#tis a question I am getting more often these days and I need to have a link I can send them with all this stuff already written!

[aerynwrites]

Desire

Halsin x Fem!Reader

A/N: Am I going to use this gif for every nsfw halsin piece? yes. do I care? absolutly not. lol. Anyways, this is based off this request! I hope you all enjoy <3

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. NSFW. Breeding Kink, Halsin wants to get reader pregnant, creampie, unprotected sex, PiV Sex, fingering, Halsin is feral in this one i feel like lol, dirty talk (kinda), discussions of starting a family, fluff, soft at the end.

His hands are like branding irons against your skin, rough calluses creating delicious friction as he slides them beneath your shirt. 

“Halsin, what…?” your questions trails off into a breathless moan as he nips at the delicate skin of your neck, all while ushering you quite frantically to his chamber in the grove. 

While Halsin and you are intimate more often than most, this is abnormal. Your partner is usually slow, attentive, attuned to your every need. But now…he still seems to be attuned to you but his pace is…feral. It’s needy and hurried, as if he can’t get to you quick enough, can’t press his body to you close enough.

And it seemed to come from nowhere. 

The only thing of note that happened that day was that you and Halsin went to visit one of the refugee families who had just had a babe a few days past. A beautiful baby girl that you had been dying to hold since you helped bring her into this world. You and Halsin had spent but a scant amount of time in their home before Halsin was whisking you away. 

And now here you are, being pressed down onto a familiar bed, with Halsin filling your every sense, surrounding you with nothing but himself. His fingers are already fumbling with the ties of your shirt, and while you don’t stop him, you can’t help but try to voice your question once more. 

“Halsin,” you say, breath catching in your throat as he starts to trail kisses down your newly exposed skin. “What has gotten into you?” you finally ask.

His lips break from your skin only long enough to offer a reply, and even then they still brush against you, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he travels down, his hands slowly inching your shirt upwards in effort to remove it. 

“Seeing you with the child, with that small babe in your arms,” he groans as he nuzzles into your hip. “It did things to me that I had never imagined.”

His teeth nip at your skin as your heart rate stutters, arousal pooling in your belly as you realize what he’s saying.

“I want that,” he whispers, voice thick with sin. “I want to see you round with my child. I want to fill you so completely until there is no doubt you carry our babe in your belly…”

His hands have slid down again, fingers hooking in the waistband of your pants, and your hips are coming up to aid him before you even speak.

“Oh, gods…yes-” you moan, your permission leaving your lips without any hesitation.

And that is all Halsin requires. 

Your pants are pulled from you, discarded across the room along with your shirt and underthings soon after.  You don’t even see how Halsin rids himself of his garments before he is on you once more, his body blanketing yours in a wall of furnace like heat and pure muscle.

You can feel him against your hip, hot and hard as steel, already leaking against your skin. His hands wander to your thighs, fingers digging into the muscle as he settles himself between your hips. 

Halsin typically spends an infuriating amount of time with foreplay, saying he often enjoys it more than the deed itself, but tonight you can sense it will be different. He’s eager, more so than usual and you can see the way his muscles strain beneath his skin. The tendons in his neck pulled taught, biceps bulging, the chords in his back tense beneath your hands as you run them down his spine. 

He wants to take you. Now. 

And if it were any other night you would protest, liking and needing the preparation. But tonight…tonight you can’t wait. You’re already dripping from the way he touched you earlier, from the way he practically dragged you into his chambers, devouring you the whole way. And Haslin finds out as well, one of his hands sliding deftly upwards to sink between your legs, fingers slipping between wet folds before teasing your entrance. 

His shoulders shake with a stuttered sigh, his breath warm against your lips as he sinks two fingers inside you. 

“You’re already dripping, for me,” he groans, lips brushing against yours as his head falls down to rest on your shoulder. “Tell me you do not want this and I will stop,” he says softly, using what little restraint remains to give you about. “Say the word and I will turn from you now-”

Your fingers dig into his back, things clenching against his hips. “Don’t you dare-”

His fingers leave you as soon as the words escape you, and he rises up just enough to capture your lips with his own as he sinks himself inside you in one fluid thrust. He swallows the sinful moan that rips from your chest, tongue pushing past your lips to drink in your pleasure as he wastes no time in setting a punishing pace. 

The stretch of him is divine, the slight discomfort giving way to ecstasy as he moves against you. His arms rest beside your head, fingers carding through your hair as he pulls away for air, only to nose gently at your cheek. 

“I can see you now,” he whispers, one hand coming down to rest against your stomach, his lips trailing to your jaw and lower. “Heavy with child but glowing as your body works to bring new life into this world.”

His hips snap into you then, causing him to brush up against that sweet spot inside you with each consequent press of his hips.

“Oh, fuck - Halsin-!”

You can feel yourself hurtling towards your end, desire burning in your veins as that all too familiar coil pulls taut in your core. Your very being sings with pleasure as Halsin touches you, his lips like liquid fire against your already burning skin. 

Thick arms move to slide beneath you, wrapping around your waist and tilting your hips upwards ever so slightly until he’s pressing into you so deep you see stars. 

“And they will know - everyone will know who you belong to,” he says, voice strained as his hips start to lose rhythm. 

You feel his lips brushing against your ear, breath warm as he whispers the words that are your undoing. “Everyone will know that you are mine.”

Pure starlight explodes behind your eyes as you come undone, clenching around Halsin as he works you through your orgasm with short stuttered thrusts. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, nails leaving deep red marks along his back as you fight to pull him impossibly closer. 

Halsin comes with a shout of your name, warmth spilling inside of you as he continues to move his hips slowly against your own, working you both through your highs until you’re both equally spent. 

His chest presses deliciously against your own as he sags down into the bed, your skin slick with sweat and much more. But Halsin doesn’t seem to mind, pressing gentle kisses to your temple, your cheek, before finally capturing your lips in a proper kiss.

You sigh against him as he kisses you, his lips soft and gentle in comparison to his earlier frenzied actions. His arms slip from around you, moving instead to run up your sides and down your thighs that are still wrapped around his hips. 

You are the first to pull away, but Halsin seems reluctant to remove himself from you, pressing whisper light kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, and down to your neck. Sliding one hand up his back and over his shoulder, your fingers carding through his hair as you scratch lightly at his scalp. 

“Halsin is this…do you truly want this? Children?” you ask, voice soft. 

The man above you lets out a soft sigh, forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder before coming back up to press another kiss to your lips. When he finally pulls away to answer your question, his hazel eyes are soft and sparkling with a vulnerability you don’t often see in the older elf.

“To say that I have not had a desire for a family would be a lie,” he says quietly. “But I did not know just how deeply that desire ran until I saw you holding Anya’s child. Seeing you like that, caring for a babe with a smile on your face made me realize how much I truly crave that. With you. I wish to have a family with you, my heart. But only if that is something you desire as well.”

Your chest aches with absolute joy as he speaks, eyes starting to water at the sincerity of his words. While you’d never voiced the thought to Halsin, you’d also thought about having children with him. You’d always just assumed he wouldn’t want to be tied down, always destined to wander. So, to hear that he wants this too - with you no less, it makes you feel ready to burst with happiness, your chest tight in the best way.

You nod, lips splitting into a grin. “Yes. Yes, I want…I want that with you too, Halsin. So much.”

The grin that adorns his face is enough to rival your own joy, and you’re unable to stop the squeal of utter delight as he peppers your face with kisses.

“You continue to make me the happiest man on this earth,” he says as his forehead comes to rest on your own. “I do not deserve you.”

“Yes, you do,” you tell him, reaching up to cup his cheek as a sly smirk tugs at your lips. “But…if we want to start a family…I’d say we better keep trying.”

Halsin laughs, pressing a kiss to your lips before pressing his hips into yours again. And you have a feeling you won’t be leaving your bed until the sun shines in the morning.

[hitomisuzuya]

Hellloooooooo😖

This is my first time sending a requestttttt-

Before I ask, I hope you're happy and doing greatttttt, I wish you have a great, wonderful, and lovely day tomorrow!! I wish you the best!! I love you and your workkkk, advanced happy birthday to my favorite writer🫶🫶🫶!!

I was wondering if you can do a Yandere Scaramouche with a fem reader where she got kidnapped by him, and when she woke up, he was about to tell her that struggling is useless because she's tied up- but was surprised that she didn't even struggle at all.

He thought that she's only trying to get his trust so that she can escape later on- but when he saw how she seems to reciprocate his actions, and even initiates them sometimes.. He eventually trusted her-

The rest is up to you-!!

(I hope I didn't yap too much😖😖😖

English isn't my first language, I'm sorry if my grammar is bad-.. T-T

And also, to be specific, please make it smut-

Feel free to ignore this if you don't feel like writing it<3!!

Again, I hope you're doing great, take care of yourself, love you, bye bye-!!🖤🖤🖤)

Yandere!Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut Kidnapping. Drugging. Bondage. Degradation. Praise. Creampie. Obsessive/possessive behavior.

Porn with plot this time. This might be a bit longer than I anticipated cause I wanna work on dialogue and detail. I enjoy writing Yanderes ❤️ Smut written while sick, so bear with me🥺

You are way too good for this world, and certainly way too good for the likes of Scaramouche. He knew this. However, this was for your own good. You are strong, but that's exactly why you needed him to protect you. He had to get to you before the unfortunate dregs of life broke you down. Sank it's claws into you, and broke you into a bunch of unfamiliar little pieces.

He more than had experience in the regard.

Scaramouche spent months preparing for this. What he didn't expect was what happened when you finally woke up. The confusion was evident in your eyes when they opened, blinking a few times to focus your vision.

"You are awake," His voice sounded like velvet in your ears, your gaze snapping to him, "Before you woke up, it was real treat for me, you know?" He walked over to the bed, "Getting to see what you look like all tied up for me," His fingers brushed one of your wrists, "Though I am starting to wonder if blue would look just as pretty on those delicate little wrists of yours."

It took a few moments for everything to catch up with you. Your breath hitched in your throat, a shy embarrassed blush that he often craved to see coated your cheeks, your eyes glancing up. Your wrists were tied together and to the headboard with purple ribbons of silk. "What's happening?" You asked a little weakly.

Scaramouche was surprised at the blush. He cleared his throat. "A valid question. I kidnapped you. You dropped like a brick after I drugged you. I may have used a bit more than I needed, but you haven't been sleeping well lately," He replied, matter of fact.

You sighed softly. "Okay," You nodded, adjusting yourself on the bed a little.

Scaramouche raised an eyebrow. What was with you? What was up with that blush on your cheeks? Why were you being so calm? Why didn't you flinch away from the touch of someone who'd just drugged and kidnapped you?

Did he dare think you'd thought about being tied up for him?

"There is no use in struggling," He added, to which you only looked calm. He put his hand on your cheek, waiting for you to shriek and shy away from him.

Looking into his electric eyes always made your heart shake. "But, I'm not," His breath hitched in his throat as you turned your cheek into his hand.

"Yeah, you aren't. Now," You were no doubt trying to lure him into a false sense of security. That was usually the go to strategy for anyone who got kidnapped.

Perhaps he would keep you quiet with the few extra doses of sedatives for the first few days.

"Fine, leave me tied up for awhile. When you feel comfortable, untie me. I'll prove I won't run away," You said, giving him a soft smile that made him grit his teeth, "I promise."

Scaramouche flinched hearing the words I promise. So, he tested you. Boy did he test you. He would leave little traps to see if you would leave. He left the door unlocked. The windows open. He even left the damn door wide open. And yet when he returned, there you were, waiting for him.

Was this what love and loyalty looked like in another person? Did he finally understand what those things met?

The more he pushed his boundaries to see if you would break, the more you seemed to accept him. He got handsy and grabby with you, holding you down while he pressed lustful, harsh kisses to your lips. His teeth biting at your lower lip, his fingers brushing over all the intimate places he wanted to sink his teeth into.

Scaramouche was drowning both you and him in the obsessive passion he felt for you. And you accepted every bit of it. Even felt comforted by it. And when you said, "I want you to touch me. I want you," crawling to straddle his lap and nuzzling your cheek into his neck, every last bit of control he had shattered like glass.

"Say it," He hissed, his hand gripping the headboard tighter as he drove his cock into your sweet spot, "Tell me you want me while I make you cum on my cock, slut," He groaned, trembling as he felt your gummy walls clench on his cock.

If you could touch him, you would've. Your hands were tied above your head to the headboard, one wrist wrapped in purple silk, the other wrapped in blue (he couldn't make up his mind). "I want you, Scaramouche," You moaned, rocking your hips up to help push his cock deeper inside of you, "I want you so badly. I always have."

Fuck, your moans sounded so fucking sweet. It sent him reeling that someone like him could make someone like you, the purest thing in this world to him, moan so lewdly. Your weeping, abused pussy sucking his cock in. It was all so fucking addicting.

He drank in the sight of you, twitching and writhing underneath him, ribbons rubbing against your wrists from the force of his thrusts. Your eyes half lidded, and drool pooling from the corner of your mouth. Would you touch yourself if he untied you right here and now from how good he was making you feel? Your fingers skating over your clit, making your walls tighter on his cock?

There wasn't one intimate part of your body that didn't have dark, blossoming bruises of passion bitten into it. He'd had his fingers inside of you while he marked you up, feeling you soak his hand as he sucked and bite your skin.

"I fucking hope you know I am cumming inside," He growled, hovering his other hand over your throat. He didn't wrap his hand around it and squeeze. He just left it there to exert his dominance over you. Cum nearly spilled inside of you seeing how much it aroused you.

Seeing your eyes light up hearing that he planned to cum inside. The intimacy made your orgasm curl tighter. "Y-You promise?" You managed, moving your head back, and exposing your throat submissively to him for him to squeeze if he wanted.

Scaramouche couldn't hold back his moans anymore, especially not after that and so sweetly said. "Fuck, I'll pump you so fucking full. What a whore," He groaned. He would pump you so full like he imagined all those nights he jacked himself off to thoughts of you.

He knew he would never get enough of the shy, adoring blush that coated your cheeks when he degraded you.

"You are mine. All mine," His hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him as his cock pulsed inside of you. "Do you underneath me, slut? Or are you too fucked dumb?"

"I'm all yours, Scara. I always was," Your words were said with such tender truth to them. He couldn't detect one single hint of deception in your voice, even as your words broke apart into moans and whimpers.

You couldn't help it. You are in so love with him that it hurt. You'd just been too scared to tell him. Afraid of rejection. He could see it in your eyes. But, he understood that completely. "Shh, it's okay now, kitten," He started to babble, shuddering in pleasure as he pushed one of your knees up towards your chest, "I have you now. Everything will be okay. This horrible world won't ever hurt you," His hips snapped into yours with twice the vigor, "I'll see to that."

Only he alone could taint and corrupt you. Only he could break you down and put you back together as he saw fit. It was all the better for him that you accepted it without hesitation.

"You are close, fuck I can feel it," Your walls were squeezing so deliciously tight on his cock. He placed a rough, passionate kiss on your lips, devouring your mouth for a few long minutes. "And you are crying to," He pulled away, brushing the tears of pleasure falling from your eyes away with his thumb, "Cum on my cock like a good girl. You want me to cum inside, don't you?" He cooed.

You could barely manage a nod, crying out for him as your orgasm hit you. Your cum flooded around his cock, the feeling of your walls craving to milk his cock made cum pulse inside of you.

His fingers relentlessly rubbed your clit, further making you twitch and mewl in bliss as he fucked you through your climax.

"Good fucking girl," Scaramouche said, panting as he pulled out of you. Cum dripped out of your weeping hole. He didn't give you time to catch your breath, however. He was already working his way down between your legs to lick and suck your pussy clean.

[daycourtofficial]

One single thread of gold tied me to you

Pairing: Eris x Rhysand's sister!reader | WC: 6.2k | Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, piv, foodplay (chocolate), oral (f and m receiving)

Summary: After a century of waiting, Eris and his mate finally have a few days to themselves to accept the mating bond.

Author's note: this is technically part of my gingerfucker series but it can be read as a standalone. Big thanks to @basketoffish for help with plotting the idea for it and for helping me edit ❤️ The people have been frothing and yearning for this and who am I deny such want any longer?

Eris never had good timing. Born too soon, bearing the brunt of his father’s cruelties. Born into a war he was too young to fight in, but too old to stay at home. 

All of his poor timing was worth it for this perfect opportunity. Beron would be away for three days and three nights to improve relations with Tarquin, the newest High Lord of the Summer Court. Beron went alone - he perceived it as much more intimidating to go alone (perhaps inspired by Tamlin’s appearance in the High Lord’s meeting a few years ago, winnowing in completely unaccompanied). Beron failed to recognize Tamlin’s appearance was much bolder - he knew he would face scrutiny, but still made an appearance without anyone at his side. Beron merely did it because he wanted to look more intimidating.

Nonetheless, Eris was able to send word to you with enough time for you to rearrange your royal appearances to carve out this time with him - an entire three day span, just the two of you. Three days felt like a lifetime when the two of you were only able to schedule hour-long secret meetings.

Once, in a desperate bid just to have your scent on him, you two had met for a total of twenty minutes.

Your rendezvous were often short, full of imminent risk and danger of being caught. Today felt like a blessing from the Mother, as if she were granting her star crossed lovers a vacation, a peek into what life could be like - what life will be like one day.

You two just had to be patient.

Even an entire court away, Beron would know someone from the Night Court was on his land. Perhaps not immediately, but he would know before your three days were over. So the two of you met in the Winter Court, in a cabin you were gifted a long, long time ago. A cabin you’ve gone to on occasion over the years, whenever you needed to get away and be alone. You had set the trap perfectly for your family - you were getting into petty squabbles the entire week, picking fights with Cassian and Mor left and right that left the two of them reeling with annoyance.

Your brother tired of it quite quickly, clocking it for what he thought it was. 

“Perhaps you should spend a weekend away, star.”

His tone was full of concern, for this was how you always were before retreating to your hidden cabin. Irritable, crabby, unable to have decent conversation with anyone without leading them into a spiral of anger.

“I’m fine,” you reply, intentionally clipping the words to make yourself seem in a much worse state than you were. “Besides, I have some scheduled meetings this weekend.”

Rhys nods, “Feyre has agreed to take over any duties you have that can’t be rescheduled.”

You perked up at that, feeling a little bad at the generosity of his mate. You hadn’t felt easy about this plan - preying upon your family to get what you wanted wasn’t a regular occurrence for you. 

But you refused to let any negative feelings about what you were doing get in the way of seeing your mate.

“Are you sure, Rhys?”

He waves a hand, “Go, please only return once you feel rested and headache-free. Cassian is quite adept at giving migraines.”

You smile, “so no one will bother me?”

He sighs at your continued questioning, “no, star. I think we’d be too afraid to bother you, except for Amren. And she’s in Summer for who knows how long.”

He stands up, crossing the room to you, his long legs practically gliding across the floor. He wraps you in his arms, squeezing you tightly before kissing you on the top of your head. He gently sways the two of you as you wrap your arms around him.

“Thanks, Rhys.”

He lays his head on top of your own, “just send word if you’ll be gone longer than a week. I just want to know you’re alive out there.”

This cabin was a frequent rendezvous point for the two of you, much cozier than the large clearings and forests you two otherwise frequent. The cabin was more ideal, however Eris couldn’t deny how incredible it felt to be inside of you as he leaned you up against various trees in the forest, the leaves crunching beneath his boots as he thrusted over and over into you.

His cock twitched at the thought as he walked towards the front door of the cabin. The door groaned slightly as he entered, marking his entrance. He felt the slight magical barrier ripple as he passed the threshold. He shut the door behind him, taking in the small, two bedroom cabin before him. 

The place was quaint and cozy, an insult he would use to describe Rhysand’s absurdly large and ornate homes, but for you it was a testament to how infectious the comfort you radiated was.

It permeated every surface - the walls, covered in various portraits and landscape paintings, along with shelves of books and trinkets.

His scent was stale from the last time he was here, but yours was fresh, as was the smell of some delicious meats and fresh breads. He closed his eyes and leaned his back against the door, catching a glimpse of you as you pittered about the kitchen. He crossed his arms over his chest, allowing himself a moment to think of what his life could be like if the two of you were ordinary fae. 

He would come home from whatever job he had, perhaps a scholar of some kind, leaving at the same time every day to come home to his mate. 

You two would clean your house together, bickering over your inability in any universe to put dirty socks in the hamper, and how in every universe feet would continue to make Eris shudder in disgust. In any other life, he would be thrilled to experience monotony with you.

But he’s not in another life, one of openness and free-flowing adoration, one free of constant plotting and scheming, earning favors wherever he can. He’s in this one - the reality where no one knows about the two of you, because once they do it will become an inter-court political nightmare. It is a life of stolen glances, hidden messages, and secret meetings under the moonlight, but it is a life that belongs to him, when for so long his life was not his own.

Eris would love you in all lives, your soul reaching to him in every iteration and reincarnation of the two of you. If the two of you were nothing but bacteria living on the same organism’s skin, he would find you. He would know it was you, no matter what shade of organism you wore.

The bond hums in your chest, tugging you to look towards the door where you know Eris is standing and watching. You continue the task at hand, not wanting anything to miss your notice. The bond deep inside of you grows more and more insistent, screaming at you to smell him, taste him, feel him, here, here, here. He’s here, in your house, and you need to look, look, look. 

You let Eris come to you, just as you always had, just as you always will. You’re slicing bread, placing the pieces in the bottom of the bowls when the smell of petrichor and caramel hits your nose, a warm presence at your back. 

“Good evening, my fox.” 

His face burrows into your neck at the nickname, melting into everything that was you. His arms wrapped around you, hands meeting yours. His fingers pull the knife from your grip, gently placing it down on the cutting board.

“What are you doing, my evening star?” His voice is purposefully low in your ear, causing goosebumps to trail down your neck, his hands warming your fingers. 

“I’ll give you three guesses.”

His soft chuckle warms your chest, the bond constricting around your heart at his amusement.

“Are you cooking?”

“Yes, Er.”

“I’m surprised your wraiths didn’t prepare anything for you.”

“They did,” you hum, turning in his arms, his amber eyes meeting yours, not quite certain of what they’re seeing.

His hands meet your hips, his touch warm on your skin, and you circle your arms around his neck, fingers raking through his hair at the root.

He hums at your touch, his face swooping down to kiss your forehead. 

You look up at him under your eyelashes, his nose and cheeks littered with freckles, mapping out where home was. You point your head in the direction of two large picnic baskets, one of which was opened for Eris to see various jars of jams and breads.

“Why would you-” his words fall short, his thoughts racing through his mind. They stream by in words and bits of phrases, but no completed thoughts make their way through the whirl and swirl of mate, food, and bond.

He short circuits, not quite grasping what you’re getting at.

“I have never gotten to cook for you,” you shrug nonchalantly.

His eye twitches, still not understanding.

“You’re cooking… for me?” His words come out slow and uncertain, as if the mere concept of someone choosing to do something like this was absolutely foreign to him. You nod slowly, not used to seeing Eris so incapable of understanding. 

“But if you-“

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll-“ 

“Yes.”

“Are you-“

“Yes.”

He stills, his thumb lightly brushing against your hip. Your eyes are open and bright, wanting to convey to him the certainty you felt. You lightly tug on the bond connecting the two of you and he rubs his chest at the feeling.

It’s quiet as the snow falls outside, unaware of the monumental decision you had decided on once Eris’s letter had arrived earlier in the week. You had spent the past few months researching traditional autumn foods, preparing for this day. You had known for quite a while you were going to accept the bond, you just didn’t know when the two of you would have the chance to spend more than a few fleeting hours together. You had sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Mother when you received Eris’s letter, soft prayers echoing through your mind each night ensuring this would all work. 

“Is everything ready?”

His eyes peer into yours, a vulnerability he rarely lets anyone see, even you. His words come out soft and slightly timid, as if he’s worried he’ll scare you off.

“Yes, we just have to bring the food to the table.”

“May I help?” He doesn’t move towards the food, but one of his hands twitches, moving imperceptibly closer to you.

“I would appreciate that.”

It’s quiet as you two move to the food, grabbing platters and bowls to bring to the table. Once the table is full, a three course meal laid out in front of the two of you, the reality set in a bit. It wasn’t that you didn’t love Eris, but you were slightly concerned you were forcing his hand with this. 

This was always ‘someday’, but now it was here and you didn’t know how he truly felt about it. That was until he grabbed your plate, placing the still warm pita in front of you. You placed a piece of pita on his own plate, and he looked at the baba ganoush before him, its texture so unlike anything he had seen in Autumn. “What do I do?”

You ripped a piece of your pita off, dipping it into the bowl, grabbing some of the baba ganoush on it before offering it to him. He inspects the piece, before doing the same with his own piece of pita, bringing the piece to your mouth. 

“Eat. This might be the last time we’re rational enough for food.”

The two of you bite down on the pita, the warmth of the bread with the chill of the baba ganoush, the smoky, rich flavor exploding in your mouths. The room immediately shifted with the scent of your mixed arousals, but the two of you ignored it. His fingers lingered on your mouth, swiping at your lips before ripping off another piece of pita.

Heat was coursing through your veins, Eris’s emotions thrumming through you at a higher intensity. He felt electric in your veins.

You continue feeding each other until the pita’s gone and your attention shifts to the bouillabaisse. In similar fashion, the two of you poured the soup into the bowls with the bread before setting them down. You were thrumming, every part of you screamed to be closer to him, your thoughts having a background loop of mate, mate, mate.

“How did you know about bouillabaisse?”

Eris’s words send heat through you - his voice, soft and low, the actual words not registering with your insatiable need for him.

“Beg your pardon?”

His smirk is feline as he knows exactly why you didn’t hear him, but he repeats his question with no teasing.

“I um, found it a few months ago - I was in Dawn and a little restaurant served it.”

You could feel the sweat on your brow as you watched Eris’s fingers bring another spoonful to his mouth. You thought about all the things he could do with those fingers, that mouth, that tongue-

“Nobody in Dawn serves this. It is a regional dish, more specifically it is only found on the seaside of Autumn.”

Busted. 

You take another bite of the soup, the flavors so different from Night Court cuisine, but you weren’t complaining. Several of the fish in the soup were only found along the coast of Autumn and Winter, some making it as far north as Dawn.

“I may have perused some Autumn Court restaurants when I was visiting once.”

Eris stretches out the fingers of his hand, moving his long fingers in torturous preparation before placing his hand on your thigh. His touch was so warm, you began pulling at the collar of your dress to let the heat escape, biting your lip to keep the moan from escaping.

“When were you allowed in Autumn?”

“Fine,” your voice came out sharp, the room much too hot for an interrogation, “I snuck into Autumn a few months ago trying to find something to make you for this. I tried a bouillabaisse at this incredible little restaurant and I paid them an exorbitant amount of gold to teach me how to make it and to not tell anyone I was there. I slipped back in yesterday to pick up the fish in this soup.”

His fingers dance about on your thigh, and you take a quick glance down at his pants, your body growing warmer at his cock pressing across his pants, desperate to be released. You can’t move your eyes away from it - knowing how it looked, how it felt in your mouth, how it tasted - you were about to start drooling before Eris’s hand came up and closed your jaw.

“Strip.”

Eris’s words were a demand, full of power and need.

“But we still have dess-“

Your words died on your tongue as Eris began unbuttoning his shirt, your eyes caught on his lean chest, littered with freckles. You were in need, too, practically salivating at your mate’s display of his body, and you can’t quite remember why you wanted him to finish the whole meal.

He huffs over to you, his hands grabbing the fabric of your dress, ripping it in half down the middle. You gasp as the cold air meets your skin, somehow making your nipples even harder.

You stare at him wide eyed, even more aroused than before. At this point, you knew your panties were doing very little to keep your arousal from coating your thighs.

“You took too long,” he snarls, undoing the ties of his pants.

You had begun pulling the remnants of your dress off your shoulder, but stopped to watch your mate hook his thumbs into his trousers and pull them down, letting his cock free. 

You move forward, ready to jump on Eris, but his hand on your chest stops you, eliciting a whine from you. His other hand grabs the molten chocolate cake you had made, slowly lifting it out of the ramekin. He holds it delicately in his hand, the other hand on your chest moving up to your hair, tugging gently on the strands to pull you towards him.

Your chests were touching, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. He blazed with heat, his cock hard with need pressed into your stomach. His cheeks are dusted with pink and his blood was boiling inside of him, but he moved ever so slowly, his fingers meeting your chin. He looked into your eyes, the two of you the only beings in the world right now.

“My mate.”

Anything could be happening outside of the walls of this cabin. The snow could have all melted, a heat wave sending the Winter Court into chaos, and you wouldn’t know. All you would know was Eris’s gaze on you, mapping out every inch of your body so he can remember every detail correctly when he thinks about this once you two are apart. His thumb applied pressure on your chin, opening your mouth. He placed the cake in your mouth, whispering, “don’t bite, not yet.”

You moved your hands to his hips, holding onto him. One of his hands moves to help hold the cake up, his other holding onto your neck. He puts the other end of the small cake into his mouth and lightly tugs on the bond. You both bite into it, the liquid chocolate center immediately cascading down and coating both of your chests. You both make quick work of finishing the remainder of the cake, tearing and gnawing at the soft dessert until you finish it off. He catches your lips in a kiss, the taste of the chocolate a luxury on his tongue.

You jump, feet slipping slightly on the bits of chocolate that made it to the floor. Eris’s arms catch underneath your thighs, wrapping your legs around his hips. He lays you down on the table, moving his lips from your mouth, down the column of your throat, down your chest. You’re pulsing with need, desperate to feel any friction from him. You thrust your hips up, desperate to meet any feeling of him against you. His arm moves across your hips, pushing you down against the table. He shakes his head as he keeps kissing down your stomach, lifting his arm for a ring of fire to take its place around your waist.

He skips over where you want him, instead moving his head down to your thigh, licking up towards your hips. His tongue was hot as it slid up your inner thigh, lapping up the chocolate that had dripped down it. Your breathing was ragged as you felt his hot tongue growing closer and closer to you, and it felt like it was getting warmer the further it moved up your thigh. 

You looked down at him, his amber eyes that were full of heat all you can see of his face as his tongue finally slips between your folds. You moan at the contact, throwing your head back and hitting it harshly against the table. The pain didn’t register, not as Eris - your mate - was moving his tongue as if he knew every part of you, as if he knew exactly how you felt as he would warm and cool his tongue at his leisure. He lifted his mouth just an inch, his words slightly muffled by your body.

“You taste of desperation. It’s delicious.”

You moan at his words, and he flicks your clit with his tongue. His hands warm on your thighs, pressing them further apart. He slips his tongue back through your folds, your hands gripping onto his hair to keep his mouth on you. He grabs your legs, hoisting them over his shoulders before one of his hands disappears. You are writhing on the table, his grip on you lighting your skin on fire. The room grows heavier with the scent of his arousal, and you twitch your ears at the new sound in the room.

He was moaning into your pussy, the vibrations coursing through your body as you realized the hand that left you was wrapped around his cock, pumping furiously. The thought of him being so aroused at eating you out that he has to touch himself sends you over the edge, your thighs clenching over his ears as you finish on his tongue. Your breathing was heavy, and Eris’s tongue did not let up, lapping like a starved male. You pulled him up by his hair, bringing your face to his. Your tongue swipes into his mouth, tasting a combination of yourself and chocolate on his mouth. You grab his shoulders, deepening the kiss as you flip him onto his back, pressing him onto the table. His hands grip onto your hips, trying to push you onto him, desperate for any touch from you. He whimpers as you tug his hair, pulling him into you.

You place teasing bites as you move down his torso, leaving mark after mark in a line towards his happy trail. You purposefully rub your breasts against his cock, smiling up at him as he groans, your breath hot on his crotch.

You lick from underneath his shaft, your tongue slowly moving from the base to the tip before putting his cock completely in your mouth. He tasted like cinnamon with a little salt, the chocolate flavor on your tongue making him taste incredible. His hands move, gripping onto your hair as he chants your name - a prayer, a plea, you weren’t sure. Your hands wrapped around the base of his cock and his hips thrusted trying to push himself deeper into your mouth. 

You wanted to tease him about needing to touch himself while his mouth was on you, but you felt the same compulsions as you bobbed your head up and down on his cock. You resist the urge to move your fingers to yourself by digging your nails into Eris’s thighs, leaving half moon indents. His grip grew tighter on your hair, pushing your head down harder as he got closer to finishing, his moans filling the cabin as he finished, the hot taste of cinnamon filling your mouth and coating your throat as you swallow it. You pull your mouth off of him, his cock twitching again at the look you give him as you lick your lips.

He growled and you swiped your tongue up his still hard cock. He lunged for you, jumping off the table before his teeth sink onto your nipple, pulling the skin with his teeth. You gasp, pinching his nipple back in response. 

“Do you think there’s something there about eating to accept the bond and what we just did?”

You waggle your brows at him, but his eyes are a bottomless pit of black. Gone are the amber hues of fallen leaves, replaced by an endless void of hunger. You lean up to kiss him, the taste of both of you swirling between your tongues. You start walking backward, knocking into one of the chairs. He catches you, one arm hooking around your waist. 

His pointer finger moves up from your belly button to your neck, swiping up the chocolate left behind. He puts his finger in your mouth, having you suck the chocolate off. 

“Maybe we should get cleaned up.”

You smiled around his finger, swirling your tongue around it as you looked up at him from under your lashes. You nodded, taking his whole finger into your mouth. He breathes in deeply through his nose, his eyes swirling with desire before you. His other arm loops around your waist, carrying you through the cabin. Your giggles echoed down the hallway as Eris moved the two of you into the bathroom. He doesn’t set you down, shifting instead to hold you up against the wall with one arm while he turns the shower on. 

The water started cascading down the both of you, sweeping the remnants of the chocolate down the drain. Your feet hit the floor as Eris pushes the two of you forward, your back hitting the wall. The water fell over your face, making it hard to see him, but you could feel everything about him. You felt his skin on yours, your chests pushed together. You felt his emotions thrumming inside of you, bouncing everywhere, filling every available space. You had heard of the bond being accepted as an all-consuming thing, but you found any previous descriptions to be wholly inadequate. Every inch of you burned for him, thrumming with need to be near, to have him with you, to have him inside of you. 

He grabs the bar of soap from the shower, lathering it onto a wet washcloth before rubbing it against your body, rubbing the chocolate from both yours and his skin. 

“I never thought accepting the bond would be so messy.”

Eris’s hand guided the wash cloth across your shoulders, your sternum, before taking his time as he rubbed it against your breasts. His thigh slid between your legs, separating them. Lean muscle pressed against your cunt as you sank onto his thigh. His lips were on your mouth as you ground onto his thigh. He tossed aside the washcloth, his hands gripped your hips, harshly moving you against his thigh. 

“My beautiful, beautiful mate.” 

His voice was husky, echoing through the shower, further cementing that feeling he was everywhere.

“Gonna fall apart on my thigh?”

His lips move down your neck, teeth sinking into skin.

“We have all weekend for me to put every part of me to good use.”

You threw your head back, hitting the wall softly. One of Eris’s hands moves behind your head, cushioning the blow. His grip is unforgiving as he continues moving you, his thigh rubbing your clit so perfectly. Eris looked so beautiful before you, his pale skin a soft shade of pink from the heat radiating off of him. 

His irises have shrunk enough for you to see a slither of the amber you love so much. You could feel him thrumming in your chest and you swore if you looked down, the room would be alight with the gold tie between you two. You gripped his shoulders as he pressed his thigh into harder, sending you over the edge. 

You’re reeling from the orgasm, but Eris’s grip doesn’t let up. He uses his other leg to spread your legs again, and his hands move down to your ass, picking you up before sliding his cock into you. It feels right when he’s inside of you, the pounding in your head subsiding, the heat dissipating for just a moment before it was replaced with the need for more, more, more.

Your head moves across the tiled wall as Eris thrusts into you. You grip his hair, pulling his face to you again before kissing his mouth, needing to feel him everywhere. You’re all teeth as you nip and bite across his neck, up his jaw, on his earlobes. The shower does little to hide the whimper he lets out. 

His fingers grab your face, pulling you from his ear to his mouth. He kisses you hard and passionately before pulling out of you and turning you around. Your hands press into the wall as his hands roam down the sides of your body, sending chills throughout you.

One of his hands ran through your hair, wrapping it around his hand, the other wrapping around your waist, holding your back to his chest. The water streamed down the two of you, but you hardly noticed as he kissed your neck, pushing you against the wall.

You moan, pushing your ass against his cock. He growls as one of his hands traces from your hip down to your upper inner thigh, gripping tightly.

He bit your shoulder blade, pushing deeper inside of you. The pressure inside of you kept building, the water streaming across your skin growing hotter. Your blood was boiling, you weren’t sure where you stopped and Eris began. His thrusts became harder and more erratic, his fingers gripping so tightly you were sure they’d bruise. 

Eirs held you in an iron grip as he came inside of you, his release causing you to finish again. Arms braced against the wall as you panted heavily, Eris softly pulled himself out of you. His hands rubbed down your arms, and you stood up straighter, albeit on shaky legs. His eyes were roaming your body, looking over all the marks leftover from your tryst. The two of you were no strangers to rougher sex - most of the time you two were only able to satiate each other against a tree for mother’s sake. The tiles were no concern to you, but you knew Eris felt something deeper within him, guilt perhaps at how little control he had and the marks a reminder of that. Having a bond was new, but accepting the bond was utter chaos. A thousand emotions rattled through you, unsure of who they truly belonged to the most dominant ones were to protect and to fuck.

Eris slipped his arm out of the shower, his head going with it. You took the moment to gaze down at his ass, the little freckles scattered across it gave you the urge to bite the plump flesh. He came back in fully with a washcloth, and your gaze softened. You reach out, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

“Er, I don’t care, we’ll probably be going at it again in twenty minutes.”

Despite your protests, he broke free of the loose grip you had on him. He brought the cloth up under the water, letting it get properly drenched. 

“I know.” 

He moved the washcloth down between your legs, his touch impossibly gentle compared with the male who was gripping your hips hard enough to bruise moments ago.

“We’ve just never gotten to have this part before.”

You think back to all the times you two have met - in the woods, in secure cabins, in closets to find that he was right. Every moment alone the two of you had counted, and neither of you were ever able to linger for long after sex. 

Another thing the secrecy cost the both of you.

He looked to you, asking silent permission, and you nod. He moved the washcloth, cleaning the remnants of himself off of you. He rinsed the washcloth again before moving it across your skin - your stomach, your shoulders, your arms. He lingered, taking the time to clean every inch of you. He laughed, pointing out you still had some chocolate behind your ear. Once he finished, he reached to turn off the shower, but your hand stopped his. 

His eyes are assessing as you slowly grab the washcloth from him, your own eyes reflecting his previous question. He nods, and you start your own work of cleaning him. Your eyes trail his body, taking in how vulnerable he is in this moment. You hummed softly, the tune of some song you can’t recall the name of. The sound makes some of the emotions inside of you die down a bit, replaced by a calmer feeling. Eris tips his head down as you wipe at his back, the scars there almost mirrors of your own.

The cloth moves down him, but you stop to kiss a few of the scars on his upper back. Once you’re done, you drop the washcloth on the floor, wrapping your arms around his torso. Eris’s hand reaches out, shutting off the shower, but not making any indication he wants to move. 

Eris’s love sitting inside of you felt different to the love you felt for him - synonyms, perhaps. But not quite the same.

After several minutes, you grabbed some towels from the cabinets, offering one to Eris. He slings it around his hips lazily, lifting you into his arms. You had barely wrapped yourself in the towel before he scooped you up.

The two of you land on the bed, decadent in shades of blue across the massive sea of blankets and pillows. The only reminder that neither of you were in your home courts. Eris taps your chest, the reminder you felt about having to leave him leaking over to his side of the bond.

You two settle on the pillows, discarding your towels to lay beneath the large duvet. You climbed on top of him, settling on his chest. His cock grew hard again, and you moved so you could settle with him inside of you. 

You traced your fingers over his freckles, connecting them with your finger. “I can make constellations out of them,” you tell him. 

The roar has subsided enough for you to feel like a person again rather than a beast. You know it’ll come back, in minutes or seconds you weren’t sure, but you wanted to spend whatever time with him like this that you could.

Eris thrusts softly inside of you, watching your eyes look for patterns in the freckles across his cheeks.

“Perhaps you can make me a constellation that will always lead me to you.”

You chuckle, leaning forward to kiss him softly. Your mate. You feel the pit inside of you start to roar, but you swallow it down, opting instead to search inside of yourself, finding that golden thread tethering you to him, and pulling.

“It appears I already have.”

He flips the two of you, laying you on your back as he slowly puts himself inside of you again. He fills you up completely, reaching the base of his cock before stopping and just staying there. 

“Mm, Eris.”

He smiles, his arms landing on each side of your face, caging you in. He moves a few strands of hair out of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.

He smiles down at you, his freckles dancing across his face, the sunlight illuminating his hair to look as if it were made of flame.

His fingers tangle in your hair, lightly holding on. 

“You are everything to me.” 

His voice comes out soft and slightly shaky, as if the admission were almost painful. He began thrusting slowly, but this felt different. Anyone who had ever thought Eris Vanserra incapable of being soft should see him now.

“I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

His thrusts became faster with each word, but not harsher. 

“I will always take care of you.”

Your fingers grip his shoulders, your thumb softly rubbing the skin.

“And I you.”

You were reaching that peak again, but this time it felt different. It wasn’t feral, the need to satiate the physicality of the bond, but rather to remind yourself that you two were bound together, forever.

“I love you, mate.”

His words have you seeing stars, and you practically feel yourself leave your body, but you hear yourself say, “and I love you,” as Eris finishes inside of you.

He collapses on you, his cock still inside of you. You both are breathing heavily, unable to get enough air into your lungs. He collapses on top of you, his arms digging beneath you to wrap you in an embrace. 

No touch was enough, even as you wrapped your own arms around him, peppering kisses into the side of his head. The two of you lay there, eventually Eris peaks his head out from your neck to watch the snow fall outside the window. You think about the many lives you could lead with Eris Vanserra - how much simpler your lives could be if you were born of different circumstances. 

But those Erises wouldn’t be the one laying on top of you now. They wouldn’t have as sharp of a tongue as he does, or perhaps their noses wouldn’t slant the same way his does. You could lead a thousand lifetimes with a thousand Erises, each one different from the next. Your thumb grazes his cheek, deciding that easy was never meant for you. It was never meant for Eris, either.

In those thousand lifetimes, the only edge they have on this one is the ability for you two to be more free about your love. 

You wouldn’t have to return to your respective homes, glamouring the scent of your mating bond from those around you in a bid to mitigate the unwanted comments from those around either of you. Beron would be excited, an intercourt mating would come with tremendous benefits for him. Rhysand would be pissed, your entire family shocked at the secret, unable to bite their tongues from disrespecting your mate with the twisted truths.

Secrets can only last for so long. They all get spoken at some point, and one day everyone will know how you have been carrying Eris’s love for years, how it has carried you for much longer than you thought, and how it will still carry you wherever you need to go.

Even when it’s in the opposite direction of him.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx

Eris taglist: @secret-third-thing

Thanks for reading 💕

[fayes-fics]

Lessons In Roleplay

Lessons Series Masterpost

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: The boys roleplay dastardly highwayman and rescuer.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, d/s dynamics, roleplay, CNC play, gunplay, slightly rough vaginal sex, dirty talk, cuckolding play, mention of breeding, oral sex (f to m), blow job, spitroast, orgasms, aftercare.

Word Count: 4.8k

Authors Note: This is a request fill for the amazing @colettebronte, asking for some roleplay in the Lessons universe. How could I say no to that? She chose which role the boys would play. Beta read by the amazing @sorryallonsy. Gif by @captainbucky-yt. The image is not particularly relevant to the story, but they both look delicious. Enjoy! <3

“Do you really think a highwayman might have seen us?”  you query, your head resting on Anthony’s chest as he strokes your hair idly. “Yesterday, in the carriage,” you clarify as Benedict lifts his head from your belly and shoots you a querying eyebrow.

You are all lying together, entwined in post-coital bliss, under a large oak on their country estate on a beautiful summer day. The day after your eventful carriage ride here with them.

Anthony’s responding chuckle vibrates under you. “Tis possible, my sweet girl,” he opines lazily, using his other hand to shield his eyes from the sun cutting through the leaves above.

Your thoughtful mien has Benedict pushing up onto his hands and hovering over you, his hazy eyes observing you with a knowing quirk on his lips. 

“I think our girl likes that idea,” he intuits, always correct in his ability to read you.

“I would prefer one of you be my robber, not a stranger,” you confess, smiling when they grab one of your hands each.

“If that is what the lady wishes….perhaps such a thing can be arranged,” Benedict opines silkily,  lacing your fingers with his. “Can it not, brother?”

“What are you thinking?” Anthony hums, bringing your hand to his face.

“Perhaps the old phaeton in the stable can be put to good use?” Benedict suggests, lowering himself to kiss down your ribs. “I do not see why we could not steal away somewhere within the grounds and make our sweet girl's wish come true. One of us can play the dastardly highwayman lurking by the roadside as she rides by…” he trails off, getting distracted by the softness of your skin, dropping kisses onto your belly now.

“...And one of you could play my rescuer who draws up upon horseback?” you supply, a little breathless at the images already tumbling through your mind as their lips trace over your skin.

They both chuckle at that, Anthony dropping a kiss on your forehead and Benedict onto your hipbone.

“I am more than certain that could be arranged,” Anthony confirms, an admiring twinkle in his eye as you twist to look up at him. “This evening, in fact…”

“But which would you be, my lord?”

“What do you want of me, my girl? Do you want me to be the gallant hero?” he questions, his fingers tracing your cupid’s bow before sliding between your lips; his fingers still tart with your arousal as he presses upon your tongue. “Or the man who will hold you up? Whose demands you will need to submit to? To plead to spare your life?”

“The latter,” your reply muffled around his questing fingers, a frisson low in your belly that he may fuck you by the roadside in the dead of night.

“Then I shall ride in to rescue you,” Benedict affirms, his fingers flexing between yours as you now look down at him, his chin resting low upon your stomach.

“But not too soon…” you appeal with a wink, “and I think my rescuer should help me with my pleasure too, no?”

They both laugh knowingly at that. 

“Your wish is my command….” Benedict offers, nudging this nose into your belly, which now fizzes with excitement about the night ahead.

—

You dress in a delicate cerulean blue silk gown that clings like liquid satin to your bare skin, foregoing any underwear, as is so often your preference when playing with your boys. Your outfit is topped off with sparkling sapphires and diamonds draped around your neck and wrists, no doubt priceless heirlooms from the vault Anthony holds on the property.

The hallway clock softly chimes midnight just as you steal out of the servant's entrance, meeting Benedict in the courtyard by the stables, already standing ready with a horse and a small, buggy-type carriage.

“You look beautiful,” he remarks, flattery just falling from him as ever. “I assume you know how to steer a phaeton?” he checks as you draw up to him, the moonlight throwing his face into handsome relief.

You nod, and he moves aside to assist you in climbing into the simple open-top carriage with an exchange of smiles.

“You remember where to go, correct?” His voice is soft as he hands you the reins. 

“Down past the lake, take the left fork, follow the hedgerow until the thicket of trees,” you parrot the agreed directions from earlier. You can only assume Anthony is already lying in wait for you there.

Benedict nods, and then his demeanour changes, leaning in, a hand curling around your neck.

“Be careful out there, my sweet. Highwaymen may lurk,” he warns, slipping effortlessly into his heroic character. 

“Perhaps a kiss for good luck upon my journey…. ?” you coquette, enjoying the way his pupils dilate.

He sweeps you into an all-consuming kiss that makes your heart pound and your body tingle, his tongue warm and insistent over yours.

“Good luck, my fair lady,” he exhales as you part, taking a step back to bow with a flourish.

You giggle and shake the reins to take off, elated your evening adventure has begun.

—

It is less than five minutes later when you arrive at a copse of trees, the bright new moon illuminating the fields around you as you slip under the shadows of the mighty oaks on either side of the track. 

“STAND AND DELIVER!!” 

A loud, clear voice rings out as you slow your horse to a stop, belly aflutter with anticipation. Emerging from behind a tree is a tall figure dressed in a black shirt and trousers, and as he draws nearer, you see a familiar, handsome face disguised behind a simple black mask. 

Anthony.

You gasp as his leather-gloved hand draws a gun from his waistband and points it at you, blood running hot at his complete commitment to the roleplay.

“I have nothing to offer you, thief!” 

Your protest is exaggerated but triumphant as his gaze falls to your decolletage, swelling with each exaggerated breath, your neckline scooped intentionally low.

“Get down at once, and perhaps I will spare your life, for I know you lie,” he counters, “those jewels around your neck, I wager, are worth more than my entire house….”

In your eagerness, you stumble slightly as you climb down from the carriage, and strong hands grasp your waist and right your stance on the ground.

“Unhand me, ruffian!” 

Your theatrics are met with a flicker of tacit approval across his face.

“Not until those jewels are mine, fair lady!” highwayman Anthony contends, a predatory smile that has his teeth glowing in the low light, his firm grip upon you flexing.

“Please… I'm sure you are a reasonable man,” you change tack, still heaving breaths. “I simply cannot give you these jewels. They are too precious to me. They are a gift from my love.”

Framed by the mask, his dark eyes flash possessively, and there is a slip of softness in his expression as you say such words, knowing the truth behind them. 

But then his tongue pokes out, licking his incisor almost menacingly. One of his hands bands behind your back, yanking you flush against his firm body.

“Do you really think you are in any position to negotiate, my fair lady?” he withers.

Your heart quickens as he places the cold barrel of the gun to your temple. 

“It is not loaded,” he whispers, a warmth behind your ribs as he breaks character for a split second of reassurance before his expression is back to flinty. 

“Please….” you implore.

He ignores you, crowding you backwards into the side of the carriage, the shiny lacquered wood of the wheel spokes digging into your spine. Once trapped, the hand around your waist moves to grasp your necklace, his leather glove cold on your breastbone.

“Take this off, or I will,” he orders; it’s a resonant threat that vibrates right into your body.

“Then you shall have to, for I will not!” you spit out, struggling against him for good measure, wanting nothing more than for him to rip the jewels from your body. And then your dress.

Just as promised, he is a little rough as he manhandles you, spinning you around so your breasts are pressed into the side of the phaeton, the unmistakable heat of his arousal on your tailbone as he leans into you. 

He yanks off his gloves with his teeth and brushes your hair aside, unclasping the necklace and slowly tugging one end so it falls off behind you. A frisson runs the length of your spine as his bare fingers trail down slowly over both of your arms to your wrists and flick open the hinges on the bangles there, removing them too.

“These jewels are beautiful, my lady,” he concedes, pocketing them, “but I demand more…”

“Please, brute, you have taken all I can give you!”

“Oh, but that is not true…” he rumbles hotly into the nape of your neck. 

You gasp as a hand cups between your legs through your thin dress. 

“Your greatest treasure is the only one I cannot take with me….” 

He ruts himself into you, intent unmistakable, as his fingers curl into the fabric. The softness of the silk over your already throbbing clit has you biting your lip.

“No, please, let me go…” 

You amp up your performance, pushing back into him, looking over your shoulder with a fiery challenge that belies your words.

“I demand satisfaction!” 

With that, he kicks your feet apart, rucking up your dress until you feel the cool night air swirling around your buttocks and between your legs. Then there is a pause as his hand travels up your naked flesh, a hungry noise escaping his lips as he buries his nose into your hair, 

“Perhaps I misjudged…” he rasps, words huffing warm over your scalp. “No stockings. Nor underwear. You are far from a lady….”

“How dare you!” 

You struggle again in his grip, loving the way his hold gets more insistent, moaning loudly as his fingers curl into your folds, already leaking profusely from the moment he emerged from the trees.

“Shut up,” he gruffs, dropping the gun into the carriage in front of you. “The more you struggle, the more I will take.”

This play already has you desperate for him, blood boiling with pure want as his fingers tease your clit.

“No, you beast, I shall not give in…” 

Your objection sharpens his resolve, the wool of his trousers chafing the back of your thighs as he rapidly yanks open his britches one-handed. 

Your cry echoes around the tree canopy as his rigid cock roughly ploughs into your pussy from behind, the force rocking you up onto your tiptoes. The sheer stretching invasion has you grabbing the carriage for leverage, wanting to voice your approval but too committed to the role you inhabit to allow yourself.

“Please, mister, no!” 

You twist to meet his eye, silently begging for him to go fast and hard, take you mercilessly as you pretend this is not every wish you had for this night. Loving the feel of his fingertips curling around the crest of your hips, readying to take you hard. 

And then he does—pulling out almost entirely, then ploughing back into you harshly. Immediately setting a nearly punishing rhythm, the dirt beneath your silk shoes crunching under your foot as you rock with his motions, you calling out loudly with each jolt.

“Quiet, or I will spank you,” he warns, his face wild, even obscured behind his mask.

That’s an open invitation you are not going to refuse.

“Stop!” you yell, goadingly.

There is a stinging slap across your buttock that has you lurching, your head lolling down, a huge, unseen smile claiming your lips, little sparks of fire radiating from the point of contact, a beeline right for your clit.

“No more!” you pant, staring at the ground and rocking back into his snapped thrusts, wrenching a moan from you with every move, his cock a delicious heavy weight cleaving you open, as it always is. You could never tire of this feeling, when he takes you so hard you can only cling on for dear life.

“All I heard is more, fair lady,” he laughs darkly and spanks again, your other cheek this time, a matching handprint you feel glowing.

You pitch forward and teeth the carriage as he fucks you. His moves are harsh, grunting with each thrust. You bite down, knowing the dental imprint you leave will be a great source of pride for him, a lasting memento of just how untamed he can make you.

“Tell me you want this!” He demands, grabbing your throat and yanking you backwards, your spine flush to his front, speared deep onto his cock as he stills.

“Never!” 

His hand spanks you again so forcefully your eyes roll back. He withdraws slowly, then thrusts up so deep your toes leave the ground, him supporting all of your weight. It’s always so wonderful to feel like a rag doll in his arms when he is like this, speared open, utterly malleable to his onslaught.

Suddenly, movement catches the corner of your vision, and you look askance to see Benedict approaching, shirt billowing in the wind as he rides his galloping horse majestically across the moonlit field toward you. His horse whinnies as he dismounts in an athletic leap, bounding towards you.

“UNHAND HER AT ONCE!” 

His voice is a bellow the likes of which you have never heard from his before. It makes you clench reflexively around his brother’s cock, and you wonder how much jealousy is behind the following line that Anthony sneers.

“It appears you have a rescuer, my lady. How entertaining. Who is he?” Anthony demands, spinning you around to face Benedict while still buried inside you.

“My husband,” you improvise provocatively, pushing back into Anthony.

It’s not something you had discussed with them for the roleplay, merely that Benedict would be your rescuer. But the look of unbridled desire that engulfs his face as you bestow him as such for this scene makes your lungs catch, his whole body puffing out with pride. 

“Get. Your. Hands. Off. My. Wife.” 

Each word is its own sentence, his voice dripping with possession and intent, inhabiting outrage so perfectly.

“Too late,” Anthony snarls back. “I am already inside her, and she is thoroughly enjoying it. Her smart mouth may protest, but she is positively flooding over me.” 

That triumphant verbal swipe makes you stutter. Evidently, Anthony has been taking notes from his poetic, dirty-talking younger brother, who stands before you now, a quake in his being that could be a husband’s rage, but you know to be pent-up desire—his gaze trained on your exposed lower half.

“Wrong…” Benedict growls, taking a large step forward, pressing into your front so you are sandwiched between them. Your very favourite place to be. “She may be drenched, but you are not the cause, merely the beneficiary.” 

Benedict’s sizeable right hand curls into the hair at the nape of your neck as he stakes his claim on you with his words and deeds: drawing you into a plundering kiss, the outline of his cock growing harder, pressing hot into your belly, before he breaks away to continue speaking. 

“She is my obedient little one,” he proclaims, cupping your jaw to make you stare up at him, even as Anthony’s cock rocks deeper into your pussy, challenging his claim. “As soon as she so much as scents me in her periphery, she is dripping down to her dainty ankles. And that is why she is mine. My wife.” 

Benedict’s resonant cadence vibrates your chest and has you swaying, desperate for him as well. You feel Anthony twist a fraction to grab something from the carriage behind him, still rock hard inside you. 

“Do you forget, Sir, who has the true weapon here? Anthony challenges.

The cold barrel of the gun is pressed to your temple again. 

You mouth the words not loaded to Benedict, and he responds in kind, I know, before stepping back and holding his hands up in faux capitulation. 

“Please,” Benedict changes tack, “take our jewels, but please do not harm my wife…”

You are enthralled by this—the planning they must have done together to execute this and how effortlessly they both inhabit their characters. A collaboration that speaks to their growing acceptance of each other as equals in this dynamic. Even though you can see the lines blurring as they goad each other within the roleplay, spectres of their past power dynamic, where Anthony would taunt Benedict with you, setting rules that always gave him the upper hand.

“I have already ruined her,” Anthony smirks, thrusting once for good measure and making you moan before stilling again. “But I shall offer you a deal…”

“Anything…” Benedict pleads, utterly convincing now as the distressed, cuckolded husband.

“You may watch me fuck her, plant my seed in her, and I will be happy to leave empty-handed.” 

“Or…?” Benedict prompts, sensing an alternative.

“You may join me in taking her. I will not seed her, but I will depart with every single one of your jewels,” Anthony declares, nodding to Benedict’s ring on his little finger.

“Wife…. I shall let you choose.” Benedict's eyes scoot to you, still embodying his role, but his gaze pleading to let him in on the fun.

Silently, you hold out your hand to him, inviting him in. He takes it, bringing it to his lips and kissing your knuckles briefly in reassurance. 

“You have a deal, highwayman,” Benedict concedes to Anthony, pointedly removing his signet ring and handing it over your shoulder.

Anthony pulls out of you, making you whine at the loss, a droplet of wetness trickling down your thigh as he spins you around to face him. 

“I think your wife should be naked, would you not agree?” Anthony posits, his fingers trailing your scooped neckline to the swell of your breast as he gives an order: “Undress her for me.”

Wordlessly, you feel Benedict plucking at the buttons over your spine. As they relent, he moves to tug the slackened fabric down off your torso, and the blue silk flutters to the ground, a shiver running over your skin as a cool breeze swirls around your naked body. 

Anthony sucks in a breath, taking a half-step back, his eyes raking covetously over your naked skin. 

“You permit your wife to parade in public without any undergarments?” he chides, his tone dripping with judgment.

“Permit her?” Benedict chuckles, bemused.

You inhale sharply as he wraps an arm around you, hauling you snugly backwards into his frame, his long fingers then spidering down your lower belly, right into your damp slit. 

“I veritably insist upon it,” he gloats. “And she is more than keen…”

His teeth catch your earlobe as you whimper and writhe on his touch, little sparks of pleasure pinging around your body. 

“Always so ready for me, are you not, my darling wife?” 

You twist to meet his gaze as you nod obediently, and he rewards you with a crooked smile and a light pinch to your engorged clit that makes you cry out for him, punctuating his point. You yearn for him to take you roughly, needing this husband version he plays so well to claim you as his. 

“You are a lucky man, betrothed to such an eager little vixen,” Anthony concedes, staring you down, provocatively wiping his lip with his thumb, hunger barely contained as he watches you ride his brother's fingers. “Perhaps she can lick clean the mess she made of me while you take your pleasure?” he adds casually.

“I will do it,” you volunteer brightly, almost preemptively, and far too enthusiastically for being held ‘hostage’.

“Come now, sweet girl, at least try to act as if you are mildly perturbed by our predicament…” Benedict deadpans genially, his fingers stilling as he breaks character, and Anthony chuckles, looking equally entertained by your outburst.

“Sorry…” you whisper over a giggle, and it earns you a quick kiss on the cheek from both of them, their eyes glittering with amusement. “Please continue…” 

Benedict slides his fingers out from between your legs, you whining from the loss. But you soon quieten as you realise he is unbuttoning his trousers, knuckles brushing your bottom as he peels them open just enough to free himself, veritably pulsing for the promise of his cock too.

“Bend over and suckle him, wife,” he orders, back in his role, knowing how much you adore detailed filthy instruction from him.

“Yes, husband,” you demure, lowering yourself as requested, widening your stance as you do so—a blatant invitation for him to take you.

“What an excellent, obedient thing,” Anthony observes, his hand gliding into your hair as you peel his trousers open further, pressing your face into his crotch before sucking his tip between your lips, glazed with your arousal.

“She’s a wonder,” Benedict concurs.

Anthony’s fingers flex on your scalp, and his thumb rounds your jaw to pull down your chin, opening you wider. He thrusts into your mouth; your hands cling to his muscular thighs as his tip nudges the roof of your mouth, tongue pressed into his underside. 

He groans loudly, your tastebuds flooded with your tart juices and a bead of his salty precum. He withdraws then drives back in, nudging deeper this time, knowing it always makes you mindless, his grip solid on your head as he starts to fuck into your mouth. It has you squirming with supplicant need, begging Benedict silently for his cock, too, as he teases your slit, grinding his head over your clit.

Your call is entirely muffled around Anthony as Benedict finally takes pity on you, thrusting deep into your pussy, in one rapid, forceful move. Both ends of your body are utterly invaded, one of your favourite places to be, a carnal loop of pleasure that only they can provide. Anthony’s hands are heavy on your scalp as Benedict's grasp your hips almost punishingly tight—something so thrilling about you being bent over entirely naked between their clothed bodies. They work together to ensure maximum pleasure for you, intuiting your needs, Anthony withdrawing just as you need to draw breath but always keeping you singing with need, his cock something to muffle your noises, to suckle upon as they both drive you higher.

You sag into their hold, relying on them to keep you balanced, pliant to the push and pull of your being between these men as they use you just as you want them to. Entirely possessed by them, played expertly by both as if an instrument for all of your mutual pleasure. Always intuiting your needs, Benedict reaches down, pulling your arms backwards flush with the sides of your body, twining his fingers in yours, a possessive hold that means you have no purchase to prevent Anthony’s thrusts into your mouth. 

Benedict’s pace builds slowly, his cock grinding all those places deep inside only they can reach. His thrusts that cleave you open timed perfectly, his fingers curled over the pulse point on your wrist, syncopating his movements with each beat of your heart.

Anthony groans, causing his cock to vibrate as it passes through the tight ring of your lips. The tingle has you moaning too, a call and response that notches things higher.

“I will not last,” Anthony grits out, teeth clenched, his fingernails digging into your scalp, his thrusts into your mouth urgent now, barely allowing you any reprieve.

“Do as you will…” Benedict grunts, his noises guttural as you clench around him, a vice that has him dropping your wrists, sensing how close you are, too. One of his hands grabs your hip roughly as the other ploughs into your slit, catching your swollen, throbbing clit.

He changes angle to spear deeper, harsher, and you scream around Anthony’s cock, which fills your mouth now, breathing harshly through your nose as he uses you mercilessly.

“Look at me,” Anthony commands, grabbing your head to tilt your face upwards, his cock tip grinding the roof of your mouth, your hands again on his wool trousers for leverage as you stare wide-eyed up at his handsome face, angular and determined.

“So fucking beautiful,” he croaks, his thumb rounding to blot the tear forming in the corner of your eye from not wanting to blink. 

“Better and more priceless than any jewel,” Benedict taunts, still impressively embodying his role, each word heaved over a breath, “and all mine.”

The possession with which he growls that last word, plunging harder than he ever has, is the catalyst for all of you. The vibration of your scream around Anthony’s cock as Benedict glances at your hilt is what tips him over. A heavy pulse travels up the length of his cock, and his fingernails cirls into your scalp as he comes, a salty rope splashing into your throat that you swallow reflexively as Benedict's fingers and cock send you over the edge, your vision whiting out, as your whole body convulses, strong hands bandying around you to hold you upright as your knees almost give out, everything in your snapping taut as you come so hard you swear stars dance before your eyes. With an almost howl, Benedict roughly pulls out of your convulsing pussy, a warmth splashing over your lumbar spine as you all pant loudly.

Before you are fully cognisant, strong arms pull you into an embrace. You recover, caged by Benedict, his chest warm against your spine as he murmurs sweet words in your ear. In front of you, Anthony refastens his trousers, pulling the gems from his coat pocket, still impressively in character.

“I shall greatly enjoy the spoils of this evening,”  he taunts, holding them up so they sparkle in the moonlight. “But, if you should ever wish to share your wife again, you know where to find me…”

“How do you know I will not tell others of your location? Force you to move your despicable, criminal activities elsewhere?” Benedict counters as you drowsily enjoy their little theatrical, continuing purely for your amusement.

“Because of the way your wife is looking at me…” Anthony crows, stepping forward again to run a finger over your chin and swollen, darkened lips as he repockets the loot. “As if she wishes to ride away with me as much as she wishes to remain with you.” 

He draws you in for a fierce, possessive kiss, you gasping heavily, pliant under his invasion, still dazed from your orgasm. 

“Perhaps one day, if you are a good little thing for me, you could even earn your jewels back…” Anthony contends. “Until then, I bid you adieu…” he signs off, bowing, then turning heel and disappearing into the night.

—

A few minutes later, Anthony saunters back from bridling the additional horse onto the phaeton. Himself again, the roleplay scene over.

“Our poor girl cannot wear this; 'tis too caked in dirt and mud now,” he rues, no trace of the menacing highwayman to be found in his tone as he scoops your trampled dress up from the dirt track.

“We will just have to keep her warm for the ride back, brother,” Benedict advocates.

Anthony hums in agreement, chivalrously whipping off his shirt and helping you into it with affectionate kisses. After a quiet spell in their joint embrace - always your favourite place to recover from such vigorous adventures - they both tenderly assist you up into the carriage, arranging you snugly between them upon the simple bench seat. Both wrap their free arm around you as they grab a horse rein each. You burrow into their comforting presence as the carriage trundles away at a leisurely pace.

“Did you enjoy our roleplay, my girl?” Anthony checks, tone laden with affection, as Benedict turns to kiss your forehead tenderly.

“Yes, you were both so wonderful, exactly as I had hoped and more. Thank you,” you sigh contentedly, nuzzling into them both in turn.

“I cannot wait to hear of your other fantasies, sweet girl. I assume you have many more,” Benedict guesses, accurate as always.

“I am rather taken by the idea of adventure on the high seas with two swashbuckling buccaneers…” you confess, even as you have to stifle a yawn, the sway of the carriage and their warmth soporific.

“Well, after you have had some good rest, my darling girl, perhaps I will seek out our grandfather’s cutlass…” Anthony offers as he laughs genially.

You perk up, and your head pings between them. “Is that a promise?”

“Most definitely,” they answer in unison, two pairs of amused, sparkling eyes meeting yours as the beauty of Aubrey Hall hones into view in your periphery.

You cannot wait.

Anthony & Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @ferns-fics @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23

[mariasont]

The Manuscript - A.H

a/n: this was supposed to be based on t.s new song manuscript, but it didn't realllyyy turn out like that

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x reader

summary: while unpacking you find a series of letters aaron wrote to you in college

warnings: angst, age gap (reader is 20s, hotch is 40s), haley and jack don't exist in this universe

wc: 1.3k

Your gaze swept over the towering stacks of boxes littering your living room floor, and with a resigned sigh, you began the daunting task of unpacking them. Your hands found the nearest box deftly lifting the flaps as you began to pull out its contents. Your felt the soft crinkle of paper beneath your fingers, and gently, you drew out a stack of letters, their edges softened with time, all neatly tied together with a string. 

Your heart seized a sudden halt as you realized just what they were. Your throat constricted, parched, as tears stung your eyes, threatening to spill over, your fingers coming to rest over your mouth. Instinctively, your body sank onto the cold hardwood floor, gently placing the papers down beside you. You had forgotten these had even existed, let alone made it with you on the move.

You didn't remember seeing them when you packed, did you? Your fingers shook slightly as they picked apart the knot, and with a hesitant touch, you reached for the first piece of weathered paper.

January 5

Honey, 

Your letter was a welcome surprise, far sweeter than any text message could be. I enjoyed spending New Years Eve with you too, and I hope this case ends quickly so I can take you on a real date. 

I'm glad to hear college is going well. Should you encounter any more issues with your professor, please let me know. You're a bright young woman, and I have no doubt he'll see that in time. I am looking forward to your next letter.

Yours,

Aaron

--

March 12

Honey, 

I'm glad you enjoyed our date as much as I did. At times, I find my thoughts wandering to you in that dress, and it's a welcome distraction. 

I'm glad you look forward to our letters, because I do too. And yes, rest assured, I'm taking all necessary precautions in the field. Don't worry, the team has my back, especially Garcia--she's got more eyes on us than stars in the sky. 

Goodluck on your psychology exam. I know you will ace it.

Yours,

Aaron. 

--

May 5

Honey,

I've read your letter several times, and I want you to know that it's perfectly normal to question your path. Trust your instincts--they've led you well thus far. Remember you are allowed to change your mind. Your parents will understand.

No matter what you decide, I have no doubt you will succeed. You have a rare combination of intelligence and empathy that will serve you well in any profession.

Once I'm back, how about we go to that restaurant you love? Consider it a date.

Yours,

Aaron.

--

July 19

Honey,

Summer suits you, I can tell--even from a distance. I'm proud of the work you're doing--shadowing at the occupational therpay office and working with children is no small feat. You'll have to tell me all about it when I get back.

The case is demanding, as they often are. And as for the sweatshirt, consider it yours. I had a feeling it wouldn't find its way back to me anyway.

We should talk about getting you a key to my place. Then you'll have no need to borrow my things--you'll have access to them whenever you wish. 

I love you. I'll say it again when I see you.

Yours forever, 

Aaron

--

January 14

Honey,

Congratulations on your first semester of OT school. I am incredibly proud of you and everything you have accomplished. Smarty pants. 

I'm glad to hear you've been using the journal I gave you for Christmas. I would give you a thousand if that's what you wanted. 

When I'm back, we'll celebrate your achievements properly. Until then, know I'm grateful for you every day. You've made me the happiest I've been, and I cherish every moment we share. I love you. 

Yours forever,

Aaron 

--

May 20

Honey,

Your last letter lingered on the topic of our age difference, and I've been giving it a lot of thought. It's a subject that, admittedly, has crossed my mind more than once. But let me reassure you, to me, it's the person you are, not the years you've lived, that matters most.

I understand the concerns that come with this, and I want you to know that it's okay. Your feelings are valid. We're navigating this together, and I remain certain in my commitment to you and to us. 

We'll talk more about this when I'm home. I love you. 

Yours forever,

Aaron

--

August 8

Honey,

I want you to know that I didn't mean to leave things unresolved, I'm sorry I was called away. I'm not writing to rehash the argument. I understand everything you said, and it's given me much to think about.

You are the most important part of my life, and us being at odds is more challenging than any case I've ever face. I love you deeply, and I'm committed to finding a way through this together. When I return, let's sit down and talk--really talk. I'm sorry for the way things were left, and I hope we can move past this. 

Yours forever,

Aaron

--

December 22

Honey,

I find myself at a loss for words yet compelled to write to you. I've had time to reflect on everything that happened between us. I'm deeply sorry for any hurt I've caused, and how things unfolded. My only wish was for us to want the same things. 

Please know, I will always be here for you, in any capacity you need. I hope you find someone who is worthy of you and can provide the life you deserve. You deserve someone who can walk with you through all stages of your life--someone who can give you the family you dream of. You have so much to offer.

You are an extraordinary person, and I have no doubt you will find great love and joy. And though it may not be with me, please remember, I still love you.

Yours always,

Aaron.

--

You hadn't even realized you were crying until your tears began to soak into the page, each droplet distorting the text as it spread. Your hand moved instinctively to your face, the fabric of your sleeve brushing against your wet cheek. A decade-old ache twisted inside you sharply, as fresh as if it were only yesterday.

You returned the letters to their stack, the bow tied as neatly as it was before, and laid them at the bottom of the box. As the papers found their place, your focus shifted, something else catching your attention--the journal he'd given you.

The sudden patter of footsteps coming down the stairs snapped you back to the present. Hastily, you wiped away the lingering tears and secured the lid on the box. As you turned, your face transformed with a practiced smile just as your seven-year-old daughter came skipping into view, her voice bubbling with excitement, "Mommy, mommy!"

Gathering her up in your arms, you showered her cheeks with affectionate kisses, her infectious giggles filling the empty house. 

"When is daddy going to be home?"

With a gentle smile, you replied, "Soon, sweetheart," while your fingers danced along her side, eliciting more giggles. "Do you want to help Mommy unpack?"

She quickly scrunched her nose and shook her head. "Mmm, no, not really."

You laughed, and your heart swelled with love so intense it almost hurt. The front door swung open, and your daughter's voice pierced the air once more with a, "Daddy!"

Her little feet dashed off as she rushed to greet him, leaving you to resume unpacking. You barely had time to refocus when you felt a gentle touch in your hair.  Aaron was there, kneeling to your level with a tender smile. 

"Hi, honey," he said, his hand pausing as he noted the redness around your eyes. "What's wrong angel?"

You reach for the letters, holding them out to Aaron with a half-smile. "Just revisiting the time you were this close to losing the best thing in your life," you tease, a laugh bubbling up. But as the laughter fades, it morphs into a sob.

Aaron's laughter mingled with yours as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest. "Yeah, that was a close one," he admitted, his voice a soft rumble. "Glad I came to my senses." 

[lawofnova]

Shifting Insights with Ms. Nova: Pt. 4 - The Witness vs the Ego

Expanding more on Pt. 1

The “witness” is that quiet, observing part of you. It’s the awareness that watches everything but doesn’t get caught up in it. It’s the part of you that is not your ego or self-image. It’s simply you at your core, observing your thoughts, feelings, and experiences without judgment. It doesn’t get wrapped up in your emotions or your past. It simply watches.

The witness is always with you. It is your pure consciousness. It is “I AM.” Outside of thoughts and emotions, it is your awareness and state of being.

You don’t have to access the witness through meditation. That’s a misconception. Like I said, it’s always with you. You can hang out with them all day long if you’d like. They’re your ego’s homie—on standby all day, just observing through it. (Yes, at our core, we sound like lonely creeps.)

Notice the quiet moments: There are gaps between your thoughts—there is this stillness. That is the witness. All you need to do is start becoming aware of it, and the more you do, the more you’ll realize it’s always there.

Observe without reacting: When experiencing strong emotions, practice observing them. Don’t let them consume you in any shape or form. Just notice them, let them come, and let them go. You don’t have to be detached, like they say. Please, just be indifferent. Your pure awareness is already detached naturally.

Everyday awareness: You can do this anywhere. While you’re walking, breathing, eating, or even showering—just try to tune in to the present moment. That’s when you’ll start naturally shifting into that pure awareness.

So, let me ask you—why do we think we’ll get anywhere with our ego running your shifting journey? Look, if you’re meditating to reach your desired reality/state, I respect that! At least you’re tapping into pure consciousness, that ‘I AM’ state.

But why do we keep assuming our ego—all the old beliefs, insecurities, and limiting foundations we've built in this world—is going to be our best tool for manifesting/shifting? Why do we keep trying to manifest and shift using our ego as the guide? Ego is tied to what we know and have experienced, while the witness, pure consciousness, is about limitless potential.

Let’s talk about why the ego doesn’t work as well as pure consciousness when it comes to creating your reality.

When we rely on the ego’s programming, we tend to create resistance because our ego is stuck in what it already knows. It’s tied to our self-image, our fears, and old ideas about what’s possible.

When people are focused on the shifting journey through their ego, they’re often operating in mindset of control. They want to “force” themselves into this new reality/state by doing certain things or following a specific method, hoping to bypass the “steps” of the 3D world.

But here’s the thing: the ego is limited. It’s always pulling from what it’s seen, heard, and believed to be true. It’s stuck in linear thinking (You know... cause and effect, the whole I MUST meditate for 30 minutes to become this shebang).

You’re attaching to time, space, effort, and struggle. You think the more you try, the more you’ll get, but objection! What the hell are you doing? You're further tangling yourself into the web of the old reality/state. Are you the spider or the damn fly? Trick question. You're the whole f****** web. You’re the one creating the resistance by attaching to the 3D and trying to control it, when all you need to do is shift your state to the Witness. You’re the force that holds yourself in place. See how that works? Okay. Sorry, sorry. I won't curse anymore.

Once you shift into the Witness, you stop being tangled in that 3D web. You just float above it, where the real sh** happens. Oops, my bad. I'm sorry. So next time you’re feeling stuck, remember—you are the witness, not the victim of your thoughts/identity/ego.

Start shifting your state through the witness. Start affirming through the witness. Manifest from the witness. Use the witness to remove resistance (they rly don't gaf). Shift into your Desired Reality through the WITNESS.

Witness = K.O

- Ms. Nova signing off, xoxo 💋

[anna-the-undertaker]

Pick-a-fic prompt:

Newly arrived MC being unable to deal with the Brothers to the point of debating leaving the exchange program and thus running to the relative peace of the castle to step back and reflect (focus on the Royals)

OR

Newly arrived MC being unable to deal with the Brothers to the point of debating leaving the exchange program and thus running to the relative peace of the castle, but the brothers find MC’s diary where their doubts are written as plain as day (focus on the Brothers)

Sorry this took so long to get to, I've just been so busy working, prepping stuff for moving, and I got absorbed in the fic I am working on. I chose the second one and ended up giving it more angst. I hope this is what you were asking for. Enjoy :)

Failure

MC had never felt so small.

From the moment they arrived in the Devildom, they were an outsider—human, fragile, and completely out of place. The brothers tolerated their presence, but only just. Every day was a new challenge, a struggle to keep their head above water in a world so different from their own.

Mammon, their first pact and appointed guardian, never missed an opportunity to remind them of how much of a burden they were. "Oi, don’t just stand there lookin’ useless. If you’re gonna stick around, at least do somethin’ useful, huh?" He’d toss those words at them with a grin, almost like it was a joke, but the sting was real. His careless remarks hit hard, especially when MC was already trying to find their place in this strange world. Mammon didn’t see the damage; to him, they were just another chore to deal with, something that got in the way of his schemes.

Leviathan wasn’t much better. Whenever MC tried to interact with him, they were met with his judgmental stare, as though they were trespassing. "What’s a normie like you doing here? Don’t you have somewhere else to be?" His voice was laced with annoyance, making them feel like some bizarre creature that had wandered into his private world. He kept his distance, never giving MC a chance to show they could connect with him, too. His obsession with his fictional worlds only made them feel even more like an outsider, as though they’d never understand or be worthy of stepping into his life.

Satan? Satan barely acknowledged their existence. If he ever looked up from his books, it was with frustration, as if MC’s very presence disrupted his thoughts. "Can’t you see I’m busy?" he’d say, his voice cold and dismissive. He wasn’t cruel, but his indifference hurt just as much. It was like MC was invisible unless they somehow got in his way.

And Asmodeus—Asmo treated MC like an accessory, something to admire for a moment and then discard when something more interesting caught his eye. "Darling, if you're going to wear something that dull, I really can’t be seen with you." His words were often accompanied by a smile, but the superficiality behind them was clear. He made them feel like an object, like their only worth was tied to their appearance. Even worse, Asmo never seemed to consider how his constant fixation on perfection weighed on MC, making them question their own worth more and more each day.

Beelzebub? He rarely acknowledged MC at all. His focus was always on food, and even when he did notice them, it wasn’t in a way that made them feel seen. "You smell different. Wonder if you’d taste good," he’d say offhandedly, as if it was just a passing thought. He didn’t mean any harm, but hearing those words was unsettling. It made them feel even less like a person and more like some temporary guest who didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

But Lucifer… Lucifer was the hardest to bear. His demands for perfection pressed down on MC like an unbearable weight. He expected them to adapt instantly, to know things they couldn’t possibly know, and when they inevitably made mistakes, the look of disdain in his eyes was enough to crush them. "I need you to be better," he’d say, his voice calm but sharp. MC could never shake the feeling that they were constantly being judged, constantly falling short of his expectations. His false sense of care grated on them the most��he acted like he was guiding them, but to MC, it felt more like control.

Everything was so new, so overwhelming, and no one seemed to care that they were struggling. They couldn’t keep up, and instead of offering help, the brothers’ habits and personalities only deepened their isolation. The teasing, the judgment, the indifference—it was all too much.

So, they ran.

It wasn’t a dramatic escape. They didn’t even pack their bags. They simply left one night, slipping out of the House of Lamentation and making their way to Diavolo’s castle. If anywhere in the Devildom could offer peace, it was there. Leaving behind their diary, a collection of their thoughts, hopes, and fears. They didn’t expect anyone to find it. Writing had been their only outlet, the only way to cope with the growing weight of their struggles.

At first, the brothers didn’t notice their absence. Days passed, and the empty seat at the table went unremarked upon. Only when the small disruptions became too obvious did Mammon speak up.

"Oi, where’s the human? It ain’t like ‘em to just disappear without a word," he grumbled. But even then, his tone was more annoyed than concerned.

Lucifers sharp gaze swept the hallways, his mind turning over the details of MC’s sudden absence. He’d been busy—too busy, really. Between managing his brothers and fulfilling his duties, MC had slipped from his radar, and now… now he realized he hadn’t checked in on them in days.

It wasn’t until Satan, searching for a book, came across MC’s diary tucked away in a corner of their room that the truth was revealed.

Satan made his way to the eldests office, frowning as he thumbed through the pages. "Lucifer, you should see this."

Lucifer took the diary, reading in silence as his eyes traced the words MC had written. The others were called, and soon they all knew what MC had been feeling.

The entries were raw, filled with MC’s doubts and pain. Each brother’s name was scrawled across the pages, followed by confessions of how their words and actions had hurt.

“Mammon makes me feel like I’m nothing but a burden. Every time he calls me useless, it’s like he’s confirming something I’ve already been afraid of. I’m just in the way here.”

“Levi never sees me as more than a ‘normie.’ It’s like I’m some strange animal in his eyes, something he doesn’t want to understand. He shuts me out every time I try to get closer.”

“Satan barely notices I exist. And when he does, it’s always with that look… like I’m a problem he doesn’t want to deal with. I guess I am a problem.”

“Asmo’s always commenting on how I look. I know it’s not personal, but it feels like all I am to him is an object. A pretty thing to dress up, but never good enough to really matter.”

“Beel doesn’t seem to care one way or another. He’s so focused on his hunger that I don’t think he even notices when I’m around. When he does, it’s just another reminder that I don’t really belong here.”

“Lucifer… I don’t know how to describe it. He expects so much from me. Too much. He looks at me like I’m failing him, like I’m not worth the time it takes to help. His care feels false. I can’t keep up with his demands, and I don’t think he even realizes how much I’m struggling just to stay afloat.”

And then came the final entry.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore. Everything is too much. The brothers… they don’t care about me. I’m just another responsibility to them, one they didn’t ask for. I’m seriously thinking about leaving the exchange program. Maybe I should. Maybe I’m not strong enough for this.”

The brothers were silent and exchanged glances, the weight of the words sinking in. They just hadn’t realized how much their habits, their personalities, had affected MC. Mammon’s constant jabs, Levi’s distant hostility, Asmo’s superficial comments, Satan’s cold indifference, Beel’s lack of attention… all of it had chipped away at MC’s sense of self, until they felt like they didn’t matter.

Lucifer closed the diary, his jaw tight. "I didn’t know they felt this way," he said, his voice low.

Mammon shifted uncomfortably. "I didn’t mean it like that. I thought we were just messin’ around."

Levi rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn’t think they cared what I thought. I mean, I barely even know them."

Satan’s frown deepened. "We’ve all been too focused on ourselves."

Asmo’s eyes were wide with guilt. "I didn’t realize… I just thought they were shy. Or adjusting." He looked down, his usual confidence gone.

Beel said nothing, his expression a mix of regret and confusion. He hadn’t even noticed how much MC had been struggling, too wrapped up in his own needs to see theirs.

"We need to bring them back," Lucifer said finally, his voice firm.

At the castle, the brothers had expected to find MC sulking, perhaps still angry or hurt. They had come, armed with apologies and, for once, a united front. Lucifer led them, the weight of the diary heavy in his hands. It felt strange, unsettling even, to think they had been so blind to MC's struggles. They had planned to convince MC to stay, to promise things would be different this time.

But when they arrived, the castle was eerily quiet. Barbatos greeted them at the entrance, his face impassive, but his eyes held a hint of something… regretful.

"Where is MC?" Lucifer asked, his voice tight.

Barbatos looked at the group for a moment before lowering his gaze. "You’re too late."

"What'dya mean, 'too late?'" Mammon blurted, stepping forward, his usual confidence replaced with a flicker of panic.

Barbatos sighed softly, his tone unusually firm. "MC has already returned to the human world. They made the request to Lord Diavolo, and it has been granted."

The weight of his words sank in, and the brothers stood in stunned silence. Lucifer, for once, had no immediate response. Mammon’s shoulders slumped, and Levi's hands fidgeted nervously at his sides. Asmo’s mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came out, while Beel’s expression darkened in quiet contemplation. Satan clenched his fists, the anger rising, though not directed at anyone but themselves.

"Why?" Levi muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.

"Because," Diavolo’s voice echoed through the hall as he approached them, his expression serious, "they didn’t believe things would change. MC had been struggling for some time, and none of you noticed. They felt abandoned. They were overwhelmed, and by the time you realized, it was already too late."

The silence was suffocating as the future King of the Devildom regarded them with a mixture of disappointment and anger.

"You failed," Diavolo’s voice echoed through the room, each word a sharp blade. "You were given one task—one simple requirement as part of this exchange program. To make MC feel welcome. To make them feel as if they belonged. To get to know them and have them know you in return. To foster understanding."

The brothers stood in a line, shoulders hunched, guilt pressing down on them like a heavy weight. None of them dared to speak.

Diavolo’s gaze shifted to Lucifer, his disappointment palpable. "And you," he said, his voice soft but laced with reprimand, "I expected better of you."

Lucifer flinched at the words. His usual mask of calm confidence shattered under the weight of Diavolo’s gaze. For a moment, he felt utterly powerless, a sensation he had long fought to suppress.

"You let this happen under your watch. You let MC suffer to the point where they felt they had no choice but to leave the Devildom behind entirely." Diavolo’s words were like a hammer, each one driving the guilt deeper. "You let them slip through your fingers."

Mammon, Levi, Asmo, Beel, and Satan could do nothing but hang their heads in shame, their usual bickering and antics gone, replaced by the crushing realization of how badly they had failed. This wasn’t just about MC’s disappearance—it was about everything they had overlooked, every word they hadn’t said, every opportunity to make things right that they had ignored.

Diavolo took a breath, his tone softening slightly but still firm. "You were supposed to protect them. Instead, you pushed them away."

The silence was heavy, unbearable. None of them could meet Diavolo’s gaze.

"You will return to the House of Lamentation and reflect on what has happened here today," Diavolo said, his voice a final command. "I hope, for all our sakes, that this failure teaches you something."

With those parting words, Diavolo turned his back to them, and the brothers were left with nothing but the weight of their failure pressing down on their shoulders.

They sulked back to the House of Lamentation, each one lost in their own thoughts, their usual banter replaced with a somber silence. They had been too late. MC was gone.

Lucifer

Lucifer sat in his study, the heavy silence of the House of Lamentation pressing down on him. The others had retreated to their rooms, each of them nursing their own guilt, but Lucifer remained still, staring at the open diary on his desk. MC’s words were a stark reminder of his failure—his failure to see, his failure to act, his failure to protect. The very thing he prided himself on—his ability to maintain control, to ensure perfection in everything under his watch—had crumbled in the worst possible way.

Failure.

The word echoed in his mind, gnawing at him like a relentless force. Lucifer's hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white as his anger rose, burning in his chest. How could he have allowed this to happen? How could he, of all people, have been so blind? He had always maintained order, ensured everything ran smoothly. He had taken on every responsibility, every burden, to prevent things from falling apart. But this...this was a disaster.

It was intolerable.

The weight of Diavolo’s words still hung heavy in the air: I expected better of you. The sting of those words cut deeper than any reprimand he had ever received. Diavolo had placed his trust in him, and he had let him down. Worse, he had let MC down—an innocent, fragile human who had come to the Devildom trusting they would be safe, that they would find a place here.

Lucifer stood abruptly, shoving his chair back with a force that sent it crashing against the wall. His usually composed demeanor shattered as the rage he had been holding back erupted. He slammed his fists down onto the desk, the sound echoing through the room. Papers scattered, and the sharp crack of wood under pressure reverberated through the air.

How had he missed it? How had he, with all his precision and attention to detail, been so oblivious to MC’s suffering? His grip on control, his obsession with perfection, had blinded him to what was truly important. He had been so focused on maintaining order, on keeping his brothers in line, that he hadn’t even noticed the cracks forming right in front of him.

And now, it was too late.

MC was gone—back to the human world. They hadn’t even waited to see if things would change, if the brothers would make things right. They had made their decision, and it was a resounding statement of just how much Lucifer had failed them.

His chest tightened with frustration. He had been so focused on pushing MC to adapt, to fit the mold he thought they needed to fill, that he had ignored the reality of their struggles. He had looked at them through a lens of expectation rather than understanding, and now they were lost to him. To them all.

Lucifer closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to reign in the storm of anger and guilt coursing through him. This failure—the bitter taste of it—was unacceptable. He couldn’t undo what had been done. He couldn’t change the fact that he had let Diavolo down, that he had let MC down.

But he could make sure it never happened again.

Slowly, Lucifer opened his eyes, the flames of anger still burning but now tempered by a cold resolve. He would not allow this to break him. He would not allow this failure to define him. He had to remain strong—not just for himself, but for Diavolo, for the Devildom, and for his brothers.

But deep down, the rage simmered, a constant reminder of his imperfection, his weakness. He had been shown the one thing he hated most: his own limits.

Failure.

It was something Lucifer would never forget. And never forgive. Not himself, and not the others.

Mammon

Mammon sat on the edge of his bed, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, his hands tangled in his hair. The silence in the House of Lamentation was deafening, pressing down on him in a way that made his chest feel tight. MC was gone—back to the human world. They hadn’t even said goodbye.

His first instinct had been to brush it off, like he always did. Make some flippant comment about how MC would be back soon enough, that they just needed a little time to cool off. But as the hours passed and reality settled in, the truth was undeniable.

MC wasn’t coming back.

"Dammit..." Mammon muttered under his breath, his fingers tightening around his hair as if that could stop the thoughts running wild in his head.

He replayed the last few weeks in his mind—the constant teasing, the jabs, the way he’d brush off their efforts with a casual, "Oi, don’t be so useless." He never meant it. Not really. It was just how he talked, right? But now… Now, he couldn’t stop thinking about how it must’ve sounded to them.

How it must’ve felt.

He always thought MC knew he didn’t mean anything by it. They were just words, stupid little insults thrown out without thinking. It wasn’t like he actually thought they were useless. Hell, he was actually starting to like them—though he’d never admit it out loud.

Mammon groaned, flopping back onto his bed and staring up at the ceiling. Why did he always do this? Why did he push away the people he cared about, acting like they were some kind of nuisance when they weren’t? It was just… easier that way. It was easier to hide behind the tough guy act, to pretend like nothing bothered him. But it wasn’t true. It had never been true.

And now it was too late.

"I didn’t mean it," he whispered, his voice breaking in the quiet room. "I didn’t mean any of it..."

But what good did that do now? They were gone. MC was gone, and it was his fault.

Mammon’s heart clenched as he thought about all the times he’d made fun of them, all the times he’d called them a burden, a hassle. He’d acted like MC was just some human getting in the way of his plans, but the truth was that they had become more important to him than he’d realized.

He didn’t show it—he didn’t know how—but they mattered to him. They made him feel different, like he wasn’t just the "Great Mammon," the greedy demon who was always causing trouble. When MC looked at him, it felt like they saw something more, something better. And now? They were gone because of him.

Mammon kicked his legs out in frustration, his shoes thudding against the floor. How could he have been so stupid? Why did he always have to mess things up? He had the chance to make MC feel welcome, to make them feel like they belonged here, and he blew it.

And Diavolo’s words kept ringing in his ears. You failed them.

"Yeah, I know!" Mammon snapped at the empty room, his voice harsh with guilt. "I know I screwed up! I get it!"

He sat up suddenly, running his hands down his face in frustration. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to be their protector, their guardian. They were his pact holder, he was their first. He was supposed to look out for them, not drive them away. He hated that feeling—the helplessness that came with realizing he couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t just throw money at it or charm his way out like he usually did.

MC was gone, and it hurt more than he wanted to admit.

Mammon stood up, pacing his room. His mind raced, thinking of what he could’ve said or done differently. Maybe if he’d just told them how he really felt, if he’d stopped pushing them away and acting like they were a bother… Maybe they wouldn’t have left.

"I should’ve been better," he muttered, clenching his fists. "I should’ve told ‘em… I should’ve made ‘em feel like they mattered."

But he hadn’t. And now he was stuck with the gnawing regret that he might never see MC again. They were back in the human world, and they’d never want to come back to the Devildom, especially not after how he and the others had treated them.

He was the Great Mammon, sure. But what good was that title if he couldn’t even keep the one person who actually made him feel like he was more than just his sin?

With a choked sob, Mammon collapsed back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling as the tears began to fall.

He’d failed them. There was no getting around that. And the worst part? He’d never get the chance to make it right.

Leviathan

Leviathan sat in front of his monitors, eyes staring blankly at the paused screen of his latest game. His headphones sat around his neck, the usual buzz of online matches long forgotten. The quiet of his room wasn’t the kind he liked. It wasn’t peaceful or calming. It was suffocating.

MC was gone. Back to the human world. They had left without saying anything, without a word, without… him knowing. He hadn’t even noticed they were gone until the others started talking about it. And now that they weren’t here, the reality of the situation was starting to sink in.

Levi chewed on his thumbnail, anxiety swirling in his gut like an endless whirlpool. How could he have missed it? How could he not have seen what was happening right under his nose? His stomach churned with guilt as he thought about the way he’d treated MC since the moment they arrived.

Normie.

That was what he called them. Over and over again. He’d pushed them away, called them a nuisance, acted like they didn’t belong. He had no idea if they liked anime or games, but instead of giving them a chance to show they could understand his world, he had shut them out before they could even try. Why? Because they weren’t like him. Because they weren’t part of his world. Because it was easier to call them a "normie" and keep them at arm’s length than it was to let someone else get close.

Levi groaned, burying his face in his hands. He hated himself. Why did he always do this? Why did he always ruin things before they had a chance to be good? He had been scared—scared that MC would judge him like everyone else did, scared that they would see how awkward, how pathetic he really was. So he kept them away, treated them like some kind of animal when really… he had wanted them to be a part of his life.

They had tried. He could see it now, in hindsight. MC had tried to talk to him, had tried to get to know him, had actually listened to him when he'd rant. And what had he done? He’d dismissed them. Pushed them away. Called them human or normie—never their name—as if that was the only thing they could be.

He swallowed hard, guilt gnawing at his insides. If only he hadn’t been so wrapped up in his own insecurities, maybe things would have been different. Maybe MC wouldn’t have left.

But they did.

Levi curled in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest as the realization settled in. They were gone, and it was his fault. His fault for being too afraid to let them in, too scared to admit that maybe he wanted them around more than he’d ever let on. He hadn’t even realized how much he missed them until now, until the space they used to occupy in the house, in his life, felt empty.

And Diavolo’s words kept ringing in his ears. You failed them.

"Of course I did," Levi muttered, his voice thick with bitterness. "I always fail."

He had failed to be a good brother, failed to be a friend, and now, he had failed MC.

"They must think I hate them," Levi whispered, his chest tightening painfully. "They probably think I never wanted them around." His voice cracked, and he quickly wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, but it didn’t stop the tears that threatened to fall.

Because that wasn’t true. It had never been true.

Levi wanted them around—he had liked having them around. But how could they have known that when all he ever did was push them away, call them a normie, and act like they didn’t matter? He had been too caught up in his own head, too worried about them seeing the worst parts of him, to let them see the good.

Now they were back in the human world, far away from him, and he had no idea if they would ever come back. And if they did, why would they want to come back to him? The shut-in otaku who made them feel like they didn’t belong?

"Stupid," he muttered angrily, wiping his eyes again. "I’m so stupid…"

He stood up suddenly, pacing the room, his hands tugging at his hair in frustration. What if MC never came back? What if they decided to stay in the human world forever, away from all the pain and rejection the Devildom had offered them?

Levi’s heart pounded in his chest, panic rising as the what-ifs piled up in his mind. They were gone. And he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance to tell them the truth, that he wanted them here, that he—needed them here.

But now it was too late.

With a deep, shaky breath, Levi sank into his tub, curling up again as his anxiety wrapped around him like a suffocating blanket.

It was always too late for him.

Satan

Satan sat in the library, the silence around him sharp and oppressive. The book in his hands remained unopened, his mind too preoccupied to focus on anything but the gnawing feeling of guilt twisting in his chest. MC had left. Gone back to the human world without so much as a word, without waiting for anything to change.

He ran a hand through his hair, jaw clenched tightly as Diavolo’s admonishment replayed in his head. You failed them. The words stung more than he expected, not because they were untrue, but because they were painfully accurate. He had failed them. They all had. And now the damage was done.

Satan wasn’t like Lucifer. He didn’t thrive on control or perfection, but failure still left a bitter taste in his mouth, especially when it was something that could have been prevented. He prided himself on understanding things—on reading people, situations, emotions. And yet, somehow, he had missed what was right in front of him.

I barely even acknowledged them, he thought bitterly, eyes narrowing as the realization sank deeper. When MC first arrived, they were just another part of the exchange program—an obligation. Someone he was forced to tolerate. He had never thought of them as more than that.

They had tried to speak to him on several occasions, asking questions, trying to understand the world around them. He had dismissed them each time. Not out of cruelty, but out of indifference. There were always more important things to focus on, more pressing matters in his mind. Books to read, knowledge to gather. What did it matter if a fragile human was feeling out of place? He’d barely given them a second thought, and now that they were gone, that indifference was coming back to haunt him.

Satan drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. He wasn’t angry at MC—not at all. He was angry at himself. He should have seen it. He should have recognized the signs. But instead, he’d brushed them off, barely looking up from his books when they entered the room. It was no wonder they had felt invisible. To him, they had been.

"How could I have been so blind?" he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the edges of his book.

His dismissive attitude had hurt them, but it wasn’t just the indifference—it was the frustration. The few times he had acknowledged MC, it had been with impatience. He’d grown annoyed when they asked questions, irritated when they didn’t immediately grasp the complex information he threw at them. He had expected too much from them. Expected them to just understand a world they’d only just entered.

I was unfair.

The admission grated on him, but it was the truth. He hadn’t given them the time or attention they needed. He had treated them like a distraction, like an inconvenience. And for what? Because they weren’t like him? Because they didn’t understand things as quickly as he wanted them to?

It was absurd. It was… disappointing. In himself.

Satan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his temples, trying to keep the anger in check. His temper was always there, simmering just beneath the surface, but this was different. This wasn’t the kind of anger he could lash out at. It wasn’t something he could destroy or control. This was guilt—a slow, burning guilt that twisted in his gut and left him feeling powerless.

I failed them, he thought again, the words echoing in his mind like a relentless chant.

They had left because of him. Because of the way he treated them, the way he ignored their presence. The diary had made it clear—MC felt like they didn’t belong, like they were a burden. And he had done nothing to change that.

He had let them slip away. And now they were back in the human world, far beyond his reach.

Satan stood up abruptly, pacing the library with sharp, determined steps. He hated this feeling—this powerlessness. He wasn’t like Lucifer, obsessed with perfection, but he wasn’t one to accept failure either. Yet here he was, unable to fix the mess he had helped create.

He stopped in front of a bookshelf, his hand hovering over the spines of the books. Usually, the smell of old pages and the promise of knowledge would calm him, would ground him. But now? It just felt hollow.

Books couldn’t solve this.

Knowledge couldn’t solve this.

For once, all the intellect in the world meant nothing. He had failed MC not because he lacked understanding, but because he hadn’t cared enough to try.

He closed his eyes, frustration boiling in his chest. "I should’ve done better," he whispered, his voice low and filled with regret. "I should’ve listened."

But it was too late. They were gone. And there was nothing he could do to change that.

For someone who prided himself on knowing so much, Satan realized now that he had understood so little. And that knowledge—more than anything else—cut deeper than any reprimand Diavolo could have given him.

Asmodeus

Asmodeus sat in front of his vanity, staring at his reflection. Normally, he would be admiring the flawless way his skin glowed, the way his hair framed his face perfectly, or how his latest outfit highlighted every one of his best features. But today, the usual spark wasn’t there.

MC was gone. They had left the Devildom and returned to the human world, and they hadn’t even said goodbye.

Asmo frowned, twisting a lock of hair around his finger as he glanced down at the collection of beauty products scattered across his vanity. How could they have left like that? Without saying anything to him? No farewell? No goodbye hug? They had just… disappeared.

And they didn’t even tell me?

That part stung. He was Asmodeus, after all. Everyone loved him. Why wouldn’t they want to talk to him, to tell him what was going on in their head before leaving? It wasn’t like he had been mean to them—he’d been nothing but fabulous! He’d complimented them, given them fashion tips, even helped them choose outfits when they were looking drab.

He huffed and crossed his arms, his eyes flicking back to the mirror. "I don’t understand," he murmured to himself, inspecting his perfectly manicured nails. "They could’ve at least told me if something was wrong."

But as he thought about it, something uncomfortable started to settle in his chest. He hadn’t exactly treated MC like someone who mattered, had he? They were just the new human, someone for him to toy with, to dress up like a doll, to show off. He had treated them more like an accessory than a person. Every compliment he gave was followed by a backhanded comment about how they could do better, how they could look more fabulous. He had made everything about their appearance—about how they looked, what they wore—without ever thinking about what they wanted, how they felt.

And that diary entry… the one about him.

“Asmo’s always commenting on how I look. I know it’s not personal, but it feels like all I am to him is an object. A pretty thing to dress up, but never good enough to really matter.”

Asmo’s heart clenched uncomfortably as those words echoed in his mind. They hadn’t been meant for him to read, but now that he had, he couldn’t stop thinking about them. MC thought they didn’t matter. That they weren’t enough for him.

That wasn’t true! He had thought they were cute from the start. Sure, they had a long way to go in terms of style and confidence, but he had liked being around them. In his own way, he had enjoyed their presence. He just… never said it. Never showed it beyond superficial praise.

Had he really made them feel like that? Like they were just some toy to be discarded when something more interesting came along?

He bit his lip, eyes dropping from the mirror. "I didn’t mean to make them feel that way," he whispered, a strange knot of guilt tightening in his chest. "I just wanted them to look their best, to be their best."

But that wasn’t really the point, was it? MC hadn’t needed someone to tell them how to dress or how to look. They had needed someone to tell them they belonged, someone to make them feel like they were important beyond appearances.

Asmo sighed, sitting back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. He hated this feeling—this heavy, nagging sense of regret. It wasn’t like him. He was Asmodeus, the Avatar of Lust, the most beautiful being in the Devildom. People flocked to him for advice, for attention. Everyone loved him. So why did it matter so much that one human didn’t?

Because it wasn’t just any human. It was MC.

They had trusted him. They had spent time with him, laughed at his jokes, let him play with their hair and help them pick outfits. And what had he done? He’d brushed them off like they were just another pretty face, like they weren’t worth getting to know beyond the surface.

And now they were gone. And it was his fault.

Asmo twirled a ring on his finger absentmindedly, the usual sparkle of his jewelry doing nothing to lift his mood. "They probably think I never cared about them," he muttered, his voice soft. "And maybe I didn’t… at least, not the way they needed me to."

He hated admitting it, but it was true. He had cared more about how they looked than how they felt. He had been so focused on making them into something he could be proud of that he hadn’t stopped to think about what they needed.

And now they were back in the human world, thinking they were never good enough for him. Thinking they didn’t matter.

For the first time in a long time, Asmo wasn’t thinking about himself. He wasn’t thinking about how he looked or what outfit he’d wear tomorrow. He was thinking about MC—about how he had hurt them without even realizing it. And that guilt, that realization, clung to him like a weight he couldn’t shake.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the vanity and burying his face in his hands.

But it was too late now. MC was gone. And all the beauty in the world couldn’t change that.

Beelzebub

Beel sat at the dining table, staring blankly at the plate in front of him. His usual appetite was gone, a strange hollowness taking its place. The silence felt heavier than usual, and for the first time in a long while, food couldn’t fill the emptiness inside him.

MC was gone. They had returned to the human world. And he hadn't even cared that they had disappeared.

He ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowing as the thought settled in. He hadn’t paid much attention to them, hadn’t really thought about them as anything more than a human—something fragile, something that he wasn’t supposed to eat. They were just there, part of the exchange program, someone to tolerate but not worth focusing on.

Beel sighed, glancing at the uneaten food on his plate. It didn’t make sense to him. Why did it feel like something was missing now that they were gone? He hadn’t been particularly close to them. He’d never really taken much interest in what they did or said. They were just… human. And humans were something he didn’t think about much, aside from the occasional urge to eat one. But even that wasn’t really a problem. He knew better.

But still, the fact that they were gone—it didn’t sit right with him.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he thought back to the few interactions they’d had. Whenever he saw them, he’d mostly been focused on food. Sometimes he’d make offhand comments about how they smelled different, or how they might taste good, but that was just the hunger talking. He didn’t mean it personally. He had never meant to make them feel uncomfortable.

But maybe he had.

“Beel doesn’t seem to care one way or another. He’s so focused on his hunger that I don’t think he even notices when I’m around. When he does, it’s just another reminder that I don’t really belong here.”

He frowned, the knot in his stomach tightening. They were right. He hadn’t cared one way or the other. To him, they were just another face in the Devildom, another human who wasn’t supposed to be eaten. He’d never gone out of his way to talk to them or get to know them.

He hadn’t thought they mattered.

But maybe they did.

Beel sighed again, his large hands resting on the table as he stared at his empty plate. He hadn’t done anything to make them feel welcome, hadn’t shown any interest in them beyond his usual blunt, hunger-driven remarks. To him, MC had just been part of the background, something he didn’t need to think about.

But now they were gone. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that maybe he had missed something important.

He had seen how the others treated MC—the teasing from Mammon, the indifference from Satan, the distance from Levi. He had heard the way Lucifer demanded more from them, how Asmo insulted them under the guise of advice. Beel hadn’t said much, hadn’t gotten involved, but he hadn’t done anything to stop it either. And now that he thought about it, that made him just as guilty as the rest of them.

"They must’ve felt so alone," Beel muttered to himself, his brow furrowing. "And I didn’t do anything to help."

He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much now. Maybe it was because MC had been part of their lives for a while, and now that they were gone, there was a strange emptiness where they used to be. He hadn’t realized how much he had gotten used to seeing them around, hearing their voice, watching them navigate the chaos of the House of Lamentation.

But now that they were gone, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.

Beel stood up, pacing the room slowly. He wasn’t like Lucifer or Satan, always thinking things through, always analyzing the situation. He didn’t think too deeply about the people around him most of the time. But now? Now he wished he had paid more attention. Maybe if he had, MC wouldn’t have felt so isolated, so invisible.

"They were more than just a human," he muttered, a pang of guilt hitting him. "But I never treated them like they were."

He hadn’t thought they mattered, and that was his biggest mistake. MC had been a part of their world, even if they were human. They had been right there, trying to find their place, and Beel had done nothing. He hadn’t meant to hurt them, hadn’t meant to make them feel like they didn’t belong—but his indifference had done that anyway.

And now, it was too late.

Beel stopped pacing, leaning against the wall and staring down at the floor. He didn’t know what to do with this feeling. It wasn’t like hunger—he couldn’t just eat something and make it go away. This was different. It was guilt, and it was heavy.

"I should��ve cared more," he whispered, his voice quiet in the empty room. "I should’ve made sure they knew they were welcome."

But they hadn’t known. And now they were back in the human world, far away from all of them.

Beel clenched his fists, frustration welling up inside him. He hated that they had left feeling like they didn’t matter. He hated that he hadn’t done anything to make them stay.

But what could he do now?

[theta-walti]

Shy

Summary: R and Lucy are in love but both scared that the other won’t like them back. The team send Lucy to convince R to go to team bonding and ended up her confessing her feeling to R

Warnings: none

A/N: First time Writing Lucy bronze! I really liked writing her! Feel free to send in more requests!

Word count: 1.5k

Every day is the same. You wake up at 6, take a shower, do yoga, make breakfast, and drive to training at 9. You have a routine, and you like to stick to it. You're always on time, never early, never late. When you arrive at training, you walk straight into the changing rooms with your headphones in and start to get changed. Your cubby is just next to Mapi and Ingrid's, and they know not to talk to you in the mornings. It's an unspoken rule that everyone knows: you don't talk to anyone until training starts. If you have extra time, your teammates will often find you sitting in your cubby, reading a book. To you, it has always been like this, and it will always stay like this.

But today feels different somehow. As you go through your usual routine, there's a lingering feeling of unease in the pit of your stomach. You can't quite put your finger on it, but you feel like something is going to happen today, and you don't like that feeling.

When you arrive at the training grounds, you follow your usual routine and head to the changing room to get changed. The atmosphere seems normal, or at least you think it does.

You start to get changed, with your headphones in, unable to hear the discussion going on in the room.

"Do you think she's gonna show up?" Patri asks, sitting in her cubby and trying the laces on her boots.

"She has to; it's team bonding night," Pina answers, glancing at you. You don't notice her; it's like you're in your own little bubble.

"Do you think she knows it's team bonding tonight?" Patri shoots back with a raised brow.

It's true; you're famous for skipping any team bonding nights or gatherings on the team. Usually, you just stay at home and read, no matter how your teammates beg you to go.

"I think she knows, but I bet she'll just say no like last time or the times before," Ona chips in as she ties her hair in a ponytail.

Just after Ona finishes her sentence, you take your headphones off, and the changing rooms become quiet. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion at the silence; usually, there would be chatting, and the room would be full of noise, but somehow, it's quiet today. It adds to your suspicion that something is happening today that you don't know about. Unknown to your or Lucy, your teammates had set up a plan to confess your feelings to each other, theor plan was to send Lucy to ask if you are going to team bonding night and hopefully you two and talk and sort out your feeling with each other, unknown to all of this you just flashed Lucy a smile and walked out of the changing rooms. Their plan was in place. The first step was convincing Lucy to go ask you if you wanted to go to team bonding night. They all shared glances before someone spoke up.

"So, who's going to ask her?" Patri says, sitting down as they still have some extra time before training starts.

"She'll definitely say no to me," Aitana claims.

"Me too." "And me." "She'll say no to me too," the rest of the team agrees.

"That means we need someone that y/n trusts enough to say yes to," Mapi says, looking around, lost in thought. Next to her, Ingrid notices something. "Lucy has been awfully quiet."

Lucy's head shoots up at her name. "Sorry?"

Patri and Pina start to smirk as an idea comes into their heads.

"You're going to ask y/n if she wants to go to team bonding tonight," Pina speaks up among the two of them.

"No, I'm not. She'll say no, just like the other times."

"How would you know?"

"Why am I the one who is doing it?" Lucy asks, trying to avoid the question.

"Because you're the one she trusts the most," Ona exclaims.

"No, I'm not," Lucy argues back.

"Yes, you are! You two are so close; you're practically in love! It's so obvious," Aitana says, crossing her arms.

"I'm not in love with y/n."

"Oh, don't pretend I'm blind. I see the way you look at y/n, and I see the way y/n looks at you," Patri says, crossing her arms. "In fact, we all see the way you look at each other, plus you spend more time with her than any of us do."

"No, I don't! You can't prove that!" Lucy says, trying to defend herself by denying it, but deep down, she knows that she has fallen for you. Hearing that you like her back, her heart skips a beat.

You and Lucy always partner up together on training days or sit together on the bus. You always put your head on her shoulder when you feel sleepy; whenever that happens, Lucy dares not move and only wakes you up when the bus stops. She's the one who calms you when you're freaking out. You are the person that's on her mind 24/7. So she's pretty sure that she's in love. She is just scared that you like her back.

"I have so much evidence," Patri chuckles as she shakes her head.

"So are you going to do it, Lucy? Are you going to ask her if she wants to go to team bonding tonight?" Frido speaks up, the first time in the changing rooms today.

"Yeah, I do want her to come tonight after all. I'll try my best. If she doesn't come tonight, it will not be my fault," Lucy warns as she starts to walk out of the changing rooms.

Step one done, now on to step two: talk to you and make you realise that you are in love with Lucy.

Ona slipped out of the room silently and went to go find you. She knows that it will be pushing your boundaries. You don't talk to anyone before training starts. Hopefully, you won't get mad at her after this.

She found you jogging laps around the field slowly, she waited till you reached to a certain point of the field and she joined in

"Hi" she said, a bit nervous of what's going to happen

"Hey Ona," you answer back politely while you continue to jog

"You alright?" Ona was really bad at this. She did not think beforehand of what she was going to say, so now she's just stuck at an awkward moment between you and her.

"Yea," you stop jogging and turn to face her. "Is there something you need?"

Ona stopped too as she spoke up, "Are you going to team bonding tonight?" She already knows your answers are going to be no. But maybe she can open the conversation like that?

"No, sorry, l'm busy tonight" you words come out your mouth mechanically, like you have answered this question lots and lots of times before, you have! Hence your reputation on the team.

"Lucy's gonna be there tonight. Are you sure that you don't want to go?"

As Lucy's name has been mentioned, you raised your eyebrow. "What has Lucy got to do with all of this?"

Ona thought for a while. She really hadn't prepared for this. "Errr, maybe you guys can talk? And have fun?"

You got more amused by the second. "Are you saying that you want me to be there because Lucy is there?"

"No! I'm just saying that, errrr, maybe because Lucy is there, you wouldn't be awkward!" Ona exclaimed. The sentences were just on the top of her head, rushed.

"Maybe not, me and Lucy are just friends, l don't think she wants to spend the night with me by her side, anyways, she's got Keira, didn't she?"

Just friends? Nooo, you and Lucy are not "just friends." You guys are practically in love every time you see each other.

"No, Keira isn't coming tonight, so Lucy is all alone, so you should come. Don't want her to be all alone now, do we"

"I don't think she even likes me enough to want me to be there, just leave it, Ona." You are in love with Lucy, of cause you are, and you know that, but Lucy is always with Keira. You know that they were close as they went through England EUROs win together, Lucy will always be closer to Keira than you will ever be to her. You bet that she doesn't even like you that way. Maybe it'll just be another silly like your other ones.

Just ad you, the conversation finished, and Ona left you alone. Lucy spots you on one of the benches on the field, looking sad, she desided to make her way over, a concerned expression on her face, unknown to her the sad emotion was just caused by the subject of her just moments ago.

"Hey, are you okay?" Lucy asks, her voice gentle as she studies you.

You offer her a small smile, trying to push aside your own worries. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just… a bit under the weather and not feeling like going out tonight." Knowing it is team bonding night, you felt a bit shy. You don't want to go out. You just want to stay home after a long day of training.

Lucy's gaze softens, and she reaches out to gently squeeze your hand. "I get that. But hey, maybe it'll be good for you to get out and have some fun."

You nod, but the knot in your stomach only tightens. Despite Lucy's reassurance, you can't shake off the feeling of dread that has settled over you.

As the team begins to gather for training, you find yourself retreating into your shell even further. You focus on the familiar routine of warming up and getting ready, avoiding eye contact with anyone around you. But then, just as you're about to slip away into your own thoughts, Lucy appears in front of you, her presence impossible to ignore.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?" Lucy asks, her voice hesitant but determined. Maybe she finally wants to say what she held off in the changing rooms?

You nod, feeling a mix of curiosity and apprehension bubbling up inside you. "Sure, what's up?"

Lucy takes a deep breath, her gaze meeting yours with a newfound intensity. "I… I just wanted to say that… I really like you. And I'm scared that maybe you don't feel the same way."

And as you stand there, hand in hand with Lucy, all your fears and anxieties melt away, replaced by the comforting certainty that you have found someone who understands you like no one else ever has. From that moment on, you know that nothing will ever be the same again.

Your heart skips a beat at her confession, and you feel a rush of emotions swirling inside you. "Lucy, I… I like you too," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

A relieved smile spreads across Lucy's face, and she reaches out to take your hand in hers and leans in closer. "I'm so glad to hear that. And hey, we don't have to go out tonight if you don't want to. We can just stay in and be together."

You blush and look down, but Lucy gently tilts your chin up to meet her eyes, and your face turns even redder. "Can I kiss you?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. You simply nod, and as your lips meet, it's a short but absolutely magical kiss. You grin as you pull away.

"Come on, let's go back before the others wonder where we've gone."

As you walk back to the field with Lucy, your heart is filled with contentment and happiness. Aitana sees that you're back and starts to approach you.

"So, are you coming to team bonding tonight?" she says with excitement in her voice.

Upon hearing the question, you smile softly and look over to Lucy, who is now talking to Alexia.

"Yeah"

A/N: l hope you enjoyed this! I love Lucy Bronze and will definitely write her again! Thank you for the request! This is Theta signing out! See you next time!

[marthawrites]

"don't shut me out. please"

I hope it is not too late for me to join the celebration ☺️ Congratulations! 💕👏🏼

Thank you sooososo much! You are such a gem and I appreciate all of your fandom love more than you know! I did my best to include a (one shot appropriate) slow burn, angst, and a happy ending. I hope you enjoy this ride MWAH!

Summer's End, Autumn's Beginning

Modern Aemond Targaryen x fem reader

Word Count: 6.3k+

About: A chance encounter with Aemond leads to a whirlwind of emotions. Over the next few months you both fail, in yourselves and in the relationship, and learn from the mistakes.

Includes: Chance encounter, age difference (references to Aemond x Alys) mentions of cheating, allusions to cheating, angst, second chance romance, and smut featuring vaginal fingering, possessive sex, and unprotected protected vaginal sex

Note: Hello lovely reader! This is the longest piece I've wrote in quite awhile - whew! I also feel like it's one of the more ambitious one-shot fics I've worked on/completed. Reader is non-descript. As always, please, enjoy!

read part 2 Between the Covers here

-

I.

There were two things tied for number one on your five-year goal list.

First, be out of your city apartment (preferably as a home owner and not a renter)

Second, have a dog. 

They went hand in hand. One couldn’t happen without the other. So, it was a hard tie and you weren’t willing to budge on either. Until then, to take the edge off your self-proclaimed animal loneliness, you volunteered at a local shelter two nights a week. Mondays and Wednesdays.

While your day job wasn’t a doctor, lawyer, or professional athlete – ones that your family pushed you to have while growing up – it still paid decently and had the potential for career advancement. And! You were able to live on your own. Not having a roommate was worth the dry job description. Besides, your boss was fair and most of your co-workers were friendly; a win win, really.

Tonight, Monday, you finished your shift, went home to change, then headed out to the shelter. Even though it was all volunteer hours you valued punctuality and did your best to get there around the same time each night.

“Hey! You made it!” Arryk called out to you when you stepped inside the building. Chaos sparked all around. He did a great job running and maintaining the schedule, and with the help of volunteers alongside regular staff, it was, more often than not, smooth sailing. Tonight, however, it appeared quite the opposite.

“Hey! Yeah, a few minutes later than usual, sorry!” You said as you walked over to him.

He waved a hand brushing off your apology. “No worries. We had a few people call in today. So, since being short staffed we’re definitely running behind. I know you normally help bathe the dogs with Baela tonight, but can I ask you to do something else instead?” He winced slightly with his question, unsure of your answer. He knew how much you loved Baela and cleaning the dogs!

You squinted at him suspiciously. “Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked, crossing your arms. “You know I won’t administer shots. If I could get over my fear of needles I’d be a veterinarian and not an office worker like I am!” You scrunched your brows before one, all on its own accord, arched up dubiously.

“Ha!” He laughed. “No no no, I know. We have six dogs that need walking tonight. And I don’t think Targaryen can handle all of ‘em.”

“Helaena? She’s back?” You asked, eyes bright with surprise.

“She’s still away for that college trip. It’s her younger brother, Aemond. Have you met him before?”

You’d heard Helaena talk about him, of course, but you’d never met him. Shaking your head, you peered around the shelter looking for anyone else with the Targaryen tell-tale silver-blonde hair. No one caught your eye. “I haven’t. But, I don’t mind.”

“You are a lifesaver!” He praised. “He’s down the west hall getting them ready. Depending on how long you're here afterward, there might be another couple who could use a second walk. Terriers. You know how they are.”

“Happy to help, Arryk!” He was a good guy. You’d always liked him.

“Aemond’s tall, towheaded as the rest of his family, and has an eyepatch. You can’t miss him.” And with that Cargyll switched tasks and got right back to work.

Turning and walking down the west hall, you were happy to say, chaos began to fizzle out. This hall had the larger dogs; no wonder Aemond wouldn’t be able to walk all six at once. Even with the slow turn of summer to autumn sunset wouldn’t be for another three hours. Assuming all went well you’d be able to walk the second batch of dogs, too. 

Down the aisle were five opened doors with each respective dog ready for their walk. Their leashes were hooked onto the door so they couldn’t run amuck. You patted and scratched them, earning yourself more wagging tails, a few happy barks, and some excited licks. Looking to the end of the hall you saw someone who you assumed was your evening walking partner. He was kneeling, talking soothingly to a great big senior hound, while clasping the final buckle of their harness. “Hello, uh-, Aemond?” You called out feeling slightly self-conscious. 

Still kneeling, he turned his head to look up at you. Any softness in his single eye quickly hardened to match the rest of his sharp features. “Hey,” he said, caught off guard by your presence; someone he’d never seen calling him out by name. “Is there something I can help you with?” Slowly, in a single fluid motion, he stood up and the aged dog kept his eyes on him the whole time, panting happily.

Whoa. He was tall. And, at first sight, incredibly good looking: dressed in casual black clothes, long silver hair tied into a braid, with a scar along the left side of his face that you had to tell yourself not to stare at. His mouth was a unique shape, too, and you weren’t sure if he was merely waiting for a response or if he was smirking the tiniest pout at you. “Hi,” you said again with a nervous laugh. You told him your name. “Arryk sent me. Said you could use some help with the walk tonight?” ‘Play it cool, dummy. He’s really handsome, so what? He could be a huge asshole. Play. It. Cool,’ your inner voice said.

Did he have a mechanical eye beneath his patch? The way he looked at you, then, made you feel like he read your thoughts. “Ah. I could certainly use the help,” he said smoothly with a small curve of lip, turning his attention to the three dogs at the front of the hallway. “Wanna take those three?” He asked, looping the big dog’s leash around his wrist. “I mean, you can have any of them as long as I get this guy. He’s my favorite.”

Your pulse raced a little too fast. Clearing your throat, you smiled in an attempt to ease the butterflies in your belly. “I don’t mind. Why is he your favorite?” You turned and began to unclasp leashes from their doors; happy tips and taps of claws growing louder at the pups’ excitement.

“Reminds me of my girl at home,” Aemond replied, adoration clear in his voice. “Big and old, a little stinky, a little slobbery. The best kind, really.”

“Aw, that’s very sweet. I don’t have any pets. I get my fix here,” you laughed. Holding all three dogs in one hand, you pulled the door open with the other. Except, it didn’t open. On instinct, you tried again hoping Aemond didn’t notice.

He strode up next to you with the rest of the dogs in tow, smirking at you for real this time, as he said, “it’s a push door.”

You knew it was a push door. Fuck. He gave you a knowing glance over his shoulder as he walked out, waiting for you to follow along.

II.

You didn’t see Aemond on Wednesday and you couldn’t deny your disappointment when you left for the night. Come to find out you two had been volunteering at the same place for months – only on different days. He tended to be there Tuesdays and Thursdays. 

Monday had been a chance encounter. One you couldn’t shake out of your head. 

Before leaving tonight, however, you took a selfie with Aemond’s favorite old hound. You’d exchanged numbers but hadn’t an excuse to strike up a conversation. Yet. Now, with the selfie as an excuse, you opened a fresh text thread and sent him the photo along with:

Someone missed you tonight! 

While buckling up in your car and getting ready to reverse out of your parking spot, your phone dinged with an incoming message:

Very cute. Will you be there on Monday? Maybe Cargyll will assign up walking duties again.

Your belly flipped. Truthfully, you weren’t expecting him to message back – especially so quickly. Before you could stop yourself you sent back:

Yup! See you then?

And he sent:

I’ll find another excuse to be there. 

Feeling a little bold, you replied:

Excited to see you again! You have these adorable dimples when you smile. Maybe I’ll see those, too?

When nothing came through for a few minutes, you feared you might have gone too far. It was just a little innocent flirting, right? Nothing bad? And then:

Maybe so. See you Monday.

Smiling, you didn’t send anything back. It’d be your luck to say something dumb and rub him the wrong way. 

During your first walk, as soon as the ice broke, you both clicked really well. Hopefully – just maybe – things would flow like that again. The connection you felt, something akin to a liveware, couldn’t have been one-sided. He had to feel a spark of it, too; even if just a little.

You drove home, made dinner while facetiming one of your friends from uni, and when she asked about the spark in your eye you told her about your friend Helaena’s younger brother.

III.

“I seriously cannot believe you’ve never seen The Lord of the Rings. The Hobbit trilogy was a little silly, but watchable. But you haven’t even seen that?” Aemond asked clearly aghast at your lack of understanding his reference.

Tonight, you both got walking duty again and neither of you complained. And, this time, he regarded you with a softer look in his eye than his original sharp glance. He was dressed in dark casuals again and you hated (loved?) how good he made them look. His hair was in a bun and his eyepatch stayed firmly in place. You wanted to ask him about it but weren’t sure if you should try it yet. Instead, you rolled your eyes and laughed. “You’re making it sound better and better the more you talk about it.”

“That’s because it’s the best.” The dogs pulled both of you along and you had to walk brisker than normal to keep up with them and Aemond’s longer legs. He seemed unaffected by it.

“So, you recommend I watch it?” You asked playfully.

“No,” he started, very serious. “I recommend you read it first and then watch the movies.”

If you had more breath in your lungs you’d have giggled – not laughed, but giggled. Something about the way he said it, and the totally serious look on his face, tickled you. “Will you watch them with me?”

The question appeared to catch Aemond off guard. He looked at you, lingering over your pinkened cheeks and smirking lips, before finally making it back to your eyes. Just when he opened his mouth to say something in reply, a completely unrelated thing stole his attention. Sometime during your bantering you’d made it back to the shelter, and a tall dark-haired woman called out, “there’s my sweet Aemond. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you and you haven’t been answering your phone.”

If you thought Aemond attractive, this woman made him look like any regular ol' Joe. She was elegant, warmed by a late summer tan, and had raven dark hair cascading down her back; truly a vision of enchantment. When she sauntered to him and pressed her body to his, you felt like a voyeur watching the embrace.

“Alys,” Aemond breathed quietly. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want,” she answered as she trailed manicured fingers across the front of his chest.

She had a timeless look to her, the kind that concealed her age. She could have been anywhere from twenty-five to fifty, you thought. You really hadn’t a clue. All you knew, now, is that you should finish your task alone.

Aemond’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. Posture tense. “I told you I was busy tonight–”

Before you could stop yourself you cut him off with an awkward wave. “See you later, Aemond.” And, with that, you walked inside before you overheard anything else they might be saying to each other. Turning to glance over your shoulder one last time, you were met with a look of deliberate triumph from Alys; she had the greenest eye you’d ever seen. 

It was haunting.

Driving home, you felt stupid. Aemond was just a guy you just met. It was silly to think someone like him would be single and even sillier to think your innocent flirtations would be working on him. You had half a mind to delete his number. Or, at the very least to delete the short message thread of your texts.

Instead of making dinner like you normally did, you called in delivery and facetimed with your friend as you waited. She immediately knew something was off and you were quick to tell her everything that happened.

Twenty minutes passed and you were starting to feel better. It’s not like you two hooked up or even kissed. It was just a chance meeting with playful banter. Nothing to get shook up about. “Food’s here. Thanks for listening to me. I’ll talk to you later. Love you!” You said as you got up to answer the door. 

When all else failed, your favorite food could always make you feel better.

Turning the tv on and sitting down amongst your couch pillows and blankets, you were getting ready to dig in when your phone rang. 

Aemond. 

Your insides did a weird flip and hunger disappeared entirely from your mind and belly. Should you answer? Let it go to voicemail? Turn the stupid thing off and completely ignore him? Right before the final ring, you decided. “Hello?”

“Hey,” he said, immediately sounding relieved. “I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t yet ready to call it a night with you.”

“It’s no biggie,” you replied. Lying. “I didn’t want to interrupt anything–,” you paused, searching for something else to say to soften the edge of your voice, “–the dogs were getting tired anyway.” God. It sounded stupid even to your own ears.

Aemond sighed through the phone. You wondered if he slid his hand down his face or through his hair. It sounded like he did. “No. Alys is… it’s complicated. She’s my ex and–”

“ –you don’t have to explain anything to me,” you said, cutting him off. “Really. It’s fine.” Despite it being a phone call, you tried to smile as if it would blunt the dismissal of your tone.

“I mean it,” he said. “I really wasn’t ready to say bye yet. What do you say you skip your regular Wednesday night plans and grab a milkshake or something with me?”

Your insides flipped again but for an entirely different reason this time. You knew it: the sparks definitely weren’t one sided. The firm set of Aemond’s jaw and the rigidness of his shoulders flashed once more in your mind’s eye. Since your break up with your long-term boyfriend you’d been on a few dates, but none of them lead to anything worthwhile. With how you and Aemond clicked, however? This date might lead to something more than a hook-up (or, attempt at a hook-up. Some men truly had no game). “Are you sure…?” You asked after a moment. “You and Alys looked pretty comfortable–,”

“ –I’m sure,” it was his turn to cut you off.

“Alright then. Let’s do it.”

IV.

It'd been two months since your first milkshake date with Aemond – the first of many dates. It was a guilty pleasure of yours and apparently one of his, too!

Your first kiss, first time meeting his elder dog, Vhagar, and first time meeting his family were all memories you cherished. 

The more you learned about Aemond’s relationship with Alys, the more you understood it "complicated". Including Targaryen drama, Targaryen business, and a list of other things you had a hard time following. It didn’t matter anymore, though, Aemond reassured you. Things were done between them and he only wanted you; proving it to you with fingers and mouth until you begged for a break.

A lesson you learned from your last relationship – one Aemond learned from his, too – was to be careful with love. As much as you genuinely enjoyed him and his company, a barrier stood between you that neither dared yet to cross.

Love.

Each day you fell for him a little more; you were scared to admit it. The scar of heartbreak healed slowly. Could you truly trust Aemond with that part of yourself? With the very essence of your heart? It’d been two months and you still weren’t entirely sure.

If he felt the same he’d say something, right?

Autumn blanketed the lands with brisk air, rainy days, and rolling fog. As days grew short and nights long, you and Aemond spent more time at your apartment or his quarter at the Targaryen estate. Your apartment was the clear favorite. Living alone had its perks: never having to worry about nosy family or friends who showed up unannounced.

And thank God you didn’t live with anyone else. 

"Mmh… fuck, baby, I've been thinking about this all day. I can't get enough of you. Let me make my girl feel good," he said against your mouth as one of his hands moved up the inside of your thigh. "Are you wet already? I bet you are," he chuckled, fingertips tracing your slit. "Mmm… I knew it. Your clit is sooo needy, isn't it?" 

Shit. Those hushed words, the glint in his eye, his rasped tone… you happily indulged him in whatever way he wanted. And him, you. Fingers, mouth, cock, he quickly learned what tricks made you melt. 

As much as he loved having you ride him, or bending you over, his absolute favorite was fucking you into the mattress. You sprawled out beneath him, hair messy and fanned out around your head, legs wrapped tight around his waist, fingernails on his body… he could never get enough of your blushed face beneath him, trembling and arching as he pushed you to peak after peak.

Your sheets had never been cleaned so often in your entire life.

It was particularly rainy today and you were both finished with everything on your to-do list. Aemond sat on the floor in front of you as you lounged in your overstuffed chair. You told him you'd read the Lord of the Rings as long as he read it to you. He didn't even pretend to be annoyed by your bargain. He read to you from his own collection, claiming he liked the worn feeling of the pages better than a new book's pages. 

Like any proper reader Aemond started with The Hobbit. You enjoyed it more than you thought you would. More so than the story, however, you enjoyed him reading aloud to you – he had the loveliest voice. You were about half way through The Fellowship of the Ring and the story continued to get better.

But, all afternoon, Aemond's phone never stopped going off. It seemed like every few minutes it would ping with some kind of notification. "Who's blowing you up?" You asked, annoyance creeping into your tone.

Stopping mid sentence, he looked. "Alys," he sighed as he scrolled through the various messages. 

You tried to not look over his shoulder to the texts. You really did. But there was something about Aemond's shift in posture, and the air around him, that made you suspicious. "What's going on?" You asked in your best nonchalant manner.

"She's asking if I have some of her clothes at my place still," he answered and you swore you saw pink spread atop his cheeks.

That caught you off guard. "Why would she have clothes–"

And whatever else you were going to say was abruptly cut off.

There, in a new string of messages, was the single text line, "I miss you, baby boy," followed by at least three photographs of Alys in lingerie and various stages of undress. 

"What the fuck Aemond!?" You asked, anger and hurt instantly warming your blood. "What the hell were those? Are you fucking joking?"

"I have no idea why she sent–"

" –is that why she left clothes at your place? Couldn't let her go for real? Jesus Christ I can't believe you." Anger flushed your face and bittered your words.

"Listen, please. Hear me out, bab–"

" –oh fuck off, Aemond, you don't get to 'babe' me around anymore. In fact, just leave."

He looked as hurt as you. And shocked. A hundred emotions played across his chiseled features. "No, really. Let me explain," he pleaded with eye and tone.

You weren't having it. You were cheated on before and he knew it. It made your own hurt cleave even deeper. You really fucking liked him. Maybe even loved him. And this whole time he had you and Alys? "I'm seriously about to get really fucking angry. Leave. Now."

He stood and left. Silent fury screamed around him like a whirlwind. He didn't even give you one final look over his shoulder.

He shut your door with a deliberate click.

You curled up in your blanket alone as fat ugly tears streamed down your face. You couldn't be bothered to grab a tissue for your snotty nose. 

Aemond's leather jacket was still draped over the back of your couch and his book still lay on the floor. Your crying somehow turned uglier at the realization.

Eventually you dozed off. With Aemond, you always had your phone on silent so you didn't hear all his missed calls and texts.

V.

The following month went by in a blur; you drowned yourself in work. You also stopped volunteering because you didn't want to give Aemond the opportunity to meet you there. By some feat of strength you ignored all his attempts at talking – and by proxy, apologizing.

The only thing you said to him was a single text:

I need time. Please understand

Part of you wondered how it affected him. His calls and texts became sparse until they eventually stopped.

Helaena asked where you'd been and you felt horrible lying to her. So, you didn't. After telling her the story she sighed and asked if you'd want to grab tea. You agreed. Meeting her at a local cafe allowed you to air out your feelings; laughs and tears alike. She was kind, and sweet, and supportive without being passive. She loved her brother but knew he had many of his own issues. You'd been friends for over a year and this was the first true heart to heart you shared.

Upon returning home you picked up the Fellowship and tried to read from where Aemond left off. But, it wasn’t the same without him and it only made you cry. Again.

VI.

The following morning, despite your car's newer model, it barely wanted to start for your drive to work. By a stroke of luck you made it there fine. And, made it back home that evening, too. But that was the end of your luck. It needed to be picked up and taken to a shop until a mechanic could see it.

Carless, you had to rely on Uber or public transportation. Yuck.

A few days of stress passed and now you were done for the week. Thank God for weekends. Unfortunately your groceries were extremely low and you would need to make a trip in the morning. You sighed and used it as an excuse to order pizza.

After waking up and a breakfast of (the last, and past its sell-by date) packet oatmeal you got around to make the walk to the nearest grocery store. Knowing you'd be walking home, too, the list was small. Carrying bags up two flights of stairs was hard enough, much less carrying them home a mile!

On the way back it started sprinkling. Great. Just great. You started walking faster with hopes of making quicker time than your leisurely stroll to the store. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, you heard your name called. Was that…? Stopping in your tracks you looked across your shoulder to the side of the road and saw none other than Aemond. You knew his car and voice anywhere. You didn't have to see yourself to know a dozen emotions played across your face.

"Hey," he said gently, his own features a mirror of yours.

"Hi," you said.

"Why are you walking in the rain with groceries?"

Slumping your unintentionally scrunched up shoulders, you sighed. "Stupid car died on me and it's been with the mechanic for almost a week."

He smiled softly. So soft. The outside of his seeing eye crinkled and emotion rushed to your chest. Your gut. "You're way too good to be walking alone. Let me drive you home at least?" 

You didn't resist. How could you? "Alright. Sure. Just dropping me off though, okay?" Guilt panged your chest. Did he feel it too? Could he read it on your face he knew so well?

"Alright," he answered, expression falling just slight. You might as well have stomped on his foot with how it affected you.

I miss you. I love you. I'm sorry. Can we try it again? Can I hold your hand? God I love your hair in a ponytail. You smell good. Did you see the trailer for that new horror movie? I miss you. I love you. I'm sorry. It all turned around your head like a fucking rotisserie chicken. It shouldn't be so hard to say any of those things to him. But it was.

You didn't say anything on the short ride home. Neither did he. His right hand flexed a few times and you wondered if he was having a hard time, too.

"Can you get it all upstairs?" He asked as he pulled into an empty spot and parked, looking across to you with horribly concealed emotion.

"Yes, but…," you trailed off momentarily, trying to read his face. "I still have your book and jacket. Wanna come up and grab them?" You asked hopefully.

He killed the engine faster than you could blink. "Yes! So that's where they've been. You could have mentioned it sooner," he said slightly accusingly, grinning at you with a spark of playfulness.

Leading the way upstairs to your apartment, you unlocked the door and disappeared inside. After placing your items down and grabbing Aemond's, you turned to look at him standing in the doorway. He leaned against it. Waiting. Quiet. He glanced around with a wistfulness that made your throat tight. You watched him watching you and your home until the air became awkward – was it half a second, a few seconds, longer? You weren't sure. 

Slowly you walked over to him. Your gaze flickered up at him as you handed his things back. "Were you ever going to tell me the truth?" You asked. "Did you think I really wouldn't find out? Why did you stick around if I wasn't good enough?"

He blinked. Taken back. "You never even gave me the chance to explain." His jaw feathered before it tightened. His eye hardened.

You grabbed the door, fixing to close it on him. Now that you started talking – unloading pent up questions which kept you tossing and turning at night – you couldn't decide if you wanted to slam it on his face or yell. "I told you how I was cheated on! And you did it anyway! I trusted you, Aemond." Your voice thinned, sounding shrill even to your own ears.

One of his hands braced on the door so you couldn't close it on him. "So this is your revenge then, huh? Punishing both of us? Why don't you trust me?" Hurt and fury simmered in the lovely hue of his eye. A storm. No, a hurricane. "Alys and I have been done for months. Months. Even before you and I met. I'm sorry for what she did but I can’t control what she does. She was playing her wicked games trying to sabotage us– you and me. Don't shut me out. Please." 

He pleaded, every pore and line of his face begging for forgiveness. As each word came off his tongue they clicked into place in your head. He meant it. He was telling the truth. Before you could stop yourself your fists balled into the front of his shirt, pulling him down so your mouth crashed up to his. "You mean it?" You asked through the kiss.

Instantly he leaned down into you, and instantly he held onto your waist pulling you deeper against him. His other hand cradled the side of your face daring to curve along the shape of your skull. "I mean it. Yes I fucking mean it," he answered against the kiss; breath stealing yours away until it left you in a little moan.

You pulled him inside and shut the door, locking it. You moaned as he nipped and bit at your neck. Your heart thumped wildly. He sucked at the sensitive skin, again and again, pulling away just before leaving a mark. "God, Aem,” you whimpered. Goosebumps covered your body. The only thing on your mind was him.

"Fuck, I missed you. I missed you so much." His hands were somehow all over you all at once. His mouth trailed, and dragged, and kissed over any exposed portion of your skin. He happily pulled off layers of your clothing to expose more and more of your soft, warm, saccharine flesh; intoxicating him. After weeks of your separation the last thing he wanted to do was to push too far too fast.  “Can I take this off?” He asked before taking your shirt off.

“Yes,” you replied breathily. “Fuck it. Take all of it off. I missed you too. So much,” you said as you helped pull his clothes off, too. He pushed you against a wall. You kissed. Heavier, and hotter, and hungrier. You pushed him against a wall. 

He gasped as he smirked. “I love when you act all tough when we both know I can have you squirming under me in minutes,” he growled, pupil swelling. The dimples at the very corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement, however, as he once again pushed you against the wall. You were both only in your underwear, now, and his lean body on yours had you aching. “My tough girl… how quickly do you think it’ll last when my fingers are in you?”

“Why don’t we find out?” You asked defiantly, knowing damn well it wouldn’t last long at all. By now you were both down the hallway and your bedroom was only a couple feet away. You needed him. Now. And judging by how fucking hard he was he needed you too.

The next moment went by in a blur and before you could catch yourself you were sprawled out on your back atop your bed. Aemond made quick work of moving you both inside, and made quicker work of pulling your panties down. He groaned as your thighs immediately spilled open for him. He dragged two fingers up your slit and circled your clit with your arousal. “Shit–,” he hissed. “Never make me wait so long to have this pussy again. Do you understand me? Never,” he said as he worked your already swollen clit. He played with it just how he knew you liked it and your cunt’s tiny wet sounds sent his cock throbbing. “Answer me.”

Tension built in the low muscles of your belly. Your legs began to tighten already – one of the tell-tale signs of your approaching climax. How the hell could he push you there so quickly? “N-never! Ahh-h never again!” You replied, voice light, and sweet, and tantalizing as any sin Aemond ever knew. “Please, Aemond, I want to cum…!”

He shoved those same two fingers into you. “Good girl,” he said as he curled those fingers. “This pussy is mine. All fucking mine. Give it to me,” he said huskily as he worked them in and out of you. It was sloppy and wet. Borderline obscene. Each time he slammed his hand against you he was mindful to press the heel of his palm against your clit and your mound, knowing how the extra pressure sent your pretty toes curling.

You cried out his name as your eyes clenched shut. The tension in your belly snapped and a wave of glorious bliss washed over you. Sweat sheened between your breasts and along your lip. You arched, quivered, shuddering in the aftermath of his intensity. 

Aemond’s mouth crashed to yours and you threaded your fingers through the roots of his hair. It was still in a ponytail and you had no mind to take it out, you just had to pull him deeper into the kiss. He tasted the salt of your sweat and groaned. “Relax your pussy, baby, you’re clenching me really hard. It feels amazing but I don’t wanna hurt you pulling out,” he said tenderly, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck.

“Sorry,” you giggled. “Just feels too good.” You tried to steady your breath and relax as he laid beside you, continuing to kiss your neck and shoulders. When your spongy walls finally eased around him you were sad to feel him withdraw. Stress melted away from your subconscious and you wanted to thank him for the pleasure. You wondered if your eyes said it while he looked at you.

Leaning up, he discarded the final piece of his clothing and sighed in relief as his cock sprang free. He got between your thighs and looked down at you hungerily. “Look at you all doe eyed already. See? I knew you couldn’t stay tough for long,” he said, smug, as he lined up with your drenched cunt. He held one of your legs up against him, and you pressed the other against his side. 

When you left for the store this morning you had no idea your afternoon would go in this direction.

He pushed into you. Inch by inch he sunk into you and soon he was as deep as he could be. A moan escaped both of you, and a throatier one left him when his free hand tugged at your bra. It was one that clipped in the front. He popped it open and rocked into you as soon as your tits spilled free. "You're so sexy like this."

With your body already sensitive from your first orgasm, and now with Aemond building a rhythm between your thighs, you weren't going to last long. "You feel so good," you purred, eyelids heavy. "Fuck I missed you."

Another sound left his chest and when you wrapped your legs around his slim waist you swore you felt goosebumps pebble all along his skin. Or, maybe those were your goosebumps on your legs. Whatever the case, Aemond leaned forward and kissed you again. "I missed you too," he rumbled. "Gonna let me fill this pretty pussy with my cum again?"

You two made good use of your birth control and you weren't about to deny him – or yourself – the pleasure of being thoroughly fucked and stuffed. "Y-yeah," you stammered, smiling.

Aemond mumbled something incoherent into your neck, and if your brain wasn't foggy from his perfect fucking cock you might have caught what he said. 

He leaned up and supported himself on his forearms, pressing his forehead to yours. "You're my girl. You're my fucking girl. You're my fucking girl," he repeated again and again until the pace of his thrusts grew sloppy. Somehow the sloppiness of it, the neediness and urgency of his voice, sent emotion swelling in all of you.

Heat collected and grew out from your spine, webbing throughout your entire body. You clung to him desperately. You rolled your hips up into him and shamelessly grinded your clit against his pelvis as he drove in and out of you. It was all too much. You crumbled beneath him and let orgasm take control of you. The depths of your body squeezed and convulsed around him, holding him tight and soaking the fullness of his length with your slick. He never stopped or paused his thrusts. 

His own peak followed. Once he was as deep as he could be he released everything he had into you. He stayed there, both of you panting through little moans, until he no longer twitched between your stretched walls. Slowly, he pulled out, and slowly, his seed dribbled out of you. Grinning, he rolled onto his back and scooped you against him.

"Let's stay here like this all day," you mumbled happily, fingertips trailing up and down his abdomen and chest.

"You'll get no argument from me," he said.

Quiet minutes passed and the sound of his heart nearly put you into a trance. "I'm sorry for how I acted," you finally admitted.

All the while he'd been petting and trailing his fingers through your hair. He didn't stop as he answered, "and I'm sorry for not trying harder." He kissed your forehead and held you tighter.

"Let's try it again. For real this time. With the titles and commitment and everything."

"Are you asking or telling me to be your boyfriend?"

You smirked. "I'm suggesting."

Returning your smirk, he pulled you atop him so you could straddle him. "You're all mine," he said with a dark eye. "My perfect girl." 

Leaning down, you kissed and nipped his bottom lip. "Are you already hard again, Aemond Targaryen?"

A chuckle rumbled somewhere in his chest as his touch dented into your hips to hold you at just the right angle. With a roll of his hips he pushed himself up inside you again. "Whose cock is this?"

You gasped, eyes darkening with another round of lust. "Mine."

"That's right. Yours. Not anyone else's. It's fucking yours."

You rode him until your tits were covered in fresh hickies and you were filled with another load of him.

Yours. His. The second chance you both needed.

-

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

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Masterlist

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[martialartslover7]

Why I think Kishimoto isn't sexist, but just VERY tonedeaf and an idiot

Boy, will I have some venting to do today. I mean, at this point, it's not a secret, that Kishimoto has consistently stated that "he can't write women", to save his life. And to this day, for as long as I was a fan of the series, I am going to be absolutely real: This statement is so full of shit. Why? Simple. And allow me to express it in very big capital letters, so that even the last giant mental invalid can understand:

WOMEN ARE HUMAN-BEINGS WITH BREASTS AND A V BETWEEN THEIR LEGS. WHAT TYPE OF "NUANCES" IS THIS GUY TALKING ABOUT? THERE IS NOTHING "COMPLICATED" ABOUT THEM. WHAT NONSENSE IS THIS?

Like, this entire statement is bullshit for a completely reason altogether: Why even reduce his own point to the fact that the shinobi just so happen to be female? This just sounds like excuses on top of excuses, especially considering the competition like One Piece and Bleach, who all have badass, memorable and sometimes, quite well-written characters, that just so happen to be female.

Let's count up a few IPs that I am aware of, written or directed by males, that has some of the most badass, and most memorable females in all of media:

One Piece

Bleach

Soul Eater

Kill la Kill

Jujutsu Kaisen

Code Geass

Persona

Tekken

Street Fighter

SoulCalibur

Fire Emblem (not all of them, some of them, from what I have seen, can be insane jokes)

And so on, and so forth, the list goes on. And you know what all these IPs have in common, that make them stand out, compared to what Naruto does to its females?

THE FEMALES AREN'T GETTING BOGGED DOWN BY IRRITATING, REDUNDANT AND DOWNRIGHT OFFENSIVE TROPES, THAT FLAT-OUT RUIN THEIR POTENTIAL AND APPEAL AS STANDALONE CHARACTERS!

Like, allow me to list up all the tropes, that Kishimoto made use of, while writing the manga, or being involved in the process of writing / directing the anime, along with the movies.

1. Making the women overtly dependant on the male characters

This one, is not as egregious, but it's a good kickstarter. In the context of the world these characters operate in, to me, it does make sense to show that, like in the Edo period of Japan, women were always seen as second-class citizens, always needing to be tied to men somehow, otherwise they are "worthless". Considering the corrupt, militarized system that most of the girls work in, mostly operated by wrinkly, old farts, who enjoy playing god too much, it does remain understandable to me, that they would be hesistant to be 100% committed to the job, and just ask for normal lives...

...BUT...

...it does leave you asking: Why did they choose to be ninjas in the first place, then? To get smitten with the boys (not counting Hinata, by the way, because she was literally forced into this role)? Just applying as literal child soldiers in a war, that they didn't even start to begin with? And yes, I get it, kunoichis excel in areas that male shinobi struggle with, like silent reconnaisance, charming other men, or sometimes women, to tickle information out of them, being healers, but here is the thing: As the Naruto progressed as a story, this pattern kept repeating, every time a female character got introduced, it would fall back on the following checklist:

Is this woman a healer?

Is she obsessed with looking for a boyfriend / a husband?

Is she lacking in combat-based strength, to the point where she needs protection from either of the male characters?

Because, except for the healer bit, which is more of a specialized field, I just brought it up, because I felt it to be awfully noticeable how often the girls requested to be healers, as if they have to fit into such a mold, or they aren't capable as shinobi, the other two questions get repeatedly answered, for pretty much 98% of all female characters, especially by the end of Shippuden.

And don't get me wrong: This is NOT a negative, per se, that they desire a boyfriend, or someone to spend the rest of their days with, this is not what I am complaining about. In fact, a good chunk of ships in the series are hella cute, and I don't want them to go away. Because to an extent, the romance aspect feels genuine, especially between Naruto and Hinata, or Sasuke and Sakura (yeah, fight me on that, I will defend these two as a ship, until I die), or hell, especially Shikamaru and Temari, which are the GOLD standard, of what a good ship needs.

What I am complaining about though, is that, the series kind of uses this romance aspect as a shield, or excuse, to undermine the female characters, in the long run. Think about it, when was the last time when Sakura, in spite of all the grueling training she had to suffer through to become this strong in the first place, not wanting to be a hindrance to anyone, legitimately kicked ass, after killing Sasori? Not counting the war arc, because this arc is frankly, an inexcuseable mess, and Kishimoto should be ashamed of himself for making it suck this hard for how many asspulls this arc had. Nope, the moment Naruto goes berserk, and Sasuke just... appears... she is reduced to a whimpering mess, who can't stand on her own two feet, and has to be saved by someone. And this happens. ALL. THE. TIME. That's all that happens with her, sure, she heals countless ninjas during the war, but again, healing isn't the only specialty she got:

SHE IS A SHINOBI! SHINOBIS FIGHT! THEY DON'T JUST STAND AROUND LIKE IDIOTS, AND EXPOSING THEMSELVES TO ENEMY FIRE! GET! ON! WITH IT!

I swear, man, this just frustrates me beyond any reason, and the worst part, even someone as awesome as Hinata, who kicked so much ass in Part 1 (especially the filler arcs, don't get smart with me, I watched the anime, suck a small one on that), who had a whole, potential story arc hinted at with Neji, and the issues regarding their entire clan, was reduced to a simple Naruto #1 fangirl for the entire duration of Shippuden, not even the filler could salvage her in any way, and for someone like me, who relates to Hinata on a spiritual level, I find this just so damned pathetic. And whenever I watch The Last, all I could think about was this one coherent thought: You. Had. ONE JOB. Kishimoto. And you failed her. As a standalone character. Causing the entire movie to come off as if you were just shoehorning everything together, as if we only liked Hinata, because of the NaruHina ship. Well, newsflash, it couldn't be further from the truth. So, screw you, and the entire The Last movie.

Plus, I am sure I am speaking on everyone's behalf here: Anko Mitarashi and Tenten were done the MOST dirty by Kishimoto. Nuff' said.

On that note, that brings me to my next point:

2. The angry Karen housewife stereotype

I swear, this meme right here...

And Kushina's entire existence truly proves my point that, Kishimoto is really not doing himself any favors, whenever he says "I don't know how to write women". Oh, but then THIS is your answer? Is this how you see them all, the very second they get married and have kids?

So let me get this straight, the moment a woman, in the Naruto universe, gets married, has kids, and takes care of them, they become:

Aggressive, to the point of physically assaulting their own kids (Kushina definitely would have done so, let's not lie to ourselves, I love her, but this behavior of hers, combined with Sakura's general attitude towards Naruto, would have definitely made him suicidal after a while, if it weren't for the fact, he accepts it in his mom's case, because she doesn't know any better, considering her childhood)

Unpleasant to be around for their husbands (as if, we get guilt-tripped into thinking, the wives are the ones being selfish, wanting their lovers to be home with them, which, by the way, is a serious piece of shit way of thinking, because, they are married for a REASON, and not to stay apart all the time, THEY ARE FAMILY, at least, from how it gets painted as, in Boruto, from what I have seen so far)

Becoming total sociopaths, as if their genuine worries and concerns get painted as something so abnormal and "creepy"

...and this is how you see them all? THIS is your answer? Again, I know, we have ZERO evidence to prove that Kishimoto himself, is sexist in real life, it would be irresponsible of me to put that out there, because I just don't know the guy. I am just saying that, with how the housewives were all written thus far, and how, from Naruto's POV, he began having a fear of angry moms, calling them "scary", and how the females got seriously underrepresented in the course of the story...

...IT DOESN'T DO HIM ANY FAVORS.

I can't even believe I have to say this, because, newsflash, Kishimoto, and I will say it in caps: NOT ALL MOMS IN THE WORLD, ACT LIKE THIS!

They can get mad with us, they are fully in the right to whenever we do something stupid, no matter how old we get, because they will always view us as their babies that they cradled in their arms. But the problem here is: In Boruto, it gets painted as if the moms are the ones in the wrong here, just for being a tiny bit more concerned than others, because again, the world that they live in, is dangerous. And leaving the Otsu*redacted* aside, I can fully sympathize with them, so seeing someone like Boruto himself taking so many liberties being a spoiled, rotten brat, who never suffers serious repurcussions for his behavior (I know, he lost his headband for cheating, but for someone like him, who wished literal DEATH on his own father, just for him not being around enough, needed a way harsher punishment, you just don't say that your parents, dude, this doesn't take a genius to understand, especially since this is Naruto and Hinata we are talking about her), once again, it undermines the females, as if the kids ALWAYS "know better", and they "just suck, because moms are scary". Fuck off. Seriously. This is just disrespectful. No excuses. It shouldn't be written this way. Even more so, because the POV of the mothers gets never tackled, making this seem one-sided.

3. A few romances fall back on tropes, that disrespect not only the girls, but also the guys

OK, I will probably get some flack for saying this, but, regardless of the explainations in one of the Retsuden mangas, the InoSai ship, is perfectly encapsulating to me, how the romance in Naruto isn't without its flaws, and it mostly stems from how some of the characters just never get the privilege of gaining their own story sections about their own individual struggles as standalone characters.

I AM LOOKING RIGHT AT YOU, CHOJI AND KARUI! THEIR ROMANCE IS SO OUT OF LEFT FIELD, IT'S NOT EVEN WORTH JOKING ABOUT, EXCEPT, IT'S LITERALLY A JOKE, DUE TO THEIR NAMES BEING POLAR OPPOSITES TO ONE ANOTHER. HA. HA. HA.

Personally, to me, Sai is not that interesting of a character to me, I was never able to connect with him in any way, despite the importance he had in the story, alluding to the ROOT Anbu under Danzo's leadership.

But his "romance" with Ino, was seriously pushing it to me, not only because, it just regresses Ino's entire character, pushing her back into this mold that she is only interested in brooding, mentally ill edgelords like Sasuke, which paints her a shallow person, but it just paints Sai himself, as a stand-in for Sasuke, too, which undermines his own character, unintentionally. There are so many things wrong with their overall dynamic, I can't even put it properly into words.

And don't think, InoSai are the only exception to this rule. As much as it pains me to say this, NaruHina and SasuSaku are also affected by this, not as severe, but it's still pretty noticeable.

NaruHina

The fact that, with NaruHina, we needed an entire freaking movie, which, frankly, should have never happened, had they done a better job at utilizing Hinata as her own character, with Naruto present to help her out with her clan, and it all hinged on Naruto himself regressing as a character too, needing to be put in a fucking Genjutsu, just to see how he "truly felt" about Hinata... I am sorry, what is this? I mean, from a writing standpoint, this is just straight-up BAD. It's clichéd, it's painting Hinata as a damsel in distress, needing to be saved by Naruto, and Naruto himself being pardoned with "he is just dense", and overall, you can really tell, this is all just hamfisted into a single movie, because they needed to desperately convince us: Look, this is a thing. They are together now. Now play the emotional music, because that's all it needs.

Listen, I know Naruto never had a clear grasp on his own emotions, but the overall pay-off, to me, is just not there, no matter how hard I try. It just feels hollow, I don't feel happy with this. Because, for this to ship to work, they had to go through all these extra lengths to regress them both first, as individual characters, just so they can shut the lid on the whole thing. Made even worse by how this confession of Hinata during the Pain Invasion arc, was never brought up again to Naruto, until the freaking movie, and I still don't understand why. I know he didn't "ignore" her, but why does he fail to recognize Hinata's love confession, but the moment Sakura drops by to confess to him, too, he immediately calls it BS? Please. Make it make sense.

SasuSaku

Listen, nothing will stop me from loving these two as one, they deserve the peace amongst themselves, but the problem is, like InoSai, it falls back on the trope of, the girl bearing this mindset of "I can fix him", and while Sakura certainly did succeed... hear me out:

This is a purely universal thing now, this isn't just applying to SasuSaku. Otherwise, both ships have a solid foundation, ruined by shit writing. Nothing else to say.

That moment of Ino crying for Sasuke, really made me realize: Kishimoto really is clueless, not just about women, but men, too.

Because, again, for how often some of the girls bore this mindset of "I need me some brooding hunk of meat", essentially, desiring a man that knowingly treats them like crap, just so they can bear the delusion of "I can fix him", while downplaying and belittling the "uncool" guys like Choji, Rock Lee, or hell, even Naruto or Kiba, guys who, for the most part, have a solid grasp on their moral compass and their self-worth, denouncing their advances with "ew, no", is honestly disgusting to me. Like, come on, man, they aren't as cool as the edgelord teammates, but why downplay them so hard in the presence of the girls? Don't they deserve love too? Why belittle them for their eccentricities, it not only paints the girls in a bad light, but it straight up mocks the male "goofball" teammates for being the way they are. In short: NO ONE IS THE WINNER HERE.

Phew, OK, I hope, I made my point, loud and clear now. Because these points have been bothering me for a VERY long time now, and look, correct me if I am wrong. I am never 100% foolproof, so if I left out anything, feel free to correct me.

I needed to vent about this, because I felt so genuinely pissed off for how underpowered and underepresented the girls are, and how unkind and unforgiving the writing was to them, overall.

Peace.

[igotanidea]

Judgement: Benedict Bridgerton x actress!reader

Requested by @jaysgirlx <3

***

She wasn’t the most beautiful.

Or the most talented.

And definitely not born in the best family.

Nonetheless, neither of us, no matter how much willpower we are endowed with, has the possibility of choosing the environment we are born into. That is solely up to fate.

What we can choose, however, is how we adapt to the circumstances, how we behave, who we become and how we cope with the opinions that are – more often than not – negative and critical.

Especially when a woman, regardless of standards of an ossified, prejudiced society decides to make a living by being an actress. For Y/N Y/L/N no work was dishonorable. For the ladies of the ton, such profession was almost equal with being a lady of easy virtue. For the men – well- the behavior of some of them was below any norms of decency.

Funny how the point of view depends on the point of sitting.

***

She was late again.

For the third time this week and it was barely Wednesday. Not a good scorecard she kept and it definitely got under the skin of the theater owner. Y/N could not quite comprehend why the gentleman was so irritated since from the moment she stepped foot in that sanctuary of art she has been doing every single thing needed. Not only acting, but also cleaning the floor if required, repairing the costumes, helping with the dialogues. Very versatile all things considered.

Desperate for a job and survival? No, not entirely, maybe a little.

Enamored and passionate by the employ that gave her a bread and a questionable opinion. Yes, absolutely.

Rushing through the busy London streets, miraculously avoiding respectable matrons and their equally respectable lord consorts was not the best of the ideas of reducing, even to a small extent, the extent of her delay.

Y/N did not pay much attention while crossing the street either, obviously missing the speeding carriage and the moment she looked to the right, finding herself mere inches from the hooves of spooked horses, her entire life flashed in front of her eyes.

She let out a embarrassingly high cry of shock and freeze on the spot, mentally preparing herself of leaving the globe and letting her spirit fly away to some better world just like Julia Capulet did after her beloved Romeo—

“Watch out!” a man’s voice, a firm yet gentle grip of hand on her waist and a second later she was safely back on the pavement, sustaining no permanent injuries, save for rapid breathing and slightly flushed cheeks. “Are you all right, my lady?”

“I am not a lady.” She retorted automatically shaking her head and slowly raising her gaze to give thanks to her lifesaver “Mr. Bridgerton!” the second son of the late viscount was definitely not the person she expected to see and it made her take a step back immediately.

Almost ending up under another carriage if it wasn’t for Benedict Bridgerton’s reflexes and a bright, teasing smile.

“You don't learn from your mistakes, my lady” he teased “am I this repulsive to make you step away upon noticing my face? Is this how women behave this day?”

“Forgive me my Lord, I was blinded by all your glory” she almost rolled her eyes, saying the words before biting her own tongue. “oh…” the gasps that came out of her mouth a moment later only caused Benedict to laugh wholeheartedly.

“Not the usual reaction I get from a woman.”

“I can tell, my lord. I am sure ladies do swoon at the sight of you. And now that Viscount Bridgerton had tied the marriage knot you sure are looking for a wife so –” she sopped in the middle of the sentence realizing she was babbling again.

“Oh so you are a woman after all. Gossiping.” Benedict smirked.

“I beg your pardon!”

“Do I know you from somewhere?” he tilted his head examining her face trying to assess the possibility of them meeting before.

“No, my lord. I do not believe we have met.”

“May I have your name then, my lady?”

“Not a lady, my lord. And you should not preoccupy the place in your head with remembering my name.” she bowed, lacking skills a bit and – suddenly remembering that she was late – rushed to the theater.

Benedict Bridgerton.

Of course they have met before, but why would she remind him of the circumstances of the event happening so many weeks ago?

He was a student in the art academy, lately enhancing his skills in the portrait area, polishing the subject of anatomy. Both male and female, with the latter obviously much more involving in many hands-on way and that was not a secret. Those models were beautiful and fragile after all and being confronted with the harsh reality of XIX century London they had nothing more to offer than their bodies. Y/N almost ended up the same, but her talent for acting changed everything.

Regardless, her older brother was earning some additional funds by assisting the students, providing canvas, brushes, paints, wine, measures of various kinds. Whatever the domineering might wish for. And one day she was visiting him, entering the classroom without the knowledge that the lesson was still in progress.

And so she ended up in the middle of the room full of men with a naked model on the platform, under the barrage of astonished glances.

“Oh look, we got another one to help us study today!” one of the men cried out and the entire room started laughing. “You ought to wait for your turn, sweetheart. Do not fret though, we’ll take proper care of you.”

She blushed like a peony, her hands trembling a little.

“I was eagerly awaiting the moment when the Academy will provide us with a full shaped, average of beauty woman and here we are! My prayers have been answered, gentlemen!”

She blushed even more at the clear invective threw her way. Men could really behave like animals in their own company. Zero decency, respect for others or moderation. And the worst part was that all the ton knew about this open secret and gave their universal consent to that. Men were supposed to have their flings before marriage even if that meant a lot of improper things.

Her half-furious, half-hurt eyes scanned the room, taking in all the men gathered their and their attire, not paying much attention to either before landing on that one person who actually looked like having at least a little self-reflection.

Benedict Bridgerton.

Frozen with the brush in his hand and slightly unbuttoned shirt, torn between joining the common laugh on her expense and putting an end to this merciless, ongoing teasing. Before he could do a thing however she put an end to his misery and left the room with the solemn resolution to never interact with any of those debauched animals.

Judging Benedict as quickly and easily as all the society judged her.

***

“Quickly! We’re almost starting and you cannot seem to be on time even once!”

“I am—”

“do not interrupt me girl, put on the costume and get on the stage! I swear one of those days you will make me do the thing I will regret!”

***

That woman spurred some memories in Benedict’s mind even if couldn’t fully put all the pieces of the picture together. At least not until Eloise playfully smacked his side.

“What?”

“Do you know who you just saved?”

“That girl back there?” he massaged the sore place giving his sister a reproachful look “no idea. Should I know her?”

“That’s Y/N Y/L/N!”

“Uh… okay?”

“She’s an actress!”

“Um…”

“She’s a self-made, independent woman not looking for marriage and free of societal expectations!”

“You better not let out mother find out that a woman with no title is your role model.”

“Oh I’d be more than happy to let her know that. I believe that the amount of injustice put on women-“

“I do realize the amount of your thoughts in the subject.”

“Since when are you judgmental?” Eloise scoffed

“I am not!”

“Fine then Come see her performance with me.”

***

Y/N was almost pushed on the stage, without having any time to gather her thoughts or to revise her role, forced to improvise by putting on a bright fake smile and subjecting the audience to a minute or two of suspension, before realizing what she was supposed to play that day.

Clearing her throat and fixing her costume she stepped into the light, joining the rest of the cast on the stage and started giving her lines.

Any other time she would be focused solely on the scene and words coming out her mouth making sure each of them were perfectly accentuated and spoke just the right way.

So what was this inexplicable instinct that made her scan the audience?

Spotting him.

With his eyes fixed on her, showing something that could not be mistaken for anything else but sheer admiration.

And she did not like it at all.

to be continued? ;)

[bekkathyst]

Hi, long time customer (although I admit it’s been awhile since I’ve gotten anything new) and I have a question about what responsibly sourced means for your business. I’ve seen more and more stuff about the crystal mining industry and I don’t want to have to stop buying them. I will if I need to but I want to know like, where REALLY do your crystals come from? How do you know/what do you mean by responsibly sourced? From other small businesses? Where are THEY getting them?

Mostly I just really want to continue supporting your shop if I can with my purchases but I think I should just ask to make sure.

Hi! Thanks for asking; I think it's an important thing to discuss. I've talked about all of this before but it's been a while, so I thought I'd write it all out again. If things are unclear it's because I'm running on very little sleep atm and a bit overwhelmed with work, but I would be happy to answer any clarifying questions as needed!

So for me, responsibly sourced means that I care about who I am supporting and try to make the best decisions that I can. While it is true that there's no way to 100% know what's going on unless you visit a mine yourself and watch them work, that's why I think that getting as close to the source as possible is really important. I've spent the last 11 years building long-term business relationships with people who own mines, dig crystals themselves, or have smaller operations and employ a lot of their families. There's a huge difference to me between supporting a couple in Uruguay who owns a small mine or two and has their whole family involved in the business versus buying African diamonds from a British company that's been exploiting the land and the people living in it for over a century. The smaller the mine and company, the better. A lot of the people that I work with have introduced me to their whole families, seen my daughter grow up over the years, and often times they'll invite us to visit their country and visit their mines with them. (I'm not in a position to do any world traveling atm lol but I hope one day I can go do this!) I think it's super important that the people from the country where the stones are being mined are the people running the business and actually making the profit from it - not someone from a completely unrelated country coming and taking over the operations and making massive profits by exploiting and mistreating the people who live there.

Also to clarify, I work with wholesalers. As a retail business owner, I can buy from these mines and companies because I have a business license and buy in large quantities to resell; they usually don't sell to the general public, or if they do, it's just at mineral shows once or twice a year. Over the past decade, I've met so many great people at shows and then stayed in contact with them in between shows and have been able to continuously order from them.

So I aim to work with these miners directly as much as I can, but if I do work with a general wholesaler who offers things from several different countries, I use my best judgment and ask questions to make sure that their values align with mine and they're doing their part as well. I also work with a few carving companies that buy rough in bulk from various countries and carve and shape the stones - same thing as above applies.

And it goes further than that too, because if someone does really anything that goes against my personal morals, I stop doing business with them. The strongest example of that that I can think of is there used to be a warehouse I worked with in the US that imported directly from Brazil, but one time the owner said something really racist to me and Antonio in a joking tone. After that, we cut all ties and never went back. It still makes me mad to think he ever got any of our money.

I think this about sums it up, but if you have further questions, I'd be happy to answer after I get caught up on work :)

I'll just end this by saying that you know what you're comfortable with and you shouldn't do anything that goes against your beliefs! I'm running my shop in the way that I think is right but of course, there will always be people with differing opinions.

[lycheedr3ams]

König Character Analysis (Part 1)

*image reposted with permission

Part 1: His Past | Part 2: König's MBTI

the first installment of a multi-part character analysis for our beloved König

to convince you guys i know what I'm talking about, just look through my blog at my könig posts. I am confident that I have grasped most parts of his personality and backstory, but I will acknowledge that some of it may be projecting. obviously we do not know much about him, which is the point of this series. i also relate a lot to him

discussion of my interpretation is welcome in the comments, and if you disagree, there's no need to be hateful. he is, at the end of the day, not real

TW: bullying, social anxiety, other mental health disorders

We have very little information on könig's life before the military. his bio includes one sentence, just one, about his past:

König suffered from severe social anxiety throughout his life, often being bullied during his childhood.

while this information alone isn't striking, when put into more context of other parts of his bio, it says:

While he hoped to join as a recon sniper, his physical size and his inability to stay still made him an unsuitable candidate.

focus on those words: his inability to stay still. this crucial bit of information, tied to the fact that he was often bullied, leads me to conclude that könig has ADHD. not being able to sit still is not a stereotype, it is a real fact of life for those with ADHD, me included. people with ADHD are bullied much more than neurotypicals (people without ADHD, autism, etc). while each source is different, it is estimated that children with ADHD are 4-10x more likely to be bullied.

it is no wonder why bullying would cause social anxiety, since most of könig's interactions with his peers were negative. as someone with social anxiety, it is horrible. not knowing what to say or how to act, you end up either completely misreading the social context or not saying anything. either way, you can never win.

additionally, children with ADHD receive up to 20,000 more negative messages from parents and peers in their childhood than neurotypical children. because of this, it is common for people with ADHD to also be extra sensitive to rejection, and it can be so strong in some that a new term has been coined called "rejection sensitive dysphoria." research on this issue has revealed that 99% of people with ADHD also have and experience rejection sensitive dysphoria. therefore, it makes sense to conclude that König also experiences rejection sensitive dysphoria (rsd)

an aside on rsd: this isn't just feeling hurt when you're rejected by a crush or feeling sheepish or embarrassed you're scolded at work or school. rsd episodes make you question your entire life, your personality, your worth, and for many can even lead to suicidal thoughts just from a small incident of rejection. it can also lead to the person having low self-esteem, and they are also more likely to perceive rejection even when it is not there. it is an intense and overwhelming experience that no one should have to go through, yet people with ADHD experience it often

so, we've established, based on the evidence i've provided, that König has ADHD, social anxiety, and experiences rsd. i would say that i can't even imagine what König's childhood was like, but sadly I can since i too have adhd and was bullied. being mean is never okay, and bullying is not cute or quirky or sassy. bullying is when someone kicks your books across the floor, steals and destroys your belongings, when they spread false rumors, make fun of you, laugh at you, when they give you mean faces when you ask questions in class, when your only friend is the other "weird" kid who also has ADHD. it's when your teachers constantly criticize you and you get in trouble for every little thing. it's when you just wanted a friend and everyone else knew how to socialize, but somehow, you didn't. being bullied while also having ADHD is an experience i wish on no one. yet könig went through this. just sit with that for a minute. the big scary military man we love was also a child once, and went through this.

sorry to depress you guys, but this is the reality of his character. i firmly believe that könig has ADHD and experiences rsd despite his untouchable and stoic demeanor, and you're not gonna change my mind.

so, that's the end of the first installment. keep your eyes out for more, cuz trust me, there's gonna be more. (also don't forget to sign up for my taglist if you want! link is on my masterpost)

taglist: @osteawb, @sleepystaarr, @vvampir3s, @simpxinnie, @majocookie, @sharkyyyyyyyyyyyy, @marysdelrey, @kybeth5, @chaos-on-stand-bi, @shannonswizzies, @arcadia509, @bloodstoneruby, @cumikering, @skystreamchan, @junkratssheila-09, @kit-williams, @tangerynsbaby, @dreamdiaries777, @royalbxstxrd, @non-satanic-panic, @theweirdchick, @kiyomisan, @maylif, @mortimoshi, @eneiss

[shepherds-of-haven]

hi!! So. i like writing for Trouble and my MC but i spend so much time clowning on him and making up silly scenarios that now i have no idea how to write him actually catching on to one of the moves she makes and what kinds of moves he cant explain away. Please do you have any tips or crumbs to throw my way to help? I need to write him making out sloppy style w my girl PLEASE!!

Anyway I really love shoh and I think about Trouble and my MC almost every day so tysm for the lovely gift of him <3 i also wrote this ask intending to be silly but if it sounds demanding or rude i am SO sorry I would never demand anything of u and will love anything you may kr may not respond with whether that be in 17 minutes or 17 years 🩵

Aw, thank you so much for this sweet message, it made me so happy to receive! 💖 Please don't worry about sounding rude at all, your words were so kind and made me grin ear-to-ear, so thank you!

To answer your question, I like this excerpt from the old novels to explain how I think Trouble can be in a romance: I usually envision him being casual or friendly and light-hearted, and then catching onto something--some shift in the mood or a lingering glance--and then kind of abruptly shifting into a more intense version of himself. It's not a side of himself he shows very often--we're mostly exposed to the goofy, jocular Trouble, but that 'intense' dominant Trouble is there, lurking underneath it all, and that's kind of the part that he struggles with because it's also tied up in his ferocious past and his temper. It's the same Trouble who can go from smiling and laughing with his friends in a bar to completely unsmiling and intimidating when he overhears some guy being a dickhead to a server nearby, except obviously in these scenarios it's sexual/romantic tension he's responding to (even if he doesn't fully know it's that) rather than regular like situational tension. I don't know if you have access to the alpha build, but the scene in the cave in Chapter 7 when he's warming up MC's hands or the abrupt change from "yay we're having fun" to "something just happened" in his latest day off (when Cordy flirts with you) are good examples of this, too! This sort of stilted "everything is great 95% of the time and then 5% of the time something happens and he can't control it" that's impeding him and MC's easy friendship is what's really throwing Trouble for a loop; he starts to feel guilty and confused and tormented about it because he thinks he's the only one feeling these things and getting in the way of what should be a smooth companionship, so he's just... feeling a lot of things and not knowing what to do with them, lol.

So I imagine 'heated makeout' tends to happen during one of these sudden changes to 'intense Trouble,' when he catches on to something he can't ignore--but I generally don't think it happens because of an outright flirtation or hint of MC's, because he can usually just laugh those off as them just joking around, so he doesn't really respond to those like one might expect? He's dazzlingly good at not catching on to things like that (short of an outright serious confession), so maybe that's why you're having trouble imagining it! I tend to imagine it happening entirely randomly, during some moment of unthinking intimacy, like in the cave in Chapter 7 or during a mission when emotions are high or something like that. Here's another example of what I'm thinking of!

...Or something like that, idk lol! Obviously take all of this with a huge grain of salt and don't let me influence you; however you write Trouble and MC's romance is fantastic! Hopefully some of these tips help you in some way!

[asteria7fics]

I am absolutely in the mood to read an essay about Kyle's portrayal in fanwork 👀 i could read South Park analysis till the cows come home

Alright alright I’m ready to get into this haha.

A couple of things before I start, everything I’m about to say is just my opinion, yeah? I’m no expert, I just think that the way the fandom treats Kyle in a lot of circumstances is… questionable :)

Oookay, let’s GO!

So believe it or not, I don’t actually read a ton of fanfiction. I don’t really have time these days, and when I do I’m so painfully picky about the way certain characters are portrayed that it’s very hard for me to find fics I really vibe with. That being said, I see a lotta shit on this fine website.

Let’s get the obvious shit out of the way. I do not think Kyle should be the default bottom in ANY ship. If we wanna really get into it, my personal take is that this is a holdover from yaoi/fujoshi culture that is so painfully steeped in heteronormative bullshit of one person needing to be the ‘dominant’ and one needing to be the ‘submissive’ even outside of the context of kink. Essentially, one character has to be the ‘girl’ and one has to be the ‘boy’, even in a homosexual relationship.

I’ve blabbed about this before, but I don’t think I’ve ever talked about why I don’t think that Kyle should be the default ‘submissive’ in his relationships.

First of all, Kyle is just not submissive. At all. Or I should say, he isn’t often. I think the only context where he tends to submit is with his mother, and if you really want to sit here and defend your choice based on him having ‘mommy issues’, I guess you can technically say that.

Personally, I see Kyle as being very headstrong and, honestly kinda intense. While this hasn’t always been super consistent in his personality early on in the show’s run, it’s certainly has been now. I mean, he was willing to shoot at his friends’ moms in The End of Obesity because he believed so strongly in what he was doing, and why he was doing it. Kyle’s stubbornness and unwillingness to waver on his morals and values is a driving force for conflict in the show, like, all the fucking time, whether he’s correct (as in, the creators agree with his stance) or not.

I bring up his personality in the early run because I do think a lot of the issues I have with his characterization now comes more from early fandom portrayals than anything that’s actually currently supported by the source material. As an example, Kyle being the weakest physically of the main four makes a lot of sense in the context of those early seasons, but it doesn’t really work with his current characterization, if I’m being honest.

This isn’t to say I dislike him being sickly, mind you. I actually think that can be really compelling if Kyle has to grapple with the fact that his physical weakness is at odds with his mental strength.

Hoooowever, I think this has to be done in a really specific way, and this sorta brings me to my next point.

Why are we out here victimizing Kyle so damn much? Like, I get it, bad shit happens to him in the show (don’t talk to me about Humancentipad) but why are we just tormenting Kyle for seemingly no reason? Are we in the middle of a dead dove arms race?

I do think this ties back to this idea of Kyle being a default submissive, and I’ve certainly not always been kind to the kid in my own work but damn you guys are fucking mean to him. What did he ever do to you??

I suppose tormenting characters is sort of… par for the course in any fandom, but man I just don’t see the appeal of it being Kyle that’s getting the brunt of the abuse, especially when he ends up being reduced to a helpless, pathetic little thing. Like at that point just pick a different character, I mean Butters is right there you guys.

I’m not going to act like any one ship leans more or less into these tropes either, I think all sides of the fandom are guilty of disregarding a lot of what makes Kyle’s character compelling in the show. I will, however, take a moment to complain about some of the popular ships that Kyle is in.

Kyman: You know how I feel about these two. A stellar dynamic with so much problematic shit bubbling under the surface. Let’s disregard the inherent discomfort around an open anti-Semite and a Jewish person being together because… I willingly ignore that to ship Yentlman in my main works (rip self read). Even without that bit of their relationship, these two are just too goddamn similar. Both stubborn, both going to extreme lengths to prove the other wrong, OR enabling one another to do some pretty shitty things.

I think Post Covid did it best by showing how they BOTH bring out the worst in one another. While I enjoy these two platonically, I don’t personally enjoy romantic ships that are this toxic.

I’ve also expressed before that I think a fic lives and dies on how Cartman is written, so while this post is about Kyle’s depictions in fan works, I do think we have to consider the way the other half of a pair is written as well.

I got some really lovely tags on that one post I reblogged and word vomited all over that brought up how Cartman, supported by canon, is a severely traumatized individual, and how that can support a more sympathetic view of him (I’m not tagging the person in case they don’t want to be involved in discourse like this but I appreciate your insights and you made a very good point, if you are reading this).

This does, however, bring up a whole other host of issues with their dynamic. If we’re romanticizing the idea that Kyle is some kind of moral savior for Cartman then… man, idk. You guys are gonna have to help me on this one, is that common in the ship? Is Kyle playing therapist with Cartman, and that’s how we’re justifying sanitizing him?

Also, say it with me now, there is no way in sand hell that Kyle would let Cartman top him. I know, I’ve read it, and I can see where the idea is coming from but come on. Kyle is too prideful for that shit. Now if y’all start giving me Kyle topping Cartman and making him fucking beg for that hot Jew sploog then MAYBE I’d be able to get behind this ship.

Style: Oh you thought my preferred ship was safe? Haha no ma’am, because Style shippers are the fucking WORST when it comes to feminizing Kyle.

I respect the Style shippers that came before me with their football star Stan and pissbaby twink Kyle, I really do. However it’s time to move on. I made this point in a previous post (that I know you’ve seen my friend, much love for your support on my hot takes) but for those who didn’t see it, I really believe the thing that separates Kyman shippers from Style shippers is that Kyman shippers tend to treat Kyle like an equal to Cartman, while Style shippers really lean on Kyle being weaker than Stan to make their dynamics work.

What’s really funny to me is that what I think makes Style work in its best iterations is when they are truly treated as equals, because they absolutely should be.

Now I may sound like a hypocrite here because I know I play around with power dynamics in my Styles quite a bit, but I think I make it very clear that even when Kyle is technically bottoming, he is not necessarily submitting.

I also can give credit where credit is due, Kyman shippers do not shy away from how much of an asshole Kyle can be sometimes. Style shippers though? Man, I understand wanting to lean more on Kyle's positive traits (he IS a very empathetic, friendly, driven person that always wants to do the right thing) but he can become 'too good' very quickly when you don't balance those things out with his negative traits.

Kyle is pretentious. Kyle thinks he knows best even when he really doesn't. Kyle is quick to anger and sometimes cares TOO much, to the point of getting carried away and making things worse (rip to Canada).

The only negative trait Style shippers are pretty consistently on board with is him being hotheaded, which is fair! But also? To stay consistent with my current branding, that's like seasoning all of your food with just salt and pepper. Like sure, it adds flavor, but we all know the dish could taste so much better if you sprinkle on a little something more.

K2: I am... Utterly indifferent to this ship. Like, I've seen some cute fanart? But I've never partaken and it doesn't really interest me, sorry gang.

Cryle: Another ship I've never really partaken in, but that makes significantly less sense to me. It's giving crack ship, which is fine? But from what I have consumed a lot of people sort of approach them with all the worst aspects of both Kyman and Style. Craig is not as compelling as Cartman as a foil for Kyle, so when people do lean into the evil Craig headcanon that was common in early fandom, it seems they also lean into the pathetic, victim Kyle tropes that are common in Style works.

I'm sorry if y'all love this ship, I'd never really paid it any mind until recently and while I have read works that included them that I thoroughly enjoyed, I don't think I'll ever root for them to be endgame.

And if your favorite Kyle ship isn't here, sorry to say I don't know enough to speak on them (in fact I shouldn't have even brought up K2 for that reason, but I figured someone would probably mention it since it seems pretty popular).

Look, this is a mess and I am certainly not the authority on characterizing any of these goobers. But you asked, and I hope you enjoyed my silly little opinions. This is in no way meant to be constructive, but if you guys want something more organized and constructive breaking down how I characterize Kyle or any of the kids, you know where to ask!

[dreaming-of-barbi]

I have finally come up with a backstory for my reagent oc! I am so happy with how they have turned out !!! Very very long lore outline thing below, copied from my google docs and written on my phone so there might be some errors.

Sugar & Bone(s) | The Demon and The Vessel – lore dump / outline 

TRIGGER WARNINGS - not in order -

RELIGION, OCCULT THINGS, DEMON??, GORE MENTIONS, ABUSE??, DEATH, MAFIA??, DRUGS?? that's all I can think of 

Description of Sugar - 

About 22 years old when she reaches Murkoff.

5’3”, somewhat pudgy with blueish gray eyes and dark brown curly hair that reaches down to her hips. A large portion of her face is covered by a very sensitive, actively healing scar. 

She subconsciously touches the scar on her neck and face, feeling how much it has healed each day. She avoids mirrors and also hides her face with her hair when she can. She removed the night vision headset and E.S.O.P within the first few weeks of being there as the Demon can see in the dark just fine and they don't use the rigs.

She tries to hide the screws Murkoff drilled into her skull. She doesn't smile often as it feels weird against her healing skin. It won't ever fully heal, forever leaving a nasty spider web like scar across her face. 

Her teeth grew back sharper, some of her facial features being slightly altered because of the Demon.

Ages and timeline may change, especially as more lore for Franco comes out. It might be a little off with the ages but I tried to keep everything lore accurate. 

Locations are kind of unknown, for now. Most likely within Louisiana, before finding their way to Mount Sinyala in Arizona.

~

Ever since she had been born, it was as though she was cursed. Labeled as a “demonic child” before her birth, she was already doomed to be nothing more than a scapegoat for whatever was needed. 

The Demon found her at only a few months old, quickly latching on to such a sorrowful soul. How could something so young and small put off this much sadness? And this place? This was no religious commune, especially not when they could so easily step foot on these so-called “holy grounds”.

Shannon meets Franco at age 4 years old, very, very young at the time. Franco isn't much older, as he's almost three years older than her. 

She witnesses him being screamed at by Salvatore and, guided by a simple thought placed in her mind by the Demon, follows him when he runs off after, finding him hiding himself away and crying. She sits next to him without ever saying anything and shares a small loaf of banana bread with him, being called away by her guardians not too long after. 

Franco never forgets this gesture, recognizing her as he gets a bit older and starts learning more about his fathers… business. He sees her within The Commune whenever his father would bring him along in the following years, visiting sometimes to see how the operations were going. 

The commune is a cult, as well as a front for money laundering, and providing another way to smuggle narcotics For Salvatore. Has ties to a  “Freak Show” miles in the opposite direction of the city, which of course, also has ties with Salvatore. The cult buys and also helps distribute Salvatore's goods, earning a small profit for it as they use their ties with the Circus to keep production rolling through.

Who's going to question the little pilgrim-like Christian village out in the woods? 

Circus’ and Freak Shows were hardly even being bothered with any more, less and less appearing across the country each year as people grew bored and tired of it. 

With generous donations coming from Salvatore's companies, food and charity sent to both the Circus and The Commune, no one batted an eye at this tight knit circle. No one noticed them. 

The perfect front. 

It was a dying form of crude entertainment, the only thing keeping it alive was The exploitation of the gullible Commune members nearby, and the few people who visited occasionally. 

A deal was made with the Commune’s “Elders” and the Ring Master of the show, using one of the “attractions” to strike the fear of god into the gullible members. In return, they are paid a good sum of money, and given a discount on Salvatore's… finest selection.

A small albino girl, with a genetic defect causing feathers to grow on her face and body, skin pure white as snow, with two tiny, flightless wings to complete the look. (She is my fiance's oc! teehee) 

She was labeled the “Angle”, thanks to her own inability to pronounce the word. Anyone who attempted to correct it  would be berated and attacked by the Ring Master in a drunken stupor. 

Shannon was often taken with to the Circus, seeing the “Angle” trapped in her tiny cage, hearing the “Elders” scream how the members of The Commune lacked any real faith. Screaming as the small girl in the cage wept, demanding that they watch as she “cried for their sins”. 

Shannon would sneak out sometimes to see the Angle herself and even spoke to her, forming a small friendship, though it was fleeting, as Shannon couldn't risk being caught by the Ring Master or she (and Angle) would have hell to pay. 

She continued to seek Franco out in their younger years, despite him telling her to leave him alone for a while. He was fearful of both becoming close with someone but also fearful of what his father may do about it. Shannon was undeterred, Franco being the only person in her life who didn't treat her like an outcast, everyone else looking at her as though she was the devils spawn. 

He slowly warms up to her, they get to know each other more, Franco and Shannon always being very sneaky about their friendship. Shannon was supposed to stay within The Commune, to cook, clean, take care of the chores. Play the mini housewife for them, as all the Commune Women were expected to, and only god knows what Salvatore would do about his son prancing around with a lowly, nothing girl from that Commune, risking the operation that was held there. They knew the retaliation it may cause if either ever heard of their affairs.

Franco and Shannon knew better than to risk the wrath of Franco's father and the Commune… right?

Franco had many mixed feelings for Shannon.

She would actively look for him, wanting to spend time with him, unlike the other children and people in his life. He was often very skeptical of why Shannon was always so nice to him, even when he got incredibly angry she never switched on him or treated him with disdain like most. 

He was the only person who didn't treat her like a creature. All of The Commune members saw children as nothing more than easy, free labor, especially Shannon, training and treating her like a dog instead of a child. This would often translate into how other people treated her, as it was often encouraged to treat her this way by the “Elders”. 

Franco did not do anything like this to her, not once. She could deal with his temper, the yelling. It was nothing she hadn't dealt with before. 

She knew how kind Franco really was. 

Shannon began sneaking out of The Commune at around age 10, usually walking for miles to get into town and visit Franco, bringing him sweets she had made. 

Franco gives her the nickname Sugar (often Suga’ because of his accent teehee) sometime around when she's 11 - 12.

She makes him a dessert, accidentally adding too much sugar as she was distracted talking with him. He teases her for it, telling her it's “Just like you. Sweet as Suga’~.” the nickname staying as Franco keeps calling her such.

Franco began to flirt with her more around this time in their life, though he also often acted cold and harsh towards her as his own fears stirred. What was their “relationship”, if it could even be considered one? She would never be safe around his Father, around here at all. 

The “Beloved Elder(s)”, as they often demanded to be called, soon began to… up the Villages dosage of medications. They had drugged the “villagers” into submission for years, but for whatever reason they had decided to raise the amount, and even began including the commune children.

Sugar often wandered her way to Franco in town, nearly nodding off, clearly under the influence of something. 

One time Sugar appeared at his doorstep, about to collapse from whatever those bastards forced into the food. It was much worse than before, and He would stay with her, helping her ride it out. If only Sugar wasn't so naive, even as they talked of running away. Even as Sugar spoke of the terror the Commune Leaders brought her, she wouldn't hear his pleas to her that they were hurting her for such a long time, Franco trying to convince her for years that she was in danger staying within the commune. 

She learns what the Commune really is, and what Salvatore really does at 16,  finally witnessing it first hand at some point. 

Franco knew the Commune was going to break her eventually, and his father would make her disappear in an instant if he felt like it… nothing was safe here, for her. For them. 

They soon had begun to make more solid plans. Long nights spent talking about how they would run away together, Franco promising to keep Sugar safe many times. He had plenty of men he could get on his side if things ever went bad. 

He wanted a new life and he could start it with her…

But yet… his father needed him here, helping with his work. He knew that.

His father was so proud when he blew that fuckers head clean off, even gave him his beloved Lupara. 

He wanted to do good by his father. 

He was being the man his father wanted him to be now, right? He hunted down scumbags for his father, he did the dirty work. He made his father proud. 

He couldn't just let him down like this. 

“What does this girl know, anyways?”

“Sugar didn't laugh at me…”

“Father didn't stoop low, not for no whores.”

“She never scoffed at a word I said…”

Conflict within his mind happened often, going back and forth. He would ditch this broad once and for all… 

But yet, how could he ever forget…?

The way she never once avoided looking him in the eyes, how she smiled and laughed with him, never at him. Baking him things because she wanted to.

Seeking him out because she wanted to see him.

She called him “Fran”... how silly.

It really, truly is a shame. You never know when you have something so good, pure… precious. 

Not until it's too late. 

 

Maybe they had become sloppy, not covering their tracks as thoroughly as they usually did, distracted as their plans drew nearer.

Maybe it was always known, allowed to build and fester for years, until there was no denying it. 

No escaping fate. Cruel destiny. 

It was soon, she would leave this wretched “Commune” and live a free life with Franco. After the last time The “Elders” pacified the members, Sugar was almost unable to escape. She remembered how easily she could have died in that state. She nearly acted like a different person… 

The many, many times of being screamed at by his father, barely acknowledging Franco unless it was to blame something on him, or use him for his business. 

It often felt like there was another voice speaking in Sugar's head. These substances she was forced under were too much.

She was done. They were done.

They would get out of here, together…

She was 17 now. Giddy as she came back to the barbed wire lined fence of the Commune. He mind was filled with daydreams of running away together with Franco, a skip in her step as she made it back.

Only a few more days and they were free... 

They slipped through a small hole in the rusted fence, hidden behind a shed in a long abandoned goat pasture, her typical returning route.

However, this wasn't the same. As she slipped through, she immediately noticed the bushes and grass usually swarming the fence had been trampled and cut down. 

No one cleared the grass back here, no one ever came back here, and she made sure to keep the grass and plant life lush to hide her escape route behind the shed. 

Her heart began to race as she took her usual route back into the middle of the Commune, trying to avoid being seen as she snuck back into her family's shed. 

However, she was almost immediately grabbed as she stepped in, dragged out into the middle of the commune to The “Elders” by her “guardians”. 

They screamed at her about her disobedience, how she betrayed god and walked amongst sin. Commiting crimes against the lord himself and how she shamed their entire community. How dare you risk allowing the devil to infiltrate their precious sanctuary. They had known from the start what a ruckus she would cause in their precious sanctuary. 

They screamed that she was going to be punished, some of the other “villagers” being encouraged to throw rocks in her direction as they screamed and chanted for her to be punished.

Of course, Sugar had expected to be caught sneaking out at some point, and she knew if that happened it would result in her being in trouble… but her heart sank as she soon realized the extent of what the “Elders” really meant. 

They would not risk someone from the Commune getting out, possibly risking their whole operation here. 

She was just some nobody village girl. Not even her parents would miss her. They would have this solved. In fact… they called up some close friends to deal with the job.

Sugar was taken to the same abandoned pasture as the one she used to escape through, kicked down to the ground as The “Elders” gathered around her. Her fear kept her paralyzed in place, trying to think of a way to run and escape, some way to get out of whatever punishment The “Elders” had planned.

“You cannot be allowed to taint The Commune. You are a disgusting, filthy animal. From the moment you were born, you have defiled god, and now you have defiled us. This commune. Only god will judge you, now.” They taunted her, getting close to her face to say, once and for all. 

“It’s too risky to leave you alive, after what you know. You should have known your place.” 

As they step away, Salvatore steps forward and towards her, staying a few feet away as he encourages Franco to step closer to her with a push of his hand. 

Of course Franco was the one chosen to do it. Threatened earlier by his father; “Kill that pest. She means nothing to you, or you will mean nothing to this family.”

Who else was better for the job, anyways?

A fitting punishment for both of them.

Franco held the shotgun tightly, his father commanding him to lift the gun and aim for her head. He obeyed, shaky hands raising the barrel and aiming it to her face. 

Her gray eyes gazed up at him, no tears or reaction as he pointed the gun to her. Only her wide, fearful eyes gave away her terror. 

He couldn't risk angering his father more, cocking the gun and placing his finger to the trigger. He swallowed nervously, not saying a word. 

He had to do this. 

He had to do this. 

For his father, for himself. 

He didn't need her anyways, right? 

His father had done this many many times.

So could he. 

“I-it's okay, I forgive you, and… I love you, Fran.” Sugar said after a moment of silence, smiling to him the same way she always had, though it was weak and shaky. 

As if he couldn't stand to see her anymore, he pulled the trigger with a panicked cry, the sound covered up by the backfire as Sugar instantly fell to the ground in a limp heap.

She was dead. 

He had done it.

He stared down at her lifeless corpse for a long moment, watching the blood pooling around her in the grass, staining the wildflowers around her. Barrel of Lupara still smoking in his hand. 

He could have sworn… she was staring right back. 

And, just like that, Salvatore and himself were on their way home soon after.

None of the Commune members bothered with the corpse. 

She could rot right there, away from sight. 

Forgotten. 

—

“Man… I don't remember Romeo and Juliette being like this.“

A voice? 

What happened…? Why does it feel so cold? 

Jaw hurts, body aches… it's completely dark. 

No.. no it's not dark, there's a… projector? Playing a film on the screen in front of them. 

It feels so familiar, the movie. 

It was like watching through someone's eyes, seeing their point of view. They were climbing up a chain link fence. Why did the film playing look so familiar…? They've… seen this fence? 

The haunting memories come rushing back as she is almost forced to remember what had happened, nearly about to lose it when sue was interrupted once more;

“Hey. Let's make a deal, you and I. You rest for a while and I'll help you. You won't die because I won't let you. In return, you be my vessel. How does this sound, hmmm Sugar…?” 

That same voice again.

What deal? Well… Maybe some rest wouldn't hurt them. 

They did feel so very tired…

The Vessel fell dormant within the mind, and The Demon began to make their way through the dark forest. It knew having a nose, jaw and neck were important for these human things but… it had been so long since they were one. What was it even used for, again? 

Nevermind, it would heal back all the same. They'd get this poor, pathetic thing some help from another human.

Humans help other humans all the time, right? They're social animals.

This pity is such a weird feeling. What Demon shows mercy, takes it upon themself to help another? Following some random human girl until her untimely demise, helping her like this?

Don't they scheme, cheat and deceive? Only causing pain, tainting the land around them? 

Sure, maybe some, but not all. 

Demon is a species, not an evil. 

First order of business, a plan they had kept since these miserable places had drawn them in so long ago.

The Demon had seen the state of the nearby “Circus”, near the Commune. They made their way to that dingy little fraud of a place, unlocking every single cage and releasing the “attractions” to run free. 

It really had been too long since they had been around living beings, around humans. They didn't realize the chaos they would cause, possibly sealing the fate of a few of those poor souls within the circus…

Oh well, they were still a Demon, after all.

A few years had passed so far and They were nearly 22 now, the vessel's mouth and nose almost fully healed and regenerated thanks to the Demon. It had made quite an effort to keep this human hidden, like a fun little side quest, doing something… “nice” because they wanted to.

And how nice is keeping a human in this state alive? At least the mercy of slumber keeps the physical pain at bay, but what mental anguish would be left there after? Remembering her death, but never passing on?

However, that wasn't something on it's mind anyways, and soon, this human would be waking back up. The vessel was going to start needing things like food and water once more. There's only so much a Demons power can provide to a dying body.

No worries! They had found a flyer, with details about some kind of animal sanctuary thing for humans? The details didn't matter, it would be good enough. It promised things like food, shelter… a “purpose”? Whatever that means. Humans are weird.

Nearly a year later they were at the doors of a Murkoff charity facility, practically waltzing in. 

The workers tried to chemically knock out the Demon for a very long time but eventually gave up as it was a waste of their product, and the Demon just… willingly went in anyway. Walked right into the cattle car full of people, tied up, burlap sacks on their heads, not even batting an eye. 

It glanced around, clicking its tongue in amusement at the sight. 

“Quite the ride. What's the occasion, you got a Demon Lord visiting town?”

Typical.

—

It's hard to say who ended up more affected by Sugar's passing. 

Sugar herself… or Franco.

Salvatore nearly slammed him against the wall, demanding to know what he was thinking trying to get into the pants of some Commune girl, even making plans to leave with her?? 

Franco knew better than to risk his father's Business like this. 

The ultimatum was given, either kill this girl and restore some sliver of respect his father might have for him, or he would deal with the girl himself, and make sure Franco meant nothing to their family.

Franco tried to tell himself it was fine, nothing unlike the women his father went through. 

Many months went by and this thought only festered in his mind.

She was nothing, she had to be.

As the months turned into a few years, he started… exploring more. Branching out and refining his tastes, something to keep these pesky thoughts at bay. 

This would have been fine… if she didn't haunt him every time he tried to even speak to another woman. He would try his best to push her thought away, but nothing would happen there, and those god damn eyes would be staring at him all over again. 

She was dead, why was he still thinking about her. 

Why couldn't he do anything? 

He felt pathetic and it made him so fucking angry. 

But… there was one solution. 

His mind would cloud as he glanced to his Lupara…

A blinding rage would overtake him, once again seeing those terrified eyes staring at him. Forced to relive the undeniable rush that came from watching her body crumble to the ground so effortlessly. 

When he'd “come to”, yet another victim would lay in front of him. Visceral scenes he cannot remember making left in his wake, the image of Sugar in the grass below him being the only memory he could recall. 

Only… he really didn't care for these broads, and who would blame him if he… explored a little more? 

He would take it further and further each time, seeing what could bring him the same rush he felt with Sugar, her name becoming another one of the things he would mutter to himself when he hunted anyone down. Her image, his memories of her would become more vague, partially tainted by his endeavors.

He was starting to be noticed by his father, as he didn't always try to hide these misadventures… but that didn't bother him.

Things were really becoming a blur for him at this point. He didn't remember when Angelina showed up, his fathers fourth wife, his most recent step-mother. 

He didn't know when she suddenly took an… interest in him. 

He was finding himself being hurt by her, she would push him down, forcing him to kneel below her. She made him feel something he had never known before. Helpless, vulnerable, humiliated, afraid, like he couldn't stop her. It felt so familiar, feeling that rush in a whole new light.

He tried to ignore her lurking memories once more. He didn't want to think of Sugar anymore. 

She died. 

Now, he wanted to focus on this, the closest thing to attention he's felt since her. 

His father, of course, found out about the whole affair soon after.

Needless to say, Angelina disappeared, and Franco was lucky he didn't experience the same fate as Sugar that night, sent away to “help” in Miami.

His mind was a bit broken now, you could say. But, without the limitations and judgments of his father, he was free to truly explore his tastes while helping out “friends” in Florida with Cuba. 

By this point, Sugar had almost faded from his memory, only remembering the rush he felt that fateful night.

When visiting Gator Hook Lodge located in Florida, he would often try to experience his cravings with the working girls, trying to chase that rush all over again, even when he barely remembered Sugar's name.

While in Florida he is noticed and taken and transported to Mount Sinyala, a little less than a year after the Demon finds that silly little flyer. 

—

Sugar had gotten used to the routine here, going into a trial, trying to do what Murkoff instructed them to before inevitably being taken over by Bone to get them out of whatever deadly situation they had got themselves into. 

The Demon drove most of the reagents away from its many… habits. Often found gnawing on a bone from one of the corpses around the trials, complaining that the corpses are better than whatever slop the reagents are fed.

It happened often enough that they were soon being referred to as Bone or Bones by the Murkoff employees and other reagents. 

After almost a year of being with Mount Sinyala, they finally enter The Docks, to do one of the newest trials; “Poison The Medicine”. 

They had only heard of the new Prime Asset in passing, this was their first encounter with them face to face. 

They could handle it, right? How difficult could it be? Well, they knew the new Prime had a gun, so they would have to be extra careful going through these trials. 

Maybe Sugar would sit this one out…

The Demon made their way through the new trial environment slowly, keeping themself low and quiet for the time being. They neared the small room they were supposed to enter as a man begging and pleading for their life hung above, strung up almost as if on display. The sight drew a smirk from the Demon. 

As it entered the weird, rounded, rotating doors and into the small room, it took its time to take in the sight. The floor and furniture were soaked with blood, bits of flesh littered from the blast of a gun, corpses carelessly left wherever they died. This proceeded throughout the entire trial. Seems this Prime Asset certainly had been hard at work. 

The Demon pranced its way up the stairs getting a nice, clear view of the pleading, writhing man through the thick glass. If only they could find a way out there… sadly they couldn't risk making Murkoff upset like that again. 

The last time they derailed the trial, they were drugged and isolated for nearly a month! So boring. The Demon wanted to enjoy this new trial for a while before finally wrecking havoc. 

They turned and looked towards the other side of the room a large glass window revealed quite the interesting sight. 

A large expop corpse missing its head was propped up into a red chair along the corner of the room, with someone laying in their lap. They were happily suckling on the breast of the corpse, wearing a white suit stained with blood. 

The Demon smiled, scoffing with astonishment. This place just gets better and better. 

“When is it my turn?”

The Demon said aloud with great excitement before turning to press the button behind them, in front of the window displaying the strung up man. They noticed that the tank within the trial was now being lifted, and that same man was beginning to panic, writhing and kicking as he pleaded for his life even louder.

The Demon's attention was quickly drawn back to the room with the corpse, noticing that whoever had been in its lap had fallen to the ground. 

He was starting to yell something as the Demon stepped closer, peering into the glass to look, drawing an… odd reaction from the Prime Asset. He stepped back, going completely silent and never breaking eye contact with the Demon as he opened the door and made his way out onto the balcony. He didn't acknowledge the hanging man as he made his way towards unseen doors on the other side of the balcony, eyes still glued to the Demon. 

Sugar and the Demon stared right back, nearly in shock at the sight. They knew who he was, they recognized him. The gun he carried, barrel now sawed very short, his Lupara. 

Why was Franco here? 

They had him under some alias, something they didn't understand. How could they have known the new Prime Asset was Franco…? And now they were here, watching as he finally disappeared behind those weird Murkoff doors. Was he trapped in here, too...? 

He looked like he had been hurt, terribly. The Demon felt nearly overwhelmed by it as Sugar's heart ached for him, but yet also trembled from seeing him again. A conflicting dance of affection and terror, a nasty but also quite expensive cocktail in the Upper ranking Hells. No one would believe they got this shit from the source. 

They continued through the trial, doing the weird tasks Murkoff wanted them to, all while trying to avoid being stabbed. The usual, though this time it was certainly odd…

The Demon was no fool, these were real products they were placing into the cooker. They were doing real shit here. 

What the hell was this place? 

The stories they would have for their buddies at the tavern after this all…

Soon they were pushing some big, rusted, heavy, cart on a track over towards the other half of the trial. The Demon was having a good time, even as Sugar was practically bursting at the seems to know what was going on here. How was Franco here? Why was he so important here? …and how would she ever explain this to him… could she even face him? She felt so oddly terrified. 

The Demon finally butted in, a little irritated at their own lack of thinking room from it all; “C’mon, you gotta chill out. I can't do this if you're panicking, I'm feeling it all.” 

“But why is he here??” 

“Hell if I know! This place is fuckin' crazy, and that's saying a lot. I'm sure you'll get to ask him soon–”

“No, I can't just talk to him! What if he's angry with me?”

“He killed you, sweetheart… at least, he thinks he did. He ain't gonna be mad at you.” 

“But what if–” 

Their outward conversation was interrupted as they stepped into “The Train Depot”, stopped short by a gunshot to the floor beside them, causing a small crater in the floor. 

The Demon didn't jump, only turning to face him slowly before Sugar almost instantly overtook the Vessel. 

The change from the Demon to Sugar was very quick and subtle, but it was clear to Franco that something was off about her. 

Well… other than the fact that she was here and alive. 

He watched her fucking body fall to the ground, he put a hole right through her pretty little skull. 

Was he being tormented purposely by these doctors? 

They already knew so much about him, throwing his past into his face at any possible chance they could. Those fucking bastards.

He stepped towards them, causing Sugar to step back a bit in response. Her eye flicked to the gun clutched in his hand. She hadn't forgotten that night, even after years had passed. 

She could still taste the salty, metallic blood choking her as she laid there. It was so vivid, so distinct in her memory. 

Franco looked irritated, frightened, angry. He looked her up and down with a scowl as he continued to approach her. Memories that had almost been left and forgotten were being dredged up just as he was enjoying himself here. 

“Is this supposed to be fuckin’ funny or somethin’? You think this is a joke??” He demanded, nearly shouting as  anger rose with each word he spoke. Guilt and regret gnawed away at him every day, as much as he tried to ignore it. This was the one thing this wretched place hadn't thrown back into his face, how did they even know about Sugar? Enough to impersonate her? 

He was just staring at her for a long while as these thoughts rushed through his mind. 

Was she even real? Who knew what these scientist fucks were doing to him, why wouldn't he be hallucinating? 

He snapped out of his spiraling thoughts as Sugar spoke up, smiling at him despite the fear she felt, seeing that same gun held in his hand.

“I.. I've missed you, Fran.”