#obey me dark humor

[feralinmyheadcalminmybed]

Lucifer, reading the news : apparently there's an old man in his 80's who was driving yesterday and got into a car accident, he drove over a group of 12 children .

Mc : Strike !

Lucifer : What ?

Mc : What ?

Belphie : Pffttt

[gifti3]

This style would be good for a dark otome isekai

[mcx7demonbros]

Obey Me: began celebrating the side characters’ birthdays in 2021

Solomon in 2020: No one remembers it’s my birthday. Alas, it’s not important anyway 🥲

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Dragon On The Tower Roof.

Pairing: Yandere!Malleus x Reader (TWST).

Word Count: 4.2k.

TW: Fantasy AU, Mentions of Blood/Bruising, Mentions of Injury to Reader, Implied (Consensual) Sex, Possessive Behavior, and Manipulation.

Malleus met you at the base of his tower.

With a single movement of his wings, he descended from his perch and landed in front of you – placing himself between you and the stone behemoth. Had you been a more imposing figure, a knight or a prince or the general of some distant army, he would’ve cut you down the moment you entered his valley, but your only armor was a thin rucksack tunic and your only weapon was a rusted sword – the tip of its chipped blade currently planted in the ground as you struggled to keep yourself on your feet. He could smell blood on you, although he couldn’t be sure if its source was the jagged, poorly bandaged wound on your calf or the dark stains painting your humble clothes. You were clearly not a knight, much less a prince, and if you were a general, your army had abandoned you long ago. Altogether, you were not the most intimidating nuisance he had ever had to dismiss. He might’ve been grateful, had you not been a nuisance at all.

In the past, his visage alone had been enough to make even the bravest adventure abandon their quest, but your weary eyes only glazed over his black-scaled wings, his spiraling horns, the slit pupils of his unnaturally green eyes. You acknowledged him with a slight nod, putting more of your weight on your makeshift aid. “I believe I’m here to slay you, dragon.”

His greeting, likewise, came in the form of a bowed head, a narrowed gaze. “And to rescue the prince, I assume.”

You shrugged, the gesture alone threatening to cost you your balance. “I’m sure they’d prefer if I didn’t. I think they’ve got someone else for that – a lord, or maybe a king. Someone more befitting than a filthy criminal, surely.”

At that, Malleus felt the ghost of a smile tug at the corner of his lips. Novelty was rare, this far into his everlasting life, and he could not say he’d ever had a prisoner sent after his head. “What sort of crime gets you sent to the lair of a monster?”

You brightened at the question. “Thievery,” you answered, pride overshadowing your exhaustion. “I could either face you or let them cut off my hands and, well, I find those to be quite essential to my burgeoning career.”

This time, you earned an airy laugh, a reflexive flick of his tail. He took another moment to evaluate you before speaking. “You are tired, thief.”

It wasn’t a question, but you answered regardless. “It was a long journey. You aren’t an easy monster to reach.”

“And injured, presumably by the fangs of some great beast of legend.”

“Right again.” You paused, then added, “If there are any legends about wolves, I mean.”

“And hungry.” Your smile fell. When you failed to respond, he went on. “May I invite you to share a meal with me before our battle?”

He watched as you swallowed, as you straightened. Your sword was pulled from the ground and allowed to hang limply at your side as you stared up at him with such a hopeful expression – his heart, had it not been so terribly calloused, might’ve broken at the sight alone. “Well,” you started, your humor gone in exchange for pure, unabashed desperation. “I suppose I can’t refuse such a kindly offered invitation.”

With no further conversation, he stepped to the side, raising his staff to the tower. After only a moment, the endless cobblestone pulled away to reveal a simple, wooded door – already open and awaiting his entry. Smiling, he motioned for you to follow him, and without protest, you obeyed.

~

You ate, to put it politely, like a starving animal.

There’d been an attempt at decency when you first sat down at the opposing head of his banquet table, a gallant effort to make use of the flatware arranged into neat, never-ending lines on either side of your plate, but what little energy you had for such pleasantries was depleted quickly as your attention was dedicated entirely to the whims of your empty stomach. Countless other dishes decorated the table – ranging from fine delicacies fit for the pallets of kings to common staples even the lowest of peasantry would’ve been familiar with, but Malleus was content to nurse a goblet of dark, herbed wine as he watched you bask in the feast.

Only after you’d gotten your fill did you seem to remember that you had company, your expression taking on a sheepish note. “This is what they brought me to trial for. Trespassing, I mean,” you began, and Malleus hummed in acknowledgement. “It was a baron’s manor – not quite a castle, but close to it. I heard he had the most beautiful gardens on this continent, and at the time, it seemed unreasonable to have to wait for an invitation just to take a look.”

“I thought you were a thief?”

“You must have the wrong person. I’ve been many things, but never a thief.” You leaned back in your chair. “I’m afraid I’ve always been too tender-hearted for that kind of thing. I could never stand to insult my hosts.”

“Such a considerate guest I have,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “I suppose I won’t have to worry about being robbed blind if I let you stay the night, then.”

You shook your head, feigning ego. “I would never, dear dragon. Your reclusive prince, on the other hand—”

Whatever you might’ve gone on to say was swiftly replaced with a sudden gasp as every torch within sight burst into a pillar of vicious emerald flame, casting the dining room in a blinding, sickly green before dying out just as abruptly as it’d erupted. Malleus let out an exasperated breath, bringing a hand to his temples. “My apologies. My patience has grown—” He cast a wayward glance toward the ash now seared into the stone walls, the ceiling. “—thin, over my time here.”

You allowed a beat to pass by in silence, then another. “Your prince,” you said, finally. “Is he important to you?”

“I can think of nothing I value more.” The answer came easily, even if the intensity of his sentiment surprised him. “An old friend asked me to ensure his safety. I’ve performed my role dutifully ever since.” The taste of blood rose into the back of his throat, but he drowned it out with another long sip from his goblet. “They used to send entire armies to reclaim him, then lone knights, then the occasional adventurer. You might be the first human to come seeking my head in two or three decades.”

Your smile took on a shy lilt, your eyes drifting to the table. “I wasn’t really supposed to come after you, either. Most people just take it as an exile, but they gave me a sword, and…” It was your turn to laugh, now, to be surprised with yourself. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I thought, even if I don’t get to rescue any princes, it could be nice to see how much of the fairy tale is true.”

“And you’re satisfied with what you’ve found?”

“Not entirely,” you admitted. “But I’m glad I met you, dear dragon.”

After some hesitation, he pushed himself to his feet and closed the distance between you. You stiffened, your gaze flitting blatantly toward the sole exit, but you didn’t attempt to flee as he pulled the closest seat in front of you and fell into it. “May I see your leg?”

You were far more than reluctant, but complied. The material of your travel weary trousers was pulled above your knee, the strips of fabric you’d attempted to fashion into bandages cut away with his own pitch-black talons. The wound was worse than he’d assumed, more severe than he assumed. Ragged skin stretched from your knee to your ankle, harsh puncture marks littering what little flesh was still in-tact. The stress of your journey had prevented the brunt of the damage from healing, and even without the use of his advanced senses, he would’ve been able to feel the heat radiating off of your skin, the first signs of infection beginning to set in. You were lucky you’d made it to his tower before the fever spread. His territory was cruel to the most resilient of creatures, and you seemed far from resilient.

“I have a salve in my collection that should aid in your recovery. That, paired with a few days of bed rest, should have you on your feet again in a week’s time.” Not a lie, but not far from one, either. He’d mended worse with a snap of his fingers, but there was no reason you should have to be burdened with such knowledge. “If you can find it within yourself to share a roof with a monster and delay our duel yet again, I can provide room and board while you recover.”

Your laugh was bright and strained. “You’re terribly kind to someone who came here to take your life.”

“And you’re very trusting of a creature who could easily end yours.” He let his pointed claws scrape over your bare skin, prolonging his evaluation. “Think of it as a show of my gratitude. My time here is well-spent, but tends to pass slowly. Visitors, whether benevolent or malicious, help to color my days.”

“Then I will have to be the most colorful visitor you’ve ever had,” you chimed, your grin renewed with fresh vigor. Clearly, you were not the type of mortal who could go long without a task. “I’ll make you wait on me hand and foot and bend to my every whim, until the thought of encountering another human being makes you sick. When I’m done, there might even be a dragon in this tower worth slaying.”

His only response was a steady nod, a low hum. He stood and, in the same motion, hooked one arm under the bend of your knees and another around your waist, lifting you into the air before you had the chance to so much as think to pull away. Instinctually, you attempted to re-balance yourself against him, and Malleus couldn’t help himself – laughing as he pulled you to his chest. “If I am to dote on you to the point of sickness, then let me start now. You’re in no state to walk on your own.”

You opened your mouth as if to complain, but anything you might’ve said was deemed too unimportant to warrant the effort. Your smile softened, your eyes falling shut as you rested your head against his shoulder. You lingered there, quiet and content, as he carried you through the halls of what would come to be your home.

~

Your prescribed period of bed rest came and went. Your bruises healed, then your leg (although you still tended to limp during particularly heavy rainstorms), and your exhaustion was replaced by a buzzing sort of restlessness. He never asked you to leave, and after some time, you seemed to stop expecting him to. You spoke rarely of your past (aside from the ever-changing series of events that led you to his tower, of course) and never of your future. When Malleus was in one of his more indulgent moods, he allowed himself to believe that, when he did catch you looking in his direction with such a glimmering worry in your eyes, you weren’t afraid of him, but of the possibility that he might send you away.

Despite your claims of spoiled houseguests and encumbered hosts, he was only driven to near-madness once while sharing your company. It’d been shortly after you instated yourself as a resident of his tower, rather than a fleeting visitor, and took to exploring your new dwelling without reservation. It’d been his own fault, really. He’d forgotten to warn you away from the upper wing, to resketch the protective runes he’d long-since allowed to fade, but such rationality had escaped him as he stood in the doorway, his mind empty and his eyes trained on your kneeling figure. He watched, paralyzed, as you raised a hand, reaching towards the marble slab, and then he was behind you – the points of his talons grazing the skin of your throat before he managed to restrain himself, curling his fist around the collar of your shirt, instead. Without warning, he hauled you off your feet, ignoring the half-choked shriek you let out in response.

His eyes fell to Silver, searching for any signs of harm, of disruption. Of course, Silver was unchanged. His colorless hair remained fanned over his velvet-cushioned pillow, the silk sheets and hand-stitched quilts still folded neatly at the foot of his bed – waiting to be put to use when the weather turned in autumn. Malleus took a moment to observe the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the gentle movement behind his closed eyes, before letting out a breath of relief and turning to you. “I don’t recall giving you permission to enter this chamber.”

“Sorry, I— I was just looking around, and I saw the flowers on the door—” Silver’s own craftsmanship, preserved from the ravages of time by Malleus’ spell work. He’d painted them as soon as he was old enough to hold a brush, along with matching murals on his bedroom walls that hadn’t survived the passing ages. “—I got curious, that’s all. Is this the prince I was sent after?”

Malleus set his jaw, straightening his hunched posture. “…it is,” he answered, eventually. He let go of your collar and let you stumble onto your feet. “His name is Silver. I never knew him by any titles.”

Malleus’ gaze shifted to you, but your eyes remained fixed on Silver. “He’s beautiful.”

Despite himself, he felt the edge of his lips turn downward. He rested a hand on your shoulder, and you seemed to recover from your daze, turning to face him with a hopeful smile. “Do you know when he’s going to wake up?”

Malleus felt a coil of heat form in the back of the throat. The taste of ash laid heavy over his tongue, but he swallowed back his guilt and forced himself to respond. “In another hundred years, perhaps,” he mused, his tone melodic and detached. “There’s no known cure for a curse like his.”

A phantom of disappointment flickered across your expression, but it was suppressed quickly. Rather, you turned your attention outward – to the heavy, woven curtains draped over each crystalline window. “Will you help me let in some light? I hate to insult your taste, but it’s terribly depressing in here, and—” You brightened, taking him by the sleeve and tugging gingerly. “We don’t want his highness to have any nightmares, do we?”

With some reluctance, Malleus nodded. “Light, but nothing else.” When you failed to acknowledge him, he caught you by the wrist, squeezing with just enough pressure for your smile to falter. “Light, but nothing else. Do you understand?”

Your eyes darted back to Silver, but only for a moment. He was thankful for that – for your restraint. A second longer, and his true nature might’ve overshadowed his better judgement. “Of course, dear dragon. Nothing else.”

He inhaled sharply, then let go of you altogether.

It was a choice that, in the approaching months, he would only come to regret.

~

“This is what they banished me for, you know.”

“This?”

“Yes, this exactly.” You propped your chin on his chest, positioning yourself to more easily card your fingers through his hair. He let his eyes fall shut, basking in the warmth of your affection, of your bare skin pressed into his. Your clothes laid discarded on the grass around you, one of his wings bent and raised to shield you from the harsh light of the setting sun. He would have to get you back to the tower, soon. He’d always been indifferent to the deadly chill of night, but you – in your precious, delicate mortality – were not so durable. “Actually, not quite – I don’t think I ever made it to this part. It was the first time I’d ever attended a royal ball, and I happened to dance with a young lady so breath-taking, I couldn’t help but drop to one knee and dedicate my heart to her the moment our hands touched.” You sighed, feigning remorse. “Little did I know that she was the princess that ball was being thrown for, and so moved by my passion, she refused to let me out of her embrace until I agreed to marry her. Of course, her father – the king, as the fathers of princesses tend to be – couldn’t have that. It’s a shame, really. We would’ve made a gorgeous couple.”

Malleus pursed his lips, fighting back a smile. “And what does that make me? The next scorned lover of a silver-tongued rouge?”

“Oh, no. If you asked me to marry you,” You propped yourself up, pressing a kiss into the curve of his jaw. “There’d be nothing in the world that could stop me, dear dragon.”

Your hand fell to his cheek, and wistfully, you lulled him into a kiss – shallow but lingering, punctuated with a playful nip at his bottom lip. You pulled back with a smile, another quick peck to his cheek. You moved to say something, but he interrupted you, as mournful as he was to cut off such a precious moment so callously. “I found your wildflowers.”

Immediately, your expression fell. “I made sure not to—”

“I know, beloved, I know.” You knew better than to lay a hand on Silver. Your small bouquet had been left on the corner of his bed, another additional chain of asters and lavender braided into one of the longer strands of his waist-length hair. As much as he wished he could say he was only concerned for Silver’s well-being, it wouldn’t have been the truth. Something else, something darker, had accompanied the discovery – something it would be better for you to stay ignorant of. “We’ve talked about this. Silver is vulnerable, in his current condition. Even the simplest luxury is an unspeakable risk.”

Your shoulders dropped, your body going slack against his. You bowed your head, burying your face in the dip of his shoulder, and despite his frustration with you, he didn’t push you away. “I’m sorry. It just feels so cruel to let him suffer alone.”

“He’s never been alone.” His tone was more curt than he’d meant it to be. “He’s always had me.”

“I know, but—” He expected you to raise your hair, to flash him that brilliant grin. Instead, you only settled against him, speaking softly into the crook of his neck. “He just seems so sad.”

Malleus took a deep breath, clenching his eyes shut.

Then, before he could let himself think better of it, he wrapped an arm around your waist. In one fluid motion, he turned you over – leaving you on your back, one of his knees planted on either side of your waist, your form tucked safely underneath his. His kiss was less gentle than your own – that deep, aching sort of hunger overwhelming his cautiousness as his tongue raked over yours, as he groaned unabashedly into your mouth. You returned his affection emphatically; your fingers soon knotted in his hair, your eager touch preventing so much as the thought of distance between your body and his. Because there never would be distance between you and him. Because there was no reason you should ever have to be taken away from him.

Hours later, when the last traces of light had faded and the stars were painted in swirling patterns across the sky, he would carry you back to his tower – unconscious and pliable in his arms. That would be the first night you spent in his bed, and as he laid there with you, he couldn’t help but imagine how wonderful it would be if you never left.

~

The runes carved into Silver’s door were redrawn, Malleus’ enchantments refreshed, and your bittersweet sympathy slowly rotted into a distinctly bland melancholy. You didn’t speak of him (Malleus could only wonder how you ever managed to speak of anyone when so many of his marks so often decorated your skin), but he noticed new scratches around the well-rusted lock on Silver’s door, caught you braiding chains of daisies and crowns of marigolds with no intended recipient in mind, and at night, you tended to slip out of his hold and wander. Sometimes, he waited for you, lying awake as you hunted for whatever solace there was to find in the empty halls of an ancient tower. Most nights, tonight, he chased after you.

He found you in a window near the tower’s highest room, laid across the wooden sill, your back propped against the empty frame. He didn’t ask to join you – wordlessly lowering himself to the floor at your feet. As if by reflex, your hand fell to his horns, your thumb tracing over a particular ridge near the base as you broke the quiet. “Have ever told you why I’m here, dear dragon?”

Countless times, but he still played along. “Who has my heart been stolen by today, beloved?”

“A murderer,” you said, hollowly. “And not a particularly clever one, at that.”

He waited for you to go on, to spin some elaborate tale of love and loss and betrayal and poor humor, but you only lapsed back into silence, your gaze turning back to the pitch-black valley. He watched your vacant expression for a moment, then another before letting his eyes fall shut and resting his cheek against your thigh.

~

Malleus had expected there to be more anger than this.

You were in a similar position to one you’d taken the first time you stumbled into Silver’s chambers – kneeling beside his marble bed, your ever-weary eyes fixed on the unknowing object of your adoration. The only difference was that, today, Silver’s hand was raised to your lips, now slightly parted in shock. He didn’t have to guess at the source of your astonishment. In front of you, Silver was sitting up. His posture was unsteady, his eyes barely open, but the obvious was undeniable.

He was awake.

To think, there was something of merit to Lilia’s stories of true love after all.

Rather than anger, rage, pure and undiluted fury, an odd sort of calm settled over his blank mind as you snapped in his direction. Your astonishment turned to horror in an instant. “Malleus, I didn’t— I was only trying to—”

He put you out of your mercy quickly. He raised his staff and, propelled by some unseen force, you were torn away from Silver’s bedside and thrown against the nearest walls – the force of the collision far from fatal, but enough to leave you limp and unconscious. With your safety ensured, he stepped forward, approaching Silver. He was awake, but only just. So many decades of uninterrupted sleep would not be so willing to release him from their taloned clutches without a struggle, and there was a certain dream-like lull to the way his eyes skirted over the limited scenery before settling on Malleus, his features immediately softening in relief. “Malleus?”

“I’m here.” Malleus allowed himself a small smile before bringing the end of his staff to Silver’s forehead. “You can rest, brother.”

There was just enough time for the edges of Silver’s lips to turn downward before he collapsed back onto the marble slab. Malleus would arrange him later on. For now, his attention turned to you.

He gathered your crumpled form in his arms and carried you through the halls of his lonely tower, before stepping into the clear air and fresh heat of the valley. He laid you in the tall grass and, after taking a moment to appreciate your peaceful expression, brought a hand to your face, cupping your cheek tenderly. The spell came to him instinctually, but he took his time, mourning the loss of your time together with each mumbled word. That was a silver-lining of immortality, though. Infinite time allowed for infinite repetition, and he couldn’t imagine giving up the opportunity to fall in love with you again.

When he was done, your eyes fluttered open, a smile quickly finding its way to your lips. “Hello, dragon.” You gazed darted to either side nervously, your mind struggling to catch up with your clever tongue. “I would love to introduce myself, but it’s the funniest thing – I can’t seem to remember what I’m doing here.”

He bit back a smile. You tried to force yourself into a more dignified position, but barely managed to get an arm underneath you before pausing, wincing, reaching for the back of your head and coming away with blood smeared across your fingertips. Malleus did what he could to hide his delight.

“You’re a thief. You injured yourself attempting to scale my tower. It was an impressive effort, but tragically unnecessary.”

This time, he couldn’t hide the wide, simpering grin that came to rest across his lips.

“I was always going to invite you inside.”

[amazinglyashy]

hi hi~ i have a silly request if you're interested (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠) can i request the lads men's (pre-relationship) reaction to the reader introducing them to their boyfriend? but plot twist... its a fictional virtual boyfriend! just like the game love and deepspace LOL who would get jealous? who would have beef with a fictional man?? /JK

PS: im not sure how to say this properly but u like, write them so attractively 😵 if that makes sense, like the little quirks u give them and the dialogue, whoo weeeee 100/10!

This made me laugh because I still remember introducing my bf to my Obey Me boyfriends and kept trying to figure out which one was the most like him so he could buy me merch of them and push his personal agenda. Sadly none of them are like him, but now that I play LDS, Rafayel sure is! Thank you for the request! I had fun with this one! (And oh my gosh, that's such a compliment!! Thank you so so much, it means a lot!!)

Pre-relationship LaDS men react to your fictional game partner

Rafayel -

Who would have beef with a fictional man?

Rafayel would have beef with a fictional man.

He did not wait centuries for you, searching high and low for his lost love in every dark alley and bad idea that came across him- to lose to a bunch of pixels on a tech screen.

Truthfully, he knows it's all in good fun, and he's not completely jealous. He's actually pretty glad you found a nice outlet that helps you with relieving stress from you day to day. He knows you need it.

He's just... going to be now competing secretly with a fictional figure.

He thinks its secret.

You know what he's doing.

Why else would he be asking you what the latest event is in your game with your fictional partner, and then miraculously a week later you're receiving the very same things or experiences in reality on your day off?

He's not slick at all, and honestly, you find it pretty endearing.

But also, something you won't ever consider- is maybe he's doing those things for you, not only to make you happy, but to show you just how much attention he pays to the things you tell him about.

That's okay.

You don't need to know that part.

Zayne -

Zayne is not at all threatened by whoever this 'Jumim Hen' guy is.

Yes he is mispronouncing it on purpose. No he will not correct himself until he's gotten enough humor out of it and frustrated you enough about it.

Once that happens, he'll start pronouncing it correctly and if confronted about his change in pronunciation, he will pretend you need a wellness check and request you make an appointment with his secretary.

Smooth way to spend more time with you while subtlety calling you crazy.

He mostly does just think it's cute, though.

He will buy you food from places that might be having game events that get you special merchandise or in-game prizes, even if you don't realize there's a surprise event happening because it wasn't advertised in your game.

No, he's not weird and expects you to stop playing once the two of you start dating. He realizes it's something you enjoy a lot, and he actually finds a lot of pleasure in listening to you ramble about situations that are happening in your game.

He finds most things you do endearing.

Sylus -

You're giggling over it, that's all the matters to him.

He is rubbing the bridge of his nose though, because you had been building up to this moment for over a week and he was convinced you were going to show him an actual psychopath or something and he was going to have to figure out a way to make the man disappear without you realizing it was Sylus's doing.

He probably won't make any vague comments about how your fictional boyfriend is strangely similar to himself and that maybe you have a type.

Probably.

(He will make one per day.)

(At least.)

Once you're dating him, he has some access to your device and the game, simply so that he can reload your currency whenever you go to sleep. He doesn't want you to run out, and he knows you love playing. What else is his money good for if not for making you smile?

Doesn't understand it, but he does make mental notes of your current progress in the storyline and which characters you like. But sometimes he'll pretend to forget an important detail.

He loves hearing you babble about anything, after all.

Xavier -

He was a bit confused at first, but figured out what was going on rather quickly.

He thinks it's adorable, like when he first found out how much you love claw machines and the plushies inside of them. He doesn't see it as much different- the love interests are your plushies in the game, and your fictional partner is your favorite "plushie".

Easy.

Xavier has lowkey cosplayed your game boyfriend at least once, acting innocent about it and as if it was completely unintentional.

If you're dating by then, he lets you 'borrow' the clothes, so now you have an article from your game, but it also smells like he does. He's only allowed them back once they lose their scent.

He only accepts gratitude and payment for the favor of wearing them again in the form of snuggling with him on the couch, his arms wrapped up around you as he nuzzles into your neck.

He needs your "help" for a little bit.

It's the least you can do.

[comatosebunny09]

light as a feather | sylus

summary: your lashes dance. you screw your eyes shut, offering him your wrists. “gonna tie me up?” he hums, entertaining the idea in his mind. “tempting. but not tonight, sweetheart.” you flinch when something cold, crisp, and silken grazes your cheek. sylus chuckles, the sound akin to distant thunder rolling over the horizon. “i won’t hurt you. i promise.” genre(s): romance, erotica warning(s): female reader, gendered terms, silliness, blindfolds, sensation play, praise, pet names, profanity, sylus may or may not be in his demon form throughout now playing: layin’ low - hyolyn

“Do you trust me?” he asks one night on a whim.

You set your book aside, straightening on the settee in the center of his study. “You know I do.”

Why is that even a question?

He smirks, a softness to his eyes as he takes your hand, acquainting his lips with each of your knuckles. He wordlessly draws you from the loveseat. Bewildered, you follow, lead through the stilled, winding corridors of his manor towards a room you’re all too familiar with.

“Nap time?” you jest with a humored look, bouncing on his bed.

“Hmm. Not quite.” There’s a tease in the low rumble of his voice. A promise of something more. You feel like a teenager, a hot rush of adrenaline spuming through your extremities.

He turns his back to you, rifling through his dresser. You maneuver this way and that, trying to get a look over his burly shoulder at what he’s up to.

In an a-ha moment, he finds what he seeks. Returns to you, aura bleeding bad intentions whilst he briskly shoves something into his pocket. Your breath hitches when he zeros in, and he pitches himself forward, caging you between his arms to murmur against the outskirts of your ear.

“Close your eyes.” You’re dizzy from the sound of it. From the heat he exudes, the heady scent he carries. Your mind colors with possibilities. Blinking drunkenly, you obey.

Your lashes dance. You screw your eyes shut, baring both wrists to him. Does he plan to subdue you? “Gonna tie me up?”

He hums, entertaining the idea in his mind. “Mmm. Tempting, but not tonight, sweetheart.”

You flinch when something cold, crisp, and silken grazes your cheek. Sylus chuckles, the noise akin to distant thunder rolling over the horizon. “Won’t hurt you. I promise.”

You nod, and he slips something over your eyes. Ties it over your ears, behind your head. The knot is secure yet loose enough to tear off if need be.

“Lie back,” he instructs, smoothing the flat sides of his fingers along the jutting bones of your wrist. You could get used to being ordered around like this.

Your lips twitching with a smile, you acquiesce, falling onto the cloud-like, lush comforter adorning his bed. You prickle with anticipation, your breath held at the crest of your ribs.

Give a little start when cold, idle finger pads slip beneath the hem of your blouse, touching the molten skin of your belly. You’re caught between a gasp and a laugh. Clench the comforter to ground you, your body reacting to the exploratory glide of his palm.

He chuckles again, dark like red velvet and smooth like whiskey. Voice abrasive as he bunches your blouse up beneath the swell of your tits. “Relax,” he soothes, and you shudder whilst his digits venture southward torturously slow.

He curls a thick hand around your thigh. Squeezes until flesh craters between his fingers, and he hums with a quieted satisfaction.

He’s by your ear again, dragging distended lips along the shell, nosing along the space behind. Fingers tip-toe up the inner trajectory of your thigh, smoothing along the plump, honeysuckle skin just shy of where your panties lie.

“What’s your safe word?” he husks.

Your breath catches, hips rucking up off the bed to chase the feeling of his palm on you. “Mary Poppins.”

Sylus snorts, nipping your earlobe in retaliation. “Too many syllables. You sure you’ll be able to get that out in time?”

A bout of vertigo crashes into you. You pulse. Laugh breathlessly, excited. Burn hot. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

He taps your thigh once, twice. Mulls over your answer, and suddenly, his warmth no longer cradles you. You whine like a brat when he leaves your side. Pant, every nerve in your body exploding like solar flares beneath your skin.

He doesn’t leave you cold and wanton for long.

Something fluffy touches your skin, replacing the gentle stir of his fingers. You giggle, the sensation akin to tickle bugs crawling over your stomach.

Did he conjure one of his feathers just to tease you?

He chuckles alongside you, dragging it up the ripple of your ribcage. “How does it feel?” he queries, mouthing along the angle of your jaw. Nips your neck, breathes hot against your carotid.

“G-good. Real good.”

“Mmmm. Good girl. Stay still. Yes, just like that.”

He makes several expeditions over your body, paying special attention to the space shy of the line of your bra. When you’re thoroughly teased and gasping for air—sighing his name so pretty, arching your back for more—he drags the feather further south.

Encourages your legs to widen by smoothing it over your inner thighs, and you shudder when it grazes the seat of your panties.

He releases an appraising sound. Throat clicks, and he exhales slowly. Shakily. He does it again, dragging the feather along your slit, and your hips leave the mattress in pursuit of that sparkling feeling again.

“Like that?” he purrs low in his throat, thoroughly entranced.

You nod, hot in the face, reaching blindly across the bed for something of his to hold onto. He smiles into your ear, setting a steady pace with the feather against your slick pussy. And it’s embarrassing how quickly you fall apart. How your panties darken with gossamer beads of slick, and he hasn’t even done his worst.

Toss your head side to side, desperately clinging to him. Whispering his name like a broken mantra, undulating your hips like the lazy drag of a tide against a fucking feather.

“Sylus,” you breathe, not sure what you’re begging for. “Sylus, please.”

“Want me to stop?” he croons, not once relinquishing his pace. Agonizingly slow, the tip of the quill agitating your swollen clit.

You shake your head, your lip swollen and tucked between your teeth. He takes your cue, tugging your blouse the rest of the way towards your neck. Your bra follows, and you exhale slow when sweltering lips close around a pebbled nipple.

He throbs through the thick layers of his clothes, twitching against your hip, begging to be set free. His focus is on you, however, and he laves at your nipple, sending pleasant tingles throughout your body, crashing into your center.

“Fuck, Sy. I’m gonna-I’m gonna—”

“Cum?” he breathes against your tit, the sticky, wet sound of his lips suckling on your nipple making your pussy clench. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Please. Need you to.”

You pant, pushed near that slurry edge. Home in on that feeling brewing between your legs. On the sensation of the feather bumping your clit, the pitch of his voice, his ragged breaths intermingling with yours.

He’s in your ear again. Hot, muttering a litany of praise. “Pretty girl. So, so good for me. Let it go. Give it to me, sweetheart.”

And you do just that.

Your back arches, eyes screwed shut behind the blindfold. A cry lodged in your throat, and the world slides into white. Tremors of satisfaction tear through you. Ripple from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. Your fingers tingle. Ears ring.

You laugh all breathless as you come down, shuddering. Overstimulated whilst Sylus continues to ease the feather up and down the milky mess of your cunt.

“Delicious,” he hums, angling your face towards him with tender fingers beneath your chin. Draws you into a languid kiss, milking vulgar sounds from betwixt your lips.

masterlist | banner by @cafekitsune.

[kannra21]

He thought you offended his dead mother

But then he's like "oh you actually offended somebody else's mother, OK! ♡"

😃

😒

😃😄❤

[another-lost-mc]

having a brainrot about how it would be if the characters turned into their animal type (is that what that's called?)

like imagine a shady sorcerer happen to accidentally cast a spell that changes them into their animal type how fucking cute and funny that would be

-🪶

a/n: that's so cuuuute. I went with the symbolic animals from their banners.

the wild side | the demon brothers + karasu

0.5k words | sfw | fluff + humor

related: the dateables' version

The Peacock (Lucifer)

How he responds to you vs. how he responds to everyone else:

He can't keep his feathers fanned out on full display as much as he wants to because he keeps getting stuck in doorways.

He walks around the house in a slow strut. Sometimes he spins around to show off all 360 degrees of his exquisitely-feathered beauty.

He doesn't notice that sometimes he smacks you in the face with his plumes if you're nearby.

The Crows (Mammon and Karasu)

They both bring you gifts and intimidate the others that try to get too close.

They're even more clingy than normal too.

It's surprisingly easy to tell them apart: Mammon's feathers are tipped with white, and Karasu's eyes have a deep scarlet glow.

The Snake (Leviathan)

He desperately wants to curl himself around your arm or leg. He'll try to keep his space if you're visibly creeped out by snakes though, he doesn't want to scare you.

An alternative you could try is wearing one of his oversized hoodies: he'll curl up inside the pocket and every once in a while he'll poke his head out and flick his serpentine tongue at you.

If you don't like that either, he'll curl up in the bottom of your closet or under your bed, somewhere dark and warm where he can still be close enough to keep an eye on you.

The Unicorn (Satan)

The House of Lamentation wasn't designed for horses or horse-like creatures.

He's the only one Lucifer won't try to chase away, his hooves look deadly.

Satan doesn't fit in your bedroom easily but he'll follow you in the hallways or inside the larger rooms with more space.

You are definitely going to recreate this movie moment at some point before the magic wears off:

The Scorpion (Asmodeus)

He's a bit bigger than most scorpions which means he's even more cute or gross depending on how you feel about them.

He's careful not to hurt you with his pincers if you pick him up.

He must be powerful even in this form because he releases sweet-smelling pheromones when he senses you're nearby.

He curls in the makeshift bed on you place on your desk for him. He's surprisingly calm even though scorpions are usually nocturnal.

His eyes have an eerie pink glow. You didn't notice it until you turned off the lights at bedtime.

(He stares at you until you fall asleep.)

The Fly (Beelzebub)

He's a bit larger than a normal fly.

He's restless and his wings are so noisy when he buzzes around you.

Most of the time you can hear the faint sound of his wings coming from the kitchen.

When he's not eating, he's usually hovering on or near Belphie.

The Cow (Belphegor)

He barely fits in your room and he snorts irritably when you raise your arms up and remind him that he is definitely not allowed to sleep on your bed like this.

He's even more annoyed because he can't go up to the attic like this either.

He just happens to plop down in front of your doorway to sleep instead. The others can't climb or go around him easily. He flicks them away with his tail when they try. He doesn't mind if you climb over him though.

read more: obey me masterlist

[vaokses]

Never enough for both (Pirtir, Ch.4)

Series Masterlist

<< Previous Chapter

Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Both sides of the family are reunited in King's Landing to formally announce the betrothal and start the celebrations leading up to the wedding.

Word Count: 7.7k (sorry, if long chapters like this bother you, I can try to make future ones shorter or divide them in parts, let me know)

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Usual Targaryen incest stuff. Hints at alcohol consumption in unhealthy manners. I love Maris Baratheon, so she's here, though not in all her glory as she's not taunting a man into kinslaying, sadly. ✨Childhood Companions✨. Both sides of this family are messy and annoying, and I hope I showed that properly here.

A/N: Sorry for the late update! I think I'll change uploads for this story to Sundays instead of Saturdays. Hope you enjoy!

This chapter includes some stuff also mentioned/explained in How long this love can hold its breath, a prequel oneshot in Aegon's perspective.

Title is from "So, here you are, too foreign for home, too foreign for here. Never enough for both." By Ljeoma Umebinyuo.

Your morning tea with the Queen is followed by the announcement that the Velaryon fleet -and by extension your family- can be seen quickly approaching the city, with six dragons flying alongside the boats. 

You got to meet the Velaryons that arrive on the port, which are the ones sailing from Driftmark, as your mother and the rest have decided to enter the city through the Dragonpit. To your surprise, Corlys is there to greet you, after a long absence at sea. 

Baela makes very unsubtle attempts to return to the Keep on your carriage with you alone, so after a quick greeting of Princess Rhaenys and the Sea Snake, you promise to meet with them later and enter the carriage with Baela. 

Sitting across from her, you keep silent as you watch her, as you notice her uncharacteristically falter, lowering her eyes to her fidgeting hands.  

“Corlys and Rhaenys aren’t getting along, for obvious reasons. They aren’t the only ones,” She informs you. “Daemon and your mother are…at odds with one another.” 

“And you know this how, exactly?” 

“I can hear the shouting all the way from Driftmark,” She jests, the glint of defiant humor shining in her dark eyes. A breath, and she explains, “Rhaena sent a raven, told me that father was furious that this was allowed to go on.” 

“‘This’?” 

“Your marriage to Aegon.” 

“But it has been months in the planning.” 

“Perhaps Daemon hoped for an…alternate solution to present itself,” She shrugs, “We both know Father would have sent you here to kill him, not marry him.” 

You chuckle humorlessly, “I shall be on the lookout for new orders, then.” 

Instead of joking along, Baela turns to you then, dark eyes slightly narrowed. 

“Would you follow such orders?” 

You offer a smile again, but you know better than to expect her to fold. 

Still, you attempt, “Did Daemon give you orders to ask this?” 

“No, I’m just…curious. If he had ordered you to kill them, any of them, of your…childhood companions, would you have?” 

“It is a bit late to send Vermithor and I against Sunfyre and Aegon, or Dreamfyre and Helaena. We’d win, though.” 

“Undoubtedly. But that wasn’t what I asked.” 

“Daemon has issued no orders.” 

She is more alike her father than she knows, especially when she’s on a hunt. They track weakness like bloodhounds, and they don’t cease on their chase once they’ve caught a scent. 

She presses, “Perhaps because he knows you wouldn’t obey.” 

“I have always done as was asked of me.” 

“Have you?” Baela asks. While you admire her spirit, you do not intend to entertain accusations, and you turn to her with a glare that she smiles at. Bowing her head slightly, she amends, “I am not implying disloyalty, I just…I think you believe yourself less…unyielding than you actually are. I think you don’t like to admit you have ambitions of your own.” 

It is difficult for you, even now, to push back the voice that reminds you that you have been too careless, too trusting, and you have allowed Baela to see more than she should have, more than it was useful for her to see. To lie well you must never be defined or remembered, Lady Mysaria told you years ago, an ordinary face is lost in a crowd. 

And despite Baela being one of the only people you’ve been able to count on as a constant, despite the fact that by blood and love you are bound to one another, despite knowing deep in your bones that you can count on her to have your back come what may; you resent the realization that she sees in you something you didn’t intend for her to, something that isn’t useful for her to see. You do not know what to do, at the threat that she might have seen you, and might have remembered you. 

“My ambitions are to support my House and my mother. I have done only what was asked of me.” 

“Were you asked to promise love to Alasdair Tyrell in order to have him sail to the Shield Islands and turn them to your cause? Were you asked to use Cragan Stark’s…friendship with Jacaerys to force his hand when he refused to offer a proposal of marriage?”  

If Alasdair Tyrell hadn’t sailed to the Shield Islands with the Redwyne fleet and turned them to your cause, you would have no solid argument against Lady Mysaria and her wish to marry you to him. If Cregan Stark hadn’t issued a proposal of marriage you would have had to trust only in your mother’s choices to keep the North. Either alternative would mean relinquishing control, would mean uncertainty, powerlessness, and you were unwilling to even entertain the possibility. 

“I did not lie to Alasdair, my affections were honest,” At her look, you concede, “I care for him, even if I do not love him. And I merely…discussed with Cregan the realities of our expectations of one another, which he found agreeable enough to issue a proposal.” 

“Hm,” There’s a smile on her lips that she learned neither from her father or her mother, but from her grandmother. The smile of a spider with an insect caught on its web. “How convenient, then, that in your honesty you earned yourself the Reach and the North.” 

“I don’t appreciate accusations,” You dismiss, rolling your eyes at her answering chuckle. “When Vaemond plotted with Oldtown to challenge my brother’s claim to the Salt Throne, it was you who asked me to deal with it, it was you who told Daeron Velaryon I was to entertain his proposal of marriage to get him to share his father’s secrets.” 

“You choose to embody a weapon, and you mind being wielded?” She asks, hints of laughter still clinging to her tone. Baela shrugs one shoulder. “I am not judging you, so you can stop glaring at me. If anything, I admire it.” 

“Do you?” 

“While Vhagar lives, you are not yet the greatest power in the Realm. Daemon would have you kill the hoary old bitch, and I might agree with his strategy, but…I commend you for yours.” 

“Hm.” 

She chuckles again, “Don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Pout when I remind you of a truth you mislike hearing,” She says, “Gods, you and your brother are more alike than you like to admit, did you know?” 

All too eager to put an end to this conversation, you divert it towards Jace, and say, 

“My mother should be arriving soon with Daemon, Rhaena, and my brothers. The Queen said they are to…start the celebrations today, if the King is well enough.” 

“Is it too much to ask that they don’t arrive at all? None of your brothers should be coming here, not to mention our sister.” 

“Your s-…” 

Baela dismisses your words with a gesture of her hand, “Don’t bother.” 

You decide not to fight this unending battle today at least, and lean your head back against the seat, regarding her quietly for a few moments.  

“They have no choice but to be here, it would send the wrong message if my family fails to attend my wedding,” You say, but she presses her lips together, answering with nothing but a short grunt. “What troubles you, Baela?” 

“There are too many of us together in the same place,” She tells you, as if it is obvious. She looks out at the passing streets. “I doubt an eye is all someone will lose this time.” 

Your brow furrows. 

“You worry me.” 

She offers only a smile in return, confident and sly. 

“I assure you it is mutual, sister.” 

“Stop that.” 

“Make me.” 

 ___ 

Your mother and brothers -and you assume Daemon alongside them, you haven’t seen him as of yet- choose to spend the better part of the morning and noon with your grandsire. They remain by him as the gathering of members of the Great and Noble Houses of Westeros on the Keep grows, the highborn within the Keep and the lowborn outside of it waiting for their King to announce his son’s wedding celebrations, to write in stone the union they have known or suspected about for months now. 

Your eye catches on Mina Redwyne, second eldest of House Redwyne, as she talks with two of the Four Storms. Well, your eye doesn’t catch on her, but on the deep emerald dress she has chosen to wear. 

She notices your eyes on her, and turns to you with the clear intent to approach you. 

Turning to accept the servants offered glass of wine, you look at Baela, Rhaena, and Rhaenys and mouth save me. Before they can answer with anything other than the laugh Baela hides behind her hand, the ladies reach you. 

“Princess,” Mina greets, echoed by Maris and Cassandra Baratheon. “My congratulations on your betrothal. May the Seven bless you both.” 

You nod with a little hum, taking a sip of wine to try and dislodge the knot in your throat. It hasn’t gotten any easier to hear people speak of your betrothal, even now, just shy of having the King announce seven days of festivities before the wedding is to take place. 

“Thank you, my Lady,” You agree, smile in place, “It seems the both of us meet only for wedding celebrations as of late. First your brother’s in the Arbor, and now mine.” 

“How could I forget?” She replies. “In a sea of green and burgundy, there you were, wearing red. I can’t say I recall you ever wearing something that wasn’t red. Or black.” 

Of course she hasn’t, there was a reason for your tour and everything about it, from the servants that accompanied you to the clothes you were, were planned in order to send a message. And she knows that. 

Doing your best to mask the tiredness at the game she has only just started, you smile and say, 

“I am proud to wear my House’s colors. As any Lady should.” 

“Not all of us can afford to, Princess,” Maris Baratheon reminds you, sly smile curving at her lips, eyes trailing over Lady Mina’s green dress. “What with the mad race to be married off like cattle and all that.” 

“Hey.” You complain, gesturing with your free hand. 

Maris merely laughs, quite close to a witch’s cackle, and clinks her glass of wine against yours. 

“Congratulations, by the way,” She mocks. Her brow furrows, and her eyes divert to somewhere over your shoulder as she pretends to look for someone. “Though I believe it is your betrothed I am to extend my congratulations to? The man won a race he wasn’t even participating on, after all.” 

“You shouldn’t scorn the ways of court. You will soon be searching for a husband, sister.” Lady Cassandra, Borros Baratheon’s eldest, points out. 

“Or I could do as you do, and sulk for the rest of my days, mourning a rejection even a blind man could have seen coming,” Maris quips in response, and you share a look at the blatant insult with Lady Mina, for a moment your own quarrel forgotten. “Mother does always say I should follow your example.” 

“I’d dare say it takes more than a shared name for you to be equal to your sister, Lady Maris,” Mina quips, coming to Cassandra’s defense without a second thought. “Your House’s name was not enough to warrant you the proposals Lady Cassandra has received, was it?” 

You care much more about keeping Maris Baratheon, the cleverest of the Four Stroms and the daughter who currently holds Lord Borros’ ear, on your side than appeasing a daughter of House Redwyne. Mina has spent her life on the shadow of the Hightower, you know her alliances won’t change. 

So, making sure to keep your tone civil, but firm, you point out, 

“Some aspire to more than marriage, my Lady,” You say. “Lady Maris has much to offer her House, she can be more than a vessel for an alliance.” 

“Unlike others.” Maris bites out, cold gaze set on the other woman. Each time you spend time with her in court you realize why her mother threatens to cut off her tongue so often. 

“All women eventually have no choice but to bend, Princess,” Mina reminds you. Her gaze drops to the rubies on your dress and she adds, “Even women like you.” 

If your smile betrays something more honest, something closer to poison, then so be it. 

“There are no women like me.” 

Maris barks a short laugh, improper and unladylike, “You still believe humility to be a wasted effort, I take it?” 

“On the contrary, I find it admirable,” You lie, sharing a smile with the second eldest of House Baratheon. She returns a smile in kind, a little crooked but honest. You continue with yet another lie, “I just believe honesty is paramount when speaking amongst friends.” 

Lady Redwyne loses none of the edge, and the way her shoulders are drawn up in tension, ruffling the fabric of her dress, reminds you of a puffed-up bird. 

“We are to speak honestly, then?” 

“I dare say that sounds like a threat, Lady Mina.” Maris taunts, lifting the cup of wine to her lips and looking at the daughter of House Redwyne over the rim of her glass. 

“Of course,” You answer Mina’s question. With a small shrug, you prompt, “Speak with honesty, I wish t-…” 

You are interrupted by a hand resting on the small of your back, startling you into silence. You turn with wide eyes towards Aegon, now standing by your side, hand brazenly on you. 

“My Ladies,” He greets, brazenly false charm on display. He turns to you and bows his head slightly in greeting, “Princess.” 

“My Prince.” Lady Mina is the first to greet, and your appalment at his lack of care for manners is forgotten at the sight of her attempt at charm. Your eyes narrow towards her, but you say nothing. 

“You wouldn’t mind if I stole my betrothed from you for a while, would you?” 

The ladies acquiesce with mumbled goodbyes and promises to speak with you again after the King’s speech is delivered. You sincerely hope they cannot find you. 

Aegon leads you away from them and towards another part of the vast hall where the nobles gather, hand still boldly resting on your back. You make a point to take a step to the left, away from him, and point out,  

“It isn’t appropriate to touch me in public. We aren’t yet married.” 

“Would you prefer that I touch you in private? Because th-…” 

“It isn’t appropriate to ask that.” You interrupt, but a smile is foolishly tugging at the corners of your lips, and he notices, because his own smile widens. You look away. 

“No one expects me to behave appropriately.” 

You frown, very pointedly avoiding the eyes of the Queen and her brother as you pass them by. 

“And if I did?” 

“Then I’d disappoint you sooner than I intend to.” 

As you walk into the gardens, you stop in your pace and turn on your side to face him. hands joined behind your back, your head tilted to the side, you ask,  

“Do you intend to disappoint me?” 

He shrugs slightly, a downward curve of his mouth as he considers your question. 

“An inevitability,” He retorts. A breath, and Aegon offers an arm for you to take. An appropriate gesture, followed by an appropriate title, “Princess.” 

It shouldn’t endear you, it really shouldn’t. And yet you furrow your lips to hide a smile as you take the offered arm and let him guide you through the inner gardens of the Keep. 

“Was there something you wanted to discuss?” You ask, “You did ‘borrow’ me from the delightful company of those ladies.” 

“Not…exactly.” 

Gods, he is such a terrible liar. You mull over is answer, his actions, for a few breaths, as you walk through the busy room towards the gates to the gardens. 

“How many of those women have you fucked, that it worries you that I speak with them?” You blurt out, careful to keep your voice low, almost a whisper. You will tell yourself that the strange edge in your tone, what sounds even to you like jealousy, was part of a game, was intentional. “I know of the…activities you partake in. Court gossip may not speak about my indiscretions, but it does speak about yours.” 

“None of them,” He answers plainly. A breath, a moment of hesitation, a restless movement stalled by the weight of your hand on the crook of his arm, and Aegon turns to look at you. There’s something raw, in his slightly widened eyes, in the expectant expression. “Do you believe me?” 

You cannot help but think back on the previous night, and the careless way he gave away secrets he should have kept guarded, the way he seemed not to care that he is baring vulnerabilities with each breath, with each look. And you have this irrational and sudden anger at him for it, for this stupid bravery, this weakness, this rough honesty. 

More than anything, you are angry at the part of you that envies him for it, for being unable to wear anything but his true face. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” You answer without thinking. You aren’t sure if you’re lying or not. 

“I can think of many reasons.” Aegon retorts, wry smile curving at his lips. 

He doesn’t say anything else, and his attention returns to the gardens around you. It seems only then he notices the unsubtle way the lords and ladies scattered about keep staring at the both of you. 

“No one of noble blood is happy with this union,” You point out before he can say anything, “Every young knight and lord in the Seven Kingdoms is cursing your name, most likely. They wanted…well, it varied, but ultimately they all wanted their blood on the Iron Throne. In marrying me, you denied them of that chance.” 

“I know about being denied what I want most, but I doubt they would care about my sympathy.” 

“Do you?” You ask, the beginning of a smile curving at your lips. “What, as eldest son of a King, as a Targaryen Prince, have you been denied?” 

“You.” 

He answers so bluntly, as if the truth is without its weight, as if it is obvious, as if it isn’t dangerous to admit such a thing, that you are stunned into silence for a breath. 

“You never told me,” You say, “Before I left, you never told me of what you had attempted.” 

“Why does it matter? It wasn’t enough, it didn’t change anything,” You have the errant thought that it might have changed things, it might have changed you, if you had known, if he had told you. You say nothing though, and Aegon continues, thoughts spilling past his lips with no need for wine to loosen his tongue, truths being shared like grains of sand escaping from closed fists, “Refusing them all this time didn’t change anything either, you were still-…But I did it anyways. I was always slow to learn, wasn’t I?” 

A knot forms somewhere in your throat, something unnamed lodged in your chest. Because he is implying more than having merely asked to marry you. 

“What do you mean?” 

“My mother and Otto attempted to make arrangements, to betroth me to some lady or another, many times. I always refused them,” He shrugs, as if any of this can be easily dismissed, as if it doesn’t matter. An act, a mask of carelessness, but you notice the tension in his frame, the way his free arm is moving as if he’s fidgeting, hand opening and closing in nervous movements. “They refused to let me marry you, so I refused to marry anyone. 

“I-I didn’t…I didn’t know.” 

“You never asked.” 

“Why?” You ask, because you might have never asked before, but you have to ask now. 

“I didn’t think it would change anything, I just…I couldn’t imagine it, a-a future beside anyone but you.” 

Your chest pulls tight, and it is once again that overwhelming feeling of the night before, when he admitted to having asked for your hand before you left for Dragonstone. That feeling of flying on dragon back and falling, and landing harshly, and nearly missing a cliff. 

And the words, the accusation, to him or to yourself, you aren’t sure, rush past your lips,  

“You didn’t think of saying any of this sooner? Send a letter, something?” 

“And say what, exactly?” Aegon retorts, “That I asked to marry you, for a-a way to keep you, and was refused as if I were nothing but a boy asking for the impossible? That while you were away, forgetting me, I was still-…that I couldn’t forget? That’s all there is to it, I couldn’t forget.” 

Your eyes flicker between his, and he doesn’t bother hiding an old anger, an older hurt, and they both shine so clearly in his gaze now. Your breath stutters past your lips before any words an attempt to. 

“It wasn’t-…” 

“I told you, I wasn’t expecting it to change anything. I knew-…I know it changes nothing.” 

“And yet we are less than an hour away from our betrothal being announced.” 

“Your doing, not mine.” He retorts without missing a beat, and your short laugh does make a smile almost curve at his lips. It shouldn’t make you proud, the sight shouldn’t make you feel this strange yet welcomed nervousness. 

“If those ladies aren’t scorned lovers of yours, why the unsubtle attempt at keeping me from their company?” You ask, but more than ever it feels as if you’re playing a part. It is a familiar strategy to you, keeping a conversation going while you try to get a hold of yourself again. For the first time since you were sent away, you doubt you can. 

“The court isn’t…fond of me. Ladies like them, anyone here really, they’ll say things about me, things that are…true, even if I don’t want them to be,” He admits. Now it is you who is left looking at him while Aegon intently looks ahead. “If I can, I’d like to speak first. I just…I don’t want this to change.” 

The world has changed, long ago, for you. When you were forced to open your eyes to the truth of your and your brothers’ parentages, when you were promised your very life was at risk if your mother’s claim was not secured, when you were ordered into the Chamber of the Painted Table and instructed on what your use would be going forward and sent off to tour Westeros. 

The world changed, irrevocably, devastatingly, long ago, and it is no longer the world where you followed Helaena and Dreamfyre into the skies or the world where Aegon managed to make you laugh until you cried. The world has changed. 

The world has changed, and yet in your mind only lingers the recent knowledge that he refused to marry unless it was you, that you dedicated all you are and more to forget the foolish promises you made and he so carelessly held on to them, chose to remember them. Remember you. 

The world has changed, and yet he still feels familiar, he still seems to you the man you once knew, who could not keep a secret to save his life, who drank wine like it was a medicine drought, who managed to care deeply and not care at all in the same breath. 

And perhaps that is why you speak so carelessly now, so honestly now, 

“It doesn’t have to.” 

Silence lingers, and you are desperate for a way to fill it, to purge from your mind the thoughts that race in your head and the pointless feelings bubbling in your chest at Aegon’s admission that he refused to marry anyone else after he was denied a chance to marry you. But once again you find yourself uncertain on how to go on, on how to play. 

If Aegon is to say anything at all, it is stopped by a call from the Kingsguard for all to return inside the Keep, as the King is to join you all soon. 

The Kingsguard that made the announcement -you recognize him, he is the one sworn to Queen Alicent- bows once, but remains there, expectant, demanding. 

You and Aegon share a look, reminiscent of both that look as he took you to fly on Sunfyre for the first time, and of that last look as you mounted Vermithor and set to fly away to Dragonstone. 

___ 

You barely hear your grandsire’s words, though you do notice the way his voice is stronger, his frame standing taller, than the nights before. He welcomes the Houses to the Keep, he talks about years of strife in the House of the Dragon being put to rest, he announces your marriage to his eldest son, and yet you can only think about what Aegon so recklessly revealed to you. About what it means, about how he felt, about how he remembers you, about how he feels.

A part of you reminds you that when Lady Mysaria pushed you to marry Alasdair Tyrell, you constructed a lie and sent him off to conquer the Shield Islands in your name, to prove to her that you needn’t marry while at peace. That part of you reminds you that your threat to feed to Vermithor whoever they tried marrying you off to wasn’t a lie, that you meant it with everything that was left in you. 

The King collapses back into his seat, and even at the sight of his frailty the crowds continue in their cheer. Lady Mysaria explained to you long ago about the weight a full belly will have on the opinions of both noble and commoner, and how Viserys’ reign is but proof of that very fact. It is the reason she wanted you to marry a Tyrell, to secure the Reach, the most fertile region of the Realm. 

“I am no longer a young man, and it is no news to anyone that the years have weighed on me,” He admits, voice still somehow carrying in the cavernous room. A pale, bruised hand reaches for your mother’s, and he squeezes her hand in his before adding, “It will be Princess Rhaenyra, my daughter and heir, who will preside over the festivities to come in my stead.” 

The intention behind putting your mother, and not his wife or his Hand, as the one to act in his stead during the days to come is not lost on you, the support he once again reinstates over your mother and her claim impossible to ignore. 

You venture a glance at the Queen, and though you will admit she is not a bad player, she does not easily hide her emotions as well as other ladies of the court do. Yet now, neither surprise nor offense sour her expression, and you could swear there’s calm in the deep breath that rises and drops her shoulders. 

“I’ll endeavor to live up to your example, father.” 

“I shall hope these celebrations are only the beginning of a new age of joy and prosperity for us all,” He says, smile wide and kind. He turns to you and Aegon, and you stare back with wide eyes, because in your head resonates like a war drum, I couldn’t forget. “And I shall hope for a long and happy marriage for you both.” 

___ 

The Grand Maester sent word that the King would not be well enough to join you all at the dinner to welcome your family to the Keep, and though you truly wanted to ask what was the point of such dinner if your grandsire -the only one to wish for such a reunion- was not to be in attendance, you bit your tongue and let the handmaidens ready you for it. 

It is a striking difference, that of tonight and your first night here. Where before everyone was stiffly held to their seats by the presence of the King alone, now you walk into the room and find small clusters of people talking and joking with one another. It is a tad cruel, that the one so intent on uniting them has done nothing but create further division. 

Though, the division remains. Alicent and her father sit by one another and speak in hushed whispers, while your mother stands by the other end of the table with Rhaena and Princess Rhaenys. The rest are equally divided, with your father and Baela standing by a corner and observing them all carefully, your brothers sitting together and speaking with Vaemond and Corlys, and Alicent’s children standing together on the other end of the table. 

But at least now they look like people. Dreadful people, who make it horribly hard to tolerate them, much less love them, but people. Not figurines, as unmovable and as easily cracked as Viserys’ marble ones. 

At the errant thought that lingers on your grandsire’s model of Old Valyria, you find yourself eyeing the table, and you find, unsurprisingly, a napkin folded into the shape of a dragon. 

It seems you were the last to arrive, as they all move to sit now. You let the servants guide you to the middle of the long table, sitting you right in front of your mother and Queen Alicent.  

Baela takes the seat at your right, and you are grateful, for you are certain she knows as well as you that you will be sitting across from two women at war. 

Jacaerys approaches your left side, but Aegon is faster, and when your brother pulls back the chair, your betrothed sits on it before he can. 

Aegon turns to your brother with a mocking smile, and lifts his cup in a mock toast. 

“Thank you, nephew.” 

The taunt is childish, but it is enough to irritate Jace regardless. He shares a look with Baela, and moves to sit beside Aegon, while Helaena takes the last seat of this side of the table, sitting between Jace and Aemond, who sits at the head of the table. 

You watch as your mother and Alicent engage in yet another verbal battle, speaking in the language only those who once loved one another can speak; keeping you all a captive audience. 

She shouldn’t have come here, so far from the wedding. It was a mistake to come here, not to mention bringing Daemon and your brothers with her. 

Lucerys eyes the roasted pig brought to the table and then looks at Aemond with cruel mirth shining in his dark eyes. Thankfully your grandsire, the Sea Snake, has the good sense to smack him on the back of his head and snap him out of any foolish ideas about taunting your uncle before you see yourself in need to do the same. 

You are starting to think no one in this family has been capable of an intelligent choice or has formulated a coherent plan since your mother had you flee King’s Landing and left her father’s court to the Hightowers. And for the first time, you are glad you were sent away for those two years instead of being made to stay and try and manage this madness as Jace has been forced to do, the eldest in your absence. 

“I defy my own father’s counsel in permitting this union, Rhaenyra. Do not confuse my faults with those of the men of my blood, or I will extend the same courtesy to you.” 

Dark eyes flicker to Daemon, who answers to her implication with a mocking little giggle, leaning back on his chair and crossing his hands over his stomach. 

“It is not your father’s faults that make me wary, Your Grace,” Your mother argues, the title a reminder, and it is only then that you notice Alicent referred to her by her name. She continues, “But the cruelty and injustice you imposed on my children, for years on end.” 

Alicent’s brow furrows, eyes wide with the frenzied affront of that night in Driftmark. 

“You dare speak of cruelty, when your savage sons took Aemond’s eye?” 

“I do wish they would give me some credit. I did land a few good hits on him.” Baela, sitting by your side, mutters, quiet enough that only you hear. Still, you move your foot under the table and stomp on hers in reprimand.  

She answers with a little laugh that is entirely a mirror of her father’s, and you hiss a command for her to be quiet, but she grabs your hand in hers and, with laughter still clinging to her tone, issues quietly the High Valyrian for be calm, lykirī. 

Unaware of the small exchange between you and Baela, unaware, it seems, to the entire world beyond one another, your mother and Alicent go on in their argument, in their battle of words and of silences only themselves understand. 

Your mother’s smile is a lie, a mockery, as she shakes her head, dismissing, or perhaps refusing, whatever it is the Queen has said. Rhaenyra lifts the cup to her lips and takes a slow sip of wine, putting the cup down and only then speaking again, voice calm and yet cold. 

“You do not trust me, or my family. I understand this. It is why you wouldn’t marry Helaena to Jacaerys when I proposed it,” She turns to her oldest friend then, and a part of you wishes to berate her, to hide her then, because in your mother’s gaze there’s too much truth revealed. “Can you blame me for holding the same reservations as you did, now that I must entrust my daughter, my only daughter, to your care?” 

Alicent answers with the faintest shake of her head, as if the mere idea of what your mother fear is unthinkable. She adjusts her posture, unmoving again. Though not in the way a stone statue is unmoving, but in the way thin ice is.  

“A mother’s sins are not her daughter’s.” 

Whatever it is your mother is to answer with, if anything at all, is interrupted by Daemon’s laughter, cold and mocking. 

“How easily you change your tune, now that the noose tightens around your neck.”  

Alicent’s expression sours in disgust at the mere sound of Daemon’s voice, and she refuses to entertain his accusation with a response. Her eyes, warm and sad, linger on your mother for a few breaths, before she abandons the fight and straightens in her seat. 

Your mother shouldn’t have come here, not when she longs for peace yet the man at her side dreams of bloodied hands placing a crown upon her brow; not when her sons and Alicent’s long for violence and chaos as young men are allowed to; not when all she has done, all any of them have done, is pull you in warring directions, demanding and demanding and demanding. 

You down the last of your wine, resting your empty cup on the table and drumming your nails restlessly on the glass. 

Leaning closer to Laena’s oldest who sits at your left, you gesture with your chin at an open window. 

“If I were to fling myself from that window, you gather Vermithor is fast enough to catch me before I reach the ground?” You ask Baela, who hides a smile behind her cup as she lifts it to take a sip from her wine. 

Your jest with your sister is interrupted as someone leans closer to you. You turn to watch as Aegon, sitting beside you and pitcher of wine in hand, refills your cup. 

“No, but Sunfyre might be,” He answers, as if it were him you asked that question to. At your look, he shrugs, though a smile plays at his lips. “Just say the word.” 

Stupidly, more carelessly than you should allow yourself, you find yourself smiling back as you watch him lean back in his chair. 

Your smile falls when you turn to see the expectant face of your half-sister, who stares with wide eyes and raised brows. Baela demands an explanation without even parting her lips, and you merely shrug in response. 

Uncomfortable silence falls upon you all once again as your mother’s and Alicent’s quarrel comes to an end for now. You lean closer to Baela again and whisper, 

“What does it say of me, that I am considering the offer?” 

“I know not what it says about you, but it says quite a lot about this horrid evening.” 

You lean back in your seat, eyeing the people in the room, forced together by the wishes and fantasies of a dying man, bound together more so by the shared wounds that the shared love or blood. 

“First of many.” 

“Could I convince you to marry Aegon in the ways of our House and save us all from this circus?” Baela prompts. Dark eyes divert over your shoulder, and apparently deeming it safe enough, she adds, quieter, “Or to kill him? Either way, I can gift you the dragonglass for the deed.” 

She draws a short laugh from you. 

“It concerns me that you have come armed.” 

Your half-sister turns to you, a truly affronted look in her eyes, and whispers, “It concerns me that you haven’t. If I am to leave you here, I would do so knowing you have the means to protect yourself.” 

You shrug, “I have Vermithor.” 

“He doesn’t fit in a dining room.” 

“And I need no protection when breaking bread, cousin.” 

Baela’s smile makes her eyes narrow, and she clinks her glass against yours as she advices,  

“You should ease on the wine. Usually you can lie better than that.” 

“Shouldn’t you be tormenting my brother about trade in Spicetown? Or about those dignitaries from Asshai you mentioned?” You ask with a tired sigh, but still a slow smile curves at your own lips. 

“Shouldn’t you be walking about, charming hosts and guests alike? Almost two years of one diplomatic visit after another, I doubt you spent them like this.” 

“There was something I wanted from those Lords and Ladies. All I want from our family is an uneventful evening.” 

She scoffs, “You’ll sooner bring The Cannibal to heel.” 

The tension between your mother and Alicent seems to lessen, or at the very least become more manageable, as the dinner goes on. The room is filled with the murmur of ongoing conversations, and you are enjoying some pastry with what tastes like candied figs within it when Baela leans closer again and talks by your ear. 

“Speaking of tormenting your brother,” Baela motions with her chin towards your left side. “I gather he’s much better at it than I.” 

You turn to follow her gaze, and find Aegon leaning closer to your brother, who sits straight, frame coiled with tension. Aegon mutters something only your brother can hear, gesturing with his hand, elbow resting on the table. 

“You will hold your tongue when speaking of my sister, or I will cut it off.” Jace threatens, but it seems to fall flat, for Aegon doesn’t even move away, and the sly smile on his lips only grows. 

“I’ll still have my fingers,” Aegon replies with a shrug that only makes your brother further enraged. “Not to mention my c-…” 

“Please stop talking.” Helaena interrupts, nose furrowed in disgust. 

To your surprise, Otto Hightower laughs at his granddaughter’s words, with more warmth you ever believed him capable off. You don’t think you ever remember hearing him laugh before. 

Your disbelief only grows when the Lord Hand move his chair slightly closer to his daughter’s to make room for Helaena to sit beside him and opposite of Aegon and Jace, an offer the Princess takes without a moment of hesitation. 

Jace keeps his eyes on the table before him, both hands on the table and curled into fists, “Cease playing the jester, Aegon. All here know that the mere idea that a man like you is to wed my sister is enough of a joke.” 

“Jace.” Your mother attempts, but you doubt even she believes her attempt at chastising your brother. 

“Our family has wed us to one another for generations. To keep our bloodline pure,” Prince Aemond points out, eye sharp as it focuses on your brother. “I don’t expect you to understand, nephew, but-…” 

“What is it you are implying?” 

“Hm,” He muses, gaze piercing, calculating. “I mean only to point out that you and your sister weren’t married, as Baelon and Alyssa, as Jaehaerys and Alysanne were. It is quite apparent to me why, is it not to you?”

Jace moves to stand, and Aemond refuses to let the challenge go unanswered, returning the cup to the table to welcome your brother’s advance with empty hands.  

Looking across the table at your father, you silently beg him to interfere, but Daemon is entirely too preoccupied with Aemond, assessing him as who looks at a cyvasse table to plan their next move. 

“Speak these falsehoods at your peril, uncle.” 

“What falsehoods, hm?” He taunts, his cruelty sharp and honed like a sword, “We are family, both by bonds of blood and of marriage now. Isn’t it time we stop pretending?” 

A chair screeches against the wooden floor as Luke moves to stand as well, to defend himself as well, to answer to insult with violence. With a moment of hesitation with trepidation widening her dark eyes, Rhaena stands as well. 

“Sit.” Baela hisses the command, and to your surprise both of them obey without question. You’ve seen soldiers follow orders slower. 

It is only when he sits back down that you notice Aegon too was moving to stand, no doubt to defend his brother. You look at him with raised brows, and he answers to your unspoken question as to why he obeyed your Baela’s command with a gesture of his hands as if to say what else he is supposed to do. 

Amidst the tension and the madness, you find yourself resisting the urge to laugh, and shake your head, looking away from him. You notice the smile on his lips, though, even as he too turns his attention back to Baela. 

With one last glance spared at Rhaena and Luke, it is then that Baela turns her attention to Aemond. 

She has mastered the mocking and belittling look her father directs at his children whenever they defy him, and the slight smirk curving at her lips only manages to add insult to injury. 

Aemond shifts in his place, but refuses to give any ground. Instead of recognizing her challenge, her taunt, he turns his attention to your brother again. 

“Now your brother and stepsisters fight to defend you, nephew?” 

“It does your skill a disservice, My Prince, if you believe this a fight at all,” Baela retorts, the grace of her mother and the venom of her father. The way her eyes remain relentlessly trained on Aemond reminds you of a bird of prey on a hunt. “And a disservice to your family, if you mean to imply it is dishonorable that we defend our own.” 

A mocking little hm leaves Aemond’s lips, one-eyed gaze flickering between your brother and Baela. 

“You might wish to reconsider who you consider your own, My Lady,” He taunts. A breath, two, and then his sharp gaze turns to you, before he adds, “As your sister did.” 

“Excuse me?” You ask, but neither care for an argument about your true parentage, and to be honest, neither do you. It is only a few moments later that you understand the implication in his words, that you hear the certainty that your marriage to Aegon will earn them your loyalty. 

Baela scoffs, “You are more of an imbecile than I thought if you believe that.” 

“Baela!” Princess Rhaenys chastises, but she cares not for it. 

Aemond answers with mocking laugh that only enrages her further. 

The Queen reaches over the table and grasps for her son, fingers digging like claws into his arm as she hisses some words you do not hear. It seems he doesn’t either, for he shakes off his mother’s grip and turns to face your half-sister. 

“I see you do not deny it your shared blood with the Princess. Good for you, My Lady,” Aemond’s gaze turns from Baela to your brother, and a cruel twist of his lips aids the venom to drip from his words, “My dear nephew here could stand to learn to be prouder of his family.” 

What feels like a dozen voices start speaking at once then, accusations and insults from both sides, the elder voices -the voices at fault for this madness, attempting to bring hounds to heel long after they’ve tasted blood- attempting in vain to speak over the chaos. 

And in that moment, you are five and ten once again, Luke’s nose has been broken and Aemond’s eye taken, the smell of blood lingers in the air and shrill little voices argue, shouting over one another; and the King calls for silence but they don’t listen, bloodthirsty little beasts, what is left of children after a lifetime of licking their inherited wounds.  

But it has been years since then, and the wounds are now their own, made by their own hands and adorning their own bodies, in some more evidently than in others. They remain, however, as bloodthirsty as before. 

A passing comment by Otto Hightower is enough to make Daemon’s fist hit the table, and the two engage one another, trading verbal blows with a practice older than any of their children; while Vaemond Velaryon’s reaction to Aemond’s accusations make Corlys chastise his brother, starting yet another argument. 

A low call of your name draws your attention from the chaos erupting on every corner of this room, and you turn to your left to find Aegon has stood from the table, and is offering a hand to you. 

“Huh?” Your eyes dart between his hand and his eyes. He smiles, expectant and daring. 

He motions with his head to a small door the servants have used to come and go, an invitation. 

You only realized you have made your choice, that you let your hand slip into the offered hold of is, when you are being pulled into standing, when you are fighting back laughter as amidst the chaos you let him guide you out of the room and into the servant halls that run through the Keep. 

Thank you for reading! I hope this was alright, and at least worth the wait!

Also, to make this shorter I had to cut the “reunion” between Reader and Rhaenyra and Jace. If you’d like to read that, drop an ask or something and I’ll post it.

Next Chapter >>

Taglist: @21-princess @mrs-starkgaryen @nymeriiiia @akari-rioan @dottie-witch

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

Imagine...

Pairing: Dark Viserys Targaryen III x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

WARNINGS: Manipulation; Blackmail.

Please, reblog and give me feedback.

--

"But I do not want to be your queen.” the words left your mouth before you could stop yourself.

Viserys raises his blonde brows, surprised and incredulous.

“Your grace, I…do not love you. I couldn’t possibly marry you.”

Viserys‘s tongue pokes his cheek as he chuckles, the sound devoid of any humor.

“And I didn’t ask. I don’t need your permission to wed you.” he replies, annoyance painting his features. He grabs your hand, squeezing his fingers around it until you gasp with pain, a satisfied smirk replacing his anger.

“I’m going to be king very very soon. My word will be the law then and you will obey me, whether you like or not.”

His nails bury into your soft skin, and you cry out, shaking as you attempt to push his hand off.

“You’ll be my queen, I promise you that. It’s either that or perhaps you should start planning for your family’s funeral. Your choice, my love.” 

[aerynwrites]

Make is Right

Gale x Dark Urge!Reader

A/N: Had this idea come to me when @thedreamlessnights told me that Gale yelled at their dark urge after talking to Gortash in Baldur’s Gate. Hope y’all enjoy the angst and fluff that follows.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR BG3. Spoilers for dark urge plot specifically. Angst, emotional Hurt/Comfort, major character death, resurrection, fluff, happy ending.

You’ve been in a spiral ever since the Nautiloid crashed, your mind a jumble of blankness and confusing violent urges you can’t hope to control. Your sleep plagued with terrible dreams and that infuriating butler. Urges that have made you do terrible things and almost make you do worse. 

But now…now it feels as if everything has come crashing down around you. You’d hoped coming to Baldur’s Gate would give you answers to your past, hopefully bring to light memories that are still lost to you. 

You never expected it to be worse than you thought. 

You never expected to be on the receiving end of Lord Gortash’s cunning smile as he greets his favorite assassin. You didn’t think learning of your past would make your heart drop to your stomach. 

But as you stand here, in this grand throne room and listen as Gortash tells you of your bloody past…you feel bile rise in your throat. 

You watch numbly as Duke Ravengard crowns Gortash as the archduke of Baldur’s Gate, acutely aware of how your companions shift uneasily behind you. You accept begrudgingly when Gortash offers you an alliance, that sickening smile tugging at his lips as he steps closer to you. 

“I tolerate Orin,” he tells you, a strange fondness in his eyes that makes your stomach roll. “But I liked you.” 

He waves his hand dismissively. “Go get the stone. And don’t come back until you have it in hand.”

You obey his command, not because you want to listen to him, but because you want to get as far away from here as possible. Your feet carry you faster than you expect, and soon you’re out of the oppressive building that is Wyrm’s Crossing making your way across the bridge. 

It’s only then that any feeling comes back to you at all, and you’re acutely aware of piercing gaze burning into your back. You stop in your tracks, turning to see Gale as the source. 

The look he gives you…The man who you’ve come to love and who you thought felt the same…His eyes are full of nothing but betrayal and anger. 

You reach out to him, fear gripping your heart like you’ve never felt before. “Gale, what-?” 

He recoils from you, lips turned down wards. “Don’t.” He says, the one word coming out harsher than you anticipate, making you retreat into yourself as he continues. “The absolute, the tadpoles…it was because of you?” 

That last word is said with such venom it makes your heart fracture in your chest. You’ve never been on the receiving end of such vitriol, at least not from him, and it makes tears burn at the back of your eyes. 

“Gale, please…I didn’t even know-“ 

He cuts you off with a raised hand, eyes falling shut as he turns his head away from you, as if it pains him to even hear your voice. 

“I think you’ve said and done more than enough,” he lowers his hand to a fist at his side, still not looking at you. “Leave me be.” 

He offers nothing else as he brushes past you, walking back towards camp with a rigid set to his shoulders. You feel your lower lip wobble, and out of instinct look back to your other companions for guidance, hoping for anything other than hatred. 

You at least get that much. Not even Karlach will look right at you, her hands clenching at her sides as she too walks past, uttering something about catching up with Gale. Astarion offers one of his humorous quips, but even that does nothing to help. 

Only Shadowheart seems truly sorry, her eyes meeting yours in a knowing way. You suppose she’s the only one who understands being a slave to your blank past and eventually finding out the brutal truth. 

But even her…you can see the thin set of her lips, and you know. You know on some level she blames you too. 

And as they all leave one after the other, you’re left alone on the wooden bridge, the wind whistling around you, and your mind still infuriatingly blank. 

————

No one approaches you at camp that evening, all of them being pleasant enough but losing that usual camaraderie that typically fills the air. 

It’s only after dinner has been served and eaten that you move to seek out your partner, your bowl of stew left untouched by your spot at the fire. 

Gale is in front of his tent, deep in one of his books as he usually is. Normally the sight would bring a smile to your face, but now as you approach, nothing but dread settles in your stomach. 

The man doesn’t even acknowledge you as you walk up, eyes never leaving the pages of his book as you stand in front of him, shifting nervously in your feet. 

“Can we talk?” you finally ask, voice soft in the night air. 

Not looking up from his reading, Gale turns a page as he answers, “I don’t see what there is to talk about.” 

You bite your lip, trying to keep the tears welling up at bay. 

“You know what.”

Gale scoffs, finally closing his book with a resounding snap as he finally looks at you. His eyes are ablaze with anger but deep below the surface you can sense a sadness. He feels betrayed. 

“Oh yes,” he says, “I suppose we do need to address the fact that you are the reason we are all in this bloody predicament. Where would you like to start?” He asks cruelly. “The fact that you’re actually a bloodthirsty assassin set on fulfilling your fathers diabolical wishes? Or should we discuss the tiny detail that you were seemingly cozy with none other than Enver Gortash?” 

Frustration bubbles up in you then, and finally the tears spill over - hurt and anger and utter confusion proving too much for you to handle. 

“You act like that person is me!” You cry, wavering. “Like I haven’t proven again and again since I’ve met you that I’m not…that. I don’t want to be that person anymore I don’t…I can’t be.”

Gale says nothing, so you continue. “I can’t control who I was but until today I didn’t even know that was my past but I -“ you choke on a sob, wiping furiously at the tears streaming down your cheeks. “We’ve done so much good. That has to count for something.” 

You watch as Gale softens ever so slightly, but it’s so slight that if you didn’t know him as well as you do, you would have missed it. 

He sighs, eyes clenching shut as he turns his face from you again. “Sometimes…Sometimes our past is not something we can separate ourselves from.” He says simply, hands falling limply by his side. “I…I need time to think. I think it’s best if you go.” 

His words feel like a stake to your heart, the pain radiating out to your fingertips and making your knees weak. 

You want to scream. You want to fall on your knees and beg for him to understand, for him to not push you away. But you know it would do no good. So instead, you only nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you retreat to your bedroll by the fire. 

You avoid the sideways stares the others give you, no doubt having heard your fight with Gale. 

The bedroll is cold beneath you, even the fire doing nothing to warm the icy hurt seeping through your veins. Minutes tick by into hours and soon everyone retires to bed. 

But you remain awake. 

Astarion and Karlach lay on the other bedrolls near you - but the one across the fire is achingly empty. 

As the night draws on and the flames of the fire dwindle to nothing but smoldering embers, your mind runs endlessly. 

You try fruitlessly to counjure up memories of your past, the past Gortash laid out for you. But there’s nothing. Nothing but blankness and and cloud of black anger bubbling in your chest. 

Orin. 

She’s the only thing that keeps fighting it’s way to the forefront of your mind. Since you’ve been in the city she’s already made it clear she’s watching you, and after what was revealed to you, you know why. 

She did this to you. 

She created this vast expanse of emptiness within you. Made you forget your past and took your place as Bhaals chosen, but maybe…

It was for the better. You know this, and silently you thank her for doing it. For orchestrating your fall from grace so to speak. Because now…now you’re someone else, someone better. 

All at once an idea forms in your mind. One that would hopefully solve all your problems. 

Orin took your place when she got rid of you…what if you could do the same. But instead of taking her place when she falls…you can deny your father his chosen. 

You’ll have two of the stones, Orin out of the way and one step closer to righting the wrongs you’ve unknowingly created. 

You’re on your feet before you can overthink it. You enter your tent and don your armor and weapons in a mindless haze, only when you exit your tent do you pause, your eyes trailing over to the familiar blue tent across camp. 

You approach quietly, not wanting to wake the sleeping body inside, and you carefully peel back the tent flap. Gale rests on his side, face lax with sleep as his chest rises and falls slowly. 

For a moment you’re struck with a pang of fear. What if this venture ends in your death? What if you never see the man you love again? 

These thoughts run through your head as you gaze softly at your sleeping lover, and before you can let the fear control you, you lean in and press a featherlight kiss to his cheek. 

He barely stirs, eyes fluttering lightly before he settles once more. You smile sadly before reaching into your pocket, your fingers wrapping around the cool red stone before you pull it out. 

You place the netherstone beside his pillow where he’ll be sure to see it. If this does go sideways…they can still continue the mission. 

You stand, giving one last glance at Gale before you let the tent flap fall shut and turn to go face your past head on. 

———

Orins arrogance is her downfall, just as you hoped it would be. 

She could have easily overpowered you. Taken advantage of your worn down state from trying to find the temple. She could have used the handful of cultists around her to aid in her battle against you. 

But she was arrogant, bloodthirsty, and ready to end what she had started. 

That had been her mistake. 

The fight was not easy, there were moments where you thought you would fall, a few injuries too close to fatal for you to be too haughty in your victory. 

But as she lay, broken and bloodied at your feet, you can’t help but be acutely aware of the vast emptiness still yawing within you. 

You thought killing Orin would make you feel something. Maybe a sick sense of satisfaction, or possibly even trigger some memories of what she did to you or what you’ve done. 

But there’s…nothing. There’s nothing but the sound of your own breath as it bubbles wetly in your chest. 

Somethings wrong, you’re injured worse than you’ve ever been before but at this moment you can’t find it in you to care. 

Will this be enough? 

Will Gale forgive you for your wrongs? Or, when you return to camp with the second netherstone, will it just prove that he was right? That you can’t in fact separate yourself from your bloody past. 

That you’ll never be more than the spawn of Bhaal, created to do one thing only. 

Will you ever truly be free? 

Your answer comes in a wave of telekinetic pain, washing over your mind and nearly bringing you to your knees as a voice speaks through you. 

There’s a tinge of familiarity as it speaks, and it’s only then you realize who is speaking. 

Bhaal. 

The god of murder. Your father. The thing that made you who you were - who you are. 

You stand there, that pain slowly ebbing away as he offers you greatness. Offers you the title as his chosen once more and showers you with false praises. 

You feel that all too familiar urge tug violently at your mind, begging - screaming at you to accept your rightful place. 

You almost give in, your despair and emptiness almost winning out. But then…then you remember the way Gale looked at you, the way they all looked at you. With pain and fear and betrayal in their eyes. 

And suddenly the emptiness is gone. The vast yawning cavern of blackness in your mind no longer feels like a burden. You may not remember who you were but…You aren’t them anymore. You’re someone new. Someone kind and loving and caring. You’re someone who laughs around the campfire at Karlach’s jokes and teases Astarion about his always perfect hair. 

But more than that…You’re someone who’s known love. 

Gales face flickers before your mind then, that kind small smile when you ask him about his magic. The way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. The way his hands feel against your skin as he holds you, or the way he stayed with you as you fought your urges. 

Your mind isn’t empty. It’s so full. Just as your heart is. Full of love and hope and brightness despite the urges that tempt you everyday. 

You’re not his anymore. 

You reject his gift as powerfully as you can muster and you feel the way his power reels back in anger and hatred. 

How dare you refuse me!

His voice rages in your mind just as you feel the tendrils of pain seep into your bones. 

Your name echoes off the cavernous temple walls, and through the pain and the voice screaming in your head it takes you longer than usual to realize where it’s coming from. 

You turn to see your companions, your friends, rushing towards you from the entrance of the temple, shouts of your name and other jumbled words greet your ears. 

But then you see Gale. 

His eyes filled with worry and regret, reaching for you, fingers outstretched towards your quaking form. 

They’re closer now, each step bringing them closer and closer to your bleeding body. You reach out your own hand, limbs quaking with effort against the ever crushing weight consuming you. 

Your fingers just barley brush Gale’s, his eyes glossing with relief. 

But it’s too late. 

His hand slips into your own as Bhaal strikes you down. 

Bones cracking, sinew snapping, and blood rushing out of you as darkness swallows you whole. The last thing you remember as death surrounds you, is the pain in your throat as you cry out Gale’s name. 

————

It feels like mere moments after the pain and darkness that light erupts around you. 

Warm tendrils of light wrap around the emptiness that was your life and soul forming you once more back onto the mortal plane. It blinds you, making you unable to see what happens until you materialize and your boots hit solid ground, your knees buckling beneath you. 

But instead of meeting the cold hard floor beneath you, warm arms catch you as you fall, your body falling against a much sturdier one. 

Your mind is muddled as your sense come back to you, a multitude of faces swimming before you. You see Karlach and Halsin hovering off to the side with Shadowheart. Even Astarion’s face swims with worry. 

But what catches your attention most is the familiar face of your lover right above you, tears clinging to his lashes. 

Tears?

You’ve never seen Gale cry, never seen him so much as sniffle or whimper. But now…

Small, warm tears drip onto your cheeks as he leans down to press his forehead against your own, his arms crushing you to his chest so fiercely you nearly can’t breathe. 

“Thank the gods-“ he chokes on a sob, “you’re alive. You’re alive. I…” he pulls away from you then, reaching a hand up to wipe the moisture from your skin. “I watched you die and all I could think about was what a fool I’d been - how unfair and cruel I was to you.” 

You shake your head, bringing a hand up cradle his cheek, wiping at the tears there as you furrow your brow. 

“What happened?” 

Gale opens his mouth to speak, but another raspy echoing voice answers. You turn your head just enough to see Withers standing a few paces away. 

“Bhaal tried to extinguish thee, but his wrath is imprecise. He only succeeded in killing the part of thee he knew,” the being says plainly, voice lacking any emotion. “The Urge that drove thee to terrible acts. The spark of brutality that made thee his. But there is a new part of thee that has grown during thy travels.” You swear you see the bag of bones smile. “That part Bhaal could not extinguish. And so, instead of destroying thee, he hath made thee anew.” 

He continues. “The heart of a savior hath overshadowed the mind of a murderer” he clenches a fist triumphantly. “Thou hast vanquished thy Urge.” 

It's then, when his words truly settle in that you sense it - or, don’t sense it. 

There’s…nothing. No primal bloodlust, no violent tug at the edge of your mind. 

It’s gone. 

Hope swells in your chest as you look back to Gale, eyes swimming with tears of your own now. 

“He’s right I - I can’t feel it. The urge. I think it’s gone, for good this time.” 

Gale shakes his head, pulling you ever closer as his lips fall to your cheek. “I don’t care,” he says firmly, causing momentary panic to tug at your heart. 

But Gale is quick to sooth, pulling away to look into your eyes. “I only mean that I do not care if your urges are with you or not. I would love you all the same and I-“ he closes his eyes, shoulders tense with regret. “I was a fool for making you think I felt otherwise. You stuck by me even when I didn’t deserve it and I…I did not give you the same respect or care.” 

His voice is soft and broken as he speaks, eyes opening again. “I love you, more than than even my goddess, more than the stars that litter the night skies and I - I can only beg for your forgiveness, though I would not begrudge you for holding it from me.” 

As his words sink in, you faintly recognize that the others have retreated quietly, even Withers has taken his leave, allowing you and Gale a moment of privacy. 

Slowly you move so you are kneeling before Gale who mirrors your position, his arms still wrapped around you. You bring your hands up to cradle his cheeks, thumbs brushing back and forth slowly. 

“I love you too,” you tell him, eyes watering with tears once more. “That’s why I…I wanted to make things right - prove that I wasn’t that person anymore.” 

“But you have!” Gale says, voice striken with grief. “Time and time again you showed us who you truly are, proved that the urges you felt were against your will and yet I still-“ he laughs bitterly, “I still let the revelation of your past cloud who I know you truly are. I was cruel. And there is no excuse for the harsh words I uttered. I only hope to show you the error of my ways, no matter how long it takes.” 

You smile at him - your lover, your partner, the only person you want to spend your future with - and kiss him. 

You pour all of your love and desperate aching need for him into that one action, heart swelling with warmth as he responds in kind. 

You only part when you need air, moving to rest your head against his own, your breathes mingling together. 

“There’s nothing to forgive, my love,” you whisper. “Just stay by my side until the end as I will you.” 

Gale smiles, arms wrapping tighter around your waist.

 “I would love nothing more.” 

[shiorilizzy]

how about Yandere Wriothesley with an insecure female reader that is willing to be with him EVEN suggesting they should have a Baby so he would not leave her (basically obedient Reader

Thank you for asking, I actually love this concept. Sorry if this my headcanons go astray from your request.

Warning: Yandere theme, absolute no beta @@ because my head is full of thoughts but no words come out, Wrio x Clo may not like this one.

Couple: Yandere!Wriothesley x Female!Reader

In my opinion, Wriothesley is also insecure and has trust issues.

He is afraid that someone will take his precious lady. The sight of you getting bored of him and walking away with others is his worst nightmare.

But you are so well-behaved. Even when Wriothesley dragged you down and literally locked you up in his room, your eyes still looked at him so lovingly like he was your whole world.

Having you is like a miracle to him that he thanks Archon every day. It feels like his missing piece.

(You may be every yandere’s dream)

You are his lovely kitty, his treasure, his only exception, his sanity, his obsession, his comfort.

He loves the way you just accept every dark corner of him without hesitation. The more you look at him, the more he wants to spoil and drown you with his love.

Meanwhile, you always think that you are not enough for him. You are scared that someday, Wriothesley will find a smarter, prettier, and maybe from high society, suitable for Wriothesley’s titles.

So you try your best to be a good girl to him, obey everything he says. You know he likes it.

Both of you are insecure, but you have a way of comforting each other so days fly by peacefully.

Until Clorinde comes to the Fortress one day.

You hear Wriothesley’s chuckles and a female voice, so you take a peek inside.

You see a beautiful woman is having tea with him. You realize her. Clorinde is utterly famous in Fontaine. 

The sound of them, smiling and talking, ringing inside your head and tearing your heart. 

You’re drowning in jealousy but you do not dare to jump in and ask.

Later that night, you shyly ask for a baby. 

Wriothesley was surprised at first, but then he noticed your desperate face.

He knew something was wrong. He patiently hugged you and asked.

“Of course darling, anything you want. But can you tell me the reason for this sudden request? Tell me what’s on your cute mind?”

After a while of “interrogating”, he finally understood the situation.

While you blabbing about how you will be more obedient, begging to stay, Wriothesley's mind was on cloud nine.

Oh my Archon, you must be an angel for his gray life. How could he have such a perfect darling like you?

He was so happy that you were willing to do anything just to be with him.

You accept the risk, the responsibility just to be with him, just for the chance that he would not leave you. You trusted him wholeheartedly and only him. What could he ask more? 

 No one has ever needed him like this before. Your jealous, your insecure, your begging made him feel so loved. 

Wriothesley laughed as he hugged you tightly. He looks like the happiest man in the world.

“Silly, if I want to leave you, I can just take the child and push you out.”

“I want to have kids just because I love you. They will not affect my decision of keeping you.”

He told you that Clorinde was just a colleague. He had no feelings for her.

He planted kisses on your face, showing how happy he was and how much he loved you.

“My dear silly kitten, how could I look at others when I have you already? How could I live without you now?”

“You want it or not, I will never let you go, even till the day I die. I will drag you with me. Even the next life and the next next life. You’re bound with me. You cannot escape from me.”

“Besides, I am the one afraid about you running away…”

He soon lit up your mood with his sassy humor. 

Having a loyal lover makes this kinda twisted love completely normal.

Bonus:

After a few days, Clorinde and Navia were invited to a tea party in the Fortress. Clorinde looked at you, sat on Wriothesley’s lap, from top to toe:

“I think I know where all of the factory’s profit goes.”

[sh1-n0bu]

Can u do yandere Beel-obey me with a impulsive/lil crazy mc/reader? In a minute she is calm and in the other she tries to kill a random demon. May u can do him a lil masochist too? Pretty pleaseee 🙏

✿ 𝙨𝙝𝙚’𝙨 𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙯𝙮 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙨𝙝𝙚’𝙨 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙚 ✿

characters: yandere!beel x fem!reader

warnings: generally darker undertones bc it’s a yandere, description of fighting, injuries, mentions of blood, yandere thoughts and acts, masochism, hinted that mc have signs of anger issues and bipolarity, some suggestive things

notes: ‘m so so so sorry for the late response hun. i just couldn’t rlly think of a good scenarios for this one😔 hope it’s to your liking!

everyone experiences bipolarity and anger issues differently. i am no mental health expert and i wrote this with my own anger issues experience and a friend's bipolarity. if some things seem wrong or unlikely then pls let me know.

since mc is literally living with demons, there definitely will be some darker/gruesome moments brushed off as a normal thing bc they’re demons

so with that in mind, being possessive, protective, a bit too overbearing or controlling is seen as a normal thing in a relationship for them

however beel is much more chill and softer when it comes to such things

it’s bc he has great GREAT amount of trust in you plus he knows no sane, lower demon would never dare and approach you

either bc of the pact markings of the 7 demon lords of devildom or

your impulsive self.

yep.

that’s the reason.

at first meeting and the first few days or weeks into mc’s stay in devildom, the brothers either find mc’s impulsiveness and anger issues relatable, amusing or just downright annoying

as for beel he didn’t really care. as long as you didn’t get yourself killed or gravely injured

if anything in the beginning it low-key reminded beel of his twin, belphie

mc’s dark humor, threatening back demons about how they will puck out their teeth, boil it into a soup and shove it down their throat while it’s still steaming hot were first annoying to most of the brothers

however to beel, it just reminded him of how his brother would always snap back at the other demons and more specifically, lucifer

perhaps that little resemblance is what led beel to be protective and possessive over mc

it started out slow and barely noticeable lingering hands over their shoulders, small worried glances, giving them ice package to put over their bruised knuckles

soon it developed into beel constantly hovering around mc, threatening to eat the other lesser demons who even dared to gaze at them to scenting

when scenting your partner in a demon relationship, it usually involves leaving visible marks on each other since demons all have different distinguishable markings

whether it be carving their marks into their s/o’s flesh with their claws, leaving a bloody bite mark or sometimes even their pact markings on each other

however, considering the fact beel is more gentler than the other demons and your a human, he simply decided that cuddling with you for so long to the point that others could smell beel’s sin and scent on you or just draping his large, fluffy orange jacket over you was enough

unfortunately, demons are beings that generally have a darker mindset than humans so one day some lesser, cocky demon mocked you for being “beel’s pet” while you were alone

mc paid that demon back with a broken nose and a broken arm that bent the wrong way (like this __^__🫴)

the terrified screeching of the onlookers and the anguish filled cries of the cocky bastard alongside the blood dripping from the claw marks the demon left on mc called upon the attention of the brothers

when arriving at the scene beel couldn’t help but feel an odd feeling within him

something hot, mushy and dizzying feeling pooling in his stomach, his mind getting hazy, eyes half lidded with the only focus of attention being on you

asmo sensed his brother’s sudden arousal and dragged him off from the crowd, sitting him down in one of the empty classrooms and having a talk with him. helping him calm down and explaining to his little brother that sometimes people get aroused by people who are stronger than them

since that little incident with mc and the cocky demon, beel has never went a day without his mind wandering to the scene he saw

you standing tall and proud with a bloody claw mark running from your chin to your neck with an odd triumphant grin while the lower insect screeched, holding his broken arm

and when he lets his daydreaming go wild, the sixth brother finds himself fantasizing about you sitting on him with the same grin, carving your initials on his chest

the scent of blood oozing around the room, the quiet giggles that would slip out of your lips as he groans and whimpers at the odd yet pleasant feeling

and when his imaginations go further than that, the avatar of sin of gluttony finds himself choking on his breath, pants tightening and the room feeling hotter than the usual

perhaps paying a visit to your room this night won’t be such a bad idea…

[ollie-lolly]

Royal treatment (18+) Diavolo x gender neutral reader

Note: HUGE thanks to @l3viat8an8an for giving me the inspiration to write this! (My dyslectic ass is dying HELP).

started and finished on: 13th of march 2023

Media: Obey me

Relationship: Diavolo x gender neutral reader

Warnings: This contains very suggestive content, minors please don't interact

This is part one. part two part three

Word count: 963

He just was so attractive, you could never quite put a finger on why you made that conclusion. Maybe it was his smile, the way he carried himself or it was his great round a-. "Mc what is going on in your little mind?" Diavolo's voice halted your train of thoughts. You quickly scrambled to keep the conversation going. His eyes seemed so innocent but had a dark playfulness to it, like he could exactly read whatever you were pondering about. "I was just reminiscing on an event that happened this month". Diavolo leaned in "Do tell". "W- Well I saw this really pretty ring in a jewelry store and it has not left my mind since". "It must be very special to you". "I suppose so! I have been working my butt off in Ristorante Six just to even get a chance of-". 

"Sweet, sweet little human, why didn't you come to me earlier?". "For wha-" He came to your side. "Barbatos!΅. Barbatos being the great butler he is, came just around the corner. "Yes my lord?". "Could you get me something?". He gently put a hand on your back. "Go on, show him what you want". You shakingly grabbed your phone trying to maintain a normal breathing pattern. Desperately searching for the picture through your camera roll, when Diavolo's hand slowly went downwards. Eventually resting on your lower back. "H- here" You showed it to Diavolo first. "You have wonderful taste, would you like anything engraved on the inside?". "Your name would be lovely lord Diavolo". 

You turned the phone towards Barbatos, he quickly eased the sexual tension "I'll be back within an hour or so" He bowed and gracefully left. "I-  i am sorry i panicked, i didn't mean to say your name Lord Diavolo I-" Diavolo chuckled and softly grabbed your face. "Do you regret it? I can call him back if you want ". You felt your face heat up. "N- n- no i thought it was improper of me i am so sor- ". He softly placed the finger of his other hand on your lips, "Shhh, please don't be. I already rather enjoy the sound of your idea. Besides this is just a small gift, see it as a beginning of something new"

From then on, you found a small pile of gifts resting on the top of your bed almost every night. Each with a special note attached. You heard a notification:

Chat

Diavolo: Do you like the new gifts I sent you?

MC: Are you sure you sent this to the right person?

Diavolo: You humans have a lovely sense of humor!

MC: Lord Diavolo I was not joking, how could I repay you for all this?

Diavolo: Please sweet human, this is just play money. You deserve this and much for fundamentally serving as the avatars family therapist. With me you can finally have peace from such hard labor. Repaying me is really unnecessary, but if that's what you desire you are welcome to visit me tomorrow.

MC: I am looking forward to it!

Diavolo: So am i.

You had no idea how much he loved spoiling you. All of his belongings meant nothing to him next to you. His heart broke when he saw you the next day. "My little one you have been really quiet, are you okay?" 

You looked up from your tea "Well, there is something bothering me. Remember back when you gave me the ring?". Diavolo looked at you, his hands neatly folded "Yes of course i remember". "Well" you looked at the very ring trying to form your sentence. "You said it was the start of something new. What did you mean by that? What did you wish for?". He laughed "Before we continue could you do me a favor?".  "Yes sir".  "Could you call your work for me?". Now that was something you did not expect. "There is something I have to discuss with the owner". You grabbed your phone, called your work and gave it to him, still finding it weird that he didn't use his own phone. "Hello i have come to say that MC is quitting their job, good day" you were left speechless. 

"Now to come back to your topic and why I did that. I wish to change our relationship." 

He opened a small drawer under the table. Revealing a small piece of paper with beautiful handwriting. He grabbed a small pot of ink with its matching quill. "This is what I want us to be. Recently I did some research and I found something that would suit us quite nicely. If you give me your treasured blessing, you will be my sugar baby from this point onward. Not much will change if that is what you wish. I will keep giving whatever your heart desires and you don't have to work for a single minute for it. 

In return you give me your time and whatever romantic advancements you are comfortable with. Now I know this is a very important decision, you can take your time with your deci-". He got cut off by the quick scratching sounds of the quill hitting the fine paper. "I accept" Now it was his turn to be taken aback. "I- I guess we are moving on to the next step, how intimate do you want our relationship to be?" You put the quill neatly back in the ink pot. "Well if i call you daddy, does that answer your question?" His eyes widened "Well this is a pleasant surprise. My first request begins." He opened another drawer in the table and revealed a small wrapped gift. Proceeding to push it towards your direction. "Go change into this. Daddy will wait here, my little monarch".

[arvandus]

Obey Me: OG + NB Theory - Something's Fishy About Barbatos...

Look, I'm just gonna scream into the void and see if the void screams back cuz I'm hyperfixating and need to sleep. Sorry if this has been done before btw; I know OG has been out for forever and I’m finally catching up to everyone else… but humor me. 😅

I'm calling it now, OG lesson 80 and NB are CONNECTED.

(read more for length and OG spoilers)

This black crevasse thing isn't over, and NB is a continuation of that.

What makes me say that?? Because it's hinted at during the morning after interactions with Barbatos in Lesson 80-12.

To recap what happened at the end of OG, a dark crevasse was accidentally opened and Mammon, Levi, and Asmo were sucked in. Solomon called on Barbatos to save them and bring them back, and then seal the crevasse. Later, it's pointed out that while Solomon was strong enough to close the crevasse, he didn't have the ability to save the brothers. He used Barbatos and his time powers to save them.

Which MEANS that they were technically dead once they were sucked in, and Barbatos reversed their deaths using his time ability when he pulled them out.

Afterwards, Barbatos started having horrible headaches, and the brothers started to cease to exist - Levi turned invisible, no one could remember Mammon's name, and Asmo no longer had a reflection. By the end of it, when the group has opened a new dark crevasse and are trying to throw the magical item (the treasure chest) into the abyss to fix it, all three brothers are invisible, Levi can no longer touch solid objects, and Barbatos is barely clinging to consciousness.

Of course, the magic from the chest is released, it's sucked into the dark crevasse, the crevasse is sealed, etc. etc. The brothers are back to normal, and Barbatos's headaches are no more. It seems as if all's well that ends well...

OR IS IT?

We get to stay the night at the castle, and the next morning, Barbatos wakes us up. This is already suspicious, since it's pretty much implied that we went to bed with one of the brothers (Mammon, Beel, or Belphie). So the fact that Barbatos is waking us up for breakfast instead of whatever brother we selected to go to bed with...?? Weird. Normally, I'd expect Mammon to nag us awake, Belphie to still be in bed with us, and Beel to probably bring food to us in bed. But nope, we get Barbatos.

Sus. Very sus.

And for good reason. As it turns out, Barbatos is acting... different. There's so many ways I can dive into how exactly based on the different interaction options, but that will add too much length to this post, so I might make a separate one later.

Either way, he's definitely not quite acting himself. So much so, that we get a chance to point it out to him as a dialogue option regardless of what romantic/nonromantic option we chose prior:

I'll type it here for those who need it:

MC: Is it just me, or is something different about you? Barbatos: About me? No, I don't think... Barbatos: ...Wait. Actually, perhaps you're right.

Then he just proceeds to be like, "Okay, come meet us for breakfast! Toodles!"

Like?!?!

BRUH, YOU CAN'T JUST RESPOND LIKE THAT AND NOT EXPAND UPON IT???

It's not even the fact that he doesn't expand on it - that part is actually very normal for him. He's never one to tell more information than he wants. But I DID find it interesting that he straight up agrees/admits it to MC that something is different about him. AKA, we as the readers are SUPPOSED to notice this. It's important to the plot.

So, to recap, we know the following:

The brothers were sucked into the crevasse and essentially died as soon as they entered it

Barbatos saved them using his time abilities

Barbatos had SERIOUS consequences to doing so - really bad headaches, nearly incapacitated by the end of the finale, so much so that it was taking everything he had just to stay conscious with MC after they caught him. (This is MAJOR because he's always been so OP and invincible up to this point. Whatever this black crevasse power is, it's strong enough to bring him to his knees. Terrifying.)

Something is "different" about him afterwards, which he even acknowledges but doesn't expand on.

Whatever happened with that black crevasse impacted Barbatos. It did something to him. I'm not saying I know what that is, even though I have my theories (I'll save that for another post too). But I'm pretty damn sure this is going to tie into Nightbringer in some way. Barbatos has become a much more major character for the NB storyline, and there's a reason for it.

OG is the "fuck around" and NB is the "find out." Right now, we're finding out (...hopefully... if the writers can get their shit together).

(Also, as a side note, the idea of Nightbringer coming from the Dark Crevasse just tickles a part of my brain that I can't really describe.)

[kiyaar]

Possessed by Light: An AI Tony Exchange CREATOR REVEALS!

POSSESSED BY LIGHT: An AI (Steve)Tony Exchange has come to a close! Thank you to our creators, our cheerleaders, and our esteemed pinch hitter. Here is a masterlist of 13 delicious works (4 art, 9 fic) featuring our sad blue boy. This exchange was designed to generate more comics SteveTony works, so most works feature 616, but we do have 2 Noir works and 1 Ults work! We hope you enjoy this feast and please remember to show your chefs some love in the comments! Works under the cut:

art: Ballet Aérien by @oluka for @tinystark616

Tags: superior iron man, digital art Summary: SIM has taken an interest to AI Tony.

art: PbL: Dissonant Messages by @somekindofsheepl for @mserm

Tags: hydra steve rogers, hurt no comfort, tentacles, sharing a bed, these tags are a mess Summary: Tony has a little bit of a headache. Don't worry about it, everything is fine.

art: artificial intelligence out of time by kenobleeaaarrrgghh for @ayapandagirl

Tags: alternate universe, role reversal Summary: my fill for the AI tony exchange! for the prompt: [noir universe]'s version of AI tony

art: "Error 1610 File not Found" and "Wired to Obey"  by badworldgood for @somekindofsheepl

Tags: Possessive Steve Rogers, Creepy Victor von Doom, Victor von Doom Being an Asshole, Cancer, Angst, Fanart , Ultimates, 616 Summary: UltsTony saves himself from the brain cancer by becoming an AI...or so they think. File corruption becomes an issue / AI Tony ends up in a damaged Doombot. Doom may grow attached, Steve is not happy once he finds out.

fic: no happy endings by @mserm for @kiyaar (8.8k)

Tags: choose your own adventure, POV second person, unhappy ending, everything feels wrong and nobody is ok Summary: AI Tony's greatest fear is that he'll be replaced by flesh-and-blood Tony. What will he do to stop it? That's for you to decide.

fic: hold me (like it's the last time) by @tinystark616 for @ralsbecket (3.8k)

Tags: hydra steve rogers, pining, angst with a happy ending, getting together, fix it, I mean first I made it worse and then I fixed it, sad AI tony, alternate universe - canon divergence Summary: Hydra Cap attempts to convince AI Tony to stay with him with promises to make Tony real. Tony wants to be real, but he wants the real Steve back even more.

fic: You don't have to be a ghost here amongst the living by @ayapandagirl for badworldgood (3.2k)

Tags: secret empire, existential crisis, transhumanism, artist steve rogers, modeling, timeline what timeline, AU - canon divergence Summary: AI Tony Stark struggles with identity and Steve offers a novel approach to the problem: modeling.

fic: Imagine Being Loved by Me by @ralsbecket for @rowantreeisme (2.5k)

Tags: established relationship, touch-starved, frottage, pining, references to depression, implied/referenced alcohol abuse, angst, hurt/comfort, ambiguous/open ending Summary: He lifts his hand, fingers hovering just over the slope of Tony’s nose and side of his cheek, blue light washing over it. There’s a hesitation there, in Steve’s eyes, as he inquires, “Can I touch you, or…?” Tony can guess what Steve doesn’t have the heart to finish: Can I touch you, or will I pass through you like you were nothing?

fic: body and mind and sun by @dirigibleplumbing for @oluka (5.2k)

Tags: secret empire, hydra steve rogers, AI tony stark, AU - canon divergence, transhumanism, body horror, body modification, angst, dark, forced intimacy, ambiguous/open ending Summary: Steve's engineering team insists that learning Stark's secrets is a waste of time. What can he offer Steve that they can't? Hydra has a spy in the resistance. They are on their way to completing the Cube. What more could he want?  He wants Tony.

fic: do iron men dream of warm flesh? by ves.larkinson for @dirigibleplumbing (21.1k)

Tags: Transhumanism, Comic Book Science, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel, action/adventure elements, Coming of Age as an AI, Attempt at Humor, Philosophy, Existentialism, Time bullets, Identity Disability (sort of), tony is de-coma'd just before steve is de-HYDRA'd, Queer Themes, Civil War, Amnesia, Guilt, Betrayal, Post-Marvel Comic Event: Dark Reign (2008), Post-Marvel Comic Event: Secret Empire (2017) Summary: The artificial intelligence called Tony Stark is in it way over his head. The “real” Tony Stark is isolating himself, trying to ignore his part in the Civil War and the Dark Reign that followed it; and Steve is falling into guilt over his part in the Secret Empire. Tony has no history, and his human counterpart has too much. Somewhere between them, there might be a way forwards—for all three of the men in this shitshow.

fic: fate, commitment by @rowantreeisme for kenobleeaaarrrgghh (40.5k)

Tags: Edwin Jarvis, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, World War II, Comic: Iron Man Noir (2010), Canon-Typical Violence, Post-Canon, Angst, Hopeful Ending, Nazi Germany, Pre-Slash, Time Travel, Espionage, Canon-Typical Body Horror Summary: Cell fate commitment: the process through which a stem cell becomes committed to it's final state, and the means through which this is determined through genetics and molecular signalling.

fic: Similitude by @winnifredburkle for ves.larkinson (1.5k)

Tags: BDSM, armor kink, dubious consent, selfcest Summary: Tony gives AI Tony control of an Iron Man suit. For sex purposes. It doesn't quite go how he expected.

fic: Eidolon by @kiyaar for @starvels (22.9k)

Tags: established relationship, threesome - f/m/m, intellectual strap sucking, a dead celestial is sometimes a home, consent issues cockwarming, electroplay, secret empire, civil war II, canon compliant, angst, alcoholism, wistful flesh hunger, transhumanism, not-a-fixit, unfixit Summary: "What if we fucked," Carol says, "and we also fucked Steve." "I don't know if I can take that kind of rejection right now," Tony says.

You can view all of the works in the Ao3 collection here. You can join the endless AI Tony conversation in the 616 Steve/Tony discord here. And, as always - you can thank your creators by circulating their work and leaving comments and kudos on ao3!