up. "Yeah? And who told you that?"

"Johnny," you murmured.

"Johnny," he echoed. A low crackling sound sizzled in his chest, but it dwindled out before ever reaching his throat. "You discuss me with Johnny, do ya now, poppy?"

Your eyes dropped from his masked face, and your fingers drew small circles into the pillow next to his.

"Sometimes, I do, yes." So effortlessly admitted. Fuck. "It was merely an evaluation of your person, is all. I could see it too. Your eyes are red. Bit groggy too."

He rasped out a low chuckle, if it could be called that, seeing as some sounds tended to get lost in the wide expanse of his chest. "That it, eh?"

A small smile crinkled the corner of your eye, and if he had a heart, he might've gone as far as to call you a darling right then and there.

You shrugged. "Yeah."

He ran the tip of his tongue against his teeth. Simon knew it was best he end the conversation now, rise from your bed, and exit your apartment. Your life. He got his proper thanks, after all.

But, like a damned fool he could only blame on his exhausted state, he stayed put - and probed further. "What else you bothered Johnny about me, mm?"

You licked your lips again, the tip of that tempestuous pink muscle wetting the seam, and he bit back a wanting grunt.

He'd never been more arrested by a mundane act.

Focus, soldier.

His eyes trailed the gentle curve of your jawline...and down your slender neck.

No, not there, you daft geezer. Away.

"Your mask," your tentative voice filled the room.

"What's wrong with it?"

Your soft hair rustled against the sheets as you shook your head. "Nothing. It's merely got something honest about it, is all. As paradoxical as that may seem, I realize now. It's pleasant."

Pleasant? That's a new one.

But he couldn't have you building false notions about him like that. Maybe it was time he warned you away for good.

"I have more blood on my hands than the one running in your veins, poppy. There is nothing honest about me," he coldly provided.

"Well, I think you're wrong."

Bloody hell, what would it take to dislodge you?

You moved, body climbing up the pillows until your head rested close to his shoulder. And then a little bit more, until you leveled with his face.

The sheer heat emanating from your skin traveled past his clothes, seeping into his pores.

Yeah, you were a darlin', all right. A damn appetizing one, at that.

You shifted slightly, weight on your left hip and bared legs so dangerously close to his.

Through the thick rim of your lashes, you regarded him. "Ghost," you said, and he nearly corrected you. "Would you like to know what else I discuss with Johnny?"

A burning sensation infiltrated his cheek, and he realized you were tracing your fingertips over his masked features. Carefully, cautiously, so as to not chase him away.

"For one, those pretty eyes of yours," you hummed lowly. On cue, you gently trailed a finger down his brow bone.

Heat speared his cheeks at that, and he was grateful for the coverage. Simon Riley, blushing. His lashes fluttered a bit, but other than that, you remained clueless as to his expression.

"And they change color every time I look upon you. Sometimes blue, sometimes silver, other times brown, like sweet caramel, and my favorite, pitch black. How do you do that?"

You studied him enough to have a favorite? At that revelation, his throat tightened.

Wordless, he performed a small, almost undiscernible, shrug, the pillows underneath shifting.

A slow, deep smile curved your cheeks. "You should let me study them in broad daylight. I'm sure I'll solve the mystery in no time." With a cheeky air, you booped the tip of his nose with your finger.

Quietly, he watched your face, coal-dark eyes intent and focused, the only sounds from him his steady breathing.

"God, they're so black." Tenderly, you ran your knuckles across his jawline, angled your head, and then softly guided his face closer to yours.

Once, someone had told him he had no present, past, or future, and he'd told them that he'd see them in hell. Now, Ghost realized hell was here, in the breath of a space between you, where you sat so close to him, and yet he could not close it.

"None of that, poppy." He nudged your hold off.

Disappointment colored your eyes, drooped your shoulders, and brought those pearl-white teeth to gnaw at your fleshly lower lip. And with so much bite, he spotted teeth marks form.

"Easy there," he murmured, fingers acting without his explicit permission and pinching your chin.

At that, the discouragement washed away and your eyes clouded with something dark and promising, putting the storm outside to shame. There you went again with that look. If his career in the Special Forces hadn't driven him mad, this surely would.

Understanding that he shouldn't have touched you, he made to move away, but your fingers wrapped around his wrist, keeping him close - and sliding your body closer.

The second your hip meshed against his, his muscles seized up, locking tight upon his bones.

God, you were hot against him. Burning up.

Simon nearly bolted from the bed when he felt your legs entangle with his, the blistering tension having unwittingly made away with much of his resolve and rendering him stimulated in places he'd rather not feel stimulated in.

Your toes teased his legs, rubbing up against the coarse material of his pants. Then, they glided over them, finding purchase in his inner calves - and massaging. Up, up, they traveled, then dooown they dropped, creating a spine-tingling friction.

Ghost grunted, shoulders bunching before undulating. He straightened a bit. Good God. He was suddenly too aware of his own body heating up and all his intimate areas. All too aware of his blood pumping and where it was rushing.

"You better stop that before you get hurt, yeah, darlin'?" he grated past his teeth.

You sighed, no doubt relishing in his deteriorating strength. "A little pain never hurt nobody. Isn't that right, Lieutenant?"

As you said that, you wedged your leg more firmly between his, parting them, and slid your knee upward to lightly grind it against his sensitive groin.

Christ. He grunted with less control now, the feeling slowly slipping through his fingers.

You shouldn't be using that kind of language with him. Shouldn't be talking in such a tone. Because addiction was another sin he didn't mind adding to the list.

His body sweltered from the inside and his heartbeat increased, beating in his ears. He had to leave.

Jerking slightly at another shiver inducing motion, he pushed at your leg.

A final, "No, poppy," scraped past his throat.

"Simon," you tugged at his wrist, voice hoarsely breaking at the end and so desperately, it nearly unmanned him, "I - I'm on fire. It hurts. It hurts so bad. Need... I need you. I can't stop. I don't know why I can't stop. I just - God, I've been needing you for so long now. Every night, I dream of you, do you know that? Every night. Please, please...I'm going insane. I'm - "

That did it.

With a ferocious snarl that was more animal than man, his arm shot forward, calloused fingers latching onto your cheeks and unchivalrously burying your head in your pillows with the abrupt maneuver of his body over yours.

His weight suffocated you into the mattress.

You gasped, eyes gaping wide in alarm.

His ire flared, his desire, even more so.

"Shut the fuck up," Ghost gritted in your face, now panting hot and fast. "Shut your fuckin' mouth now, poppy. Fuck. You ever heed a warning? You ever heard of using your own goddamn fingers? You ever use that pretty little head of yours? Bloody fucking hell, darlin'. Bloody. Fucking. Hell."

You squirmed under him, releasing small, breathless sounds.

The image of you rendered so helpless roused the most primal parts of him and his cock painfully hardened, straining against the strap of his pants.

It was blooming into an ache his hands alone wouldn't be able to assuage. Goddamit.

Your eyes searched his, arraying back and forth, attempting to grasp what just occurred within the span of a blink.

Then, they narrowed, pretty lashes fusing. "I have," you ground out, baring your teeth at him. "I do. But they're never enough." Fuck, you were talking about your fingers. You almost pouted insufferably. "Never what I want. Need. Crave."

"And I am?" he growled out, baring his own teeth. You seemed to like the intensity he exuded, even heatedly roamed your eyes over his masked lips, expression devoid of all fear.

You nodded eagerly.

Yes.

He cursed under his breath.

Lowly, lethally, "How hard did you hit that head of yours, mm?"

You bit your lips to suppress a moan, "Hard enough to get you in my bed."

"That mouth of yours is goin' to get you in trouble, poppy."

You keened at the warning. "Promise?"

At that, he couldn't will himself away even if he wanted to. Not even all the soldiers in his team combined could drag him away when you stared up at him so wantonly, so desperately, silently begging to make away with the terrible ache that shadowed over your every need.

So be it. You would learn your lesson.

"Open your legs," he growled - and slipped his hand underneath your robe.

an: i made it into 3 parts bcs, well, i just had too much fun writing ghost suffering in his self-imposed ✨ agonies ✨

suffice it to say, the next part will be pure filth. pinkie swear this time. strap your seatbelts, girlies, we’re going to the horniest, dirtiest bangtown.

on another note, if anyone is willing to chat/discuss fics relating to cod or any other fandom of their liking, I’ve created a new discord server and pinned it on my blog; all are more than welcome to join ✨

[brittle-doughie]

No Dice (Ancient Cookies)

White Lily WILL throw hands with Clotted

The Ancients were protective of you, incredibly so. Anything that had to do with you will always have their input, and that included your Soul Jam. It wouldn’t be right of them to treat a long time friend of theirs with the upmost friendliness and respect.

So when Clotted Cream Cookie turned to you if you were willing to share your Soul Jam, hope and anticipation in his eyes that your generosity will extend its hands to his and the Republic’s aid, you hesitated with your answer.

To give up your Soul Jam?

Something you swore to protect and keep away from evil?

The thing that makes you who you are?

The very thing that symbolizes the Light that you were bestowed upon?

This slight hesitation was enough to get the other Ancients’ ire as they raised strong objections, how dare this whelp try to take advantage of your giving nature, you give cookies everything and they would just keep taking, taking, TAKING. They understood it was in your nature and they held no lasting ill will towards cookies who asked, but to see you give a complete stranger your Soul Jam…

Something they swore to safeguard with their lives, a precious item that makes a cookie, YOU, truly alive, to see you even contemplate handing it over only brought their hidden rage towards the Consul to greater heights.

Pure Vanilla pleaded with you that there had to be another way you can lend your hand to other cookies, you always do. But please don’t hand over your Soul Jam, it pained him to see you willing to give everything to help, so in your stead, let him give his Soul Jam instead!

Hollyberry got protective, getting between you and Clotted. You had been through too much to just hand it over and Clotted’s attempts to get your sympathy to accept made her grouchy! Your kindness is not a weakness that Clotted could exploit, if he wanted to get to you, he’s got an angry Hollyberry to deal with first!

Dark Cacao is the angriest of them all, he’s fully aware of your giving nature and to see this WHELP trying to take advantage of that and even having the audacity to try and appeal to your soft-heartedness to get your Soul Jam…it made him pissed beyond all belief. He had to hold himself back for your sake, otherwise this Clotted Cream Cookie would be crumbles from where he stood

Golden Cheese Cookie huffed in annoyance, this cookies dared to ask something that high to an ancient cookie like you?! She claims to never act on a whim, but in this case, she couldn’t help herself voicing her stance against Clotted Cream’s proposal. With how she is in comparison to you, she had to step in and protect you from such foul deals like this. She didn’t want to lose you…just like how lost her kingdom, she wouldn’t know what she’d do if you were crumbs and dust in her hands…

White Lily Cookie oh man….if you thought Pure Vanilla’s response is bad, White Lily is worse. As soon as attention was brought to you by Clotted Cream Cookie, White Lily had already rushed to your side, holding your hand tight with hers.

She’ll use any excuse in the book to have you refuse this cookie’s offer, you already give so much and she loves you for your warming benevolence…she simply can’t allow cookies to take advantage of you like this.

Just say the words and she’ll poison Clotted with her lilies. She’ll do it with no hesitation for you.

[argisthebulwark]

"Are You Two Together?"

summary: Short pieces of how I think various Skyrim men would react to this question (they're all definitely together) gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Brynjolf, Vilkas, Farkas, Arnbjorn, Cicero, Erandur, Balimund, Mercer warnings: slightly suggestive (Brynjolf, Erandur)

You can feel Brynjolf’s confidence skyrocket at the question. One hand sneaks to your lower back to draw you even closer. It’s absolutely the last thing you need - if anyone in the Guild knew about you two it would ruin their opinion of you. Barely getting your footing and already sleeping with your mentor? Ignoring Brynjolf’s cocky grin you clear your throat, trying to banish the heat in your cheeks.  “Of course not.” Your words aren’t exactly convincing when you consider the messy state of your armor and the clear bite marks on his exposed skin. Mercer’s eyes dart between the obvious clues, offering nothing but an unimpressed grunt before turning away.  “Right. That would be unprofessional.”

“Absolutely not.” Vilkas answers despite the hand clasped in yours. You fight to stifle a laugh at his staunch refusal to share his personal life with others. “We’re clearly coworkers. Why would you ask such a question?”  “Well, you’re -” the poor recruit stammers into silence when Vilkas' glare turns to them. You’ll chastise him after the lad returns to his group of whelps across the hall but you know how much he delights in someone thinking he’s frightening.  “The Harbinger’s relationship status is none of your business.” His tone is curt, a contrast to the delicate way his thumb traces over the back of your hand. “Now leave us.”

“Yeah, I’m courting them.” Farkas snorts at the question. He thought it was fairly obvious - the two of you were practically joined at the hip. On the rare occasion one of you left Jorrvaskr without the other he swept you into his arms upon returning. He sat dutifully at your side while you sorted through the mess of being a Harbinger, planning out training routines or sharpening his sword.  “Hear that, love? I’m courting you.” Turning that dazzling grin on you, Farkas places an exaggerated kiss on your hand. “Many apologies for skipping a few steps.”

“Why?” Neither confirming nor denying Arnbjorn continues with his work, fully ignoring the conversation. As you’ve spent many days before you’re perched on his workbench, parchments spread around you entirely in his way. He’s grumbled about the mess a few times but hushes when you retort that he is far more interesting.  “Why would you think Arnbjorn and I are together?” Sharpening your tone, you needle the young trainee with the question. You see uncertainty in the way he glances between you and Arnbjorn’s tense back.  “Well, some of the others were talking.”  “What do you think about that?” Arnbjorn pauses at your teasing tone, a gruff hand on your thigh as he reaches for the correct tool. The poor recruit looks ready to bolt. “Sounds like a ridiculous rumor.”

Cicero is absolutely overjoyed at the question. The mere thought of others knowing he is with his Listener, of being associated with the one he loves! He’s practically bouncing at your side, hand grasping yours to his chest while you await whatever he’s got to say.  “Is it so obvious?” He sighs dramatically, a softness in his voice usually reserved just for you. “Oh, truly Cicero is quite the lovesick fool. It appears everyone has learned that the Listener owns his silly heart.” 

“As a Priest of Mara, I love all of her lady’s subjects.” Erandur’s practiced words do nothing to hide the telltale marks you’d left on his throat. The skin’s a tender reminder of the night before - you sneaking through the temple into his chambers, his words like prayers promising whatever you wish as long as you keep touching him. Clearing his throat Erandur forces himself to refocus on the acolyte standing before him. “I would never allow them special privileges due to any personal feelings.” 

“Never would’ve thought to put a label on it.” Balimund would surely get a kick out of the question. You don’t mind the interest - after the amount of time you’ve dedicated to him during your increasing visits to Riften it’s hardly a secret. You never intended on sharing your relationship with strangers but Balimund’s reliable hand on your shoulder or the way you lean into his chest in the market must’ve drawn some eyes. You’d never discussed your relationship, simply aware of shared feelings.  “I guess we are.” He answers and that soft smile is enough to warm your heart. 

“No,” Mercer lies through his teeth. You’d likely act no different if asked such a question - there’s too much at stake. If one lie unravels the others will surely follow. If anyone begins to speculate about your romantic entanglement with the Guild Master there’s no telling what else they could uncover. Ignoring the little twinge of hurt in your chest you return to your practice dummy, sure that you’ll say the same if they aren’t convinced.  “I hardly know their name.” He scoffs, kicking a foot up on his desk. “No special treatment around here.”