#i wrote this in less than 2 hours

[eddiemunsonsmum]

Just saw this comment on a story posted a month ago.

*cries in Eddie Munson Solo Series no one wanted to read, interact with or request for*

No shade to the person that commented this on their own fic if you recognize it. It's not their fault. I'm not mad at them. More crying in the tags.

[air--so--sweet]

I was getting my sleep schedule back on track...and then I got a strike of inspiration for my fix it fic...and now it's 3am...

[mxsinizter]

Got some solo Mountain for the soul, getting off on intimate memories of the ones he loves <3

WC: 1,046; Explicit/Mature

With the gentlest slide down his arm, Swiss had looked up at him with such pretty and bright mismatched eyes, it left Mountain stuttering and flushing that he was surprised Dew made no move to taunt him. 

And now here he laid in bed unable to stop thinking about it. The way that small hint of intimacy sent a shiver down his spine was tearing his mind apart – he couldn't help the way his hips began grinding down against his mattress. 

Mountain doesn't know what came over him. It was nothing new. He's been intimate with Swiss countless of times and yet, such a minor act has his body alight. His body, sensitive and aware, and mind, full of wants and desires. 

Images of Swiss flash through Mountain's mind as he bites down onto a pillow, claws digging into its sides. His hips gave little thrust down upon the mattress – a small whine escaping him as the friction against his cockhead sent a shock down his body. 

Images of Swiss sprawled out on an armchair, looking ravishing as he waited for someone to decide they were going to devour him. Swiss on Mountain's own bed, restricted and gagged, waiting for his reward after behaving so well. Swiss above him, wicked smile, ready to pull Mountain apart. But also, Swiss before him, holding Mountain in his arms and whispering sweet nothings to him as they learned to love each other for the hundredth time. 

But it didn't stop there. Cirrus and Sunshine appeared next in his mind. The pretty fucked out face Swiss made accompanied with Sunshine's cock down his throat and Cirrus burying her strap in his ass. The delicious way Cirrus' tits pressed against Swiss' back as Sunshine held their faces in her beautiful hands. Sunshine and Cirrus looked so graceful and vibrant, even when fucking Swiss out of his mind, Mountain knowing he was next.

That memory itself could have been more than enough to take Mountain over the edge, but his mind didn't stop there.

Mountain turned so he laid on his back as a memory of Cumulus and Aether filled the foreground of his mind. Both lovers stretched out so pretty before him. Their soft hands roaming their own bodies as they gazed lovingly at one another. He asked to love them that day, to worship them, to have his way with them all night long. They were more than happy to oblige his request.

Aa he stroked his cock, back arching off the bed with little moans, hand tangled into his hair, Mountain remembered. Remembered what it was like to have his face buried in Lus' tits as he fucked her at a slow, agonizing pace that left him in tears as he focused on making her cum first. Remembered how Aether requested to lick up his tears before he let Mountain fuck his tits like he so badly craved. 

Even now, Mountain felt that wetness stinging in his eyes once again as strained gasps worked their way up his throat. Mountain let out an airy laugh at the memory of what it was like to be held by them as he came down from his orgasm. Gentle caresses and kisses all along his body as he laid limp between them. 

A new memory flashed into his mind. The side of Mountain's face pressed firmly into the pillow below him with a loud groan as a memory of Dew came into view. Dew on his knees before him in all his magnificence with his glowing, long hair doing what it could to cover his bare chest and back. Just barely hiding the dark marks trailing from his neck to his ribs. Shiny muzzle Mountain picked out just for him adorning Dewdrop's soft features, accentuating his droopy, hazy eyes. The goodest boy he could ask for, waiting and praying for Mountain to give him what he wanted. 

A quiet, "Dew…" left Mountain as his desire grew, and suddenly a different memory took over his mind. Rolling onto his side, Mountain rutted into his hand, claws tearing at his pillow at the image of Zephyr roughly fucking into Rain. That afternoon Mountain laid parallel to his water ghoul, waiting for his turn to be sent into another world by Zephyr. Mountain remembered the pretty endless sounds Rain made as Zephyr took care of him. Remembered how Zephyr's beautiful striking hair fell out of its binds to adorn both their faces. 

An unexpected memory of Cowbell and Ifrit hit him next. Mountain had almost forgotten the images that flashed into his mind as the three were high off their asses that day. Ifrit, chuckling with the widest grin as he held Cowbell's head down onto his cock, head rolling back and leaving his neck exposed perfectly for Mountain to love on. Clumsily, he had moved up to do exactly that, moaning against Ifrit’s neck as Cowbell moved its mouth onto his cock instead. From the corner of his eye, Mountain remembered being able to see the desperate little humps Cowbell did against Ifrit’s leg, and Ifrit surely rewarded Bell for its patience afterwards. It had been a wonderful sight to see for Mountain's then hazy brain.

Mountain was so close now. He rolled onto his belly once again, but this time he slid back so his hips were in the air, legs spread as he continued to stroke himself, eyes rolling back as he did.

The last image he saw as his orgasm hit with a shout, was Papa's hand reaching out to caress his face. Moments after Mountain had begged him to cum on his face. Mountain whimpered at the memory and overstimulation on his cock, but he couldn't stop touching himself. Satisfied yet desiring so much more. He needed more. He needed them. 

His hand came to a halt and Mountain rolled onto his back. He gazed up at the ceiling where Swiss and Sunshine had adorn it with glow in the dark stars. An unexpected laughter took over him as he, for the thousandth time possibly, realized just how gone he was for his beloved pack. He needed them, and he surely planned to let them know just how much he craved them as soon as he could roll himself out of his own sticky mess. 

[andi-o-geyser]

just another day wasting away in margaritaville trying to figure out how the actual fuck the Grand Army of the Republic is organized. send assistance i am shaking sobbing crying in a corner

[seventh-district]

several days and 15 thousand words later, i am relieved to report that the suffocating urge to Write Something has been sated and no longer has me in a chokehold

[apocalypticdemon]

me, last week: so, my goal is to write 1k a day until i finish this fic, and then i can edit it all in short order!

me, now: so. i've written barely 200 words for the last 4 days in a row. the pace may not be what i had hoped

[oliviaischillin1204]

lessons in how to stop being a dick

Pairing: Familial Johnny and Robby

Word Count: 1,682 words

i've gotten a few asks abt cobra kai recently (there is one in my inbox rn, i'm so sorry i haven't responded yet!) and it just reignited my inspiration for this idea i had so tada new fic!! :D

"You sure you don't wanna head home?" Johnny called out to the near-empty dojo as the last few students walked out. "Carmen hasn't pulled off yet, you could ride home with her and Miguel."

"Nah," Robby replied. He was on the other side of the dojo, wiping down the mats before putting them back against the wall. "Someone has to keep this place from getting a health code violation."

"Hey, I clean this place after every session!"

"Oh, yeah? Then why was there dried blood still on this mat?"

"I left it there. As a reminder of what happens if you let your guard down."

Robby huffed a laugh, which made a spark of something really good go through Johnny's chest. Having his son back in his life was something that seemed impossible for such a long time, and now they got to spend time together every day, even if it was while cleaning a gross, sweaty karate dojo together.

They continued to riff and bicker while they cleaned and sorted the rest of the mats, put the training dummies back in place, and mopped the floors. Robby even fixed one of the fluorescent lights that Johnny had been too lazy to get to. Finally the two of them stood side by side, admiring the Cobra Kai dojo.

"Looks good to me," Robby said.

"Yeah, same, man. You did a good job on those floors." Johnny nudged Robby's shoulder with his own. "Somebody must've taught you the value of hard work."

"Yeah, his name is Daniel LaRusso."

"Shut up." Johnny bumped him again, a bit harder, smirking when he felt Robby return the gesture. There was a beat of silence, just this side of awkward, but not wholly unpleasant.

Finally Robby sighed, turning and heading to the locker rooms. "Alright, lemme just grab my bag-"

"Robby," Johnny blurted. His son stopped in his tracks, looking back in confusion. Johnny wavered for a second, then pushed through. "I really do appreciate this second chance, man."

Robby's face smoothed out as he huffed a little laugh. "I know, Dad."

"I mean it," Johnny continued. "Even after... you know, all the Kreese bullshit, and the pony tail dude, and LaRusso, and everything... I know we're on good terms now, but... you didn't have to let me back into your life."

Robby shifted a bit in place. He looked about as uncomfortable hearing this as Johnny felt saying it. "I mean... would've been kinda shitty to just ignore you after everything."

"No, it wouldn't," Johnny said. "You'd be completely within your rights to never talk to me again. I was an asshole, and a horrible father, and... I mean, you didn't really have a dad for so long-"

"Too long," Robby blurted. "Long enough."

Johnny's breath caught in his chest. "Yeah." He coughed, looking around awkwardly for a moment. "So- you know, I'm just- I'm gonna try my hardest to stop being a dick, for everyone, but especially you. And- you know. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to be your Dad again."

Jesus Christ, he's so lame now. Having actual loved ones in his life again made him a sappy loser.

"I-" Robby started, and Johnny looked closely at him for any signs this was going to far. "I just-"

He sighed, cleared his throat, and finally looked towards Johnny again. "Thank you for... trying to be better, Dad. You are better. And... I love you."

Johnny let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I love you too, kid."

They paused. Slowly Johnny walked towards Robby; he raised his arms, and after a beat Robby returned the hug. They stood in the middle of the room, just barely swaying as Johnny held his son.

"I love you," he said again, because fuck it, he'd take being cringey if it meant his son got to hear those words as much as possible. "I love you, Robby."

He had no idea what Robby was thinking, but he felt his son slowly drop his head onto his dad's shoulder. Johnny rubbed his back with one hand, the other cradling the back of his head. After a long moment wrestling with indecision, Johnny pressed a light kiss onto Robby's temple.

"Love you, kid."

He didn't expect a response, but after a few moments he caught a muffled response from where his son's face was buried in his shirt.

"What?"

Robby pulled back a bit; Johnny still couldn't see his face, but he definitely heard the smirk in his voice as he said, "Did Mr. LaRusso write that speech for you?"

Johnny froze. His arms were still wrapped around his kid. "You serious?"

"No, it was a great speech. Very, uh, emotional." Yeah, Robby was fucking laughing at him, the little shit. "Or did Carmen help you? You asked her what teenage boys like, and she told you they love hearing their parents say 'I love you' over and over?"

"You little shit." Johnny was baring his fucking soul to this kid, and Robby was making fun of him. This would not stand.

Johnny looked slightly down. Right under his chin was Robby's shoulder; he always changed into a tank top after practice. Before he could think about it, Johnny leaned down and blew a raspberry right on Robby's shoulder.

In hindsight, he didn't know what he'd been expecting. It didn't feel good in the slightest to admit it, but the truth is Johnny had no idea if Robby was ever ticklish. He'd never been around that long, and when he was it certainly wasn't the kind of thing Robby would've allowed before their relationship had gotten better. It wasn't even a normal tickle spot, Johnny thought- who the hell has ticklish shoulders?

Apparently... Robby does. Very much so.

Because his response to having his dad blow a raspberry on the crook of his shoulder, Johnny's half-shaven stubble scratching the skin while the rest of his shoulder buzzed with vibrations, was to squeal and immediately lose all ability in his legs.

"Jesus!" Johnny hissed, catching Robby when his son veered dangerously far to one side. "Was that- was that real? It tickled that much?"

"What the fuck-" Robby hissed in return, "what the fuck was that?" He tried to stand, but doing so would've pulled him out of Johnny's grasp, and on a whim Johnny locked his arms even tighter around his son's shoulders. "Dude, let me go-"

"Hell, no," Johnny said. And then he did it again: same shoulder, same spot, and same desperate giggles falling from Robby's mouth.

"Dad!" he gasped, his legs kicking wildly. "What are you-"

Johnny did it again, this time closer to his neck, and Robby's squeal turned into more of a scream. He slammed his head to the side, frantically rubbing his ear against the skin to stop the tingles.

"Fucking- are you serious?" he said. His ears were turning red, Johnny noticed, and his smile was wider than Johnny remembered seeing it in a while. It wasn't a smug smirk, or the measured-yet-cocky expression Robby wore after winning a sparring match. It was uneven, with lots of teeth, and looked very goofy.

So of course, Johnny immediately switched to the other side and blew yet another raspberry.

"Why?" Robby screamed, trying to slam his head down to the other side. "Dad!"

"Mhmm?" Johnny asked, keeping his mouth pressed against Robby's shoulder. "What's up, kid?"

There was no answer; his son was too busy laughing his head off at the feeling of Johnny's words sending tickly feelings all down his spine. He stamped his feet against the ground, straining against Johnny's hold, but his dad had the upper ground.

"I'm trying to be earnest, you dork," Johnny said, "and you make fun of me?" He ducked his head to go again, waited for Robby to try to protect his neck, then immediately attacked the other side.

"Do you think-" he blew a raspberry- "that Carmen had to teach me this?" Another one, this time moving one hand from around Robby's shoulders to squeeze haphazardly at his side. "Or LaRusso?"

Robby was giggling and cackling, his legs moving seemingly without permission from his brain. He tried to pull backwards, but Johnny easily switched his hold to around Robby's midsection, and now both hands were free to squeeze and vibrate all over his sides and stomach. Robby couldn't stop squealing, that was the craziest thing- Johnny never would've imagined his son could made that noise. Now that he heard it, he never wanted to stop.

"Yohohou- you said- you were gonahahahahaha stop-being-a-dick!" he shrieked, throwing his head back with laughter that seemed to echo off the dojo walls.

"This is just payback, man," Johnny teased. "Don't make fun of me when I'm being sappy and shit."

He waited for a comeback, but Robby's breaths were sounding more and more ragged, his body getting weaker and less fighty, and Johnny figured it was probably time to stop. He slowed his fingers and moved his hands so he was simply helping Robby stand upright as the teen caught his breath.

"You good?" he said. Robby coughed as his breathing slowed down, even though his face was still pretty red.

"You are-" he panted, before fixing Johnny was a hilariously inaffective glare, "such a dick."

Johnny grinned. "Like I said, it's a work in progress."

Robby rolled his eyes and turned his head, but he wasn't fast enough- Johnny saw the smile that still threatened to turn up the corners of his mouth. "Jesus Christ, man. Can we just go?"

"Hold on," Johnny said. Robby looked at him warily. "I love you, son."

"Seriously?"

Johnny squeezed his fingers once around Robby's waist, making him yelp. "Okay! Fuck! I love you, too!"

A beat, and then Johnny burst into snickers, finally letting his son go. Robby stumbled, barely catching his balance before he huffed and stomped his way toward the lockers.

"Love you!" Johnny yelled after him. Robby flipped him off, and Johnny laughed loud and bright.

Yeah, this was definitely a work in progress.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

NOTE: THIS ITEM IS CURRENTLY IN PREORDER. IT WILL SHIP IN JUNE-JULY 2023. We will be printing based on preorder size, so grab one now if you want one!

More than 40 trans writers and artists have joined forces to explore the deeper meanings of the Fast & Furious franchise (and also gender). There's really no way to know why this exists, but it does, and you can own it! Suitable for F&F fans and newcomers alike. Contributions include:

- A new short story by Manhunt author Gretchen Felker-Martin - A demolition derby driver’s perspective on 2 Fast 2 Furious’s derby scene - An essay contemplating the queer symbolism of Cipher’s bowl cut - The scoop on the franchise’s only canonically nonbinary character - Instructions for an F&F-themed tabletop roleplaying game - A contemplation of which Taylor Swift album represents each F&F character - Plus: Bingo cards! Comics! Haiku! And, of course, hot gay erotica…

2 Trans 2 Furious is edited by Tuck Woodstock & Niko Stratis, with cover art by Mattie Lubchansky and zine design by Shay Mirk.

~

This zine is 8.5" x 5.5" and perfect-bound like a real book — fancy! Interior pages are black & white. We're guessing this baby is like 100 pages long but we'll get back to you on that.

Currently only shipping to the United States, sorry! We're hoping to at least expand to Canada soon, and also plan to add a PDF ebook option, so keep an eye out!

(that "the scoop on the franchise's only canonically nonbinary character" is the page i contributed about our one & only beloved akd-acted cam stone!! plus also if you're interested in preordering a fancy printed copy of a zine about fast & furious, which you don't have to even know about or like, with all trans contributors. including me)

[thelasthalloween]

Hello gays of the MML fandom I am feeding y’all with content. My AO3 is the same as this account

[orcelito]

posted chapter 4 of Sentido

now with the tag of "Plants Shenanigans". i think im very funny for that

[humanmorph]

idk what it was about my most recent minor breakdown but im. kind of actually doing shit

[unimportantweirdo]

i may have written the most morbid christmas song. the kind where i have to preface it by saying i've been through therapy and i'm fine please don't worry now here's me singing about eating baubles :)

[pizzaisgo]

‎

[mariyekos]

OKAY BACK A FEW HOURS LATER WITH A DRAFT OF THIS CONCEPT BECAUSE IT'S GREAT! Doesn't cover the full thing bc I'm very wordy and ran out of time for tonight (apologies for typos, this is very much a not-proofread first draft), but I thought I'd share at least the first bit!

“The gates of Hell opened up and spat some- some thing into my pasture!” the caller had screamed into the receiver, the loudness of his voice and the poor volume control on Dante’s phone spilling the words out to where Vergil had sat on the couch nearby. “It’s huge and it’s killing all my cattle, and if it ain’t the son of Lucifer I don’t know what it is because I’ve never seen anything like it! Not even in those videos of Red Grave!”

Dante had given Vergil a look at that, one eyebrow raised and lips cocked to the side in a lopsided smile as if to say ‘get a load of this guy.’ 

“Ooh, sounds scary,” Dante’d replied, voice light and body loose as he twirled the phone cord around his finger, not a care in the world. 

For one, he’d already beaten Lucifer. For another, Vergil had long since learned that most people who thought they had a world-ending demon on their hands were in fact dealing with rabble that only seemed terrifying to the meager human mind. He and Dante had yet to have gone on a job that actually needed two people. Usually they only both went because they couldn’t decide who’s turn it was that day.

Dante continued on, sending Vergil a wink as he pulled out a pen with his free hand, dragging a notepad from the edge of his desk. He kept it next to the picture of their mother, always sparkling and dust free no matter the state of the rest of Dante’s abode. “Tell me the address and we’ll be out the door in a jiffy.”

The farmer did. Dante noted it and promised they’d be there before the end of the hour. Then he rose, lifted his hands over his head to crack both back and knuckles, and gave Vergil the bright smile he always put on when he wanted to call upon the Yamato taxi. 

“I can probably solo this one, but it’s over by the Highlands and I’m not sure I’m gonna make that even if I break a few speeding laws,” he said, eyes gleaming and expression playful.

Vergil snorted, in the mood to play back. “Oh? Is Cavaliere that slow? Or has your control over it faltered? Don’t tell me you’re growing soft in your laziness.” 

Dante scoffed at that, bringing a hand to his chest and puffing out his cheeks in offense. “Why Vergil, how could you ever imply I would ever let myself go like that! I’ll have you know that Cavaliere’s as fast as she’s ever been; faster even. I’d bet you a week of grocery duty on that.” He sticks up his chin, beginning to pace. “It’s just that while Cavaliere’s fast, there are these things called traffic jams, and I don’t want some poor man to learn what it’s like for his livestock to get eaten because I got stuck behind two semi’s that think it’s funny to stay side by side going ten under the speed limit for fifteen minutes.”

“You could always go around them.” 

It wasn’t as if Dante hadn’t taken Cavaliere offroading before. Vergil had decided to never, ever ride with Dante again after that. If they were going somewhere together, then it would either be by walking, by flight, by the Yamato, or by the old car Dante had taken for repairs three times since their return from Hell the year before.

Dante gasped, drama personified. “And risk hitting the old lady that decided to go for a stroll?”

Vergil raised a brow, not taking the bait. “On the side of the highway?”

Dante nodded. “Walking the city has begun to bore her.”

“At nine p.m.?”

“Old people don’t sleep.”

“You nap at least once a day.”

“Then clearly I’m not old! Mr. ‘I have a child and am older than you anyway’!”

“Hmph.”

Vergil rose to his feet, setting his book on the side table and walking over to the coat rack he’d bought shortly after moving in, pulling down his jacket and donning it in one swift motion. Yamato was in his hand a moment later. She always answered his call instantly; she was hardly ever parted from him, a security measure and reassurance that Vergil still struggled to part with, but he’d gotten comfortable enough to set her down elsewhere in the room from time to time and no longer felt the need to brush his fingers against her scabbard every minute or so as long as she remained in sight. 

“Where would you like me to take us?” he asked, watching as Dante pulled out a map of the area around their destination and began to cross reference it and the note he’d written.

“Let’s see here,” Dante hummed, eyes darting between the two. “Okay, so-”

And so the call had come.

And so they had left.

And so Vergil had been left terrified, lost, and alone, watching as Dante choked out reassurances that he would be fine, that the gaping wound in his stomach that was not healing would close any minute now, that okay maybe it wouldn’t but he had a gold orb somewhere on him, clearly that would kick in, okay maybe it wasn’t kicking in yet but if Vergil pulled it out of his pocket and set it on (in?) his stomach surely it would work, okay maybe it wasn’t working but he wasn’t quite unconscious yet and he was pretty sure they only ever kicked in when he blacked out, and okay it wasn’t working and he wasn’t healing and maybe-

Maybe this would be it.

Maybe this would be how he died.

And it wasn’t Vergil’s fault, it was not Vergil’s fault, if Vergil blamed himself for this Dante would come back from the grave and beat Vergil up in a way that wasn’t fun at all and make him regret ever feeling sorry for himself or Dante over it because their job was dangerous and it was Dante who’d been reckless enough to take a hit he could’ve avoided because he didn’t think that bad and they didn’t realize the giant goat-headed demon Vergil would behead a second later could apparently deal unhealing wounds, and he was so, sorry for leaving Vergil alone because at this point he had a bad feeling this might be it and Vergil might be left alone again, and he knew how much it hurt to be left behind, but Vergil would be okay because Vergil wouldn’t be alone because he had a son and he had Trish and Lady and Morrison even if they weren’t best friends, and Dante was so, so sorry, and he had to admit he was kind of scared but honestly it didn’t even hurt that much anymore, and he really was sorry, and-

Nothing.

Dante ceased speaking.

And so Vergil was left alone.

…

In the darkness of the night, Vergil let out a heartbroken scream.

Then, triggering, feeling the inheritance of their father washing over them, the form which they’d gotten from the first man to abandon him, he let out a piercing wail as he mourned the latest who’d joined that list, his heart and soul aching as the one who’d been born his other half died and Vergil felt certain a part of him had surely died with it. 

LINEBREAK

Vergil remains there for hours, clinging to Dante’s body, feeling the last of the warmth flee from his flesh. Blood coats Vergil’s hands and clothing. He trembles in the morning dew, body exhausted not by the exertion of holding his brother’s corpse up for so long but instead from the weight of it all threatening to drown him. 

When at last the first rays of sunlight break over the horizon, Vergil finally sets Dante down.

In death, he looks peaceful. Well rested. Calm.

He looks the opposite of what Vergil feels. That being utterly destroyed and inches from falling to pieces, from triggering and flying into the sun, from bursting as his roiling energy comes to the surface all at once and bursts forth from his body until the mind that is Vergil is burned to a crisp and only a raging monster- a demon in every sense of the word- remains. 

His brother is dead. His twin is dead. 

He is alone.

It does not matter who else may be in his life. 

He is alone, in a way he never has been and a way that, once he and Dante were finally reunited, once Nero stopped their fight, once they descended into Hell together, he thought he would never be again.

He removes his coat and sets it upon Dante’s body. He can’t bear to look at Dante’s face a moment longer. He doesn’t want to leave Dante alone, but he can’t leave a job undone. Dante would not forgive him for that. Nothing will touch Dante before Vergil returns; the two of them had spread their presence throughout the area as they’d chased down the demon who had eventually gored a man gone too soon, and as Vergil stumbles down the path that will lead him to the farmer’s house, he exudes as much of his own energy as he can to ensure nothing else so much as approaches.

When he reaches the farmhouse, Vergil takes a long breath. He rubs his hands against his face, then through his hair, massaging the top of his head and his temples as he attempts to calm the throbbing threatening to make him snap. His bangs fall into his face as he does so. They poke at his eyes, but he can hardly find it in himself to care. He needs to tell the farmer the job is done. Then he can return to Dante. Then he can take the two of them home. 

He knocks twice. The sound of boots thumping against wood worsens the pain in his temples, multiplying it in tune to each step. 

The door opens. When the farmer takes in the sight of Vergil, surely coated in blood (Dante’s blood) and making no attempt to hide his (emotional) exhaustion, he has a visceral reaction, practically leaping a foot backward and swallowing hard but ultimately not fleeing.

“The job’s done, then?” he gulps, cowering under the strength of Vergil’s gaze. The man has to be at least seventy-five, and even if it weren’t for the stoop in his back he’d barely reach Vergil’s chest.

“Yes.”

The farmer flinches. “So me and my girls are safe now?”

“Yes.”

The farmer swallows again. Vergil does not care that he’s being harsh. Stern. Done.

“Thank you. It, uh, means a lot. To me. For uh-” 

The farmer blinks a few times, nervous, head bobbing side to side as he tries to look around Vergil. Whatever the reason for it goes completely over Vergil’s head. He’s having trouble interacting right now. Why he’s even bothering, he doesn’t know. Dante is dead. Dante’s corpse is lying alone, unprotected, in a field. Why should Vergil care for his wish to speak to a man whose problem they’d already solved when his body could be getting desecrated while they speak? (Nevermind the fact that nothing would approach the body of such a powerful thing, still exuding power even though none of that power was enough to close the gaping hole in his body, to seal the wound that should have healed, that should’ve been gone in minutes, that wasn’t and that stole his life-)

“Say, where’d your brother go?” The farmer asks oh-so-cruelly, the weight of his ignorance making Vergil seethe.

“He’s dead.”

The farmer’s eyes go wide.

“Oh,” he breathes. He takes a step back. “Oh.” Another. “I’m so sorry. Here, let me get the money, I know it ain’t much and it’s not worth a life but-”

“I don’t need it. Your problem is solved. I’ll be leaving now. Never speak to me again.”

Vergil turns to leave. 

As he begins down the path, the farmer calls out to him. “I’m sorry, Dante.” 

Vergil freezes. 

The farmer continues on. 

“I didn’t…I’m sorry. I really am. I know how it feels to lose a brother, and it ain’t easy. I’m the youngest of six, and I’m the last one left. Couple of my siblings died from Old Man Time, but I lost one to an accident when we were in our twenties, and that sort of thing never stops hurtin’.”

Vergil takes a deep breath. He turns to the man, wanting to say that he’s wrong, that he isn’t Dante, that he doesn’t need to be told that losing someone will never stop causing you pain because he’s lost people before and even if he hadn’t he felt half of his soul die, and that pain will never, ever go away, no matter what, he’s sure of it- but he doesn’t. He doesn’t say a word. He does not tell the farmer he is not Dante. He doesn’t mention anything of pain.

Instead he turns around and breaks into a sprint. If the farmer tells anyone of the inhuman act he witnessed, Vergil will not care. He doesn’t have the patience to stay there any longer. He doesn’t have the strength.

Dante is exactly where he left him. Exactly as he left him. Lying beneath Vergil’s coat, face left in a faith smile, smile lines around his eyes and mouth relaxed and somehow bearing an aura of calm that Vergil thinks he will never again achieve. Next to him is his sword- the Devil Sword Dante he’d named it in a move Vergil hadn’t been able to definitively call either narcissistic or fitting- pulsing in a way its dead owner is not. While energy bleeds out from Dante’s body like a broken dam, the sword retains some measure of life that Vergil can’t help but feel is mocking him. Why is it that the sword remains when Dante does not? Why is it that his father and brother both have abandoned him, only a sword bearing their name left to remind Vergil of what he has lost and what was never truly meant to be his? 

Vergil removes the Yamato from her sheathe and opens a portal to the shop. He will not leave Dante to rot in the sun. 

Then, thinking on it a moment, he slashes it closed before opening a portal to a new destination. He puts the Yamato back on his hip. Dante is in his arms a moment later, the sword bearing his name resting across his shoulder and knees so Vergil can carry them both. Though he could mount the sword on his back as Dante does, it does not feel appropriate.

When he steps through the portal, he’s greeted by open air and a wealth of memories both good and bad. 

Before them stands the ruins of the house where their lives first ended.

Not far down the path is the grave in which Dante had buried their mother. The spot where she’d lain before ignorant humans had dug up her body and placed her remains somewhere Vergil had never been able to find, Dante warning him against investigating it for fear of revealing their identities and opening up a mystery he said was best to leave buried.

The headstone is still there. The one Dante had made. 

Vergil sets Dante’s body beside it.

In the light of the morning, he begins to dig.

In the dying light of the evening, he sits motionless before a grave meant for the mother and used for the son. Dante’s sword lies against it, the jewel in its hilt gleaming as it’s hit by the sunset.

“Why?” Vergil breathes. “Why…?”

Why apologize? Why reassure Vergil with his dying breath? Why insist it wasn’t Vergil’s fault? Why claim it was his own stupidity that got him killed and not Vergil’s insistence upon one-upping his brother that had lead Dante to throw himself in the demon’s path in the first place? Why leave him alone again? Why act as if Vergil would be okay? Why? Why?

Vergil’s hands find their way into his hair once more, fingers curling and running over strands over and over until the tips which had at some point turned to claws drenched his forehead with his own blood, causing soaked strands to fall down and into his eyes as if to shield Vergil from the world and the gravestone in front of him.

He screams again, this time lower pitched and more an expression of frustration than utter agony. 

Red Grave has begun to rebuild, but this area has been left untouched. There are none around to hear him. His pain is a secret kept between only himself and a dead man. 

He continues at it until night falls. The gemstone- the remnant of their mother’s amulet and their father’s legacy- continues to gleam in the moonlight. Once again, Vergil feels like it’s mocking him. Like it’s reminding him who their parents chose. Who the better of the two was. After all, who was it that sacrificed himself for the other? Who was it that spent his life cleaning up after his brother’s messes and upholding his father’s legacy? Who was it that had people who cared for him, who loved him, who wanted him to be in their lives and who helped him when he had struggles of his own?

Vergil’s well aware of their comrade’s feelings about him. Nero hates Vergil for abandoning his mother, nevermind the fact that Vergil hadn’t realized she was pregnant in the first place (nevermind the fact that it likely would have changed none of his actions at the Temen-ni-gru even had he known he had a son). Lady hates Vergil for the crimes he’s committed, nevermind the fact that she’s acknowledged her father was corrupt even before meeting Vergil (nevermind the fact that it’s only thanks to Vergil he was able to kill as many as he did and hurt her so badly). Trish hates Vergil for how he hurt Dante, nevermind the fact that Vergil neither intentionally hurt Dante nor that he did not intentionally convince Dante he’d killed him at Mallet Island (nevermind the fact that Vergil was the one who decided to fall when they’d fought in Hell almost a decade prior). Morrison is a mystery whose feelings Vergil won’t attempt to decipher, but he’s certain Morrison doesn’t like him, and he would say both Kyrie and Nico only tolerate him at best.

There are none who would mourn Vergil’s disappearance. There are plenty who will mourn Dante’s. Though he claims- claimed, it’s past tense now, Dante is dead and gone and there are no more feelings to be had- he kept few acquaintances and fewer friends, Vergil knows there are more beyond that list who care for Dante. He’s well aware there would be a healthy presence at his funeral were Vergil to send out invitations.

Vergil would not be missed. 

Dante will.

He does not know how he will break this news. Even if he didn’t expect Dante’s closest friends to blame him for it and attempt to kill him, he hasn’t the slightest idea how he’ll be able to so much as get the words out.

The Devil Sword bearing his brother’s name continues to gleam in the moonlight. Vergil rises to his feet, yanks it from the grave, cuts open another portal, and marches into the shop without a second look.

He takes the sword to the basement at first, meaning to leave it there with the numerous other Devil Arms Dante has accumulated over the years. But two steps up the stairs after having left it there, he promptly turns to reclaim it before bringing it to the second floor with him, where their bedrooms are. As with the Yamato, he cannot bear to have it leave his sight. When he goes to take a shower- to wash Dante’s blood off him, so heavy and pungent and still there in a way that seems so human and perhaps indicative of why he died given demon blood typically disappears in minutes and their blood, while typically remaining longer, should’ve long since disappeared too- he rests the two swords against bathroom wall to stay with him. 

After undressing, Vergil takes a deep breath. He looks into the mirror once before moving to the shower, perhaps intending to confirm his despair by reminding himself what it looks like, perhaps to pity itself, perhaps to do something he cannot name. Whatever it is is lost in what he does see.

Namely, Dante.

Vergil’s breath catches in his throat. The sink cracks beneath his grip. A fragment buries itself into his hands but he finds he cannot care. 

For there, staring back at him in the mirror, is Dante.

Or as close as any living thing will ever get to it again.

It’s Vergil’s reflection. It isn’t as if his despair-addled mind is conjuring the reflection of a different man to torment him. 

But it looks like Dante, and Vergil can’t help but choke at the sight.

In his hours of mourning at the grave, he knew he’d pulled at his hair, knew his bangs had fallen into his eyes, but seeing something is different than knowing it had happened, and Vergil is torn in a way he hadn’t been before. During their trip through Hell and in the year since, Vergil had let his hair grow out somewhat. He still kept it brushed back as he always had, but it had gotten longer, and on their return, Dante had cut his back by an inch or two. As a result, their hair was the same length. Dante had teased Vergil a few times by pushing his own hair back, and Vergil had mocked Dante by pushing his own hair forward. Same length, different styles. Their hair was still their own.

During their trip through Hell, they’d also both been…rejuvenated, in a sense. Hell had an ambient energy to it that wasn’t present in the human world that had certain restorative properties. Dante had commented at one point that the bags under Vergil’s eyes no longer looked so severe- a comment accompanied by something about how even the Qliphoth couldn’t do that, so how good was it, really- and Vergil remembered noting that Dante looked to be doing better too. Dante had shaved upon their return, and Vergil distinctly remembers a loud ‘What the fuck?! Are you younger!?” from Nero upon seeing them for the first time the next morning. Following that was an incident in which Dante’s former client-slash-ward Patty entered the shop and confused Vergil for Dante, as well as a comment from Lady about how she thought Nero had said they weren’t actually identical, but she remembered they’d been identical back when they were teenagers and they were clearly identical now so he must’ve been wrong.

Trish had also complained about them ‘feeling the same’ once. Said they even had the same smell. Apparently it frustrated her, because she couldn’t tell who she was going to walk in on until she opened the door.

Vergil’s mind drifts back to what the farmer said.

“I’m sorry, Dante.”

“I’m sorry, Dante.”

He’d thought Vergil was Dante.

The farmer didn’t know them well. The light hadn’t been great. Vergil’s hair was down, and he hadn’t been wearing his own coat. 

But the farmer had thought he was Dante, and even when seeing them next to each other, when not dressed in their typical outfits or when both had their hair down, Dante’s friends had confused them as well. Even Trish- a demon who should’ve been able to tell the difference better than anyone- had expressed she had difficulty identifying who was who.

Dante’s friends would be heartbroken to learn he’d died.

Dante’s friends would not care if Vergil died instead. They might even be happy.

Vergil’s eyes drift to the swords on the wall. To the Yamato, and, more importantly, the Devil Sword Dante. His brother’s sword.

He steps into the shower. His hand moves past the unscented shampoo he normally favors, instead reaching for the artificially scented one that Dante insists smells like strawberry but Vergil insists just smells like chemicals. Shampoo in hand, Vergil washes his hair clean of his and Dante’s blood both. A bar washes the rest of Dante’s blood off his body. Vergil steps out of the shower with an idea forming in his head.

Vergil quickly dries off and stands in front of the mirror once more. His hair is dripping wet and hangs limply in his face. He towels it as dry as he can get before reaching for the hair dryer and styling his bangs in a way he’d never cared for, watching his idea come to life. He practices a smile, cringing at how fake it feels, how wrong it feels, before putting it up again and again and again, trying to remember what it should look like, how it should tilt to one side, how his eyes should crinkle just so, how he would tilt his head for each emotion. 

Eventually, it begins to look right. 

It’s not perfect. It’s not lopsided in quite the right way. His eyes don’t sparkle in quite the right way. He’s got the tilt down, but even though Dante’s laugh lines had faded with Hell’s restoration of his skin, Vergil hasn’t quite mastered getting the right parts of his face to fold.

No matter. It’s fine if it isn’t perfect. It’s only logical that Dante’s smile would feel faked in the wake of his brother’s death.

It’s only natural Dante would seem off after Vergil died.

For that’s what Vergil is going to tell them.

When, inevitably, his friends come to question why he hasn’t contacted them in so long, or when they choose to drop by randomly as they are wont to do, and only find one twin standing there, they will learn that Vergil died on a mission, and Dante has been left to mourn him.

For no one would care if Vergil died.

But they’d miss Dante. They’d be hurt. They would never forgive Vergil. They’d miss Dante, and would cry for the man who’d been on the verge of death but had never died for so long.

Vergil has the looks and he has the sword. He knows his brother’s habits. Though Dante played a part far more often than Vergil, that doesn’t mean Vergil is incapable of acting, nor that he can’t play Dante in turn. 

Dante did not die.

Vergil did.

This Vergil will say. This Vergil will live.

He takes both the Devil Sword Dante and Yamato with him as he steps through the door. When he steps into the hallway, he heads down the path that will lead him to Dante’s room. 

Dante lived, and Dante wouldn’t sleep in Vergil’s room. Dante lived, and Dante wouldn’t put on Vergil’s pajamas. Dante lived, and though Dante has used the Yamato before, he wouldn’t abandon his own sword either.

Dante lived. Vergil died. Dante lived. Vergil died.

Dante lived. Vergil will make sure of it.

My brain was going a million miles a minute I am so sorry 😔

Au where post-dmc5, Dante is the only reason anyone lets Vergil come around and he gives him stability and a place to sleep in Dante's office, catching him up on human stuff. Vergil is aware of the fact it's all because of him, and isn't sure how he feels about it, but his human side certainly finds it nice to have somewhere to call home again.

One day they go out on a job together. It's another infamous 'big one' to the client, but for them it's just Tuesday.

Except.

Dante dies.

And Vergil has a decision to make.

(funeral and other things that to me are sad as fuck, read more at your own risk)

Does he tell everyone Dante died, and then have to find out what to do with no papers of his own, no job experience outside of demon hunting, and no way to take on the business in his own name?

Or, does he let his own hair down, swap clothes with his ever-coldening little brother, and proclaim Dante's body to be that of his own?

Does he take over the life of his own annoying little brother? He can do it well enough. He'd learned the dynamics to a degree.

Given everyone thought he was the one to die, not many attend the funeral. There's a harsh pang of guilt, knowing the many people Dante had likely helped throughout his life weren't there to see him off. It was small, quiet, and filled with regrets. When they would see his own corpse should he die, they would be facing an imposter.

He tries to shake it off. Its hard when he is unsure of how his brother grieved in front of others, so he did his best. Everyone just shrugged it off because of 'Vergil's' death.

But he can still see the looks of confusion from Lady when he starts taking money in jobs, actually saving it because he doesn't know about the kids of Dante's ex-hunter-partner man and he merely thought his brother to be too reckless.

How long will it take for them to figure it out?

[elikajinnie]

Steal Your Way To My Heart - N.R (Part 2)

P: Bankrobber! Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Teasing, Pursuing, Obsession, Jealousy, Mentioned Murder, Possessiveness, Flirting, A tiny bit of manipulation, Ni-ki just wanna spoil you.

Synopsis: Your life was boring—until a visit to the bank changes everything. Now you find yourself under the attention of one of the criminals. Now what do you do when the criminal's attention isn't just on the job but on you?

a/n: part 2 was HIGHLY requested... soooo here it is!! :D i wrote this instead of studying..

part 1 here

--

After meeting Ni-ki at the club, there had been nothing from him. No texts, no calls, no slyly delivered gifts. Just silence.

Radio silence from him for days.

At first, you told yourself it was a relief, finally some peace from his attention. But eventually that relief began to feel less like freedom and more like�� emptiness.

Every time you grabbed your phone, your thumb hovered over the screen, the urge to text him stronger than you wanted to admit. But then you’d stop, heart sinking with a mixture of shame and stubbornness. What would it even say about you if you were the one to reach out first? Ni-ki had always been the one to text first, always the one pushing, teasing, pulling.

And now, without him doing that, everything just felt weird. Off.

You sighed, tossing your phone onto the couch beside you. The silence was eating you up in ways you hadn’t expected. It was ridiculous. Stupid. He was a criminal. You shouldn’t even be thinking about him, let alone missing him. But here you were, feeling that strange, hollow ache in your chest every time your phone didn’t buzz with a message.

And you hated how much it mattered to you.

The hours stretched on, the silence suffocating. No matter how much you tried to distract yourself, Ni-ki lingered in your thoughts. His smirk, his voice, the way he looked at you—it was all on an endless loop in your mind.

You’d find yourself overanalyzing every interaction you’d had with him. Did you say something wrong? Did your rejection at the club finally push him away? Was this… it?

You rolled over on the couch, staring blankly at the TV that played some mindless show you weren’t even paying attention to. Your phone sat on the coffee table, and you glared at it like it had personally betrayed you.

Why was this bothering you so much?

Before you could stop yourself, you grabbed the phone, your fingers hesitating over the screen. Maybe just a casual message? Something simple? But no matter how many times you typed something, it all sounded wrong.

Why haven’t you texted me? Is this some game to you? Are you okay?

You groaned, deleting every draft. Nothing felt right. Besides, if you texted him first, it would be admitting you cared. And wasn’t that the one thing you swore you wouldn’t do?

But as the days passed, the emptiness only grew. Even your friends noticed your distracted state, asking if you were okay. You lied, of course, brushing it off as stress or lack of sleep. How could you explain that you were hung up on a guy who was a literal criminal?

On the eleventh day of silence, you finally caved.

Just as you were about to type out a message, your phone buzzed in your hand. Your heart jumped, hope flaring so quickly it scared you. And when you saw his name, or rather the cryptic alias he used in your phone, pop up on the screen, you felt a wave of relief wash over you.

"Miss me yet?"

Your lips parted, a mix of annoyance and something dangerously close to joy bubbling up. Of course, he’d break the silence with something like that.

You stared at the message for a moment before typing back, fingers flying across the screen.

"What happened to you? Finally get bored?"

His response came almost immediately.

"Bored? Never. Just wanted to see how long it’d take for you to crack."

Your jaw dropped, a wave of irritation hitting you.

"You’re insufferable" you shot back.

"And you’re cute when you’re annoyed" he replied, followed by a winking emoji.

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips, no matter how hard you tried to fight it.

"Don’t disappear like that again" you typed before you could stop yourself, your heart pounding as you hit send.

The pause between his messages felt like forever, but when his reply came, it made your chest tighten.

"Don’t worry, doll. I’m not going anywhere."

You leaned back against the couch, phone clutched in your hand, staring at his last message before you typed out a reply.

"Good. Because it was getting kind of quiet without you annoying me."

The typing bubble popped up instantly, and somehow, that made you feel lighter.

"Admit it. You missed me."

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

"Don’t flatter yourself."

His reply came quick, like he was waiting on your response.

"Too late. Flattering myself is kind of my thing."

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head as you typed back.

"That’s obvious. But seriously… what have you been doing?"

There was a slight pause this time, and when his message came through, you could almost hear his voice in your head.

"Wouldn’t you like to know?"

You sighed, fighting the urge to play into his games.

"Yes, actually. That’s why I’m asking."

"Touché."

A few seconds passed, and then another message came through.

"Let’s just say I had some… work to take care of. But I’m all yours now."

Your heart skipped at his words, and you hated the way your stomach flipped at such a simple line.

"All mine, huh? That’s bold for someone who disappeared for almost a week."

"Bold is my middle name, sweetheart."

You snorted at that, trying not to imagine his cocky grin.

"Sure it is. Anyway, why’d you text me tonight?"

His response was instant again.

"Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you."

Your breath hitched, and you blinked at the screen, unsure how to respond. Before you could type anything, another message came through.

"Don’t look so shocked. You’re pretty unforgettable."

"You can’t even see me right now."

"I don’t need to. I know exactly how you’re reacting."

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the blush spreading across your face.

"You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are, still talking to me."

You didn’t have a comeback for that. The conversation kept flowing, his words teasing yet always laced with something that felt too genuine to be ignored. Every time you thought it would end, he sent another message.

"Still awake?"

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

"What’s your favorite place to get coffee?"

The questions weren’t just idle small talk. They felt intentional, like he wanted to learn every little thing about you.

And you let him.

You answered every question, sometimes throwing one back at him, and the hours ticked by faster than you realized. By the time you glanced at the clock, it was well past midnight.

"You’re keeping me up" you finally typed, even though you weren’t really upset.

"Not my fault I`m fun to talk to" he replied.

"You’re ridiculous."

"Ridiculously charming, I know."

You laughed softly, shaking your head as your fingers hovered over the screen.

"Goodnight, Ni-ki."

The reply came almost instantly.

"Goodnight, doll. Dream about me."

You set your phone down with a sigh, but with a smile on your face.

--

It had been a slow day at work, the kind where you counted down the hours and prayed for something to happen. But you weren’t exactly expecting him to walk through the doors.

Ni-ki strolled in casually, hands stuffed into his pockets, but it was impossible to miss the dark bruise across his cheekbone or the small cut at the corner of his lip. His usual cocky demeanor was still intact, though—shoulders back, head high, like he hadn’t been in some sort of fight.

Your eyes widened as you instinctively took a step toward him. “What the hell happened to you?”

He shrugged. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

You gave him an incredulous look, quickly closing the distance between you. Your hands moved on their own as you gently touched the side of his face, your fingers brushing against the bruised skin. He winced slightly but didn’t pull back, his gaze steady on yours.

“Ni-ki, this isn’t nothing. Who did this to you?”

He tilted his head, clearly enjoying your concern. “You worried about me, doll?”

You huffed, pulling your hands back. “Of course, I’m worried! You look like you got hit by a truck.”

His smirk widened. “Not a truck. Just some idiots who thought they could take us down. We had a little… disagreement.”

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. “A disagreement?”

“Yeah, you know, some guys in another town thought they could muscle in on our business.” He leaned closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial tone. “Let’s just say they won’t be trying that again.”

Your stomach twisted at the implication, but the relief that he was standing here in one piece outweighed everything else. “Are you okay?” you asked softly.

He blinked, clearly taken aback by the sincerity in your voice. Then, that smug grin of his returned. “You’re really worried about me, huh? I knew you liked me.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping back, but before you could retreat any further, his hands shot out and grabbed yours. His grip was firm but gentle as he pulled you close, so close you could see the faint stubble on his jaw and the glint of mischief in his eyes.

“Don’t pull away,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “I kinda like it when you fuss over me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you tried to look anywhere but at him. “I’m not fussing. I just—”

“You just care,” he finished for you, his lips turning into a softer smile. “It’s okay, you can admit it.”

You scoffed, trying to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re adorable.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, you wanted to pull back, to regain some semblance of control over the situation, but something about the way he was looking at you made it impossible to move.

“Thanks for worrying about me,” he said quietly, his usual teasing tone replaced by something almost… genuine.

You swallowed hard, nodding slightly. “Just… be careful, okay?”

He grinned again, the playful Ni-ki back in full force. “Careful’s not really my thing, doll. But for you, I’ll try.”

You sighed, trying to focus on getting your work done, but you could feel his eyes on you. Ni-ki hadn’t left, of course. He leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed, like he had all the time in the world to loiter around and watch you. Every now and then, you’d glance up, only to find him smiling at you with that infuriatingly smug expression.

You huffed, brushing past him with a stack of folded clothes, determined to ignore him. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” you asked, not bothering to look at him as you placed the clothes neatly on a display table.

“Not really,” he replied smoothly, his tone laced with amusement.

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, recovering or something? You’re walking around like you didn’t just get into a fight.”

Ni-ki chuckled, his voice low. “I’m tougher than I look, doll. Besides…” He trailed off, and when you turned to glare at him, you caught him staring again, his gaze lingering in a way that made your stomach flip. “You make a great distraction.”

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath as you moved to another rack. But even as you tried to focus on reorganizing the clothes, you couldn’t help but feel the heat of his presence. He was so close, always just within arm’s reach, and the empty store wasn’t doing you any favors.

“Do you just follow me everywhere now?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

“Not everywhere,” he replied, his voice dipping into something playful. “Just the places I know you’ll be.”

“Creepy much?”

He laughed at that, the sound rich and unbothered. “C’mon, admit it—you liked that I showed up.”

You turned to retort, but the look in his eyes stopped you. They were looking at you so fondly.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy being with you,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a murmur.

The sincerity in his tone threw you off, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words.

Eunseo suddenly stepped out from the storage room, a bright smile plastered on her face as she noticed Ni-ki leaning casually against the counter. “Oh, hello there! Welcome to our store! Do you need any help?” she said, her voice taking on a tone that was just a bit too cheerful, her steps purposeful as she approached him.

Ni-ki, to his credit, barely acknowledged her, his dark eyes still lingering on you as if Eunseo didn’t exist. “I’m good, thanks,” he replied flatly.

But Eunseo didn’t seem to pick up on his disinterest—or maybe she just didn’t care. “Are you sure? We’ve got some great new items in stock. Maybe I can help you find something?” She gave a little laugh, leaning on the counter and tilting her head in a way that screamed flirting.

You stiffened, pretending to busy yourself with a rack of folded shirts, but your hands were a little too rough as you refolded them. The way she was looking at him, the way her voice dripped with sugary sweetness—it was irritating. And Ni-ki wasn’t exactly pushing her away, which only made it worse.

“Really, I’m fine,” Ni-ki said, his tone remaining neutral, though you noticed the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Oh, come on,” Eunseo pressed, stepping even closer to him. “You’re just standing here all alone. Why not let me show you around? We’ve got some accessories that would look amazing on you.” Her hand brushed against his arm, and that was the final straw.

You slammed the shirts you were holding onto the rack a little louder than necessary, making both of them glance your way. “Eunseo,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm, though you could feel the heat of irritation bubbling beneath the surface, “don’t you have something to do in the back?”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard by your tone. “Oh, um… I just thought I’d help out here. He looks like he could use—”

“I said,” you interrupted, your eyes locking with hers, “don’t you have something to do in the back?”

Eunseo hesitated for a moment before giving you a slightly puzzled look. “Alright, alright, I’m going,” she said and glanced back at Ni-ki as she retreated. “If you change your mind, just let me know.”

When she was gone, you turned back to Ni-ki, who was now watching you with an amused expression.

“What?” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest.

He raised his hands in mock defense, his smirk widening. “Nothing. Just didn’t expect you to get all territorial over me, doll.”

“I wasn’t being territorial,” you shot back, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

“Sure you weren’t,” he teased, stepping closer to you, his voice dropping to that infuriatingly low tone. “But for the record, I’m not interested in anyone else. You’ve got my full attention, whether you like it or not.”

You huffed, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered at his words.

“Now, will you finally admit you like having me here?” he said with a grin, leaning in just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath.

You groaned, shoving him lightly toward the door. “Get out before I regret not letting her deal with you.”

Ni-ki laughed, his voice rich and unbothered, but he allowed you to guide him toward the exit. Before he left, though, he paused, glancing over his shoulder at you. “See you later, doll.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you to deal with the lingering embarrassment—and the undeniable fact that you did like having him around, no matter how much you tried to deny it.

--

The evening air was cold when you stepped out of the store, bag slung over your shoulder as you headed toward the bus stop.

You were halfway there when the low rumble of a car engine made you glance over your shoulder. A sleek black car slowing down to match your pace. The window rolled down, and you weren’t even surprised when you saw him—Ni-ki. His lazy smirk greeted you as he tilted his head.

“Need a ride?” he asked casually, his voice smooth and teasing.

You hesitated, clutching your bag tighter. “I’m fine. The bus is just up ahead.”

“Come on, doll,” he coaxed, resting one arm over the edge of the open window. “You really gonna make me watch you freeze out here? Just get in.”

You sighed, glancing around the empty street before finally relenting. “Fine,” you muttered, walking to the passenger side.

As you climbed in, the smell of leather and cologne hit you, mingled with the faint scent of mint. The interior was just as sleek as the exterior, glowing faintly from the purple neon underlighting. Ni-ki barely glanced at you as he started driving again, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh.

You couldn’t help but steal a glance at him, the sharp line of his jaw illuminated by the city lights. The way he gripped the wheel with one hand, the relaxed confidence —it was unfair how good he looked.

“See something you like?” he drawled, his tone playful.

You snapped your gaze forward, your cheeks heating. “No.”

“Liar,” he teased, and before you could respond, his hand slid from his thigh to yours, resting lightly. His thumb brushed against the fabric of your jeans, and the bubbling feeling in your stomach intensified.

“Ni-ki—” you started, your voice faltering.

He glanced at you briefly, his smirk deepening. “Relax, doll. Just making sure you’re comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” you echoed, your voice tinged with disbelief.

“Very,” he said, squeezing your thigh gently before returning his focus to the road.

You stared at him, speechless, as his fingers stayed on your leg, warm and steady. The fluttering in your chest wouldn’t stop, no matter how much you tried to will it away.

“So,” he said after a beat, his tone casual but still carrying that flirtatious edge, “how was your day? Other than me stealing all your attention at work, of course.”

You rolled your eyes, thankful for the change in subject. “It was fine. Slow, boring—until you showed up and made it worse.”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “You wound me, doll. But don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you.”

You gave him a side-eye but said nothing, unable to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

The car eventually pulled into the parking lot of a cozy yet elegant Japanese restaurant, the warm glow of lanterns hanging outside casting a soft light across the entrance. You furrowed your brow as Ni-ki parked and turned off the engine.

“What are we doing here?” you asked, your tone skeptical.

He leaned back in his seat and gave you a charming grin. “Dinner.”

You blinked at him. “Dinner?”

“Yeah, you and me,” he said nonchalantly, already unbuckling his seatbelt.

Before you could protest, he was out of the car and walking around to your side. He opened the door, holding it like a perfect gentleman, one hand resting casually on the top of the car as he peered down at you.

You sighed, crossing your arms. “Ni-ki, I didn’t agree to this.”

His face didn’t falter. Instead, he cocked an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “You didn’t say no, either.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the way he was looking at you—smug yet so effortlessly charming—made you groan. “Fine,” you muttered, grabbing your bag and stepping out of the car.

He stepped back to give you space, closing the door behind you. “There’s my girl,” he said teasingly, earning a sharp glare from you.

He only chuckled as he led the way into the restaurant, holding the door open for you.

The interior was warm and inviting, the scent of freshly cooked dishes wafting through the air. The restaurant wasn’t overly extravagant, but it wasn’t casual either. It struck a balance between elegant and cozy.

Ni-ki guided you to a table in the corner, away from the more crowded areas. The staff seemed to know him, greeting him with familiarity as he nodded in return. You followed reluctantly, sitting down across from him.

“Seriously, Ni-ki, what’s all this about?” you asked, frowning at him as you placed your bag on the seat beside you.

He shrugged, leaning back in his chair with that easygoing confidence of his. “Figured you deserved something nice.”

You gave him a look, not buying it. “Out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Exactly.” He smirked, leaning forward this time, resting his forearms on the table. “That, and I like spending time with you.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. You looked away, pretending to study the menu placed in front of you.

Ni-ki chuckled softly, clearly amused by your flustered state. “Relax, doll. It’s just dinner.”

You bit back a retort, choosing instead to focus on the menu and your heart sank at the prices. Everything looked so luxurious—and expensive. You frowned, setting the menu down.

“Ni-ki,” you began hesitantly, “this place is... a bit much. I don’t think—”

He raised a hand, cutting you off. “Don’t even start.” His tone was firm yet playful. “You’re here because I brought you here. So, the meal’s on me. Order whatever you want.”

You still hesitated, feeling a pang of guilt. “I don’t know. Maybe I should just go for something simple—”

Ni-ki’s expression shifted, his lips pressing into a thin line as he gave you a mockingly disappointed look. “Really? After I go through all this trouble, you’re going to pick the cheapest thing on the menu?”

As if on cue, your stomach grumbled, betraying you. You blushed deeply, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Ni-ki’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

“See?” he said, his tone gentle but teasing. “Your stomach agrees with me.”

Reluctantly, you turned your attention back to the menu, deciding to pick something that looked good rather than the cheapest option. After a few moments, you made your choice, pointing to a dish that caught your eye.

“I’ll have this,” you said, hoping it wasn’t too extravagant.

Ni-ki leaned over to see what you had chosen, a satisfied smile spreading across his face. “Good choice. I approve.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Well, I’m glad it meets your standards.”

He chuckled, signaling the waiter to take your orders.

Once the waiter left, you looked at him. “You really didn’t have to do all this, you know.”

He tilted his head, his gaze softening just a fraction. “Yeah, I did.”

You looked away and quickly busied yourself with adjusting the utensils in front of you, unsure how to respond. Ni-ki didn’t press, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he leaned back in his seat.

“Just sit back and enjoy, doll. You deserve it.”

You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze, but he was already leaning back in his chair, a relaxed, almost casual expression on his face.

After a few moments, the food arrived. The waiter placed the beautifully plated dishes in front of both of you. The smell was enough to make your stomach rumble again.

You hesitated for a moment before picking up your chopsticks, trying not to seem too eager. When you finally took a bite of the food, your eyes widened in surprise. It was incredible—perfectly seasoned.

Ni-ki watched you intently, a soft smile tugging at his lips as you took another bite. "Good?" he asked, leaning in slightly.

You nodded, your mouth full but your eyes sparkling. "It’s amazing," you said, before taking another bite.

He chuckled lightly, clearly pleased. "I told you. You deserve the best."

You couldn’t help but laugh, even as you continued eating. The meal went on like this, with easy conversation between you two. It felt... normal, in a way. He asked about your work, and you told him a little about how things had been going.

Ni-ki, on the other hand, kept his answers short, more focused on making you feel comfortable than discussing anything serious. Every time he glanced at you, there was something in his gaze, like you were the most important thing in the room.

It was strange. Sitting here with him, eating this expensive meal, having casual conversation—it didn’t feel like you were sitting across from a criminal who had held you hostage twice. For a moment, it almost felt like you were on a normal date, one where you could let your guard down.

You paused, lifting your glass of water to your lips, trying to gather your thoughts. Could this really be the same guy? The one who had dragged you around and threatened your life?

Ni-ki’s voice interrupted your thoughts. “You’re quiet. What’s on your mind?”

You smiled faintly, shaking your head. “Nothing. Just... this feels weird, that’s all.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. “Weird good or weird bad?”

You thought for a moment before responding. “Weird good,” you admitted, feeling a little embarrassed but also relieved to say it aloud. “It’s hard to reconcile... you know, everything that’s happened with... well, this.”

Ni-ki’s smile softened, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “I get it. I get it more than you think.”

"You’ll get used to it," he added softly, before taking another bite of his meal.

After finishing the last bite of your meal, you leaned back in your chair, feeling pleasantly full and a little more at ease than you had all night. Ni-ki caught your eye as he signaled the waiter for the check. The moment the receipt was handed to him, your gaze instinctively fell to the amount, and your eyes nearly bulged out of your head.

The total was outrageous.

You tried to keep your reaction in check, but your lips parted in disbelief, the number far higher than anything you’d ever imagined spending on a meal. It wasn’t just expensive—it was excessive.

Ni-ki noticed your expression and let out a low chuckle, his voice teasing. “You’ve got a look on your face, sweetheart. You okay?”

You quickly straightened up, trying to play it cool, but you could feel your cheeks turning slightly pink. “That’s... that’s a lot,” you muttered, trying to make it sound light, though you were still trying to process the shock of it.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied easily, waving a hand as if it was nothing. “It’s all taken care of.”

You couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty. “I didn’t mean to... I didn’t expect—”

“Relax,” he interrupted smoothly, smiling that smug little smile of his.

Before you could say anything else, he stood up, paying the bill and handing the waiter a generous tip. You watched him, still trying to wrap your mind around the amount he had just spent.

You weren’t used to this kind of attention, this kind of treatment.

As you got up from the table, Ni-ki took your hand, his fingers brushing against yours with an ease that almost felt possessive. You didn’t resist as he led you out of the restaurant, his other hand holding the door open for you.

The moment you reached the car, he opened the passenger door for you and gestured for you to get in. His hand lightly pressed against your back as you slid into the seat, and he closed the door after you, before going around and sliding in smoothly beside you.

“Relax, doll,” he said softly, as he started the car, the engine purring to life. “Let’s get you home.”

As the car sped down the quiet streets, you tried to focus but your thoughts kept spiraling. The money. It was stolen. Ni-ki was a criminal. Everything that had happened—the meal, the expensive gifts, the constant attention—came with a price. And that price was his life, his world. His actions were all tainted by theft, violence, and chaos.

You tried to remind yourself of that, to convince yourself that you should be repulsed. You should feel anger or disgust. But none of it bubbled inside of you.

It didn’t make sense. The pieces didn’t fit. You told yourself over and over again that you should hate Ni-ki, that you should despise the life he led, but each time you tried to convince yourself, you found your resolve crumbling.

Why didn’t that feel like a bigger deal?

His actions were a blatant disregard for everything you stood for, for the world you’d grown up in. He was a criminal. A dangerous one. And yet, as you glanced over at him in the driver's seat, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel disgusted or scared.

Why didn’t I feel any different?

He was using stolen money. He’d manipulated you into situations. And yet, somehow, here you were. And you were no longer asking why it felt wrong—you were too busy asking why it felt right.

When the car came to a stop in front of your building, Ni-ki didn’t waste a second. He stepped out, walking around to open the door for you, his expression unreadable as he gave you a soft nod. You hesitated for a moment, still trying to collect your scattered thoughts, but then you got out of the car, following him up to your place in silence.

When you reached your apartment door, Ni-ki made a soft sound—almost like a chuckle. You turned to look at him, expecting some joke or comment, but he was holding something in his hand.

A ring.

You blinked, confused, your eyes darting between his face and the small, shimmering band he was holding. It looked so familiar. A glint of gold, with a small diamond set in the center.

"What is this?" you asked, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.

He eyes darkened slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It's the same ring you were eyeing before the robbery. Thought you’d like it."

You stared at him, a mix of emotions bubbling inside you. The same ring? You weren’t sure whether to be shocked or frustrated. But before you could voice any of those feelings, he nudged the ring toward you.

You didn’t move immediately, still processing what was happening. But Ni-ki wasn’t waiting for you to decide. His fingers gently closed around your hand, and before you could protest or pull away, he slipped the ring onto your finger.

You didn’t pull your hand back, though every part of you screamed to. For some reason, it felt... right.

"There," Ni-ki said softly, his voice low and purposeful. "It’s yours now."

You didn’t know what to say. How to respond. All you could do was stare at the ring on your finger. You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

Ni-ki watched you, his eyes dark and intent, as you stood frozen, staring at the ring on your finger. He could see your inner turmoil, the hesitation in your eyes. "You know," he began, leaning in just a fraction closer, his breath warm against your ear, "you're really quiet all of a sudden. That’s not like you, doll."

Before you could respond, he tilted your head up by your jaw, his fingers gently but firmly pressing against your skin, forcing your gaze to meet his. You felt your heart race in your chest as he held you there, steady and unyielding, making sure you couldn’t look away.

His other hand slid down, intertwining your fingers with his, his hold tight. You could feel the warmth of his palm against yours, the pressure of his fingers against yours. There was no room to pull away.

He leaned in so close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered softly, "You’re not going to run, are you? Not after all this. Not after everything we've been through."

You felt his other hand slide from your jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you even closer, if that was possible.

Ni-ki's voice softened, his words nearly a purr as they slipped from his lips. "You wouldn’t leave me, would you?" he asked, his fingers trailing down the back of your neck, sending jolts of warmth through your body. His eyes, intense and piercing, never left yours. "After everything we've been through... after all the time I've spent making sure you’re safe, looking after you..."

You couldn’t speak, your chest tight, your mind a blur of confusion and emotions. You were caught—stuck between wanting to run, wanting to get away, and something else... something that made it hard to think, to move.

Ni-ki seemed to sense your hesitation, and he pressed in closer, his lips hovering near yours. "I’ve been patient with you," he murmured, each word carefully measured. "I’ve waited for you to see it, to see that I’m good for you." His voice purred as if coaxing you. "I want to be good to you. You deserve it. I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted."

His other hand gently cupped your cheek, forcing you to look at him, and only him. "You’re the biggest treasure in the world, doll," he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper. "And I want you."

Your heart hammered in your chest, and for a moment, you could only stare at him, the shock evident in your eyes. His words felt heavy—almost too heavy to bear.

Could you even run now? Could you really?

You couldn't resist and your gaze landed on his lips.

He caught your gaze, and a smile tugged at his lips, slow and knowing. "Do you want it?" he asked, his voice rough.

You blinked, confusion flickering in your eyes. "What?" you whispered, unsure of what he meant.

Ni-ki didn't answer right away. Instead, he hummed softly, a sound that vibrated deep in his chest, before his hand cupped your face. In one smooth motion, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss so sudden, it stole your breath. His lips were warm, demanding, as he pushed you backward into your apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft thud.

You gasped into the kiss, the suddenness of it sending a wave of heat through you, but you didn't pull away. Instead, you melted into him, your hands reaching up to grip the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. His hands slid to your waist, holding you firmly, as if he was anchoring you to him.

You didn’t pull away, not because you didn’t want to, but because you couldn’t. You were drawn to him in a way that felt too strong to fight.

Ni-ki’s hands slid to your back, holding you close. You could feel the way his body moved with yours, the way he wanted you, the way he craved your every touch. It was impossible to resist, even though a small part of you tried to.

The kiss seemed to go on forever, his hands roaming over you, pulling you closer as he murmured into the kiss, his voice low.

“You’re the only one for me,” he whispered between kisses, his breath hot against your skin. “Only you. Always you.” His hands slid from your back to your hips, gently guiding you toward the couch. You didn’t resist; instead, you let him pull you down, your body sinking into the soft cushions as he hovered over you.

His lips never left yours, his hands tracing the curves of your body. “I’ll give you anything you want,” he murmured, his words coming in short bursts as his lips moved to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “Anything, baby. Just say it.”

You could barely focus on anything but the way his body pressed against yours, his lips were everywhere—your neck, your jawline, your ear. He whispered more sweet words, each one making your heart flutter despite the uncertainty you still felt in the back of your mind.

“I wanted you from the moment I saw you,” Ni-ki confessed, his voice rough, as if he couldn’t control the emotions spilling out of him. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I need.” His lips found yours again, hot and demanding, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process everything that was happening. His words, his touch—they were consuming you, and it felt so good. It felt like nothing mattered but this moment, and it was so easy to get lost in him.

You pulled him back gently, your hands cupping his cheeks, holding him still as you locked eyes with him. His gaze was intense, searching yours.

With a small, teasing smile, you leaned in closer, your voice soft. “Show me how much you want me.”

A slow, pleased grin spread across his face as he closed the space between you. “I’ll show you that, and more,” he whispered, his voice husky with promise.

He slid close, his body pressed against yours as his lips found yours again.

As he kissed you, his words were a low murmur, barely audible against your skin. “I’m yours, doll. And I’ll make sure you see that.”

part 3

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[desireangel]

Dark Cherry | Aemond Targaryen

Part One (potentially ??? xoxo - indecision)

Summary: after months of a marriage that hardly harbours the passion that you'd dreamed about, you stumble across the reason for your husband's indifference and decide enough is enough. Aemond will learn just exactly what he's been missing out on.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader and also some Aemond x some random girly pop who could be impliedly understood as ms Alys ;o

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: smut - mdni 18+!!! infidelity, kinda angsty? second-hand smut? reader is a cheeky voyeur, oral (m receiving), talk of sex, masturbation, bad words, very little dialogue, I wrote this in 2 hours and it is barely edited so it may be shite. guys. please tell me if I've missed a warning, luv u xoxo

Author's note: here's a wee smth while I get my head around part 2 of Infernal Desires! the idea I had for this fic was for a multi-part but idk depends on how we're feeling so there will potentially be a part 2 ;D. kisses!!!! <3

Masterlist!

Whatever pretence was in play, you would be the first to admit that you were tired of it. A loveless marriage was nothing less than what you had expected–a union that was entirely for show and born from the political motives of your families. It was only expected.

You tried to convince yourself that you were content with such an arrangement. It suited your ambitions, meant that you could be left alone to do as you please while quenching the thirst to make your family proud. 

Somehow, despite your hesitance and despite your husband’s ignorance toward you, the one thing that you knew you would never truly hold had become your greatest wish. 

The reality was such that you found yourself longing for affection.

Preferably-of course-your husband’s affection. 

Between the forced smiles put on for expectant eyes, the brush of your shoulders whenever you sat next to each other at the dining hall and the gentle caresses at the small of your back until his touch was hurriedly removed once you were again behind closed doors, you had grown an incessant, consuming desire for the prince you were married to. 

Aemond was a man of great beauty and strength. While many had chastised his singular eye and told tales of his ruthless temper, Aemond had grown to be well respected and the object of many lustful gazes.

Eight months had passed since Aemond became your husband and you, his wife. Eight months of tense silences, lonely nights in a bed you had expected to share and eight months of nothing but false affections that were nothing but a performance.

You had considered yourself a romantic right until you felt the loneliness and realities of this marriage. Your naive desires to feel the throes and excitement of love that you read about were subject to a rude awakening the moment you became disgustingly aware of your husbands lack of it. 

Aside from the night of your wedding, Aemond seemed to avoid your bed as if it would burn his skin. Until two months ago, when you had pushed aside the sting on your pride and all but demanded he spare some time for you. 

Friends had warned you that it was hardly special. But if he was kind enough, as few of their husbands were from time to time, he would give you a chance to experience some of the pleasures of your body.

Aemond was hardly a passionate lover, it had seemed. With instruction to simply lift your skirt, he had you laying with your hips at the foot of the bed where he silently and effortlessly fucked his seed into your womb. It had not yet borne fruit despite his fortnightly visits. 

It was never enough. Your body had eventually begun to crave more. In a very raw and unmistakably physical need to find the release it had been denied for so long. Despite Aemond’s assurance on the first nights of your marriage that neither of you were to have any interest in whores or paramours, words and whispers of the prince’s capabilities had picked up over recent weeks and you came to understand that if only Aemond had wanted to, he could give you exactly what your body desired.

Even if you had the same freedoms as men when it came to taking on lovers outside of your marriage, you couldn’t. Admittedly, you’d developed a taste for luxury - a taste only for your husband. Or at least, the fantasy version of Aemond that you had concocted within your head. 

And when your hand made its way between your thighs in the small hours that followed restless nights, the only thoughts that existed in your mind were those of him. Of all the things you had hoped Aemond would guide you to discover about your bodies. Of all the things that you had read about in the books you’d sneak out to find. 

Sometimes, you wondered if Aemond thought of you while he touched himself. The idea of it often crossed your mind and you had since convinced yourself that you had been driven insane. 

Realistically, you knew that the arrangement you had with Aemond was out of necessity. Nothing more. But you were much like him in certain ways - hungry for what you know you deserve, relentless and cunning. But you had little patience left. 

The moment you had decided to make your worth known to your husband wasn’t one you could place a finger on. It was a gradual thing - as you had gently started shifting your attention past the lovers in your books who no longer calmed your lustful needs. 

You wanted him more fiercely than you had wanted for anything in your lifetime.  

So you gently lowered the neckline of your dresses to highlighted the bump of your collarbone, had your maids do your hair so that it framed your face perfectly while accentuating the shape of your neck. You had soon foregone the paler tones your mother had you wear, colours that announced your purity and innocence. The colours that you wore were deeper, richer and more sultry against the tone of your skin. 

With difficult ignorance of the nervous, shy and pious girl your parents had raised for such a match, you forced yourself to seek out Aemond’s gaze with an extra glint in your eyes. You let your once hesitant touches linger with a newfound confidence that stole your breath away whenever Aemond would escort you to and from the dining hall. On the days Aemond would spare time to walk you through the gardens, you made an effort to speak of more than just the weather. 

At times, you felt uneasy about the act you were putting on. Were the prospect of his affections so important to you that you forced yourself to act so differently? In your mind, being a seductress was never so dishonourable as many made it seem but you had hoped this act would pay off in a matter of a few weeks. 

Your impatience becomes painful when you have every other desire at your beck and call. 

But you were mistaken. If anything, Aemond’s indifference had only grown. And at each hardened glance from your head to toe, at each moment in which he continued to ignore you or look past you, your resolve weakened.  

Aemond could not have found you unattractive - this much you knew as a fact. You knew from the way he used to look at you with a gentle fire in his eye and made sure that your every other need had been taken care of. From the way he clenched his jaw in restraint when you would lay back for him, how his grip on your hips and your thighs left marks on your skin as he fucked into you - even if there was little more than a duty being performed. After all, he was still just a man. 

So despite the fact that your efforts were shaping up to be of no use, you didn’t give up. You started taking breakfast in your chambers, requesting Aemond to join you when he was available, dressed in your softest, prettiest nightgowns instead of having dressed up already. 

You made a show of it, unashamed and brazen. Almost surprisingly, Aemond enjoyed the dark cherry more than you could have hoped. There were subtle changes in the way his eye would linger over the dip of your neck, the way his wordless gaze would follow the deep red that would stain and spill from your lips as you bit into a cherry from the bowl of fruit that you shared.

Your conversations have always been comfortable. Aemond may be a brooding, arrogant hardass sometimes but he was always respectful and kind to his you in the time you shared together as husband and wife. But now he would falter, his words getting caught as he watched you gently sucking off the juice of a cherry from your fingers, humming gently as you glance at him with false nonchalance mixed with your best bedroom eyes. 

And it did drive him insane. Aemond had never seen this side of you, much unlike the quiet, prudish woman he had married. But then again, had he ever truly known you? Either way, you had caught the amusement in his gaze and the way he challenged you wordlessly with a shift of his hips and gentle smirk.

Much to your disappointment, little else changed. Nearly three weeks had passed and Aemond had given you little more than those lingering looks and a few stolen breaths. He had at once withdrawn and become increasingly lacklustre, and when you had even tried asking him about his training with Ser Cole, you received no more than curt, blunt answers at each try. 

It had become too much by the time you had retired to your chambers alone once again. The day had been long and uneventful, Helaena had been by your side for most of it which had been nice but you were in no mood to fake an interest in sifting through the performative duties of a princess. 

In all honesty, it was frustrating. You were starting to wear thin on the constant nagging of absolutely everyone about your lack of a child. It has been almost a year and you have failed to perform your duty as a wife, almost a year and you have not missed a single cycle, almost a year and you haven’t blessed the prince with an heir. 

Because, as a lady whose name you hadn’t cared enough to remember had not-so-gently uttered to you over her dreadful playing of a stringed instrument; what was the point of being his wife if you didn’t bed him well enough to carry his child? 

You had, in truth, been distracted. And the idea of carrying the child of a man who only paid you the necessary courtesies out of politeness and good manners made you feel ill. 

Queen Alicent, although you could tell she was inclined to agree with the lady, had placed a gentle yet firm hand on your bicep to calm the anger that had clearly taken you over. With a glare at the loose-lipped woman, you quickly picked up the handkerchief you’d been attempting to embroider and excused yourself. 

If anyone had noticed your absence from the evening meal, which the Queen had always insisted upon eating together, nobody bothered to say anything. 

Over an hour had passed, tossing around in your bed and your eyes stinging from embarrassment. Why was Aemond so averse to you? Why would he stare at you as if you set his blood on fire in one moment and then glance straight past you in the next? What had you done that convinced him so strongly that you were not even worth trying to be familiar with? 

The gods had surely intended to punish you for something in a past life if they were so adamant to trap you in a marriage with a man who would much rather be anywhere other than with you. 

You may as well be strangers to each other. 

The ache of your anger led you straight out of your own chambers and towards his. You spared Ser Tunsley, the knight standing at your door, a harsh glare and snapped at him to give you your privacy otherwise you’d have him stripped of his cloak. He was a timid one, you noticed, and with a nod he stood back, his eyes staring straight past your shoulder in an attempt not to stare at the thin nightgown that clung to your skin. 

It was an outrageous hour and you were of half a mind in your frustration to thank the gods for the empty hallways. In fact, you noticed the lack of an armoured man at the door to Aemond’s chambers and wondered if maybe the prince was elsewhere. 

You stepped towards the door, curiosity peaked at the sound of shifting, followed by some voices and you hesitated. Frowning, you ran through what you would say if Aemond opened the door - there was nothing that would make sense. 

As you stepped closer to the door, a soft light spilled out and you noticed that it was, in fact, just barely ajar. 

It was unlike Aemond to leave his door open and you were certain he would question you sneaking around the hallways in the small hours, dressed only in underclothes. But you ignored the rational voice at the back of your mind and took silent steps so close to the door that it would be cowardly to back out now. 

You couldn’t hear the voices anymore, ears ringing as you held your breath and gently nudged the door while muttering a silent prayer that it wouldn’t make a sound. 

Shock first. Then fear, anger, desire and an all consuming jealousy as you took a moment to understand what you were seeing.  

Aemond was resting at the end of his bed, naked and resting his weight lazily on one arm, his free hand tangled in the dark hair of a slender woman, just as bare as him, kneeling at his feet and moving her head in an up and down motion. Aemond guided her movements with a firm hand, his head tipped back gently. 

He wasn’t wearing his eyepatch. You’d never seen him without it–he never let you. His eye was firmly shut and you caught the glint of the sapphire in place of the other that was stolen from him. The movements of his chest were heavy and you could hear him panting gently, lips gently parted. 

You were unable to tear your eyes off of Aemond. He looked more beautiful than you had ever seen him, under the golden hue of the lamps, his body lean and chiselled–each curve and muscle glowing under the lights. You could see his pleasure, in his expression, the tinting of his skin and the way he roughly tugged at the mystery woman’s hair. A couple strands of his own hair, usually pulled away from his face, fell forward and the flush of his cheeks were starkly pink against the silver of his hair. He let out a breathy groan, murmuring something you couldn’t quite hear as he opened his eye, dark with lust, and gazed down at the woman that was hunched over his lap. The lewd sounds of her mouth on him almost made you gasp and you thanked the gods that Aemond could not see you. Because you could not move if you tried. 

You couldn’t see anything other than the back of her head, and you were glad of it. Because you knew that seeing her face would have been too much and staying hidden and quiet would have been ten times more difficult. Despite the pressure between your thighs, the uncomfortable slick that you felt against your small clothes and the heat that rushed through you from head to toe, you glared viciously at the back of her head. 

Aemond’s breathing stuttered, a string of curses falling carelessly from his lips while he watched the woman as if he were entirely enchanted by her. Despite the fact that you couldn’t really see what she was doing, so expertly that had him in such a state, the entire thing felt obscene. And you could hear her muffled moans, the wetness and her light gagging when Aemond tightened his hold on her hair and thrusted upwards.

Your cheeks burned and your blood felt like lava coursing through your veins. The intensity of your want for him–as he was right now–made you dizzy and you drew in sharp breaths, careful not to make a sound. Because if he turned his head slightly to the left, just for a second, he would see you. You didn’t want to know the consequences. But nothing  that existed among all of the realm could force you to turn around and leave. 

Aemond’s groans were quiet and deep but they grew slightly louder than before, his breath catching as you could see him grow closer to his peak. Your thighs trembled as you pressed them together, barely thinking about how you would be able to escape after he was done–when he would surely see you watching unashamedly. 

The sounds that Aemond was making sent shockwaves straight to your wetness and as you could see his entire body grow visibly tense, hips jerking as his groans turned strained amongst grunts and whispers of just like that and fuck and—a name. 

It was your name. 

You couldn’t help but gasp, clenching around nothing, squeezing and rubbing your thighs together to try and relieve the throbbing of your clit. The woman faltered, much to your satisfaction, and she pulled her head back from him. You couldn’t see past her but her hands remained as they were, biceps moving gently as she continued to touch him. 

“Aemond-” you winced as she said his name, no bother for formality. Her voice was slightly husky and it remained sultry and smooth. “I’m not-”

Your husband’s jaw ticked, squeezing his eye shut and pushing her head down towards his hips again. “I know. Fuck–” he grunted, roughly pushing her further down, cursing as she gagged. She hummed around him. 

Suddenly, the desire in your veins became secondary to the jealousy that burned your lungs and the betrayal that caught in your throat. You knew men were not faithful creatures, and even though part of you had known Aemond had been no different–not with how you have heard the servants speak on a couple occasions–but foolishly, you had hoped that he had been a man of his word. Another naive part of you truly did believe him when he said he would have no other woman. 

Whatever she was doing, however she was doing it and no matter that it was your name that fell from his lips, Aemond was enjoying it. He was praising her–telling her she was his, telling her she was doing so well and letting himself get lost in the pleasure she was giving him. 

It was painful to watch and you cursed your body for yearning so badly for reprieve. You’d become soaked, thighs slick from where you’d dripped down. But you would be damned if you gave in and as Aemond’s hips started jerking, his strained grunts becoming desperate as he chased the peak he was nearing, you pushed yourself away from the door and ran back towards your own chambers. 

The entire scene had seared itself into your brain and you trembled as you shut yourself away in your bedchambers, ignoring whatever questions Ser Tunsley had been asking you. 

Who was that woman? You couldn’t make sense of all the questions that flooded your brain. The emotions that fought for dominance. How had they met? Was she a whore? 

Did they see you? 

Your mind replayed the way he’d groaned your name, unable to help yourself from whimpering at the memory. It didn’t make any sense. Aemond was clearly thinking about you yet he had never so much as spared you more than a heated look - he had never even given you a kiss. 

Aemond had never been so comfortable with you. Not the way he was with her. The way he let her say his name–free of his title, like she was his equal. You had only addressed him without title once, on the night of your wedding. 

You laughed. How silly this all was. 

Despite your arousal, and regardless of your hurt, you were angry. 

How dare he? Did he think so little of you? 

Did he love her? Is that why he never tried for you? 

It was infuriating. And there was little you could do about it. But nonetheless, you saw an opportunity through the tears you scolded yourself for shedding over a man who never gave you what you deserved. 

Aemond would regret it. And he’d learn that his wife was the only woman who could give him what he needs. But for now, you let yourself grieve the Aemond you had led yourself to believe was real. The man who held your hand in his and told you that while he couldn’t be the husband you wanted, he would never disrespect you so much as to let another woman into his bed.