#his first name remains the same as it was
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Unrequited love and 141
(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC.)
Suggestive theme for Soap's one /!/
SIMON : you were his second choice.
You gazed into his eyes, and within their depths, the truth unfurled. His lips remained sealed, yet their silence spoke volumes, delivering a verdict you dreaded.
"I'm sorry, I don't like you that way," he said, and it felt like a punch to the gut.
-Such has been the pattern of your existence.
-You were never anyone's first pick—neither for your family, nor your friends, nor your school.
- You were always the second choice. And for a brief moment, you thought maybe things were different with Simon.
-Maybe his kindness towards you meant something more, maybe his tough exterior was just a front.
-But no, it wasn't like that at all. You felt foolish, like you were living in a dream.
-"Let's just forget about this, it was dumb," you whispered, trying to brush it off.
-"Yeah," he agreed quickly. Too quickly. And you knew why. He never saw you in that way.
-"You'll find someone better," he said, trying to be comforting.
-You fought the urge to scream, to rail against the clichéd reassurance.
-"Less emo, maybe?" you joked, but it didn't ease the pain.
-He chuckled, a sound you used to love, but now it only reminded you of what you couldn't have.
-"You'll find someone," he repeated, but you knew it wasn't true. All your crushes ended the same way, and Simon was your last hope.
-"I should go home. You have stuff to do, right?" you said, feeling the awkwardness between you both.
-"Yeah," he confirmed, not asking you to stay like he usually did. You knew you messed up.
-You forced a smile, hiding the tears, and left.
-Walking back to your apartment, the rain mixed with your tears, and it all felt like one big mess. You wanted to forget about Simon, but at the same time, you wanted more of him. It was torture.
-Back at your place, you picked up your phone and saw a message from Johnny. Simon has been seeing someone. It hit you hard.
-"When?" you replied quickly.
-"This week. He wasn't sure, but it's been going on for months," came the response.
-And then you realized.
-Those moments you shared with Simon—they weren't meaningless.
-They weren’t figments of your imagination.
-Him without his mask, the flirt jokes, the stay-in at his flat…
- They were moments stolen in the absence of his true desire, placeholders for another.
-You were nothing more than a substitute, a convenient distraction until his heart's desire was available.
-You were just a stand-in until his real crush was available.
-You were a second choice.
-"What a coward," you muttered to yourself, feeling angry and hurt.
__________________________________________
SOAP : hookup who wishes more
His lips brushed against your neck, the sizzle of breakfast in the pan, and you allowed yourself to drift into reverie.
A life entwined with his seemed within reach.
Yet, the harsh reality pierced through when he reached for his phone to answer another call from another one night-stand.
In his bed, you were just another person, another quick fuck, maybe the one he was most comfortable with, like an old pair of socks.
But not the only one. Just someone he could rely on when he needed.
It was silly to have feelings for him.
But sometimes, when he stayed in the morning, asking about your family or giving you birthday gifts, you couldn't help but hope.
Maybe he was trying to tell you something. Until he left again. Until he talked about others. Until he was with someone else.
You lived close to his place, always there when he wanted you. Even though you knew your place, you couldn't bring yourself to cut him off, to tell him to stop.
Your heart craved his attention, even if it was only for a moment.
"Could ye pass me the salt, Nox?" he asked casually.
That wasn't your name, nor a moniker he bestowed upon you. Your body tensed, gripped by a sudden realization. He had mistaken you for one of his fuck buddies.
The agony engulfed you, clouding your thoughts.
"It's not my name," you whispered, barely audible.
"Sorry, Ah wasn't payin’ attention," he apologized, planting a kiss on your forehead.
Focused. The word echoed in your mind as you struggled to find your voice. "Leave," you whispered.
"Whit?" he asked, confused.
"I said, leave."
“Wait, if somethin’ happened, I can help-”
“That's the problem, John. You can't help. You can’t have it both ways. You can't treat me like your lover one moment, only to discard me for someone else the next. You can't oscillate between warmth and coldness. I'm tired of being strung along by your attachment issues. I know your family, John. I've met them all. Yet you introduced me as a friend. After each deployment, you sought solace in my arms, whispering promises you never intended to keep. I've had enough."
"I can change, just give me a chance—" he pleaded.
"No," you said firmly. "You want fun, I want commitment.I won't demand something you're incapable of giving. But I refuse to be ensnared in this farce any longer. Leave my home, and never return”
"It's a misunderstanding, please, just listen—" he begged.
"You called me by the wrong name," you said, your voice breaking. "While I made breakfast, you were texting someone else. You even made plans with them while we were supposed to watch a movie together. It's clear to me now."
John left, leaving behind a mess of emotions. You cried, but you also felt a sense of relief. Next time, you promised yourself, you would ask for honesty from the start, before getting caught up in another tangled web of confusion.
__________________________
GAZ : waiting for someone who doesn’t wait for you.
You stood there, shivering in the biting cold, lips pallid, hands tingling crimson from the chill, yet refusing to let a single tear betray your anguish.
As each shop shuttered its windows, the empty streets echoed with the hollow sound of your hopes crumbling, brick by brick.
You clung to the belief that Gaz would never abandon you, not after everything. So you lingered, a lone figure in the twilight, yearning for his arrival.
But when he finally materialized, it was a dagger to your heart. His arms wrapped around another, their laughter slicing through the silence like shards of glass.
Together they sauntered into the very restaurant where he had promised to take you, where they shared a meal that should have been yours.
Fingers trembling, you reached for your phone, desperate to bridge the chasm between you and him.
Yet he flicked his device off with callous disregard, leaving you to drown in a sea of unanswered questions.
Why? Why would he toy with your emotions like this, dangling the prospect of reconciliation before your weary eyes only to snatch it away?
He had been the one to reach out, resurrecting memories of a bygone era when you were each other's world in high school, planting seeds of hope for a future together.
And foolishly, you had clung to those promises, waiting with bated breath for his return, even as the minutes stretched into hours.
You had always been waiting for him.
You had always been the one chasing after Gaz, in school, in matters of the heart, in the delicate dance of friendship.
But now, as you trudged towards the desolate bus station, the bitter irony of it all weighed heavily upon your shoulders.
The clock struck midnight, and a message flashed across your screen, belated apologies dripping with insincerity from him.
In that moment, the truth became painfully clear: you had always made time for him, carving out precious moments in your hectic existence, while he couldn't spare a single second to offer a genuine excuse, a shred of explanation.
And so, as the bus rumbled towards an uncertain destination, you vowed to reclaim the pieces of yourself that you had willingly sacrificed at the altar of his indifference.
For in the end, you realized, the only person worth waiting for was the one who would never keep you waiting in the first place.
__________________________
Price : he loved you. You love him.
You watch as his fiancée weeps, tears staining your own cheeks. It's not the same for you. It's not joy, it's sorrow.
Yet, despite the ache in your heart, your eyes betray you as they linger on how handsome John looks in his pristine white suit. Your heart, it seems, has impeccable taste.
You hear him uttering his vows, the crowd erupting in cheers.
But your mind is fixated solely on the fading of his smile. You know it's just your own jealousy speaking, suggesting that perhaps he harbors a secret desire to halt this union.
You despise it, yet you can't silence the relentless overthinking that observes how he subtly recoils when their hands touch, how his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, like a fleeting shadow of itself.
But now is the time for speeches, or forever hold your peace, isn't it?
And your decision has been made, etched into the stars since the day he shared his dreams of them, seeking your approval.
The festivities commence, and you remain composed, aloof, deliberately distant from him, from them. You're afraid—afraid of divulging everything, afraid of shattering it all.
"You've been keeping to yourself," he remarks.
"Is that an inquiry, Captain?" you retort, a hint of sarcasm lacing your words.
"You're not in the military, don't call me that, dear."
You manage a wry smile.
"I don't fare well in crowds," you confess.
"I know," he acknowledges softly. "I just wanted a moment to talk."
"About what?" you inquire cautiously.
"You seem distant, from everyone," he observes.
"I... I just need time to recuperate from something, nothing significant," you deflect.
"Is it... physical?" he probes.
"No," you reply curtly.
"Emotional?"
"John."
"I just want to understand," he persists.
"Ignorance is bliss," you murmur, a trace of bitterness tainting your words.
"Yes, but not when it comes to you," he counters.
"John, please don't push," you plead.
"I will.You can't just shut me out like this," he insists, his brows furrowing in exasperation.
"Watch me," you retort, your jaw set stubbornly.
"Why are you like this?" he demands, his voice rising slightly with pent-up frustration.
"Like what?" you counter, your own patience wearing thin.
"Closed off. Distant. It's like you've built a wall between us," he argues, his words laced with hurt.
"Maybe I have," you admit, your voice softening just a fraction.
"Why?" he implores, his eyes searching yours for answers.
Irritation flares within you, fatigue settling in. You've had your fill of this celebration, of the clamor, of the happiness that seems so out of reach.
And then, it slips out.
"I love you. Satisfied now?" you snap.
His expression morphs, a mixture of shock and disbelief.
"You can't just drop that bombshell on me," he whispers, his voice tinged with betrayal.
"I warned you, John. Don't try to shift the blame onto me," you retort, your tone strained.
"Why... Why didn't you say anything before?" he implores, his frustration evident.
"Because you paraded around with people who bore no resemblance to me? Because our friendship means everything to me, and I couldn't risk it," you confess, your voice trembling with emotion.
His anger simmers beneath the surface.
"Listen, I'm sorry. Let's forget this, you have your fiancée and—"
"I loved you too," he interjects, his admission cutting through the air like a knife.
"What?" you gasp, stunned.
"Before my fiancée, I... I was utterly in love with you. I... damn it, we could have... Why didn't you say anything?" he laments, his voice thick with regret.
"John, no," you murmur, your heart breaking all over again.
"I love her now," he adds hastily, as if trying to extinguish the flicker of hope that ignited within you.
"You can't drop this bombshell now. It's cruel," you whisper, your voice choked with emotion.
"I know," he admits, his gaze dropping in shame.
"You're a coward. You've moved on, and now you leave me with this 'what if,'" you accuse, the words bitter on your tongue.
"It'll fade," he offers weakly.
-"Fuck you, John," you hiss, the finality of your words hanging heavy in the air.
-You never see him again after the wedding. You couldn't bear to, not to his fiancée, not to him, not to yourself. Perhaps, you muse bitterly, ignorance truly is bliss.
if you want more : my masterlist
#cod x reader#ghost x reader#soap x reader#gaz x reader#call of duty x reader#captain price x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#ghost simon riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#john mactavish x reader#price x reader#kyle garrick x reader
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ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇᴀᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴇᴅᴅʟɪɴɢ ᴍᴇʟᴜꜱɪɴᴇꜱ — ᴡʀɪᴏᴛʜᴇꜱʟᴇʏ
𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: Genshin Impact
𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Wriothesley + Reader
𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: NSFW
𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 12,925
𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: After beginning work as a doctor at the Fortress of Meropide, Siegwinne decides you and the Duke are a good match, and will do anything in her power to get you to together, even if she has to take drastic measures.
Or, alternatively, Siegwinne adds a little something extra to the Duke's tea. Chaos ensues.
As soon as the suture needle so much as touched the man sitting before you, he was already flinching away.
“That hurts!” He cried, “please, doctor, be gentle with me.”
It was almost laughable, really. Monsieur Phillip was a hardened criminal, or so you’d been told. He was a career criminal, you remembered the Duke remarking, and he’d been sentenced to serve time in the Fortress of Meropide for a myriad of things, such as assault, and even attempted murder, but here he was, a hulking mass of a man, whimpering in pain at the slightest prick of a needle.
“Hush,” you said, tutting gently, “the quicker I start, the quicker it’s over. Now hold still.”
He flinched back again, eyeing the needle like it was out to get him. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Please try and relax. I can assure you, I did go to medical school.”
Before he could say anything else, you made the first stitch, carefully, but quickly enough so as not to cause him too much pain. Even with the numbing gel you’d applied, it seemed that the patient’s pain threshold was quite low. It usually removed enough sensation that any leftover pain would be no more than a pinch, but even with that, you could see tears beading at his lash line.
A hardened criminal, indeed.
You finished the sutures quickly before bandaging the injured shoulder and giving Phillip some care instructions.
“And,” you said, “no more getting into altercations about work times, okay?”
Phillip sighed, casting his eyes away from you.
“Yes, ma’am.”
You smiled, kindly. “That’s doctor to you.”
It wasn’t wholly unexpected. Men tended to have lower pain tolerances than women did. You’d given stitches to many people before, and when it came to whining, the men tended to be the most common offenders.
After Phillip left, you checked up on a woman who was resting in one of the infirmary beds, and after taking her temperature and walking away with your clipboard, you nearly tripped over Siegwinne, who had somehow snuck into your path without you noticing.
“Archons,” you exclaimed, a hand flying over your heart, “I need to put a bell on you.”
Siegwinne ignored your remark. “May I see the patient’s chart?”
You handed it to her. “The patient shows signs of improvement. Her fever has broken, and her delirium has started to clear up. She should make a full recovery.”
Siegwinne hummed meaningfully. “Very good. I was worried about that one. I am glad to hear she is healing well.”
You nodded, then turned, starting towards your desk, but before you could make it, Siegwinne called your name, making you pause.
“Yes?”
Her expression remained impassive, eyes curious, unsuspecting, and she tucked the clipboard under her arm as she closed the distance between you.
“Have you seen the Duke today?”
There it was. You didn’t know what you’d been expecting aside from this. Ever since Siegwinne had caught onto the fact that you’d developed a crush on the Duke, she’d tried to do everything in her power to set you up with him. In the beginning, that was all it was. A crush. It was a crush in the same way one would develop an infatuation with a colleague or schoolmate, based on their appearance or the limited positive interactions they had with them. It was no secret that Wriothesley was an attractive man. He was tall, and handsome, anyone with eyes could see that. You’d heard the whispers among female inmates and guards alike. You were not unique in feeling some form of attraction to him.
But to Siegwinne, your silly crush was an opportunity.
“You’re a good woman,” she told you, “and His Grace is always stressed. I fear for his health. I think you would be the right person to keep him company. You are a good match. Your influence and affection would do him much good.”
Siegwinne came to you with this a few months after you’d started work at the Fortress, completely out of nowhere, stunning you to silence. You had no idea how she’d caught on to your feelings, and when you expressed as much, she went into a rambling tangent about human behavior, something about the dilation of pupils, and how she’d been taking notes, and that was when you cut her off.
“Absolutely not.”
But nevertheless, she persisted.
Siegweinne’s matchmaking attempts rarely ended conclusively, since she tended to see things as a logical cause and effect, and did not at all fit the way any normal human would attempt to court another. They mostly involved putting you and Wriothesley into situations that forced you to speak or interact with one another, with little to no regard to how much said situations were an inconvenience to you. Her first attempt, as such, embarrassingly enough, involved telling the Duke you’d had some kind of accident with an inmate, and when he came to the infirmary to check in, finding you unharmed and working at your desk, all that ensued was a lot of confusion. You wondered why he’d come all that way to see you, and he was surprised to find you not laying on one of the infirmary beds.
But, what her attempts did do, was make the way you felt about Wriothesley, which was no more than a passing fancy at first, grow into something more.
And despite your best efforts, that only made Siegwinne latch on even harder.
“Hello?” Siegwinne said, shaking you from your thoughts, “I believe it is polite to answer a question when asked one, or have human customs changed?”
You brushed off her unintentional rudeness, instead answering what she’d asked you.
“No,” you said, “I have not seen His Grace today. He’s a busy man, Siegwinne. You know that.”
“Well, you should go see him.”
You sighed, leaning down to take your clipboard from under her arm, then crossing to your desk.
“I don’t have a reason to go see him,” you said, sitting down, “and like I said, His Grace is a busy man.”
She didn’t push after that, simply going back to work as you did yours, and you tried to put it out of your mind. You and Wriothesley were friends, you’d say. Even though you usually found yourselves meeting in less than normal circumstances, you were still fond of him. You enjoyed his frank, matter-of-fact personality, and dry sense of humor, and he seemed to enjoy your company as well. Your relationship was as casual as it could be between you and a man who was technically your boss, and friendly enough that you had conversations outside of work related matters. You’d never let Siegwinne know this, but her repeated and clumsy attempts at setting you up were not without some benefits.
That was fine, you supposed. You’d bonded over Siegwinne and her antics, and built a friendship over a shared love of tea, as well as an author you both enjoyed, among other common interests. But that was it. As much as Siegwinne, and, begrudgingly, you, would like to say otherwise, you and The Duke were only friends.
And, it seemed, as you settled into that fact quite comfortably, Siegwinne only grew more brazen in her attempts at Melusine style matchmaking.
Her latest attempt involved trying to shut you in a locked room with The Duke, which failed when Wriothesley produced the master key in order to open the door. It happened a little over a week ago, which made you nervous, because Siegwinne didn’t like letting too much time pass between her less than gentle shoves. You were almost completely certain that Wriothesley knew what was happening, he’d have to be stupid not to, though he hadn’t said anything about it. This was probably to spare you from any further embarrassment, which you appreciated.
The situation was hopeless. You knew that well. But Siegwinne didn’t, and that was beginning to become a problem. You didn’t know why you’d let her get away with this for the handful of months that you had, but maybe, deep down, you hoped that something would actually come from all her meddling.
And apart from that, you had a certain degree of professionalism to uphold. Wriothesley was your boss, and you were both his employee and his doctor. As much as you found yourself wishing otherwise, pursuing your feelings, even if that was an option, just wasn’t ethical.
But still, you could dream, you supposed. Dreaming was harmless.
“I need you to run an errand for me.”
You turned in your chair, raising an eyebrow at Siegwinne, who was staring over at you innocently, a thermos in her hands. You looked at it, then back at her, puzzled.
“Siegwinne, I’m not in the mood.”
She frowned. “To do your job? How unbecoming. I’m simply asking you to deliver this tea to the Duke. His Grace is suffering from a headache. I delivered some to him this morning, but the problem still persists.”
You glanced at the thermos again. “Tea? What’s in it?”
She immediately became defensive, and for a moment, you almost felt guilty for doubting her.
“Medicine!” She cried, “what do you take me for? I’ve brewed a painkiller into the tea. It should help with His Grace’s headache. If you don’t trust me, you can take a sip yourself.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Why can’t you do it?”
Her brows pinched together in annoyance, and maybe a little indignance. “I have to go see a patient, thank you. A young man is complaining of nausea, and finds it hard to stand because of it, so I am going to see him in his cell. Now, will you bring His Grace the tea, or not?”
You sighed. In your own mind, your hesitance was completely justified. Siegwinne had tried to trick you into being alone with Wriothesley many times before this, but then again, if the Duke was actually feeling unwell, and you refused to bring him medicine, what kind of doctor would you be?
And so, you relented. With another sigh, you stood, snatching the thermos from Siegwinne’s outstretched hand.
“Fine,” you said, “I’ll be back as soon as I drop it off.”
If Siegwinne was disappointed by this, she hid it well. She simply nodded, then crossed over to her desk to busy herself with her medical bag. You glanced over a few more things at your own desk before scooping up the thermos and leaving the infirmary after calling a quick few words of parting to Siegwinne, who only nodded.
You shivered a little as you left the infirmary. Siegwinne tended to keep it warmer there, with a space heater sitting in the corner to combat the cold dampness of the rest of the Fortress of Meropide. It was better for the patients, she said, if they had somewhere nice and warm to rest and recover. You were fairly certain she also said something about humans and their preference for warmth, but that wasn’t important at present.
The clang of your boots against the metal floors rang out as you walked, head held high, thermos in your grip. The air smelled of iron and brine, a scent you’d grown used to in the time you’d been working in the Fortress. Artificial light cast everything in a sort of ominous hue, and the low strength of it left everything in partial shadow. It used to make you nervous, not knowing what hid behind them, using them like masks. Now you knew that whatever was waiting for you was something you could handle.
You glanced down at the thermos in your hands. It was warm, likely just brewed. There was no way Siegwinne would have you serve the Duke cold tea. The thermos was plain; unassuming. It was slate gray, probably stainless steel. You turned it over in your hands, studying it. It was just tea. You had no reason to think it was anything other than that. But with Siegwinne, you’d learned to expect the unexpected.
Absently, you stepped into the elevator to take you down to the administrative floor. The car jerked, and with a mechanical clank, began to move. You turned the thermos over in your hands again. It’s just tea. For the Duke. Your poor, ailing boss. You twisted your mouth. It was fine. There was no way Siegwinne would ever do anything to actually harm Wriothesley. You tapped your nails against the surface of the thermos, almost jumping from your skin when the elevator came to an abrupt stop as it reached its destination, jostling you where you stood and ejecting you from your tangled thoughts.
You sighed as you left the elevator, tucking the thermos into your arms and against your chest. Everything was fine. If Siegwinne took anything seriously, it was health. You’d caught her staring intently at you on many occasions, and when you asked her about it, she told you she was making sure you were healthy, in a very matter-of-fact tone, like it was obvious. She may be odd, but she wasn’t going to try and harm anyone.
As you reached the doors to the Duke’s office, you reached into the pocket of your skirt, digging out the key to the lock. Because of the Fortress’s status as a prison, it was only natural that important areas such as the office of the warden would remain locked. The only way to get in was if you had a key or if you were invited by Wriothesley himself. There was also the off chance that the Duke left the doors unlocked, but that was uncommon. Regardless, before you put the key in the lock, you raised your hand, knocking on the door with a great clang.
“Your Grace?” you called, though it was unlikely he heard you through the thick steel, “I’ll be coming in now. I have some tea for you.”
And with that, you pushed the key into place, twisting. With a grunt of effort, you pushed the doors open.
It was as you were opening the door that you heard him, calling to you. It was muffled under the mechanical clank of the doors, making you only vaguely aware of his call of your name, and you hurried to close the door to answer him. The lock clicked as you did, signifying that the mechanism had reset to its previous locked state.
You expected Wriothesley to call out to you again after your lack of response, or even possibly to come see you. It was unlikely that Siegwinne would send you on an errand without previously announcing your arrival. But instead, you were met with silence. You gripped the thermos more tightly, hesitating.
“Your Grace?”
You heard something else then. A soft intake of breath, only able to be heard because of the complete lack of noise, save for the quiet hum of machinery from beyond the doors. Then, you could hear him clearing his throat.
“Yes,” you heard Wriothsley say, from up the stairs, “up here.”
You sighed, relieved, as you made your way up the curving staircase and into the main office.
And as for things you expected to see, this was not among them.
Wriothesley was sitting at his desk, but he looked more than a little disheveled. His coat had been discarded, draped over the back of his chair, and his tie was undone, hanging loose around his neck. His waistcoat was also unbuttoned, as were the top two buttons of the dress shirt he wore underneath the garment. His gloves had also been removed, laying out on his desk beside an empty teacup. His hair was tousled, more than usual, and his face…
You furrowed your brows, suddenly concerned. His face was flushed, a deep pink settled in the apples of his cheeks, very evident against his usually pale skin. Breath, feather soft, expelled itself through parted lips, almost too quickly, as he looked over at you, brows pinching together, as if pained or troubled before the expression calmed. Wriothesley straightened, clearing his throat again, and he was hurriedly fixing his clothing, deft fingers doing up the buttons of his shirt, smoothing back over his hair.
His eyes fell to the thermos in your hands, lingering, before sliding up to your face.
You stared at him, your concern growing more by the second, and after a beat, you crossed to the desk, setting the thermos down.
“Your Grace,” you said, “I’ve brought you painkillers for your headache, but you look… May I examine you? You do not look like you’re feeling well.”
“Examine me,” he repeated, then took a slow breath, squeezing his eyes shut before shaking his head, as if clearing away a fog. He swallowed, raking a hand through his hair, and it was then that you spotted sweat beading on his forehead.
“Yes,” you said, gently, already in doctor mode, “please, let me help.”
He cleared his throat, for what was probably the third time, and you narrowed your eyes. You were rapidly beginning to get suspicious in addition to concerned. There was something he wasn’t telling you. Absently, you found yourself mentally scolding yourself for neglecting to bring your medical bag.
“I’m fine,” he said, though he certainly didn’t look fine, “please, don’t trouble yourself. You’ve come all this way for me, so would you at least sit with me for a cup of tea?”
You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. It was fine, though, you supposed. Staying around wasn’t a terrible idea. It would give you a chance to more closely study the Duke’s behavior, and try and figure out what the problem might be. And so, you stepped to the table off to the side, picking a clean tea cup from the collection displayed there.
“I don’t need any, really,” you said as you leaned over to take the thermos from the desk, “Siegwinne made this for you, for your head. I am happy to sit and talk with you, though, if you want me to.”
Wriothesley smiled easily. “If you like, I can brew you a cup from my personal collection of teas. What do you like?”
You flushed, feeling special, and you turned to busy yourself with arranging his cup of tea to hide the pink in your cheeks.
“You already know my preferences, Your Grace,” you said, over your shoulder, “just a cup of earl gray is fine.”
You heard shuffling, then the sound of a drawer being pulled open, and you knew the Duke was rifling through the collection of teas he kept stored in his desk. Shifting your focus, you removed the small travel cup attached to the top of the thermos, then unscrewed the lid. Immediately, you were hit with the scent of the tea. It was unexpectedly sweet, and sort of floral. It certainly wasn’t the Duke’s usual style, that was for sure. You took another lungful of it, and could make out notes of various medicinal herbs, including rosemary and feverfew, both known to help with headaches. You could also smell a hint of lavender. But there was still that floral, sort of rosy scent, undercut by the bitter, citrus aroma of the feverfew. It smelled a bit like rainbow roses; of petrichor and morning dew and sweet fresh petals. It certainly had herbs in it, some of which were known to help with what the Duke needed, but the combination of them that you were able to discern was puzzling to say the least.
You put it out of your mind, chalking up the roses to being there to help with the bitterness of the feverfew. With a sigh, you poured the steaming liquid into the teacup. It was sort of a deep rouge color, bordering on purple. A nice color, you decided, and not entirely unexpected with what was contained in the tea. You placed the cup on a saucer, then carried it, alongside the still half filled thermos over to the desk, setting them before the Duke. In exchange, he handed you the tea bag you’d requested, which you accepted gladly.
After you’d filled a cup with boiling water, which the Duke always seemed to have on hand in any nearby kettle, ready for a quick cup. You added the tea bag, as well as a few spoonfuls of sugar, then took your seat on the couch by the tea table.
Wriothesley’s face twisted as he took the first sip from his cup, seemingly troubled.
“It’s very sweet.”
You tilted your head. “Is it not to your liking? I’ll be sure to tell Siegwinne to tweak the recipe.”
Wriothesley waved a dismissive hand. “No,” he said, “I just wasn’t expecting it. It’s not my usual style, but I don’t dislike it.”
You nodded meaningfully, blowing over your tea once more.
“How are things over in the infirmary?” He asked, and you sat up straighter, engaged.
“Fine. The usual. I had a man who was scared of needles just before I came over,” you said, “I’d barely touched him before he was telling me to stop.”
Wriothesley laughed, amused. He took another swallow of tea.
“Oh, really?” He said, “Monsieur Phillip, I suspect? That man always gets into brawls, but is terrified of medical treatment. And he never wins those brawls. The gardes always have to pull the other guy off of him.”
You hid your smile behind your teacup. “I know,” you said, “Siegwinne is always scolding him when he comes in for being reckless.”
Wriothesley rested his head on a closed fist, thoughtful, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“Maybe a few rounds in the Pankration Ring would do him some good,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t go putting any ideas in his head,” you said, “he might become a permanent resident of the infirmary if he starts entering into any matches.”
Wriothesley made a face, pale blue eyes moving to rest somewhere in the depths of his teacup. “Maybe he’d pick up a few things about proper combat, though.”
It was your turn to laugh. “Maybe, but at the cost of his health.”
You enjoyed this. It was hardly the first time you’d been invited to stay for tea, in addition to being personally invited to tea a handful of times before. Wriothesley’s presence was pleasant and inviting, despite his intimidating stature and appearance. His height dwarfed many other people, and you’d seen few as tall as he was, save for the Iudex, who was far more slim than the Duke was. Where Monsieur Neuvillette was tall and lithe, Wriothesley was broad and powerfully built. His sheer size alone, made only more prominent by the bulky coat he wore around his shoulders, was enough to intimidate anyone.
But despite that, he was an amicable and good-humored man, earnest and straightforward. He made you feel at ease, and your growing affection for him settled low and warm in the spot behind your heart.
His face was getting more pink, you noticed, with a start. You took another sip of tea, watching him closely. His brow furrowed, just briefly, and he was fiddling with the bands of leather around his throat, as if they were suddenly too tight. He shifted in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable.
“Your Grace?” You said, and he seemed to snap out of whatever had overtaken him, regarding you with raised eyebrows and an expectant expression.
“Sorry,” he said, “what were you saying?”
You studied him, eyes narrowed, and he laughed, a little awkwardly.
“You’re doing that thing Siegwinne does,” he said, “the thing she does with her eyes. I don’t know how you replicated it so perfectly. There’s nothing wrong, I promise. It’s just suddenly kind of hot in here. Do you feel that?”
You shook your head. In fact, to you, the room was cold. Just as cold as the rest of the Fortress, save for the infirmary. It was the reason for the thermal lining in the pale blue overcoat of your uniform, the color that marked you as medical staff, as well as the reason for the thicker uniform fabric worn by the majority of the other general staff.
“No,” you said, and Wriothesley looked puzzled.
“Oh,” he muttered, puzzled, “I was warm earlier, but I’m starting to get… hot now. I don’t suppose that’s normal?”
You cracked a smile at that. “No, I don’t think so.”
A spell of silence passed before your mind snapped back to what he’d just said.
“You were feeling overly warm earlier? When did that start?”
Wriothesley furrowed his brows, considering your question before answering. He took another sip from his cup, then poured more of the contents of the thermos into it.
“This morning,” he said, “I can’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but it was maybe shortly after I had a cup of tea.”
You snorted, amused. “You realize how little that narrows it down, don’t you? You drink more tea than anyone I know, Your Grace. I need a measure of time, not cups of tea.”
He chuckled at that. “I apologize. I believe it was after Siegwinne delivered the tea she made for my head. Which is feeling much better, by the way. I think what I’ve been drinking while we’ve been chatting has helped kick the rest of it. I’m almost finished with the thermos.”
Suddenly, you made the connection.
Almost robotically, and with learned efficiency, you went over the contents that you’d smelled in the tea, along with their uses. Feverfew, maybe some lavender, and rosemary. All of those had various uses, though they all had one thing in common, which was pain relief. Finally, there was the rainbow rose. The petals and buds were used for medicinal purposes, and could be used as such, similarly to common red roses, for anything ranging from headaches to a sore throat.
Something was missing. Something was wrong. The scent itself had been off.
“The tea,” you said, “from before. Was it sweet?”
Wriothesley nodded, taking another gulp, and finally, pouring the last of the contents of the thermos into the cup. “This brew is sweeter, though.”
You stood, then reached for his teacup, bringing it to your nose and inhaling. You caught the same things as before, but as you mulled them over, something else clicked.
Siegwinne wouldn’t. Would she?
“It’s really hot,” Wriothesley said, and you could see the sweat beaded at his hairline, sticking the hair at his temples to his skin, cresting down his cheekbone.
You reached out, and when the back of your hand made contact with his burning forehead, he flinched, making a soft sound in surprise and alarm.
“Why is your skin so much colder than mine?”
Your skin wasn’t cold. In fact, your body was at an average temperature, kept warm by the layers of clothing you were wearing. By your own assessment, your hands were probably relatively warm. You frowned, reaching into your pocket and withdrawing your penlight, circling the desk to situate yourself closer to the Duke.
The way he was looking at you when you drew closer was strange. Almost hungry. Famished, ice blue hues swept over your form, and you watched as his hands, previously resting on the desk, folded in front of him, over his lap.
You moved closer, leaning halfway over to him, hand making contact with his face to tilt it towards you. He flinched at your touch, breath shuddering, and you studied his eyes closely before muttering a warning and shining your light into his face, instructing him to follow the light with his gaze.
“This isn’t… necessary,” he protested, weakly, and you ignored him. His pupils were blown wide, dark pits in the center of the sky blue of his irises.
“Mydriasis,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him as you switched off your light and pocketed it.
Your hand dropped from his face to just under where his jaw met his throat. You pushed aside the leather straps, just enough to access his pulse point, pressing two fingers to the spot. His heart was racing, quick and erratic, and you felt him shudder, breath heavy, his jaw setting tightly as your hands drifted across his skin, probing and searching. His skin was burning with heat, feverishly so, and coupled with the elevated heart rate, the blown pupils, and the way he seemed to flinch whenever you made contact with his skin directly, you could only make one conclusion.
“So,” you said, backing up to stand up straight, “this started after you had the first brew Siegwinne dropped off, yes?”
Wriothesley nodded. “It did.”
His voice. It had dropped several octaves in the time you’d been examining him, and you cursed the effect it had on you, coursing hot through your bloodstream. It felt so deeply unprofessional for a doctor to even think of her patient in the way the brief thoughts that fluttered through your mind suggested you do.
“Is it worse after this second batch?” You forced yourself to say.
He huffed a laugh. “You could say that.”
And it was then when you noticed, from where you were standing, that Wriothesley’s belt was undone. Rosy hues colored your cheeks as you yanked your gaze away.
“You need to tell me all of your symptoms,” you said, “spare no detail.”
Panic briefly flashed across his face as he crossed and uncrossed his legs.
“Hot,” he said, “I feel far too warm. Do I have a fever?”
You narrowed your eyes. He was purposely hiding the truth, but nonetheless, you answered.
“Yes,” you said, “but I believe it’s because your body is overheated and not because you're fighting an infection. I just said not to leave anything out, Your Grace, please tell me everything. As your doctor, I–”
“I’m… Archons, I don’t want to say it,” he paused, searching, almost frantically for something else to focus on. “What was in that tea?”
You swallowed, leaning back to rest against the desk.
“Herbs,” you said, “rosemary, feverfew, and lavender. All meant to help with pain and headaches. But I could also smell rainbow roses.”
Wriothesley brightened. “Yes, I thought that was what I tasted. It brings such a unique flavor to the table, don’t you agree?”
You fought a smile, endeared by him, but now was hardly the time. You needed to figure out what was wrong with him, not to discuss tea.
“Yes,” you said, “but it was strange. Too sweet. It only gets to that level when the powdered roots of a Sumeru rose are included alongside the powdered roots of a rainbow rose, in which case the combination can make–”
Oh. Oh.
As you were talking, it clicked into place. The scent, which you’d thought was much too sweet before, suddenly made sense. Sumeru rose must have been the final ingredient. It was flavorless when consumed, but smelled quite sweet. When combined with rainbow roses, the scent of the two grew overpoweringly saccharine. Unless diluted, it would almost resemble a syrup. If the rainbow rose petals were boiled alongside the powdered roots of the Sumeru rose, it could become a powerful medicine able to soothe a bad cough. But if the roots of both plants were powdered, the results were…
You cursed yourself for being so stupid. Of course, Siegwinne would see nothing wrong with this. Medicine was medicine, regardless of what the outcome of its ingestion spelled, so long as it got the desired result. To her, the suggestion of something unbecoming would be taken with great offense.
“‘Can make?’” Wriothesley supplied, and were already imagining the ways in which you were going to rip Siegwinne a new one.
“I need your symptoms. Now. I am a doctor, Your Grace, I promise I will be as non judgemental as possible, just please–”
“Damn it,” he interjected, face hidden in his hands, “I’m aroused.”
Anything you’d just been about to say left your mind, swept away by dread, because you knew what was happening.
Siegwinne was evil. You could already picture her expectant, innocent face, asking just how her little ‘experiment’ had gone, and it filled you with boiling rage.
Though, there was also the fact that she could simply be misinformed. Melusines had different reactions to some medicines than humans did, and it was equally possible that she simply thought that, if dosed with the tea, the Duke’s feelings for you, if he had any, would just be made more prominent. For her sake, you hoped it was the latter.
“Aroused,” you parroted, trying hard to stay professional and failing miserably, because this was unethical on so many levels, “tell me more about that.”
He made a strangled, startled sound. “You want to know more?”
You wanted to melt into the floor. “I need to know how strong the dose you’ve been given is.”
“Dose?!” He said, “of what?”
You refused to look at him. “When mixed together, the powdered roots of a Sumeru rose and a rainbow rose create a powerful aphrodisiac. I believe the first dose you received was a weaker version, and this one is much stronger.”
Silence followed as Wriothesley took in the information, then cleared his throat.
“Do you have an antidote?”
You raised your head to look at him properly. He looked almost haggard, the flush from his face creeping down his neck.
“There… kind of isn’t one.”
Wriothesley made a sound of frustration in the back of his throat, hands raising to card through his hand, and it was then that you noticed it. Now that his hands were no longer hiding it, you could see it, there, outlined against the dark fabric of his slacks.
He was hard.
A wave of suffocating, shameful arousal washed over you, and you forced yourself to look away, to ignore it.
You could only begin to imagine how he was feeling. The way you were feeling was nothing compared to him, his condition undoubtedly much more intense than your own physical reaction in response to his arousal, and you could feel his eyes on you as you scrambled to find a solution.
“What am I going to do then?” He asked, “it’s getting… I’m sorry, It’s getting rather unbearable. I tried everything. It’s impossible to ignore, and I know I can’t use my hands.”
You spared him a glance. “Why?”
“Because,” he said, “I was already trying that. It wasn’t enough.”
Oh. The unbuckled belt. His disheveled state when you’d walked in. He’d already been dealing with the effects of the first dose, or at least attempting to. The call of your name, as you were entering the office. The silence before he summoned you up to the second floor.
Fuck. He’d been thinking of you.
That had to be one of the hottest things you’d ever heard, professionalism be damned. Arousal rolled over you like a breaking wave, making you bite into your lower lip.
You knew what needed to happen. You knew the effects of this particular drug would take, and you knew that the only way to relieve his symptoms was either to very painfully wait it out or to… find relief. In this case, that entailed another person.
“You need to have sexual intercourse,” you said, “or you can wait it out.”
Wriothesley cleared his throat. “Wait it out,” he said, “right, I can do that. How long will that take?”
You twisted your hands together. “It… depends. You were likely given a pretty strong dose, even for someone your size. By my estimate, it would probably take several hours for it to work its way out of your system.”
He chuckled dryly, humorlessly. “Great.”
You cleared your throat. “Do you have someone I could… call? A girlfriend?”
He snorted, as if amused by the idea. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
That would make sense, you supposed, if he was calling out your name, and not the name of another woman.
“We both know what Siegwinne is doing,” Wriothesley said, “not just with this, but for the past few months. I can’t pretend I’m not fond of you, and neither of us can pretend there isn’t something between us.”
It was like the ground dropped out from under you at the sheer brazenness of his admission. You stared at him, thunderstruck.
“You… what?”
A cavalcade of thoughts crashed together as you rapidly attempted to process what he meant by that, but he barely gave you any time before he started speaking again.
“Look,” he said, “if you don’t feel the same, I can accept that. I’ll wait it out, and we can pretend this never even happened. But if you do, are you even… slightly interested in um… helping me? Because honestly, I feel like I’m about to explode.”
Heat coiled low in your stomach, threatening to overtake you as the lovely rasp of his voice made any of your logical thoughts close to meaningless. This was so vastly unprofessional. He was your boss, and you were his doctor. But something dangerously close to want was settling neatly over that space you usually reserved, that you looked to for reassurance about your professional standing with the Duke, to tell you that your feelings for him, ever growing, were improper.
And when you turned, watching his face, the way his hungry gaze traced your body through your uniform, something in you snapped, and you threw caution to the wind.
Head lowered, face flushed, you swallowed your rationality and any remaining hesitance you had left.
“I suppose,” you said, “I could use my hands.”
Wriothesley’s body jolted in anticipation, and his eyes betrayed his hesitance, darkened to steel blue with lust as he nodded once, then once more.
“Hands,” he repeated, “yes, hands are good. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”
You found it touching that he was at least trying to take your comfort into account, even when he was drowning in desire, and you took a slow step forward as he shifted, pulling his chair out enough to allow you room to situate yourself on the floor in front of him. As you took another step, he took his coat from the back of his chair and laid it at his feet, another gesture you appreciated.
Once you reached him, you knelt down between his thighs, and he watched you with burning eyes, flinching when your palms smoothed over his clothed thighs, jaw tightening. Medical curiosity echoed briefly in the back of your mind, taking note of just how sensitive the drug had made him to the simplest of touches, how he shivered as your nails grazed against the insides of his strong thighs.
Fuck, he was radiating heat. So much so that it was beginning to affect you, and you shifted back on your knees to remove the overcoat layer of your uniform, leaving you in the blouse and underskirt beneath it. Wriothesley’s eyes followed your motions with rapt attention, and when you moved forward again, settling, you felt him jolt when your palm met his leg once again.
This close up, you could see it, just how much he was straining against his trousers, his erection pressed against his zipper, and hesitantly, you cupped it in your hand.
The Duke gasped at your touch, fingers twitching where he’d curled them around the armrests of his chair, then tightening in a white-knuckled grip as you ever-so-gently squeezed. He twitched against your palm, and you removed his belt entirely, dropping it to the floor with a clatter before you were unfastening his button and zipper.
You palmed him through the fabric of his underwear, and you could already feel how big he was just from that. A sort of eagerness threaded its way into the burn of your arousal as you pushed away any remaining layers, pulling him free.
Fuck. He was so thick, and when you slowly wrapped your hand around him, your fingers just barely met. He was long, too, though you supposed it made sense for a man of his size. He was flushed red, painfully hard, and when you squeezed, you felt him twitch once more, his body tightening like a coiled spring. His hands tightened their grip on the armrests, flexing, and you felt his hips shift forward, unconsciously.
The first stroke made his head roll back, the sound he let out one of relief, just from that simple touch alone. It made you squirm in place, the sound of his voice and the stricken hitch of his breath causing the desperation of his arousal to bleed into your own building need. Precum was beaded at his tip, and you almost wanted to lean forward to lap it up, especially as more leaked out in response to the way you were stroking him in slow, even movements.
Heavy breath expelled through clenched teeth, followed by a low, low groan as your thumb found his tip, rubbing in slow circles, and it was then that you leaned forward, giving into temptation as your tongue pressed to the underside of the head of his cock in a slow lick.
“Oh,” he gasped, “oh, you don’t have to– oh, fuck.”
He cut himself off as you lapped at his slit, groaning through his teeth. He was already completely lost to pleasure as you pumped the base of him, and when you took him into your mouth, sucking on the tip, you heard him curse, a sound drawn out with a low, decadent groan.
“You said your hands– oh!”
Arousal was settling low and smoldering hot in the pit of your stomach, pooling between your thighs, and you whined as he whispered your name. You released him from your mouth, hands moving to rest on his thighs, and you dragged your tongue up and along the underside of his dick, gathering up any precum that had dribbled down. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his slacks, lips grazing the side of his shaft, and he repeated your name, louder, voice twisted with an urgency that made your blood sing.
It was embarrassing, just how quick you’d gotten like this, punch drunk on the reactions he gave you, the way his body reacted to your touch. It filled you with an addicting sort of power, one that threatened to overtake you if you weren’t careful. But right then, all you wanted was to add fuel to the ever growing fire. And, with the way he was breathing, rough and ragged and broken, you doubted he’d be opposed to that.
Your tongue flicked out, against the fold of skin just below his tip, and he tensed, crying out helplessly. When you finally took him in your mouth, fully, his head fell back against his chair, a feral groan tearing itself from his throat as your tongue pressed firm against him. Your hand moved from his leg to encircle the base of him again, squeezing and stroking in tandem with the slow bob of your head, and making the Duke gasp at the sensations.
When you sucked, just a little, Wriothesley babbled a string of curses, hips twitching up towards your mouth, and when you ducked down, bobbing your head, one of his hands flew from the armrest to the back of your head. You thought he’d push, or maybe take control, but all he did was lace his fingers into your hair, unmoving. His body shuddered under the roll of your tongue, under the press of your free hand to his stomach, creeping under the layers of clothing covering him, his skin fever hot against your own.
You took him deeper, and he twitched, hips jumping as you hollowed out your cheeks, drawing back before surging forward once again. You relaxed your jaw further as his hips bucked, and he muttered an apology, breathless and feverish. His head pitched back as you rubbed your thumb against his base, and he twitched again, sharply. When you looked up at him, through your lashes, he was gazing down at you with hooded, burning eyes. There was desperation in his cool blue hues, a wordless plea for anything, everything you could give him.
And with everything you had, you delivered.
You dropped your jaw, swallowing as much of him as you can, drinking in the sound of his breath shuddering, tapering off into a low moan. You sped up, gradually, and the sounds he made were so madly erotic that you found yourself aching to reach between your thighs and take care of your own growing need, but you could hardly focus on anything apart from taking him as deep as possible without choking. The sheer girth of him was enough to make your jaw sore, and when you moved forward again, he hit the back of your throat, making tears catch in your lashes.
“Fuck,” he groaned, drawing the word out with the sound, long and low and you kneened around him, making him curse and buck.
The hand not tangled in your hair raised to his face, balling tight, and he bit down on his fist, stifling his uncontrolled cries of ecstasy, eyes squeezing shut, brows pinching in concentration. He was trembling beneath your touches, twitching against your tongue, and when you moved back to suck on the tip, slow and indolent, the noise that left his mouth was nothing short of pornographic.
“Yeah,” he seethed, voice breathy, needy, “fuck, yeah, don’t stop.”
Not a chance in hell you were doing that. You clamped your thighs together, squeezing around nothing, and you knew you were soaked, evident in the way your panties were sticking to your skin, your thighs tacky with sweat and the soak of your own arousal. Your hand curled into a fist where it rested on his stomach, then flattening once more and flexing, searching for anything to anchor yourself. When you took him into your mouth once more, fully, he bucked his hips, groaning with no regard for volume. He was close, teetering on that edge, evident from the way his grip on your hair grew tighter, the way you could feel the muscles in his stomach tensing, and when you took him deep and sucked, he moaned, long and low, the sound almost forced from his fraying lungs. The sensitivity had to be maddening, you decided, and you’d use that to your full advantage.
Slowly, you pulled back, lapping at the leaking tip, hand working tirelessly at the base of him, and you barely had any warning before he tipped over the edge, back arching, breath all but leaving him. You shifted back in surprise, reflexively, and cum painted itself across your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, the seam of your lips. You closed your eyes in an attempt to keep anything from getting into them before you were hurrying to take him in your mouth, sealing your lips around him. His hand was fisting in your hair, and the sound he made, a low, breathless groan, was one of sheer, debauched relief.
You sucked, and he let out an obscene moan as you swallowed down his cum, hips jerking, the hand previously fisted between his teeth flattening against the desk, palm slamming down, just once, and you heard the rasp of wood under fingernails as he moved to grip the edge.
You slowed, working him through the intensity of his orgasm, as he twitched and throbbed under your touch, the sheer volume of cum surprising you. It leaked from your mouth, down your chin, and you did your best to swallow as much of it as you could. He slumped, boneless, against his chair, and when you moved to clean him with your tongue, you got to listen to the delightful sound of him gasping from oversensitivity.
“Fuck,” you heard him say, dazed and utterly breathless, “fuck.”
Slowly, you drew back, and his eyes followed you, breath hitching and gaze darkening as he took in your appearance. The sight of you, knelt before him, covered in his cum, was enough to make him groan aloud, cheeks flaring pink.
“Archons,” he said, “that has to be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
You let out a short, breathless chuckle.
“Do you have a rag or something?”
He nodded, once, and you stood on shaking legs before leaning sideways against the desk, and he pulled you closer, gently wiping your face clean with a tissue before depositing it in the trash situated under his desk.
“How do you feel?” You asked, and he huffed what may have been a laugh, nearly disbelieving.
“That was… Incredible. But I’m still, um…”
You crooked an eyebrow, watching him, expectantly.
He looked almost guilty. “I’m still hard.”
Oh. Oh.
You weren’t completely surprised. You didn’t know if a blowjob alone would be enough to work the drug from his system, and clearly, it wasn’t. Not that you minded. Your own arousal was a steady pulse below your skin, working like a second heartbeat. Desire coursed through you, and you pressed your thighs together once more. You wanted it. You already knew that. You wanted him.
“Alright,” you said, and what was left of any phantom of resolve, or the shreds of your until recently professional relationship with him all but vaporized, “sit back.”
“You don’t have to,” he started, the protest as fragile as glass, but you cut him off.
“I want to. I’ve… wanted this– you– for a while. So please, Your Grace– Wriothesley. I want it all. If you’ll have me.”
That was all it took. With a low, shuddering breath, a signal of his rapidly fraying restraint, he was yanking you forward and into his lap, his fingers working the buttons of your blouse open, hurriedly shucking it down your shoulders once undone. He made quick work of the ties fastening your skirt to your body, and you briefly shuffled off of him to drop it to the floor, along with your stockings, before resituating yourself on his lap.
“If I’ll have you?” He rumbled, the low, rough ombre of his voice sending prongs of lightning down your spine, and he yanked you closer, mouth dragging along the curve of your jaw.
“How could I possibly refuse?”
And then, for the first time, he was kissing you.
His lips were burning hot against yours, and your fingers found his hair, threading into messy locks, nails dragging against his scalp. He huffed a sigh into your lips as he nudged his tongue between them, tilting his head to slot his mouth more firmly against yours, and when his tongue dragged against yours, you moaned, low and soft, into his mouth. He kissed you slow and deep, almost a juxtaposition to the way he was feverishly running his hands, large and calloused, down your body, and when his fingers grazed over the patch of nerves just where your lowest rib met the curve of your waist, you shuddered in his hold.
You could taste the tea he’d been drinking on his tongue, cloyingly sweet, and it was almost too much when mixed with the heady, spiced smell of his cologne. Everything about him was overwhelming you in the best way possible, rendering you pliable and soft in his hands. Fuck, Wriothesley needed his own warning label. It was almost funny, really, just how riled up you were when he was the one who had been drugged with an aphrodisiac.
His teeth caught your lower lip as he drew back, tugging, before he was diving back in, hands planted firmly on your hips, and you let out a stuttering gasp as he pulled you forward, his bare cock pressing against your stomach.
The way he shuddered at the contact was enough to make your head spin with arousal, and when you shifted forward once more, just to see what he’d do, the grip on your hips grew to nearly bruising.
“You have no idea,” he husked, low and rough, the very threads of his sanity slipping from between his fingers, “how hard you’re making it to hold back.”
His words shot straight between your thighs, and you rolled your hips again, loving the way he stiffened. You felt his palm, dragging slowly up your body, then finally moving to cup your breast through the fabric of your bra, squeezing. You arched your chest into his touch, his name whisper soft on your lips.
He unfastened your bra after some fumbling, his coordination clearly beginning to become impacted by the drug. Once the garment was discarded, he barely gave you time to breathe, and you gasped when his head dipped down, mouth dragging across the valley of your breasts, skating along the side of one before his lips found one of your nipples, drawing it into the heat of his mouth.
He groaned at the taste of you, indulgent, as he laved his tongue over your flesh, hands sliding up to grip your waist, holding you in place, allowing him to explore the newly exposed skin with his mouth as much as he pleased. He was strong, his grip like iron, but it didn’t prevent you from slowly rocking your hips, rubbing your clothed cunt against his bare cock, and the way he groaned into your skin was a sound of delirious pleasure.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, almost disbelieving, “fuck, I’m a lucky man.”
His tender words made your heartbeat quicken, and you squeezed him closer, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. Your hands slid down his chest, fingers catching on the buttons of his shirt, and you quickly unfastened them, pushing the cloth away to smooth your palms over his bare skin. Gently, you pushed him back against the chair you were both situated in to look at him, and the sight before you was almost too much.
You already knew he was muscular, that much was obvious by just looking at him. But beneath his clothing, among thickly corded muscle was a patchwork of scarred flesh. You’d known about some scars; three of them crept up over the collar of his shirt, partially hidden by the straps he wore around his throat. There was also a collection of them on his arms, and of course, the one under his right eye. The ones that were hidden wove their way across his chest like a roadmap, some of them faint, and others more prominent, pale threads across his already pale skin. You laid your palm against him, tracing the one closest, and he shuddered, leaning into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. Your fingers skimmed down his chest, to his trim waist, and when your thumb caught in the deep v at his waist, he let out a soft grunt.
One of his hands moved from your waist to your hip, squeezing the plush flesh, then migrated to the apex of your thighs, and when his middle finger rubbed you through the sodden fabric of your panties, a high, breathy whine tore itself from your throat. He pressed harder, and your back arched, eyes falling half-lidded when he circled your clit through the fabric.
Then, without warning, he was pushing the cloth aside, and the feel of his calloused finger dragging across your entrance was enough to make you jerk in his hold.
He dipped his head, forehead making contact with your shoulder, and it took you a moment to realize he was watching himself, observing the sight of his hand between your legs. When your hips twitched, he used his opposite hand to hold you steady, effectively forcing you to stay in place as he did what he pleased with your body.
“Please,” you whispered, and that was all it took for him to tire of his teasing, sinking his finger inside you with a slow, indulgent movement.
You gasped, the sound bleeding into a moan when his finger curled inside of you, and he pushed you down, forcing you to take him to the knuckle. You whispered his name as he curled his finger again, and when he added a second finger, you squeezed your eyes shut. He groaned at the sound it made when he thrust his fingers into you, the lewd, embarrassing schlick of you around him, and you had to take a moment for your jumbled thoughts to catch up with you. His fingers were so much thicker than your own, not to mention longer, and he was hitting spots you didn’t even know existed. He thrust again, and you cried out, hips twitching, causing him to tighten his grip.
The curl of his fingers hit a spot inside of you that made you see stars, and when he felt the way it made you tighten around him, he began to abuse it with everything he had.
“Oh, Gods,” he groaned, “you’re so wet.”
You could do no more than gasp as his palm ground against your clit, and he held you there, forcing you to take it as he pressed in slow, maddening twists of his wrist before replacing his palm with his thumb.
It was arousing how easily he could manhandle you, and you had absolutely no desire to fight against him as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. You were getting close, embarrassingly quickly, and you could do nothing to stop yourself from hurtling towards that end, walls throbbing and contracting around his fingers.
One of your hands shot between you, encircling his thick wrist, and you weren’t sure what the purpose of that was, either to push him deeper or simply to find purchase, but you did know that your desperation made his dick twitch where it was pressed between you, forcing him to stifle a groan.
You convulsed in his hold, hips jerking in his iron grip, his name on your lips, and with a final press of his thumb against your clit, you came hard around his fingers, biting down into his shoulder, and he worked you through it with slow thrusts that made stars and celestial bodies dance across your closed eyelids. You called his name, urgent and drawn out, yet high and needy, and he replied with a groan of his own, his free hand flying from where he was holding you in place to wrap around his own cock, palming it, thumbing the head, forcing a moan from between his teeth.
You slumped heavily against him as you fell from your high, and when he withdrew his fingers, you let out a shuddering breath, the sensitivity sending your thoughts into nonsense. Your head was spinning, thoughts in a daze, and all you could feel was him as he panted for breath.
Seconds of silence, only interrupted by heavy breathing, passed before you rose on unsteady legs to discard your panties before you were settling over him once more, and he watched with hazy eyes as you shifted forward, pressing your bare cunt against the underside of his shaft in a slow grind. His mouth fell open in a silent cry, brows pinching upwards, the sensitivity clearly unbearable. Suffocating, maddening lust worked its way through your bloodstream like a toxin, and you knew he needed more, from the way his hips rutted up in halfway thrusts as you rubbed against him.
“Fuck,” he choked, head falling back as the tip of his cock caught against you, “I wanna–”
You rocked forward, and his entire body jolted, tearing a groan from deep in his chest.
“What do you want?” You asked, breathless, and he lifted his head to look at you, the fog of desire in his eyes downright sinful.
He yanked you close, trapping his cock between your bodies, and into a frenzied kiss, his restraint all but gone as he unabashedly moaned at the feel of your skin.
“I want,” he husked, mouth pressing open kisses against your jaw, and he stopped, breath hot against your ear, “to be inside you.”
Your breath left you in a rush, and you drew him into a deep kiss, one he returned with vigor, hands smoothing down your body to grab at your hips, pressing you forward and against him once more, and when you pulled back, his eyes were wild with desperation and maddening lust.
“I don’t have protection,” he said, and you shook your head, dismissing him.
“I’m on birth control,” you said. Siegwinne made the tonic you took, something she supplied even to female inmates to help with lightening periods. But right now, it would be used for its intended purpose. Wriothesley nodded as he took this information in, seemingly relaxing a little.
“Please,” he mumbled, and you blinked, surprised to hear him beg for anything, but you were hardly going to deny him, “I’m going insane. I need you.”
You took a shuddering breath as you shifted up, using one hand to brace yourself as you took his cock in your hand, pressing him against you. You both cried out in unison at the feeling, even the slightest whisper of much needed friction enough to make you feel lightheaded, and you felt his hands grasp your hips, urging you downwards.
You sank down, slowly, and even the tip of him was a stretch, a dull ache blossoming as you pressed closer. Both hands landed on his shoulders, breath heavy, and he groaned lowly at the sensation.
“Slow,” he said, fighting for control, “c’mon, you can take me. Relax, deep breaths.”
You nodded, once, as you did as he instructed. Your knees shuffled as you pressed yourself down, met with more resistance, and forcing you to stop, gasping for air. He was only halfway in and you already felt full, stretched to accommodate him. It was unfamiliar and new, and you weren’t used to this, but his grip was tightening, and with a deep breath, you thrust down, taking the rest of him in one quick motion.
The sting of the stretch danced across your frayed nerves like a livewire, and you grit your teeth, head slumping forward as Wriothesley let out a long, low groan, both of his hands rushing to your hips, squeezing, keeping you in place.
A string of curses left his lips as his head fell back, and you could feel him throb inside of you, so deep you could hardly believe it, stuffed full to the brim.
“Just– oh, or you could just take it all. Fuck,” he quieted, breathing heavily, before speaking again, “are you– did that hurt you? Are you okay?”
The pain wasn’t horrible, and you hesitated to even call it pain. It was just an ache, dull and unpleasant, but you’d been wet enough that taking him hadn’t caused you any actual damage. You sat still as you adjusted, the aching burn of the stretch rapidly fading into something maddening, replaced by a desperate need.
“I’m fine,” you said, voice strained, “I’m okay.”
He nodded, once, before drawing you close, linking your mouth to his in a kiss far more gentle than you’d expected. You felt him throb, and when you squeezed, you got the pleasure of hearing him groan your name.
“You’re so tight. Please, please– yeah–”
His head fell back as you rocked your hips, lifting yourself up, only to sink back down, and when you repeated the action, he groaned helplessly, a string of almost nonsensical praises spilling past his lips, only serving to make you want to wreck him even further.
Sheer, uncontained relief was tangled inextricably with every sound he made, his hands squeezing your hips as you took him again, and again, and again, and oh fuck, you felt like you were being split open, impaling yourself repeatedly on his fat cock. The burn from before turned into pure ecstasy, the stretch of him inside of you intoxicating, and you buried your face into the crook of his neck as you moaned out his name. He wasn’t even bothering to stay quiet, not that it mattered, nobody could hear from outside the heavy office doors, which was an advantage right then.
You keened as his hips rose to meet you, the base of his dick rubbing against your clit. You sank down, taking him fully, ejecting any rational or sensical thought from your head, grinding in deep, easy circles, and you could feel blunt nails digging into your hips as he held you in place, totally drunk on pleasure.
His grip eased as you slid back up before taking him again, and he was kissing you frantically, one of his hands flattening against your breast, rolling the nipple under the rough pad of his thumb, making you whimper into his mouth.
“Faster,” he hissed, pulling back to meet your eyes, “faster, ride me faster.”
You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, using them as leverage to move yourself faster, arching your back as the new speed made you see stars, and you whined, burning pleasure shooting through you at the grind of his cock against your clit.
“Good girl,” he groaned, dizzy with pleasure, “yeah, just like that.”
You could feel yourself getting close again, and you groaned his name as you swiveled your hips. Your thighs were beginning to burn with the exertion, even with just the short time you’d been moving at this pace, and when he felt you shudder, his hands found your waist, helping you along.
“That’s it, gorgeous,” Wriothesley panted, “that’s it, fuck me just like that.”
He was moving you with his own hands, easily, and you tried your best to move along with him, swiveling your hips whenever he bottomed out, and his head fell back in rapture, gasping for air.
Your orgasm was approaching fast, and you were helpless to its pull as you sped up, chasing after it frantically, the sound that filtered through your clenched teeth one of desperation. You felt like you were losing yourself, and when you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his throat, an unrestrained groan fell past his lips, his hips bucking up with enough force to make you see stars. When his thumb pressed against your clit, you tipped over the edge hard, stilling as you clung to him, sobbing his name into the curve of his shoulder.
You tightened to a vice grip around him, throbbing as your climax crashed over you, and you heard him growl at the sensation, hips bucking, still working his cock up into your messy cunt. Before you could even start to come down from your high, you were moving, and the frigid steel of the floor met your back, rapidly heating from contact with your skin. One of his hands gripped at your leg, tucking beneath your knee and holding it up, and then he was driving forwards, hips slapping against yours as he filled you once more.
He paused, shaken by the intensity of the sensation, before his head pitched forward, breath heavy, and he was thrusting again with a renewed vigor, nails digging into your flesh.
His name was the only thing on your tongue as he fucked you, so good it made you feel like your head was emptying itself out. His mouth found yours as he leaned forward, supporting his weight on his forearm, laid beside your head, giving him more freedom to do what he pleased with his hips. The base of his dick was rubbing against your clit once again, and you whined, squirming beneath him, but he wasn’t letting up.
“Wriothesley,” you gasped, head fuzzy, completely cock drunk as he broke the kiss to mouth at your neck, “deeper.”
He groaned, low and indulgent, and when his hips snapped forward, filling you completely, your back arched against his chest.
“Deeper?” he repeated, the baritone timbre of his voice lowered to an uneven bass, “you want it deeper? That what you want, gorgeous?”
“Please,” you sobbed, “please, give it to me.”
A low, rough chuckle was the only warning you got before he was thrusting forward, hips flush against yours, and he repeated the action, again, and again, and again, making you bite your lip to keep from wailing at the intensity of it all.
“Oh, fuck,” you heard him gasp, stricken, indulgent, “fuck, yeah, that’s it.”
It felt so good you could hardly think, and when you babbled his name, lust drunk and fucked dumb, he pressed soft kisses along the column of your throat, almost like a reward, a thank you for letting him do this to you.
His pace was growing sloppy, but he showed no signs of letting up, and in the back of your mind, you figured was probably just going to keep on going, even if he came. It was rapidly beginning to become far too much for you, and you moaned, high and breathy, when he rammed himself all the way in, grinding his hips before pulling out less than a quarter of the way, then thrusting back in. He was so deep, and you writhed under him, fingernails scraping against the floor before you were clinging to him. He was moaning, low and breathless, the way he was moving causing you to helplessly spasm around him, forcing you violently over the edge when the base of him rubbed just right against your aching clit.
You could feel tears, beading at your lashline as the sensitivity became maddening, but he wasn’t letting up, even as you arched and bucked and wailed beneath him, the intensity of your climax rendering you incoherent. He knew exactly what he was doing, just how to push every button he needed to, and you were halfway between deliriously begging for more or sobbing at the sensitivity.
A string of curses left his lips as he came, gushing hot and thick inside of you, but he wasn’t even pausing, even as his groans tapered into breathy moans from the way he was overstimulating himself. You could feel him, throbbing, pulsing inside of you as he filled you, uncaring of the way his cum dripped out of you. The sound of it, combined with the slap of skin against skin, was unbelievably lewd, but you hardly had the wherewithal to even think, let alone be any kind of embarrassed. If anything, it only drove you higher.
“Fuck,” Wrothesley cursed, low and broken, “I need it again, please, again– fuck!”
He shifted back, grabbing at your legs and pressing them down beside you, and you thanked the Archons you were flexible as he continued, leaning forward once he had you in the position he liked and taking your body with abandon. He was hardly bothering to hold back his strength as he hammered into you, and your head fell back against the floor with a soft thud, eyes rolling back.
You’d never felt like this before in your life. Your legs were growing sore, and your back was going to be stiff from the way he was fucking you into the floor, but you didn’t care, not as you got to listen to the way he was saying your name like a prayer, how he was caressing and kissing your body like it was sacred. Exhaustion was a heavy weight against the blurred edges of your mind, and all you could do was lay there and take it as he chased after what he so desperately needed.
It didn’t take long for him to grow close again, and he whispered your name as his end quickly approached. You yanked him into a kiss, which he returned with a groan of ecstasy, and then, with a final, deep, shuddering thrust, he was cumming. The force of it made his entire body tremble, and the sound he made was one of satiated, relieved bliss as he emptied himself out inside of you, the heat of him almost suffocating, burning you from the inside out.
His hips jerked with unconscious movements and spasms as he drifted down from the staggering height of his climax, his breath heavy, and he slumped, weakened, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. His mouth pressed lazy kisses against your skin, and you lifted a hand to run it through his hair as he finally, finally began to grow soft inside of you.
The two of you lay there, still joined, for what felt like hours, bathing in each other’s warmth and the afterglow of it all. His breath fanned across your skin, feather soft as he lifted his head to join your lips together, before he slowly pulled out, rolling off of you, dazed.
“Are you hurt?” He asked, voice hoarse, and you arched your back, flexing your body. You winced at the soreness. You were undoubtedly going to have bruises from how hard he had been gripping you.
“I’m fine,” you said, “are you–”
He snorted.
“Yeah,” he said, “that uh… that did the trick.”
You laughed, a little breathlessly. You didn’t know how you’d be able to stand after that, genuinely. Your legs felt like jelly, and a deep, all consuming exhaustion was settling over your senses.
“You think it’s gone?” You asked, “the drug, I mean.”
He looked at you sidelong. “I don’t feel uncontrollably horny anymore, so I’d say so.”
Wriothesley sat up, flexing his shoulders. He tucked himself back into his pants, and then he was gathering you into his arms, rising to his feet.
“What are you doing?” You asked, and he raised an eyebrow at you.
“Taking you to the bath,” he said, “I have a bathtub, in my living quarters.”
You relaxed, settling into his arms. “Oh.”
His living quarters were attached to the office, through a door you’d somehow never noticed before. You were far too tired to take in any of the details of it, instead opting to close your eyes and rest your head on the nearest comfortable spot on Wriothesley’s chest, which he didn’t seem to mind at all.
He set you in the tub, and after the water was run, you were surprised to see him climbing in along with you. It wasn’t unwelcome, and seeing him completely bare was hardly a bad thing, and you were pleasantly happy when he began to gently wash you, and once he was finished, he tugged you back, settling you against his chest.
The bathroom was silent, save for the musical sound of running water, and you allowed yourself to close your eyes, settling into the comfortable atmosphere.
“I meant what I said, you know,” Wriothesley said, and you opened your eyes to look up at him.
“What?” You asked.
“About being fond of you,” he said, “you’re… an amazing woman. I want–”
You leaned up, kissing him, and effectively giving him an answer to his thoughts. He sighed into the kiss, content, one large hand rising to cup your face, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone.
“I guess Siegwinne succeeded,” you said, and Wriothesley smiled, amused.
“I guess she did.”
You stayed in the bath much longer than you expected, until the water became cold, and once that happened, Wriothesley whisked you off to the bed, tucking you under the covers after supplying you with one of his shirts to wear. You smiled when he joined you, now dressed in a pair of sweats, chest left bare, and curled up beside you, tucking you close to his chest.
Sleep came quickly after the lights were switched off, the exhaustion from before spreading over you like wildfire.
And, when he thought you were asleep, you felt him, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, his body relaxing against yours.
BONUS:
You were agonizingly sore. Your stiff muscles had stiff muscles, and while Wriothesley was sheepish, and apologetic, and promised he’d treat you to dinner to make it up (which you would be taking him up on), it made walking back to the infirmary the next morning a little difficult.
What was even worse was the look on Siegwinne’s face when you entered, ruby red eyes knowing as she watched you approach.
“How’s the duke?” She asked, and you handed her the accursed thermos without saying anything.
“Fine,” you said, slumping down into your chair with a sigh.
She smiled. “Good. Are you seeing him again tonight?”
You turned, brows furrowed. “How did you know about that?”
She shrugged, unbothered. “Someone saw you leaving his office this morning. I suppose what I put in the tea worked a little too well.”
You stared at her. “Siegwinne, you put an aphrodisiac in his tea.”
She paused, concerned. “No I didn’t. I put a supplement to further enhance his desire for you. If we’re being frank, it’s closer to a love potion. Just to get rid of any inhibitions. It’s medicine. But it isn’t meant to cause anything like–”
You rolled back your sore shoulders. “Yeah, well, it did.”
Her face went pale, but she briefly covered it up. “I… suppose I miscalculated.”
You laughed, then. Really laughed. It startled Siegwinne, who stared at you with growing concern.
“It’s fine,” you said, “whatever, Siegwinne. At least you don’t have to keep going with trying to set us up. Focus your energy on making ‘love potions’ that aren’t aphrodisiacs in humans, okay?”
She flushed, quiet, then nodded, once, her eyes taking on a determined look. You were beginning to regret saying anything.
With a smile, and a good natured nod, she put her hands on her hips, ever the dutiful nurse.
“I’ll get right on that.”
Fin.
#wriothesley#wriothesely x reader#wrio x reader#wriothesely genshin#wriothesely smut#n.sfw#genshin smut#genshin impact#genshin fanfic#fanfiction#fanfic#female reader#reader insert#genshin x reader#genshin x you#don't let this flop#PLEASE#i am going to hell#my writing#genshin#x reader#fem reader#please show up in tags#genshin impact x reader#genshin fic#don’t let this flop
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HEHE HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME AND TO AVENTURINE
fluff , gn ! reader , teeny tiny angst , aven's real name is used , 2nd pov , established relationship (late bday special)
waking up, you checked your phone for the time, then noticed a notification. your eyes scan the reminder, and your sleepiness was gone in an instant as your eyes was left wide.
"it's may six.. it's may six!" you rejoiced, looking at aventurine who's still sleeping. quickly covering your mouth, you head to the kitchen and prepared all of the things you needed to do, and make all of the food.
the moment aventurine wakes up, he was instantly greeted by the sweet smell of sweets from the kitchen. "oh my, such a nice smell." he chuckled, hugging you from behind as he opens his sleepy eyes.
there, aventurine noticed the delivered cake on the table, an icing pipe on your hands, and other foods such as ice cream and pizza. his eyes trail to the cake, reading: "happy birthday!"
"oh, whos birthday is it?" aventurine raises a brow. you let out a giggle.
"ours, duh!"
the blonde raises his brow is confusion. "ours?" he couldn't help but ask. "hehe, it's our birthday. today is may six!" you exclaim with a smile, kissing his cheek and cleaning your mess.
his eyes widened. "i wanted to celebrate your birthday yesterday, but i decided to celebrate it today with me." wiping the remaining stains off your hands, you look at him. you were surprised with the tears on his eyes.
"kakavasha, dear?" you ask in concern. today was supposed to be a special day, so seeing him emotional was concerning. "i- i'm sorry, was the food not to your liking? is the cake not your favorite flavor?" you quickly ask.
"no.." he replied with a slightly shaky voice. "i'm just happy you remembered." he smiled at you, tears streaming down his face. "i- i'm thankful you prepared."
your worries were gone as you gave your lover a warm smile. "of course, why would i forget?" you ask, kissing his tears away. "love, don't cry. today's a special day for both of us. come on, let's enjoy."
aventurine looks back at the table filled with all the food you made for the two of you. he remembered the days when he was but a child, living with his sister. the time where he had to survive and barely ate nothing. and during his birthdays, he only ate at least one whole loaf and nothing else.
but now, here he is. you by his side, table filled with various foods he had wanted to try when he was a little kid.
he kisses your lips with a hum. "i'm really one lucky man to have you." he chuckled, causing you to giggle and kiss him back. "i too am lucky to have you, kakavasha." you smile.
"so, you wanna invite topaz and ratio over?" you ask, looking at the table of food. "because i think we can't eat this all." aventurine thinks about it, before humming, embracing you from behind and burying his nose on your neck.
"sure, the more the merrier." the blonde replied. he raises a brow when you show him a small box. "my gift to you, dear." you show it to him. without breaking the embrace, he takes it and opens it, and his eyes widened in amaze at the content inside it. it was a golden necklace with thr first letter of your name.
he chuckles, showing another small box to you and opening it. it was the first letter of his actual name. "i guess we both have the same idea."
"happy birthday kakavasha."
"happy birthday [name]."
i know people celebrated his birthday earlier, but i want to make it a bit special for me by celebrating it the same time as mine
happy birthday to our favorite gambler
#hsr fluff#honkai star rail fluff#star rail fluff#hsr x reader#hsr x reader fluff#aventurine fluff#aventurine x reader#aventurine x reader fluff
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RUN RABBIT, RUN RUN RUN. ( House of the Dragon x Reader )
AUTHOR NOTE! Thanks for all the love. <3
pairing: DARK! King Aegon ii Targaryen x Common Folk! Reader
prompt: Aegon has been watching you from years. Now that he is King, he intends to make his intentions clear.
key: Y/n = Your name, R/n = Random name, E/C = eye color
word count: 1, 000+ words
He was six and ten when he first met you, well more of, he saw you from a distance. You were a pretty little thing⎯well, for some common folk girl, you were pretty. From what he saw from a distance, you worked as a barkeep, cleaning tables and sometimes serving ale or whatever shitty drink they served at that tavern.
You were pretty, maybe growing more so in a few years, but enough for the other drunks to take notice as well. He didn’t like it. Even though he had never spoken to you, or really interacted with you at all. You were his pretty little barekeep to gawk at.
It took everything in him to not set Sunfyre upon all of them, burning the shitty little tavern up in flames. So then, he could take their charred remains and show what happened when others touched what was his. But, he digressed. For now.
Slowly sauntering into the tavern, he searches for you in the crowd of common folk, his gaze predatory and determined. Since his coronation as King, he had been busy, far too busy to leave the Red Keep to go to Flea Bottom. All he wished for now was to have a drink and watch you as he had done a dozen times before. He was sure if he was going to speak to you yet. It wasn’t that he did not have the courage to speak to you.
He was a Targaryen, and now King, he had nothing to feel ashamed of or worried about. But rather he liked the way you squirmed under his gaze. He liked the way you would grow stiff and then blush a soft pink when you realized that it was just him. It was adorable and a good ego boost to know that he could get you all flustered without even needing to speak.
“All hail the new King!” Some drunk slurs aloud, “From the King of Flea Bottom to the King of the Seven Kingdoms!”
“Aye!”
“All hail!”
Rolling his eyes at the drunken babbling that filled the tavern, he sits down at his usual table, kicking his feet up on a chair. Drumming his fingers against the table, he looks around for you, growing wary as he doesn’t see you in the tavern. Clenching his jaw tightly as his temper starts to rise, he holds back at lashing out, his mind running a million miles per hour.
“Where the hell is that damn girl?! Y/n!” A barkeep behind the bar rants, “Oi! You, go get Y/n.”
Not even the other barkeep’s knew where you were at. You weren’t here. You were always on time. Why the fuck were you not here? Where the fuck were you at?
Feeling his temper bubbling with each second that he doesn’t see you, the loud slamming of a door fills the tavern, nobody paying any mind to it. Seeing you walk inside all soaked from the rain, he instantly calms down at sight of you.
Slowly trailing his eyes over your soaked figure, you look ethereal like this. Hair all soaked and clothes sticking to you like a second skin, accentuating your curves. Feeling a presence beside him, he snaps out of his daze, seeing some other barkeep trying to speak to him.
“Can I⎯”
“No, no, her. I want her.” He orders, pointing at you.
Watching as you dried yourself off with a rag, he smirks at how your linen underskirt was practically sheer. He wondered, if he spilled his seed in you, would a bastard grow in your belly? Would then he be able to whisk you away to the Red Keep, far far away from the drunks and fools that surrounded you both? After all, you would be so grateful for him to do such a thing. You, some lowborn common folk girl, getting the luxury of carrying his child in your belly.
“Bring me her. I will take nothing but what she brings to me.” He orders.
Feeling a familiar pair of predatory eyes on you, you slowly turn around to see the now King, watching you. He sat at the same table as always, in the center where he and those silvery locks could be gawked at. Furrowing your brows in confusion, you watch as R/n walks away from the table, rolling her eyes hard with a scowl. Cocking her head to Aegon, you didn’t even have to ask to understand that he had rejected her.
Wiping your hands dry with the rag, your eyes locked onto Aegon’s, e/c meeting predatory violet eyes. Shivering at the gaze, R/n motions for you to go to him with a cock of her head, her iration clear as day at not getting any coin from him. Mustering up your courage, you walk over to him, coming face-to-face for the first time ever. He was a lot more handsome up close. Alluring violet eyes, silvery white Targaryen hair and pouty lips.
“Do you wish to make your King happy?” He asked, his voice rough and low.
“I do, your grace.” You nod, “ How can I be of service to you?”
“I can think of many ways.”
Growing tense at the lewd comment, you shift in place, unsure if he was jesting with you or if he was being serious. You have never spoken to him up to this point, just watching from afar or in passing. You could not tell. Chewing on your bottom lip a little nervously, he places a hand on your waist, letting out a full belly laugh. Weakly nodding unsure, he slowly trails his hand down to your hip, not quite inappropriate but not appropriate at the same time.
“Can I get you some ale, your grace?” You ask, attempting to change the subject.
“No.”
“Or mayhaps some bread from the kitchen?” You try again, “I am sure we can find something for you if that is what you desire.”
“No.”
Blushing under his intense gaze, he slowly stands up from his seat, looking like a predator stalking its prey. Tilting your head up as he towers over you, you resist the urge to cower, not wanting him to see your fear. In your time working here you learned men tended to like seeing women cower, it was like a game to them. Softly gulping as he digs his nails into your hip, a voice in the back of your head tells you to run away, that he was dangerous. But, your legs would not let you move.
“Your grace?” You whisper, your voice weak.
“Then you will not scream, cry, or protest as I take you back to the Red Keep.” He whispers, “I would hate to have to kill you when I have just gotten you within my grasp. Now walk, my little rabbit.”
----
@lovelykhaleesiii
@fragileheartbeats
@danytar
@nightvers
#house of dragons x reader#house of dragons#house of the dragon#hotd imagine#hotd imagines#house of the dragon x reader#aegon targaryen x reader#aegon the second#king aegon#aegon ii#aegon x reader#aegon ii targaryen x reader#aegon ii targaryen#hotd aegon#hotd#hotd x reader#hotd smut#hotd season 2#tom glynn carney
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let me sit you down and tell you about my favorite crossover in separate medias that i know of. Nonagon Infinity by King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard (2016 psych rock album) and Dhalgren by Samuel R. Delaney (1975 lgbtq postmodern sci fi monolith novel). there isnt much to it but what there IS is a lot. to me.
FIRST SOME BACKGROUND ON DHALGREN
It was written in 1975 by author SAMUEL R DELANY. It is about the fictional city of BELLONA. BELLONA has been impacted by an AMBIGUOUS APOCALYPTIC CATASTROPHE. The remaining citizens live in a free for all society where safety is not guaranteed. The novel focuses on a mentally ill outsider who doesnt remember his name and is given the name "Kidd", or "The Kid", despite being in his mid-to-late twenties. Kidd is witness to much bloodshed and mayhem in the city, and that's about it for context. NOW ONTO THE POST!
first look at them.
you knowwwww theyre both red. that should tell you a lot already.
then theres the subject matter itself. imagine an insane album about apocalypse and killing and mayhem, featuring lyrics such as "the night is young, full of sin ... so let's start killing things", "time to drop, fuck shit up ... my coffin's all i see", and "so let's start dueling here / I have nothing to fear / I'm grinning ear to ear". Clearly you can already see that this is a Fucked Up and also Epic album. now imagine if there was a book that also had such Fucked Up Themes of Killing and Slaughter and it touched on issues of race and gender in 1975 🤯THAT WOULD BE QUITE THE BOOK I, THINK!!!!!!!!!!! but i digress.
There is also specific EVIDENCE. In the beginning of the book, a TRUCK takes the main character into the city of Bellona. just like ROAD TRAIN from the song ROAD TRAIN, which i have recently learned is about a TRUCK and not a TRAIN!
there also exist in DHALGREN a great many of "SCORPIONS", GANGSTERS who use holographic technology to disguise themselves as animals such as BUGS and things. NOT UNLIKE PEOPLE-VULTURES, ONE MIGHT THINK!!!!
ALSO there is the line in MR BEAT that goes "nova sunshine while I nap". not only is this a nod (in MY interpretation) to a great SUN EVENT in the novel wherein the sun grows larger, but it is ALSO a nod to Nova, another of samuel r delaney's novels. MIND-BLOWN!!!!!!
THEN there is the line in EVIL DEATH ROLL "the speed of light has slowed apace". The main character in the book experiences mental illness and strange perceptive events including large chunks of time disappearing from his perception!!! which is analogous to time being fucky!! in my opinion.
AND NOW FOR THE MAIN EVENT
It is well known that the album NONAGON INFINITY loops around from the end to the beginning! this is a great marvel of Technology and Songwriting.
BUT DID YOU KNOW THAT DHALGREN DOES THE SAME EXACT THING???
I DROP MY MIC
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Tachibana & Kurosawa parallels that are making me go insane
Hey guys so I had some Thoughts that are not letting me go so I did some digging and now I'm gonna present yall with my findings. They are horrible.
(Spoilers for volume 14)
So how this all started is me wondering if Kurosawa ever feels a little guilty about entering a relationship with Adachi, since things could've been a lot easier for him if he'd simply gone out with a woman (to him it would've been Fujisaki) instead. He often mentions Adachi could've been happy without him, after all.
Then I remembered this bit from the end of volume 14 about how Adachi doesn't know how to deal with advances because Kurosawa was always intercepting them for him and decided to properly translate all of it.
"Adachi felt guilty, but him not understanding the tactics of love or how to evade invitations is my fault. I don't want anyone to take him away, but I also don't want him to ever learn any of this. Of course I can't tell him that though."
Tactics of love, huh. You mean like...
Giving little compliments... (The phrasing here is almost the same in japanese except Tachibana is using polite speech)
Offering favors...
Invading personal space...
Going "hey you like this thing, why don't we do this thing together?" ...
Helping out when they're weak and vulnerable...
You mean tactics like that? Man it sure is convenient that Adachi remains blissfully unaware of any of this huh.
Okay So. Before you raise your pitchforks at me, yes there's obviously some nuance in all of this. Kurosawa is doing all of this to befriend Adachi, first and foremost. He wants to be closer to him because he loves him. Tachibana (as far as I can tell) just wants to get in his pants lmao
Also Adachi's a Grown Ass Man and can definitely make his own decisions, and it's not like he got really manipulated either, since he could read Kurosawa's thoughts and intentions the whole time.
I could still see Kurosawa having some self-doubts about their relationship though, if he ever realizes that he might have "manipulated" Adachi into a relationship that is objectively worse for him, considering the alternative of being with a woman and completely evading all the problems they've had with homophobia. Not to mention that Adachi is clearly good with kids and might want some of his own, which is something he can't have with Kurosawa, since adoption requires couples to be married in Japan and gay marriage is illegal, as we know.
What if Kurosawa ruined Adachi's chances to lead a happy life, for his own selfish reasons?
...
Now, here come my truly insane speculations about vol 15 and how this could tie in with drama around Matsuura :)
So on that last page she's clearly approaching Tachibana, who, as we can read pages before, wants to get black-out drunk to forget all his romantic woes. Which means he will be very talkative to a nosy Matsuura. There's no doubt in my mind that he'll reveal literally everything to her, how he wanted to go for this cute, inexperienced coworker named Adachi and how he got told to back off by his big scary boyfriend named Kurosawa.
"Oh yea they work together at Toyokawa. I even told him it's really risky to date coworkers, can you believe it?!"
Matsuura just goes "Oh that is Interesting."
She might even try to get under Kurosawa's skin by drawing parallels to his harassment in vol 1 and him pursuing Adachi, since Kurosawa has a higher position in their company and earns more, and Adachi being inexperienced. One could easily construe this as a power imbalance between them. Throw into the mix the issue of being "forced into a relationship that's looked down upon by society" and the looming threat of their relationship being revealed to their workplace and Kurosawa might truly spiral, maybe even breaking up with Adachi, just to fulfill yet another parallel to Tachibana.
Man would that be fucked up or what haha
#cherry magic#spoilers for japanese volumes#the deranged ramblings of someone with too much cm brainrot
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OOOO IDEA, how about the OB boys with a s/o who has an ESA (Emotional Support Animal) that they somehow convinced Crowley to allow them to have (because they literally need the animal). And the esa comforting them after their OB 🥺
Literally kissing you on the forehead rn.
Sorry about the exlusion of Jamil, idia and Malleus.
No ideas about Jamil, not sure how Idias would fit in... and Mal mal isnt finished
This is angstier than I thought it would be <3
TW: Panic attacks (Isolating + silent types), narcolepsy
Feel free to correct me if i got a certain experience wrong, I am a studying Psychology major so it would help me with my understanding of anything!
Remeber: ESAs and Service animals are different!
Overblot gang with an S/O with an ESA
First things first:
Lets say you're in second year, so you're dating the OB boys before the OB.
Going to keep the particular support need vauge, but it is panic related, reader is sensitive to loud noises and textures feeling wrong.
You 100% convinced crowley to let your ESA to stay with you because:
he is sooooo kind
you wouldn't let a poor defenseless panic-prone human in an ALL MAGIC BOYS SCHOOL alone would you????
Now with that out of the way:
Riddle Rosehearts
Animal: British Shorthair (cat)
I'm gonna call this cat Queenie
Riddle's Overblot wasn't really something you were ready for in any capacity.
Your usually kept together boyfriend was suddenly some... angry, monsterous thing.
This wasnt the Riddle that got you high quality noise cancelling headphones for unbirthday parties, the same Riddle who you spent so much time learning and growing with. Your dutiful boyfriend who was learning how harsh his punishments were with you...
That Riddle wasnt here right now.
Queenie circles you, nuzzling into your legs.
But its too late, you've shut down. Its hard to move, your heart feels like it doesnt have a beat but the hurt of an ever beating heart remains present.
Your breathing quickens, your knees buckle in from under you.
the dull thud of of your body hitting the slightly overgrown grass of heartslabyul is the last thing you hear as you slowly drown further into your panic.
Riddle, on the other hand, Just came to from his OB, staring at his dormmates worried and horrified faces. He feels weak, he knows what just happened, and he feels HORRIBLE....Oh god.
Are YOU okay??? where are you? Where is his S/O
That's when he spots you, your tear striken face, Queenie laying on top oof your chest, your hands shakily petting her back in sporadic, unrythmic strokes as her face snuggles further into your chest.
What has he done?
Riddle feels awful.
He promised to never be the cause of any panic for you. He wanted to be a safe space for you.
But his need for order seems to have taken over and ruined yet another important relationship in his life.
Despite his fatigue, he hesitantly appraches, keeping about 2 meters away from you. He knows you don't want anyone too close by right now.
When you show signs of calming down, He's there, silently and patiently sitting across from you.
"Do... do you want to talk about it..?"
You respond with a shake of your head.
He nods, you two remain in silence. One preparing for a potentially life-changing talk, the other rocking about as they cradle their cat
Leona Kingscholar
Animal: Corn Snake
His name is Zazu (shhhh)
Leona liked things quiet, and calm.
Thats what made you two work, at least according to him.
But, you knew and Malleus and Magift was a sore subject for him, you were kind of ready for his yearly temper, it caught you off gaurd last year, but this year you felt like you could really stand by his side!
Besides, a year in this hectic world with Zazu really helped stabilize your mood!
Until it wasn't.
A roaring stampede instead of a crowed, screams of terror instead of cheer, and your boyfriend, slowly turning your friend, Ruggie, into sand.
It was too much, too many shoves, too much noise, your friend almost died
You hold Zazu's little head gently, the soft, smooth texture of his scales your only vice as you duck under the bleachers of the magift stadium.
It's there and only there, all alone with your snake that you're able to break down and cry.
Leona groaned as he came to, he knew this was a stupid plan and a stupid decision. He could have just trained everyone properly, spend some actual time with you. He could have- Wait... where were you?
Despite his drained energy, he needed to know where you were. He put a hand up, stopping the chatter of his former victims, attemping to listen in for any sign of you.
He hears the soft mumbling of your attempts to talk to yourself
"Can't even trust em enough to tell me, I knew i should have stayed at home, this is why no one will accept yo-" hisssss
Okay, he had to do something
He rushes across the nearly empty stadium, suprising everyone (Except Ruggie maybe, he's kind of used to Leona)
"Herbivore?!" he stands outside the stands you're under
"I don't... I don't want to see you right now... I don't want you to see me."
"Babe- I... alright. Can I be with you right now?" "no." "I'm coming in anyway."
and he does.
He enters the darker space to find you huddled ong the ground, gripping onto your sleeve with one hand, the other coiled but zazu, who seems to lay still across your shoulders.
"I'll just be here." "Why?" you mumble "For you." he states
That makes you chuckle "You sap.."
Hisss <3
Azul Ashengrotto
Animal: Mop dog
Mop dog named Max...uh... Maxie
Okay so, unfortunately Azul did NOT like Maxie at first
But he got used to him because you two are a package deal
You knew Azul had insecurities, and his own...moments
You and Azul had a comfortable routine, you and him are both realtively particular, he needs a level of order in his life, and his comfort zone is very well kept. So you two kind of fell into a step.
Despite your realtive bliss spending most days in his office or the backrooms of the Lounge. You knew his business was his passion.
You also knew he tended to get a bit... ambitious.
You and Maxie knew to stay away during midterms, it was bound to get chaotic. And Azul gets kind of... gift-bomby around this time... it isn't the most comfortable.
Things typically died down a few days after midterms, so you decided to visit your boyfriend.
On the complete wrong day.
You took Maxie with you, ready to greet Azul after his busier week but instead you find...
Leona? with a pile of sand around him by Azul's vault... Oh no.
Maxie softly appraches a sullen Azul and nudges his leg with his paw.
Something seemed to snap because all of a sudden the sneaky yet loving Azul Ashengrotto you knew was... huge eight tentacles and crazed.
He shoves Maxie away, sending him to the ground (mind you, he's a pretty big dog)
He shoved your dog.
He's stealing things, he's refusing to be "worthless" "weak" "stupid and clumsy"
Everything you've always secretly felt you were... oh no...
Maxie rushes toward you.
You slowly place yourself on the ground.
You've fainted.
Azul comes to, he sees Ace, Deuce, the Prefect... Leona... and you? when did you get here? on the ground... Maxie gaurding your sleeping form.
He... overblotted.
How could he be so stupid?? everything seemed to be in pla e did he not count something or- WHY ARE YOU HERE?
Azul approaches you and Maxie, he dismisses the prefect and gang, solely focused on you.
Maxie opts to lie on top of you, promptly waking you up
"oof... what... what happended"
"I'm... so sorry" "Oh. right."
Maxie greets you with kisses, happily nudgeing your cheek accompanied by his happy barks. You sratch his head "I'm ok... down boy."
Azul apologetically stares at you, hesitant to say more.
You look up to him, sighing against Maxie. Your eyes narrowed "I thought we agreed." "I know I just... I can't help it." "Therapy." "I'll apply tomorrow afternoon, I promise."
Vil Schoenheit
Animal: Poodle
Her name is Georgette
Vil and Georgette get along realtively well. She doesn't shed, you keep her well groomed, and you're usually more on task with her around.
You like to joke that Vil reminds you of Georgette. He claims he is much more refined than your dog. She doesn't seem to like it much either.
He likes taking you out to set with him. He trusts you to behave and know's you feel safe both around him and whenever Georgette is around, he respects that.
Vil pets Georgette like an evil mastermind sometimes? So maybe that should have been a warning sign.
The VDC was fast approaching, Vil is under a lot of stress; he's been a harsh coach, his popularity stays at the same place consistently, he's FINALLY given the opportunity to beat Neige "once and for all"
VDC happens, you're helping the Prefect overlook how things are running. Overlooking the practices.
Vil does absoltely beautifully! and for once, Georgette agrees.
Neige does this old nursery song, and you're more than confident Vil will win.
You leave the prefect to handle the rest while you head to the stalls to buy a drink for Vil.
He deserves a treat after all <3
When you come back, everything seems fine but, the stadium is empty though...
And suddenly everything is falling around you
You take Georgette and quickly duck behind one of the seats.
Vil's distorted voice echoes throughout the stadium, you cannot quite see him but you see the giant MONSTER lurking behaind him.
When he comes to..
Vil is downright ashamed. He knows trying to poison someone is wrong. He knows he doesn't get to decide whether or not someone lives... Especially not for a glorified popularity contest.
And that's when he spots Georgette's thankfully obnoxiously large bow peeking out from behind one of the seats.
That is when he knows he has to check in on you. You are never far from Georgette.
"Darling? Meine Geliebte, are you alright.." You're huddled with your poodle. Rubble is strewn about around you. Your eyes remain shut as you mutter to yourself.
"It's ok, it's fine. you're safe. I-it's okay.." Georgette's fur is soft, you continue to trace little patterns into her well groomed coat.
Vil sighs to himself, relived you're at least ok, but he's worried. You have Georgette for a reason, and he knows just how much progress you've made to gain the confidence to live your daily life and he may have just destroyed that.
He remains by your side
#twisted wonderland#twistedwonderland#disney twisted wonderland#disney twst#twst azul#twst vil#twst leona#twst riddle#riddle rosehearts x reader#leona kingscholar x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#vil schoenheit x reader
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Jordie imagine being a special grade and having the elders hold you captive bc you have a special power or whatever that’s valuable to them (after gojo gets sealed bc he’s been the one protecting you from them all this time) and then yuta coming along and going like “nope not this time I’m the one who’ll be protecting her from u guys now” ahhh and he like steals you away from them not caring about the consequences after 😂 off to the culling game you both goooo
LOVE this is sooo the plot i would use to play with dolls as a kid teehee
it was hard to tell how long it had been since the dreaded incident that sealed your fate.
well- your fate might've been sealed the day the higher ups got the best of you, tricking you into trusting them. you'd been lucky back then. still being a kid and having someone like the honored one looking out for you had gotten you out of a lot of trouble. he did right by you, for whatever reason, and you didn't have to spend a day running errands for the higher ups, or worse, rotting your days away in a cell.
but gojo satoru wasn't around to protect you anymore. and you weren't the only one behind the shield of his shadow. you caught wind of a hit on itadori yuji in your travels around the city that was once shibuya. the thought sent a shiver down your spine. if the higher ups wanted itadori dead, it wouldn't be long before they came after a special grade like you.
they'd feared you from the moment you came across their radar. with an ability s powerful yet so simple to wield, you were a threat in the eyes of the higher ups. you'd mastered your technique long before you turned eighteen... had gojo not taken pity on you (as you assumed he did) you would've been dead before adulthood was even on the horizon.
you never really got to thank the aloof six eyes. you hope someday you'll get the chance. but you've never been much of an optimisit.
and it shows, too, when okkotsu yuuta shows up and your first move is to blast him to smithereens.
(you don't kill him, btw. he dodges)
logic tells you not to trust him. you've never met him before, although you think you remember gojo saying something about another special grade under his wing with a nasty ex that would do all his bidding. gojo always enjoyed being cryptic in a gossipy way.
but when okkotsu yuuta introduces himself to you he has no weapons drawn, and the softest pair of eyes you've ever had the pleasure of gazing into. perhaps that was his weapon, seeing as they weakened you into a softer state as well.
against your better judgment, you fell for the whole thing. you accepted that he was here to look out for you, to keep you safe from the higher ups and whatever else was roaming shibuya's remains and looking for trouble. you let him take your hand to help you up, you gave him your name despite him being more familiar with you than you were of him, and... you followed him.
you didn't understand why he felt a need to do all of this- find you, protect you. you were strangers, merely sharing the same status of rank. he didn't owe you anything... and yet the longer you traveled by his side, the more you felt you owed him your life.
over time you'll come to trust him, you're sure of it. you can tell by the way your heart palpitates when his eyes meet yours. you've already come to trust him more than you care to admit.
and perhaps there are other warm regards blossoming inside of you as well, but you won't care to admit that for a long, long time yet.
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w/c: 0.8k
tw: uh i don't 100% know what this is or what it will become, this scene was just haunting me as a daydream lmao; i imagined this with bakugou but never wrote his name lmao; f!siren reader, implied yandere
"who is she?" your voice choruses inside his head before the heavy wood has even latched closed, the chorus mostly playful, the teasing curve of your lips clear you didn’t think he’d notice one in the chorus with the mean tone, insecurity and jealousy weaved into its disembodied voice, no matter how you tried to hide it with hundreds of other voices overlapping the others, the same question on repeat.
“how did you get in here?”
“how do you know you haven’t let me in before?” aloud, your voice is even more powerful, his spine straightening minutely despite the exhaustion setting in his bones. even with his muscles fighting his instincts to remain upright, he studies you lazily, his gaze trailing over your hands; holding the book on his coffee table in the same spot he held it, his thumbs in place beneath yours just hours earlier. he wonders if he’ll be able to feel you on the pages after you leave, if your fingerprint will linger like your perfume.
there’s some kind of domesticity to it, he thinks, your hands settling in the same place as his, your comfortable pose on his couch, your insatiable need to know about him, to see inside him, your need for him to engage like a schoolgirl tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. if the schoolgirl was blood thirsty.
“so, who is she?” your tone is even, your jealousy masterfully disguised by a practised playfulness, the twinkle in your eye unmistakable when you search his face for any tells for his supposed lover. you finally stand from his couch, placing the book back in the exact spot he had it, down to the millimetre (had you been here before? would he know?), leaving your jacket on the couch, the sweet scent already seeping into the fabric. you were good at that, ensuring you were always on his mind, with your perfume, with all the criminals dazedly walking into police stations holding their own wanted flyers with his name scribbled on it beside your own. gifts, you’d called them the first time he’d caught you in the act.
“has to be someone special, hm? you’ve never left me waiting before.”
your voice is just a whisper, a tiny worm wiggling its way into his nervous system, forcing his gaze to yours (he has just enough self control to steel his eyes, to keep his face indifferent as his body fought to react, to give in). staring up at him, you carefully examine his features, the way you’re reflected in his pupils that nearly swallow his iris whole, the ring of colour proof of his stubbornness, of his power to resist your compulsion.
“there is no she, i was out cleaning up your mess.”
you raise your hands in a display of innocence you don’t deserve, slinking closer to the light he sought his shelter in.
“my mess? i convinced a criminal you’ve been searching for to walk into your agency. you should be thanking me.” the worm is more the size of a caterpillar, growing evermore with the echoing chorus of your voice, the same you’d have done to the man earlier in the evening; a tauntingly slow build up of your compulsion until it had taken hold.
his voice joined yours in ordering him, his head hurting from the resistance, thank her. thank her. thank her. thank her. squeezing his eyes shut, his lips part involuntarily, his tongue straining to speak, to form the syllables you compelled him say, “i don’t need to thank you for shit.”
his back tenses, shoulder blades pinching together in the effort to resist you, a headache forming behind his eyes the longer you stared at him; pain pulsing with every ignored syllable.
he’d given in once, the first time he saw you, before he knew how to resist. before he knew how relieving it was to give in; the sound of your honeyed voice something he craved every day since, the echo of your command like a warm stream of water rushing down his spine, the weightlessness of pleasing you, every hum of approval like a hit of nicotine.
you pout, “the others are more grateful.”
your perceived inability to break him haunts you, he can tell, you itch to feel him give in, to have a man of his power under your thumb. a toy for your entertainment. he’d give it to you, he’d tell you how he craved the feeling of your hypnosis, if he knew you’d still send him your ‘gifts’, if you’d still sneak into his house just to see the flash of shock on his face, if you’d still obsess, if he knew he wasn’t just a challenge. the unbreakable man, broken.
instead, he tries his best to keep an indifferent, slightly amused, expression firmly on his face, watching you flit about his apartment like you belonged, like you weren’t more tempting than the forbidden fruit, like submitting wasn’t a worse fate than mortality. his body screamed at him the longer you stayed near, blood, muscles bones and nerves begging to rest, to get closer, to run; the need for you prospering in the dark recesses of his mind when he takes one step closer.
“i’m not like the others.”
© all works belong to @k-atsukibakugou, @gwen0m, and dlirious on archive of our own, do not plagiarise, translate, repost or recommend my work on other platforms or translate my works, i do not give permission for my works to be bound and sold. 18+ minors and ageless blogs do not interact.
#「mercury writes」#「kat <3」#tw: yandere#just in case#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugou katuski x reader#bakugo katsuk x reader#katsuki bakugou x reader
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Modern Shamans and Shamankas
keepers of spiritual knowledge and practices of the ancient masters
Our first recorded glimpse of what was to become known a shamanic practice, accessing the spiritual knowledge of all ages, labelled shamans (men) and shamankas (female) by anthropologists to define the role of the spiritual leaders and keepers of the knowledge in the 1400s in Siberia and Mongolia.
The word ‘shaman’: The root of the word means ‘to know‘ and may originate from ‘šamán‘, most likely from the Tungus language of Mongolia. The word was thought to be brought to the west in the 17th century by the Dutch traveller Nicolaas Witsen, who recounted his experiences with the Tungus-speaking people of Siberia in a book Noord en Oost Tartaryen, which was published in several languages.
Don Miguel Ruiz is one such modern shaman, who shares the ‘Toltec Spirit’ of the ancients, and the Toltecs of today, our modern shamans, are still spiritual warriors…
A modern movement led by writer Miguel Ruiz is called ‘Toltec Spirit’. In his famous book The Four Agreements, Ruiz outlines a plan for creating happiness in your life. Ruiz’s philosophy states that you should be diligent and principled in your personal life and try not to worry about things you cannot change.
No one knows why the Toltec culture disappeared sometime in the 12th century and, other than the name ‘Toltec’, this modern-day philosophy has absolutely nothing to do with the ancient Toltec civilisation.
From the Mastery of Love, by Miguel Ruiz:
“Thousands of years ago, the Toltec were known throughout southern Mexico as “women and men of knowledge.” Anthropologists have spoken of the Toltec as a nation or a race, but in fact, the Toltec were scientists and artists who formed a society to explore and conserve the spiritual knowledge and practices of the ancient ones. They came together as masters (Naguals) and students at Teotihuacan, the ancient city of pyramids outside Mexico City, known as the place where ‘Man becomes God.’
“Over the millennia, the Naguals were forced to conceal the ancestral wisdom and maintain its existence in obscurity. European conquest, coupled with rampant misuse of power by a few of the apprentices, made it necessary to shield the knowledge from those who were not prepared to use it wisely or who might intentionally misuse it for personal gain.
“Fortunately, the esoteric Toltec knowledge was embodied and passed on through generations by different lineages of Naguals. Though it remained veiled in secrecy for hundreds of years, ancient prophecies foretold the coming of an age when it would be necessary to return the wisdom to the people. Now, Don Miguel Ruiz, a Nagual from the Eagle Knight lineage, has been guided to share with us the powerful teachings of the Toltec.
“Toltec knowledge arises from the same essential unity of truth as all the sacred esoteric traditions found around the world. Though it is not a religion, it honours all the spiritual masters who have taught on the earth. While it does embrace spirit, it is most accurately described as a way of life, distinguished by the ready accessibility of happiness and love
Toltec Shaman🌵
Talon Abraxas
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Long Lost Sister (Natasha x Reader)
A/N: this was so so cute to write! Thank you for the prompt and I hope you enjoy it 💕
Word count: 1559
Warnings: None
It all started when you received a phone call saying that there was a family member who was eager to meet you. You couldn't quite process what was happening as you thought you grew up an only child with a family that was hesitant to bring you up, sort of like Harry Potter with the Dursleys.
You were grown up now, you've got your own job and currently renting an apartment, but admittedly, you were struggling, financially and emotionally. You were grateful for what you had, but all in all, you were lonely, sick of the same routine which drained you, so the fact that someone wanted to meet you, especially a family member, could be just the boost you needed to help you get more motivated for life.
The two of you texted for a bit before agreeing on a time and a place to meet up, you were pleasantly surprised to find out that the two of you only lived half an hour away from each other.
Presently, you were pacing up and down your small apartment, your anxiety racing as you tried to calm yourself down. You knew that your sister was on her way to you, all you knew was that her name was Natasha and that you got separated from her when you were only a few months old. It seemed like your first few months of life were incredibly traumatic, but the two of you agreed to not discuss that today and focus on building that relationship you always craved.
After what felt like forever, you finally heard a knock at the door.
You took in a deep breath, heading towards the front door, shakily opening it, you looked up to see a face that the whole world knew. You blinked a few times, innocently confused about what was currently going on.
“Y/N?” The all-too-familiar person said, obviously you knew who the Black Widow was, who wouldn't? But the fact that she called you by name and just appeared at your apartment was crazy for you.
“Uh… hi?” You replied in pure disbelief, you were afraid to jump to conclusions right now, there was no way that Natasha Romanoff was your sister.
“It’s nice to finally meet you… sis.” Natasha greeted gently, not pushing interaction at the moment. “May I come in?”
You nodded, eyes widening when she called you ‘sis’, you stepped out of the way so she could come in, closing the door afterwards. “Are you- what is going on? Is this actually happening?” You stuttered, trying to quickly process what was happening, but being grounded when you felt a pair of hands on your shoulders.
“Yes Y/N, it is, I’m your sister, it’s so good to finally meet you,” Nat said with a gentle smile, pulling you into a hug which you melted into. “There we go…” you heard her whisper as she rocked you from side to side.
The two of you remained in that position for a while, before she pulled away and smiled. “So, what do you wanna do?”
“Well… I got the Wii set up for some Mario Kart if you want, I can teach you how to play if you don’t know how or I have snacks and Netflix if you just want to talk and I don’t know-“
“Hey.” Nat chuckled and gave your side a quick poke. “You really don’t think I know how to play Mario Kart? Hawkeye’s kids make me play it with them all the time.” She said and got herself comfortable on the couch.
You smiled a little, flinching at the poke as you nodded, sitting yourself down next to her after setting everything up and passing her a remote.
“Right, sorry…” you replied awkwardly, grabbing the other remote and starting the races. After that, the two of you got on incredibly well, chatting casually and getting to the point of teasing each other. You were surprised about how quickly your bond was forming, and it made you so happy to finally feel less alone.
Your confidence grew and you playfully sassed Nat regularly throughout the rounds, making her smirk, quickly thinking of an idea.
“Hey, you know what else I’d do with Clint’s kids when they got cheeky?” She asked, putting a hand on your knee with a grin on her face.
Your eyes widened as the race ended, not knowing how this was going to go, so you shook your head innocently.
“This,” she grinned and squeezed into the spot above your knee, causing you to flinch and squeal in surprise, covering your mouth as you bit back giggles.
“Oh come on, Y/N, we both know that you’re sensitive.” She grinned and wrapped her arm around you, squeezing into your side to make you fall into her.
You gasped, shaking your head stubbornly as you already began wiggling around, still trying to process what was going on. First, you discovered that the actual Black Widow was your sister, and now she’s being super affectionate and playful with you. “I’m not!” You then tried to squeak out.
Nat rolled her eyes, trapping you in a hug and wiggling her fingers into your ribs, smirking as she peered around to see you burst into hysterical giggles. “Are toooo!” She teased in your ear before scribbling under your arms too, causing you to break into giggly laughter.
“Well, this is one way to bond with my sister!” The Black Widow grinned teasingly watching you squirm in her arms, both of you knowing that you didn’t hate the feeling at all, even though Natasha saying the word ‘sister’ around you never failed to surprise you.
“Nohohoho fahahahair!” You whined; blushing and giggling whilst gently pushing at her arms, even though you couldn't get away from the spy’s grip.
“Oh, but this is very fair.” Nat grinned and blew a raspberry on your neck. After wrecking Yelena and Wanda so many times, she knew what to do to get people giggling. Her fingers moved down to your belly and wiggled mercilessly, grinning as you squeaked with high-pitched laughter.
“Uh oh, this is a sensitive tummy.” Nat told you as if you weren’t laughing from her playful attack, blowing “ another raspberry into your neck to add to the torture.
“Okahahahahay quhuhuhuit!” You squeaked out, shoving at her hands since you were running out of breath. Natasha let you go, wrapping you in a hug. “That was adorable.” She smiled fondly and gave you another squeeze.
You regained your breath for a little bit, then turned to her with a grin. “Not as adorable as this is going to be!” You smirked, reaching forward and suddenly scribbling into her tummy, attempting to find out if she was sensitive.
The Black Widow flinched, her hands flying over her mouth to hold back any reactions that threatened to come out of her mouth. You raised your eyebrows. “Come on, we’re sisters, you can let go.” You tell her gently, poking around her ribs, sides and tummy to see if you could get any sort of reaction from her.
The second you poked near her armpit though, her eyes widened with a small smile appearing on her face. “Y/N, don’t you dare…” she murmured, although her tone and smile made you think that she was only joking.
“Hm… let me think about that… no.” You said and managed to wiggle your pointer fingers under each arm, smiling as Nat let out a tiny giggle, shaking her head but not quite stopping you.
“Oh, this is precious.” You tease, wiggling teasingly and watching as a few giggles slipped out of her. “Y/N!” She whined out, her face scrunched up as she gently tapped at your hands.
“Naaaat!” You teased back, continuing the underarm torture as the red-headed woman leaned away from you whilst more and more giggles slipped out of her mouth, choosing to let herself go a little since she wanted to appear more playful to you.
“Does this work for you too?” You asked, nuzzling your face to her neck and blowing a raspberry there, causing her to squeal and lean her head away, giggles coming out easier now since your fingers continued to torture under her arms.
“Quhuhuhuit ihihihit!” She whined, and you chuckled and did what you were asked, leaning into her with a cheekily smile as she rolled her eyes and wrapped you in a tight hug.
“Count yourself lucky, Y/N, I rarely let people see that side of me.” She told you with a smile, enjoying the physical comfort you were both giving each other.
“Can I… ask you something though?” You asked, looking up at her as she fluttered her fingers under your chin fondly. “Of course.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that you were the Black Widow?”
“Oh… I guess I was scared that you would be too nervous to meet up with me.” She admitted quietly, but you rolled your eyes and shoved at her.
“More like you were scared that I was going to kick your ass at Mario Kart.” You teased but squealed as you heard your sister gasp and tackle you to the couch again, beginning to playfully wreck you.
And that’s how the evening continued, full of games and laughter. You no longer saw Natasha as the Black Widow, but as your long-lost sister.
Tags: @tobiaslut @pegasusflight77
#avengers tickle#avengers tickle fic#marvel tickle#marvel tickle fic#ticklish!reader#mcu tickle#mcu tickle fic#ler!nat#ticklish!nat#ler!reader
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𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄
“𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐔𝐒”
[ SYPNOSIS ] You found yourself stripped of your immortality, a punishment for daring to flout the edicts laid down by your father. Your transgressions? Two-fold. First, the grave sin of disobedience, and Secondly, the cardinal offense of falling irrevocably in love with your Lady in waiting. In your father’s eyes, the sanctity of your divinity was tarnished by a same-gender relationship, a concept that he vehemently repudiated as aberrant and abhorrent. Such unforgivable love, he pontificated, dulled your goddess-like essence. Thus he used his powers and casted you adrift into a parallel universe suffused with curses and sorcerers whose love aren't really the healthy type of love, a punishment to show you that ‘Love’ isn’t all about sunshine and rainbows
[ WARNINGS ] Gore, Slow Burn Yandere, Love Percentage Au. Pseudo Incest on Choso’s Case. Confusing Bullshit. Sexual themes, Biological Incest. Unedited.
[ PAIRINGS ] Yandere! Jjk x Isekai’d! Goddess! Reader
[ LOVE INTERESTS ] Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Shoko Ieri, Yuki Tsukumo, Kento Nanami, Utahime Iori, Choso, Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna Ryomen
[ NOTE ] Also posted in wattpad & quotev. Hearts and Reblogs are greatly appreciated<3.
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A GUST OF WIND whispered past you, its delicate fingers tracing a chill across your [S/c] skin, and a sigh escapes your lips, dark lashes fluttering shut.
You clutched at the shredded fabric of your gown, the pads of your fingers tracing the crushed remnants of the necklace nestled in your décolletage.
Though the chains had withstood the violence that had befallen on you, the jewel at its center now lay in glittering shards pressed against your heaving bosom.
How it was still intact after you almost drowned remained a mystery, however.
The shrill serenade of crickets hidden amongst the swaying grass reverberated on your ears, along with the soft yet loud pulsing within your chest and your ragged breaths clawing their way past your lips.
You opened your eyes and you peered into the inky shadows cloaking the forest, watching as the undulating branches danced and writhed in the pale moonlight.
The moon shone like polished pewter hanging heavy in the night sky, its pale glow casting the place in shades of silver. You sat on top of a rock with your elbows placed on your bent thighs, cupping your chin in weary palms as you gazed upward, drinking in the silvery glow of the moon that spilled across the darkened earth.
Moments like this brought bittersweet memories flooding back.
You recalled stolen nights with Ataraxia—Sneaking away from the empire and going down to Shaxilu to stargaze.
You missed how her silken hair would flow over your skin as you cradled each other, chatting and chuckling while naming constellations with breathy whispers
In those past evenings, Ataraxia would lay her head in your lap, finger-painting stories in the glittering sky as you watched, transfixed not by the heavenly wonders but the terrestrial beauty that you would always see in her eyes.
She was lost staring at the stars above...while You’re lost staring at the stars that you would see in her eyes.
With a heavy sigh, you dragged your fingers through your hair, just wanting to go back to her, just wanting to feel her lips on yours, feel her touch.
But then, how could you return there, when you’re stuck here on earth?
You find yourself trapped in a realm of ambiguity.
How are you supposed to go back to nebula?
It dawns on you that you are forbidden from returning to the celestial sanctuary of the nebula, after all.
You were Exiled.
A surge of frustration erupts within you, and a groan bubbles up your throat.
Why the fuck did you have to get such a cruel father? It was so unfair, so, so, so unfair.
While others may envy your lineage—for having the creator of the universe as your father, for you, it is a harrowing nightmare from which you cannot awaken.
To them, aionarch may be a deity to worship, a deity to fear and respect, but to you, he is a tyrant to despise.
The loathing you nurture towards aionarch simmers within you.
The bitterness rages within you as you recall the pain he inflicted upon not only you but also your mother—the way he hurts her, the way he hurts you , as if you weren’t his child, as if xeranthi wasn’t his wife.
A of hatred burns hot within your chest.
Why must your paternal lineage be marred by such malevolence? Why must your father be so callous, so devoid of compassion?
Surely, a father’s love should be a beacon of compassion and guidance, not a shroud of cruelty and desolation, right?
The notion that paternal love should be unconditional feels like a distant myth, a fantasy beyond your grasp.
These thoughts churn within you, and you felt getting more, and more agitated as time passes by.
You rubbed your throbbing temples, just wanting the incessant ache to subside as you forced your mind to go back to the present dilemma—and not focus on aionarch’s bullshit.
Loathing aionarch would avail you nothing after all, and focus was imperative—as you needed to make a plan, a plan to go back to nebula and find ataraxia.
You were sure that if you even managed to go back to Nebula, Aionarch would kill you, yet, you didn’t care. Ataraxia was more important.
Focus was key—you needed to devise a plan to return to nebula, to find your beloved Ataraxia.
Ataraxia is in danger, or maybe even dead...
The thought sent a twisting ache through your guts, knotting your insides as your throat constricted painfully. Images of her harmed or worse flooded your mind unbidden, each more gruesome than the last. You cursed your own vulnerability, your lack of power in this scenario. All you could do was hope, hope with every fiber of your being, that Fate had seen fit to spare her.
Have trust in her, she’s strong and intelligent. you told yourself again.
You raked your trembling fingers through your hair as you sighed deeply, mouth twitching down into a frown as your fingers curled slightly as you suddenly remembered another obligation that was suddenly smashed down on you.
You’re a single mother now.
How the hell could you face Ataraxia? How are you supposed to tell her that you’re now a single mother and you have no explanation to offer? Doubtless, ataraxia would assume the worst—that in a moment of weakness or worse yet deceit, you had laid with another.
You didn’t want that, because infidelity isn’t your forte.
It sucks, really, because you don’t even know the father of your self proclaimed son.
A shaking hand rose unsteadily to the nape of your neck, kneading the taut muscles that was locked, yet it provided no respite from the conflicted feelings that was raging within you.
You were so lost in your thoughts, and time itself ceased to have meaning. How long you’d lingered on the frigid ground again?
You just sat there, staring at the moon.
How had it come to this, you wondered. Why were you suddenly tasked with motherhood against your consent? Choso seemed resolute in claiming your connection, in claiming that he was your son.
And somehow, you believed it. Because his nature remained unclear, he wasn’t a human, and neither were you—so there’s a possibility that he was indeed your son.
Meanwhile, Your self-proclaimed son—Choso was beside you as you contemplated on your life choices.
Choso sat silently, idly dragging a stray twig through the sandy earth. His boredom was palpable, though his gaze occasionally flickered in your direction, scrutinizing for any sign of you retaliating or running away—After all, he can’t have you running from your obligation as his mother now, can you?
There was a palpable tension in the air as the two of you perched upon the rugged rock.
The silence was suffocatingly deafening—for it wasn’t the serene quietude, but rather an uneasy stillness that seemed to seep into the very crevices of the place.
Choso’s gaze was fixed on the earth beneath him, the tip of a stick tracing aimless patterns in the dirt, etching out random letters that held no meaning.
Choso couldn’t fathom why you appeared so distraught—Why you looked so upset and agitated and a pang of guilt tugged at his heartstrings. Was it his presence that caused your distraught, leading you to sulk?
A fleeting frown crossed Choso’s lips. Is it because of him that you’re upset or something? He just wants you to let you know that you have a son, and not have you getting all depressed right here and then.
What had transpired to render you so distant, as though he were a stranger? Why do you gaze at him with a disorientated gaze—as though you don’t know him?
“Hey...” Your muted voice floated on the breeze, taking Choso’s attention as his ebony tresses swayed in the wind. Turning his head in uour direction, his gaze fell upon your crestfallen mien—your eyes downcast and avoiding his probing stare
“Yes?” he asked, watching as you finally looked at him, noting the pensive furrow of your brow and the piercing gaze that you were giving him.
“...you said that you’re my child, right?” Doubt laced your query as a thought took root—if it was true—that he was your son, then why did he stand before you fully grown? You were untouched, a maiden still, and your reason rebelled against what your eyes insisted was fact.
Maybe ataraxia got you pregnant unintentionally? No, no, that’s not possible, two women could not create new life no matter how fervent the affection is, and you haven’t done the deed yet.
Such things were fanciful impossibilities.
“Yes,” Choso said simply, though his reply did little to allay your turmoil—It was vague after all.
You frowned pensively as you took in Choso’s visage. Lines of strain etched themselves across his brow; a tightness pulled at the corners of his mouth. Shadows dusked beneath his downcast eyes. Had your words carried too much censure?
Is it your fault? Were you so harsh? Is it because that you didn’t accept him as your son? Is it because you just won’t drop the subject?
Did he felt neglected by his mother or something?
You knew not how to be a mother, so how are you supposed to fulfill that role and not make him feel neglected? You were stressed too... Because if he really is your son, then why wasn’t he a baby at all, why is he a grown ass man?
The position strained you both, truly. Your chest constricted at the sight of choso’s solemn expression. Softly, you massaged your aching temples. Through dark lashes, you peered at Choso, taking in the stiff set of broad shoulders, fingers clenched white-knuckled in his lap.
While you watched him with a pitiful gaze, Choso’s gaze remained downcast, tracing the purposeful march of dark ants amidst the dirt.
Choso was just wondering what would happen if he was born as an ant while you were busy there in your internal turmoil.
“Hey...”
A tentative breath escaped your lips as you mustered the courage to speak once more, the words delicately balanced on the tip of your tongue. “I’m sorry,”
you uttered, your voice barely above a whisper as you averted your gaze, your hand trembling slightly as it came to rest upon your lap.
“I was just... overwhelmed by everything that’s happened,” you confessed, your fingers twisting anxiously in your lap.
“That’s why I’ve been so... agitated.. there’s just so many things that happened to me.. and I guess.. i kinda let my anger out on you...”
The memory of Toji’s pungent aroma suddenly assaulted your senses, causing your nose to scrunch in a grimace as you fought to push the unpleasant recollection aside.
Out of anything, why did you have to remember that little shit?
You sighed.
“I’m so sorry for being so harsh..”
You paused, your gaze searching his face, hoping to gauge his reaction, to discern whether your apology had been accepted or if the rift between your non-existent bond remained unhealed.
“I’m really sorry,” you said, the words laced with a heavy sigh as your fingers curled into your palms, the knuckles turning white with the tension. Choso arched a single, eyebrow, his expression a mix of confusion and intrigue.
“Why are you apologizing?” he asked, his deep voice tinged with puzzlement. Were you feeling remorseful for some reason he couldn’t discern?
You bit your lower lip, the soft flesh catching between your teeth as you contemplated your response.
“Because of my harshness,” you murmured, your gaze dropping to the floor.
“I may have... unintentionally, of course... offended you.”
The words felt thick and heavy on your tongue, as if your very breath struggled to form them. Choso hummed, a low, contemplative sound that reverberated in his chest.
He couldn’t help but note the shift in your demeanor, the way your once-brash and snappish attitude had given way to a more gentle, solemn air. Had you finally come to terms with the fact that he had bested you in your previous arguments? Even better, did you finally accepted that he was your son? Fantastic, indeed.
Scooting closer to you, Choso reached out, his long fingers gently brushing against the back of your hand.
“You didn’t offend me,” he assured, his voice soft and soothing.
“There’s no need to apologize.”
You looked up, your eyes meeting his.
“I... I suppose that it’s okay then... But still, i’m sorry...” you said, your words hesitant and uncertain.
But then, just as quickly as the moment of peace had come, it was gone, and you were back to your old self, your brow furrowing as you fixed Choso with a pointed stare.
“But you do realize that you can’t be my son, don't you?” you asked.
Choso’s eye twitched, and he resisted the urge to let out a frustrated sigh. There you go again, trying to stir up another argument. It seemed that this was a topic you two would never see eye to eye on.
Your fingers gently intertwined with his calloused hand, and you couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast in texture, not only that.. his hands seemed to have the same size of yours, yet it still fit snugly.
An involuntary frown tugged at the corners of your lips as you contemplated whether your stature had somehow diminished, for you were certain your palm would have dwarfed his own. After all, you were taller than him and his head were barely reaching your shoulder.
“I know I’ve already told you this countless times before, but...” You paused, your voice soft and measured as you prepared to broach the sensitive topic once more.
“My lover is a woman.” You paused, studying his features for any flicker of understanding
Pressing your lips into a tight, resolute line, you continued,
“And two women, as you’re aware, cannot conceive a child together.”Your gaze drifted downward, fingers tracing the weathered contours of his palm in a delicate, almost reverent caress.
“And... Ugh, how many times do i have to say this...? This is embarrassing...” you grumbled.
“I’m the embodiment of chastity.”
You mumbled, lifting your eyes to meet his, a silent plea resonated within your gaze.
“And besides, we should simply just drop this and accept the fact that you’re not my son. Ataraxia might grow upset and assume I’ve been unfaithful and that i’m cheating on her.” Your words were laced with a soft desperation.
“And i don’t want that...”
“Please?”
Choso scoffed, his brow furrowing as he pressed his palm against his temple, the other hand still enveloped in your grasp.
”Just... accept it,” he murmured, his voice tinged with exasperation.
“You still have my brother nestled within your womb.”
The very mention of that fact caused a knot of dread to coil in the pit of your stomach, His brother remained nestled safely within your womb. How could you forget the life growing within? How could you have forgotten, even for a moment, the life that now thrummed within you—the life that had been so unexpectedly, inexplicably conceived?
...
Now ataraxia had more reason to believe that you cheated because you were technically pregnant!
You released your hold on his hand, fingers trembling slightly as you raked them through your hair, the strands catching and snagging against your skin, and nails scraping across your scalp in agitation.
“How did this even happen?” you breathed, the words barely audible as you watched Choso press his palm reverently against your tummy, fingers splayed as if listening.
“Can you not hear it?” he murmured, his expression calm and collectedness.
“Hear what?”
“The heartbeat of Noranso.” You felt your eyes widen in shock, jaw dropping open as you stared at him, utterly flabbergasted. Flummoxed, you gaped at him as you spoke.
“Tangina Choso... Don’t tell me that..” The words tumbled from your lips, colored with disbelief.
You felt a bubbling surge of annoyance boil within your core, because if you were to give birth to that random child that randomly popped in your tummy then you would’ve named it ‘destroyer of the land and mountains’
You grimaced, founding the name that choso had given his brother kinda weird, and you were acting as if the name that you would give it wasn’t any weirder.
But To be honest? if choso didn’t have a name, then you would’ve had named him “armpit munchies” or “squishy toe nails.”
“... you named it?”
Choso merely shrugged, stepping back from you with a nonchalant air.
“No, that’s his name,” he replied vaguely, leaving you to gape at his retreating form, a thousand questions swirling in your mind.
His explanation provided little clarity to your muddled psyche. Brow furrowed, glancing between him and your stomach curiously. Finally, words tumbled forth quietly
“It has a name.” You repeated, baffled.
“I.. i see..”
“Do you all have your names chosen even before the...” you paused, brow furrowing as you struggled to find the right words,
“the sperm race?”
Choso merely shook his head, seeming equally perplexed.
“I don’t recall joining a race.” choso murmured.
“What’s a sperm?”
Waves of discomfort washed over you as you stared at Choso with a perplexed gaze, your fingers instinctively massaging the tense muscles at the base of your neck. How could this man before you, with all the trappings of adulthood, be utterly ignorant of the most fundamental aspects of human biology? You found yourself bewildered, your brow furrowing as you struggled to comprehend the sheer depth of his naivety.
“You don’t know what a sperm is?” The words tumbled from your lips, laced with a mixture of incredulity and pity. Your eyes searched Choso's face, wondering if perhaps he was some sort of savant, what if he’s actually a baby trapped in a man’s body?
“Er, well... it’s a small creature,” you began, the words catching in your throat as you grappled with the awkwardness of the situation.
“And, you know, it’s what men... release... on the female. And then, it leads to a baby or something.” You trailed off.
“Like during reproduction,” You added.
“You have those too” The words tumbled forth, a futile attempt to bridge the chasm of understanding that separated you. Choso’s expression remained flat.
“What do you mean?” His voice, devoid of any hint of emotion, only served to heighten your sense of unease.
“You have those too. Sperm. You have those.” You shook your head, the words tinged with a resigned exasperation.
“I don’t.” Choso asserted, shaking his head in a way that made your eye twitch involuntarily.
“But you do,” you replied, unable to contain your exasperation as you facepalmed.
“Beneath those clothes, you have a dick. It’s the thing between your legs, the flesh thing. And then you have balls, they’re connected to the dick and your sperm is inside of your balls.”
Your brusque, vulgar manner of explaining the process confused choso, you cringed internally as you realized how embarrassing and blunt your words is. Leaning forward, you extended a lone digit, pressing the tip firmly against the juncture of his thighs.
“Here.” you said.
Choso’s brow arched in bewilderment, his calloused palm slowly trailing downward to tentatively graze the area you had indicated.
“Here?” he questioned, his tone laced with uncertainty.
You offered a curt nod of affirmation.
“Yes, precisely there.” A long-suffering sigh escaped your lips as you watched his exploration.
“There’s nothing here.”
“Punyeta, choso, Anong kabobohan to?”
you lamented, the palm of your hand connecting sharply with your forehead in a gesture of pure exasperation.
Did this mirror the frustration Aionarch experienced while explaining the details of reproduction and the importance of restraint to your dumb ass? Was this the same impatience he felt when you struggled to grasp basic concepts? Is this how he felt when he was teaching you what sex is and you can’t understand anything?
“I don’t know. But i don’t really know what you’re talking about.” Choso’s brow creased slightly as he tried to decipher your cryptic remarks.
“Are you truly aware that offspring gestate within the female womb, yet remain ignorant of the nature of the seed that initiates such creation?” you inquired with a hint of disbelief.
Choso emitted a dismissive snort. “Tsk.”
“Do i look like i care about that reproductive thing that you’re talking about?” Choso inquired, arching a sculpted brow with dubious sincerity.
“Your words are too flowery ma, i can’t understand it.”
Choso responded, the honorific “ma” slipping unbidden from his tongue unconsciously. In all honesty, he could not muster the slightest interest in your diatribe and the meanings therein—Your speech simply dwarfed his capacity for comprehension.
“M-ma?” You sputtered in disbelief, your viscera twisted within your torso’s confines. Why the hell does he keep perceiving you as the mother who birthed him? You had already told him so many times before, Had his cognizance reshaped itself to see you thus? Jaw clenched taut, gut wrenched with turmoil, you met his steady gaze.
“What?” he asked, purple eyes narrowed to slits as irritation claimed dominion of mien and manner.
“Are you still insisting that i have that “dick” you were talking of?”
“i don’t have those.” he reiterated adamantly.
You exhaled deeply, pressing your fingertips to your temples as sheer vexation overtook you. It seemed this Choso was intent on persisting in his fanciful notion of you as his mothe, huh?
Though you strove for patience, his constant invocations of that diminutive designation only served to stoke the flames of irritation within you.
You know that this might just fuel his delusion but you still spoke.
“If you’re really my son then you’ll have those.”
you remarked, exasperation sharpening your tongue as you pointed on his torso. Directing his gaze downwards, you noted the minute tensing of his brows as thoughtful consideration replaced that look of misguided familial bonding. Silently, he pondered your implication, tracing where your suggestive gesture indicated—his midsection bereft of the corporeal signs one might expect finding to see a true blood relation.
“Why do you keep pointing at my midriff?, there’s nothing here.”
“I know that i’m right. You should just look for yourself, see if you’re right.” he mumbled incomprehensibly.
“Okay.” You said flatly.
Your fingers grasped the fabric of his vest, the coarse material rough against your skin as you tugged him closer. With a sharp tug, you lifted the garment, revealing the taut, chiseled planes of his abdomen. His breath hitched suddenly, not expecting that.
“So?” He breathes out.
“It’s under here.” you murmured, your voice low and lilting as your hand drifted downward, tracing the line of the black, silk-like sash cinched around his hips. With deft movements, you began to untie the knot, your fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of his trousers as you tugged it.
“Here?” He asked, and choso blinked as he suddenly felt blood rushing down there.
What the hell is happening? He could feel something stiffening, but he just couldn’t pinpoint what it is...
“You look like you’re living in an another person’s body, you know?” you murmured, your eyes gravitating upwards to meet his. Choso’s gaze wandered, his mind occupied with a myriad of thoughts, his body tensing uncomfortably in response. The alien sensation of his new body still lingered, a mere twenty days into this unfamiliar vessel. A body bestowed upon him by a mysterious stranger, a doppelganger of yourself in every aspect—from the matching lips to the identical eyes, skin tone, and hair.
The resemblance between you two was uncanny, eerie in its precision.
But the personalities and the voice is different though.
Unease shadowed his features, amethyst eyes brooding, thoughts no doubt wandering to that fateful encounter only days past when first he’d been gifted with animated flesh.
Your voice broke him out of his reverie.
“I am not well-versed in the anatomy of males, But i guess I’ll just indulge you in from what I've read in my books,” you stated with a trace of bitterness, recalling the arduous task of having to study that 50 books with long ass pages for no reason at all.
“Maybe we should start with your upper physique?” you suggested with innocent curiosity, your words laced with a hint of uncertainty.
Your delicate hands slowly roamed his firm physique, lingering in certain spots as if mapping every contour with her touch alone. A visible shiver coursed through his body at the first caress upon his bare chest. “So here,” You began, pressing your soft palms fully against his pecs,
“lies your thoracic cavity.”
He gazed down intently at your hands exploring his form, too confused to fully comprehend your anatomical lesson.
“What’s a thoracic cavity?” He questioned, his curiosity piqued.
“It’s your chest. It’s a complex chamber nestled within your chest, safeguarding the vital organs necessary for sustaining life,” you explained, noting how he tilted his head slightly as he delicately removed your fingers from his cloth. With a meticulous gesture, he adjusted the fabric and lifted it up higher granting you an enhanced view of his upper body.
“You mean, the things that are essential for living?” he murmured in wonderment.
“Yeah.” you affirmed with a nod.
“Hmm... Intriguing,” he mused, mentally marking the importance of this knowledge.
His gaze then wandered towards your own chest.
“Why does your chest look like that? It’s different from mine.” he inquired, leaving you momentarily speechless.
You gawked.
“Putanginang lalake to... Choso, don’t ask questions like that! It’s uncomfortable and weird.” You sighed.
“Look me in the eyes, not my chest,” you instructed, a hint of exasperation lacing your words as he acquiesced with a nod, seemingly unaware of his lapse in etiquette.
You cleared your throat, hoping to get rid of the awkward atmosphere.
“So... Back to what i was saying.”
“There’s organs in here and they’re essential for your living. It's divided into three main parts, right pleural cavity, left pleural cavity and mediastinum. And the five organs in your thoracic cavity are your heart, lungs, esophagus, trachea and thymus.”
“There’s bones in here too, like your ribs and the sternum.”
“This one’s your sternum,” You mumble, tracing the arch of his sternum before dipping lower
“And this one’s your ribcage.”
Your fingers delicately glided across the solid ridges of his rib cage.
Sliding lower still, the tips of your fingers grazed his taut stomach.
“The abdomen...” you comtinued,
“The abdomen contains many vital organs: the stomach, the small intestine, the large intestine, the liver, the spleen, the gallbladder, the pancreas, the bladder, and many blood vessels.”
“And here, your groin” Your fingers dipped under his waistband and you were about to take it off until a distorted sound reached your ears, a warped and twisted echo that set your nerves on edge.
“Mommyyy” it crooned, and you froze, choso stiffening beside you as you both snapped your gaze toward the source.
There, emerging from the shadows, a giant, fat, purple worm with an ugly and contorted face. The same creature you had once shapeshifted into.
“Mommy Hug me”
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𝐍𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐀
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The miasmic scent of blood flooded Xeranthi’s senses as she gingerly sat upon her husband’s lap. Aionarch’s hand massaged her lacerated flesh. Stiffening against the forthcoming anguish, she steeled herself to absorb his ministrations without compromise of façade.
The woman’s ravaged flesh contracted in pain as pale slender fingers traced over her fresh lashes, reopening the barely sealed wounds.
Xeranthi’s flesh constricts as his fingers delved deeply into the crimson gash, parting the freshly torn skin with delicate precision. Her muscles and sinews writhed beneath his probing touch, the contractile tissue recoiling from the painful intrusion. Ichor fluid welled and spilled anew with each probing motion, and it dripped down his fingers like midnight liquid, painting his fingers a grim ichor.
Each brush of contact sent tendrils of white-hot agony lancing through her battered form, her stomach roiling with a fresh wave of nauseating pain—and she wanted to vomit so bad.
Aionarch methodically traced the wound’s edge, his glowing touch bringing tentative relief—That xeranthi very much didn’t appreciated. Her taut fibers slowly drew closed once more beneath his healing caress, though, the residual soreness remained.
The whip that they used kn her was excruciatingly painful, a nefarious device of torture forged from a dragon's scaly tail. Each serrated barb along its rippling length was painful, and each sharp tooth that lined the whip’s gangrenous tongue was carved from the fossilized scales of some bygone beast, and Xeranthi could feel her senses reeling as she remembered the obsidian talons buried deep within her back, rending sinews and splitting her skin.
She hissed in irritation as his head nestled intimately at her nape. His fingers drifted now across her marred back, cataloging each cruel mark left by the kiss. Over raised welts and gouges his hands roamed, tracing the ribs laid bare through her broken flesh.
Her form shivered violently at the fresh stimulus to such tender wounds, irritation and anger writting clear upon her trembling limbs. Still he persisted, tending injuries both evident and deeper still, his moist exhalations but another torment upon her skin already flayed. Slowly, gradually, underneath his ministrations the ravages began to fade.
Even in supposed gentleness her sadistic lord inflicted new torments too. Though his touch now soothed rather than seared, memories of past cruelties clung to her like parasites, burrowing their tendrils deep into her psyche.
“you’ve been quiet for quite a while now,”
Aionarch said quietly, though a hint of irritation colored his tone. This wasn’t the reaction he envisioned from Xeranthi after taking her away from that dreadful place.
Despite his efforts to mend her wounds, an undercurrent of ingratitude lingered like a bitter aftertaste.
Such an ungrateful wife she is, no wonder that their daughter is ungrateful too.
“And what would you have me say?”
Xeranthi jaw sets like stone as she let out a derisive grunt.
“Want me to thank you for your oh so called graceful mercy? Want me to thank you and act like you’re my savior when you’re the reason why i’m there in the first place?”
Aionarch grasped her chin roughly, his nails digging crescents into her flesh as he forced her gaze to meet his own.
“Ah? It seems the apple falls not far from the tree,” he murmured. “I think I know from whence our daughter’s foolishness stems,”
He breathed, the scent of wine upon his breath.
“So you’ve finally recognized your own reflection?”
Xeranthi’s lips curled into a wry smile, though no mirth touched her eyes. “So you finally admit she inherits her dull wit from you?”
Pausing, Aionarch considered her retort before throwing back his head and laughing, though the sound held no joy.
“Nay, ‘Tis from you, wife.”
Aionarch hesitated, brow furrowing, then laughed sharply. “No, she gets her foolishness from you.”
“She has your features, your genes,” Xeranthi countered.
“And she has your intellect, or lack thereof.
Aionarch’s fingers clenched tighter, his nails breaking skin, still Xeranthi would not flinch or cry out, meeting his gaze with defiance.
“You are cute Weiveiun,” He says with a chuckle.
Xeranthi narrowed her eyes as his icy gaze bored into her, pale ichor dripping slowly from vicious half-moon gouges in her skin where his nails still dug. Though her flesh stung in pain, she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her pain.
Dark lashes fluttered shut to block out his soulless stare, though it did nothing to halt the onslaught of memories assaulting her mind.
“What did you do to my soryuleitha?”
“I know that you wouldn’t bring her up unless you did something.”
Aionarch hums as he traced a thumb along her jaw, smearing the iridescent blood across her cheek in a gruesome caress.
“What do you think?” He asks.
“I discovered that our daughter has become enamored with a woman,” the deity sighed languidly, and Xeranthi remained stock-still as her eyes grew wide with horror and dismay. No... surely Aionarch has not uncovered your secret attraction to the fairer sex? Xeranthi swallowed painfully, hoping beyond hope that you remains unscathed, for she knows all too well how cruel Aionarch can be, and how fiercely he despises any bond of intimacy that deviates from his narrow conception of propriety. And it was especially grievous, for it concerned you.
“You’ve hurt her...” Xeranthi said in icy tones and Aionarch hummed dismissively, feeling some subterranean forces suddenly surging forth from nowhere to pierce through him, but they dissipated impotently as he dispersed them with a negligent flick of his hand.
“Indeed, I did,” Aionarch replied coldly, without an ounce of remorse, not even caring about xeranthi’s pathetic attempt to hurt him.
Drawing a shuttered breath, Xeranthi stated grimly, “You should’ve just killed her.” She said coldly.
“And not hurt her.”
“You hurt her so grievously because you are consumed by envy of her lover, isn’t it?” Xeranthi murmured pensively, and for a split-second, Aionarch’s eyes widened in surprise at her perceptiveness before he threw his head back and laughed hollowly.
“Clever girl,” he purred, pressing his lips to Xeranthi’s cheek in a mockery of affection, which caused the goddess to recoil inwardly from his defiling touch.
“Since when did you know, hm?” Aionarch asks, and Xeranthi’s gaze slowly drifted downwards, her eyes avoiding his penetrating stare. How did she know? Through her stealthy observations over many years. Ever since you were a mere babe, it had seemed to Xeranthi that Aionarch was utterly obsessed with you, obsessed with sculpting you into some ideal of perfection, obsessed with isolating you from all others until you belonged only to him. None dare speak to him in such a casual, informal way without meeting a ghastly end, and yet with you he was strangely tender, affectionate even.
And that was not all—Aionarch kept a close, watchful guard over your purity as well, as if you were his private treasure. These things had whispered to Xeranthi’s intuition for longer than she could recall, leaving an uneasy sense of foreboding within her.
“Ever since she was a child,”
“I see the way you look at her.” Xeranthi murmured through clenched teeth, each word sharp enough to draw blood. Her fingernails dug half-moons into her palms as barely contained rage coursed through her veins.
“The way you so readily forgive her transgressions, as if she hung the very stars in the sky.”
Aionarch merely hummed in noncommittal acknowledgement, yet the icy disdain miring his eyes belied the uncaring facade he attempted to project.
“True, I harbor no love for you,” he conceded with a frigid smile that raised hackles along Xeranthi's neck.
“But i do care for you. Do I not provide for your needs? Have I not elevated your status above all others?”
She sneered mirthlessly.
“Spare me your falsehoods and justifications. I am no fool, no matter how you may seek to paint me as such. I know well that you used me—my body, my name—for no other purpose than so you could have a child because apparently, i’m the prettiest goddess blah blah blah, bullshit like that. Like i give a damn if you elevated my status”
“Watch your insolent tongue, woman, lest you regret the consequences.”
Xeranthi barked a harsh, derisive laugh.
“The truth wounds, does it? That I see clearly what lies beneath your genteel ravings? She looks like you,” she spat venomously,
“and so you mistake your narcissism for love. You like her because she looks like you, she spits your image.”
“Your feelings for [Name] has never been platonic in the first place.”
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𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄
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𑁍ࠬܓ━━𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍
𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒:
𝟎𝟎𝟏. [Name]’s stomach is starting to digest Choso’s Brother.
𝟎𝟎𝟐. Xeranthi knows about [Name] and Ataraxia.
𝟎𝟎𝟑. [Name] is the goddess of chastity, cause she was forced to live in Chastity by her father.
𝟎𝟎𝟒. Ataraxia heard the conversation between Aionarch and Xeranthi.
𝟎𝟎𝟓. The worm thinks that [Name] is its mommy too because yk? She once transformed into the worm and the worm scent is clinging onto her—so the worm assumed that she was its mommy.
𝟎𝟎𝟔. Choso wanted to ask about Ataraxia but refrained himself from doing so.
𝟎𝟎𝟕. Xeranthi wasn’t bothered by aionarch’s incestuous love cause it’s normal for them—since they’re deities and incest is normal in deities and they see nothing wrong with it.
𝟎𝟎𝟖. The person that gave choso his body was said that they looked like Kamiseijin but it’s not really kamiseijin, neither was it aionarch.
𝟎𝟎𝟗. Aionarch didn’t killed ataraxia for a reason;)
𝟎𝟏𝟎. Aionarch only took Xeranthi away to share some information with Xeranthi cause he kinda expected that Xeranthi would recoil at the thought of [Name] liking a woman but got the opposite reaction instead cause Xeranthi supports her daughter no matter what.
𝟎𝟏𝟏. Choso once considered bashing your head.
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𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐒:
𝟎𝟎𝟏. “Punyeta, anong kabobohan to choso” means “What the fuck kind of stupidity is this, Choso?”
Weiveiun means
𝟎𝟎𝟐. Soryuleitha means “My sole happiness”
𝟎𝟎𝟑.Weiveiun means “My darling”
𝟎𝟎𝟒. “Putang inang lalake to” means this fucking man...
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🔪 || 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒
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╰┈➤ 𝟎%
—𝐒atoru has been thinking about you or whatever, and honestly? He’s getting a bit jealous of you because suguru has been focusing on tryna figure out what the actual fuck you are.
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╰┈➤ 𝟏𝟎%
—𝐒uguru saw ataraxia’s name on the necklace and now he’s assuming that your name is ataraxia<3.
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╰┈➤ 𝟎%
—𝐓oji misses his worm already, please come back. He needs money.
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╰┈➤ 𝟒% (𝐔𝐩 𝟐%)
—𝐒hoko, just like suguru, assumed that your name is ataraxia and now she’s doing loads of research in tryna find you.
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╰┈➤ 𝟐𝟒% (𝐔𝐩 𝟒%)
—𝐂hoso is getting irritated by you. BUT, he’s jealous because a fucking worm just called you mommy! Like why is the worm stealing his mother? Choso was annoyed at that + he’s also annoyed at the fact that you kept on telling him about human reproduction or something like that, he’s getting uncomfortable with the topic + what are you even saying about his body or something? Choso has never really looked at his body or something like that, nor did he paid any mind in the details.
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𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄:
okokok, so i’m not writing choso as an “innocent uwu” bullshit like that. Choso is not innocent in here and he’s just really curious about how the human body works, but that doesn’t mean that he’s innocent or something. He just trusts Kamiseijin and is quite comfortable with her, that’s why. + He’s literally thinking of killing [Name].
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Shit’s bouta go down at chapter six:) just don’t mind my obsession with anatomy lmfao. This chapter is cringe af (everything is in my pov) dawg, i sprained my ankle and now i’m itching to hurt my mc again... But i just decided to give her this moment of peace because i’m gonna take it all away soon💓.... Mwhehe i was supposed to make her meet Toru and Sugu in her human form but i decided to just make them meet her at chap 7 cause (spoilers: there’s gonna be a fight in chapter 6)
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LOL THIS BULLSHIT BECAME A SCIENCE LESSON INSTEAD OF A JJK FUCKIN' FANFIC LMAOOO SJHSHZJAJAK... And yeah... When i said that there’s gonna be incest in here... I meant that. BUT DON’T THINK THAT I CONDONE/NORMALIZE THAT BEHAVIOR IRL OKAY? incest isn’t okay and it’s illegal<3
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#𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐇’𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒#yandere jjk#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere gojo#yandere satoru gojo#yandere geto#yandere suguru geto#jjk fanfic#fanfic#tw: incest#yandere choso#choso#yandere toji#choso x reader#toji x reader#yandere#yandere jujutsu kaisen#yuki tsukumo#shoko ieri
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This article from &C is translated from Dutch to English via Google translate (with a few improving edits by me)
Hollywood actress Lotte Verbeek attended star parties in LA, dined with Al Pacino, worked with Russell Crowe and lived under the Hollywood sign. She now lives in an apartment in the Jordaan with her two guinea pigs, and that wasn't easy: 'I'm not going to lie, I found the first year really tough. In the middle of corona time, the shock of cold and 'gosh, now I'm here again'."
In &C's latest issue 'Luxepoezen', Lotte tells Chantal how she grew up in Venlo, how she landed her first big roles, moved to LA and became a real movie star there. But dreams change, so does hers: 'I had an amazing life there, I've lived the dream. But when you are at a party for the umpteenth time, in a beautiful dress, with a glass of champagne, in the garden of a huge villa, looking out over all those Hollywood lights… then at some point you have seen it all. You get used to everything, including the vibrant life in LA.'
From Venlo to Hollywood
Lotte was born in Venlo, and knew since she was eight that she wanted to become an actress. Her parents were her biggest supporters. 'When I was able to switch to drama school after my pre-university education and the dance academy, I was the one who had doubts: shouldn't I go for more certainty? My parents said: 'We have always thought you do this, just follow your heart.' I am eternally grateful to them for that support.' After drama school, she moved to Paris, where she was cast in the film Nothing Personal and the series The Borgias. She moved to LA, where she found herself in a beautiful but harsh world: 'In Hollywood you can be lucky or unlucky. It's fucking tough. No matter how hard you try, you are just as likely to be rejected because of things you cannot do anything about and over which you have no influence, such as how tall you are compared to your opponent, for example. Crazy, small details but – especially in America – crucial for big decisions.'
Big names
Did Lotte live a real luxury live in LA? Of course. 'Especially because I am always incredibly well taken care of in Hollywood productions. Like now during the shooting of the film Nuremberg: after four hours of trying on costumes, the designer still shuts down everything full of enthusiasm to look for a better belt for a jacket.' Chantal was curious about what bizarre Hollywood situation she has ever ended up in. 'I once ended up at Al Pacino's private birthday dinner because my girlfriend was friends with his producer. When we entered the restaurant with him, all the guests tried to remain casual, but as soon as he walked past, everyone was frantically grabbing their phones.'
Back in the Netherlands
Still, Lotte decided it was time to leave the glitz and glamor of Hollywood behind. The fact that everything in LA revolves around making a career became too much for her. 'I missed that life could also be about other things. Building a nice, good relationship, for example.' When an apartment in the Jordaan came her way, she left for the Netherlands. 'I still haven't been back, afraid I miss it too much. Still, I have now found my way, although that is largely due to my husband.' She met that dream man by chance during a night out. 'It was very strange, but the moment I got ready and put on my heels, I had a very clear image of a man with long, dark hair, in a long coat. A little later, on the terrace of Toscanini in the Jordaan, I saw that same man, in real life. It was like a movie.'
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Hey first time requesting a prompt but maybe a Sinner!Adam x Incubus!Reader story? Maybe he hired reader to try to explore his sexuality and ends up liking his vibe so they hang out outside of sex and either of them end up catching feelings maybe?
Okay so I assume you wanted fluff, what you get though is hurt, frustration and an open ending lol I got carried away so if ya want fluff instead just lemme know and I can make that happen
I love it - you son of a bitch
pairing: Adam x male!reader
warnings: language, hurt - no comfort
note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers
When Adam had first paid for your services he had never expected for the night to end with cuddles. But there he was, laying in his own messy sheets that stank of sweat and cum and you were curled up against his chest, taking deep, long and steady breaths as you slept.
He had never been the guy to cuddle - that was not entirely true though. Back in Eden when it had been just him and Lilith there had also been cuddles. He had hugged the woman, had held her head close to his heart to let her listen to the steady beat of it pumping blood through his body for her and only her. But that had been long ago and after the blonde babe had cheated on him with God’s favorite and had left him because she had chosen hell over life with him, he had never let a person get close enough to hurt him like that again. No angel he had fucked in heaven had ever wanted to stay the night, neither had he ever spent the night at his hookups’ places.
But now that he was trapped in hell, surrounded by sinners he saw no point in following and obeying heaven’s rules anymore, not when Lucifer’s kingdom granted him free will. He had thought that a stranger would do well to experiment with his sexual interests. The first man had always found men attractive in the way he found women attractive, he had just never acted on it. Back in the early days in Eden, back when Lucifer had paid him visits because the king of hell had felt pity for the human - Adam had been so alone after all, back then he had told the former angel how majestic he had thought the blonde looked.
You mumbled something that the brunette was not able to understand as you inched closer to the taller male, seeking warmth. When his golden wings wrapped around you to keep you warm, Adam questioned not only his sexuality, he also questioned his emotions and their stability. Because why in God’s holy name was he allowing a sinner to touch his divine body so softly, almost lovingly? Why didn’t he kick you out when he had the chance to do so? For Christ’s sake, you had even offered to leave. Adam had basically invited you to stay the night. And deep down he knew that this would always remain the first but never the last meeting of you and him.
-
The brunette had invited you over quite a few times after your first hookup, he had always assured you that it was just because the sex was good. Yet ‘just sex’ meetings turned into you and him ordering take out, watching movies and cuddling again more often than they ended in sex. Adam knew he was getting attached and while you sent him signals that clearly showed you were honestly interested in him in the same way, the first man found himself quite scared of the new feelings that were slowly growing stronger.
Your routine that concluded Adam calling you to book your service, you coming over to his place late at night and you two doing whatever got crushed when you sent him a quick text in the middle of the day, asking the former angel if he was interested in grabbing a smoothie together and just go on a walk afterwards.
The brunette’s hands were shaking when he read those few words over and over again, not able to fully understand them, yet he responded ‘sure’ before he pocketed his phone and left his home to meet you outside.
“Sup, big bitch, didn’t think you’d actually fucking agree,” you greeted the first man with a confident smile on your lips as you leaned against the dirty wall of the building Adam lived in, the brunette only rolled his eyes at your comment as he tried to play it cool. “If someone’s anyone’s bitch here then you’re my fucking bitch,” he countered, you did not let that slide though. The former angel headed into the direction of where the store you wanted to visit was, expecting you to simply catch up to him - and you did. “Yeah?” the shiteating grin on your face was telling Adam a lot, yet he did not address it, “‘s that why you moan my fucking name loud enough for your cunt neighbors to complain about all the fucked out noises you make?” Adam side-eyed you, he decided to remain silent though, anything he wanted to say would blow his cover, would force him out of the closet and into the pit.
His silence made the vibe change though, he noticed you getting a little more serious as you spoke up again, “Y’know that you don’t fucking need to pretend that you just like the motherfucking sex, right? Like bitch, I know I’m good, probably the best you’ll find down here, right after Angel Dust, but that fucking amazing that it causes you to casually wanna hang out with me? Sweetface, even my dick isn’t hellish enough to fucking do so.” That caused the taller brunette to stop in his tracks and look down at you. His usually neutral eyes were filled with so many emotions, too many for you to read any of them. His voice matched the look in his eyes though, he sounded desperate, hurt even, yet his voice also held anger and frustation, “The fuck do you wanna hear? That I caught feelings for a cheap slut? That I could’ve had the most fucking heavenly dick ever before those cunts left me? That I fucking hate that the most amazing person I’ve ever met is fucking dirty demon filth? Do you wanna fucking hear that?”
His words left you speechless, you weren’t sure how to respond at all, Adam felt like a ticking bomb and every word you might speak would get him closer to explode. So you just looked in his eyes and said, “I want you to cut your bullshit act and tell me the goddamn truth, Adam.” You had never said his name before, not when he had introduced himself, not when you had watched movies with him, your head in his lap.
Adam didn’t want the truth though, he was scared of the truth, he was scared of his feelings. He hated that he had developed feelings for unholy filth like you, he hated that you treated him with respect even though he was the most respectless piece of shit in all of hell, he hated that he loved you on so many levels. “The truth? The truth, motherfucker, is that you’re a fucking bitch but I still somehow ended up fucking falling for your slutty, bitchy self.”
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part 2 to @dumbawesomev69 ask:
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Jaune's relationship with each member of his team is solid and they are pretty close with how much shit gets thrown at them.
Jaune and Reese are childhood friends, training and going to Pharos together. However, things kind of changed when one day, when the two were alone in the room, they both gave each other their first times, and just chalked it up to hormones and both remained friends, however, both have deep feelings for each other and are very protective of each other.
However, both are afraid of becoming more because if things don't work out, their friendship may not be the same.
Both feed off each other and can flirt/joke around with each other like it's nothing but Reese absolutely hates Jaune's Selfishless actions that put him in danger, and Jaune tries his best to stop Reese's self-doubting because he knows she's better then she thinks
XXX
Jaune's Relationship with Cardin is both rival and brotherly, as both bicker and fight at times, but both would lay down their lives for the other and would punch someone in the face of a person bad mouthed the other.
They bond is far better than their canon counterparts, as both hold family close with Cardin being more laidback and not racist against Faunus because of his Step-Mother, hell, the reason he wanted to become a Huntsmen was to uphold his family name and make a better place for his step-mother after a certain incident occurred.
Cardin also respects Jaune's leadership and tactical mind but disagrees with Jaune's selflessness as it has caused Jaune to almost die at times, which Cardin doesn't want to happen
Jaune respects Cardin's strength and his determination as he believes Cardin has never had self-doubts about how good of a fighter he is and how Cardin doesn't take any shit. However, Jaune hates Cardin's sometimes lack of forethought, as he acts before thinking sometimes, disregarding the consequences.
XXX
Jaune and May have a close relationship as well, with both sharing the hobbies of knitting and sowing, however, their bond deepened when both shared their loss of a father, and both felt similar things when in dark places, so it makes it easier for both of them to express how they feel with each other.
However, May's feelings for the blonde grew into love when he risked his own life for hers and nearly got killed for it.
See, May's fatal flaw is that she is selfless, like Jaune, but it's different. May believes herself to be nothing more than a tool that is to be used and then thrown away when broken. However, when Jaune risked his life for hers, it showed her that Jaune didn't see her as the tool she believed herself to be, but as a person and someone who he'd risk his life for and fell in love with him, and started to let go of her tool mentality.
But like the rest of Jaune's Team, she hates his selfless actions
#rwby#jaune arc#rwby reese chloris#cardin winchester#may zedong#rwby guardian ghost au#rwby meme#rwby au#team arcz
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Finding Hope - Warnings, Bruises & Apologies (Part 2) 🩷
Prompt: Bruises - will be in bold,😱
A/N: YAY! My second one for @badthingshappenbingo 🤭, I'm pretty excited about this chapter, it is one heck of a rollercoaster, 😋 buckle up babes😱
Warnings: 18+ Only! Some language, blood and gore, normal Criminal Minds stuff, going into depth off crime scenes etc, anything else I missed let me know💕
Characters: Aaron Hotchner, Dr. Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, JJ, Emily Prentiss, Meredith Lang.
Cover: Created by me. Also images from Pinterest and Canva.
Words:2589 😅
Chapter Name: Warnings, Bruises & Apologies (Part Two)
"In my office now!" His voice fills the space ,anger and irritation evident. Knowing she'll probably be yelled at, she walks in. He barely looked at her "Close the door now!" Doing as he asked, standing in front of the tall dark haired man, with his cold expression.
"Agent Lang!" He clears his throat.
"Sir?" Holding her breath
"What the hell, were you thinking"
"Sir I..." Getting interrupted by Hotch. "Did I say you could speak, I'm not done" just nodding her head, keeping quiet.
He looks at the woman in front of him, trying to remain calm, but struggling. "You have disobeyed a direct order, you have put yourself in danger, you have .."
Interrupting him "Listen Sir, I just did what I needed to do, if I haven't followed him, he would have killed his ex wife"
His fist hitting the desk, "Agent Lang, you could have gotten yourself killed, we were still busy profiling the suspect and you just went ahead on your own"
"Sir, I just had a feeling it was the construction worker"
"A feeling, a hunch, you're an Agent you work with evidence..." His nostrils flared.
Her green eyes pierced his "look if I hadn't showed up that 6 month old baby boy, would've grown up never knowing his mother, so yeah, I'm not sorry"
He glared at the short woman "Your not sorry? If we hadn't shown up, you ... You could have been gravely injured, the unsub were beating you with a damn hammer"
"I'll admit that he did, but at least he didn't get to kill his intended victim" she gets cut off.
"Are you even listening? I want a detailed report on my desk first thing in the morning, and this" pointing his finger towards her "this is your first warning, your a loose cannon, Agent Lang, get your act together, you need to do better" he shows to the door "close the door behind you" she didn't back down,she didn’t apologise, no she just walked out with the same damn confidence she entered his life.
Running his hand over his face, sighing this woman is different from most agents he worked with. A hunch? Where have you ever heard of such a thing? He needs to find out more about her, opening his laptop he starts to search for her file.
As she walked through the door, the emotion caught in her throat, she was filled with anger, sadness and fear, towards Aaron Hotch who just yelled at her, towards the suspect who almost had overpowered her, beating her, pinching the bridge of her nose, trying to get the image, the feeling of herself feeling so weak, so fragile in that moment out of her mind.
Plunging down to her chair, inhaling some air, closing her eyes, for a mere second, wanting to kick herself for messing up, if only she weren't this impulsive, if only she could listen to authority better, if only she could follow commands, if only, if only, her palm hitting the edge of the desk, muttering to herself "my whole damn life has been a what if"
The 6ft3 man stood behind her, cup of steaming hot camomile tea in his hand, wondering what ever could she mean by that, he knew what she's done, was irresponsible, and Hotch had a good reason for being angry, but something about her, makes him want to console her, maybe comfort her. He began to speak. "Edi?"
Her eyes opened, turning in her chair looking up at him, "Dr. Reid, can I help you?"
He smiles, "please just Spencer is fine" handing her the cup of tea "Camomile tea is known for its relaxing properties and it being a mild sedative, helps to calm you down both physically and mentally"
Smiling "Thank you Spencer, I really appreciate it, your so kind, I thought the whole team is angry with me"
Removing his hair out of his face, "Oh no, most of them have gone home, they'll be fine tomorrow" clearing his throat "I don't think they're well ... What you did wasn’t right, but I get why you did it"
Taking a sip of the tea "Thank you so much, I just... Well no one listened when I told them it was him"
"What made you so sure?"
Sighing "It was the way he looked at me... Like he was surprised I saw him, you know that I was actually seeing him, in the midst of the people, it's like he was amazed that he wasn't invisible so too say"
Spencer smiles "Oh I see... You said on the plane, that he fits in, but his invisible enough to not be seen"
Tying her hair into a ponytail, "Yeah well, not that my boss sees that point of view"
"He just doesn't like it if one of his team members put themselves in danger"
Before she could reply, Hotch walked out of the office, his voice stern as he looked at them "Go home get some rest"
Without saying a word, she got up, mouthing a good night to Spencer, not even looking at Hotch, as she walked out.
Aaron watched her as she walked away without even saying anything, he sighed, looked at Reid, "Don't say it" he said, sounding sort of defeated.
She got into her car, turned the key, but nothing happened. It didn't start, she sounded a slightly crude "Stupid piece of junk" her eyes started to water, unsure if it was due to the pain or the events that happened. Hands clenching the steering wheel, her eyes closed, trying to reclaim her 'cool nothing can get me down' composure.
The knocking on the car window scared the crap out of her, she jolted her head to the side, it was dark and she couldn't quite see who the figure was. Her hands instinctively reached for her gun, she rolled the window down. The figure lowered down, his deep voice "Agent Lang, need some help?"
She flinched when she saw that it was Hotch, "No thank you"
He smirked "It's a little after midnight, let me just help you, I'll take you home"
Sarcastically "I don't get into car's with strangers"
He couldn't help it, he chuckled, "Oh so you only get on planes with strangers?"
It was her turn to smile a little, "I know you think that was a great comeback but it was terrible"
Scratching the back of his head "True... But let me give you a ride home!"
She felt tired and her body was aching, she mumbled "Thank you"
They got into his SUV, she didn't say much other than giving him her address, well to be honest the tension between them was tight and uncomfortable. He broke the silence when they parked In Front of her apartment, "I'm sorry, I lost my cool with you earlier but..." The way she looked at him right now, made him feel like the bad guy. He went back to his profession demeanour "but don't do it again"
She just looked at him, simply nodded and thanked him for the ride, got out of his car, grabbed her bag, and smiled "have a good night Boss".
He saw the way she flinched when she picked up her bag. The medics at the scene checked her out, but something tells him that she wasn't entirely truthful about her injuries. He absolutely hates that he can't profile her yet and the fact that her file is sealed even with his clearance drives him crazy, he's always been a man who needed to be in control. He watched as she disappeared into her apartment and then he started driving off, thinking he'll contact one of his old colleagues who is higher up in the Bureau to see if he can't access her files.
She walked into her apartment, letting out a breath that she didn't even know she was holding in. Threw her bag to the ground, kicked out her shoes, took off her FBI jacket, tossed it over a nearby chair, walking towards her bedroom.
Her body was aching, her mind racing, the events playing over and over. She ran a hot bubble bath, with some Epsom salts, to ease the pain a little, her clothes fell to the ground, the steam in the bathroom set a calming atmosphere, the hot water drenching her skin, easing the soreness. Her head resting on the rim of the bathtub, her body soaking in the hot water, her fingers swirling through the soapy bubbles. For the first time in almost 72 hours it felt like she could breathe.
What seemed like hours, she finally got enough courage to get out, she stood there in front of the mirror, her body was filled with bruises of the hammer Blow's, some dark purple, and other spots, you could see the blood underneath the bruised skin, letting out a sigh as she gets dressed in her pyjama bottoms, and a tank top, she climbed into bed, hoping, that she could get a good night's rest, or rather a few hours of sleep before work. Struggling to get a comfortable position she finally fell asleep at 3 in the morning.
"NO! Drop the weapon now!" She spoke in a stern voice. The man glared at her with rage. Shouting "Why? Why did you come here, how did you know?"
She looked at him calmly, holding her gun in her hand, "listen, I know your wife hurt you when she chose him” tilting her head towards the beaten up man, lying in a pool of his own blood "but this, what you're doing, is not going to make you feel better".
He laughed, "what do you know about heartache?" Holding his ex-wife in a tight grip, already half-beaten to death, her breathing slow, her head hanging, he gripped her even tighter, pulling the hammer away to get more force on the next blow. "She ruined my life!"
Holstering her gun, throwing her hands in the air, shifting her stance, bit more, analysing the situation it was now or never, she needed to do something immediately. She ran towards him, kicking him in the face, the poor beaten woman stumbled to the ground, but the unsub just staggered a few steps backwards, she tried to get the poor woman out of danger, that's when she felt the first blow, to her back, then her kidneys, then between her shoulder blades, she turned around, her balled fist meeting his ribs, the man was heavy build, and much larger than what she was, not being able to reach his face, he didn't even move an inch, he reached out and gripped her throat, lifting her , her feet tangling mid air, the hammer blows kept coming, each blow added more pain, her breathing became more and more restricted, that's when she heard the deafening sound of the gunshot, as the man came to a fall so did she, through her blurry vision she saw that Derek fired the weapon.
She woke up, sweat on her forehead, heart racing, her breathing rapid, she clenched her fist, her throat felt tight, closing and reopening her eyes again, she hadn't felt this way in a very long time. Running her hand through her hair, wiping the sweat from her furrowed brows. Glancing over at the digital clock, 04:00, mumbling underneath her breath "Great, a whole hour of sleep," she got out, feeling stiff and in incredible pain, she walked to the kitchen, for some coffee.
He walked into his office, sat down in his chair, he lived for these early mornings, no one to disturb him at work, chuckling down his coffee, placing his fomo cup down, the file caught his attention, he opened it, it's the typed out report from Edi Lang. Confused, it's not even 7 in the morning yet, and he dropped her off last night, so what, how did it end up on his desk, he didn't see her when he got in. He got up and walked over to her desk, she wasn’t there, so he walked to the kitchen, then he walked into the hallway, he heard some heavy breathing coming from the gym. When he walked in, his eyes widened, it was Edi, she was busy working out.
His eyes lingered on her body, maybe a little to long, she was fit, muscular even, the outline of her body was enough to make any man look a little longer than he should, her dark hair was tied up, exposing her neckline, but what really drew his attention was the bruises on her body, she wore a sports top, which exposed the skin on her abs and back, he flinched, his jaw clenched ,he was furious at the moment, why the hell is she throwing punches and kicking and exercising, while she’s so hurt?. He walked towards her, his eyes even darker than usual, he placed a hand on her shoulder, which he rather shouldn’t have done, because she threw a jab right to his lip, he was in total shock as he staggered a bit back.
Panting now “What the hell?” she yelled at him out of breath, “are you crazy?”
He wiped the few drops of blood off his busted lip, “Am I crazy? You just punched me out of nowhere”
Wiping the sweat off her forehead, “well you should know better than approach someone from the back, dammit”
He was slightly amused by her, but of course he didn’t show it. He was her boss so he kept his professional demeanour. “Well all I wanted to say is, should you be working out while you're so hurt?”
Smirking “I need to be better, get my act together, and try not to punch my boss for being a…” she paused, not wanting to upset him further, “you know what nevermind”
He glared at her, he knew exactly where that sentence was headed “you don’t do well with authority do you? Already knowing the answer to that, he looked her dead in the eyes.
She grabbed the nearest towel she could find, dabbing the sweat off of her skin. “Look sir, what I do outside office hours, is my problem not yours” she walked past him, to get to her bag, but he grabbed a hold of her arm, he was about to say something, but her voice sounded somewhere between stern and brittle “touch me again, and a busted lip will be the least of your problems” shaking her arm out of his grip.
He was stunned at that reaction, he was sure, his hand wasn’t that firmly on her. Arm, he felt bad, horrible even, all he wanted to do is stop her, and tell her she should maybe see a doctor again. She threw on a t-shirt and walked out of the gym. He needed to know exactly what it is about this woman that has him so intrigued, she was one hell of mystery that’s for sure.
During the day he watched her, she had this joyful personality when she spoke to some of the other people or her co-workers, he did notice that she formed bonds, rather quickly with Garcia and Reid, he waited in anticipation for his old colleague to send over her uncensored file. When that email notification pinged, he clicked on it, his eyes went through the pages, his breathing hitched as he read it…
@jackles010378 @k-slla @winchesterwild78 @bookishtheaterlover7 @angelbabyyy99 @pia-bartolini
#bad things happen bingo#nescaveckwriter#finding hope#criminal minds#criminal minds fic#aaron hotchner#dr spencer reid#derek morgan#penelope garcia#Spotify
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