#Rain is too good to Cloud

[azure-steel]

@cloudyfenrir asked: After a certain incident in the Gongaga Reactor, Rain had become privy to Cloud seemingly forgetting who he is; feeling as though he isn't there or far away from everybody.

While Rain didn't know that specific feeling, he did know that having something physical to do helps one stay focused -- It's why he does whittling when he's stressed.

Spotting that same vacant stare he had on the Corel Bridge, Rain sees to it that he brings his brother back to shore.

"Cloud." Rain snaps his fingers to get his attention, when mako-tinted eyes meet blue, he places a block of wood and a switchblade in Cloud's hands.

"Can you do five cuts on this corner for me? Count 'em out loud."

It was getting worse.

This sense of drifting along on a current too strong to swim against, yet when the fog would crawl in and cast the world into the shroud it was all Cloud could do to put one foot in front of the other. When these moments would wrench him out of the reality he thought he knew and into this strange dizzying limbo where he could barely even see his own hand in front of his face, the trance-like state was probably the best anyone could really hope for.

Odin forbid that he would lose himself again like he had at the reactor; that utterly helpless feeling was not likely to leave him anytime soon; just standing there, next to his own body committing such carnage while he screamed and cried for it to stop and unable to do anything than watch it all unfold. In fact he remembered it as though it had happened only moments ago, and the guilt was insurmountable. More mistakes to hang on the figurative noose choking him around the throat.

A detail he had omitted from his confession to Rain not so long ago. He didn't need to know any of that. No one needed to know. Cloud wouldn't let it happen again, he had a handle on it. He did. HE DID!

Today was one of those days however; lost in the fog, unable to navigate the proverbial landscape of his own psyche, at least until the rapid click of fingers would rouse him from his current stupor.

Sluggishly did he turn to face his twin, eyes unfocused initially and flickering about the other's face as though he failed to recognise him at all in those few seconds before the wood and the knife was thrust into his hands.

"Rain..." interrupted before he could even murmur an excuse not to take part in his brother's game, his head wasn't in it at all, but Cloud doesn't argue, he hasn't the mental capacity to do so. So with a heavy, and passively aggrieved sigh, he just follows the instruction, scraping that knife along the corner of the block watching as the curls of wood fall to the floor.

"One... two... three... four... five..." his tone is droll, distant but Rain would be able to see the clarity returning to his eyes with each passing stroke, even if Cloud couldn't truly appreciate it in that moment. But after he's done, he tries to hand the knife and the block back, expression still a touch vacant around the edges.

"Are we done?"

Sometimes these things take time and the gift of patience and perseverance.

#cloudyfenrir #Rain is too good to Cloud #I love him

[hecksupremechips]

Come back home when you have some sense

You can throw your life away just not at my expense

You’re not the son I raised

#jhariah #this one just rawrrfrrr #and then uh another line thats like ‘tell me did you raise a man?’ #nice #im just listening to the new album to cope with nasty sickness and feeling out of it #god this album is really good it has every emotion in there like this song for example just the part where they scream the chorus its like #hnnnghhh #hm some other moments from the album im liking a lot uhhh i love re: concerns a lot #the part where hes like reading off the complaints and then the part where hes just screaming and its like BAM BAM BAM BAAAM #sasuke is so good and the bit at the end where its like ‘i just want you to know im so so...’ #like hes gonna say sorry but cant seem to say the word for whatever reason and i know nothing about sasuke #but i has to imagine the fan girlies are eating gravel over that one lol it gets me #and theres just that like spooky echoing afterwards #the intro to fire4fun goes SOOOOOOOO hard i was losing my shit its awesome #the entirety of trust ceremony is giving me big feelings but specifically that part towards the end where its all quiet and you hear #its like whistling i think? like a marching band is coming in maybe #but it also kinda sounds like nature too and idk i like got a little bit um magical at that part cuz i was driving down a big hill #and it had been raining but there was a clearing in the clouds and the sun was bright and like at this particular hill #you can just see everything like the land stretches for miles theres trees hills the river farms all that shit #and idk with the extreme stress and depression ive been feeling its hard to have these moments where life seems worth it #and its hard to really feel anything anymore or to feel in the moment but idk i was just going down that hill seeing everything and it was #very majestic so yeah that song is definitely gonna have the same effect as pin eye for me #which i must mention pin eye again its still OOOOGHH very good it came at a pretty good time for me #yeah basically this album is uhhhh whats keeping me somewhat grounded rn i recommend 👍

[im-no-jedi]

things that are broken will eventually crumble under their own weight 🌧

#the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #sergeant hunter #hunter tbb #tbb hunter #didn't feel like doing too much with these #I think the pencil sketches fit the mood better anyway #I just think a good cry would fix him #or at least ease the pain a bit #this man is a walking rain cloud ready to burst #give him his family back dang it #my dark and broody bandana man #star warz #my artz #tbb spoilers

[giddlygoat]

i love being silly! all i want is to throw heart hands and click my heels and laugh and smile without a care forever and ever. and this is great! it’s what i will continue to do, and i look forward to the never ending journey that is getting sillier, but sometimes it gets me really down when i look around and all i see is surprise and astonishment. people are always shocked.

coworkers i have worked with for months still can’t figure out why i laugh at what i do, or do it so often. it seems to me like so many people i meet are not easily impressed, and yet their jaws always drop at my natural inclination to be amazed by simple things.

cmon, what are we waiting for? give me one reason why a dog in the drive through or a shiny scooter in the neighborhood or a guy holding two blizzards or a couple with coordinated outfits isn’t good enough to laugh at. if the joys of everyday life aren’t good enough for you then how in the world are you going to experience whimsy? when do you get to smile?

sometimes i feel like i’m seeing all these colors while so many people are living in silver screen. an angry part of me wants to snap in front of some noses and get on my megaphone about it. people have said some truly outrageous and entirely untrue things regarding life and hope in casual conversation and expected me to nod along. do i look like i don’t apply any meaning to my life or treasure each moment? do i look like i don’t care so much it hurts?

#people say i’m too pure and polite. bro i am not some mystical anomaly that crawled out of a well #it’s called whimsy. read all about it #i feel like maybe this whole thing comes off as very entitled and bitter. i’m sorry if it does and i hope to learn and become better #i realize there are a zillion reasons to be unhappy in this world #i just need to see some people realizing that the same is true for the good #can we all just look up please. there’s a whole sky up there #no two clouds are the same. sometimes they roll in sheets or freckles #sometimes it rains. sometimes it breezes #isn’t that good enough?

[seariii]

I tend to forget that people understand and that not talking daily is a normal thing...

#i guess that problem really got to me and it made everything worse in my mind #i still feel so shitty about it tho... like letting people down... #but people seem to understand... or at least they say so... that post said that if we arent told the person is upset its not our fault #because we cant read minds... so i guess that's true... sigh... #the wish to be like everyone else is still something i desire for... the wish to be a good friend... #sigh aaaah to be reborn as a cloud following the water cycle bringing life to the world bringing shade and pretty forms bringing rain #floating endlessly and falling into the ground only to eventually raise to the skies again #wouldnt that be beautiful #seari talks #im okay im just thinking a little too much... now lets see who i spam like heh

[colecassiidy]

Runaway Turned Thief, His First Horse, and its Consequences.

Cole's first horse after the razing of his hometown is a dark bay no-spot appaloosa mare. She's built for long distance riding, and bursts of extreme speed for outrunning trouble. While she can go quite aways, there is definitely a lack of stamina in maintaining a sprint in comparison to a fully committed race horse.

He steals her from two drug mulers who had been camping out in the wilderness. This is where he ends up with most of his supplies that he keeps with him 'til Deadlock, including a second revolver to go with his first, a analog hunting rifle that he uses extensively for hunting and self-sustenance, and dressing knives. (Before then, he had a bed roll that was on its way out, carried in a ragged pack, a multi-tool, a foldable knife, and a water bladder; one extra set of clothes. Having a horse allowed him to pack greater inventory, travel further, and carry more quality of life items such as a wire set to cook over fires, rope, etc. Etc. In the case of meeting @/quick-drawn, she also allowed him to pack game to bring back home.)

He is on the verge of becoming 12, having left the orphanages some months prior (having been inducted into the system at 11 and spending time being tossed around for about 6-8 months). The whole debacle is a bit of a shit show with him waiting for the dark of night, pressed flat to the ground on his stomach amidst the cover of large rock and sage bush rooting between the crevices. He is, at this point, learning to be a little more clever with his thefts, scoping out the individuals, the layout of the camp (but fails at this time to consider escape plans, terrain.)

Sky turns indigo, then a void of black fractured by the salt-scatter of stars. Fire's died out to embers and the men retire to their tents. Cole scrapes himself up to his feet, scurries down the path tied between hasty and careful and rifles through their supplies like a shambling animal that's wandered someplace it don't belong. He ransacks ammunitions, the aforementioned firearms, some cans of food and a flask engorged with gin, amongst an assortment of other things; gathers and piles them up in the saddle bags on the Appaloosa.

Men start rousing as he's on the tail end of packing - the one stirring with a need to take a piss - and the little heist becomes a smash-and-grab operation where he's cutting the reins with a knife and blasting down the mountainside as they start yelling and searching for their firearms.

Later on, when it's deemably safe and he's lost them, he rummages through her saddle bags and finds papers reading Honeysuckle and his face scrunches up sour. Amber-brown eyes dart up from crinkled black print to the dark pits of the horse's. "Y'don't seem like a Honeysuckle."

He doesn't know why, but the name Maria falls off his tongue much easier. Fits her features more, he thinks. (It is, absolutely, a lapse back into his religious roots. Finding the name like a prayer, which he utters in both thanks and apology. Most of all, the significance just falls down to lyrics of Plastic Jesus: Goin' 90 I ain't scary, 'cos I got the Virgin Mary assurin' me I won't go to hell.)

She's a playful mare, likes to 'sneak up' on him while he's turned away despite the very obvious noise of her shoes hitting the ground. Likes to nuzzle her head into his neck, or knock into his back, set his hat off-kilter. Loves hoofing at creek/river/brook water - though that's a learned habit when he decided to splash at her on a non-eventful, idyllic day at a lakeside shore. Steady girl - he'll call her lady, sometimes. There are days where he'll share a beer with her, too.

He is somewhere in the throes of 13 when he unfortunately re-crosses paths with his victims. It's serendipity on their end, an accidental run-in out in the wilderness near an ol' gutted hunting lodge. The owners recognize Honeysuckle and they sneak up on him like he'd done with them, except instead of running off with a horse and materials, they put a gun to him and have him flag up his hands. They don't know what to do with him (there's an additional man to the original duo) and they murmur amongst themselves in Spanish after beating him to the ground and tying him up; they converse like this thinking the boy can't understand.

There's not a lot going for them to toss him towards a lawman; not a lot of pretty coin for a petty thief, not in these days where the economy and infrastructure's been starved out to a post-war drought. One of them suggests killing him out back. There's nothing really stopping them, and they could re-collect their stolen goods and continue on their way. They'd lost money because of the kid's stunt, lost out on 50% of what they could mule with only 1 horse instead of two.

Third man finally says, Sell him. Some place beyond the border where English is just a rumored language spoken only on tv sets. Labor camps need more hands. Sold men are cheaper than the free ones. He gets his reckoning, we make-up our money and then some.

In English, they tell him that in ancient times the law would have his hands severed from the wrists for theft and they knot up the binds on his hands aggressively tight to prove the point.

And then they'd travelled South, days piling into days. The ribbed rope would gnaw the skin raw, chafing towards bone like it's trying to eat him alive, and the entire thing leaves his wrists risking sepsis and scars; bloody, mangled.

they're stopped by in some post-war abandoned location along the way to rest that's filled with rusty tools and broken beer bottles. Some sort of logging warehouse. Cole finds a shitty piece of glass on a countertop and palms it; clenches his hands around it even when it threatens to nip cuts and draw blood. The men get ready for bed. Cole starts sawing at rope fibers. One of the men check up on him while he's just about free - the binds snapping loose as he realizes something isn't quite right.

Cole doesn't know where the guns are; his hands are in too much pain to aim straight anyway. First man goes down with Cole tackling him right into exposed pipes, gritty sawblades. Commotion brings the other two out: one tries to grab him from behind, while the other moves to sling a punch to the gut. Cole kicks wildly, butts his head into the nose of the man who's got hands on him. He's dropped to the floor. His knees ache from impact but it's his wrists that are screaming and he chokes out a strangled noise of pain, blearily grabbing at a slaughtered beer bottle that he's landed right next to.

Man in front of him's had enough, is going for his gun when Cole launches up into him with the bottle in hand. The serated glass punctures cheek flesh, into an eye socket. Man screams. Cole reels the glass back and keeps jamming it back down - and his face is soaked by the gore of it. The screams stop coming, and there's a thick hand that gloves around his shoulder. By some blind, desperate instinct, his other hand has found the handle of the dead man's gun when he is swung around with a fist cracking into his jaw. The glass bottle crashes into the floor. A gunshot spears the air. A third body cripples to the floor, blood guttering from the stomach. He spits on them, staggering to his feet: hablo español, hijo de puta - ir a la mierda.

He shambles out from the building, doused in blood, brain matter, and tries to put on a brave face, but he starts breaking down and ends up mumbling in a sort of low-key hysterics to maria "im sorry, im sorry, im sorry" -- doesn't know what he's apologizing for, that he stole her, that he killed her previous owners, that he's alive. Between the adrenaline and everything crashing in all at once, it's the first time he's reduced to tears since the times before the war.

Exhausted, he falls asleep outside. Leaves the men as is and weakly cuts their horses free (too tired by it all, he doesn't think to search their pockets for money, to rifle through saddle bags before releasing their mounts.) It's a mistake, because the news will later search for the horse owners, talk about a bloody horror scene found in the stomach of a logging complex. But, until then, the next few days are of travel, trying to find a main road while his wrists are pounding hellfire.

He ends up stumbling into a gas station in the middle of bumfuck nowhere looking like road kill. The attendant is startled right out of his seat as Cole walks up to him and shoves forward a fistful of ruddy-colored bills.

His voice rattles like pennies in a rusted gutter; tinny, scraping. He croaks, "I got some money for a band-aid and some rubbin' alcohol."

Man thinks this kid's been in a motor vehicle collision, says, "Kid you're going to need a lot more than just a band-aid" as he unlatches the medical kit from the wall. He seats Cole down on a plastic foldable chair, patches him up free-of-charge to the best of his ability the way a gas station attendant can offer. Man adds in a pair of gloves to make sure the gauze don't shift around too much. Man asks questions.

Where's your parents? What happened?

Cole says war got them. That he got into an accident.

Man tries to have Cole clean up in the bathroom, says there's snacks waiting outside while he phones for the police. Cole washes up, peels off his clothes for the last set he's got, and pockets the medical supplies the man had been using. He walks off, leaving the bathroom -- just does not come back inside -- and hitches back onto Maria and starts to ride off before anyone can come.

He leaves a few crumpled dollar bills on the sink.

#Hc: youth #hc: head up in the clouds;; #Hc: history #this too has been sitting in my drafts for a fat ass minute n only like 2 ppl know the contents of it SHKDHDIA #Tldr; cole's first horse after the war's named maria and he grows up with her til deadlock #she is a long-range mare with good sprint but it's a sprint not meant to be maintained for too long #impish personality - playful - likes to sneak up behind him despite not being very sneaky #He stole her; the owners find him - it does not bode well #He has rope burn scars on his wrist that he hides with gloves for the majority of his youth #Just because they're so damn noticeable and he's not in the business of entertaining the nosey and concerned #These days he doesn't really care due to the fact that he's mottled all over -- forgets that they're there for the most part #The memory of all this is also very far away for him tbh - like he's basically forgotten abt it unless u say smthing that just Unlocks it #This is also the cause of a few lines w a thread w quick drawn: #(You stagger out of this matted in blood and flesh and feel like Death's fucked up little butcher and #you have never wanted it to rain more in your life. #God did not answer this prayer.)

[argiopi]

the trucks passing the rest stop sound like rolling thunder

#i was hoping to sleep in the rain but exited the storm #this is good enough. i can pretend their headlights are lightning too. #you know what i am tagging this as: #poetry #because it is to me c:< #Notice my pun #EDIT THE RAIN CLOUDS CAUGHT UP WITH ME!! SOUNDS SO NICE YAYYY

[jack-is-lost]

A nice, yet small storm consisting of mainly rain and wind, is rolling through the area today. What a lovely time to lie down and sleep. 😴

#I love the sound of rain and the cloud cover #I'd prefer a good rumble too but this is good #yes I'm one of those guys who often puts on a 10hr thunderstorm youtube video to fall asleep to #random thoughts and rambles

[noxtivagus]

random thought usually i kin characters that i love the most or characters i rather hate in a way (hate is too strong of a word though hmm)

#i usually don't exactly share things outright or directly abt myself to others. if you go out of your way to do so or analyze me you're #always welcome to do so ngl that intrigues me a lot. i do that w others often n the idea of the same happening to me just feels too foreign #i know hmm why exactly i'm like this rn n i don't care enough anymore to rlly write about it anymore #each time i think i write too much or say too much that's usually when i get worse n worse #earlier this year this summer when i was doing pretty well but then.. 'i talk too much' #n then part of me just disappeared since then #it hurts when it always feels like a part of me is just always hidden in a way. not that it's my intention bcs #i really want to just be myself n be authentic or wtvr but #this.. loneliness that has always been with me that i #hmm. thinking abt it n i haven't had any good dreams lately huh. despite sleeping early i still haven't rlly slept well #n the real world feels like a dream too. n then #this emptiness that's just always there despite all the things that have made me happy lately. it all feels like a dream #the past feels so far away. the sight of the stars the dawn on the horizon. the clouds yonder over the beach #all of it slipping out of my reach. the chill breeze hugging me n how free i felt in all those moments #reaching out.. reaching out wld leave me be to either fall or drown #in a literal sense n. also metaphorically #in hesitance for either outcome. perhaps everything's just taken away by the wind instead. #every trace taken away by the rain that floods my mind? #dunno what i'm writing. i just can't feel that i'm.. living properly. despite all of this #that disconnection or wtvr along w the regret n guilt n wtvr that just. piled up or wtvr #i lost a part of me that night. all these reflections confuse me so much n just warp my mind to other worlds #dilemmas so many dilemmas n these thoughts n emotions just contradict so painfully n #i'm fine. but. i don't want to forsake my progress or my younger n future self n #who am i? what do i want? why can't i.. reach out? incompetence on so many levels it gets hard to hold unto myself #but still i'll hope i guess. still dream n wish n write. but i'm just losing my energy n motivation to connect w reality #i'm sorry. for everything. so much i can't write.. but everything's crammed in my head or smth. but i'll be fine i'm fine #this is my fault. i'll do this on my own. i'm sorry #it's so confusing bcs i love myself more than i hate myself n i know what i need n should do but. yeah #i'll be fine eventually. with wtvr i'll do n wtvr pain so long as i still live even if i lose hope so long as i hold unto tomorrow.. #i'm too tired to reach out for others n for myself anymore. i'm sorry. i'll be fine though i'll just think of other stuff for now

[foolishquarry]

Stay Put

Max shivered. Lips and eyes tightly closed against the cold water, he crouched stiffly aside the damp wood of an outhouse and scrubbed one handed at his hair and neck, following his fingers closely with the spray head of a hose. Goosebumps rippled down both arms, skin flinching repeatedly from the frigid drizzle of water down his bruised back, but it was worth it. Way better than the thick slick of residual gore that had left sticky footprints to his current situation.

“Ugh.” It was a humbling thought that Officer Creepsie Daisy cleaned this whole mess up before Max even came to that first time at the station. Humbling but creepy- because the guy either already had a pair of Family Dollar briefs on hand for the occasion or made a special trip for some. If the walls and floor hadn’t been splattered with half dried blood and... and bits... “Nope. Past that.” Max blew penny flavored water out his nose, face scrunched against his own train of thought, and gave his cheeks a two handed smack. “Nope nope nope.” But. Maybe a couple creep points could be knocked off. No, a point and a half. Max had a deeper understanding now for why the world’s scariest cop might opt to taze him over potentially putting hands on another pair of wolf gooped pants. Context was a capital B itch in this case. Max muttered wordless dismay under his breath at the spigot flaking rusted green paint into his palm. He turned it off, smacked his damp hands cleanish on his thighs, and pushed sopped bangs back to cast another anxious look across the shadowed shapes of buildings and stairs, the lake, checking for creeping monsters and bare ass witnesses alike. And Laura. With the moon up and Max back to normal, there was only one explanation: She did it. Laura actually got to that Carl Hackett guy and-- The nightmare was over. All that mattered was they’d finally be going home. Even with a growing worry in his gut, that was a cheering thought to hold onto as he collected his borrowed clothes and bent to force a foot into Laura’s joggers.

#the quarry rp #open max starter for mutuals #MaxBrinlyRP #Quarry Time: Good Boy #the good boy is freshly unwolfed on the island #It's Chris Hackett Max pls get better with names #setting can be considered more or less game canon up to this point but diverging is A OK too #honestly can't remember when the rain started so we'll say the clouds haven't rolled in yet #not all my posts are gonna be this long just fyi #I half checked my spelling but I hope y'all aren't grading me here

[raeathnos]

.

#no luck T_T #it’s raining and the cloud cover is too thick though it is abnormally bright out again #not as much as last night but it’s def noticeable #there’s a nature preserve we go hiking at and the one parking lot opens into a big hill where you can see for miles all around #it’s in the middle of nowhere and there’s no lights so it should have been pitch black but we could see without flashlights #also was surprised to see a lot of people aurora hunting there #I’ve heard the best chance for this area is tomorrow night #there were more cme today and they’re supposed to hit tomorrow #g4 and possibly even g5 conditions tomorrow night they said #and the clouds are supposed to start clearing here around 8pm #it’s a work night tomorrow but oh fucking well #it’s a good spot and there’s a good chance we could see it #gonna take a long nap in the middle of the day lol #and take lots of coffee with me to work tomorrow XD #sad we didn’t see the northern lights but we did see a fuckton of deer and a single coyote so I mean #that was kinda cool at least! #fingers crossed for tomorrow p:

[ah0chu]

#blue dragon #2024 #dragon year #god of sea #and rain #with clouds too #korean art #traditional art #illustration #defeat evils #bringing good fortune #wishing good year #happy new year #Instagram

[rosesaints]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* IT'S GETTING HOT IN HERE — jjk men and summer

// now playing the songs of the summer: g. satoru, t. fushiguro, g. suguru, c. kamo, n. kento

summary: hot, filthy, nasty sex with the jjk sex inspired by hot summer things and my summer 2024 playlist! warnings: 18+ mdni, fem!reader, degradation (gojo), public sex, rough sex (all lol), oral f!receiving (choso), all of them are literally matching each other's freaks in public, it's crazy

: ̗̀➛ GOJO SATORU

now playing: SUNDRESS by A$AP ROCKY .ᐟ

shopping sprees after seeing you in a pretty lil' sundress, grabbing your ass in public, sneaking kisses in the fitting room, curious hands sliding up your thighs on a picnic surrounding by dozens of designer bags, laughs muffled against the sunkissed skin of your shoulder.

the first time gojo sees you in a sundress has him urgently dialing up his bank to increase his credit card limit. "listen, i don't give a shit, make it happen—" shuts his phone off and looks at you in that devious smile you've grown accustomed to seeing when he has something up his sleeve.

he looks you up and down, lingers on the silky smooth expanse of your legs and lets his scorching gaze travel up to where you're showing off a generous amount of cleavage. he resists a groan, settles for grabbing you by your waist instead. "you down to go shopping, sweetheart?"

a fucking menace to retail workers everywhere, barely tries to hide the fact that he's sneaking into your fitting room, just shoves several hundred dollar bills into the hands of the nearest worker. "satoru! there's people outside—"

"just gotta stay quiet, yeah?" he rolls up the backside of your dress, hurriedly pressing you up against the nearest surface as you feel his hard length rubbing up against your cunt, excited and eager and already dripping with pre-cum. despite yourself, you moan. "already bought out the store anyway. fuck, you're so hot."

he's so mean, pinching and rolling the bud of your nipple in that rough way that he knows drives you crazy, sends you gasping and squirming for more. slaps your ass—vulgar, obscene, filthy—chuckling behind you when you yelp.

"been thinking about fucking you in this slutty little dress all day. gonna fuck you in every single one of these dresses."

: ̗̀➛ TOJI FUSHIGURO

now playing: I DON'T WANNA FALL IN LOVE by KYLE .ᐟ

the fleeting feeling of a summer fling, scorching gazes under the sun, straps falling over your shoulders, watching muscles flex under tight compression shirts, letting ice cream dribble down your lips.

sometimes, toji just makes it so easy. he doesn't wanna do anything serious? fine. you've been at it all day, bending down in your tiny little tops and shorts when you know you're in his line of vision, licking your popsicle slowly and sensually, making eye contact with him as a drop falls on your chest and scooping it up with a lithe finger, sucking it clean. to his credit, toji doesn't break. barely even reacts.

but you see the way his fists clench and the subtle way a vein pops out of his forehead, and it makes you grin in victory. you walk away from him with more sway and confidence in your hips, and he follows after you nevertheless like a looming rain cloud.

when you close the door behind you to finally, finally confront the consequences of your actions, he only mutters three simple words. "are you done?"

"not quite."

later, when he wraps a heavy hand around your hair, and forces you to look at the mirror, at your debauched and wrecked state, eyes rolling back and drooling as he fucks you hard from behind, victory somehow tastes even sweeter. "this what you want, sweetheart? this what you wanted to get out of teasing me all day? brat. you've got some audacity. where's all that fire now, huh?"

"make me yours, toji," you babble, grasping onto nothing as you push your hips back to meet his punishing thrusts. "'s what i want, all i want, please."

"too fucking bad," he emphasizes each word with a thrust. "only good girls get what they want."

: ̗̀➛ GETO SUGURU

now playing: SEX ON THE BEACH by PARTYNEXTDOOR .ᐟ

bass reverberating through your skull at a house party, hazy with smoke and that flighty, weightless feeling of seeing someone across the bonfire, dancing up against someone you don't quite know, smoking a cigarette together behind the house, rings that leave goosebumps on your skin.

"that's it, there you go, get them wet for me," geto's pushing his ringed fingers into your mouth, and you can feel the cold metal clashing against the hot velvet of your mouth. he tastes like bergamot and tea and leather. when he goes a little too far back, you gag, and the noise sends an electric shock down his spine. he pulls his fingers out and appraises them, digits shining in the moonlight. it makes your throat run dry. "think they're soaked enough for you?"

he hums, looks you up and down with impossibly dark eyes. "guess we'll see."

it should make you feel a little bit scared, the way he's got you spreading your legs for him just outside the party. you can literally hear people on the floor above you, laughing and blasting music. salt air and cigarette smoke lingering in the air as he pulls your panties to the side and circles your cunt, once, twice, before one finger slips in, relishing the way your eyes go wide and lips fall slightly open.

"you're shameless, aren't you?" his question has you clenching your legs, closing your eyes as the lewd noises of his fingers pumping in and out gets louder and faster. "letting me do this to you where anyone could see?"

"m—mhm," your head's going fuzzy at the edges, rutting into his hand and eyes rolling back at the delicious friction. you know how desperate and depraved you must look, but you can't find it in you to particularly care, not with the way geto's looking at you like you hung the moon itself. "give me another one, i can take it, please—"

his fingers stop in their tracks, and you find yourself whining, begging him to continue. geto's eyes darkens. "you think you deserve it?"

"prove it to me."

: ̗̀➛ CHOSO KAMO

now playing: TIME TO PRETEND by MGMT .ᐟ

spontaneous road trips at 2 AM, running through a gas station in the dead of night, slushies and cotton candy and junk food, sugar rushes, like hanging out of the sunroof while the love of your life drives through a windy tunnel, laughs echoing around you.

choso is just so fun to hang out with. usually so calm and reserved, you were surprised when he agreed to a day full of stereotypical summer fun, driving around doing dumb shit together and allowing him to just feel. "i'll go where you go."

something was so effortless, so easy and comforting about the feeling of his hand on your calf as you hung out of the sun roof, his arms around you as you watched the sunset, sharing a snow cone together in the car, laughing as it dripped down on to the hot leather seats of his car.

of course, all sugar rushes have to come down. but they don't necessarily have to just yet.

it's what leads you to reach across the console and clamber on to his lap, lips meeting his to taste the artificial sweeteners that lingered on his tongue. you pull back to momentarily glance at the dumbstruck look on his face, smiling slyly, "tastes delicious."

"oh fuck, oh fuck—" he's got you spread over the backseat, and he's licking hot, searing stripes onto your cunt, ravenous and insatiable and tongue pumping in and out of you at a pace that has you seeing god.

you watch, mesmerized, as he takes another bite of the snowcone before plunging back in, the mixture of his hot tongue and the cold ice of the cone sending delicious, exquisite shivers down your spine.

"you're so sweet," choso hums into your pussy, smiling when he hears you gasp and writhe underneath his tongue. "you taste like a dream come true."

: ̗̀➛ NANAMI KENTO

now playing: SUMMER BUMMER by LANA DEL REY .ᐟ

night swimming in pools, drinking expensive wine and having dinner by the beach, the feeling of a hand on your back, lounging on soft sand with the breeze in your hair, head in his lap as he reads to you.

nanami wines and dines you like he's still pursuing you. for him, it means reserving that seaside restaurant he knows you've been eyeing for months, helping you get ready at your apartment, zipping up the long dress he specifically bought for you for the occasion, and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. holds your hand all the way into the restaurant, pulls your chair back for you, and looking at you with so much love and adoration it hurts.

he loves you so much, that he lets you tease him under the table as you look over the menu. his breath hitches when your free hand goes to unzip his pants, but tries not to let his expression betray the filthy, depraved things you're about to do to him.

you order your appetizer and drinks without breaking a sweat but pumping him with so much ferocity that he stumbles over his words multiple times while trying to order for himself. you smile at him sweetly nonetheless, like nothing's wrong.

he comes with a silent gasp when you rub over his tip in just the right way, eyes widening in shock as you pull your hand back just when the server sets your appetizer down. watches intently as you delightfully take one of the hors d'oeuvres and take a bit, tongue brushing against your fingers, the ones that have just finished him off. "thanks, nanami!"

something in him snaps.

nanami takes a sip of wine and readjusts his tie. he'll deal with you later.

© ROSESAINTS ! — do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own. requests are open.

#🎞️ writing — me when i write. #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo smut #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #geto smut #geto x reader #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #mdni #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji smut #toji x reader #choso kamo #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo smut #choso x reader

[venmondiese]

A Cure For A Bad Day

Summary: Aemond has one of his worst days ever, nothing seems to go right. At night, at least, he gets the company of his new wife as he bathes.

Based on Ewan Mitchell's and TGC 'Scene Reactions' when he says "When we did that scene, when he had the rain machine going in, the dye on the eyepatch... it just stained the wig"

✧Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader ✧Warnings: MDNI 18+, p in v sex, bath sex, breeding kink, overall very sweet, aemond discovering feelings. ✧Word Count: 5.2k ✧ Ao3 link: here ✧gifs: by myfandomprompts

Aemond is known for many things. He is fierceless, perfectionist, well trained with the sword, and bold. Those things he was proud of. 

And all those things, he was not today.

He trained by morning, and Criston Cole was waiting for him. The sword felt slightly different on his hand, weird, but he just took it that he slept badly and that's why his arm felt numb. 

Now, after losing his eye, he had to learn things differently. He had a considerably big blind spot, and so he learned how to keep it aware of his surroundings as training with the sword. Yet, those things do not have in mind the little rocks on the ground, which he stepped on and twisted his ankle as he tried to defend Ser Criston’s attack.

And with that, he twisted his ankle and slightly cut his hand. 

He was annoyed, but he tried not to pay attention to it. A silly mistake. The rock was on his blind side, how could he notice? It was a rookie mistake, and it burned his cheeks to remember it. 

By the evening, after eating, he decided to ride Vhagar. His girl liked long rides, not so fast but more calm, and prowling around the crownlands skies.

 He did not anticipate the rain. 

For some reason or another, Vhagar was as grumpy as him, and she did not seem to want to go over the clouds in the rain. No, she wanted full on take a bath on the rainfall.

And Aemond had to bear it. But what was worse was when he realised that his eyepatch had dyed his hair. He just picked the worst eyepatch today. 

His hair was slightly silver auburn, and just in some parts. He hated it, and it made his day ten times worse as he realised the eyepatch had been too tight, and it had been suffocating his scar without him realising. 

He had trouble with the sensibility on his left side of his face, and just today he put his eyepatch too tight. It made him furious.

And he decided to make it everyone’s problem. 

He was laying in the bathtub, next to the fire as he had a horrible headache. He came in, demanding a bath as the servants had to rush to get him hot water.

 He took his own clothes off, kicking his boots away, refusing any servants touch as he undoes his own leather jerkin, he unties his breeches, grunting and mumbling in frustration, hating each instance of this day. He thinks a bath will help him to relax even a bit. He just wanted to sleep, and end up with this horrible day. 

His scar itches, and it drives insane. It was as if the itchcame from the deep parts of his cheekbones and it drove him mad. He was at the edge of peeling his own skin to scratch his damn scar. 

Only in his undergarments, he ignores the chilling cold from the chamber, and he walks barefoot as the servants fill the bathtub with hot water. As hot as possible. He walks over the chimney, and throws the eyepatch in, hoping it burns in hell. 

His loose hair, tinted with the dye of the eyepatch. If he only knew who was the mastermind behind it, who decided to spend coins on it; he would kill them. And they better hope this stupid dye can get off with the bath, or head will start rolling. 

The water was hot, but he paid no mind. He liked boiling hot, and he sat against his as he let the attendant boy prepare scents and the oils to put on the water, and to wash him. Aemond didn’t allow him to wash him; yet. He wanted some moments of peace in the hot water, so he remained a good amount of time still.

“Bring me the ointment that Maester Orwyle prepared for my eye” Aemond’s voice is low, yet demanding as the boy gets out, not without bowing to the prince.

He waits, pinching the bridge of his nose as if that would calm his nerves, his headache. He believes it works, so he is focused on it, as he accommodates his legs on the water, trying to be relaxed.

Time is a bit dizzy, and when he hears the door open, he can hear the servants speaking hushedly, as if wanting him not to hear. Good, because he didn’t want to listen to them either. 

He can hear the little taps that the shoes do as the maid leaves the oils for his hair on a near table, and takes his hair on her hands, gently. He doesn’t turn to face her; he just wants the damn dye to get off. 

Hands wash his hair, and if he wants to relax, this is making it impossible. The little tugs and the awful way that scrubs his hair to take the dye off, and the weird caresses on his neck from time to time. 

“You are not doing correctly" he grumbles to the servant with closed eyes as his migraine is persistent. "Learn how to wash a prince's hair" he adds, sharply.

“Apologies” The voice comes as a murmur, a bit strained if even, as the hands go to his neck, and all the way up.

“My prince” He adds sharply, he cannot believe his luck today. “When you address a royal member of the Targaryen House, you use their title. My prince” he says, patronisingly and even angry. 

“Yes, my prince” a little cough at the end, he either thinks the maid is trying to hold back a laugh or embarrassment. Not that he cares, as he has his eye closed and a hand on his temple, his head resting on his hand, that caresses his forehead trying to get that awful headache away

Aemond's face was scrunched up in pain, as his eyes were closed. "Are you new at this? I swear... I am starting to believe that they are just sending me incompetent maids to attend to me..." the young prince groaned.

His body stiffens, as arms go to wrap his neck from behind, and before he can sit up properly, he feels the maid kiss his cheek lovingly as she giggles. “Apologies, my prince…” 

The voice is clear as day, and if his hand was going to fetch the little dagger on the table by his side, it stops. 

He turns his head to his right, seeing your wide smile as you wait for his reaction. He groans, rolling his eyes, which causes you to laugh loudly.

His new wife, she always liked to tease him and cling to him, always hugging him, taking his hand in hers or kissing him all over. He didn’t mind; he always allowed her even at court. But he won’t admit that he likes it too.

“Wife” he greets you as he sighs, and he feels your hand rubbing circles in the back of his neck. 

“I know, I do not know how to wash hair. You’ve made it completely clear”

“I thought you were a servant” he says, looking at her. “You are a highborn lady, you don’t need to know how to.”

“True…” you say, moving some of the wet hair out of his face, and squeezing it so it isn’t dripping. “I heard that my prince had a horrible day, and he was in a bad mood. Servants do talk, you know…” you say looking at him with a smile “Wanna tell me about it?”

Aemond sighs and looks at you, as you take the sponge to wash his body. He sighs as you pour some of the water in his chest and start scrubbing softly.

“"A terrible day... I stepped on a rock, and twisted my ankle and cut my arm in the process... Then i wanted to relax with a ride on Vhagar, but it started to rain, the fucking dye of the eyepatch got all over my hair and eye.. I have the worst migraine now..." his voice is rough, and he seems annoyed at the memory of it. “And I haven’t seen you as much as I’d like”

It wasn’t the worst day he has ever lived. Maybe. When he lost his eye it could be the top one. He won Vhagar, at the cost of his eye. It was an amazing thing, traded for the worst thing that has ever happened to him. He was still living the consequences of it today, as his scar stinged on his skin.

“Not your best day, I see” you say softly, scrubbing his chest. He enjoys it, as he looks at you, leaning back in the bath as you scrub his chest. “I’m sorry to hear it”

“I don’t need pity” 

You chuckle “It is not pity” you say softly, looking at your husband. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

Aemond stays silent. He is not used to someone caring about him like this. Sure, his mother cared for him, and so did Helaena But not like this. 

“Be by my side”

The silence is a bit comforting, as you wash his body. He looks at you deeply, and he cannot help but think how stunning you are. You didn’t find any discomfort in washing him, in caring and tending to him. You never once seem disgusted by his lack of eye, by his empty eye socket, or his ugly scar. Never once you discarded him. 

It was more than often that you placed the ointment prepared by maester Orwyle on his eye, his scar, where his nerves were permanently damaged and they brought discomfort to him. You never once complain.

“You look different” he says, looking at you in the dim lights of the room.

“Different how?” you ask, as you finish brushing his hair, making sure the dye is almost completely getting off his wet hair. He has little curls, which makes you smile like an idiot.

“I do not know. Shining. Radiant. Lovely.” He murmurs, moving one of his wet hands to tickle a strand of hair on your ear. “Different”

“So I usually do not look radiant or lovely…”

“Not what I meant” he groans and you chuckle softly. “You were sick. Now you look much better in… spirits.”

“You look different too” You say looking at him with a smile. Your eyes fall to his chest, and you smile. He notices how you get flustered at the sight of his nakedness. 

“More wounded” he says ironically, leaning back with a sigh. 

“Stronger” you correct him smiling. “More… mhm. I’d say more… Hot”

“You think I am hotter when I'm wounded?”

“Not what I meant” you say chuckling under your breath, “I meant… I like seeing you like this... Leaning back is so... manly, and hot…" 

“Oh, do you?” he asks slightly amused, leaning back still as he looks at you, nodding and smiling. Aemond frowns a bit, and he hisses then you accidentally hit his new wound on his wrist. 

“Sorry, love” you say, kissing his hand, and smiling. “You know, when I was little they cured my wounds like this. With a kiss”

“Did they?” He asks, trying to remain interested even with his headache. 

“Yes. Like this” She says kissing near his wound, a very feather-like kiss. “See? Does it feel better?”

You look at him with an adorable expression, as if you truly think that this would make him feel better. Aemond blinks, as he looks at you. 

It ticks him the wrong way that you care about him. Why would you? Perhaps it is a womanly thing. He wasn’t so sure. Perhaps as his wife, it is your burden, having to make a maimed man feel better. 

The prettiest maiden in court, chained to a maimed man, deformed and always wounded, stuck in the pain of his eye to see beyond. Wasting your best years with him. 

And he cannot decipher why.

“Aemond?” You ask as he trails off. 

“Yeah” he clears his throat, awkwardly, and he moves his legs a bit. “I guess so” 

“Where else does it hurt?” You ask sweetly.

He sometimes hates how kind you can be, he doesn’t know what your upper intentions are, but after all, you are his wife even if he can’t decipher you.

“Well, my eye, obviously…” he says a bit embarrassed “And… my left foot, I guess. And my arm, because I slept on it… and…”

You nod, looking at him as he speaks. He is intimidated, he realises. You make sure to hear all of what he has to say, with your sweet eyes. 

You move to the end of the bathtub, and move to kiss his ankle softly, no complaints, no hesitation. Nothing… odd, about it. Only out of tenderness. You kiss his shoulder, and his left cheekbone, softly, to make sure it doesn’t burn on his skin. He just lets you, because it makes you happy, thinking that it helps.

And he doesn’t realise that it actually helps him, in a way. The smile on your face makes him smile too, and he sighs.

“Better?” 

“Mhm” he hums in agreement, looking at your face. “Better when you're with me, yes” 

He is utterly head over heels for you, even if he isn’t good with feelings. He loves you, even when he seems slightly annoyed by you. 

“And you?”

“And me?” You ask curiously.

“You were sick. Coughing like crazy, and all your body ached.” he says softly, “in confinement, away from me… Do you truly feel better?”

“I am better. Lady Westerling got all of us sick” you say with a slight smirk. “my body still aches a bit, but it’s…” you hesitate a bit, slightly nervous.

“Then join me” he interrupts, moving to try and get you in the bathtub with him. "The hot water will do good to you..."

"It will burn my skin, I hate how hot you take these baths..." you protests, moving his hands off your waist as he tries to pull you in.

"The Blood of the Dragon, wife" he says smugly, smirking. "It is cold, anyways. It is barely warm"

"You like it boiling hot" You say smiling to him, and he presses a kiss on your jaw.

"I do, indeed." He admits "Come on, get in with me"

“Aemond, my nightgown…” you protest, and he rolls his good eye.

“You have others, let it get wet” You seem to give in, as he helps you get in, holding your hand as you enter the bathtub. “It will do good to your aches.” He insists, taking your waist in his hands to place you on his lap.

“I think it is an excuse” you say, blushing a bit as you accomodate on his lap.

“A good one, you must admit” he says looking at you, and he passes his hands all the way up to your back.  “But an innocent one, I must admit” he says, and you tilt your head as if asking him to elaborate “I don’t think I am up for anything, I am too tired for it”

You hum, his still wet hair made him look almost cute. His little curls...

“The dye came off” you say, as he leans to kiss your neck a bit. “I can go to the tailor and ask them to make another eyepatch one for you. More fancy. With real leather. Maybe add some fancy dragon scales in it” 

“Hm. Fine” he says looking up at you, smiling at how delicious you were. He places a kiss on your hand, and he smiles. “What is bothering you?”

You stay still, blinking a bit. “Court. Ladies… at court. They don't seem to like me much. I mean, they like me but I always feel excluded. Like I am doing too much for them to like me”

Aemond looks at you, a bit surprised by it. He places his hands on your waist, and he certainly was thinking about how to comfort you. He wasn’t a court charmer either, so he hummed.

“I thought you had friends.” 

“I do… I guess. They just never seem to think of me when doing things. They do not hate me, no… I am the new one…, and so they just…. Don’t include me”

“I’ll include you” he states nodding. “I’ll bring you with me everywhere. Training, riding Vhagar, in the library, all of it.” He proposes softly. 

“Hm. It would be pleasant.”

You smile softly, your hands, now wet and in the water, move from his abdomen all the way up to his chest.

Your husband was well fit. A prince of the realm, training with the sword since he was little. He practised almost every day, and was very detail-oriented in his field. And that paid off, as he was lean; yet muscular. 

You two were still newlyweds. Maybe three months since you two married, and things were a bit awkward still. You tried to decipher his odd behaviour and he tried the same with yours, starting to know each other personally, yet there was a bond, a silent affection you both shared for the other.

His body felt warm. He had stayed at the bathtub for Gods know how many hours, and he was all wet and shiny. You hand caressed his muscles, going up from his abdomen to where his wispy chest hair were. 

“What is in your mind?”

You hum, and smile “How handsome my husband is” you murmur “How good he is to me…” you add “How much I truly like you…”

Aemond raises his eyebrows, and he looks at you as your hand caress his torso up and down, slowly, as if you were tempting him. 

“Oh?”

You nod softly, and even if he doesn’t know you too well; he knows this face.

You move to kiss his neck, your arms wrapped around his torso as you leave little kisses all over his skin. He chuckles a bit, at your little desperation for the demonstration of love, you were such a physical person for him. 

“Darling, what are you-”

“I just missed you” You say, and he can see in his head the pout you would form if you weren’t so eagerly kissing his neck. 

He chuckles as his hand holds your waist firmly on his lap, and he leans his head back, facing the ceiling as you two spoke. “Very eagerly, I see” 

“You are tired. But let me…” 

Your arms wrapped around him, holding him as you press gentle kisses there, and he smiles, starting to feel the boiling arousal in his abdomen, looking at the ceiling as if it could distract his mind. 

“Very well” 

His arms went to the edges of the bathtub, as he felt the fabric of the nightgown against his chest, and he certainly was starting to enjoy the constant nibbling and wetness of your kisses. 

Aemond lets out a quiet groan, enjoying the gentle bites at his neck, as he feels his neck a little warmer. “You little minx- Did you just give me a hickey?”

Your giggle tells him all, as you move your lips to the start of his clavicle. His good eye closes as he enjoys the way your mouth feels against his sensitive skin. 

“You are simply… delicious” you murmur, your kisses going lower to his chest, before stopping a moment.

“Do not tell me you want to leave a hickey there…” He says, moving his head down to look at you.

As he imagined before, your mouth turns into a pout as you frown; most adorably he must add. 

“Oh, please! Let me try” You ask him “It is a way to show you that I missed you” You add, trying to convince him as he chuckles, making a mocking sound. 

Aemond rolls his eyes as he feels your eager mouth sucking the skin of his chest, as if he was some kind of… not even he knew. It felt strange. Worshiped and feral. That’s how it felt, at least for him.

Once you separate, you look at your work, your thumb moving along the bruised skin with a satisfied smirk. 

“Looks so good on you” you swear, as if it was a matter to be known. 

“If it makes you happy” he says, accommodating on his seat, the water moving along with him. “My turn, then?” 

You shake your head with a giggle “You always make it a mess!”

That he did, and he smiles a bit, seeing the lack of lovemarks of your neck.

It is you who eagerly kiss him, and press your body to his, as if needing him. He isn’t one to complain, as he feels your eager lips pressing against his and your tongue invading his mouth. Rather bold, to his taste. But he likes it.

Your hands on his shoulder make their slow way down, passing temptingly slow from his chest, to his abdomen. He gasps in the kiss, as if he was some kind of maiden, when he feels your hands underwater on his crotch and touching his cock. 

He frowns a bit as he separates, trying to demand an answer. “Wha-” he tries to ask before you shut him up with a kiss, not even letting him speak.

Rather eager, aren’t we… He thinks, but he isn’t one to complain, as your touch is like magic to his dick. In the water is odd, he has to admit, but his member thinks otherwise as he gets aroused from your eagerness.

You smooch him with kisses, and he feels… intimidated, in a good way. You don’t even allow him to breathe without going for another kiss, desperate. Feral.

He has a feral wife, it seems. 

“Darling, what are you…” he asks amused as you break the kiss, just to move your wet skirts all the way up, but he can’t see much of your pussy in the water, which he dislikes a lot. 

“I missed you” you repeat “A lot.” 

“It isn’t as if you were confined in a tower for years. It was barely two days. And I visited you-”

“I need you, husband” you state impatiently, as your knees move to the sides of his hips. “so, if you are tired, I’ll do it” 

He blinks, surprised and taken aback. He is rather amused and aroused, at his bold wife.

“Alright” he says, looking at you as you can do the work alone. 

He isn’t tired for sex, not at all. He can certainly get the energy, maybe not perform as usual, but he’ll do it if you ask. You didn’t even need to ask for it. But seeing you in control is better than that.

You rode him once, for later to admit that it wasn’t your favourite position, because you grew tired quickly. He didn’t mind, but now he thinks he’ll have you riding him at least once a week.

The way your dick enters your body is slow, as you slowly lower yourself on it. He can see your face contoured with pleasure, how you shut your eyes, and your hands grip on his shoulders as you whimper on it, you open your mouth and he leans to kiss your neck a bit, as if wanting to give back the affection you give him.

More than bounce on it, you find it more practical to grind on it. Your hands, that move between his waist and his shoulders, as if you didn’t know where to hold him to help you grind against his cock.

“That’s so good…” you whimper as you grind on his cock. 

The water moves around, the harder you grind, the harder it moves on the bathtub. He is even sure that some of it has overflowed the bathtub, as he looks at your pretty face, as you moan needily. His hand moved to pull down your nightgown, just enough to expose both of your tits in the firm fabric. He pulls it down to expose your shoulders a bit, and it is a sight that only arouses him more.

“It’s so good, baby?” He asks looking up to you, and he leans his head to kiss your nipple, gently. 

He knows you missed him. You are not rough, or a mess on his cock. You are doing it so prettily, so sweetly, he knows that you truly have missed him and his touch. 

“Yeah, so-so good.” You babber a bit, nodding as he kisses your other breast softly. He does not hold you, he has his hand on the back, trying to keep him firm as you ride him. 

His right hand holds your waist, as he notices. Your arms are on his shoulders as you whimper and moan, grinding him, not even minding the water around.

He has to admit, in the bathtub isn’t as comfortable as outside of it. The water doesn’t help to be smoother, if anything, he has the impression it does the contrary. It may be just him, as you don’t say anything against it.

“So eager, baby…” he says amazed, and now he feels like the one worshipping you. He just adores you, he realises, as he sweetly talks you through it “You just needed me, this badly?” He asks, kissing your jaw.

The little nods you give him are enough to get him moving his hips slowly up to meet your little grinds and bounces.

He kisses your breast again, and the other, and the other. He adores you, how the little mewls from your mouth are so arousing for him as you clench your pussy around him. 

“Aemond…” you whine. “Feels.. amazing, so good...” you repeat, as if you couldn't think of anything else, as he looks up to you. 

 He is just surprised you have gotten this far without begging him to take control. They way he’d take your waist and flip you around, to make you hold the other edge of the bathroom, just to take you from behind, again, and again, and again. The water would overflow the bathtub completely, and his seed would be securely in your womb. 

But you don’t ask him, and he doesn’t do it. He likes the sweetness of it. He likes how you look at him needily for both of your lips to meet on a kiss, passionate as your bounces and grind are slightly weaker. 

“My special girl…” he murmurs, kissing you again and again, not minding if they are pecks or if he has the opportunity for his tongue to play with yours. “I love you”

You nod, whimpering and whining as you say it back. I love you, I love you, I love you. Again and again, as if it was some prayer.

“Aemond” you moan into his mouth, 

“I know. Can you feel how good you take me?” He asks softly, kissing your chin, as he holds your waist to help you bounce on his cock. The splash of the water amuses and arouses him, and he groans at the sight of your nightgown fully soaked, glued to your figure.

“Mhm. Yes, yes, Gods, yes” you said, probably numb and already cockdrunk, just enjoying the feeling of his cock so deep inside.

“You want me to fill you, hm? To make you round with my seed, baby?” He asks, looking at you, moving to kiss your neck. 

He is also rambling at this point, as you squeeze him in the perfect way, asking to be filled with cum. He ignores how the water splashes his chest and back, how it is practically soaking the carpet under the bath, and making a mess. He has to remember how wet it might be so you two don’t slide on the floor. 

“Aemond, I… oh, Gods, Aemond!”

You little moans are music to his ears, as he holds your waist to move you down to his cock, to his taste. Not as rough as usual, but certainly desperate enough to want to cum.

“Will you cum for me, darling?” He asks, as he feels your hips grinding more desperately on him, and he throws his head back on the edge as he feels his balls tighten as well. You did wonders on him. “Cum for me and I’ll fill you up as you so much like” he promises, almost feral for you to cum. 

Your release made him moan, loudly, as he held you tight on his cock as he cums as well. He looks lazily at you, panting and whimpering still, which only serves to fuel the last remains of arousal on his abdomen, filling your womb with his cum. He hopes it takes root  and to see you grow pregnant as moons pass by.

“Thank you” you say, breathless against his chest, kissing his cheek sweetly. 

He smiles a bit, by how pleasure drunk you obviously were. He moves you slightly, to pull out from you and accommodate you on his chest, which you take comfort in. “Nothing to be thankful for. I thank you. Having sex is rather… good for when one had a bad day” he says smiling. 

You smile, and look at him, caressing his chest as you remain in this position, calmly breathing as he tries to stop panting. 

“Have I made it better?” You ask, softly, looking up to him.

He chuckles softly, almost amused by how ridiculous the question was.

“Just by having a sight of you, you make my day better” he says. 

Even if he was new to this whole marriage thing, even if sometimes he didn’t know you that well as your ladies-in-waiting and sometimes just allowed you to be even if it bothered him. He didn’t understand you most of the time, but he certainly adored you, very dearly. 

“I can make it even better” you say almost proudly, and he raises his eyebrow, looking at you laying on his chest. The water wasn’t even hot anymore, but more cold than he could bear. 

“Oh, how so?” He asks amused. “Did you claim a dragon? Only that can top the amazing moment that we just-”

“I am with child” you say simply, looking at him with a smile. 

He stops on his tracks, and looks at you as he takes in what you said. He blinks, looking at you, and you smile awkwardly at him. Was he happy? The prospect always puts him in a good mood. But maybe it wasn’t as you thought? One thing was words, and other actions.

You watch his eye as he seems to have hundreds of thought per second, his face slight confused as he frowns a bit, before his lips turn into smile full of disbelief.

“Are you joking?” 

“No... Maester Orwyle informed me this morning” you say softly. “He says that probably our wedding night was fruitful. I don't know. I don't look that pregnant, after these months. We have to figure it out in these days, so we can see when the birth is due... It's funny, because at first we thought it was from the sickness, that I got the worst part… but I just happened to be sick and pregnant”

That's why Maester Orwyle looked at him with a slight smirk as he helped desinfect his arm after training. You probably asked him to keep the secret so you could tell him.

That's why there was something off about you. He couldn't get exactly what, but something was off. It made sense, how nervous you were and how you tried to tell him before, but he was a fool to not notice it.

“Oh, my love…” he says, as he wraps his arms around you, hugging you tightly to him. “Oh… I don’t… I... What can I even say to that?”

He is surprised, and he can’t believe it. You were pregnant. You actually were. His little offspring, growing in your womb right at this moment. Your stomach was not firm by any mean, he couldn't decipher it even if he liked so.

“That is… That is the best thing anyone has ever told me” he admits, chuckling a bit in surprise. “You are going to be a mother. And you are going to make me a father” 

"We are, indeed" You say smiling to him. "In some months, it will be me, you and a weeping babe"

He can feel his nose burn as he smiles, the image on his head as he forces himself not to cry of happiness, a weird chuckle comes out of his mouth.

"You are right" he says looking at you. "So, you are definitely moving to my chambers now, aren't you? No more personal chambers, no more confinement when sick. You are not leaving my side, not you or our little dragon" He states nodding, not for discussion. He can't have you just wandering around without him near to protect both of you.

He smiles, as you giggle. His day certainly got better, all thanks to you. His hands caress your back soothingly, as he is just... happy. He forgets about his horrible day, how his ankle still hurts or how his scar stings on his cheek and forehead as he smiles. What is that compared to the joy of knowing that he will be a father? A father to your children as well?

“Now, how come Lady Westerling got my pregnant wife sick?” he teases you as you roll your eyes. “She is in so much trouble, who does she think she is? Both my wife and my sweet baby? Oh, she is not going to see sunlight ever again-”

“Aemond!” you giggle, but he smooches your cheek with kisses that only makes your giggles grow louder.

#aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader smut #aemond modern au #house of the dragon #aemond smut #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x you #aemondtargaryen #aemond targaryen #ewan nation #aemond the kinslayer #hotd #prince aemond #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #ewan mitchell

[inkskinned]

the car broke down by the denny's where you used to work and therefore could never return to. i am trying to pick out the satisfying parts of my life, one-by-one, like i am 12 and in a frog dissection. everything in my life all viscera and formaldehyde. if i can sort the good things from the bad things, i will have a nice clean pile.

i call you and make it sound like i am happy and hangin' in there! when really i am kicking a rock and i am outside without a jacket and i am so in love with you it makes the little bones in my ear shake. someone called my tinnitus an angel choir. i like that it means i carry the echo of every concert.

this isn't the right setting for love. this is a roadside, and a denny's, and i am nauseous and ashamed i never escaped the town where i grew up. the clouds here are this strange yellow, like spilled sour milk. "someone once told me that the orange coating on the teeth of a beaver is due to the particularly high rate of iron in their enamel," i tell you. "the beaver is the largest rodent native to north america."

your voice is crackly on the other end. i'm going into a garage soon, i might lose you.

what i should be doing is calling the tow truck and explaining that my brother's car (that i'm borrowing) (that i broke now, i guess) needs to be lifted by another, bigger, stronger car (which is love too, i guess).

i shouldn't say so much. i should wait, and let you ask about my mom, and ask if i ever got over that cold, or how it's going at work. i should let you lead the conversation, for once, so the love doesn't leak out of me into the gravel. i open my mouth anyway. "if you had to choose between being a beaver with very few trees or being a tree around a bunch of beavers, which would it be?"

i don't know. your voice always has this warm cast to it when you talk to me, but maybe i am just imagining that - i am a poet, though, so i imagine things sort of chronically. through the static, you sound like you're laughing. are you the beaver?

i know, like, logically, not to fall in love with a girl-that-is-your-best-friend. like, who would i even call if we broke up? you're my best friend, you're the person i'd want to speak to. so what if these last few months we keep sleeping over at each other's houses, calling each other for hours, sending each other poems. so what if you keep wrapping your fingers into mine. no best friends. that is the first rule. what you are supposed to do in that situation is leave the situation.

but my car broke down, so. where exactly am i going to go? the car is a very-old chevvy and also where i almost-but-not-quite kissed you after you'd raised one shoulder and looked up at me and said i don't know, i think i'm straight, but for the right person - i'd try anything. the music had been good and it had been raining and your thick eyelashes had made me feel god crawling up my throat like a spider. and i didn't kiss you, because i am a coward.

anyway on the chevy the whole exhaust pipe fell out, and is now scraping on the ground like one silver finger stroking the back of the highway. recently we were watching netflix in my bed and you pushed my hair back from my face like you were making the slowest, most desperate prayer, and then your boyfriend called. i remember us both jumping. i couldn't look at you in the eyes for like a week after. i kept feeling the heat of your fingerprint; computer science, you'd unlocked something dark in me.

google says the closest tow (joe's pick up) is 50 minutes away and also closed permanently. so that's not great. you live in another state and i should be calling my insurance company. i should be calling anybody else. this is not helping. i need an uber. i need to get moving. instead i say: "i need three words for a poem."

yesterday i said love you, goodnight after our 2 hour call like always and then you just, like. paused. all i could hear was your breathing. and then you'd said what a pretty three-word poem. i love you too, sweet thing. the words made my tinnitus act up again, and i must have some kind of synesthesia, because the sound travelled into my mind until it became the shape wedding rings.

orange, you say. the static is now chewing through most of your words and i only catch - borrowing the chevy -

the call dies. i have 12% battery. i never get the 3rd word, but i know you're still going to get a poem from me. actually this rest stop is kind of pretty, and so is the exhaust pipe, and so is joe's pick up, and so are the clouds. the light here is the color of a glue trap. before you worked at the denny's, we used to get milkshakes every wednesday and called it a friend date. you said you'd wanted to work there because it reminded you of me.

the sign's gone dim. the letters now spell out deny. and isn't that something.

#spilled ink #ty nat #ps if anyone wants to send me money for a car. you'll never guess what happened :')

[azullumi]

”know it’s for the better” ; aventurine

summary — memories come in waves and tonight, he’s drowning; the grief of his past haunts him and visits him in his dreams; alternatively, you comfort and assure him after his nightmare.

pairing — aventurine (w/gender-neutral reader)

warning — 2.1 QUEST SPOILERS (about his past)

tags — established relationship, angst with comfort, soft and kind of insecure aventurine, mentions of alcohol (he just drinks a glass that’s all), there’s some fluff if you squint, lots of metaphors, mentions of death, mentions of depressing and negative thoughts, all told and narrated in aventurine’s POV, i never proofread, 2.1k words ; one-shot

tagging — @toorurs !! dedicating this to you

note — this is what reading his character analysis, character essays, scene and dialogue interpretations, and his whole ass lore and dissecting each one of it does to you. day 3 of writing for him.

“kakavasha.”

he opens his eyes to the sight of his planet: seemingly empty, barren, as nothingness continues to stretch towards the horizon. there was nothing on this land but  the stench of death and cruelty that lingers in the air—it was heavy, thick, as if the clouds were binding him down to the ground and forcing him to look at what once was. he could feel the ache in his chest, the feeling of familiarity starting to seep into gaps between his fingers, and the the lump starting to form in his throat.

he knew this place, the stones that surrounded him and the mountain that leered over him. he knew of this, was all too familiar with it—the sunken ground and disturbed dirt from when his sister knelt before him with tears in her eyes as she uttered her promise of reunion before she bid him her farewell (he’ll always carry her last words as if it was part of his existence). the memory plays in his mind all over again, the voice of his sister echoing:

“this is where we go our own way, kakavasha…”

“...this is a gift from gaiathra, and you are kakavasha, whose good fortune will bless your sister with success.”

“as long as you are alive, the blood of the avgin will never run dry. so run, kakavasha, do not be afraid, and do not look back…”

he could feel the rain starting to pour down on his form but he doesn’t run, he doesn’t move, he doesn’t seek for something that will shelter him from the cold. instead, he stands under the pouring rain with heavy shoulders and thoughts that seem to claw and scratch at him. no matter how much he tries to cover up and escape from his past, to run and run until his feet hurt, until he falls and crumbles to nothing, it will still haunt him. it chases after him; it hides in the corners of his room, behind the wallpapers, and amidst the settling dust and cobwebs, and it creeps up on tuesday mornings as he tries to revere the sun that once never shined on him. he’s always painfully reminded of the things that he has to carry—the weight of his sister who carries her parents, and who carries their parents.

“...the rain will accompany you, and the rain will bless you.”

the distant cries, screams, and roars all ring inside his ears but the sound of the rain breaking into smaller pieces as it falls to the ground that he walks on masks it all.

he feels so pathetic. the hatred that he has for himself continues to gather and manifest into his likeness to sing choruses of condemnation in the guise of shattered and broken praises that are shaped like knives, stabbing his guts and making blood spill from his lips (he doesn’t know what his mother looked like anymore yet he could remember the distinct smell and taste of iron as blood stains his skin).

“why are you all doing this…” he remembers what he answers to her sister before she walks off to her death. he remembers asking her as he covers his ears with his small hands—too weak and frail to even carry stones, much less move boulders. he remembers the pain, the confusion, the guilt of it all. he was just a small child who had too much to hold.

what even is the worth of his life? it was just merely 60 tanbas. even if he dresses himself in luxurious and expensive clothing his past self could never dream of having, it doesn’t rid of the grasp the ipc has over him; his shackles. the cold and harsh metal is not there anymore but he could still feel it tugging on his neck, he could still feel the letters burn as it engraves itself—death would have been a more merciful fate for him than being held by such cruel and dirty hands.

“kakavasha.”

aventurine opens his eyes to the sight of his ceiling. there was no empty land that is of semblance of his planet before him but instead there were the patterns, the walls, and the chandelier that hangs in the middle of it. he was in his room; the silence accompanied with the ticking sound of the clock strikes a balance between quietude and noise.

1:56, he looks at the time. it was still deep into the night—the stars cast its light into his room as it poured itself on the cold floor. there was a rustle by his side and he turned his head to look at you, peacefully sleeping in the comfort of his blankets and you mumbled something underneath your breath though he couldn’t hear it. your face scrunches for a moment before it relaxes into a soft one and he watches all of it happen; he wonders what you’re dreaming of.

unable to sleep—a heavy feeling resides in his chest ever since he woke up—, he slides himself out of the bed. slowly and silently, dare he might disturb your sleep. he slips into his slippers before walking off to the direction of his kitchen. he doesn’t even know what he’s going to do there; he’s not even thirsty nor hungry, he just follows where his feet brings him (that’s how it usually was for him, often aimless and wandering with no direction in mind, he just doesn’t where to go, where he belongs).

he’s not an alcoholic but sometimes he just seeks for the bitterness of the liquid—to replace the taste of blood on his tongue and momentarily feel what it’s like to have nothing on your shoulders; his hands are empty yet it holds so much. he pours himself a small glass, honey-coloured liquid spills into it and a few drops gets into the surface counter. he picks the glass up, swirls the liquid for a few moments and watches its motion, before he brings it to his lips and drinks it all.

the scent is harsh against his nose and the liquid burns at his throat. the taste was too bitter and he felt like spitting it all out but he didn't, he continued to swallow it until there was nothing left in his fill. he tried to think of something else, to avoid those thoughts from entering his mind: the plant there needs to be watered, that reminds me of the light bulb has to be changed, do i even have a future ahead of me?, the painting there is slightly out of place, am i even supposed to survive?, are you still in his room?

he wonders if you’re still tucked in his sheets, if you’re still sleeping in his bed, he wonders what you were dreaming of that got you mumbling and knitting your eyebrows, he wonders when you’ll walk away from him after you realize how ugly and utterly worthless he actually is.

“‘rine?” a voice calls out to him along with the light sound of approaching footsteps. as soon as you enter the kitchen, you are greeted by the sight of him: an empty glass in his hand with a newly-opened bottle of alcohol in front of him. it was currently 2 in the morning, your lover was missing from your side when you woke up but you found him drinking alone in the kitchen.

“what’s wrong, my love? are you okay?” you ask, worry following your tone as you spoke. but aventurine remains silent. he can’t tell you his thoughts, of the overwhelming despair that drags him back down to his misery, and it’s not because he doesn't want to but he can’t—it would break your heart.

(and you know his silence too well. you didn’t carve yourself inside his heart just for nothing, you didn’t consume his flesh to not know the humming of his thoughts inside his chest.)

“you know you can tell me anything, right?” you didn’t care that he’ll break your heart. you wanted all of him and that includes his hatred and anger. if it makes him feel better, break it, shatter it into pieces and you’ll keep on picking yourself up for him. even if you don’t have the ability to stop the downpour, you’ll walk with him through the rain.

after what seems to be moments of hesitation coming from him, he shuffles from his seat and approaches where you stood. and he lets himself fall and crumble for you to catch him in your embrace—he feels safe, he feels okay but the grief, misery, and guilt still tugs at his heart ever so often as it beats.

(“where do i put all of this grief?” he asked you once while you admired the stars with him. “you hold them until it turns to love.”)

you caress his back softly, a small act of comfort as you cradled him in your arms. he doesn’t put all of his weight on you but he pulls you close and buries his face on the crook of your neck, heaving out a sigh as he did; you let him, let him whisper his worries and write his thoughts on your skin.

“did you have a nightmare again?”

“…not really.” the faint smell of alcohol wafts to your nose as he speaks. “i just…”

“it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“i’m sorry.” he says and you didn’t fail to notice the crack in his voice and the feeling of something warm and wet on your skin. you hold him closer, tighter, and you brush your hand against his hair, tangling your fingers in his soft locks.

“you have nothing to apologize for. it’s not your fault, kakavasha. nothing is ever going to be your fault.”

“it feels like it does.”

“no, no, my love… you were just a child. you did all that you can to survive and fulfill your promise.”

you start to gently sway him into the melody of your hum and he follows your form like the wind would on your hair. this continues for long until he’ll let go—you’ll hold him for as long as he wants to if it would lessen his burdens.

“i wouldn’t love you any less nor will i think of you as worthless.”

he has days likes this, days where he contemplates and thinks of everything, days where he doesn’t know what to do or what to say, days where he feels like he never changed and he’s still the same weak child who walked away from his sister instead of begging and asking her to go with him (the survivor’s guilt goes hard), days where it feels like everything is falling apart and he’s left on his own again, days where all he wants to do is to just cry in your shoulder—

“are you feeling better?” you ask him as he lifts his head from your shoulder; dry tears are left like trails of stars on his features. you cup both of his cheeks and wipe away the remnants of his misery and ache.

“mhm, a little bit.” he nods and you beckon him closer to your lips just so you could kiss his forehead before peppering his whole face.

—but there are days of warmth and sunlight. days where it all feels a little bit bearable and he can breath, days where every step he takes isn’t heavy, days where he could taste the kindness of the sun on his lips, days where he wakes up with you by his side and thinks he could have this forever, days where he could hear his mother’s lullaby that would comfort him, days where he could hear his sister’s voice telling him that she’s proud of how far he have come, days where everything feels okay and worth it.

years of these little bits of happiness—in silence, in chaos, in tranquility, in destruction—he wants a lifetime of it with you. and though kakavasha was never a greedy man, the ache, the yearning, and craving for those moments with you fills the empty spaces of his thoughts; you looked like what peaceful dreams are made of.

“i love you.” he knows that you know that already, he just thought he’d say it again.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

#aventurine honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #honkai imagines #honkai x reader #honkai #hsr aventurine x reader #hsr x you #hsr aventurine #hsr x reader #aventurine imagines #aventurine x you #aventurine #star rail aventurine #aventurine x reader #aventurine angst #honkai x you #honkai star rail x you #azul.writes