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show-your-fangs · 1 year

Note

I request very politely, you better continue the camgirl story with all the smut there is or I'm suing 😫 Some proper thigh action would be nice 🤭

there's no thigh riding in this one, but it will happen i promise my darling, i owe you and i will deliver.

The Contract | Sugar Daddy!Aaron Hotchner

The Secrets We Keep (a Bunny and Clyde story) - Part Two

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Aaron Hotchner x BAU/cam girl!Reader

Words: 5.6k

CW: 18+, mdni, nsfw.

Tags/warnings: D/s relationship, master!hotch x sub!reader, sex work (is real work), power imbalance/play, reader works at the bau and is a secret cam girl, hotch is a customer, pet names (bunny, sweet girl, good girl), (semi public) mutual masturbation, cum play, aftercare (is important istfg).

a/n: this fucking series and i...holy shit i cannot get enough of it. it's all i think about every day, i just can't stop thinking about them. my apologies to moments, it has been dethroned in my heart.

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

His lips were on you just as quickly as his hands.

It was overwhelming, your legs practically going numb as he pulled you into his room, all you could think to do was desperately try to deepen the kiss. He didn’t hold back, he couldn’t hold back, even if he wanted to, and thankfully you didn’t want that either.

You opened your mouth for him as his hands ran down your back to grab your ass, greedy, possessive, as if it had always belonged to him. He pulled you off the ground, maneuvering your legs to wrap around his waist. You obeyed without question, your legs holding onto him tightly as your arms hooked behind his neck.

It was a fervor of tongues clashing, teeth grazing, hands digging into soft skin. His finger nails dug harshly into your plush ass, eliciting a squeal from your throat. He groaned into the kiss in response, swiftly walking back towards the king size bed in his room and slamming you down on it.

You moaned into his mouth, the roughness only getting you going even more. He was sure he was living a dream, his heart beating so fast it was sure to explode. He pressed his body down over yours, enveloping you whole with his weight, keeping you trapped between him and the mattress.

It wasn’t that he thought you would escape, it was more that he didn’t even want to give you the option. You ground your hips into his crotch then, desperate hands trying to rip his shirt off his back.

He pulled back from the kiss, making sure to bite down on your bottom lip and tug as far as he was able before you tensed under him. Only then did he let go, swiftly pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere in the dark room.

You were panting hard, your ears were ringing, your chest and face were most definitely flushed crimson. You could feel him press his crotch into yours, hard, stiff, warm. So warm it almost made you melt into him.

Your hands immediately traced over his back, fingers gliding over every muscle, every ride, every dimple. His own returned to your body just as hungrily, his fingers gently tracing down your chin, your neck, your arms, your sides, before they made their home on your hips, squeezing them experimentally to gauge your reaction.

You hummed, running your own arms down his chest to pull him closer to you once more. This was everything, it was too much, having your boss so close, so warm against your core, so desperate and needy for you, just like user1102, was making your head feel dizzy with pleasure.

“Please, Master,” you whined. “I need—”

Your stomach growled loudly then, reminding you that you were actually starving.

You couldn’t help the giggle that erupted out of your mouth and into his, his own lips curling into a soft smile as he pressed them to yours one final time before he detached himself completely from your body.

You sat yourself up, eyes watching his every move like a hawk. He turned on the light, the faint glow from the one at the entrance of his room not enough as he now needed the entire room to be bathed in it, to sober him up enough to be able to restrain himself from taking you right then and there.

He turned to face you the second that it did, to fully take you in, to make sure that it hadn’t been a dream. You were still there, still panting softly, still looking at him with those round, expressive eyes he adored.

“When did you figure it out?” you asked him softly, clearly eager to fill the overwhelming silence that had taken over the room.

He walked over to the mini bar and poured a glass of water before he finally addressed you.

“I started to suspect the day you hit your foot at the office.”

Your eyes widened immediately, your cheeks flushing in response as you remembered that you’d seen him that same night…privately. You fell back on the bed, hands covering your face in embarrassment.

“No!” you whined. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You felt him walk back over to the bed and sit on the other side, far away and yet incredibly close.

“I wasn’t sure,” he replied, gently nudging you to look at him.

You took a short, steadying breath before you let your hands slip away from your face, eyes finally adjusting and making out the glass of water and sandwich he’d bought for himself in his hands.

You smiled brightly, the prospect of Hotch, of your boss, of user1102 taking care of you, made your heart flutter. You got up to your knees, carefully taking the two items before you settled criss cross on the bed in front of him.

“What about now?” you asked him in between gulps of water, remembering all the other times he’d watched you drink it diligently after a particularly demanding scene. “What do you want now that you know?”

He took the glass back from you and placed it on the bedside table once it was empty. “Good girl,” the words spilled out of his mouth out of habit and you immediately stilled, the heat in your lower belly slowly starting to build back up.

He noticed your reaction, subtle and yet it made him feel like the most powerful person in the world.

“We shouldn’t,” he stated as a matter of fact. “Not right now.”

Your face immediately fell into a deep pout, almost unconsciously looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. He sighed deeply, looking down to break the spell you clearly had him under, his hands clutching onto the bed covers tightly.

“The things I want to do to you, sweet girl,” his voice was strained, hoarse, heavy on his chest. You were practically buzzing with anticipation, one second away from allowing your judgement to lapse and leap across the bed into his arms.

But you knew he was right. You knew you shouldn’t rush into this, as much as you trusted him, as much as you knew him, as much as he made your heart practically leap out of your chest with a simple glance.

You didn’t have a lot of time, your mind already racing with excuses to give Emily if you found her still awake when you got back to the room.

“I want,” he started, voice calm, collected, clear. “I want to be your Dom, bunny.” He watched your reaction to his words like a hawk. Your entire body tensed, all the memories of your encounters over the past few months crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Only you weren’t drowning, but rather being filled with so much air it was overwhelming.

Your gaze met his, the rest of his face devoid of any emotion, and yet his brown eyes were overflowing with them. He was terrified, positively horror-stricken about how you may react, about losing not only your friendship but also the outlet of release he’d grown to depend on.

But instead, you just beamed at him. You threw your things on the mattress before you shot back up to your knees and shuffled across the bed towards him.

He let you, his heart going so fast he couldn’t feel his arms or legs. You sat yourself over his lap, arms wrapping around his neck again before your lips were on his. It was a soft kiss, so soft he almost thought it hadn’t happened. But then it did again, and again, and again, and again, and soon enough you were devouring him in the sweetest kisses he’d ever experienced.

His heart swelled, his hands shooting up to wrap around your back, pressing you tightly against him once more. “Is that a yes?”

“Enthusiastically,” you smiled before leaning back down to place another kiss on his now puffy lips.

And just like that, he had everything.

You returned to your room soon after, sandwich in hand and dizzy with happiness. He’d asked you to text him when you made it back, a small test to gage just how enthusiastic you were about this, and you hadn’t disappointed him, going as far as to reassure him that you really, really, really wanted this.

Aaron couldn’t sleep that night, he couldn’t get his mind to stop racing, his heart to calm down, his excitement to dwindle enough for him to even close his eyes. The adrenaline coursing through his veins was more powerful than after he’d run a marathon, and he needed to channel it into something or else he was going to go crazy.

He thought about touching himself, about relieving the ache in his crotch, but he’d told you not to even think about touching yourself, wanting to frustrate you just enough until the two of you entered an official agreement. And so he didn’t do it either, it was only fair.

Instead he sat himself at the small desk that came with the room and he wrote. He wrote everything he could think of, everything he wanted to do to you, how he wanted to take you, how he wanted to take care of you, how he wanted to punish you, how he wanted to dominate you.

He wrote until his alarm sounded and the sun started to fill the world outside in a faint warm glow. He wrote until Dave was knocking on his door to make sure he was alright. It was only then, when he’d finished writing everything, that he snapped back into reality, got himself ready for the day, and stepped out to meet the rest of the team.

He’d made sure to keep you as far away from him the entire day, not trusting himself to not linger, to not lose focus, to not give himself a single reason to take you in the precinct bathroom.

You had a suspect in custody by early afternoon, and he’d made sure to keep you in the precinct with Reid, where you were safe. He was sure you knew why he’d made the call, it was pretty obvious and would definitely be one of the things that the two of you had to discuss.

But it didn’t matter, at least not right now. You didn’t even think to disobey, didn’t even think about the fact that he was definitely doing this because of everything that had happened the night before, didn’t even begin to let the new dynamic between the two of you settle. You’d been distracted all day, desperately trying to not allow your feelings for him to show.

It was dark by the time you boarded the plane back to Quantico, everyone pretty much determined to get some rest before you made it back. The couch was the first to go, Morgan and Reid fighting over it like children until Morgan won out, immediately plopping down on it and turning his headphones on high.

Rossi and Spencer took up the single seats facing the bathroom and kitchen while Emily and JJ took up a double seater, leaving you and Aaron at the head of the plane alone. You sat next to the window by yourself, as far away from JJ and Emily as you could just in case he had other plans than sleeping.

It took everything in him to not sit down next to you right away, the action would’ve been too obvious with all the empty seats around. And so for the first twenty minutes of the flight, you sat alone, waiting, trying to distract yourself by looking out the window.

He’d been staring at you relentlessly, impatiently waiting for the plane to stabilize in the air before thinking about approaching. He’d sat himself down at the perfect angle to watch you, his laptop light being the only one illuminating the otherwise pitch black plane.

He’d been reading the contract again, making sure that whatever he’d written in his sleep deprived and incredibly horny state was actually coherent, and properly worded before sending it to you.

Once he was sure everyone else was asleep, once he made sure that everything was worded as clearly as possible since there was no need for any twisted legal jargon, once he made sure that he was calm and collected enough, he hit send and watched as your phone lit up on the table beside you.

Your attention was finally brought back to the room, your hand shakily picking up the device before you saw what he’d sent you. He’d been smart to send it to your encrypted chat instead of to your official email, but it didn’t make it any less daunting, the lines between you and Aaron, and bouncingbunny1 and user1102 officially blurring.

You didn’t even dare glance in his direction, terrified of what it would do to you when you caught a glimpse of just how pent up he was. Instead you opened the file and began reading.

To say he was thorough was an understatement. You knew Aaron never did things halfway, never did things without thinking them through, and he’d clearly been thinking about this for a while.

He’d confessed early on in your private sessions that he’d never done anything like this before, never demanded complete control over someone in the way that he wanted over you. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious, willing to put in the work and learn.

You’d spent the entire first month just learning each other’s limits, him learning yours and discovering his own. By the second month he was more confident, eager to try things he’d found, determined to start having fun after setting up the foundation of trust between the two of you.

You had been enthusiastic from the start, never actually having someone exert this amount of dominance over you before. Sure, you’d had a few partners who were rough and liked to sometimes use you in the way you truly craved, but it had never been like this. You’d never gotten to explore the lifestyle this fully, with rules and requirements and clauses in place to protect yourself and your partner.

By the third month you’d gotten into a very comfortable routine with user1102, knew what to expect from your sessions, and it was through that knowledge that you somehow became even more excited to meet with him.

But there was just so much you could do, so much he could do to keep things interesting, to fill the ache in your chest, to fill the ache in your core. Your fingers had quickly become not enough so you’d started to use toys, and after a while even that wasn’t enough. You wanted him, needed him, craved him, in the flesh, to do the things he’d been making you do to yourself.

There had been a particularly tough case few weeks back that had you aching and desperate. You’d made it back home worked up, almost as badly as the first time you’d met him, and all you could think about was needing to be fucked so hard you forgot your name.

You were so close to biting the bullet, so close to asking him to meet face to face, so close to begging for him to come use you. But you knew you shouldn’t, knew that no matter how much you trusted him, you’d never seen his face, didn’t even know his name, and that could’ve been disastrous.

You didn’t realize you’d started rubbing your thighs together until you accidentally tapped your clit against the rough hem of your underwear. Your mouth was watering, your chest was practically heaving, your eyes clouded in lust as you read through the list of kinks that he had so thoroughly provided.

It was long, from calmer ones like spanking to the rougher ones he’d told you he fantasized about like collars and leashes. He was so perfect, your kinks lining up so perfectly that it almost felt like he’d been made just for you…or maybe you’d been made just for him, for each other.

You knew he was watching you from across the aisle, knew he was making sure to catch every reaction, every thought, every time your breath hitched. He needed to see it all, needed to know that you were consenting enthusiastically every step of the way, because even an ounce of hesitation and he would put a stop to it immediately.

bouncingbunny1: Master?

You bit down on your lip as you watched him pick up his phone, his attention off you and back on you virtually exhilarating.

user1102: Yes, bunny?

bouncingbunny1: May I please please please please pretty please touch myself?

He fought the urge to slam his laptop and cross the aisle towards you. Instead he took a steadying breath, daring to look at you, your puppy eyes and disarming pout barely visible in the low light of your phone screen.

But the little that he saw was enough to make him lose it, to finally realize that it didn’t matter just how much he wanted to be in control of you, you would always be in control of him first. Whatever you wanted, he would give to you, and the thought didn’t scare him, instead it only made him want you more.

user1102: Go to the bathroom and wait for me in there.

He watched as you locked your phone, plunging you in darkness once more before you slid out of your seat and made your way to the back of the plane. He waited impatiently for a few minutes, the anticipation of what he was about to do, to make you do, to see, finally in the flesh, made his heart beat rise like bile up his throat.

He finally stood, slowly yet surely walking across the plane, carefully making sure that no one had woken up, that no one knew what was happening. He didn’t need the looks, didn’t need wandering eyes to put two and two together, wanted to keep this just between the two of you, the privacy you deserved to figure whatever this was out the most important thing in his mind.

He stood in front of the unlocked bathroom for a second, steadying himself, getting out of his head and allowing him to slip into the role he’d been dreaming of playing for so long.

The bathroom was barely big enough for two people, but he squeezed in there regardless, his back pressed to the door tightly so that he didn’t touch you. You were just as overwhelmed as he was, your chest rising and falling deeply, your eyes glossed over with desire, your fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt.

He smirked to himself, the knowledge that you had gone to the bathroom before you left the precinct and changed into a skirt because you knew some version of this exact thing would happen almost enough to make him want to deny you of the pleasure.

He wanted to keep this professional, like it had been every time he called. One last time for old time’s sake, one last time before you were both responsible about this and discussed everything that he’d just sent you, one last time before you signed your names on a piece of paper that made you his officially. Only then would he allow himself to touch you, to worship you, to give you everything you wanted.

“On the counter,” he told you, eager to put some space between the two of you.

He watched you like a hawk, starving eyes following every twitch, every breath, every movement diligently. Your brain processed his words and you stepped forward, jumping on the vanity and waiting patiently for his next command. It had been like this for a while, this understanding of each other, of receiving and accepting.

He moved to face you, so close to you, to your open legs, to where he desperately craved to be. And still far enough that you were starting to get desperate, needy, whiny with each second that his hands weren’t on you.

“Bunch your skirt around your waist,” he continued, his strong hand coming up to rest over his growing erection.

You did as he said, eyes never leaving his. Your hands shook over your sheer tights, almost eagerly hooking under them and pulling them down your legs. But you stopped yourself, returning your hand back to its place against the sink to hold you up.

“Good girl,” he praised, his hand squeezing himself through his pants. That’s when you caught onto his game, caught onto what he was going to ask you to do since that was exactly what you had asked after all. “You can take them off now.”

You’ve never taken off your tights faster. There was always an issue, always something they got hooked on or an area where they stuck to your skin. But tonight they slid off your legs without so much as a beat too late. You tossed them to the side hurriedly and were met with an amused chuckle from the man in front of you.

But as much as he was trying to appear calm and collected, his hand had tightened his movements, his grip on himself clearly eager as well.

“Fuck,” you whispered, clearly enjoying the sight, the sight that he’d never allowed you to see, the sight that you’ve been fantasizing about for months.

“Go ahead, make yourself cum, bunny,” he groaned, back pressing against the wall farther to hold himself up.

Your cheeks immediately flushed crimson, embarrassment washing over you in burning hot waves. It was silly, you knew that. You’d done that and so much more for him, because of him for months. He’s probably seen you in as many positions, with as many toys, cumming in just as many ways — and yet this is what got you.

Make yourself cum. Make yourself cum while your boss watched you, make yourself cum while user1102 touches himself, make yourself cum while Aaron held your stare in his and completely shattered whatever platonic friendship the two of you have built for the past year.

“Don’t get shy on me now, sweet girl,” he cooed, his hand stilling its movements as an incentive for you to start yours.

You took one final steadying breath before you plunged, damning every self conscious thought you had into the darkest pits of your brain.

Your left hand slid down your stomach, teasing, making him pay for what he’s doing to you, as you pulled your legs up on the vanity, knees bent towards your chest.

His eyes glimmered in the light of the bathroom, his mouth slowly hanging open in anticipation, practically salivating for you.

You pressed your back against the mirror as your fingers hooked into your panties, pulling the completely soaked material to the side, exposing your slick folds to him. You watched him eagerly as he took in a sharp breath, his eyes darting between yours and your heat.

He was quick to reward you, his own hands unbuckling his belt unbearably slow. Two could play at this game, but neither of you had the patience for it right now. Your right hand flew right to your pussy, fingers quickly tracing the length of your folds, gathering your wetness towards your clit.

You moaned, just for him, just to remind him of what he should be doing as well, and he wasted no time sliding his zipper down and greedily pulling his cock out of his underwear.

You forgot how to breathe for a second, your brain struggling to process what it was seeing. He was big, bigger than your fantasies had concocted, bigger than you ever though he could’ve been, bigger than you knew what to do with. He smirked at the attention, stepping forward to bring it back to his face.

“Spit in my hand, bunny,” he extended his open palm to you and you could’ve sworn your head had exploded.

It took you a second to decide what to do. Your right hand returned to your aching entrance, gathering as much of your arousal as you could before you slapped your slick covered fingers against his palm.

He groaned loudly, so much so that it made your walls clench around nothing as even more leaked out of you. Before he could pull back, you brought his hand forward. You gathered as much saliva as you could in your mouth before leaning forward, eyes staring up at him filled with innocence, and you let the spit fall through your pursed lips onto his hand, mixing with the rest of your juices.

“Oh bunny, you’re killing me,” he moaned, his now drenched hand wrapping around his cock swiftly.

You smiled up at him, prideful, filthy, lustful, before your hand returned to its previous motions. You focused your energy on your clit now, slow and tight circles, matching the pace he subconsciously set.

As much as Aaron had revered to watch you pleasure yourself through his screen, that had been nothing compared to the real deal, to having you displayed in front of him, to knowing that he could reach out and touch you if he wanted.

“Finger yourself with your other hand,” he said through gritted teeth, the roughness of his hand around his sensitive tip almost pushing him over the edge. But he wasn’t done, he didn’t want to be, at least not yet.

You did as he wanted, making sure to open your legs wider so that he could watch as your fingers slid in and out of you. He moaned then, the sound practically vibrating in tandem with the airplane around you, making you almost feel him all around you.

He picked up his pace, strokes becoming more and more aggressive as he encouraged you to do the same. He was close, you could tell, and it swelled your chest with pride.

Usually you had to hear him closely, listen for those grunts that always let you know he was getting there. But seeing how his jaw tensed, how his breathing strained, how his hand squeezed harder around himself — you could not take it, your own tension building.

He knew that reaction well. He’d seen you wear it many times before. Your fingers were curling meticulously against your g-spot, your other ones picking up their pace over your clit while your thighs began to close together, seeking to relieve the tension.

But what made it even sweeter was the way he could now see your desire plastered all over your face, like you were the easiest book he’d ever read.

You looked at him, pleading, a broken shell of the confident agent he’d gotten the chance to know, turned into the slut he knew you could be. He took another step forward, his erection unbelievably close to your entrance, one more step and his tip would be in you.

You let out a gasp, your gaze frozen on the minuscule distance between your bodies. You wanted him to move forward, needed him to fill you up and relief the ache inside of you. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t and you knew it well.

Even then, in your desperation, you admired his determination to do things the right way. You both needed release, both craved it desperately, but he was not about to jeopardize your future relationship, one that needed to be built on of trust and communication and respect, for a quickie in the jet’s bathroom.

“Cum for me, bunny,” he told you, his voice gruff. You whimpered, allowing yourself to tune into the wave and ride it until it exploded within you.

You moaned loudly, your fingers not letting up their movements as you rode out your orgasm. Your walls clenched around your fingers, a gush of wetness pouring out of you to coat them in your slick.

His own strokes stilled for a moment, watching you come undone, savoring the fruits of his labor, waiting for you to come down from your high. It was only when your fingers slid out of you and you stilled your moments completely that he returned to his own.

“Can I cum in your panties, sweet girl?” he asked, his words getting tangled up in the unholy sounds spilling out of him.

You were hazy, your mind desperately trying to hold onto reality, onto your wits, onto the sound of his voice because you were terrified that if you didn’t, this would all disappear into thin air, back into the dream that you’d had for so long.

“Yes,” you managed, your shaky hand lifting up the front of your panties so that he could spill his seed over you.

His movements became erratic then, strokes became tugs, and just as quickly as it had began, it ended. He fully stepped into your personal space, his other hand wrapping around your thigh to keep you in place as he emptied himself into the wet cotton of your panties.

Your slick mixed with his spend, hot and heavy on your skin, clearly meant to mark you as his. He moaned into your ear, low, unhinged, euphoric, and you couldn’t help but whimper in return.

You were so far gone, so little and malleable, so much so that you knew that whatever he asked you to do then, you’d do it without question. Your head fell on the crook of his neck, labored breaths filling the room as he gently unhooked your fingers from your underwear to place it back to cover you.

He couldn’t stop looking at the white substance seeping through your panties, the squishy and lewdly wetness against your skin making him excited to fill your pussy up until you were leaking him everywhere.

You stayed like that for a few minutes. He knew he couldn’t keep you like that, couldn’t ask you to walk back out there and act as though nothing had happened, couldn’t risk you getting a rash because of his own ego.

At some point he tucked himself back into his boxers, getting himself back to the pristine put together image that he always was. He waited until you’d calmed down a little more before he cupped your face with his hands, pulling you to look at him again.

“Bunny, I’m going to get you all cleaned up, alright?”

You nodded, eyes sleepily blinking shut longer and longer. He set you back against the mirror, grabbing one of the towels and wetting it before he gently ran it over your hands and the inside of your thighs.

He set the towel to the side before he hooked his index fingers in your panties, pulling them down your legs before tossing them into the sink. He cleaned your pussy gently, making sure to get every last bit of the two of you off your delicate skin.

Once he was done, he patted you dry with another towel, reaching over to where your tights had landed to pick them up. He got on his knees, a sight that had you perking up just enough to catch him staring up at you with so much adoration you honestly didn’t know what to do with it.

It took everything in you not to melt right into his tough, to stay awake enough even though his warm finger riding up your legs was enough to lull you to sleep. It was only when he needed to hoist your tights over your ass that he picked you up, placing you back down on your shaky legs.

“Can you do me one last favor, sweet girl?” he whispered and you did your best to nod. “Can you pee for me? I don’t want you getting a UTI.”

You sighed deeply, being diligent not something you were looking forward to in that moment. But you nodded again, and he rewarded you with a soft kiss to your temple before he stepped outside of the bathroom to give you some privacy.

Once you were done, he walked you back to his seat on the plane, not caring if anyone saw because he knew that even if they did, they wouldn’t say anything at all. He made sure you were comfortable, wrapped in a blanket, buckled into the seat for safety, before he made his way back to the bathroom.

He cleaned everything up, going through his own routine before he washed his hands, pocketed your still damp panties, and made sure nothing looked out of place. He then grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge before making his way back to you.

He sat beside you, his hand softly grazing your cheek to wake you up long enough to press the bottle on your lips, silently urging you to drink.

You did without question, almost as if you’d done this all your life, the motion nothing more than routine, easy, normal.

“Master?” you whispered sweetly after he deemed you’d drank enough.

“Yes, bunny?”

“Can I have a kiss please?”

“Of course, sweet girl,” his nose tickled your own before his lips landed on yours, gentle, kind, perfect. You hummed against him, eyes closing for the final time before sleep overtook you.

He smiled proudly, his heart so full, so content, so excited for what the future had in store for the first time in a very long time. He watched you sleep the rest of the flight, watched you curl further into him, watched you reciprocate all of the feelings that had been plaguing him since the night before.

You wanted him just as much as he wanted you, and that was all he needed to lay the self-sabotage to bed, to allow himself to drift off to sleep, even if it was just for a few minutes so that he could fully take you in, because all he really needed was you curled into his side like you belonged there all along.

fucking hell i am oN MY KNEES for this man. honestly what a fucking jOY it is to write them.

send me more requests for bunny and clyde!! i don't really have a series planned for them so i'm down to just write requested scenarios and play around with where their story goes.

tags: @canuck-eh, @ssamorganhotchner, @xladyxdreamer, @gr3enflowers, @lilyviolets, @howabouticallyou, @shadowmemory, @simp4f1, @honeylovemoon, @powelvr25

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner smut #sugar daddy!hotch #dom hotch #master hotch #show your fangs writes #the secrets we keep #bunny and clyde #hotch x reader

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604to647 · 4 months

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Barón Tovar Takes a Wife

Third Movement (Presto agitato)

11K / Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero Tovar x fem!reader, a childhood best friends to lovers story

Summary: What do you do now that you realize you have feelings for the Barón?

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI please). Pining and Angst. Semi public kissing, groping and sex. Someone comes in his breeches 🤷🏻‍♀️. F!oral, fingering, thigh riding, unprotected PiV. Pet names (spanish), Pero catches reader and gives her a little twirl once.

A/N: I'm sorry for the word count 😅😅 I feel like the pacing of this final part is kind of like season 1 of Bridgerton where it was like 5 episodes of flirting and then SMUTSMUTSMUT 🤭🤭 Just wanted to give our Spaniard and his Dulce a HEA, that's all! Please please correct my Spanish!! Google won't be offended! Thank you for reading along and hope you're looking forward to Season 3 of Bridgerton next week!

Series Masterlist 🎼 First Movement 🎼 Second Movement 🎼

The following morning you wake to your ladies’ maid gently shaking you and a massive headache. Barely able open your eyes, so puffy from crying, you’re sure you gave her a terrible fright. After asking for and drinking some water, you try using the cool glass to depuff your eyes and alleviate the pounding in your head, but no difference is made; you continue to feel positively awful. Daphne comes into your room at the behest of the maid and immediately sees you’re much too unwell to entertain visitors today; it’s an easy decision to send all your suitors away and have them come back when you’re better. When you start to apologize for causing a fuss, she immediately shushes you and insists you get rest - she will have the maids bring up some soothing tea. You lay back down, exhausted, and drift off in the middle of telling her how much you love her.

---

Pero steps into Bridgerton House just as several young men are leaving; as they brush past him, he spots Colin speaking with a maid in the main foyer.

“Tovar! It’s been ages – how have you been?” Colin beams when he sees his friend.

In truth, Pero is here to see you; he can’t quite get over the look of distress on your face when you left him last night. Not for the first time, Pero silently curses Lord Ridlington for having sent over women to his house unsolicited last night, his apparent idea of a prank. Leaving the women to themselves in a waiting room, Pero had been discussing with his butler the next course of action when you had surprised him beneath his window. After you left, he made the proper arrangements for the women to leave discreetly, and had gone to bed thinking of you as usual.

“I’ve been well, thank you. Hope things have been going well here? Have today’s suitors started their visits earlier than usual?” He gestures to another three men now descending the stairs and making towards the exit in an orderly line.

“No, my Lord,” the maid explains, “Miss is ill today. Her suitors have been sent away and asked to return when she has recovered and is ready to receive visitors again.”

“Ill?!” How could you have taken ill when he just saw you? Instantly Pero admonishes himself for having kept you standing outside last night - the night chill must have disagreed with you. “Please,” he begs, “take me to see her.”

The maid looks panic stricken. Surely this Spanish nobleman must understand the impropriety of a man being let in to the bed chambers of an unmarried woman.

Colin diverts her attention, “Marie, it will be okay. Barón Tovar is an old family friend of the Count’s. There is nothing improper afoot. The door will remain open and you and I shall both be but a step away.”

With Mr. Bridgerton’s assurance, Marie the maid leads the two men to your door and opens it wide before stepping back to wait outside with Colin. Pero walks into darkness, the curtains still drawn to help you sleep and ease the pain of your headache, but your magnetic pull leads him to you with no issue.

Kneeling by your bedside, Pero says your name softly, but you do not stir. He goes to push aside some hair that’s fallen across your forehead and is alarmed when it feels hot to the touch; using the back of his hand to check your forehead and cheeks, he finds you clammy and feverish. Shouting for Marie, both Colin and the maid rush in to Pero’s call, “Please find the Duchess! Her friend is running a fever and a doctor needs to be called. And please bring me a basin of cold water and a clean washcloth at once!”

Daphne rushes in minutes later to find Pero dabbing your forehead with the wet cloth that Marie procured, “Oh no! I saw her this morning and knew she was unwell, but I did not think to check for a temperature!”

Shaking his head softly, Pero entreats the Duchess, “Do not blame yourself, your Grace. Likely this morning she was not feverish when you saw her. Please, has a doctor been called?”

The Duchess nods tearfully, grateful for Pero’s kind words and feeling a kinship with this man who clearly shares her tremendous concern for your well being.

When the doctor arrives, Daphne stays in the room and gives Pero a nod of reassurance; he leaves begrudgingly though he knows you are in safe hands with the Duchess. Hovering impatiently never more than a step away from the door, Pero breathes a sigh of relief when he overhears the doctor say that your temperature is no longer increasing, and that if kept cool and comfortable, your fever should easily break over the next day or two. He vows to ensure both conditions are met to the best of his abilities until the moment you awake.

After the doctor leaves and Daphne has gone in search of a servant to fetch your father, Pero stays by your side, continuously stroking your hair gently and dabbing your hot skin with a cool cloth. Every time Daphne passes by the open door of your room, she looks in to find Pero watching over you, brows furrowed, eyes full of concern and worry. Sometimes the Duchess will see Pero’s lips moving, speaking gently to you - though she never hears the words he says, she can tell they’re heartfelt. It becomes crystal clear to her that two weeks ago she had simply asked the Barón the wrong question; instead of “Do you intend to court her?”, she should have asked Pero: “Do you love her?” The answer obvious.

Pero never leaves your side, not when the Bridgerton women visit, or even when your father comes. He just tucks himself into the corner of the room until their visits are over, as if afraid to leave you. When it’s just him and you alone, he tries his best to make sure you’re comfortable, arranging your blankets nicely and propping up your pillows so that your sleep is restful and serene. He requests that cool water and clean cloths are at his constant disposal, and makes sure to dab your face, neck, and decolletage at consistent intervals in order to keep your temperature down. And while he does so, Pero continuously talks to you, encouraging you to get better, coaxing you back to him.

He calls you carino, hermosa, princesa, mi reina, mi amor, and all the other endearments he doesn’t ever let himself call you save for in his head. He lavishes you with compliments and words of praise that he's never allowed to slip past his lips - how perfect you are, how sweet and smart, that he doesn’t know anyone else like you and that your cheerful demeanor and melodic voice are the only things that can ever make him smile. He tells you how he hasn’t smiled as much as he has since he reunited with you at the Danbury ball in years. He confesses that every time he holds you while you dance, he has trouble letting go when the music ends, and when he sees another man take your hand and spin you around the room, he has to hold himself back from physically stepping in and pulling you back into his arms. He tells you that he finds you beautiful and intoxicating, and describes every last inch of you that he can’t stop dreaming about, but lingers the longest in his description of your eyes and the richness of expressions they make that leave him breathless. He tells you all these things because if he doesn’t say them out loud, he thinks he will burst from having to hold his feelings in all the time. He tells you these things because he knows you will never hear them.

As the doctor predicted, the fever breaks late the following day and you start to stir shortly after. Blinking your eyes open slowly, they come into focus to your father’s worry lined face and you watch as it cracks with relief, “Welcome back, dearest. How do you feel?”

Not sure you can trust your voice right now, you give your father a small smile and nod when he says he needs to get the doctor. In the few minutes you have alone, you try to get your bearings; the last thing you remember is waking to a terrible headache and falling back asleep after Daphne told you she would be sending your suitors away. You swear you have vague memories of Pero’s voice and soft touch, but that couldn’t have been real. Pero. Oh. You remember now the reason for having woken up before feeling empty and sad, but you don’t have too long to linger on it because your father returns swiftly with the doctor.

After declaring you well on your way to a full recovery, the doctor leaves you with your father; the Count, looking like the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders, hugs you tightly and clasps his hands tightly over yours, “I am so glad you are better, dearest. Now, will you please tell your suffering father what is troubling that heart of yours?”

You’re shocked. How could your father know about your feelings for Pero when you only realized them a few nights ago? Your surprise must be written all over your face because the Count gently explains, “My dear, in the entirety of your life, you have only ever had such a fever twice, both times due to crying yourself sick from heartbreak. The first time was when you were a young girl and I read you The Little Mermaid - the ending saddened you to tears. The other was when we were leaving Portugal and I didn’t let you keep the stray puppy you had been feeding for a month. This is how I know something ails your heart terribly. Please. Tell your father so he can help you.”

Your heart swells with affection for your father - he has always been the most loving and caring man, attentive to your feelings and understanding of your nature. There is no one on this earth who you trust so whole heartedly and with whom you feel so safe. Except for Pero, you suddenly realize.

You tell your father everything. You tell him about how Pero lets you be yourself without reservation, and that with him you don’t need to temper down your enthusiasm for your interests or make your experiences seem smaller than they are. How he encourages you in everything you do and makes you feel like you’re capable of anything and everything. He respects you and approaches you with kindness, always making you feel safe and taken care of. That he makes you laugh all the time. And that you’ve taken Pero and his wonderfulness for granted, not realizing just how rare and valuable all his amazing qualities are because if you had you would have figured out earlier that you’re completely in love with him. You cry softly and confess to your father that your heart is broken because you’re in love with a man who will never see you more than a childhood compatriot, and that you may never get over this sad truth.

The Count listens to you sympathetically, and when you’re finished, he simply tilts his head thoughtfully and asks, “How do you know he does not care for you in the same manner?”

You can hardly tell your father that you snuck out of Bridgerton House and interrupted Pero when he had company over, so you have to cite another reason you’re so certain of how Pero feels about you. But you find yourself struggling to come up with any concrete examples or reasoning that satisfy even yourself; all you can say is, “Because he wishes for me to find a husband. He encourages me to do so. I’m simply the daughter of his father’s friend.”

Something like bemusement dances over your father’s face, “It seems to a me that a man who thinks of you as simply the daughter of his father’s friend would not have purchased my shares in the fleet.”

You’re absolutely stunned. Pero purchased your father’s shares? But why? There was no inherent income from the investment, the dividends benefitted you and your future children only, “Why would Pero do that?”

“You will have to ask him yourself, dearest. It shouldn’t be too long before he visits himself now that he’s likely heard you’re awake. He had not left your bedside for nearly two days and it was only at my insistence that he let me sit vigil so he could go home and change his clothes.”

Again, you’re astonished; is it possible that your vague recollections of Pero’s voice and gentle touches while you were ill are real?

“I will say, when I asked him the same question of why, his answer was that he did not want the hard work you and I put into our happy venture to be squandered. He said he knew that would break your heart.”

It’s true, it would.

“With his experience, I know the fleet would be in good hands.”

Nodding, you have to agree.

“… and you would be in good hands.”

You look up to see your father looking at you with an expression you can’t quite place. You’re about to ask him about it when you hear a quiet knocking and you look over to see Pero standing in the open doorway, as if you had summoned him with your conversation.

“My apologies, I do not mean to interrupt. I thought I heard your voice and wanted to see if you were awake,” Pero looks tired, but hopeful.

The Count waves him in and gets up, whispering in your ear, “Be kind to him, dearest. The man has been in anguish and has not left your bedside for more than a few minutes these past two days.” Kissing you on the cheek, he tells you he will go and find the Duchess to give her the good news of your recovery if the doctor has not yet done so himself. After he pulls away, you notice for the first time that your room is filled with peonies, every flat surface covered with the most splendid displays in the prettiest pastel colours – your heart soars at the sight. When Pero takes your father’s place in the chair across from you, neither of you notice that the Count closes the door behind him.

“Dulce, how are you feeling,” asks Pero with as much feeling as you’ve ever heard from him.

You tell him you’re much better, and that although no one has said so explicitly, you suspect that much of your recovery is due to his diligent care and watch over you.

“It was nothing, Dulce. I was worried about you. I am glad you are okay now,” he says, relief evident in his voice.

“Thank you for taking care of me. I really don't know what I have done to deserve your kindness, Pero. And not only these past two days when I’ve taken ill, but over the entire course of this season – I do not think I have ever properly thanked you for being there for me, supporting and encouraging me, and bringing me such peace and joy so that I did not buckle under the pressure of my debut. Please allow me to do so right now. Thank you, Pero,” you look at him with adoration and admiration, pouring all your feelings out and disguising them as simple gratitude.

“It has been my absolute pleasure, truly. I am so very proud of the woman you have grown up to be: beautiful, smart, funny, and so, so very caring. You are one of kind, Dulce – and the lucky man who marries you needs to know just how special you are. There isn’t anyone else who has your vibrant spirit, your sweet disposition, your fun-loving heart. He needs to know and nurture all these wonderful qualities so that your light never goes out,” Pero espouses your virtues and merits with eyes fixed upon yours, wishing he could express just how deep his admiration truly runs.

To say you’re affected would be an understatement, and it makes you bold and brave.

“Pero, I cannot tell you how much your kind words mean to me. I have never known a man to be more genuine and earnest that you; when you say something, you mean it. I find you so very thoughtful this way. And in other ways as well – I know, for example, it must have been you who filled this room with my favourite flowers.” Pero nods indulgently and you carry on, “… and I know you purchased the shares in the fleet from my father. Thank you, Pero.”

Pero is surprised, although he had not asked the Count to keep the sale from you, he didn’t expect you to know already.

You’re looking at him with an expression he won’t let himself name, eyes soft, almost pleading, “Why would you do something so generous, Pero?”

Pero remains quiet, as if wrestling with how he wishes to answer and you wait patiently, not sure what to expect.

“The owner of the shares has custody of a great gift. The fleet is an impressive venture - it has potential to do considerable good in this world, and much of that is thanks to you and your father’s dedication and contributions – the holder of these shares cannot squander that opportunity; he needs to honour you and your father’s legacy by carrying on the good work you’ve started together. But that in and of itself is not the gift. The man who holds these shares is also given the gift of being able to take care of you, to have a small hand in ensuring a prosperous future for you and your children. I… could not take the risk that someone who did not understand the honour of this charge would hold these shares. I hope you can understand and not think it imprudent of me.”

You don’t know what to say. Pero is so generous and considerate – how could he ever think you would view his gesture as anything but deeply caring? Unsure of your silence, Pero attempts to lighten the mood, “This way, I can still be in your life. I can come to see you when I need to discuss matters of the fleet.”

“Pero, you’re my friend! You do not need to have a business pretense to see me.”

He shakes his head sadly, “You will be married, Dulce. Your husband would not like a man like me visiting his wife frequently.”

“A man like you?” you’re not sure what he means.

“A man who looks at you the way I look at you.”

You inhale sharply, hardly allowing yourself to breathe, “And how do you look at me, Pero?”

“Like you are the sun, Dulce. Like everything you touch is made brighter and better from the light of your smile and the warmth of your sweet laugh. As if under your care and attention, everything and everyone, including me, grows – stronger, brighter, better. I look at you like I dream about the graceful notes of your voice every night and wish to hear your melody of thoughts and opinions on all things. I look at you like I am hypnotized just by the sway of your hips and even the lilt of your fingers. Everyday, I’m ever more enchanted with the tilt of your head and curve of your mouth. I look at you like I could never get enough.”

“And what if I don’t want that?”

“Then I will stay away, mi reina. Anything you wish,” though crushed, Pero knows that he would do whatever you asked.

“No, Pero, you misunderstand. What if I don’t want a husband who does not want you looking at me like that? What if I want you to look at me like that? What if I do not want a husband who isn’t you?”

“Dulce…” Pero’s heart has leapt into his throat, he can hardly allow himself to believe what he’s hearing, “… you do not know what you’re saying. You would not want me for a husband.”

You smile kindly, “And why not?”

Pero looks at you so sadly it breaks your heart, “You would not wish to separate from your friends and leave England to be mistress of a lowly Barón’s estate in a foreign land where you know no one and do not speak the language. Not when you have suitors with much grander fortunes, with estates nearer to your friends, and where you and your children would grow up in the style befitting the daughter of a British Count. You would not want a husband who is never home and spends more time on the seas and in far off lands than he does on home soil; one you never see and for whom you would worry all the time, not knowing where he is or what he is doing.”

“Would you not be willing to take me with you on your travels, Pero?”

“Of course, I would,” Pero never second guesses his answer.

Heart still aflutter at Pero’s romantic declarations, you press ahead, determined. “Well. It seems then that no one would be better suited to be my husband than you! You must know me well enough to know that I do not care for grand fortunes and estates, and my dear father and now you have made sure that I will never be financially dependent on any husband. What I care for is freedom and adventure! And exploration and not being kept from the joys this life has to offer because I am a woman, or just somebody’s wife. As for my friends, I can always visit! And I am fortunate enough that the strength of our bonds is not dependent on having to see each other constantly. Honestly! This would not be the first time in my life I have gone to live in a foreign country where I do not speak the native tongue – it’s practically second nature to me now! But I can see how it would be useful to be able to fluently converse with servants and locals - I suppose I would just have to commit myself to learning Spanish. That is,” you’re suddenly embarrassed upon realizing that Pero hasn’t actually asked you to be his wife, and instead, you’re espousing all the reasons you find the match to be agreeable when he himself hasn’t expressed any desire for it, “if you would wish to have me.”

“Dulce, all I have done since the moment I laid eyes on you at the Danbury Ball is wish to have you. Do you know how hard it was for me to see you entertaining all those suitors when I was certain none of them could ever appreciate you for even half the wonderful person you are? None of them had any idea what a smar-“

You crash your lips to his, and after the initial surprise, Pero kisses you back with the fervent need that’s been building in his soul the past few months. Throwing your arms around him, you open your mouth to his just as his hands pull you flush to his chest; it’s the warmest, hungriest first kiss to have ever been kissed. Your mind having only recently caught up to your heart, and Pero’s constrained feelings finally being set free, your tongues press together over and over, spilling all the unspoken words between the both of you. On instinct you fist Pero’s shirt and pull him down with you onto the bed, Pero’s eyes darkening as he climbs on top of you, placing one knee in between your legs while keeping the other on the ground. You finally run your hands through his soft curls and it feels as incredible as you had imagined two nights ago; you both moan softly at the sensation.

“Dulce, you make the prettiest noises…”

You purr softly at Pero’s praise, leading him to groan deeper into your mouth and you feel the hand that isn’t braced on the pillow next to your head start to skate up your side, landing near your breast and tentatively drawing circles on the underside of your plush curves with its thumb. You arch into Pero’s hand to encourage him to touch you, and he responds as he always promised he would if he had the chance which is to give in to your every desire. Groping your breast and finding your nipple between his fingers, Pero rolls and pinches so expertly that you can’t help but writhe beneath him. He shifts to kiss down your neck as he continues his attentions on your peak and when his knee brushes your throbbing centre, you gasp loudly before covering your mouth with your hands. Still breathing heavily, the two of you giggle and smile stupidly at each other in the tender moment. Pressing his forehead against yours, Pero whispers, “Mi reina, we should stop, I still need to ask your father for your hand. Tomorrow, I am sure he will come here for breakfast and I will ask to speak with him after.”

Looking deep into is eyes, you nod; you know Pero’s right, though there’s a warmth radiating from your very being that wishes to invite scandal and tell him to never stop touching you, knowing by the way he’s making you feel right now that it would be worth it.

Not without regret, Pero pulls himself off of you and stands; after he helps you sit up, Pero tips your chin with his finger so you look at him squarely. A seriousness takes over his face, an expression he usually reserves for others, “Are you sure you want me, mi amor? You have so many suitors, so many options.”

Your eyes shine with sincerity and so much softness for this man that does not seem to understand just how much you love him. You vow to spend the rest of your days showing him, “There are no options when there’s you, Pero.”

You can’t help but shriek a little in laughter as Pero falls on you and crushes his lips to yours, pinning your body to your bed with his large and solid frame. Kissing you over and over, Pero punctuates his affection with barely strung together words of love - So perfect. So perfect. Can’t believe it. How. How did I get so. Damn. Lucky. Beautiful. Perfect girl.

Right before your giggles can turn into moans, a knock on your door freezes you both. The noise is quickly followed by the Duchess’ slightly amused voice, “Is everything okay? We have brought up dinner. Please let me know when it is decent for us to come in.”

Giving you one last peck on your lips before chuckling lightly, Pero pulls you up and whispers, “Tomorrow,” before going to open the door for Daphne.

The next morning you find Pero waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs when you come down. Checking quickly to make sure there aren’t any lingering servants, you step off the third to last step and fling yourself into his arms. Pero catches you easily and gives you a twirl before placing you gently on your feet, then places a less gentle kiss to your lips. With a few hurried murmurings of devotion - I missed you. You look beautiful. I still can’t believe you’re mine - you break apart and head to breakfast.

When the two of you enter the dining room, you’re greeted exuberantly by your friends congratulating you on your recovery and expressing their delight that you’re well enough to rejoin them. Your father hugs you and you think you detect a knowing smile gracing his face, but you’re too soon seated with platters of food being offered and pushed towards you for you to be sure. It’s a happy occasion but also slightly awkward – you’re seated next to Pero, but you have to pretend that nothing has changed between the two of you. Trying to cheerfully chat with your father and friends, you find yourself unable to give the conversation your full attention because you trying with all your might to hold in the most wonderful news of your life, and with it, your overflowing happiness. It doesn’t help that Pero finds increasingly mischievous ways to secretly touch you throughout breakfast: foot reaching over to playfully nudge yours, gently squeezing your thigh under the table. When he purposefully brushes his hand down your arm and over yours in order to reach for the butter dish, you gasp in surprise - his touch out in the open sending a warm thrill through to your heart. In response to your friends’ concerns, you have to lie and say you may still be feeling fatigued, and Pero, ever the menace, pats your shoulder affectionately and reminds you not to overexert yourself before buttering his scone with a smirk.

After your father finishes his meal, you nervously watch Pero hastily shove his last piece of food into his mouth before asking the Viscount for use of his office, and entreats your father for a word. Finishing your own breakfast as quickly as you can without drawing suspicion, you find your way to the closed office doors and pace outside impatiently. Try as you may, you cannot make out any of what is being spoken in the office, even when you press your ear up to the door. After what feels like an eternity, the door opens and Pero exits; not the least bit surprise to find you outside, he whispers in your ear as he walks by, “Your father wishes to see you now, Dulce. Come find me afterwards. I will be upstairs writing a letter.”

The Count welcomes you into the office with open arms and you immediately fly into your father’s loving embrace. As he continues to envelope you in the warmth of his joy, he chuckles, “Well, dearest, I think your old father deserves some acknowledgement for being right.”

Pulling away from him, you look at the face that’s so much like your own, eyes crinkled in mirth and a smile big enough to rival yours, “I concede, Father - you were right. And I have never been so happy to have been wrong!”

Your father’s already expressive eyes shine with an extra brightness, “All I have ever hoped for is your happiness, my dear. Pero is a good man, like his father before him and he has given me every assurance that he will cherish and take care of you the way you deserve. I shall rest easily knowing that you will be in his capable hands… and he in yours.”

What did you ever do to deserve such a brilliant father who has given you the most wonderful life? You ponder this as you walk up the stairs after telling your father that you love him and saying goodbye for the day. You suspect you’ll never discover a satisfactory answer, but can only hope you can one day bestow the same unconditional love and support upon your own children.

You find Pero sitting at the corner desk in the drawing room where some of the Bridgertons are relaxing: Eloise and Colin reading, Francesca tinkering at the piano forte, Daphne looking over some correspondence of her own. Approaching him silently, you look over his shoulder and whisper, “Mi rey, to whom are you writing?”

Smiling at your Spanish endearment of choice, Pero responds without looking up from his task, “I am writing my king, Dulce, and asking him for his permission to marry.”

Ah right, you consider that the Count could very well be penning a similar letter to the queen at this same moment, “What happens if he refuses, Pero?”

“Then I abscond with my new bride and we live like pirates on the run,” smiles Pero, still not looking up.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” you grin.

Pero finally sets his soft gaze upon you, “Nothing can be so bad if you are by my side, mi reina.”

He looks at you with such devotion and affection, you can’t help yourself - you cup his perfect face in your hands and bend down to kiss him. Pero returns your soft, gentle kisses with his own, nothing urgent, nothing hurried – just a moment of tenderness that couldn’t have been restrained.

You don’t break apart even when you hear the successive gasps of your friends or even when Colin cheers, unable to part from Pero’s lips even a moment sooner than you need to. When the two of your finally look up, it’s to the sight of the Duchess standing with her hands on her hips and a beaming smile on her face, “Do you two have something to tell us?”

You and Pero attend all of the remaining season events as a happily engaged couple. Pero, no longer scowling all by his lonesome against the wall, but standing tall and proud next to you; his hand laced through yours or comforting and firm on your lower back as the two of you receive congratulations from the ton. He drinks in the jealous looks from your former suitors and inwardly chuckles a little at the conceding grumbles from the mamas who proclaim with surprise that they didn’t know he had been looking for a wife. His stoic countenance cracking just a little at their poorly concealed scandalized faces when he replies that he hadn’t been. For your part, you don’t notice any of this; you only have eyes and ears for Pero. Your face hurts from smiling so much – it’s all you can do to tear your eyes away from your handsome fiancé in order to respond politely to the questions you receive from curious members of the ton.

You still dance every dance, floating on air as you traverse the floor in the strong arms of your dashing Spaniard; now that there is no danger of some other man whisking you away from him for the next dance, Pero quite enjoys the dance floor. He holds you closer than he probably should, chests touching and faces so close that the gentle fan of your breath curls over his lips; his hands find themselves placed low on your back during the waltz, dipping scandalously close to where he really wants them to be, itching to squeeze the plush globes of your ass. If anyone was to make a comment to you about it, you would giggle and simply say that your fiancé is a passionate man.

And he is. A passionate man, that is. Under his grave and steely visage, Pero is a man who yearns for and craves the woman he loves, hungry for you at all times. Such a man is not made of infinite restraint - the limits of Pero’s self control having already been sorely tested for the past few months. As such, whenever an opportunity to escape the rigid formality of these events would arise, Pero wasted no time whisking you away for himself.

At the Grand Picnic, he steals you away to a secluded spot in the gardens where he proceeds to kiss you so fervently and passionately that you actually get dizzy. He presses you against the base of some winged sculpture and hungrily licks and sucks down your neck, all while you cover your mouth with your hands, hoping against hope to contain your moans and soft whimpers. The stone angel watches from its perch as Pero trails his mouth down past your collar towards the swell of your breasts, already rapidly rising and falling. Pressing feather light kisses to the tops of your breasts, Pero drinks in your breathy giggles when his scruff tickles you, before diving in devilishly, lapping at your ample curves and the valley in between. As you start to pant from arousal, Pero finds himself most ardently wishing that your tits would break free of their fine silk confines and spill into his mouth.

A la mierda, he thinks and glides his tongue into the sliver of space between your dress and skin, dragging it across your chest until he hits your hardened nipple; having found his prize, Pero dives in, straining with his tongue to stroke your peak harder and faster. When he leverages enough space with his chin to wedge in between your soft skin and the fabric of your dress, Pero takes your breast into his mouth and sucks while groping your other breast with his hand, finding the twin nipple already straining against your gown, aching to be played with. The combined sensation has you grabbing at Pero’s hair and pressing him closer to you; with your hands now otherwise occupied, your gasps and moans spill unfiltered from your open mouth. The obscene sounds Pero pulls from you must start to carry, because soon you hear voices getting nearer to where you and Pero have now frozen, his mouth buried in your chest; he places one last chaste kiss to tops of each of your breasts before the two of you giggle and run hand-in-hand out of the gardens.

At the Opera, Pero secures a box on the second mezzanine for the two of you. With most of the ton preferring the orchestra seats or boxes closer to the stage, you find yourselves alone in the secluded alcove nearer to the house balcony. Once the lights dim and the overture starts, Pero takes your hand in his and you lean on his shoulder, relaxing into his closeness. By the time the audience is enjoying the soprano’s heart-breaking aria in the third act, Pero has his left arm thrown around you and the knuckles of his right hand are ghosting over the front of your panties where he finds them already damp from want.

“Keep your eyes on the stage, Dulce,” he whispers in your ear as his thumb draws slow circles over your clit. You have to bite your lip to stop yourself from crying out, trying with all your might not to let your whole body react to Pero’s teasing lest it draws the attention of the opera house attendees sitting on the balcony or in the boxes on the opposite side of the hall.

Pero is patient. And thorough. He takes an inordinate time exploring the shape of your pussy - running his thumb then fingers over the outline of your slit and the hardening form of your clit, eventually cupping your mound and letting you grind down on his palm to give you some of the friction you so desperately seek. He toys with you over the fabric of your underwear for the remainder of the 3rd act until your panties are completely soaked through. Only once the 4th act is underway does he slip his hand down the front of your underwear and start to run his forefinger through your folds.

“Pero…” you sigh, spreading your legs wider to allow him more freedom of movement.

“Doing so good for me, mi amor,” he whispers back, continuing his smooth, teasing strokes, dragging your sticky arousal through the valleys of your seam and trailing it up to your clit, spreading it over and around your bundle of nerves before returning his fingers to your wet core. He repeats this over and over, alternating the speed and pressure of his fingers, never letting you settle into a complacent state. Quite the opposite – you feel like your body is on fire.

Willing yourself to breathe through your nose as evenly as you can, you focus on the soprano’s finale song before the ensemble gathers for the finale; just as the singer hits the high notes of her solo with a warm vibrato, Pero pushes a finger straight into your heat and you whine in harmony with her. Slowly he pumps his finger in and out of your tight hole, nearly losing control with the way you clench as he drags along your warm warms; Pero feels you hum around him as pleasure you’ve never felt before radiates throughout your entire body. The squelching sound of Pero working your cunt are thankfully masked by the musical drama unfolding on the stage, and Pero uses the opportunity to ask you if you’re ready for another.

Seeing you nod as subtly as you can, Pero murmurs, “Good girl,” before adding a second finger to join the first. Oh. You’re so full. It’s a stretch, but the sting pairs perfectly with the devastating pleasure now coursing through your veins as Pero slowly drives his fingers into you. Staying with a slower pace until you start dripping down his wrist, Pero’s fingers now start to thrust faster, keeping tempo with the musical build that the ton in the orchestra is enjoying, clueless to your lascivious activities above them.

When Pero presses his thumb to your slippery clit, you surge forward and grab onto the balcony banister for stability, nearly in danger of drawing the attention of unwanted eyes. Refusing to ease up in his efforts on your cunt, Pero continues to push you closer and closer to your high, his fingers never faltering from their punishing pace until you come and cry out in tune with the finale’s final chorus. While the rest of the audience applauses when the curtain falls, Pero’s praise is only for you - purring that you did so good for him and kissing you gently as his slips his slick covered hand back into his glove.

At the Hastings Ball, you’re the one feeling bold. Having arrived at your friend’s estate a week prior to help the Duchess with preparations, you familiarize yourself with the grounds and all the intimate, secret corners perfect for intimate, secret things. Once all the guests have arrived and the festivities have begun in earnest, you sneak off with your fiancé, leading him down a hidden staircase into the Duke’s impressive wine cellar. With all of tonight’s refreshments having already been pulled from inventory, you know no one will be coming down here during the ball; you’re free to touch, feel and love on Pero in all the ways you desire. Once Pero realizes the amount of privacy you’ve been afforded, he’s like a dog unleashed, stalking and cornering you into a wall with a growl, sniping at your neck with his teeth and lips, pawing at your soft curves already on display for him in your pretty ballgown.

Here in the cellar, while you still cannot be loud, but you don’t have to be quiet – the cavernous room echos your quiet moans and Pero’s deep grunts like a soundtrack of pleasure that’s percussed by heavy breathing as the two of you drown in one another. Lips attached to yours, but eyes kept open to take in your lustful expression, Pero spies an unopened crate out of the corner of his eye and smiles against your mouth, “Come here, Dulce. Let me show you something.”

After letting him lead you to the crate, you allow Pero to help you on top before scooting you back so your legs no longer dangle over the edge. Grinning, you ask playfully, “What, pray tell, do you wish to show me, Barón?”

“Want to show you how I’m going to make my pretty wife feel good every day we are married,” Pero looks at you, eyes dark, as his starts to ruffle up the many layers of your dress. You giggle as his pushes through the yards of fabric with a feigned annoyance, bunching it up for you to hold against your chest like an overstuffed pillow. Once Pero is satisfied with his unfettered access, he gently pushes you to lean back on your elbows, hands still laid prettily on your pillow of dress skirts, eyes watching your handsome fiancé’s movements. Pero leans over the edge of the crate and rubs your silk stocking covered calves with his big firm hands as he starts kissing up your leg starting from where your stockings end mid thigh. Every kiss he leaves on your skin gives you a shiver as the cool cellar air hits the imprint his lips leaves behind; then, as he gets closer to your heat, he starts to open mouth kiss where you’re the most sensitive, dragging his tongue back and forth over these tender spot and leading you to throw you head back and close your eyes in heady desire. When he repeats this fog inducing pattern on the inside of your other thigh, you start begging, “Pero, please… please, my Lord, ple-pl-please!”

Nipping at your sensitive flesh with his teeth, Pero smirks against your leg, “What do you need, mi reina?”

Opening your eyes, you nearly buck into his face when you see Pero’s roguish expression peeking up at you from between your wide spread legs, “Touch me please, mi rey.”

“Here?” he asks, with pretend innocence before he dives in and starts devouring your pussy over the fabric of your underwear without waiting for your answer. This feels different. So much like his fingers but even more sensual, intimate, wild. Pero mouths and nuzzles your cunt with a precision only rivalled by that of his tongue; his tongue has a mind of his own, gently prodding, exploring, reaching where his lips can’t. Pero's hands reach up your legs and hook under the band of your soaked panties and you catch him look at you before he murmurs “May I?” directly into your cunt. The vibrations of his question run through to your chest and it’s all you can do to nod quickly before you watch him pull the frilly undergarment down your legs and have them drop to the ground. Already completely wrecked, Pero takes in your glistening folds, wet and primed, and growls, “Look at this perfect pussy. And she’s all mine.”

You run one hand through his soft curls and grip his hair so he’ll look at you, smiling lazily, already unbelievably blissed out, you promise, “All yours.”

“Mine,” Pero repeats, and then he buries his face into heaven.

The sensation is overwhelming in the very best way. Pero is eating you, no, devouring you like a man starved; every press of his lips to your pussy somehow deeper and hungrier than the last, as his tongue licks every crest and wave of your core and marks them for his own. Your slick pools from you, down your backside and dampens your gown beneath you; the wet noises from Pero’s mouth against your folds echo obscenely around you and your voice cannot help but try to add in its own harmony. All of this makes you feel like a worshiped goddess about to ascend her alter and simultaneously like a wanton whore who knows that true heaven lies in the bodily pleasures of this mortal realm. Then, as Pero’s mouth closes over your clit and he starts to flick your throbbing nub with his tongue, you realize in your daze that no, what you are is something better than either of those two things: you’re the woman who is marrying Barón Pero Tovar. That’s the thought that overflows from your thumping heart and pushes you over the edge, coming on Pero’s face as you chant his name in a grateful prayer.

After the Ball, you’re positively exhausted from purposefully overdoing the socializing after returning from the wine cellar so no one would recall your long absence. Yawning, you’re giving your hair a final brush when you hear a soft clink against your bedroom window, followed shortly by another, then another.

Confused, you approach your window with slight trepidation, and upon looking out, you think at first that your tired eyes must be deceiving you. Below your window, gazing up at you, is Pero. He looks devastatingly handsome; yet to undress – Pero is still in his formal breeches, but his white shirt has been unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, exposing his smooth, tanned skin to your admiring gaze. You might lick your lips at the sight. Giggling as you tiptoe down the stairs, you walk out onto the terrace that hangs off the sitting room directly below your bedroom, greeted by Pero’s blinding smile, “Barón, what are you doing here?”

It's an easy climb up the side of the wall to the terrace level for Pero and his long legs; once he’s standing directly in front of you, he answers, “I could not sleep without seeing you one last time, Dulce.”

Where did this man who adores you so openly and without reservation come from? You throw your arms around his neck and pull him in for a gleeful kiss; you adore him too, after all.

Still grinning, Pero jokes, “And as I recall, it is my turn to call upon you in the dead of night from beneath your window in order to rouse you from the comfort of your bed chamber.”

Although he has no such intent, Pero’s words immediately transport you back to the night you realized your feelings for him… and how you had left his house, devastated upon the discovery that he was not alone. Stilling in your movements, you shrink away from Pero a little; none of this goes without notice.

“Dulce, are you okay? I’m sorry, I did not mean to imply there was anything wrong with these late-night meetings, but if you prefer to go back inside, I understand.”

You shake your head to let him know you’re not upset by that, but still your expression remains slightly sad and hurt. Pero bends at the knee to meet your eye, “Mi amor?”

You’ve never lied or kept anything from Pero in all the time you’ve known him, and now that you’re his fiancé, you’re not about to start. Looking at the ground next to you, you mumble, “I’m sorry, I was just remembering the night you’re alluding to; when I interrupted you… with those two women.”

When Pero doesn’t answer, you wonder if he’s upset with you for having disturbed him that night, and you look up to meet his eye finally, trying to give him a brave smile, “Please do not be upset with me. I did not know you had company, which would have been entirely your private business, to which I know I am not entitled. But if I must be honest, I do not particularly enjoy imagining you with other women.”

Pero has to stifle a laugh; if only you understood the war that raged in his chest every time a suitor placed his hand on your waist for a dance or when you would laugh at their jokes with that twinkle in your eye he loves so much – then you would not feel as if you had to hide these feelings from him.

Stroking your jaw gently, Pero tips your face to his, “Dulce, I could never be upset with you. Firstly, you are entitled to all my business, private or not. Secondly, the women to which you refer were not there by my invitation – Lord Ridlington had sent them to my house that evening as some sort of prank. In his words, maybe if the Barón got laid, he would not be such a stick in the mud. Nothing happened with those women, I promise, mi amor. When you arrived, I was right in the middle of arranging for a carriage to take them home. And thirdly,” Pero walks you backward until your back hits the wall; he braces an arm above your head, and towering over you, grips firmly onto your waist with his other hand, “how could I ever even think of another woman when there is you? You with your pretty face, and your sweet smile, and your heavenly laugh. You with your witty quips, and your melodic voice that says the smartest things, and this gorgeous body…”

Pero’s voice trails off as he starts to kiss down your neck and his strong hands start to move up and down your sides in unison, then separating so one can reach up to massage your breast and the other down to grope your ass. Your head tips back to allow Pero more access as you melt into his touch - he’s everywhere at once, overwhelming all of your senses. Kissing down to your breasts, Pero finds them available to him in a way he has yet to experience, your thin night dress much flimsier than the gowns you wear during the day; he can already see your nipples poking up through the fabric, hard and inviting. Without warning, he ducks and takes one in his mouth, teasing and sucking in tandem with your loud gasps and moans.

“Oh Pero, right there, oh- nghhh, please that feels so good!” you cry out breathily. Spurned on by your praise, Pero frantically rucks up the skirts of your nightgown and slots his thigh between your legs, pulling you down to sit. The pressure and friction on your cunt sends a wave of pleasure through you, amplified and extended by Pero’s tongue and lips laving their attention on your breasts. He encourages you to rock against his thigh, using his grip on your waist to help you find an enjoyable rhythm, and once you’ve found one that catches your clit on the flex of his leg, his hands leave you to your work and travel up your body to pull down the front of your night dress, exposing your tits to the cool night air and Pero’s darkened gaze.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, as he leans back to admire everything before him: your naked curves, your hardened peaks begging for his attention, and the sight of the woman he loves getting off by rubbing her pretty pussy all over his thigh. He thinks he’s minutes away from combusting.

Instead, he dives right into your chest, mouth and tongue licking, kissing and nibbling, hands groping, pinching and pulling all your delicious parts so that he can bring you to your second orgasm of the night. While tugging at your nipple with his teeth, he hisses low, “Were you jealous, Dulce?”

Half out of your mind from pleasure you gasp back, “Yes!”

Growling, “Good,” Pero sucks in a mouthful of your breast and kneads what he can’t fit into his mouth with his hands, panting out words when he should be taking in breaths of much needed air -

Now you know how I felt.

When some other man would touch you.

When you would smile at your suitors.

When you didn’t know I would burn the world for you.

You cry out at his confessions, gripping the back of his head and pulling him closer to you still; increasing your rocking, you’re chasing your own high when your knee brushes up against something hard, something big. When it jumps at your touch, you use your knee to stroke Pero’s length with every pass of your pussy over his thigh.

Your breasts now wet from Pero’s mouth, the cool night air’s chill against your skin causes you to tighten in Pero’s arms as he continues to electrify you with his hands, his mouth, his tongue, his words -

Never need to be jealous ever again, Dulce.

There’s only you.

Never want anyone else.

Don’t need anyone else.

You’re my everything.

Mine.

You come to his loving and possessive declarations, singing back your own - Yours, yours, yours. Body violently seizing and shuddering, Pero holds you close as you ride out your high. As you continue to buck against him, he crests to your desperate whimpers and breathless panting – his eyes never leaving your face, mesmerized by the sweet blissed out expression that he pulled from you. Finally opening your eyes, you grin lazily at the sight of your lover smiling at you, calming down from his own summit; and when you feel the dampness of his trousers against your bare knee, you giggle in pride and pull Pero back to you lips for a flutter of happy kisses. As he walks you to the door to the waiting room, you hardly give him a moment without a light peck on his lips, cheeks, neck – not sure you’ll be able to stand being apart from Pero for even a few hours of sleep.

Before he leaves you, Pero cups your face in his large hands, whispering against your lips, “I’m yours,” and you smile back and press your mouth to his before returning, “Mine.”

You marry at the end of the season in late June with the blessing of the Spanish king to do so in England. The ceremony itself is wonderful and your gown is gorgeous, but you hardly remember anything save for how handsome Pero looks waiting for you at the end of the aisle and how he and the Count both had tears in their eyes for most of the wedding. What you remember much more vividly is the fun you and your friends had when preparing for the nuptials. Days and nights filled with laughter, play fighting over flower arrangements, tearful promises to never let distance impact your friendship – you thank the Bridgertons over and over for their love and support during this season and bringing you to Pero; you can never repay them. When you board the ship to your new home, it’s not without tears as you say goodbye to your friends and father; everyone sends you off with mirroring sentiments and promises to visit soon.

If the Tovar estate servants had any concerns or misgivings about having a foreigner as mistress of the house, you soon win them over with your kind and gentle nature; your cheerful and easy-going demeanor overriding any language barrier, which with their help and your dedication, you were overcoming more and more every day. And if there were any remaining whispers, be they among the members of the Spanish court, villagers, or any one else, they were quickly quieted once the concerned party bore witness to the ferocity of your love for your husband and his obvious and complete devotion to you. The older house staff observed quite readily that they hadn’t seen the Barón smile as much as he did since he was a boy. The newer servants declared that prior to his marriage, they had not seen him smile at all.

One morning, only two months after landing in Spain, you wake to find yourself alone in bed for the first time since you and Pero got married. Deciding it unnecessary to ring for your ladies’ maid (Lucia, a delightful woman whose English was improving as much as your Spanish), you throw on a dressing robe over your night dress and pad downstairs, sure you’ll find your husband in the dining room having breakfast.

As usual, you’re right; for a few minutes you remain standing in the doorway, admiring your handsome hulk of a husband as he shovels the remainder of his breakfast into his mouth. You love the way he eats… everything - with voracity, unabashed hunger, like he can never get enough. Strolling in only when you see him push aside his empty plate in favour of a pile of letters and paperwork to begin reading, you thank the footman who had already seen you and plated you a warm breakfast, before you approach Pero’s chair. Dancing your fingers across his broad shoulders, you slide onto your husband’s lap before laying a soft morning kiss to his lips, “Buenos días, mi rey.”

“Buenos días, mi reina,” Pero kisses back, turning his full attention to you as he always does.

“Te echo de menos esta mañana (I missed you this morning),” you pout, although you’re not really upset with him in any way.

Pero smiles at you indulgently, “I thought you might like to get some extra sleep.” He nuzzles your ear and you can hear him smile, “Considered you might be tired after your activities last night, Baronesa.”

You giggle and pull him in for another kiss, your cheeks get hot just thinking about the multiple orgasms that Pero pulled from you with his talented fingers, mouth and cock; you purr back and pepper his scruff with kisses, “Very thoughtful of you, Barón.” Your eyes soften, “No me gusta despertar sin ti, Pero (I hate waking up without you, Pero).”

Pero kisses your temple, “My apologies, Dulce. How can I make it up to my pretty wife?”

You squirm in his lap; a thrill still runs through you when you hear him refer to you as his wife, and you start to plant breathy kisses to the spot right behind his ear that you know drives him crazy.

“Already? Is my wife so insatiable?” chuckles Pero, though his voice his has dropped to that low baritone register that makes your stomach flip. You nod into his neck and start to run your fingers through his soft curls, tugging impatiently at the ones at the base of his neck.

“Déjanos por favor (leave us please),” Pero calls out politely. The servants in the dining room leave at once and close the doors, some smirking - all the servants having gotten used to their master and new mistress’ voracious appetite for one another. The younger servants were mainly amused and some even found it romantic; the older servants acting scandalized, but secretly pleased to see such a happy marriage on the estate after so long.

“Sit up here, mi amor,” Pero pulls you off his lap gently and directs you up onto the dining room table; you move his papers aside and push his flatware out of the way. Teasing him, you quip, “I thought you already had breakfast, my lord?”

“I’m ready for seconds,” growls Pero as he pulls up his chair and seats himself between your legs. Licking his lips greedily, he unties your robe and peels it open to reveal your lacey nightgown underneath. Lifting up the skirt to reveal your already wet and waiting naked cunt, he murmurs, "Delicious," before lowering himself to meet you where you already need him so desperately. Aware that you might still be sensitive from the previous night’s sex, Pero is careful with you – his licks and strokes to your folds are gentle and slow, he mouths and sucks your clit with tenderness and reverence, and when he presses two, then three fingers into your tight hole, he does so with restrained worship. It’s only when you cry out for more, more, more, that he quickens his pace and fully presses his mouth to you, tongue tangling with your sensitive bud before nibbling it between his teeth. Your moans and debauched sounds of rapture have never been restrained in this house, your house – and you come with a desperate and enchanting scream befitting the blinding pleasure now electrifying your body.

Kissing up your nightgown and planting loving open mouth kisses to your breasts before letting you taste yourself, Pero licks into your mouth and whispers, “Te amo, mi reina,” before standing back to unlace his pants.

Your mouth waters as you watch your husband free his cock; no matter how many times you’ve taken him in your hands, your mouth, your cunt, you’re still in awe of its size and the things that Pero’s length can do to you. Whenever you feel the stretch of him entering you, you always recall the first time and how gentle he was as he pushed in. When you remember the tenderness in his voice and face as he made sure you were comfortable, putting your pleasure before his – your heart always blooms with overflowing love for this man. How did you get so lucky? Pero would of course always say that he’s the lucky one, and then show you just how deep his affection for you runs by thrusting with intensity, punching that spot inside that makes you see stars, over and over – the exact way he’s doing so now. “¡Cómo te amo, Pero!” you whimper again and again, and by the way he continues to drive into you, you know he believes you. Folding himself over you so that he can bury his face into your neck and nip at the delicate spot at the base, Pero's pants and groans have you arching your back and fisting his hair just for something to hold on to lest you float away.

“I’m close, Dulce. Come with me,” Pero growls, snaking a hand between your bodies and finding your clit with ease. Drawing quick circles over your swollen nub, you feel the coil beneath your belly tighten and tighten until it snaps and you throw you head back chanting your husband’s name as you fall over the cliff. Not far behind, Pero’s pace falters before he spills into you with a long and low grunt in your ear that shoots straight to where you’re joined as one.

Weak, limp and perfectly satisfied, you let Pero pull you into a sitting position and kiss him deeply and sweetly as both of your breaths start to even, the heaving of your chests slowing in unison.

Forehead resting against yours, Pero catches your still dazed eyes and gives a small nod towards the papers that had been pushed aside and forgotten, “Dulce, I’ve been charged with accompanying His Majesty’s naval fleet to Naples, Italy. Would you join me?”

Smiling because you know he already knows the answer, you nod, “Of course, mi amor. I’ll start making the necessary arrangements today.”

Pero tilts his head, eyes soft and reassuring, “Are you okay with leaving? We will have only been home for a few short months.”

Cupping your husband’s face in your hands, you gaze adoringly into his eyes, “My home is where you are, Pero.”

Pero closes his eyes and pulls you flush against him, with him still softening inside you, you’re as close as two people can be. He tips your face to his and whispers, “You’re my home, Dulce,” and all you can do is sigh in unsurpassable happiness as he presses his lips to yours once again.

I've never done a tag list before so please let me know if it doesn't work, or you don't/do want to be on it, or it sets your phone on fire 😅 @drewharrisonwriter @inept-the-magnificent @tuquoquebrute @stcrrjoon @anoverwhelmingdin

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#pero tovar #regency!pero tovar #bridgerton au #pero tovar fic #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar smut #pero tovar series #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x reader #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #no y/n

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adyophene · 6 months

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lucifer x husk is something i never knew i needed and as a multishipper im screaming

literally. king of hell x some alcoholic furry guy

i love them i need to know how they wouldve met, fallen for each other and started dating. and how much thatd piss alastor off

Ooh I am so happy other people are enjoying this pair as much as I am! I've gotten a few asks about my headcanons for them, and I am happy to blab on and on. Fair warning. This is gunna be a long and rambling essay.

I'm gunna put it all under a readmore, just cause I want to insert the art I've done of them so far, since I've been half-heartedly trying to tell a visual story through the doodles.

Okay. On we go!

How they met;

We did see them technically meet in the show, where they shared their singular canon piece of dialogue, which was just Husk saying 'hey'. And then in the finale where we see a literal split second moment of Lucifer holding Husk's arm.

(also seeing the sweet looks huskerdust is giving each other here just makes me feel so delulu for writing this all, but crackships are silly by definition, so lets get back to the lucihusk) For me, what I imagined, is after the Hotel is finished its rebuilding, that is when Husk and Lucifer finally actually meet in a proper manner. I think Lucifer would be trying to make a good impression on all Charlie's friends at this point, endeared to all of them from their actions during the finale. Unfortunately, I think he is also the King of Bad First Impressions.

[Note. I think at this point Lucifer wouldn't even remember Husk's name quite yet. I think he would call him 'Keekee' ( by accident) or 'Dusk' (confidently incorrect) or just be like "Hey!.... Uh... You?" until Charlie or Vaggie finally corrected him. ]

Husk, on the other hand, I feel like maybe wouldn't gel with Lucifer right away. Wouldn't hate him, but also maybe not be enamored with him right away. Same as Lucifer, maybe he would have sweetened on him a bit through the hotel's rebuilding, but I think they'd start out at very neutral feelings. Maybe a vague sense of 'He's okay, but I don't know if we will really get along.'

Despite this, Lucifer is persistent, and he's going to be everyone's (except maybe Al, unless they start getting along by s2) buddy. He'd start hanging around the bar and participate in the redemption exercises.

Now, we know Lucifer struggles with depression, and I think he would be trying real hard to mask anything going on during this time. They defeated Adam! They rebuilt the Hotel! He believes in Charlie's dream, and he's more involved with her life and other people than he has been for years.

His only issue being Husk sees right through it, both because Husk is perceptive, but also because even the King of Hell can't help but have a lonely night or two at the bar where he ends up venting about his divorce and subsequent lingering loneliness.

[snapcube ref aside, )I really do think Husk would start to feel more positively toward Lucifer after Luci would drop the act somewhat. That they could bond over feeling both at their lowest of lows, while also being to admit that things seem to be getting better!

This would be about the point that I imagine Lucifer developing more romantic feelings! Husk would be a bit less prickly, and Luci would just absolutely eat up any and all positive interactions they'd have. I like to picture a lot of little shows of care at the this point, like Husk memorizing what Lucifer likes and even making up 'fun' drinks just to try and cheer the guy up. And Lucifer would fun a fun game in trying to get the grumpy cat to smile, and just, lighting up himself any time he was successful.

And that culminating into the two of them making each other laugh, with Alastor being an easy butt of the jokes, and a good way for Husk, himself, to finally get a chance to vent. I think Lucifer would be one of the only 'safe' options for Husk to do that with, in just so far as Al can't really threaten Lucifer, and Lucifer already sees Al as a bit of a manipulative bastard.

Falling for each other; At this point, Lucifer would start being a bit more caring toward Husk, though with that wonderful, oblivious flair of his. I don't think Lucifer himself would realize he'd have a crush up until he'd start feeling protective or jealous over Husk, and it would really throw him for a loop at first.

Because fake dating is one of my all-time favorite tropes, I have always had a idea for a fanfic (or comic) that I haven't gotten around to yet, based around Lilith coming back, and Lucifer panickily asking Husk to pretend to be his boyfriend, so he can appear well adjusted/completely over her. Of course the whole thing would backfire, as Lilith would see through it (as Lucifer wouldn't be as good of an actor as he'd think), and that Husk would end up kind of feeling hurt by the whole thing.

Husk, who'd go along with the plot with an eyeroll, would find himself seizing up through the whole fake date/encounter. Would find weird, sudden emotions bubbling up and absolutely hating it.

I don't think that man would think about the class difference between him and Lucifer up until someone would say something about it, maybe Lucifer himself trying to rationalize the (at this time still fake) relationship to Lilith. Now, Husk feels uneasy about the whole thing and ends up drinking heavily the whole night so he doesn't have to think about feelings. (Blitz and Stolas who? Ahaha. fuck.) Meanwhile, while the date would be fake, I think Lucifer would really rather like having Husk on his arm and feeling like he'd have a love-life again, while also not really getting why Husk's mood would be getting worse throughout the night. I think they'd still end up on good terms, but both of them would have their feelings in a jumble, and Husk would not like it. (he thinks he's lost the ability to love, after all)

I think somewhere at this point, as they are starting to develop feelings for one another, is when Lucifer finally starts really realizing how tied to Alastor Husk is, and he starts to make it everyone's problem. I do think Al and Lucifer would stay snarky at each other this whole time, but that it'd only get worse, as Al would poke back since he'd find Lu's over reactions funny.

I also think Al would be maybe the last person to realize anything romantic would be brewing between Lucifer and Husk, and he'd just think it'd be a purely platonic thing.

Beyond just bitching about Alastor, Lucifer would really be ramping up his attention towards Husk too. Fully in that 'puppylove/crush' stage, and trying his darndest to make Husk feel good and special. Husk would be resistant to it all, thinking it would just be Lucifer rebounding hard, and not wanting to get wrapped up in Morningstar family drama when he could happily (miserably) keep his head down and just keep drinking the days away.

But then Lucifer would find out about Husk's love of stage magic, and his history as a performer, and it'd be all over for the catman. It would become Luci's new pet project to rope Husk into some joyful self-expression, and after a song and dance number's worth of convincing, Husk would start to come around. I have to post all these images now cause- I drew them with the intention of mimicking a musical number! Husk starting off as a bit resistant before jumping in whole heartedly, and Lucifer overexcitedly dragging him along throughout the music number, hyping him up and just all around being smitten.

And this is where Husk would start really falling. Getting swept up in indulging his favorite, least destructive hobby, and having someone who absolutely loves it to bond with. Especially when it would be over. When they would just settle down and talk, and laugh, and bond over what they love about performing. The spectacle, the audience, the love of the craft. Its about the comradery!!!

@belladonazeppole wrote a wonderful series of fanfics based off these pictures, as well as the songs from 'The Greatest Showman' that really fit the ship! I would be remiss to not mention them here, because Bella and their fics are just wonderful!

How they started dating;

Now. Don't think just cause they both caught feelings for each other, that they'd immediately admit to it. No. I think both of them would drag their heels. I don't think Husk would admit to them at all, without some outside force effecting it. I think he'd stubbornly try to ignore the crush or drink it away, rather than let his heart become vulnerable to anymore damage.

Meanwhile, Lucifer would be struggling between his feelings for Husk and Lilith. (In the actual canon, I do think they might try to rekindle things, depending on what kind of person Lilith turns out to be, but I digress.) Part of him would be so swept up in a giddy kind of excitement, while the other would be set firmly in the camp of 'this is a bad idea, this won't work out, just look at what happened to your last relationship'. It wouldn't stop him from being outwardly more and more affectionate, but it would be weighing on him.

I do think Lucifer would end up being the one who would be thinking; "What am I doing. He'd never like me back." While Husk would be just sitting there (echoing what was said in the ask- sorry I went all wild and wrote this much about the ship dear god)- "I'm just some fucking furry alcoholic, what the fuck would the king of hell see in me??? Am I delusional? What the fuck is going on??" And I feel like this stage would go on for MONTHS and drive everyone else nuts. It would be clear to everyone (except Alastor, who again, would be just this meme

Though that wouldn't stop him from getting a little pissy about it) And then it would all come to a head during something benign, like a board game night. There would be flirting, there would be jealousy, there would be arguing, and then finally, loudly and with a lot of feeling, Lucifer would shout his way through asking Husk out on a date. A real Date. A capital 'D' date out on the town, dressed to the nines and a real good time. The board would be knocked over in the fray, game pieces raining down upon them while Husk would just stare blank faced, trying to process what just happened. An awkward half-minute would pass before he'd finally, trying to play it cool, shrug out a 'sure'.

How much it'd piss Alastor off;

In the aftermath, a radio static would just lowly grate everyone's ears as Alastor would be slowly coming to terms on how just annoying it would be to have his friend (/Unhealthy co-dependent pet friend possession??) romantically involved (ew) with the King of Hell (double ew)??? Then, either it would be something light hearted like 'he keeps trying to break them up but failing cause he hates interacting with romance' or a darker route where 'he keeps trying to manipulate them into breaking up by preying on all their worst insecurities in the relationship'.

And that, my friend, is all I have in mind so far for this delusional crackship au! There is more I could flesh out, of course, like Angel's role as a friend or potential third in the relationship, or what I imagine as Husk becoming like a stepdad to Charlie, but I've typed enough for the whole month. Hope any of that was coherent! I did not bother to edit or proof read it. Just pure stream of consciousness.

#not art #this is long #like really long #like don't open it unless you want 25 paragraphs about a crackship that like 12 people ship #royalflush #lucihusk

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the-cornuthaum · 12 days

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Man, the shift in tone between Originium Dust and Lucent Arrowhead is pretty fucking wild, and I think it's best characterised by the emotional catharsis of the protagonists of either event - Ash and Ela.

I'm going to elaborate below the cutoff in case someone sees this and hasn't finished reading Lucent Arrowhead yet.

Originium Dust is much beloved for the insight into the life of the Infected, the little and least wanted people on Terra, and especially how they die and why Infection is so feared. It is not a happy story, not even remotely. It is not funny and is as straight as a lance at the end of which is taped the message "NOTHING, NOT EVEN ROCK CANCER, JUSTIFIES BRUTALITY AND ABUSE AGAINST THOSE WHO CANNOT DEFEND THEMSELVES".

It is an isekai story where a bunch of serious, professional military operators from their world's most distinguished pan-national special forces coalition are displaced in space and time and must reckon with life in a new world where much of the mores they took for granted are cast aside in the name of expediency (because goddamn Terrans treat the Infected so much worse than the world treats people with chronic and terminal illness and disability).

Lucent Arrowhead, in comparison, is much more of a fun story. It has jokes, like the way Mateo is a completely incompetent buffoon, Doc having a breakdown at people mispronouncing croissant, or - particularly - the NFT scene. It is still about how shitty people are to the infected, but it lacks that singular focus of Originium Dust.

And this really is best exemplified by the conclusion to the arcs of the two protagonists, Ash and Ela.

At the end of Operation Lucent Arrowhead, Ela finally gives in to what she wants to do and delivers a correctional beating to a goddamn idiot and selfish jackass to instill proper morals. She's pretty calm, collected and knows exactly why she's doing this - she's offended at Reynell's selfish stupidity, and wants him to reconsider his life choices.

You can see it in the art. This is the face of someone for whom giving someone a morals-improving beating is not too far out of the ordinary, someone who is making a deliberate, conscious choice. Someone whose story did not push her anywhere near a breaking point.

You can probably guess where I'm going.

Because the counterpoint to that CG - which is clearly and delibeately evoking the comparison to what happened at the end of Originium Dust - is Ash's breakdown.

Every single bit of this CG is drawn to make it clear that this is someone at wit's end, someone who hit their breaking point and whose reaction to witnessing personally and upfront some of the vilest, most horrible cruelty towards the least deserving man she has met in this new world was to start punching and keep going until literally pulled off of her target by her friends. The blood, the facial expression, the glasses, everything is meant to make it clear that this is someone thrown completely off balance, and it works.

Because Originium Dust isn't trying to be funny, it's not trying to make jokes, it's simply making abundantly clear what happens to the least and weakest. Originium Dust released (on CN) in March 2021, height of the lockdowns, half a year after Chapter 8, back when this game was still about the plight of the Infected rather than the latest iteration of Something Is Bad In Victoria. It wanted to make an important point and didn't let anything - levity or otherwise - intrude on that.

I think Lucent Arrowhead is an OK event. But Originium Dust was better, in significant part because it pushed its cast so much harder into Terra and its horrible no good very bad realities, because it made its protagonist lose her cool at the crushing injustice of it all.

#arknights #rainbow six siege #ash arknights #ela arknights

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neonscandal · 8 months

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Hello, I'm new here and I really liked your tumblr. I would like it if you could answer my question. Don't you think Saturo is a little needy, you know he always wants to get people's attention, he always wants to force a friendship, that scares me a little, he can even be unnecessary sometimes.

Hiii! I literally have no idea how you came across my blog but I'm happy if it made you feel welcome ❤️ Thanks for reaching out.

Don't be scared by the tall man with the impossible eyes and bulk volume suffering. He's here to help! ✨

I mean, you pretty accurately described Gojo, tbqh. He is needy, I wouldn't say he wants to get people's attention... but he has it, anyway, he is desperately reaching out for human connection, he frequently ponders and is consumed by the unnecessary (just as much as the necessary) and people tend to conflate his strength with his identity.

How do we put one at ease with this larger than life personality? We speedrun it, of course. The best way to empathize with someone is to understand how they got from point A to point D and this is as it applies in real life, too. Consider this my humble offering toward this threat I made a few years ago. Going to avoid spoilers beyond what's been animated but this is still going to be a long one so strap in! JK there's a minor spoiler that's marked (⚠️) but it's not a major plot point.

IN DEFENSE OF GOJO

A mostly unsolicited essay ✨

Before we get into how Gojo became Gojo, let's look at the basic information we know about jujutsu society in universe.

Curses are formed by negative emotional runoff, typically from people who can't control cursed energy.

There are humans who are born with cursed techniques but the brains of humans so their powers were dormant until Kenjaku!Geto activated them in the last episode of season 2.

Those with power that are beyond the comprehension of the elders happen to find themselves carrying death sentences (as it applies to Yuta Okkotsu and Yuji Itadori, specifically).

There are 3 Big Families: the Gojo, Kamo, and Zenin Clans, likened to nobility, which have been active since the Golden Age of Jujutsu hundreds of years ago.

Generally, the Gojo clan inherits the Limitless technique. Six Eyes is a lot less frequent and both techniques haven't manifested in one user in over 100 years until Gojo was born. (Purple or Hollow Purple is another hidden move which each family has some extra razzle dazzle offshoots from their main cursed technique.)

Kamo clan passes along Blood Manipulation (re: Choso, Noritoshi Kamo, the Kyoto student, and Noritoshi Kamo, the blemish on the Kamo clan who created the cursed womb paintings)

Zenin clan has the Ten Shadows Technique (re: Megumi. Bear in mind, previously a Zenin Ten Shadows user fought a Gojo Six Eyes + Limitless user and the fight ended in a stalemate that resulted in both of their deaths).

Anomalies, like that of Maki and Toji, exist even in these age old clans where an heir is born without the ability to manipulate cursed energy and/or see curses.

Of the above and those of the main cast specifically, the inheritors of these generations' old techniques have pretty shit origin stories. They are privileged but cursed in a way. Heavy is the head, and all.

BIG THREE FAMILY CULTURE

We haven't gotten a lot of insight into the Gojo clan except that it's basically a clan of one: Satoru Gojo.

Noritoshi, the Kyoto student, bears the name of the blot of the Kamo clan and is a bastard son who happened to inherit the familial technique. Because of this, he is shepherded into the fold of the Kamo the family, foisted into a position of responsibility, and separated from his "disgrace" of mother. She leaves him, knowing her presence would hold him back, and hopes that her sacrifice in doing so will enable him to better help others. ⚠️ However, when Kenjaku!Geto used remote Idle Transfiguration to awaken dormant vessels and dormant cursed technique users, the proper firstborn heir of the Kamo clan's inherited technique was awakened which swiftly saw Noritoshi's expulsion from his status and the clan.

The most damning evidence we have of the culture of these families is from the Zenin clan:

They terrorized Toji Zenin, despite his inhuman strength, simply because he was born without the ability to manipulate cursed energy. To the extent that an incident from his childhood left his face scarred and likely radicalized him into the sorcerer killer he is today.

Mai and Maki were gravely mistreated because, in addition to being girls, they were born twins which is considered highly unfavorable.

The twin superstition is "justified" by Mai's weak cursed technique and Maki's inability to see curses or manipulate cursed energy.

The misogynistic treatment of the girls is likely not uncommon within the Big Three families given 1) what we've seen happen to Kamo's mom, 2) the treatment of the twins' mother, and 3) the way that Gojo vehemently advises that Tsumiki would never be happy with the Zenin clan (as both a jujutsu outside and because she's a girl as determined by events that haven't been animated yet).

Empirically, from the above, we can extrapolate that familial ties don't mean shit in the Big Three Families, blood relations are tenuous at best. Tradition, power and hereditary techniques reign supreme to maintain status. Those outside of the blessed few are at the mercy of more powerful members of the family which will be more evident in season 3.

💡 As an aside, kinda interesting to think about Geto's ideology applied to these traditional families. In fact, I wonder if Geto cultivated his beliefs based on what Gojo told him about his family.

UNDERSTANDING THE CHARACTERIZATION OF GOJO

Now that we understand society as Gojo would have known it, let's get into how he experiences the world from birth.

Canonically, his birth shifted the power balance between sorcerers and curses. A lot of readers assume he has a god complex which, in addition to being categorically false, is more a reflection of his canonical in universe power. He is neither a god nor does he necessarily perceive himself to be one. But that's not to say he doesn't have a bit of an attitude problem.

He is born with both the Limitless and Six Eyes techniques which, again, hasn't happened in over 100 years. Subsequently, stronger curses are on the rise to compensate for this dramatic shift in power.

💡 Lowkey, I kinda headcanon that the influx of more powerful curses comes from the bitter resentment that periphery individuals must have harbored against Gojo because, let's be real. He's clearly Mappa's favorite and it brings out the anti in everybody IRL lol I can only imagine in universe if you were born to a jujutsu family and lost out on the genetic lottery when it came to cursed energy.

He explicitly draws the ire of curses and cursed users alike with a bounty that immediately incites an onslaught of first come, first serve mercenaries. As a child. Even Toji, the great sorcerer killer, tries to get the drop on a young Satoru Gojo but none are successful at coming close. Not even the invisible man.

From what we know of the Big Three above, the miracle of Gojo's inheritance would likely push him into a place of great power and influence within his clan, even from an early age. Further, we've seen what the burden of responsibility an inherited technique looks like as it applies to Noritoshi Kamo. Gojo would have been burdened with this status and, simultaneously, constantly placated by others so as to appease the miraculous heir.

Additionally, as we saw with Noritoshi, other clans may also have a vested interest in currying favor with the young heir because even proximity to Gojo creates a sense of power and status.

By blood, Yuta is a distant, distant cousin of Gojo's from a branch family and we see how OP he is.... Later in the story, Gege makes it a point to use the Great Satoru Gojo as a measure of power and, subsequently, more explicitly how close other characters' power, prowess or technique come close to that of Gojo's.

Subsequently, as the Kamo clan heir, Noritoshi tries to ingratiate himself to Megumi despite the fact that he's no longer even connected to the Zenin clan. He curses that Mai didn't inherit Ten Shadows to make relations a bit smoother. Gojo would likely have several people vying for his attention and grace whether he wants it or not.

I think you can see how, a smart kid like Gojo who literally has nothing but time to process and compute the ways of the world around him, would come to understand the motivations of others as it specifically relates to him and his power. It would be understandable if he were innately wary and distrustful of others, especially when you consider his initial experience as the target of an onslaught of, albeit unsuccessful, assassination attempts.

Here, I think, is what really gives life to the isolation that Gojo feels from a very young age which is only known by those with immense power like Sukuna and other characters who've yet to be revealed. Gojo is less an individual and more a means to an end. He is a monolith for power, protection and status. His power is so incomprehensible for other sorcerers of the era that his potential for vulnerability is taken for granted.

With a culture that prioritizes strength over, perhaps, morality, it makes sense why, when we see Gojo years later as a high school student, he is relatively disrespectful toward his elders and thinks it is silly that the strong should have to diminish themselves for the comfort of the weak. Bear in mind, this disrespect is likely because no one was really checking him on manners from a young age. Further, from his experience, strength has always been commodified, why would you diminish that? He was and remains head of the Gojo clan with all the pomp and circumstance that comes with that.

Enter Suguru Geto, the smoking gun as to why we know Gojo doesn't have a god complex. Suguru, like Geto, is the only other special grade sorcerer aside from Yuki Tsukumo (and she makes it a point to not take missions). Qualified as equals, the two are constantly doled out missions that higher ups are not even equipped to handle. Try not catching an ego about that.

Even though their power may not necessarily be on par with one another, it is enough that Gojo deems Geto an equal. Their friendship tempers Gojo's character in ways his family could not.

THE HUMANITY OF A GOD

Gojo is not a god but, to those around him, he's certainly lauded as such. Part of that entails inherently overlooking that which makes him vulnerable, makes him human. As someone who can, at will, literally turn off the ability to be touched at all, the premise is ironic. But the fact remains, from all the above and his behavior therein, it seems as though Gojo had to wait until high school to act like a kid at all and that is all thanks to Geto.

As an outsider, Geto's opposing ideology suggests that the strong are meant to protect the weak and keep others who are strong in check. Gojo is frequently shown taking Geto's criticism and point of view under critical advisement. In fact, realizing how out of touch he is with the reality of others, he defers to Geto as a moral compass, trusting implicitly in his judgement.

Not only that but, from what we saw during the Kyoto Goodwill Event, it is not uncommon for sorcerers to be wary of disclosing what their cursed technique is to other sorcerers. You can never be too careful nor can you know who's a cursed user in the making, even amongst your own classmates. With inherited techniques, word gets around but... Geto, an outsider, was intimately aware of the drawback Gojo experienced when overusing his technique and that speaks volumes about how comfortable Gojo was being vulnerable with him.

Geto encourages Gojo to speak more politely to his elders, again, a pushback he clearly wasn't getting anywhere else or, perhaps, direction he simply wasn't taking from anyone else.

Because Gojo recognizes Geto as an equal, he is more relaxed and able to behave accordingly which Geto graciously allows and creates a safe space for. Imagine all the steam this little weirdo has been holding in out of obligation? Moreover, as someone who has always undeniably been the strongest person in any room, imagine the relief in finally knowing that there is someone else you can rely on? Feel safe with? Someone you can be needy and greedy with. Gojo found his One and Only best friend.

Geto allows him to authentically be himself AND HE STARES AT HIM LIKE THIS WHILE DOING SO!

Additionally, we talk about Gojo being unnecessary at time, which he is. I poke a lot of fun at how Gojo will take in what someone like Yaga explains to him and then the output is some Digimon reference a lot. He literally speaks in gibberish half the time but Geto just... understands him. Or makes it a point to try. Bear in mind, Gojo's silly goofiness belies his penchant for serious contemplation, as well, as he's knowledgeable about historical poetry, prominent figures and events. The dichotomy of this is whiplash inducing to Ijichi. If you think about the adage, those who don't know history are destined to repeat it, it shines an interesting light on why Gojo seems to have such a wealth and emphasis on the history of not only jujutsu sorcerers but also other politics at play dating back centuries. Even more so if you consider ItaFushi to be SatoSugu 2.0 as... the story kind of feels that way, doesn't it? BACK TO THE POINT, Gojo behaves like a fool but he isn't stupid.

I think this arrogance and silly facade is a product of being plugged into the reality of what it truly means for the few to protect the greater good. He's probably hyper aware of the prospective survival rate of his peers based on empirical information he has at his disposal. It's why he pointblank tells Ijichi not to become a sorcerer. I think it's also why he's frivolous with having and creating fun. Not just for his kohais but later for his students. With Geto, he experiences a closeness he hadn't had with anyone else and it improves his ability to connect with others by extension.

I know this is not from the canon material but I think this is the perfect inclusion as to Gojo's proclivity for frivolity. LOOK AT HIM.

MISSION FAILURE AND FALL OUT

Based on the information we have currently, Gojo didn't exactly have the same splintered origins that Megumi and Noritoshi had. But from the above and his socialization with people outside of the Gojo clan, we see how coming from a place of privilege can still create deficiencies. But it isn't enough to simply learn and benefit from the good times. Maybe people take for granted that which isn't tested or taken away. We can't fully understand adult Gojo without understanding the failures of teenage Gojo.

Tasked with a mission that literally impacts the fate of the world and is relayed as such, the two special grade sorcerers take on the Star Plasma Vessel mission. As we saw in season 2, it didn't exactly end well. From this we can glean the following:

From the beginning and despite that which hung in the balance if they were unsuccessful, Gojo and Geto were willing to blow it all, come what may, if the vessel opted out of the merger. They were willing to fight Tengen themselves to spare one life even if it destabilized everything else. The idea of which seems Icarian in nature and we saw how that worked out for Icarus.

Toji's plan of attrition (wearing Gojo down specifically) was successful partly because of the false sense of security engineered by Shiu Kong that allowed them to recapture Kuroi.

However, based on Gojo's hubris, Gojo and Geto were already living in a false sense of security. Any attempts Geto made to temper Gojo's ego were appeased by the fact that, he wasn't alone. Finally. He had Geto and Gojo was insulated in the comfort and security he found in Geto's company. He could take on Tengen, he could risk another night in Okinawa burning through his stamina. It did not matter if he had Geto to rely on. They were the strongest.

Turns out it did matter and they were both foiled, thoroughly. The fall out of these events results in the following:

Gojo's evolution wherein he learns how to control reversed curse energy which shoots him past his previous limits.

Gojo avenges his loss to Toji and Riko, by extension (that order feels important to mention). He achieves a level of enlightenment and transcendence which saw the successful use of the Red Technique that he'd been unable to use in a fight against a lackey during the same mission which also made it possible to execute the finisher attack Hollow Purple, resulting in the fight's end.

Upon reclaiming Riko's body from the Time Vessel Association, Gojo, in the haze of his victory, asks Geto if they should slaughter the people celebrating Riko's death. Showing that, regardless of his power up, he still needs Geto's guidance and values the opinion of his equal. I say this even though we know Gojo lies about Shoko treating his injuries. Even he's aware that this latest evolution creates a greater disparity between their relative strength but he defers to him anyway.

Geto begins questioning whether the lives of non-sorcerers who are capable of such evil are really worth fighting and/or dying for.

The acknowledgement that, even though there is nothing beyond special grade classification, Gojo became the strongest.

Foundationally, Gojo came to terms with the vulnerability that Toji was able to exploit and subsequently trained to remediate that. Simultaneously, Geto fell deeper and deeper into a despair over a persisting moral crisis that Gojo, with Six Eyes at his disposal, was incapable of seeing or understanding. The occurrence of which is maddening to me, personally but such is the way of a fatal flaw.

Geto's subsequent and "sudden" defection pulled the rug from beneath Gojo's feet.

We have seen him dust off countless attempts on his life as a child, shoulder the burden of the Gojo clan as a child, execute his obligations as a sorcerer regardless of his beliefs as a child, and bear the brunt of jujutsu society because of the magnitude of his strength as a child and he never batted an eye. Not to say he didn't have something flippant to say about it but he endured it.

But with Geto's abandonment, whatever security he'd finally found was abruptly destabilized and it's important to note that only when it comes to Geto do we see Gojo's nonchalant facade falter. When he learns of the attack on the village with Yaga, when he confronts Geto in the streets of Shinjuku, when he encounters Kenjaku wearing Geto's corpse, he's not so silly goofy anymore is he?

Finding Geto was like finally feeling the warmth of the summer sun on your face after living in the shadows of a cave all your life. For Gojo, his departure was like never knowing that warmth again.

Not to mention, his immense power and status of being the only other special grade sorcerer meant he also had to carry the weight of being his best friend's executioner. Please.

He spends his adult life cultivating strength in others, rescuing kids from a society that seeks to destroy what they refuse to understand, uniting other so they aren't burdened by the same loneliness that plagues him and, whenever possible, trying to bring light and fun to the lives of kids who may never make it out of high school because that's the reality of sorcerers. That's the burden of responsibility they carry so, in between missions, he tries to be silly, he tricks them, he leads them on wild goose chases so they actually get out and experience their youth properly.

You're not meant to fear Gojo. Fear the society that allowed for these things to happen because he's trying to fix it. If anything, pity the man who is not allowed to be weak or vulnerable because he has always known the weight of the world. He could have been a god but he chose instead to love and it was his undoing.

If you'd like to pity Gojo further, dive into an expansive list of all the SatoSugu brainrot I could think of.

Lowkey, this feels like a call out, because why am I also terrible like this?? Am I being cyber bullied? I feel like this took me several days to write.

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misstrashchan · 9 months

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So... Please tell me I'm not the only who has Thoughts. About Hayward's plan to recruit Shrue and specifically Carpenter's involvement in it because. Adjudicator Shrue has been working to legalise the Trawler-Man's people and was working with Mason and the current Katabasions. Before that they were trying to eradicate them, being the one to hire and send out Mercer and Gage with their own platoon of soldiers.

Which brings us to Faulkner and his murder of Mason and Thurrocks, his opposition to the Katabasions plans to legalise them and let the Withermark and their people be used as a weapon of war, and the story he spins pinning the murders on Carpenter, painting her as a traitor who was working with the legal authorities (aka Shrue) and undermining them:

FAULKNER:

I could never have imagined that the Legislatures could have won her over to their cause.

It was Sister Carpenter who alerted the government’s forces to the location of the Paraclete’s Gulch.

(With a weary finality)

But they had, and of course her return was no coincidence at all.

It was Sister Carpenter who attempted to undermine our defences from within.

And after their attack failed, thanks to the combined strength of our disciples…it was Sister Carpenter who waited for a moment when the entire Gulch was gathered below in joyful celebration, and she assassinated Katabasian Mason and poor Sister Thurrocks.

(3x01 Something Dreadful Shall Arise)

And we know how strongly Carpenter feels about the idea that she would ever work with the government legislatures against the people who were once her family, how angry she is that Faulkner has written a story that has made that lie true:

CARPENTER:

You think I’d ever make peace with the people who did it? You think I’d work with them against my own family?

Against my brother, my parents, my grandmother?

You think I wouldn’t have put a bullet in my own skull already if I had that weight pulling me down?

And I think it's important to point out that Carpenter has no idea why Faulkner killed Mason and Thurrocks. She doesn't know anything about Mason and the other Katabasisons plans to legalise their god by proving themselves useful as a tool in the war. But we do know that in the past, when the idea of legalising the Trawler-Man was brought up before in S1 by Paige as a more peaceful way forward, she loathed the idea as much as Faulkner:

PAIGE:

But this is what's absurd, isn't it? We're talking about ancient history. Laws from 50 years back, long dead legislatures.

They're accepting new faiths back into the canon all the time now. You just need to get your god's name on a petition and-

CARPENTER:

Listen to her, Faulkner. "Our god's name, on a petition". Well. Why shouldn't we be reasonable about all this? Now that the Peninsula is ready to hear our case?

Why shouldn't we go through the proper channels? Why shouldn't they be allowed to get away with it?

FAULKNER:

Carpenter, let's keep this quiet...

CARPENTER:

My parents were dragged in shackles to the Saints hydroelectric dam, a year after I was born. They were dragged there, they were sentenced, and they were tossed off the side into the churning waters.

And the last words that they ever heard were that they were to be devoured by something that they did not understand. Because the dam was new, and on unconsecrated, and because a god must feed, and because these false faith renegades from deep in the fens made for the easiest sacrifices.

I will not hear that the world is a better place than it was because there is process. I won't and I can't.

(1x12 And To Fight Is Just to Choke)

And now Carpenter is with Hayward, and are headed towards Adjudicator Shrue to try and work with them so they can help the Woundtree seem more sympathetic and have someone who can better tell their story, as it were.

Carpenter is still being hunted by Faulkner's schism, only being given a break by being in a no man's land, only now she won't be, as she's heading into Glottage.

CARPENTER:

(Staring out of the window)

If we stayed on this road heading south, we’d make it down to Marcel’s Crossing by nightfall.

Another day’s driving, and we’d be at the Paraclete’s Gulch.

(3x06 The Wise Man Knows the Taste of Rot)

So the next time Faulkner hears about Carpenter, it's going to be about how gosh, you were right all along Katabasion Faulkner, that devious Carpenter is working with the same government official who tried to eradicate us and who is now trying to legalize us to use as a tool in their war! (that's not even mentioning she'll be seen with Hayward as well, who as far as Faulkner is aware is the cop who was hunting them down back in S1) And Faulkner is just gonna be like

Wondering if he told his lie about Carpenter working with the legal authorities undermine the Parish of Tide and Flesh so convicingly that he made it into the truth and what's that? IT'S THE FOILING TO VAL AND THE LAST WORD WITH A STEEL CHAIR READY TO BEAT ME SENSELESS-

#the silt verses #tsv meta #wanted to post something for new year and this post specifically before the next episode comes out so #WHOO #brother faulkner #sister carpenter #tsv s3 #tsv theory

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gabessquishytum · 7 months

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Dream attempting to punish World Pussy-Eating Champion Hob with oral sex is so funny to me. Hob intends to tell Dream eventually. Just, not yet. He's still having more fun with this than guilt over the deception.

Except, he doesn't get the chance to come clean.

Dream is with his (friend? sibling? someone he likes well enough to tolerate this sort of thing), and they start to tell the story of this guy they hooked up with a few times who ate them out better than anyone else before or since. And this guy LOVED doing it. So much, in fact, that they couldn't keep up with him. They felt a little bad about it, honestly, especially when he confessed that he'd NEVER had a lover who wanted as much as he wanted to give.

Dream is only half paying attention, until they drop this former hookup's name. And then? Dream has to leave. Immediately. There's somewhere he needs to be.

He shows up unannounced at Hob's flat and explains that he knows what Hob has been keeping from him, and Hob absolutely WILL be punished for this transgression (Dream isn't mad--he expects nothing less than this sort of behavior from his beloved brat--but he's not going to let something like this slide, either), but first? First, Hob is going to eat him out until HOB has had enough. It is a tragedy and a crime that no one has ever made PROPER use of that mouth.

Hob is hesitant at first. He's had lovers ask for this before, and none of them really understood what they were asking for. They'd all tapped out, and a few of them just ghosted him after. But he also wants to give Dream everything he asks for, and he can't deny he WANTS to eat Dream out until they're both sobbing. So he sets about eating Dream's pussy with all the enthusiasm and skill he's been holding back.

And that's how Dream discovers his hitherto unknown overstimulation kink. Which opens up a whole world of possibilities for Hob's punishment. Just as soon as Dream remembers how to speak in coherent sentences.

(Hob has to cancel his lectures the next day because there's no way he can give them with his tongue this sore from overuse, but he's honestly never been happier)

I'm so <33333 about this whole concept. And low-key emotional about Dream postponing Hob’s punishment so he can finally, finally sate his appetite for Dream’s pussy. That's love right there, baby. Make Hob feel proud of his incredible greed and skill for eating cunt. He should never ever have to hide his desire ever again.

I can fully imagine them going at it for hours. Dream is comfortably propped up in a throne of pillows, with Hob between his legs. And the first few orgasms are lovely, really. Dream can take it easily. He pets his hand through Hob’s hair, praises him, encourages him. It's only the beginning.

Hob wants to stay there until his fingers are wrinkled from being wet for so long. He wants to stay until his own mouth is dry and aching, until his lips are swollen and his nose is bruised. He wants to stay there until he passes out from exhaustion, with his tongue still buried in Dream’s pussy. He wants to give all that he has, to completely dedicate every bit of energy to Dream’s pleasure.

And Dream lets him. To be entirely fair, they both need to spend the next day in bed. Dream may not be attached to his physical form, but he's not sure he can actually stand up. Hob isn't doing much better, but he can't stop grinning.

Dream will have to come up with a punishment when he can find 2 braincells to rub together, but right now, all he wants to do is sip tea and give Hob lots and lots of cuddles. Safe to say, they will be doing it again.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft

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dimdiamond · 6 months

Text

I have so many mixed feelings on Toshiro (aka Shuro).

Like he has the DADDY issues ever. Laios has too but Laios is in the opposite direction of "I'll never make my father proud, I can as well do my thing" while Toshiro is still trying to follow his father's wish and demands.

Like he couldn't care LESS about his servants. He doesn't treat them badly but he barely treats them. Does he even know their names? (Yes, it's because of daddy issues but at some point we have to stop accusing the parent and start to see our own faults)

Like he was just a boy who liked bugs and getting dirty. And then saw Falin who liked bugs and didn't mind getting dirty and thought "if I take her as my wife and my dad meets her and finds her interesting then maybe he will finally find me interesting too".

Like he showed more than necessary interest for another human being and he made it his whole character (oh, yeah, I'm the one who loves Falin, look how long I can go on sacrificing my needs for her SHUT UP YOU'RE DOING IT BECAUSE YOU FEEL GUILTY AND HOPELESS NOT FOR FALIN'S SAKE).

Like he had ONE person to find him interesting and he couldn't be sincerely thoughtful towards him. Yes, I know how it is to spend time with someone you find boring and have no connection but it is unfair to let the other be in the dark and I am the one who is in wrong here, not the other person, no matter how much they irritate me. Do I think Toshiro finally snapping and fighting with Laios is a good thing for both of them and their future friendship? Absolutely. Do I also find it cruel towards Laios? Absolutely, the boy becomes even more insecure after that, Toshiro could handle it better.

Yes, it is a cultural thing as well and I am aware Asians and, specifically for this character, Japanese have different approach in socialising and what is proper and acceptable, and I see how Laios and Toshiro show the clash between ignorant white man and Asian man that suffers from it, but we can't ignore that there are other Asian characters who don't act like him. Izutsumi? Rin? Heck, even Kabru could be considered! Others too! Even Toshiro's brothers and family! They're all different characters thar deal with their identity and their own trauma and experiences in their own way (and let's not forget they're not the focus of the story so we can't know everything about them or how they would react to everything or even their thoughts).

Could Toshiro be neurodivergent as well and had learnt to mask? It's very possible and it would make sense in many aspects of his character!

Is he a bad guy? No, of course not! Has he made mistakes? Many, of course! Has he shown good qualities? I doubt Laios party would consider him a friend if he hadn't and after his fight with Laios he gives the bell to Laios and still wants to help in whatever way he can.

As most of dunmeshi characters, he falls too close to reality and he gives me mixed feelings- even relating to him some times! But I can't deny the fact that, although an interesting character and rightfully liked by many fans, if I met someone like him irl I would dislike him.

#why is he like that #btw this isn't hating him #the character is fine and necessary for the plot i am just not his fan lol #dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #shuro dungeon meshi #toshiro dungeon meshi

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wickedcriminal · 8 months

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yo!

First of all, I love your art and the half-brothers AU is Absolutely Phenomenal

Second of all, I understand if you're still kind of on break from it so take this question at your own pace. Or don't answer it at all. You don't owe me anything.

And thirdly, I'm curious how book 2 might play out in the half-brothers au. Book Alvin is pretty fixated on Grimbeard the Ghastly's heir ("an heir for a hand", and all that). Would he be able to identify Younger Hiccup as Grimbeard's heir, or would he just kind of figure since there are two Hiccups who are both descendants of Grimbeard (and who both have a dragon named "Toothless") he should kill them both just to be safe? (and in that case, how would he end up with a vendetta against Younger Hiccup specifically?)

at any rate, thank you for reading and I hope you have an awesome day!

Thank you so much for your kind words!! I was having a hard time for a while, but I'm feeling much better recently <3 This is an excellent ask!!

Stoick being the connecting figure between Elder and Younger, that does indeed make them both candidates to be Grimbeard's heir! (Same goes for Snotlout and Adelaide, who are also part Chucklehead's line through Baggybum the Beerbelly!)

As Stoick's firstborn and the official heir to Berk, Alvin has his eyes set on Elder in the beginning as The Guy he needs to Eliminate, and since Snotlout is the one who will become heir to Berk if Elder dies, Minicup is barely even on the table. The idea that it's actually Minicup who is his proper rival isn't even considered until they end up in the underwater cavern together and Baby Tooth is the one who sniffs out Grimbeard's real treasure.

The events of How to be a Pirate carry out as usual, with Snotlout finding the chest, though neither brother gets the chance to declare themselves heir when Alvin asks. Minicup and Little Fish end up in Grimbeard's cavern with Alvin, where Alvin comes to the conclusion that this Hiccup is the one who's going to prove a problem to him.

In the stories that come after, Elder is more of an afterthought, and Alvin will only think to get rid of him if he starts asserting his place in the Arm's Race for the Crown. (Same goes for the Jorgensens!)

Elder doesn't even want to be heir of Berk, let alone Grimbeard! Younger doesn't exactly have a choice in the matter since Fate Itself is the one dumping Lost Things into his hands 😔 As long as Elder doesn't start gunning to be king, Alvin will leave him alone.

For the time being.

(Spoilers for the last book below vv)

Poor Fishlegs

#half brothers au #httyd #httyd books #httyd au #my art #book 9 is where elder's candidacy becomes harmful to him as alvin feels the need to take him out before the sword competition #elder going missing is what spurs younger into looking for the crown in the first place #snotlout also attempts to triple cross alvin in books 9-11 by becoming an alvinsman to find the lost things #where he would then snatch them from Alvin and become king himself #in the last book elder will try to become king in earnest when he thinks minicup is dead and is almost killed for his trouble #its a whole thing

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isa-beenme · 1 year

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Solo Dad Rhys!!!! Fluff piece!!!

AHAHAJAJAJSKSKAKAIAIA I LOVE RHYSAND SO MUCH

I'm sorry for giving a villain arc to Feyre but HEY history needs to happen okay?

Nyxie baby cutie boo making his first appearance in my blog, welcome babyyyy

My mind just went FUOOOOOON once I imagined the story, I SWEAR I was riding my bike when I thought of this and had to stop middle way to my house just to think it better

Yes I changed the lyrics of Wait For It to fit the history, and yes I invented a whole bunch of shit about velaris WHO CARES

KEEP SENDING REQUESTS I LOVE DOING THIS

Wait For It

In the breathtaking realm of the Night Court, the stars gleamed like diamonds in the obsidian sky, casting their ethereal glow upon the majestic city of Velaris below. Amidst the grandeur of the court, Nyx, a cherubic young boy of ten, with unruly dark curls and captivating violet eyes, eagerly awaited his Wednesday night escapade.

Nyx's parents were once deeply in love, but Feyre, burdened by a restless heart, had returned to her once fiancee, Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring Court, after giving birth. In the aftermath of her choices, she had bitterly slandered Rhysand and his family, a web of lies that entangled them in trouble. Despite the turmoil, Rhysand only devoted himself to raising Nyx, juggling the responsibilities of both a powerful High Lord and a dedicated father.

But Nyx had a little secret, a sanctuary that filled his heart with joy amidst the chaos. Every Wednesday night, he would give his father an innocent lie, claiming to attend "extra classes" while secretly venturing to the grand theater of Velaris in the bursting heart of music and arts of the Rainbow.

The first time it happened was pure coincidence. The grand theater of Velaris hummed with the anticipation of the evening's performance. Nyx had just learned how to winnow and having his father's mischievous spirit, he went after the wave of emotion that spread everywhere he went, sneaking into an empty booth Nyx sat in awe, waiting to witness the lady everyone affectionately called "Starlight" take the stage once more. He wore a dashing little suit, feeling every inch a proper gentleman as he eagerly anticipated the show.

As the curtains rose, Nyx's eyes widened in wonderment as "Miss Starlight" appeared, bathed in the spotlight's embrace. Her voice, like a thousand twinkling stars, filled the theater, capturing hearts with its enchanting melody. She actually portrayed a character named Starlight, who reunited the story of Velaris and told it in a song, bringing the city to life and giving it a soul she shared with on stage.

When the final notes of the performance echoed through the theater, the audience erupted in thunderous applause. Nyx, who had been clapping with glee, could hardly contain his excitement as he jumped up from his seat. He knew that he had to speak to her, to let her know how much he adored her singing. With determination in his heart, Nyx slipped away from the public side, weaving through the crowd until he reached the backstage area. His little heart pounded with nervous excitement, but he couldn't let fear hold him back, he knew this was his chance to talk to the performer.

Peeking around the corner, he spotted her, still dressed in her celestial attire, chatting with some of the crew. Nyx took a deep breath, mustering all the bravery a seven-year-old could have, and stepped forward, clutching a small bouquet of flowers he had summoned from his auntie Elain's garden.

- Um, excuse me, miss Starlight? - He called out softly, a touch of shyness evident in his voice. The lady turned, and a radiant smile graced her features as she noticed the adorable little boy approaching her.

- Why, hello there - She said warmly, going down on her knees to meet his eyes. Her sparkling dress made a pool of diamonds shine around her, making her look even more like an angel - And who are you, young man?

- I'm a big fan - He whispered in shyness, hands sweating as he offered her the bouquet and she took it.

- Is my big fan's name Nyx, I suppose? - She asked as if it was a secret, Nyx's eyes widened in surprise.

- You know my name? - She chuckled gently and offered him a hand, one he gladly took in.

- Of course, I remember you. You've been coming here with your father to see the renewal, haven't you? - Nyx's cheeks flushed with delight, feeling like he was known and seen by someone special.

- Yes! I love music, and I loved, even more, your singing, Miss Starlight. It's like true magic! - She laughed, even then she sounded like she was made of music.

- Well, thank you, Nyx. That's such a lovely compliment - She replied, touched by his sincerity. Nyx pointed to her bouquet, a bit shy when she held it close to her heart.

- These are for you. They're from the Night Court's garden - He proudly said and she smiled even more.

- Thank you, sweetheart - She said, looking at the flowers with gratitude - They're beautiful, just like you - His heart swelled with joy at the praise, and a wide grin spread across his face.

- Can I, um, watch all your performances, Miss Starlight? - Her eyes sparkled with warmth and affection.

- Oh, absolutely! I would be delighted to have my biggest fan in the audience at every show - Nyx beamed, feeling like the luckiest boy in all of Prythian.

- Yay! Thank you! - He ran to hug her, taking care to not step in her dress or ruin her hair which had sparkles that shined like the stars he loved to see. As their conversation continued, Nyx's initial shyness faded away, replaced by a blossoming friendship. The lady shared stories of her love for music and the theater, and Nyx listened with rapt attention, hanging on to her every word.

From that day forward, Nyx became a regular presence at her performances. He would sit in the front row or in the same booth when he didn't feel like gaining attention from the citizens, his eyes alight with wonder, as "Miss Starlight" sang and danced with grace and passion. And each time the curtains fell, she would come to greet him, and they would share heartwarming conversations that left Nyx feeling like he had found a kindred spirit.

Their bond grew stronger with each passing performance, and Nyx's admiration for "Miss Starlight" only deepened as the years passed. Their friendship was a radiant star in the young boy's life, casting a luminous glow on his days in the Night Court. And every time he watched her on that mesmerizing stage, he couldn't help but feel that he was in the presence of true magic. There, he would be enchanted over and over again by a sweet and lovely lady, her voice as mellifluous as the Night Court's nocturnal symphony.

It took years for Nyx to finally come up with a good and durable excuse for his lack of presence every Wednesday night, sometimes even missing dinner with his family when his favorite singer invited him to dine with the rest of the cast that presented the show. Unknown to Nyx, in one of his hidden escapes, his father was making his way across the city. Under the veil of night, the streets of Velaris were bathed in a silvery glow. High Lord Rhysand, cloaked in shadows, followed the path toward one of his favorite restaurants.

While he passed through some of the streets he met Nyx's teacher walking next to the River. Curious as to why she was there he trailed her discreetly, observing her every move with a mixture of concern and curiosity. As the lady entered a quaint restaurant, Rhysand waited a moment before stepping inside. He chose a discreet corner, keeping his features hidden from curious gazes. The restaurant hummed with soft conversation and the clinking of glasses, creating a cozy ambiance.

After what felt like an eternity, the lady emerged from the restroom, looking elegant and serene. Rhysand steadied himself, deciding it was time to confront her.

- Excuse me, miss - As she walked past his table, he spoke in a low, steady voice. She turned, her eyes meeting Rhysand's, and for a moment, he saw a glimmer of recognition. However, she quickly masked it with a polite smile.

- Yes, can I help you, my Lord? - Her face was calm, too calm for someone that was supposed to be with somebody else's son and not at a restaurant having a date.

- I believe you've been teaching my son, Nyx, for the past few years - Rhysand began, maintaining an air of formality.

- Oh, Nyx - She replied, her eyes brightening with fondness - Such a charming and talented young boy. He's been attending my classes for a while now, yes.

- I must apologize for any misunderstanding, but I can't seem to understand why you are here if he was supposed to be in class right now - The lady's expression faltered, and she seemed to grasp the seriousness of the situation.

- I... I don't have formal classes with him on Wednesdays, per se. Nyx has been coming every Saturday afternoon for his lessons - Rhysand became desperate for a second, and his heart clenched with worry for his son's safety.

- So he's been lying to me - He said, his voice tinged with disappointment. The lady's eyes softened with understanding.

- I'm sorry if I inadvertently became part of his secret. I never knew he was hiding the truth from you - His ears pricked at her words, curious as to why she didn't seem any sort of nervous

- What do you mean by "hiding the truth from me"? Do you know where he is? - She seemed confused for a second, before a smile plastered on her face.

- Everyone in the streets of the Rainbow knows where the little prince goes on Wednesdays, we all assumed you and your family knew too. It's not uncommon to find him walking down the city with the actors that play in the theater - His eyes softened at hearing his son was safe and his citizens were somehow taking care of him - I'm sorry for not noticing your lack of knowledge on his where being.

- You have nothing to apologize for - Rhysand replied, his tone gentler now - I appreciate your honesty. I was just worried for his safety once I saw you here.

- He's safe with the crew, they are lovely people to be around, I actually befriended some of them, there's nothing to fear - the lady assured him, her sincerity evident - He's such a joy around them, and he's genuinely passionate about music and theater. You need to listen to him talk about his "Miss Starlight" and detail every new performance of hers - Rhysand couldn't help but feel a hint of gratitude toward the lady for cherishing his son's company. A smile graced the lady's lips, and a sparkle danced in her eyes - He's a remarkable young boy, and it's been so sweet to hear him talk about this lady, you should probably meet her and thank this female for making him so happy. He's always so enthusiastic.

- I'm planning to talk to him about this - Rhysand said, his voice tinged with gratitude, though - But I would like to be informed of any action by him, apparently there are a lot of things I don't know about. Thank you once again - As she nodded with a small smile Rhysand quickly winnowed to the Town House, calling an urgent meeting with his family.

The Night Court's Inner Circle gathered in a quiet corner of the luxurious house, their faces reflecting concern and curiosity. Rhysand sat at the head of the table, his heart heavy with worry for his young son, Nyx. He had discovered Nyx's secret escapades to watch "Miss Starlight," the lady whose performances had captured his son's heart, and now he needed advice on how to handle the situation. Mor leaned forward, her brows furrowed with worry.

- So, he's been going to watch performances instead of attending classes, is that what you just said? - She asked, concern lacing her voice.

- Yes, and he's been lying about it for a while now, years probably. I didn't find out until this night when I found his teacher in a restaurant, and I'm not sure how to address it without making him feel ashamed - Rhysand nodded, his voice tinged with regret.

- He's a curious child, Rhysand. He probably felt the need to hide it because he thought you'd disapprove - Amren, always the pragmatic one, spoke up.

- I can understand why he'd be drawn to her performances. She's a true star on that stage - Cassian chimed in, his face thoughtful.

- And she's been wonderful with Nyx - Azriel added quietly - I've seen her interact with him after her shows, and the way he lights up in her presence is undeniable.

- Wait, wait, wait, both knew he was going to her performances and none of you thought about telling me? - His brother's expression fell at their mistake, slowly looking at each other before looking at their High Lord again.

- Maybe? I mean, we saw him on the front row once and when we made sure he was safe we left him there - Cassian explained first, exchanging looks with the shadowsinger.

- We were waiting for him to tell you - Azriel closed the conversation, looking at the ground in shame.

- Hold on, the actress we are talking about is the one who played Edwina in "Whimsical Serenade"? - As Cassian and Azriel eagerly agreed, their faces lighting up, Morrigan laughs hard, finally understanding the whole situation - Of course! It all makes sense now! Even I lied to you once to go watch her performance with Elain. I didn't notice Nyx there, though.

- Isn't she the one who plays Rhysand in "A High Lord's Duel"? - Amren jumps in the conversation, and Nestha's eyes widened at the mention - Holy shit, she is amazing. It actually scared me how well she incorporates Rhysand in the scenes with Tamlin.

- If so she is the one who plays Eliza in "A Heartfelt Symphony" - All of them agreed to her statement, starting a discussion about her talent and performances.

- Let me get this straight, all of you watched her at least once? - As the Inner Circle discussed Nyx's infatuation with "Miss Starlight", as well as their experiences with her, unbeknownst to them, the young boy himself stood at the doorway, eavesdropping on the conversation with a mix of fear and guilt. He knew he had let his father down, and he dreaded facing the consequences of his actions.

Before Nyx could retreat, Mor's keen senses detected his presence. She glanced towards the door and smiled warmly at him.

- Nyx, come on in. We were just discussing your little adventures - His little heart pounded in his chest, but he knew he couldn't hide anymore. Nyx took a deep breath and stepped into the room, his violet eyes meeting his father's concerned gaze.

- Nyx - Rhysand began gently - We know about your visits to watch the shows at the theater. Why didn't you tell me the truth?

- I didn't want you to be angry with me, Papa. I love her singing, and I didn't think you'd let me go if you knew - Nyx's shoulders slumped, his voice small.

- Nyx, I'm not angry with you. I just want to know the truth. You don't have to hide anything from me - Rhysand softened, understanding his son's fear.

- Plus, we all know about her. You're not the only one who's watched her perform, little one - Mor grinned, her eyes twinkling mischievously. Nyx's eyes widened in surprise, and he looked around at the Inner Circle, finding nods of agreement from each of them. The knowledge that everyone knew and still supported him brought a smile to his face.

- You guys have seen her too? - Nyx asked in awe.

- Of course! We had to make sure you weren't getting into any trouble, boo - Cassian chuckled.

- Papa, please come with me to the next show. She's amazing, and I think you'll like her too - Nyx turned back to his father, his eyes earnest.

- Yes, Daddy, Miss Starlight is the best in the whole wide world - Nestha chuckled before earning a warning glare from the High Lord.

- All right, Nyx. I'll go with you, and we can enjoy her performance together - Rhysand's heart swelled with love for his son and his genuine enthusiasm.

Nyx beamed, feeling a sense of relief wash over him. He knew he could trust his father, and having him there by his side meant the world to him. And so, with the support of the Inner Circle and his loving father, Nyx felt a newfound sense of confidence. He had learned that honesty and trust were the building blocks of their family, and he was eager to share the magic of "Miss Starlight" with the one person he loved most in the world – his Papa, the High Lord of the Night Court.

As fate would have it, one week later they arrived at the theater, Rhysand's heart pounding in his chest with a nervousness he hadn't felt for years. He let Nyx guide them to one of the booths that held an upper vision of the scenario, his son kept gazing at the stage with an enchantment that seemed to hold a spell over him. The performance began, and a whole bunch of songs were being presented that night. The musical was called "The Whole World of the Night Court", each actor portraying a different city of his territory, telling its story in the form of a song.

The lights turned off again, and Nyx started to shake completely in his chair with excitement. As the grand theater's velvet curtains parted, a hushed anticipation swept through the audience. A spotlight illuminated the stage, and there she stood, "Miss Starlight," bathed in a celestial aura, ready to weave her magic once more. Rhysand sat straighter in his seat, his heart fluttering with both curiosity and the enchantment that surrounded the mysterious lady, a sudden uneasiness taking his body.

As for Nyx, his wide violet eyes were shimmering with excitement, his small hands gripping the edge of the plush seat. He was eager to share this moment with his Papa, to introduce him to the magic that had captured his young heart. Her, interpreting once again her character Starlight, began to tell Velaris stories to the public as if it was her own, eyes shimmering at each word. Suddenly the orchestra began to play a mesmerizing melody, and the lady took a deep breath, her voice tinged with emotion as she began to sing. The soulful notes of the piano accompanied her melodic voice, setting the stage for the tale she was about to tell.

- Theodosia writes me a letter every day; I'm keeping the bed warm while her father is away, He's on the human side in Prythian; He's trying to keep the colonies in line; But he can keep all of Prythian; Theodosia, she's mine - She sang, making a clear reference to the firstly High Lord that idealized Velaris as a gift to his wife, Theodosia. This fact made Rhysand even more aware of the spectacle.

- Love doesn't discriminate; Between the sinners and the saints; It takes, and it takes, and it takes; And we keep loving anyway; We laugh, and we cry, and we break, and we make our mistakes; And if there's a reason I'm by her side; When so many have tried; Then I'm willing to wait for it; I'm willing to wait for it.

With a glance at Nyx, who was completely enthralled by the performance, Rhysand knew that this lady had the power to touch hearts and ignite imaginations.

- My grandfather was a fire and brimstone preacher; But there are things that the homilies and hymns won't teach ya; My mother was a genius; My father commanded respect; When they died, they left no instructions; Just a legacy to protect - At that she clearly meant the legacy every High Lord had to carry to protect the city, himself being one of the many that had to sacrifice a lot to keep the secret - Death doesn't discriminate; Between the sinners and the saints; It takes, and it takes, and it takes; And we keep living anyway; We rise, and we fall, and we break, and we make our mistakes; And if there's a reason I'm still alive; When everyone who loves me has died; I'm willing to wait for it; I'm willing to wait for it.

As the chorus echoed through the theater, Rhysand felt a connection to the song's message. He understood the yearning for something that might be just out of reach, and it resonated deep within his soul.

- Wait for it, wait for it, wait for it, wait - The quiet intensity in her expression held the audience captive while the back vocals reached their peak, and Rhysand found himself captivated as well, unable to look away.

Her voice rose, reaching heights that seemed to touch the very stars, and as the orchestra swelled around her, Rhysand could feel the passion in every word she sang.

- I am the one thing in life I can control; I am inimitable, I am an original; I'm not falling behind or running late; I'm not standing still, I am lying in wait - He understood it as a way of saying how every city thrived and Velaris kept being a hidden city towards the other courts - Nightmare's face is an endless uphill climb; He has something to prove; He has nothing to lose; Nightmare's pace is relentless, he wastes no time; What is it like in his shoes?

Nightmare was one of the characters previously introduced in the show, representing the Hewn City and their politics of participating in every decision, especially by being the formal representation and the known image of the Night Court.

- Nightmare doesn't hesitate; He exhibits no restraint; He takes, and he takes, and he takes; And he keeps winning anyway; He changes the game; He plays and he raises the stakes; And if there's a reason he seems to thrive when so few survive; Then, goddammit, I'm willing to wait for it; I'm willing to wait for it - Her voice went to a soft breeze, tickling Rhysand's soul as she rose her voice again for the final chorus - Life doesn't discriminate; Between the sinners and the saints; It takes, and it takes, and it takes; We rise, and we fall; And if there's a reason I'm still alive; When so many have died; Then I'm willing to - Her eyes met his in the middle of the public, a sense of understanding passing through them, an unspoken love for their court and the child both of them unknowingly raised together. She was still looking him deep in his eyes as she smiled and repeated the final phrase - Wait for it.

The final verse carried an air of determination, of embracing the journey and whatever it may bring. As the last notes reverberated through the theater, the audience erupted in applause, their hearts touched by the lady's stirring performance. Rhysand glanced at Nyx, whose eyes shone with a mixture of awe and admiration.

- That was amazing, Papa! Did you like it? - Nyx asked, his voice brimming with excitement.

- Yes, my star, I loved it. And I'm glad you brought me here to experience it with you - Rhysand smiled, his heart full of love for his young son and the lady who had brought so much joy into their lives.

Amid the ending performance with a song that reunited all of the cast together, the lady glanced up and met Rhysand's intense stare once again, singing some of the parts to him, in that fleeting moment the music seemed to draw them closer, and when she smiled bright and big and bowed to him in the end, his heart skipped a beat.

The final notes of the fun goodbye to the cast proportionate filled the air as the audience erupted into thunderous applause again. Nyx's heart swelled with pride, knowing that his Papa, the High Lord of the Night Court, had enjoyed the mesmerizing magic of "Miss Starlight's" song, just as he had. He couldn't wait to introduce them properly. As the crew took their final bow and the curtain fell, Nyx tugged on his father's hand, his excitement evident in his wide, sparkling eyes.

- Papa, come on! Let's go meet her! - He exclaimed, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. Rhysand chuckled at his son's exuberance, happy to see him so thrilled.

- All right, lead the way, little star - He said, following Nyx as they made their way backstage.

Behind the curtain, the atmosphere buzzed with excitement as the crew congratulated the lady on her outstanding performance. Nyx's eyes searched for her, and when he finally spotted her amidst the commotion, he pulled his father towards her.

- Miss Starlight! - Nyx called out, his voice filled with adoration. The lady turned, her eyes lighting up when she saw Nyx approaching with Rhysand in tow. She smiled warmly, her gaze moving from Nyx to Rhysand.

- Hello there, both of you - She greeted them, her voice as sweet as a lullaby. Nyx beamed, proud to have his father by his side.

- This is my Papa, the High Lord Rhysand. Papa, this is Lady Starlight, High Lady of the musical theater - he said, introducing them with a touch of pride.

- It's a pleasure to meet you, My Lord - The lady said, offering a graceful curtsy - Nyx has spoken very highly of you. I couldn't wait to finally meet the father of my biggest fan - Rhysand couldn't help but feel a hint of curiosity as he looked at the lady before him.

- Likewise - He replied with a genuine smile - Your performance was extraordinary. I've never heard such a captivating voice. And please, call me Rhysand, or Rhys - Her cheeks flushed with a blush of delight, and she bowed her head slightly

- Thank you, Rhysand. I'm honored that you enjoyed it - Before Nyx could contain his excitement, he interjected.

- Papa, you should ask her out on a date! - He shouted to his father, jumping up and down in place as he looked at both of the people he loved the most in the world (not that he would ever admit it next to the rest of his family). Rhysand blinked, surprised by Nyx's candid suggestion. He exchanged a glance with the lady, and a soft smile played on her lips.

- Is that so? - He asked, humor dancing in his eyes. Nyx nodded enthusiastically.

- Yes! She's really nice, and I know you'll like her. And I really want to call her mommy. And I'll change my name to Nyxie Starlight, and we'll be a family - Rhysand couldn't help but chuckle at his son's matchmaking efforts. Nyx, in his characteristic innocence, suggested they should marry soon so that Rhysand could be Mister Starlight, Nyx's mind forever intertwining her character's name with her true identity.

- Well, if it's alright with you, Miss Starlight, I'd love to take you out for a date - The lady's smile grew, her eyes shining with amusement.

- I'd be delighted, Rhys - The blush that covered her cheeks made Rhysand's heart flutter in a way he hadn't felt, even when he was with Feyre.

Nyx reveled in having both his beloved daddy and his adored Starlight in his life, and Rhysand found solace and bliss in a love he thought he would never experience again.

As they exchanged information and chose a day and place, Nyx couldn't contain his excitement, thrilled that his plan had worked. He knew that this lady had brought so much joy into his life, and he wanted nothing more than to see his Papa happy as well.

As they bid their farewells and left the theater, Rhysand felt a sense of warmth in his heart, grateful for the magical night he had shared with his son and the enchanting lady they now knew as "Miss Mommy Starlight." And as they looked up at the starlit sky above the Night Court, Rhysand knew that the adventure they had embarked upon was just beginning, an adventure filled with love, music, and the serendipitous magic of young hearts.

They embraced the magic of their fate, as their lives intertwined like a dance, creating a tale of love that would be whispered through the ages in the immortal lands of Prythian as the most magically musical love story that ever ran through history. Or the most disgustingly cute, as Nyx would proclaim, and they wouldn't have it any other way.

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