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asumofwords · 1 year

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So this is a rquest. Aemond and his niece got bethroted but shes not happy about it. So, to tease him in hopes of him putting an end to their bethrotal, she starts flirting with every lord, guard or men that she finds attractive on the Red Keep. But, one night, she takes things to another level and sneaks out to a party at Flea Bottom and hes the one who finds her dancing on top of a table and, even if its a sight to be seen(thats what the men watching her with hungry eyes think too), he finally snaps and drags her out of there into a private place where some dubcon smutty action happens ;). With him telling her "if you want to act like a whore, ill treat you like a whore".

A/N: Oooooh, juicy. Thanks for the request!!! I honestly love the idea of giving Aemond a run for his money haha. I love seeing a man become feral. I hope you enjoy hehe.

Unsought Betrothal

TW: Dark!Aemond, 18+, Noncon, Dubcon, Aemond being a cunt, forced marriage.

Words: 6k

Pairings: Aemond X Reader, Cregan Stark X Reader

Your betrothal to the One-Eyed Prince was a shock you.

Alicent had insisted that you marry your uncle in order to strengthen the bonds of your divided house, and your mother Rhaenyra was all too eager to agree. Despite the relationship of the two women having soured over the years, and efforts to rekindle it beginning, you could not say the same for Aemond.

As a child, Aemond had been quiet, dutiful and albeit awkward, kind. Not quite fitting in, and baring the brunt of your brothers and other uncles bullying. Yet, underneath his quiet demeanour, was a simmering rage and vicious jealousy.

Lords and Ladies from all over the realm had come to join you this evening in the Red Keep to celebrate the engagement of the Velaryon Princess to the Targaryen Prince. The Hall was lined with tables and chairs, food piled high on gold and silver plates and goblets of wine and mead held in every persons hands. Music played loudly, and the overall mood of the room was happiness.

Except for you.

You sat at the table, watching the Court converse with each other, laughing loudly, and others dancing in the middle of the room as music played from the corner. All wore their finest gowns and silks, necks and fingers dripping with gold and jewels.

Aemond sat beside you stiffly, having not tried to converse with you as he simply observed the room of guests, goblet in his hand with a spiced wine from Dorne within.

You sipped heavily from your goblet as you watched the celebrations, wishing for them to end so that you may disappear into your chambers, and enjoy the last few moments of solitude that you may have before you are wed to the Prince.

How terribly dull.

You had begged your mother to not allow this to go forward, to not accept the betrothal, but she refused. It was a way to prevent a war, she had told you, and that she had not been allowed to marry who she had wanted to either.

And so you bit your tongue, and did what your mother bid you to do.

Sighing loudly, you pulled the goblet up to your lips, drinking the rest of the spiced wine quickly, feeling it leave a warm path down your throat as you swallowed. It settled in your stomach, and the buzz from drinking that evening began to rise.

You turned your head to look at your uncle, “Are you going to ask me to dance?”

Only the slightest, most imperceptible movement of his head, allowed you to know that he had heard you. You stared at the profile of his face, his sharp nose and face accentuated by the candle lit room.

“Hm.”

The least he could do was dance with you, to pretend that he wanted you. To pretend that he cared for your happiness. You both had gotten along when you were younger, but when Lucerys took his eye, he had become most bitter and spiteful, always looking at ways to take it out on you.

Aemond would openly call you a bastard, trip you over and sneer at you. He would make comments about your hair, and dresses, your brothers and your father.

He made your life hell.

Standing abruptly you slammed the cup onto the table and shoved your chair backwards, before walking down into the space where everyone was dancing, leaving your betrothed to sit at the table with your family in silence.

Bodies weaved around each other and smiles lit up the room. The Lords and Ladies parted like the sea, to allow you to dance with them all, their hands coming up to their partners before spinning back around.

As they made room for you, you were stood in front of Lord Cregan Stark.

Cregan was who you had hoped to be wed to, in fact who you had begged your mother to wed you to. You had heard nothing but praise about the man; of his bravery, of his loyalty, and of course his handsome looks. He had dark brown hair, almost black atop his head, it was lightly curled and sat just below his ears.

He wore all black that evening, and the way his clothes fit his body made you want him all the more. As you looked at him he smiled, teeth showing as he bowed before offering you a hand.

“Congratulations on your betrothal, Princess.” He spoke to you above the sounds of the music and people around you, as you held onto his hand and danced.

“Thank you, My Lord. You are too kind.” You blushed, as his hand came to hold at your shoulder. So respectfully.

“You have travelled far for such an occasion.” You noted.

“Of course, Princess. Who wouldn’t want to see such an event. And meet the famed Rose of the Red Keep.” You felt his hand come to the middle of your back, as you moved.

The wine coursed through your veins as you spun again, feeling a burning sensation on your skin. As you looked up, you saw Aemond watching you and Cregan dancing, one eye narrowed and his lips pursed into a hard line.

Perhaps you didn’t have to go through this marriage after all…

“I had hoped this would have been for us.” You purred, voice low so that only he could hear.

Cregan almost paused as he looked at you, dark brown eyes searching your face.

“You mock me, Princess.”

“I assure you, I don’t. I had asked my mother to betroth me to you. Though, she thought my uncle would be more advantageous. It is… tradition.”

The Stark did not answer you, instead his hand moved further down your black dress, settling on your lower back as you moved. You pulled apart from him, glancing up to see if Aemond was still watching.

He was.

“Would you mind accompanying me to get a drink, My Lord? I find that my feet are beginning to become tired, and I am thirsty for more wine.”

Lord Cregan bowed his head in acknowledgement, and led you through the crowd to the tables on the side. Picking up a goblet, you poured yourself a full cup, turning to face the dark haired man before thrusting the cup out to him to sip from first.

His large hand brushed over yours and you felt heat pull through you. He pulled the cup to his lips and sipped, before talking.

“If I had known about your intentions for me, I would have rode here sooner.”

His voice was as smooth as butter, and you felt yourself drawn to him.

You felt that watchful eye on you still, burning into the side of your face.

“Or maybe I will have to ride back to Winterfell with you.” You stepped away from the table and closer to Cregan, pulling the cup form his hand, sipping the wine heavily as you slipped up to whisper in his ear.

“I heard that Starks never break an oath.” You let your lips graze his ear, and you felt the man pull in a breath, deep into his chest.

“We don’t.”

“That is… impressive.” You purr leaning back to look at him again, “So if we were to marry, and to speak our vows, you would honour them?”

“Would you?”

“One flesh,” You placed a hand on his chest above his heart, “One heart, one soul, now and forever.” You smiled at him.

As you moved to lean closer to him, to invite him to follow you, to ensure people would witness you leave with him, to embarrass Aemond so that Alicent would annul the betrothal, you heard your name.

Both you and Cregan turned your head to see Aemond himself, standing beside you, eye glaring at your hand upon the Stark mans chest. Cregan took a step back, nodding his head at your betrothed.

“My Prince.”

Aemond did not even spare the Lord a glance, nor even an amused, aggravated or bored hum like he usually did. He simply stared at you, and where your hand now hung limply by your side.

“Come.” Aemond challenged you.

“Why?” You snipped back, turning to look at Cregan who stood where he was, looking all the more uncomfortable.

“You wished to dance.”

“Not anymore. I am tired.”

“Then I will accompany you to your chambers.”

“No thank you. I can walk myself.”

Aemond then turned his attention to the man who still stood beside you both, watching the stiff interaction.

“Do you have intentions to bed my betrothed?” Aemond questioned, as though he was asking about the weather. Tone all too uninterested, but lone eye bright with that quiet simmering rage.

“No, My Lord. We were merely talking.”

“Hm. Excuse us, we have much to talk about.”

Aemond wasn’t asking.

Cregan nodded at your uncle before back at you, “Of course.” Before he turned back away and into the sea of people celebrating behind you. You watched, eyes wide and rage building inside, as your uncle stood in front of you were Cregan had.

“I see what you’re doing.”

“I don’t have the slightest clue what you’re talking about, Aemond.”

“Hm.”

“Excuse me, I have to finish my conversation.” You pushed to try and walk past him, back into the crowd.

Aemond’s hand grabbed your arm as you moved to follow Cregan back into the crowd, his fingers digging painfully into the flesh of your arm.

“Let go of me.” You grunted, as you tried to yank your arm from his grip.

Aemond turned his head away from you, looking to the far wall where Ser Criston Cole stood. The man caught the Princes eyesight before coming towards you.

“Let. Go. Of. Me.” You growled, hand roughly pulling the One-Eyed Princes fingers backwards and off of you.

Ser Cole stood beside you, ever the dog of the Hightower’s.

“Please escort the Princess back to her chambers. She has had enough wine for the evening.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Ser Criston bowed, his brown eyes looking at your face expectantly.

“No. I’m not going. These are my celebrations. And I am celebrating.” You snapped. Trying once more to weave your way into the crowd, finding Cregan’s gaze on yours as he watched the scene play out.

“Don’t think you can whore yourself out to these Lords without me knowing.”

“Fuck you.”

“Hm.”

You snatched your arm away from his, before walking away from him back to the large table where you all sat. Alicent watched you anxiously as you sat back down, anger rolling off of you in waves, whilst your mother watched on in exacerbation.

You spent the rest of the evening sitting at the table, not speaking to anyone else, watching Cregan from across the room, and feeling the gaze of your uncle as he observed you from your side.

You grew tired and restless from the celebrations and eventually excused yourself, bidding the table a curt good night before leaving the Hall and making for your chambers. The further you got from the Hall, the quieter the hallways became, until all that you could hear was the distant laughter and chatter of the court, celebrating an already doomed marriage.

As you reached the end of another corridor that led to your chambers, you heard quickened steps on the stone floors behind you. Clasping your hands at your front you turned, expecting to see an angry Aemond, hot on your tails to berate you for the evenings events.

What you did not expect was Cregan Stark, rapidly approaching you, hair wild and smile wide. His cheeks were a soft pink from the alcohol and likely the brisk pace he made to catch up with you.

“My Lord?”

“Please, call me Cregan.”

“Cregan.” You smiled, “Are you alright?”

The tall man stepped forward in a rush, his large palms coming to grab each side of your face before pulling you hurriedly into a chaste kiss, his lips pressing roughly against yours. He pulled away just as soon as they touched.

You smiled at him, stomach doing flips, heat crawling up your neck.

“Some Lords and my men will be going down to Flea Bottom on the morrows eve. Join us.” He asked, voice rushed.

Your smile only widened.

“Where?” You asked, looking behind him to make sure that no one else was listening.

“At the White Stag. Say you will come.”

“I will.”

Cregan’s smile made your heart warm.

“Until the morrow. Goodnight, Princess.”

“Goodnight.”

The next day went by slowly, as you anxiously waited on night to fall, and for you to leave the Keep to sneak down to Flea Bottom to the White Stag, where you would meet with Lord Cregan Stark.

You had avoided Aemond like you usually did, opting to stay hidden in the gardens or your own chambers away from him, planning what to wear in your head mentally all day.

Soon the moon rose high in the sky, and you had your maids prepare you for bed, bringing a bath to your chambers, letting you soak in the hot water, scented with fragrant oils.

They could not leave your chambers sooner, and after you had finished your meal alone and had your hair brushed, you slipped into your bed and closed your eyes, pretending to be tired so that the maids would leave sooner.

As you heard the chamber doors close, you shot up out of bed, discarded the chemise over your head before throwing one of your black gowns on. Although you struggled to lace it yourself, you still succeeded. You pulled a large black cloak from your closet and pulled the hood over your head before placing a hand on the face of a painting. With strength you pushed the painting backwards, revealing a hidden pathway behind, one that you and your siblings and uncles had used as children, and one in which, you knew your mother had used in the past too.

Shutting the path door behind you, you slunk down the passageway, winding your way through the Keep, and then finally descending down large steps to Flea Bottom below.

As you reached the small city, the streets were lined with people and noise, drinks were being drunk, songs being sung and even performances in squares were watchers looked on at puppet shows and plays.

You wound your way through the streets, not entirely sure of where you were going. That was when you felt anxiety. You did not even know where you were, or how to get there. Or what even the White Stag looked like. You looked behind you and noticed that you couldn’t even remember what way you came.

Before you could let the anxiety overwhelm you, you felt a warm hand placed on your shoulder.

“Princess.” Came the smooth timber of Cregan Stark.

You smiled at the man who stood before you. Dressed in dark brown leathers with his hair brushed backwards out of his face, bar one lone curl that hung down from his forehead.

“You look lost.” He joked.

You huffed a relived laugh, “Would you believe me if I told you I wasn’t?”

“Not one bit.”

“Well, you'd best lead the way.”

The White Stag was a large inn, with stone flooring and walls, exposed wood detailing and low light coming from candles and a large fireplace. The windows were adorned with rich red curtains, and tables and chairs sat strewn amongst the space. As soon as you stepped inside, the air changed. It was hot, bodies were everywhere as they laughed and sang and even danced. Women sat atop mens laps or sang loudly as they stood nearby.

Cregan sat you down at a table that was full of men, you assumed also from the North, with three to four women standing beside, or leaning against them. Most ignored you as you sat, a large pint of mead being placed in your hand, as Cregan sat beside you. Turning his chair to face you fully, as you looked at each other.

“So, I have been thinking about what you said last night.” He spoke loudly over the sound of the inn.

“What did I say?” You teased.

“About oaths.”

“Oh, I think remember.”

“I thought of something else.”

“And that is?”

“Oi Cregan, who’s the girl?” Came a booming voice of a man across the table. His skin was pale and dotted in freckles, almost like constellations. He had short dark hair and piercing green eyes. Before Cregan could answer for you, you replied.

“Y/n.”

The man tilted his head. “Has the Princess lost her way?” He teased, smirk rising on his face.

“Leave her be, Dustin.” Cregan lightly warned the man, which only seemed to spark his interest more.

“So you are the Princess then. Where’s your husband?” Dustin asked, thick accent curling his r’s, as he looked behind you.

“I’m not married.”

“Ah, but you are betrothed.”

You sipped heavily form your drink.

“Not for a lack of trying. I had hoped to have that betrothal annulled. Do you have a spare horse?”

Dustin’s brow furrowed as he looked at you, then to Cregan beside you who laughed.

“You lost your dragon?”

“No, but I think the North would be far too cold for him. Plus, easily spotted.” You smirked, sipping again before turning your attention back to Cregan.

“So, what else had you thought of?” You inquired.

Stark smiled down at you as he shifted his chair closer, the sound of the wood scuffing on the stone below catching in your ears.

“Thought about oaths that I would make to you.”

“And what would those be?” You leant in closer, hand coming to touch his thigh.

“I would swear to honour you.”

“Go on.” You urged him.

“I would swear to give myself to you fully.”

“And?”

“I would swear to ensure that you never hunger or thirst for naught.”

“For naught?” You ask, heat building inside of you as you drank.

Cregan smirked in response.

“And what if I told you that I was starved?” You asked.

“Are you?”

“Of a sort.” You let your hand crawl higher up his leather clad thigh, the muscles rippling under your touch.

“Then I would have to work to fix that.” He smirked.

As the night continued, you and Cregan sat closer and closer to one another until your knees were brushing against each other. Dustin watched on shamelessly as a woman sat upon his lap, long slender fingers brushing against his neck as she spoke quietly into his ear.

The night was filled with the laughter and joy you had hoped for last evening. Ale was spilt upon wooden table tops and floors, as men and women began to sing louder and dance upon tables and chairs. Before long, the woman who had seated herself upon Dustin pulled you up with her, onto the table to dance.

You let her grasp your hand, as you laughed, looking back at an amused Cregan and and even more amused Dustin, as you pulled up your skirts to jump atop a large table, where four others had begun to stamp their feet and sing loudly to a song you had never heard. A sea shanty tale.

You let the ale guide your body as you twisted and danced, laughing loudly with the woman, who you learnt was named Sara. Her long auburn hair glowed in the light as you leant on each other to dance, one hand still tightly grasped in your skirts to keep them from ripping beneath your feet.

Cregan’s icy eyes watched your movements as you let a hand trail up the bodice of your dress, watching him with intent as you swayed. Stark leant back in his chair, legs widening, with one arm leaning upon the table as Sara placed a soft kiss to your cheek in excitement. You felt a blush crawl over your cheeks.

All eyes were on you, as the men watched you sway your hips, hands smoothing up your body in a slight tease. The ale making your movements bolder as you stared at Cregan, challenging him to take you somewhere more private, or if he so desired, there on that very seat.

Never before had you felt so desired.

As you bent forward to give the men a show of your cleavage, you felt the world tip suddenly, as a calloused hand ripped you from the table. Your ankle rolled sharply as you stumbled back onto the stone floor, iron grip bruising the soft flesh of your wrist. Your sight caught those of the table who watched you, no longer in a trance, stiffly.

You turned your head to you assailant, finding one piercing purple eye and another sapphire watching you in distaste. Aemond’s lips were pulled down into a sneer and he held onto you tightly, three men from the Kings Guard behind him, as well as Ser Criston Cole.

Cregan watched as Aemond towered over the both of you, looking down his nose as he watched in disgust, anger pouring from him in waves. And although he looked somewhat calm on the outside, you knew that this quietness was telling of Aemond’s simmering rage.

“Do continue.” Aemond purred, pushing you roughly towards Cregan, your feet stumbling beneath themselves.

“Don't-” You began before he interrupted you.

“-I think he was talking about fixing your hunger. Were you not, Lord Stark?” His one purple eye, boring a hole into Cregan's head.

Cregan did not answer, instead his jaw clenched.

“No?” The One-Eyed Prince mused.

“Aemond, stop.” You hissed, ankle sore from the way you landed on it.

“But you seemed so content, dancing for these Northerners, niece. Continue.”

“Fuck you. Craven.” You hissed, watching Aemond’s lip twitch upwards, before he looked back at Ser Cole.

“Ser Criston, have these men escorted to the edge of the city. I fear there has been treason this evening.”

Ser Cole and his men stepped forward, surrounding the table, as Cregan and his men looked up in shock. You looked at Cregan, wide eyed before turning back to Aemond.

“What? They did nothing wrong!” You began to panic.

“I fear there was a plot to tarnish your good name, Princess.” Aemond purred, snatching your arm painfully before beginning to pull you through the White Stag, and back out into the streets of Flea Bottom.

You dug your feet into the ground, trying to pull away from him, ignoring the slight pain of your ankle, but he was too strong for you, his bruising grip getting tighter the further he dragged you away.

“Stop! Let me go! They did nothing wrong!” You dug your fingers into his, trying to pry them away, but it was no use. He dragged you through Flea Bottom as onlookers watched.

You pulled a hand back, making a fist before you slammed it down onto his shoulder, “Get off!” You yelled.

Aemond stopped in his tracks, and you breathed heavily, still trying to pull away from your uncle. His head turned to gaze at you, his face completely devoid of any emotion, except the small twitch of his lip. His eye roamed you before looking behind you.

Then suddenly he was moving again.

Aemond pulled you into a small dark alley, bruising grip painfully throbbing up your arm. You looked frantically around you, but all had gone back to their business, and ignored the two Valyrians. He threw you forward into the space as your chest heaved, looking about to escape, but there was none.

“If you want to act like a whore, I’ll treat you like a whore.” He purred before he descended on you. His hands pushed you roughly against the wall of the alley, brick digging painfully into your back. You squirmed, desperate to get away from his grip, hands coming up to his chest to push your uncle away from you.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” He growled, hands roughly coming up to palm at your breasts and you fought to push him off, fear crawling its way up your throat.

“Did you truly think I wouldn’t know what you were doing?” He sneered, one hand pushing against your throat roughly, cutting off your air. Your hands flew up to try and pull his away as he kept you locked against the wall in the dark depths of Flea Bottom.

“You thought you could parade yourself like a whore,” His hand ripped the front of your bodice down, your breasts spilling forth from their confines as his violet eye watched greedily, fingers coming to pinch painfully against your nipple, “To try and have this betrothal annulled.”

The cool air kissed at your breasts, causing your nipples to harden. You pushed at him with all your strength, trying to run away from the sharp pinching of his fingers, and the lack of air he denied you. Each pinch made your body stiffen.

You whimpered.

“But you misunderstand me, niece.” His hand left their cruel assault upon your breasts to roughly begin hiking your dress up your body, you felt panic and fear begin to settle in your stomach as you dug your fingers into his chest sharply with your nails , trying to get him to let you go, shaking your head.

“Do you think I would let some filthy Northerners touch you?” His hand slipped under your skirts, brutally digging into the soft skin of your sex, “It will be my seed that will grow inside of you.”

Aemond’s fingers rubbed up and down your cunt roughly, gathering what little wetness was there, before he thrusted two fingers inside of you. Your eyes widened in shock as you felt the sharp sting of his intrusion. His fingers moved in and out quickly and painfully, pushing roughly into your warm heat as he watched your face.

“This is what you wanted, yes? To be treated like a dirty whore?” He purred, as breathless whimpers left your lips, your hands weakly pushing against his chest as you felt your vision begin to blur from lack of oxygen.

Your uncle’s hand left your throat and you sucked in a greedy gulp of air, a sob escaping your lips as you clawed at his arm, trying to stop his movements, whilst the hand that left your throat came down to roughly grasp at your exposed breasts.

“What would Lord Stark say to see you like this, hm? To see the Princess exposed in the filthy streets with her uncle inside of her cunt. Would he still want you?” He growled, hand quickening its pace as you felt a warmth begin to settle in your lower stomach, the pain fading away to be replaced with the soft trickles of pleasure.

“Stop, Aemond. Please.” You begged him, voice hoarse as a tear slid from your cheek. He had you pressed so tightly against the wall that you could not move your hips back to escape him, so that all you could do was let him use you.

“Please?” He mocked, face coming close to yours before he kissed the tear away from your cheek. He hummed.

Your betrothed thumb came to press sharply at your slit, as his fingers rubbed the soft spongey flesh inside of you, pulling pleasure from your forcefully.

A ragged moan left your lips as you jolted from the sudden pressure.

“Mmm.” Aemond hummed close to your ear, moving his hand faster and more brutally. You felt tears begin to prick at your eyes, as you felt yourself being forced closer to your peak.

“Are you going to cum, zaldrītsos?” (Little dragon) He purred in your ear, as his thumb swirled roughly against the small bundle of nerves, the coil in your stomach beginning to tighten.

“Are you going to cum on my hand like a filthy whore? Out in the open for anyone to see? Perhaps I should have had Cregan and his men watch how disgusting you are.” He mused, and you felt yourself clench.

“Go on, be a good whore and cum for me.” He growled, and you felt the coil snap, as his thumb and fingers sent you over the edge, crashing down into a powerful orgasm.

His hands did not stop their assault, as you tried to push him away from you, tears sliding down your cheeks as your body twitched in the aftershocks of your orgasm. His fingers only became rougher as they pulled at you, before suddenly they were ripped away, a gasp leaving your lips as Aemond roughly spun you against the wall, your cheek digging into the rough brick of the alley.

His hands pulled your skirts over the rump of your ass, before pulling you backwards towards him. Your hands caught the brick as you tried to pull yourself straight and away from him, as Aemond clicked his tongue behind you.

“Be a good whore, and take it.” He hissed before you felt the soft hard head of his cock brush against the lips of your cunt.

You moved to pull away but you were trapped.

“Uncle, please. No.” You cried, as you felt him push sharply inside of you, pain blooming within as he broke through your walls.

Aemond grunted from behind you before he started a brutal pace, his hips slamming against yours roughly, as you felt the painful sharp intrusion of his cock inside of you. The head of it, roughly hitting your cervix causing shooting agony to ripple up your body.

“So fucking tight.” He growled as he continued his assault, broken whimpers escaping your mouth as you used your hands to hold you up against the wall in purchase, trying to crawl away from him.

Your uncle leant forward, crushing you with his body as he rutted up inside of you, changing the angle suddenly, brushing over the soft spongey flesh inside of you, causing you to mewl.

“Does that feel good?” He mocked as he continued to rub himself against the spot, the pain of him taking your maidenhead replaced with the warm sparks of pleasure, building faster than before. You shook your head, trying to move away from him.

“No?” He asked, “Let me help you.”

Two of Aemond’s fingers shoved roughly into your open mouth before it snaked down the front of your dress, pressing against your clit, swirling softer circles around the nub.

Your cunt clenched against his cock as he continued to rut against you, his soft grunts in your ear as you felt yourself begin to wet around him, his cock sliding in and out of you smoother, aided by your arousal.

“I think it does feel good. I can feel your slick.” He mused as he continued to rub on you.

You felt yourself rapidly descending towards your second release, your fingers digging into the bricks as you began to chase after the peak, hips subtly pushing back against him. His fingers began to rub faster against you, as he thrusted harder into you, cock grazing that special spot as the coil wound itself tight, ready to break again before suddenly he stopped.

Aemond pushed himself fully into you, the head of his cock pushing snugly against your cevix as his fingers lifted away from your clit, preventing you from reaching your climax. A soft sob fell from your lips as your hips pushed back into him, chasing what was denied.

“Uh uh.” Your uncle tutted, “Beg.”

A whimper left your lips.

You refused to beg.

Instead, pushing yourself up and down his shaft shakily, trying to catch your release, though your movements were jagged and shallow, prevented by him pushing you up against the wall.

“Aemond.” You whispered his name, feeling the pleasure begin to simmer away from you, dwindling rapidly.

“Beg.” He purred, softly pulling out and then slowly pushing back in, his shaft rubbing through you, causing pleasure to spark.

“Uncle.” You whimpered again, grabbing his arm trying to pull him closer, but he did not budge.

“Be a good little whore, and beg for it.”

“Aemond, please.” You begged, as you pushed your ass back into him, using your hands to attempt to rind against him.

“Please what, sweet niece?” He purred in your ear, hand grasping your hip tightly to stop your movements.

You shut your eyes tightly before sucking in a shark breath, head turning against the bricks so that you could peer at him from your periphery.

“Please fuck me.” You whispered.

“I can’t hear you.” Aemond mocked, as ground his hips into you, causing a wave of pleasure to curl its way around your stomach.

“Please fuck me, Aemond.” You begged louder. Feeling shame and arousal crawling through you as you hid your face back into the brick of the wall, pushing your ass back into his crotch, feeling his cock gently slide through your folds.

“Good girl.” He praised, before thrusting roughly into you, setting a sharp pace, hips clapping into the flesh of your ass, echoing in the empty alleyway.

A hand wound its way up your throat to hold you still as he pulled you backwards, arching your back against him as he thrusted wildly into you, before the other hand snaked down to begin rubbing at your clit again, fingers slipping around it smoothly with your slick.

“Please, please, please.” You whimpered, hips pushing back against him as his lips kissed against your neck, your second release rapidly arriving with every thrust of his hips.

Aemond grunted against you as he felt you clenching around him, each push and pull of his hips dragging the head of his cock against your sweet spot, before it sent you tumbling over the edge.

The coil snapped and you found yourself moaning loudly into the alley, his hips continuing their brutal pace as he pushed you through your climax, his fingers continuing to rub circles against you, prolonging your release. You felt your slick drip down your thighs, and moaned.

“Yes.” He purred into your neck, before his teeth dug sharply in to your shoulder, his hips stuttering against you, as you felt his warm seed spurting inside.

You sagged against him, letting him hold you up as he continued to thrust into you slower, letting each spurt of cum settle deep inside of you, as some began to leak out of you and down your legs.

“Fuck.” He sighed dreamily, as he pushed himself to his limit inside of you, feeling your cunt twitch around him.

A dull ache began to settle in your core as you felt Aemond slowly slide himself out of you, feeling his seed and your release drip onto the dirty ground below.

You breathed heavily as you caught your breath, leaning your head against his shoulder as his hands gripped your hips, bruising your tender flesh, before he spun you around to face him.

His hair was messed, and a light layer of sweat had settle upon his forehead. The pupil of his lavender eye was blown out so that you could scarcely see the iris behind it. His gaze trailed down your body to your exposed breasts which heaved with every ragged and exhausted breath you took. A hand came to stroke the underside of one softly, causing goosebumps to erupt across your body.

“My sweet niece,” He cooed, “Such a good whore for me.” You almost keened at his praise as his eye landed upon your lips.

Your uncle leant forward to press a rough and punishing kiss to your lips, hand curling in your hair at the back of your head, denying you to pull away. You kissed him back lazily as you felt him smirk.

The One-Eyed Prince pulled back watching you intently before he smiled.

“We will be wed on the morrow, and you will carry my seed, and grow heavy with my child.” He looked down, brushing a hand against your stomach.

You blinked as you looked at him.

“If you thought you could escape me, you were sorely mistaken.” He leant in close, lips brushing your ears, “Iksā ñuhon.” He purred.

You are mine.

I hope you enjoyed that lil request! Thanks so much for sending it through, it was fun to write. :)

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chainmail-butch · 1 month

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A Speech For the Colonist.

It is my opinion that communist movements within the US fail because they refuse to address decolonization.

It is my further opinion that the contradiction between colonizer and colonized supercedes the contradiction of class. The Native American Nations are colonized, Black people are colonized, Hispanic people are colonized. Colonization is the key to white supremacy and white supremacy is the key to class within the United States and Canada.

If you talk to most white communists about decolonization within the United States you'll get things like, "Well, decolonization will come with the revolution because we'll give the people the autonomy and resources they need to care for their communities." This is the exact same rhetoric that alienated black revolutionaries from the American Communist Party in the 60s. "Under communism every worker will have what he needs and be able to give according to his means, so we don't need to worry about race."

Comrade, we do. We do need to worry about race. We cannot simply wish a reality away because in our minds Everyone Will Be White in a communist society.

We need to acknowledge the fact that every single White Person within the United States, and the rest of the Americas for that matter, is a colonist. Our institutions are colonial. Our industry is colonial. Our cities are colonial. Our infrastructure is colonial. Our lawns are colonial. Every single aspect of our lives has its roots in colonization.

We still plunder the earth like we're sending silver and timber back to England and Spain.

By pretending that we are not colonists we make it impossible to address the ways in which we colonize. By ignoring the ways in which we colonize we fail to address the ways in which we are imperialist. By failing to address our imperialism we fail address capitalism.

We are colonists. Pretending that this isn't the case doesn't make it any less reality.

You'll acknowledge the fact that we live on stolen land but would you hand Seattle back to the Duwamish? Would you cede Delaware back to the Lenape? Would you take up arms, and then lay them down to a nation of people that are unlike you? Would you take up arms and lay them down again for a nation of people that you might not agree with politically? Have you confronted your fear that they would treat you just like we treat them?

For that matter, how have you addressed your conception of Black Nationalism? Any white communist will tell you that Nationalism as a concept is counter-revolutionary but how do you address the fact that there is an entire race of people who were ripped from their homes and forced to colonize another land? The solution certainly isn't Liberia, which is itself a colonial exercise.

How do you address the fact that any black person will tell you that a nation created for and by black americans would be a pretty good deal in their book? How do address the fact that our colonial nation isn't their nation and they know it? What do you do? Do you call them reactionary? Do you tell them that their desire for a home of their own is because we orphaned their ancestors and that they need to get over it?

Comrade, these are the questions you need to answer. You need to listen to the people we have colonized and you need to really observe our material conditions.

We live with the unique situation that, as a result of a vicious and often ignored genocide, the colonizers are the majority ethnic group within the colonized land. White people make up 57% of this country. And unlike other colonized regions, there's no France for us to return to. There's no England, there's no Belgium, there's no Netherlands, there's no Spain. The working class white is stuck here. It's up to us to address our own reality and to understand that, ultimately, no way and no how can we be the face of revolution within the united states.

No white led communist movement will prosper because, even now, we still have too much to lose. Our people will never start the fight as we are now. Understand that.

#This isn't the completed speech #Which I am writing as homework for my Rhetoric class #but it encapsulates a lot of the ideas I want to address #Colonization #Decolonization #Communism

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catboygretzky · 11 months

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i have not read the silm but people always use it to go GLADADRIELS HAIR TO GIMLI can u explain

I wish i could do this without explaining so much of the silmarillion but i refuse to explain the entirety of the silmarillion

the first thing you have to know is that there's an elf called fëanor who was the most important elf of the early first age. he was a big deal. super smart, super talented, and he knew it. absolute cunt of a dude. was he an anti hero? was he simply a villain? idk at the end of the day he was a kinslayer of a cunt that committed atrocious war crimes. but he was smart and talented! (he created the silmarils which - well. as you may be able to guess are also a big deal)

super interesting character though. a 🔥 character, one may say.

so just. keep in mind that fëanor was super great at doing elf things (not so great at being a dad or just. having morals that weren't ambition and arrogance) and he was also galadriel's uncle.

now fëanor was obsessed i mean obsessed with galadriel's hair - literally everyone was.

Even among the Eldar [Galadriel] was accounted beautiful, and her hair was held a marvel unmatched. It was golden like the hair of her father and of her foremother Indis, but richer and more radiant, for its gold was touched by some memory of the starlike silver of her mother; and the Eldar said that the light of the Two Trees, Laurelin and Telperion, had been snared in her tresses. Many thought that this saying first gave to Fëanor the thought of imprisoning and blending the light of the Trees that later took shape in his hands as the Silmarils.

so yeah - pretty impressive hair on a pretty impressive elf. impressive enough to inspire the silmarils creation? maybe.

(everyone was obsessed, but fëanor was obsessed obsessed, there's this whole thing with him and light. see: silmarils, which literally captured the light of the Two Trees of Valinor and quite possibly were inspired by galadriel herself)

NOW fëanor begged for an entire lock of hair, and expected her to agree, three times. galadriel denied fëanor all three times.

to bring gimli back in - if you remember, gimli says his only desire is a single strand of her hair, not expecting to receive it but hey, she asked for what i desire most so!

by this point you may be able to sumise why it's a big deal without me telling you BUT

when galadriel tells him to name his desire and what she should give him, gimli says this

"There is nothing, Lady Galadriel," said Gimli, bowing low and stammering. "Nothing, unless it might be - unless it is permitted to ask, nay, to name a single strand of your hair, which surpasses the gold of the earth as the stars surpass the gems of the mine. I do not ask for such a gift. But you commanded me to name my desire."

"i do not ask for such a gift, but you commanded me to name my desire" whereas fëanor begged - gimli didn't even ask it of her, just answered her question about his desires.

but to everyone else this was a Big Deal

The Elves stirred and murmured with astonishment, and Celeborn gazed at the Dwarf in wonder, but the Lady smiled. "It is said that the skill of the Dwarves is in their hands rather than in their tongues," she said; "yet that is not true of Gimli. For none have ever made to me a request so bold and yet so courteous. And how shall I refuse, since I commanded him to speak? But tell me, what would you do with such a gift?" "Treasure it, Lady," he answered, "in memory of your words to me at our first meeting. And if ever I return to the smithies of my home, it shall be set in imperishable crystal to be an heirloom of my house, and a pledge of good will between the Mountain and the Wood until the end of days."

the elves went UM WHAT THE FUCK but galadriel just smiled because yeah, it was bold of him to ask, but he expected nothing and the only thing he would use it for would be to fix the (shitty) relationship between dwarves and elves.

so this look? when gimli tells legolas she gave him three hairs?

i'm sure inside he's thinking "holy shit holy shit holy shit", but it's definitely a turning point in their friendship. because well, if galadriel deems him worthy...

and when gimli said the only thing he'd use it for was to fix the relationship between elves and dwarves? HE DID.

and then galadriel let legolas bring gimli into elf heaven.

i'm sure others can say this much more eloquently, but tl;dr: galadriel said 'fuck you fëanor, go gimli go'

#this was long i'm so sorry #gimli #galadriel #the lord of the rings #fëanor #the silmarillion #tolkien #legolas #ask #lotr #gigloras #lord of the rings

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 3 months

Text

What is Broken!Aemond NSFW Alphabet

All of this applies specifically to the Aemond that is featured in my series What is Broken. Therefore, he is only discussed in his relationship with his wife (Wifey) and Alys. I'm going to do my best to not unintentionally spoil anything.

This may be the first NSFW alphabet to make people both horny and angry...

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

With Wifey, Aemond is an aftercare king. He showers her with praises, kissing every inch of her face while he holds her tight against his chest. He'll help her clean up then fall asleep with her in his arms, still murmuring praise in her ear.

With Alys, there isn't a lot of aftercare. He either gets up and leaves with a curt "thank you," or just roll over and tries to sleep. Every time he sleeps with Alys, he is flooded with a guilt that basically immobilizes him for about half an hour. Sometimes he cries, and sometimes he gets so mad at himself that he calls Alys back and fucks away his frustrations until he's so tired he passes out as soon as he cums.

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

Aemond has two favorite parts of Wifey. First, he loves her eyes. The same deep brown as Alicent's, he feels like it makes her softer and warmer somehow. Second, he loves her hands. He's always held her hand, since before they became romantically involved. Now, her hands do so many other wonderful things.

His favorite part of Alys (other than her big titty goth gf titties) is how little she looks like Wifey. It helps him not think about what he's doing to her while he's with Alys.

His favorite part of himself is his lips. There is very little he likes better than worshiping Wifey with his mouth, kissing every inch of her he can.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

Always inside, whether its a mouth or a cunt. When he's close, his brain just shuts down, so he never has the forethought to cum anywhere else.

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)

I mean... Alys.

But other than that, he did used to go a little further with Wifey than he technically should have before they got married (see here for an example).

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

Before Alys, he had like two or three techniques down pat, and not much beyond that. If Alys did anything positive, she at least taught him a little bit more.

F= Favorite position

With Wifey, missionary. He wants to be able to see her face and kiss her. Plus, he loves how it makes him feel like he's protecting her, surrounding her.

With Alys, he likes anything where he doesn't have to look directly at her face.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

1,000,000% serious.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

He doesn't trim the silver bush, but he keeps it clean.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

Almost sickeningly romantic with Wifey. Fully rough with Alys - there's no love there, just sex.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

Before he and Wifey got married, he had to take care of himself pretty often. But after, he could just go to her whenever he was in the mood and she'd be happy to help. Up until she started getting really sick at the start of her pregnancy, she never refused him.

After he started things with Alys, it was basically the same thing.

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

Wants to fuck Wifey while on dragonback, but she's never agreed to it.

Nothing with Alys, its straight to the point.

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

With Wifey, he prefers their bed. He's also enjoyed it on their couch, on the rug in front of the fire, and in the bath. They once, and only once did the deed outside their rooms - in a dark alcove in the hall right after they got married. They simply couldn't wait for the official bedding.

But he'll fuck Alys wherever. He always makes sure they're alone, but he's never patient enough to wait until they're in a specific place before taking her.

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

Literally anything Wifey does has the potential to set him off. He's just horny for her 24/7.

With Alys, it's not really anything about her, but rather himself. Any time his emotions are high, he's ready.

N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

There's nothing he wouldn't do if Wifey asked him to.

He always refused to kiss Alys.

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

Could live off eating Wifey's pussy, tbh. He's sloppy and overeager, but it works for her. He was hesitant to let her blow him, as he thought it might feel demeaning, but when she begged, he folded instantly.

Asked Alys for it, but never returned the favor.

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

He's usually slow with Wifey until he's close, then he jackhammers a bit.

Since there's no romance with Alys, he goes as fast as he can.

Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

He's tried quickies with Wifey before, but he gets caught up in the moment and slows down so he can take his time.

Every encounter with Alys is a quickie.

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

If Wifey asked him? Absolutely.

Alys proposed a few new things, but he refused.

S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

With Wifey, he lasts pretty long because he specifically paces himself to go as long as possible. He doesn't really know how many rounds he could go, because Wifey always gets tired before he does.

For Alys, he only does more than one round if he gets frustrated again.

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

Nope.

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

Enjoys riling Wifey up, but he usually gives in before she does.

Doesn't tease Alys, and got so mad when she tried to tease him that she never tried it again.

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

Praise, moans, whimpers, and florid declarations of love are the standard with Wifey.

With Alys he's either entirely silent or he growls and rants the whole time about whatever got his emotions going.

W= Wild card (random canon of any sort)

Once fell asleep while he was going down on Wifey because he felt so warm and safe between her thighs.

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

A real beauty, his cock. Long enough to reach all the right places and girthy enough to give that perfect stretch.

Y= Yearning (sexdrive level)

He's 20, it's high.

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

He never falls asleep before Wifey. He want to make sure she has everything she needs first. So he only tries to sleep after she's already sleeping.

With Alys, he's either kept up by his guilt or so exhausted he falls asleep immediately.

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lilac-5ky · 1 year

Text

Roommates from Hell, pt.1 (Toji x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Stolen Fries taste best

(pic from loving yamada at lvl999, adorable manga, recommend)

Chapter 2 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist

Plot: Out of all the women that come and go in Toji's life, you're the only one he calls his friend. But when he suddenly forces his way into your apartment, the feelings you've kept from him are put to the test.

Setting: Pre Hidden Inventory Arc. Toji and reader are both in their late twenties, no Megumi in picture... yet :p

Themes: Cohabitation, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers

Warning: Slight sexual content minus the actual smut.

A/N at the bottom

“You’re late. Again.”

The small silver bell at the top of the glass door notified you of a man’s arrival, his heavy steps refusing to wipe themselves upon entry, spreading mud all over the now-blotted checkered tiles of the dimly lit diner. You’d been expecting the owner of those shoes for the past six hours, his untimely arrival coming as a bitter aftertaste to an afternoon full of childish joy and mayhem— popped balloons, colorful confetti, and half-eaten pieces of cakes swept into one big pile at the room’s southernmost corner by yours truly.

“I never said I was coming,” the voice retorted, its defiant sound overshadowed by the gruesome screech of a metallic chair. “Not interested in celebrating some brat’s b-day, ‘specially if it ain’t mine.”

“How many helpless children must have spent their birthdays without their no-good father, I wonder,” you wiped your hands against your cherry-red apron, pushing the broom back into place. “If your goal is to repopulate Japan, I’m certain you’ll succeed.”

Hefty fingers mindlessly combed through a head of obsidian black, little spikes forming and then settling back down. “None, as far as I’m concerned,” sarcasm dripped from his tongue.

“Well, I find that hard to believe,” you mumbled under your breath, circling through the room to ensure everything was dealt with: leftovers in the fridge, gift wrappings in the bin, and the large aforementioned pile of garbage waiting to be scooped up. “You’ve known Kenzo since birth. Even if this ain’t your thing, the least you could’ve done was make an appearance. He kept asking about his favorite uncle all night long.”

“Except I’m not his uncle. Don’t mix me in with your sister’s family, I ride solo.”

Sigh.

“My sister’s family might as well be your family, Toji. You know how much Hinata and her kids adore you.”

“Good for them, I suppose.”

Another sigh.

“Can you at least tell me what was so important for you to not even pick the goddamn phone up?”

As if the device had grown sentient, a generic tune began tooting from the back pocket of his sweatpants, eradicating your final hope that it’d simply run out of battery.

Without budging from his seat, Toji twisted an arm around his back to pull his flip-phone out, the silver-tinted lid slamming shut as soon as he’d peered at the caller’s number, his next immediate move being to drown the sound in a glass of leftover Coke, fizzy bubbles playing the device’s final requiem.

You didn’t need to ask to know it was a woman, and he didn’t need to answer that she, whatever the name of his latest conquest was, happened to also be the reason for his being unfashionably late.

It was always like that. He was always like that. He went out with one girl after the other; from women of extreme beauty and poise to mindless bimbos who couldn’t tell tea leaves and coffee beans apart. He’d spend some cash to butter them up with expensive meals at overpriced restaurants, or VIP entrance at the hottest club, or even pay for the name tag on their designer clothes, but come next morning, he was either caught stealing straight out of their pockets or checking whether the tag was still attached to the dress for him to return it to the store—at which point, the vast majority gave up, except for those few poor souls who earnestly believed they could fix him, though they never would.

If there were two things in this world that remained unfaltering and resolute throughout the eons, then that was the earth’s orbiting the sun, and Zen’in Toji’s being the bastard of a man you knew and loved— special intonation of that last part.

It was quite the oxymoron. To know him as an irredeemable scumbag with no intention of changing, and to love him for all he was; a sentence as contradictory and controversial as the man before you. What was there to love? He never gave two shits about the people around him dying, and if he could encourage or partake in their deaths then he certainly would. He gambled every cent of cash in his hands away, and his every attachment ended with the disposal of his used-up condom. He was vulgar, cynical, and brass, and he possessed a great charisma of making people dislike him at first glance. His only saving grace was his good looks and even those he managed to scrape on a daily basis.

So, really, what was there to love about a man whose place fitted best among the pile of garbage in the corner? What was the point in all that?

He never answered your question, and when you realized he wasn’t planning to, you dragged a second chair to his side, propping your elbows first and then your chin over the vinyl backrest, feet landing at each side. You took in his expression— sour and undeniably agitated, with a frown tugging at the scarred corner of his lower lip, and a glare too icy to be meant for the wall of American-styled neon billboards he mercilessly studied. Something definitely bothered him, and as a huff stiffened his chin, the reason became evident enough for you to point at it.

“Woman or work?” you gestured at the blood that dribbled below his ear and down his neck.

He followed your forefinger with his eyes, thumb scrubbing where the gush began. He seemed oblivious to his injury, though it wasn’t as if his becoming aware changed a thing.

“So it is a woman,” you gladly seized the chance to rub salt into his wound, drawing a frustrated grumble from him.“What did you do this time? Stole her car and crashed it into a tree? Blew all her savings on cockfight betting?”

“Horse races,” he had the nerve to correct.

“Or… did you by any chance bring an uncalled ménage à trois to her bed?”

“What kind of man you take me for?” Toji protested.

“A very, very, veeeery bad man,” you smirked, and he returned it. You knew him like the back of your hand. There was no need to pretend otherwise after well over a decade’s worth of friendship.

“If a very bad man is what I am, then why’d ya let me in?” he asked. “A young unprotected woman all by herself in the middle of the night letting such scum in never ends well. Thought you were smarter than this.”

“If I was smarter, then I wouldn’t be calling you my friend, would I?”

His grimace turned into a full-blown devilish grin, the kind that secretly had your heart buzzing against the frail set of bones of your chest. He always looked so dazzling when he smiled, that sometimes you couldn’t find fault in those women wanting to believe in his pretty lies, because you, too, wanted to. You hoped that whatever the price for those smiles was, you would one day be able to afford it and gain ownership of his heart, no matter how wretched or blackened it was.

“You are a real idiot to mix it up with me,” he conceded. “Though, you are a greater idiot for letting that term define us. I bet your nights serving meals at some kiddie place get rather lonely. But I could help. I could make you feel really good, Y/N. So good that you’d risk some prick getting in, lest he is me.”

His tongue poked out his mouth, giving his bottom lip a brief lick while he peered at you through half-lidded eyes. He had this way of turning things sexual in the blink of an eye, selling himself so well that your refusal to buy seemed commendable— despite the unmistakable affection you held for his face. Little did he know how much you longed to push that chair to the side and rip his cocky expression along his black-sleeved shirt off his body, making it so that neither of you had a place to hide from the other.

Now, that’d feel good.

“My nights are fine as they are, thank you very much,” you countered your instincts much to his disappointment. “And if I ever needed myself a helping hand, know that you’d be the last I’d call!” Not as if you’d pick up, anyway, you mentally added.

His gust of interest fizzled out as soon as it surged, your rejection forcing him to rock back and forth between the chair’s legs. He wasn’t interested in continuing this. It was enough for him to take in the dusty pink shading of your ears and smile to himself, knowing you were still the kind of woman affected by his charms. Yes, that certainly was enough, for now.

“I’ll clean you up,” you declared, getting off your spot in haste and strolling through the bar in search of a clean towel.

Once you found it, you let it soak under the faucet and brought it back to him, rubbing against his skin regardless of his petty attempt at gritting his teeth. You placed one hand on his shoulder and another at his jaw, pushing them apart to no avail. Every muscle in his body was stronger than your entire bodily force combined, and he was awfully willing to flex that difference between you, just as he was at letting you straddle his hips and climb all over his body like some sort of feral monkey in heat.

A string of profanities that ranged from “bastard” to “shit-eating-asshole-shithead” poured out your mouth while Toji smirked, and smiled, and grinned, and didn’t even try to stop you from knocking the two of you onto the ground, palms barely managing to stable your head over his face. Your pleated skirt had risen, or rather flipped, over your panties, revealing the strawberry pattern panties you were wearing to his greedy hands as they hiked up your flesh without an ounce of shame.

“Wh-What are you doing?!”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he cooed, burying his calloused fingers under the elastic waistband of your underwear.

You felt him trace the inward of your thighs in languid strokes, the fabric stretching the further his hand dipped— closer, and closer to your now-pulsing core, but never so close as to make actual contact. His hot breath tingled your lips, smelling of nothing in particular, but a sweaty tang of a woman’s deodorant that still lingered in his clothes. Had he fucked her before making it here, you wondered, heart tightening at the thought.

Your legs wiggled shut, unable to fully repel his hand, and for a brief moment, you considered letting him go through with this— whatever this was. Even if you came to be another conquest won, you didn’t care. All you needed was for him to hush all logic from your brain, and fuck you senselessly against the checkered tile floor of the “kiddie food place” you served meals at.

“Toji…” you begged, uncertain what you were begging him for until you felt the warmth in your thighs subside.

“Makin’ sure to preserve your maiden’s dignity,” he said as he fixed your skirt in place. “Wouldn’t want some perv catching sight of your cute little ass, would we?”

His condescending tone made you want to throw a slap across his face and then yours; for thinking that maybe this wasn’t a mistake, that you could really move past the pretense of friendship and aim at what you really sought. But he’d been right once before. You were stupid, stupider than all those girls combined, considering you knew and still wouldn’t mind being dragged down with him one bit.

“Fucking asshole,” you blurted as you pushed yourself off him, dumping the cloth on his smug face.

Your lip quivered as you stepped onto your feet, unable to quite shake the feeling of incompletion from your core, walls pathetically clenching around nothingness. You refused to look at him, lest you caved in a second time, and thus you paced around the booths, stopping before the one window whose blinds didn’t block the magnificent parking lot view. Only a black SUV was left— most likely his newest rental.

Following a beep, you watched the lights flicker white, his reflection in the window lifting the chair back up. You crossed your arms over your chest and waited, your impatience and frustration churning into a dangerous mix within your guts, as the asshole whose name wasn’t worth saying moved past you and walked straight to the door, not a single word or goodbye said.

“What about your phone?” you asked, at last paying him a look of spite.

“I’ll text ya my new number.”

“We both know you won’t.”

He glanced over his shoulder and showed you his pearly white canines, his expression not polished enough to be called a smile. You rolled your eyes in the opposite direction, spotting his old device blinking a variety of different lights, refusing to die just like its bastard of an owner.

“What should I do with this?”

“How the hell should I know?” Toji shrugged. “Get rid of it, or toss it in some burger. I’m sure no one will be able to tell the difference. Later,” the bell chimed as the door collided with the frame, chiming a second time as his head popped in a moment later. “Loved the raspberries.”

“They were strawberries, you scatterbrained swine,” you cursed, but he’d heard none of it. The car was gone, and so was he, and it was for the best that he didn’t get to witness the strawberry-colored shadow that loomed over both your cheeks.

Fanning some of that heat away, you returned to the table, surprised to find a white envelope with the name Kenzo hastily written on the front. Cash. Lots of cash. Enough cash to keep a low-end apartment afloat for at least a couple of months. An excuse and simultaneously the answer to all your previous questions.

“You fucking bastard,” you hummed, the term switching to one of utter endearment.

When the first instance of a wintry breeze came charging at the semi-exposed features of your face—a scarf’s fluff tucked right below your nose— you knew that walking all the way to the location where the unknown ID claiming to be Zen’in Toji ordered you to meet up was probably a bad idea.

For starters, you’d turn into an icicle long before making it back to your workplace. Not to mention you had no foolproof way of guaranteeing the person you were about to meet wasn’t some random impersonating psychopath. But when you finally spotted the yellow curvy “M” upon the rectangular red sign that spelled the fast food chain’s name, you narrowed down the psychopaths to that one cheapskate you happened to know.

Walking into the nearly vacant dining area —only the first two booths near the door occupying a family of four each— you detected him almost immediately. He was the only one seated in his wing. Head slightly tilted to look past the window, golden highlights showering the curve of a nose as it arched into thin eyebrows, calm eyes glinting with subtle emerald, and fingers that absentmindedly tapped away onto one of the two paper-covered trays. He had the decency to wait for you before getting into his food, though that didn’t stop him from munching on the occasional fry.

You tugged the handbag off your shoulder and slowly approached him, hesitating to enter his field of view, if just for a moment. He seemed so peaceful and serene, that if you had the guts, you’d snap a picture of him right then and there and make it into your phone’s wallpaper. But you didn’t. You’d never be able to explain it to him in a non-humiliating way, should he catch you in the act, and so, you shook the notion off and marched in his direction, his eyes lighting up in recognition.

“What’s the point of calling me out here for lunch if we are gonna have burgers?” you dropped your bag at the far end of the table. “Why not eat at our place?”

“I like the fries here better,” he bit onto one as if to affirm his claim, licking the salty essence off his fingers. “You should be glad I got you some, too,” he nodded toward the closed dome-shaped box that lay in front of you. “Nuggets over burgers, right? Didn’t know what toy ya wanted though. Cashier girl told me bunnies are quite popular with girls your age, so I went with that.”

Ignoring, or rather postponing your answer to his outrageous suggestion, you peered through the contents of your meal’s box, spotting the wrapped-in-plastic purple-colored bunny key chain right at the bottom between the small portion of deluxe potatoes and even smaller portion of chicken nuggets that still steamed hot air. You were surprised he remembered everything about your order, down to your preference for milkshake over other beverages, and perhaps you would have shown your gratitude if it wasn’t for that last comment of his gnawing at your pride.

“How old did you tell the cashier I was, again?” you gritted, trying to suppress the toy’s cuteness within your fist.

“Didn’t. Just said it’s for some kid I know. Probably thought it was for my daughter or something.”

A pair of googly eyes popped out from their sockets, the bunny’s head in serious danger of coming right off.

“Stop acting like an old man,” you muttered in embarrassment. “A nine-month head start in life doesn’t make you old enough to be my father.”

“Still older than you, kid,” said Toji, his fingers latching onto his wrapped-up burger. “Now eat up. Didn’t pay ya lunch for it to go cold.”

Annoyed by his remarks, but oh-so terribly starved, you decided to let things slide, the two of you lunching in a period of temporal truce. He went through his burger in big bites, clearing it out before you even finished your portion of nuggets. You mildly wondered why he’d held off if he was this hungry, but didn’t press on the reason behind his invitation until after his tray was half-emptied.

“So… why’d you wanna meet up? Got something to tell me?”

“Mhm, I actually do. How would you like us to be room—Nah, that doesn’t sound too right,” Toji shook his head off, dusting the excess salt off his fingers. “I decided I’m moving in with you.”

“You, what?!?” You shrieked, eyes wide with shock, resembling those of your newly acquired key chain.

“What I just said. I’m moving in,” he repeated as if you hadn’t heard him the first time around. “Got everything right here. I’ll pop by later so you can show me my room.”

You glanced down at what he tapped as “here”, spotting a large black duffel bag that rested on his feet. He wasn’t joking, you panicked. He was being 100% serious about this. Directing your milkshake to your mouth, you took a nervous sip, nearly choking on the plastic straw between your teeth, while Toji kept staring at you, awaiting no answer in particular. After all, he wasn’t asking. He was proclaiming.

“Why would you want that?” you asked once you regained the ability to think rationally. “Weren’t you the one who said you ride solo?”

“Numerous reasons,” he stated, drawing his forefinger forth as if to recount. “For starters, rental prices going up, gas too. Inflation in the market and all that crap. Your place is also closer to work, and” he leaned closer, “wasn’t your neighborhood the one on the news recently? You know, those serial break-and-enter cases? As far as I’m aware, the culprit’s still running loose, could be a cursed spirit or something. You can’t see ‘em, but I can. I’ll keep ya safe. Wouldn’t you want that? Sounds like a fair deal to me, at least.”

The repetitive pattern of a catchy pop song blasting from the speakers served as a backdrop to your thoughts, eyes flickering between the table and his face. He wasn’t exactly wrong about what he said. The girl next door was the robber’s last victim, and from what you’d gathered, it seemed like the ones targeted were exclusively single women in their twenties. Curse or not, that was the intruder’s type, and you just so happened to tick both of those boxes.

From a standpoint of reason, his suggestion sounded fair alright, but this was Toji we were talking about. The man whose name was your first thought in the morning and the final afterthought in the night. The man you were coincidentally in love with.

Living with him would entail being around him a lot more than you could handle. Waking and sleeping and eating in the same house as him, spending your days off together, bickering about bills, take-out, and the TV remote’s ownership, doing things that only couples got to do, and of course, sharing a bathroom, which on its own meant seeing him parade through the cramped little space of your apartment in nothing but a soggy towel, hair slick and teeth beaming as he’d be asking if you’d like to join him in the shower—

You hit the break on these thoughts and pressed your forehead flat against both palms, feeling the heat exuding through your fingers. You were only able to keep this relationship platonic because of the distance he put between you. If he were to suddenly close it, what would come of you? How on earth would you be able to hold back?

“Don’t you want me?”

“Huh?” you bit at the straw again, snapping it in half.

“I said, you hate the idea of living with me that much?”

Toji certainly didn’t mince his words, but the way he was looking at you, brows furrowing and lips quivering into a frown despite the edge in his tone, almost made it seem as if hearing your rejection out loud would hurt him, and because of that, you had no choice, but to shake your head in denial. You wanted this. More than words could express, you wanted to be with him like that, even if you refrained from disclosing that truth.

You wanted him.

“What about your girlfriends? Wouldn’t they be against you living with some woman?”

“Nah, I’m done with that. Done with all of ‘em.”

“But my apartment is too small. I don’t think it’d suit you—”

“I’ll manage,” he cut you off.

“I don’t even have a second bed-”

“We can always share,” he smirked, letting out a light-hearted chuckle as he watched color paint your cheeks. “Couch is fine, too. So, whaddya say, roomie?”

“…Fine,” you conceded, very well knowing you’d come to regret this decision. “But we need to set some ground rules! No trashing the apartment, no throwing your ‘work tools’ all over the place, no smoking, no drinking, no loud music, and no bringing in random women. No starting fights either! You’ll help around and pay half of what’s needed, so no gambling your money away. Those are my terms.”

“You drive a hard bargain, roomie,” Toji said, balancing his chin atop his elbow. “Fine by me. Told you I’m done with half those things anyway, and I don’t mind helping you with anything. I mean that.”

But I could help. I could make you feel really good, Y/N.

His words from that night still lingered in your mind like an unfulfilled promise, and when he phrased it like that, you couldn’t help but be reminded of how good his hands felt that night, creeping all over your skin as if he owned it— as if he owned you.

“G-good!” you said, picking up a fry off his tray and tossing it in your mouth, lest you said something stupid.

“No one taught you stealing other people’s food is rude?” Toji shot you a glare unequal to your crime.

“It’s not stealing if you are done with it!” you protested. “You haven’t touched your fries in over ten minutes now.”

His tongue clicked against his mouth’s roof, producing a series of “tsk” sounds while he shook his head in disapproval. “Didn’t take ya for such a brat, Y/N. Disrespecting me in my face right after we came to an agreement? That’s some bad business ethics.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, barely keeping yourself from groaning. “I’m so terribly sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have stolen your esteemed fries, sir. Won’t ever happen again, sir. Please allow me to express my profound remorse, sir.”

Although Toji knew you only addressed him as such to get on his nerves, he was still pleased enough to grace with you an unsuspecting smile, seconds before you shoved a ketchup-covered potato against his mouth, smudging the left corner of his lips in a way akin to that of his right corner scar. He blinked, clouds of fury gathering in the bleakness of his eyes and cheeks puffing up, painting the most adorable expression you’d ever seen him wear.

“So cute,” you gushed, unable to suppress a hearty laughter that agitated him even more, red blooming across his cheeks— most likely by the lack of oxygen, you interpreted.

“Fucking brat,” he hissed, dipping the last of his fries in ketchup and then stuffing your mouth with it before you could even react. “I’ll show ya how it’s done!” he declared, your lips puckering against his fingers, condiment spreading all over like lipstick. His other hand forced your head in place, stilling your chin for him to work on his masterpiece, making a much bigger mess out of you than you had made of him.

“Hmphmmph!” you hummed while Toji laughed, a deep sound that reverberated straight from his guts, his eyes glinting along with his teeth in sheer joy that convinced you to give up so as to not spoil his fun. It was rare to see him genuinely happy.

“That should teach ya to behave,” he spat, smugness in every aspect of his features as he pressed his thumb onto his mouth, cleaning the ketchup off with a lick. “But you did address me properly, so you’ve earned the right to choose. Napkin or my lips? Which one?”

Stupefied as you were, you didn’t understand the full context of his question until you felt the sudden warmth of his mouth flutter over your skin, the tip of his tongue sloppily gathering the leftover ketchup off your right cheek. Your jaw popped open, a small gasp escaping as a result of his action.

“Too slow,” Toji whispered, hooded green eyes peering right into yours. “I’ll ask again. Napkin or my lips? What’s it gonna be, doll?”

“N-n-n-napkin!” you must have stuttered at least a thousand times before forming a comprehensible answer. He was so close that if he tilted his head any closer your lips were sure to touch. “P-please get me a napkin.”

“Please?” he chuckled, acting as if was really going to kiss you and then pulling away. “Be right back.”

Even after Toji let go, you could still feel the weight of his thumb holding you down, your eyes zeroing in on his black sweater as he set off for the other side of the room where the napkin and condiments stand was located. You heard a few whispers coming from beside your table, catching three pairs of eyes shooting daggers right at your back.

“Don’t they have a home?” a woman’s voice echoed first.

“Kids these days…” a man added.

“Honey, don’t look at their sinfulness, it’s the devil’s work.” A second woman concluded.

You were on the verge of experiencing a cardiac arrest, and you were pretty darn sure you would have if Toji hadn’t returned with the napkins in time, his hand snatched by yours as you forcefully dragged him out of the place, spelling frantic apologies at whoever was listening.

Once you’d made it outside, you sighed in relief, winter’s viciousness coming as a much-needed slap across your face. You took in a few breaths, letting go of his hand and padding a few steps away from the store’s windows, afraid you were still the focus of their attention. Toji followed, one hand stuffed inside his jeans pocket, while the other held the duffel bag over his shoulder in a lazy manner.

“Can you give me a lift to work?” you managed to ask, dodging his stare even as he stepped to the front.

“I would, but I can’t. Gave the car away.”

“You did what?”

Nothing about your reaction was funny in any shape or form, but he seemed amused enough to break into a soft chuckle, his eyes, too, softening ever so slightly.

“Planning to walk around town like a bloodsucker?” he asked, bringing a napkin to wipe your lips with greater care than you’d think. “How dirty,” he cooed, gently tapping at the center. “Next time, I won’t ask for permission to kiss you, roomie. Let’s go.”

“W-Where?” your voice came out so frail that you doubted he’d heard your question, his bag bouncing over his taut body with every step he took outside the parking lot.

“You asked for a ride, didn’t ya? Come.”

A/N: Launching a new series because I have so many feelings bottled up that I'm in danger of farting hearts and rainbows and shit. Decided to take the time off and write this fic for myself cause I needed it, but then I thought why not share it with the world? First time writing for Jujutsu Kaisen and Toji in particular, so hopefully it's received well!

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angelkissiies · 10 months

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neighbor!leon who always asks you to feed his fish while he’s away on missions.

his key ring is on a simple silver carabiner, two or three other misc keys floating around as you thumb by them to reach his house key. living across the hall from leon kennedy had its perks, one being that you got the chance to interact with the man— at least for as long as he could manage to stay, that is. the other being that he offered an obscene amount of money to you, simply for the service of feeding and caring for his pet fish— one he refused to disclose the name of— who you’d come to call leon jr.

as you stepped through the threshold into the man’s apartment, a wave of seasonal air freshener washed over you— marking you in fall spices as a ticket for entrance. “good morning, leon jr! please still be alive!” you called out, closing the door gently behind you as you then made a b-line for the cabinet of fish supplies tucked away beside the entertainment center. this is the way it always was, you come over— chat up the fish, feed it, make sure it’s tank is cycling— and then you leave. it was beyond easy.

you secured the shaker of fish flakes, strolling over to the tank to switch the ambient lights on. “g’morning sleepyhead.” you hummed, shaking some of the food from the container out onto the surface of the water. as it slowly began to sank, the fish began to eat, you then squatting down to watch as he swam gleefully around the tank to catch the falling food. “you’re a pretty cute fish, I’d say.” you began, a finger coming to trail along the chilled aquarium glass. “must take after your dad.”

in all of your chatting with the fish, you failed to hear the door open and close again— allowing an extremely intrigued leon to ease drop on your conversation, his bags long forgotten at the door as he shuffled slightly to avoid spooking you.

“i didn’t really peg him as the pet type either, so you must be pretty special.”

leon rested himself against the wall, arms crossing over his chest as he suppressed a chuckle. you weren’t wrong, he really wasn’t the kinda guy to have a fish— or any animal really. he was so consumed by work that it was almost impossible, he’d only come to change his mind on the situation— when he met you. his thought process was, ‘if i can manage time for a fish, i can manage to find time for her.’ and— he was right.

the man cleared his throat playfully, watching as you shot up from your place before the tank to standing before him— wide eyed and flushed. “hello? oh my god?” you breathed, a hand coming to rest on your chest as you stared at him. “how long have you.. been here?”

the blonde attempted to suppress a smirk but failed, his pink lips curling as he shrugged nonchalantly. “long enough to know my fish takes after me, apparently.”

you played faux confusion as you shrugged back at him, shuffling towards the door. “i, personally, have no idea what you’re talking about— anyways!” you nodded, turning on your heel to grasp the doorknob, throwing the door open. “gotta go, got work, have things to do— bye! glad you’re alive!” you rushed, bolting into your apartment at the speed of light, pressing your back against the now locked door as you took a small breath— heart hammering in your chest as you slid down to sit on the floor.

a few moments passed, silence occupying your apartment as you ran back through what had just happened. “oh my god.” you groaned, holding your face in your hands, glowing pink with embarrassment. that was, until a slip of paper nudged the denim of your jeans from under the door.

‘dinner tomorrow, 8:30, my place.

p.s. the fishes name is lila.

- l.k.’

#leon kennedy blurb #leon kennedy x f!reader #leon kennedy x female reader #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #resident evil leon #angelkissiies #misc #x reader

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the-garbanzo-annex-jr · 4 months

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by Elchanan Poupko

For centuries, rabbis around the world get up on Shabbat Zachor and speak about memory, never about violence. Not once in the past 2000 years of Jewish history – and that is a vast record to draw on – was the Biblical account of Amalek used to evoke revenge. It was always used to evoke memory. The imperative to remember the unprovoked atrocities committed against our own innocent communities.

The name of Amalek was invoked to remind us of the ubiquitous nature of antisemitism, the only hate in the world directed against people who are unknown to those seething with hate for us. People like the Houthis in Yemen who never saw a Jew in their life, yet are determined to destroy the Jewish state; Nazis in Germany who traveled hundreds of miles away from home to kill Jews in Belarus, Lithuania, Hungary, and Morocco even though they had never seen or known much about those Jews, that is the kind of evil we speak about when invoking the memory of Amalek.

In our generation, when speaking about that kind of senseless hate, we speak about the Hamas terrorists who woke up on the morning of October 7th and were willing to gable away their lives and futures to murder and burn alive people like Canadian peace activist Vivian Silver, someone who spent her life driving Palestinians from Gaza to medical appointments in Israel’s best hospitals. We invoke the memory of Amalek when we encounter something so evil it defies any logical explanation.

It is appalling to see how many people rushed to the Bible to judge Israel’s use of the memory of Amalek before looking at its use for the past 2000 years, most notably during the Holocaust.

While Germany starved to death and killed hundreds of thousands of Jews in the Warsaw Ghetto, Jews secretly published a newsletter called Kol Hamidbar in which the emaciated Jews wrote: “Many nations waged war against the Jews and did bad unto them, but Amalek, that is something absolutely different. Amalek put the destruction of Jews as a goal, a program, a method; premeditated, in cold blood, sadistically, according to a plan, organized, and with laws… Amalek and their grandson Haman are not satisfied with the killing of individual Jews…they would like to destroy the entire nation and eliminate Judaism.”

These words ring powerfully to any Jew who has seen what Hamas terrorists did on October 7th. The senseless hate that defies any logic or pattern of human conflict is simply unexplainable. The kidnapping of grandmothers from their homes and burning of babies and little girls alive with no reason whatsoever has no other language.

Jews invoke this language of Amalek when we encounter the world’s oldest hate, acted on with cruelty no human can explain. Jews have done so countless times while remembering the Holocaust and also did so while seeing the evils of Hamas on October 7th.

Like Jews after the Holocaust, the memory of Amalek’s unforgivable horrors reminds us of the need to take action. How does that action look? Years ago, speaking to congregants in synagogue, here is what I said as I spoke of the story of Amalek, and I was not the only one:

“The greatest heed to the call ‘Yidden, Nekama – Jews, Revenge’ inscribed in blood in Slabodka, Lithuania, is not going back to that town and place or to those perpetrators; it is that there are today thousands of students in Israel learning in Yeshivas named Slabodka. It is that we are undeterred in leading proud Jewish lives, laser-focused on the future while refusing to forget the past.”

Jewish revenge never looks like the acts of our enemies. We never follow in the inhumane footsteps of those who committed the unthinkable against us. This is true also concerning the horrors of October 7th.

#amalek #amalek libel #jews #revenge #october 7 #hamas #gaza #shabbat zachor

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serenescribe · 7 months

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For the 3 sentence prompt...

Silver makes flower crowns for Lilia, Malleus, and Sebek. People are confused as to why they're all wearing them in class, but they refuse to take them off.

(Lilia had to put a spell on his so it wouldn't fall off when he was upside down, I'm sure.)

[✐] ficlet frenzy

“I can sense your curiosity, Trey,” Lilia says, grinning as he turns towards the boy in question. He’d felt a pair of eyes continuously drifting towards him during class — or rather, several pairs of eyes boring holes into him. But he knew Trey a little better than the others, given both their statuses as vice-housewardens, so it was him he called out as soon as class concluded.

Trey laughs. “Guilty as charged,” he says. Adjusting his spectacles, he peers a little closer. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’s with the flower crown today?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Lilia says cheerily, reaching up to adjust the wreath of wildflowers crowning his head. “Just a gift from someone rather close to me. Can you truly fault me for wearing it to class?”

“Well, it wouldn’t exactly be my thing, but…” Trey smiles. “It does suit you better than it would me.”

“Kufufu, how kind of you to say so!”

“IF YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY TO ME, HUMAN, YOU BEST SPIT IT OUT RIGHT NOW!”

Sebek twists his lips into a smirk at the way his classmates flinch, their cheeks flushing red, utterly chastised by his grandiose voice. It serves them right! They’d been whispering to each other all throughout the lesson, pointing not-so-subtle fingers in his direction. It had been so distracting, even more so than that blasted cat who sits on Professor Trein’s table during all his classes, its mewling nothing but a hindrance to everyone trying to study!

One of his classmates, a particularly bold soul, speaks up. “W-Well, we’re just wondering about the…” They frown, gesturing ambiguously at his head.

Sebek scoffs. “Pathetic, the lot of you! How do you not even know what a flower crown is?”

“We know what it is, we’re just wondering why you’re wearing it!”

“WHY NOT?!” Sebek yells, yet again outraged by their impotence.

“W-Well, it doesn’t seem like you, that’s all!”

It’s true that Sebek had turned his nose up at the thought at first. But upon seeing the way Lord Malleus and Master Lilia had gratefully donned their crowns, he, too, had jumped to put on his own, keen to be matching them. So to his classmate’s impudent remarks, he simply scoffs. “You humans know not the glory of wearing matching wreaths with your liege!”

Malleus wonders why he’s attracting a fair few more stares than usual.

He’s well aware of the fact that his presence typically draws a muted commotion — students whispering to each other, sneaking stares at him, though they never approach him. Even so, there seems to be more inquisitorial eyes turned in his direction today, furrowed eyebrows and creased foreheads accompanying their expressions.

He can only wonder why. It isn’t as though he’s doing anything different today. He had shown up to class, taking his same seat at the back with both sides unoccupied, tuning in to the lessons as he normally does.

After the bell rings, Malleus does try to reach out to a nearby classmate to peruse the matter… but the skittish Pomefiore student jolts away, stuttering out an excuse before making a break for the door.

Hm, Malleus thinks, rubbing a finger against his chin. How interesting.

Silver can only stare at the three of them when he finally arrives back at Diasomnia’s lounge, having endured a long day of gossip about the peculiar, matching accessories three notable Diasomnia students happened to be wearing.

“Did you all wear my flower crowns to class…?”

Lilia only laughs. “Why not?”

#my writing tag #tumblr drabbles tag #ficlet frenzy #twst #twisted wonderland #twst fanfiction #twst writing #lilia vanrouge #sebek zigvolt #malleus draconia #twst silver #hi uni is krilling me

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phagechildon · 3 months

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((Thank you so much for the request! I received another in my Ask Box and I'll get to that one as soon as I can! Here's a hair care scene, but I can't write anything without some kind of conflict XD I hope you like it @xiaokuer-schmetterling =D))

It was supposed to be a simple night hunt. Solve the mystery of the elusive siren who put those who stayed out after midnight under their spell, commanding them to do whatever they wanted until the sun rose. At first, it was simple thievery. When the village banded together in an attempt to track down the one responsible, they all fell victim to their spell, nearly destroying their livelihoods.

While the night hunt sounded dangerous, the young disciples looked at their Wei-gongzi who merely laughed at the distressed villagers.

“You don’t understand! If one of you becomes their victim, you’ll destroy what’s left of our village!”

“If you don’t trust the experts, why call them in the first place?” Wei Wuxian asked with a big grin, watching the man’s shoulders tense even more. “We’ll resolve this tonight.”

Wei Ying, of course, wasn’t wrong. As soon as midnight rang, he pressed Chenqing to his lips and played the melody of his soul - Wangxian. A soothing melody, one that comforted Sizhui and the others. But underneath that tone was a vocal, one so eerie it gave them goosebumps.

Wei Wuxian simply started walking forward, playing flawlessly. The siren’s powers only worked when it was the only sound clouding their victim’s mind. So naturally, it targeted Wei Ying, the disciples quickly stepping in.

One thing led to another, and by the time the sun started to rise, the Yiling Laozu was covered from head to toe in mud, sap, and something that smelled so putrid he really didn’t want to know what it was.

Expect the unexpected. They always followed that motto, but nothing could’ve prepared them for an owl to suddenly grow and attack him. If the disciples stepped in to help, they’d release the siren, and without Wei-gongzi’s flute, they’d fall under its control.

Not like he was in any real danger. He’s definitely faced worse. Having taken care of the creature, he walked up to the disciples, watching their restraint nearly breaking.

“Haha, laugh if you want. This proves that you have to expect even the most unexpected things!” He wasn’t really in the mood to lecture them that much. After sealing the siren in a mirror, they headed to the inn where Wei Ying grumpily requested a bath.

That didn’t seem to help. No matter how much he tried scrubbing the gunk and junk out of his hair, it refused to leave, like a red stain on white parchment. It was absolutely infuriating.

After an hour, he gave up, refusing the leave the water in hopes it would eventually leave. A knock on the door made him inwardly groan, not feeling like dealing with anyone right now.

“Wei-gongzi, they’re serving breakfast. Would you like anything?”

Normally he wasn’t awake after ending the night hunt so late, but Sizhui knew him too well. That boy, their son, was sharp and intuitive.

“I’ll pass, but thanks.”

“Do… you need anything?”

This boy - he loved him so much. “The finest hair products they have. I’ll pay you back!”

Time passed, and without realizing it, he dozed off. Dangerous and reckless, he could’ve drowned, he heard Hanguang-jun lightly scold him. He couldn't help it though. Without his husband, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Would his old body's hair have done this? What if it never came out? How could Lan Zhan still love him?

“Wei Ying,” his husband’s melodious voice grounded him, along with those long fingers combing through his wet hair. “Are you awake?”

The darkness surrounding his mind instantly melted away as he opened his silver eyes and slowly sat up. He was still in the tub, but his skin wasn’t wrinkly and gross. His husband must’ve taken him out for a bit and changed the water before putting him back in. A warmth settled into his heart, one that made him smile with true, genuine love and joy.

“Lan Zhan!” He happily cried, leaning forward to press their lips together. It was short and sweet, forcing a whine from Wei Ying when his husband pulled back so soon.

“You are hurt.”

Hurt? Was he talking about his hair? No, those golden eyes rested upon his shoulders, prompting him to lightly brush his fingers against one of them - only to flinch away from the sting.

Right, the owl’s claws sunk into his shoulders. With all the crap he was covered in, it was no wonder he nor the disciples realized it.

“Okay, in my defense, who thought that stupid annoying owl was a fucking huge yao.” The villagers hadn’t even mentioned it, and with his foul mood, he forgot to ask about it. “The resentment was sealed until it changed into its true form. Way more formidable than that siren.”

Those golden eyes narrowed in both anger and concern, unable to tear themselves away from the scabbed over marks. The glare made Wei Ying’s own expression soften, unable to help himself from reaching up and cradling his husband’s face.

“I am here, I am safe,” he quietly reassured, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m not leaving without you, Lan Zhan, Lan Wangji, Hanguang-jun, my husband. I promise.” Their lips crashed together, the kiss urgent and all absorbing. They kissed until their lips were red and nearly swollen, especially Wei Ying’s.

As they took a moment to catch their breaths, Lan Zhan’s fingers once more threaded through Wei Ying’s hair, easily getting caught and tangled in all the crap that practically glued his strands together. The reminder made him whine, pulling Lan Zhan closer to the tub so he could bury his face into his shoulder.

“Lan Zhannn, I’m hideous now. I can’t be caught with you in public or I’ll taint your reputation even more!”

“Wei Ying never tainted my reputation. Even if you had, I would not have cared.” He pulled his fingers out and tried running them through a different section of his hair, failing as they quickly got caught up in the yarn-ball mess.

“I’ll never get to enjoy your hands running through my hair eitherrrrr,” he continued to whine like a child. In the back of his mind, he could hear Yanli asking him how old he was.

“Sizhui informed me, so I’ve come prepared.”

His heart fluttered again. “Our boy is something else,” he happily sighed, feeling more warmth envelop his chest. “Hanguang-jun raised him to be such a gentleman.”

“We raised him,” Lan Zhan clarified, uncapping a bottle and pouring the contents in his hands. Wei Ying couldn’t help but snort, leaning back into the tub as to avoid his husband from getting all soapy too. Normally he’d relish the idea, but not with the crud stuck in his hair.

“I think I taught him how to be everything but a gentleman.”

“Wei Ying taught him how to be a child. That is what he needed back then.”

Huh, he never thought about it like that. It really put a few things into perspective for him. Back then, they didn’t have much, yet they managed to find happiness in the smallest of things.

A soft hum left his lips as Lan Zhan started lathering his hair with the new shampoo that smelled like minty lemons with hints of other pleasant scents. His strong, slender fingers squeezed his hair together as he lathered it in, attempting to force it between the cracks and crevices of the crap in his hair. It felt nice and relaxing, especially when he started to deeply massage his scalp. A soft moan left his lips as his eyes fluttered closed, feeling his body fully relax. The sound made those hands hesitate for a moment before regaining their momentum, taking extra care not to get any in his eyes or ears.

All good things come to an end, this being no exception. Using a spare ribbon to tie his hair into a bun so it could soak, his husband dipped his hands into the water, to which Wei Ying immediately captured. Without hesitation he pressed soft kisses to each knuckle, terribly grateful for his soulmate’s dedication and unyielding love.

“I’m glad you’re here, Lan Zhan.”

“Mn, me too.” He wasn’t supposed to come. While it was hard to be separated for long periods of time, they were getting better at it, even if it hurt. After this night hunt they were supposed to head over to a village suffering from illusions caused by an unknown force, to which Lan Zhan would meet up with them after their first investigation.

Sizhui no doubt sent for him earlier due to the stupid owl attack.

Turning his hand over, Lan Zhan felt for his meridians, transferring some spiritual power to aid in healing the wounds on his shoulders. By now Wei Ying knew better than to argue. He let it happen, catching his reflection in the bathwater and snorting.

While his hair was done up in a bun, it reminded him of a little apple on his head. Back in the day when he used to share baths with Jiang Cheng, they’d often mess up each other’s hair using the shampoo and conditioner to make all crazy shapes.

With his free hand he reached up and carefully pulled on pieces of the hair in the bun, shaping the hair into a little crude bunny.

“Lan Zhan Lan Zhan, it’s a bunny!” He laughed, prompting those golden eyes to open and peek up at the messed up bun. A hint of a smile crossed his face, making Wei Ying nearly melt.

He needed more of that.

Pinching around, he made it look like a mouse. “Look look! It’s like a smaller bunny.” It didn’t look too different from the bunny, but the longer tail was the dead giveaway to what he was trying to make. Watching his husband’s reactions only egged him on, horribly constructing other animals that eventually ruined the integrity of the bun. Not that it mattered, it gave Wei Ying full reign to his soapy hair, shaping it into everything he could imagine.

“Duck, mountain, crown-!” He went on and on, giggling like he was a child again. The small glimmering light in those golden eyes spoke volumes, revealing Lan Zhan’s never done this before. Eventually his hands let go of Wei Ying’s wrist to move and form the hair into shapes himself. Because this was his first time, guessing was extremely hard, but he didn’t seem to mind, not when it made Wei Ying laugh harder each time.

Like before, all good things must come to an end. Lan Zhan dutifully started to rinse his hair, his fingers actually gliding through the strands this time. There were a few times they struggled against a stubborn batch, but thankfully the shampoo was powerful and washed it all away.

Out of the tub, Wei Ying sat in Lan Zhan’s lap, sighing happily as his husband carefully combed his hair. With how tangled it was, he started with the ends, slowly making his way up. When it got to the point of being knot-free, he continued to brush it, knowing how much Wei Ying loved the sensation.

“Better?” Lan Wangji quietly asked, pressing a soft kiss on the top of his head. Wei Ying buried his face further into his shoulder, making it harder to brush his hair. He no longer cared, he just wanted to sleep against his beloved.

“Lan Zhan… if that was permanently in my hair, would you still love me?” He whispered quietly, a little shame twisted in his tone.

Lan Zhan set the brush down before pushing Wei Ying into the bed, kissing him lovingly on the lips. Their fingers slowly threaded together, squeezing each other so fondly their hearts ached.

Pulling away, his husband pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, tip of the nose, both cheeks, then his chin. Now wasn’t the time for sexual advances, as much as they both loved to uphold “everyday means everyday.”

Instead he rolled onto his back, pulling Wei Ying on top of himself. “I love you in any and every way I can get you, in this life, and all our future ones.”

Tears gathered in his silver eyes, unable to help himself from burying his face into his soulmate’s chest.

“You too. I will always love you, my Lan Zhan.”

The two whispered sweet nothings as they slowly drifted to sleep, Lan Zhan’s fingers still running through his husband’s now silky strands.

#wangxian #mdzs #phage writes #wrote this in an hour so i hope it's okay! thank you so much for requesting it!

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prismaticpichu · 12 days

Note

HIIIIII PICHU

Question!! Do you like sickfics?? (I have my fair share of them posted its my weakness ajsjaqjwj). If so, I would love to see your take at one. How about for mini prompt/drabble/headcanon Zack with appendicitis and Sephy taking care of him? 💙 Just imagining Sephiroth realizing something is wrong with him before anyone else and treating him so gently 😭

Shshdjdjsjsh AHHHHHHH!!!! THE FEELS!!! 💕💕💕

As a matter of fact, I do like sickfics!! <333 (And have had the pleasure of reading your adorable ones, my friend!) I’ve actually managed to accumulate a few myself: Priorities, Delirium, and Guard Dog are all fics I’ve written that fall under the fic of sick genre (although Guard Dog is admittedly a little old; I think I was only in, like, 8th-ish grade 😂❤️).

Tysm for the adorable prompt, my friend!! I’ll give it my best shot!

It was the second longest time Sephiroth had ever waited in the medical wing.

The doctors had told him to get up—to stretch his legs, to get some fresh air, to at the very least get something to eat as he waited for his lieutenant to regain consciousness. Only the last he had relented to. And even then, it was to a very slim degree: a nibble from the vending machine, something cheap from the mess hall, a bite of an energy bar… Something about the idea of eating just seemed so cruel, so unbelievably wrong. How he could sit here and eat, when the last thing Zack had eaten hadn’t been able to stay in his stomach? When he wouldn’t be able to eat comfortably for over twenty-four hours?

Sephiroth shifted in his chair, half-filled wrappers crinkling in his coat as he leaned against the arm, green eyes almost burning as he continued to stare at the mummified figure in the gauzy hospital linen.

Zack…

He first noticed something was wrong when the young SOLDIER refused to eat. Zack was always hungry, he knew that much about his friend, and to see him sitting across from him idly picking at his food was an immediate cause for concern. Upon asking him what was wrong, Zack had expressed concern about his stomach. That it “felt funky”, and that he even had a bit of a headache. The explanation—as far as his naïveté had been concerned—was enough to soothe most of his worry, and Sephiroth had simply chalked it up to a bout of anxiety. Zack did have an upcoming solo mission, after all, and things had become rather tumultuous with newfound sightings of Wutain spies in the area. Appetite lost was a common symptom for such uncertainty.

Satisfied with his own explanation, Sephiroth told the boy not to worry.

Neither thought his appendix would burst that very evening.

Leather fingers tightened heir hold on the chair, and Sephiroth strained his eyes, keeping them shut as the ambush of guilt and regret and anger rushed up to greet him with an almost warlike fervor.

…The man’s heart had nearly stopped upon getting the call that night that Zack was in the infirmary. It was standard protocol for one’s superior officer to be notified when they fell ill or were injured, but that didn’t do anything to whittle the dagger when the horrid information reached Sephiroth’s ears. It didn’t do anything to lessen the agony—the sting, the phantom of memory that came crashing back like a virus reborn from a newfound strain of infection.

He was down in the infirmary in minutes, and he hadn’t left since.

~~~

“Am I hurting you…?”

The words were soft and tender as Sephiroth eased his friend down onto the couch, unable to shake off the crushing feeling that he was jostling Zack’s wounds despite carrying him as gingerly as he could. But a feeble shake of the black spikes assured him or otherwise.

“Naw…” Zack’s voice was still groggy from the anesthetics. “I’m fine. Thanks, bud.”

Sephiroth had alredy pulled a blanket over the aching First. “Are you feeling any discomfort?”

“…Hungry. Can I eat?”

Sephiroth shook his head, silver bangs swaying gently with apology. “Not until tomorrow. Here.” He handed him a cup of fresh water. “Hydrate.”

Zack gratefully accepted the drink, swishing it down in a single gulp, although it was clear as he set it down that it wasn’t what he exactly wanted.

“Man…” Zack grumbled sleepily to his stomach, then glanced up with pleading, doelike eyes. “I really can’t get something to eat?”

“You heard what the doctor said.” Sephiroth sat at the edge of the sofa.

“Yeah… but I’m here now!” Zack gave an innocent look.

Sephiroth gave him a Look in return.

“I’m not disobeying the medics,” he said sternly, but his visage softened as he added: “…I promised them I would take care of you.”

Something in the green eyes flickered, and he scooted closer to Zack, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder.

“…And I promised you.”

…

“We can keep him here for the rest of the night, Sir. He needs the rest after the procedure—and we can only imagine that you’re quite busy.”

Sephiroth felt the hand around his tighten at the doctor’s words, glancing down to see a ghost of concern flickering across Zack’s half-conscious face. From the moment he’d begun to stir Zack had been mumbling his name, asking the doctors where “Seph” was amid his delirium. They were confused at the nickname—as anyone would be, given who it was bestowed upon—but Sephiroth hadn’t had the mind to explain Zack’s quirks to the medics. All he could do was reach out, letting the doctors watch with their feebly-disguised gaping eyes as he clutched Zack’s hand and assured him that he was right here.

And now, as unintentional as it might have been, the doctors had just implied that he was too busy to look after his own treasured friend.

“…No,” Sephiroth said softly, glancing up to meet the doctor’s still-startled gaze. “…I will bring him in. Thank you.”

…

By the time Sephiroth reined himself back to the present, Zack’s eyes were beginning to droop, a heavy fatigue eclipsing the just-immediate hunger in his eyes.

He yawned.

“…Exhausted?” Sephiroth allowed a vague smile to play on his lips.

“J’us a lil’…”

A small chuckle rippling in his chest, Sephiroth eased himself off the couch to give his friend some space, reaching over to tuck the quilt around his shoulders before extinguishing the den lamps.

“Get some rest…” he said gently, straightening up again. “I’ll be right here.”

…I promise.

#sephiroth #ffvii #crisis core #zack fair #ff7 #asks #ty!!#pichu writing #floof

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neonponders · 1 year

Text

We Men Are Wretched Things

Happy Harringrove Week everyone!

• read on ao3 •

The room held an atmosphere of smoke tendrils over their heads. Bluish-green eyes tracked the silver wisps from incense, lamps, candles, and human activity—

Only to land on large, brown eyes gazing back at him through the crowd. Like he had been waiting to be noticed. Doe eyes. Oxen eyes. Goddess eyes.

The Prince of Sparta was not the only one to be rumored with divine blood in their bones. The Prince of Troy did too, and he had certainly been given a feast of devotional attention tonight.

Billy sighed as their guest stood up, knowing he had every intention of approaching. Billy hid behind his goblet, tipping it all the way back—a balm on his senses at the cost of an empty cup.

A large hand took it from him, and slid it over the inky surface of the table’s krater. Billy refused the replenished cup when it was offered. “I don’t want the children’s wine.”

Troy’s prince blinked at him slowly, and smiled just as groggily. “It’s not for children just because it’s been diluted a bit.”

“I prefer strong wine.”

That made the prince wilt as he looked into the cup. Then he recovered with a shrug. “I like it. The water makes it fruitier and less bitter.”

Then he drank out of Billy’s cup. An intrusive, almost violent urge to snatch it from Steve’s hand flashed across Billy’s mind. His cup. The moist prints of his lips. A desperate need to keep every part of himself out of Steve’s hands, off his lips made Billy’s throat run dry, the wine’s bitterness making the room feel like a southern desert instead of a humid gathering of all his father’s foreign and domestic dignitaries.

Steve placed the cup on the table, his tone harder yet soft. “Why are you upset?”

Billy licked his lips and smiled without it touching his eyes. “Elaborate.”

So Steve did: “You asked me to be here.”

Billy’s smile dropped a measure. “That was months ago.”

“Did you not mean it?”

Billy exhaled for calm and looked elsewhere. Steve was…difficult to look at sometimes. Simply put, Billy had forgotten how handsome Ilion bred its princes. Steve had every feature which went into a statue of perfect, marble beauty. Handsomeness sharpened into austerity as he grew more and more annoyed, but Billy could tell he was trying to be patient. To understand.

Billy’s father’s people were supposed to be the philosophers and defenders of rationale. Ilion excelled over them in this too, it seemed.

Speaking of, Billy countered, “I remember asking you about your name. Stéfanos Aléxandros.”

“The first is the name my parents gave me. The second is the name your people call me.”

“What do your people call you?”

“Paris. You know this. Paris and Aléxandros mean the same thing. Why are we talking about this?”

“Because last time, we argued, and somehow you took that as an invitation.”

A smile returned to Steve’s face in a flash, like he had finally understood something, or perhaps they were finally in a direction he wanted to be. “You called me a son of Troy. I tried to correct you. We call our home Ilion, and I invited you to see it. I guess when you refused, I took that to mean I had come back.”

Billy knew his cheeks had begun to betray him with pink warmth, because Steve’s eyes went there, caressing his face and taking in every detail. Steve asked again, “Did you not mean it?”

Billy let his head tip to the side as if he were bored. “Nothing’s changed.”

Steve’s expressive brows furrowed. “You say that like a relationship between Sparta and Ilion is a bad thing.”

“I am an heir and you are a pawn. Don’t you have someone to marry?”

“My brother already did that,” Steve remarked as if he had beaten Billy to a joke. “I have a nephew and everything. My parents put so much work into him and their posterity that they didn’t have much energy to hold me to the same rules.”

“It shows,” Billy grumbled, finally succumbing to drink from the same infernal cup.

Steve’s gaze swept over the feast. The wooden tables and beams had absorbed centuries of wine and beer fumes to smell festively sour. Sweet perfumes contrasted it, making the space almost smell nice. Or overwhelming. Billy preferred the more subtle mixtures that nature provided outside. The salt of the ocean. The dull bite of stone and wet soil. The crisp freshness of green things and—

“She could come with us.”

Billy looked at him dumbly, and both too slowly and all at once realized who Steve had taken to looking at. “The gods gave you beauty instead of brains.”

“Thank you?” Steve puzzled. “Why not? You talk about pawns. Your sister would love Ilion—”

“She’s not my sister,” Billy blurted before murmuring, “If her feet leave Spartan soil, it would mean war.”

Steve stared at him, and Billy realized what kind of light had been behind his eyes this whole time. Hope, for it was hope that began to drain from Steve’s smile. “Why?”

“Because that’s all my father knows. That is all Sparta is. They fight, they fuck, and they do it all over again.”

Steve did not have a ready answer for that. The noise of the party eclipsed them. So much so, that Billy took the chance to leave it altogether. He had to give his father and his second wife the respect of approaching them before he left. The king was far enough in the festivities to not care; the queen sat tired and bored enough to smile at him and nothing more.

Outside, the night was graciously quiet, fragrant, and gentle. Billy pissed onto the roots of a bay leaf bush, and then set out on a familiar walking path toward the ocean. When running footfalls started to crescendo toward him, a part of Billy hoped it would be one of the guards. The part of him who hoped for Steve recoiled with too many feelings to sort through.

“What are you doing?”

“Going for a naked swim. How nice to pass you along the way.”

Billy frowned, only to bark, “HEY!”

Steve plucked the brass and gold pin from his raiment, making the expansive fabric fall like water over Billy’s arms. Far from bothered—merely inconvenienced—this was Greece. Nudity was the last thing for which Billy would feel shame.

After rolling up his himation into a ball under his arm, Billy took off over the hills and down over the dunes. Steve may have had the advantage, but Billy had the hardened feet and overtook him fast. They tumbled over the sand, grit and dry seaweed abrasive over their skin. Steve came up sputtering, and Billy crowed at his expense. “Your city has too many walls for you to learn how to run.”

“How would you know? You haven’t been there,” Steve reminded, smacking sand off his face before he admitted defeat and moved toward the water. His formal clothes were a little different than Billy’s, but fell into colorful piles all the same. Billy laid back on his elbows, watching the line of Steve’s beautiful back come into view. He allowed himself a long look at the two mounds of his ass, and the way the back of Steve’s thighs wiggled.

The sea was calm tonight, and Steve looked good with the froth around his thighs and hips. Billy huffed, feeling his own hot air ripple over his chest before his gaze flicked to his swollen but not yet erect phallus. Before Steve could turn around, Billy marched for the water, diving past him and coming up with a whip of his hair. Steve scrunched his face against the water hitting him, but Billy could barely appreciate it. The view from the front proved just as riveting as the back. And when Billy stared too long at the dark hair on Steve’s chest, the latter had the chance to splash him back.

Billy spit salt and warned, “What did I say? Don’t pick a fight with Spartans.”

“Is it true you were born out of an egg?”

Billy’s features flattened, once again dumbstruck by this man. His arms splayed around him, treading the ocean’s current as it swayed around them. “Excuse me?”

“There are different versions of the rumor,” Steve began, “but it is said that Sparta’s queen slept with Zeus. No other reason could explain your beauty.”

“Oh,” Billy’s lashes fell halfway. “I’m not impressed.”

“You’re a little impressed.”

Billy dodged that by accusing, “Where the hell does an egg fit into this?”

“You…probably don’t want to know that part,” Steve admitted, finally looking bashful and reluctant.

“Finish what you started, pretty boy.”

Steve sighed and relented, “The more colorful version is that Zeus turned into a swan and slept with the queen. So the queen laid an egg.”

“I’m sure that’s popular with your citizens who dislike Greeks.”

“So it’s not true?”

“Do you believe everything your Apollo priests tell you?”

Steve did not give an answer for that…which made Billy think the answer might be yes. Billy felt the need to elaborate, “Which queen? My father married twice.”

“Either one, I guess.”

“My stepsister and I aren’t twins. How many eggs were there?”

“I get your point.”

“Then why on earth would you ask me if I came from an egg?”

“Because you’re beautiful. And last time I was here, it was your birthday.”

Billy’s features began to relax as he listened. He realized that Steve was right. The whole reason a Prince of Troy had ever come here was for his birthday feast and competitive games. Steve finished, “I’ve never seen anyone fight like you.”

“Troy is not known for fighting,” Billy threw back, but as quickly as he snapped, he soothed, “I’ve never seen anyone ride like you.”

That brought a smile to Steve’s face. “We’re known for horses.”

Billy scoffed, “Yeah, you can’t win anything without one.”

“Just because it was your birthday, doesn’t mean you could win everything.”

“I’ll allow it, only because your city would never let you back in if you lost the horse race.”

Steve laughed, and a strained bubble seemed to finally pop. Billy let his body recline back, floating so he could gaze up at the sky…

“That better be a fish touching me.”

“You’re drifting,” Steve refuted, grasping his ankle and tugging him through the surf.

“Never bothered me before,” he grumbled, lowering his legs to touch the pebbled sand once more. “I usually try to get as far as I can before walking back.”

“That’s a weird thing to say to me.”

Billy looked at him through the darkness. The moon shined bright from above, and reflected off the water and beach just as strongly. Dark and bright at the same time. Like maybe truths as bright and dangerous as the sun might be safe in the moon’s darkness. “I can’t go with you.”

“Not even for a little while?”

Billy shook his head. “My father will send a thousand ships after me.”

“Only a thousand?”

Billy slanted mirthless eyes at him. “Don’t mistake your visits here as his true character. He isn’t one to slight. I should know. I’ve been slighting him my whole life.”

“I’m not impressed, nor afraid of someone easy to anger.”

“You should be.”

With some talent that infuriated and elated him, Steve found Billy’s hand under the water. “All I’m hearing is that you’re afraid to live in your own house.”

For some reason…Billy let himself be pulled through the water again. He could not stop the prickle behind his eyes that the touch and his involuntary tolerance brought on. He prayed that the moon did not reflect off his eyes the same as it did the water around them. “I am my father’s heir and my sister’s soldier. I’m the most expensive thing he has.”

“You would be loved like a god in Ilion,” Steve whispered.

Billy did not know when he had stopped breathing. Somehow, he barely felt the need to until he shook his head. “Gods are for fear. Love is for us.”

“Don’t say that,” Steve crumbled. His other hand found the side of Billy’s jaw, wet fingerprints on his skin like butterflies. “I’ll have to steal you if you say that.”

His hand committed to touching Billy, and cradled the junction of his nape as he captured Billy’s lips.

Billy let him. He let Steve take his cup, and Steve gave it back, full. Not even Zeus could refuse the poor soul who filled his cups. Billy let Steve take his lips, and Steve gave back his tongue, the taste of wine and honeyed figs. Is this how Ares felt, when Aphrodite took his helm in exchange for a place to rest? A place to exist without cost?

Steve came to Greece to celebrate Billy. He came back for Billy. And gods above, Billy was more afraid of what he’d give back to Steve for all of that.

#don't panic i did a thing for #harringroveweek #harringrove #ancient greek!au #paris of troy!steve #helen of sparta!billy #the boys are bad at feelings #fic rec #we men are wretched things

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missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway · 3 months

Text

Moonlight & Fang Ch. 6

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Bucky

You could say my life has been nothing more than a series of unfortunate events. Hard to believe I’m sure as I was born into Royalty. Prince James Buchanan Barnes III. Bucky to my friends and family.

I unfortunately don’t remember much of my time spent within the castle. What I do remember is how fiercely my mother loved me. It drove my father mad. Said she was spoiling me and I would never become a strong King if she kept coddling me so. But she didn’t care.

It was on the eve of my 11th birthday that my misfortune began. I had snuck out of the castle with my best friend Steven. We were only just exploring the woods and practicing our fighting skills with fallen branches, like any boys would do. When a group of bandits happened upon us.

They had us surrounded. No doubt knowing exactly who they had come across. I managed to distract them enough for Stevie to get away. His mother needed him and I would be beside myself if anything happened to my best friend.

I fought with everything I had in my small body. It just wasn’t enough and the bandits made away with me into the night.

Not before leaving a parting gift for my fathers guards to find. My left arm. Complete with my family crest signet ring. I can only assume that they presumed I was dead. It was of no matter at the time as the bandits loaded me onto a cart and traveled as far away from the kingdom of Brook Lain as they could get.

As we moved about the forest, the leader of the group, Rumlow, decided that taking my arm was not enough. He had the bright idea to soak what was left of my arm in the blood of an Alpha wolf, from a long bloodline, who he had recently slain.

When the enhanced blood entered my bloodstream, I got violently sick and I could feel things within my body begin to change. When the full moon rose 3 nights later, those new changes took full effect as I shifted into a wolf for the first time.

A white wolf, with all four legs attached. When I awoke in my human form the next morning I was no longer missing my left arm. In its place was a fully formed one, covered in black markings that resembled the moon and stars.

Even though I was now this supernatural being, the bandits kept me imprisoned for years to come. Using my abilities for their gain.

That is how we ended up here in the cursed woods. The people of the village nearby, claim that a wolf terrorizes these woods. Killing anyone who steps foot within it. Protecting the Hag who calls it home. Only a few have lived to tell the tale of the Crimson Wolf. All too young to truly have done any harm in their lives.

Rumlow offered to kill the wolf and rid the village of its menace. For a price of course. They agreed to his terms. His plan was to force me to shift and set me on the trail of the crimson wolf. All while keeping me on a leash. He wanted me to kill the creature that was only protecting its home.

We set off deep into the woods, where they beat me until my wolf took over and I shifted. They quickly collared me with silver, but we refused to move. Our defiance was met with silver tipped daggers being slashed across our skin. Nothing deep enough to kill, but they will leave a lasting scar. Plus I can’t heal from them as quickly as I would any other wound.

Never the less the pain was excruciating. All I could do was lift my head and howl in pain, as they kept sticking their blades in me. Coating my white fur red.

Selene

My wolf had been pacing inside my head all morning long. Something had her agitated. I couldn’t keep still and kept fidgeting. My erratic behavior did not go unnoticed.

“Everything okay there Sel?” Sy asks. A look of concern, furrowing his brow.

“Something feels off. My wolf. She just won’t stop pacing. Keeps mumbling ‘Need to get outside. Need to run.’ Over and over.”

“Alright. Then let’s get outside.” He simply states. “Me, you and Ari can shift, so that you’re not alone and your wolf can calm down. How’s that sound?”

My wolf yips in my head. Happy with her mate's suggestion. “Sounds like she agrees.”

“Hey stabby boy. I know you’re hiding in here somewhere and heard everything. Meet us outside.” Sy says loudly into the room.

For some reason, I felt inclined to double check that the spare room attached to my apothecary is clean and ready.

Finding that it is in fact, fully stocked, complete with fresh sheets on the bed. I make my way out into the garden. Where Sy is standing next to a smiling Ari. Both clad in only a light pair of trousers.

I slip out of my dress and shift on the porch. I bark and take off at a run for the woods, knowing my mates will shift and soon be on my heels.

I allow my wolf to guide me through the trees. She clearly knows where she is heading and I am just along for the ride. That is until I hear the cries of a wolf howling in pain.

We slow our speed. Needing to be stealthy as we approach where the howls are emanating from. We watch in horror as a group of humans torture a restrained and defenseless White Wolf.

All three of our hackles raise as they plunge the silver tipped dagger into the wolf’s right flank. It is taking everything within me not to growl and make our presence known right now. But we need the element of surprise, if we are to save the poor creature.

Unleashing a symphony of snarls and growls, we emerge from the shadows and engage the malevolent bandits that surround the tormented white wolf. A clash between life and darkness ensues, the woods calling for sacrifice.

Fangs bared, claws slashing through the air, I become a tempest of raw power and primal fury.

The sunlight dances upon the clearing, illuminating a chaotic battle scene, as crimson droplets splatter the ground in a macabre dance.

A surge of strength can be felt between our bond. We are meant to be here. We overpower our adversaries. With each thunderous paw strike, the bandits crumble, their reign of terror coming to a brutal end, as our jaws clamp down on the throats of the vile tormentors.

The clash of steel against fang resounds, echoing the victory of righteousness over wickedness.

The white wolf gazes at us with gratitude and reverence in their eyes, as the bandits lay defeated.

I quickly shift and make my way over to the wolf. Making sure to be slow in my approach so as to not scare them off. I need to get a look at the damage those assholes did. But before I can do that I need to remove this horrid silver chain and collar from around their neck.

As gently as possible, I remove the collar and chain. My skin burns during the contact but not enough to do any real damage to me, thanks to my hybrid status. I throw the damn thing to the side and without even having to be called, Othello and his conspiracy, spirit it away on the wind.

I won’t be able to get a good enough look out here in the forest. I need to be in my apothecary where I can assess and heal without worry of more of those evil humans happening upon us.

“Sy. Baby I need you to shift and carry them back to the house for me.” He shifts without second thought and carefully scoops the creature up into his arms. Soothing them as they whine from the pain.

“Ari and I will follow in wolf form for added protection. There is no telling how many more of them are out there in my woods.” I give him a kiss and shift back.

There is something about this wolf that has mine paying close attention. Hopefully we will soon find out why.

Bucky

Flashes of silver tipped daggers plunging into to my flesh. Wicked smiles adorn the faces of my torturers. Laughter filling the air as they find pleasure in my pain.

It’s the same nightmare as always. That is until a trio of wolves appears and rips into my captures. So much blood. So much violence. My tormentors falling one by one.

I am weak. Ready to give into the pain and finally be free.

In the blink of an eye a woman stands in the clearing. Naked flesh covered in blood. A wolf. She was one of the wolves.

She approaches me. There is sadness and rage in her eyes. She removes the collar from neck and throws it away. I hear feathers in the distance.

Her amber eyes scan my body. Then she speaks to the wolves behind her. One shifts and turns into a very large man. He approaches me with the same kindness and gently lifts me into his arms.

She says something to him and then shifts back into a wolf. We being to move and I lose my battle with consciousness.

I fly awake. Shooting straight up into a sitting position.

"Shh shh. It's ok. You're safe here. Your captures have been handled. Their fates were determined by my fangs. Their hearts were eaten to fill my packs' bellies. Never again shall you suffer at the hands of another." The woman from my dream speaks.

Was it a dream?

"Who are you?" I ask. Voice hoarse from misuse.

"After all that I just told you, my name is the thing you wish most to know?" She responds.

"I watched you shift. I unknowingly smelled you well before that. I know you’ve seen my wolf. But I am sure you can scent the wolf in me as well. I saw with my own eyes my tormentor's destruction. So please. What is the name of the beautiful wolf who saved me."

"Selene."

"The goddess?"

"No. Just in name only. Though I do have a connection to the triple goddesses. So I guess you're not too far off. Anyway, does anything hurt? You were badly injured when we found you and brought you home. Most of it was bruises and cuts, which I tended to with my tinctures and salves."

"Tinctures and Salves? Are you a witch as well as a wolf?"

She nods her head yes.

"These woods are cursed by a hag. You can't be serious that the hag of the woods is also a wolf and saved me."

"These woods were cursed by a hag. But I am not her. That vile being would be my mother. And I took care of her years ago."

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Then how are the woods still cursed?"

"Funny you should ask that. The goddesses informed me of a prophecy. You see, in order to restore balance to his land and undo all the harm my mother bestowed upon it. I would need to claim the 5 mates the stars had destined for me. Each would make its way to me and be tested. After which I must claim them."

"And how is that going?" I let my curiosity get the best of me. Well, more like I let her honeyed scent drive me to know more.

"My pack is currently me and my 4 mates. It has been a great while since the last time I took a claim."

"Hence the curse remaining."

"Indeed." She notices my eyes beginning to droop. I am still so tired. "Rest now sweet wolf. Allow your body to heal. Take however long you need. You are safe here."

"Bucky." I manage to whisper.

"What was that?" She asks.

"Bucky. Call me Bucky."

"Bucky." Her face lights up with a smile. "Now rest, white wolf. My healing magic works best while you sleep."

I close my eyes and let myself fall into a peaceful slumber.

As I heal in this room, I can’t help listening to the inner workings of this pack. It seems as if there is no head Alpha. No male is fighting for a place at the top. They bicker and tease each other but from what I can tell they have built some sort of brotherhood. All centered around her.

Selene.

I may not have much exposure or experience with women. Being that I was captive for so long. But I have never seen anyone like her.

Yes physically, she is the epitome of beauty. All curves and soft skin. A body most likely built for sin. Not to mention a scent that calms my wolf like no other. He has never been so peaceful inside my head before.

For as vicious and ruthless as I have seen her be. She is the most loyal, loving creature I have had the fortune of being in the presence of. When I spoke of how I came to be with the bandits, I saw as well as felt the rage and hurt in her eyes. A sense of understanding, all too well, what it feels like to be that helpless. That is when I learned how truly cruel her mother was.

She sings a lot when she's happy or working on her healing potions. Her voice as alluring as a siren's call. She’s always in a dress. Lots of black and red. I am fond of the flowy ones with the bell sleeves and high slit up the high myself.

I am envious of the bond she shares with her mates. With my perceptive hearing, I catch everything. I knew that Sy was the one who carried me through the woods to the manor. I now know that Ari is the other wolf that helped save me that day. I met Dean and Jax after my first few days here. I was in and out of sleep so much they didn't want to overwhelm me.

I know that Jax and Ari, like Selene, are born wolves. While Dean and Sy, like myself, were turned. They were bitten, while mine was just as painful if not more traumatic. Every man has treated me with kindness and a respect I feel I am not owed.

Most often, I overhear them having sex. Even though on a couple occasions they’ve tried to be quiet. Arguments turn into makeup sex with Ari a lot. Jax and Sy can't get enough of her and will happily take her together. Dean switches it up. Firing her up to punish him and then turning around and taking control.

It’s a dynamic I wish I could be a part of. My wolf and I have fallen for the gorgeous creature that is Selene. Though I have been too afraid to voice it, as she already has 4 strong mates. How could I be number five when I am so broken?

Today has been extra tortuous. She has been in her apothecary, the room adjoined to the one I have been staying in, all morning. Her scent has been extra mouth watering and my wolf just won’t settle. I am faring, no better myself when s he walks into the room, bearing fresh linens, that most certainly smell like her. She sits beside me on the bed and I can't take it anymore. I lean forward and kiss her.

Selene

“Oh thank the Gods, you finally came to your senses and made a move.” I blurt out as soon as he removes his lips from mine. The kiss was chaste, but I have been craving him since the moment his scent, no longer acrid with fear, hit my nose.

“What? You knew we were drawn to you?” He asks. A look of bewilderment on his handsome face.

“How do you think we found you in our woods? It’s the pull my dear sweet Bucky. You’re our missing knot to tie the strings of fate together and complete the foretold prophecy.” I declare.

“But I am not worthy enough to be your final mate. I couldn’t even save myself.” He whispers.

“You were but a child when you were captured. You did what you needed to, to survive and make it to me where I could set you free. Now let me complete your destiny please. I ache for you so.”

“I know not what I am doing. I have never willingly done this before.” He confesses.

Rage begins to coil in my chest. “Are you telling me that they forced themselves upon you?” I growl.

“Only once I reached my teens and they thought it was funny to make the wenches they procured from the brothels in the towns we visited and brought back to the camp to watch me shift to a wolf. Then back and make them sleep with me while they all watched. It was entertainment for them.”

“Oh you poor thing. If I could, I would bring them back to life so that I may torture them one by one. Making them beg for the sweet release of death that I kept them from for hurting the one destined for me. I would 1000 times over. Be sure of that.” I tell him with conviction.

“For now allow me to show you the true pleasures of the flesh and remove those tainted memories from your mind. Let me replace them with our bond and the beautiful future it shall bring.” I plead.

He places his forehead against mine. “Please. I crave to be yours.”

He renders me incapable of responding by capturing my lips with his own. Pouring the love that he spoke of into every caress of his tongue.

I let him control the pace. His hands roaming my curves. Sneaking his thick digits under the silk of my dress, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He begins to remove the garment, taking care not to rip it. If only some of my other mates were so kind.

Placing a hand on my lower back, he slowly pulls the fabric over my head. I raise my arms in aid. Grazing my fingertips across the beard that has grown along his jaw when he places my dress to the side.

As always, I have nothing underneath my dress, too bothered to deal with undergarments. He trails his hands down my flesh in reverence. Tracing fingertips along each scar and stretch mark. My skin may be soft and supple, but it is a map of the life I have experienced. Down to the worse bits. Reminders of what I went through and why I am thankful for every breath.

Leaning back on his haunches, he grabs the back of his shirt and pulls it off. His lust filled crystal blue eyes focused on me draped over his bed sheets. “So fucking beautiful.” He runs his hands up your legs, settling them on my hips.

Leaning forward, he ghosts kisses along my thighs and lower belly before continuing on. Mapping out a trail of pleasure and gooseflesh. Teasing first one and then the other nipple with his tongue, ending each with a deep suction.

The slow exploration continues, driving my need for him higher. I can feel the slick beginning to pool on the sheets below me.

He stops his trek at my mound. Hot breath blowing puffs of air on the cooling slick leaking from my folds. He looks up at me for permission to continue. “Please”, is all I manage to whimper out.

He sticks out his tongue and circles my sensitive little bundle of nerves. Pulling a moan right out of my throat. Taking his time to slowly torture me. Learning the wants and needs of my body with each arch of my back, and pull of his longer locks that my fingers become intertwined in.

I can feel the natural confidence increasing in him. He surprises me when he thrusts his tongue inside my aching center. The thick muscle massaging my silken walls, giving them something to finally clamp on to.

“Fuck! Bucky your tongue feels so good inside me baby.” My hands anchor themselves deeper in his hair, so that I may just enjoy the ride. But that doesn't seem enough for him. It’s as if he wants me to be a desperate, begging mess, before he gives in and allows me to come apart for him.

Pulling his tongue out, he swirls it along my folds. Seeking out every drop of slick that weeps from my cunt. Moving the appendage upward to lightly circle figure eight patterns on my clit, bringing me right to the edge. So close to falling over that cliff into utter bliss before the bastard pulls away.

“ No! Why’d you stop? I was so close.” I sit up, reaching out for his face, wanting to drag him back to my pulsing center.

He scoots off the bed. “The first time you ever come for me is going to be while my cock is deep inside you and your writhing on my knot .” He unlaces his trousers, drawing my eyes down to his hands working on divesting himself of the last of his garments.

I am hypnotized by his movements. Mouth watering as I wait for his thickness to spring free from its confines. Time seems to stand still as his pants drop to the floor.

“My, oh my what a glorious thick cock you have there.” I whisper out, licking my suddenly dry lips.

Bucky

They way her pupils dilate, reducing the beautiful amber to slivers, as she gazes upon my cock for the first time, is like a magic all its own. I can feel the abused pieces of me begin to heal. Replacing them with that look of love and desire in her eyes.

Following my instincts, I step back onto the bed and in between her spread thighs. Her slick dampened folds practically glitter in the sunlight reflecting through the stained glass windows.

I place my hardened cock between her cleft. My sensitive tip bumping against her engorged little button. She squirms and whimpers. Clearly wanting me to be inside of her already. My wolf can sense that halted orgasm from my tongue, inching its way back to the surface every time my hot length grazes her bundle of nerves.

My massive thighs push her legs further apart as I give my turgid length a couple of slow strokes. I tease the thick head of my member along her folds once more. Coating myself in your essence.

She locks eyes with me. “ Please ,” she whimpers.

Leaning forward, I raise her hands above her head on the mattress and interlock my fingers in hers. Placing a kiss to her lips, I push forward and enter the warmth of her cunt. Splitting her open on my generous girth. Pulling my hips back, I give her no time to adjust, as I begin to grind my hips down on hers with every thrust.

Foreheads pressed together, we’re completely lost in this carnal dance of love and devotion. The room fills with the sounds of our passion. A symphony of moans and groans, accompanied with the sound of slick flesh meeting slick flesh.

“Nothing has ever felt as good as your pussy squeezing me so tightly. I need you to come for me, Selene. Come around my cock. I’m not going to last much longer and I need to know what it feels like when you let go for me.” I groan out between deep thrusts.

Selene

It’s like his words have a direct link to my clit and with another well placed swivel of his hips I feel myself lose control as my orgasm takes over. A rainbow of colors flash behind my eyes and the world sounds as if I'm underwater.

Everything comes back into focus just as Bucky is reaching his own climax. Knot triggered by the tightening of my walls. He buries himself deep inside me, locking us in place. He bares his fangs and bites down on my collarbone, the opposite side of Dean’s claim. As he paints my womb white with rope after rope of his seed.

Something deep within me is telling me to grab his left arm. The one with all the beautiful black and gray markings. I turn my head slightly to the right where the large bicep of his left arm sits. Without wanting to disturb him while laying his own claim on my heart. I reach forward and pull the flexed muscle toward me and proceed to bite down. Lavishing as my mouth fills with the coppery sweet tang of my mates blood. Claiming him as he has claimed me.

Completing this bond feels different. Another orgasm rockets through my body as a rainbow of stars detonate behind my eyes. It must be doing the same for him. I can feel his knot twitch against my walls, as he fills me once more.

It felt like it went on forever with how much he was pouring into me. I writhed beneath him, back arching off the mattress, pressing his fangs deeper into my skin as my own do the same to his bicep. With reluctance, I remove them. Licking the wound before going limp and laying in a state of bonelessness.

Panting, he too removes his fangs. Licking the claim and leaving a gentle kiss on the mark his teeth left behind. I lift his head, run my fingers through his dark tresses and kiss his nose.

Catching his breath, he covers my face in sweet kisses as we both come back down to earth.

We stayed locked together. My pussy warming his cock, as we both let our fingertips roam along the other's skin. Allowing ourselves time to just revel in the moment of the new direction our relationship has taken.

This was more than just another mating. We completed the circle.

What happens next, none of us expected. The prophecy, having now been fulfilled, produces a magic that surges through the bond all 6 of us hold. Slipping us into a deep slumber.

Until we awaken days later to a new energy coursing through the woods.

#moonlight and fang #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader

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