#i use they/them pronouns to refer to the author

[myusuchaa]

with you in a distorted fairy tale ༻¨*:·.

'dark if ' chapter 1 - elbert greetia

This is a fan translation and may not be 100% accurate. I do not own anything. Cybird reserves the right of ownership for all in-game content.

author's note: Throughout this story, Kate refers to Elbert with feminine pronouns 彼女, and Elbert's title is the Queen 女王. Therefore, in sentences where Elbert is the main subject, sometimes you will see Elbert's pronouns listed as she/her. (i.e, "Elbert removed her hands"). This may be a bit confusing to read through, but I wanted to keep the translation as accurate and close to the original material as possible.

Victor: Miss Kate, your hands have the power to create the ultimate happy ending.

Victor: Now, come, and enjoy your time in this distorted fairy tale world.

Somebody's fingertips lightly grazed the back of my neck.

Kate: ..mnnn

I squirm from ticklish stimulation as someone whispers into my ear.

???: --Ah...It's definitely- ....-not

(What... what is this..)

Before I could make sense of those whispered words, I groggily began to wake up.

When I awakened fully, I found myself in a soft bed.

(Where am I..?)

Blonde, blue eyed beauty: Ah, you're awake.

A "woman" [1] with moonlight hair and sea-blue eyes peered into my face.

[1] When Kate awakens, she perceives Elbert as a woman. The pronoun is placed in quotations to indicate that he is not really a woman, just seems like one thanks to Al's ability.

(Wah... I've never seen such a beautiful person before..)

Kate: Could.. could this be heaven?

Man with raven colored hair: Unfortunately no, this is your reality.

The man standing next to the beautiful woman replied with a chuckle.

The dark-haired man is just as bewitching.. charming, even, to look at, making the two before me a truly eye-catching duo.

Man with raven colored hair: You've just woken up, is there anything you feel is wrong with your body?

Man with raven colored hair: You were found collapsed in the forest by a hunter who brought you here.

Kate: Oh, I see.... my body feels fine! Thank you very much for saving me.

I got up from the bed and bowed to both of them.

Kate: In any case.... exactly where am I?

Blonde, blue eyed beauty: ....this is my castle.

Queen Elbert: I run this this country..... as the "Queen of Greed" - Elbert.

Mirror Alfons: I am Alfons the Mirror, the Queen's servant. I hope we will continue to get to know each other [2].

[2] In Japanese, Alfons uses ｢以後お見知りおきを｣ which is similar to saying "I hope you will remember me in the future." Here, it is meant to be a surface level greeting for someone you know you'll see again, though more commonly you'd say 「よろしくお願いします」 or "It's nice to meet you". But I think the meaning behind the first phrase really plays into Al's curse and fated end.

(The Hunter, the Greedy Queen, and the Mirror...)

(Then this must be... the fairy tale world of "Snow White"?)

If this is the case, then the other remaining important characters are the Prince and Snow White.

(I wonder of one of these people are what's missing in this story.)

Queen Elbert: As you've just woken up...... are you hungry, Snow White?

Queen Elbert: I was thinking of preparing a meal for you.

Kate: Sn-... Snow White? That's.... me?

Mirror Alfons: The Hunter gave you that name.

Mirror Alfons: A beautiful girl laying in pure, white snow-- Snow White.

Mirror Alfons: And so, you were taken in by the Queen, who is looking for the most beautiful thing in the world.

Mirror Alfons: Thus, I had you brought to the castle-- such is your story.

(I'm Snow White in this world...)

(...then, wouldn't it be dangerous for me to be near Queen Elbert?)

In the traditional story, the Queen is jealous of Snow White's beauty, and attempts to poison her.

There hasn't been any hostility toward me here yet, but..... it's definitely better safe than sorry.

Kate: Aaaaah, well! Thank you for your help, then.

Kate: However, I don't think I need a meal right now. Well, if you'll excuse me.......

Realizing the situation I was in, I quickly tried to get out of the bed.

--However, at that moment, Elbert grabbed my hand.

Queen Elbert: Where are you going?

Kate: ...Ah uhmm.. I'm going back home to my family.

Mirror Alfons: Oh? Dear, do not lie to us.

Mirror Alfons: While you were asleep, we confirmed that you are not a resident of this country.

Mirror Alfons: Coming here alone, a foreigner from abroad.... what home do you have to go back to?

(What should I do... I can't escape this...)

(No one would believe that I actually came from another world...)

Queen Elbert: ......Snow White.

Kate: Y- yes!

Queen Elbert: .....I personally do not care who you are, or where you came from.

Kate: Eh...?

Queen Elbert: As Queen, I should punish you for coming here on unlawful terms, but...

Queen Elbert: More importantly, I want to obtain the most beautiful thing in the world.

Queen Elbert: And you might be what I've been looking for..... so please, stay in this castle for a while.

Kate: Ah, that....

Queen Elbert: Of course, we will provide food, clothing, and shelter for you.

Queen Elbert: And if you require money, I'll give it to you, whatever sum you ask for.

Queen Elbert: For my own sake...... please, stay in this castle.

As Elbert wished this, her eyes looked extremely lonely, almost desperate.

There was no way I could brush her off and refuse her offer.

Kate: If you say it that way.... then okay, I understand. I'm not sure what I'll be able to do but...

Kate: Oh, and I don't intend to ask for money. I'd be grateful just to have food, clothing, and shelter.

(If you think about it.... it's easier to find the missing part of the story if I'm near the main character.)

Queen Elbert: Thank you, Snow White.

As Elbert expressed her gratitude with a gracious expression, she did not look like the type of cruel person who would poison Snow White.

--time skip--

We were shown to a dining room where a wide variety of dishes were lined up on the table.

Queen Elbert: I didn't know what you liked, so I let the chef make whatever he could think of.

Queen Elbert: ........Please, eat as much as you want of whatever you'd like.

Kate: Oh... thank you very much.

The freshly cooked food was steaming, and the delicious aroma wafting through the air stimulated my appetite.

(....But, if I were Snow White, I'd have to be careful about what I eat.)

(Apples, in particular, should be avoided.)

Although I still don't sense any hostility from Elbert, due to the background story of this world, I couldn't help but be wary.

Kate: Um... are there any dishes that contain apples..?

Queen Elbert: ...........Why do you ask?

The moment I asked, the air around Elbert became tense, and her blue eyes became cold.

Kate: Well... I can't eat apples because of my allergy to them. They make my mouth itchy....

Without even understanding the reason for her icy stare, I lied about the reason.

Queen Elbert: ...I see.

Queen Elbert: If that's the case, there's no need to worry. In this castle, we do not eat apples.

Kate: Is that so...

I was curious and wanted to ask why apples weren't used here, but I was too hesitant, and refrained from asking in the end.

Meanwhile, Queen Elbert picked up a piece of bread and tore it in two.

Queen Elbert: ...Which would you prefer, left or right?

Kate: Uhhhh.. right.

Elbert then took a bite out of the left bread, and handed the right to me.

Queen Elbert: ...Mm, it's delicious. Please go ahead and eat, too.

(Maybe he knew I was on guard this entire time and he's trying to tell me the food is safe this way.,?)

Kate: Thank you very much...

The bread slice I got from Elbert had a gentle sweetness and was delicious all around.

Queen Elbert: I also recommend trying this salad, which uses vegetables from a nearby village.

After seeing that I finished the bread, Elbert took her portion of the salad and started eating it.

Seeing that, I went ahead and ate my salad.

Elbert eats some, and then I eat some more.... this strange back and forth of meal tasting continued for some time...

Kate: Thank you for the meal! Everything was delicious!!

Queen Elbert: .............

Kate: Elbert?..

Queen Elbert: My stomach........hurts......

Kate: Wha!?

Mirror Alfons: I came to check on y- Elbert?

After coming to the dining hall, Alfons quickly donned a shocked expression and went to support Elbert by the shoulders.

Kate: Umm.... is Elbert okay?

Mirror Alfons: She simply ate too much... She is usually a small eater, so she pushed himself too hard.

(Could it be... she was forcing herself to eat a lot to put me at ease and help me eat as well...)

Seeing Elbert's kindness, I began to feel ashamed of myself for being scared of eating poisoned food under his watch.

Kate: Ah well.... I'll help out too!

I stood on the opposite side of Alfons to help support Elbert.

(..Oh?.. The Queen has a surprisingly sturdy build...)

(Wait! No, no!! Now's not the time to be thinking these things.... let me just help out with a pure mind..)

With the help of Alfons, we put Elbert to bed in her room.

Mirror Alfons: It's not an illness, so if she rests, she'll feel better soon.

Kate: Elbert... I'm sorry for making you eat too much..

Queen Elbert: I chose this myself.. so no need to apologize with such a sad look on your face.

Elbert's hand gently brushed across my face.

Queen Elbert: You're more adorable when you smile than when you're sad.

Queen Elbert: So please... do not worry about my health.

Kate: Mm! Then, thank you for the delicious meal!

Elbert took her hand off my cheek and gave me a soft smile.

She was supposed to be the Queen who poisoned Snow White, and yet her smile made my heart race.

Queen Elbert: By the way, I still have not gotten your name. Snow White.... what is your real name?

Kate: It's Kate.

Queen Elbert: I see... Then, Kate, it is lovely to meet you.

--time skip--

That night in my bed chamber, I decided to plan my course of action.

(The Queen has been friendly to me so far, so I'll have to get serious about finding the missing piece of the story starting tomorrow.)

(The only things that are from the story that I have not tracked down yet are the poisoned apple and the Prince.)

(However, searching for the poisoned apple is quite risky.... it may be better to search for the Prince first.)

On the second day in this world, I decided to cooperate with Queen Elbert.

Queen Elbert: A Prince.....?

Kate: Yes! I want to find the one and only Prince who will love me.

Kate: Please, Your Highness...will you help me?

Queen Elbert: ...........

Queen Elbert seemed to think very carefully about my request.

Queen Elbert: Why exactly do you want to find the Prince?

Queen Elbert: You said yesterday that you did not need money, and you simply brushed Al off when he tried to flirt with you.

Queen Elbert: If you are not swayed by money or the opposite sex, why would you want to seek out the Prince?..... I don't quite understand.

Kate: That's... erm.... finding him is necessary to make my wish come true.

(I am searching for what is missing in this world to correct the distortions, and then return to my reality.... That is what I should do...)

(The Queen seemed to be troubled by my statement........ I can try one last time to do something...)

Ah, that's it!

Kate: People become more beautiful when they are in love....

Kate: If a Prince whom I love and loves me appeared before me.... perhaps we can find the most beautiful thing you are searching for.

Queen Elbert: ...Really?

As soon as Elbert heard it was a beautiful thing, her eyes widened and she came over to me.

Her large hands gripped my shoulders so hard it hurt.

Kate: Y-yes.... that is... most likely so...

(They say falling in love makes people more beautiful-- that isn't wrong per se...y'know?)

Queen Elbert: If there's potential, then so be it. Thank you for trying to make my wish come true, Kate.

Queen Elbert: Let us gather all the people in this nation to search for a Prince... the one and only Prince who will make you beautiful.

Thus began the search for the Prince, led by Queen Elbert.

Chapter 2 -> coming soon

page dividers from @/adornedwithlight

[exitstageleft-pursuedbyabear]

Mary Shelly Eat Your Heart Out

Rating: Explicit

Fandoms: Dragon Age: The Veilguard (Video Game)

Relationship: Rook/Emmrich Volkarin

Characters: Rook (Dragon Age) Emmrich VolkarinOriginal Elf Character(s) (Dragon Age)Original CharactersOriginal Non-Binary Character

Additional Tags: Rough Oral Sex, gratuitous making out, Age difference, first time together

Summary:

A romantic date in the Necropolis's memorial gardens escalates to rough oral sex against what could potentially be a grave or just monument of two skeletal lovers. Either way, it's quite fitting.

This is a companion piece to the last part of this series, Would you still have me?. As usual this can be read stand alone, the only context you need is that this is set in the fade to black of the Arrangments companion quest.

Notes:

Hello!

Welcome, or welcome back, to Love To Oblivion!

A non linear Emmrook series I post whenever I yearn for that old man.

Rook (Talin Aldwir) uses any pronouns and is a veil jumper mage (spirit healer and entropy), they are 21 to 26 years of age.

This is a direct continuation of Would You Still Have Me but can be read as stand alone.

The title of this fic in reference the Mary Shelly, author of Frankenstien, loosing her virginity of her parent's grave.

As usual, this has been beta read but my brain is broken (neurological disability) so there may still be some errors.

Enjoy!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

----------

Emmrich planned to be a gentleman.

He was, in fact, a gentleman. Polite and courteous, considerate and refined in all things. He prided himself on it. And when it came to wooing a paramour, he carried the same grace. Oh, sure he was no stranger to more... rough sensibilities. He'd had many experiences in his time and in certain contexts there was appeal to breaking his usual, respectful demeanour. But first dates, if you could consider this one, were for romance. Most of the time, anyway. He *was* young, once.

And oh does he feel young again, with Rook's mouth on his. He began to feel a suppressed hunger within them the second time they kissed that evening, and perhaps he should blame himself for the tangle they have ended up in. Rook kissed like they were afraid he was going to disappear, careful and closed mouthed as if not to scare him away. Emmrich had moved his hand to the back of their head and bit gently on their bottom lip, imploring them to let him in, and with a soft moan, they did. It was then he felt something *dangerous* bubbling beneath the surface.

Their tongues met, Rook's hand slid down to the small of his back, and they pulled him in closer. Warm bodies pressing together like they could phase into eachother.

As the kiss deepened, Rook gripped his shirt tight. He had them pressed against the stone of the lover's monument. It didn't escape his notice how his position and height left Rook nearly to his mercy.

One part of Emmrich's brain deciding to keep that in mind, so he did not overwhelm them or accidentally pressure them to continue. The other part, the burning fire in the pit of his stomach, relished the feeling.

It is now that the man feels he may have underestimated that surfacing hunger. He moves to step away from the kiss. To pet Rook's hair and make their way back to the lighthouse. Maybe have some tea next to the fire together and hear about the exploits of their friends that day.

Instead, a slight growl emerges from Rook's throat. It surprises him, a quieter version of the one he's heard them make right before the tides of battle turn in their favour, but no less vicious. It sends blood shooting downwards.

The elf's grip on the back of his shirt tightens as they surge forwards, recapturing his lips and knocking the breath out of him. The gates have been unlocked, all caution thrown to wind.

Rook is starving.

Emmrich pushes them back up against the stone, using the slight ledge to help lift them off the ground. It's the most wonderful sound when his leg slips between theirs. The hand not on his back clawing at hsi his shoulder, and damn it to the Abyss why does he wear so many layers.

Emmrich feels the struggle inside him. The rational, collected, smart part of him that is screaming at him to stop. This is slipping out of his control far too quickly, his plans shattering inbetween Rook's teeth. By the spirits they're so much younger than you, This is too soon, you're in the memorial gardens!

It's being steadily drowned out by the rushing in his ears.

He wants to *devour*.

A deep moan surfaces from the back of Rook's throat, as they can't help but grind on the leg holding them up against the monument. Emmrich's own hips purposefully still despite the desperate need fully aflame within him. He continues to have decorum, even with Rook's noises steadily chipping it away.

He parts their lips, enjoying the site of the dark green paint smudged out of place. Their pupils are blown dark and they pout at this new distance between the two of them. Rook moves to fill the gap but Emmrich puts a firm hand on their chest, pushing them back and holding them in place. He drinks in the reaction, a deeper blush on their already rouge darkened skin. A wiggle of their hips, an indignant squeak. Oh he is finding it so difficult to hang onto sensibility.

It takes him a moment longer than he anticipated to get ahold of himself, and Rook begins to push back against his hand. Not enough to break his grip, they aren't even trying. They're baiting him, he presses down harder.

"Rude!" They say with another pout, another wiggle. This time moving their own leg to rub against him. He gasps at the desperately sought friction, Rook grins. Their eyes sparkle with mischief.

He is going to *ruin them*.

Emmrich nips at their chin gently, begins to place kisses across their jaw, illiciting a pleasant hum from his lover. In the soft space between their jaw and their ear, he nips again and Rook's sharp breath is followed by giggles.

"You can go harder than that, love"

Ah, he had a feeling.

'"Patience, darling" smooth, dripping with desire and promise. He kisses down their neck, relishing in the sweet music they make. Rook may be his favourite instrument to play.

Emmrich's kisses turn to sharp little bites, canines catching on loose skin.

His instrument sings in response, urging him to bite down harde.

Their hands fly up to his hair, gently pulling at him. He stops.

"D-down. Under the collar" It's breathless, the air growing shallow the more it hurts. Something deep within him twirls at the thought. He obliges, suddenly thankful for rooks open collar, as much as he usually curses it for the temptation it brings.

Emmrich pulls the cloth open further, eyes focused on the tender part where their neck meets their shoulder. The skin is lighter here, ashier where it's shaded from the Rivain sun. He kisses it first, lovingly.

Cherishing how perfect it is.

Rook whines above him, one leg hooking around him. It pulls them closer together, already practically melded to eachothers bodies. The additional contact nearly shuts his brain off and he bites down. Hard.

The younger nearly sees stars. Euphoria mixed with dull pain, flooding their nervous system. Emmrich's mouth on their neck, warm body weight pressing them against cool stone. It's perfect, he's perfect. They feel as if he's not gotten enough appreciation for that fact.

A gentle kiss over bruised skin,

"I think I may have left a mark", Emmrich says after his mouth has left them. Their foreheads are pressed together now, gazes boreing into eachother. They need him more they've needed anything else before. With brave spark, Rook moves one hand to cup him, careful with the pressure. Emmrich fails to bite back a moan.

'"H- Rook~" falls from his lips, tone nothing like they've heard before. Rook loves it.

"Is this ok?"

"Y- Yes. Yes of course it is, dear, but if yo-"

Rook shuts him up with a kiss, biting his bottom lip, inviting themselves in. No, none of that. They've never been sure of anything in their life. Any action they take riddled with 'what ifs' And doubt. But this? Emmrich against them, writhing under their touch? They want more, they *more* and they know it.

It's nearly the hardest thing they've ever done to push him away, but needs must. Emmrich's hands move to their hips, careful to keep his distance, resolve waning by every second. He thinks this is it, Rook has taken the ball from his court and the end approaches. Then he is spun around, back against the Lover's statue.

And Rook is on their knees.

It's the most beautiful peice of art Emmrich has ever seen. The greenery and cobble of the gardens framing their face, open mouth and eyes pleading. Their hands hovering over his fly.

"Please." The mage nearly comes undone from that word alone. His mind repeats 'Rook. Rook. Rook' A million times per second.

"How can I refuse such a pretty request?" In mere moments, he is in Rook's hand. It's been awhile since they've seen a cock, let alone touched one. In a way, he's mesmerising. Eyes raking up from the base to the tip, hand applying different pressures, playing with the expressions Emmrich makes.

They take their hand away, and he can't help the whine he makes, only to nearly collapse as Rook spits in their hand. That should not be as hot as it is, with their mouth inches away from his dick.

It's been a long time since anything but his own hand has touched him. And for it to be beautiful, intelligent, indomitable Rook.

When their mouth touches him, he's holding on by the thinnest thread. They lick up his shaft, lingering teasingly on the head. He's being good, he's being respectful. He's going to loose his fucking mind.

With a pop, they take him. Just the tip but it's nearly enough to send him over. Swirling their tongue, over the slit. And then, down. Halfway, then up. Halfway, then up. Creators, does he taste amazing. Salty and clean in the same measure. Emmrich is uttering their name a thousand times, switching between them.

"Talin" He mumbles and they hum, sending ripples throughout him.

Fully down, with their eyes wide staring straight up at him. He bucks his hips, unable to stop their movement. Rook chokes slightly with the surprise and he would be a damn liar if he said he didn't go wild at the feeling. But he's still holding on-

"Talin- Rook, darling, I'm sorry, I didnt mean-" He stops speaking, words dying in his throat. He thought he knew the depths of this desire before, but he was a fool.

"Fuck. Emmrich." They continue stroking him as they speak, eyes downcast, "you can- you can move if you want."

His hands fall to Rook hair. The pins loose and falling out. It's not much of a braid any more, it'll be non existent by the time he's done.

"Tell me what *you* want, darling."

They swallow, tongue falling out without control. Their eyes are still on his cock. No, he won't make it that easy. He firmly grabs a hold of their chin.

"Look at me, Rook. Tell me what you want."

Rooks eyes shoot to his. Their cheeks that brilliant rose gold. A string of elven falls from their lips and Emmrich feels so proud of himself for elliciting it.

"Creators, Emmrich. Just fucking. Use me."

Snap, everything holding him together crumbles away. Reservations about who they are and where they are dissapearing in the Necropolises cool wind.

Neither has noticed the chill.

Emmrich's hold on Rook's hair tightens, they loose themselves for a brief moment in the esctasy of the sharp sting. Until he pulls them over the head of his cock, hips rising to meet them.

It's a rough, carnal rhythm. Their throat is tight and he can feel the way in clenches around him. Rook's mind goes blank, full and suffocating. Does it last minutes? Hours? They have no idea, lost in noisea of Emmrich above them.

"Good boy. Good girl. So unbelievably perfect for me." He notices the change in tone with each compliment. A pleased hum, a deep moan, somehow both at the same time. He continues to spill forth a litany of adoration, changing the gendered nature of each phrase as he roughly fucks their throat.

Emmrich slows after a moment, letting Rook catch their breath and notices the one hand not gripping his hips for dear life, buried in their lap. His cock rests across their cheek, streaked with running eyeliner. Of all the sights he's seen over the years, of the journeys they've led together, nothing could ever compare to this.

"You looked absolutely wrecked, darling. My, what would the others say if they saw you like this for me?" Emmrich can't help himself, proud of the position he has Rook in, extatic that *he* is who they're on their knees for.

For a split second he's worried he's gone to far when their eyes widen, the gold in the green highlighted by the minimal light. But the most *perverted* sound escapes their throat in response and Emmrich is surprised he had any more composure to loose.

He enters Rook's mouth again slowly, guiding them all the way down, holding for a few seconds until they splutter and tears escape the sides of their eyes and then back up again. They give him the most cock drunk gaze. He feels himself throb in response.

Down and up again, increasing the length he holds them there for. Seeing how much they can take. It's like he hits a button that shuts their brain off, all they can think of is Emmrich and the cock he's burying inside them.

"I'm going to use this lovely throat of yours until I'm satisfied, my dear, and you are going to touch yourself as I do"

The combination of noise and expression Rook makes at his words is utterly sinful, their mouth opening wider, their eyes trained on him. Emmrich moves his hips again, guiding their head with one hand, moving the other to their throat. He can feel himself fill them, feel the bulge everytime he enters to the hilt. Darling Rook, taking him so well. The picture of a a young, intelligent, strong adventurer turned into an utter mess by him.

Rook dutifully follows his instructions, not that their body gives them much choice. They rub themselves through their underclothes, whines bubbling in the back of their throat. Emmrich's leg slips forward slightly, not enough to set him off balanced or distract him from his task, though it's left his boot placed just in front of Rook's crotch.

Perhaps if they were in a less sex addled mind, more full of air, not consumed by the pain of kneeling on hard stone, they would feel any hesitation whatsoever forwhat they're about to do. Maybe they will feel embarrassed for this later, hoping the Emmrich will still look at them the same.

Rook moves their hips and grinds against his boot. The warm leather and humiliation feeling so much better than their hand. Emmrich's eyes open at the touch, barely able to comprehend what he's seeing. His proud lover humping in earnest against his leg, feral and desperate. He's hit his fucking limit.

"Rook- I'm-" He goes to warn them, Rook grabs onto both of his hips, holding him entirely sheathed as he empties himself in their throat. Emmrich sees sparks, speaks a breathless "Talin~" Out into the otherwise still garden air. Rook's eyes roll back in their head, completely wrapped up in subspace. He spasms inside them, they can feel his quickened pulse on their tongue.

He can feel then swallow to their best of their ability, milking out whatever he has to give them. Emmmrich pulls out slowly, enjoying the white that stains Rook's lips. Then it's gone in a moment as they lick it away, then open their mouth to show his remaining seed, and again after they swallow it all down, proud. It's absolutely obscene. He loves it.

"That was. Not how I expected evening to go."

He leans back against monument, fatigue beginning to catch him. He puts himself away and then smooths down Rooks hair as they lean on his knee, humming happily with their eyes closed. It's such a soft frame in comparison to just a few minutes ago. Emmrich's heart feels so full in his chest, every doubt he has had quiet, just for this moment.

"Now, would you like some water, dear?"

----------

Notes:

Oh! They have a playlist now:

[queen-slayer-13]

Happy birthday to my precious Tsubaki. ❤️ I really love these panels because they show us that Tsubaki is not afraid to say sorry or to tell people how they feel, but also how much they love and care for the people around them (my empathetic and assertive baby). ❤️

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ YES, I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND, AND YES, SHE'S REAL! ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ streamer!au: what happens when your gamer boyfriend brings you on-screen for the first time?

contents: fem!reader. use of she/her pronouns + reader is referred to as gojo's girlfriend. toji slander bcs he deserves it.

author's note: everyone welcome streamer!gojo to the world! he'll be here for a while...

"oh, please," satoru laughs, leaning back and grinning at the screen in front of him. he tosses his hair, but it falls back into his eyes just seconds later. "no way you guys all thought i would lose that one. c'mon, have some faith in me!"

you watch satoru reply to the hundreds of comments lighting up the side of his monitor, smiling endearingly at the way he laughs at some and practically chortles at others.

it was only after the two of you started dating that satoru disclosed his streaming hobby, and to your surprise, he was pretty popular. thousands of people tuned in to watch him play some game or another every night, and well, it paid better than you'd expect.

satoru whistles, hands resting comfortably behind his head as a particular question catches his attention. "ah, do i have a girlfriend?" he muses, grinning as he shoots a quick side-glance at you. "yeah," he continues, snorting when what looks like a flurry of no fucking way's flood the chat.

he clicks his tongue disappointedly, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "what, did all eight thousand of you think i couldn't pull? thanks a lot," satoru deadpans, waving his hand and sighing dramatically. "i don't know what any of you mean. i'm a catch!"

you snicker at that, and your laughter only increases when satoru turns and gapes at you. he juts his bottom lip out, face sinking into an adorable pout at he crosses his arms. "even my own girlfriend's laughing at me," he mumbles petulantly. "hmph!"

satoru sticks his tongue out at you childishly, and you blow a kiss back. he pretends to faint before turning back to his monitor, quickly skimming the comments before he gasps. "what do you mean, she probably doesn't exist?!" he sputters, clutching his heart exaggeratedly.

the look on his face is priceless — imagine getting told by thousands of people that one, they think you can't pull, and two, that they don't even believe your significant other exists. naturally, satoru reacts as dramatically as ever. he pretends to ignore everyone in the comments before calling them out individually.

"oh, i see you, toji... fishy-guru," satoru gripes, wagging his finger at his screen. "my girlfriend exists and she's mine! don't even think about it." he pauses, squinting at the chat before correcting himself with an eyeroll. "fushiguro. whatever. either way, she's real and she's all mine."

satoru swivels his chair to face you, making an incredulous face as he gestures to the screen. "can you believe this?" he grumbles, ocean-blue eyes focused on you. "these guys don't think you're real."

you shrug, toying with the corner of his sheets as you smile back at satoru. he's so childish, but that's just one of the many things you adore about him. sure, he's an annoying brat, but at least he's a total sweetheart too.

your boyfriend extends his hand, beckoning you to come over to him. "c'mon, darling," he cooes, scrunching up his nose at you. "wanna help me prove these losers wrong?" satoru mouths please, and the puppy eyes he gives you are cute enough to convince you.

so you hop off his bed, running a hand through your hair as you stroll over to where he sits in front of his monitor. beaming like a kid on his birthday, satoru takes your hand and twines his fingers with yours.

smiling smugly, satoru pulls you on screen and into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. you watch the chat erupt with she's real's and how did he pull a girl like her's and smile, flicking satoru's forehead affectionately.

he ignores the thousands of dumbstruck users in his comments and holds you close to his chest, adjusting his grip on your waist to make his lap as comfortable as possible for you. satoru's adoring eyes are fixed on you, only you, even as his chat explodes.

suguru-geto: haha i already knew

toji-fushiguro: how the fuck did a loser like him pull her?

yuuji-itadori: gojo has a girlfriend??? what did i miss??

[lostfracturess]

THREE LITTLE WORDS — SATORU GOJO

pairing — satoru gojo x gn!reader

summary — for twenty-four years, satoru gojo has carried three little words on the tip of his tongue, never daring to speak them aloud. growing up as the strongest sorcerer comes with its burdens, and loving someone means putting them at risk. but when you're about to marry someone else, satoru finally realizes that sometimes the biggest risk is never taking one at all.

word count — 7.4 k

genre/tags — childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, protective gojo, idiots in love

warnings — no explicit content (only kissing), mild violence mentions, references to injuries, angst, alcohol use, mentions of arranged marriages, family pressure, reference to assassination attempts

author's note — hey lovelies, with everything that's going on rn, i wanted to write something cute to maybe make someone smile today. there's a little bit of angst in this (sorry, yk me), but mostly it's (bitter)sweet moments. and i tried to keep it somewhat canon-compliant, but maybe not really. and i've written this with gender-neutral pronouns to ensure everyone can see themselves in this story. if you notice any places where i might have slipped up, please let me know.

masterlist

Three little words.

Just eight letters that had lived on the tip of Satoru Gojo's tongue for what felt like forever, desperately wanting to spill from his lips every time he saw you. 

Three words that had haunted him through the years, through scraped knees and graduation gowns, through first dates and near-death experiences.

I love you.

Simple words that carried the weight of universes, that could change everything — or destroy it all. And so, he'd held them back, let them sit heavy in his chest, like a weight that pressed against his lungs with every breath.

Because loving a Gojo wasn't easy. It never had been.

Love had always been a foreign concept to him. Growing up in the Gojo clan meant learning about power before learning about affection, mastering close combat before understanding emotions. 

Love was abstract, complex, something other people seemed to grasp naturally while he watched from behind barriers of privilege and power.

But with you? With you, it had been as clear as breathing.

It hadn't been the dramatic, earth-shattering revelation movies always promised. Instead, it was quiet, constant, like realizing the sun had always been there, warming his skin. It was in the way you shared your lunch without being asked, how you never flinched when his powers flared, how you rolled your eyes at his dramatics but smiled anyway.

Love had been the easiest thing in the world when it came to you. Understanding it, feeling it, living it — that part was simple.

It was everything else that was complicated.

Because Satoru knew what happened to people the Gojos loved. He'd seen it, lived it, carried the weight of those consequences since before he could walk. Love, in his world, wasn't just about feelings — it was about target signs and weaknesses, about giving your enemies a roadmap straight to your heart.

And your heart? That was something he couldn't bear to put at risk.

So he had learned to swallow those words, to tuck them away behind smirks and jokes and casual touches that never lasted quite long enough. He had become an expert at loving you silently, at pouring all those unspoken feelings into small acts of protection, of care, of presence.

Some days, the words would claw at his throat like living things, desperate to escape. On those days, he'd find himself watching you — the way you moved, the sound of your laugh, the simple fact of your existence in his complicated world — and the urge to confess would be almost unbearable.

But then he'd remember all the attempts on his life, all the enemies who would love nothing more than to hurt him through you, all the danger that came with the name Gojo, and the words would retreat back into his chest where they lived like a constant ache.

Loving you had been the easiest thing Satoru had ever done. Keeping that love silent had been the hardest.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 6 ⁺ 　 . ✦

The first time Satoru realized he wanted to say those words to you, he had been six years old and you were crying because some older kids stole your favorite crayon. You had both been sitting in the reading corner of your kindergarten classroom, and your tears were making his chest hurt in a way he didn't understand.

"Don't cry," he had said, reaching out to pat your head like his mom did when he was sad. "I'll get it back for you."

You had sniffled, looking up at him with those wide, watery eyes that made his little heart skip. "But they're bigger than you."

He had puffed up his chest. "So? I'm stronger."

Before you could stop him, he had marched right up to the group of second graders during recess. They towered over him, but Satoru hadn't cared. He was a Gojo, after all, and Gojos didn't back down.

Ten minutes later, he had been sitting in the principal's office with a bloody nose and a black eye, but clutched triumphantly in his hand was your favorite crayon. The principal had called his parents, of course. There was talk of his "concerning behavior" and "excessive force," but all Satoru could think about was how your whole face had lit up when he handed you back that crayon.

That night, as his mother tucked him into bed, she had asked him why he did it. And he simply said because you were sad.

His mother had given him a look that he wouldn't understand until years later. "The Gojo men have always been weak to those they love," she had told him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He had wanted to tell you then, as you colored together the next day, carefully sharing that rescued crayon. The words had bubbled up in his chest like soda fizz, but he had swallowed them down. Because even at six, he knew that being around him meant trouble, and he didn't want to see you cry again.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 12 ⁺ 　 . ✦

Middle school had brought new challenges and new reasons to keep those words locked away. 

Satoru had started to understand what it meant to be a Gojo — the weight of the name, the expectations, the suffocating responsibilities that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day.

You were still there, though, somehow always by his side despite the chaos that surrounded him. When other kids whispered about his family, about the strange things that happened around him, you just rolled your eyes and shared your lunch with him like nothing was wrong.

He had nearly said it one autumn afternoon when you were both sprawled on your bedroom floor, supposedly doing homework but really just talking about nothing and everything. The late sunlight had caught your features just right, and you were laughing at something stupid he had said, and the words had almost slipped out.

But then his phone had rung. It had been his father, summoning him to an urgent clan meeting.

Another reminder of the life that awaited him — endless meetings about maintaining the Gojo name, about upholding traditions centuries old, about sacrificing personal happiness for the sake of the clan's future.

As he had sat in that austere meeting room, surrounded by stern-faced elders discussing bloodlines and duties and arranged marriages, all he could think about was your laugh from earlier that afternoon. How free it had sounded, how untainted by the weight of expectations and tradition.

How could he tell you he loved you when being with him meant dragging you into this world of rigid traditions and suffocating responsibilities? When loving him meant you might have to give up everything you held dear?

So he had swallowed the words once again, buried them deep, even as they burned in his chest like embers that refused to die. Because he would rather suffer in silence than watch the weight of the Gojo name dim the spark in your eyes.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 16 ⁺ 　 . ✦

High school was when Satoru had started deliberately pushing people away. He had built walls of arrogance and casual flirtation, keeping everyone at arm's length while making it look effortless. He dated casually, never seriously, and cultivated a reputation as someone who didn't do relationships.

Everyone had bought it except you.

You saw right through him, just like you always had. You called him out on his bullshit, threw erasers at his head when he was being particularly obnoxious, and somehow still showed up at his house with his favourite sweets when he was sick.

"Your ego's getting too big for this classroom," you'd tell him whenever he started showing off. He'd just grin and make it worse, because your exasperated sighs had become his favorite sound.

During lunch breaks, while others gathered around his desk trying to get his attention, you'd just roll your eyes and steal food from his plate. He'd pretend to be annoyed, but he had started packing extra of your favorites, just to watch you light up when you found them.

High school had also been the time when the clan's pressure had threatened to crush him. Every day brought new expectations, new techniques to master, new reminders that he wasn't just Satoru but the future of the Gojo clan.

He never told you, but your presence had kept him sane. You had been the only one allowed to see him practice with his cursed technique, sitting on the sidelines of the training grounds doing homework while he worked himself to exhaustion.

On the days when the pressure of being the strongest got too heavy, you'd wordlessly share your earbuds with him, letting him rest his head on your shoulder while some silly pop song played between you. And you'd hold his hand, and he'd squeeze back so tight it almost hurt.

In those moments, the words had been right there, sitting on his tongue. But he couldn't. Not when your friendship was the one pure thing in his complicated life.

But the words had nearly escaped one night when you were both sneaking back into town after a concert two cities over. You had been wearing his jacket because you forgot yours, and you were singing off-key to some pop song on the radio, and his heart had felt so full it might burst.

But then he had spotted a car that had been following them for the last twenty minutes, and instead of confessing, he had to lose the tail while pretending everything was fine. You never noticed, too caught up in your impromptu karaoke session, and he had been grateful for that at least.

He had driven you home in silence after that, the words buried so deep he could barely breathe around them. You had fallen asleep against the window, blissfully unaware of how close he'd come to changing everything between you.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 18 ⁺ 　 . ✦

College had brought a new kind of torture. Because then he had to watch you date other people, normal people who didn't have assassination attempts over breakfast or cursed energy that could level cities.

He still kept you close, though. He couldn't help it. You were his gravity, his true north, the one constant in his chaotic life. You were still the person who brought him coffee during all-nighters, who listened to his ridiculous theories at 3 AM, who somehow knew exactly when he needed a hug even though he'd never admit it.

The campus had whispered about it — about how the untouchable Satoru Gojo let you into his space so easily, how you were the only one who could barge into his dorm at any hour without fear of consequence. 

They wondered what made you special, what kind of hold you had over him. If they only knew how many times he had bitten back those three words when you'd fallen asleep on his shoulder during late-night study sessions, or how his heart had nearly burst when you'd chosen to spend the evening with him instead of going to that party your crush had invited you to.

The words had almost broken free during your sophomore year, when you had shown up at his door at midnight, crying because someone broke your heart. He had held you while you sobbed, stroked your hair, and plotted seventeen different ways to destroy the person who hurt you (he had only acted on three of them, and nobody could prove anything).

He remembered how you had curled into his side that night, hiccupping through tears about how you "just wanted someone who understood you."

The irony had burned in his throat — he understood you better than anyone, had mapped every constellation of your moods and meanings, had memorized every shade of your smile.

But understanding wasn't enough when being with him meant inheriting all his complications.

You had fallen asleep in his bed that night, wrapped in his favorite hoodie, and he had spent hours just watching you breathe, his heart aching with how much he wanted to keep you there forever.

When morning came, you had smiled at him over coffee and thanked him for being "the best friend anyone could ask for," and each word had felt like a knife between his ribs.

He had wanted to tell you then, had wanted to show you how you should be loved — wholly, fiercely, eternally. But he knew he couldn't offer you the normal life you deserved, so he had swallowed the words again and just held you tighter.

Instead, he had channeled all those unspoken feelings into being the kind of friend you needed. He walked you home from late parties, threatened anyone who looked at you wrong and pretended it didn't kill him every time you gushed about a new crush. 

What you had never told him was that each crush faded as quickly as it came, because somehow they all fell short of the impossible standard he had unknowingly set.

He became an expert at loving you from arm's length, at being everything you needed while hiding how much he needed you.

The worst part was how naturally it all came to him — how easy it was to be the one you turned to, to be your safe harbor in every storm. Because loving you had always been as natural as breathing, even when it hurt.

Especially when it hurt.

College became an impossible balance of keeping you close enough to stay in your life but far enough away to keep his heart from completely shattering.

He dated casually, built up his reputation as someone who didn't do commitment, all while knowing that the only person he'd ever wanted to commit to was right there, wearing his hoodies and stealing his fries and completely oblivious to how much power you held over him.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 22 ⁺ 　 . ✦

After graduation, you had both somehow ended up in the same city. Different jobs, different lives, but still orbiting each other like you always had.

You dated other people, and so did he (sort of), but you still met for coffee every Wednesday and dinner every Sunday, still texted each other random thoughts at inappropriate hours.

Those Wednesday coffee meetings had become sacred. He'd show up at your workplace, two cups in hand — one with less sugar but lots of milk, the way you liked it, and his own ridiculously sweet like his smile, as you always teased. 

He had memorized your schedule, knew which days you worked late, which mornings you had important meetings. On the nights when your job kept you at the office past midnight, he'd lurk nearby, pretending he just happened to be in the area when you finally emerged exhausted. 

You'd roll your eyes but accept his offer to walk you home, and he'd fight the urge to take your hand every step of the way.

Sunday dinners were even worse for his heart. Sometimes you'd cook (badly), sometimes he'd order in (expensively), but it always felt so domestic it hurt.

The way you'd steal bites from his plate, like you always used to do, how you'd curl up on his couch afterward like you belonged there, the casual way you'd rest your feet in his lap while watching movies — it was everything he wanted and nothing he could keep.

The words had nearly escaped during one of those Sunday dinners, when you were both a little drunk on wine and nostalgia, laughing about all the trouble you had gotten into growing up. You had looked at him with such fondness, such understanding, and he had almost broken.

"Remember when you punched that guy at the bar who wouldn't leave me alone?" you had asked, cheeks flushed from wine and laughter.

"Which time?" he had replied, only half-joking. There had been several instances, each one burning in his memory because how dare anyone make you uncomfortable.

"All of them," you had laughed, reaching over to poke his cheek. "My hero."

The word had squeezed his heart like a fist. Hero. If only you knew how selfish his protection had always been, how each act of defending you had been as much about his own possessive need to keep you safe as it was about your wellbeing.

You had shifted closer on the couch then, laying your head on his shoulder in that casual way that always made his breath catch and his fingers had itched to run through your hair, to tilt your face up to his, to finally close the distance he'd been maintaining for so many years. 

The words had risen in his throat like a tide. But then his phone had buzzed with an alert about another threat, another mission, another reason why loving him was dangerous, and he had bitten his tongue until he tasted blood.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 25 ⁺ 　 . ✦

It had gotten harder as the years passed. Harder to watch you live your life, harder to keep pretending he didn't want to be more than your best friend, harder to keep those three words locked away.

He had started taking more dangerous missions, throwing himself into his work with reckless abandon. Because if he was busy fighting curses and saving the world, he couldn't think about how much he wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to finally let those words free.

At least, that's what he had told himself as he accepted increasingly risky assignments, each one a little more dangerous than the last.

The other sorcerers had started calling him reckless. But how could he explain that facing down cursed spirits was easier than facing the way you looked at him with such concern? That physical pain was a welcome distraction from the constant ache in his chest?

But you were still there, still calling him out when he was being stupid, still patching him up when he came back injured, still looking at him like he was someone beyond his name and his power.

He always saved one small injury for you to tend to — a scrape here, a bruise there — even though his reversed cursed technique had already healed the worst of his wounds. It had become your ritual, you'd patch him up at your apartment, your coffee table covered in supplies that he didn't really need, both of you pretending this wasn't an elaborate excuse to be close to each other.

"You're going to get yourself killed one of these days," you had muttered one particularly bad night, hands trembling slightly as you cleaned a gash on his forehead that would have healed on its own in seconds. But he had let you fuss over it anyway, selfishly savoring every gentle touch.

The words had almost broken free one night when you were stitching up a particularly nasty wound on his side. Your hands had been gentle but your lecture was harsh, telling him off for being so careless with his life.

He could have healed it himself — you both knew that — but he had wanted your hands on him, even if they came with a scolding.

"You're not immortal, you idiot," you had said, and there were tears in your eyes that made his heart clench. "I know you think you're invincible, but you're not. What am I supposed to do if something happens to you?"

The raw emotion in your voice had nearly undone him. He had wanted to tell you then that he only acted so reckless because loving you from afar was slowly killing him anyway. That every mission, every fight, was just another way to exhaust himself enough that he wouldn't do something stupid like confess his feelings and ruin everything between you.

Instead, he had just made a joke about being too pretty to die, and pretended not to notice when you wiped your eyes. But he had caught your hand as you turned away, held it perhaps a moment too long, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in what he hoped felt like reassurance.

Your apartment had become his retreat those days. He would show up at odd hours, sometimes bleeding, sometimes just exhausted, and you would let him in without question. You never asked why he came to you instead of using his technique to heal himself. Maybe you had known, just like he had, that these moments weren't really about the injuries at all.

There had been nights when he'd fall asleep on your couch, lulled by the sound of you moving around your apartment, by the domestic comfort of knowing you were near. He'd wake up to find himself covered with a blanket, a glass of water on the coffee table, and his heart would ache with how much he wanted this to be his everyday reality.

Sometimes, in his weaker moments, he'd catch himself watching you as you worked on your laptop, curled up in the armchair across from him. The soft glow of the screen would wash over your features, and he'd think about how easy it would be to cross that small distance, to finally tell you everything he'd been holding back.

But then he'd remember the last mission, the close calls, the enemies who were getting stronger and bolder, and he'd force himself to look away. Because loving him had always come with a price, and he wasn't willing to make you pay it.

So he had buried those feelings deeper, thrown himself into more missions, and pretended that the ache in his chest was from the fights and not from loving you so much it physically hurt.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 28 ⁺ 　 . ✦

The breaking point had come, as these things often did, on an ordinary day.

You had both been in your apartment, having one of your regular movie nights. You were wearing old sweatpants and one of his hoodies that you had stolen years ago, there were takeout containers scattered across your coffee table, and you were arguing about whether the movie's plot made any sense.

It had been so normal, so comfortable, so perfectly you and him that something in his chest finally cracked.

Because he had realized, watching you gesture wildly about the movie's plot holes, that he had been an idiot. He had spent over two decades trying to protect you by keeping his distance, but you had been in danger this whole time anyway. Because everyone who knew him knew that you were his weakness, his soft spot, the one person who could bring the great Satoru Gojo to his knees.

And you had stayed anyway. Through every fight, every danger, every close call, you had chosen to stay in his life. You had patched his wounds, celebrated his victories, mourned his losses, and never once asked for anything in return except his friendship.

That night, he had decided tomorrow would be the day. No more waiting, no more excuses. He would finally tell you everything.

He had barely slept, spending hours picking out the perfect flowers, hoping they would help say everything his heart had been trying to tell you for years. He had practiced the words in his mirror, ran through a dozen different speeches, each one feeling more inadequate than the last.

But when he had arrived at your apartment building that morning, flowers clutched in sweaty palms and heart thundering in his chest, he had seen them through your living room window. You weren't alone. Someone else was there, someone who had made you throw your head back in laughter, who had pulled you close with an ease that made his chest constrict.

He had watched, frozen on the sidewalk, as you reached up to brush something from their cheek, the gesture so tender it had felt like a physical blow. The flowers in his hands had suddenly felt like they were made of lead.

Satoru had stood there for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, watching you be happy with someone else, watching you shine so brightly for another person. Then, with movements that felt mechanical, he had dropped the flowers in a nearby trash can and walked away.

Three words, still unspoken, had burned in his throat with every step.

For weeks after that, he had thrown himself into missions like a madman, taking on the most dangerous assignments he could find. Anything to avoid thinking about how he had waited too long, how he had lost his chance.

But then you had called him one night, voice slightly slurred from wine, asking him to come over. And like always, he couldn't refuse you.

That's how he had found himself back in your apartment, watching you pace back and forth, ranting about how empty it all felt. How you had tried to move on, tried to find what everyone said you should want — a normal relationship, a simple life, someone safe.

"But it's not right," you had said, running your hands through your hair in frustration. "Nothing feels right. They're nice, they're perfect on paper, but—"

"But what?" he had asked, his heart in his throat.

"But they're not you," you had whispered, the words hanging in the air between you like suspended stars.

A movie had still been playing in the background, forgotten as you both stood there, years of unspoken feelings spilled on the floor. The weight of your confession had made it hard to breathe, and for a moment, just a moment, he had let himself imagine what it would be like to close the distance between you, to finally say the words that had lived in his heart for so long.

But then his phone had buzzed in his pocket — another threat, another reminder — and reality came crashing back.

"You can't," he had said, his voice rougher than he'd intended. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?" You had taken a step toward him, and he had forced himself to take one back, watching hurt flash across your face. "Satoru, I've waited—"

"Then stop waiting," he had cut you off, hating himself for the way his words made you flinch. "This isn't—we can't—" A pause. "Do you know how many attempts there have been on my life this month alone? How many enemies would love to know that the great Satoru Gojo has someone he—" He had caught himself before the word 'loves' could escape. "Someone he cares about?"

"I'm not afraid—"

"Well, I am!" The words had burst from him with more force than he'd intended, making you both freeze. "I am terrified, okay? Because everyone I've ever—everyone who gets close to me ends up with a target on their back. And you—" His voice had softened despite himself. "You deserve better than that. Better than looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life, better than wondering if each goodbye might be the last."

"That's not your choice to make," you had said quietly, and the resignation in your voice had been worse than anger would have been.

"Yes, it is. Because I'm the one who would have to live with it if something happened to you because of me." He had straightened his shoulders, pulled on the mask he wore for everyone else — cold, untouchable, removed. "Go back to them. Find someone normal. Someone safe. Someone who can give you the life you deserve."

"And what about what I want?"

"Sometimes what we want isn't what's best for us." The words had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

You had looked at him for a long moment, tears gathering in your eyes, and he had dug his nails into his palms to keep from reaching for you. Finally, you had nodded once, sharp and hurt.

"Get out."

He had turned to leave, each step feeling like he was walking through concrete. At the door, he had paused, his hand on the handle.

"I'm sorry," he had whispered, not turning around. Because if he had looked at you then, his resolve would have crumbled entirely.

The soft click of the door closing behind him had sounded like the end of everything.

✦ . 　⁺ Age 30 ⁺ 　 . ✦

Two years of carefully maintained distance had felt like an eternity. The clan's pressure had mounted with each passing month — meetings about bloodlines, about duty, about carrying on the Gojo name. His parents had finally put their foot down, presenting him with a list of "suitable" candidates from other prestigious families.

Satoru had turned it into something of an art form, really — how to be just obnoxious enough, just impossible enough, that each carefully selected partner would run screaming for the hills without him technically refusing anyone.

"This is getting ridiculous," his mother had sighed after the seventh failed meeting. "Are you going to chase away every eligible human on this earth?"

Yes, he had wanted to say. Because none of them were you.

You still texted occasionally — surface-level messages about holidays or birthdays, the kind of distant politeness that felt wrong after decades of intimacy. He had saved every message anyway, re-reading them late at night when missions left him too restless to sleep.

Your contact photo was still the same one from college, you resting your head on his shoulder, laughing at something he’d said. He couldn’t bring himself to change it.

Sometimes he'd catch glimpses of you around the city. You'd cut your hair, changed jobs, moved to a new apartment. He knew all this from the careful distance he maintained, from the reports he definitely didn't ask Ijichi to give him.

You seemed... fine. Happy, even. It was what he'd wanted, he told himself. You, safe and happy, even if it was without him.

The invitation had arrived on a Tuesday.

The envelope had been cream-colored, expensive. His name written in elegant calligraphy that had made his stomach drop before he'd even opened it. Inside, the words had blurred together, except for the ones that mattered.

You were getting married.

To someone safe. Someone normal. Someone who could give you everything he couldn't.

The invitation had sat on his coffee table for days, taunting him. He'd catch himself staring at it during his morning coffee, during late-night mission reports, during every quiet moment when his mind wasn't occupied with staying alive.

Your handwritten note had been worse than the formal invitation.

'I'd really like you to be there. Please come.'

His phone had been in his hand before he'd realized it, your number still muscle memory after all this time. The cursor had blinked at him mockingly as he'd tried to formulate a response.

'Congratulations,' he had finally typed, each letter feeling like a small death. 'I'll be there.'

Because of course he would be. He'd sit there and watch you marry someone else, would paste on a smile and give a toast if asked, would pretend his heart wasn't being ripped from his chest with every word of the ceremony.

It was what he deserved, really. He had pushed you away, had made the choice for both of you, had convinced himself it was for the best. This was the consequence of his protection, the price of keeping you safe.

He had gotten drunk that night, alone in his apartment, surrounded by the ghosts of all the words he'd never said. The three most important ones still burned in his throat, unspoken after all these years.

His phone had buzzed with your reply. 'Thank you. It means a lot.'

Four words that had somehow hurt worse than the invitation itself.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The day of your wedding had dawned grey and miserable, as if the weather itself was matching Satoru's mood. He'd been away on a mission until the last possible moment, taking out his frustration on cursed spirits with perhaps more violence than strictly necessary.

He had arrived at the venue late, soaked from the rain, his suit probably ruined. But he'd promised to be there, and he'd never broken a promise to you before. He wasn't about to start now, even if it killed him.

But when he had made his way inside, he'd immediately sensed the chaos inside. Hushed, worried voices had carried through the open doors. "Has anyone seen them?" "The ceremony should have started twenty minutes ago." "Check the dressing room again!"

But Satoru had known exactly where to find you.

The venue's grounds had stretched back to a small lake, and there, beneath an old maple tree whose leaves provided little shelter from the rain, you had stood. Your wedding outfit was getting steadily soaked, but you hadn't seemed to notice or care, staring out at the rippling water.

He had approached slowly, drinking in the sight of you. Even with dirt stained cloths and dripping hair, you had been the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Everyone's looking for you," he had said softly.

You hadn't turned around. "I know."

"Three hundred people in there wondering where you've gone."

"Three hundred and one, now that you're here." Your voice had been quiet, almost lost in the rain. "Why are you here, Satoru?"

"You invited me."

"That's not what I meant." Finally, you had turned to face him, and the look in your eyes had made his heart stutter. "Why are you really here?"

He had taken a step closer, drawn to you like gravity, like always. "You know why."

"Do I?" Your voice was so small. "Because I thought I knew, once. I thought I knew a lot of things. But then you pushed me away, told me to find someone safe, someone normal." You had gestured toward the building behind you. "Well, I did. So why are you here?"

"I—"

He had caught sight of a small cut on his cheekbone in a puddle's reflection — the one injury he hadn't healed, the one he'd kept out of habit, out of the memory of your gentle hands patching him up all those years.

Your eyes had followed his, landing on the cut. Without seeming to think about it, you had reached up, fingers ghosting over the wound like they had a thousand times before. The familiar gesture had nearly broken him.

"Don't marry them," he had whispered.

"What?"

"Don't marry them," he had whispered again. "Please."

"Why not?" The question had been barely a whisper. "Give me a reason, Satoru. One real reason why I shouldn't walk back in there and marry someone who actually wants me."

"Because—" The words had stuck in his throat, years of habit holding them back.

"I love you," he had whispered, the words falling into the rain-soaked space between you, and suddenly he could breathe again. Twenty-four years of holding back, of swallowing those words, of carrying them like stones in his chest — and now they were free, floating in the air between you like butterflies finally released from their cage.

"I love you," he had said again, stronger this time. "I've loved you since we were kids. I've loved you through every fight, every mission, every time I tried to push you away for your own good. I've loved you so long I don't remember what it feels like not to love you."

"You—" Your voice had broken. "You idiot. You're telling me this now? When there are three hundred people waiting inside? When I've spent months trying to convince myself I could love someone else?"

"I know. I know, and I'm sorry, but—"

"Shut up," you had breathed, and then you had pulled him down by his lapels and kissed him.

He had kissed you back like a drowning man finding air, like coming home after a lifetime of wandering. Your lips had been cold from the rain but soft against his, and when you had melted against him, he'd felt something in his chest finally slot into place.

Years of careful control had shattered like glass, and he had wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground in a surge of desperate joy. You had gasped against his mouth, and he had taken the opportunity to deepen the kiss, pouring decades of longing into it.

He had spun you around, your hands threading through his wet hair as he held you against him like he was afraid you might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly. Rain had continued to fall around you, but neither of you had noticed or cared.

His hands had splayed across your back, holding you impossibly closer as he kissed you like a man starved, like he was trying to make up for every kiss he should have given you over the years.

When you had broken apart, you were both breathing heavily, foreheads pressed together as the rain continued to fall around you. Your fingers had still been twisted in his jacket, and his hand had still been cradling your face like you were something precious, something he couldn't quite believe he was allowed to touch.

The weight of all those unspoken words, all those careful distances he'd maintained, all those moments he'd held himself back — it had all lifted away like mist in the morning sun. For the first time in twenty-four years, he had felt truly, completely free.

"You're so stupid," you had whispered, but you hadn't moved away. "There are three hundred people in there, expectations, plans, a whole life I'm supposed to—"

"Run away with me."

"What?"

"Run away with me," he had repeated, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "Right now. Let me take you anywhere you want to go. Let me spend the rest of my life making up for lost time, for every moment I was too scared to love you the way you deserved."

"Satoru—"

"I know it's selfish," he had continued, words tumbling out like he couldn't hold them back anymore. "I know I have no right to ask this of you, not after pushing you away. But I can't— I can't watch you marry someone else. I can't spend the rest of my life wondering what if, knowing I let you go without fighting for you."

You had laughed, the sound wavering between tears and joy. "You really are the most impossible man I've ever met."

"Is that a yes?"

"My parents will never forgive me."

"I'll win them over."

"The clan will be furious."

"Let them be."

"Everyone will talk."

"Let them talk." He had cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing away the rain and tears on your cheeks. "I don't care about any of that. I just care about you. About us. Everything else… we'll figure it out together."

"Together," you had repeated softly, like you were testing the word. "You won't push me away again? Try to protect me by leaving?"

"Never again," he had promised. "I'm done running. Done pretending I don't love you more than anything in this world. Done letting fear keep me from the only thing that's ever really mattered."

You had searched his face for a long moment, and he had let you see everything — all the love, the fear, the desperate hope he'd kept hidden for so long.

Finally, you had smiled, bright and real, the smile he'd fallen in love with all those years ago. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Take me away from here," you had said, and his heart had soared. "Show me what it's like when Satoru Gojo finally stops holding back."

He hadn't needed to be told twice. In one fluid motion, he had swept you into his arms, your surprised laugh warming something deep in his chest.

"What about everything inside? My things, the guests—"

"I'll send Ijichi to handle it," he had said, already walking away from the venue, from the life you'd almost had without him. "Right now, all that matters is you and me."

"And where exactly are you taking me?"

"Anywhere you want," he had promised, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Everywhere. We have a lifetime of moments to make up for, after all."

You had wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking your face against his shoulder. "I love you too, you know. In case that wasn't clear."

He had tightened his hold on you, something fierce and protective and overwhelmingly tender swelling in his chest. "Say it again."

"I love you, Satoru Gojo," you had whispered against his neck. "I always have."

As he had carried you away from the venue, the rain had finally begun to let up, sunlight breaking through the clouds. A new beginning, he had thought.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Looking back, Satoru couldn't believe how stupid he'd been. All those years wasted, all that time spent pushing you away when he could have been holding you close. He'd thought he was protecting you, but in reality, he'd just been protecting himself from the terrifying vulnerability of being truly, completely loved.

Because that's what you did — you loved him entirely, unconditionally, with a fierce devotion that still took his breath away. You loved him through the dangerous missions and the late-night emergencies, through the clan meetings and the political drama. You loved him through the nightmares and the victories, through every high and low that came with being Satoru Gojo.

Life wasn't perfect, of course. There were still threats, still enemies who thought they could use you to get to him. But they had learned, quickly and painfully, that you weren't some helpless weakness to exploit. You were his strength, his anchor, his reason for coming home safely every time.

Those old fears seemed ridiculous now. Because yes, loving him came with dangers — but you had always known that, had always chosen him anyway. And together, you were so much stronger than apart.

The clan had been furious about the wedding scandal, of course. But it was hard to maintain their anger when you handled every social situation with grace, when you proved yourself more than capable of standing beside the strongest sorcerer in the world.

Eventually, even the most traditional elders had to admit that perhaps the Gojo heir had chosen well after all.

Your old routine had shifted, evolved into something even better. Now when you patched up his wounds (the ones he still deliberately saved for you), he could kiss you afterward. When you fell asleep during movie nights, he could pull you close instead of maintaining that careful distance. When you brought him coffee during all-nighters, he could show his gratitude with more than just words.

The best part, though? The absolute best part was being able to say those three words whenever he wanted. And he said them constantly — whispered them against your skin in the morning, called them across rooms just to see you smile, breathed them into quiet moments like prayers.

"I love you" when you handed him his coffee, exactly how he liked it.

"I love you" when you rolled your eyes at his dramatic entrances.

"I love you" when you fell asleep on his shoulder during clan meetings.

"I love you" when you patched up injuries that didn't need patching.

"I love you" for no reason at all, just because he could, just because the words had lived in his heart for so long that letting them free still felt like a miracle.

And every time — every single time — you said it back, like you'd been waiting just as long to be able to say it freely.

Sometimes, on quiet nights when you were both home safe, he'd watch you doing something mundane — reading a book, making tea, existing in his space like you'd always belonged there — and the gratitude would hit him so hard he could barely breathe. Gratitude that you had waited, that you had loved him through his fears and his mistakes, that you had given him the chance to love you properly.

Because that's what he did now — loved you properly, openly, with everything he had. No more holding back, no more careful distance. He loved you the way you deserved to be loved — wholly, fiercely, eternally.

And every day, for the rest of his life, he made sure you knew it. Three words, eight letters, repeated like a promise, like a prayer, like the most important truth he'd ever known.

I love you.

And every day, for the rest of your life, you said it back.

author's note — after editing this, i realised it's more angsty then intended but oh my i'm sorry, i can't help it. but i hope it made you smile anyway. thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read this story. your support means the world to me. in these challenging times, please remember that even the darkest nights eventually give way to dawn. sending lots of love your way <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @saurondriell @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna

@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia

@janbannan @bloopsstuff

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Infernal Shadows

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it.

Song for this chapter: The world we knew by Frank Sinatra.

A/N: I wanna make this a three part short story, so if anyone is interested in being tagged in the second part just let me know!! I hope you enjoy!!

Word count: 2655

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part two

Getting an invite to the annual crimson ball, hosted by yours truly, was nothing but an honor. Every overlord and every sinner in the pride ring waited anxiously for a letter. A black card with white letter in a cursive font stating ‘You have been personally invited by Hells biggest designer. The list of the gala was simple. The usual overlords, Zestial, Carmilla Carmine and her daughters, Zeezie, Rosie, Fredrick Von Eldritch and Bethesda von Eldritch. Alastor who had came back after seven years of hiding god knows where, and by special request, the three vee’s who had never attended the gala before. Then it becomes a bit more political.

Next on the list was the Goetia family, inviting the recently divorced prince with his daughter. Inviting Lucifer and Lilith, though they only ever came when everyone was gone. Then was their daughter Charlotte, who got a plus one as a special perk of being the princess of hell. Husk because he had been an old friend of yours before his status of Overlord was taken from him by none other than Alastor. He was also given a plus one, though he usually never brought anyone extra. Sir Pentious was a candidate, but ultimately scrapped from your list of invites as you felt he was too childish.

The gala was tonight and everything was going smoothly. Preparations were almost done, the foyer was spotless just the way you liked it, and everything seemed to be falling into place. You stared at yourself in the mirror. You had spent months designing your perfect dress for tonight. Everyone attending the gala knew there was only ever one color off limits, because you always wore it best. The color black always suited you perfectly. No one could wear it better than you.

Back at the hotel, Charlie felt guilty for using her authority as princess to have people help her get ready for this gala. Based on what Alastor had told her, there would be a lot of political powers and fellow overlords there. She wanted to look her best if she was going to pitch the hotel to them. She needed more people on board with the project, maybe someone who didn’t think it was complete and utterly ridiculous joke like Alastor did.

“How do I look?” Charlie asked as the makeup and hair artists stepped away from her. Charlie stepped out, allowing Vaggie to get a better look at her in a tailored charcoal gray suit, a departure from her usual vibrant red attire. The jacket, adorned with subtle pinstripes, accentuated her frame, while the crisp, white silk shirt underneath added a touch of formality. Completing the ensemble, she wore a black tie with a discreet pattern that hinted at both elegance and authority. The ensemble was a strategic choice, projecting confidence and a readiness to engage with the political powers present at the gala for the sake of her hotel. Vaggie smiled and hugged Charlie deeply, their embrace making Charlie feel a little less nervous about the whole ordeal.

“Charlie you look amazing. What happened to the red?” Vaggie asked, before Charlie just chuckled.

“Well, I wanted a change for tonight. I’m always in red, and I feel like they’ll take me more serious if I’m not walking in there with my usual attire. Besides, you read the invitation, ‘formal attire, look your best’.” Charlie said. Vaggie nodded, and Charlie pulled back from the hug to admire Vaggie in her dress. She was wearing a sleek and modern grey dress that gracefully embraced the formal occasion. The dress, with its tailored fit and subtle shimmer, exuded class. The knee-length hemline added a contemporary touch, and Vaggie had decided to pair it with black heels to complete the ensemble. The choice of grey complemented Charlie’s charcoal gray suit, creating a coordinated yet distinct look that would surely make an impression at the gala. Charlie felt her cheeks heat up taking in her appearance, her long hair gently pinned back, the loose pieces of hair framing her face.

“Aww, Vaggie you look so pretty!!” Charlie said excitedly. Vaggie just smiled, ignoring the way her cheeks heated up at Charlies compliment.

“I agree, you look good vagina.” Angel said mockingly, causing Vaggie to glare at him. Charlie just gushed.

“Angel be nice. This is really important for the hotel.” Charlie explained. He just nodded, tilting his head back and downing a bottle of liquor. The staff however was interrupted by Angel making a purring sound at Husk, who was dressed in a nice white suave dinner jacket, with perfect cutouts for his wings, along with some sleek black trousers and some black dress shoes. The match, he had a black silk lapel.

“I can think of another place that suit would look.” Angel said, leaning onto Husk. He rolls his eyes, bottle in hand.

“Do I even wanna know?” He asks, and Angel just grins.

“On my bedroom floo-“ Angel doesn’t get to finish, being shrugged off by Husk who just walks away with a shake of his head.

“Oh my gosh! Husk you look amazing!” Charlie squealed in delight. Husk just smiled softly before setting his drink on the bar counter.

“It appears everyone is ready.” Alastor said, the focus of the room shifting to him. Niffty was at his side studying his outfit from head to toe.

Alastor emerged in an ensemble that deviated from his usual eccentricity, opting for a more formal yet captivating look. A deep red velvet tailcoat adorned his frame, its luxurious texture catching the light. Dark-red lapels, meticulously piped with gold, added a touch of opulence. Underneath, he wore a perfectly tailored crimson dress shirt, the power emitting off of him. Suddenly, the room grew just a tad bit darker, the shadows of the room stretching just a bit. Complementing the ensemble, he chose a pair of well-fitted black dress pants, allowing the bold red hue to take center stage on his appearance. His choice of footwear shifted to polished black oxford shoes, a departure from his usual pointed-toe boots. The finishing touches of the outfit included a matching red silk bowtie, neatly knotted at his throat, and black leather gloves that added a refined edge. Alastor’s presence was commanding, radiating an air of formality while retaining the distinctive charm that defined him. The room was captivated by the Radio Demon’s unexpected transformation into a vision of refined class and style.

“You took forever for that?” Niffty said, before Angel Dust tossed a pillow at her.

“Shut it you. We, we are keeping,” Angel said, hands waving around Alastor, “to whatever this is.”

“Style.” Alastor said confidently. Vaggie just face palmed while Charlie clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Okay, I think everyone’s ready. Should we head out?” Charlie asked. Vaggie nodded, before Alastor dug the invitation out of his coat pocket. Standing near a wall, he traced the symbol on the back of the card on the wall. “Uh, Al? What are you doing?” Charlie asked. He grinned, putting his hand flat on the wall. The symbol began to glow green, before it opened a portal. On the other side, was a large house. The grand Victorian mansion stood as a testament to opulence, its imposing facade adorned with intricate wrought-iron black railings and embellished balconies with hints of chains. Tall, arched windows with stained glass panels framed the exterior, allowing glimpses of the soft glow emanating from within. The entrance, marked by a sweeping staircase, welcomed guests with ornate, carved intricate detailed doors. Charlie, Vaggie and Husk followed Alastor through the portal, Charlie waving goodbye to Niffty, and Angel. Sir Pentious was most likely hiding out in a room somewhere with his egg boys.

As guests approached, they marveled at the meticulous details of the architecture – elaborate moldings, corbels, and friezes adorned every corner. Ivy-clad walls added a touch of nature’s grace, intertwining with wrought-iron lampposts that cast a warm ambiance over the meticulously landscaped gardens.Inside, the grand foyer unfolded, revealing a sweeping staircase adorned with a rich, mahogany handrail. Crystal chandeliers hung from soaring ceilings, their light refracted by ornate mirrors that lined the walls. Plush Victorian-era furnishings, upholstered in rich fabrics, adorned the parlor rooms, creating intimate spaces for guests to gather and converse.Every room whispered of a bygone era – intricately patterned wallpaper, gilded frames displaying classical art, and the faint fragrance of aged wood and lavender.

The air was infused with a sense of refinement, transporting guests to a time when elegance reigned supreme. The Victorian mansion, a splendid backdrop for the gala, promised an evening steeped in grandeur and charm. In the middle of the exterior grounds, a grand fountain of blood took center stage. Its sculpted marble figures spouted blood into the air, catching the moonlight in a dance of liquid elegance. The fountain, surrounded by manicured gardens and flowering shrubs, became a focal point for guests as they strolled through the outdoor spaces, the gentle sound of cascading blood adding a serene touch to the gala’s errie atmosphere.

The overlords arrival made the event much more real. Alastor hums to himself as he walks around the outside grounds. There are servants of all kinds walking around with glasses of champagne. Rosie is sitting on a bench, plucking thorns off a rose. Alastor smiles to himself, happy to see a familiar face he know he can confide in.

“Rosie dear! So nice to see you.” Alastor said with a smile. She smiles at him, teeth razor sharp.

“Do you think you’ll be getting a seat tonight?” She asks, snapping the rose off its stem and tossing it to the side.

“Well of course I will. It’d be a mistake if I wasn’t.” Alastor said with a smile, crossing his legs as he sat down next to her. Sinners from all over the pride ring were socializing outside of the large mansion. He knew you were inside finalizing preparations and possibly screaming your head off. Overall, the air was chilled with a comfortable atmosphere. Well, it had been comfortable, until a loud noisy vehicle stopped at the front gates. Everyone’s heads were turning, Rosie and Alastor looking at each other with strained smiles. Stepping out of the large limousine were the three vee’s, vulgar music blaring from the vehicles speakers as the three made their way through the now open gates. Reporters lined the edges of the gates, trying desperately to see the overlords inside and to try and sneak into the gala, which was starting soon.

“Mr.Vox! Mr.Vox!” News reporters shouted. Velvet was busy taking selfies of her and her outfit, her assistant following close behind her. Valentino was busy looking down at everyone, smoking his usual, while taking his long strides next to Vox, who was in the middle of the three.

On Vox’s right was Valentino, who donned a captivating look for the gala. His tailored white suit boasted a jacket that reached just above the knee, a subtle departure from his usual floor-length coat. The crimson silk lining peeked through, adding a luxurious touch to the outfit. The coat, reminiscent of his extravagant style, also had a vivid-red hue with his signature white fur trim at the wrists. The black and white striped fur trim along the center-front added a distinctive flair. A gold chain and love-heart-shaped broach fastenings adorned the coat, creating an opulent yet alluring look. Finally, he wore polished black heeled boots, maintaining the sleek and captivating allure that defined Valentino’s presence. The familiar color scheme remained intact, blending sophistication with a hint of provocative charm for the grand gala.

On Vox’s left was Velvet, who had spent months perfecting her outfit for the gala, in hopes she’d be invited of course. She had begged the boys to keep a good public appearance, in hopes they’d be recognized and invited to the crimson gala. Velvette, deciding to ditch her usual style, embraced a lavish and over-the-top look that represented her brand. Dressed in a knee-length dress, the garment had a striking blend of black and red hues. The dress, fitted at the waist, flowed into a voluminous skirt, creating a sense of extravagance. The bodice of the dress featured intricate lace detailing. A white collar adorned with a velvet bow added a playful yet mature flair. The sleeves, a fusion of burgundy and white patterns, contributed to the overall lavish aesthetic she had been going for. Her accessories took on a more refined form. Velvet gloves, adorned with delicate lace, graced her hands, and a pearl necklace adorned her neck, adding a classic touch, completed with maroon heels, each step resonating with a sense of grandeur. Velvet’s transformation into this upscale attire reflected her desire to make a statement at the Crimson Gala.

In the middle, and the brains of the three vee’s, was none other than the head of Vox Tech, Vox himself. He wore a sleek and modern dark blue tuxedo, tailored with precision. Of course he could only have the best. The suit featured subtle futuristic patterns that enhanced his ‘perfect’ sense of style. To complement his high-tech vibe, Vox wore a light blue undershirt with an upside-down broadcast symbol. Vox's gala attire seamlessly blended power and control with his technological edge, creating a memorable look in shades of dark blue, which in his opinion, was the best color.

Upon seeing Alastor, Vox’s eye twitched noticeably. The gates shut behind the three vee’s, closing off the gala to the public. The overlords begin to get closer together unknowingly, Zestial finding a comfortable corner to watch things play out. Carmilla and Zeezie stand close together, whispering to one another as both Rosie and Alastor stand from the bench. Vox, Valentino and Velvet make their way to the Radio Demon and his colleagues.

“I see the grandpa’s were invited.” Velvet says with a scoff, scrolling through her phone.

“So disrespectful.” Carmilla says under her breath, looking away from the three vee’s.

“Hm, interesting, and I was beginning to think the only interesting thing tonight would be the dinner.” Bethesda said, her brother nodding.

“Well, it seems the children brought their play date to the public then.” Zeezie says. The other overlords laugh and Valentino sneers at her.

“Well an idiota like you would think so. Then again, don’t you all do the same with your diapers?” He asked, puffing the smoke into her face. She growls at him, fists clenching at her side, but Carmilla stops her.

“Didn’t they say this was an adult only gala?” Carmilla asked, Rosie chuckling at her words.

“Oh can it grandma.” Velvete said. But Vox remained silent, having his own personal staring match with Alastor, whose smile was stretched ear to ear, teeth on full display.

“I thought this gala was meant for real talent?” Vox asked, stepping closer to Alastor.

“Well it was until you showed up.” Alastor said with a smile. “There’s no originality in copying someone else.” He tuts. Vox narrows his eyes, face twisting with anger as he steps closer to Alastor again.

“You wanna tell me something, you old piece of-“ Vox is stopped, the lights to the exterior of the mansion dimming. The lights behind the large front doors opening slowly. Two tall black shadowy figures stepped from the door, smoke at their feet.

“Thank you all for your attendance. As we know, the annual Crimson Gala is held every year, and this year is no different. With the new extermination date, important decisions must be made. Tonight, ten individuals will be selected to sit at Madame’s table where she will discuss private plans on how to move forward.” The two said in unison. Everyone fell silent as more shadows appeared, each one sitting on the sides of the steps. Lights around the staircases began to light up, and people began making their way up the stairs.

“Well~ this should be fun.”

[sundrop-writes]

Need

Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary:

Daryl comes back from a run acting strangely needy, and you find out that Zach made him jealous. (You may have to thank Zach later.)

Or - Daryl fucks your brains out to prove to himself that you're his.

Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut/PWP. Set during early Season 4/The Prison Era.

Word Count: 3,000

The Walking Dead Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is mainly a smut fic - the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; the reader and Daryl have a sexual relationship that skews slightly romantic; the reader's age is not at all specified; Daryl being very needy (hence the title); Daryl is more dominant the reader is more submissive, but there is no laid out rigid roles; Daryl is jealous and trying to 'claim' the reader after someone else makes sexual comments about her (when she is not around to hear those comments); mentions of Daryl drinking alcohol and smoking (does not take place during the fic, just a background element); some manhandling - from Daryl towards the reader (nothing unrealistic or beyond Daryl's known strength); oral sex - reader receiving (Daryl certified pussy eater); references to hunting/killing animals for food (come on, this is a Daryl fic); Daryl is slightly mean in this (he tells the reader to shut up) - but he's not vengeful or mean on purpose, he's just in a mood; spit kink - Daryl spits on the reader's pussy; pussy spanking (this was such a last minute addition and I am so glad I did); Daryl calls the reader 'woman'; overstimulation - towards reader; mention of the reader crying/having tears in her eyes (due to overstimulation); Daryl being very possessive due to his jealousy; hair-pulling - Daryl receiving; very slight anal play (Daryl tongues the reader's asshole - juust a bit); penis in vagina sex; unprotected sex - they don't use a condom and there are no mentions of other forms of birth control (don't be like them); there is no mention of Daryl cumming inside the reader, though because the fic ends before we get to his orgasm (sorry, Daryl); slight cockwarming; the sex gets rough toward the end; I believe that's it for this fic?

A/N: No, this was not the winner of the poll. But right now I am in a mindset for TWD fics because I have been watching the show and I think it's a good opportunity to get this one out of my drafts - especially because it's shorter and easier to edit. If it's not your thing, feel free to ignore it. Also, I am not doing a taglist for this one because a lot of people on the taglist last time did not follow my taglist rules (basically, they were tagged and they didn't show up to read the fic, so it feels like a 'why bother' type of situation). So I'm gonna clean out the taglist and after such a short time, I am considering quitting taglists altogether. Anyway, if you do read it, I hope you enjoy the fic.

...

Need. 

That was the only word you could use to describe Daryl in those moments as he threw you down onto the cot and ripped your pants off with record speed. The air was absolutely ripe with need, the likes of which you had never felt or seen from Daryl before. Especially not in this magnitude. 

Daryl Dixon was someone who rarely came off as needy. 

Since the two of you had started this relationship (it was strange to call it a ‘relationship’ when there was so little conventional romance to it, and so few words) - Daryl was never someone you would have described as ‘needy’. He was always the definition of calm. He was level-headed, quiet, reserved - even more so in the face of your intense needs. The more you became a puddle of melded need, when you boiled over into pure want, especially in his presence, the more he turned into a stone wall of uncrackable cold hardness that you wanted so desperately to see crack. 

It was a game the two of you had been playing since day one. And he hadn’t lost yet, not once. 

Of course, the sex was amazing - even if he never let that facade down. He made sure that your overwhelming, unhidden need always came first. He made sure that you had cum first - usually more than once - before he even considered sticking his cock inside of you or letting you drop to your knees in order to serve him. He was never selfish - a man that lived to serve, in fact. 

That was why it surprised you when he came back from a run that day and grabbed you by your arm, practically dragging you out to the admin block. It was a place that you and Daryl had set up a little nest for personal privacy in the old warden’s office. Daryl had chosen the location both for its privacy, and for the wonderful irony. 

He found it downright hilarious that he was someone who had been reprimanded by cops before the total collapse of society and had been nearly arrested half a dozen times (he liked to put the emphasis on nearly, because he was a fast runner and often disappeared into the woods where they didn’t care to chase him, in contrast to someone like Merle, who was a known drug dealer was of far more interest to them - and much slower). Daryl was someone who could have easily ended up in prison, and now he could sit behind a warden’s desk and smoke a stash of fancy cigars that he had found hidden, and he had polished off the fancy whiskey in between fucking you. 

And he took an even greater enjoyment in fucking you pinned against the warden’s desk - but for practical purposes, he had lugged a cot into the office and set up a more comfortable space for the two of you there. The two of you even slept there sometimes because he still refused to sleep ‘in a cage’ - as he put it. Everyone else in the prison liked to fake that they didn’t know where the two of you went, but really - they were just glad that your love nest was far enough away from everyone else that they didn’t have to be subjected to the sounds you and Daryl made. 

And you were glad that you didn’t have to pretend to go hunting in order to escape to the woods for some privacy. Especially because, even as capable as Daryl was, the threat of Walkers looming over your head while he fucked you did make it a bit difficult to get fully lost in the sensations. 

But all of that was far at the back of your mind while he shucked off his crossbow and tossed it aside carelessly (usually he was someone who was careful to put away his weapon, not wanting to damage it so that he wouldn’t have to waste precious time on repairs) - but today, there was something simply rabid about him. Something itching and impatient. 

You couldn’t deny that it turned you on, but you had to question what had caused the shift in him. Especially when all of your little games - your teasing, your flirting, your dirty words - hadn’t been able to crack him for months. 

“Daryl, what’s gotten into-?” 

You couldn’t even finish posing the question before he began ripping on the waistband of your pants once again. That tense irritability became potent in the air once again when the fabric got caught up in your boots, Daryl letting out a deep grunt and glaring at the obstacle. 

You reached for the laces in order to get everything off, thinking this was what he wanted, but he simply put two large, commanding, calloused hands on the backs of your thighs and shoved down - hard. He pinned you down to the cot with a tough force, something that made the metal of the supposedly temporary furniture squeal with a worrying sound. You almost didn’t hear it over the pitiful, whorish gasp that escaped your lips. 

He was never like this. He was never so desperate. 

You loved it. Your body was flooded by heat, equally as desperate within seconds. 

“Daryl!” You cried out, half confused, half hot red and turned on. 

Your cunt ached fiercely and clenched around nothing and Daryl locked eyes with that pulsing gash, letting out a pleased hum. There was barely a blink before he dove between his own hands, digging in his fingers in tightly where they held onto your quivering muscles and immediately he licked a long, hard stripe up the center of your pussy. 

Hungry. 

That was a word you would have used to describe Daryl many times before.

He was messy and shameless when he ate meals. You had seen him dig into game bloody and raw when he had taken you out hunting, when he was starving and impatient and truly treasured a fresh kill. 

Currently, that’s exactly what you felt like - a fresh kill, recently captured by him, a true prey animal under his grasp being absolutely devoured while you could do nothing more but lay there and take it. 

It felt utterly amazing. 

It felt like where you belonged. 

The room soon became filled with sounds - loud, adamant slurping as his tongue furiously worked over your cunt, creating the same kind of shameless slobber that he did when he was thoroughly enjoying a meal. Your gasps and moans shuddering through your lungs as the sensations rocked your body, the pitiful squeaking protests of the cot as Daryl leaned against you more, putting more weight on those rusting springs. 

He began moaning against your heated flesh while he continued to hold you down by your trembling thighs, and while your ears rang with blood and your face bloomed with heat, you soon realized that the distant, repeated keening sound you could hear - almost like a dying cat - was you. 

You were having difficulty catching your breath and you quickly became dizzy from the hot, heavy pleasure vibrating up your body from his tongue. Made even better by the feeling of his coarse beard rubbing against your sensitive pussy lips, and the deep vibrations of his moans against you. 

All you could do was tightly clutch onto the blanket you had used to make up the cot and buck your face against him, hoping for him to shove his tongue deep inside of you or put some more persistent attention on your needy, throbbing clit, rather than simply grazing against the sensitive organ with each pass, making you more and more needy - 

Daryl groaned into your cunt and then, much to your frustration, he pulled away completely. 

“Stop squirmin’.” He grunted at you, his voice a whole new shade of dark and lustful thick that you had never heard from him - one that made your whole body quiver. 

You let out a pathetic moan, more wetness gushing out of you. 

“Daryl, please-” 

“Shut up.” 

Somehow, him barking this rudely at you made you even wetter. 

You squeaked out another pathetic little sound, expecting that he would get back to devouring you like you were his last meal, seemingly for his own pleasure - but then, he managed to surprise you yet again. 

He used his hold on your thighs to spread your legs (as much as he could with your pants still tangling your ankles together). And then he pursed his lips and heaved a thick, heavy glob of spit onto you - aiming perfectly and causing it to land right on your sensitive, swollen clit. 

Just like his perfect mouth, it was hot and slick, and simply seeing the shiny bead come from his lips to land on you caused you to scream and buck against him like a cow being branded. Which is exactly what he had intended - for you to be branded by him, marked as his, fully owned by him. 

Hot tears of pleasure escaped your eyes and he locked right onto your gaze - even through the choppy dark curtain of his too-long bangs, his steel blue eyes pierced into your soul and the burning lust you saw there punched you in the gut. When he took one of his hands off your thigh, you didn’t have a moment to think about what he was going to do before he brought the heavy pads of his tough, well-worked fingers down onto your already sore clit and spanked you. 

Once, twice, three times - something he had done to you before, knowing exactly how hard to hit you without making it painful, just enough to jolt shocking pleasure through your body and make you sob. 

“Listen, woman.” 

He ground his voice again, lowly, making you shiver when he leaned in and gripped your face with that now wet hand, forcing you to face forward and pay attention to him. You stared at him through tear-misty eyes, absolutely enraptured and lustful, wanting nothing more than him. 

“This is mine.” He growled these words with quiet power, driving his point home with another smack to your cunt that had you crying out and seizing against the touch. 

“Yours.” You chirped back, eager to affirm it, your brain filled with nothing but him. “Yours, all yours. Daryl-” 

Before you could babble out any more affirmations, he took an even tighter, possessive, bruising death grip on you once again. One hand on your hip and the other on your thigh - trying to keep you right where he wanted you as he dove back in, just as hungry. This time he gave into exactly what you wanted, seemingly because your words had been what he wanted. He knew you all too well even without words, and he latched his mouth around your mound with intent, laving his tongue furiously across your clit without relenting. 

You weren’t sure which was worse - the teasing, or him tongue-fucking your clit like he was trying to drive you insane. 

Your hand flew to his hair with the intention of shoving him off as white hot sparks of overstimulated pleasure-pain flew up through your gut, but your muscles curled instinctively and you wove a tight grip into his locks without thinking. Unintentionally drawing him closer and locking him in place as you gurgled out cries of wounded pleasure and he continued to moan against you, almost making your poor clit numb. 

But of course, being as perfect at this as he was with everything else, he drew an orgasm out of you just as he wanted to. 

“Daryl! Fuck! I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I’m - ah!” 

He moaned against you in pure pleasure as it happened, and then he retreated down your pulsing hole to lick up every single bit of your wetness as it freshly flowed out of you. He continued to moan, slurping and flexing his tongue so he wouldn’t miss a drop, eating you like the finest delicacy he had ever experienced. His tongue even strayed down your perineum, dipping into your other hole a bit, clearly unafraid and never shy, not wanting to miss a single bit of your taste. 

You were left panting, desperate to catch your breath, and with your brain still completely out of commission, he stood up, his mind already on an entirely new track. You couldn’t contain your whine of disappointment when all of his warmth was suddenly gone, even his hands losing contact with your thrumming skin. 

“Daryl-?” 

You didn’t have long to question it before you heard the sound of a zipper. 

Not even knowing when you had closed your eyes, you whipped them open to see him shoving his pants down to mid-thigh and pumping his cock in hand a few stray times before he stepped toward you. You weren’t the biggest fan of the ‘bent in half like a pretzel’ position, as your back was starting to ache slightly, but he took the look of pure hunger in your eyes was all the consent he needed (especially with the way your gaze was focused on his cock, the slight glisten of precum beading at the tip). 

He was secure in knowing that you would stop him or tell him no if you needed to. 

And there were absolutely no thoughts of stopping on your mind when he put a hand back on your hip and used the other hand to guide his cock into you, sinking deep inside of your slicked, hot cunt in one smooth movement. 

Fuck - he always filled you up so fucking good. 

“Dar-” 

“All fuckin’ day.” Daryl growled out, tight through his teeth, taking only a single moment before he began to pump his hips forward, fucking into you. 

He wasn’t quite as furious as before, his pace slower now. Seemingly, he had gotten some of that pure need out of his system by eating your pussy. He began to thrust in and out of you at a leisurely pace, making you feel comfortably, pleasantly full. 

“All fuckin’ day, I had to listen to Zach’s goddamn yappin’.” 

Your brain was slowly coming back into function. 

He had gone on the run with Zach and Sasha. 

You thought Daryl liked Zach? 

Surprisingly, Daryl then reached for your shoes and began undoing the laces - perhaps now finally interested in getting your pants and shoes out of the way. You just laid back and let him do whatever he pleased, your cunt flashing with a warm, pleasant feeling - simply enjoying that it was Daryl fucking you. 

“Had to listen to that little smart-mouthed fuckin’ asshole-” 

Daryl let out another grunt, smacking his hips into yours particularly hard, causing you to let out a gasp. He took off one of your shoes and dropped it to the ground. 

“Had to listen to him go on and on about you.” 

What? 

Then went the other shoe. 

Your jeans followed soon after, easily untangled from your legs by Daryl’s deft fingers, making your legs free up to spread widely, inviting him in further - he laid himself down against your body, and you found your muscles much less stiff with your knees bracketing around his waist. There was another moment of comfortable fullness - stillness, as he laid there, nosing at your neck, seemingly enjoying your scent with deep breaths. 

You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp in a way you knew he liked, boiling over with curiosity until the question leapt out of you. 

“What happened with Zach?” You had to ask, still slightly fuck-dumb and confused. 

You didn’t know it, but hearing the name come off your lips was enough to trigger another intense wave of that feeling in Daryl. The jealousy, the neediness, the urge to claim you. 

Daryl let out another harsh growl - a sound coming from him that made your pussy leak around him and clench down hard on his cock. He grabbed both your hands and entwined your fingers with his - a fierce, demanding grip rather than a romantic one. He kept you pinned in place, right where he wanted you, and he began fucking his hips into you at a fast, hard pace that was enough to push a scream right from your lungs. 

“He - would-n’t - shut - the - fuck - up.” Daryl grunted in your ear, emphasizing each sharp syllable with a deep, harsh pounding of his hips into your pussy. “About you.” He whispered those words lowly, dangerously into your ear. 

“Daryl-” You gasped, your whole body dizzy and vibrating with that electricity once again. 

“About your ass-” 

He reached down and grabbed your ass - harsh, digging his fingers into the flesh with a possessive touch that made you cry out. He hammered his hips forward and used that touch to drag you toward his cock, fucking you onto him like a fleshlight for a few moments before he continued speaking. 

“About your tits-” 

He reached up and groped your breasts aggressively through your shirt, popping one of the tiny decorative buttons. A wreckage that would only serve to show off more cleavage in the end. Your nipples instantly became stiff under his touch and you arched into his hands - only for the rough, wonderful feeling to be gone too soon. 

“Daryl,” 

“He wouldn’t stop talkin’ bout what you might look like when you cum.” He growled out. “When he ain’t never gonna get to know.” 

It was thrilling, him being so possessive of you now. But you knew that it was so Daryl. Him being angry at Zach for speaking about you in a vulgar way, but holding his tongue - not speaking up then because he wanted to keep your relationship private, didn’t want to claim you in front of someone publicly. 

Or he simply kept his mouth shut because he didn’t want to lose his temper when they had a job to do. 

“He wouldn’t stop-” 

“Please, I’m yours.” You moaned out, grinding your hips into him desperately, needy for his full and focused attention. 

As much as you enjoyed the jealousy streak that had started this heated encountered, you needed Daryl to focus on you now - not on the words of some petty boy who had either been trying to rile Daryl up or didn’t even know the two of you were together because of the lack of PDA in your relationship. 

“Daryl, please. I’m yours.” 

“Tha’s right,” Daryl growled out, his voice dangerously low. “You’re mine.” 

He leaned tightly over you once again, and when his hips picked up speed - you were done for.

...

A/N: Please keep in mind, this is a oneshot, and there will not be a continuation or a 'Part 2'. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that has already been written. If you like this and you want to see more of my fics in my style, you can check out my most recent fic Heaven's Gate, which is also a Daryl Dixon x Reader fic, or you can check out my other TWD works on AO3.

[alisonwritesimagines]

If Bruce and Batmom Divorced ~Bruce Wayne Imagine~

Summary: The final straw was Bruce officially cheating on you.

Author’s Note: I saw a TikTok about a comic of Catwoman having Bruce’s daughter and I thought of the angst between Batmom and Bruce.

This is not canon to the Batmom Universe

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: Mentions of divorce, angst, cheating

Do not repost this anywhere!

You were a smart person after living with Bruce Wayne who is also Batman. You learned his tricks and gadgets while being his wife. So when you left without word the day after finding out Selina was pregnant with Bruce’s child, everyone grew into a panic.

“It’s like she just disappeared,” Tim said in disbelief.

“Now I know how she felt when I left the mansion,” Dick says.

“Where could she have gone?” Jason asked.

“Alfred, are you sure she didn’t say anything to you before she left?” Cassandra asked him with a sad and desperate look.

“If you think, she would disappear without telling me, you’re wrong. I do know where she is however, she asked me not to say anything. She only gave it to me for emergencies.”

“Then tell us, Alfred! We won’t tell Bruce,” Stephanie begged.

“I’m afraid I cannot do such thing. Not until she calls me and tells me that she is ready.”

Selina had showed up to your doorstep one afternoon and told you the news of her being pregnant with Bruce's child. You spend the first hour in shock before gathering your stuff that you had packed and left without saying goodbye.

It broke everyone when you left. Even Bruce.

Bruce would rather kill Joker and all the villains if it meant keeping you with him. He would murder every single person with bad in them if it meant he could have you with him. But what he did that finally broke you would never change your mind.

Then came the day when you finally showed up. But with a surprise.

"Mom?" Dick asked in shock.

"Hi honey," you smiled softly. Dick engulfed you into a quick hug before looking at you.

"Are you okay? How are you?" Dick asked.

"I'm okay. I'm doing well," you tell him. "Is Bruce home?"

"Yeah. He's home."

"I need to talk to him," you tell him.

"Yeah. Okay."

You followed Dick inside the manor and found Bruce sitting at the dining room table with Alfred and Damien.

"Ummi!" Damien said the moment he saw you.

He rushed over and hugged you tightly before realizing your condition.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's okay sweetie."

"It's good to see you Ms. Y/n," Alfred said, giving you a hug as well.

"I need to talk to Bruce really quickly. Alone," you tell everyone.

Everyone rushed out of the room so you two could be alone.

"Y/n-"

"I don't want to hear you talk Bruce. I am here to have you sign these," you say as you took out the divorce papers from your purse; "And I am here to let the kids know that I am okay."

"Y/n, can we talk about this? Is the baby mine?" Bruce asked referring to your pregnant bump.

"It's yours. But I don't need you for them. I am going to raise this child alone and we do not need you. You are having a child with Selina so if you want to be a father, go be that child's father because you have no right to be in my life anymore," you tell him.

"I put up with so much with you. And I am done. I am exhausted and being away from you for the past four months made me feel so free and relaxed. I have a good home now and it's in a good city and good neighborhood. I just want you to sign these papers, and let me go."

"I don't want to let you go. I don't want to lose you," Bruce said, looking up at you with tears in his eyes.

"Bruce. You lost me when you went to Selina after you told me you wouldn't go back to her," you tell him, tearing up as well.

"At least let me give you alimony so you don't have to work anymore. If I am going to lose you, at least let me do something good for you one last time," Bruce begged.

"Fine. But I don't want contact with you. I'll talk to the kids gladly and they are more than welcome to visit me or live with me but I am done with you Bruce. Until our child asks about you and wants to see you, then I will tell them about you and that they can visit you with the other kids as supervision. But for now, I don't want anything to do with you," you tell him.

"Y/n-"

"You can mail the paperwork to my lawyer," you tell Bruce before walking out. You found Damien and Dick standing by the door after you opened it. You gave them a hug and a kiss on the cheek before walking out. You looked over at Alfred and gave him a small nod.

Alfred walked over to the two boys and handed Dick a piece of paper.

"If you kids want to visit her," Alfred tells them before walking off.

Damien rushed out after you. He wrapped his arms around you, stopping your tracks.

“Don’t leave me Ummi. Please.”

“I’m sorry Damien. Alfred gave my address to you kids so if you want to visit me, you can. But I need to go right now,” you tell your son. Damien nodded before letting you go. You kissed his head once more before getting into your car and driving off.

----

Bruce never interacted with you again after that day. He knew where you lived due to following the kids over to visit you. But he never went down to talk to you. He knew that you were stubborn and that you were holding your ground on not wanting to see him again. He just wished that he could take everything back to have you back in his arms.

The years went on and the kids began to grow up and move out of the house. That was until he got a knock on the door one day.

A girl who looked too much like you stood in front of him as she stared up at him. She couldn’t be older than ten.

"Are you Bruce Wayne?" She asked him.

"Yes I am."

"Hi! I'm Ella. I'm your daughter," she introduced.

"Ella," Bruce sighed in awe. He kneeled down to her height so he can look at her better. "Where's your mother?"

"She doesn't know I'm here. Which reminds me. I need to call her to tell her that I'm okay and that I'm sorry for running away to find you," Ella tells him.

"She will definitely have a heart attack. Come on," Bruce said, holding her hand.

He watched as Ella talked on the phone with you before she looked up at him.

"Mama wants to talk to you," she said, handing the phone over to him.

"Hi, Y/n."

"Is she okay? Is my baby okay?" You asked.

"She's okay. I got her."

"I don't know how on Earth she managed to get to you! I know I said I never wanted to see you again but please bring her back home. We can talk about her seeing you every weekend or something," you tell Bruce.

"Of course."

"I know you know where I live. Just come over with her please. Now," you say.

"I will."

Bruce took Ella back home where you waited for them.

"You young lady are grounded!" You sternly tell your daughter.

"But mom-"

"No buts. Go to your room!" You ordered her. Ella hugged her father before running to her room.

"Y/n-"

"Thank you for bringing her home safely. I can drop her off every weekend if you're not busy for her to see you," you tell Bruce.

"If you think that's best for her."

"She’s been asking to meet you,” you tell him. Bruce stayed silent for a moment.

“How are you?”

“Fine. How are you and Selina? Have you two been raising your child together nicely?” You asked him.

“We aren’t together. She put the child up for adoption,” Bruce explains.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“And I’m sorry for everything. Are you happy?” Bruce asked you.

“I’ve been better.”

“You know, I never stopped thinking about you.”

You stared at him for a moment.

“I’ll drop her off next weekend after she’s grounded. You can have her for the weekend as well as Father’s Day. I’ll have my lawyer draft up a new custody agreement,” you tell Bruce.

“You could always come with her,” Bruce said.

“No. Like I said years ago Bruce. I’m done with you. I can forgive you. But you also proved to me that you will never love me as much as I loved you,” you tell him.

“I’m sorry Y/n. For everything,” Bruce said before walking out of your home.

[sincerelyneo]

teeth | l.hc

“fight so dirty but your love’s so sweet”

💿now playing: teeth by 5 seconds of summer

❯ summary: Traditionally the caption of the cheer team and the captain of the soccer team are friends - some even date. But you and Donghyuck definitely aren’t friends - if anything you’re enemies. The two of you can’t go five minutes without an argument. So, why are you letting him fuck you in the locker room?

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

❯ genre: college!au, enemies with benefits, smut

❯ words: 2.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, bickering, swearing, unprotected sex (don't do this!), hate sex, degrading names, general name-calling, manhandling, haechan is an asshole, but reader is also lowkey mean, choking, use of nickname 'princess', reader uses she/her pronouns, hardly any plot, it's literally just them hate fucking idk what to tell ya.

cheeky author's note: i'm very brtish, so referring to this as soccer literally made me want to rip my hair out 😀

“You don’t have to be so rough you know, Hyuck!”

"Will you just shut up and let me fuck you!?" He snaps.

The red metal of Lee Donghyuck's locker is cold against the skin of your bare back. Honestly, you don’t even know how it happened. But somehow the captain of the soccer team (and the boy you swear you hate) has you pinned against the boy’s lockers, one leg wrapped around his waist and the top half of your cheer uniform hiked up just enough to give him a full display of your tits. His left-hand grips your hip so tightly that you’re certain he’s doing it on purpose just to piss you off.

Not only that, but he also has your skirt bunched up around your waist. Giving him just the right amount of easy access to pull your panties to the side and tease his cock between your folds.

"Will you just hurry up and stick it in!?" You try to yell at him but, from the way he’s teasing the head of his cock at your entrance, the attempt comes out like a feeble whine.

Exactly on command, the scowl on your face quickly morphs into a wince, and the annoyed quirk on your lips disappears to form a small 'o' as Hyuck’s grip on your hip hardens and he pushes his cock quickly into your cunt. You can’t complain though - you did just tell him to stick it in.

"Shit," you squirm, hand coming up to his chest, pressing hard against the badge of his soccer uniform that rests on his right peck.

"Now look who’s needy," He teases. "I vividly remember you saying I’d be the shittest fuck on the soccer team."

"That’s what this is about!? You’re still mad that– uhh," you’re cut off by your own moan and your nails sink into the fabric of his shirt when he starts to move his hips. His pace is surprisingly slow - deliberately teasing - in comparison to his rapid first thrust inside of you.

"Christ! Even when you fuck you talk too much," Hyuck curses, his hand wrapping around your arm to free himself from the grip you have on his shirt.

"You're one to talk," You hiss back. "Even when you fuck you’re still an annoying little asshol– "

You gasp as he pulls out of you completely and then thrusts into you once again.

"You could've at least warned me, you dick,” You exhale, your walls readjusting to his size for the second time - and what a big size he was.

“Yeah, yeah, spare me the lecture princess.”

You can’t believe that even when he’s buried to the hilt inside of your pussy he’s still calling you that stupid fucking nickname. It’s not the word ‘princess’ itself that bothers you per se; it’s Lee Donghyuck’s intention behind the name that makes your blood blister with anger. He’s been calling you ‘princess’ since your freshman year in college but you’d only ever inquired about it recently.

You were at a party, and even though you hate the bones of Lee Donghyuck, you’d be lying if you said your social circles didn’t overlap. It was inevitable, he’s on the soccer team, you’re a cheerleader; honestly, the two of you should be friends. But you’re not. And because of your strained relationship, it was no surprise that the minute you walked through the door he’d picked a fight with you.

You can't even remember what the argument was about now, but you know the two of you had gone back and forth in a boxing match of insults that always ended with him throwing the word ‘princess’ at the end of his rebuttals. And you really couldn’t quite understand why. In your mind, being called a princess was a compliment, but to Donghyuck, princesses were “spoilt bitches who have no grip on reality.”

Safe to say you didn’t think the term was one of endearment after that.

And it was at that same party where you’d insisted Donghyuck would be the shittest fuck on the soccer team – something you’re currently finding out as being not true as he fucks you senseless six ways to Sunday. In all honesty, even when Yuta had asked you the question in a silly little game of truth or dare, you knew Hyuck was the cop-out answer. Truthfully, your real answer would have been Jisung or Chenle. They’re both a little younger and act more awkward with you. But still, you’d let hell freeze over before letting Lee Donghyuck think he was a better fuck than somebody else. However, you’re pretty sure you’ve broken that promise to yourself from the way you’re breathlessly panting and gasping from the vigorous drilling of his cock. That or hell genuinely has frozen over.

But still, what did he expect? The two of you couldn’t go half a second without a petty argument. Sometimes you find yourself just doing it because you were bored and he was there. After all, it’s just the norm between the two of you.

That’s why you can’t quite understand why he’s taking a stupid comment said in a passing game of truth or dare to heart. You’ve said worse to him, you're sure of it.

Hyuck pulls out of your pussy and the emptiness that lingers between your legs has you groaning – even if it’s just for a second. He doesn’t give you long to harp on the loss of friction because he wastes no time dropping your leg from his hip, gripping your waist and slamming the front of your body against his locker.

You want to make another snarky comment about his roughness, but you secretly love it. Well, it’s not so secret actually — Hyuck is well aware that you like his manhandling because he feels your wetness becoming more slick on his cock as he thrusts into you from behind.

His pace in the new position is still tortuous, slow and teasing, and so fucking annoyingly good. But you don’t know how much longer you can take the tormenting leisurely pace. You want more - you need more. If he didn't have your arms pinned behind you and you flush against the lockers, you’d claw at his back to make him go faster.

You feel a warmth on the nape of your neck as he nuzzles against your ear, placing a kiss so gently, that you’re shocked at the sudden contrast in his demeanour.

“This the shittest fuck you’ve had, huh?”

No.

“Yes,” you reply and he growls deeply. There’s a rough snap of his hips and it catches you off guard so much you have to bite down on your lip to suppress a whimper.

“Fucking liar,” he scoffs.

The insult makes your face screw up in a glare, but still, all you can manage is a breathy, “Am not.”

No matter how good the length of his cock is making you feel, you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting he was right – that he’s not the worst fuck on the soccer team. Not that you had much experience with the others.

But even though you refuse to use your words to tell him you’re loving it, your body betrays you by being so fucking responsive to his touches. And no matter how hard you fight against him, Hyuck never lets you gain an inch. In fact, every time you try to free your arms from his, he lets out a frustrated groan, and the sound only makes your pussy throb harder.

His hand slips up your body until it finds your throat, where his fingers dig into either side of your neck. He stops his thrusts.

“Well if you’re not lying, are you saying I’m a shitty fuck princess?” He asks innocently as if he’s about to be gentle with you, but you know better. After all, this is Donghyuck. “If you want to pretend like you don’t want this; if that helps you sleep at night, then fine, but your slutty cunt is so fucking wet, I can almost feel you soaking my balls.”

He ducks down to place a kiss on your jaw, and you feel his lips smile into it as you shudder from his words. Instinctively, you swing your head away from him, only to be yanked back by the hand around your throat. He chuckles against your skin, hips starting to move again, thrusting shallowly into your stretched cunt.

“If I’m such a shitty fuck, I supposed you want me to stop, huh?” He asks in a low voice, lips grazing your cheek.

Noises you’ve never heard yourself make before tumble from your mouth as you moan and sob shamelessly. You try to bite your tongue, try not to fuel his ego, but his rhythm is too good at tearing down your guard, which is why you find yourself crying out, “Please don’t stop!”

He laughs, fucking you harder and faster, the stings of pain from his cock hitting you so deep morphing into a hot ache of pleasure that coils tighter and tighter in your core.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he growls.

His fingers, still on your throat press into your skin, not hard enough to cut off your air supply but just enough pressure to force out strangled moans. Your shoulders rub against the coarse material of his soccer kit, grounding you against him as he fucks you in punishing thrusts.

You don’t want to admit it, but your body can’t resist it.

“Fuck, gonna cum,” you mumble, eyes squeezed tight together.

“Yeah? You gonna cum for me like a good little slut?” he murmurs into your temples

The low rumble of his voice has the tension in your core ratcheting higher, pushing you closer to your release. Your head feels like it’s floating as the tight spring in your stomach coils until it finally snaps and has your knees buckling beneath you.

Hyuck keeps his speed steady, fucking you through your climax and savouring the way your walls clench around him in rigid spasms. Your orgasm triggers his and he clenches his jaw.

“Fuck, I'm gonna cum,” he ruts into you harder, and all you can do is moan for him.

“Please,” you whimper.

He chuckles at your submission - he’s never seen you like this before - so needy and desperate. He didn’t think it was possible to love anything about you; but this right here, you fucked out and pleading for his cum, yeah, he fucking loves it.

He ruts into you a last few times with thrusts that are wild and more frenzied, his thighs slapping against your ass. He contemplates cumming inside of you, but he figures he’d save that for another day since the two of you had forgotten about a condom and hadn’t really discussed it.

And…did he just think about having sex with you again?

With a loud groan that rattles against the metal in the empty locker room, Hyuck pulls out of your cunt and jerks his cock until he’s cumming onto the small of your back. Unable to stop yourself, you moan softly and a stupid smile spreads across your face when you hear him sigh.

After that it's silent, only your rapid breaths echoing in the room. He’s pressed against you, face buried in your neck, holding you and your weak legs in place. You stay like that for a beat, but then you remember who it is that’s just fucked you.

Without any more hesitation, you shake his grip and push him away from you. "Christ! Stop breathing down my neck. Fucking gross."

If it wasn’t for the fact that he’s your arch nemesis you would have stayed tangled up in him a little while longer, letting yourself get soaked up in the fact that that was the best sex you’ve ever had.

As you turn around to face him, he looks at you with the softest expression you’ve ever seen on his face.

“There’s a towel in my bag if you want to…”

You scoff, “How chivalrous of you.”

You pull the towel from the bag in his locker and start wiping at his cum on your back. Your body is turned away from him but you can still feel his eyes lingering on you as you wipe away.

You stop to look at him, “What are you still doing here? We have a game in like 10 minutes. Shouldn’t you be like…warming up or something?”

“I think I’m already warmed up,” he mumbles and you shake your head with a smile, going back to cleaning yourself off.

“Seriously, get on the pitch,” you demand when you see him still lingering.

There’s a hand in his hair, scratching his head and he looks a little flushed. You never see him like this, it’s weird. The Hyuck you know and loathe is cocky, smug, arrogant, all of those kinds of words; but the one in front of you looks so awkward, flushed. Is it weird you kinda like it?

“Are you waiting for me to tell you you aren’t a bad fuck or something? Seriously Hyuck, get lost,” you try and joke, pulling down your cheer uniform.

“No..I…” he stumbles.

You groan, “Oh no, don’t do this. Don’t make things weird.”

“I’m not—”

“Can’t you just be like a normal guy and…I don’t know, say it felt good to fuck me like you hate me or some shit?”

His eyes sweep over your face as if he were studying you. His face softens and he steps closer.

“I mean I could say that, because it felt fucking amazing actually,” he says and you swallow thickly. “But you’re wrong about one thing.”

You pause, freezing as he comes towards you. You don’t even register how close he is until you feel his breath on your lips and his chest against yours.

“What?”

“I don’t actually hate you that much,” he admits, and your eyes widen.

“Yeah right, funny joke,” you roll your eyes and laugh sarcastically but he’s not laughing with you. In fact he’s just looking at you, deadpan, and it’s starting to freak you out.

When you realise that he is in fact serious, you cross your hands across your chest.

“You’re not gonna start doing all that cheesy shit they do in the movies, where you profess your undying love for me, and tell me you never really hated me and it was all just a miscommunication, are you?”

“Fuck no!” He almost gags at the mention of it. “Just because I said I don’t hate you that much doesn’t mean I like you? Are you crazy?”

“Well I’m just making sure,” you poke his chest.

He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, “But I do wanna do this again…” he trails off so quietly that you wouldn’t have heard it if there was anybody else in the room with you.

“This?”

“Yes, this. Us. Fucking,” he explains. “I fucking hate you, but fuck, I think I love your pussy.”

[genderqueerdykes]

here's a tip for folks who want to come out to their parents, friends, or another authority figure but are afraid they'll get talked out of it:

when approaching them about it, your phrasing should be "[recipient], I'm going to start estrogen," instead of "[recipient], i think i want to start estrogen." Replace estrogen with whatever your personal need is, testosterone, wearing different clothing, going by different pronouns, different names, different identities, whatever else you need to change.

phrasing things like "Mom, I'm actually a guy, I need to be referred to as [name, pronouns, etc.]" instead of "I think I'm a guy, I think I want to use [pronouns, name, etc.]" makes you sound far more confident and assertive. there's less ground for the other person to attempt to brick wall you and immediately start questioning you and talking down to you, questioning if you really know what you're talking about.

the unease in the introduction of the concept is what gives them the platform to start biting from. if you start from the get-go with confidence, it makes the other person less willing to immediately challenge you. this works for other queer identities outside of transness, obviously. being assertive about being asexual, aromantic, polyamorous, non binary, and other identities that are harder for people to accept can actually help boost the credibility of it in some people's minds, because you KNOW this is what you are, not what you Think you are.

the distinction is small but powerful. don't say "my preferred pronouns/name", say "these are my pronouns/name." try to close the gap as much as possible so they don't have wiggle room to play with doubt.

i didn't tell my mom or sister until i had gotten my appointment to start T. i was already in the process of doing it when i fully came out to them. i told them "mom, [sister], I'm a trans guy, I'm starting testosterone, I use this name now, and these pronouns." and their responses were something to the tune of

"we kinda figured that things would play out that way."

i'm not saying this will make everyone instantly accept you. it can make some people defensive. my sister still misgenders me and deadnames me to this day. not everyone will accept it easier but most people will. it takes them aback for a second. it forces them to think about how they're powerless to stop you for a bit, because it's already in motion.

it's a little tip, but it goes a long way. good luck coming out, i wish you safety and receptive ears.

[galacticgraffiti]

✿⋅ Oh, to be Alone with You ⋅✿

NSFW ⋆ 18+ ⋆ Minors DNI

Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 2.6k Descriptors: I try my best to write inclusively. Reader uses she/her pronouns and is mentioned in her physicality but not described in detail. If anything escaped me, please let me know! Sorry I couldn't make this more gender neutral, but since this fic is a gift to @naariel I thought I'd use her pronouns. Warnings: dirty daydreams, yearning, lusting after someone, male masturbation, dirty talk, fantasy of PiV sex within the daydream, bath sex, this is written from Halsin's POV

⋆⋅ Inspired by this insane artwork by @naariel ⋅⋆

Author's note: I've been pondering, rotating and marinating this artwork in my mind for WEEKS. It haunts me in the best possible way and I am so happy Naariel gave me permission to reference her art! If you are not already following her, you definitely should - her skill and talent are infinite.

Masterlist ⋆ If you prefer AO3

───── ⋆⋅✿⋅⋆ ─────

Oh, to be Alone with You

Halsin sighs when he finally sits down, long limbs sprawling on the too-small chair that can barely contain him.

Chairs. What superfluous oddities, where a big tree stump might have sufficed. If one has to make them at all, why not at least make them comfortable? Why not sit in the meadows, why not find a place to lay where the sun has warmed a rock that has been washed and polished by the rain? But no, the rules of the city demand he be contained within four walls instead of roaming free, they demand he bathe in a wooden tub instead of out in the wilds, they demand he wear clothes and be polite to people even as they trample the Oak Father’s creations beneath their boots without even stopping to look and enjoy nature’s gifts.

Halsin shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose to stave off the oncoming headache. It has been a long day and he is so tired. A long week. A long few weeks, if he is being honest with himself. In all these centuries, times have been- well-  rough, to say the least. But whatever haunts the Sword Coast now… it’s different. Bigger than the invasions of Goblins across the land, bigger than the Shadow druids, bigger even than the Shadow Curse that has occupied Halsin’s every waking hour for nigh on one hundred years.

At least, Thaniel and Oliver have been reunited, some life returning to the lands as it always should have been. A victory, chased for so long, tasting sweet only for a moment before the stale urgency of the matter at hand had seeped back into Halsin’s mind: Mindflayers infecting innocents, magic-infused tadpoles, an Elder Brain… There are too many battles to be fought, and not one of them to be won.

Halsin presses his lips together and tries to banish the dark thoughts from his mind. There are some good things that have come out of this: They have not lost a fight yet, and his newfound companions are… stimulating, to say the least. Fighting alongside them has been a joy and a privilege - watching their blades sear, their magic erupt, their arrows pierce their targets as the bear Halsin rips through flesh and bone. The fighting is necessary, and his companions are more skilled than he could have ever wished for. This day may have been hard, but it was successful nonetheless, and now he is here, freshly bathed and ready to find some rest for the night. If only it could be under the stars, far outside the city walls, he would almost call himself happy. Instead, he must bed down alone, encased by  too many walls and a too-small bed frame.

Halsin misses the smell of grass that has not been trampled by hundreds of boot-clad feet, he misses the feeling of bark against his fur, he misses his wildshape and trodding through calm forests instead of bloodied battlefields. He misses air that is crisp and clean and doesn't smell of artificially molten metals. He misses the Grove, he misses Thaniel and he misses the woods. The city has been forsaken by Silvanus, and even if this place is a small oasis of nature, it is not the same as being out among the Oak Father’s creations.

He cracks his neck, his hair tickling his collarbones. Halsin curses quietly to himself, pushing a curl behind his ear. He needs to cut his hair - it’s getting too long. And he needs to braid it again, his plaits are all out of sorts. It might be a hassle to do it without a mirror- but maybe he could ask-

No.

Shaking his head as if to will the thought away, he slumps into the discomfort of the chair a little more.

No, he shouldn't ask her anything. Nothing that would involve her hands on him, at least. Certainly not her fingers buried in his hair, tugging softly, her voice gently commanding that he tilt his head a different way. He can’t ask for that. It would only lead to him asking for more:

More of her hands on him, more of her skin against his, more than innocent touches and whispered goodnights across the campfire. He would ask for everything: To bury himself inside her until the world fades away, to devour her until she is slick with sweat from the pleasure he brings her. To be the keeper of her heart, just as he yearns for her to be the keeper of his.

Halsin can feel the familiar tightness in his back as the golden shimmer of his wildshape travels up to his shoulder blades. One thought of her, and already the bear stirs.

He remembers everything that happened today, even as he tries so hard to think of something else:

He remembers the way she smells, of sweet berries, blood and leather. He remembers her looking up at him, as her fingers clutch her weapon tightly. He remembers the fire in her eyes after the slaughter, the glow in her cheeks when she turned around to look at him and found only the bear. He remembers how she smiled at him, even after all that violence, a smile like the sinking sun, bloodied and red, but more beautiful than he could ever have dreamed up.

And as the day progressed: Her arm bumping into his, her head tilting up when she asked him a question and wanted to read his expression. How her hands slipped around him to reach for some food at the campfire earlier when they rested. Her sweet breath on his face and a mumbled excuse when she walked into him, still drowsy with sleep. And all Halsin wanted to do was pull her into his lap and bury his nose in the crook of her neck and forget about the world, forget about everyone watching, and have her, right then, in that moment. Have her all to himself, make her his very own. To feel her around him, to show her the depth of his affection, the desperation of his desire, the magnitude of his commitment.

All he wanted in that moment - all he still wants - is to touch her, to feel her in ways that he cannot ask for because he is scared she will not want the same thing he does. Halsin wants to lick the sweat off her skin, he wants to be buried between her thighs whenever they can steal away, even for a few minutes, he wants her taste on his tongue when he fights, and to wrap himself around her when they sleep.

The force of his own thoughts makes Halsin shudder, glowing desire stirring deep in his belly.

Her tongue in his mouth, his hands on her skin: How soft she would be against him. How wonderful to hear her voice break when she cries out for him, how she would taste if he could lick her off his fingers, the honey of her thighs, the salt of her sweat. He would give anything to know the expression on her face when she is lost to mindless bliss- he would give everything to know that he is the cause of it.

A low moan escapes his throat then, and Halsin presses his lips together when his mind returns from memory and sweet imagination to this house in the midst of a bustling city. This is not nature, where he can do what pleases him when it pleases him. No, the city - ‘civilisation’ as they call it - comes with rules, expectations, limitations.

He is in someone else’s home, exhausted from the day, the blood barely washed off his skin. And yet, all he can think about is… her. All he can feel is the constriction of his clothing, the confinement of leather where he longs to be touched. He wants to shed like the bear sheds his fur after the winter, he wants to feel free again.

Halsin hums, breathing deeply, willing away the golden sparks of his wildshape that dance along his fingertips. He listens intently, fingers dancing across his thighs, drumming an impatient rhythm.

Nothing in the house stirs. Maybe they are all gone still, running their errands, finding bath houses, visiting old friends and merchants they used to know before they return here for a long night’s rest. Maybe Halsin can have a small pocket of time to himself. Time to dream himself away, to give in to the desire he has harboured for so long.

Maybe… he could use this opportunity to release some of that tension that has settled deep in his belly. Refocus his attention. Maybe it’ll be for the best- not to think of her constantly anymore, not of her smell, or the colour of her eyes, of the way her fingers linger on his for a moment too long whenever they touch, or how much he wished they could have bathed together when he sank into the tub earlier that night.

The city has many downsides, but baths are one of the few things to enjoy. Hot springs are wonderful, but few and far between. Nature provides: The bear does not mind the coldness of a stream in the woods, or the iciness of a mountain lake. But there is nothing like a steaming bath to help prevent the sore ache that settles in his bones after a fight.

If only it was acceptable to ask her if she would join him. If only it had been her hands washing dirt and grime and blood from his skin, brushing his hair, kneading tired muscles, her hands much smaller than his, but strong and determined. Loving.

Halsin lets his head fall back, spine cracking as he settles in the small, uncomfortable chair, spreading his legs to cup his hardening cock. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine it…

She glistens in the dim light, thin streams of water trickling down her skin when she emerges from the bath, her lashes stuck together as she beams at him.

“Mhh, we should have done this ages ago!”

“I could not agree more, my heart.” Halsin loves seeing her like this. She looks happy, like she has not a care in the world.

She crawls up into his lap, settling on him, her thighs bracketing his. Her hands run across his chest, lathering him in soap that smells of lavender and thyme. Halsin’s heart is beating in his throat when she leans in to kiss his collarbone, her lips soft, her hair smelling of smoke and flowers as it always does.

Desire surges inside him, crackling like lightning in his veins, and he sends the bear away, far away. This is a moment he wants for himself: Skin against skin, tongues exploring, hands intertwined. This is no place for fangs and claws, not tonight. Halsin unlaces his trousers with steady fingers, though even those few seconds seem unbearable to him. When his hand finally wraps around his cock, he breathes a sigh of relief, only to feel dissatisfied moments after. He wants her hands, her eyes on him, her voice dripping with lust. For now, his imagination will have to do.

He dreams himself back to the bath, thinking of all he could have had, if he had only had the courage to ask.

Her skin is burning hot against his, her fingers leave a flaming trail wherever she touches him.

“Is this alright, my love?” Her voice is full of concern and affection, as it always is when she asks about his comfort and well-being.

“More than alright.” Halsin’s breaths grow shaky when she moves her hips, shallowly grinding down against him. “Gods, I want to-”

“Mhhm?” There is a curious twinkle in her eye. “What is it you want? Tell me. I’m sure I could make your dreams come true.”

Halsin shifts when the wooden backing of the chair digs into his back as he bucks his hips, fucking into his hand that is wrapped around his cock - a poor substitution for what - for who - he really wants.

A growl rings out in the empty room when he closes his eyes and imagines her again.

Her thighs look so lovely, spread wide so he can fit between them. She smells of the bath salts and of herself, and her voice talks to him through the thick fog of his desire.

“I know what you want, don’t I, bear? I’ll take such good care of you if you let me. I’ll make sure you don’t even have to ask for it. I’ll let you taste me, whenever you want- wherever you want. I’ll help you focus- you can focus on me, can’t you? There you go…”

Halsin is panting, his hand moving faster.

She feels good, so good when she sinks down on him, wet with arousal and so willing to take him.

“You, little flower, are the jewel of nature’s creation,” he mumbles. “You are all I could ever want and more. I want to taste you on my tongue, always- for there to never be a day where I won’t know the way you drip for me- for you to never go a day without being satisfied, without feeling loved and cared for. Your happiness is all I want- your ecstasy all I desire. Let me take care of you.”

She moans, her head falling back as she starts to roll her hips, taking him deeper and deeper with each stroke.

“I’ll take care of you as you do of me,” she whispers. “I’ll make sure to provide for you all you could ever need or want. You give and give, let me give you everything I am in return. Be selfish, bear. Take what you want, swallow me whole, devour me without worrying whether it’s too much. I want you to. Mark me- make me yours. Tell the whole world I belong to you, whichever way you desire.”

Her movements are desperate now, her words only sighs and moans, breathless as she buries her head against his shoulder. Halsin inhales the scent of her hair, sinks into her words as the fog of lust that has settled on his brain grows thicker and heavier, until there is not a thought left on his mind but her.

“Halsin-” Gods, his name sounds so sweet off her tongue. “Halsin, I want you to fill me. Please- please, I want to feel full with you, today and every day you’ll fucking let me. I want to fight knowing you are still dripping down my thighs, I want to kiss you under the stars and know I’ll never be without you again.”

The curses that are falling from his lips are ungodly, but Halsin does not care. He is desperate now, mouth open as he calls her name and thinks of the words he wishes he could hear her say.

“Come for me, bear. Come inside me, lay claim to me as only you ever could- f-fuck- make me yours- please- Halsin, I’m yours, I’m yours and yours and yours, as long as you’ll have me- forever if you want to-”

With a cry of her name on his lips, Halsin gives in to pleasure and lets himself be overtaken by a wave of bliss. His thighs tremble as he spills over his hand, sticky warmth dripping from his fingers. He does not open his eyes. Not yet. He wants to stay in the fantasy just a moment longer.

“Halsin, I-”

His eyes open, blood rushing to his cheeks as he returns to the real world and finds her standing in the doorway.

I'm going fucking feral. Running into the woods hoping to find him there, who's with me -

@purgetrooperfox @ashotofspotchka @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @ulchabhangorm @queen--kenobi @samspenandsword @rescuethewretched @pinkiemme @baba-fett @witchklng @ladykatakuri @certified-anakinfucker @fanfiction-i-llike @voidinfernal @foxferret02 @rosieofcorona @savagemickey03 @perseny @margoisthemoon2 @shiiunn @saucyhedgehog @tonysoffice @pupshr00m @supercalifragilisticprincess @palpipeen @silly-gooseastarion @mila-bee @shit-i-say-throughout-the-day @idkwhatsgoingonwithme @aeryntheofficial @jekasha @gub @nogitsune-the @solarrexplosion @hexqueensupreme @unofficialavenger90 @frankiesghost @curtaincaramba

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[ihavethedreamies]

Easy | Felix | Easy to Expert (1)

Lee Yongbok (Felix - Stray Kιds)

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~5k

Pairing: Felix x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Reader-Insert, Smut, Fluff, Friends to Lovers

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Oral (F! Receiving), Fingering, Biting, One Singular Spank, He Gets a Bit Rough, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom! Don't do what they do.)

Summary: In which you can't normally get off and Felix doesn't like this one bit.

Author's Note: Imagine trying to write something like this with a straight face because you are at your uncle's house in the living room with everyone else there and you can't go anywhere else...

Also your friend's name is Yuna here and she's not a reference to any idol or anything, this was just the name that came to mind.

-> Series Hub <-

-> Part 2 <-

I am cross-posting this on Archive and Wattpad. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other sites. Happy reading!

"He had the stamina of a work horse; I thought I was going to die."

"Really?" You weren't convinced.

"No, seriously. I had never came that many times in one session." Your friend shook her head and you blinked. You watched her take a swig of beer and you took another bite of chicken.

"You started without us?" Someone whined behind you, and you turned to see Jisung and Minho coming up to your table. The younger man pouted as he sat down in the empty chair next to you while Minho sat on his other side.

"You guys are half an hour late." Yuna sneered at them, waving a drumstick aggressively.

"Where's everyone else?" you asked.

"Seungmin can't make it, Jeongin is sick. Chan and Changbin are on their way from the studio. Felix and Hyunjin just left campus after dance practice." Minho listed off, waving his hand up to get the auntie's attention to get beer.

"Is Jinnie going to shower first? Poor thing looks like he fell in a pond after dance practice." Yuna bounced a bit as she talked since the waitress brought over the order of Tteokbokki you had ordered.

"That's why they're late." Jisung spoke around a mouthful.

"Anyway, he ended up breaking up with me because I apparently wasn't enough for his libido." Yuna continued her story despite the fact two of the boys had arrived and Chan and Changbin were arriving.

"Woah, what?" Chan laughed setting his bag down next to her and the other man sat across from Minho.

"Is this the same guy who said he wished he had two dicks to fuck twice as much?" Changbin asked as you watched his shirt tighten over his chest as he took his jacket off. Everything he wore was so tight…You were taken out of your zone-out when he scoffed, "My eyes are up here (Y/N)." Everyone laughed at you and your face tingled a bit, you took a sip of beer not meeting his eyes.

"Wait, what?" Chan asked again and Yuna rolled her eyes.

"Yeah. I think he was possessed by a sex demon or something, geez."

"Who are we talking about?" The oldest man asked. Yuna then recapped everything she had told you to Chan who stared blankly at her the whole time.

"Okay, way more than I ever needed to know." He shook his head and grabbed his chopsticks.

"You don't even know the half of it." Changbin huffed and the other girl gasped dramatically.

"You asked me to tell you most of it!"

"Not everything! I really didn't care about who you did everything with first, that was a long ass list."

"A list of asses?" Minho seemed to tune in at a very specific time.

"Do I want to know?" A new voice groaned as Hyunjin sat at the end of the table. Felix came around to the other end near you and took a seat.

"Yuna is sharing WAY too much again." Jisung's eyes got big to emphasize his point.

"Well, this started because (Y/N)-"

"NO!" You almost leaped across the table to shut her up. That unfortunately made the boys all the more curious and it was getting steadily louder as they urged you to share. If not but to spare the rest of the patrons and workers, you finally relented.

"I just told her that I didn't see too much point in rushing into sex in a relationship because I don't get much out of it." You didn't look at anyone, just cast a glare at Yuna, then back at your beer bottle.

"Well, you need to find someone else then." Minho told you matter-of-factly.

"It doesn’t matter, and it's not like partners haven't tried…I just can't…I-I can't finish…" You mumbled the last part, and it went deathly silent. You could feel the eyes on you but for some reason, the ones to your left were burning. Glancing up to meet Felix's stare, you're startled by his expression. He looked…intense. You shifted under his gaze. He knew you liked him, and you knew he liked you, but not much had come of it. You two kissed briefly a few weeks ago but it was interrupted, and it hadn’t happened since.

"Wait, seriously? Have you ever?" Chan asked, he had stopped eating. This was serious to him.

"Yeah, but it took forever. I had to do it myself and it wasn't easy." You shrugged. Because of this fact you hadn't had very many sexual encounters or partners. It’s just frustrating when nothing ever came of it.

"So that's when I told her that my last boyfriend might be able to do it since he got me off like six times at once." Yuna explained as she shoved more food in her mouth.

"Did you ex ever do it?" Jisung asked and you nodded.

"Once." That wasn't why you had broken up; he had moved away for work and long distance didn't work too well so you drifted apart.

"Have I ever told you guys about my college roommate's girlfriend?" Hyunjin cut in and quickly everyone was diverted over to his story of the fact that this girl was not loyal by any means. And neither was her boyfriend. Unfortunately for Hyunjin, he was both of their type and he ended up having to switch rooms. The night continued and as more food was eaten, more alcohol was consumed. The rowdiness became too much, and you were more or less kicked out. Yuna was drunk and Changbin promised to get her home in one piece, so he left with her on his back. Chan, Jisung, and Hyunjin followed suit since they all were going to the same place, and you were left with Minho and Felix.

"I'll walk her home. Go check on Jeongin, he might be asleep already but he's not texting back." Felix told the older man who nodded and said goodbye so you two were left alone. You had only one beer that night and Felix didn't even finish his, so you were not even tipsy.

"I-I can get home okay, I didn't drink much." You tried to wave him off.

"It’s okay. Just because you're sober doesn't mean I should let you go alone." He smiled softly and you internally gushed over how pretty he was.

"Thanks." Beginning to head in the opposite direction of everyone else, you two walked in silence for most of the time, but it was companionable. In your head you just kept replaying the small kiss from a few weeks before, not really sure why you were looping on it. When you got to your building, you expected him to leave you at the door, but he opened the door for you and led you toward the elevator.

"D-Do you want to come in? I have some cheesecake left that I can't finish on my own…" You couldn't meet his gaze as you waited for the elevator.

"Sure, thanks." His deep voice was so warming, and you wondered what it would sound like whispering in your ear. You shook your head to clear the thought and got in the lift to get to your floor. Keying in your pin code, the door chimed, and you let him into your apartment. You lived alone and so your place had some clutter about. You hung your coat and bag up, changed to slippers, then moved to clear the papers and pens off the couch. After moving the stuff into a more organized pile on the coffee table, you stood and turned to go to the kitchen, but instead ran into Felix's chest. He was wearing a grey turtleneck that was way tighter than you though it would be on him. His sleeves were already rolled up to his elbows and his hand moved to steady you when you stumbled in surprise at his proximity. Compared to other men, he wasn't very tall, but he was still quite a bit taller than you. When the hands that steadied you moved from your arms to your waist, you were pulled to him even closer. Your breath hitched and your hands instinctually gripped the fabric of his shirt at his shoulders. When your eyes met, he leaned in and as his lips hovered over yours, his deep voice rumbled through you.

"Can I?"

"Y-yes." Your hands moved to rest closer to his neck and he kissed you. This one was different than before. Last time was chaste and soft, but this was growing heated fast. Felix tilted his head more and licked at your bottom lip prompting you to open your mouth. You moaned softly as his tongue invaded your mouth and when he groaned back it was like thunder shook you. Reluctantly, you let him pull away so you both could take a breather.

"Was what you said true? You really can't cum?"

"M-most of the time." It was embarrassing to talk about it in front of everyone, but for some reason it seemed like Felix took it personally.

"Hm. If you let me, I might be able to help." He leaned down some to say this right into your ear, then he sucked on your ear lobe. You shuddered and tilted your head to let him get better access to your neck. He laid searing kisses along your skin, and you swallowed hard.

"O-okay." You were a bit reluctant since it hadn't worked well before. At the same time, he was turning you on way faster than anyone or anything else before. You were not blind, or deaf, he was incredibly attractive, and you would be stupid to say no. Felix's lips pulled into a smile against your throat and he sucked on that spot hard, his teeth digging in slightly. You moaned louder than you meant to, and he could feel your throat vibrate as you did. Not realizing he could pull you closer, when he did you felt him hard against your stomach. His lips moved from your neck, which now had at least three bruises on it, back to your mouth and he dominated the kiss, taking complete control. Finally, to gain more oxygen, he pulled away from you and your head was swimming. He could sense that you were dazed, so he wrapped his arms around you and picked you up, carrying you to your room. Setting you down at the end of your bed, he kneeled before you, the look on his face shocked you. You were expecting a fire there, lust, but it was so warm and soft, and you weren't sure how to react.

"I'm doing this because I like you so much. I hate that no one's made you feel good like you deserve. But at the same time…" The hand on your waist dug into your flesh and his expression sharpened, "I want to be able to say I'm the only one that can say he did. Easy." His confession made your walls clench around nothing.

"Will you let me?" Felix asked.

"Of…of course. I like you too-" He cut you off with another devouring kiss and his hands wandered under your sweater and helped you take it off. If you had known this was going to happen, you wouldn't have worn such a plain set of underwear. As the make-out session continued he also removed your socks and pants and he finally pulled back to take his own clothes off. You watched with rapt attention as his turtleneck came off, and…damn. Felix was way more ripped than you thought he would be. Not quite to the level of Chan or Changbin…You were even more enthralled as he took his belt off and undid his jeans to let them fall. His hard cock was straining against the black fabric of his tight briefs, but he left them on as he kneeled before you again. He stood as high as he could on his knees, making him eye level with you.

"Can I?" He reached around your back, and you nodded so he could unhook your plain nude bra. As he took it off, he gently bumped his forehead against yours and flashed a smile.

"You're so pretty." He cooed and you huffed, looking away in embarrassment.

"That's the pot calling the kettle black." You mumbled and he giggled. Felix laid a soft kiss on your lips then began to move down. To your neck, collarbone, sternum, then down your right breast where he latched his mouth around your nipple. You exhaled and let him do what he wanted. He didn't garner much of a reaction, but it felt better than it normally did. He hummed in thought and then he laved his tongue around the peak of your breast, then his teeth slightly dug in, and you gasped. The corners of his mouth pulled into a smile, and he sucked hard on your nipple again and your skin tingled. Goosebumps rose on your arms, and he pulled away with a pop and moved to do the same to the other side. Your breathing was getting a bit heavier and as he pulled away from your chest, he pressed his hand on your sternum, telling you to lay back. You did so and as you did; he straight up bit your left breast on the swell of the flesh. This pulled a surprised moan from you, and he smirked, pulling back.

"You left a mark!" You scoffed and he laughed, "You're going to end up with a lot more, love." You gaped at him and before you could answer, his mouth was back on you, kissing over your ribs. You sighed and he moved down to your belly button, then licked a path up to under your breasts. His actions heated your skin, and he moved back down to the waistband of your panties.

"You okay with this?" His fingers had slipped under the fabric to run along your butt, his face close to your covered pussy. He could smell your arousal already and couldn't wait to bury his tongue inside you.

"Yes. How about I tell you if I'm not and you just do whatever you want." You finally told him. You loved that he asked and made sure, but you just wanted him to keep going.

"Whatever I want?" He whispered to himself, and his intense gaze met yours.

"Are you sure, love?"

"Y-yes." You felt like a small furry creature about to be devoured by a tiger.

"Hm." He smirked and his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass, dragging you to the end of the bed. Felix pressed his face into your covered cunt and licked at your clit through the fabric. You twitched a bit, but not enough for his liking. He clicked his tongue and instead of pulling your panties off, he tore them off. The side hem was fraying a bit and it allowed him to rip the fabric and he tossed the remnant away. You would have complained if it was a nicer pair. The display of strength was incredibly attractive. Once again, Felix's hands gripped your ass, hauling you closer and immediately shoved his tongue into your cunt. You exhaled harshly, laying back. It was if he was a man lost in the desert and you an oasis. He was practically drinking from you, devouring you. His nose bumped your clit as his tongue reached as deep as he could get it. You grunted slightly, surprised at how good it felt. He noticed that every time the tip of his nose hit your button that you flinched very slightly. Removing his face from between your legs for a moment, he took his thumbs and spread you open, and you squealed. It was embarrassing, but you didn't say anything, so he kept going, smirking as you covered your face. Licking another stripe from your core to your clit, he sealed his lips around the little bud and sucked as hard as he could. Your hips jumped slightly, and your breathing picked up, but it wasn't enough yet. Furrowing his brow, he pulled back again, tipping his head. If he wasn't doing what he was it would have been rather cute. He had one more trick up his sleeve. He took his thumb once again and rubbed a circle over your clit to see how you reacted. Glancing up he pushed harder against it to fully expose it, then he leaned forward to suck again. It was a stronger feeling than before and it made your hips jump again but then he did something unexpected, he placed your clit between his teeth and bit down a bit.

"Fuck!" You twitched hard, he wrapped his arm around your hips to hold them down, then he sucked again and gave another little nibble.

"F-Felix-" You gasped, and you were getting close. It was a different feeling than even the few times before. As he abused your poor little clit, he quickly inserted two fingers in your rapidly wetting cunt. This made you gasp again, and he could feel how tight you would be, but he was figuring out you needed a little bit of pain. Once more, he nibbled down, and at the same time he crooked his fingers up hard against your sweet spot and you fell apart. You saw white, you had never felt anything to that extent before. You had slammed your hand over your mouth, but he could still hear you nearly scream out a moan and he smiled cockily; your pussy walls clenched hard around his fingers and cum spurted out of your cunt. He held your hips down, feeling the muscles twitch and spasm. It seemed like it lasted forever and when you finally came down, you were panting hard. He kneeled straighter, pulling his fingers out of you, and noted that you had draped your arm over your eyes, and he couldn't tell if there were tears or sweat flowing down your cheeks. As he stood, Felix licked his fingers clean, and he kneeled over you some and pried your arm from your face. You looked dazed, and he still couldn't tell if it was sweat or tears.

"You did so good, love." He stroked the hairs back that were stuck to your forehead.

"How the actual fuck did you do that?" You gaped and he guffawed.

"It seems you like it to hurt a bit?"

"Hurt? It didn’t?" You seemed genuinely confused. Were you really that insensitive? With how tight your cunt was around his fingers he thought for sure it would have stung a bit. Most of the time getting bit somewhere that tender would hurt some even if it felt good.

"Interesting…" He thought for a second then looked back down at you.

"Do you wanna keep going?" Felix brushed a drop of the moisture from your cheek and you glanced at him.

"Why wouldn't I?" He huffed at that.

"You look like you just ran a marathon."

"Felix, if you can make me come, I'm going to let you do it as many times as possible." You deadpanned and his shocked expression softened, and he hummed. He bent over and kissed your forehead gently. His hand grabbed yours and he brought your knuckles to his lips so he could press another kiss there.

"(Y/N), I just want you to know, that I really like you, and I want to just hold you and love you all night." He admitted and your heart began to thud.

"But I think what you need is to be fucked senseless." His voice deepened even further, and his gaze sharpened. Your heart raced even more, and it seemed he was waiting for permission.

"Oh, god, please." You said quickly and he chuckled.

"Scoot up." He kissed your hand once more then let go and he got off the bed, letting you do as he requested. He went and turned your lamp on and shut the big overhead light off. He came over as you pulled your nightstand drawer open to make sure you did have condoms and that they weren't expired.

"What's this?" He had stopped next to you as you grabbed the box and his hand reached in a grabbed something else.

"Oh, uh-" Before you could answer he opened the box. He knew what it was before he asked. Inside there was a series of sex toys and it seemed none of them could do the trick. Bullet vibrator, one looked like a rose with suction, there was a rabbit vibrator, but the one that shocked him the most was the butt plug. It vibrated too and the plastic still hadn't been taken off of the box.

"Woah." He teased, pulling it out and you groaned.

"Haven't tried it?"

"I…Nothing else worked so I figured it was worth a try but I got nervous…"

"Hmm." He was thinking something, and you weren't sure you liked the look on his face.

"Another time." He shook his head and dropped it back in the box and put it in the drawer again and took the condom box from you.

"Hm." He hummed again and you shot him a look.

"What?"

"Have you tried anything with like ribbing or whatever?"

"Yes…didn't do jack. Even did the ones with like warming lube and stuff."

"…I have an idea but only if you're okay with it?"

"What?"

"I know it’s good to be double sure, but you're on the pill, yeah?"

"Yes."

"It seems you have trouble feeling stuff there, you would probably feel more without this." He rattled the box. He had a point, the only reason you used both was for security.

"We can get the morning after thing if you want-"

"That's fine." He seemed to know what he was doing, and you weren't overly worried about it.

"You sure?"

"Yes, Felix." You assured and he nodded, dropping the box back into the drawer, "They're the wrong size anyway." He muttered that to himself, but you caught it. Closing the drawer, he crawled back onto the bed and kneeled at your feet, then cast you a look. You nodded and he pulled your knees apart and for some reason it was still embarrassing even though his tongue had literally been inside you. You were neither a virgin nor a prude, but for some reason, since it was Felix, it felt different.

"Relax, love." He smiled, pressing his lips to yours again and his tongue slipped into your mouth. You whined when he pulled back and he chuckled, then maneuvered and removed his underwear and threw them somewhere.

"Fuck." You whined and you wanted him in your mouth.

"This is about you, love, not me." He pinched your nose, able to tell what you were thinking from the expression on your face.

"Fine." You pouted and his fingers went back to your cunt and gathered the wetness there and you watched as he stroked himself to get ready. What the fuck was he fed that despite his small size his cock was that big? Whatever it was also probably made his voice as deep as it was as well.

"Ready? I'm going to be rough with you." He warned, his sharp gaze rehardened, the softness still there underneath.

"Please." You let him just grab you, he spread your legs open wide, a slight burn in your hamstrings. There was very little time between the head of his cock meeting your cunt and him burying all the way to the hilt. It took your breath away and he grunted at how tight your hot core felt around him. He had honestly never had sex without a condom before either. After being inside your wet heat with no barrier, he didn't think he could ever do anything but, especially since he planned on being with you longer than he consciously realized. You were shivering at the sensation, his hot flesh searing through you, spreading you open so much so instantly. It stung some but it felt better than any other time and you weren't sure if it was because he was fucking you raw or that he was that big. You didn't even want to know how much bigger Chan supposedly was. He contemplated letting you get used to him, but Felix was losing control fast, and it seemed like you liked it rough. His hands on your thighs spreading them open gripped the flesh, easily swinging your legs up so he folded you in half, your knees at your ears.

"Hold on, love." Using his dancing skills, he snapped his hips as hard as he could, and your next orgasm hit you. If you whited out before, you practically blacked out that time. It was like water rushed over your head, your rapid pulse thudding in your ears, your blood audibly racing. He grunted and you could barely hear it through the ringing in your ears and he dug his fingers hard into the flesh of your thighs to hold back his own orgasm. Your walls were hugging his cock so tight, and you were practically gushing around him. He hoped that he had pulled some kind of seal off of you, and that he could get you to fall apart over and over and over. He wanted to be the one that could say he fucked you stupid and that no one could ever finish you simply because they weren't him. His ego shot through the roof, and he wanted to ruin you. When he first thought of going through with this, the plan was to show you how much he loved you, what you meant to him. But he had no idea what you liked and what would finally get you off. If you needed rough, he would do it. Looping his thoughts to keep distracted from the vice of your cunt, he finally felt you relax, and you nearly went boneless, your legs in his grip losing all strength. You were heaving for air again, not sure which way was up or down, how old you were, or even your own name. All you could think of was Felix.

"No!" You yiped as he pulled out, but he rolled you over onto your stomach, hauled your hips up, your face buried in the pillow and he buried his cock back into your needy pussy, making you white knuckled the sheets. He began a truly relentless pace, and it was the best thing anyone had ever done to you.

"You like my cock, love?"

"Fuck, yes!" You managed to get out, each thrust made you silently scream, forming words became nearly impossible. Maybe the fact that he got you to orgasm allowed you to be more sensitive; then maybe because you had tried for so hard for so long with no success, your body could finally let go. Felix had the key to not only your heart, it seemed, but your cunt as well.

Leaning forward, he gripped the frame of your bed for leverage and kept his thrusts just as hard but extremely shallow. The fat head of his cock beat against your back walls so hard that you were sure they would forever be molded to only him. You felt another climax rising and your own hands scrambled to grip the wooden rods of your bed frame as well.

"F-Felix!" You managed to get out and you watched one of his hands leave the frame above you, and he smacked your right ass cheek and upper thigh hard, and you fell over the edge again. This time, he couldn't hold back either, and he fucked as deep into you as he could and filled your womb with his cum. That sensation made your climax flare to max again even though it had begun to dissipate, and your fluttering canal helped him ride out his own orgasm. You thanked the Lord birth control existed because you never wanted him to cum anywhere but inside after that. As you both caught your breath, he slowly pulled out of you and the adrenaline left you and now you were sore. Your clit, your pussy, where he had smacked you, everything. You didn't think you would be able to walk tomorrow. When he had fully withdrew, your hips slumped down and you flopped flat onto the bed, not able to move.

"Hold on, love." He leaned over you and kissed your hot cheek, covered in tears from the intensity of what he just reeked on you. You felt him wipe your used cunt off with a towel and you whined when he moved you to pull the blanket out from under you. He made a note to remove the comforter before fucking you on the bed again, because he sure was planning on doing it again.

"You're fine, pretty girl." He chuckled and crawled into bed with you. He shut the lamp off and the room was cast in shadow before your eyes got used to the dull light of the streetlights behind the curtain. Getting settled, he saw you had laid on your side already, the only way you could fall asleep. Smiling he curled around you, wiggling his arm under your head and wrapped his other around your middle. He rested his hand on your tummy, holding you close. He had to be careful, your cute little butt pressed against his now-covered groin was enough on its own to get him riled back up. The arm under your head bent so his hand could rest on your forehead, and he kissed the back of your head.

"Goodnight, love." Felix hugged you as close as possible, loving being your big spoon.

"I won’t be able to walk tomorrow." You mumbled and buried his nose in your hair and smiled smugly.

"If you can I won’t have done my job right."

"Thank you, 'Lix."

"Of course, sweet." Another kiss to your head.

"Go to sleep. I'll take care of you tomorrow. And every day after that you'll have me." His deep but quiet voice rumbled next to your ear, and you linked your fingers with his on the hand on your stomach.

"I'll have you always, Felix."

"Good, because you're stuck with me now."

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[romaritimeharbor]

HEIR. — In which Arlecchino's heir comes home after a tough mission.

— trigger & content warnings. references to violence and other dubious activities. mild blood.

— pairings & notes. fluff. arlecchino & heir!reader. reader is gender neutral (they/them pronouns used). reader is a member of the house of the hearth and is arlecchino's chosen heir. 2.5k words.

— author's thoughts. arlecchino is the best harbinger fr <3

       Being the Knave's heir came with many implications.

       It was, firstly, a role that was never forced upon them; it was more of an offer that Arlecchino extended to them, the child who she felt would make a worthy king and successor should something ever happen to her. It was no obligation—not until they actually inherited her title, that is. Up until that point, they would always be permitted to withdraw. They could withdraw until they literally could not anymore, until they were the director of the House of the Hearth.

       Shackles weighed heavily on their body, growing more difficult to escape from with every passing moment, slowly fusing with their flesh and bone until one could not identify where their body ended and the chains began.

       Their time to dispel the House's darkness from their veins was there, but it was gradually ticking down… not that they particularly minded.

       (They weren't sure that they would fully leave the House, regardless, so its darkness would always inhabit their veins in some way, shape, or form. It would simply be to a lesser degree, if they were to decide that they did not want to be the next Knave.

       ...But they weren't sure that they would do that, either. The spider's web was their home, entangled inseparably with their limbs; it simply felt right for them to become its next owner with how intensely it stuck to their skin, as if it was beckoning them and only them.)

       The implication that they had limited time to leave was not such a heavy burden to bear.

       What was quite the weight, however, was the nature of their missions.

       Missions assigned to them were those that were unsuitable for the other children; generally, "unsuitable" meant extremely bloody and shrouded in the pitch-black shadows of the vile secrets of nobility or political figures. The darkness that their missions harbored ran deep. Missions assigned to them were more than simple intelligence gathering—there was something far more sinister about their work.

       It was often about sending a message.

       It was often about silencing the cackles of boisterous, rich fools who wrongly believed they had won by sending one of the Knave's agents running home like a frightened dog with its tail between its legs, bearing wounds they had not worn before leaving.

       It was often about instilling the fear of those who lurked in the darkest shadows into unwisely confident people who'd only just stepped into the dark, new to the territory and unfamiliar with the dangers that prowled further within.

       Over and over and over again, it was about sending a message.

       Missions that other children failed, they would be sent to complete.

       And often, those missions resulted in them walking home drenched in blood that was not theirs.

       (They still were not quite as elegant as Father, and this was one of the most frequent things that she chided them for… but they were still learning. Arlecchino hardly thought it was worth holding against them when they could successfully complete the missions that others failed to. She was a bit harder on them in the beginning, typically subjecting them to difficult stealth trainings that often involved plenty of brightly-colored paint ready to drench them the second they made a wrong move.

       Much to the Harbinger's intrigue, they had little issue with her trainings. It was never their stealth that was the problem. Rather…

       'Things tend to get… physical quite fast, Father. The people I am sent after are often quite volatile, as I am sure you know, so I have few choices other than to get dirty.'

       'I see.'

       Now, all she usually did when they returned in a disheveled manner was click her tongue and tell them to go clean themselves up, followed by little to no tasks assigned to them the next day, unless there were absolutely necessary operations that could not be avoided or handed to someone else.)

       They supposed that—at the very least—missions of that nature were not common, so they rarely had to tread home tired, bloody, and, sometimes, in a poor mood. It was rare that Father deemed a mission too unsuitable for the other children, yet still appropriate enough for them.

       Unfortunately, however, this was one of those nights.

       Their mission had gone well, as per usual. Nonetheless, they did not return well, and instead came home with a distantly tired expression and rather neat clothes… should one ignore the blood soaking their shoes and the tips of their pants, of course.

       The sight of home only motivated them to walk faster and with more purpose, yet they kept their steps quiet and light to the best of their ability. It didn't take long to reach their destination when their veins were filled with newfound energy and enthusiasm.

       Before fully stepping inside, they took their footwear off as to not drag the evidence of their mission all across the floor.

       (Not that it couldn't be easily cleaned. The skills which their siblings possessed would make cleaning blood the simplest task in the world. No, they were not concerned that the blood would stain the floor or any of the carpets. In their mind, it was more about respecting the home that Father built and not tarnishing it with the blood of unworthy fools. That was what they were concerned about.)

       Once their shoes were secured in their hand, they peered inside. It was vacant and silent. The only sound that filled the room was the quiet crackling coming from the active fireplace.

       Most of their siblings were probably out, they thought, but someone had to be home if the flames were still burning. For safety reasons, everyone was required to put it out, should the House be completely vacant. Someone was home, then.

       They felt no particular need to hide themselves in this state; it wasn't exactly uncommon for a child to return either bruised and beaten or soaked with blood that may or may not have been their own, or some combination of both. Such was the nature of living in the House of the Hearth; everyone came home like that at one point or another. It was mere curiosity that made them wonder who was home. 

       The little ones, Foltz or Heloir? No, Father did not permit them to be home alone with the fire burning, since they were too young and small to handle fire correctly.

       Perhaps Lyney or Lynette, then? But those two had a show scheduled for tonight (one that they were a little upset to have to miss, but their sadness was met with reassurance by the twins, that they would both be more than happy to give them an exclusive show so that they would get to see what they missed).

       Freminet? Maybe, but he was probably with the twins or out diving. He had mentioned that he was going to go if Father did not assign him any new missions.

       With gentle steps, they made their way inside, closing the door behind them using their vacant hand.

       A smooth, elegant, and calm voice called out to them:

       "Welcome home, child."

       "Ah." That's who was home, then. They turned to face the Knave with a polite bow of their head. "Good evening, Father."

       Her gaze pinned them under the weight of scrutiny, eyes quickly taking in their disheveled appearance and tired disposition. "That blood is not yours, is it?"

       There was a vague twinge of something in her tone that they could not quite identify.

       Arlecchino was not a particularly easy woman to read, so it never much bothered them when they could not discern what she was thinking or feeling. Most couldn't. It was not a lack of ability on their part; it was simply a fact of life. The Fourth Harbinger was not a person easily understood.

       …But somehow, it almost felt like she was concerned.

       "No, it isn't," they replied.

       Whatever it was that took hold of her tone a moment ago had dissipated, snuffed out like the small flame of a candle.

       "Good. Go clean yourself up, then. You may deliver an oral report to me later. Worry not about a prompt delivery—concern yourself first with recovery." She turned on her heel. "Oh, and… [Name]?"

       "Yes, Father?"

       "You are not to partake in any missions tomorrow. Do not allow your siblings to include you in any of theirs, either."

       'Do not get roped into your siblings' messes,' is what she meant to say. Their lips twitched upwards in poorly-concealed amusement. She almost certainly could hear it in their voice. She said nothing, however—perhaps she herself was vaguely amused by the implication of her own statement, or perhaps she was endeared by their capacity to clearly and completely understand what she meant to say.

       "Yes, Father."

             — flower of the universe !! 🌸

       Flames and shadows danced and flickered on the walls, their dance of light and dark uniquely mesmerizing.

       The radiating warmth of the fire caressed their skin, kissing away any of the cold that they might have felt as a consequence of the remaining water droplets clinging to their hair.

       Falling asleep sounded so very tempting, surrounded by the hearth's warmth and safety, sitting… somewhat comfortably on the soft, red rug right with their back partially supported by the sofa behind them.

       It wasn't exactly… uncommon for many of their siblings to take naps here, though that was typically during the day when the golden rays of the sun filtered in through the open window.

       (Lyney and Lynette were notoriously fond of sleeping here in the afternoon when the sun streamed in so perfectly, bathing the carpet in its golden light until it became as warm and cozy as a blanket—they sometimes wondered if it had to do with those two's feline genes, though they dared not ask, in the case that either one would take their question the wrong way.

       They probably wouldn't, especially Lyney. They're certain he would find amusement in their musings… or maybe he would get terribly embarrassed?

       …Ah, well. They wouldn't pry. It was more entertaining to speculate nevertheless.)

       It was not daytime. It was nowhere near daytime.

       If they had to guess, it was more than likely the middle of the night; the only light that filtered in from that window was the cool moonlight, though it's cold light was largely drowned out by the flames roaring in the fireplace.

       Still…

       Sleeping right where they were sounded so much more appealing than getting up and making the lengthy trek to the room they shared with some of their siblings…

       Truly, honestly, they had only intended to rest their body for a moment.

       However, after what felt like a never-ending battle with microsleeps, they allowed their eyelids to flutter shut and finally succumbed fully to sleep, the crackling of the fire cooing its goodnights into their ears.

             — flower of the universe !! 🌸

       Arlecchino was a woman not easily fooled.

       That much was a given, of course, considering her status as the Fourth of the Fatui Harbingers. The fact that she was a Fatui Harbinger was enough of an indicator of her sheer perceptiveness on its own—surely nobody in such a high position could be anything other than observant. A Harbinger at all, let alone a Harbinger so highly ranked, could not afford to be anything besides calculated, cunning, and sharp-eyed.

       Her understanding of their state was instantaneous; the very moment they walked in the door, she knew.

       She had seen the utter exhaustion seeping into their bones, permeating their very being and making even the simplest tasks quite a bit more challenging. It was all too clear to the Knave, as clear as the most cloudless of days, visible in the way their shoulders slouched and the way their eyes drooped.

       She knew from the very moment they had stumbled—stumbled, their feet barely coordinated and legs struggling to support the rest of their weight—into the house, tired and dazed though still able to muster up respect and courtesy when faced with her. Had they been faced with one of their siblings, Arlecchino was certain that their formality would have quickly crumbled into nothing, but because it was her, they had maintained near perfect diplomacy and grace.

       Nevertheless, they still failed to hide how worn out they truly were (but perhaps that was because she was the person she was; had it been any non-Fatui member, their exhaustion may have slipped by entirely unnoticed).

       Therefore, it was only natural for her to check on them.

       That was part of her responsibility as Father—to know how her children were doing, physically or otherwise, at any given time. A healthy child made for a good soldier. An unhealthy child, less so.

       …But their state of being could only make her sigh as she walked over to them, steps light and soundless as to not disrupt their rest.

       They needed it. That much, Arlecchino was extremely aware of. She was nonetheless irked at their blatant lack of consideration for their own body; sleeping in the position that they were, neck craned uncomfortably against the edge of the sofa and body still incredibly tense, would only serve to strike their body with in great pain the following morning. It was simply unhealthy, but it was also inconvenient, considering the responsibilities that loomed over their shoulder like a shadow of the past that could never be shaken.

       The Knave slipped behind them, gingerly lifting their head with a pleasantly warm hand (though her rings were considerably chilly, but the sting was also a rather pleasant sensation against their skin) so that she was able to situate herself behind them.

       Then, she gently laid their head back down. Now, however, their neck was offered far greater support by her thigh, and her mind was soothed. No longer did the Fourth feel that they would awaken sore and stiff.

       Nails raked across their face and delicately brushed at the hair slightly sticking to their forehead; it had mostly dried by now, but there was still residual moisture clinging to their hair, causing it to adhere—albeit weakly—to their skin. Their eyelids seemed to twitch somewhat. A soft hush from their caretaker, however, and they ceased stirring.

       Mad and cursed. To an extent, perhaps those labels were true; Arlecchino was mad and cursed, but then maybe her children found comfort and safety in her madness and her curses.

       They most certainly did, for despite the brief consciousness they regained, they were quick to allow themselves to be lulled back into a peaceful sleep under the watchful eyes of Father.

       Perhaps "madness" was subjective.

       ...Or perhaps her heir was simply following in her footsteps, slowly descending the same path she did, gradually growing to be as mad as she.

       "Dearest child of mine…" she mused aloud, the tones of her voice soft enough to ensure that they would not begin to rouse once again yet not quite faint enough to be regarded as a whisper. Something one might call fond flickered in her voice as she went on, hand coming to a slow stop and settling on the top of their head: "How foolish you can be."

       The darkness creeping up Arlecchino's arms day by day, indicative of her curse's growing severity, was sated, ceasing its ascent for the time being.

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[fan-goddess]

A Rose by Any Other Name…

Original Request: Is tagged here if ya wanna read :)

Authors Note: I'm so mixed with this i love some parts yet hate others it's 50/50. Other than that though I adore this au request and hope i did it justice. Just a headsup they're ngl both toxic stupid younglings.

Word count: 9k words (wow...)

Taglist: @humanpurposes @watercolorskyy, @omgbrcat @blue-serendipity @arcielee

Warnings: Pain, chronic pain, pain flare ups due to chronic pain, soulmates, fluff, angst, actually loving parents, not really a mention of her features only eyes, called a woman and referred to as she/her pronouns, self ableism, a more darker!aemond, implied abuse of royal power, Aemond ngl being lowkey toxic so they both stupid af (if I miss any let me know)

When first learning about soulmates and the fates which follow them, you had prayed to all the seven gods that you would never be misfortune enough to have one. That you should never feel the pain your soulmate felt with flowers marking your skin.

Your mother did not have one, nor did your father or any of your relatives before them, as according to them the whole thing was actually quite rare among the whole of the seven kingdoms.

Though you suppose you never had been very lucky. It was probably what praying to the stranger did to you.

Your first encounter with those damn deep blue flowers that stung while they branded you was on your legs and your abdomen. According to your septas and the lone maester who was permitted to treat your marks, they looked like marks given to a boy beginning his training in combat.

To them, this was seen as an honor, as it meant if you ever got the opportunity to meet him he could protect you. But to you, this merely meant that you were going to need to get used to that incessant stinging. They never knew what it felt like to feel those damn flowers plaguing your body, but not even you knew how to fully describe what it was like. The only way you could even dare think about it if you were truly forced too, was that it was a death sentence.

You never thought through the few years that passed after making the discovery of possessing a soulmate that the pain could get quite worse. But it appears like always, the idea of luck was not on your side.

It was a strange feeling to wake to a flower blooming on the skin of your left eye. The pain was what you focused on most however, as to be awoken to what you could only describe as being fire scorching your skin was something you could never truly describe but know for the rest of your life. Compared to your earlier marks and the pains that came with them, those were merely like when the septas would swiftly hit the ruler over your knuckles.

While you screamed and writhed in pain in your childhood bed, the maester took quick work in forcing milk of the poppy down your aching throat while the small group of septas held back your worrying mother and father who stood scared in the doorway. The medicines effects soon took its place though to yours and everyone's relief, and you were taken in some sort of daze like sleep.

When you awoke a few hours later with your head still fuzzy and a cooling salve slathered patch over your eye, your father was sitting on a chair propped to the edge of the bed tightly holding your hand while your mother slept beside you above the covers.

"Oh my darling, we were so worried!" Your father said, pulling you into a close embrace that woke your mother up from her sleep. By the way the skin underneath her eyes was darkened and how she yawned as soon as she sat up, you could tell she had been trying to stay up all night for you, and the very idea of it made you smile with gratitude you knew other children did not possess. "You gave us such a fright when we heard you screaming so late at night! What happened?"

"I... I do not know father," You said truthfully, your hand unconsciously going to remove the patch from your eye, but stopping when your father grabs your hand and gives you a stern glare that reminds you of your youth, specifically whenever you would steal an extra lemon bar after dinner. "All I remember is falling asleep and then waking to this horrendous pain in my eye and all around it..."

You have a faraway look in your eye as you find yourself unable to look at your mother and fathers lingering questioning gaze. They may not have ever said it, but you can tell that they pity you greatly for the path the gods have pushed you on. You thought this soulmate of yours was some training knight-to-be. But what knight-to-be experienced battle as harsh as having damage to his eye as horrific as you felt it to be? It did possibly occur to you that your soulmate may actually be a hardened knight with years of experience on the battlefield. But after bringing up the concern with your maester, he assured you that the marks you bore would be a lot worse if he was truly some older knight, a kingsguard or even a goldcloak.

Later that day after being ordered to eat lots to restore your energy, your maester came by that evening to visit and check on your mark. His words were kind as he assured you it would've most likely gone down in its intensity since you barely felt anything now except some throbbing from your socket. According to him, while you lay screaming from the pain, a deep blue flower had taken over your entire socket where the pain had bloomed from, in a strange fascinating way making your eye its center.

His touch was gentle as he slowly peeled back the fabric. Yet his face which once held a supportive smile turns to shock and pure horror once you tilted your head up to look at him.

“Maester, what is the matter?” You ask, biting your lip in pure anxiety as he says nothing but stares at your eye. He does not even look away as he grabs a mirror by your bedside table and hands it too you.

When you look into it though, you do not realize what is so wrong except for some small petal edges that leak from around your eye. But then you look more closely and realize with a loud gasp how your once green eye is now a deep blue, and when you close it you gasp again as you comprehend how now a flower has bloomed on your eyelid.

“What… what has happened, maester?!” You yell, unable to look away from your newly changed face.

“I do not know exactly my lady,” The maester begins, forcibly snatching the mirror from your hands so you’re forced to look at him and listen. “The whole written topic of soulmates to my knowledge is so little given at how rare they are, so there is truly not much advice to give you. The basic idea though as I told you when your condition first developed, is that when he is in pain, you are to have a flower bloom on your skin where the pain originates. There is no record I’m afraid of this condition affecting the physical body except from the blooming flowers and the pain that comes with it.”

You stay quiet as you listen to the maester, tears build up as you realize your life shall not be the same. While the idea of having two different coloured eyes is a condition seen around the seven kingdoms, it is still a noticeable thing that would draw attention of the people.

And honestly, you were not sure if you wanted to meet your soulmate. This latest development in your condition is so new and so frightening. Though you must say you cannot help but feel sorry for the soul the gods have promised you too. While what you felt was agony, you have no idea how much it must’ve hurt for your soulmate at that moment.

Over the next few days, you were closely monitored by the maester, the septa’s and your parents who all were anxious to see if the flower on your eye would slowly go down like the other flowers did when the pain disappeared or if it would remain. And much to yours and everyone around you's annoyance, it very much stayed bright and clear on your skin no matter what ointment or potion was used to clear it.

On the fourth day after the incident, as your father called it, a maid who was one of the few with knowledge of your condition came into your chambers with your morning meal, and some important news.

“My lady,” she began, practically sweating as she placed the tray in front of you. “There has been a recent development in regard to your soulmate's identity.”

Since the pain you felt was the most extreme you had ever felt, your father had felt the need to hire some men to investigate to see if this new information would reveal your soulmate's identity, even though the chance of finding an answer was slim to none. Though you suppose there was never a zero percent chance, as proven by the fact there was according to the maid, a recent development.

“What is it?” You ask, biting into the lemon cake first and savoring the sweet yet sour taste on your tongue. “What has my father discovered that he does not feel the need to come tell me himself?”

“Well…” She stumbles, even stepping back a small step as she instinctively looks to the ground. “It turns out that the same day you had that incident my lady, the prince Aemond Targaryen had his eye taken by his young nephew Lucerys, and it was reported to your father that the damage was so bad the eye had to be removed and the socket sewn up.”

The cake that once laid in your hand falls back onto the plate. Your mouth like the cake falls open in the same undignified manner as you cannot believe the words you are hearing.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen?” You find yourself asking in a breathless tone, silent as the maid nods her head.

“May I be dismissed now, my lady?” She asks, knocking you out of a daze you hadn’t even realized you had fallen into. You nod in answer and watch as she leaves, leaving you in silence and your own thoughts that begin to run rampant.

You were soulmates with the Prince! A Targaryen Prince! You heard that out of his three siblings he was the only one with no dragon, but you honestly did not care if he did or did not as either way he was still a man of honor. When thinking of the injuries you received over the years, you cannot help but think of how it made sense.

You knew princes received special training similarly to that of young knights, so when the maester said that the injuries matched up with them made sense. Yet to hear of the Prince's injury that perfectly synced with your own, that was what finally made it all make sense.

You lay backwards in your bed, and allowed the anxiety to wash over your body. The food lay to waste against the covers as you thought only of what your future could hold as a wife of royalty. Of how you would never be a true lady of the court and in the end would no doubt bring about disgrace to your husband's name. Of how in the end compared to your soulmate, the Targaryen warrior, you are just a woman from a lower house who could not bring anything into the marriage but your empty womb.

The next few years after the realization of your soulmate, you spent your time attempting to convince your father not to pursue a marriage between yourself and the Prince. But to your surprise and happiness, your father agreed to not pursue anything marriage related to you without so much of a fuss, even when you, your father and even your mother knew how much a marriage between you and the Prince would help your house bloom in both social standing and resources.

You felt selfish in your insistence of your future, but your father was adamant in telling you that he was not angry in your decision and if anything he was proud to see you so passionate about your decisions.

Your mother much to your delight seemed to agree with you, which probably the main if not the only reason was why your father acted so calmly. According to her you were too young for marriage, which to most people seeing as your mother and father were married quite young it may be seen as hypocritical. But those people were not there to witness all the times your mother gripped her stomach and dreamed of the brothers and sisters you lost on the birthing bed and before.

You were sure not to injure yourself too greatly in fear of that, like how you found out Prince Aemond, he would discover your true identity and come to your doors to claim you in the same way his elder brother Prince Aegon supposedly claimed the ladies of the red keep. 

Yet like all those years ago the night when you realized your eye hard turned blue. The gods were not on your side.

You scream as the pain quickly makes itself known in your arm forcing you to forget anything you’ve ever known other than that overwhelming seering sensation. The tears mask your ability to see the blood pooling up from your skin, and you can hear muffled running in the distance as well as the sound of panicked shouting from the familiar voices of the septas you made such close acquaintances with all those years ago.

You can feel their hands grabbing you, but nothing beats the pain that you cannot even begin to put into words. The maester is by your side as soon as you’re brought to the healing room, and his old wrinkled touch is distinct on your skin as he tries to find the blue flowers he has become so familiar with. Only he does not find blue. Only red. Which is the color of your blood that dyes his fingernails and the tips of his cloak crimson.

Like all those years ago, milk of the poppy is brought to your lips and you are forced to swallow hard and quick. The familiar daze returns as you quickly become numb to the feeling of the sharp needle piercing your skin as the maester attempts to fix you.

You stayed in that bed for at least a day or two before you came too again, but at this point you are used to being there within those familiar walls.

According to the maester, at the height at which you fell from the tree you were climbing in, the tree you were in fact always forbidden to climb but ignored thinking you were safe, you broke your arm clean in two. Apparently the bone had managed to pierce your skin, which is why there had been so much blood. So in order to allow it to heal properly he formed a special layer of hardened protection to stop the arm from any unnecessary movements that could cause further damage to the arm.

As he tells you this, you cannot help but think of how the Prince is thinking right now. Did he get that same piercing pain in his arm too? Did the flowers bloom the same way yours did whenever he managed to harm himself? Were his flowers even the same color as your own? You felt so deep in thought you barely even heard your mother come in to visit.

“My love?” She says, taking your hand in hers and drawing you out from your thoughts. “How are you faring?”

“I am alright mother. The pain is gone, all thanks to the maester.” You say, simply reassuring her as she looks at you carefully to assess whether you lie or not. Yet as she does this you cannot help but notice a distinct figure missing right now. “Where is father?” You cannot help but ask, curious in his whereabouts.

“He went to Kingslanding my love. Do you not remember?” She asks, lips pursed in a sad smile. “You were all set to go with him this morning but since your fall, he was forced to go alone. He sends his best though and wishes that you find a fast recovery, which is seems you have managed to accomplish my strong girl.”

“Oh yes…” You say, remembering she was in fact right. “I suppose I forgot. I did hit my head when I fell.” As soon as you say the words you instantly wince with regret. As before you can even try and defend yourself your mother calls the maester back in and demands a series of further assessments to be done. You sigh as you fall back and your head hits the pillow. This is going to be a long day.

Your father, as he traveled along the road into kingslanding, felt guilt gnawing at his chest for leaving you behind whilst you laid in that healing bed. When he left, you had been in a deep sleep so he had been unable to say goodbye. So he kissed your forehead and squeezed the hand on your unbroken arm and left you to sleep. The guilt remains, but he knows that whilst you lay in that bed you are surrounded and are safer in the presence of your mother and the maester and septas, who overtime have managed to gain much more insight than the majority of people into the topic of soulmates.

As they are so rare, they are viewed as freaks, even though he personally believes that they should be celebrated for being looked upon so greatly by the gods that they have been given a person cut from the same cloth.

When he looks at his own wife, who has given him such light from the darkness of his own life, he likes to think she is his soulmate with or without the flowers blooming on her skin. To him, she is just as beautiful as a fresh bloomed flower after all.

When he exits his carriage down the steps, the queen awaits him with only two of her children standing beside her, and he notices immediately that it is Aemond who is currently absent.

“Will the Prince Aemond not be joining us?” He finds himself asking, eyes widening slightly as he remembers that he is in the presence of royalty. Not some fellow lord whose son is out sleeping away his hangover after fucking a dozen whores.

“No, I'm afraid not Lord Fletcher. My son awoke this morn with a dreadful headache as the maester and he has told me, so he will be staying in his chambers for the duration of the meeting. Probably even for long after you’ve left I’m afraid.” The queen Alicent says, a smile on her face that he immediately knows is forced and strained. After all, he has had to make similar lies when people at the gatherings expect to see you and don’t.

“Ahh, I understand my queen. My own daughter has the same issue with her own health. Some days she wakes as healthy as can be then the next she’s laying in her bed writhing from the worst of pains.” He says, not entirely lying as he remembers those exact moments happening to you as you grew up.

“Ah yes well still we thank you for your understanding.” She smiles again, motioning for him to come and follow her into the castle. “Shall we get down to business?”

The next few hours are spent with him, the queen, and a few other notable house lords debating in the council room. At times the table becomes heated as words are thrown without proper caution, but the Queen always lets a small yet loud cough to remind the men of their place. So to his amusement whenever this happens, the men immediately even when their voices before could shake a mountain, quieten down like freshly stuck dogs denied a newly cut piece of prime steak.

Just as though another annoyingly arrogant man from House Lannister demands to know why his house is in need of paying more of its gold to a lord from House Tarly, the doors burst open, and the second born son of the king walks through as though he was born to strut. As the prince he sits down in the end chair of the council table with all eyes on him, Lord Fletcher cannot help but think about how as soon as he gets home he cannot wait to tell you of how this was the first time he met your soulmate.

“Are you feeling alright my Prince?” He finds himself asking, raising a brow as he turns to the Queen, whose own face holds embarrassment and shock to see her son sitting there before her. “The Queen had told me when I arrived that you were not going to attend today's meeting due to a headache?”

The Prince looks at his mother with what could only be called disdain, and it appears to make her slouch back into her seat while she takes her hand in her own and begins to pick at the nail. It honestly reminds him of how you bite your lips half bloody in your own strange anxiety relieving way.

“I am afraid my mother is mistaken my Lord Fletcher,” The prince simply says. “I merely overdid myself when training with the sword yesterday. I was waiting for the maester to visit so he could give me something to relieve the pain. I do apologize for my tardiness.”

“Oh there is no issue at all my prince.” Lord Fletcher says, an attempt of a smile on his lips. Though he soon becomes distracted when he sees Aemonds eye wander around all those in the room, as if to take some sort of strange attendance record.

“Is your daughter not with you today?” Aemond finally speaks, meeting his eye with Lord Fletcher's own two while he stares him down. “I went to visit my sister before this meeting thinking she would be there so I could greet her and welcome her to kingslanding. But my sister tells me she has never met your daughter. Why is that?”

The Queen Alicent perks from her seat as she remembers now finally remembers the information that had been picking at her all day. “Oh yes my lord pray tell, where is she? I had been so looking forward to introducing her to my only daughter. I had thought the two would get along quite well.”

Lord Fletcher attempts to laugh to ease the sudden tension in the room, but it appears to if anything makes it worse as no faces change from their stoney exterior.

“I’m afraid the day before our departure, my dear daughter had an accident that quite badly injured her arm, the same arm in fact you say to have harmed during your training my prince!” Again he laughs, but that does not stop him from seeing the look the prince and queen share with each other.

It appears the prince is more aware than he thought with the motion of soulmates, though it does make sense when thinking of all the things he’d heard of the one-eyed prince. He is a scholarly boy, so it’d make sense for him to research and look in depth into all the possible books about soulmates the royal library or even the citadel have to offer. He even has the Grand Maester at his beck and call, who no doubt has more information on the topic than anyone else.

“Tell me my lord, how did your daughter have such an accident?” The prince asks as he leans forward so far in anticipation he looks to be at the edge of his seat. “It must’ve been from quite a great height for her to have received such injuries. I do hope she has a quick recovery.”

“Thank you my prince, it means a lot to hear from you. As for how she fell, I believe she was climbing in a tree somewhere on our land when she fell and broke a bone in her arm, the end of which pierced her skin just between her elbow and arm socket, or so our maester told me before I left. I worry about her recovery yes, but I know she is in the hands of a capable maester so I do not doubt she will be feeling much better soon.”

The Prince appears to squint slightly at Lord Fletcher before looking back to his mother. It almost looks like there is a silent conversation between the two, and it’s only interrupted by small tilts of heads by the both of them. It was strange yet interesting to watch.

The Prince hums his final response to the once silent conversation before looking back at Lord Fletcher. “Well as she was unable to make the journey with you to Kingslanding, I suppose I shall have to make the journey to your own home and in a way being Kingslanding to her.”

The silence rings throughout the council room again, with even the queen looking at her son in shock. The councilmen who’d been long forgotten don’t dare attempt to speak a single word since the prince's declaration, which only further proves Lord Fletcher's idea that they’re all idiots in their own rights.

“Are you sure my Prince?” He asks, “Tis I’m sure a tedious journey for you and your dragon-“

“Tis no issue!” Aemond interrupts sharply, his tone firm and assertive. “You are set to travel back home the next morn by carriage I hear. So I shall travel by Vhagar tonight so I may spend the night and meet your daughter in the morn. Is that sufficient enough for you my lord?”

The Prince does not leave room for an answer, as before Lord Fletcher can even open his mouth the Prince already has left the room leaving all councilman members and his mother in shock at the turn of events. And while he feels that same shock, he also cannot help but feel fearful as he knows it’s with his words alone what drove the Prince to commit such quick actions.

He can only dread to think about how the introduction between you and the prince will turn out.

When you awoke the morning after your father had left for Kingslanding, the thing that struck most odd with you were the maids. They looked more fearful than you had ever seen them, and they even avoided eye contact with you, which was odd as by now they had all gotten used to your eye.

“What is the matter with all of you?” You spit, glaring at all the ladies who even after you confronting them refuse to look you in the eyes.

They stay silent as they continue to stare at the stone floor, until finally one of the more recent of the lot breaks the silence.

“The Prince is here, my lady.”

Any anger you felt before this moment disappears soon as it brews and instead is replaced by only stone cold fear.

“He cannot see me…” You murmur, seeing the ladies agree and nod out the corner of your eye. “The Prince cannot see me!”

“He specifically spoke of you when he arrived, my lady,” The maid continues, slowly looking up to stare pitifully at your practically trembling form. You can feel yourself begin to chew at the skin of your inner lip, and yet if anything it encourages you to continue when you start to taste the familiar tang of copper smear on your tongue. “Claims that whenever you wake he wishes for you to join him to break fast together as soon as possible.”

The more this lady speaks the more your gut turns and twists within your body. By now the taste of copper gushes down your throat yet you welcome it gladly, even refusing the goblet one of the other more meeker maids offered you to wash the taste away when they saw red begin to stain your outer lip.

“I have to hide it.” You find yourself firmly saying as you look at one of the older ladies. “Tell me, do we keep any veils that are out of use?”

When the prince awoke within the unfamiliar comfort of the bed with a tired groan building within the back of his throat, it is the memory of the council meeting from the day before that floods his mind, forcing the once tired and sore body into being now quick and alert with excitement and anxiety.

When Aemond was but a young boy, he remembers during one of his lessons on the reign of Maegor feeling a sharp stinging in his knuckles. When he looked down, much to his shock and horror, he saw that light blue flowers were blooming across the pale skin. As much as the initial sight had shocked him dreadfully at first, Aemond could not help but think of that day during later years fondly. As that was the day he realized that maybe after the gods had given him, he was not truly alone.

The Grand Maester had told him everything he himself knew about the topic, and even sent a raven to the citadel to request books speaking of the tales written in the texts. According to him, Aemond was the first in a long time to come forward about possessing one.

Aemond prayed to the gods to meet them soon, but no matter how much he got on his knees no matter how many times he held his hands together in the grand sept with his mother next to him, no girl ever came forward to claim him.

And by the next year, Aemond felt more alone than ever before.

His flowers were never to be allowed to be seen in the eyes of anyone other than his family, a select few maids and the grand maester of course. This was because according to his grandsire, fathers from all across the realm would put their daughters forward claiming to be his soulmate. Also, if it was discovered he had a soulmate, those same fathers may not deem him suitable for marriage if he will abandon his wife for another woman. It was better to hide, so a marriage could be insured and an heir to his name.

Though any thought of a good tempered wife or even a marriage that could soon turn to affection was gone the moment Lucerys stole his eye. He does not remember much other than the pain, but what comes to mind is the thought in the back of his head hoping his soulmate would be alright. Praying that she would not hate him and would still love him even after now being turned into a cripple.

That day he may have lost an eye, but he gained a dragon. He gained the strength to protect his soulmate, and that to him was all that mattered, other than the protection of his mother. Somehow at that moment as she stood there before him, she looked more vulnerable than he did.

While Aemond lay in his bed healing, his mind turned to his soulmate as he remembered the reasoning behind the flowers. The flowers bloom where pain on the other person blooms, in an assurance that they are not alone in this world. Aemond could not help but think it all as a cruel sort of joke, especially as the pain in his eye begins to slowly throb. Yet a part of him is still thrilled to know that even though the Gods have cruelly broken him and built him back up again, there is a person given to him who will share his pain and see him for what he is.

He became even more desperate to discover you as soon as he was fully healed. He called the Grand Maester as soon as he spotted the familiar blue coloring on his skin, and together they looked over each inch of petal extensively until they day turned to night and the oil in the lamps burned out.

According to him, they were marks like that of a piece of wood struck on the knuckles. Which makes sense as Aemond remembers all the times Aegon would fall asleep soon as lessons started, and halfway through a particularly menacing Maester would strike him with a sort of smooth wooden object directly on the knuckles to wake him. It would be a sight that made Aemond smugly smile while he completed all the necessary work and chuckle at later, but thinking of that same treatment happening to his lady made his heart clench in his chest.

Nowadays, whenever he found himself getting injured, whether that is simply a bruise from training with Ser Cole or a sudden onslaught of inner pain in his eye socket, in his mind he always found himself apologizing at the back of his mind for causing pain for his lady. He finds himself wishing he was better in lessons so he could have avoided the swords, wishing he had fought better in the caves against his nephews and cousins so he wasn’t missing his eye. Whatever the situation, Aemond always craved that he was better. And found at the center of it all it was all for her.

He remembers his three and ten name day much too clearly. It lingers in the back of his mind like a plague. The salty stench of the air. The taste of the cheap alcohol Aegon had forced him to consume as according to him, the act was better when a person is left in a daze. The feeling of that woman’s too warm skin. The sound of her supposedly seductive voice that instead of arousing him only managed to make him further horrified. All of it stayed with him for years sticking to his skin.

Though the part which struck out most for him were the thoughts he could not help but think as that woman sunk down on him and robbed him of any free will. The realization that he would not be able to stay chaste for his soulmate. The idea that maybe she would not want to be with him once she found that her soulmate had laid with filthy whores paid by the go to fuck all sorts of men.

He ran out of that place as soon as the weight on his limp body was lifted, and as soon as he reached the comforts of his own bed with the covers lifted well over him like a cocoon, he cried. He cried for the loss of his body. He cried for the loss of his ability to think without remembering what that woman was doing to him while dribbles of tears streaked down his cheek. He cried for not being faithful to you.

He cried for his future with a soulmate who hated him for actions beyond his own control.

Though as Aemond dressed in appropriate clothes he brought with him for the special moment, his mind cannot help but think back to his earlier worries. Yet now, he is a man.

Aemond possesses the largest dragon in the world. Which to him even now was worthy of the trade of his eye. He is a scholar of history and philosophy whose work has even been submitted to the citadel to be placed in books that’ll be read by many accomplished people. He is even a greatly talented swordsman as said so by all those who have watched him train in the yard. He has become a man worthy of your love and your future.

Yet his hands still fumble about with the other whilst he follows a plain looking maid to the dining hall. He requested a meeting with you in private specifically in a place you were familiar with so you could be comfortable when meeting him. He may be a dragon, but he likes to imagine that he is no monster.

He sits there for what feels like hours. Picking at the skin above his nail until he can feel the blood pooling. He’s about to do it again to his final nail on his left hand, but then you walk in and everything stops. Only not for the reason he would’ve hoped it to have.

As he does not meet the eyes of his soulmate. Instead he meets nothing. He merely stares blankly at the veil that covers your whole face.

“What are you wearing?” He asks, glaring at the damned piece of fabric in his way.

“Clothes, my Prince.” You simply say, the sarcasm not annoying him like how Aegons does. Though Aegon was always just a twat. You appear to make it interesting and actually entertaining to take part in.

“Trust me, my lady, I can see just fine with one eye.” He smirks, silently seething at the prospect of being unable to see your face. He already knows you to be beautiful, it just irks him that he is unable to confirm it. “Why do you hide yourself?”

“What do you mean my Prince?”

“Why do you hide your face? Is there a chance you are afraid of me? Or of what you think I will see?” As soon as the words leave his lips he sees the way your body freezes up. “Do you wish to sit down my dear lady? I am sure it was never a part of your etiquette lessons to break fast while standing.”

You do not say anything as you move to sit in a seat near the middle of the table, and Aemond already in his mind is thinking that’s much too far away from him as he continues to sit at the end seat.

The two of you though stay silent as you both begin to eat the spread of food in front. From the corner of his eye he watches you, and it’s strange how he finds himself suddenly so jealous of the fruit you begin to eat. Jealous of the way those grapes get to go under your ridiculous veil and be touched by your lips, which Aemond already knows to be soft and oh so kissable. He has never seen them, but he just knows.

“Would you not be more comfortable without the veil my lady?” Aemond asks, watching carefully as you stop eating and turn your head to look at him.

“No, I am fine with my current predicament. Is it not more comfortable for you to not wear the eyepatch?” You quip back, with no doubt a smile on your face.

“I suppose you are right my lady,” Aemond drawls, watching the way your head tilts and the fabric concealing you from him lightly pressed against the curves of your face. “How about I propose this. I take off my patch, and you take off your veil?”

“I do not accept it!” You practically yell, your hands clenching so hard that Aemond could see even from where he sat the knuckles turning white.

“Besides…” You continue in a much softer tone like that of a burdened lady, which Aemond knows for sure is not true at all from what he has heard of your life story. “I am hideous to look at. This veil more protects you than it protects me my Prince I am sure of it.”

Aemond hums a response, but his eye says all as it trails over your covered body.

“So those who have told me in person how you are easily one of the prettiest maidens they have seen are lying then, are they my lady?” He reveals, watching you carefully so he can attempt to decipher your movements.

“They must be my Prince. As far as I have been told, I am the ugliest lady they have ever seen and how I shall die a spinster locked away in a tower!”

It’s strange, how when Aemond thinks of that actually happening his fists clenched tightly by his sides, and how he gets the overwhelming urge to maim those people claiming you to be so hideous. To make them so ugly and deformed and force them to sit all day everyday in front of a mirror so they can see the true meaning of being grotesque.

“You lie.” Aemond simply growls, his brow harshly furrowed from the mixture of anger from the idea of those insulting you and frustration from you still hiding your true identity from him.

He closes his eye and takes a minute to simply breathe past his anger. His body slowly tingly as he swears he feels your eyes piercing his soul.

“What if I strike a bargain with you, my sweet maiden?” Aemond says, the nickname oozing off his tongue with arrogance and self assurance.

“And why should I even think about striking a deal with you, my Prince?”

“Because I believe it shall benefit the both of us my lady. Now, do you wish to hear what I have in mind?”

“If you insist on telling me then I suppose I shall be obliged to hear words from the Prince of the realm.” You sigh, leaning your body to one side so your head is laying on the palm of your hand and Aemond gets another glimpse at how you look without truly seeing you.

“I suppose you are…” He says, leaning forward so his arms are fully lying on the table and his spine is slightly curved. “Still, the bargain I wish for you to partake in is this. I shall take off my eye patch so you can see what true grotesque is, and you my sweet maiden shall take off your good for nothing veil. Then I suppose we can see out of the two of us who is the most ugly, as you so bluntly put it.”

Aemond barely has a chance to blink before you're yelling a distinctive and firm “No” that manages to echo somehow in the room.

“Now now my sweet don’t be so resistant…” Aemond grins, tilting his head to one side as he finds himself delighted with how riled he’s made you. “You did not even consider it for a second.”

“Because I did not need to!” You bite back, slamming your hands against the wooden table so hard it manages to shake your plate still possessing some food and even your goblet too. “If I do not wish to show you you have no right to force me!”

“Oh, but I’m afraid I do my sweet maiden…” He says, getting up from his chair so he can oh so slowly make his way over to where you appear to sit frozen in your own chair. “As a prince, I have power where you do not. Now, I do not wish to abuse such power for situations like this one. I do not like to abuse my power in general in any situation. But I may find myself very willing to show you what it is I am capable of. Do you understand me maiden?”

Aemond pauses for a moment as he watches the way the veil moves with every shallow breath you take before he does something that leaves his own heart beating frantically in his chest from every emotion possible to feel.

Aemond slowly peels off his eyepatch to reveal to you a shining blue sapphire surrounded by deep scarred flesh before chucking the piece of dark brown leather onto the table in front of you.

“I have completed my end of our bargain my sweet lady. Now complete yours, before I get impatient.”

You sigh deeply and Aemond cannot help but feel his heartbeat thrice as hard in his chest from anticipation alone. He yearns to see your eyes, your lips, your nose, your everything If only you should allow him too.

So when your hands slowly move to entangle themselves in where the veil begins from within your hair, his heart feels as though he fully stops when the veil is slowly pulled away and the face of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life stares back at him.

“Gevie” He cannot help but murmur as his eye moves over your whole face and his body is forced to sit down in the chair next to you so he can focus on looking solely at you.

“What does it mean?” You ask, though Aemond barely registers it as he’s entranced with how your lips move with each syllable.

“Beautiful.”

There is a rare silence between the two as they each take time now looking at each other. You stare at the sapphire that glints when the sunlight beaming through the window hits it. While Aemond now looks properly at your eye, which he has discovered is a whole different color than the other. And when you blink and reveal the delicate flower imprinted on your eyelid, he cannot help but gape and gasp slightly.

“Did I do that?” He asks, pure horror in his tone and words.

“It was done a long time ago my Prince,” You simply say, smiling slightly in a strange way to comfort him. “And in a way, I suppose it was done by whoever took out your own eye. I do not expect you to suddenly reveal to me that you tore it out yourself. So therefore, you should have no more guilt than the person truly responsible.”

“I’ll kill the bastard!” Aemond growls, anger spilling from him in waves as he thinks of his nephew whose crime has gone on for too long.

“Careful my Prince. Those are dangerous words you are saying about children of the crown. You are lucky it is only me who is here.” You smile.

At first, you were so defensive and so sure the veil would hinder the Prince from prying about what was underneath it. You had thought of him like how you thought of all other men, and that when challenged with the prospect of an ugly woman he would not care and move on. Yet you suppose the gods do like to play tricks in the unlikeliest of places.

He had worn you down with the harshest of phrases and the most defensive body language, yet when you saw him at his most vulnerable with his sapphire shown bare to you you could not help but allow the overwhelming feeling of awe take over you while you stared at him.

As you unmasked yourself before him however and saw his own look of awe while he stared at all your features that had once been so carefully hidden from him, you could not deny the way your heart beat loud in your chest.

Even the way he murmured in his unique Valyrian tongue made you feel a strange feeling of specialness. As if no other woman had been seduced by those same words.

As you spoke to each other, your tongue slowly loosed as it felt for some reason so right to do so. You joking with the Prince felt so natural and yet so foreign at the same time.

“I suppose I am lucky my lady that it is you who sits there.” He says in response to your dangerous quip about his nephews, whose mother if she had heard yours or Prince Aemonds words would’ve surely sharply questioned you for them with no thought of mercy. “Though I suppose I am even more lucky that it is no ordinary woman who sits before me.”

He waits for a moment to see if you will guess his next words. But to be honest he almost forgets them himself as he gets distracted staring at your bottom lip which you bite between your teeth.

“I am lucky as it is my soulmate who sits before me as beautiful as the maiden herself.”

You feel like all the air in your lungs has left and you're gasping for air. Yet it's not as painful as you thought. In fact, it's rather remarkable to feel yourself burn in the presence of a dragon.

Still, even with this miraculous feeling within you, you cannot help but think of how your soulmate treated you but moments before. Arrogant. Selfish. Coercive. Your soulmate forced you to show yourself to him when you were uncomfortable. Did you really want to be fated to be with that person for the rest of your life?

"What's wrong my love?" Aemond asks, seeing the anxious expression on your face.

"How is it you can be so kind to me, when not even what I can guess to be less than half of an hour ago you were treating me as if I were some sort of shit on your shoe?" You ask, looking him dead in the eye as his body appears to freeze up before you.

If you weren't so focused on forcing the truth from a prince of the realm, you would think that it was actually very thrilling and sort of empowering to force a prince into silence.

"I did not mean to treat you like that." He begins, his head tilted to the floor so you cannot see his eyes and his neatly kept hair falls forward like a sort of curtain either side of his face. "I am sorry I was harsh on you. I suppose... I suppose I was scared."

Oh?

"All of my life, since I was a child, I was praying for you. For my soulmate to come into my life. And I suppose after all that time passing without you turned me bitter and angry that the gods did not hear my pleas. My feelings only became more sour when finally in front of you, instead of immediately accepting me and welcoming me you denounced me and spurned me with your words."

"You really thought I would jump into your arms like some sort of innocent lovesick maiden?" You say, staring at the man in front of you in disbelief. Aemond for the first time since his confession looks up at you from his curtain of silver locks, disbelief in his own stare as he listens to your honest words.

"Aemond, the idea of being tied to someone for the rest of my life was challenging for me as a child. Before the loss of your eye, all I had felt was mere stings. Yet feeling the pain I felt that day, it frightened me. I was a child-"

"I WAS A CHILD TOO!" Aemond yells, standing up so suddenly and leaning over you that you shriek a little in fear. “I was the one experiencing it first hand! The one who had to be held down by maesters and stared at by all as milk of the poppy was forced down my throat so maesters could tear out my eye with no true concern for me! YOU DID NOT HAVE TO GO THROUGH THAT AS YOU LAID ABED WHINING LIKE SPOILT CHILD!”

“DO NOT YELL AT ME!” You find the courage to say, standing up and pushing him away so he stumbles a couple steps back in surprise. “I get that you are angry and believe the entire world hates you! But do not blame me because you cannot be angry at those truly deserving of it! Do not yell at me because you are forbidden from getting your revenge on your bastard nephew! Do you understand me?!”

Aemond, in the same manner as that of a kicked dog, nods a yes to your question. Though when you glare hard at him to tell him that answer is unacceptable he quickly fumbles for words that eventually make it out to be heard.

“Thank you.” You simply say, stepping forward to show him how he has earned that step. “I understand you were disappointed I was not there for you. But you need to understand I was scared about it all. Scared of my future, scared of what was to come. Do you even get how scared that must’ve been for me?”

“Yes I understand that.” Aemond says, stepping a single step closer and pausing to see if you allow it which you do. “I am sorry for not thinking of you when you yourself were obviously hurting yourself. I was selfish-“

“It is not selfish, Aemond, to act like how you did.” As you speak, you step that last final step towards your soulmate and place an admittedly cautious hand onto his cheek. Though you think what surprises you most is when he immediately closes his eye and pushes his cheek hard against your palm. “I forgive you Aemond, even when I don’t know if I ever should for how you treated me.”

“I do not truly expect you to.” Aemond murmurs, his eye still closed as he savors your warmth against his cheek. “Though I vow here before you as not just your soulmate but as a man, that I’ll make it my life’s mission to form myself as a man worthy for you. To form myself into what you deserve.”

“Though I suppose that’s the strangest thing about our whole meeting.” You whisper, placing your other hand on the part of Aemonds face where the dark brutal mark that is his scar takes most of its space. It forces a somehow now calm and content Aemond to all of a sudden open his eye and even gasp so silently you almost barely hear it when your thumb slowly traces the raised yet soft skin of the scar that has defined him for so long.

“I don’t find myself wishing you to change to be better. I find myself wishing for you to stay how you are, even if you may hurt me.”

And with that, without either of you knowing whose fault it truly is, your limbs find comfort with each other, and all feels right.

[edgeray]

“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

---

Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt. 

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes. 

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them. 

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here. 

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be. 

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead. 

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage. 

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly. 

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it? 

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form. 

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you. 

"Someone wants you." 

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight." 

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight." 

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else." 

"They're not someone you or I can refuse." 

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh. 

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living. 

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.” 

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking. 

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting. 

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both. 

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you. 

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken? 

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself. 

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch. 

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end? 

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face. 

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them. 

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face. 

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily. 

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount. 

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh. 

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client. 

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers. 

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk. 

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation. 

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice. 

“Sit.” 

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own. 

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin. 

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave. 

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly. 

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin. 

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson. 

“Doll.” 

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you. 

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by: 

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds. 

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger. 

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make. 

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge. 

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste: 

They taste like sin. 

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them. 

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds. 

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody. 

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh. 

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact. 

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.  

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips. 

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you. 

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle. 

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf. 

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips. 

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting. 

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear. 

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward. 

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.” 

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

[aixeko]

──────<3 YOUR LORDSHIP ༺♱༻

WEEK 1 | SINNERS SAVAGERY / ERISETOBER

| Synopsis |  When the tempestuous waves crash against the shore and the sky turns a foreboding grey, human shells cower in fear as the mighty lord of the seas, Leviathan, awakens from the darkest pit of the deep, seeking for a human companion to aid her lonely voyage. 

| Synopsis | Yelan as Leviathan x Mortal!Reader

| Setting | MONSTER AU / Historical Era

| Scenario | [ ONESHOT ]  EVENTUAL SMUT Porn with plot. Long introduction. Arranged marriage. Emotionally abusive parents. Kidnapping. Yelan saved Reader. Hemipenes [ Double cocks ] Monsterfuck, kinda, but Yelan is in her human form. Size kink. Tail kink… Is that a thing? Consent is hot. Soft-Dom!Yelan and Virgin-Sub!Reader. No gendered pronouns used only female anatomy. Went with the flow while writing so uh yeah. NO BETA WE DIE LIKE MEN.

► RADIO CHANNEL [ Author note ]

⚝ Used to hate Yelan a lot since I don't fw her haircut but after writing this she ain’t that bad tbh. Maybe mischaracterized, I stopped playing the archon quest and genshin in general since Sumeru release. ⚝ Including biblical references and quotes in an eventual smutshot is crazy work Ik.  ⚝ Not a native speaker, just a professional dyslexic yapper + VERY RUSHED WRITING ESPECIALLY AT THE END.

[ Word count: 5205 ] | Art credit: kgynh on Twitter

Love's true essence eludes reality when forced upon by one's own guardian.

Can humanity's most sought-after reward retain its meaning amid the sea of obligations?

The shortest and simplest answer is a definite no to the victim and an utter negation to the assailant.

It seemed as though time had slipped away, as if it were only yesterday that you were a child, running barefoot along the shoreline, embracing the sea like your own kind.

Now you're freshly twenty, walking barefoot with jewelry decorating every inch of your figure and outfitted in an expensive ivory wedding dress funded by a husband whom you have never spoken to nor seen with your own eyes.

Once an innocent, carefree child turned into a young virgin delicacy for the rest of the world to corrupt, offered by your most trusted protectors, you could never again call your parents.

It's for the future of everyone here, my dearest eldest child; you are the only one capable of bestowing glory on our village, so shine, my dear, and bring forth a new era for this accursed world.

No more would your beloved, caring mother tell tales of fairy tales, replacing them with those orations each night you succumbed to uneasy slumbers, like a reminder of the miserable future that would descend upon you.

Straighten your posture, child, drop the sorrow and curve those lips, child, stop consuming so much cuisine, child; His Highness the prince wouldn't want an indolent pig as his lifelong partner.

No more would your kind father carry you through mountains and forests to show you the falsehood of paradise your child self formerly gleamed at; now he who had turned into an unfeeling man would deport you across the thunderous waves to your new life with your unknown lover.

Seated on the boat and obscured by your veil, you could only stare mindlessly at the bouquet in your hands, all the while the entirety of your community swarmed the harbor in a declaration of celebration for your safe expedition and soon-to-be prosperous life.

Children who were like you and knew nothing better than to trust their protectors admired you and wished for a future like yours, not knowing about the torture you had and would have to face. Adults who saw you grow only wish for you to one day return to this lowly village for a blessing from people who they view as higher life and, to some extent, as God-beloved children. At last, your guardians who know the cruel truth don't bat an eye at your suffering and only wish to rid themselves of you and ask forgiveness when you soon flourish in the castle life.

You realize now that all those times of 'joyous' occasions and 'love' were not anything more than a ploy, a gamble, a hefty investment that your supposed parents made the very day you were born into this world.

Do not forget about the hardship you have faced and the community that has helped you awaiting here for your anticipated return; rejoice in luxury, and proffer our kindness with your blessing, my sweet child!

Your mother's distant voice screams out in a mixture of woefulness and elation, a grand final act in her show to manipulate your already shell-shocked heart into forgiving and forgetting.

Can one's own soul mend in the face of a fierce storm?

When the world seems to continue living on while yours has stopped, a shadow of its former self, a living corpse in a world of angel-disguised devils.

Have there been no solutions to resolve this impending doom, or have the solutions always been impending doom?

A presumed hour has passed since you began your journey through the ocean; silence was all the sound you seemed to hear, with the occasional "hmph" or sigh from the man who gave life to you.

"Are you going to soak and stare mindlessly in misery for the remaining period of time? You are a smart child; I'm sure you understand that it will be long until the next sunrise before we're standing on land again."

A part of you wishes to answer, to once in your life unleash the raging sorrow he and the woman he married have anchored you to, but like always, you find your tongue tied to an invisible knot, unable to fight back due to the cowardly mannerism you've learned to adapt to.

"Resentment and anger are not traits desired by heaven, child; one day you will come to realize that the things we have done are for the sake of your own good. Had we not done so, you would be living with a poor man and left to be a rotten peasant, unable to blossom into your true potential."

Your grip on the bouquet tightens, such blaring words spoken to be only lies to ease the guilt; if his putative wisdom has a scent, it would be of the foulest smell one could inhale.

Sensing the tension in the atmosphere, for once the man chose not to escalate the situation further in fear of tragedy, especially being in the middle of practically nowhere in the vast sea.

People spoke of God as a heroic savior of the world, yet had never once in their lifetimes seen this magnificent being above humans and animals, mortal and immortal, life and death.

How can he, who is worshiped by the world as the one true salvation, allow his creations to suffer so greatly?

For the first time in a long time, you turn your gaze away from the flowers, not out of boredom, not out of impatience, but out of helplessness, out of your daydream for the life you longed for and lost in consequence of humankind's greed.

You lift your veil to reveal just enough to see with one hand while still withholding your grip on the flowers. Your first sight of the world is the ocean, a natural phenomenon you've adored for as long as you could walk; if you were asked to explain why you are so heavily interested in it, you would reply with a simple "Who wouldn't?" But if they were to ask you on a deeper level, you would respond that because you feel like nothing understands you more than it does, it's not a human, it's not a being, but because of such quality, it's why you're so fond of it.

The world is cruel, so very cruel, and so to have something as tranquil and peaceful as this enormous paradise is something to be adored with the utmost devotion.

Those of his believers who pour countless nights and days into seeking his divine revelation deserve more than silent destruction.

If God truly does exist, surely he'd answer his faithful servant's pleas for grace rather than having them suffer such a cold fate.

Before your so-called father could stop you, your hand meets the cool yet oddly soothing warmth of the water, a rare upward curve forming in the corner of your lip as a singular tear falls down and becomes one with Earth's own heaven.

If God does exist, if the legend and the myth are tales of truth, then please, please set your gaze on me; please save me from this miserable life, your lordship.

The winds begin to howl, and the sky darkens to a foreboding gray; far away from you, tempestuous waves crash violently against the coast. A single lightning strike ominously appears in the distance of the gray sky, sending chills down your spine at the signal of an impending storm.

The boat rocks violently, and you struggle to maintain stability, clutching tightly onto the edge of the boat while your father tries to manage the situation somehow, but it proves easily inefficient as a mere mortal is nothing against Mother Nature.

Your veil nearly flew off your head, and in a moment of panic, you let go of the flowers in your hand for the very first time in the interest of keeping the veil from flying away.

The boat rolls dangerously as the waves increase in abnormal strength; you struggle to hold on, and your father's screams are nearly drowned out by the cacophony of intense wind and waves if it weren't for the distinct pitch between nature and human fear.

With much grappling, you look upward to where your father's sight is set upon, and your face turns pale, hearts pounding in absolute fear from the sight of a creature only described in fairy tales and biblical books as the supreme sovereign of the seas. Unlike consuming content from secondary sources of its fearsome status, its appearance is much more petrifying in real life; from its awakening, ripples of dread are sent through the entire atmosphere, as if the very ocean itself is a body of its powerful might.

The sea serpent colossus's size covers the sky in its mass alone, and all you can do is watch in powerlessness, but as the initial fear disappears, you can't help but feel a surge of admiration for the majestic creature that has risen from the depths to grace you with its presence.

In essence, Leviathan is not just a creature of myth but can be portrayed as a powerful embodiment of the ocean’s mysteries, evoking awe and fear in equal measure; yet at this moment, Leviathan is not a myth or an embodiment anymore.

You slowly stand up, wanting to reach out for the monster in spite of your puny existence compared to it; perhaps this feeling is a manifestation of your love for the ocean. Maybe you were wrong this whole time, that this entire time the boundless mysterious abyss was, in fact, a being of greater worth than a mere mortal can comprehend. Could it be that the reason why you felt so heavily connected to the ocean was due to the fact that such a creature lay dormant in it? Could it be the case that this whole time someone has been accompanying you in your most vulnerable and lonely moments?

You stand up on your bare feet, both hands outstretched high above like a priest offering their devotion to God; you gaze up toward Leviathan, and your heart nearly bursts as you see you have gained its full attention.

"Your lordship." You whisper so silently that even your confused, fear-struck father, who is sitting beside you, cannot hear, but those words are not meant for mortal ears after all.

The last thing you feel is a coldness so soothing it could be a camouflage for fire as it engulfs you before darkness consumes you into a comforting slumber, one you've been deprived of since as early as your formative years.

It is when one has been confined for so long in the presumably eternal abyss that the light seems to shine so luminously.

Your eyes flutter open, rising to consciousness; a deep breath escapes your lips as you try to recall what has occurred, only for you to be sidetracked by where you are.

In contrast to the rough feeling of the wooden boat, you now lie comfortably in an astonishingly expensive, spacious bed made for what can only be assumed to be a titan or of the utmost royalty.

You look down at yourself and realize you're not fitted in a white ivory dress anymore but rather in extravagant, exquisite, and elaborate bridal attire belonging to a culture you're not all too familiar with.

Spotting a large mirror not too far away, you rise to your feet and examine yourself, and to your complete and utter shock, the dress was of a quality you could only have dreamed of; in comparison to the dress, the room that you thought was too lavish is lowly.

The attire is of a stunning ultramarine and silver color, with intricate embroidered patterns of what looks to resemble a sea serpent and floral motifs covering the entire garment. It's voluminous, creating a flowy silhouette and a sense of grandeur, and to add to its flowiness is your veil, which is elevated by a silver headpiece as detailed as the entire apparel.

In the corner of your eye, you spot fully bloomed lotuses with their countless petals decorating the dark blue marble floor.

Must it be that the one who brought me here intends to put on a show and allow me to follow those flowers to their awaiting destination? You thought, quite skeptical of this mysterious stranger's intentions, but seeing the pleasantries you have been showered with, you opted not to draw the wrong judgment quite yet.

You pull down your veil, which, unlike its appearance, is quite translucent on the inside—a heavily desired distinction from your previous opaque one.

At a slow pace, you follow the lotus, leaving the room for an even more unfamiliar environment; outside the bedroom is a long hallway decorated with various ornamentations that are illuminated by bioluminescent organisms you've only heard tales about.

Continuing to follow the lotuses, you admire the serene atmosphere, despite knowing nothing about anything and everything; the place seems to give a familiar feeling you've only felt toward the vast expanse of water.

You turn down countless corridors and admire different décor before you come to a stop at a grand, sturdy arch entrance; carved in it is what looks to be the depiction of Leviathan, the almighty sea serpent you have come to witness and live to tell the tale of. As well as what looks to be a mortal woman behind it, albeit a very unlikely assumption with her obscure body featuring characteristics impossible to be found on a human.

A slow inhalation and exhalation release through your nose and out of your mouth before your hands push the door open.

"Does the scenery satiate your taste, or is there any adjustment you desire to make?" A deep, rich, feminine voice booms.

You're a bit taken aback by the sound of another living being, and especially a female one at that. If it weren't for her voice, you would have mistaken the woman for a male at first sight given her chosen outfit. Similar to you, she is seemingly clothed in bridal attire with half of her chest uncovered by fabric or hair. Long, flowing garments in place of pants share colors and detailing exactly like yours with minor adjustments; a silky robe is wrapped around her like a sash, and the rest of her features are concealed by the canopy veil hanging from the roof of the castle.

She's seated on top of a throne as grand as the room is, and by the windows that are engraved in the wall, you realize that you have been underwater this whole time. Which explains the unusual source of lighting and unique embellishment never seen in this era.

A gulp ran down your dry throat, and your immediate thought was to go on your knees and bow, but you were stopped by her commanding voice.

"You are not to behave by the rules your kind has set, because here you are of the highest life that the mortal soul can achieve. Come closer; I'm sure you are curious to see what I appear as, little one."

It takes a while for any sort of response or action to manifest, but soon enough, one did.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, this may be an intrusive question, but may I know what you are addressed by? In particular, your title or name, perhaps if you are to grant me both."

The mysterious being seems to be quite surprised but amused; you see the shadow of her head resting on her fisted hand as she answers your question with much delight.

"You are much more intriguing than meets the eye; it is no illusion that you are a unique character indeed; you should take pride in the fact of such a deed so highly as to be offered as a bride to a prince, given your status as a lower life." A chuckle was released, followed by a dreamy sigh. "Of course, I am no different; never have I risen to the mortal realm and met such a gem; you must be of this planet's favorite creation to be so blessed."

At the mention of 'favorite' and 'blessed,' you are quick to protest, an act you yourself are surprised by, taking into account your history.

"You are mistaken, your liege; I am by no means favored, and least of all blessed."

"Hm, I see," she paused. "To answer your question, you must already know me by my true form. The one whom you called 'your lordship,' the formidable sea serpent, as you mortals describe me, and by my given name, Leviathan."

At the revelation, you are much amazed; Levithan had been a name you often associated with a male creature, given its appearance, but you do recall that in one particular book, you can't place your finger on the name of, which has described Levithan as a female monster that dwells in the deepest part of the watery abyss.

"Awed, I see? You're quite an amusing little one, but I do request that you do not refer to me by that name, as it does not fit my taste. I particularly like the name Yelan, and I do hope you agree with it."

Without thinking, you begin making your way to the Lord, eager to see the one who has saved you from a miserable life, the one to rid you of a horrible life with a man who could dispose of you anytime he sought.

"I am merely an underling in a position compared to your lordship."

You were only a fair step away from seeing the godly being yourself before being swept off your feet by a massive, rugged tail. You yelped, eyes closing in fright, only to feel yourself pressed up against foreign, frosty flesh that was quite comforting in spite of its temperature.

"Repeated words are a time waster, and I'm sure I do not need to remind you again that you are not to behave by the rules your mortal friends or foes have established in that pretty little head of yours."

"I... I'm sorry, Your Highness; please do not punish me," you whimpered aloud, frightful even with the hospitality and kindness accentuating Yelan's words.

"Punish you? I am a feared monster indeed, but I am not without a soul; harming you would be a war set against grace itself."

Her rough hand carefully and tenderly touches your chin like the softest of materials, tilting it up patiently to face her.

"Open your eyes, my heaven."

Your heart fluttered at the nickname, and without any second consideration, you did as you were commanded. A single beat skipped within the close proximity of Her Highness; from a distance, she may have seemed the average human size, but being this close to her, on her lap specifically, you're awed by her enormous stature.

"Your Majesty...I-you're... huge."

Her pale skin is adorned with scales that are inherent to her true form, light jade-hued eyes bore into you like a gourmet to be savored rather than devoured, and dark blue hair with asymmetrical bangs that are lighter at the tips seems to tie it all together to make a manifestation of the perfect combination between a mythical creature and a mortal female.

Another chuckle, this time a little longer, emits from her, and you swear your pupil seems to take on the appearance of a heart at the paradisiacal sight blossoming before you.

"Oh, how I adore mortal words; it has been a long time since I have had the company of another."

Her tail slithers its way to your waist and pulls you in closer—an act in anticipation of unforeseen events, but one that you suspect will happen sooner than expected.

"But my lord... how can I, a mere human, be able to accompany you?"

"Are you suggesting I am not capable of taking care of you? If there are things you require, then a single word to me and your wish shall be granted. If you believe it's impossible, then I will rival against the heavens for it to become a reality."

"No, no, my lord, you are much more than one can imagine, but I fear I am not capable of surviving in such an environment, as I have observed; we are underwater, and I do not have the ability to breathe under such conditions, nor do I have any power."

When His Lordship arrived, it was one where many prayed countless times for it and never got to witness it in their lifetimes.

To be able to be in possession of such dutiful hands is to be seen beyond the flesh and into the deepest part of one's soul.

That day I learned that God truly does exist on this wasted planet and that God is not a man of the beyond but a woman with a nurturing soul.

"I see, you should have mentioned it earlier," her gaze evidently grew dim. "I have a method of transferring my power to you, gaining you access to my pool of destruction, albeit the technique is rather an intimate act, and by performing this, you would be marked as wholly mine, and your soul will be bound to me for as long as you have the will to exist."

Much to your shame, an immediate "yes" escaped from your lips, which left Yelan a bit taken aback by the response; nevertheless, it's one that doesn't go unappreciated by her.

"My sweet mortal, as much as I am flattered by your agreement, I suggest reconsidering all the restrictions you may have to face, and most importantly, that you are not to return to your realm without my supervision for fear that your breed may label you as part of witchcraft or satanic magic."

You shake your head; you may long for your past life when the moon is at its fullest, where the most breathtaking night sky reveals itself as the world rests, but you would never dare return to the misery forced upon you ever again.

"Your lordship, I am sold off to a man whom I have never longed for, like I have longed for a companion each moment my body embraces the sea; never have I heard his voice the same way the waves whisper a delightful siren song to my ears, nor have I grown to love every perfect imperfection of the stranger as I have to your land."

Yelan's ears turn a deep blue hue at the helix—a phenomenon you haven't a clue about the means of its cause, but you take her cheeky grin as a blissful reaction.

"And you are certain of your choice; there is no return from then on."

"I have not thought of anything but a future with you, my lord."

Yelan's features lit up with much ecstasy, and her smile exceedingly widened as she cupped your entire head with one palm, bringing you ever closer with each ring of an echoing bell.

"Then may you allow me to have a kiss?"

"Yes, my sovereign."

Thus, the tragic tale of a young mortal sold to a foreign land ends as a tale of a beauty blessed by the heavens, and a monster feared by the lords begins.

Yelan hovers above you, naked from the top half of her body, her face flustered with uneven breath reflecting yours. What was a passionate exchange of blissful lips meeting quickly stirred up the deprived sea serpent, and now you're a complete mess spread out on top of another bountiful bed for her eyes to feast on.

You're breathless, as the woman who treated you with much care is barely able to restrain herself from almost attaching her lips to yours. Your head throbs from the intensity, but you can't help admitting that this is all so new and exciting; after all, you haven't given up your virginity yet or even touched yourself.

Like a mind reader, Yelan asked, "You haven't done this before, have you? How pure; I'm almost intimidated to corrupt such innocence. If it is all too much, yell out 'lotus'; I do not want your first time to be unsatisfactory."

"Hgh... Understood, my lord."

"Yelan. I am no more or less now that I am to mate with you; we are of equal ranking. If you must, you can still refer to me as please, but I will admit the truth that I do want to hear my name out of your delectable enunciation."

"Okay—Yelan."

Yelan's instinct to the callout of her name is to kiss you again, never satiated by how addictive mortal flesh can be. You gasp into the drastically different monument of the kiss, rolling your eyes to the back of your head as she plunges you further into the generous bedding.

You tried returning her touch with eager vigor but found your hands accidentally pressed against the middle of your crotch due to your unfamiliarity with a half-beast, half-mortal form. You're flustered as an involuntary moan leaves you at the feeling of her monstrous size while Yelan is quick to use the opportunity to slither her long tongue inside, which has your body inducing visual stimuli.

You choke even more when you feel her grab your attire and rip it apart with her claws; you whine at the act, quite saddened as you have grown quite attached to the outfit, and as a result, Yelan mumbled a quiet "sorry" in between hungry kisses.

"Yelan... needs—more, ah, fast—faster!"

You come to regret your words a tad bit when you feel her lengthy tail slither its bulk around your thigh and an inch away from your womanhood.

"Comfortable or-"

"Please."

She doesn't question your neediness, nor does she require any more words for her to thrust some of the length inside, careful not to harm you as she deems you not suitable for many insertions yet.

You cry out her name at the intrusion, gripping her back and scarring it at that, but it doesn't matter as she moves from your lips to mark your body while getting rid of the distraction covering your frame.

Time is an unchangeable aspect of the universe, but in this moment of elation, it seems to go on for an eternity while flashing faster than one can comprehend the flicker of lightning. You're a whimpering mess as Yelan plants her imprint onto you. How long has it been, how long have you been doing it, and how long are you able to go on—these are all questions you don't know the answers to, and one that is least of your concerns at the feelings of how staggering her erotic touches are.

Satisfied enough to finish her final touches on your neck and collarbone, she moves to your chest, pressing airy kisses to each nipple before setting her lukewarm mouth to suck on one while rubbing the other.

"Mmm... mn, ah.. your highness, Yelan. So-so..g..” Your words run dry at the overstimulated sensations running their course.

“No need to say anything; just focus your pretty little mind on making those delectable sounds, and let me take care of the rest.”

"Shhh, no need to say anything; focus your pretty little mind on feeling my devotion to you and making those delectable sounds. Let me take care of you."

Out of the blue, Yelan pulled her tail out of you, causing you to let out a whiny whimper at the loss of contact, but not long after it would be replaced by a hitched breath.

You have never seen a penis before, only heard of its description and what its function to society is, but nobody has ever told you that they're almost as large as the size of your head, and two of them at that.

"Haha, don't look so excited now; it's truly a tempting invitation to my constrained self-control. My tail already has difficulty trying to enter you; to think you can fit these two little beasts of mine is beyond impossible."

You pull your lips into a dainty pout with a tilt of your head. 

“Is there no other way to pleasure one another, my liege?”

“You're so curious and such an obedient little one too; I truly struck gold when I found you.” Yelan kissed your cheek and slowly intertwined your hand, guiding it to wrap around the base of her shaft.

"For other means of pleasure, I can, of course, change the size of them, but it wouldn't be entertaining, now would it?" She teased, causing your clitoris to ache for her again. "I'm merely playing the fool, as I have stated; harming you is like a war against heaven. I'm sure this would be amusing to you; just move your hand up and down like this." Yelan demonstrated the movement on her large genitalia, and you perked up as you saw her ears turn a darker color, an indication you picked up as a sign of fluster.

"I'm curious, Your Highness; does a mortal man have two reproductive parts as well?"

You use both hands to give both of her members equal attention, and you are rewarded for this by a raspy moan as well as an even greater hardening of the twin beast.

"In rare cases, perhaps, but I am no mortal, and especially not a man."

Yelan, grab your hands and pin them above your head, leaving you helpless and useless with only your sight available to witness her shrinking her tools down to a size compatible with your body.

"And no mortal is capable of giving you the satisfaction you are entitled to, nor can any arise and satiate this overwhelming lust like you are in a position to."

She inserts both beasts in each of your holes, causing you to cry out her name in slight pain with overarching ecstasy. Her tails wrap around you, and she ushers her lips down to your neck, kissing and thrusting simultaneously to bring you to your well-deserved orgasm.

You feel a soothing coldness enveloping you like the ocean's hug, your back arching off the ground as your head throws back, seeing the deepest part of the beautiful watery abyss.

The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?

"The Lord is who I shall cherish evermore as my beloved soulmate." You said it out loud, opting not to write it in the last line of your autobiography.

"Exquisitely written and articulated, my dearest bride."

Yelan kissed your cheek when you turned to her after you finally stopped writing, having silently watched you and touched the floral mark of her symbol tattooed on your womb, now turning your attention solely to her.

"Your ways with words never change, do they, your lordship?"

"It has become second nature to me, hailing from the deepest part of my once indestructible soul, whose only weakness is one single mortal."

In her was life, and that life was the light of all humankind.