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#does that count as extravagant and extra
lingering-42-long · 11 months
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141 + extra Mother’s Day head cannons
A short little Head cannons for all of our favorite boys expressing their love to there girls who are mothers.
COD x Female Character
Warnings: none, fluff, adorable daddies.
Captain John Price
• he wakes you up with a kiss on the forehead and a coffee in hand.
• The little ones are still asleep and he just wants to spend time with the mother of his children.
• when your daughters and son decide that it’s time to get up, they are running around handing you flowers and cards and balloons with the words “Happy Mother’s Day” written on them.
• John is making you breakfast with the girls attempting to help and your son sitting on the counter coloring.
• every year he plans to take you out to a nice restaurant and you to go to watch a play at the local theater
• He gives you lots of kisses and tells you how amazing a mother you are.
• He gives you a spa treatment to use whenever you need and puts a crap ton of money on it as well as also giving you a Starbucks gift card with $100 on it knowing your coffee obsession.
Lieutenant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley
• you’re a mother to be and about eight months pregnant with your first born son.
• because of the trauma Simon had to go through all those years ago he never really understood what Mother’s Day was and so didn’t think much of it when it was coming around.
• after hearing what some of his friends were doing for their wives he thought it would be best to do some thing for you in a similar fashion.
• he doesn’t necessarily want to go out and do anything too extravagant. He doesn’t see the need to.
• but he understands that you are carrying his child his first born, his son so he feels very obligated and very protective of you.
• he buys you your favorite flowers and does a huge amount of online shopping for things for you and for the baby.
• One might think that just because he has no clue about Mother’s Day that he would be a horrible gift giver when that is simply not true. Simon is trained to study all the little details in life and so he knows exactly what your favorite things are right down to the exact color shade and style.
• this man has read so many parent books he knows exactly what his child needs well before the due date and advise you whatever you could possibly need to make your pregnancy as smooth as possible.
• he will take you to your favorite place at the park where you two can have a quiet lunch together.
• it may not be much but it’s the thought that counts. He’s not a emotionally opened person but for you he is trying so hard to make sure that you know how much he loves and appreciates you.
Sergeant Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish
• your son was the first one to wake you both up as he was screaming on the top of his lungs saying happy Mother’s Day.
• Johnny just laughs and gives you a kiss, wishing you also a happy Mother’s Day before getting jumped on by his son desperately trying to wake up his parents so he could have breakfast, and show you his artwork that he had been working on for you.
• he bought you a really pretty and expensive pair of earrings and matching necklace. Don’t ask him how much it was.
• Johnny asks his parents if they could watch his son for the day as he takes you out for a couples massage and goes thrift shopping with you.
• this is a fun hobby that you guys have and enjoy doing.
• sometime during dinner at a simple bistro that you guys like to go to, he whispers into your ear about growing the family.
• let’s just say baby number two is on its way
Sargent Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
• he is very new at being a father only having two months with his newborn daughter.
• like Simon, he doesn’t know what to do for you for Mother’s Day so he calls his mom for help.
• She suggests that he do some thing for you or give something to you to make her feel special.
• he decides that he would watch the baby for the day while you go get your hair done your fingernails done and get a massage as well as give you some money to go buy some clothes and to hang out with your girlfriends.
• he’s not the best cook so he decides to order takeout for you both at one of your favorite pizza restaurants.
• when you get back home he sets the table up real nicely and make sure to get you some really pretty flowers and your favorite chocolate from the store.
• he also orders your favorite wine.
• Once your baby girl has fallen asleep, you both decide to watch a cheesy Romcom.
• it’s really simple but it’s the perfect Mother’s Day gift you could ever ask for.
Commander Alejandro Vargas
• this man is already making you breakfast for the day. His two older children have gone to hang out at one of their friends places while the youngest, a three-year-old, was in her highchair eating breakfast.
• he brings the food to you as you’re just waking up.
• Like Johnny, he bought you a beautiful set of earrings and necklace that the kids helped picked out.
• he’s going to take you out to a really nice restaurant and later dancing so he make sure to get you a nice dress that he knows that you would like.
• he buys every single rose from every single flower shop in Las Almes
• giving you neck kisses from behind as you’re getting ready.
•Asked his single brother to watch the baby while the other kids are having a sleep over at their cousins house.
• he spent the whole night pampering you and telling you how much he loves you and thanking you for his children.
• Spent the rest of the night having spicy time on the couch and bedroom.
Sergeant Major Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra
• because your two year-old son has a severe infection and is in the hospital, you both decide not to do some thing extravagant since most of your money is going towards taking care of the little one.
• with that being said, that doesn’t mean that he isn’t going to try for you.
• he is a simple man but he does what he can for you to make you happy.
• for some odd reason all of the roses in Las Almes are all sold out, so he buys a really nice mixed bouquet that he knows that you like.
• he also gives you a simple gift card to your favorite coffee shop with a cute card to go with it.
• you order takeout and have it delivered to the hospital, where you guys are at making sure that your son is ok.
• even though it’s not the Best Mother’s Day, you too are just happy to be together with your son.
König
• he always thinks really hard about what you would like for Mother’s Day.
• he’s not a social butterfly but he’ll make an exception for you. So if you want to go out to a restaurant he will do that for you.
• this man is just happy that he was able to find someone that loves him, and has given him two beautiful twin girls and one sweet boy.
• you too decide to do some thing super easy with the kids and take them to a park in his hometown in Austria.
• he looks like he’s on the verge of tears because of how happy you have made him.
• he gets overwhelmed easily with emotion.
• after going to the park he cooks you all a really good meal and the girls help him.
•After dinner, the both of you Play board games with the girls as your son is asleep in his bassinet.
• makes some hot chocolate for everyone.
• when the girls go to sleep, he pulls out a book that he wants to read with you.
• you two fall asleep in each others arms.
Alex Keller
• this dude is a Golden retriever when it comes to love. He gets so excited when he gets to spend Mother’s Day with you and his newborn son.
• since you just had the baby you’re still in the hospital, and he makes sure to take care of all your needs while you get pampered by him. He buys you a really cute t-shirt with the words ‘mamma bear’ on it.
• he gets you sushi from your favorite Japanese restaurant.
• plays card games with you and lets you win.
• watches TV with you in the hospital room while holding your hand and telling you how proud he is and he hopes to grow the family more in the future.
Philip Graves
• is a southern boy so his mama always taught him how to treat a lady.
• Think 1940s gentleman
• most people think he would have a son but he has a little girl instead.
• is a super proud daddy of his baby girl and even more proud of his wife.
• unfortunately for this Mother’s Day, he’s away with the shadow company in Mexico so he’s unable to spend Mother’s Day with you.
• he does send you a text letting you know how much he misses you and to have a amazing Mother’s Day.
• he sends you $1000 to go spend on whatever you want for your day since he knows that he won’t be able to splurge on you like he usually does.
• he cannot wait to get back home to you and his little girl.
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thelargefrye · 6 months
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CLEOPATRA … mature one - shot | part one
pairing : ateez x f!reader
genre : mature, fantasy, royalty, ancient egypt inspired setting, smut
word count : 6k
warnings : language, heavy nudity (sexual and non-sexual), yn is viewed as a descendant of the gods, infidelity (its a loveless marriage but they are still married), drinking
smut warnings : unprotected sex, multiple smut scenes (3 total), slight exhibitionism, oral (f), mentions of past pregnancy sex, some of the guys have a breeding kink, masturbation, slight cum eating
honorary suffer tag : @sanjoongie
inspired by this tiktok.
you had power that no man could ever imagine. as such you bowed to no one. you were known throughout the continent as the ruler that would protect her country no matter the cost.
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hongjoong let out a frustrated sigh, a hand running through his black locks as he walked down one of the many corridors of the extravagant palace. he walks in long strides, ignoring all the servants that pause and bow at him. he'll feel bad about not acknowledging them later, but right now he's on a mission.
he approaches your private quarters, yunho standing guard outside of your chambers doors like always. that's tells him that you are at least in your chambers. wherever you are is where yunho will always be.
when hongjoong comes closer to your chambers, that's when yunho finally turns to look at the first prince consort. his eyes sharp and always on guard.
"her highness is a little busy at the moment, your highness," yunho's voice is just as stoic as his eyes, cold and on guard.
"i don't care, this is important," hongjoong brushes him off and yunho does nothing to stop him from entering. not that he would anyways, hongjoong is one of the few people aside from yourself that the guard would listen to.
hongjoong doesn't waste a second in bursting through the doors to your quarters. the highly decorated chambers shows how you are the ruler of isis and descendant of the gods. the gold lining the room was something one of the first rulers of the country had done in order to show how important and godly they were. hongjoong remembers you mentioning several times how you hate the over the top gold in the room and how you desperately want it gone.
however, your father would probably come back from the underworld if you ever tried to change anything about the pharaoh's private quarters.
hongjoong is knocked out of his thoughts when he is greeted by the sight of you riding wooyoung. hongjoong can't help but feel his mouth run dry at the sight of you energetically bouncing on wooyoung's cock. your breast bouncing and he watches wooyoung squeeze one of them, the other slapping your ass and gripping and squeezing the flesh tightly. hongjoong feels himself getting hard from the scene in front of him. you always looked like you were glowing when one of them fucked you.
a beautiful goddess surrounded with nothing but love and he would gladly worship you for the rest of his life if he could.
but not right now, right now he needed to speak with you.
"y/n," his voice breaks through the lustful atmosphere in the room. you turn your head to look at your first husband, a parchment gripped in his hands from the news he had received from a guard. you falter your speed for a second, distracted by hongjoong's appearance and wooyoung takes this moment to flip the two of you over.
your head now at the foot of large, silk covered bed, legs now bent over the top half of your body as wooyoung pounds into your pussy. his hips moving at a first pace that has your eyes rolling back from the feeling. you can feel him hitting the deepest parts of your pussy, almost like he was about to penetrate into your womb. not that you would mind.
"ho-hong-joong~" you moan out, looking at your husband, mouth open in the perfect o-shape.
"hey, hey, hey! don't be saying his name when i'm balls deep inside of you!" wooyoung pouted making you whine when he did an extra hard thrust inside of you.
"y/n, something urgent has come up," hongjoong says, completely ignoring the fact that you and wooyoung were still fucking.
"w-what's wrong?" you ask, watching as hongjoong moves closer to you and wooyoung, now standing the end of the bed. you have to crane your head back in order to look at him upside down. you notice the look of concern over his face and you use one of your hands to reach for his. intertwining your hands together.
"there's been news about the minerva empire wanting to invade isis and take over," hongjoong says. "some of our spies have sent word about minerva's emperor planning something."
"minerva's emperor? isn't he that old bastard who was about to keel over?" you ask, remembering the emperor seonghwa had described to you during his travels several years ago.
"apparently he died two years ago and their new emperor is suppose to be this great war general. they've been invading and conquering smaller countries, adding to their empire," hongjoong tells you and the sudden news of this former war general has caught your attention.
it seems to have caught wooyoung's as well, as your second husband has seemingly stopped fucking you in favor of listening to hongjoong. wooyoung moves off of you in favor of relaxing against the silk pillows that laid fluffed at the head of your bed. you sat up, turning to face hongjoong with neither you nor wooyoung opting to cover up your bare bodies.
"a new emperor?" you said, tilting your head in wonder at this news. "i'm not worried, joongie, isis is a great empire that can not be invaded that easily," you tell him, running your hand down his chest. your fingers grazing over the soft fabric of his tunic.
"but y/n this is serious!" you notice the worry in his tone at the thought of the minerva empire even thinking of invading your home, his home, and your daughter's home.
"joong–
"why don't you just invite this new emperor here and throw a banquet for him?" wooyoung speaks up after having remained silent. you both turn to see wooyoung lounging behind you, hands behind his head like he had no care in the world. "if you invite him and show off the amount of power you and isis hold, then maybe that will make him think twice about invading."
"you mean assert dominance?" hongjoong asks and wooyoung nods.
"wow, wooyoung, that's pretty smart," you say, a teasing smile on your face as your crawl towards him and settle down next to him.
wooyoung lets out a small 'tsk' sound at your words, "give me more credit, dove, i'm smarter than i look," he teases back, wrapping his arms around you.
"joongie, call seonghwa and my advisor. let's send out an invite to our new little emperor," you say, a smile overtaking your features. hongjoong looks like he wants to say something, and you wait for him to but he changes his mind. he simply nods his head before turning heading for the door to summon seonghwa and your advisor.
seonghwa was a little worried when a servant had come to him while he was with his daughter, telling him that you had summoned him. his daughter's nanny was quick to take her out of his arms. seonghwa makes sure to press a quick kiss to the top of her head before he is bidding her goodbye and taking his leave.
when he approaches your chambers, jongho trailing behind him, he is greeted with the sight of yunho and yeosang both standing guard now at your door.
"is everything alright?" seonghwa asks the two guards.
yeosang is the one to speak up to answer the consort, "the pharaoh as requested for you and her advisor. prince consort hongjoong and prince consort wooyoung are already inside."
seonghwa can't help but raise his eyebrow at the guard's words, but nonetheless goes into your quarters. when he enters, he finds you and wooyoung wrapped in your golden robes, it being quite obvious that you are bare underneath. you're sitting at your table by the balcony doors which are open and letting in the warm afternoon air. hongjoong is standing next to you and wooyoung is still on your bed.
your advisor is sitting on a stool next you, writing your words down as you say them.
"what's going on?" seonghwa asks, earning the attention of everyone in the room, say for your advisor.
"her highness and wooyoung have had the amazing idea of inviting the enemy into our home to throw him a banquet," hongjoong says and you can all hear the irritation in his voice. you ignore him.
"there's rumors of the minvera empire and their new emperor wanting to invade isis, so i'm inviting him to show him that it is not something he wants to do," you explain to seonghwa, watching as he comes up to you.
seonghwa takes your hand, pressing a firm kiss to it before he is sitting down in chair across from you. "new emperor?" he asks, echoing your words and he sees hongjoong nod his head.
"apparently he's a great war general. what did you say his name was?" you ask, looking towards hongjoong and your advisor.
"san," hongjoong answered.
"ah, yes! emperor san," you say, a bright smile on your face; however, you three husbands can tell how this is not a genuine smile and that you are hiding something behind it. something that none of them have figured out yet.
"san..." seonghwa says trailing off, trying to remember if he's heard that name before. "ah! that's the name of the general that led minerva into victory during their takeover of the apollo kingdom," seonghwa says once the memory finally came to him.
"oh? that was him?" you ask, sounding impressed by the information you just learned.
"y/n, are you sure you want to invite him? what if they try to attack while inside the kingdom?" seonghwa asks, voice his concern that both him and hongjoong now have.
"hmm," you trail off for a moment, not saying anything, but clearly thinking, "yunho!" your voice is loud and commanding and the doors to your chamber open to the sight of your personal guard coming into the room.
you beckon the guard over and he walks to you before kneeling down next to you, "yes, my pharaoh?" he asks, eyes looking downward to the ground as to not disrespect you. it was known that anyone that wasn't one of your consort husbands could never make eye contact. it was forbidden to look at a descendant of the gods like they were on the same level as any other human.
"if there was an enemy inside the kingdom, would you kill them the second they tried to bring harm to me and the kingdom?" you ask, hand combing through the guard's dark locks and brushing them away from his eyes. despite him not making eye contact with you, you can't help but admire yunho's eyes.
"yes, my pharaoh. i would kill anyone for you," he says making a large grin stretch onto your face as you look from your personal guard to your two worried husbands.
"woobin," your advisor snaps to attention at the call of his name, "finish writing and send out the invitation to emperor san immediately."
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"i can't believe the bastard agreed to come," hongjoong says as he lets out an annoyed sigh despite sinking into the warm water of the large bath that him, seonghwa, and wooyoung shared.
the bathhouse was the one place that you never entered, it was only for the prince consorts and any sons that they had with you. a place for only them to sit and relax in. the place decorated like the rest of the castle, after you had made servants redo the bath after your father and grandfather had left it to basically fall apart. your husbands deserved a place to relax in peace and you would be damned if they had to suffer through a bathhouse room like your mother and your father's other wives had to.
"of course he did, it was an open invitation to come and take a look at the country without the worry of losing men," seonghwa says as he relaxed next to hongjoong who had a deep frown on his face. "y/n knows what she's doing, maybe we should just trust her," he adds.
"she has a plan, i could tell from her face," hongjoong sighs, "i'm just annoyed that i don't know what she's thinking."
"have a little more faith in our pharaoh, you two," wooyoung's voice echos as he walks into the bath. hongjoong can't help but roll his eyes at wooyoung who is once again naked, not bothering to even cover himself with a towel like the other two have.
"wooyoung, can you be any more shameful?" seonghwa asks, looking away from the younger male who walks down the white marble steps and into the water.
"yah, don't be jealous, hwa, green isn't your color," wooyoung teases as he settles into the water. "but i think you two are doubting y/n. she knows what she's doing, she has been pharaoh for a while now," he adds looking at his fellow consorts.
"i'm just worried is all. i don't want anyone to be in danger," seonghwa says voicing his main concern. he's worried that this emperor will try to not only harm you but also your children. he would die if something happened to his daughter.
"you're not the only one worried, hwa," wooyoung says, snapping the eldest out of his thoughts. "i'm worried about the enemy coming here as well, but i also trust y/n."
"i guess you're right," hongjoong says, finally speaking back up after watching the two go back and forth. "we should trust y/n and her decisions, but the worry will still be there."
you couldn't help the breathy moan that ripped through your throat as you threw your head back onto the lush amount of pillows. you had to try your best to not close your legs around yunho's head, knowing that he would stop if you didn't keep your legs open.
his tongue continued to lick your pussy, at this point basically making out with your lower lips. his nose continuously nudging your clit and adding to the stimulation that coursed through your lower half, sending a warmth through your entire body.
"hmm~ yunho!" you moan out, tugging at his dark locks causing him to let out a groan that vibrates through you. you felt yunho's hands come up to grip your thighs, massaging and digging his fingers into the flesh. you feel his tongue flicking in and out of you before he's flattening his tongue and licking up your pussy.
you feel your eyes roll back, head tilting, and back arching thanks to the pleasurable feeling. sometimes you can't believe how good yunho makes you feel, mainly because of how cold and emotionless he is when on duty. yet despite the harsh stare he gives you while eating your pussy, he still manages to make your toes curl.
"does that feel good, pharaoh?" he asks, tone deep and breath warm as it fans over your slowly heating up skin.
"mmh, yes~ please keep going," you tell him and he chuckles before diving back in. "so good," you breath out softly.
you were honestly still surprised by how willing yunho was to please you since the beginning. always taking care of you even when you were pregnant. you remember settling between his legs and letting his calloused hands roam your body and touch you.
"yu-yunho?" your voice breaks through the peaceful silence that the two of you had set. you look down at your guard to find him looking up at you. his eyes boring into your own, as it was the only time he could look at you like how your husbands do. because in this moment he wasn't your guard, but your lover. "do you think– fuck, right there– do you think... that i shouldn't have, mmh, invited e-emperor san?"
that questioning had been weighing on you since that conversation weeks ago. the way hongjoong and seonghwa were against it made you want to reconsider everything, yet you need to make sure this new emperor of the minerva empire knew not to mess with you. you were the pharaoh of isis, you had a duty to look powerful and protect your country and people. your husbands included.
you watch as yunho pulls away from your pussy before he's sitting up and resting on his knees. his face void of emotions like it always was.
"what would you like to hear, my pharaoh?" he asks and you make an annoyed huff sound before rolling your eyes at him.
"your honest opinion," you tell him.
yunho hums before he's casually lifting your leg up, letting your calf rest on his shoulder. he presses a few kisses to your leg as it looks like he's in thought.
"i think that if you did it for a reason then my pharaoh shouldn't worry about any danger the emperor of minerva might bring. you cannot change the past, but you can change the future," he says as his hand comes up to cup your heat, running his fingers through your drenched folds.
"gosh, who knew you could be so wise," you huff out with a teasing tone.
"i can be very wise if my pharaoh wants me to be, or i can be as savage as the rest of my people," he says, repeating words that many people of isis have said about yunho's people.
"would being a savage get you to fuck me?" you question, tilting your head to the side as you looked up at your guard who towered over you in this moment.
"if i fuck my pharaoh like a savage, i can't guarantee i won't get you pregnant with my savage heir," he says as you watch him remove the fabrics that covered his lower half and his hard cock standing tall and proud and waiting to breed.
"hmm, that sounds nice, that means i get to keep you to myself. i am a very selfish pharaoh after all. would you fill me up and give me my first bastard child," you say and yunho licks his lips before he's using the head of his cock to tease and rub between your folds. slicking you up with his pre-cum.
"i'll do whatever my pharaoh wants," he tells you making a cheshire grin spread across your lips as you felt him enter you.
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"ah! welcome, emperor san, it is a pleasure to met you," you say, a welcoming smile on your face as you watched the male walk up the large stoned steps of the palace in order to approach you.
you had to admit that san was a handsome man. his jaw was sharp and defined and his skin was sun-kissed. his feline-like eyes darting around and looking at his surroundings before they settle on your form. his eyes rack over your silk covered body and you notice how he faintly licks his lips before he stoping a good distance in front of you.
"of course," his voice is strong like the rest of him, "i was pleasantly surprised when i received your invitation, pharaoh," he adds, hands coming to rest behind his back. his shoulders are straight and you notice how his muscles bulge underneath his tunic and armor. fuck, you could definitely see the former war general side of him when he stands like this.
"well, i just wanted to congratulate and get to know the new emperor of minerva. even if i am two years late which i apologize for," you say, a bashful smile on your lips, but san easily brushes the comment off.
"it's quite alright, pharaoh. better late than never, and i do love a party, especially when it's in my honor," he says making you laugh.
"shall we go inside then? my servants will show your men to their rooms before being escorted to the banquet hall," you tell him and san nods his head taking several steps forward before he's offering you his arm which you happily take.
"does this mean i get a private tour by the great pharaoh goddess herself, then?" he asks, a smirk overtaking his lips and you let out a small hum at his question.
"of course, nothing but the best for my honorary guest," you tell him as you both walk into the palace, the swarm of people following behind the two of you.
"and this is where my consorts' quarters are located," you say and you notice how this catches san's attention.
"how many consorts do you have?" he asks.
"i have three; hongjoong, wooyoung, and seonghwa," you say feeling a sense of pride as you speak of your husbands. even if was just saying their names.
"do you love your husbands?" you're a little surprised by his question but you do your best to hide your surprise.
"yes, i love them very much," you tell him and san can only nod his head at your answer as you both continue to walk. "are you married?"
"i am. i have a wife, siyeon," he says and you notice how he doesn't seem as energetic to talk about her like you are about your husbands.
"i'm sure she's very beautiful," you tell him with a soft smile and san can only nod. "do you have any children?"
"no. none yet," he answers sharply and you make note about how he doesn't want to talk about his wife.
"tell me, emperor san," you begin, earning his attention, "do you like to fuck or make love?" now this question caught him off guard, and you had to try hard to suppress your grin. "or which one do you prefer? fucking or making love?" you're teasing him now and you can tell that san is quick to catch on to your tone.
"i like to fuck," he says taking a deep breath as he watches you run a hand down his arm, his muscles twitching under your touch. "but i would prefer to make love. let it be raw and real," he adds and you let a small smile grace your lips.
"do you fuck your wife? or do you need someone else to pleasure you?" you ask, your hand coming to rest around the back of his neck. your fingers playing with the ends of his hair.
"it depends," he begins lower his face closer to yours so your lips are inches a part, "is her highness offering to let me fuck her raw in her own private quarters?"
"it depends," you say mimicking his words, "tomorrow night when the moon is at its highest. i'll be waiting for you," you tell him. "but right now everyone is waiting for us, it would be rude to keep your men waiting," you say, slipping away from him as you begin to walk towards the banquet hall, leaving san to catch up with you.
when you and san entered the banquet hall, many of the isis nobles and soldiers from minerva seemed to be chattering and enjoying themselves. you were quick to notice hongjoong, wooyoung, and seonghwa sitting in their spots near the head of the table. however, a spot to your right was left open in order for san to sit next to you.
"i made sure to prepare a mixture of classic foods from both isis and minerva, in order to add some variety and flavor for everyone here," you explain as you and san walk down the table. the nobles from your country bowing as you walked by while the soldiers from minerva bowed to san.
"i'm impressed with how much you prepared, pharaoh," he says and you smile at him as you gesture to his seat next to hongjoong and across from wooyoung. you take your seat at the head of the table and look to see all the nobles still bowing their heads as they wait for you to speak.
"please, continue enjoying yourselves. this is a celebration for our honored guest," you say with a smile and the nobles are quick to obey your words.
"and these are my beautiful consort husbands," you say with a smile as your gesture to the three males. "the one beside you is hongjoong, the one across from you is wooyoung, and next to him is seonghwa."
wooyoung smiled at you as he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. his fingers intertwining with yours as you continued your conversation with san. you noticed how san looked at your and wooyoung's hands before his eyes flickered up to meet yours.
"a pleasure to meet you three," he says with a firm smile, and the tree males all return the smile with firm ones of their own.
the banquet continues as you planned it would. many of the nobles and soldiers drinking and eating to their hearts content for the next few hours. entertainment in the background going on with music and dancers. you and san watched as some of his men attempted to dance like some of your dancers, but failed miserably due to their drunkenness. his second in command, mingi was probably the only one not to fail miserably, but still struggled to keep up.
eventually, wooyoung even got up and was able to dance. you couldn't help the smile that painted your lips as you watched him move effortlessly in time with the music.
"wow, he's really good at dancing," san says as you both watch your second husband.
"wooyoung was originally a dancer before i married him. he could dance to anything whether sober or drunk," you brag and san only nods his head at your words.
it was only a few hours later when most of san's men had dragged themselves and each other to their rooms. several servants following after them to help them find their way. at the same time, the nobles also stumbled out of the palace as they made their way back to their own homes.
you personally escorted san back to his room and before you could bid him goodnight, he's pulling you in close to him. your nose squished against his as he lips ghosted over yours from how close you both where.
"be prepared for me, i plan on making it raw and real," he says, before he's letting you go and licking his lips.
"of course, emperor san, i'll be waiting. goodnight," you say, before you turn on your heel and walk back down the grand corridor. making sure to let your hips sway as you walked away.
when you returned to your own quarters, you were not surprised to find your three lovers waiting for you. you let out a sigh as you walked past them and over to your vanity in order to start removing your jewelry and makeup.
"what's your plan, y/n?" hongjoong asks as you both look at each other through your mirror.
"i'm going to get him to marry me," you say, turning to look at your husband. "then we will have a strong ally," you add.
"that was your plan this whole time?" hongjoong asks, voice raising as he is complete applaud by your words.
"no, i didn't think of it until i saw him. i knew i wanted to become allies but knowing he's in a loveless marriage just makes this plan even better."
"you're a nasty woman," wooyoung says a wide grin on his face, his hyena laugh echoing through your quarters. "i love it," he adds making you giggle as you finish removing your makeup. you then stand up and begin to undress. letting your dress fall and become a puddle around your ankles leaving you bare to your three husbands.
"this is a bad idea, y/n," hongjoong says as you come up to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. your body flush against his clothed one. a chill runs down your spine when you feel his cold hands run over your skin. "what happens if this plan fails?"
"it won't fail. i won't let it," you tell him, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips. "i already have him falling into my grasp. i'm close to getting somewhere."
"trust her, joong. if he fucks the god pussy then he won't be able to say no to her," wooyoung says, speaking up from his place on your bed. you turn to give wooyoung a sneaky grin which he returns. "i should know, once you fuck god pussy, you won't want nothing else but it."
"have more respect for your wife and pharaoh, wooyoung," seonghwa says finally speaking up for the first time tonight.
"don't be pissy, hwa, you're just mad you haven't fucked her in a while," wooyoung throws back and you realize that he's right.
it has been a while since you and seonghwa have been together. pulling away from hongjoong, you quickly make yourself comfortable between seonghwa's legs. kneeling between your husband, you let your hands run up and down his thighs as he looks down at you.
"what do you think, hwa? do you trust me?"
"o-of course, love, i trust you and i believe you know what you are doing," he says and you smile before kissing the skin of his thigh that was peeking underneath his tunic.
"when are you going to talk to him?" hongjoong asks as he watches you slowly trail your hands up, moving seonghwa's tunic up as you do so.
"he's going to visit me tomorrow night."
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"i wasn't expecting you to be this prepared when waiting for me," san says with a smirk as he enters your chambers to the sight of you touching yourself. your middle and ring fingers covered in your slick juices as you slide them in and out of your wet pussy. the heat of your core sending pleasurable chills up your spine.
"f-figured i'd give you a personal show," you say with a smile as you watch san stalk closer to you. he easily unties and discards the robe that was around him, showing you that he was wearing nothing underneath it. his half hard cock slowly growing the more he watched you.
he stood at the foot of your bed, watching as you continued to fuck yourself before he was crawling onto the bed and closer to you. san watched with sharp eyes as you used your free hand to grope your breast. squeezing the flesh of your tit and pinching your nipple and tweaking it.
san couldn't help but groan when he watched you remove your fingers to see them coated in your juices. he quickly grasped your wrist before popping your fingers into his mouth. his tongue wrapping around your digits, cleaning them before he's removing them with a clean pop. you couldn't help the stuttered moan that left your lips.
"so," he begins as he crawls up body, his hands pressing into the silk sheets below you as he props himself up. "why does the beautiful pharaoh want to have her pussy fucked by someone like me? compared to your husbands, i'm definitely not your type of man," he says, lips ghosting over yours as he speaks.
"i love sex, i'll fuck whoever i want," you reply making him chuckle before he's sitting up and positioning himself between your legs.
"yeah? then you'll let me fuck you? what happens if i get you pregnant with my heir?" he asks as he positions himself, the head of his cock teasing your entrance and running between your folds. you let out a loud cry as you felt him thrust his cock inside of you in one thrust. your back arches as san has your legs propped onto your shoulders.
his pace is immediate and ruthless. almost animalistic like his primal instincts are taking over as he fucks you.
"f-fuck san!" you shout, not caring who hears. not caring about how yunho is outside your door right now, listening as san pounds away at your pussy, using it how he pleases.
"what will happen if– if i fill you up full of my cum? leave you nice and full for the rest of my stay here?" he looks hypnotized as he watches your breast bounce with each of his thrust.
"do you want an heir? w-want a child between the two of us, something– fuck! something you don't have with your wife back in minerva?" you taunt him and san groans as he rolls his head back at your words.
you let out a loud gasp, back arching as your mouth forms a perfect o-shape and san knows he hit a sweet spot. he can't help but think you look beautiful especially like this.
"s-so, i've heard you wa-want to– fuck, form an alliance between isis and minerva," he says and you can't help but run your hands down his chest.
"y-yeah, i want to combine our powers," you tell him as you pull him closer to you, you clench hard around his cock and san has to keep himself from feeling lost in the feelings of your pussy sucking him in.
"combine our powers?" he echoes, hips continue to drill into you as the room is overpowered with the sounds of skin on skin mixed with your heavy moans.
"we– we could be unstoppable," you tell him as you feel yourself growing closer to your climax.
"you think so? is that why you want my cock?" he teases as you clench once more around him. "i'd fill your cunt with my cum as our two empires become allies, is that all you really want?"
with one final thrust, its enough to have you coming around him. your walls tighten around his cock and it makes it almost impossible for him to continue moving in that moment. he lets out a deep groan at the tightness but ignores it in order to continue his movements. his thrusts prolonging your orgasm. he wants to extend it just a little longer. wants to extend the feeling of you two connected and as one. something he's never felt before, especially with his wife.
"s-san," you call out his name before he's crashing his lips onto yours. he can tell how fucked out you're becoming the longer he continues to abuse your poor pussy.
he doesn't ever want this feeling of raw emotions to stop. san's decided that he likes feeling like this.
"f-fuck, why does your pussy feel so good," he groans as he continues to thrust into you. your moans like music to his ears as he continues to listen to you let out breathy moan and call out his name. despite being a drooling and moaning mess beneath him, san thinks you look breathtaking.
"s-san, lets becoming one," you say and san groans at your words. he does a particularly harsh and deep thrust and you swear that it hits the entrance to your womb. you feel your eyes roll back as you clench tightly around his cock.
"sure, lets... lets become one, my pharaoh," he says as he looks at you with an equally fucked out face.
"please..." you begin to say, "call me y/n," you finish and san smiles at your words.
"y/n... y/n, y/n, y/n!" with every pronounce of your name, he does an equally harsh thrust into your leaking and abused pussy. you feel san begin to stutter in his thrusts before he's finally coming with a cry of your name. you can't help but come one more time as you feel san paint your walls with his thick cum.
you know everyone in the palace will know what the two of you did tonight, but you don't care. you had san wrapped around your finger and it was only a matter of time before you officially became as one.
san let out a groan as he rolled onto his back next to you. a layer of sweat covering his golden body making it look shiny as he relaxed into your sheets. you turn onto your side, immediately cuddling up next to him and he has a blissed out smile on his face as he holds you close.
"was that raw and real enough for you?" you tease, a hand coming up to trace the toned muscles of his chest and abs. "so about that alliance..."
"fuck..." is all he says before you're moving to straddle him. "i want you to come visit minerva in a months time and there we can... discuss this alliance."
you can't help the smirk that graces your lips before you're leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. you couldn't wait to rub it into hongjoong and seonghwa's faces about how your plan was coming along smoothly.
maybe wooyoung was right about not being able to say no to the god pussy after all.
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Maybe can I request with Vil, Ace and Silver in self aware au ?
The reader is stressed after a day of work/school and while playing they just stare at them in silence until they start caressing or touching their faces just to say that "Your pretty face is all that is good in my life" or something like that. Oh, I hope you understand 😣
Self-aware au
I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!
WARNINGS: Yandere themes, violence, death, poison
Ace Trappola/Vil Schoenheit/Silver-“Your pretty face really cheers me up!”
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Ace isn’t exactly known for “pretty boy” esthetics. Heck, he doesn’t even care that much about his appearance and all that he wants is to look decent
But then there is you, Overseer extravagance, the uncrowned ruler of the Queendom, the God of Briar Valley and the Island of Woes, a freaking legend wherever you go
And apparently, you like pretty faces but ok, who does not have a weakness or two
But Ace didn’t exactly count himself as “sparkle face with silky skin” or something along those lines
Then one day, ONE DAY, “I paint a heart on my face every day” guy over here was getting ready to go to his lessons, you having decided that apparently he needed more flying lessons
And even his house warden who was present at the scene would look like he was about to collapse any second after witnessing what was about to happen
Here he was, sitting on his broom, flying in mid-air up in the sky, suppressing screeches of horror
And then you had to drop that one line
“Your pretty face really cheers me up!”
Guess what else was dropping? Oh yeah, a first-year heartslabyul student
This simple sentence was too much for his body, making him drop off of his broom
But no need to worry, Vargas got him, levitation magic is a neat thing. Didn’t mean it would levitate his failing grades up into better places though…
If Ace had social media he would now surpass Vil, news travel fast you know?
And if the Overseer, I don’t think you know what kind of influence you have, THE OVERSEER said that someone was pretty then oh boy, you better believe they are!
And whilst we are on the subject of beauty, Vil is going absolutely bananas somewhere in the background, screaming “HOW??!” and other not-so-beautiful things
Ace though? Just pure shock. From that day on he is painting that heart extra carefully
And if someone just slightly smudges the heart? Well, I hope they have someone to help them adjust because they won’t leave the hospital for a long time. They and their crushed spine.
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Vil is used to compliments about his apperance. I mean, come on, he has five million followers
So a compliment is usually met with a simple “thank you” and then he moves on with his day
Here we are, a normal day for Vil, sitting in his room, taking off the make-up to get to sleep
And then he feels your presence
Really bad timing. REALLY bad timing!
So whilst he sitts there like he just turned into a stone statue, a very beautiful stone statue, you just go along with your day, assigning students to go to lessons, yada yada
And then your gaze falls on him (aka your home screen). The statue stopped breathing
This is it. Now he has done it. He has shown him to you whilst he was at his most disgraceful
And whilst Vil is already crying in his head you are still staring at him
“Your pretty face really cheers me up!” And then you carass his face
This… this can not be real, right?
There is no way you complimented him whilst he is like this
But alas Vil finally gets that you geniunely mean your compliment
Sadly there was no one to witness it but boy, Vil is happy
Now whenever Vil looks in the mirror he is proud that you think he is beautiful and imagines what he would do to the wretched rats who dare and try to steal your attention from him
Rook even commented the next day that his skin seemed to glow brighter than usual, Vil during all of that not able to stop smiling
Does that mean he will take it easier now? No. After all, he can’t loose his “Oh he pwetty” status
And if he does… well, there are a lot of poisons he can make and don’t forget his special magic…
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Silver, good old Silver being himself and accedentaly sleeping the day away
Now saying that the poeple of the Valley of Thorns are a bit too interested in you is a understatement
And who could blame them? You are their God (I blame them. In fact, I blame them a lot)
So here he is, laying on the grass, dreaming of spending a day with you…
And everything is good and dandy and fine and you opened the app
Silver is not a fae so he doesn’t have that sixth sense that tingles whenever you are even glancing at the app but he had been trained to be cautious
And cautious he is, waking up the second he feels your gaze on himself
So you are back. Good to see you! He hopes you have a- why are you touching his face?
“Your pretty face really cheers me up!”
The rest of the day Silver is in a daze and only after his father, pardon me, vice house warden Lilia asks him what is wrong Silver finally snaps out of it
“They called me pretty…” “Who called you pretty?” “The Overseer.” “Ah, I see… WAIT WHAT??!”
Yeah, Silver is just happy
He even uses skin care products after that day
But if someone would dare to take away his special status, being called pretty, away from him then good luck
All I can say is that he knows how to use a sword… and he probably knows how to get rid of a body
Just don’t leave him and Vil alone in a room, ok? Otherwise one will be poisoned and the other might be a bit scratched up
“Your pretty face really cheers me up!”
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lowkeycasanova · 1 month
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Valentine's Day- what he does for you
Headcanon
Characters: Monster Trio + Usopp and Law
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Luffy
He assembled a gift basket. To someone else, it might have looked like he just grabbed a bunch of random items that he thinks you would like. But no. Each item he picked out held special significance, and he's picked up on things over your time together. See? He does listen.
His little basket predominately boasted an array of candy, but he did make a point to get those cookies you said you really like, along with some of your favorite fragrances and a plan to revisit Sabaody Park, a place you reminisced so fondly about. He vividly recalled your excitement as you spoke about the park. Bringing you back was a no-brainer for him; after all, he too wanted to relieve those moments.
Nami helped him make your gift look more presentable, but he'll never tell you that. Your face it up when he handed it to you, as did his. His smile was probably bigger than yours to be honest. He was so proud and he was happy that his efforts brought you joy. You weren't the type of person that needed anything extravagant. Your appreciation was geniune as you examined each item. You couldn't help notice the container of cookies. The sticker sealing it closed had been tampered with.
"Did you eat one?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know I get these all the time? I know how many are in here." You proceeded to count them. One, two, three...
"Luffy!"
"What?!"
"You ate three of them!"
Sanji
Valentine's Day has swiftly become his second favorite holiday next to your birthday. Yes, he considers your birthday a holiday. You should have known he would be over the top on the actual day because his enthusiasm for the occasion mirrored that of a marriage proposal when he asked you to be his valentine.
With cooking being his main love language, he got up extra early this morning to prepare three meals and a dessert for the day. The effort was more than a gesture. He did it so that he would spend less time cooking throughout the day and savor every moment with you.
Your presence occupies his mind incessantly, the anticipation of being together heightened his excitement. The mere thought of spending this day together induces a joy in him that sends him into a fit of giggles and has him kicking his feet with the same exuberance of a teenage girl who has her first crush.
The aroma wafted through the air, and you found yourself drawm to the kitchen where Sanji, with his classic cigarette, was putting this finishing touches on breakfast. The table was set with meticulous detail and a bouquet of flowers took center stage. Ever the gentleman, he pulled out a chair and gestured for you to sit. His eyes never left yours, his unwavering gaze conveying a depth of emotion that words could scarcely convey.
Zoro
When you told him you didn't want anything, he raised an eyebrow. Surely, this was a trap. It wasn't. You were being serious. You weren't big into Valentine's Day and you didn't want him to feel obligated to do or buy anything. He simply shrugged and said “okay”. When the day came around and you treated it like normal, he can admit he’s still puzzled by your lack of expectations. But decided to honor your wish nonetheless.
You two did a workout together on the deck of the Sunny like you normally did. The the crisp sea breeze provided a refreshing backdrop as you lifted heavy weights. Sweating side by side, the two of you engaged in a series of exercises. No words spoken as you simply basked in the comfort of each other's prescence.
Afterwards, Zoro suggested something out of the ordinary- a relaxing hot bath. The thought of indulging in a calming soak together appealed to him as a way to unwind after the physical exertion. You filled the tub as steam rose around. Zoro joined you, easing himself into the borderline hot water. With his arms wrapped around your waist and your back pressed to is chest, he stole glances at you, appreciating the way the water droplets clung to your bare skin. There was something a little more vulnerable about him this way. Despite telling him you didn’t want a gift, you could tell he was loving up on you a little more today. You'd be lying if you said you didn't love it.
Usopp
He talks a big game leading up to the 14th. He doesn't mention any plans in detail to keep it a "surprise". With each mention of "It's gonna be awesome" and "You're gonna love it", it stirred a sense of excitement in you. But to be honest, he wants it to be that way. However, deep down, he grappled with the challenge of living up the expectations that he himself had set. While he reveled in the thrill of anticipation, the truth was that his imagination seemed to hit a roadblock when it came to the actual gift. He didn't want to succumb to the cliche arrangement of flowers, candy, and a card.
As the pressure mounted, his creative spark finally mounted. He would devise a plan that blended the cliche gift with his storytelling and touch of uniqueness. The morning of, you received a map illustrated with details that only he could conjure up. Nami helped him draw it, lets give her credit. The map led you on a journey through various locations on the island, each marked with a clue or riddle. You followed the trail, anticipation in each step, with the promise of an extaordinary surprise at the end.
The first stop revealed a bouquet of flowers carefully hidden behind a statue accompanied with a note that read, "A bloom as resilient as our adventures". The second clue guided you to a candy shop where he had arranged for a selection of your favorite sweets, each with a personalized touch. The final destination unfolded at a scenic spot overlooking the ocean, where he awaited with a heartfelt card expressing his love.
Law
The metallic hum of machinery echoed through the corridors of the Polar Tang as Law moved about, seemingly engrossed in his daily tasks. As mid-morning approached, a subtle feeling of anxiety gnawed at you at his apparent oversight. Did he…forget? Was it wrong to assume that he’d do anything for today? You wanted to give him your gift by now, but it seems silly and kind of embarrassing given the fact that he hasn’t acknowledged anything yet.
Casually striking up a conversation, you probed him with careful questions, trying to discern any hints. His nonchalant demeanor remained. He responded with indifference, giving away nothing. Disappointed clouds your features as you observed his apparent obliviousness. Guilt tugged at him because not only did he feel terrible, but he was also wrestling with his own impatience. Behind closed doors, he was diligently crafting his gift. During the process of creating it, everything that seemed to go wrong, went wrong and it has taken him much longer to perfect it. The realization that he’s upset you weighed on him but he still wanted to keep it a surprise.
The hours ticked by and it was finally completed. Upon entering the bedroom later, your heart rate picks up at the sight of a small box on the comforter. You tentatively open it to reveal a handcrafted necklace that probably took him forever to make. In that same moment, Law silently appeared in the doorway before speaking. “I’ve been working on it for some time. I’m sorry I couldn’t get it to you earlier.” He says, confirming your thoughts. “It’s beautiful.” You breathe with tears forming in your eyes. You gave him and he steps closer, taking it gently from your hands, turning your back to him, and securing it around your neck.
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happy valentine’s day ♡
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kaciidubs · 3 months
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Mr. & Mrs. Gingerbread | 8 Days of SKZcember 2023
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Prompt: putting a gingerbread house together
❣ Summary: The perfect ginger house for the perfect ginger family. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 875 ❣ Warnings: Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Felix and Reader are really passionate about their gingerbread people ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Felix is referred to as Lix[ie], and Mr. Gingerbread, Reader is referred to as Sunshine, and Mrs. Gingerbread ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist ❣ SKZcember 2023
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“Are you sure you don’t wanna make the gingerbread house from scratch?”
You had to fight yourself from falling for those pleading brown eyes, knowing full and well that there was already half an hour left on the three hour chill time for the gingerbread dough he previously made, and if he made another batch you wouldn’t be making the house until it was well into the evening.
“Lixie, honey, you’re already making the gingerbread people from scratch - we can cheat and use the premade cookie house again, okay?” Sliding the unopened box on the kitchen island, you drummed lightly on the cardboard, “Besides, we already bought extra candy and icing so we don’t have to use the, quote, ‘cheap icing and stale candy with no true theme’.”
 Felix blushed, taking the box from your grasp with a small huff of indignation, “Hey! You agreed with me when we were at the store!”
“I never said you were wrong, now did I?” Pinching his cheek lightly, you busied yourself with taking the extra sweet decorations out of their packaging while he took care of unboxing the project of the afternoon.
With each piece laid out and carefully inspected, operation Gingerbread Builders was a go.
“So, I’m thinking this is Mr. and Mrs. Gingerbread’s first time in the housing market, so we have to make this an extra special house for them.”
“Mhm - They need a house that’ll stand out from all the rest, they wanna make a statement in this neighborhood.”
“As they should, it’s deserved!”
A natural silence fell over you both as you each worked on your respective parts of the house; you with the back and left wall, Felix with the front and right wall, saving the roof for the final piece to put together.
“Who do you think has more say in the design of the house?” Felix mused as he cut pieces of gummy candy into small squares.
“Mr. Gingerbread for sure, he went to school for Gingerbread Home Design, with a minor in theater.”
“Figures, Mrs. Gingerbread went for Ginger-Fashion in Uni, and we all know fashion prowess doesn’t translate to houses well.”
“Then it’s a good thing they met through the theater club, isn’t it?”
Giggling at your fictional gingerbread lore, you both continued decorating the house in colorful candies and icing accents; the soft background music of a carefully curated winter themed Animal Crossing playlist playing to fill in the peaceful atmosphere.
With some blatantly obvious sneaking of candy here, and playful marking of icing on hands there, the walls of the home were finished and it was time to put them together.
You dutifully lined the edges of the gingerbread panels with the thick icing provided from the box, sticking them together carefully before repeating the process with the other sides until both walls, and the front and back of the house were in place.
“Do you think they’re a weaved panel or classic snow-top type of couple?” 
Carefully placing the roofless house onto the icing-layered plastic foundation, you shot him a look, “What does that even mean, Lix?”
“Should the roof be in a lattice design,” he explained, mimicking the lattice design with his hands, “or should we make it look like it’s a snowy roof?”
“Well…” Taking a look at one of the roof pieces, you carefully lined one side of the rooftop, “Mrs. Gingerbread likes the way the snowy roof looks, especially since all of the other houses on the block have some extravagant design - she’s a simple elegant gingerbread.”
Nodding, Felix smiled happily, “Mr. Gingerbread likes that, especially since it leaves more room for a gumdrop design!”
“Oh, Mr. Gingerbread, always the one for showing the beauty in subtlety.” You hummed warmly, sticking one roof panel carefully on top of the icing.
“Mrs. Gingerbread loves him for it.” His tone was just as warm, as sweet as the icing currently sticking to your fingers.
“Yes, she does.”
Sticking the second roof panel on the house, you swapped positions with the freckled blond to let him have creative authority of the soon to be snowy rooftop; watching as the bland gingerbread squares slowly transformed into a beautiful snow-topped roof with a rainbow licorice topping, gumdrops and mini jawbreakers dotted in a beautiful pattern where the ‘snow’ hadn’t reached - with your help, of course.
Just when you thought the decorating was complete, Felix leaned over the house and began using the remaining white icing to create an icicle pattern along the edge of the roof, leaving you to watch in amazement like a child watching toffee being made.
“And… Done!” Standing straight, his cheeks pulled up into his usual sunshine smile, as he gazed at the collaborative masterpiece in front of him, “It looks amazing, doesn't it?!”
Your heart swelled, a smile finding its way onto your own face as you nodded, “It is, you did wonderful, Mr. Gingerbread.”
Turning his head to you, you could see what you could only describe as pure love in his sparkling eyes. “You did wonderful too, Mrs. Gingerbread.”
The sound of the oven alarm beeping broke you from your reverie, though it only made Felix’s smile grow wider than before.
“Wanna clean up and make our ginger-people?”
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jaimeslanisters · 11 days
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the pawn in every lover’s game (part fourteen)
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Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader
When you’re ten, your father sends you to King’s Landing to befriend a princess and woo a prince. A lioness growing up amongst dragons is a dangerous thing indeed.
crossposted on ao3 masterlist word count: 16.1k notes: posting. so i can finally beat those death allegations... 🙏🏼 please take this extra long chapter as my apology if any of you are still around
The wedding of Aegon and Helaena Targaryen ends with as much fanfare as it had began with. Buried underneath the cheers and claps, you can still distinctly hear a choir singing a hymn, its lyrics completely muffled by the sound of revelry still reverberating within the Dragonpit. You’ve long since stopped clapping, having decided to at least save your palms some of the misery, but the rest of the room seemingly does not seem to mind the sting, the sounds of their claps shaking the room like thunder. From your vantage point, you can see how Helaena’s smile tightens and how Aegon’s eyes seem to grow increasingly more and more distressed. Their hands are squeezing each other so tight that even from your vantage point, you can see how their pale knuckles whiten even further from their tight grip on one another. They look beautiful, striking and unnatural, but all you can see when you look up at them are the ghosts of the children they used to be, dressed up and lovely but painfully unprepared.
Part of you wants to usher them off the altar, to save them just a little of the embarrassment, to shield them from the all too piercing gazes of the capitol.
A larger part of you, however, knows that this is only a taste of what they will have to face in the future. Sooner rather than later, the entirety of the realms would be looking to them for direction, for wisdom, and for strength, and they would all trace it all back to this singular moment in time. The historians, the maesters, the singers, and the storytellers would all look back to this one day, to this mere stretch of an hour, and say that this is where the tone of their reign was decided. It’s monumental. It’s historic.
It’s no wonder the Queen looks as stressed as she does. It’s a miracle you haven’t ripped your own hair out.
Just as the cheers begin to die down, you sense movement out of the corner of your eye and you turn your head in time to see Ser Criston nod to the Lord Hand, murmuring something quietly in response. In the next breath, Ser Criston moves up towards the altar, bowing his head to Aegon and Helaena as he does. Behind him, other kingsguards move up to follow behind, their white cloaks starched to perfection so they practically shine with a pale glow from the sunlight filtering in through the windows in the domed roof. They form a wall around the two Targaryens, leaving space for them to remain visible to the rest of the Dragonpit but close enough that no attackers would stand any chance of getting close enough to do damage. It’s a shockingly familiar picture, one that you’ve seen countless times before though not in recent memory.
It’s King Viserys and Queen Alicent, hand in not quite loving hand, their twin crowns perched delicately onto their heads as they stand proud before their people.
Almost.
Not quite but maybe just enough.
“The Lord Hand has an eye for the dramatics,” you murmur to Aemond, not taking your eyes away from the altar, from the show of extravagance.
Aemond hums, dropping his arm down to scoop your’s up. You hide a smile at his show of affection, however small it may be. “He was the one to insist on the coronet. Mother was the one to push for the wedding to be in the Dragonpit rather than the throne room. The throne room would be limited to only nobility and even then, only the highest echelon. Here - thousands can fit.”
You nod, glancing over your shoulder. In the very back, some people have started to move towards the wide open doors, sensing that the ceremony has ended and seeking a quick escape, but the vast majority of people stay, still clambering to catch a glimpse of the royals. The mass of the smallfolk are held at bay by a wall of City’s Watch, their cloaks forming a golden wall between the nobility and the rest of King’s Landing.
Like the curtains of a playhouse stage.
This was a performance. A beautiful lie where the actors would play their roles to perfection or fall to shambles in front of the world. Endless and endless roles and parts to play, endless scenes to perform. It would never end. It couldn’t.
Smallfolk didn’t care about who sat the Iron Throne. They didn’t care about which Lord ruled over them, didn’t care whose birthright was being taken, whose ruling right was being usurped. They cared about being fed. They cared about surviving the winter. They cared about their sons growing into old and grey men instead of dying young in a nameless field and their daughters marrying good, kind men.
They cared about their stories - their pretty little stories they could pass onto their children and their children’s children. They cared about Jonquil and her fool of a knight. They cared about Symeon Star-Eye, about Lann the Clever, about Brandon the Builder.
They would care about this - about the beautiful Targaryen maiden with emeralds in her hair and amethysts in her eyes marrying her equally beautiful brother, the yet uncrowned king. They would care about the dragon and his treasure.
They would care about the performance.
The performance was all that mattered.
“All the world’s a stage,” you murmur quietly and Aemond lets out a small noise, prompting you to tear your eyes away from the goldcloaks to peer up at him. Even as the guards begin to prompt all of the nobles to start to be ushered out of Dragonpit, to be guided through the tunnels, he looks down at you, focusing his attention solely on your words. It warms something up in you and you resist the urge to curl into him, tuck yourself into his side.
“It’s a quote,” you say, smiling slightly thinking about your little sister with her ink stained fingers. “Jeyne… She loves plays, you see. Always reading them, writing them. She used to make me and Tyshara act in them even. There’s a playwright she enjoys. It’s a quote from one of his works, I believe. She convinced me to go see it with her in Lannisport a few months ago.”
“You used to act in her plays?” He questions, gently pulling you along as the guards begin to grow a little more insistent. He walks slowly, keeping pace with you, and the two of you trail behind the rest of the wedding party, behind them but leading the rest of the nobility.
You mockingly frown at him. “What are you trying to imply, my prince? I was a once-in-a-generation talent. Joy still talks about my turn as a knight, a queen, and as a lady in a lake. In the same play.”
“Really?” Aemond says flatly, raising his eyebrow. “I remember a lady always finding my hiding spot in the library and somehow always being surprised to find me. You stopped being convincing after the first few times.”
You tilt your head up to hold your chin high even as your cheeks flare with embarrassed heat. “It worked, didn’t it? Seems like I was something of a leading star.”
“Your audience was a lonely ten-year-old boy and you were the prettiest girl I had ever seen, let alone the prettiest girl to ever talk to me. You could have convinced me that you were Balerion the Black Dread reborn if you had set your mind to it.”
A laugh bursts its way out of you, loud enough that Otto and Alicent turn around to peer curiously at the two of you, one smiling and the other frowning. Part of you wants to seize up at the scrutiny but a bigger part of you wants to stay in this moment and curl up in the warm glow in your chest.
Anything to distract you from the night ahead.
From all the nights ahead.
“Seems a shame I didn’t realize my skills,” you muse, pulling yourself away from the anxious thoughts that creep at the edges of your subconscious. “Then again, if ten-year-old me had known her own power, I’m afraid she might have grown drunk off of it. Who knows what she would have ended up doing?”
Aemond smiles, shaking his head slightly. “Perhaps she would have grown bold enough to woo a prince?”
You laugh again, gleefully, and this time Daeron stops in front of his mother to look back at you. You wave him off, smiling at him, but not before he grins at the two of you, so clearly pleased by the closeness you’re sharing with his brother.
The two of you settle into the silence and, once you step into tunnels leading deeper and deeper into the Dragonpit, you pull his arm closer to you as you follow the blend of goldcloaks and kingsguard. The tunnels are brighter than they were the last time you had entered these halls, when you had followed Helaena deep into the bowels of the pit itself. New lit sconces have been placed into the walls, carefully carved into the stone so they cast the light of the flames over the uneven ground. Even still, you’re careful to watch your step and keep your grip tight on Aemond’s arm, using him to balance yourself in case you misstep and stumble into a dip in the ground.
Somehow, it’s louder the deeper you go into the tunnels, the stone walls amplifying the footsteps of thousands above of you until it’s almost like there are waves crashing on the shore over your head, torrential and powerful. It reverbrates and shakes to the point that dust falls off the rocky ceiling, covering your dress with a thin layer, dulling the starched white into a yellowed shade. You’re not the only one suffering if the cries of the noblemen behind you are anything to go by and you can even feel it on your skin, feel little rocks falling into your hair.
The tunnels have never been so crowded, so full, before.
But there’s a strange emptiness in the air.
“Where did the dragons go?” You ask Aemond. As impossible as it would be, a part of you feels like you’ve snuck into the tunnels, even surrounded as you are by everyone in King’s Landing. It almost feels like you could turn a corner and run into the massive beasts that call this hill home, as if you’ll stumble onto them and have a dragon breathe flame onto you for the injury of trespassing.
Aemond tilts his head. “Dreamfyre and Sunfyre are waiting at another exit to take Helaena and Aegon to the Red Keep for a final procession in the sky. I believe Daeron has Tessarion housed somewhere near the Kingswood though she might have left if she grew bored of the cattle that they got her.”
“And Vhagar is at her roost, I assume?” You ask and Aemond spares you a small smirk.
“Why so inquisitive? Are you interested in meeting her, my lady?”
You miss your next step and only your hand curled around Aemond’s bicep keeps you upright. You right yourself fast enough but not so quick that you don’t hear his stifled laugh, a quick and quiet little thing.
Cheeks embarrassingly hot, you swallow thickly, holding back your immediate and empathetic ‘No’. It is a poorly kept secret that you aren’t fond of the Targaryens’ sigil and Aemond would love the chance to push and prod at this side of you. You weren’t hateful or even open about your aversion. You have just never once jumped at the chance to get close to any dragon, no matter the countless opportunities you’ve been given over the years, and you would shy away from offers to see them.
Helaena never failed to offer to bring you along with her to the Dragonpit and you would occasionally accompany her even if you would always beg off on actually going in with her. Aemond had only ever made one explicit offer, back when he was only weeks into having had claimed Vhagar, and you had been humiliatingly forceful in your denial. It was an embarrassing memory to look back on, one that you always cringed away from even thinking about. Even now, you can remember how you had stammered out a no, citing a recent newfound fear of heights and a mystery injury that had rendered you incapable of climbing up the tangled web of ropes that constituted Vhagar’s harness. You had been petrified to hurt his feelings, so soon after Driftmark, but Aemond had taken your rejection remarkably well even if he had looked insufferably amused by your poor excuses.
Yet another mark against you as an actress.
Aemond had never asked you again though he was remarkably transparent in his desire for you to meet Vhagar. He’d always announce when he was going to go see her, making sure that you were in earshot, and, once, when you were both years younger, he had made a grand show of having commissioned a large saddle of Vhagar - large enough to fit two.
His brothers, surprisingly, were less single-minded in their attempts to convince you to warm up to their sigil. Daeron, in the early years when Tessarion had been comparatively small and he would come to visit, would cheerfully invite you to come feed her with him, seemingly oblivious to the way you would grimace at the thought of seeing a dragon feast on a goat again as you had as a little girl. Aegon was, shockingly enough, the Targaryen least invested in your interest in dragons. While he was always prone to bragging about Sunfyre’s beauty, he hoarded moments with him to himself, zealously protecting his time with his dragon with such fervor that one would almost think that he was paranoid someone would steal Sunfyre out from under him.
No, your lack of fondness for the dragons the Targaryens rode was hardly a secret.
But it feels wrong to say that now.
Now, when all of your intentions had been laid bare at Aemond’s feet. Now, when you’re holding onto Aemond without nervous fear creeping up your throat, without the anxieties of wondering if he wanted you half as much as you wanted him.
No, you couldn’t say that.
“Perhaps,” you start slowly, the words dragging themselves out of you slowly, sluggishly as if your own body was rebelling against what you were about to say. “I would want to meet her. I… I imagine it’s time I see her.”
You feel a jerk on your arm and you stop short, turning to gape at Aemond. He’s completely stopped in the middle of the hallway, staring so intently at you that for a moment, you fear that your very skin will light on fire where his eyes trail on you. You’ve pulled away from him slightly, the most space between your bodies since you had stood in your place next to him during the ceremony, but your hand is still loosely gripping his arm, a tether between the two of you.
“Do you mean that, my lady?” He asks softly, as if he’s scared you’ll take it back, as if he’s nervous you’ll snatch your own words out of the air and push him away.
Around you, your guards slide to a stop behind the pair of you, a crimson wall between the two of you and the rest of the nobility approaching. There are only moments until they’ll be pressing down on your sacred space.
But you don’t look over at them. You look at him.
You feel like a ten-year-old again, sitting at your table in the library, eyes wide as you stare up at Aemond. If you try, you can almost erase the grown man in front of you and slot in a ten-year-old boy, his head wrapped in bandages, his mouth set in a determined line. He had been holding books in his arms, tight to his chest like a shield to protect himself with.
Had he been nervous? You can’t quite remember. Maybe he had been shaking. Maybe his teasing smile after had been hiding the hurt in his eyes. You can’t remember, can’t remember anything but the way it had felt as if your own stomach had dropped to the very ground at the mere idea of approaching the Queen of All Dragons.
You lick your lips, mouth dry. Despite the nerves creeping up your spine, the primal fear that threatens to settle in your bones, there’s only one answer you can give.
“Yes,” you say, voice soft and gentle, almost like a whispered promise down in these winding tunnels where dragons make their home. “Yes, I will meet her.”
Aemond Targaryen is all sharp edges and white knuckles, a dragon’s rage contained within one man. Just two days ago, he had plunged a sword through a man’s throat and stood victorious over him, had been hungry for more and for you. He was proud and lethal, fire and blood embodied.
There’s little trace of that man now.
Now, he stares at you as if this is the first time he’s ever seen you before. His gaze is almost unbearably soft, unbearably gentle. Even as children, he’s never been this open, this completely vulnerable.
Your heart clenches painfully in your chest.
A near decade since Driftmark. A near decade you’ve denied Aemond this.
You tug on his arm, beckoning Aemond to keep up, and this time, he’s dependent on you guiding him through the winding tunnels. His eyes stay on you, scanning you for any sign that you’re reluctant.
You’re not, however. More than your fear, more than your anxieties, you feel remorse creeping up your throat.
It’s an ugly, sickly feeling. You’re not used to guilt, not used to feeling sorry. You like moving people like chess pieces, the subtle art of manipulation, exercising your control and power.
But not with Aemond.
Never with Aemond.
And now, he’s caught you twice in a mere few days.
Your stomach still churns at the memory of when he had revealed that your intentions had always been plain. He had seemingly been okay with it, had seemingly appreciated that you had pursued him, but a part of you still wants to apologize for it.
Just not here.
You can feel the eyes of the nobility behind, peering through the wall of crimson cloaks that can’t quite shield you from their prying eyes. What you want to say deserves to just be his, your’s and his alone with no danger of someone stepping in and interrupting.
You already had to share him with the rest of the world. You didn’t want to have to share this too.
For just a moment’s breath, you allow yourself to lean into Aemond, pressing your side into his, resting your head on his arm. It’s only for a moment but you soak it in, trying your best to commit to memory the feel of his toned arm under your cheek, the way his body shifts to accommodate you, always aware of you as if you’re burned into his periphery, another part of him as he is to you.
You pull away, curling your hand around his arm. He doesn’t say anything but his other hand floats up, moving to cover your own, squeezing it tight.
You walk deeper into the tunnels, the crashing footsteps of King’s Landing all around you.
——————————–
The sunlight is almost unbearable after the tunnels. The sconces had done little to acclimate your eyes and when the narrow passageways open up to the bright blue cloudless sky, you reel back on instinct, turning your face away from the relentless sun. Blessedly, the ground is smoother out here, the rock having been worn down from decades of wagons and the heavy feet of dragons, and you move forward blindly before your eyes adjust.
You’re at the base of Rhaenys’ Hill, away from the grand entrance with its soaring arches and bronze doors. Here, the trees have receded, giving way to a few brick houses that line the bottom of the hill, houses that you know are large and luxurious but somehow seem so quaint in the shadow of the Dragonpit. In the distance, you can see the walls of King’s Landing, looming high over the city. From your vantage, you make out the Dragon Gate with its oversized dragon statues serving as sentinels, the golden bronze serving as a beacon to denote its location. If you turn your head west, you can just see the Old Gate though your sight of it is obscured by the massive mansions that surround it, populated by the richest merchants in the city.
Out here, in the barely fresh air, it almost feels like a world removed from the crowded Dragonpit or even the lined streets of the capital. There are no smallfolk jostling to catch a glimpse at the gilded few. There is no cheering, no screaming. There are just rows and rows of wheelhouses, servants standing at the ready next to them, such a familiar sight that it borders on the mundane. It feels, for the first time all day, normal.
It’s almost sickening.
It feels like you should have walked out to a world on fire. The buildings should have shifted, rearranged themselves to fit this new reality, but all of it is the same. It’s the King’s Landing you’ve grown up with. The King’s Landing you’ll die with.
You dig your thumbnail deep into your own palm, using the small jolt of pain to anchor yourself back into the moment, to quell your own mounting disappointment at this new bitter reality.
Aemond leads you down to the closest ring of wheelhouses, towards the gathered crowd of his family. You spare a glance over your shoulder. It’s a mass of people, all of them more finely dressed than the last, but Lannisters have always stood a head and shoulder above all the rest and that stays true even now. Jason and Tyland are tall and Tygett is even taller and, through seeing them, you can spot the smaller figures of your cousins and distant uncles surrounding them, even as deep as they are in the crowd of nobles.
“I imagine my father will come to fetch me soon enough,” you muse quietly to Aemond, eying the massive crowd that separates you from them.
Aemond spares you a look, his delicate mouth downturned. “You’re free to ride with us in our wheelhouse. There’s room to spare since I believe Princess Rhaenys will ride with her house and Grandfather has some matters to discuss with Lord Hightower in his wheelhouse.”
You hide a smile before shaking your head. “I’m a Lannister, my prince. I may live with dragons but I’m a lion and I go with the rest of the pride for now.”
“For now,” Aemond repeats and you don’t bother hiding your crooked smile now.
“For now,” you echo.
You rejoin his family by his wheelhouse and, the instant you arrive, Alicent descends upon the two of you, her hands fluttering up to brush off nonexistent dust off of Aemond’s tunic.
“You both did lovely,” Alicent praises, offering you both nervous smiles, and you instantly recognize the look in her eye, the energy that seems to pour out of her fingertips and fill the air with a cautious, staticky charge. She’s coming down from an impossible high - for all intents and purposes, she could still be riding that high, still drunk off the adrenaline.
You smile back at her, feeling a similar pulse of nervous energy coursing through your veins even as you bow your head in gratitude. “Thank you, Your Grace. I’d like to congratulate you on the beautiful ceremony - all of it, every single last detail, was an absolute marvel.”
Alicent’s smile softens, losing some of that manic quality and turning into something warmer. There’s a flicker of pride on her face, that age-old feeling of success and satisfaction. It makes her look that much younger, more overeager girl desperate for a pat on the head from her septa than a Queen carrying the burden of seven kingdoms on her back.
She is young if you think about it. If your math is correct, she’s over a decade younger than your own mother and Cerelle is not even a year older than Aegon. Your stomach twists at the thought, at the age she must have been during her first pregnancies. It had been a miracle that no harm had come to Alicent or to any of her babes.
Your mind flashes to Helaena, to the fact that now that she was wedded and soon to be bedded, her first child would come soon enough. That familiar, tell-tale nausea of anxiety begins to creep up your throat and you swallow it down thickly, trying desperately to bury it deep within you, alongside all the other anxieties that haunt your every move. Helaena is older than her mother had been. Helaena is stong - healthy.
You forcibly drag your focus back onto Alicent, just in time to see her bow her head in gratitude, pulling away from Aemond to give the two of you some space. As soon as she moves, however, Daeron takes her place, beaming brightly. His hair is slightly messier than it had been earlier, some of the delicate braids knocked askew as if he had run his hand through the tresses, but all of it only serves to give him a boyish charm. He’s still otherworldly, still more beautiful than anyone has any right to be, but he’s unmistakably human, unmistakably a boy.
It warms you right up and you smile more easily at him, part of you wishing you could reach out and muss up his curls even further. Boy that he is, and as close to adulthood as he is, something in his rosy cheeks and his bright eyes reminds you of Joy, of your little sister with her own rosy cheeks and bright eyes.
“I think you were right, Aemond,” Daeron says, grinning. “All of it went smoothly. Maybe the sun is a blessing for Valyrian weddings? Keep them warm and all of that.”
“As smoothly as it could,” Aemond drawls, seemingly unaffected by the warmth that his brother seems to exhibit like a little sun of his own. You suppose he’s rather used to it, having had him for years before little Daeron had been shipped off to Oldtown. You imagine he was even freer in his affection and kindness as a little boy but somehow, it’s impossible to imagine Daeron being any more sweet. “Helaena and Aegon will need every blessing the Gods see fit to give them.”
You snort, completely unladylike to the point you can feel the ghost pain of your childhood septa rapping you on the knuckles with her ruler. Neither prince seems to mind so you barrel forward. “If an entire day of prayers solely devoted to their union can’t conjure up some goodwill and luck, I pray the sun will do the trick.”
Daeron laughs. “I bet everyone else in the city is also praying for them too. They all want their future princes and princesses to be healthy - especially the heir. I’m sure they’re praying for them as they prayed for Mother and Father.”
You hide a smile but Aemond makes no such effort, looking supremely amused by his younger brother’s guileless treason. Daeron says it as if it’s a settled fact, a law of nature - not the most dangerous dispute to threaten House Targaryen since perhaps Maegor the Cruel. In a way, you suppose it is.
Aegon Targaryen is the true heir to the Iron Throne. He may not be a named heir but calling something by a different name did not change the facts, could not shift the foundations that all of Westeros was built upon.
It is not treason to see the truth.
No one has ever said it so plainly and with such clear language though. You wonder if Daeron even has it in him to be duplicitous, to weave lies in with the truth until it was interchangeable in the same way his grandfather could.
No, you think as you look him over. He’s far too gentle for it, far too chivalrous. He’s the son of Alicent Hightower or, at least, the son of the gentle girl she must have been before the throne turned her into the woman she had to be.
“If the Gods see to bless them, then they will be blessed,” you say in as sincere a voice you can muster. You sound so devout that even the High Septon could not find fault with you but, judging from the tremble of Aemond’s arm tucked into your’s from his suppressing his laughter, you’ve failed with at least one person.
Daeron smiles at you, smaller than his previous grins but all the more sincere. “You’re right, my lady.”
“She rarely isn’t,” Aemond says, sounding entirely too smug to be praising you. “With the exception of her evaluation of her own acting skills.”
You scowl, immediately losing whatever minimal glow you had earned through your holy act. “I was ten and it clearly worked.”
“You used to act?” Daeron asks, looking like a child who’s just been handed a new toy.
You flush. “I didn’t. He’s poking fun.”
At the same time, Aemond says, “She used to. She was terrible but she has improved.”
Daeron laughs gleefully, his amethyst eyes flashing with unbridled joy. “My lady, I had no idea you were a thespian.”
“My sister,” you say, rather than explaining your storied past with acting with regards to Aemond in particular. “She fancies herself a would-be playwright. She’s always scribbling away on any scrap piece of parchment she can find.”
The youngest Targaryen prince tilts his head in response. “Is she good? Have you read her plays?”
You smile slightly. “I tried my best to read them when I was home, my prince, but she guards them more zealously than some dragons guard their treasure.” Aemond snorts quietly next to you, clearly amused by your little barb, and Daeron’s gaze turns all that fonder at his older brother’s obvious satisfaction. “I’m afraid the only writing of Jeyne’s I’ve read in recent memory is her letters,” you finish, sighing slightly.
It certainly hadn’t been due to lack of effort. You had cajoled, attempted bribery, even tried to (unconvincingly) threaten her. Short of locking her in her room, you had no way of getting the opportunity to read Jeyne’s plays. When the two of you were younger, you could hardly go a day without her shoving sheets of parchment in your face, staining your dress sleeves with the ink on her fingers with the way she would tug on them to beg you to read them over. When you had returned home, you had been the one chasing her down, begging for even a morsel of her thoughts.
Just another way that your world has shifted in a way you’re never going to get back.
“I’m sure she’s a great talent,” Daeron says, cheerful and amiable. He’s so sincere that you imagine even the High Septon could find no fault with him though you are certain he would try.
“Like the rest of her sisters, my Jeyne is a rare talent,” your father’s voice cuts through the din and you start slightly, turning to the source. Behind your father, you can see your uncle speaking with Lord Otto and the Queen, Tygett and Tygett’s own father and uncles at his side.
You bow your head at your father in greeting and, next to you, Aemond and Daeron do the same, Aemond deeper than his brother. This doesn’t pass Jason’s keen eyes and his gaze turns sharper, more mischievous boy than a High Lord, and you fight the urge to bury your head in your hands.
Your father will always have his fun.
“Prince Aemond,” Jason says, his voice high and lofty, and Aemond straightens next to you, his normal rigid posture even stiffer. Your father’s eyes sharpen at the shift, looking distinctly leonine, and even Daeron looks absolutely delighted by the turn of events. “I didn’t get the chance to congratulate you directly but House Lannister would like to extend our thanks for honoring my daughter as you have.”
Aemond bows his head again. “She brings herself honor, my lord. I was only given the opportunity to bring the rest of the capital’s attention to it.”
Jason laughs, so clearly amused, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from saying something. Knowing your father, it would only make this game he’s playing all that more fun. “The rest of the capital? After the tourney, I’m afraid the rest of the kingdoms are all too aware of my daughter’s honor now. On my way to the Dragonpit, I could hear some songs being sung through the walls of my wheelhouse. My uncle’s granddaughters were enraptured - they’re already asking their fathers to bring some bards back to Lannisport so they can share the songs with the other members of House Lannister.”
A thrill crawls its way up your spine. You certainly haven’t heard any songs - not that you would have had the chance to hear them - and you had known that the bards would do as they always do and write their songs. The pretty little story that the tourney had provided them with had been too good, too perfect, for them to resist.
But it actually happening is something else entirely.
You don’t dare look up at Aemond now, not when you’re certain it’d be impossible to hide from his amethyst eye, and the sight of your father’s increasingly amused face makes you want to crawl into your own skin to hide so you stay quiet, praying that the conversation will end.
Daeron, however, has no such qualms.
“Really?” He exclaims, so audibly delighted that you look over at him without even thinking. He’s brightened up entirely, grinning so wide that one would think that the bards were writing their songs about him. “Are they any good?”
Jason laughs, similarly pleased to have found someone to play along with his charade. “I’m no great expert on songs, my prince. You’ll have to ask my cousins for an educated opinion.”
Daeron laughs. “Perhaps a bard or two will sing a song at the wedding feast.”
“Perhaps not,” you intervene, sniffing delicately, unable to hold back your tongue. Next to you, Aemond snorts quietly. “This is Helaena’s wedding. Not mine. The singers should stick to the classics rather than trying out any new material on everyone.”
“Give it time, sweetling,” Jason teases and his voice has taken a softer tone, his smile just that much warmer. “Soon you and your dragon prince’s songs will be the classics. You’ll be begging for them to play new songs then.”
You sigh, rolling your eyes, and, against your own better judgment, you glance up at Aemond in hopes of finding an ally in this battle with your father and his unexpected ally Daeron. Predictably, he looks horribly amused as if this was all a big game to him, a show being put on for him. But he’s not just amused. There’s a shine to his eye, a gleam of something that isn’t just barely concealed laughter.
It’s warming. It’s gentle. It’s intoxicating.
You quickly look away, suddenly all too aware of the consequences of looking at him here, in front of your own father.
The thought of providing Jason Lannister with that much ammunition is almost too much to bear.
“We’ll have time to continue this at the feast,” Jason finally says, shedding the skin of a teasing young boy and donning his high lord costume. “In fact… Your Queen Mother and I have planned a tea for tomorrow. Just a simple meeting. Nothing to be concerned about.”
Nothing to be concerned about? You could almost laugh out loud. There would be nothing simple about a tea with the Queen - not one following a declaration of intents. Your father and Alicent would sit down and discuss joining their two houses, probing politely at the bones of a bethoral contract without overplaying their hand. If they were even feeling particularly productive, they could likely even hammer out the larger details of one - questions about your dowry, bridal payments, properties to inherit and divide. Knowing your father, he would be sure to push trade contracts that would heavily favor House Lannister, maybe try to slide in a chance for another marriage contract for Jeyne or Joy.
Tomorrow would be a starting point. It would be the first move to lay down the foundation on which your and Aemond’s futures would be built on top of.
Your mouth dries in anticipation.
“Yes,” you echo, letting a small smile slip on your face. “We have a tea tomorrow. There will be much to discuss.”
Your father smiles, pleased by your easy obedience, and Daeron grins, delighted by another chance to tease and poke at his brother.
But Aemond…
When you tilt your head up to look at Aemond, that gentle warmth has fled from his sole eye. There’s a curve to his lips still but it isn’t amusement or laughter.
No.
This is him moving with you, him responding on sheer instinct alone to the gnawing ambition that lays claim to your peripheries, pushing and pushing inwards until you can see nothing else.
This is him seeing your hunger.
And this is his answering your call.
——————————–
Sometime after the wheelhouse’s easy travel on smooth dirt roads gives way to the familiar bumping and jostling of the cobblestone roads of King’s Landing, you hear the roar of a dragon.
It’s like a shot in the dark, so loud and invasive that it slices through your father and uncle’s easy conversation without remorse, and you freeze for a moment, primal urge overtaking any rational thought.
Don’t move. You can’t be seen if you don’t move.
The impulse leaves you quick enough and you’re left with just a fading sense of embarrassment as you turn to one of the many windows that line House Lannister’s grandest wheelhouse. Sliding one open, you peer up to the sky in time to see a golden shine break apart the endless blue.
Sunfyre. Beautiful and peerless.
You frown slightly as you look up at his shape gliding delicately through the air, more graceful than any beast of that size had any right to be. You couldn’t hear the telltale sound of Dreamfyre’s wings beating loud and clear or see her blue scales glinting in the sun. There was no sign of Helaena’s companion which meant that there was only place that the girl herself could be.
Helaena and Aegon were riding together.
The thought makes you slide the window shut and you slump back in your seat, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth. Aegon was notoriously possessive of his dragon - all of his rings were styled after Sunfyre, obnoxiously ostentatious things, and most of his clothes were embroidered with metallic thread in an attempt to capture even a sliver of his beauty. Since reaching adulthood, he had forced the Dragonpit keepers to swear off approaching Sunfyre even to feed the dragon, preferring to do the gruesome task himself. If you’re being honest, you doubt there’s even another relationship in his life that would come close to his uncomplicated and free passion towards his own personal sigil.
And now Helaena had invaded that sacred space.
Even just a week ago, you would have gambled everything on Aegon preferring to be bathed in fire rather than allowing any of his siblings to ride alongside him on his one treasure. He coveted Sunfyre something fierce, more possessive of him than he was of anything else.
Yet Helaena was with him.
You’re not sure what it means.
Aegon loves his sister - you know that as surely as you know that you love his sister - but he didn’t love his sister and that maybe mattered more now. Aegon and Helaena would be no Jaehaerys the Conciliator and Good Queen Alysanne whose love for each other only dimmed in comparison to their love for the realm.
But maybe they could be something better. Something more than their parents with their glacial relationship. Something more stable than their grandparents and their infamous Quarrels.
You sigh, pushing the thought out of your mind. There would be plenty of time in the future to worry and fuss about Helaena and Aegon’s relationship and how the realm would view it. There would be plenty of time to plan how you would twist Westeros into cherishing it. You had enough to worry about for today.
Namely the feast.
“I wonder how Queen Alicent will outdo herself tonight,” you muse out loud, drawing your father and uncle’s attention to yourself. “She’s guarded her plans rather zealously.”
Tyland snorts quietly. “It’s certainly been a grand expense. Lord Beesbury has not stopped fussing about the cost of this and that to anyone who will listen even though the Hightowers are paying for most of it from their own coffers. You’d think the expenses are coming straight from his own purse with the way he goes on about it.”
You hum, letting a mischievous smile slip on your face. “Lord Beesbury, may the Gods forgive me for saying so, much prefers the sound of his voice rather than putting forth any meaningful solutions. He’s never been fond of the Queen and he’s even less fond of her children. It’s a miracle that the Lord Hand managed to loosen his grip on the purse of the Targaryens to fund even the tourney.”
Your uncle nods in agreement, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “He’s Lord of Honeyholt. They’re always getting the castoffs of House Hightower and old Lyman is no exception to the animosity his House has nursed for centuries now. I sometimes wonder if he’s really so fond of Princess Rhaenyra as he likes to say he is or if he just hates the alternative. He himself has a daughter older than his heir and you don’t see him pushing her first in his line of succession.”
Jason shakes his head, looking genuinely annoyed. “They should have retired Lord Beesbury years ago. He’s senile in his old age. It’s a miracle he doesn’t crumble into dust whenever he bumps against something.”
You blink, somewhat caught off guard by your father’s frustration. “Is he really that old?” You prompt, eager to coax more of his true thoughts out of him.
“He was old when they placed him on the small council, sweetling,” Jason scoffs. “He’s even older now.”
Tyland grins at his brother, looking absolutely tickled by his twin’s simmering anger. “You’ve never gotten over the fact that King Viserys snubbed Uncle Stafford for him.”
“More that he snubbed you,” Jason shoots back. “Master of Coin should be yours. You’re a Lannister - who knows gold better than us?”
You nod slowly. “If King Viserys was smart, he’d offer you, Uncle Tyland, Master of Coin and offer Master of Ships to Corlys Velaryon if not his brother. Bring the Velaryons back to the fold. Everyone knows that they’ve split from Princess Rhaenyra.”
“If,” Tyland murmurs, raising an eyebrow, and you stifle a laugh. “Besides… The Queen and her father hold the throne now, truly, and they might be hard-pressed to convince the Velaryons to come to their side. I don’t doubt that the Sea Snake still harbors a grudge for King Viserys passing over Lady Laena for Alicent Hightower.”
“The Sea Snake,” you say without thinking. “Not Princess Rhaenys. She’s a Velaryon and, like Queen Alicent, she holds her House’s power while her husband fights an endless war in the Stepstones.”
Jason leans forward slightly, quirking up a brow. “Since when have you been so close to Princess Rhaenys?”
“I’m not,” you reply. “But I’m not a Hightower or a Targaryen and that seems to count for something in her eyes. She clearly wants to foster a connection where her husband did not if she accepted the role of the Crone. Moreover to the point, I believe she’s… Fond of me.”
“Fond?” Tyland now questions you.
You shrug, flashing a smile. “Fond. Like a lady and her pet. I imagine she’d be surprised to find anything in my head that wasn’t revolving around Aemond or Helaena.”
Jason hums, leaning back in his seat. He starts drumming his fingers against his thigh, eerily echoing his brother perfectly. “Princess Rhaenys always liked to think that she was cleverer than everyone around her by far. She never did quite live up to her own expectations.”
She is clever, you muse, keeping your thoughts to yourself. But she’s too stubborn to approach allies - not when she can wait for them to approach her. She harbors the same grudge that her husband does towards the Hightowers. She can’t move past what Rhaenyra and Daemon did to her children. She’s isolated herself in a war where she’ll need allies to survive.
She would need to pick a side eventually if only to keep herself and her granddaughters afloat.
The only question was which side would snap her up first.
“The key to the throne is through the Velaryons, through Princess Rhaenys,” you say quietly. Jason tilts his head at you but Tyland nods at you, immediately understanding. “Securing her means securing her husband’s fleet and bringing two dragons with her.”
“Two?” Jason asks.
You nod, thinking of bared teeth and sharp purple eyes narrowed in your direction. “Lady Baela,” you say slowly, mulling over your words before you say them. “I do not believe she’s… as dedicated to Princess Rhaenyra’s claim as people think. She resents her for the shame she brought upon her mother by marrying Prince Daemon so fast.”
“Prince Daemon is her father,” Tyland says, more out of prompting you to continue with your logic rather than truly reminding you.
You tilt your head, playing with your sleeves slightly as you ponder what to say. “She’s loyal to her sister before anything else. I think… she may be more loyal to House Velaryon than to House Targaryen. Surely, that would mean something to her father.”
Jason snorts. “Prince Daemon deflowered the Realm’s Delight. He took a second wife and shamed Rhea Royce before a fall saved her from that humiliation. There are even more stories about him that would make your ears bleed, sweetling. He covets the throne. Always has. I doubt even his daughter could sway him from a lifelong dream being so close to his grasp.”
“Perhaps he does not need to be swayed,” Tyland murmurs. “A mad dog is only dangerous if it’s off its leash.”
“He is not a dog,” you reply. “He’s a dragon and those are rather hard to leash. If his own brother could not do it, I doubt we’d have much luck even with his daughter.”
“Then what do you suggest?” Your uncle asks and the look in his eye gives you pause for the first time in this conversation. He’s searching you, looking into you. He knows what your answer would be but he wants to draw it out of you, wants you to admit it to him, to your father. He wants your resolve to be firm. “How would you manage Daemon Targaryen?”
Silence hangs in the wheelhouse. Outside, you can hear the constant hum of people, the sound of hooves hitting the cobblestones, the shouted orders of City’s Watch.
Inside, you stare down at your uncle.
“I wouldn’t manage him,” you finally say, your voice steady. “I would kill him.”
Tyland’s eyes glint with something and you don’t dare look away, not even with your father looking at you with the same inquisitive stare. “And Rhaenyra Targaryen?”
Your breath catches in your throat and Helaena flashes in your mind. Helaena who had nothing in common with her sister but everything in common with who she had once been to Alicent Hightower.
“If I must,” you finally respond. “If I need to.”
“You’ll be kin by the time this would be necessary,” Jason finally says and your eyes swing to look at him. “She’d be your sister by law. He’d be your uncle by law.”
“No one is as accursed as the kinslayer,” you say on instinct, the phrase coming to you as easily as breathing. This time, you see Aemond. You see Aemond and dusty books and can hear you whisper about Brandon the Breaker and the night’s king. “There are kinslayers in every line,” you finally say, echoing your childish self. “What’s one more?”
“There are septons who would demand your tongue for that, little one,” Tyland muses, smiling all the while.
You shrug. “They’re not in here, are they?”
“Even if there was,” Jason starts, still peering at you as if he’s never seen you before. “I can’t imagine they’d have much sway on you.”
“Septons can be useful,” you reply, thinking of the High Septon with his clear gray eyes, with his rainbow crown. “I believe in them, I do, but I value my family, mine, over any of their words.”
“Your family is a mite larger than just lions,” Jason says, no question in his voice.
You meet his green eyes head-on, straightening up. “You sent me here,” you remind him, feeling that years-long grudge, that childish anger you could never quite free yourself from, rear its ugly head. “You told me to find a space for myself in the royal family. I did. I have. You cannot fault me for its consequences. Lannisters protect their own - at all costs and damn the consequences. I just have more to protect now than I did at ten.”
Jason looks at you, his eyes looking all over you as if he’ll find the answer written somewhere on your body. Maybe he’s searching, you muse almost fancifully, for the little girl he had sent away, the little girl he had damned to the capitol with its endless hate and its even more endless schemes. Maybe he’s wondering who this stranger that took her place is, this stranger that sends her sister off to freeze in the North, who wears a crown of bloody flowers like a prize, who walks amongst dragons.
You can’t miss her now, you almost want to say out of sheer spite. Not now when you didn’t want her then. You bite the inside of your cheek, knowing that’s more than unfair. It would just be cruel. Vicious.
It doesn’t make the desire to say it go away, doesn’t stop the anger from bubbling underneath your skin.
Finally, Jason smiles. That same old friendly smile that always disarmed your resentment, took away its teeth to make it into something docile. It’s the same smile that had coaxed you into the Sunset Sea after him, the same one he would give you the few times he had allowed you to crawl onto his lap during the summer storms.
You wish it didn’t work just as well now as it had back then.
“Hear me roar,” he says, grinning at you like you’re sharing a funny joke.
You simply nod, not wanting to speak anymore.
——————————–
None of the chaos of the earlier week of feasting seems to compare to the maelstrom that has gripped the halls of the Red Keep now. It feels impossible to move without having to elbow at least five of your cousins out of the way and not even your father and uncle forming a small retinue around you seems to clear your path any.
Perhaps I should have taken Aemond up on his offer you grumble in your head, eying the crowded hall outside the throne room with disdain. At least with the royal family, you doubt you would have had to wade through what seems like every single noble family in Westeros.
Up ahead, towards the entrance of the throne room, you can see the poor servant in charge of informing Ser Harrold of the next family to enter so that the Lord Commander can announce it. He looks harried and stressed, seconds from pulling his own hair out with his bare hands and you feel a flash of pity for him. Aside from the major houses, sure to be announced first, the minor lords must be haranguing him to be bumped up the list, to inflate their own self-importance by calling their name closer to the high lords.
It’d be a pointless exercise - you doubt people listen to the names if they’re not a major house and even then, you doubt most would care if it’s not their high lord being called.
You watch the servant for a few beats longer, fighting the urge to laugh when he gets shoved back by a lord only for the lord to realize that that was the man in charge of the procession. You’re so engrossed in observing that you miss the first whisper of your name. It takes a few more times but you finally register it and you turn slightly to see Jocata standing next to you, her big green eyes peering up at you anxiously.
You furrow your brows slightly as you look at her, more baffled than annoyed. Aside from the final day of the tourney, when she had complimented your crown blood and all, she has practically hidden herself from your sight, trembling like a leaf when your gaze did fall on her. You had silently resigned yourself to having soured that relationship for good but now she’s here, standing in front of you looking as if she would rather be anywhere than there.
“My lady,” she starts, her voice trembling as she takes a deep inhale to steel herself.
“You’re my cousin,” you interject before she can say her next bit, frowning slightly. “There’s no need to stand on etiquette between the two of us.”
Her lip shakes and you distantly wonder if she’d have a better go of it if you looked away or closed your eyes. She says your name weakly, shyly, as if she’s trying it out for the first time in her life and not having had used it for the eternity of your relationship with her. “I just wanted to… I ran away last time and it wasn’t right and I… I wanted to congratulate you on your crown… and apologize again for my role in Ser Victor’s favor.”
It’s a credit to her that she doesn’t burst into tears but she does look dangerously close to it, her pale cheeks a brighter red than either of your two dresses. You smile at her, trying your very best to put her at ease. “Just see to it that men don’t take further advantage of your innocence, Jocasta,” you warn. “It’ll only get more and more difficult the older that you get.”
Jocasta sniffles, nodding her head, looking distinctly like a scolded puppy. “I understand. I won’t… I won’t fall for it again. But I wanted to offer you a true apology. Not… Not what I had tried to do.”
She’s too soft to be a Lannister you think without any malice or anger as you look at her. She’s kind, gentle, sweet - all the markings of a lady and none of the characteristics of the house she called her own. With any luck, her husband would be a knight, a true knight who could uphold his vows and honor and cherish his lady wife. You somehow doubt her father would prioritize that, likely more concerned with increasing his own wealth as the third son of a second son, far removed from the main line and its heir, but you hope for it regardless.
“Of course Jocasta,” you finally say, reaching out to squeeze her hand, and she blinks at you before a small hesitant smile lights up her face.
“I prayed for Prince Aemond in the melee,” she whispers as if it's a secret she’s confessing. “I went to the sept and I lit a candle for him at the Warrior statue. I lit one for you too in front of the Maiden. Not because I knew you were going to the Maiden in the wedding party b-but just because I thought she should bless you regardless.”
Your breath hitches, caught off guard, and, wildly, you remember your fervent prayers that day, remember perfectly how much you had wished you had been able to light a candle for Aemond at the Warrior’s feet. Sweet Jocasta had. She had lit one for him and you.
You squeeze her hand again. “Thank you,” you murmur, wishing you could say more without tripping over your own words.
Jocasta just gives you another smile before she pulls away, walking beyond you to seek refuge among her sisters and brothers and cousins. You stare at the spot she had been occupying, turning the feeling of gratitude over and over in your mind, trying your best to force it to solidify into something you can do. Something you could reward her with for her good nature, for her gentle soul.
A good marriage is the only thing you can think of. Perhaps even an offer to serve in the royal court as a lady in waiting for you and Helaena. She could better her odds here, away from Lannisport where only lions roamed, but it would be dangerous here. She was too soft for the cesspit that formed King’s Landing and the Red Keep. The snakes in the court would eat her alive, and would strive to take advantage of her at every turn. Her Lannister name would protect her - some - but she’d still be subject to the court politics that haunted everything around her.
You bite your lip, moving forward on instinct when your father and uncle step closer and closer to the entrance to the throne room. There wouldn’t be much time to debate this or any time at all. Your cousins were scheduled to leave in the next couple of days. They’d possibly be delayed a few days if your father formalized a betrothal contract with the Targaryens but he could hold that card close to his chest. Cerelle’s marriage with Cregan Stark was sure to break soon and the announcement of a royal engagement could prove loud enough to drown out the whispers around that.
You wouldn’t be surprised if Cerelle’s new role as Lady Stark would be talked about tonight. If she was riding out to gather her new husband’s bannermen for him, more than a few of those lords would let any allies in the South know about the shock of a Stark lord taking a Southern wife for the first time in their long history and that wife being a Lannister of all things. Her letter couldn’t have possibly beaten all that gossip and could have very possibly been delayed if everything had happened as fast as she had said it had.
A part of you that isn’t preoccupied with whirling plans and ideas childishly longs for the next raven to be carrying a letter for you; that with it Cerelle will either castigate you or soothe your guilt. Either way, you want to hear her voice, read her words. You miss your oldest sister with a fierceness you haven’t felt in years. It had been different all the times before - you had always been secure in knowing that she was safe in Casterly Rock with your other sisters and your mother. Now, she’s in the frozen North, married to a man no one in your family has ever met before, far from your grasp and she would be for the foreseeable future.
Suddenly it feels like there’s no time at all. No time with Jocasta. No time with Cerelle. No time for anything. Everything is speeding up more than it had ever before, threatening to leave you in the lurch.
That familiar tight ball of pain begins to bear down on your chest, crushing your lungs and your heart under its weight, and it’s only the gentle call of that poor, harried servant that knocks you out of it.
When you come back to it, you’re standing right by the door of the throne room, positioned to the right of your father while your uncle occupies his left. Ser Harrold looks over at you and, as is customary with him, he spares you that little smile that you know has always been meant more for your mother than it has ever been meant for you.
You smile back though, completely instinctual, reminding yourself that this is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Who cares if he only likes you because you were the walking mirror image of Johanna Westerling, born looking more like your mother than any trueborn Lannister had any right to be? What mattered was that he liked you.
He looks over at your father and the warmth that he had held in his eyes for you slips away when he looks at Lord Lannister, replacing it with the stern face of one of the greatest knights in the realm.
He nods at Jason and your father nods and you take a deep, settling breath.
“House Lannister, with their lord, Jason Lannister. Lord Paramount of the West and Master of Casterly Rock.” Ser Harrold booms, loud and thunderous, and the endless chatter of the throne room, of all the lords and ladies of the regions that had gone before the Westerlands, ends and a silence settles across the room.
Your house moves as one.
The throne room is an impossible marvel, burning sconces of different colored flames illuminating the tables, mini suns lighting the room and making the banners and the tapestries glow with an otherworldly gleam.
Making House Lannister glow.
Underneath the flickering fires, the veins of gold within your dress glitter endlessly, the delicate rubies and emeralds woven within gleaming with a vengeance. Your bust and corset are covered with this, armorlike if not for the fact that it's molded perfectly to your body, tailored so perfectly that it clings like a second skin. The jewels stop at your waist, giving way to the crimson velvet that forms the skirt and train of your gown but the tendrils of gold continue, swirling and spinning in careful spirals down your body and skirt.
It is by far the most expensive thing you’ve ever worn, more expensive, you’d wager, than all the gowns and jewels some houses could bear to afford. It was the most extravagant show of wealth at this wedding - it would be obnoxious if it wasn’t so Lannister. Showing off your riches came as easy to you as breathing. Lann the Clever had won the Rock from the Casterlys and that made this your right.
Your father leads the procession to the royal table, somehow even more confidence in his step than ever before. He’s secured a grand prize, after all; a prince for his daughter. He walks like it too, smugness radiating from his every pore, as proud as he’s ever been. One would think that he was the one all but set to marry into the royal family.
When your family arrives at the foot of the Iron Throne, you all bow deep. When you rise, you look over in instinct at Aemond’s seat. Dimly, you recognize Daeron sitting in Helaena’s old seat, accommodating the shift to have Helaena and Aegon sitting together in the center, but he’s almost blurred in your periphery as you stare at Aemond.
He’s changed from his warrior outfit into a tunic more fit for a feast - fit for a prince. The black velvet is fitted to his chest perfectly, emphasizing his slender build to the point your mouth dries. Embossed on his chest, three dragons twist and curl around each other, each so distinct that you immediately recognize them as the dragons that conquered Westeros, and your lips tug up into a smile when you recognize the familiar shape of Vhagar front and center. Some of his long hair is braided up away from his face, the braids like a pattern against his scalp, but the majority falls like a sheet around his face. He’s so far removed from what he had been wearing earlier - a nobleman now rather than the living manifestation of a god. Even like this though, even without wearing the robes of the Warrior, he’s still undeniable, still holy and sanctified.
Your body lights up again, deep in your core and spreading out into your chest, and you feel the sudden desire to pray at his own altar, to prostrate yourself in front of him, to kneel and worship.
Your mouth runs even drier and you snap yourself back into focus, suddenly feeling too warm inside the throne room. You feel a hot desire for the cool air of the gardens or even the chill of the library and you bite your lip to pull yourself away from it, to settle in the now. It’s only then that you notice Aemond’s hot stare, the way he looks at you as if the entirety of his world has shrunk down to just you. That increasingly familiar heat is back in his eyes and he looks at you as he had when he had been covered in the blood of Victor Florent, when he had licked the sugar off a candied lemon.
He looks at you as if he wants nothing more than to devour you whole.
That gnawing hunger in your core, that burning flame, glows that much brighter, that much hotter, and you snap your eyes away from him, taking in a shaky deep breath.
You settle your gaze on Aegon and Helaena, sitting together directly in the shadow of the throne. They’ve changed as well, matching in velvet green and shining golden. You wouldn’t be surprised if the seamstresses had used the same bolts of fabric to make their clothes. It’s meant to present an image of unity, of harmony, but they look nauseatingly similar. Dressed like this, the scant year gap between the two of them vanishes entirely, leaving them as mirror images of each other, as alike as Jason and Tyland.
Your stomach twists but you force a smile anyways, meeting Helaena’s eyes. She’s plainly ignoring your father’s introduction of the gift House Lannister is presenting (three golden dragon statues with rubies for eyes), putting less of an effort than even blearily eyed Aegon, but she’s plastered a bland smile on her face to at least attempt the veneer of an interested party. The moment she registers that it’s you looking at her, however, her entire face brightens up and she sits up straighter in her seat, her fake smile melting away into something softer, more genuine.
  You smile at her almost girlish expression. She almost looks like her old self, the sweet girl who had let you read to her in the shade of old trees. She looks like that little girl wearing a costume, too big in certain places, too tight in others, but it’s undeniably her. Maybe your fears were unfounded. Maybe your anxieties didn’t need to ruin every waking moment. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
Your father finishes the presentation with a final vow to always be faithful to the crown and Alicent smiles gracefully, nodding and plainly deferring to Aegon to accept his oath. Aegon, for his part, doesn’t seem wholly aware of what’s happening, only jerking to attention when his mother leans closer to him, her smile placid as if she wasn’t driving the point of her elbow into his ribs. He jolts straight up, clearing his throat instinctually, eyes looking skyward as if he’s trying to remember a script he’s forgotten.
“As the first son of King Viserys, first of his name,” Aegon says slowly, trying the words out carefully like he’s learning them as he goes. “I am grateful… and appreciative of your loyalty to House Targaryen and… vow to return your faith. I- We look forward to only deepening and strengthening our bond and alliance.” He meanders his way through the sentence, clearly lost and struggling to remember, but when he finishes, there’s a quick flash of boyish pride on his face when he realizes he hasn’t messed up and he looks so much like the boy he must have been before even you had arrived to the capital and you feel an unfamiliar warm glow towards him.
You’re not used to feeling cozy towards Aegon - amused, yes. Annoyed, most definitely. But this is something new and your own confusion at your feelings must show on your face since Aemond looks supremely amused. You quickly move your sleeve up to cover your mouth, trying to play off your aborted laugh like a sneeze or a cough, but, judging from the way your uncle shoots you a reproachful look, you haven’t really succeeded.
Your father gives one final nod to Prince Aegon and, when he turns to face the rest of your house to be led to your seats, he meets your eyes. For a moment, in all the colors of light, he almost doesn’t look real with all the shades cutting across his sharp features. He doesn’t look like your father, doesn’t look like Jason Lannister. He looks like something else - almost like a painting with the colors smeared across it.
He looks proud, fierce. He’s won a windfall for House Lannister. You’ve won a windfall for House Lannister. He must already taste the iron in his mouth, must already dream of a daughter of your’s marrying into the house of the dragon, his blood sitting the throne itself.
And it’s all owed to you.
Your blood thrums with success, strong and vicious, and a part of you wants to hiss that truth to your father. Tell the Lord Paramount of the West that it was his daughter, his third daughter, the daughter he sent away, that brought this bounty to their house. Not him. You.
Jason nods at you, a smile flickering on his face, and you bow your head in response, only looking up once he’s passed you. You meet Aemond’s eye once more and he tilts his head at you, asking a question without words.
I’m fine.
He shifts in his seat, straightening up slightly, and you bite the inside of your cheek to hold back a grin when you realize if you made even the slight move to suggest it, he’d leave the royal table to follow you like a shadow to ensure your comfort and safety. You give him a small smile as assurance before taking your leave, following the rest of your house to be directed to your seats.
Unlike the feasts before, the seating isn’t strictly by houses. While your uncle is directed a few seats down from you, next to Lord Ormund, and your father settles into a seat next to Lord Celtigar, clapping the younger lord firmly on his shoulder, a maid directs you towards a seat nestled between Baela and Lady Floris Baratheon. You idly wonder how long it took the Queen to arrange this seating - who she must have consulted and what patterns she must have seen. You wonder if Aemond told her about your attempts to form some relationship with Baela Targaryen or if she had seen it for herself at the melee.
The moment you sit, eying the spread of food already laid out for you to enjoy, Lady Floris turns to you, a pretty smile on her face. “Lady Lannister,” she greets, leaning closer than she should, close enough that you can see the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the kaleidoscope of colors in her eyes. “I just wanted to personally congratulate you on your crowns - oh, what an honor! I heard the songs the bards were playing near the Dragonpit - they were so, so lovely! I hope you’ll forgive me for saying this but I hadn’t known Prince Aemond was so handsome and he looked so beautiful crowning you.”
You smile awkwardly, slightly caught off guard by her overly effusive praise. She’s not all that much younger than you, closer in age to you than you were to Jocasta, but she’s so free in her manners that you wouldn’t be surprised if she was nearer in age to Jeyne. It seems half a miracle that such a sweet girl would come from the stormy house of Lord Borros, that such a frivolous girl could be the daughter of a high lord.
“I thank you, Lady Floris. I’m afraid I haven’t gotten to listen to the songs myself but it seems I will have to soon enough,” you reply, bowing your head in thanks, and she beams prettily. Everything she does is pretty - from the way she smiles to the way she reaches for her goblet of wine. Everyone around you seems to notice and you hold back a laugh at the way Floris seems to glow under everyone’s attention. You doubt there’s much of it to go around in Storm’s End - you can’t imagine a lovely girl like her thriving in the dark and dread of the tempests that haunt her home even if the Baratheons are nearly as prolifically virile as the Lannisters. It’s almost impossible to imagine it - even more impossible to imagine that she is one of the Four Storms, that her fights with her sister can and do grow to the point of infamy.
She giggles, her pale cheeks a bright red, and you drop your gaze slightly to the nearly empty goblet in her hand before looking back at her flushed face. You look slightly behind her, further down the table, to see her father laughing loudly as he snatches a carafe away from a servant to keep for himself.
As pretty as she is, it seems Lord Borros left his mark on his daughter after all.
She gives you one final big smile, slightly lopsided now that you look at her more carefully, before turning to talk to the enraptured son of House Reyne sitting at her side.
“She’s had two of them so far,” Baela murmurs, leaning slightly closer to you. Her white curls hang loose today and it tickles on the back of your hand when she moves closer and her hair sways over to you. “I’m afraid she might be a bit of a lightweight.”
You stifle your snort of laughter. “I’m sure she hasn’t had much to eat either - I only had some lemon cakes to make sure I didn’t keel over during the ceremony. I doubt she did much better.”
Baela snorts, reaching for her own goblet of wine in response. “I imagine it’s her first time being out in the court. Easy to get caught up in the splendor of it all.”
You tilt your head, reaching for a candied strawberry to pop in your mouth. “Royal weddings are usually the first time most ladies are brought to the court.”
“There hasn’t been one for years,” she responds immediately before pausing. Something darkens in her eyes, a flicker of old anger or regret, before she shakes her head, trying to clear it from her mind. “At least, none like this one.”
You bite down on the strawberry, enjoying the crunch of the crystalized sugar followed by the sweetness of the fruit. As you chew, you look over Baela carefully. She’s occupied herself with a tart, listlessly picking at it as she glares down at her plate.
The last royal wedding had been her father and Princess Rhaenyra. A rushed affair by all accounts - both in the time after her mother’s death and in the actual ceremony itself. There had been no traditional wedding - at least, no traditional wedding in the light of the Seven. No feasts. No tourney. If what you had heard when it had happened was true, they had had a Valyrian wedding on Dragonstone and that had been it.
You had little knowledge of what went into a Valyrian wedding - Aemond had briefly told you the details of it when the news had first broke but he had been uncharacteristically reticent to share information with you. He had explained there was meant to be a mixing of blood, to symbolize the different bloodlines coming together to become one, in the presence of fire to represent the strength that it would bring. He hadn’t given you much detail after that and you, admittedly, had not pressed him for it.
To be fair, he might have been sore over you debating out loud whether or not mixing the blood was necessary when the bloodlines were one and the same.
There hadn’t been tell of who had attended the wedding. Only that it had been attended by a maester who had confirmed its legitimacy to both the crown and the Citadel and a handful of guests.
You had never stopped to consider whether or not Baela had been there, if she had been there with her sister and with the Strong boys. You try to imagine what it must have been like to watch your father remarry, the tears not even dried from your mother’s funeral, and something in you trembles with rage and, alarmingly enough, sympathy.
Sympathy you didn’t care to feel, not when you can still remember the way Aemond had flinched when the maester had stitched his face back together, stitch by agonizing stitch.
Baela still harbors a grudge over it, bad enough that the memory of it would still send her into a dark mood years later. Another chink in the armor of House Targaryen, in the armor of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen.
Another place you can dig your fingers in and pull and pull and pull until it is an impossible gap to close.
“I doubt there will be more weddings like this for quite some time,” you muse, Baela looking up from her plate to meet your eyes. “No other prince is even betrothed.”
Baela snorts inelegantly. “Not as much time as you’re trying to pretend there will be. The Queen might be better off leaving these decorations up to save some time for the servants for the next one.”
You smile despite yourself. “I wouldn’t dare presume to tell the Queen what to do.”
“You might not but I would,” she responds with the typical brash confidence you’ve come to expect from her. Only her eyes twinkling tell you that she’s teasing. “Might as well tell the guests not to go home. Save us all some trouble.”
“My older sisters are yet to be married,” you remind her, thinking of Tyshara with her letters of love and Cerelle with her new wolf husband.
Baela’s eyes flash and she tilts her head, looking as if she’s caught you out on a lie, and you realize it half a second before she opens her mouth. “I’ve heard a rumor that’s come down from the North. Something about the first southern Lady of Winterfell.”
Something in you seizes for a moment and you can’t think about the fact that Baela is watching you for any reaction or that the intense focus on your house will only increase from here.
You can only think about the fact that Cerelle Lannister doesn’t exist anymore. She’s Cerelle Stark now - both in the eyes of the gods and the court.
You smile on instinct, forcing it easily. “I was wondering when that would spread.”
Baela cocks an eyebrow. “So it is true then?”
Your heart beats hard in your chest, so loud in your ears it’s a miracle she cannot hear, but you nod. You let your smile grow wider and force yourself to relax in your seat. “Lord Cregan Stark heard about my sister and grew curious about the girl who was set to be the Lady of Casterly Rock if there was no boy born to us. He sent her a letter, hoping to bond over their duties, and it grew from there. When Lord Bennard caught wind, he invited her North in hopes of swaying House Lannister to his claim but my father sent her with his blessing. I’m sure you can understand why they couldn’t have a large wedding with us there, not with Bennard Stark refusing to give Lord Cregan what is rightfully his. After the matter of succession is settled in the North, we plan to travel to Winterfell to pay our respects to the new and the rightful Lord and Lady.”
A lie. A very practiced lie. It’s one you’ve mulled over for weeks now, testing the weight of it. It had been Cerelle’s idea, back when the two of you had approached your father and uncle with your plan. A love story, Cerelle had said, would make the idea of a rushed wedding go down easily. Gossip loves a story and, above all, they loved a love story. Your uncle had helped hammer out the details and all of you had agreed on the finished version. Even back in Casterly Rock, your mother and Tyshara had been coached on what to say when questions undoubtedly drifted their way.
For weeks, you’ve stressed about whether or not this flimsy story would be believed, if people would honestly think that Cregan Stark had fallen for your sister through letters. You’ve stayed up wondering if you should have pushed for this certain detail to be added or rallied for that aspect to be changed.
You never once considered if some people simply wouldn’t care.
Baela shrugs after you finish your short speech, looking as if you’ve just commented on the strawberry you just ate or how Floris Baratheon seems to be leaning in closer and closer to you once she realizes you’re gossiping. “Interesting that House Lannister would be so invested in the matters of succession of other houses.”
Your smile grows sharp. “House Lannister just likes to ensure that the correct people receive what is theirs by law.”
She gets that now familiar glint in her eye, that vicious gleam that you’ve seen in Aemond’s. For all that she’s aligned herself with her mother’s Velaryon side, she’s still a Targaryen, still a dragon. You half expect her to lash out but instead, she visibly takes a deep breath, looking down at her plate again and taking another stubborn bite.
You eye her for a moment, taking in her stiff back and her tight grip on her fork, before you sigh slightly, turning back to focus on your own food.
You think you’ll be doomed to sit in silence through the rest of the introductions, through however many courses Alicent has arranged, up until you’re free to leave your seat and find Aemond and Helaena, but then Floris drags you into a conversation about Storm’s End, her goblet thankfully refilled with water from a watchful servant. She tells you about her sisters, the three she has, and she’s absolutely delighted when you tell her you have four.
“You have me beat, my lady,” she giggles, swaying into you. You shift slightly in your seat, accommodating her so she’s pressing more into your chest rather than your shoulder, and she slides closer, nearly leaning on you entirely. You glance over her head towards the royal table, just in time to see Daeron laughing uproariously at you while Aemond hides his smirk behind his own drink. You’re so busy making a face at them that you almost miss her next words entirely. “Maybe the gods will bless my family with another daughter soon. Maybe I’ll be lucky enough or another sister.”
You glance down at her, your eyes roaming over her reddened cheeks and her half-lidded eyes. She’s still smiling, just barely as if she’s not wholly aware that she is. “Not a boy, my lady?” You ask, unable to stop yourself from bringing your arm up to wrap around her shoulders. It’s a small show of comfort, a little affection, and it embarrasses you slightly to do so in public - especially to a girl you’ve only just met. A quick look around, however, reveals that Floris Baratheon is hardly the only drunk at the feast and that most likely she’s not even the drunkest. Her own father has only gotten louder and louder, singing bawdy songs over the hum of the crowd, and you can spot your father laughing at Lord Celtigar as the poor man spills wine all over himself. Tyland and Ormund are speaking to each other in low tones, their heads bowed together as if they’re sharing a secret for only the two of them. Everywhere you look, people are deep deep in their cups and this is still only the beginning of the night.
You shudder to think what it means for the rest of the night.
Floris doesn’t respond after a moment and you glance down at her, praying that she hasn’t fallen asleep on you, but instead, you just see her playing with her goblet, swirling it gently in her hand.
“My lady?” You prompt again and Floris heaves a sigh before dragging herself up in her seat, pulling away from you.
She frowns, the first time you’ve seen a smile drop from her face. “Maybe I’ll be lucky enough for another sister,” she repeats again, not meeting your eyes. You stare at her a little longer, trying to puzzle out her meaning.
House Baratheon didn’t have an heir - at least, no boy had been born to them as of yet. Only four daughters, nearly as precarious a place as House Lannister had been, but your house had had a key advantage. You had the blood of the Andals coursing through your veins. The lordship would have gone to Cerelle before it ever would have gone to your uncle. That rule had been what had allowed for Queen Leila to rule, protect her inheritance, and choose a husband of her picking. Joffrey Lydden had only earned the title of King of the Rock through her and, even then, he had had to change his name to hers. There was a precedent of strength through the maternal line in House Lannister.
Not so in House Baratheon though, to be fair, there wasn’t much of a precedent in anything for that house. It was scarcely over a century old, formed the same year that Aegon began his conquest. They had Andal blood, yes, but also Valyrian and First Men. It’d be much harder for them to force Cassandra Baratheon, their current heir as it all stands, through to the lordship without being able to use Andal law as a major precedent. This crisis would be the first true one yet. A boy was a necessity or else their house could very well crumble.
But Floris wants a sister.
You eye her for a moment longer, wishing you could probe her for more, but as soon as you open your mouth to ask her, Lord Otto Hightower calls the hall to attention.
You straighten up and even Floris next to you pulls herself up to her full height, the sound of the Lord Hand’s voice nearly enough to sober herself. On your other side, you can feel Baela shifting, settling her attention towards the throne.
Just like during the opening feast, Otto Hightower stands in the shadow of the Iron Throne but now, Aegon and Helaena stand on either side of them, mirrors of each other. You’ve never seen much of a resemblance between the Lord Hand and his grandchildren but now, with the three of them standing side by side, you can catch echoes of him in the pair of them. Aegon is purely Alicent, a perfect copy if not for his Targaryen coloring, but it’s Helaena who bears the greatest resemblance. She’s always been pretty, always been soft around the edges, but here, next to her maternal grandfather, she’s almost handsome in a certain way. In the same way that Otto Hightower demands respect, Helaena demands worship.
“The crown would like once more to thank all the great and noble lords of Westeros for coming to celebrate this union of King Viserys and Queen Alicent’s children,” he booms, his voice loud and strong. The room claps, a few of the drunker occupants cheering loudly, and Otto raises his hands, calling for quiet. “The crown’s strength comes from its people, from you, my lords, and from the power of House Targaryen itself, from its dragons, from its allies. As we look to the future, Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena will serve as leaders, as examples, as pillars to guide the crown to even greater heights. They will help to usher in a power not seen since the days of the Conqueror himself.”
The throne room cheers again, loud and raucous, and, even as you clap, you look around. Otto Hightower’s words are chosen carefully, vague enough that to take umbrage over them would be an extreme overreaction, but directed and pointed enough that his message is clear to those who care to listen. Most are applauding, completely buying into the words of the Lord Hand, but there are a few who look more thoughtful, more suspicious. Lyman Beesbury looks as if he’s sucked a lemon, his weathered face pinched and scornful, while Lord Grover Tully nods firmly in agreement.
Rhaenys Targaryen sits, surrounded by Baratheons and Tyrells and some of your Lannister cousins, looking to all the world as if she’s working out a puzzle, trying to make a piece fit where it ought not go. You can almost see her weighing her options, mentally calculating between the two claimants and what power they bring, calculating what Rhaenyra or Aegon would bring to the realm and, more importantly, what they would bring to her and her own.
Remember your children you want to whisper in her ear. Remember how Laena screamed in pain by herself, half a world away from you. Remember how Laenor must have fought in his final moments before they burned him in his childhood home.
You can hear Baela’s clapping slow next to you and, when you tear your stare away from Rhaenys, you meet her own blazing amethyst gaze. She doesn’t bother to hide the question in her eyes, doesn’t bother to disguise her naked curiosity. You know that there’s no answer you can give her - not one that would satisfy her by any means - so instead, you give her a smile.
Her gaze hardens like flint and you wonder if this will be where she snaps, where the Rogue Prince’s impulsive nature will take over, but her own common sense takes control and she simply looks away, back to the Iron Throne.
You eye her for a moment longer, brushing your gaze over her tense frame, before returning your own gaze back to the three figures standing at the royal table.
When the clapping slows and there’s a lull in the noise, Helaena claps her hands, the sound soft but still striking enough to call attention back to her before it can turn elsewhere. You straighten up even taller in your seat, focusing completely on her. She’s been worrying over this since she told you a few days ago and you bite your lip.
Helaena takes a deep breath, looking visibly anxious to your familiar eyes, before clasping her hands together to hold against her chest. “In thanks for all the warmth the people have provided, Aegon and I would like to gift the leftovers from this feast to the poorest in this city.”
Aegon nods beside her, waiting for the applause to die down again. “We’d also like to provide more funds to the poorhouses in Flea Bottom so they can share in some of the plenty.”
He stands there awkwardly for a second, clearly unaware of what to do once he finishes his part, but, when the crowd begins to clap and cheer for him too, he straightens up, a small smile creeping on his face. You release a breath in relief when their small speech is over and it’s clear that the room is pleased by their show of charity. It had been the Queen’s idea - both the gift itself and the actual presentation of it - but you had helped Helaena practice. She had rehearsed it over and over again until you’re sure you could say her part in your sleep.
But it had all gone according to plan. You can feel one of the countless knots of anxiety inside you loosen and vanish but it gives you no relief, not when there are countless other knots to unravel within you.
There’s a beat where Aegon and Helaena look at each other, both of them caught in the moment staring each other down. It would look romantic if you didn’t recognize it for what it was - reluctance.
Then Aegon, drawing on strength from who knows where, holds up his hand for his sister, bowing his head as he does. Helaena only waits a breath before taking it and, together, the two of them walk around the royal table, beginning the slow march down to the empty space that had been cleared for dance. When they pass Aemond, your stare lingers on him.
He’s watching his siblings go, stone-faced and looking to all the world as if he was sitting a normal dinner and not the wedding feasts for his siblings. His eye tracks Aegon and Helaena as they walk and when they reach the center of the room and turn to each other, a flicker of something flashes on his face. It vanishes quickly, as if it had never been there, but it had been there.
Regret? Pity?
For all his talk of doing what he must for his family, you imagine even he would chafe at this duty. Even he would resist. Talk is easy. A lifetime tied to his sister with more than just blood is not.
You watch him, greedily taking in every single minute twitch of his face. For once, he doesn’t seem to sense your gaze. He’s completely lost in watching his siblings, his eye solely focused on them, and you know without looking when the dance begins. More than the soft gasp from Floris, more than the songs of the bards growing louder and more pitched, you can tell from the way he shifts in his seat, pitching forward as if it’ll give him a better view. His hair falls over his shoulders, falling around his face as if a curtain to protect him, but it doesn’t hide his complete concentration.
He would pull them away if he could. He would try to save them from this pain.
If he could.
Your breath hitches and you look away, following his gaze to see Helaena and Aegon.
They’re closer than they had been at the opening feast, their chests pressed up against each other in a show of intimacy. They’re clinging to each other, their heads bowed together as if they’re whispering to one another. It looks romantic. It should work.
But it doesn’t. It almost can’t. It’s the closest Helaena has ever been to anyone else - closer than even you have been to her in years but it fits her all wrong. It’s like trying to fit into a dress made for someone years younger, trying to shove your foot into one meant for a child. She holds Aegon as if she’s never held him before - never held him so close to her, so intimately. You wonder if she’s ever held anyone like that and somehow you doubt it.
She’s never been allowed it, never been given the opportunity to desire it out of anyone but her brother.
Not even with you - never been allowed to, had maybe never even considered.
A hot flame of resentment and jealousy begins to burn through your chest, burning and painful and agonizing. Why Aegon? Why her?
None of it has ever been about fair, about what was just, but now more than ever, you want to break something. Somehow this dance, this close of a dance, feels more a finality than even the wedding had been. This is everything put into motion. This is the first show of the performance that the two of them will have to give every day for the rest of their lives. You had told yourself you could manage it. You had told yourself that you could swallow back the bile and work with the pieces they’ve given you.
And you can. You will. You’ll bear it and relish the weight of the burden because of the power it gives you.
But as you watch the two of them, spinning round and round on the dance floor, it’s hard to remember that horrible truth about yourself - not with the pain swirling inside your chest.
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ozzgin · 1 month
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Hiii💕💕💕 Could you please make some hc with musashi and jun from baki please?
Yet another ancient request, so sorry about it. I've been struggling to think of a context, but as Valentine's Day approached, I thought, "Well, might as well turn this into a special". So here it is. I'm adding two-three extra characters for a bundle. Sorry for the wait. :')
Baki Headcanons: Valentine's Day Special
Featuring Jun Guevaru, Musashi Miyamoto, Baki Hanma, Chiharu Shiba and Pickle. And Reader as their Valentine! (Written according to Western customs for the sake of a pampered Reader)
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Jun Guevaru
Jun is a hopeless romantic and might actually enjoy Valentine's Day even more than you do. Mind you, the holiday itself is as superficial as it gets, and you've heard his philosophies one too many times; the enticing part is having an excuse to go all out and proclaim his affections for you in the most extravagant way possible. Can you blame him? He loves to show off. And you, sweet (Y/N), happen to be his most prized possession. A man will always be guilty of following his heart.
Although don't expect some cheap American fabrication that glorifies consumerism. His Valentine's Day isn't about that. Love can't be expressed through chocolate or flowers, at least not in his opinion. It's about raw feelings. The word, the tender caress. You can leave it to him to verbalize such depth. After all, he didn't unite an entire country with sheer luck. He is a charismatic leader and, most importantly, a passionate lover. His poetic speeches and sung praise will leave you entranced.
He, too, may be tempted to use the element of surprise. Perhaps through an overly formal letter expressing his utmost disappointment that he won't be able to see you on this particular date. Prison technicalities, you must understand. Nothing he can do about it. Then, when you least expect it, he'll pull you into a most desperate embrace. Oh, he missed you so much. He'll be ready to serenade you, take you places, whisper sweet nothings. You'll feign shock and surprise; you already guessed he wouldn't miss the chance to spoil you, but you do enjoy going along with his games. "Surely you didn't expect me to leave you alone on such a day, my beloved", he'll reassure you fondly. Allow him to prove himself anew.
Musashi Miyamoto
Musashi does not quite understand all of the particularities such a holiday entails. Nor would he normally care for the mundane customs of the modern world. Yet he has noticed the switch of your tone whenever you mention the approaching date. The sheepish glances towards the mysterious heart-themed merch. For someone as observant as him, your excitement is ridiculously clear, no matter how much you shake your head in denial. If his partner wants it, he might as well entertain it. Why not?
Thus, he will begin his little research. What is it that piques your interest to such a degree? He might employ the other fighters to enlighten him on the matter. An amusing sight, if one considers it: the legendary samurai, pacing back and forth as Tokugawa stumbles to follow behind. "W-what about this?" The old man will humbly suggest. "Oooh, fascinating. Yes, yes." He'll respond, holding his chin thoughtfully. "However, it's not (Y/N)'s style. Next."
Keep in mind that Musashi will tailor everything to fit his nature. Flowers? Maybe. All the other modern knick-knacks? Forget it. He'll do you one better. Something you won't expect, because it's a gift meant for his time and age. After a long, frustrating search, he finds what he's looking for. A most unusual sight, but something that represents him indeed. He will proudly extend to you a small, slender kodachi with his family's name inscribed on the scabbard. What greater honor than to share his love and passion? The weapon has been carefully built to his standards, so you may defend yourself if such a need ever arises. For Musashi himself to curate a sword bearing his name, you might as well count it as a proposal.
Pickle
Lately, Baki has been focused on things beyond Pickle's understanding. The only time he'd seen the young boy so excited was before a match. On the other hand, what kind of opponent would Baki be fighting where bizarre, heart-shaped items are required? After a lot of gesturing, rudimentary explanation and show-and-tell demonstration, it finally clicks: it's a special occasion, not preparations for battle.
An occasion that doesn't involve just Baki and Kozue, but, by the looks of it, anyone with a mate. The idea pumps his heart with excitement. Is it something he could celebrate with his own (Y/N)? In that case, he absolutely wants to be part of it. Pickle demands to be shown the ropes, so he, too, can impress his partner. Not that he's not already showing his love (and ownership) with every opportunity.
And so here you are, standing outside your apartment, utterly baffled, shocked, speechless. Pickle has surprised you many times before with his horny mischief and troublemaker shenanigans, but never in your wildest dreams would you have imagined him showing up with balloons, chocolate and a date itinerary on Valentine's Day. You retrieve the little list from his massive hands - he probably can't even read anything on it - and scan over the text. Someone definitely helped him compile everything. Judging from the varied handwriting, it must've been a group effort from Lord knows how many fighters who enjoyed themselves way too much in aiding Pickle's romancing game. Nonetheless you're impressed, just as the prehistoric man had hoped. He sees your blushing face and immediately grins with pride. Who knows, maybe his efforts will be rewarded handsomely (you won't be walking straight until March).
Baki Hanma
Among the other men, Baki may be the only one to show unironic enthusiasm towards the upcoming holiday. He likes cute things (you included) and there's no shame in it. His focus has been switching between training, fighting in the Arena, and more training. He's looking forward to a little break, especially one that allows him to spend time with you.
He's not secretive about the process, either. He'll show up at your place with a stack of flyers and scribbled notes, asking you to trim down activities with him. Worry not, he has compiled an extensive list of available events for couples, as well as places to visit and general ideas. After all, part of the fun is to plan everything with you. Can you tell he's excited? Kneeling at the table and flipping through the options with a wide grin on his face, you can almost discern a wagging tail materializing behind him.
He could be slightly biased towards activities that allow him to impress you. A Valentine's Day fair, for example, is such a cheesy idea, but he can't resist the temptation to show off. "Beat the high score and win the prize" blinking in flashy colors above one of those boxing arcade machines? Oops! He was trying to hold back, but he ended up dislodging the whole thing from the ground. Sorry, (Y/N), he simply forgets how strong he is, sometimes. Something hard to avoid, given you’re his greatest motivation. Aren’t you proud of your boyfriend? Do praise the poor boy, he’s been itching to receive your affection. It’s been an eternity! Or maybe half an hour, but still.
Chiharu Shiba
Chiharu isn't one to care much for holidays and under regular circumstances he would probably forget about it, too, were it not for the aid of capitalism and heavy commercial propaganda. Therefore, it's hard to ignore the rapidly approaching date given the blaring ads and themed products found on every shelf. Oh, well. He loves spoiling you and he certainly won't miss an opportunity to declare his love in the most cheesy, predictable manner.
He might be a tad cheeky about the entire business. "Valentine's Day? Hmmm..." He'll hum, thoughtfully, feigning mild indifference. It's a difficult task: seeing you cast your eyes down, perhaps a little disappointed, makes him want to smash his own head into the first telephone pole. No one should ever dare to upset you in the slightest - him included! - he thinks, enraged. He struggles to fight the urge. It's for a good cause. Just a few days left. Do forgive him, darling (Y/N).
He'll surprise you in the ways he knows best. Maybe some fresh, heart shaped decals decorating the gas tank of his motorcycle. A flashy, pink tokko-fuku (or uniform jacket) with a particular slogan embroidered on its back. Whatever it is, he'll make sure everyone is aware of his cause. While he might not be the best with words, his actions will be loud and clear. He'll hand you a helmet and gesture for you to hop on the back of his bike. He planned a day-long road trip for the two of you. What's nicer than feeling the wind, the freedom, the warmth of your small arms tightly wrapped around him? He doesn't need overly sophisticated restaurants or whatever else comes with the package. Some great sights and you by his side, and he's the happiest man on this planet. To think someone like him would be privileged enough to gaze at a pretty little thing like you.
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lunerenzo · 9 months
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more prison gf! Ymir hcs ♡
♱ Content. drugs, swearing, fluff , NSFW , not proofread, pls let me know if i missed anything :)
♱ Notes. I see yall love her just as much as me 😋. These are just hcs of her when shes out of jail.
♱ Word count. 848
Pt. 1
REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
lower case intentional, Enjoy!
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prison gf! ymir…who knows how to do your everyday make up and for some reason it always looks better even though she does the exact same steps as you. as well as the more extravagant ones, like the type of make up naezrah does, it always looks amazing cause she has such a steady hand. there is only one rule when she does your make it’s that you HAVE to be straddling her waist when she does it.
prison gf! ymir…who knows all your orders by heart (even your long ass starbucks order) and will order for you so that you don’t have to.
prison gf! ymir…who will side eye you and will order for you anyways if you say “oh im not hungry” while ordering take-out.
prison gf! ymir…who will smack tf out of your hand if you try taking her food with out asking first. somehow you still end up with half of it and she has a small scowl on her face but she still loves you.
prison gf! ymir… who REFUSES to let you smoke her product or get involved in her business no matter how many times you beg and plead.
prison gf! ymir…whos had a polaroid of you in her phone case.
prison gf! ymir…who makes fun of you for eating mint chocolate or cookie n’ cream (whichever you prefer) as if she dosen’t eat pistachio.
prison gf! ymir…who will knock your ice cream on the floor if you make fun of her for it. (don't worry she’ll buy you another.)
prison gf! ymir…who owns two cats with you and if your petting her cat ( you have a “child” and the other is hers) she will grab him and say “leave my son alone”.
prison gf! ymir… who knew you in hs and you were one of her dalma’s when she had her quince. You picked the dresses and if any one complains she would give them the nastiest stank eye.
prison gf! ymir…who was all giddy when she found out her contact name was “pretty girl🩷” with the contact photo of her in her quince dress.
prison gf! ymir…who has a pintrest board for you guys future wedding and has it privited so you don’t know.
prison gf! ymir…who follows you on pintrest and buys you stuff based off what you pin.
prison gf! ymir…who wears this cologne that makes you weak in the knees. before you guys moved in she would spray extra on so that your apartment still smelt like her after she left.
prison gf! ymir…who if she feels like it or is around when you get your nails done will get a matching set with you.
prison gf! ymir…who loves going to the beach with you.
prison gf! ymir…who will carry everything from the car with the maddest look on her face but you better not help cause she will tell you to “push off”. like damn my bad.
prison gf! ymir…who will be sitting there looking like a fucking guard dog if your tanning. let a volleyball accidentally lands near you. she ready to catch another felony.
prison gf! ymir…who will give the ball back, buck at ‘em, and will call them a “pussy” if they flinch.
prison gf! ymir…who is big australia hater
prison gf! ymir...who instigate fights at the waffle house.
prison gf! ymir…who is a big cory and berlezzy fan. like she ALWAYS quoting berlin.
prison gf! ymir…who, if your an artist, keeps every drawing that youve made of her. 
prison gf! ymir…who will be all over you if you wear a skin revealing/ clinging outfit. no matter if you rarely wear stuff like that or most of the time. this is the main reason why you guys are late to parties sometimes. homegirl is struggling with her self control. most of the time she does a good job others? *evil laughter*.  
prison gf! ymir…who loves spoiling you and got you a custom necklace that says your name and a pandora bracelet for your birthday. then got you a chrome hearts necklace for valentines day.
prison gf! ymir…who picks up everything you put down in the store and doesn't care about the price. if you worried about spending her money she’ll tell you it’s fine cause “your worth going broke for ma” with a kiss to seal the deal
prison gf! ymir…who will buy you anything the moment your eyes start tearing up and that little pout comes out. Then she will kiss that little pout away no matter how many it takes.
prison gf! ymir…who buys a strap in your favourtie color.
prison gf! ymir…who would apologize if you tell her its to much and then immediately slams her hips afterwards. 
prison gf! ymir…who would kiss your tears away and say “aww don’t cry”.
prison gf! ymir…who whines and bucks her hips like a bitch in heat when you give her head.
prison gf! ymir…who grips your hair so hard she damn near rips it out. If you have a wig on don’t worry she’ll pay to get it reinstalled but damnit you just put it in. now you hairstylist is cussing you out.
prison gf! ymir...who is absolutely inlove with you.
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♱ A/N. My favorite jailbird ❤️. Also THANK YOU @hotxcheeto FOR HELPING ME WITH SOME OF THESE. MWAH.
© 2023 lunerenzo, please don’t plagiarize work or translate work.
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chocotonez · 9 months
Text
skz as love languages pt2: gift giving
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a/n: pt 2 yay! :D
summary: skz and how they receive and give gifts
cw/genre: fluff, cursing, not proofread, English is not my first language :)
1k June Special Masterlist here -> ヾ(๑╹◡╹)ノ"
chan
-so fire at gift giving and always gets you the cutest and most personalized gifts
-like he’ll get you something you’ve been wanting for the past decade with a handwritten letter and a cute smile :>
-and no matter what you get him he’ll always be like “omygah for me baby?? thank you!!” and blushing and grabbing you to give you a tight squeeze hehe
-he doesn’t give you gifts often unless he goes out and sees something that reminds him of you or a special event, just because he’s not a massive gift giver
-will definitely pay for your things but does that rlly count as gift giving….that’s all I’m saying teehee
-gets flustered if you give him a lot of gifts or if ur a gift giver person because he automatically feels like he has to reciprocate every single time and he doesn’t know what to do!! it’s overwhelming </3
-but he appreciates it more than you know I promise he’s just like so awkward because now he just wants you to get you a million things to thank you :)
-prolly the type of person to get all giggly if you’re opening a gift he prepared for you and is like “teehee can u guess what it is hehe ur gonna like it!!”
lee know
-I don’t think he’s big on gift giving, receiving or giving
-mainly because he prefers to show his love for you through other means, and also because he doesn’t want to make your relationship too material-based
-but expect him to go all out for special events like birthdays and whatnot!!
-a dozen red roses and a box of your favorite chocolates along with a cute stuffed animal sprayed with your favorite cologne of his, or even smth more personalized to your relationship like a three page card and a custom music box or your favorite song
-expect the usual of him paying for your things in a traditional bf sense, but it’s not like he’s going to come home to spoil you just because
-he can spoil u in other ways yknow…not just money!!
-but when it does come to the days he know it’s necessary to spoil you, he always knows what to get you and never expects too much in return because he’s so sweet like that bye
-“well you don’t have to get me anything for my birthday rlly…” like boy shut up!!
changbin
-he loves receiving gifts !! it makes him feel so spoiled and loved
-obviously he knows you love him even if you don’t have the means to give him any sort of extravagant gifts that r super hefty and large yknow
-but it’s just smth so sweet to know you picked an item out for just him, thinking of him, or that you looked at it and you though “oh I think binnie would like this!!” and he DOES !! EVERY TIME!!
-even if you just give him a sticky note with a heart written on it he’ll praise and cherish it forever because you have it to him,,,with him in mind
-that’s such a sweet concept to him that anyone can see an inanimate object and be like “omg this is so changbin”
-it just makes it feel like you’re always thinking about him n it makes him feel extra loved
-he’s kinda bad at picking out gifts entirely because he doesn’t know how to keep it small, he always ends up buying an entire store…
-so he’ll leave it to you <3
hyunjin
-gets you the best handmade gifts in the world
-if you see a cute stuffed animal on social media than he’ll learn how to crochet in order to make you a replica <3
-he likes to paint you mini watercolor sketches of pretty sights he sees while on tour “the sky reminds me of your eyes so I just had to paint it” and you’re bawling your eyes out
-he loves receiving smaller gifts that take a bit more effort, he’ll appreciate the designer handbag from time to time don’t get me wrong but knowing you took your markers to make him a pretty card has him clutching his chest on his knees
-he thinks it means a lot when it shows you put a sort of thought process into making something for him
-probably the type to hang up ur stupid doodles/cards on his fridge sorry not sorry he’s just that type of boyfie
-honestly just a fan of the simpler things :) finds it difficult to go gift shopping without buying you the entire store because u deserve it babe!!
han
-idk I feel like he always goes overboard without even realizing it when he gets you gifts
-he’ll buy something out of the blue but then he looks over and he sees something that reminds him of you and he’ll be like well…shit I guess I gotta get it too…and it’s a nonstop cycle
-“babe I know I said that I only got you a trinket but the entire store had you written all over it so I just had to buy it!!”
-he gets too excited with gift giving but it’s not his fault everything in the store is screaming your name
-but gifts also include hand written doodles and sketches that he writes little love letters on
-he has a wide spectrum!!
-every day he’ll get you something, from a designer brand to a handpicked flower with a little love note
felix
-is such a good gift giver, always so thoughtful and kind when it comes to getting you something
-a gift is always accompanied with a sweet note or a kiss <3
-he is good at controlling his spending, in the way that he knows he’s going a bit overboard on you but that’s ok <3 you have a very high budget in his heart
-he likes making you things too, little bracelets or doodles, gets all giggly and excited when he watches you take the gift
-tbh I don’t really know how he feels about receiving, he appreciates it endlessly but I don’t think it’s his favorite. It means a lot to him when you express your love in other ways.
-doesn’t mean he’s not gonna cherish anything you get him!! builds a whole ass ikea shelf to show off sticky notes you write to expensive birthday gifts
-expect a lot of matching gifts tho :P your wrists are gonna be stacked with handmade bracelets for each other
seungmin
-when he gives gifts he gets a little antsy and try to play it off
-like teehee oopsies pls don’t say anything while he prays you like it
-it’s a bit of a rarity for him to give gifts because he just gets nervous and doesn’t want to make it a big deal but he also wants to ensure you know that he’s doing his best especially for anniversaries or whatever
-like he knows that giving gifts is good boyfie things but it just makes him so nervous
-also when receiving he doesn’t want to make you feel awkward so he’ll give u a shy smile
-it also makes him feel silly because you got him a gift?? he’s just surprised for some reason which makes me cry he deserves the world bye
jeongin
-when both receiving or giving he gets so HYPE!!
-like dawg is very confident in his choices and also knows that you’ll love it so he’ll be like “guess what I got u BBY :)”
-he doesn’t really make you gifts he prefers buying, just because he doesn’t want to make you an ugly gift with his own hands so he wants to buy you something pretty!!
-he adores seeing something pretty knowing that your eyes will light up when you see it, like…why else would he buy something if not to see you smile
-loves receiving gifts too tho he’s clapping his hands and smiling, it doesn’t even matter what you get him if it’s from you he does not care!!
-he loves you so much, the idea that you went out of your way to get him something throws a massive smile on his face and he’s hugging you and thanking you
-loves gift giving sm
•••
tag list:
@chansburgah @hamburgers101 @spacegirlstuff @mxrivicgb
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comphy-and-cozy · 1 year
Note
can you please do something with “I’m going to ruin you” with the big boy, andrei svechnikov?
bestie, I knew this one had to be extra special for you - so it’s no question why this quickly turned into a mini fic bc what is a blurb anyway? I kind of combined this with a different request I got to make a sequel to sundress szn 😈
enjoy, my love!
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Prompt: “I’m going to ruin you.”
Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov x teammate’s sister!Reader (f)
Word Count: 2.2K
Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Language, brief alcohol use/mention, oral sex (m + f receiving), brief choking, unprotected sex, creampie.
The white tablecloth is thick, almost stiff against your legs. Flickering candles and dimly-lit wall lamps provide most of the light in the room, aside from the glow of the city outside the large floor-to-ceiling windows. During the day, you’re sure it’s probably a beautiful view of the skyline, but at night it’s even prettier, a sea of glittering lights amongst the darkness.
The waiters aren’t wearing white gloves, but they might as well be, their suit vests and red ties adhering to the high standard their clientele demands. The menu is small, prices not even listed — a sign that the bill will be exorbitant.
It’s far more extravagant than you would’ve wanted for a first date, but Andrei was insistent that if he was going to risk his life taking his Captain’s sister on a date, he was going to do it right.
And he did, pulling out all the right stops: arriving 5 minutes early, flowers in hand, opening your car door, offering his arm as you walked into the restaurant. He’s polite, a perfect gentleman, when he orders an expensive bottle of wine for the two of you, his eyes hardly leaving yours the entire time.
“Trying to get me liquored up?” you ask once the waiter leaves, a flirtatious smile on your face.
The glint in his eye that you love so much is back when he glances toward you, dimple exposed as his smile matches yours. It’s hard to miss the way his eyes dip down toward the shadow of your cleavage before quickly darting back up to your own. “Why? You need a little liquid confidence?”
“Why would I need confidence to do something I’ve already done?” you smirk, following his lead and letting your eyes slide slowly and blatantly over the buttons of his crisp dress shirt, already imagining the satisfying sound of them hitting the floor when you rip it open later this evening.
“There’s a few things you haven’t done.” He licks his lips, a subtle hint at what he’s referencing, and you feel a throb between your legs, debating if waiting for your food is even worth it. But, then a waiter walks by with a plate of hot, prime cut steaks sizzling in butter, the scent almost as intoxicating as the man across from you, and you think to yourself that you can wait for a little while longer.
“And you’re going to enjoy every one of them, aren’t you?” you ask with a teasing smile, gently running a hand across your collarbone.
“Oh, baby,” he hums, his gaze purely predatory despite the charming smile he puts on. To anyone around you, you’d look like a happy couple on a nice dinner date, the mounting sexual tension invisible to passersby. “I’m going to fucking ruin you.”
The waiter interrupts what is about to come out of your mouth, a secret that you’ll keep forever, but his words already have the desired effect. Your legs squeeze together, a desperate throb between them as your heart ticks quicker in your chest, and in some ways, you’re thankful for the interruption, unwilling to let your date know just how much impact he has on you.
Dinner is pleasant, but excruciating, watching the flex of his hands as he cuts through his expensive steak, his large fingers wrapped around the thin stem of his wine glass. It’s terribly sexy, his strength compared to the delicate fragility of the glass, surely some kind of parallel for what you’re anticipating as soon as he gets you home and the front door is locked.
Sure enough, he does, though you admit you aren’t expecting him to immediately pin you to the door you’re in the middle of locking, skirt hiked up over your hips before he’s on his knees behind you with a growl.
“No panties?”
“I’m wearing…” you trail off, your sentence punctured by a gasp when he rips the flimsy fabric in question from your frame.
“You call these panties?” he asks, though your terminology is hardly a concern now that there’s something far more tempting in his sight.
There isn’t much room for any retort, not with Andrei roughly tugging your hips backward in order to press his face against your center. He groans at the contact, the vibration traveling straight through your clit and into every single nerve ending in your body, heightened when his tongue begins to stimulate your dripping folds.
His voice is muffled by your ass, but you can make out a distinct fuck as he tastes you, the way he’s been dying to from the moment you opened your front door looking sinfully beautiful. It’s your eyes he loves most, but your legs are a close second, the skirt you picked for the night teasing him just enough to drive him insane. He couldn’t deny that he’d spent half of dinner dreaming of pressing his head between your thighs underneath the table, remembering the all-too-brief taste he had of you, wondering if he could get away with it — ultimately he’d decided against it, but having you in your entryway is a pretty close second, he thinks.
Andrei doesn’t let up until you’re two orgasms deep, legs shaking as you clutch desperately at the door for support. Offering you some reprieve, he sits back on his knees and sucks your essence off of his fingers, the ones that brought you to your latest demise, a dark glint in his eyes.
“Taste extra sweet when you’ve got some wine in you,” he jokes.
“As good as that expensive steak you bought?”
“Better,” he hums. “It doesn’t even come close.”
It isn’t long before he’s got you in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist, your discarded panties long forgotten near the vase by your door. His lips are attached to yours, giving you a taste of yourself, and you’re so distracted that it takes a moment before you realize he’s walking blindly, no idea where your bedroom is located.
With a giggle, you detach yourself from his lips and give him instructions, down the hall and on the right, and his bashful smile has your heart melting. The butterflies whoosh away the second he plops you onto your bed, looking down at you with a look that’s hungrier than before. Something tells you that the sight of you on a mattress is something he’s been dying to see.
You move to tug your knee-high boots off, stilled with a quick hand and a dark glance. “Leave them. Been thinking about fucking you in nothing but these boots all night.”
His words, as always, make you shiver, the lustful promises from his lips something you’ll never grow tired of. Normally, you might make some kind of quip, a snarky comeback, but you’ve been dreaming of having him inside of you from the moment he slipped out weeks ago, leaving you leaking his cum in the middle of your brother’s half bathroom. It’s all you can do not to rip his clothes off along with your own, ready for him to fuck you into oblivion like he promised.
Andrei’s hand wraps around your throat, engulfing it with ease, pulling you up to kiss him again. Blindly, your hands fumble with his dress shirt, working it open until he’s taking matters into his own hands, tearing it down the middle and sending buttons flying across the room. You barely notice your prophecy come true, instead captivated by the cut, stark lines of his muscles, like he’s been carved out of fucking clay, sculpted like a piece of art that you’d find in the Met.
“Like what you see?” he teases, muscles flexing as he shrugs the tattered shirt off his form.
“Didn’t get to appreciate it in full last time,” you say, cheeks hot from the call out — but how can he blame you? — before your eyes drop a little lower, to the expensive-looking black slacks that hang on his hips. “Just like something else.”
The sight of you on your knees, your tits pulled haphazardly out of your top as you work on his zipper is a sight Andrei knows he’ll never forget. But the feeling of you taking him in your mouth, your eyes gazing up at him while brimming with tears, pressing further and further until he touches the back of your throat? A feeling he’ll spend chasing for the rest of his life.
With a curse in Russian, his hand threads through your hair to clear your way, not wanting anything to impede his view of his cock sliding between your wet, pretty lips, disappointed he can’t see the way your tongue works sinful magic on the vein that’s throbbing on the underside. But goddamn if he can’t feel it.
He waits until he’s twitching in your mouth, body thrumming with desire and desperate to spill into the back of your throat before he ends your experiment, unwilling to release the contents of his balls anywhere but inside your cunt. Because as good as your mouth feels, he also knows what it feels like to have your snug, warm walls milking him for all he’s worth, and it’s something he wants carnally.
As promised, he rids you of all of your clothing except for your boots, though he is tempted to leave your skirt bunched around the swell of your hips because of the way it makes you look so slutty, so needy for him you couldn’t wait a second longer. But, he thinks, there’ll be another time for that, instead wanting to see you bare, fully, since he didn’t get the pleasure the last time.
“Andrei,” you whine when his strong arms pin your hands over your head, settling himself between your legs. Your body arches into his, desperate. “Please.”
“Such gorgeous legs,” he groans, ignoring you, moving one hand to nudge your thigh up over this hip, then the other. “Perfect fucking body you have.”
“Didn’t you say you were gonna ruin me? Seems like all bark and no bite.”
His eyes, normally so warm and kind, darken at your sass, and he smirks. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he loves that you can match him step for step, challenging him with your attitude that intrigues him like no other girl ever has.
The sound you make when he presses into you is near enough to make him bust right then and there; similarly, the groan he emits once he’s buried to the hilt makes you gush, feeling yourself clench tightly around his length. He’s warm, and you swear he’s bigger than before, stretching you entirely around his delicious girth. Every movement he makes is perfect, starting slow and building his pace, different from before now that he has time and space to truly ravish you. You don’t have to ask him to keep going, to move faster, to go harder, because he knows exactly what you need before you do.
You’ve lost the ability to speak, though if you could, you’d only be able to moan out his name. His pace is brutal, hips slapping against the back of your thighs, and the rough movement of his body has the cross hanging around his neck brushing against your chest with his rhythm. It’s a filthy thing, the desire to have his chain hitting your face, an inexplicably sexy detail that somehow cranks the temperature up to scorching levels.
When he lets your hands go in favor of cupping your face, your hands slip around his muscular shoulders, clutching onto him as you hang on for dear life. He wants to kiss you, to get his mouth on you, but he can’t bring himself to stop looking at your face, in awe of the way your brows scrunch together and how your mouth falls open when he hits your g-spot just right.
“Feel so fucking good, baby,” he murmurs, his accent thicker now that he’s exuding more effort with his hips instead of his English, determined to stay on pace and bring you to your high. “So pretty.”
This time, when you come, you’re in the comfort of your own home and don’t have to stay quiet for fear of your brother walking in at any second, so you’re free to cry out his name when your legs shake as your climax hits you like a fucking train. A white hot blur of pleasure blinds you, taking over every single cell in your body with everything Andrei.
He’s not far behind you, shooting thick ropes into your eager and waiting center, greedily accepting everything he has to give you. His head falls in the juncture of your neck and your shoulder, hair tickling your jaw as he pants, breath hot against your already molten skin.
“I’m never gonna be able to look Staalsy in the eye ever again,” he says. He’s joking, of course, but there’s a part of him that knows everything is different now, and not just because of the pussy that he’s pretty sure was crafted in heaven specifically for him.
Andrei Svechnikov is falling in love with his captain’s little sister, and there’s not a damn thing he can do to stop it.
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Hi hey hello halloween was 2 days ago so here are my southpark halloween headcanons cuz im a spooky gremlin all year (Possible part 1 cuz i write alot and idk if tumblr has a word limit)👍
Cartman:
His costume is either really extra or really basic because he forgot until last minute.
Its usually inflateable like a dinosaur, pizza or...other things.
Usually the one to pick the route they go on when trick or treating so he can get the most candy, but it backfires because of all the walking.
The type of mf to eat his candy while hes out trick or treating (me too, i get it)
He steals the entire take 1 bowl you cant change my mind. Also the type to grab aggressive fistfuls when someone says to just take one or two pieces of candy
Thinks haybales and haunted houses are gay
Will throw fake decorations at you as a joke, but the realistic ones that make you yell (severed hands, bugs, etc)
His house isnt that decorated since i KNOW Liane is the cool mom who gives out full sized candy bars but its the inside that counts
Takes pumpkin carving VERY seriously. But doesnt do that much, or he tries and gives up.
A dumbass when it comes to candy trading. Always falls for the tricks Kyles got
Kyle:
I love kyle, but you know hes dressing up as the most basic things every year...hes TRYING THO HES TRYING
Takes Ike with the boys when hes old enough
Tries to match costumes with Stan but stan always forgets
The BEST at carving pumpkins. Gut feeling Kyle is an art kid.
Thinks haybales are gay but is "ironically" scared of haunted houses
His mom is extra with decorations. You just know it
Secretly takes 3 pieces of candy from a take 1 bowl
Gives what he cant have to Stan since he cant eat pork n gelatin has pork in it 👍
Cartman tried nabbing his candy once and he whacked him with the candy filled pillow case he had
Expert candy tracker. That man knows which house has what and he is ON IT
Nightmare before christmas enjoyer, will i explain? No
Stan:
Hes like Kyle with the basic costume thing, just worse. Way worse
He is a ghost...almost every single year cuz he forgets to go costume shopping and he just says "fuck it" and uses a white bedsheet
Takes what he can get; he knows Shelleys gonna steal his shit anyway
That doesnt stop him from trying to hide it
Likes haybales but TERRIFIED of haunted houses he will NOT get in one
Mediocre pumpkin carver at best
His house aint decorated nor does it have candy cuz of randys ass. Forgetful ahh
Kenny:
Cant really afford costumes so stan, kyle and cartman help him DIY costumes
Also the kind of mf to grab the entire take 1 bowl
Makes it his MISSION to get all the candy he can get
Kinda eh on Haybsles, LOVES haunted houses
His house is never decorated, his family cant afford that
Good at candy trading cuz he can do puppy eyes
Really good at pumpkin carving, he just cant be the one getting the pumpkins.
Horror movie FANATIC!!! HE LOVES HORROR MOVIES!!!
He dies a lot that day very sad for him
Butters:
Rarely aloud to go out trick or treating, mans is ALWAYS grounded
When he CAN go out he cant ever stay out late which sucks so much
His costume is always something cute/creative, bro would probably go as like, an oc of his one year (projecting so hard i did this in the 4th or 5th grade)
Gets people to check his candy for him, hes scared of getting hurt or poisoned
Wants to go to the houses that have fruit or toothbrushes. It always goes like:
"Can we go to Ms Firkles house?" "The one that gives out apples?" "Yeah!" "Fuck is wrong with you?"
Loves Haybales, thinks theyre so fun
TERRIFIED of haunted houses, will not even STAND in a 100 ft radius of a haunted house
Flinches/Cries/Screams whenever a halloween decoration jumpscares him or is too loud
Horrified of horror moves
Not allowed to carve pumpkins, too dangerous. But he likes painting them!
Obeys the "take 1/2/3" rule like a good boy
His house is decently decorated, nothing extravagant
Craig:
Oh you know he is a "this is my costume" mf
Either that or something space related
Always the first in front in his group (Tweek, Tolkien, Clyde, Jimmy and Himself) cuz hes pretty unphased by everything
Loves carving pumpkins, him and tweek do the cute pumpkin carving stuff couples do
Cant eat most of the candy since he has braces, but he gives it to Tweek so its not a waste
Will hold Tweeks hand during horror movies, haunted houses and haybales.
A six flags fright fest enjoyer
This mf will look you dead in the eye and pour an entire bowl of candy into his bag if there arent any cameras or signs
The kind of mf to joke inside a ghost tour and purposefully try to piss off the ghost by flipping it off
The most undecorated house ever. Its like halloween doesnt exist to the Tuckers
Tweek:
He buys cool costumes but his makeup is so shaky and rushed since his ass cant sit still
Chugging pumpkin spice like a maniac
Terrified of any and all halloween activities. Jumpscare him and he will scream
Doesnt take candy from people or bowls, he stands awkwardly behind everyone and investigates his candy thoroughly before putting it in the bag
Either that or he'll have craig triple check it
His house is always decorated since Tweek Bros always has halloween specials and stuff
Does not sleep for the entire month of halloween, he survives on pumpkin spice and pure anxiety
Helps around the coffee shop by refilling candy bowls and doing halloween chalkboards (they look like scribbled messes but whatever)
The middle man in the group, he doesnt feel safe in the front or back
Carries Pepper spray with him when trick or treating, always very cautious to the point his friends grill him for it a little. Better safe than sorry
Clinging onto Craig half the night, the insomnias getting to him
Legally not aloud to carve pumpkins. He will accidentally knick his fingers
Loves halloween baking though, he does burn at least something and panics.
Clyde:
Oh you know hes the kind of mf to dress up like the glow in the dark stickman
Grabs aggressive handfuls of candy regardless of if its from a bowl or person
An absolute crybaby. Will cry when he sees the decorations
They cant decorate his house since hes a baby
Likes the pumpkin carving tho!
Always runs to thr house with full sized candy bars
Jimmy:
He is def going as an inflateable t rex/banana
Tells more jokes to people in hopes of getting more candy
Carves a wee wee into his pumpkin. He thinks its funny
Pretends to be scared on haybales to make Clyde feel better
His house is the one with custom decorations its so great
Scary movie enthusiast, joking and calling the characters dumb the whole time
He. Fucking. Loves. Frightfest
Hc that when hes older hes a scare actor part time
Admires the decorations
Tolkien
Bro probably got like, a ren faire costume yk? Like a count or something
Tolkien just seems likke the guy to go to ren faire every year
Expert pumpkin carver
Takess his friends to halloween fairs every year
The most overdecorated house (rich kid core)
Always saying the thank yous and happy halloweens when noone else will
Bro printed out a map of their trick or treat route
He takes some of his friends to ren faire too. Craig thinks its gay as shit
Likes the haybales, and the shit rides at the halloween fairs
Creeped out by haunted houses tho
63 notes · View notes
uriekukistan · 22 days
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tokyo ghoul characters and their skincare routines
kaneki doesn't have an extravagant routine, but he still takes care of his skin. probably just a basic 3-step routine with soap, moisturizer, and spf. i feel like he kinda has dry skin in the winter, so he probably also keeps chapstick and a little tube of hand lotion in his backpack or pockets.
haise on the other hand has more skincare products than he can count and the quinx squad is tired of how much space it takes up in the bathroom. definitely has one of those fluffy hairbands. he's a double cleanse, toner, at least 3 serums, eye cream, moisturizer, and sunscreen guy. he also exfoliates 2-3 times a week and does a mask every night.
ayato might wash his face with hand soap on a good day. his skin is annoyingly clear.
urie has that patrick bateman skincare routine. face ice pack for morning puffiness, cleanser, exfoliate, a peel-off mask, alcohol-free aftershave, moisturizer, eye cream, and spf. he has the second most extra skincare routine of the quinx squad.
juuzou doesn't want the stitches on his face to get infected, so he takes a good amount of time to wash his face every day. he doesn't really use anything else because he doesn't want it to mess with his stitches. yes, that includes moisturizer and spf.
akira is another skincare diva like haise. actually, she probably put him on to a bunch of his favorite products. she has a pretty regimented routine that she follows to a T. every product she uses is probably really expensive too. she likes to pamper herself.
touka has a pretty average skincare routine. a bit more than kaneki's routine, but not a skincare diva. she does cleanser (one wash in the morning, double cleanse at night), maybe one serum and/or spot treatment for breakouts (she is the most annoyed by ayato's skincare routine because she breaks out easily), moisturizer, and spf. sometimes if yoriko comes over on the weekend, they do masks together.
eto either has a very high maintenance skincare routine or doesn't do anything at all. it depends on the day. on the days she does do skincare, she goes over the top to balance all the nights she falls asleep while writing and does nothing. prone to buying new expensive products to try and not using them.
tsukiyama is the biggest skincare diva on this list. also has a 10+ step skincare routine. not a single product in his collection is less than $100. he gets those gold face masks that models get. and has a facial at least once a month. probably spends at least an hour applying all his products in the most careful way possible. nothing but the best for tsukiyama shuu
hinami has a skincare routine similar to touka's (probably learned it from her when they lived together). her criteria for products is if the packaging is cute. she probably makes ayato do pore cleansing masks with, she is appalled by his twice a month hand soap routine.
saiko buys any products that have animals or characters on the packaging, especially any sanrio x (insert skincare brand) products. she gets a bit lazy with it though, and she's prone just using face wipes so she doesn't have to stop watching her anime or playing her game
mutsuki is a skincare minimalist. soap, moisturizer, and spf works fine for him. doesn't see the point in all of haise's expensive serums. another dry skin boy, he probably also carries around lotion in the winter because his hands get really dry.
shirazu washes his face with shampoo in the shower. yes, shampoo.
41 notes · View notes
delopsia · 2 months
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Coyote | Miles Miller x Reader
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Word Count: 7,500 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+. AFAB!Reader, wolf! Reader, coyote! Miles (it's a werewolf AU with a twist), mentions of food PTSD and forced marriage, running away together, car sex, and overstimulation. No established time setting, so you can imagine this as a modern! AU or canon to when the movie took place :) Brief Summary: You've got no choice but to marry the son of a rivaling family in order to bring unity once and for all. But on the night before your dreaded wedding, Miles makes good on your wish to run away together.
This bed used to be comfortable.
Falling into it once felt like plummeting through the sky and being caught by a giant, fluffy cloud. Soft, delicately scented sheets, washed in a laundry detergent exclusively used for this room alone. One of the many perks of the honeymoon suite, alongside the extra space, pink interior, and a promise of complimentary, sweet drinks, so long as you took the time to visit the front desk and ask for them. 
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Your head lifts, craning to peer over your shoulder. The sleeping body that occupies your bed isn't the one that you're used to. Stiff. Not the snuggly presence that you've grown to associate with this mattress. His back has long since turned to you, growled snores rattling every last nerve you've got. And yet, you can't help but be thankful that he's not awake and looking at you. 
Because then you'd be forced to confront the reality of this situation you've found yourself in. 
Reluctant, your eyes flick to the dresser. It's usually up beneath the two-way mirror, but now, it has found itself awkwardly shoved into a vacant corner. If only the stark white wedding dress sitting on top of it had taken note and miraculously found its way into the dumpster. But like the gaudy ring sitting atop the bedside table, it hasn't moved an inch.
Come dawn, his nameless sisters will rush into the room and help shove you into it all. Dressing you in costume like one of their childhood dolls, powdering your face with extravagant makeup, and helping you into those too-high shoes that your future mother-in-law so stubbornly insisted you wear. As if walking down that aisle wasn't hard enough, to begin with. 
It's cruel, truly. 
Your feet are destined to walk a fine line between two families. To become the glue—no, the contract that will bind them together for the rest of eternity. A purpose that was placed upon your shoulders before they had even formed in the womb. Because a bunch of old men and women couldn't settle things like adults, crying about how its not the way your ancestors would have wanted it.
Werewolves. Stuck so far in the past that even modern history does not recognize them. 
Up until recent, you'd found them all to be the same. Clinging to the shiny title of their ancestors, vying to establish themselves using the accomplishments of those before them. Stubbornly clinging to their old ways, fearing the concept of change more than the fangs of a hungry vampire.
You'd thought it when you were approached with the demand that you meet the son of the family that rivaled your own. Travel from the warm comforts of one state and into a cold, unfamiliar one every weekend to meet him and to fall in love. And if you could not find love, you would need to learn tolerance. Accept this unhappy future for the sake of the family, they said. For your troubles, you were offered a reservation at a comfortable hotel. A place to rest in between the drive and enjoy the last of your freedoms before the wedding bells rang. 
Oh, but that doe-eyed boy behind the reception desk...
Miles.
In the past, you've heard your family refer to families of coyote-based shifters, but until you stumbled into this little hotel, you'd never met one in person. And even then, you couldn't pick one out of a lineup if your life depended on it. But from the moment you heard him knock on your door during your very first stay, you'd known something was different about him. 
"I-I'm sorry," he stuttered, wild blue eyes darting every which way as he held out a small, familiar object in his hand. Your wallet. "You—you forgot this on my desk."
He could have kept it. Lord knows he needed every penny in there, but he'd brought it back to you just as you'd left it. 
"Oh," quite frankly, you were speechless. Even now, you can't think of anything you could have said to fill the awkward gap of silence as you took it from his hand. "Thank you..." Your eyes frantically scanned across his jacket for that damned name tag. But it was upside down. Forcing you to tilt your head for a better read. "Miller?"
His eyebrows furrowed. Head tilted, like you had just spoken in a different language. "Huh?"
"That's your name, isn't it?" You nodded towards the nametag. 
He had to follow your gaze to figure out what you were looking at. And as soon as he realized, his hands jumped into the air. "Oh!" Scurrying to fix it. Laughing. "I'm—I'm sorry. It's...my name is Miles..." Then, paused as he was in the process of flipping it, hesitantly meeting your eye. "Miller is my last name." 
The only thing you'd known to do was to smile and correct yourself, but now the silence was unbearable. Miles and his awkward grin, wringing his hands, eyes flicking every which way. But then, all of a sudden, his head snapped toward the double doors of the lobby. He'd heard something, but you couldn't pick up a damn thing. Even as he apologized and darted off, you couldn't figure out what the hell he was hearing. 
Strangest of all, a strange scent clung to the fabric of your wallet. Earthier. Like standing in a forest after a storm. That was no wolf scent; in fact, you had never encountered it before. 
What was it? 
You got your answer when, on your second visit, he ambled back up to your door—carrying a slice of pie fresh out of the oven, still steaming and hot to the touch. The same flavor you had looked for when you first arrived at the hotel, only to find that it was the one flavor freshly sold out. Originally, it was an apology for the off-putting note he'd left you on, but then he'd accidentally let go of the plate before you fully had a hold of it. 
He'd yipped the moment the ceramic hit the ground. Then burst into an apology, claiming the noise to be some 'dumb coyote thing.'
The walk back to get another slice ended in chatter that has yet to die down. 
Maybe he bewitched you with the sweet treats and cozy blankets he brought out of the exclusive bungalows because you didn't like the texture of the ones typically used to furnish your room. Or it could have been the soft touches and delicately whispered comments as if speaking any louder would cause the sentiment to lose all of its meaning. 
But one way or another, you found your arms wrapped around those lithe shoulders. Catching each and every single one of his flurried kisses. Soft and giving, never demanding a thing, and so, so eager to give everything to you, even if that wasn't very much to start with. Stumbling backward until the back of your knees hit the bed, losing your balance in an instant. 
You haven't quit falling since.
The body next to yours shifts, rolling closer to you, and the hand that skims your back does nothing but make you wriggle to the edge of the bed. Those aren't the hands that you've grown accustomed to, appearing softly at first. Feather-light fingertips stroking up the curve of your waist, gradually gaining confidence in his touch the further he goes until he flattens his palm against your belly.
A part of you can still hear what Miles would say right now.
"Is this still okay?" His lips always brush against your bare shoulder. Always seeking the reassurance that the boundary is still where it was a couple of hours ago, perhaps due to his own wavering line of what he can and can't handle. 
The following whispered consent is religiously rewarded with a lingering kiss, his warm breath fanning out against your skin. Followed by another. And another. Guiding himself up your cheek to press one to your lips before nuzzling his nose into your neck.
They say coyotes and wolves don't mix, but you go together like lightning and thunder. Where Miles is swift and flickering, you are the booming, large presence that follows. 
Tap.
Your head lifts.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
There's nobody outside the window; there are no curtains, no scent to reveal their presence. Your eyes are designed for this very lighting, and yet, you cannot spot a single thing out of place. 
Tap. Tap. Tap.
It's not coming from the window. No, the tapping is...inside the room. 
As slow as you can physically manage, you slip from the bed, careful not to disturb your sleeping partner. The last thing you feel like dealing with is a know-it-all man stealing the reins from your more-than-capable hands. Like he did when Miles turned up at the door, returning the ring you intentionally left at his desk. He damn near shoved you out of the way, unable to allow a coyote like Miles around you, even for a second. 
Tap. Tap. 
Coming from your right. But that doesn't make any...
the mirror.
The mirror is open. 
"Miles," you can barely recall the sensation of your feet crossing the floor. Slipping into his warm arms before you can think twice, uncaring of the awkward gap you must lean over. "How did you..."
"Shh," squeezing you as close as he can possibly manage. "If he catches us..." 
You'll both be dead. 
But the continued, growling snores insist he's not waking anytime soon. 
Reluctant, you peel yourself away from him. Too eager to get a glimpse of his face. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to—I..." he pauses. Recollecting himself. Squeezing your shoulders in his palms. "Do you remember what you said about wantin' to run away with me?"
You don't...you don't know what to say. Head tilting to glance at the occupied bed. Then to your luggage. Just moments ago, you were daydreaming about Miles, but, but... God, where will you go? How will he hide you from the sensitive noses of your family?
"I—I got my car workin' again, and I found scent blockers, and," he gulps so hard that his Adam's apple bobs. Frantic eyes flicking to the bed. Then back to you. "I ain't been there in a while, but I've still got that little apartment I told you 'bout."
You know where he's going with this. And your heart is hammering against your chest. Begging you to say yes. But your head knows better. There's no way you can escape without being caught. "Miles..."
"I know I ain't got all that much. I don't...I know I can't give you the same kind of life he could, but I..." his forehead presses against yours. Big, warm hands rising to curl around your cheeks. Blocking out the rest of the world as his heart continues to pour off of his tongue. "I can promise I'll love you until you're absolutely sick of me. Like you are of that pie I keep bringin' you."
As if that wasn't enough, he leans in and seals it by leaning in and meeting your lips. The gentlest of locks, hardly enough to count as a kiss at all. It feels like the first, all over again.
And you'll be damned if it's the last. 
It takes five and a half steps to reach your suitcase. Three to slip into your shoes. One more to snatch that gaudy ring off of the bedside table. Ugly but valuable, given all of the things you've heard about it since it was shoved onto your finger. 
The wheel clangs against the wall as you lift it. Miles goes pale. You freeze. The whole world stops turning. Slow, as if moving too quickly will cause the man in bed to stir, you turn your head. 
Still asleep. 
Getting the suitcase through the mirror should have been the hard part, but in reality, it's figuring out how to get up and swing your legs through the gap without smacking your head on the top. Miles's guiding hands are the only thing that helps you pull it off, firm against your waist, holding you firm in the event you lose your balance. 
One foot leaves the worn hotel carpet.
The other lands on the solid, cement floor of the hidden corridor. 
Miles swings the mirror shut. The latches audibly slide back into place. And suddenly, it's completely and utterly silent. Mere feet away from a man you've already forgotten the name of. Maybe you would remember if your attention wasn't wrapped up in the sight of Miles himself. Soft and real and dressed in that cozy mustard yellow cardigan. 
He looks at you.
You look at him.
For a split second, telepathy is real. And you're both thinking the same damn thing. 
"Oh, what the heck," he breathes, arms already beginning to open up, "c'mere."
It's the easiest thing you've done in your life. Stepping forward, shrinking that gap between your bodies in an instant. Arms draping across those lithe shoulders, noses crashing together as he clumsily kisses you. Careful arms curling around your waist.
Oh, it's everything you were just dreaming about. The dizzying sensation of him using his weight to push your back up against the chilly cement wall. Such a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating off of him, daring to press up against you. 
You're melting like ice cream in the sweltering summer sun. Fingers lazily tangling in his hair, falling into the plush caress of his lips against yours. He tastes like the cola he keeps hidden behind the bar, so sweet that you reckon he's giving you a secondhand sugar rush, chasing away the remnants of sleep that still cling to your psyche.
The tips of his fingers brush at your nape, crawling to trace against your cheek, then down your shoulder. Can never seem to keep those big, weathered hands occupied for more than a few seconds at a time. Always has to be moving. Always. 
You need to get going. Run before anyone notices your absence and comes looking. Can't even begin to imagine the things they would say if they walked in on you like this. Running away on the night before your wedding, tangled up with your new lover before a minute has even passed.
"Miles..." speaking against his lips. A half-assed effort that dies down as soon as he closes that gap again. Leading with his nose, the cold tip of it brushing against your cheek. 
"We should stop..." he whines into your kiss like he's been longing for it all his life. On the same damn page as you, just as helpless, too. "We should..." 
His hips twitch forward. Clumsily knocking into yours. The slightest brush of your bodies, and yet it's enough for you to catch onto what you've done to him. Hard as a rock in those stretchy work pants, so damn visible that you can see the bulge of his cock, right here in the dark. 
Bold, you push forward. Foreheads bumping together as Miles struggles to back track, feet tangling, falling back against the wall with a surprised grunt. Wide eyes peer back at you, confused, but only for a moment. His unspoken question is answered by the sudden pressure of your palm, curling around the outline of him through his slacks. 
Those pretty eyes fall shut, sucking in a breath. "Wha—here?"  Though he's not putting up much of an argument against it. Struggling to suppress the whine that rolls past his lips, hips twitching up into you. So, so sensitive, no matter how many times you've done this to him.
"Do you want me to stop?" You're almost certain what his answer will be, thumb already toying with the metal of his button. 
But his silence still has you waiting. 
His head drops, forehead landing against your shoulder, almost ashamed to whisper, "...no." 
The drag of his zipper is enough to make the button pop loose, so cheaply made that it was barely fastened in the first place. Your daring fingers slip inside, seeking the soft material of his boxers...that you don't find. 
No, instead, your fingertips brush against warm skin, not another layer of clothing there to separate you from his heavy cock. And despite your surprise, your hand is already wrapping around him. 
"Had a customer while I was gettin' dressed," Miles blurts, suddenly talkative as you give him a loose, experimental stroke, figuring out which angle is most comfortable for your arm, "I didn't have time—oh," your thump swipes over his weeping tip, always so wet for you, "and then, and then you walked in the door and I..."
"Forgot?" Filling in the blanks. Hardly able to pay attention to what he's saying. Too busy paying attention to the weight of him in your grasp, how his cute hips rock back and forth on their own, subtle accord. You shouldn't get this much pleasure out of stroking him, spreading his precum down his shaft. 
His head nods against your shoulder, hair tickling your neck. "Uhuh."
Your eyes flick to the mirror, peering through the darkness of the hotel room you were in just minutes ago. Not a soul has noticed your absence yet. But even if they had, you don't think you'd be able to care. Too wrapped up in the soft whimpers that fall off Miles's tongue, the way they grow louder when your spare hand twists in his hair, pulling gently. 
His head lifts, and your mouths crash together with all the grace of a trainwreck. Teeth clattering. Tongues meeting without a shred of notice. Messily tangling in the chilly air. Punctuated by Miles's sharp inhale. 
Outside, a truck engine roars to life. 
"Car," Miles chokes, "we gotta..." 
It's the biggest power struggle of the century, his lithe body rolling against yours, too eager to feel you and have you and eat you alive, all at the same time. The sly twist of your wrist does absolutely nothing to help his case, eyes scrunching shut at the feeling. He's only got control of his hand, darting into his pocket. Returns with a thin plastic tube that you smell before you see. 
Roll-on scent blocker. The nastiest combination of chemicals you've ever encountered, but they do their job as promised. Warm against your temple as he rubs it on you, covering your scent glands, one at a time. The ones on your neck, behind your ears, and the insides of each of your wrists, that horrid, sterile stench assaulting your nose like a bad memory. An unpleasant experience drawn out by the way you continue to torment your lover, thumb massaging beneath his sensitive tip all the while
But it's on, and Miles is damn dragging himself away, shoving himself back into the confines of his pants before he can even begin to second-guess his decision. Lips so wet that they shine, catching in the fraction of light provided in this dark little corridor as he bends down to grab the handle of your suitcase.
"Car," he repeats as if he's trying to convince himself more than you.
His spare hand reaches out, an open invitation that you're already halfway into taking. Fingers locking around each other, tightening as he guides you down this maze of a hallway. Past room after room, around two sharp bends, toward a dull, hardly helpful light. You're pretty sure he borrowed that bulb from one of the bungalows after management defaulted on their usual payment for supplies. 
You wonder if this is the last time you'll ever see this hotel. 
The somewhat offputting taxidermy behind the reception desk. Clashing with the refined purples and blues of this section of the building. Dusty gambling machines and tables that haven't seen a game since last winter are now only useful for storing cleaning products and a stash of towels. 
All so dead compared to the vivid gold, orange, and brown across the room. Warm lighting and the equally cozy booths snuggled into the lower floor. Far too pretty to be surrounded by a floor tile that aims to recreate an enchanting stone pathway, and has instead become a heaven to dirt and trash that no mop or vacuum can fully collect. 
It's all there and gone in a second, cut short by the squeal of the front doors, opening up to a big, rainy world, all yours to explore. The parking lot is so flooded that it's become one big puddle, splashing as you run through it, licking at your exposed ankles. You can hardly tell where you're going, blindly led by the hand that has yet to let go of yours. 
The car is parked all by its lonesome in the center of the lot, away from the other residents and directly across from the vehicle you were driven here in. Only when you're close does Miles let go of you, treading toward the back of the vehicle while you reach for the car door. You've never been so thankful to find that something is unlocked, damn near falling into the backseat.
Miles is on you before you even hear the trunk close. Hips slotting between your thighs as he squirms on top of you, giggling as he trails kisses up the side of your neck. Leading himself over your jaw and across your cheek, moving so quickly that it almost tickles. Only pausing to linger when he meets your mouth, humming like the cat who got the cream. 
"Whole darn weddin' party is parked out here," he grunts, unabashedly rolling himself against your thigh, "almost feel bad for stealin' you away."
"Don't," sucking in a breath, tugging at that damned cardigan of his, "the wedding was more for them than it was for me."
He leans back on his haunches, tugging the flimsy material from his shoulders. Tosses it somewhere up in the front seat. "Promise I won't make ya feel like that if we ever get to have one."
Your head is spinning, struggling for an ounce of sanity in this cramped little car as you reach to push your shorts down your legs. "Do you want me to go back for the dress so you can marry me before the sun is up?" Half joking. 
You fear you'd do it if he asked. 
But his head just shakes, already beginning to fumble with the buttons of his work shirt. "Nah,"  two snap off entirely, scattering into the leather seat. By the time you realize he's got it off, he's already halfway into peeling that final layer over his head. He's on you before the old tee has even landed on the floorboard. Returning to his favorite place between your legs. "You were right when you said that the dress doesn't suit ya at all."
It's hard to lift your hand to your heart and feign shock when his chest is pressed up against your own, careful lips pressing kisses to the underside of your jaw. Hell, working up a tone of mock surprise is even a task. "You were watching me change?"
"You," kiss, "were facing the mirror," another kiss, "lookin' right back at me the whole time." One more, right on your lips. Too innocent for what goes on down below, the heavy bulge of his cock rubbing against you.
On their own accord, your legs are circling him, pulling those lithe hips even closer; he's got the idea, already beginning to grind into you in earnest. Makes it so, so hard for you to focus on your half-assed attempt at defending yourself. "I was trying to see what I looked like!" 
"Do you always mouth my name when you undress?" His words come out breathy, like the very memory is enough to get under his skin. "Had half the mind to open the mirror right then 'n there."
You can't even begin to imagine what kind of hell would unravel if he'd done that. Haven't a doubt in your mind that you would have been on him in a second, much like you are right now. Frenzied hands smoothing past his biceps, scurrying up to slide across his back. Silky smooth beneath your palms, interrupted by a raised scar that sits next to the knobs of his spine, with a story you'd rather not recall. 
All too quickly, it's fallen quiet in this little car. Nothing but the soft pitter-patter of rain against the roof, set alight by the distinct red glow of the grand, neon sign hanging overhead. As if anyone could possibly forget they were staying at the El Royale. So damn bright that it reflects off Miles's pale skin, glistening as he kisses down your neck, soft mouth so feather-light that it tickles in the best of ways.
He jerks backward. Face twisting like he's eaten something sour. Barely manages to keep his eyes open. 
"Get a taste of that scent blocker?" You giggle, already halfway into reaching up, curling your palm around his cheek. Now, it's your hand that is bathed in the warm, red glow. 
"Uhuh," and he's already responding to the faint nudge of your fingertips, eyelashes fluttering closed as he meets you halfway.
And despite it all, it's as gentle as it has always been. The sort of thing that melts you around the edges, with the slow guide of his lips, massaging against yours in an elegant dance that no soul can recreate. Head spinning like a tiny ballerina in a music box, moving to a melody that only you two can hear.
But then your delicate tongue is swiping against his lower lip, and he's parting with a dizzying gasp. Downright placid as you lick into his mouth, so shy he can hardly rise to greet you, darting away the moment you meet. But then he's back again, lazily tangling with you, fleeting meetings and contented hums, bodies pressing impossibly closer. His hips involuntarily twitch up into yours, the outline of his cock rubbing against your cunt, and the two thin layers between you do nothing to stop you from feeling how he spasms in his slacks. 
Your touches are wandering. Skating down his neck and across his chest, svelte and gently muscled, like you're running your palms across a marble statue. Dancing over the slight dent of a scar on his belly, the one he's only recently felt comfortable having touched, past the divots of his ribs and down his sensitive sides. 
He's everything, and he doesn't even know it.
"Miles..." gasping into his mouth, breathless. 
His head tilts. You can almost see those large, pointed ears twisting on the sides of his head. Always curious. "Hm?"
Hell. You don't even know what you were saying his name for. Wordless, your hand continues to wander between your bodies and across the hem of his pants, cupping him through them. Rewards you with a groan far too loud for this tranquil backseat. 
Overhead, thunder rolls as if Mother Nature herself has risen from her slumber to remind you of where you are. How easily you can get caught if someone notices your absence and walks out into the parking lot. One little peak into the windows is all it would take. 
You don't have the luxury of taking your time. Not tonight, at least.
So you do the only thing you can think of. You hitch your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear and tug. With Miles between your legs, you're forced to draw your knees to your chest to fully draw them down, forcing him to lean back. He's already batting your hands away, pulling the thin material past your heels and dropping them on top of his own clothes. 
It happens so quickly compared to how slowly things were progressing just moments before. Your curious fingers pulling at his zipper for the second time today, too eager to see him spill out of his slacks once more, pink tip flushed so red that it rivals the neon glow cast upon you. Not necessarily big in size, but thick enough for it to be noticeable.
Ugh, you hadn't realized how wet you were until now, cunt leaving him glistening from dragging between your folds alone. 
"Fuck," you whisper over an airy breath, struggling to keep your eyes open, "I missed this." 
The corner of Miles's lip rises, eyelashes fluttering like tiny butterflies, bashfully smug in a fashion that only he can pull off. His mouth moves, but not a word comes out, too focused on watching his cock head drag against your clit to produce more than a hum. Those narrow hips have already found the pace you didn't realize you were craving; he always has been a quick learner. 
It's mesmerizing to watch the plush tip gliding in and out of your view, leaking a bead of precum that gets lost in your wetness. And you can't help but reach down and run your fingers overtop of him, feeling over the myriad of bulging veins. 
Without warning, his body twitches backward a smidgen too far, unintentionally sliding down to nudge against your entrance. Delicious pressure blooms, and you fear you're too far gone to put it off any longer. Eager hands rise to curl around his biceps, squeezing lightly as his head slips inside.
"I..." those eyes of his are focused where your bodies meet, helpless to stop himself as he sinks into your pussy, "condom...forgot..." 
A part of you should be worried about it. There's no way that you'll be able to go inside and clean up, and lord only knows how long it'll take to get to his apartment. Yet your eager legs are wrapping around him before he can think twice about it, drawing him deeper. 
"That's okay," you pant, don't particularly mind the idea of feeling him spasm and fill you up again. It's been so long that you can't remember the last time it happened. 
Six weeks without him was far too long. This is what you've been missing. The heavy drag of him inside you, curved in such a way that he rubs into the nerves hidden there, kissing them on his way past. A dull ache grows as he stretches you open, so damn thick that you ought to win an award for taking him to the base. 
Miles wavers, forearms shivering as he fights to keep himself upright. A weak leaf shaking in the wind, breaking the moment you pull him in, collapsing into you with a loud, echoing whimper. He's already bottoming out, the soft material of his pants flush against your ass. There goes every bit of rationality you have left. 
"You can move," you're speaking clearly. At least, you think you are, but your favorite coyote doesn't seem to hear you. Soft nose bumping into the side of your neck, a little too comfortable there. "Miles."  Nothing.
Your hand slips down to smack his ass. 
He grunts. Jolting into you. Whether or not he heard what you said is anyone's guess, but he's starting to move. Peeling his soft, warm body backward, cock withdrawing. For a moment, you can breathe. Blessed with a moment of sanity before he sinks back in, gingerly nudging the air from your lungs.
"Is that..." his warm cheek brushes against yours. Always has to be so close, "Is that okay?" The swell of his ass pushes into your hand; you can't help but grab a handful of it.
"More than okay," it's difficult to recognize this tone of your voice, so airy that it might as well have been whispered by the wind. 
You don't understand how something simple can feel so good. The gentle roll of his hips are so fluid that his thrusts almost feel smooth. No harsh smack of skin on skin or jostling meetings of your bodies, the curve of his cock rubbing into every nerve it can find. Has your cunt so wet around him that you can hear it. Sickening squelches too damn out of place for such delicate movements. 
Lips ghost across the side of your jaw, peppered by the faint whimpers that slip from Miles's throat, fussy in that stereotypical coyote fashion. It does nothing to change what you're feeling, yet you're pulsing around him, set off by those sweet little noises. 
"You look so beautiful underneath me," he mewls against the corner of your lips, half-lidded eyes gazing down at you with a familiar glimmer. Only he can look at you like that. Not anyone you've ever crossed paths with. And certainly not the man you were meant to marry come sunrise. 
Your legs are squeezing tighter around him, drawing his warm frame impossibly close, as if he could slip away from you at any given moment. Best of all, he lets you. Situating his forearms to rest on either side of your head, chests snug against each other, leaning up just enough to keep looking into your eyes. One of those big hands curls around your cheek, cradling it like glass. 
His angle shifts, driving up into those little nerves so hard that your legs twitch, body jerking on its own accord. Must be a mutual thing because it has you gasping against each other's lips, quiet whines dancing through the dark car and out into the parking lot, washed away by the pouring rain. 
"I can't get enough of you," Miles croaks, a little waver in his tone. All of a sudden, his eyes squeeze shut. Brows knitting together with a pained noise. 
"Miles?" The haze is dissipating, your careful hands rising to cradle his head.  "Are you okay?" 
For a moment, he doesn't move.  
"Uhuh," shallowly nodding, like that little motion even manages to hurt him, "I pulled a muscle in my back the other day, 's all." But then his body twitches forward, driving his cock back into you, and his face twists again.
You're only got one solution on deck.
Despite the overwhelming sense of emptiness you're left with when Miles pulls out of you, sitting up is easy. He doesn't need any help falling into the seat, legs a smidgen too long to sit back here, his knees digging into the backside of the passenger seat. And you're fortunate that the ceiling in this car is rather high because sitting on his lap puts you up much higher than you expected.
His hand disappears between your thighs, carefully taking hold of himself and guiding the tip back to nudge at your cunt. Ugh, it's perfect. The aching stretch of taking him once more, how he manages to still find those niche little spots that toys always seem to miss. So good that your jaw is slack before you've even taken all of him.
"Better?" You're already breathless, arms lazily coming to rest around his shoulders. 
He's not doing much better than you are, head leaned back against the cushion, peering back at you with such an unfocused gaze that you reckon he might be on another planet. "Uhuh." But his hands rise to squeeze the sides of your hips, hanging on as you rise up.
You're gonna be in so much trouble if one of your wedding guests walks outside and catches a glimpse of your silhouette rising and falling. Never in their wildest dreams would they suspect that you're getting fucked by the coyote from the front desk. Your dripping pussy clenching around him like a vice, so wet that he almost slips out of you entirely.
"Fuck," hissing, your nails biting into the back of his pale neck, "Miles."
You were trying to go slow, but you can hardly control your own body, rhythm dissolving before you can even get it established—short, jerky movements, so frenzied that you can feel the vehicle sway with it. Mouths clash. Teeth knocking together. Miles and his pitchy whimpers damn near eat you alive. 
"This is so bad," he's panting like a dog, cheeks flushed so red that you can see it through the neon glow. "So bad..."
Beneath you, his hips jerk upward, meeting you halfway. By the sound of it, he surprises both of you, crying out so sharply that you reckon the whole damn hotel heard it. You can't even find it in yourself to worry about getting caught. Not when he's twitching inside of you, hitting right where you crave him most.
 "Feels good, feels good, oh my god," tears welling up in his eyes, already threatening to creep past his waterline, "fuck."  Whimpering in the pitchiest little tone you've ever heard out of him. 
He's so perfect. You think you could die happy right here and now.
It's so distracting that you don't realize what he's doing until his rough thumb is bumping against your clit. His pressure wavers, light as a feather one moment and then directly rubbing into it the next, struggling to keep up with your frenzied pace. But it's...it's...
"Miles, keep—" begging like your life depends on it. Punctuated by the lewd slap of skin on skin. "Keep doing that."
Those tears spill over his cheeks, a hiccup bubbling out of him, unraveling right in front of you. His legs squirm behind you, knees knocking together, can't stay still to save his life. 
"Oh god, oh god," he's babbling. Head lolling back and forth like it's too heavy for him to keep up, yet his watery eyes remain on you, never once glancing away.
It's so much. You don't—you don't know how you're keeping it together. An ache blooming in the muscle of your thighs, knees digging uncomfortably into the crook of the seat. You're certain it'll leave a visible mark on them, but you can't stop. Hopelessly chasing the kiss of his cock head against your nerves and the drag of his length inside of you.  
"I'm gonna...I'm gonna..." you know what he's trying to say; you're feeling it too. He stiffens, fighting to speak. "Baby, I'm gonna cum in you if you don't stop—"
"Cum in me, Miles," cutting him off entirely. Too damn impatient to keep quiet. Not when you can already feel a burning coil in your lower belly, winding tighter and tighter. 
Those pretty blue eyes roll into the back of his head without further warning. Back arching, hips lifting off the seat, lips parted with a silent cry. The thumb on your clit spasms in tune with his cock, pulsing deep inside, flooding your pussy with his cum. 
But you're not there yet. Trapped on a frustrating edge that you can't seem to fall over. Clenching so tight around him that you can already feel his cum spilling out and onto his pants, making a horrible mess that you don't have the means to clean. Your dominant hand drops down, knocking his out of the way, fingertips finding your clit.
All of a sudden, Miles is alive. His whole body jerks. Squirming back and forth. Whimpering.  Whining. Feet kicking at the floorboard. It's too much for him, you know it is, but this isn't his first rodeo, and he's not telling you to stop. 
"Feels too good, feels—" his hands clamp over his own mouth, one over top of the other, and even that hardly works. 
"No," pawing at his wrists with your other hand, half-hearted, but the intent is still there. "I wanna hear you." 
And he does. Arms hesitantly falling. Grabbing at the seats like he doesn't trust himself to not do it again. His head tilts back, a flurry of short, pitchy noises falling from his parted lips. Moaning like a cheap whore. Oversensitive. So damn eager to let you use him. Uncaring of who may overhear or what goes on outside this tiny car.
Heat rushes through you, skin prickling with a familiar tension. There's a tremor in your thighs that wasn't there before, cunt fluttering around him, muscles set alight. The coil in your lower belly winding tighter and tighter until you can't fucking breathe. 
"C-cum," Miles stammers through a hiccup, blinking up at you, "cum on my cock, please." 
And you do. Freezing without an ounce of warning, the car seeming to spin on its own as your orgasm finally, finally washes over you. It's as if you've been sucked out the window and up into the storm clouds above, absolutely fucking weightless as you cum around his cock. Every little twitch has him bumping into those abused spots, so exhausted that the only thing they can do is send a tingle through your thighs.
It takes you a good minute to realize why your forehead is so warm all of a sudden. 
"I think..." Miles only starts talking when you lift your face from the crook of his shoulder, leaning back to get a look at him, "I think you almost killed me." But he accepts your kiss without complaint, humming into it with a grin.
"I can take you for another round if that's what you want," teasing, just to get a reaction out of him. You don't know if you could go again, even if you wanted to.
His head shakes back and forth, tear-stained cheeks glistening in the light. "Nuh-uh," interrupted by a giggle, "doll, you wear me out anymore, 'n I'll be asleep before you're even finished with me."
Your noses unintentionally bump into each other, a little too close. Miles shakes his head once more, rubbing them together.
"You still certain you wanna run with me?" He murmurs after a moment. There's a softness in his eye that suggests he wouldn't hold it against you if you were to turn and go back into your hotel room. Accept an incompatible partner in exchange for certain financial stability and status. 
Someone who doesn't bury his head under your shirt and listen to your heartbeat when the hotel down the road sets off fireworks. Who won't wake you in the middle of the night, shivering over a dream that he never wants to describe. 
Miles doesn't have all that much to offer. You know it. He knows it. But just looking at him has made you happier than anyone else ever has, flaws and all. Lord knows he wasn't lying when he promised to love you until you couldn't stand it because he already does.
You couldn't ask for anything more.
"For you?" Whispering against his lips, a secret to be shared just between the two of you. "Always."
For eleven months, nobody knows what happened to you. 
A newspaper calls you an altar runaway but doesn't quite blame you for doing it, either. Photographs of you litter the streets of your hometown and the little city that the El Royale is considered a part of, but you're a long way from there. Settled down in an adorable apartment, working a job where no one recognizes you. 
You're beginning to think that this is what bliss feels like. Miles and his warm arms, endearing coyote quirks, and sudden bursts of energy that leave you two giggling on the couch or venturing into a diner in a faraway town, just for the hell of it. He breaks apart on some days, but his promise never loses its shimmer, undamaged, regardless of it all.
The author of that article claims she spotted you walking out of a grocery store, hand in hand with a man who smelled like a coyote, with a dainty little ring around your finger. Nobody believes her when she reports it on the front page, and that's okay because it's your own little secret.
It's no one's business where this ring came from, how Miles painstakingly saved and designed it at a jewelry shop down the road, whittled a ring box with his own two hands. Whether or not it's a wedding or a promise ring is anyone's guess; you've no plans to tell. 
"Honey," Miles whines, feet audibly padding into the room. You've hardly got the energy to lift your head. "You gotta quit leavin' your purse on the counter."
Wary, you pry one eye open. "Did you spill water on it again?"
"Might've," and you suppose that's why you can hear the fan running in the dead of winter. 
The bed dips as Miles slips under the covers, bare legs tangling with yours before he can even get settled. One of these days, it will get cold enough to convince him to wear more than just an oversized t-shirt to bed, but today isn't that day. Hell, it may never come because he's long since figured out that he can nuzzle up and steal the heat off of you instead.
 You don't need to look to know that he's beckoning you in; that fussy little whine of his tells it all. Coyotes. Talkative even when they're not using their words. Snuggle bugs, too. Miles already has his head nestled on top of yours, and you're not even finished getting situated. 
"I love you," he whispers, those three little words far too delicate to be said any louder.
"I know," giggling. He told you while you were brushing your teeth just a few minutes ago, can never seem to quit saying it. "I love you too."
This bed is comfortable, but it'll never match the warmth that his arms bring. 
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alwritey-aphrodite · 6 months
Note
I’m so excited for fall prompts!! Please do Jamie tart with prompt 31. Fall farmer market?
2023 Fall Blurbs
Spending a morning with Jamie is a rare luxury, despite the fact that you’ve lived together for months. During the week, he’s up and out of the door for training with Roy before the sun even thinks about rising, and most Saturdays he needs to get ready for the match of the week, regardless of if it’s home or away. Sundays, though, are always your mornings.
It’s the one day that Jamie takes a break from all his extra training, and if he ever has a match, it’s later in the afternoon, giving you plenty of time to spend together. Most mornings, you simply take advantage of waking up next to each other, spending hours wrapped in each other’s arms and talking about whatever comes to mind. Sometimes, though, you’ll get dressed and head out to a cafe or a little restaurant for a nice breakfast that neither of you have to cook.
On one of these trips to your favorite cafe, you stumble upon a fall farmer’s market, booths set up and spread out all along the Richmond Green. Without even thinking, Jamie changes course and heads towards the stalls, knowing how much you miss all the summer markets once the weather cools off.
There’s plenty of fresh produce still, berries left over from the summer harvests and apples and pears and more vegetables than you could count. You pick up plenty, knowing how intense Jamie takes his training and knowing how much he loves fresh fruit. Looking up after paying and thanking the stall worker, you realize that Jamie’s wandered off to a tent farther ahead, and you hurry to meet up with him.
“I got these for you,” you both say in unison, your hands full of fresh fruit and vegetables while Jamie holds out a bouquet of orange and yellow flowers. You grin as Jamie eagerly hands you the flowers and takes the bag of produce, glancing inside before pressing a kiss to your cheek in thanks.
The two of you wander the rest of the market hand in hand, stopping at whatever stalls catch your eye, with Jamie buying you anything you even mention liking offhand. You find a booth selling coffee and pastries, deciding to get your Sunday breakfast there instead of continuing on your original plan to your usual coffee shop and heading home with your haul of produce and flowers and fresh bread and pastries.
All in all, it was a perfect morning that bleeds into a perfect afternoon, spending it cuddled on the couch with Jamie while indulging in your favorite seasonal treats as a movie plays. You love and appreciate everything Jamie does for you, the extravagant dates and expensive gifts and fancy dinners, but you think days like this are just as good or even better.
Getting to spend time with Jamie, getting to cuddle with him and wear his hoodies and treat him to something he loves makes Sunday the best day of the week and makes days like today the memories that you cherish the most while you’re apart and waking up to a cold bed. For now, though, you’re cuddled together under a warm blanket and everything’s perfect.
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celestiaxoxo · 9 months
Note
hai i thought i’d send in an ask :3
you write for obey me so … Lucifer thoughts? i love him so much and its a bit difficult to req w/o knowing your style and preferences and stuff but thoughts on fangs on lucifer
hcs, a drabble ANYTHING just.. luci w fangs mhmm
—✧𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬!✧—
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HIIII! AND OMG I PERSONALLY LOVE LUCIFER ♥︎ HE’S JUST SO MAGNIFICENT AND HIS LINES ARE JUST SKSNSJSN—BUT HIM WITH FANGS?!>>> I THINK HE WAS SHOWN WITH THEM DURING THE NIGHTBRINGER TRAILER WHICH JUST MAKES IT BETTER!
DISCLAIMER : OBEY ME! Does not belong to me and all rights goes to its rightful owner. (English is not my first language so pardon any grammar or spelling mistakes)
WARNINGS : None!
WORD COUNT : 1.07k
Lucifer’s fangs aren’t something that many notice on the first time meeting him—due to him mostly being in his human form where his demonic features are carefully hidden away from privy eyes. It wasn’t something that he even really minded, having gotten used to the more extravagant aspects of being a demon but it made it easier to shrink them in his human form when trying to appear less threatening when interacting to both humans and demons alike.
His fangs can be easily described elongated, pointed, and prominently visible, adding to his oppressing presence and emphasizing his status as a powerful demon, not that he really needed much support in that aspect at this point. And were usually spotted when he either gave a smirk that showed more teeth that would be considered friendly or the more chilling moments when Lucifer was seething with enough rage to cloud his mind to make bare his teeth threateningly whatever unfortunate fool was unlucky enough to encounter his wrath.
If only the extra intimidating factor could actually help him when dealing with his younger brothers.
However there was a noticeable difference between his fangs when he was in his more human-like form and demon form, it became more obvious once something or someone pushes his buttons enough for him to lose his temper and snap (it could even be compared to a predator getting ready to maul his meal by ripping it apart with his fangs)
That of course doesn’t mean that his fangs completely disappear in his human form, even in his less menacing form it is still blatantly obvious to outsiders that there was something inhuman about him which was supported by the fangs that rested in the upper and lower canine teeth area, extending beyond the normal length of average human teeth.
Once the exchange program started being put into action and the less than pleasant disagreement happened with his brother he had noticed that with the increasing frequency of incidents that revolved around the second human exchange student that seemed determined to put their life in danger, he had gotten around to shifting into his demonic more frequently and it was left to question if he noticed the odd fascination that they had with a particular feature of his.
When the second exchange student was first brought into Devildom they were too panicked to take notice of any mistake that may have been important and instead focused on figuring out how they had landed on hell out of all places—so it shouldn’t be a surprise that they had forgotten most faces that were introduced in five minutes. Of course that changed overtime when they were relocated to their new home.
Then the TSL competition incident happened and it was the first time they saw Lucifer in another light.
When the tables had quickly turned against them and were forced to come face to face with Leviathan who in his blind rage had attacked them, was when they felt true fear settle in their bones as their body tightly locked into place and refused to move like a deer in headlights. Then in the next blink of an eye everything seemed to stop when an oppressing feeling traveled across that seemed to momentarily stop their breathing in place—like shadows spreading wide open, their attention was immediately trapped by the sleek feathers that were spread in front of their eyes. And that day had been when they had first seen Lucifer’s demonic form appear to stop them from dying. Quite the memorable moment.
Once he finally turned to look in their direction was when the human noticed his fangs after he started talking and for some reason they couldn’t drag their eyes away from his lips every time he talked. It was fascinating in a different way his wings were, which was probably why it took three calls of their name for them to finally drag their attention away from Lucifer and to the worried questions that seemed to think that their silence was because they almost ended their subscription with life.
And maybe for the sake of the poor decency that the exchange student still had left it was better for the others to keep thinking that.
But of course that wasn’t the end of it, not anywhere near close. The exchange student couldn’t stop thinking about how Lucifer looked at that moment—especially his fangs. That night they almost forgot the original plan with how in shambles their mind had been after that incident. It was only thanks to Leviathan himself that they had remembered about the TSL soundtrack that they needed to be able to distract Lucifer.
The problem was that well—the only human in the house doubted that they could now have a normal civil conversation without looking like a fool for staring straight at his lips while trying to give him the TSL soundtrack.
Yeah! Nothing could possibly go wrong.
“Come in.” As soon as they heard that they contemplated simply turning around and walking the other way just to avoid making a fool out of themselves but eventually decided against it after they remembered how much they had to do just to get their hands on this soundtrack.
And just on cue their eyes immediately went to were Lucifer’s fangs had previously been only to immediately move their eyes away after they noticed the expectant gaze of the man who they had been ogling at resting on them, clearly waiting for them to spill the reason they were here in the first place.
But it was a little hard to do when they once again were left surprised to notice that even in his more ‘human’ form Lucifer still had a pair of sharp fangs that gave him a more memancing edge, which probably worked wonders when intimidating others.
Or distracting them, like right now. Which was working, it was definitely working. A little too well if the struggle that they were going through while trying to formulate words was anything to go by.
“Soundtracks, am I right?”
“What.”
Ten minutes later the unwilling exchange student slowly closed the door to Lucifer’s office and breathed deeply, now really contemplating if going up the attic was worth it. But still walking up the stairs in a resigned manner having already gone too far to back out now.
But even then there was a specific moment when they were having their conversation that was probably gonna be engraved in their memory for more time than it should be considered healthy.
‘When he smirked—his fangs looked very very good on him.’ They wouldn’t mind being a witness to such sight in the near future again that’s for sure.
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EXTRA NOTE : Thank you for requesting I had a lot of fun writing this hcs even tho it slowly descended to Mc simping for Lucifer at the end! I hope this was to your liking.
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mika-writes-fanfics · 11 months
Text
Healing Touch
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Dabi x Fem!Reader fan fiction
Synopsis: You encounter an injured Shigaraki and offer your healing quirk to his aid. Little did you know, healers were hard to come by in the underground and Shigaraki takes a liking to your skills. To further his cause, he kidnaps you and holds you captive under the watch of the LOV. You play the role of the LOV's little healer while you think of a way to escape. Unbeknownst to you, the pyromaniac with a cold heart begins to melt in your presence. Your compassion and wit draw him in, all the while he swears it's only curiosity he feels toward you. But when your touch heals his burns and your personality soothes his anguish, Dabi begins to wonder, what exactly is he feeling for you? And why the hell does he feel so torn up when you slip away?
Warnings/Tags: stockholm syndrome, Dabi comforting reader, betrayal (by Hawks), mention of death (addressing Magne), mention of past injury (Mr.Compress), spoilers
Author's Note: I really tried my best, but I felt like it would be best to push the smut back a chapter. Though, I intend on making it extra spicy and long to compensate. Pls forgive me ;-;
Word Count: 5.4K
Link to AO3
Chapter Nine: Betrayal
You feel frozen in place, despite still being doubled over on the floor from coughing. Speaking of the floor, it takes you a bit by surprise to see your surroundings are so upscale. The marble tiles under your hands feel cold, and the ridiculously high ceilings of the foyer somehow give you agoraphobia. Judging by that and the grand staircase, you must be in some rich benefactor’s home. 
Dabi chuckles a bit at your confused stupor, understanding that the League being in a place like this must be a bit jarring for you. He stands up from his spot on the grand stairs and walks over to you, offering a hand to help you stand. You hesitantly take it and the memories seem to flood in at the contact. As soon as you’re standing, your hand slips out of his and you wring your hands together, as if it will quell the flashbacks. You seem to be distracted by the nostalgic haze until a passing thought brings you back.
“Wait, where’s Toga?” You suddenly remember, starting to come out of your initial state of shock. For good measure, you look around the room only to see no sight of the blonde teen. “She was holding me with a death grip before I showed up here.”
“The brat had another mission to run, Ujiko transported her somewhere else,” he answers. Your brow furrows at the unfamiliar name. From the sound of it, Ujiko must be some new member. Judging by that and the extravagant room you’re in, a lot must have changed for the league. Just what all happened in the months you’ve been apart?
“So where are we?” You ask, anxiously. 
“Deika city,” he nonchalantly answers. You sigh and rub your temples. You were hoping he’d give you a more specific answer, not some vague information about a city you’ve never heard of. 
“Okay, but which part of Deika city is hosting a get-together for villains in a fucking mansion?” Your snarky comment earns a soft chuckle from him.
“You’re thinking too small, doll,” he says. “This whole city is ours. Deika City is filled with villains.”
You freeze. 
He has to be joking.
But when you look at his slightly proud and smug expression, you realize he’s not. Your stomach sinks and your blood runs cold. A city filled with villains, a city filled with allies of the LOV is your worst nightmare. If you flee and are spotted in the streets, you’d be royally fucked. Though, if there are more people in their ranks, your possible openings are strangled. It’s unlikely you could manage to slip away, not with their numbers now.
“How exactly did that happen? You don’t just go from a villain club of eight to over a hundred overnight,” you ask, incredulously. 
“It’s a bit of a long story,” he starts. “All you really need to know is that we’re called the Paranormal Liberation Front now, and this is home base. We’re a lot bigger than before.”
“I see…” You mumble, struggling to absorb everything. To say your situation is overwhelming would be an understatement, but if your experience is going to be anything like the last time, you have to keep up. So far, doing that is easier said than done.
“Eh? That’s not what I was expecting from you. You ran out of sarcastic comments or something?” He goads, smirking at you. 
“I mean, I guess I could say ‘good job’ on not burning all the new recruits for once,” you offer, your playful jabs lacking their usual enthusiasm. “Guess you’ve changed a bit on that front.”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I did burn a few,” he admits. You’re not really surprised at the confession. “‘S not like I’ve changed that much.” 
He’s right. Despite the time that has passed and all the changes the league has undergone, Dabi remains mostly the same, almost exactly as you last saw him. Though, there is one thing that’s a bit different about him. He’s not nearly as thin as he once was. The muscles in his arms are more defined, and judging from how some of his burns have started to slowly spread, you wager it's a result of fighting and using his quirk. 
His voice draws you out of your thoughts before you’re able to think about it more. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying,” he says. He starts walking off down a nearby hall and passes an expecting glance at you over his shoulder. Not wanting to be left alone in an entirely new place, one filled with strangers and potentially unpredictable villains, you follow close behind.
All you can do is follow him through the halls, navigating around strangers as you go. It makes you uneasy, to see so many new people and to feel them watching you with mild interest. You find yourself staying closer to Dabi’s side, hoping that his presence would dissuade them from making some gross comments. After what happened with Muscular, you’re much more guarded around new villains and much more eager to stay close to Dabi. Even though you’re in this situation, at the very least, Dabi has your back. Remembering the way he protected you and cared for you makes facing whatever comes next a little easier. You can’t help but trust him. Though, even with him at your side, the fear of others doesn’t fully dissipate. 
Dabi occasionally steals glances at you as the two of you walk through the halls. He can see the stress clearly written on your face. Dabi’s not delusional, not like how Toga and Twice can be. He knows you’re not too thrilled to be here. You didn’t choose this life, and to be pulled into the league’s whirlwind again has to be more than just frustrating. Not only that, but he can tell you’re on edge here. It’s gotta be terrifying to be around so many villains, to be around so many strangers at once. He’s good at reading you, and he can tell you’re worried about your safety.
“Nothing’s gonna happen to ya, you’ll be okay,” he assures. You cast him a look of doubt, unable to believe his reassurance.
“How do you know though?” You counter. 
He wants to say, ‘Because I won’t let anyone hurt you’ or maybe even ‘Cause I’ll be by your side’, but he can’t seem to bring himself to open his mouth and tell you his feelings. You’re already spooked as it is. Besides the small part of him that fears your rejection, he’s afraid of scaring you off by saying something so sappy and soft.
“I just do,” he replies instead. You remain unconvinced, your disbelief still deeply rooted in your face. He doesn’t know what else to say, how else to console you. He guesses that the only thing he can really do for you right now is to get you to your new room. Maybe you’ll return to your old self after settling in. At least, he hopes so. 
“Okay,” you softly respond, your voice sounding detached and empty. You don’t ask what’s next, silently surrendering yourself to whatever comes your way. He leads the way, and you wordlessly follow.
The gravity of the situation continues to weigh down on you as you pass more throngs of villains loitering in the halls. You’re starting to doubt you could ever get away due to the sheer numbers the PLF has amassed, not that you were able to escape before when there were fewer villains keeping you in check. With the league, just a handful of people with dangerous quirks was enough to dissuade any reckless attempts to run. Back then, you tried to methodically bide your time and plan around any weak links, but in the end, it was the heroes that got you out. But now? There are way more eyes watching you. If that wasn’t bad enough, you’re completely unfamiliar with your new environment. Any attempts to run would be an ill-advised gamble with your life, and you’re not really in any position to be making any bets. 
Maybe it’s time to fold your cards.
Maybe… maybe you should just give up. 
There seems to be a commotion coming from down the hall, causing you to pause your depressed spiraling and put your thoughts on the back burner. Your ears pick up on the sound of a familiar voice calling both yours and Dabi’s names, and you look up to see a familiar black and gray bodysuit approaching the two of you. It’s none other than Twice, happily waving at you as he makes his way over.
“Heya y/n, it’s nice to see you again,” he greets in an excessively cheerful tone, a hallmark of one of his more positive split personalities. In true Twice fashion, he immediately follows up with the opposite. “Ugh, why is she here?”
“Hey, Twice,” you greet. Instead of lying and saying you’re glad to see him again, because seeing Twice and getting kidnapped typically go hand in hand, you decide to make innocent small talk. “How are you and the others holding up?”
“I’ve been great ever since finding out I’m not a clone! I can make copies of myself again without worrying I’ll disappear, it’s amazing! The others have been doing well, and super busy too. Toga, Spinner, Dabi and I have a lot to do in the PLF now that we’re commanders of the PLF,” Twice answers, extremely enthusiastic. 
‘Wow, okay. That’s a lot of information all at once,’ you think. You’re still reeling from the outpour of Twice’s hurried and lively words. Though through the jumbled facts and new changes, you noticed something. His omission of quite a few members has you concerned.
“What about Magne? And Compress?” There’s a sharp silence and a slight pause in his actions. His reaction makes you regret asking. Clearly, something terrible has happened.
“Magne,” Twice starts, trailing off. His voice is strained with sadness, and his hands seem to shake as well when he completes his sentence, “She’s… no longer around.” 
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you apologize, offering your condolences. Although you didn’t know her for long, and she was another obstacle in your escape, you still find yourself feeling a little shocked and upset. What’s more is you noticed how Twice avoided saying anything about Compress, serving to heighten your emotions. “Did… Did Compress also..?”
“Lost an arm. He’s okay though,” he explains. You sigh a little in relief, before catching yourself. Aren’t you supposed to feel indifferent about this? Since when have you grown to care this much? As you’re about to spiral into confusion, Twice bounces back from his previous bout of grief, changing the conversation to something more lighthearted. “You should see his new prosthetic, it’s super cool!” To which he immediately follows up with, in a much whinier voice, “No it’s not! It’s a big hunk of metal, how is that cool?”
“It’s good he pulled through at least,” you reply. Given what happened to Magne, you’re afraid to ask about Kurogiri, fearing you’d get the same answer. You decide to tuck it in the back of your mind and ask some other point in time. You’ve had enough grief for one day.
Twice’s tone switches, designating a switch, and he speaks once more, “You know, it’s great that you’re back, I was starting to worry about Dabi. The man was really mopey there for a while.” Dabi shoots Twice a glare, an interaction that you’d normally find funny. 
“Hey Twice, didn’t you have to go meet Sanctum right around now?” Dabi asks in an annoyed tone. Twice instantly stops in his tracks.
“Oh crap, you’re right! I gotta go! See ya later,” he rushes out. His tone switches as he’s hurrying past the two of you and he jeers, “Yeah! Have fun with your girlfriend, Dabi!” Twice quickly runs down the hall, leaving the two of you alone together once more. 
“Tch, that fucking guy,” he grumbles. You can tell Twice’s teasing embarrassed him. He shoves his hands in his pockets and averts his gaze, his cheeks still painted pink. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.” 
The two of you start walking off together, headed to some unknown destination to you. He leads you through the halls, passing by people conversing along the walls. From what you can tell, the PLF is made of very diverse people. You’ve seen several interesting, unique mutant-type quirks within their ranks. But you can’t help but wonder, amongst all these people, surely one must have a healing quirk. If that’s the case, why would they want you?
“Hey, Dabi, can I ask you something?” You ask suddenly, breaking the silence. He glances over at you from the corner of his eye as the two of you continue to walk on.
“I guess,” he answers. He can’t help but feel a little uneasy at your random question. Just what are you wanting to know?
“I can’t help but wonder… Why have I been brought here? There are other healers out there, surely there’s at least a couple around,” you confront. He stops in his tracks. 
Your movements stall and you swallow thickly, nervously waiting for his explanation. He’s not really sure how to go about this, hence his stalling.  There are a lot of things he knew you wouldn’t be too happy to hear. Besides Magne and Compress, this is one of them. He just didn’t think you’d ask about this so soon. But then again, you’ve never been one to hold your tongue and suppress your curiosity. You’d bring it up eventually. 
“Again, it’s a bit of a long story,” he avoids.
“It’s not like we don’t have time,” you urge. He sighs. Your insistence forces his hand.
“The short bit is that before we joined forces with this group and became the PLF, they had some weird ideas. They only really accepted strong, offensive-type quirks, anything that can be used tactfully, ya know? So there aren’t many healers around, if at all,” he explains. As much as that’s an acceptable answer, you can just tell there’s more. Yes, you understand that they need healers, but it still doesn’t explain why you were wanted specifically. You look at Dabi expectantly, encouraging him to continue. “And, well, to be honest, Shigaraki is still a little pissed over the hideout raid and losing Kurogiri. Getting you back was a win for him.”
“So what, I’m a part of some revenge plot?” You scoff.
“In a way. Taking you back was a mix of wanting to make sure our informants were trustworthy and wanting to test the competency of the heroes,” he clarifies. There’s a smug look on his face when he adds, “And it looks to me the heroes failed, but who’s really surprised there?” Your face drops. 
“What do you mean?” You interrogate. “How have they failed?”
“They haven’t launched an attack to rescue you,” he points out. “Which means they either don’t know where we are yet, or they have bigger plans and won’t risk exposing their advantage over someone they deem ‘expendable’. You know, all that ‘greater good’ bullshit.”
It felt like a punch to the stomach, to hear him so bluntly state that you’re viewed as sacrificial. The worst part is, the logical part of your brain can’t even formulate a counterargument. Dabi knows tactics. What he says is true. But even so, you still hold onto a bit of irrational hope. You continue to deny the idea that the heroes have left you to the wolves. You’ll survive and find your way out of this forest. You’ll be saved and put this all behind you, right?
“How do you know? How can you be so sure?” You argue. Your rebuttal sounds unsure. The shakiness of your voice gives away your lack of confidence.
“Well, to start,” he begins. The conversation seems to fade into the background as you see a flash of color in the nearby crowd. 
No.
There’s no way.
Your stomach sinks and your breath gets caught in your throat upon seeing crimson-red wings. You desperately hope you’re mistaken, and that when you blink your eyes, you’ll realize it was all a trick of the light, a sheer hallucination. Only, it never happens. Your fears are confirmed by the sound of his carefree laugh. Hawks is here, happily conversing with other PLF members like he belongs. What’s worse is you recognize a few of his friends to be heroes as well. You even see that Sliding Hero in the group, the one that Toga disguised herself as. 
You can’t believe you trusted the heroes.
You regret trusting Hawks.
How could you have been so blind? How could you have felt at ease around him? How could you have believed the heroes were on your side? How could you ever have thought you’d escape from all this? Seeing him here makes you realize that you were never safe. The veil of safety was a lie. 
Hawks’s feathers seem to stiffen and quirk up, as if he can feel you staring daggers in the back of his head. He glances over his shoulder and locks eyes with you. Your eyes start burning upon seeing his face. His eyes widen and his eyebrows raise, almost imperceptibly so. He doesn’t stare for a moment longer and tears his gaze away from you, directing his attention back to the group of PLF members in front of him. You can’t seem to look anywhere else while your mind spirals out of control, filled with endless thoughts of self-blame and despair. 
With the grim realization that the PLF is everywhere and the lack of viable escape opportunities, your future seems completely out of your control. You’re now nothing but a passenger in your own life. The tides of change have already swept over your life, and now it is time for you to sink or swim. But how are you supposed to keep going when you have this anchor tethered to you? The weight of hopelessness is slowly drowning you. You’re sinking down to rock bottom. 
A couple tears fall over your lash line as you silently cry. You’re completely defeated. 
There is no getting away from here. 
Escape is foolish. 
A hopeless pipe dream.
All the while you’re on the downward descent into hopelessness, Dabi takes notice of your catatonic state, not that it was hard to, with how you froze and stopped responding. As long as he’s known you, he’s not seen you cry once. It amazed him, honestly, how you were so strong. He’s seen notorious villains crumple at the league’s feet, folding under the weight of their fear. But you… you held your head high. You hid your feelings behind a sharp tongue and a veil of sarcasm, always ready to quip back at Shigaraki, a man that can erase anybody from existence with a single touch. Seeing you like this, seemingly broken, is more than disconcerting. 
Just what is going on in that head of yours? What happened to make you fall apart like this?
He follows your eyes, realizing they’re glued to the group of people in front of you. To him, there’s nothing out of the ordinary, just normal PLF members talking to each other. But it’s then he realizes why you might be upset; they’re heroes. This is your first time seeing their kind amongst the PLF. You're seeing his truth, you’re seeing the world as he sees it: a corrupt society filled with false heroes. False heroes that lie and cheat, with hands nearly dirtier than his. When he first became aware of the facade, when he was no longer blind to the propaganda, he reacted with hatred and rage. But you aren’t feeling what he felt. Your situation and his are not the same. You’re gripped with shock and despair. You didn’t willingly enter this life like he did. And unlike him, you can’t fight back against the injustices of society, not with your support quirk. 
But there is one more thing that’s different; you won't be alone. 
Like he was.
“Y/n,” Dabi calls, pulling you out of your stunned stupor. You’re slow to snap out of the daze, reacting much slowly under the weight of depression. 
“Huh? What?” you reply. You’re careful not to turn to his voice, lest he gets an unobstructed view of you and realizes you’ve been crying. Unbeknownst to you, he already saw. 
“You spaced out on me,” he says.
“O-oh,” you stutter. You turn your head in an attempt to hide your tears and wipe evidence away, subtly. Your voice wavers a bit when you offer a meek and quiet, “Sorry.”
“‘S fine,” he dismisses. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” you choke out. Your voice betrays you and cracks under the strain of your emotions. You swallow against the lump in your throat, determined to mask your feelings. “I’m fine.” He looks at you with doubt and disbelief, narrowing his shrewd, cobalt eyes at your pitiful effort at lying. His expression is telling; he knows you’re lying. You’re at least thankful he doesn’t press the issue. 
He glances over back at the heroes, hearing Hawks’s annoyingly cheery laugh ring through the room. Dabi doesn’t want to stay here any longer, not when the reminder of your sadness is constantly hovering nearby. “Let’s just get out of here, yeah?”
You agree, all too eagerly, and the two of you continue on, this time, without interruptions. The silence that settles between the two of you as he leads you to some unknown location gives you a brief respite. You can breathe easier as you walk behind him, now no longer concerned with hiding your apparent emotional state. It helps to see the halls start to thin out as you walk by. From what you can tell, not many loiter around this wing of the building. You’re practically alone with Dabi, save for a few passersby.
He finally stops in front of the door and his voice cuts through the silence. “This is you,” he says, nonchalantly.
“What?” You ask. 
“Your room. This is where you’ll be staying,” he clarifies. He opens the door and allows you to walk in first. He shuts the door behind him, careful not to let it shut too loudly, in an attempt to not overwhelm you more than you already are.
The lavish interior of the mansion extends into the room as well. All things considered, your living situation is far from terrible. The room is nice and spacious, with high-quality furniture and a large bed to match. It seems you even have your own bathroom, making sharing one with the league a thing of the past. You wander further inside, running your fingers along the pieces of furniture as you pass by until you mindlessly find your way to the bed. The events of the day are catching up to you, and you can’t help but want to just take a moment to rest. You sit down on the bed, testing the softness of the mattress. A sliver of optimism creeps into your mind. At least you’ll be sleeping in a much more comfortable place than before. 
“Not too bad, am I right?” Dabi asks you. You silently nod, feeling too devoid of energy to say much more. 
You lay back fully on the bed and kick off your shoes, haphazardly discarding them on the floor next to the bed. Silence creeps into the room, but despite the awkward lapse in conversation, you can’t find it in you to care. The feelings are racing back to the surface, much to your dismay. You stare at the ceiling as you border on breaking down again. The half-assed facade is already cracking, and with each passing thought, the mask begins to shatter, piece by piece, along with your will to fight. 
“So what’s going on with you? You’re too quiet,” he finally confronts. Dabi leans on the wall and crosses his arms, confronting you with a stern expression. 
“What are you talking about?” You deflect. Your voice gives you away. You sound unlike yourself, as if you’re devoid of life. Robbed of your hope. 
“You can’t fool me, y/n. I know you were crying back there,” he —. Dabi won’t buy into your lies. Besides the fact he can read you all too well, he’s a villain. In his time with the underground of society, he’s seen far more convincing liars than you. “What was it? What happened?”
“I-“ you attempt to strangle out. The words escape you, cut off by an impending crack in your voice. You close your mouth and give up on trying to speak. Your cheek feels like it could bleed when you bite down on it, distracting yourself from the burning you feel in your eyes. 
“Go on,” he urges. He has an inkling as to why you were upset, but he wants to hear you say it. 
You let out a shaky breath in a pitiful attempt to stifle the oncoming tears. Your valiant effort fails. The tears start rolling down your cheek once more, now completely on display for him to see. He can’t help but feel a bit unsure of himself in this moment, seeing you falling apart in front of him. Even as a child and before becoming Dabi, handling emotions was never a strength of his, a weakness now worsened by his closed-off tendencies and diminished empathy response. His inability to cool down from overwhelming, heated emotions is his fatal weakness, and in this moment, this flaw of his becomes painfully obvious. He can hardly help himself sometimes, let alone someone else. What is he even supposed to do for you? 
If his unfamiliarity with comforting others isn’t bad enough, he doesn’t even know what’s wrong. But, if it’s what he suspects, he can’t solve your issues by burning them away, like he always had with his own problems. He thinks about his brother and how his little brother, in the absence of other solutions, would show him support by just being a shoulder to cry on. Thinking of his brother brings back the many nights he spent clinging to Natsuo. It never erased his pain nor did it treat the root cause, but for a short time, even just for the night, he remembers how it felt like someone was shouldering some of his burdens.
He doesn’t want to be known for sappy shit, but he’s made up his mind. He’ll be a shoulder to cry on, but only for you.
He kicks his shoes off, something you don’t notice as you’re too busy burying your face in the pillows, muffling the world with the thick, downy plush. He makes his way over to you, walking along the other side of the bed. You feel the bed dip next to you, the movement finally gaining your attention. You lift your head from out of the pillows and turn to the source, finding Dabi casually laying on the bed next to you. 
“C’mere,” he says, opening his arms and motioning for you to come closer. You’re a bit taken aback by Dabi’s invitation for affection. It’s a bit jarring to see Dabi attempting to initiate something like this, especially given the circumstance. Yes, he did hug you that one time, but that was more of a gesture for him. That embrace was sudden and out of the blue, this is something you’re given the choice to do. This is him attempting to comfort you, you realize. 
Before, you’d deliberate back and forth in your head about what it would mean to willingly seek out his touch. But now? His arms seem safe and inviting, the perfect respite from the dark world that you’ve been sucked into once again. And so, you move over to him and rest your head on his chest. His warm arms wrap around your body as you settle in. He tucks his chin over the top of your head.
The moment feels so soft and comforting that you find yourself wanting to cry once again, your sobs now bittersweet. You never expected Dabi, the league’s most closed off person, to be someone you found solace in. The two of you seemed to connect over your captivity, and as much as you tried to deny it, that magnetism you feel towards one another cannot be rationalized away. You want to stop fighting it, you want to give into your feelings. And you think you will, now. After all, do you really have anything left other than him? 
The realization that he’s all that you have left anymore sends a particularly heavy sob through your body. You bury your face further into Dabi’s shirt. The feeling of you crying in his arms has his heart twisting and guilt creeping in his mind.
He should let you go. 
He should give you back to your old life. 
He should allow you to move on. 
He should let you forget about him. 
But he can’t, and he won’t. 
Besides the fact that Shigaraki would be pissed at his disobedience and betrayal, he wants you around. No, he needs you close by. With you gone, his burns started to spread again. He was becoming closer and closer to burning himself up with every fight he endured. Not only that, but his chest seemed to ache when you weren’t around, and he found himself wanting to hear you bark back snarky comments and feel your hands roam over his skin. The longing for you was so distracting, borderline frustrating too. You were just always there, in the back of his mind, taking up space he normally reserved for simmering contempt. His thoughts were haunted by the ghost of you. He felt followed by the memory of your presence wherever he went. Even when he wasn’t awake, you were there, creeping into his dreams. With you here now, he understands, losing you is not something he wants to experience again. 
And so, the most he can do for you is not leave you alone and try to console you, in any way he can.
“‘S alright. ‘M here,” he soothes. Hearing Dabi trying to comfort you, especially when you know how Dabi isn’t the type to do that for just anybody, causes your lip to tremble. His thumb traces lines against the skin of your arms as he continues to hold onto you. 
You’re not quite sure how much time passes as you cling to Dabi and let yourself softly weep against his chest. The light filtering in through the window of your bedroom has dimmed considerably, letting you know that the night is quickly approaching. But with the sun setting and the night creeping closer comes the fear of being completely alone with your own despair. 
With considerable trepidation, you break the silence and whisper, “I know it’s getting late but… Can you stay a bit longer? I’m sorry I just… don’t really want to be alone right now.” You expect him to let you down, to say that he can’t and start to get up and leave you to the isolation of the night, but yet, he makes no attempts to rise out of your bed. Instead, he embraces you tighter. In a rare moment of softness from him, he presses a kiss to the top of your head as he soothingly runs his hands over your arms. 
“Yeah, I’ll stay as long as you need me to, doll,” he agrees. You feel immense relief at his words, but the gratitude you feel to him makes you even that much more emotional. A tense, shaky exhale escapes your lips and a few more rogue tears break past your lashline. 
Time seems to slow as you continue to wordlessly lie with Dabi and take all the comforting touches he gives you. Eventually, the exhaustion of the day catches up to you, and you fall asleep with his warm body next to you and his fingers soothingly tracing your skin.
Tags: @the-milk-anon ,@dabis-nipple-rings
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