#whoever sent this to me i would die for you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

finelinefae · 5 months ago

Text

the other woman

synopsis: y/n is the other woman who just wants to be loved

word count: 5.5k

contains: angst, not a super happy ending maybe it is depending how u see it idk, harry is kind of a dick, mentions of medication, mentions of mental health (anxiety, allusions to depression), harry definitely listens to the 1975 in this, smoking, friends with benefits situation, toxic relationship

. . .

"That's the ugliest piece of shit I have ever seen."

"Yeah,"

"I love it."

"You do?"

"I adore it."

"Good."

Harry sat against the headboard of her bed which took up the majority of his tiny bedroom in his even tinier apartment an hour train ride from central London. He was shirtless, his trousers were unbuttoned and his hair was a dishevelled mess. He had a cigarette between his teeth, Y/N hated the way the smoke made the room smell but she would never tell him that.

She sat up against the wall, her legs on top of his. She wore cotton underwear and his shirt, the buttons weren't done up, his gaze switching between his sketchbook and her breasts. Her eyes were fixated on the picture in the center of the white A3 pages.

She didn't know what it was but it was black and white and looked like skin. She wondered whether it was his skin but she wouldn't have called it ugly. She had seen every inch of his skin and the last forty-five minutes was proof of that. Her lips had pressed against the most intimate of places, she would know if it was his skin.

"What is it?" She frowned, tilting it to one side to see if a change in perspective would enhance its features.

"It's an areola," He responded, releasing a sigh, almost as if he was frustrated she didn't know he had taken a picture of a woman's breast.

"A tit?" Her heart began to race as she thought about him taking pictures of her without asking.

He chuckles and puts out his cigarette on her bedside table, leaning forward to throw it out of the window. "It sounds less artistic when you say it." He leans back again and reaches for a strand of her hair to play with. "But yes it is a tit."

'Who's is it?' She wanted to ask 'When did you take it?' 'Is she pretty?' 'Why not me?'

She could feel herself slipping away, wanting to cover herself up the more she questioned him in her own head. She glanced down at her chest briefly.

"It's not you." His words stung more than they should.

"I know that." She pushed the sketchbook away, not wanting to look at the picture of another woman's areolas. "What for?"

"We're doing the human form." He answers,

"Right."

"You're upset."

"I'm fine." She argued but the truth was she was upset and she hated the fact he knew that immediately.

He was good at hiding his emotions, he always had that sense of mystery to him, her not so much. She was sensitive and wore her heart on her sleeve. She was desperate to fall in love and when she did, she felt it to her very core, her chest would ache at the thought of being isolated from human contact. Sometimes she felt he took advantage of that but if she were to admit that, she would have to leave him and she couldn't do that.

She would rather die than be alone, especially if it meant being away from the one person to who she had developed an unhealthy attachment since they had met.

Harry's phone went off and he quickly reached across her to grab it from his side table. She felt like someone was pinching her all over as he bit back a grin at whoever had sent him a text. Suddenly being naked around him felt wrong so she quickly reached for her clothing that had been discarded on the bedroom floor.

"You're leaving?" He asks.

"Who is it?"

"It's nobody." She knew him long enough to know when he was lying.

"How long have you been seeing her?" Y/N wasn't going to cry, she wasn't, she really really wasn't.

Harry rolled his eyes, "You're being dramatic," He always tried to make it seem as if her feelings were too big for the space around them.

"You're a fucking jerk you know that?" She pulled her trousers up her legs and didn't even bother to button them up as she went in search for her shoes. "You show me someone else's tits as soon as we finish having sex? And then you get a text message and don't even tell me who it is?"

"I don't know why you're getting so upset we agreed long ago this was just a temporary thing."

"Oh I know you remind me that every time, I like to remind myself every day I'm just someone to pass the time." Y/N was used to being someone made to be used by someone else. She could be bleeding on the floor in the middle of the street and she wouldn't be surprised if someone took a plastic bottle and started filling it up with her blood in hopes it could save someone else before they even thought about rescuing her.

The problem was, she didn't even try to stop them. People entered her life and took pieces of her and carried them away with them, just to discard them later. Before she even thought about healing herself, someone else would come along and snatch another piece of her away.

That was the problem with people who were afraid of living with no love in their life, they were prepared to do anything for it. Y/N put too much faith in people despite the number of times she had been let down by the people close to her.

Harry was no different to that it seemed.

"What are you talking about? Hey," He grabs her wrist and pulls her into him, his eyes were sharp and for a brief moment, she thought she saw a flicker of emotion in his eye. Her heart pounded at the touch of his fingertips grazing her pulse. "What do you mean? You don't really believe that do you?"

"What does it matter? I know nothing about you Harry."

"You know more about me than anyone else does."

Sometimes it didn't feel like it.

Harry liked to make her feel special. He was good at it. He sent her texts during the day and brushed his hand against hers when they passed in the hallways. They'd come back to his place after a few drinks with friends in the evening, fuck, and be done with it. He'd send her away and act as if what they did didn't matter to him.

It mattered to her though. No one thinks that about a rebound or a person you had casual sex with but it always matters. She had never slept around until she had met him and now she was intoxicated by him because it mattered, right from the very beginning.

She closes her eyes and nods, "Please tell me who it was." She almost pleads with him.

"It's the girl in the picture, she's in my photography class." He admits.

"Do you like her?" Y/N almost whispers, she braces herself for the answer. She had been dreading the day he was planning to end this, she thought she would have more time.

Harry's head falls back like it kills him inside to give an honest answer to her question, "I really like her."

Y/N pushes him back and finally cries in front of him, "Go to Hell."

"Y/N-" He tries.

"No," She moves away from him quickly and reaches for the door, "And for what it's worth I lied, that is the ugliest piece of shit I've ever seen and I hate it. It's ugly and you are an awful photographer."

She was glad she got that out as she slammed the door behind her on the way out.

An hour later she called him.

"Harry, I'm sorry," She whimpers and sobs into the phone. It was an ugly, heart wrenching sob as she cried to him on the phone, "I didn't mean to upset you. I don't think it's ugly at all. I'm sorry,"

"Hey love, it's okay, it's okay," He comforted her.

"I didn't mean it Harry please forgive me I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry. Please, please, please, please." She said the words over and over again. Pleading for something that seemed like more than forgiveness.

"Y/N I forgive you, I promise. Please go to sleep." He asks her, he was worried for her but she had done this often enough he knew it wasn't anything serious.

"Promise?" She cries, sniffling.

"I promise,"

"Okay, I'm sorry Harry."

"I forgive you."

The call ended and Y/N lay back staring at the ceiling, her eyes burning from all the crying she had done since she got home from being with Harry. She turned over and took half a miligram of xanax and a sleeping pill, despite her doctor telling her not to, and fell asleep.

"Who was that?" Harry turned to look at the girl in the photo who was now lying on his bed. Her hair was flipped to one side, exposing her entire neck and collarbones.

"Nobody." He forced a smile on his face and walked over to her with his camera, the sounds of Y/N's pleading echoing in his head for the remainder of the night.

The next day, Y/N walked into the art room for her first class of the day. She took out her portfolio and sat at her table where she had been working on her next project. It was a painting she had been working on for the past few days and she wasn't near to being finished just yet.

Her eyes were swollen and red from having spent the majority of yesterday crying her eyes out. She skipped her therapy appointment and turned her phone off as she thought about how lonely she really was and how she had no one but herself to blame for putting herself in that situation.

Harry was also in this class but he hadn't turned up yet. The thought of him made her stomach twist. Picturing his smile as he told her about the girl he had been seeing, 'I really like her.' echoed in her head and she wondered what it would be like for him to say that about her.

"How's it going?" Ollie, a good friend of Y/N's, sat down at the easel and stool next to her and placed his backpack on the ground at his feet. He pulled out his pens and watercolor paints as he set up his station to paint.

"Fine." She muttered, reaching for her headphones in her pocket and putting one in her left ear.

"That doesn't sound good." He chuckled, shaking his head.

"I'm fine Ollie." She repeated, a little more hostile this time.

"Did you go to Harry's place yesterday? I tried to call you but it went straight to answerphone."

"What makes you think that?" She looked at him, tilting her head in curiosity.

"You have this look in your eye." He seems as if he doesn't want to go on but she waits for him to carry on speaking, "I don't know how to describe it... It's like someone's put light in your chest just to then suck the life out of you." He motions towards her painting, "Kind of like that."

She looked at her painting and stared at it. A woman sat in an empty room, a stream of light hitting her face from the window. Outside were people celebrating amongst vines and trees and flowers. The painting was a mixture of beiges and browns and green but the woman's eyes were black and lifeless... they were the saddest pair of eyes she had ever seen.

"Fuck," Harry groaned and fell on top of her, sweat beading his forehead as he left her and fell to her side. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, her mind was blank and her chest was heavy.

Harry reached across her for his phone, "Shit." He muttered, shifting to the end of the bed and jumping to his feet.

"What?" Y/N asked, sitting up, the blanket falling to her waist.

"I didn't know what time it was, I'm late for my class." He pulled up his trousers and ran his fingers through his hair as he went in search for a shirt to wear on his bedroom floor.

"Hmm." She sighed and fell back, reaching for one of his cigarettes and fiddling with it between her fingers.

"Are you going to smoke that?" He nodded towards the cigarette.

"Would you like me more if I did?" She replied.

He frowned, "I'd like you just the same."

She stared at him, he was so pretty. He had just gotten out of bed and his hair was a mess, his shirt had a stain on and his trousers were undone but he was so beautiful. She wondered if he ever thought that about her, whether she was beautiful despite the ugliness and mess.

Y/N reached for a lighter, lit the end of the cigarette, and inhaled the smoke.

She didn't seem to mind the way it made the room smell this time because it was a reminder that he had actually been there in her presence even just for a brief few minutes. She stared at the empty room where he once stood.

Y/N remembered when she first saw them together. It was a Friday night and all the art students spent Friday night at a bar in Camden Town. Y/N and Harry weren't in the same friendship circle but they had friends that knew friends and that was really how they met.

She sat with Ollie on a couch as everyone else played pool. She had taken three shots of vodka and was on her first drink of the night. The door opened and they both walked in hand in hand. The girl was stunning, her legs were long and thin, her hair was thick and wavy, her eyes were innocent and shone underneath the lights of the bar and her hand was intertwined with Harry's.

They caught eyes for a brief second before Harry turned away from her and went over to the bar to order them a drink. Ollie was talking about something she wasn't paying much attention to as her eyes stayed fixated on them.

She noticed the way his hand pressed against her back at the bottom of her spine and how he brushed her hair behind her ear as they leaned against the bar waiting for their drinks. How she smiled as he whispered something to her and bit her lip as he traced the back of her hand with the tip of his finger.

Y/N realised the Harry standing in front of her was someone she had never met before. It was strange how we never really know the people we meet as they choose to present themselves as someone else depending on who they are with. It's only when you're with your person that you can truly be your authentic self. She wondered which version of himself was real. She even wondered which version of herself was real, who she was with him or who she was without.

"I'm going to go over there." Y/N slurred, moving off the couch but falling back again as the room began to spin.

"Oh no you don't." Ollie pulled her back. "I'm not going to let you embarrass yourself like that."

"Why would I be embarrassed?" He looked at her like she was supposed to understand what he was hinting to.

"You'll forgive me in the morning." He said like he had done her some kind of favour.

She did.

"When are you going to take pictures of me for your class?" She wondered, playing with the ends of her hair on his bed as Harry fiddled with the strings of his guitar.

"You want me to do that?" He asked.

"Why not? I think it would be fun." She thought for a moment, "What would you choose to take pictures of?"

Harry pondered on the idea, thinking really hard to come up with an answer to her question. She bit her lip to hold back a smile. She liked the idea of him scanning his memories for parts of her body he had seen. It made her happy knowing that pieces of her were ingrained into his mind like lyrics to a song or the colours of the rainbow.

"Your eyes." He answered after a while.

She frowned, not expecting the answer, "What?"

"Your eyes." He repeated.

"That's it?" Her eyes were the only part of her he thought worth photographing?

"Yeah."

"That's boring." She muttered, falling back against the mattress.

"What makes you say that?"

"You took a picture of that girls boob and you've probably taken a lot more pictures since you like her so much." He cringed and set his guitar down to look at her properly. Harry knew he had to be careful with what he was saying, he could tell by the tone of her voice she was getting upset.

"Those were the only pictures I took." He argued, "And besides, I like your eyes."

"You never look into them." She retorts.

"Of course I do."

"You don't."

A beat of silence rested between them until Harry spoke again, "Maybe when you're not looking."

"Why would you look at my eyes when I'm not looking?" She wasn't understanding anything he was saying.

"Because I love watching you watch the world." He replied. "If I don't know how I feel about something I look at your eyes and everything makes sense. Sometimes it feels as though I'm understanding the world through you."

Her face softened, her heart settled in her chest. She felt warmth spread through her like she had just received a warm hug. The corners of her lips tugged upwards and she crawled over to kiss his cheek. "That was possibly the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." She confessed, her heart expanding.

"Then you need to be surrounded by better people." He reached for his guitar. "Come sit here." He patted his thigh and she rolled off the bed to sit exactly where he asked.

He began to play a song on his guitar, gently singing the lyrics in a low voice. She rested her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck.

It was one of those moments she wanted to freeze and stay in forever. Nothing else existed outside of this bubble. Her heart was happy.

Ollie's birthday was January 23rd and he was having a house party at his flat.

"How many people are coming?" Y/N asked as she applied mascara in front of his bathroom mirror. She was crouched down inside the sink so she could get as close as possible to the mirror.

"I don't know, I invited about twenty and said they could spread the word to whoever was available." OIlie applied aftershave as he spoke.

"So everyone?"

"Possibly."

Y/N was excited to see Harry. Although they didn't speak much outside of the confinements of his bedroom, she was still looking forward to being in his presence. Ever since their intimate moment, they shared a few days ago, she had been longing for him. Her heart sighed in bliss at the thought of being near him again.

She wanted to wear something extra special that she thought he would like. Her hair was curled, which she never normally did, she wore black, leather trousers and a black corset to go with it and black heels to make her slightly taller than she really was. She accessorised with gold jewellery and had done her makeup in a much more simple manner.

"You look like that girl." Ollie spoke as soon as she walked into his kitchen.

"What girl?" She blushed.

"The one Harry was with at the bar the other night. I mean, the outfit is hot but you never wear your makeup and hair like that."

"Geez would it kill you to just say I look 'good'?" She mumbled, flicking her hair behind her shoulder. She never normally wore her hair down as it irritated her.

Ollie's face softened, she hated the sympathy on his face, "You look fucking hot." He said, pulling her in for a hug, "Don't let anyone change that." He whispered.

People began to arrive around 10pm. Ollie's apartment filled up rather quickly and Y/N was already on her third drink of the night. She was stood talking to a few of her friends from one of her textile classes until her eyes caught sight of the curly-headed boy she had been waiting for.

She smiled, excusing herself from the conversation and shifting through the crowd to get to him. "Harry hey," She beamed but then immediately felt her happiness slip from her.

"Hey Y/N," His eyes were wide at the sight of her, he was so used to seeing her in her natural form.

Y/N didn't reply as her focus was fixated on the girl talking to some other people. The girl he had bought with her. The girl in the photo. "Are you okay?" Harry asked when she didn't say anything.

"I'm fine." She forced a smile on her face.

"We're not staying long. I just thought I'd stop by to see Ollie." Her heart deflated at the use of 'we', they were a 'we' now.

"Right, I'm sure he'll appreciate it." She nodded, reaching for another drink.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He checked with her.

"I'm fine. I just need to use the bathroom." Y/N pushed past him and made her way to Ollie's bathroom which was surprisingly empty.

"Are you okay?" Someone asked her from behind as she was about to step into the bathroom.

She turned around and came face to face with the girl from the photo. She looked even more beautiful up close if that were even possible.

"I'm fine." Y/N muttered, it seemed as though that was the only response she was giving anyone nowadays.

"Harry sent me to come and see if you were okay." She said, even her voice was soft and gentle, "He was worried about you."

Y/N scoffed, "What he couldn't come find me himself?"

"He was trying to find Ollie I think-" The girl sighed, "If you're okay, I'll go back and tell him."

"Before you go...Can I ask you something?" Y/N could hear the voice in her head screaming at her not to say anything but she had to know, she needed to know.

"Go ahead." The girl seemed irritated by Y/N, like she was wasting her time.

"Do you know who I am?" Y/N could feel her eyes burn as she asked the question.

The girl from the photo frowned, confused by her question, "What?"

"Do you know who I am?" Y/N repeated but this time more sternly.

The girl from the photo looked at her, really looked at her, narrowing her eyes as if to get a better look. "I have no idea."

Y/N's insides felt as though they were bleeding. It was almost like Harry was the only one who was keeping her stitched together but now everything inside of her had come loose from that one reply.

The girl from the photo hesitated before saying, "I'll go and tell my boyfriend you're okay."

Y/N looked at her as she walked away, completely crushed. She walked into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her, falling onto her knees and sobbing into her hands.

She hadn't realised how much power he had over her until this moment. How much she relied on him and how she couldn't picture her life without him. She trusted him too easily and that was nobody's fault but her own.

Her breathing began to pick up and she felt a strange sensation like pins and needles trickle along her skin. She pulled off her trousers and her corset until she was in nothing but her bra and underwear. She crawled into the bathtub and turned on the shower so cold water could reach her skin, all whilst hyperventilating and crying her eyes out.

This was unlike any pain she had ever felt. She wasn't sure why it had hurt so much but maybe it was because another person had used her, maybe this time it was because she gave every inch of herself to him and she had nothing but skin and bones left.

"Y/N are you in there?" His voice was muffled from behind the door.

"G-Go away." She whispered, rocking backward and forwards with her head tucked into her knees and cold water wetting her skin.

"I'm worried about you, love." His voice sounded so sad.

"Go away." She carried on chanting like this was a nightmare she wanted to wake up from.

She felt soft hands touching her shoulders and immediately looked up into green, sad eyes. For once Harry was easy to read as his eyes showed nothing but remorse.

He reached past her and turned the shower off, she was shivering and he reached for a towel to wrap around her shoulders in hopes it would provide some warmth.

They said nothing, Y/N didn't get out of the bath as it helped in providing a separation between them. "Why don't you love me like I love you?" She whispered. Her eyes looking into his, they were red and her face was stained with tears.

There was no point in denying things anymore, he was one of the only people who knew she was too clever for that, "I don't know," His head fell forward, he felt defeated.

"Why did you put me here?" She cried, "Why did you put me here if you were just going to leave me?"

"I-I thought you understood what this was. I thought-" He lied.

Harry knew Y/N better than anyone in her life. He knew better than to hurt her like this.

"Why does everyone leave me?" She whimpered, "Why can't I be loved?"

"Y/N-"

"Please tell me you love me. Please, please, please," She was begging him, crying into his shoulder.

"I-I can't Y/N." Never had her name sounded so disgusting coming from his lips.

"I don't know what to do anymore Harry. I-I would rather die than be alone," She sobbed.

"Y/N you're never alone."

"You're ending this." She cried, "I'm alone."

He couldn't stand having this conversation and not being able to hold her. He stepped into the bathtub fully clothed and sat in front of her, reaching for her hand and holding it gently in his. The feeling of his skin seemed to ease some of the pain she had been feeling, but the loneliness still echoed throughout her.

"I don't know why I can't love you, Y/N, but it doesn't mean I don't feel anything about you. You have become my best friend—"

"I don't want to be your best friend. No, no," she shook her head. "You've killed me once by admitting you don't love me. Please don't send me to Hell by calling me your friend. Do you know how painful that is? I just want to be loved by you. Is that too much to ask? I have given everything, I have given everything to you. I rooted for you in every way possible. I have killed myself trying to get you to love me, and I don't think I even know who I am anymore because of it."

Harry didn't know what to say. He was selfish and a coward and undeserving of her love, and he wished she could see that.

"Y/N—"

"Please just leave."

His eyes watered at the thought of going about his life without her. He could feel the air around them grow thick, his chest rising and falling as he tried to breathe in. He felt like he was drowning at the thought of her leaving his life. Despite not loving her in the way she desired, he realized he would also be alone without her.

Maybe that was it.

All along, they had just been two people dealing with loneliness and coping with it differently. One used the other to fill the gaps in the spaces where they felt most alone, and the other fell hopelessly in love in hopes it would change them. That was the true nature of it, and even if they were meant to be together at some point, now was not the time.

"Listen to me," Harry whispered, collecting her hands and holding them to his chest. "I'm going to leave."

She choked on a sob.

"I don't want to do that." She shook her head. "I just want to be with you." The thought of the loneliness seeped into her pores, and she didn't think it would be possible for her to stay afloat as she drowned in it.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he said softly, tears streaming down his face. "I'm so sorry. I don't want to hurt you. I-I don't know what I'm doing."

She was taken aback by his tears and was unsure of what to do. It was the first time she had seen him cry, the first time she realized he was equally as afraid as she was. She leaned forward and wrapped him in a hug, allowing him to cry into her shoulder.

This was the end.

"I love you, Harry. I really do," she whispered into his ear.

He couldn't reply, so he just sobbed even harder.

The days hadn't changed so much when Harry stepped out of Y/N's life.

They didn't talk much during the day when they were friends so Y/N went about carrying on her classes and speaking to Ollie who she appreciated more than ever as he comforted her when she was feeling at her worst. It was Ollie who made the days feel... a little less lonely.

She missed his touches and texting him on her phone but she tried to come up with ways to cope with that by watching youtube videos or drawing so she wasn't tempted to unblock him and forgive him again.

The nights were the hardest. Y/N hadn't realised that the only reason she'd been sleeping was because of Harry. She had tried to not take sleeping pills to help her get to sleep but sometimes she'd spend the entire night just painting in hopes it would made her tired.

Since they had some of the same friends now, Y/N knew of Harry's ventures through word of mouth. He had broke things off with the girl from the photo the day after Ollie's birthday party. Turns out they weren't really in an established relationship and the girl did know who Y/N was because Harry never stopped talking about Y/N when they were together.

That made her smile.

He was an assistant to a wedding photographer on the weekends so that he could save up some money for his own studio. She was happy to hear he was actually making the most of his talent instead of wasting it like she had considered doing multiple times.

Other than that, the days went by rather slowly and nothing out of the ordinary happened. She had been on dates here and there and was in her first real relationship in her third year of University but that only lasted a few months. Turns out he was cheating on her the entire time they were together which felt like one step forwards and two steps back.

Y/N moved into an apartment in central London after she graduated and did some freelancing as an illustrator whilst working weekends at a hotel and the evenings at a bar in Soho.

Her life was mundane but she was okay with that. She had spent so much time focusing on others that she forgot to focus on herself. She had started going to therapy, the gym, and even became vegetarian for a little while. She was no longer taking Xanax as often as she used to and spent less time thinking about Harry.

She wondered what he was up to from time to time but in the end, she just hoped he wasn't alone.

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bxnnybimbeax · 5 months ago

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thinking about.. best friend!satoru gojo who immediately answers when you come calling

bestie!gojo who not-so-secretly, secretly has feelings for you

bestie!gojo who knows everything there is to know about you. Your oh-so wonderful taste in partners… Your likes and dislikes, hobbies, career plans, plans for the future.. anything and everything. Even if you do or don’t exactly tell him

bestie!gojo who drops everything that he’s doing to come see you, when hearing your incoherent sentences of something along the lines of, “…. dumped boyfriend… cheated..”

bestie!gojo who comforts you in your time of need. Listening to all your rants about your ex-boyfriend, supplying you with whatever he thinks would cheer you up, offering you comforting words instead of solutions.

What a great best friend to have!! Right..?

“I hate him so much! What a no good bitch ass womanizer!!” You exclaimed in a fit of rage, scrolling through the posts of the woman who, your ex cheated on you with, as satoru tiredly sighs.

“What does she have that I don’t-“ and before you could continue on, you get cut off by your best friend, Satoru. “Absolutely nothing, sweetheart. You should know your worth by now. It’s not something you have or ‘don’t have,’ it’s the simple minded mentality of… What’s his name again?— Doesn’t matter, He’s too simple minded to know the true worth of what he has in front of him.” He tangibly states, as if it was the most well-known fact in the world.

You attempted to up at him through your clouded vision, blinking away tears that spilled like waterfalls. Taking glances between Satoru, and the images on your phone, you stay silent as he studies you, pools of cool colored diamond eyes staring into yours, hoping to see any slight change of positivity.

He sighs again, taking a seat on your bed as he snatches your phone away from you, and before you could protest, he cuts you off once again… by pulling you close, into a hug. Instinctively, you wrap your arms around him, as you let out all your pent up feelings. Sobbing into his chest, as he soothes circles into your back, not caring that you mess up whatever designer shirt he’s wearing.

Satoru’s heart breaks hearing you hurt, he wants nothing more than to ruin whoever was the cause of your problems. But right now, he’s more focused on you.

Satoru hushes your cries, wiping away the salty crystalline off your face as he speaks up, “Oh baby, don’t waste your tears on him. He has no idea what he’s missing out on. Don’t waste your energy on a leech that only takes from you, and never gives. Your deserve someone who reciprocates your feelings, and so much more.” He admitted in a dulcet tone, giving feathery caresses to the side of your face, as he placed a sparse kiss to the side of your temple.

“Cheer up, theses plenty of people who would give the world and die for your affection.” He states in a much more cheerful and playful tone, making you laugh in response to his exaggerated claim.

…

best friend! Satoru who stays with you, through the night. Comforting and creating a much more positive atmosphere to the contrasted gloomy mood

best friend! Satoru who maybe, you don’t see as just a friend anymore..?

A/N: Whats goody gangy. ☝🏾🤓 Sorry I was gone for 5 months I was going thru it with some bitch ass nigga I dumped, which is kinda what I based this fic off of, except no boy bsf I’m in love with to comfort me.💔 He made me delete tumblr so I couldn’t write 😞 I still kept on reading tho 😈

Not proof read btw, bc I’m high as a mf, writing with dyslexia. And it’s late a night, idk if it’s gonna be late when I post this tho😛

If y’all sent a request, resend it plssss. 🙏🏾 I need inspo mookies, and if you have a request feel free to send one in. Msg me abt wtv, and lmk if I can improve on anything

Thanks lovies take care and, hope y’all enjoyed!! 🩷

-bxnnybimbeax

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk satoru #gojo jjk #jjk gojo #jujitsu kaisen gojo #jjk oneshot #jujutsu kaisen satoru #jjk fluff #jjk headcanons #gojo x reader #satoru x you #gojo x you #satoru x reader #reqs open #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you

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bluerosefox · 1 year ago

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Gothamites Never Really Rest

Small warning in this: very light swearing, light mentions of deaths, and tw light touching on the subject of abuse, like very light. But still an fyi.

Danny was used to his main Rogues (Boxy, Ember, Skulker, etc etc, you know those guys) showing up randomly and at odd hours, causing some chaos around town due to their own boredom or just wanting some fun (the more deadly ones were rare to show up and his main Rogues do at least respect him enough to give him the rest of the day off when they sense a ‘big bad’ fight), he fights them, wins, before he send them back to the portal. Then they rinse and repeat this for the next day.

So as he really wasn’t expecting, especially since he had just sent his ghostly quota for the day back to the portal a few hours ago (Boxy of course, and Youngblood (dressed as a Firefighter this time, though the ending for their fight actually ended on a good note. YB had been asking Danny about space, Danny kinda hoped YB will be an Astronaut next time cause that would be fun)), Johnny 13 (and Shadow) to phase into his room as he was heading to bed.

Honestly (he groaned when he realized who it was, dealing with Johnny, Kitty (and Shadow) during a ‘break up’ or ‘lovers spat’ always was a pain) he was expecting Johnny to just start attacking but before Danny could demanded to know what he was doing in his room Johnny hesitatingly asked if they could talk.

Now Danny, talking to his main Rogues, like legit talking was a very rare thing. But it has happened a few times.

With Johnny asking if they could talk, his face nervous but not in a 'I pissed off Kitty and idk where she ran off to again', Danny nodded and agreed.

"Hey, so like I know we all kinda agreed not to go roaming too far from Amity because of the whole government suits guys and bringing unwanted attention to us ghosts in the names of the Super Dorks but is it alright if Kitty and I head across the state for a few days? I promise we'll be back and stay under the radar..."

"What?! Why would you guys need to something like that?!"

"....."

"Johnny, look dude I know Amity can get boring sometimes but-"

"Someone killed Kitty's abusive waste of space father three weeks ago, you know that fucker that killed us in cold blood when he found out Kitty and I were enloping. Yeah him. We felt it, we felt him die and... kid I can tell you how our cores SANG about it when he croaked. Whoever ended him, they did so for us. It was a revenge kill... It felt amazing. Its why you havent seen us too, we... we needed time to process that." Johnny quickly explained and that shut any protest Danny had up, he knew a bit of the story how Johnny and Kitty died, and it was respectful to allow one's fellow ghost to talk about their deaths should they talk of it.

With a melancholy smile and a hand petting a chirping Shadow who sprung up to comfort his other half, Johnny then said "Kitty's been avoiding returning to Gotham for ages since we woke up in the Realms and whenever we found a natural portal back to it. She's always been terrified of running into him and even being a ghost she's still can't. But he's gone now, we felt his life end and he isn't a ghost either! Like legit, if he became a ghost we'd still be able to sense our murderer you know!... Anyways she wants to visits her old haunts and maybe see if we can find some old friends, see how they're doing you know. We won't mess with them or anything, just a small pop in..."

"We... We also kinda wanna find the guy who did it too... We could feel his emotions when he ended Kitty's old man and firstly let me tell you, rage. Like a lot of it. But also we felt his need for justice and... he felt familiar... like someone we knew and he knew us. That's how we know it's a revenge kill. Someone did that for us and well.... Kitty and I wanna thank him you know."

-x-x-

Meanwhile in Gotham about three week prior.

A budding Crime Lord had crossed out the face of a older man from a photograph pinned onto a corkboard, below and connected by red strings was two other papers as well. One held the newspaper clipping of two bodies being found in a ditch with the remains of a busted up motorcycle, a young male and female were reportedly found halfway buried in it. The male was reported to be a trouble maker from Crime Alley, knowen for stealing tires while the female was the daughter of a suspected mob boss.

The other string however, lead to a small, yellowed from age and tiny bit damaged photo of three people. The photo held two older, nearly out of their teens, male and female both looking like rough city street kids. A motorcycle could be seen behind them an it was missing a wheel. The young man with blonde hair was kneeling on the ground, his hands holding onto a tire iron and he looked rather proud, the young female was wearing red and had some dye in her hair and was smiling as she held the camera taking the picture in a selfie as best as she could.

In between the two was a young kid, blue eyes and black hair, a beaming smile on his face as his own hands were on top of a tire wheel. A wheel he had finally learned how to take off in record speed thanks to Johnny teaching him.

Green eyes that shifted for a second to teal stared at the photo for a moment before saying

"Hope you both are resting easily now. Kitty, Johnny."

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satanghulu · 1 month ago

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THIS IS A GUIDE ON HOW TO FALL IN LOVE WITH A DEMON THAT YOU SUMMONED THROUGH YOUR ECONOMIC TEXTBOOK (NO CLICKBAIT AND 100% REAL!!)

✦ PAIRING: satan x g!n reader ✦ SUMMARY: Okay, you didn’t mean to summon a demon nor did you mean to throw a book at him but hey, it’s not like you expected the literal embodiment of Wrath to apparate in your apartment! Now, if only he could go back to where he came from… ✦ WARNING: sort of canon-compliant, Reader has a personality! college!au, mentions of violence, solomon calls you sunshine, made up my own magic system, reader is shorter than satan (mentioned in one scene), mention of alcohol, use of MC instead of Y/N, Hell and Devildom used interchangeably, suggestive at the end! ✦ WC: 14.8K

MAIN STORY | FIC MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

You were going to kill Solomon.

It’s a well-known fact that that guy was shady as hell, but seriously? Was he trying to give you an express pass straight to Death’s doorstep or something? Maybe he had always harboured a secret dislike for you because why on earth did the Economics textbook he lent you summon a--demon?!

“Human. Are you done staring at me?” The man--no, demon? brushes off the dust on the back of his pants. You mourn for the state of your flooring which now resembles the set of a Miley Cyrus hit song.

Wait, were those polka dots you see on his pants? What are those hideous things draped across his neck? And, what was with his disaster of a shirt? For a second, you thought you had teleported to an alternate Jojo Bizarre Adventure universe.

”Your outfit is ugly as hell.” You blurted out, hands delayed in flying up to cover your mouth when you realised the words had escaped you.

The man--no, the demon turns with flashing eyes, his tail swishing dangerously behind him. Oh my god, were those spikes embedded in them? Suddenly, you regret ever opening your mouth – this is why people always tell you to keep your mouth shut when you are in a sleep-deprived state. You could feel sweat beading at the side of your temple as you slowly backed away, edging to the bedroom door.

“Are you courting death, little lamb?” He hissed, taking a step closer. That tail of his had started going wild, destroying one of your night lamps in the process. You would hate to imagine the destruction it would cause to you.

You took furtive glances around the room, swallowing hard when you realised the only makeshift weapon you had was the Economics textbook that Solomon had lent you.

The demon’s eyes had narrowed into slits, breathing coming out hot and heavy as if he was poised to attack you at a moment’s notice. Your grip on the textbook tightened as he advanced nearer to you, now a couple of steps away.

“Answer me, human--” The demon mocked you again, arms stretching forward presumably to attack you as you--

You threw the textbook at him.

Thud!

The textbook bounced off his head with a loud thud as he just stared at you in disbelief. At least, you had managed to get a headshot – your only accomplishment in life alongside the stupidest thing you have ever done. And somehow, you had landed yourself in deeper trouble if the shaking with barely contained rage from the thing was any indication.

You silently sent a prayer to the deity above, hoping that whoever was watching you from above would grant you a peaceful death. Although you weren’t one to believe much in religion, this seemed like a good time to start. Maybe next, an angel would drop from the sky too.

“HAHAHAHA!”

The hands you had raised as a shield were being forcefully put down by the entity in front of you.

“HAHAHA, I didn’t know humans could be this interesting.” Oh. The shaking was from laughter, you noted dumbly. You stared blankly at him before taking another step back, trying to covertly loosen his grip around your wrist.

After struggling in his grip for a good minute, you gave up the fight and waited for his laughter to die down. “HAHAHAHA. I never thought the day would come when I would get bested by a human. HAHAHA.”

Great, it seemed like the “demon” was showing signs of being a maniac too.

The entity in front of you kept mumbling to himself with a crazed look in his eyes. Honestly, you were getting kind of worried for him too. There’s no way getting smacked by a book is as funny as he made it sound.

After another minute, his laughter finally subsided and his hold on you had loosened enough for you to wiggle out tentatively. The thing stared at you before his mouth curled into an unsettling grin, giving you goosebumps all over your arm.

“So human, tell me why you summoned a demon.”

Well, at least you got your answer to the burning question plaguing you. However, it was not a confirmation you wanted to hear at the moment. It wasn’t reassuring, one bit at all.

“You have piqued my interest, little lamb. Tell me why a measly human like you summoned one of the seven Denizens of Hell. What could possibly be your deepest desires?” said demon asked, voice growly in a way that gave you butterflies in the stomach; but the butterflies were trying to tear its way out to escape.

It took you a few moments to register his sentence. The seven Denizens of Hell? You weren’t familiar with the concept but it seems to indicate that the demon standing before you holds a high rank which means you must be in deeper trouble than you had initially thought.

“Uh.” You started. “I didn’t summon you, I think?” You dragged out your words hesitantly, holding out both hands in front of you defensively. Immediately, his face pinched into a frown as he studied your expression.

“You’re not lying.” He concluded after a second. You wonder how he came to that answer. Are demons equipped with the ability to tell lies? It seemed like an overkill.

“Though, something must have happened for me to be summoned.” He sighed, finally moving out of your personal space to scan around your room – which had been trashed from the black void that had opened up in the middle of your room to teleport the demon.

As you quietly bemoaned the state of your living quarters, the demon strides towards the textbook lying innocently on the ground. “This is it.” He bent at the waist to lean down and studied the title of the cover. “An Introduction to Economics: 1st Edition.” He said stonily, fingers curled around the spine of the textbook.

“How did you know?” It was a curious sight to witness, a demon with actual horns completed with a barbed tail standing in the middle of the wreckage of your room as if he belonged there. You could hardly believe it but sadly, no matter how many times you rubbed your eyes, the scene remained the same.

“I felt the magic radiating off it.” He answered simply as if it was something you should have known too.

“Where did you get the book from?”

“My friend lent it to me because-- Oh fuck.” You suddenly froze, feeling the blood drain from your face. The demon stared at you inquisitively, prompting you to finish your sentence.

“I have an exam tomorrow.”

Despite your reluctance to let the demon stay, he had unfortunately made himself comfortable on the singular standing chair in the bedroom as you pore over the book that Solomon had lent you. He had insisted on staying with you, even going as far as to force you to take responsibility for summoning him.

Seeing as there were no alternatives for now, you decided to deal with him after your current pressing issue – The Econs Midterm.

“What are you doing?” The demon asked you curiously. He had somehow donned a human appearance and out of the goodness of your heart, you had lent him some clothes that thankfully fit him. If you didn’t know better, he could even come off as harmless.

In fact, without the scary appendages on him, and if you look at him from the right angle, he was honestly kind of cute.

His voice had also turned less menacing which soothened your heart. You pointed to the textbook in response, squirming in your seat as he leaned close to your face. Do demons not have any concept of personal space?

“Your answer for part (b) is wrong.”

With an intent look, he pulls back after examining your scribbles on the mock exam beside the book. “You should use a contractionary fiscal policy to combat inflation instead.”

Instead of spewing out the first thought in your head, you decided to carefully choose your words this time. “...You study?”

Maybe, you should have thought through your words more.

Thankfully, the demon didn’t take any offense to it. “Yes. Why? Is it so surprising that a demon had gone through formal education?”

Huh. You didn’t know that demons studied human-world subjects, much less went through a similar educational system to the human world. It was a pretty pleasant surprise, though you would have thought their curriculum would consist of ways to manipulate, slaughter, or seduce humans.

“Kinda.” You muttered, turning back to your notes. You itched to continue the conversation, the urge to know more about the differences between both of your worlds weighing heavily on you, alas the evergrowing pressure from your textbook was calling your name.

Yet, the demon continued to stare at the back of your head from the corner of your eye. You don’t believe that a human head is much different from a demon but you kept your complaints down. For now.

Your pen drummed impatiently on the table as you tried your best to focus on the words in front of you but the insistent staring was getting to your head.

“Is the back of my head so interesting to look at?”

Oh. The words escaped again. Instinctively, your hands flew up again blocking the sight of the demon beside you. You started your farewells to your family, your friends, the neighbourhood cats, wait, who’s going to feed them if you die--

“I’m going to tutor you.”

Maybe you heard him wrongly. Gingerly, you set your hands down demurely on your lap and nodded to yourself. It must have been your hearing that was at fault. There is no way that the demon you summoned just offered to tutor you in a human-world subject. Does he even know what Economics in the human world is?

“I’ve never seen anyone so horrendous in Economics before. I’m tutoring you.” The demon dragged the chair over, situating himself right beside you. This was when you realised this was not a dream or hallucination you had conjured up.

“It’s a disgrace to the subject that someone could be this awful at it.” With every syllabus, it felt like a stab to your heart. Hey, it wasn’t your fault that you were bad at this. You were practically forced to take the subject as one of your modules because you had lost in the bidding stage. And, it wasn’t your fault that you didn’t turn up for the majority of the lectures – You had your coursework to do and there was no mandatory attendance for this.

Okay, maybe it was your fault.

The demon didn’t wait for your answer as he bullied the textbook from your hands amidst your protests. “Do you at least know the basic concepts?”

He must have really thought you were an idiot to ask this. The demon squinted at your mock exam on the table, picking it up to observe it closer. “Is it tested up till Chapter 10?”

You nod.

“Okay, we will skip the basics. Let’s go straight into Chapter 5, Fiscal Policy. Tell me what you know about this.”

Although you were flabbergasted, you still went along with his instructions. And that was how you somehow ended up studying the night away with your new “roommate”.

For the first time since taking this module, you were positive you were going to pass. You can’t believe that Pretty Boy a.k.a the scary demon was actually terrific at tutoring. He should consider a career switch – though maybe the demon part might scare people off.

Speaking of which, this entire time you had been referring to the demon as… Demon. It could be your scatterbrainedness, but it was only polite to ask for his name after he did you such a huge favour — he had tutored you into the wee hours of the night, and you barely got three hours of sleep before heading into the examination hall.

“What was your answer for question 2, part (b)?” A familiar grating voice echoed behind you. You immediately spun to see Solomon, the bane of your current evil. His lips stretched into a grin as he opened his arms wide, clearly expecting a hug from you.

With measured steps, you walked over and landed a punch on his shoulder hard.

“Ow--! What the hell, sunshine?”

Sadly, your punch did not land as hard of a hit as you would have liked but seeing the reaction elicited from Solomon granted you some satisfaction at least. You clicked your tongue loudly and grabbed him by the arm, determined to find a quiet place so that you could talk about your new ‘roommate’.

Yet, despite your resolve, Solomon still had not budged a step. He was pinning you with a stare that practically screamed is-there-a-screw-loose-in-your-head? and his free hand was now planted on his waist, reminiscent of your mother’s posture when she reprimands you.

“Sunshine, I can’t stay to chat with you today.” He started, face creasing into a pained grimace as your nails dug into the skin of his arm.

“Ow--ow! Why are you so violent!” He finally smacked your hands off, bringing his hands up to inspect the crescent-shaped wounds. “I really can’t stay today. I have an important meeting in the Devil-- Uh. Somewhere.” He sends you another wounded expression while backing away, as you brought your balled fists up threateningly again.

“Just shoot me a text. I’ll reply to you as soon as I can.” He made a quick escape, turning around with a flourish as his cape billowed behind him. You could only watch as Solomon made his grand getaway with his long legs. Well, it seemed like fate had made its choice in screwing you up for a little longer.

Begrudgingly, you trudged home.

“Human, you’re back.”

You stopped in the doorway while taking off your shoes. The demon was lounging on your sofa, feet kicked up as he flipped through the channels on your television.

“Oh.” That was all you could muster out from your shock at seeing him in the living room. Well, you hadn’t laid down any ground rules nor forbade him from exploring the apartment but it was still an unusual sight to see when coming home.

On second thought, you would rather him stay in the living room than your bedroom. He didn’t seem like the kind to rummage through your belongings but it was better to be safe than sorry.

After kicking off your shoes, you set your backpack and laptop on the kitchen island before making your way over to him. The demon flashes you a quick once-over before returning to the object of interest – the Television.

For some reason, you felt like you were intruding on his space. Although, it was rightfully your apartment. (Your bedroom was still wrecked to hell and you couldn’t bear to think about the cost of repairing it.)

“How was it?”

Amidst the indistinct pleasant buzz from the television, the demon placed the remote down to face you. You blinked in mild amusement. Was learning how to navigate human world appliances a part of the curriculum too? Even you had difficulty figuring out the controls for this.

“Ah. I think I passed.” You replied, distracted by the film playing on the television. The demon had good taste in films, playing one of your favourites on the screen.

He reached forward, snapping his fingers in front of you. You instantly took notice of the nauseating shade of neon green painted on his nails. For his sake, you hope that the fashion in Hell was vastly different because this shade was assaulting your eyes. But for all you know, he could be one of the pioneers of fashion in his realm.

“Now, let’s talk about your repayment.”

“Repayment?” You echoed, staring at him as if he had grown a third head. Since when had you owed a debt to him? All you remembered was him helping you with your exam; he couldn’t possibly be trying to claim interest from that.

He nodded.

“You summoned me, didn’t you?” He said calmly, folding his legs up to give you more space on your couch.

“I told you! I didn’t--“

“--But you did.” With his cutting remark, you curled in on yourself and pouted. You couldn’t refute him. You did summon him. Though, wholly by accident.

“Okay fine. I’ll hear you out.” With a flippant attitude, you gestured for him to go on. He raised an eyebrow before sighing.

“Usually, a sacrifice is needed for a summon.” He shot you a glare to keep you from jumping in before he was finished. “But somehow, you’ve managed to bypass that step. So all that’s left is to fulfill a transaction between you and me.”

Meekly, you raised your hand. “Uh. But I don’t need any favours from a demon.”

“Wrong.” He breathed out another sigh, as though he was speaking to an insolent child. “I’ve already completed my part of the transaction. What’s left is for you to fulfill yours.”

It dawned on you.

“Oh. You smart little--“ His lips twisted downwards into a warning sneer.

“Demon. Haha. Oh, so that is why you helped me out with my exam.” You said with your voice sugary sweet. Internally, you were stabbing metaphorical forks at yourself for accepting help from a demon so easily. You knew you were gullible but you really should have known better.

“That’s right. I’m a demon.” He scoffed, shooting a look that was so smug that you wanted to smack him. You dropped your fake smile, bringing your hands up to faceplant your forehead.

“Urgh. What’s your name?”

“I’m Satan, the Avatar of Wrath.” He said, sitting tall on the couch. Was being a demon really something to be proud of?

“Okay, Satan, Avatar of Wrath.” You started, already feeling a headache thrum in the back of your head. “I swear I don’t have anything to my possessions that you would like. Could you pretty please forget this favour and go back to where you came from? I won’t tell anyone.”

“No, can do.” Satan mocked you, folding his arms across his chest with his head tilted down at you. It was a feat considering that both of you were at eye level.

“I just need to co-habitat with you for a while. Surely, that can’t be too difficult?” You could see the demon staring at you condescendingly from the opposite side of the sofa.

Many questions ran through your head but you were too overwhelmed to even try and grapple one out.

A pause rang out. Satan for once, kept quiet even as his lips thinned out into a snarl. He looked ready to argue with you at the drop of a hat.

With the extended time given, you decided to weigh your choices in front of you.

Pro(s):

Satan had proven himself to be quite academic, if you could utilise your cards properly, you could probably rope him into being your full-time tutor while he was here.

Although it had only been one night, he wasn’t as fussy as the past roommates you had (which was already a huge plus to you.) and he seemed to keep to himself.

He was pretty nice to look at.

Con(s):

He’s a demon.

Without the fact of his heritage, you would be almost inclined to reward him with the title of the Best Roommate you ever had. (It wasn’t like there was much competition there to begin with, the people you had roomed with were demons in human bodies.)

The demon was also pretty snarky but you had met worse people in college. This was nothing you couldn’t take.

With a deep breath, you made up your mind. It wasn’t like you had much choice in this matter either way. The demon asking was just for formality’s sake — this gives you a little more confidence at least, it proves that Satan cared about politeness and most likely wouldn't murder you in your sleep.

With a nod, you extended your hand clearly meant for him to shake.

“What do you want, human?” He stares at your outreached hand, confused. You scooted over to him and grabbed his crossed arm to free one hand to link with yours. “This is a handshake. We shake hands to seal the deal.”

He dropped his gaze to the interlocked hands with a hum. After a few seconds, he pulled away and shook his hand as if getting rid of dirt.

“Great.”

As you pulled your hands away, a vague sense of unease settled within your heart. (It somehow also reminded you of the time you had been coerced to join an MLM by an old acquaintance.)

In hindsight, you probably should have asked more about the situation.

After your conversation with Satan, you had assigned him the couch in the living room as his sleeping place. Surprisingly, he was pretty happy with the arrangement, stating that at least his sleep wouldn’t be disturbed here leading you to wonder more about his bedroom in Hell.

You had then turned in for sleep.

Or well, you had tried to go into your room to sleep but there was a suspiciously familiar crevice opening up in the middle again alongside the temperature dropping to the sub-zeros.

“What the hell?” You shrieked, watching as a wisp of smoke danced around a shadowy figure – the silhouette only vaguely human. You somehow had an inkling that this matter involved the person who was currently scouring your bookshelf in the living room.

“Satan! Get your ass here!”

You hear a groan from the direction of where you had come from before hearing footsteps approach from both ends. Warily, your head turned slowly to where the gap was – it was the same as the one Satan had emerged from.

“Yo.”

Suddenly shy, your gaze flicked away from the demon before you. You certainly weren’t expecting this much-exposed skin this late in the evening.

“You sure took your time getting here.” You muttered crossly under your breath when the other demon appeared in your line of sight. Satan still looked relaxed, hands tucked into his pockets. The only show of acknowledgment was his eyebrows knitted in a frown.

“Mammon? How did you find me?” The Avatar of Wrath questioned, standing in front of you. Your vision was blocked by the sight of Satan’s shoulders as he motioned you to move back. Quietly, you slid away, not wanting to get caught up in the demons’ conversation.

“Ey. Where do you think yer’ going?” The demon, which you had now identified as Mammon, called out. With a blush still high on your cheeks, you took a quick rake at him. The small black horns that protruded at the top of his head were the least eye-catching part of him – your eyes ran over the thin white stripes over his chest and back and with the black straps around his body, you almost want to question if he came knocking at the wrong house. He looked like he belonged in the middle of a BDSM exhibition.

“Y-yes!” You squeaked, hiding behind Satan’s back which appeared to be more sturdy suddenly. Mammon had a scowl on, as he pointed accusingly at you. You were thankful that he at least had on a bolero even if it was much too extravagant for your taste. The bat-like wings behind him fluttered a little as he moved towards Satan and you.

“Satan, you bastard.” The white-haired demon hissed, as he took quick steps to end up in front of both of you. You clutched onto Satan’s arm like a lifeline, fully hiding yourself behind him. Satan sends you a glare, trying to pry your hands off but failing to do so. “Why do Lucifer gotta send me here for this, huh?”

“To bring me back?”

Mammon sneers at his remark. “What do you think, younger bro?” The blue in his eyes seemed more piercing under the light of your bedroom. You were starting to think if you should be concerned a fight was going to break out.

He let out a huff.

“Who’s that?” The demon leaned forward to peer at you, eyes rounded in morbid curiosity. Satan stretched out an arm to block him from coming too close to you. Your palms were starting to get sweaty, but you persisted in sticking to Satan’s side like a thorn.

“A human,” Satan says matter-of-factly. You almost want to punch him in the face. Even now, he’s still refusing to call you by your name. Though, you vastly prefer him calling you human rather than a lamb.

“We made a contract vow.”

When the other demon looked at you for confirmation, you nodded timidly. The white-haired demon blinked rapidly, whipping his head to look at the Avatar of Wrath in disbelief. Dimly, you noted that he also had manicured nails, white and short – was this part of the job scope to be a demon?

“Ya’ made a pact?!” He gripped Satan by the shoulder, nails digging into the meat of his shoulder. “With a human?” Somehow, you couldn’t help but feel offended by that statement. It wasn’t like you were a willing participant in this. In fact, you were pretty sure you had gotten scammed into this.

“No, a vow.” Satan corrected him, frowning. “It's like a contract. We learned that in school last semester, Mammon.” The demon sheepishly scratched the back of his head, clearly having no idea of what Satan was talking about.

It seemed like you weren't the only one who didn't listen in class.

“Grr…” The demon in front of you scrunches his face, a pained expression on his face. “Lucifer would kill me if I don’t bring ya’ back.” A thoughtful expression crossed his face as he tapped his feet impatiently.

The next line that came out of his mouth made you shudder.

“How about I eat the human?” You straightened up with a yelp. “Then there will be no vow right?”

“Don’t touch the human.” Satan’s voice has dropped an octave, and you can see the flicker of his demon form appearing. Obediently, you let go of his arm and stepped aside – in a fight between whales, the shrimp's back gets broken. You would hate to get caught up in their battle.

“Yo, relax.” Mammon scowled, flicking his hand once. He lowered his head to briefly examine your face and immediately started snickering loudly. “It was a joke, chill.”

Was he joking about your life right now? You were pissed but in the presence of two otherworldly entities, you kept your anger in check.

“I can’t go back now,” Satan says again, demon form nowhere to be found after confirming Mammon’s intentions. “It’s a binding contract.” He elaborated with a smug smile. “Lucifer can’t drag me back either unless he wants me to burn in the pits.”

What?

“Burn?” You spoke up loudly as both the demons turned to look at you with surprise as if forgetting you were there. “You didn’t tell me that before we made the vow.”

Satan just nodded in your direction.

Although you haven’t met him for long, it didn’t feel right if you got blood (ash?) on your hands for not upholding your side of the vow. Even if you had been conned into it.

“Ain’t there supposed to be a timeframe or something?” Mammon spoke, looking at you. You squirmed on the balls of your feet as you bravely held eye contact with him. You were pretty astonished that he suddenly seemed to know his stuff.

“Six months?” You offered hesitantly. Satan hadn’t specified anything earlier and you were much too tired to even think through the intricacies of the contract until now. From the corner of your eyes, you could see him give you a discontented look.

On the other hand, Mammon looked satisfied as he pulled back to wave at you.

“I’ll be back in six months then.”

Poof.

Another wisp of smoke materialised from the ground and sheathed the demon like a second skin. When you blinked again, the demon was no longer here.

The stupid bastard had stolen one of your jewellery.

After exchanging glances with Satan, you gestured for him to come into your bedroom so you could continue your talk. You had dragged the chair from your table over to your bed, only to realise that the brainless demon had swiped one of your necklaces from where it lay on the table.

“...”

You broke the silence after both of you had settled in your respective seats. “Okay, what’s the deal about burning in the pits of Hell?”

“It’s just a punishment for breaking the vow.”

“Isn’t that harsh?”

“Demons can’t die. We’ll just regenerate, though it may take me thousands of years if I sink to the bottom of the pit.”

You furrowed your eyebrow at his nonchalance. “Why did you make the vow with me?”

“I wanted to get away.” Satan paused. “I needed a fresh change of scenery.”

You still didn’t get it.

“But you didn’t have to enter into a vow, did you?”

“Drop it.” His tone had taken one that was more threatening and you could see him bristle. It seemed like it was a touchy subject.

You still weren’t satisfied with his answer but you decided to stop talking about it for today. You had gone through quite a fair bit of ordeal in the past few days and you could feel the onset of a headache.

“So… six months?” You offered.

The demon sighed, looking very much frustrated. “Since you have mentioned a time frame, the vow would have to abide by that.”

There was no room for further conversation after that. Abruptly, Satan stood up to leave the room after wishing you a good night.

“Wait.”

He peers at you confusedly as you hover near the door hesitantly with a pinched expression.

“You need to pay me back for what Mammon stole.”

You closed the door in his face.

Living with Satan felt like living with a cat that has no regard for you.

He was almost entirely self-sufficient – you could always find him sprawling out on the couch in the living room with a book. (Satan has already gone through your entire collection and was demanding you to get more.)

Living with another person took some adjustment but thankfully, Satan wasn’t as disgusting as your previous roommates. Though he had a habit of leaving his your books all over the living room. This wouldn’t be much of a bother if not for the fact that you now start your day by stubbing your toes on them.

With your new routine in place, you would like to say that you have been getting along well with Satan – although without your intervention, you were sure that the demon would be half close to death.

(“Do demons eat food?” You asked one day, curious.

It’s been a couple of weeks since Satan had shown up in your flat and in that period, you hadn’t seen the blond-haired demon take a bite of food. Maybe demons had a different type of feed compared to humans.

You dearly hope it wasn’t human meat that he would need to feed on.

“Ah.” Satan looks up at you from the couch. “Right, I need to eat.” He said, ignoring your question as he slotted a bookmark into the page of the book he was reading.

“Do you have food?”

“Are there any preferences or allergies I would need to cater to?”

“Hell Black coffee.”

You waited for an elaboration that never came. Though, you can safely assume that it was a beverage exclusive to Hell.

“You can’t survive on just black coffee, Satan.”

“Add a Devil Zebra Bacon Sandwich then.”

“Satan, we don’t have that here.” You glance around your kitchen, before striding over to your refrigerator to check on the available ingredients.

“I’ll make a bacon sandwich and some coffee for you.”

The demon nodded at you before returning to his book.

“Do demons need to eat?” You reiterated your earlier question.

“Kind of.” Satan paused, looking as though he was thinking hard about your question. “We do have to eat to be at our peak condition but we won’t die if we don’t.”

You let out a low breath and stare at Satan who had the audacity to look confused.

Even if one doesn’t die by not eating, how could he still skip all of his meals?

“Okay.” You say, “I will be making food for us every day. I am not taking no for an answer.”

“I won’t die if I don’t eat.” The demon insisted, sitting up in confusion.

You shot him a glare and Satan’s response died down.

You then started looking for the ingredients for the sandwich before Satan decided to open his mouth and tell you more about his unhealthy habits.)

You step into the living room, holding a box in your hands. You decided to be benevolent and finally gift Satan your old phone. You figured that it wouldn’t hurt for him to have a way to contact you.

“Is this a D.D.D?”

You've long gotten used to the random terminology that the demon would drop in the middle of your conversation.

“It’s a Samsung Galaxy A6.” With a deadpan voice, you dropped the box into Satan’s lap. The demon continued scrutinising the package, tilting it from side to side. “I’ve inputted my contact information inside. You can contact me if needed.”

“Thanks.” He uttered with absolutely no sense of thanks.

You were about to bicker back when a bzzt caught your attention. Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you swiped on the notification as you sat on the couch beside Satan.

[03:15PM] Monnie: Just received ur text.

[03:15PM] Monnie: I’m outside right now. Please open the door.

Jumping up from your seat, you quickly opened the door not wanting to keep your classmate waiting.

“Where is he?”

For some reason, Solomon looked rigid as if he was brimming with barely contained anger. You had never seen him like this, face bland with no emotions and straightened to his full height. He looked different from your Solomon, who was always playful.

“W-who?” You stumbled over your words hurriedly, as he pushed past you and headed straight.

“Solomon?” The demon on the couch frowned, putting the secondhand phone down when he noticed the footsteps heading towards him. “What are you doing here?”

You noticed how Satan flinched at the sight of him. It seemed as if they had some sort of history together. Were they exes?

“You know him?”

“Yes, the Wise Sorcerer.”

“The Avatar of Wrath, Satan.”

You exchanged brief glances with Satan before opening your mouth in exasperation. “Okay. What’s the deal with you too?”

“I’m a sorcerer.”

You were starting to wonder if you had a penchant for attracting supernatural beings. Now everything made sense, the fact you had summoned Satan was no mere accident.

“Magic is real?”

“Very.” Solomon moved closer to stop right in front of the demon. “What did you do?” His voice was neutral, face painfully blank.

“We made a vow.” Satan scowls as he shifts in his seat awkwardly as he tilts his head in your direction. You could tell he didn’t like the accusing tone that Solomon was using. “I got summoned here by that human.”

“Summoned?” The sorcerer questioned, biting his inner cheek in thought. “Why did you respond to it?”

That was new information to you – Satan could have rejected your summon but he didn’t. For some reason, the possibility of not meeting him made you bitter.

The demon lets out a measured breath as he shrugs, not sparing you a glance. “I was bored.”

“The Devildom had called for an emergency meeting a while back.” Solomon continues, taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling. “Mammon said that you were cozying up with a human. I didn’t think it was true.”

You observed the demon’s expression carefully, trying to read his thoughts – you want to know what he was thinking, what he was feeling right now.

“What about it?” Satan’s voice was far too even for your liking, face schooled into a placid smile.

“You made a vow, didn’t you?” Solomon’s lips were starting to curl up threateningly. Once again, it seemed like a fight was going to break out. You wonder if you should start leaving the room.

“You do know that MC here doesn’t have any magic right?”

Satan nods.

“What if MC gets injured? Will you take responsibility?”

“Hey--“ You tried to jump into the conversation, but none of them were paying you any attention, too focused on staring each other down.

“I will.”

“Hey-- Ay, what?”

“I’ll leave Sunshine in your hands then.” With widened eyes and raised eyebrows, Solomon takes a step back, patting you on the shoulder as he brushes past you to make a beeline to the kitchen.

“I haven’t eaten all day in a rush to get here, can I whip up something?”

In a feat to not let the sorcerer destroy your kitchen, all thoughts about the earlier conversation flew out of your head as you ran ahead of him to block his entry.

Teaching a demon how to act human was no easy feat.

“I want a Shadow Hog Stir Fry in Demi-glace Sauce.”

The waitress stares at him, pen hovering above her notepad. You forced out a laugh, leaning over to hit Satan on the shoulder teasingly.

“He’s just joking.” You crinkle your eyes up, desperately wishing that the waitress didn’t think of you both as weirdos. At least, you hope that the waitress doesn’t group both of you together – this was one of your favourite dining places, and you would hate to get banned.

Satan narrowed his eyes into slits and was just about to open his mouth to argue. You quickly kicked him from where you were seated across the booth. Begrudgingly, he kept his mouth shut.

“Alright.” The waitress says, not entirely convinced. “What can I get started for both of you?”

“Can I get a Devil Coke?”

“You mean cola, sir?” The waitress's voice was perfectly courteous, even if you could see a glint of chagrin in her eyes.

“Yes, that and a cup of water.” With a loud voice, you cut in quickly. You could see the demon’s bottom lip jutting out in frustration as you tried to keep up the playful act. “You’re so funny today, Sa--“

“Sully.” You end awkwardly, voice strained.

“Right, okay.” The waitress thankfully just ignores your comment, as she flips the pages of the menu and points to the top of the page. “We would recommend the Classic Demi-glace Rice for your companion here. This dish over here is our best-seller too.”

You nodded in the direction of the waitress. “Great, we’ll get both.”

After scribbling down your orders on her notepad, she collected the menu and walked off. After making sure that no one else was in the vicinity, you leaned forward and hissed at him.

“You have to remember that we are in the human world.”

“They don’t have these here? Shadow Hog Stir Fry in Demi-glace Sauce and Devil Coke are everywhere in the Devildom.”

“Well, take a look at the menu. Is it written there?”

Satan rolled his eyes, pointing at the table.

“The waitress took it away. Anyways, why am I Sully?”

“It’s not like I can introduce you as Satan, can I?” You said sarcastically. “I’m not trying to get flagged as a cultist.”

“Why not? They’re a pretty fun bunch.”

“That’s beside the point!”

Satan’s gaze flew up to the ceiling as he ignored your statement. He muttered some insults under his breath, which you pointedly turned a deaf ear to.

Thankfully, you still had time to teach him about human customs –you were determined to drill him about human etiquette before he headed back to the underworld.

A week later, Satan somehow manages to coax you into bringing him onto campus. Actually, it wasn’t far-fetched to say that he guilt-tripped you into doing so.

(“I’m bored.” He says.

You raised an eyebrow at his figure by the doorway. You have finally fixed the crack in your bedroom and thankfully, it didn’t cost as much as you thought it would. Though, you hadn’t repurchased any of the furniture that was destroyed during the summoning.

“Hi bored, what do you want?” You snarked back, back still hurting from hunching over your coursework on the ground. The materials were spread all over – you had shifted to the floor when you realised that there wasn’t enough space on your table.

“Stop talking nonsense.” He walked over, leaning over by the waist to squint at your work. “Do you need to head back to school tomorrow to submit these?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?” You paused your actions and looked at him suspiciously.

“You said that you were going to teach me how to be more human, right?” He started, squatting down to shift your papers aside to make a space for him to sit.

You nodded slowly, unable to see where he was going with this.

“Bring me on a tour of your campus.”

“What?”

“It’s been hard on me,” He says, suddenly slumping his shoulders. “I haven’t been cooped up in the same place for so long since the time Lucifer kept me in the cupboard.”

You couldn’t refute his logic. Satan had indeed been confined in your quarters, not because you didn’t trust him-- Actually yeah, it was because you didn’t trust him.

You hadn’t explicitly forbade him not to go out but the demon seemed to know that you hadn’t felt comfortable enough to let him roam free. The weather had turned chilly lately which further lowered your ambitions to head out – though Satan had seemed pretty immune to the temperature.

Are demons more resistant to the cold?

Satan waits for a bit, before reaching for your sleeve to tug on it. If you stared at him long enough, you could almost swear that you could see tears brimming in the corner of his eyes.

“Please?”

Pretty green eyes stare up at you, wide and pleading. You felt your resolve weaken.)

Which was exactly how you ended up in this situation.

The towering shelves seem to extend far beyond your vision, and the grand expanse of the library is filled with countless volumes, making it a scholar’s paradise. The demon stands in front of you, gaping at the sight.

With his love for knowledge, you had purposefully kept the library as your last destination on the tour.

“Please keep the books to a maximum of five.” You told Satan, urging him to go forth and explore the space. “My student ID only allows five to be checked out at a time.”

His eyes had widened into big shiny orbs, alight with curiosity. For once, he didn’t argue back and gently walked ahead to the ornate wooden shelves to start scanning through the books. For you though, you headed over to the table heaving your bag up on the surface.

You decide to get some work done while Satan explores the winding mess of bookshelves.

Deep in your work, you barely noticed the tap on your shoulder. Only the call of your name broke the haze of concentration you were in.

“Yuki?” Your eyes widened as you tried to keep your voice down, glancing around nervously at the other library-goers.

“Oh my god, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you around!” Yuki beams at you, arms spaced out to hug you.

“Yeah, we haven’t seen each other since last semester.”

“How have you been doing?”

Both of you continued to exchange polite pleasantries for a bit, as you pulled out the chair beside you for her to sit down.

“Oh right,” Yuki began, pulling out her phone from her purse. “There’s a party I’m organising coming up soon. Do you wanna come? I invited people from our class last semester.”

You hummed for a second.

It’s been a long while since you went to a party, and even longer since you entertained the thought of drinking. It hadn’t even occurred to you, especially after housing Satan who had occupied all of your time and thoughts.

“Sure, just text me the date when it’s confirmed.” You responded, typing in your contact information when she handed her phone over. It should be fine to leave the demon alone for one night – it wasn’t like he had much of a penchant for mischief.

A voice from behind called, “Which five should I check out?”

Both Yuki and you turn to look at the demon, carrying a stack of books so high that you were worried he was going to topple them on you. Your eyes widened as you quickly stood up to grab a couple of books from him, clearing up his vision.

“Uh.” You had almost forgotten about the third presence with you, too busy trying to direct Satan in the right direction of the table. “Is this, uh, your boyfriend?”

Awkwardly, your hands hover in the air as you reach for another book from the Avatar of Wrath’s arm. “No, uh, we’re roommates.”

Satan nods behind you. “Pleased to meet you. My name is Sa--“

You elbowed him in the stomach, plastering a smile on your face.

“Sully.”

Yuki laughs somewhat stiltedly, lifting a hand to cover her mouth. “I’m Yuki, It is a pleasure to meet you as well.”

Her eyes darted between the demon and you, before widening into a grin again. “Sully, do you want to come along to the party as well?”

You jerked your head to look at her with blown-out pupils. Well, this wasn’t the direction that you had expected the conversation to take. Curiously, you turn to look at Satan. You wonder what would be his response.

“Party?” Satan sounded out the syllabus in his mouth, arching an eyebrow. “Probably not, I have to get through these books as soon as possible.”

He points at the intimidating stack piled up on the table.

“However, thank you for the invite.” He tilts his head down slightly, thanking her.

Now, you were the one who raised an eyebrow. Since when had he learned how to be so polite? He always acted like a minx with you.

“Well, alright then. If you change your mind, you could always just tag along.” Yuki glances at her wrist for the time, letting out a small gasp. “Oh, I’ll have to get going first. See you around.”

She stood up, tugging up her bag onto her shoulder as she waved you goodbye with a smile. Satan and you watched as she walked off.

“Lovely seeing her.” You say.

“Help me choose now,” Satan demanded at the same time.

“Geez.” You muttered, “Where did that polite facade of yours disappear to?”

“Stop talking and start choosing.”

“Fine.”

A couple of days later, you decided to bring Satan on an outing around your neighbourhood. It was odd how the conversation from that day stayed in your head like a plague, and when you had seen him sprawling on the couch, you decided to put your plan into action.

“Get ready.”

“Can’t you see I’m reading?”

“I’m bringing you on a tour around the block.” You paused, shaking the bag you were holding in front of his face. “It’s also my turn to feed neighbourhood cats this week.”

You threw the scarf you had dug out from the back of your closet at him. Even if he was less affected by the cold, you still wanted him to be prepared against the weather. (You also wanted to see how he would look like all bundled up in winter wear.)

Suddenly, a hand clamped on your shoulder hard while you were lost in thoughts.

“You should have started with that.”

Next, you know, Satan was ready by the door, impatiently pawing at your security system trying his best to unlock it. It’s been a couple of weeks since he had intruded into your house per se, but he still hadn’t gotten a hang of the electronic door system you had.

It was adorable watching him fumble around since he was always prim and proper. Well, it seemed like you still were learning new things about the demon every day.

“I didn’t know you liked cats this much.”

Amusedly, you handed the can of wet cat food to the blond – who was currently cooing at the tabby cat as it rubbed against his leg. It was admittedly, a cute sight to witness and an unexpected twist from what you would expect from a demon like him.

Would this be what they call gap moe?

“Of course I do.” Satan peers up at you confusedly, face practically screaming with incredulousness. “Cats are an integral part of life, one can never miss out on the joy of running their fingers through a cat’s fur.”

His eyes gleamed with a fiery passion as he continued ranting away. Sighing, you decided to also squat on the ground, grabbing the tabby’s attention as you dumped the wet cat food out on the plate while listening to the demon’s tirade.

“Do they have cats in the Devildom too?”

“Of course they do, human.” Fondly, you watched as his fingers found their place underneath the cat’s chin. His nose had also turned a bright shade of red, resembling Rudolph. “I’ll bring you to the Devildom on a trip to see them in the future.”

Your heartbeat quickens and a warm feeling settles in the middle of your chest.

“O-oh?” You say.

“Yeah, you can consider this a repayment for letting me lay eyes on the most magnificent creatures in the three realms.”

There’s a moment of pause as you register his comment, somehow swallowing past the lump in the back of your throat. You lowered your gaze to the concrete ground, hands absentmindedly going through the motions through the cat’s fur.

So that’s what he meant.

Before you could get too over in your head, you decided to stand up, ready to move on to the next feeding location, missing the way Satan had looked at you.

“Sully?”

“Oh, I didn’t expect to meet you so soon again.”

You turned your head to the side, the bag of cat food left abandoned on the ground as you inspected the situation in front of you. Satan had also gotten up, giving the tabby one last pet, before he turned to the stranger.

“Ah, this is my roommate.”

Lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed the demon nudging you to pay attention to the conversation. Bizarrely, he was still warm to the touch despite the red shade of his nose. You quickly put on a polite smile and introduced yourself.

“Ah, I’m Luna.”

The girl in front of you was petite, with hair that was spun gold and the brightest smile you had ever seen in your life. You ended up speechless for a second, looking at the outreached hand.

Satan elbowed you again.

“Hi, yes.” You started after regaining your composure, reaching out to shake her hand. “Oh, I didn’t know Sully over here, had friends.”

It was a miracle that your voice came out all steady.

Luna raises a delicate hand to titter, eyes crinkled. You couldn’t help but find her adorable, even as something anxious sat in the pit of your stomach, the organ seemingly all twisted wrong.

“Oh, I met her at the library,” Satan says. For some reason, he paused to look at you before adding on. “She’s working at the library as a librarian. I enlisted her help to find some titles.”

The girl nods rapidly, somehow seeming to emit a brighter glow the longer you watch her.

“Are you guys feeding the cats?”

“Ah yes, my roommate is also bringing me on a tour around the neighbourhood since I’m new.”

You nod along, pressing the palms of your hand along your thigh to get rid of the sweat forming there. You couldn't understand why you were sweating despite the cold. “Do you want to come along?”

The demon turned his gaze to look at you, covering his mouth with a hand to mime coughing as he hiss a what-the-hell to you. Bewildered, you just tilted your head in response.

Wouldn’t this be a good opportunity for Satan to make friends? You thought he would approve seeing as how he was complaining about being “cooped up” in his words.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to disturb you guys.”

“Ah yes, it’s fine!” You urged, grabbing onto her arm, and tugging her to walk ahead. Satan reluctantly picked up the bag of wet cat food and trailed after both of you.

“Why did you invite her?”

The door to your apartment hadn’t even been fully opened when the demon sprung the question on you. You continued walking in, taking off your shoes in the hallway as you stayed silent. Satan barged past you to stand in front of you, forcing you to look up at him.

It’s been a while since you had found the demon intimidating and the way he was looking at you now somehow reminded you of your first meeting with him, though it was now more of a fond memory.

“I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to make new friends.” You brushed past him, heading to put the empty bag and the takeaway containers on the kitchen island. “I didn’t know you would take offense to it.”

You could hear footsteps echoing behind you, following in your path.

“Take your shoes off. I just mopped it in the morning.”

“I didn’t want her to come along.”

The container of fried rice drops on the surface with a thud, thankfully not spilling open. You would hate to clean the mess up when you are covered in cat fur and tired from socialising.

Did you not like her? Is she not pretty enough? Why do you not like her? Why are you telling me this?

Multiple questions swarmed in your head but none made it out of your mouth.

“I see.” You say, not knowing what else to reply.

Satan huffed a sigh out, taking out his shoes and placing them in the cabinet next to your door. The silence in the air felt long and stretched out. The only thing you could hear in the apartment was your own beating heart, which was pounding at a hundred miles per second. You had never felt uncomfortable in the presence of the demon before this. You hated it.

“Human, are you not going to ask me about it?” The demon demanded, wrestling the takeaway containers from you and grabbing the utensils from the drawers.

“Do you want me to?” You countered. You don't know why he was acting like this.

“Fine, so be it.” Satan runs a hand through his hair, slamming the container down on the table. You almost winced for the fate of your dinner.

"Continue to act like that.” He says, spinning around to leave the kitchen. Immediately, you regretted the words that came out of your mouth.

“Wait, no.” Your hands instinctively found their place around the edge of Satan's shirt. You twiddled your thumb around the fabric, blinking back your embarrassment. Your head hung low as you avoided his eyes, biting your lips nervously. “I’m sorry.”

You could feel the demon slowly turn around, but you stubbornly kept your gaze on the kitchen floor. You hadn’t fought with him before, the uneasiness of the situation making your insides squirm.

“I’m sorry for inviting her without asking you.”

“You-” Satan’s voice sounded pinched in discomfort. He lets out another deep exhale, hands gently placed on your shoulder.

“You don’t need to apologise. I should have been the one to say sorry.”

“No. I should have checked if you were okay with me inviting her.”

The demon just nods, placing a hand on the top of your head to mimic a pat. Somehow, you found the motion soothing and gained a deeper understanding of a cat's psyche.

Satan then turns back to the island to retrieve the containers again –you had gotten takeaway from a nearby Chinese restaurant because the demon had been craving for it.

“Okay, since both of us are certain that we are at fault. Let’s just forgive each other and move on?”

You head over to the living room first, settling down on the floor as Satan follows closely behind, holding the day’s dinner in his arms. Eating together had become an established norm in your apartment – you hadn’t noticed when both of you had become so close, so domestic, so soft.

You made a conscious effort to not think about the earlier conversation but it still weighed heavily on your mind.

What does it mean? Why does he want you to ask about it?

“Satan.” You set the bowl of cereal in front of him and then put yours beside his. “I’m heading out for the party later at night. I will be back late.”

He pours milk into your bowl and slides it across the table to you. “Don't you have class today?"

"Yeah until 6, but I'll be back for dinner before heading out for the party."

"Oh, is it the one your classmate invited you to?”

“Yes, wanna come along?”

“Not today. I’m aiming to finish this." He points to the book lying on the couch. "Also, I'm trying out this new recipe I read in this book for dinner.”

You squint at the book on top of the throw pillow, Satan’s favourite, with a picture of a kitten – it was worn out from use, an evident reminder of how the demon had integrated into your life so smoothly.

“Remind me to get a new pillow soon.”

“Sure. Be safe tonight.”

You were almost positive the cereal had gone down the wrong pipe. For a second, you wondered if you were starting to make things up. The demon pushes the cup of water to you, urging you to drink it. It was nearly comical how affected you were by a simple phrase.

“Thanks.”

Satan continues to nurse his cup of coffee. It was truly amazing how he could stand the taste of it. You had tried it once out of curiosity and almost spat it out due to how bitter it was.

(“Why would you do this to yourself?” You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand after washing out your mouth with mouthwash.

Satan shrugged.

“It reminds me of Hell’s Coffee back in my realm,” He explains, taking a sip from the same coffee that you had tried. “The coffee would become bitter if the brewer has feelings for the one they are brewing for. It also changes depending on the magic content.”

“That’s interesting.” You say. “So is your coffee always bitter then?”

He smiles at you, swirling the liquid in the cup thoughtfully. “Sometimes. Though, I’ve never had anyone who tried my coffee say it’s bitter.”

That was… fascinating. You would have expected Satan to, maybe, have more experience.

“Oh.” You muster, still thinking about the implications of his statement.

“When you come to the Devildom, I’ll let you try my version of it.” The demon says before finishing the rest of his drink in one shot, face scrunching up at the acidity of it.

“Okay.” You say, nodding. “Okay, sure.”

Your face was heating up for some reason, and you felt like your brain had been dipped into a bathtub with the toaster plugged in.

You wonder if the coffee he makes for you would be bitter.)

You arrived at the party at midnight and amazingly, your host was already knocked out on the couch.

“Yuki.” You shook her once, only getting murmuring as a reply. It was obvious that she had ascended into the astral plane. You were planning to count on her to take care of you but that plan flew out of the window.

You straightened up, speaking to no one in particular. “What the hell? I’ve only just gotten here.”

“Unfortunate.” Someone says sympathetically beside you. You recognise her as one of your classmates from your previous semester, “Go and get yourself started with a drink from the kitchen.”

You winced.

“It’s still early.”

“It’s literally past midnight.” She says, staring at you with a deadpan expression. “That’s what you came here for right? To drink?”

You look in dismay as your classmate shoves you in the direction of the kitchen. Though, she was right. You had indeed come here intending to drink as much as you can.

The demon had been occupying your head as of late, and you were starting to get desperate for an excuse to get out of the house to clear your head.

She pushes a red solo cup into your hand, urging you to take it. “Here you go. Cheers.”

With your safety plan out of commission, you were determined to only drink enough to get tipsy. After all, you were at a college party. Though, you still needed to find a way to hitch a ride home after.

You would hate to worry Satan if you stayed at the house overnight, though you question if he would even expend the energy to be concerned for you. (You think he would, but you can't be sure.)

Your classmate hands another cup of jungle juice to you. You could already feel the buzz of the alcohol in your bloodstream. The concoction was stronger than expected.

“I can’t drink anymore.” You insist. “I don’t want to get too drunk.”

“Just get one of the sober monitors on duty to drive you back.” She pats you on the shoulder, pointing somewhere in the room. You barely register the touch, hanging onto her arm.

“Joshua!” She shouts, your ears ringing from the volume. The bass of the music was deep, drowning out her voice. Thankfully, the man in question turns to you. His facial features were oddly familiar but you couldn’t put a finger to it.

“Oh? It’s been a while.” Joshua smiles at you. You noted vaguely that he was holding a cup of water instead of the red solo cup filled with jungle juice. “We were in the same group last semester, weren’t we?”

Somehow, you were already on your third cup, and you could feel yourself swaying from the alcohol. You hadn’t even realise that your other classmate had already left to mingle around with the rest of the party-goers.

“Yes.” You weren’t sure about it, but it seemed plausible.

“Do you need me to drive you home?”

“Yes.” You said again, sounding very much like a broken record. “Please.”

“No worries.” He laughs again, ducking his head low to talk to you over the music. “Do you want to go now?”

You shake your head. You clearly weren’t drunk enough if thoughts about the blond-haired demon were still rattling around in your head. You hadn’t even noticed yourself metamorphosing his features into the guy before you.

“You sure?”

You nod again, brushing off his concerns. The alcohol seemed to only amplify your emotions about the demon. You needed to get some fresh air to think. Vaguely, you remember seeing a backyard as you came in.

On your way out, you threw away the rest of your drink before toddling off into the direction of the backyard. You were surprised to find out that you were the only occupant so far – the trees were finally in bloom after the long cold days and you could feel a mild breeze on your skin.

The night air punctuates the day and you inhale, your lungs filling with fresh air as you take your phone out of your pocket, noticing a notification on the screen.

[02:42AM] You have one missed call from Satan

The steady thrum of the music couldn’t drown out the sound of your heartbeat suddenly quickening. The cool air was a god-given gift against your flushed skin as you hovered over the call button.

The phone rang once, twice and then a voice answered.

“Human?”

You kept silent. (You wonder after all these months, were you still just a human to him?)

“Hello? Are you okay?”

“Um yes.”

“Why did you call me? I thought you were at the party?”

You hesitated, looking at your phone again to check that you hadn’t seen it wrong. You have been standing out in the backyard for a while and have sobered up considerably.

“Weren’t you the one who called me?”

“Ah right, I forgot you were out tonight. I was worried that you were out so late.”

“Worried?” You breathed out, fingers suddenly trembling. The temperature outside wasn’t even cold enough to warrant an outerwear, but you couldn’t stop your hands from shaking.

“Yeah.”

All you could hear was his breathing on the other side of the call.

“Can you pick me up?” You blurted out suddenly. “No, I mean. Never min-” You cut yourself off in a panic, crouching to let your head hang between your knees.

This was out of character for you. He must think you were insane, suddenly putting in a request to pick him up. None of the buses or trains were running at this time. The only way possible was if he teleported. You don’t even know if he even had the ability to teleport, let alone even use it to come and find you.

“Just ignore what I sai–”

“I’m here, " the voice echoed in front of you. You refused to lift your head to check your surroundings, refusing to let yourself be disappointed. Your grip on your phone grew tighter, and you vaguely sensed that your stomach was churning.

The shadow cast in front of you suddenly shifts and you recognise the hands gently tugging your phone down.

“I’m here.” He repeats again, tapping on the screen to hang up the call from your phone. You still had your head hung low, staring at the haphazardly worn shoes. It was a mismatched pair of a matching set you had bought on sale – the cat pair had been given to the demon, while you had the matching duck set. You had never worn yours out, leaving it near your cabinet but Satan had utilised his well.

He had worn one side of the cat slipper, and the duck slipper, which were a size too small.

You let out a laugh, your chest heaving up and down. Once, twice, and then you broke out into a full fit of giggles. Your breath quickened, each inhale sharp and shallow. Clutching at your abdomen, you forced yourself to breathe.

“Human.”

“Y-you can teleport?” Your voice came out squeaky, high-pitched as if the air had been knocked out of your windpipes. “Why did you come?”

The demon tilts his head, leaning in close with squinted eyes. “Are you drunk?” He lifts a hand to touch your forehead, hand cool against yours.

“You’re red.” He remarked.

You stiffly nod. The cold wind had helped your heated skin to calm down but it was of no use against Satan. You could feel the full force of the blush burning high on your cheekbones.

“You’re a lightweight.”

“I drank,” Your mind was telling you to lean into the demon’s touch but you staunchly made yourself lean away instead. “I think four cups.”

“Only four?”

“You think you can do better?” You scoffed, inhibitions low enough for you to start running your mouth. “You have noodle arms, you’ll probably pass out after the first cup.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“I’m just saying.”

“You’re on.”

The demon stands up, dusting off his pants and grabbing your hand to drag you into the house. “This way?” You stumble along, your eyes locking on the way his hand fits in yours. He leads you to the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of jungle juice – he didn’t let go of your hand, making what was originally a one-person job into two.

He hands you a cup, raising an eyebrow.

“Cheers.”

You muttered similarly, before throwing back the drink with a wince. You’ve never liked the taste of alcohol much, the liquid tasting like medicine and sliding down hot to your stomach. You hadn’t even realised you had squeezed your eyes shut.

“This is nothing,” Satan remarked, barking out a sharp laugh. “You get drunk off this? You’re so cute.” He laughs again, but you can see him sway, holding onto the edge of the counter to maintain his balance.

“That’s…” He trails off, blinking a few times at you. You didn’t know whether to be worried that the person you had called to pick you up was now drunk or find it amusing that he got drunk off one cup of alcohol.

“Bitter.” He finishes with a scrunched-up face.

You burst out into laughter, bending over at the waist to gasp for air. You tried to let go of his hand so that you could clutch at your abdomen but Satan refused, tightening his grip to the point where it was mildly painful.

“Are you actually drunk?” You ask, stifling your laughter with much effort. You couldn’t believe he was this much of a lightweight.

“I’m not, human. But no.”

He was starting to speak gibberish. This made you highly amused. You hadn’t seen Satan be this…openly vulnerable before. It was a far cry from the intimidating demon you first met in the winter.

“Human. Stop laughing.”

Satan reaches forward, presumably to grab you by the shoulder but overshot, knocking both your foreheads together – both of you tumbling to the ground under his weight, his hands flying behind your head to cushion your fall.

“Urgh, get off.” You tried to push the demon off you but he was persistent on doing his best impression of a slug, sprawling out over you and refusing to move an inch. You would normally be nervous at his close proximity if not for the fact that you are currently having difficulty breathing under his weight.

“Hey, woah–”

With as much effort as you can muster, you shifted into a better position and spotted Joshua standing in the doorway looking lost at your predicament.

“Please help.”

With his aid, you managed to fight coax Satan into the backseat of Joshua’s car. You were initially planning to sit up front with your classmate to give directions but the demon had refused to let go of your arm, forcing you to stay in the backseat with him.

(“Is he from our school?” Joshua glances briefly at the demon clinging to your arm with an mirthful smile. You can feel the embarrassment burning hot at the tip of your ear.

“Oh, he’s actually my roommate.”

“I’m a demon.” The demon beside you slurred, head knocking back into the seat. For the sake of your reputation, you sincerely prayed that he wouldn't throw up the contents in his stomach.

"Haha, he's been into roleplaying lately." You spun up a lie quickly with an awkward smile. Looking at Satan's peaceful expression, you wonder if you should give him a good smack and call it a day.)

Within minutes, you had arrived at your apartment and Joshua was already opening the car door to help you lift Satan up.

“Only want my human,” The demon’s eyes were half-lidded as he murmured under his breath, all while resisting Joshua’s help to bury his head deeper into your lap.

“You smell nice.”

As much as you wanted to read into this, you couldn’t help but be conscious of the third presence watching both of you. You dearly hope that your classmate couldn’t hear the demon’s drunk mutterings.

“Why does he, uh, call you human?”

Well, there goes your reputation.

“He’s going through his second puberty.” You lied, “Eighth grader syndrome, am I right?” You forced out another polite laugh, before jabbing your fingers into Satan’s side hard.

The demon jolts up with a bolt, covering his mouth as he winced. Joshua took this opportunity to wrestle him out of the car, taking one of his arms to throw over his shoulder as you stationed yourself on the opposite side to do the same.

“Thank you for your help.”

Both of you had managed to deposit Satan on the couch and were now catching your breath, winded from the exercise. Thankfully, the lift was working today and you didn’t need to lug the demon up the flight of stairs.

“Do you want a drink before you leave?” You offered, straightening up and determined to play your part as a good host. Although you didn't know Joshua that well, he seemed like a nice guy and you also wanted to make up for Satan's actions.

“Sur–”

“Me first, human.” A voice loudly interjected into your conversation from the sofa, “Hell’s Coke.” The demon demanded, arranging himself into an upright position. He looked clear-headed as if he hadn’t had a sip of alcohol despite how he was slumped over a minute ago.

“Uh–” Joshua started again.

“Human, I said I wanted a drink.”

You looked at Joshua apologetically, walking quickly into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water as you gently ushered him out to the hallway. Your patience was getting low and you no longer wanted him to witness any more of the demon’s tomfoolery.

“Wait!” As you prepared to close the door on him, Joshua paused to look at you expectantly – it felt as if you had withheld a toy from a puppy and they were now expecting you to play fetch. “Can I expect to see you around again?”

You paused, thinking through your answer before opening your mouth to reply–

“--No, bye.”

Satan had shut the door in his face.

“...”

The demon’s face was flushed again as he leaned against the door, one hand raised above your head. You tried to even your breathing, closing your eyes to meditate.

“Don’t you think you were being rude?”

“Was I? I’m sorry.”

His face showed no remorse, as he peered at your facial expression closely, his sea-green eyes much brighter than usual. You had the burning urge to shy away from his gaze but you insisted on keeping your grouchy expression.

“You don’t sound sorry.”

“He was trying to hit on you.”

You looked at him, trying to control your emotions that were threatening to spill over. You could feel your eyebrow twitching, and all you wanted to do now was take a long, hot bath and turn in for the night.

“He drove us home safely so the least you could do was to thank him. And why does it matter to you?” You spat out, feeling the words form awkwardly through your gritted teeth.

Satan had you backed against the door, forcing you to crane your neck just to look up at him. Your thoughts were in disarray; heart puzzled by the sudden affection from him. You wanted a clear explanation from him.

He stayed silent, brows thoughtfully knitted together.

Oh.

The silence gave you your answer. You are left with the residual realisation washing over and you are powerless in the face of it, unable to do anything but exhale deeply with a slow breath – you ducked under his arm to leave the suffocating situation.

“I think I was jealous.”

You swirled around, eyes wide. Your gaze glosses to the right, unable to meet his eyes. You thought you had heard him wrongly, but the demon stood there, looking as though he had made up his mind.

“You think?”

Had Satan, the Avatar of Wrath, just confessed to being jealous?

“No, I was jealous.” He corrected with a frown, folding his arms over his chest. “I wanted to cut open his throat for having the impudence to talk to you.”

You swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry.

He took a step closer, face set in icy determination. Something about his demeanour reminded you of a predator and you were his prey, waiting to be devoured. Your ears ring a steady buzz, spiraling you into rapid confusion.

“I want my jealousy to be justified, MC.”

His words were no louder than a mere whisper but each syllabus tugged on your heartstrings as he grabbed at your forearm, pulling you in close to him. This was the first time Satan had ever addressed you by name, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be happy; disoriented at the conflicting feelings within you.

“I like you so much, I don’t even know what to say.”

I’ve never felt this greedy in my life before. Was I fated to meet you? I don’t know but the only thing I know is this,” He briefly looks at the clock hanging in the living room and clears his throat, “I want you to remember this moment, at 3 AM on the 20th of April, this is the time I have utterly fallen for you.”

Satan sits on the couch, a respectful distance away. You swear you could still feel his touch on you, a lingering sensation sizzling on your bare skin. His stare bores into you, reverberating through your body from your toes to the crown of your head.

You feel seen. Even now, the demon was giving in to you – you know it must be eating him up to wait but he was letting you take things at your pace.

“I’m confused.” You admit in a small voice, trying to gauge his expression. “I can’t stop thinking about the what-ifs.”

He waits for you to continue.

“No matter what, you’re a demon and I’m a human.” The mood took a sharp left turn at your words, hanging heavy in the air. “Will there ever be a happy ending for us?”

Satan calls your name, eyes gentle as he scoots nearer to you. “You won’t know if you don’t try.”

“But what if we try and it doesn’t work?”

“Then I’ll kill myself and find you in my next life.” He says simply.

The comment was so sudden that you let out a huff of laughter, wiping at the corner of your eyes in disbelief.

“Do demons even believe in reincarnation?”

“We don’t but I’ll make it work.”

“Do I get a say in this?”

“This is your only chance to say it now.” He stares at you with earnest eyes, grabbing your hand and holding it up to his face to nuzzle at you affectionately. “Are you willing to take the risk?”

“Okay.” You say, or at least that’s what you think you say, your voice suddenly distant over your rapid heartbeat and the room increasingly getting smaller. “Okay.” You blurted out again because up against a demon like Satan, what can one do except give their whole being?

Before you knew it, you were already climbing onto his lap, and with a gentle motion, you were kissing him – his lips part for you beautifully as you tilt your head gaining more access.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The sound of his steady heartbeat mixed with yours, a delightful symphony to your ears. Deliriously, you wonder if you could crawl inside and make yourself home.

Cold.

The flitting freezing temperature dragged you back to the land of the living – the abnormal heat that the demon beside you was producing was not enough to starve off the chill of the night.

“Satan.” You garbled, words slurring together as the hands around your waist pulled you in closer. “Close the damn window, it’s so cold.”

“The window is closed.”

The unfamiliar voice should have been the first sign to inform you something was wrong. Unfortunately, you were frankly too worn out from the day’s event to care. Stretching, you turn your head to nuzzle into Satan’s bare chest.

“Satan, Avatar of Wrath.”

You feel the demon beside you tense.

“Lucifer, what are you doing here?”

The call of the name rings a bell in your head. Was this the older brother that Satan had mentioned to you before? You didn't have the best impression of him, especially after what the blond-haired demon had told you.

“This situation has gone on long enough.” Honestly, you were pretty astonished that the demon standing in the middle of your room was nonchalant enough to simply avert his eyes from Satan’s half-naked form.

“How long are you planning to act like a child? You’re even dragging humans into your mess.”

Yikes.

You lifted the blanket higher, making sure to cover your entire self as you blearily blinked the sleep away from your eyes. Once your vision focused, you could vaguely make out the silhouette of the demon – he was at least more decently dressed than the last one, though you wondered about the practicality behind the number of wings.

Somehow it seemed like breaking and entering into humans’ houses were part of the Devildom curriculum because this was already the third demon to enter your house without an invitation.

“Don’t talk to me like I am a child.” The demon behind you spat out all while gently rubbing his hands over yours in a comforting action. Slowly, he lifted the blanket up to get out of bed, stretching as he did so.

“I’ll stop when you stop behaving like one.”

You winced. The tension in the room seemed to thicken and the once sub-zero temperature had disappeared giving way to the rising heat from their words. You shuffled awkwardly under the blanket – maybe if you acted like everything was normal, the other demon in the room would ignore your presence.

Wrong.

“You’re MC, correct?”

“Yes.” You squeaked out, startled by the sudden spotlight on you.

“I apologise for my younger brother’s behaviour. Thank you for tolerating him for the past six months. He will be going back with me now.”

“Wai–”

“Who says I’m going back?” Satan interrupts you, hands placed protectively in front of you. The glint in his eyes darkened and you could tell this didn’t please the older demon one bit.

“Avatar of Wrath, what do you mean by that?”

“I said what I said. I’m not going back.”

You cringed at the use of the title. Even you knew that meant serious business. The inky smooth wings behind Lucifer fanned out, expanding to their full width, a beautiful yet menacing sight. You could practically use a knife to cut the tension in the room.

Oh no.

“Wait!” You shout desperately, yelping when red piercing eyes turn to look at you. The embedded jewel in the middle of his forehead catches a glint of moonlight from the window beside him, somehow making him look even more terrifying.

“Human, do not interrupt our–”

“Do not talk to my human like that–”

“Hey, I said wait!” You panicked, making a move to get off the bed when a flash of blond hair blocked your sight, a displeased frown on Satan's face as he pulled up the blanket higher to cover you. You had completely forgotten your state of undress in your alarm to deescalate the fight.

“Don’t move just yet. I’ll settle this with him, okay?” He spat out the syllabus, before reaching down to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Satan.” You start, reaching out to hold his face. The demon nods, immediately squatting and attentive to your every word. You shake him from side to side, stroking the side of his face delicately. “I think you should go back too.”

“Wha–”

He look struck by your words, dismay written all over his face as clear as day.

“No.” You cut him off firmly before he could rebut back. “You promised Mammon, remember? Half a year had already passed, meaning we both had fulfilled our part.”

Satan still looked betrayed, his eyes round and wide. His lower lip trembled slightly and it was visible that he abhorred the very idea of leaving you.

“Listen, can’t you come to find me whenever you want anyways?” You huffed again, racking your brain for another solution to convince him.

“Or I can just make Solomon summon you every time I miss you. Distance isn’t that big of an issue for us right, honey?”

You knew you had chosen the right argument when a blush sits high on his cheek. You couldn’t believe it. Does he like the nickname? You take note of the information and store it at the back of your head.

He coughs, hiding his flush behind one hand as he turns around. Standing up, he turns to face Lucifer.

Huh. The more you know, you suppose.

“Okay, I’ll go back with you.”

The other demon, understandably looks disorientated at the change of heart. He blinked once, then twice as he shifted to a more intimidating stance. “Who said that I approved of your relationship?”

Maybe you shouldn’t have counted your chicken before it hatched. And was it just you? You get the feeling the demon named Lucifer seemed to be very overprotective over his siblings, somewhat like a mother hen. Or maybe this was a Devildom custom, demons needing their older siblings to approve of their relationship. However, with what you have witnessed so far, you get the idea that he was just the demon version of an overbearing tiger mum.

Before you could speak, a voice cut in. You couldn’t help but admire how the muscles on his back flexed as he spoke, “Isn't Lord Diavolo planning a human exchange program in the near future?"

Your demon cleared his throat before continuing, "I believe Lord Diavolo would be happy to find out that I am furthering relations with a human, or would you want to take this away from him?”

The red-eyed demon stays silent, his wings fluttering in agitation. For a long second, you held your breath waiting for a retort that never came.

“Fine,” Lucifer said, tone resembling that of a grumble. Though, you could tell that even he knew he had lost the battle of words. “I’ll report this back to Lord Diavolo first.”

“Though, I expect you to be back in the Devildom by sunrise. You have missed out far too much at RAD and I need you to be able to catch up with all of the work within a week.”

“Understood.”

Satan just nods. Your mouth hangs open, unhinged at the jaw. It was an unreasonable request that the older demon had put in but you couldn't bring yourself to feel too bad for your boyfriend (?) since it was a situation that he had created in the first place.

You couldn’t believe that worked.

Honestly, you were almost certain that a fight would have broken out. But somehow one way or another, your apartment lives to see another day.

Satan sits beside you on the bed, tugging you in for a hug. Tilting your head, you place a chaste kiss on his lip which the demon tries to further deepen. With a chuckle, you pull away, watching in delight as he chases after you.

After the whole fiasco, you only had one question on your mind.

“Are we together?” You ask, feeling your face go hot. Even if both of you had confessed your feelings earlier and you were fairly sure that both of you were on the same page, you still wanted verbal confirmation from him.

Satan interlocks your hands with him, humming playfully. You could feel his smile against your neck, as he nuzzled affectionately at you. “I’ll be yours if you will be mine.”

You wiggle away with a pout when he nibbles at the crook of your neck. Though you soon broke out into a smile, unable to stay mad at him for long.

“Guess we should get Solomon a gift for letting us meet, huh?”

“Probably.”

“And you’d still be failing Economics if I hadn’t tutored you.”

“Probably.”

"You know I'm surprised my landlord never found out I was housing another person here."

"Oh."

"Wait a minute, that 'oh' sounded suspicious."

"I didn't do anything bad, just that I may have made him think that the apartment was originally for two people."

"Satan!"

Maybe in some alternate reality out there, you would have been the human exchange student sent to the Devildom for cultural exchange. Or maybe in another reality, you may never even get the chance to meet him, after all, demons are as rare as a sunflower in a desert. But no matter what, you had him in your arms right now and that was all that mattered.

You guess one of the perks of being bad at Economics was getting to meet and fall in love with Satan, as sappy as that sounded. Which reminded you...

“Honey, I have my final exam coming up soon. Would you still tutor me?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think I have much of a choice if I don’t want you to fail, love.”

a/n ▸ yippee! i wrote this piece over the expanse of a month and I am glad to finish this lol. i still have a lot of scenes that didn't make it to the main story but will be posting as a side story hehe, I hope you guys love this story as much as I did <3

#happy birthday satan!#satangwrites: the horrors of economics #satangwrites #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me swd #shall we date om #obey me x you #obey me x reader #obey me satan #satan #obey me satan x you #satan x you #satan x reader

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vivwritesfics · 8 months ago

Note

So my love

Reader marking up one fo the drivers ( die to that I sent you or lando)

Which said driver fucking lives and is just giving NP fucks about it when people point them out or see them

Maybe include some more on how they g these types of marks 👹👹🫶

warnings: smut, marking, riding

more requests pls im in a mood :)

With Pato, it was a pre, during, and post sex thing. Pato loved marking. He loved sinking his teeth (gently) into her flesh, or gently sucking on it, leaving a tapestry of dark marks.

When she rode him, moans leaving her lips as he wrapped his lips around her nipple. Even when she began to struggle, falling against his chest, Pato grabbed her thighs, held her up and began moving his hips beneath her.

At that point he threw his head back, relishing in the way she squeezed around him. When she came and squeezed him, he came into the condom and pulled out of her.

Pato laid her down onto the paid, pulled off the condom and deposited it in the bin. He crawled into bed beside her and pulled the blankets over their sweaty body.

"We should shower," she whispered, her hand against his chest.

The smile Pato wore was his signature one. He kissed her forehead. "Just lay with me for a few more minutes."

She gave in, pressing her lips to his collarbone as he squeezed his arms around her. But soon her kisses to his collarbone turned to sucking, creating purple marks on his skin that she was incredibly proud of.

"Don't forget the neck, baby," he said, pushing his hair out of his face.

She was only happy to oblige. She kissed along his skin until he got to her neck.

Here was the thing with Pato, he loved wearing her marks like a necklace. On camera he'd move the neck of his fireproofs to the side to reveal them.

As she sucked large, dark bruises into his skin, Pato knew he was going to wear them with pride. He was going to show them off to whoever would look

(kinda like that tiktok trend, the 'i like it when people ask about this thing bc i get to talk about you' lol -- pato loves talking about his girl)

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factual-fantasy · 29 days ago

Note

How to start...

My baby. My little tiny baby. So scared! Alone! Helpless! I know you said he didn't get his wounds all on the same day but... OUGHHHH MY BABYYYYY YOU DONT GET IT THIS IS SMALL TINY BABY TUNA!!! HE IS SO SMALLLL SO SCARED AND ALONE I CANT I CAAANNNTTTTT

Because I know this isn't necessarily canon, but... what if, what if? You know? What if? I'd be 1000% devastated by the information. WHAT HAPPENED MY BABY WHO HURT YOU?! WHY ARE YOU ALONE?! WHY THERES NOBODY THERE HELPING YOU?! THEY'RE LETTING YOU BLEES TROUGH THE BANDAGES OOOOHHHH NO MY BABY COME HERE IMMA TAKE CARE OF YOU FUCK'EM ALL

Hes asking for help, so loud, without saying anything. He is just looking, terrified, big aah blue eye staring into your soul with the biggest scaredest tears you'll ever see rolling down too-small cheeks.

NO YOU DONT GET IT THE IMPLICATIONS OF THIS TINY LITTLE BABY SMALL VERY SMALL TUNA BEING ALL ALONE ARE BREAKING MY HEART I AM SO GLAD HE FOUND THE CREW AND THEY LET HIM BE A PART OF THEM

I guess he got his injuries later in life at diferent times (I wonder if a kid that small would survive the blood loss, I guess it isn't imposible, but seeing how little anyone cared for Tuna back then...). I wonder if he had someone to take care for his injuries when he got them. I guess somebody must have, because otherwise I doubt he wouldn't get an infection or sth. Or maybe he just got lucky. Or maybe at least somebody cared enough to not let him die because of poor injury treatment. But like... he... he looks so desperately alone... so terrified. His big blue eye is wide open in fear. He doesn't quite gets his situation. He is shaking, he is hurting, and everything hurts so badly! Why?! Please somebody help him, but he looks, and only looking he alredy knows begging for help won't do anything. So he stares, in fear. In so much fear. How can someone so tiny be so terrified?

Factual you're gonna drive me insane. I love baby Tuna here. I'm fighting with my life to protect this baby from any Injuries. I'm just... destroyed by this, but I am so insanely grateful he is now surrounded by people who would fight whoever made this to him to death.

Oh! A thought! He looks as old as Red. I just know if anything like this ever happens to the baby of the crew, aside from Coco and Seafoam, Tuna would slaughter a whole crew singlehandedly for revenge. I just know it. I also know it's an imposible scenario, it's just... the feelings. Anyways.

BABY TUNA DONT CRY MY BOY IM HERE IMMA TAKE CARE OF YOU PLEASE PLEASE DONT CRY I AM HERE TO HELP OUGHHHHH OOOOOOOHHH MY BABYYYY FACTUAL YOURE SO MEAN ISBXMSBXM I CANT HE IS SO TINY AND AAAAOOUUUGGGHH

(Drawing in ask is from this post)

XDD You should have seen the look on my face when you sent this in. My face always lights up when I get these asks! :DD

And man. looking back I feel bad for baby Tuna. :( I did him dirty didn't I.. well, since the canonicity of that other picture is in question, I can present you with another questionable one to make up for it! 😅

If this story becomes canon, Tuna probably wont find comfort in other cookies.. but maybe there was a cake hound or two on that ship that did mind Tuna snuggling up beside them.

This who story made me consider that Tuna could really love cake hounds because of this. Maybe in the present day he could have a silly vanilla cake hound that was part of why he mellowed out. Idk, neither picture is canon yet- I still have CookieRun Kingdom lore to catch up on and fit my OCs into! 😅

Any who, thank you for the ask! I hope my drawing makes up for the torment the first picture brought you <X'DDD

#my response #long post #cookie run kingdom #cookie run ocs #my ocs #tw blood #tw injury

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copinghex · 2 months ago

Text

Sincerely yours, me | T.S

Summary: Tommy receives anonymous gifts and letters. All the signs point to a single conclusion - he has a secret admirer.

The first gift was misinterpreted, as harmless as it could be, a man like Tommy wouldn't simply eat anything sent to him.

Sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea, Polly waited for Tommy to get home. On the table, a delicate box from a nearby bakery and a letter caught everyone's attention, not only for the gesture but also the date.

If anyone would search for Thomas Shelby in city registers, all they'd find would be his army register, indicating his date of birth was 19th September, months earlier than the true date, a cold Wednesday morning of November. Whoever sent the gift was close enough to the family to not be fooled by the erroneous papers.

That day, Tommy entered the kitchen in quick steps, unconsciously or not, he always worked more on his birthday, not being particularly fond of celebrating.

“Is anything special about the age of thirty?” Polly asked.

“...no,” noticing the suspicious gifts on the table, Tommy reached for the letter, the envelope contained no information other than his own name, “who bought this?”

“No one, it was left on the door this morning,” she turned the box to show him the bakery’s name, “the place isn't cheap, they wouldn't leave it at the door without someone to collect it,”

“So someone ordered and left it at the door,” Tommy concluded.

“What does the letter say?”

The first thing Tommy noticed was the calligraphy, it wasn't neat nor horrendous. He could see the author tried their best to look nice.

Dear Tommy,

Originally, I was excited to write you this letter. Now that I have your cake and shall deliver it tomorrow, it makes me question if this was a good idea.

I believe birthdays are meant to be celebrated with those we have dearly. You seem to think otherwise, nevertheless, I hope you (and your family) enjoy the flavor I picked.

I wish I had bought you a gift as well, I had an eye on a pocket watch from a pawnshop in London, it'd seat nicely with a brown three piece you have, unfortunately my budget is not endless.

I hope you enjoy your birthday and wish you all the happiness, prosperity and good fortune.

Sincerely yours, me.

P.S I've taken notice I mentioned the cake spent a day in my house, if the thought ever crosses your head, do not worry, it cannot have spoiled, I kept it on the ice box all the time ♡

“So?” Polly questioned.

“Take a look at the calligraphy,” he handed her the letter, “does it look familiar?”

“Not at all, I can check in the books, but it's too neat to belong to any of our men, also there's a heart in the end,”

“Alright,” he sighed, “I want you to go to the bakery and ask who ordered it, then ask all the neighbors about the person who left it at the door, anything is useful,”

“Oh, for Christ's sake! I've things to do but to investigate a birthday cake!”

“Polly,” Tommy opened the box, “whoever sent this is watching from close, what do they plan to do with all this information? It can't be good,”

“Alright,” she sighed, “I'll ask, but I bet is nothing more than some of the neighbors’ daughters wearing her heart out for you,”

“Fucking finally,” John suddenly entered the kitchen, “Polly said we'd only eat when you arrived,”

“No one is going to eat,” he looked at the cake, the white topping could be easily deduced as vanilla while the bottom was chocolate.

“What?! What not?”

“We don't know who fucking sent this, it can be poisoned,”

“Or someone wants to send a message,” Polly added.

“Or it's just fucking cake,” John argued, “ugh, forget it,”

As John left, Tommy threw the box in the trash, the light sweet scent rose up to his nose and looking superficially, it seemed like nothing but an innocently sent birthday gift. He wouldn't risk it though, if he was wrong about it, it'd be shameful to die over a piece of cake.

Weeks went by without further information, all the bakery was able to tell was that the person who made the order was a woman, nothing they hadn't already deduced. The dust settled, with no signs of danger or special dates coming by, nothing disturbed Tommy's routine.

The second gift was delivered by Scudboat, at the end of a shift in the betting shop he sneaked his head into Tommy's tiny office with a bulky envelope.

“Tom? I'm going home,” he said.

“See you tomorrow,” Tommy didn't lift his eyes from the papers on the desk.

“Someone left this on my desk today, it's for you,”

His shoulders dropped in a tired move, one more problem was everything he didn't need, “Who did? Did you see?”

“No, we had a full house today, I'm sorry, man,” Scudboat left.

First, a wooden horse fell from the paper. The delicate miniature wasn't bigger than a pocket watch, but the details revealed it was made by talented hands.

Dear Tommy,

Although throwing the whole cake away did offend me, I admit I'm the one at fault for this huge miscalculation, I have no enemies myself and yet, I'd be hesitant to eat something anonymously sent to my door.

Therefore, please accept this horse as a gift instead. It sat dusting up on my shelf for way too long, if you ask me, it resembles Monaghan boy.

Sincerely yours, me.

Tommy placed the miniature in the corner of his desk, it immediately set amongst his other belongings as if it was made to be there.

Slightly crumbling the paper, he fought the urge of ripping it apart, no harm was done and he couldn't find any subtle threats between the lines, but the thought of being observed made him tremble.

The possibility of someone being truly in love with him crossed his mind and was quickly shaken off. Tommy knew he wasn't lovable, at least not anymore, at most it must be infatuation from a stupid woman.

Putting the letter in a drawer, he carried on with his paperwork.

The third gift came three weeks later, when Tommy thought she had given up on him. A worn out bracelet he recognized from an Appleby fair, years ago he bought one for Greta Jurossi and managed to sneak up some more while the seller turned around to get his change. He remembered distributing them amongst her friends.

Those faces were all blurred in Tommy's memory now, shadows from a past that seemed so distant it felt like another life.

The envelope wasn't neat like the previous ones either, delivered by Ada herself, all she offered as explanation was an entertained smile and a “read the letter, Tom”

Relief washed over him learning that Ada was the one collecting information. The worry’s weight left his shoulders and then, the whole scenario felt as laughable as a joke.

Tommy,

It has come to my attention that my letters do you more harm than good. What a shame, I had planned to toy with you a while longer, but seeming it doesn't have the expected effect, I believe there's no option other than revealing myself.

I assure you I never intended harm and Ada was of great help in keeping an eye on you. Please, do not be upset at her, she was manipulated by having me watching Karl whenever needed.

Thomas, you are very dear to me, I've made it clear through the last few months, because of it, I'll be at the Garrison this Friday from 17:00 to 18:00, at the last table in the corner, we've never been complete strangers so you'll recognize me.

All I ask you is to not show up with selfish intentions, to mock me or satisfy your curiosity. I want to be someone close to you, someone you trust and perhaps like. If this possibility exists, come meet me, if your heart is permanently closed, I understand, but please do not come.

Sincerely yours, //////////

Tommy slowly put the letter down, the red scribbles where her name should be evoked sympathy within him. He imagined a simple girl, a silhouette between Greta's friends, switching pen colors and ruining the end of a tidy letter.

Lighting up a cigarette, he rubbed his tense brow, decisions that involved others were always harder and he doubted he'd get used to it someday.

He also couldn't deny curiosity was eating him alive, he needed to know who was sweet enough to look away from the atrocities he committed after France and still love the man he became.

Love, the word sounded so foreign to him he made a decision. He'd go to the encounter, even if he wasn't sure he wanted a relationship, having someone who loved him would be useful.

The week went by fast, around a quarter to five Tommy ordered everyone out of the Garrison, two cups and a whiskey bottle waited with him. He wouldn't define what he felt as excitement, perhaps satisfaction in finally closing that case.

Leaning on the counter, he stared at the doors, a hesitant shadow showed up on the glass panel, the knob moved down and a few seconds passed until she got in.

Her eyes widened seeing the pub empty, a shiver ran down her spine as her eyes met his squinted ones. She gulped, frozen at the entry. Tommy sized her up and his gaze softened, an afternoon tea at the Jurossi’s house years ago, he'd barely noticed her, apparently she had noticed him.

“You came,” she greeted.

“I was curious,”

“Tommy, I asked you to not-”

“Yeah,” he interrupted, “it was brave of you to keep me in the dark for so long,”

“It was barely two months,”

“Could've been much more if so you decided,”

“Why would I? You didn't see to enjoy my… admiration at all,”

Pouring them drinks, Tommy called her to the counter. She shyly smiled as he handed her a glass and made a tiny toast.

“It was clever,” he complimented, “I recruit clever people,”

“So this is business focused?” she looked down, disappointed.

“Amongst other things,” with his glass, he lifted her chin, “I think we can achieve great things together,”

#tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #reader insert

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starryeyed-seer · 3 months ago

Text

What Lurks Within: 99 whispers and what they might mean

The 6th Coil of the Labirynth of Tigers is full of Mystery but some of the most intriguing are found in the rare occurrence of the sealed door. Investigating it reveals one of 99 texts depending on random chance. They're a mix of everything, from deep lore to literature references to invitations to join a monstrous polycule.

Below the cut, I'm going to look at all of them and some thoughts as to what they might mean.

Spoilers for everything.

I've sorted them by topic, aproximately, so we're starting with the coil and moving out from there.

---

The Story of The Sixth and Seventh Coil

A lot are clearly snippets from the love affair of the seventh coil, and the tiger keeper too. These get a shoutout for being unabashedly Pretty Horny in a perfectly monstrous, sensual way. Congrats whoever wrote those.

Once a tiger prince and a finger king fell in love, the tiger welcomed the fingerking to live inside him and they became a new entity, the Seventh Coil. Everything about the union was forbidden, and they were locked away out of fear in the Sixth Coil.

"—two kings apart and a king together and it is only right and proper that you kneel—"

The Tiger Prince+The Fingerking are both kings, of a sort. As the shared body of the Coil, they are still a king. Being in their presence causes an inclination to kneel.

"—amusing that they thought this a prison, and not a sanctuary—"

The Labirynth might be a prison, but it is also a safe place they may be together considering their union is Very Illegal. As much as the Coil is trapped, they are together (and not fully cut off from the outside world either)

"—presence is a joy at last, after time-outside-of-time spent with a recusant court—"

"—it would have been better if they knelt of their own free wills—"

The tributes sent into the Coil exist as the 'court', and seem lost in a dream-like haze, which the liminal Is and Not nature of the Sixth Coil causes.

"—o lover, I see thee only in mirrors—"

"—the labyrinth has been so very cruel to you, dearest—"

The Tiger Keeper encountered the Coil in dreams, and fell in love. Seeing one's lover only in mirrors also can refer to the Prince/FK affair.

"—Consort dearest, your eyes will fill with scales—"

Being possessed by a fingerking changes one's eyes, but this also reminds me of eyeless skulls: the change of the nadir, where skulls will grow plating to cover the eyes entirely from enough exposure. Considering the links between light and sight, I do wonder if this is related: your vision of the world will change forever, away from that of regular vision (and the way Judgements prefer you to see the world?)

"—your devotions reached us on the dreaming airs, so sweet upon our tongue—"

"—rest among my coils. You have travelled far to be here—"

"—show me your paws; let me test thine sharpness—"

"—claws of silver and eyes afire—"

"—and of your pelt I shall make my bed—"

—pierce me, run me through, let my blood wash over your fur—

"—sip my venom; let me into your vein—"

"—and in these knots what limbs are bound—"

"—do you shiver as I bind you?—"

"—tighter and tighter until your bones collapse—"

"—and with this knot, I take thee—"

"—nothing to fear but each other—"

"—of banded fur and speckled bands—"

"—for a tiger to change his stripes—"

"—do you love what you have become?—"

"—are you sated?—"

"—there exist no two hearts that cannot be joined—"

Do I need to say anything about these.

Parabola and Dreamin'

Parabola is the home of Fingerkings, and where Tigers conduct their sacred war against them to keep the waking world safe, a duty they were raised up for by Stone herself.

—those cold seas beyond the edges of Parabola, where dreams die—

Parabola seems to be only part of the 'Is-Not', or an aspect of it. For example, Irem isn't what Is, but isn't Is-Not either. I'm not sure what this means: perhaps a link to the Slow River.

—the weeping pus of dead dreams—

—the dense dreams of the extinguished—

There's a lot of focus on dead/th dreams, and I have a theory on that I'll get to. Let's just enjoy how many there are.

—the extinguished dreams of the one they drowned—

Oh this is easy, that's Mr E------ (violently silenced by the Masters)

—the black dreams of flukes, the icy dreams of catankeri—

Many flukes are on a whole bitterly angry about the deal they made with the Bazaar long ago. While rubbery men, their creations, dream of the Sea of Spines, Lorn-Flukes (the pissiest ones) are probably in darker dreams. Cantankeri are from Sunless Skies, in the High Wilderness, very grumpy isopods creatures which attack anything they dislike (most things)

—the faceless dreams of Snuffers—

Snuffers were long ago exiled from the Garden after the first Snuffer, the Thief-of-Faces, stole diamonds from Stone's womb and created Mt. Nomad as a 'weapon to serve its hate'. We don't really know a ton about what went on here. The Thief-of-Faces made the Snuffers in the Garden, but seems to have come from outside it. What is it? What does it want? Unknown. Hate. Snuffers are shapeshifters who can remove people's faces and wear them, so their dreams being faceless is likely because they lack a 'true face'. Faces/lacking is a reoccurring theme in FL tied to identity, with one of the things the Sapphir'd King requires before consuming souls in SSkies being the removal of one's Face and Name.

—if the Sun has a skin, does the Moon—

The Parabolan sun is called The Skin Of The Sun, it was made during the second city and is a glass bulb of iron, glass, and Cosmogone light. The Moon in Parabola resembles a sleeping cat, but we know little else of it. It's never been called 'the skin of the moon'.

—the brass from which their sun was forged—

The Skin of the Sun was forged, but it's never been called brass. Brass is devil associated, you could also call the orange-ish colour of Cosmogone 'brassy', but this is an odd reference.

I FORGOT ABOUT THE SUN THE SUN THE SUN THESUNTHESUNTHESUNTHESUN---

(thanks to @barnabusbarnabus for noting the dawn machine is made of brass!!)

—our caught kin in their galleries and prisons—

'Serpent Galleries' are a way of containing FKs. In stone, I think, I'm not 100% on the specifics but it's certainly a way of trapping them.

—and what blood seeps from their Boil—

The Boil of Calamities is a notable Fingerking who guards the Dome of Scales and the Parabolan Sun, AKA The Skin of The Sun. I'm not sure about it bleeding.

—to knot, to boil, to conjoin, to grow, to blister—

Fingerkings have a tendency to join together into Congregations, many FKs becoming one complicated knot-entity. The 7th Coil is knotted like this in a way.

It's notable how often this is a reoccuring theme in FL: rats have rat-kings, spiders have spider-councils, there's a lot of creatures out there who present power through unionizing into some form of joined/hiveminded entity.

—the sourceless source of the Writhing River—

The Writhing River is in Parabola, and made of snakes. (There's non-fingerking snakes in Parabola, FK may be more the 'royalty' of sneks). You travel to the source in becoming a Silverer, where you find a rock one snake at a time emerges from, silver trees, and cosmogone sap you made your glasses from.

—can tell you why the Hanging Mountains despise the Smoking Sea—

Places in Parabola, I couldn't tell you why they hate each other though.

—a banner of shed skin—

Parabola is dominated by war, banners and snakeskin, pretty straight forward.

—a hollow shell for hollow kin—

Hard to say exactly. FK can't exist in reality without a vessel, and part of their history with devils is the fact devils are hollow.

—seven marches for seven cats, along the borders of dreaming—

Stone gave cats (and tigers) a mission to protect humanity from FK and the Is-Not, watching over the borders of dreaming. Seven is the number. 7 cats specifically occurs in the dreams you get after drinking Hesperidean Cider, in the 'dreams of the Garden'

The woman stands, her work done. Seven holes in the rich, springy soil. Seven neat mounds. All seven together The woman whistles, and cats slink out of the trees. They play, tumble and purr. Seven cats. The woman is overjoyed. She embraces you. She starts gathering the cats, near the holes.

—she who gave them the spear—

—our spear went slither-slice—

—not come to bring a sword, but a spear—

Spears come up in two places, both might be related: There's the spear the cats have, which was 'liberated from the Sleeping King'. it's used in Light Fingers to crack the Skin of the Sun and is a sacred relic to them.

There's also "a sky-spear" which Might Be A Thunderbolt. I'll get to the Storm connection later but I'm mentioning it now.

Kings and reality and unreality

—Parabola, and the hypocrisies of its creation—

Oh boy!!! LET'S GO! you know how crazy I am about Judgement lore.

Parabola being a 'hypocrisy' is expressed a lot. With Judgements dictating existence and deciding what Is, they're responsible for the line of what Is-Not, and likely the reason Fingerkings aren't allowed to exist.

—admitted unreality so they would not have to fix reality—

So. In ruling reality, the Judgements may have exiled things which didn't belong in their vision of what Is, and created the idea of What Isn't as a way to deal with that. Parabola may be then a dumping ground, or aftereffect of how Judgements prune reality to suit their ideal, hidden away by Being Illegal so others won't realize the reality they control is innately flawed.

—the place where they bury their mistakes—

The Neath has been referred to as something like this a lot. The 'their' may again be Judgements, and Parabola could be where mistakes are buried.

—no king has ever made a law without wishing for exceptions—

Judgements are Kings. They present as infallible gods, but they aren't. They're definitely hypocrites.

—none live by their own rules. It is not only the Mountain's parent who sins—

An accusation that (likely) Judgements do not follow the rules they enforce on others. With that in mind, 'the mountain's parent' is almost certainly the Sun, Sol, rather than the other parent of the Bazaar. The Bazaar is a sinner, but the Sun is the one who still acts as a proper Judgement while having had a secret affair and hiding his daughter in the basement.

—the forsaken products of furtive experiments—

Similar to 'burying their mistakes'. The Neath has been referred to as the Sun's experiment, it's a hiding place of illegal Shames, it's not a far reach to suggest this might be talking about the Neath. It also may be the case Parabola is like this for Judgements.

—what Law forbids, and what dark abides—

The stars have strict laws, but you can get away with a lot in the dark.

—they war as they play, toying, feinting—

Part of other clues around the Sixth Coil is the suggestion the war between FKs and Tigers is a false one or unnecessary one. They're in an ancient, endless war serving ancient forces and grudges... but why must it be this way?

—of dream, they made a cage—

Calling the 'they' here to be Judgements. Parabola is a cage for the Is-Not. Dreams are a prison for what can never be.

—and shapes are dreams before they are born—

But where do dreams come from? What does this mean?

—the burning dreams of wayward words—

—the words afire and the words excised—

—sulphurous and thought-executing fires—

The Correspondance is a language of fire, and the language of reality-defining Judgements. There's three references here to words being forbidden, exiled, violently stopped.

There's been plenty of assumptions and guessing going on throughout this, but here's my big swing:

Thoughts, dreams, words which cannot be by Judgement law are what make up Parabola. Fingerkings themselves may be some aspect of those exiled ideas, or born of them. I keep thinking about the name Fingerkings and the fact Judgements are also kings.

Could they be at all, y'know... the fingers... of Kings...?

Stars burn without end, creating eternal light and in most cases eternal day. Do stars sleep? I doubt it. Do stars dream? Not in sleep.

Do you think stars might want things which cannot be? As much as they shape and dictate reality, they obey the law of each other (to some degree, what with the hypocrisy). What happens then, to daydreams? To forbidden desires? Perhaps those things are burned before they can be born, exiled to unreality before they corrupt the Is.

—a cracked and broken Curve—

Reality, the Is, is called the Curve. It's called this extremely rarely, with my first immediate source being one of the endings of SMEN. It makes sense though: if reality is a Curve, than the reflection is another Curve, forming a Parabola. It's not been called cracked and broken before, but especially with SSkies there's an idea of the cosmos failing and dying. The stars are dying. They can't keep this idea of reality together like they used to, no matter how hard they pretend.

I have another thought on FKs and Judgements, but it involves

Storm!?

—eldest brother, eater-of-aeons—

Storm is an Aeginae, a cosmic dragon which consumes time. He's dead. There's another aeginae in the Neath, but I doubt we're talking about Nook here. Dragons are 'mercenaries' of the stars, and specifically are said to have an 'ancient pact' with them, which is different to how most being who serve Judgements are referred to.

Eldest brother is not something I believe has ever been connected to Storm before though.

—the thunder speaks not to us, my love—

—the mouths of thunderheads—

—the invisible worm, that flies in the night in the howling storm—

The fact there's so many of these connected to Storm really interests me. Especially since I'm about to add a few more. Storm being dead makes him 'invisible', one could say, and language-wise there is very little separating Worm from Wyrm. In fact, you can extend that out a bit: Dragon=Wyrm=Worm=Serpent=Snake.

Aeginae have a shared mother, the Burrower Below, who is said to gnaw at the roots of the world, something which invokes Níðhöggr, a dragon/serpent from Norse mythology. Storm is connected to Norse motifs in other ways, like the urchin Valkyrie.

The use of 'eldest brother' above also means we can tie some of the whispers that refer to siblings and family potentially to Storm:

—pale and wriggling imitations of he who hatched first—

—a thousand thousand siblings—

—do you see me, siblings? Do you hear—

The latter is the Coil calling out to FKs, but the link between 'siblings' 'eldest brother' and 'he who hatched first' seems like... something. Especially when you consider what dragons do, which is eat time.

—a thing that eats is a useful thing, if its hungers can be directed—

In Firmament, at one point there's a bit of an illegal timeline hanging around, and it is consumed by Storm. Beyond eating time as a concept, dragon's role may be to eat forbidden timelines. What pact do the Aeginae have with the Stars? Perhaps it's a mutual one: the dragons eat and exile all timelines the stars do not approve of, leaving one Is, and dragons in turn get lots of tasty treats.

Perhaps then Fingerkings are related to this. Born of eaten timeline which can never be, meaning they can never be. Related to dragons, but never allowed to be them. Maybe up close an Aeginae is just a billion tightly wound serpents. They do have enough eyes for it.

Other Lore Bits

—clocks, maps, glass, breath, hearts—

Treacheries!! These are ways the Neath isn't quite Right, the way existence can be a bit unreliable. Basically. The treachery of maps is why distance and location are unreliable or inconsistent. The one of clocks is why you can do an action which the story says takes 3 weeks but still have it be Auguest 22nd at the end of it. There's said to be seven of them, and 'hearts' is new to the list.

—all shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well—

This is a common phrase that appears all across FL in a variety of ways. The Bazaar is often linked to it but so is everyone else. It's from Julian of Norwich

—Salt spoke to us before he left, but we do not remember—

Omg hiiii Salt!! The notion Salt spoke to the Seventh Coil is a mysterious one. How, when, and why did he stop by? Who's to say. After, he exited east out of the universe

—when the Nadir touched the Zenith—

The Nadir is the place of forgetting, full of irrigo, and part of what hides the Neath from Judgements so well. The Zenith is on the roof. I'd bet it's a place of remembering, but we haven't seen it yet. It's full of scribes. When they touched would be before the Neath was carved out of the earth.

—the cleaving-places where gravity is shorn—

Gravity is surprisingly consistent in the Neath, for being a rather lawless place. There's some idea of messing with and changing it using red science. The use of 'cleaving-places' calls to mind the roof to me, and the idea of the Nadir/Zenith once touching.

—needles to bind, bones to fold, glue to keep—

Very evocative of the Librarians in the Stacks, part of Firmament. There's much to the idea of people, timelines, realities as books, so there may be something to 'bind' and 'keep' here: laying down exactly what Is and Isn't by the process of archiving and defining it. Perhaps

—amalgamy that begat the Hound of Heaven—

Not totally sure still what happens when you 'Breed' monsters in the Labirynth, but this is how the Hound of Heaven is made: a snake that sniffs out devils. the amalgamy here is the act of creating a weird hybrid offspring, and similar to the creation of the 7th coil in that way.

—no mouth—

oh hey no-king :) This is a phrase related to the Discordance.

—from the First, a bronze mirror—

—from the Second, a dream of sunlight—

—from the Third, the taste of blood—

—from the Fourth, iron bars—

—from the Fifth, a craving of feathers—

The bronze mirror means 'the first mirrors' aka the entrance to Parabola. We didn't have perfect glass mirrors for a long time historically.

The dream of sunlight is the creation of the Parabolan Sun.

The third city is notable for being when the god-eaters and Mr Eaten occurred, though that's less Parabola related.

The fourth city was marked with a lot of conflict with Parabola. I'm assuming this is connected to that somehow.

I don't know what the craving of feathers means. I immediately think of flight, the desire to ascend, icarus, but how that links specifically to London and Parabola I'm not sure.

—pay with a little of the Will-Be rendered into the Might-Have-Been—

This is from if you take a certain Terrible Deal in Irem. Irem is 'will be',. 'What might have been' could be Parabola, could be the Stacks, could be something else.

—a lie, of course. But all lies can be made true, in time—

The division between true and false comes up often. What is true? Who decides it? A king can lie and that lie can become reality.

Literary references

Shoutout to house-of-mirrors for pointing out most of these. I. don't know my Old Proper English Literary references very well </3

—in that sleep of death, what dreams may come—

Hamlet. The dreams of the dead can be visited with Cardinal's Honey, or black honey, though those dreams seem to be unique to the honey rather than 'the dreams of people who are dead'.

—to break one's staff; bury one's book—

The Tempest. Very evocative of giving up power and leaving it behind, as it is in the original context.

—blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage—

King Leer. Also about storms and raging, like a certain dragon we know!

—vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts—

King Leer again, from the same scene. Few notable words to FL here: thunderbolts for Storm, but also courier relating to the Bazaar. (I doubt in this case courier means the bazaar though, just pointing out)

—shall I compare thee to a moonlit night—

Sonnet 18, originally is 'summer's day'. Moonlight represents possibility and dreams.

—but a walking shadow—

Macbeth.

—you have but slumbered here—

Midsummer night's dream. Link obvious.

—did he who made the Lamb make thee—

The Tyger, by Willaim Blake. Poem was referenced with the reoccurring dreams had during the Estival. Lamb like this usually means Jesus, it in full context of the poem is a line like 'did god who made the goodness of the lamb also make the ferociousness of the tiger? why?'. The poem also has a line of 'When the stars threw down their spears' which might be relevant to the several mentions of spears already covered.

EDIT:

"—of banded fur and speckled bands—"

Sherlock Holmes short story!

—the invisible worm, that flies in the night in the howling storm—

The Sick Rose by William Blake!

Other dregs

—what you think is a labyrinth may be a maze—

A labyrinth is traditionally actually a singular winding path, where a maze has branching paths and dead ends. Is the labyrinth of tigers a maze after all, with wrong ways? Or perhaps reality is not a singular winding path but one with many branches, constantly being sheared off...

(lost it when this hint came out because the labyrinth/maze idea of reality and judgements is something I'd just written into the latest chapter of my suncrab fanfic lol)

—see your heat, little mouse—

The 7th Coil is talking to us directly here as we search the coil.

—the heart is the heart is the heart—

Also the name of the play the bohemians put on during the Estival! Hearts are important. There's a lot of em out there.

—yes yes yes yes yes—

Similar to the want want want want want want text you get for Temptation's presence within the coil.

—animal that you are, little more than squirming fluid—

Probably just the Coil watching us.

—writhing in the shadow they cast—

Hard to extrapolate much specific meaning here beyond the fact the FKs exist in the shadow of reality (and the Neath does too). The use of 'they' in this has often been suggestive of Judgements, so yeah: light is needed to cast a shadow, a shadow is a place without light, certain things writhe and live there

—those things which preceded them—

I try not to be stuck with my head in the stars but also another case where I think you could read the 'them' here to be Judgements. But it's been put here in the dregs because it's another very vague one that could mean anything.

With the idea of Judgements as unjust-kings who claim to be truly divine but are as fallible as their subjects, you have the idea of what there was before Judgements. Was there a before? If the Judgements truly aren't all-gods who have always dictated reality, then there must have been. Probably.

—and I shall not climb upon the scaffold they have made for me—

A very evocative phrase I can't confidently sort!

I think it could be related to the rejection of power and the way of kings: both the Tiger Prince and the Fingerking who became the 7th coil rejected their elevated places to commit the sin of love and chose each other. 'I will not stand up there above all, though they say it is My Place'

---

Anyway! These have been my many thoughts. I'm sure I'm missing stuff or a bit off or anything else... Please, feel free to talk about it with me! I want to know people's thoughts. I've held a torch for the Storm/Dragons/Snakes link for a while so seeing a bunch of hints that back me up was really exciting, but I also know I can be a bit blinded by how open to interpretation a lot of FL lore is. I see that crab everywhere....

#fallen london #fallen london spoilers #coilheart games #okay :) done

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flowerandblood · 7 months ago

Text

The Fall from the Heavens (25)

[ canon • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: angst, tension, anxiety, a lot of half-truths ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Moodboard Aemond & Lady Strong Childhood

Author note: For the purposes of this story, Lord Rodrik Arryn had a son and an heir, who in turn has a son of his own, to whom our Lady Strong was betrothed. I invented the lullaby in this chapter, so if you think it's weird, thank me, lol.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After what he heard, he just vomited, unable to stop the convulsions that were squeezing his stomach, the rapid pounding of his heart or his terrified, ragged breathing. He could feel tears of despair and fear running down his cheeks as he coughed once more, panting heavily over the vessel − he felt like his whole body was twitching.

You will betray her at the moment she trusts you the most.

You will achieve victory, but she will never let you touch herself again.

You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death.

He felt his stomach twist again in pain at the mere memory – he leaned over the bowl, feeling the gag reflex shake his body once more, but nothing left his throat.

He cried out loudly as if he were a small child, covering his face with his hand, leaning over the table, thinking about how much he needed his wife right now.

How much he wanted to snuggle between her soft, sweet breasts, to feel her smooth, warm hands stroking his hair, her heart beating beneath his cheek.

He drew in a loud breath, reminding himself that he had left her alone and that any moment spent in this disgusting place could have been her last; he reached for the cup of wine, rinsed his mouth a few times and spat the contents into the bowl, washing his face with fresh water, trying to calm himself.

This was part of their game, he thought, feeling his terror slowly begin to be replaced by fury.

He was sure Larys Strong had made her say it because he wanted him to believe that what was to come was destiny, not his and his grandfather's plan.

They wanted to manipulate him, to force him to leave her, to strip her of his protection, to destroy her.

No, he thought.

He was no longer a small child.

He left the fortress feeling that he had again unwittingly become the cold, empty stone he had been for eight years when she had not been with him, recognising that he had to keep a cool head.

He could not allow himself to be weak now.

He knew that if he just looked at her, if he just saw her face again and remembered what that woman had said to him he would simply burst into sobs, so to her disappointment he pretended not to see her.

The journey to the Eyrie, although spent in full sun and short, was unbearable for him and dragged on endlessly; he felt that waves of thoughts, suppositions and versions of events flowed through his mind one after another, causing complete chaos in his head.

What if Rhaenyra did not agree despite his lie?

What if she agrees, but demands the head of his grandfather and mother?

Whoever he was, his grandfather was his kin, his blood; all his life he had fought for them and their rights even if he himself often despised him.

How should he behave in such a situation so as not to let her down?

To fight? Declare war on them? Let her decide for herself once again which side she would stand on this time?

He pressed his forehead to the front of his saddle, clenching his hands on the ropes he held in his fist, feeling that he was descending into madness.

As they landed in the valley below the fortress he slid off his saddle, thinking that he had to share his plan with her, lest she accidentally say something herself that might destroy their credibility.

"− uncle −" She began, walking towards him, her face all pink and sweaty from exertion, unruly strands of her hair clinging to her skin.

His heart pounded harder.

You will come back here to face your nephew and you will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your pain and longing.

You will put your child inside me, your bastard son, who will rule Harrenhal after our death.

He swallowed loudly, feeling that his vision was blank, his hands clenched into fists.

"− we'll tell them you're expecting my child −" He said coolly, sidestepping her, heading ahead, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible − he heard her draw in a loud breath as she moved immediately after him, terrified, trying to keep up with him.

"− what? − Aemond, we can't lie, not now −" She muttered, clearly terrified by this vision − he pressed his lips together into a thin line, furious that she was making this all even more difficult.

"− they must agree to our terms − I will not discuss my decisions with you −" He growled impatiently and stopped when her silhouette appeared in front of him – her palms slapped against his chest, a fury in her eyes that startled him.

"− you will − you don't know them as well as you do − Daemon can sense the lie, he will see it in your eyes − do you think that once they understand that you are manipulating them they will agree to whatever conditions you set for them? −" She asked with an irritation in her voice that he didn't like; he felt a cold sweat on his neck at the unbearable thought that she was partly right.

Fuck.

He stared at her for a moment, breathing heavily, feeling like he was about to faint, another disturbing thought flashed through his mind.

What had that whore said to her?

"− that fucking witch − what did she say to you? −" He asked uneasily, wanting to be sure she wasn't trying to manipulate his wife the way she was trying to manipulate him.

His Rhaenys blinked rapidly and swallowed hard, as if his question made her uncomfortable − he felt an unpleasant twinge in his stomach at the sight.

"− that we should not return to Harrenhal − that I should watch out for myself and trust no one −" She muttered, and he felt his heart stop.

That we should not return to Harrenhal.

That I should watch out for myself and trust no one.

She warned her.

Why?

He felt that he understood absolutely none of this; the woman's behaviour seemed to make no sense to him, but that wasn't the worst of it.

The worst part was the thought that perhaps she really believed what she said.

That perhaps she really did see his betrayal and what he would do next in her dream or in the fire.

He stood watching her like a small, frightened child who was afraid to tell a parent that he had stolen and destroyed their favourite book unwillingly, who was afraid to admit his guilt for fear of punishment and what it entailed.

She must have seen what was happening to him in his gaze because she walked over to him and touched his upper arms, her scent, the smell of vanilla reached his nose.

"− husband, what happened? − if you have doubts, let's discuss everything − but please don't close yourself in the fortress of your mind −" She muttered pleadingly, her voice warm and calm, soothing, as if she understood that he was afraid.

That thought, the realisation that she knew him well enough that he couldn't hide from her what was happening inside him made him feel even worse.

He thought she would loathe him forever.

He swallowed hard as she cupped his cheeks between her hands and closed his eyes, feeling himself tremble all over, focusing only on her closeness.

"− uncle − look at me − I am your ally − I always have been −" She whispered tenderly making another wave of heat and fear surge through his body at the same time, causing something inside him to crack.

"You're your parents' child too. Just like me. What will you do when one of them demands the other's head?" He asked coldly, feeling his heart pounding like mad − he felt like he could hear in his ears the fast pumping of blood through his veins.

His wife furrowed her brows, shaking her head as if she did not understand what he had just said to her.

"− I will never agree to this − despite what your grandfather and your mother did to me, I will not agree for them to be harmed if you assure me to do the same − you know that I am not driven by revenge − and you? − you are the one who constantly doubts me, however, ever since I appeared in King's Landing you have been the one to let me down − yet I remain faithful to you − I chose you, uncle, when will you understand it? − when will you understand that there is no other way for me but by your side even if I come to burn? −"

She said in a trembling, angry, breaking voice from which a shiver ran down his back; he looked at her in disbelief feeling his body filled with guilt and shame.

You are the one who constantly doubts me, however, ever since I appeared in King's Landing you have been the one to let me down.

She was right.

She welcomed him with open arms despite the fact that he hadn't answered her letters for eight years; she didn't show him any kind of resentment, she didn't demand an apology from him, she lavished him with understanding and tenderness when he needed it, wanting to make things right.

It was he who betrayed her when Aegon became King.

It was his mother who forced her to drink the moon tea.

He was the one who made her try to take her own life.

He was the one who kept her locked up like a prisoner.

And yet, it was he who perpetually accused her in his head of the possibility of betrayal, as if he was just waiting for it.

For an excuse to decide that this was never going to succeed.

Despite this, she was now standing in front of him, being on his side, willing to fight alongside him for a future for them.

He felt a squeeze in his throat at this realisation, at the thought that there was never any other way for him than the one that would always lead him to her, to his beloved, to his friend.

To his Rhaenys.

He lifted his hand, in some subconscious gesture of tenderness and closeness placing an unruly strand of her dark hair behind her ear, looking at her pretty face, at her bright, shining eyes, at her long lashes, at her swollen, moist lips − everything that belonged to him, that he could take every night.

He felt his manhood twitch in his breeches at the thought.

"Can I kiss you?" He heard her whisper and looked at her, seeing that she was staring at him exactly as she had then, that day when she had come to his chamber as a child, holding a small book clutched to her chest in her hands.

He leaned towards her without a word and closed his eyes, sighing in relief when her plump, soft lips pressed against his in a sweet, sticky kiss; she pulled away from him, stroking his cheeks and hair with her hands, but it wasn't enough for him.

"One more time."

He moaned into her mouth and locked her in the tight, strong embrace of his arms as her lips pressed against his again, this time as if she wanted to devour him, her wet, swollen lips sucking and licking him making him completely hard; he felt the lust, the hot feeling he shared with her shake his body as his eyes involuntarily filled with tears at the thought of what he had heard.

You will take me, because you will decide that I am similar to her enough to satisfy your pain and longing.

You will put your child inside me.

But he wanted her.

He wanted his childhood friend.

His lover, his companion, his joy.

She filled his heart with herself so much that there was no room in it for any Visenya.

"I love you." He muttered helplessly, feeling the words leave his throat without the participation of his free will. "I've always loved you."

He felt her gasp loudly at his words as her body trembled in his arms; his heart squeezed tight with pain as she wept quietly.

"− I feel that some weight has crushed you, my beloved − it covers you like a heavy black cloak − but I am by your side − I am with you − trust me − I know how to speak with them, I know them −" She mumbled out looking at him with a hot gaze full of affection from which he felt that nothing mattered anymore, that he couldn't fight himself or what only she could do.

He was completely helpless against her.

"− will you be by my side even when all is lost? − even if there is nothing left but darkness? −" He asked in a breaking voice, and she smiled, so sweetly, tenderly, joyfully that his hands clenched tighter on her body.

"− yes − don't go the path I could not follow − let me stay by your side − if I am to leave this world, I want to die in your arms −" She whispered softly, and he felt that it was over for him, that whatever he had been thinking about a moment ago, it didn't matter.

"− so be it − fall with me −" He breathed out, before his lips pressed greedily into hers, his fingers digging into the material of her leather coat enclosing her in his tight embrace, their tongues colliding with each other, licking with their soft sighs of pleasure.

He thought, panting hard into her throat, caressing her with a loud click of their saliva, that he could take her now, on the grass, in front of everyone, and fuck her so hard that the whole Eyrie would hear.

This, however, did not happen.

The sight of her would-be betrothed was the last thing he wanted to see − Ronnel Arryn seemed to him to be a boastful and self-obsessed man, focused only on the tonnage of his muscles and how he presented himself.

His grin full of mockery which he threw back at him, looking at the left side of his face made him involuntarily think how pleasant it would be to just slit his throat.

He remembered why they were actually there when they walked into the circular chamber where his uncle and half-sister were waiting for them − he pressed his lips into a thin line seeing that his sister-whore dared to wear his father's crown on her head.

He said nothing.

As his wife threw herself into her mother's arms, he glanced at Daemon; his uncle stood back leaning lazily against the wall, his chin lifted slightly in some sort of challenge, a lazy, mocking smirk on his face.

"Let's sit down." He heard his sister's voice at last, but he had no intention of obeying her orders; so he stood, looking at his uncle, who also had not moved from his place, stroking the handle of his Dark Sister thoughtfully.

"My husband has conveyed to me that my brother-usurper wants to pact over the succession of the throne he himself has unlawfully taken. I must admit that this is a quite ridiculous situation." Rheanrya began, and he rolled his eyes, feeling frustrated and impatient. His wife threw him a quick, frightened glance − he, however, just looked at her, letting her speak.

He decided that he would trust her.

His niece grunted loudly and looked at her mother, adjusting herself in her seat, tense.

"My uncle, Prince Aegon, had no choice. His mother is deeply convinced that her husband, my grandfather, and our King, revealed his final will to her before he died. She mentioned to my uncle about the Prince who was promised, about Aegon's dream. I think she misunderstood him, mother, I…" She paused as Rheanyra looked quickly in Daemon's direction − he and his wife exchanged quick, shocked glances between themselves.

He furrowed his brow, feeling discomfort in his pit, wondering what they knew that might have escaped his attention.

Her mother looked at her again, some strange glint in her gaze.

"Mother?"

"Aegon the Conqueror's Dream. A Song of Ice and Fire. This is the prophecy my father spoke to me about. Whatever Alicent heard, it did not apply to her firstborn son." She said in a trembling voice, as if it was obvious to her.

He felt rage at the thought that their father had shared with his daughter some prophecy, a future that was to befall their lineage, but did not consider them, his sons, worthy of the privilege.

Humiliation, shame and anger surged through his body making his words involuntarily leave his lips.

"You mean to say that our father only conveyed the contents of this prophecy to you, but you don't believe my mother that he could have passed on to her that he changed his mind regarding the succession?" He growled, his sister and uncle throwing him quick, warning glances.

"Calm down, nephew. You are speaking to the Queen." Daemon reminded him, and he looked at him with rage.

"She is not my Queen." He hissed, his hand sliding down to the hilt of his sword when he saw Daemon's fingers tighten around his Dark Sister.

"That's enough. We have met here because Aegon realises, as you do Mother, that his and your children's rights to the throne will be challenged, and the war will not end with your death." His wife interjected, startling him as did the rest of those gathered, his heart began to pound like mad.

What?

"Are you undermining Jace, my firstborn son's right to the throne?" Her mother asked in a trembling tone, clearly not believing what she was suggesting.

Her daughter drew in a loud breath and swallowed hard before answering her.

"He's a bastard, mother. Like me, Luke and Joffrey, he cannot inherit the throne. Will you cut off my tongue for those words? Will you deprive me of my head, father?"

He looked at her with his lips slightly parted, feeling that his mind was not yet able to comprehend fully what she had actually done.

She continued, however, as if the words were pouring out of her like a river.

"We just lie and lie and lie until in the end we ourselves don't know where the truth lies, but it is there somewhere, always, and sooner or later none of us will be able to deny it even if we beheaded all the men in the Seven Kingdoms."

He felt a surge of satisfaction and warm affection shake his body at her words, at her proof that she understood him, understood his pain, understood why her brothers could not be heirs to the throne.

How could he ever doubt her?

Her mother and stepfather seemed as shocked as he was, unable to get a word out.

"How dare you say such a thing? Your father, Laenor Velaryon, has recognised you and your brothers as his heirs. He gave you his name, he recognised you as his child in the eyes of the kingdom." Her mother muttered, clearly heartbroken that her own daughter was challenging her words.

"But the whole Kingdom knows, mother. Even if Jace were to sit on the throne after your death, his lineage will not be forgotten. Are you prepared to die knowing that neither he nor his children will ever be safe? That, like my uncle's coronation, his coronation would also be challenged by lords across the Kingdom?" She asked in pain, as if she herself could no longer bear what was happening, how far they had gone in pretending what was the truth and what was a lie.

He thought that he himself would not have put into words better what he thought and acknowledged with pride that his wife was a great speaker.

That even he would have hesitated and reconsidered what she had said if he had heard the arguments spoken in this way.

"I know what humiliation you experienced, mother, and how much suffering you endured. Believe me that I did too. I, too, do not believe my grandfather would change his mind on his deathbed. I did not and do not recognise Aegon as King, nor have I ever called him that or given him the honour he deserves.

However, if we do not find an agreement, war will break out not only in the Realm, but in our family. This is what King Viserys wanted to prevent at the last supper before his death. Mother, after all, you are siblings. Your brother, though a traitor, extends his hand, he is ready to relinquish the crown he stole from you."

An awkward silence fell; Rhaenyra looked over her shoulder at her husband, apparently seeking his advice. His uncle stared at her with clenched lips, clearly believing that she should fight for her rights no matter what − even at the cost of war.

His half-sister looked at her daughter again and swallowed hard.

"I can consider the terms my husband has conveyed to me, but I also have my conditions. I will agree that it is your children who will inherit the Iron Throne, and you will be named as ruler-regents only if there are two kings, and you will be one of them.

You and your husband will share the power of the Kingdom equally and neither of you will sit on the throne or wear the crown. Aegon the Conqueror's crown and my father's crown will be kept in the treasury.

In addition, my husband and I will sit on the Small Council, and deprived of their seats will be your grandfather and Alicent. In addition, Otto Hightower will be stripped of all other functions and privileges and will reside under our oversight in King's Landing.

Jace will inherit Dragonstone as my first-born son. If no male heir is born to you, the official heirs will be the children from my and my uncle's marriage, pureblood Targaryens."

He stared at her wide-eyed, feeling the cold sweat on his back, his heart pounding like mad as his mind tried to quickly analyse what he had heard.

I will agree that it is your children who will inherit the Iron Throne, and you will only become ruler-regent if there are two kings, and you will be one of them.

You and your husband will share power in the kingdom equally and neither of you will sit on the throne or wear the crown. Aegon the Conqueror's crown and my father's crown will be kept in the treasury.

She wanted the kingdom to be ruled by two kings.

She wanted him and her daughter to have the same title, the same privileges.

He saw his niece look at him, her eyes big with terror, filled with fear of how he would react.

No, he thought.

She was no longer her daughter.

She was no longer a bastard.

She was his wife.

When he had covered her shoulders with the cloak with his family crest she had officially taken his name, and who her father was no longer mattered.

Although he knew that the name her mother had given her was different, to him she was Rhaenys.

Rhaenys Targaryen.

His childhood friend, a woman he trusted, respected, loved, whose opinion and letters he had held deep in his heart for years, whom he would have consulted if he had become king-regent anyway.

The thought that she would stand by his side, that she would help him carry this burden, that she would be like a second, necessary pillar to support the whole crumbling structure that was their family, filled him, to his surprise, not with frustration but relief.

He nodded his head.

His wife sighed quietly, looking at him with hope, turning her gaze to her mother. Rhaenyra's eyes welled with tears of grief and sorrow as she nodded, sealing her decision.

She had agreed.

Gods, she agreed.

"Pass on my words to my brother. Let him know that this is not just about my pride, but about the welfare of the Kingdom and our family. That I respect my father's will and hope that he will do the same." She said dispassionately and he nodded, feeling his whole body quiver with emotion, his hands clasped behind his back clenched into fists.

"You are surely exhausted. My cousin has prepared chambers for you where you can rest to set off on your return journey as we will tomorrow morning. Let us have supper together. I have been separated from my one daughter for too long." She said matter-of-factly and he swallowed hard feeling that he had completely frozen.

No.

None of them could stay here.

He couldn't propose that they fly to King's Landing knowing that they would surely disagree, so in desperation he proposed something that shocked everyone, including himself.

"No." He said coolly. "We'll spend the night in Dragonstone."

His niece beamed all over, her cheek blushing with happiness, as if she didn't believe his words.

"Do you mean it?" She asked sweetly like a little child to whom he had just given a wonderful surprise.

He felt a squeeze in his throat at the thought.

"Yes." He replied calmly, glancing at his uncle, who was squinting, watching him intently. "As an expression of my goodwill."

Daemon tapped the tip of his tongue against the wall of his cheek and hummed under his breath, a tense silence fell between them.

His wife was right.

He had the feeling that his gaze was piercing him to the core.

He muttered under his breath and looked at his wife − Rhaenyra, like his niece, seemed shocked by his proposal, but also pleased at the prospect of her daughter returning to her family home, if only for a while.

"Well…I see no objection. Daemon?" She asked her husband, who looked at his daughter. Apparently, something in her pleading gaze made him decide to remain silent for the time being, as he merely nodded his head in wordless agreement.

He closed his eyes and sighed quietly in relief, feeling a huge stone fall from his heart.

He stepped back, allowing Rhaenyra to leave, just behind her the room left Daemon throwing him one vigilant, mocking look telling him that he knew there was something more behind his words.

His wife, however, overwhelmed by excitement and joy, seemed not to notice it − she ran to him and snuggled into him, clasping her hands on his back, his arms immediately enclosing her in a tight, secure embrace.

He hadn't betrayed her.

He would never betray her.

So why did he feel so guilty?

"There are no words in which I can describe my gratitude to you. "She whispered, burying her face in his chest; he sighed heavily, pressing his lips to the top of her head, stroking her soft hair and neck with his fingers.

"I'm proud of you." He said calmly wanting her to know that he admired what she had done, the calmness in which she had presented his side's reasons while showing understanding and respect for her mother's rights and heritage.

He thanked the gods that he knew when to shut his mouth.

She looked at him and smiled shyly, as if his words surprised and embarrassed her. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, pressing her soft lips to his, and he murmured low, feeling a tightness in his throat.

He should tell her, he thought with pain, but he didn't know how.

He didn't want to spoil this beautiful moment.

So he kept silent, but the guilt, the fact that he was hiding something from her, pressed down on his shoulders like a huge burden, through which he could experience neither relief nor satisfaction that Rhaenyra had agreed to their terms.

He never expected to fly through the skies beside Larax, Caraxes and Syrax, to ever see Dragonstone, to propose a journey there of his own accord.

He felt shame filling him.

As he and his wife stepped inside their fortress, where their children were already waiting for them, an awkward silence ensued. Jace and Luke stood behind a large stone table that resembled the shape of all of Westeros, looking at him in disbelief and horror. He shuddered when he saw that Rhaena was the first to rush ahead, sidestepping him and her father, enclosing his wife in a sincere, tender embrace.

"I'm so happy you're alive." She muttered in a breaking voice – his niece stroked her back with a smile.

"Me too." He heard her whisper.

After a moment, Baela joined them, throwing him a cold, warning glance along the way, from which he only rolled his eyes. He looked again at Luke, who swallowed hard and lowered his gaze, clearly unable to bear his presence.

He felt disgusted at the sight of them, two boys with cheeks flushed from shame, who knew full well that they did not and should not have any claim to the throne.

He grinned involuntarily at the thought, seeing how pale Jace was, that he understood for certain that their presence meant he would officially cease to be his mother's heir.

Satisfaction as sweet as poison coursed through his veins at the thought.

Jace drew in a breath at the sight of his grimace, his hands clenched into fists as if he felt like lashing out at him − he flinched when Daemon stepped in front of him, standing between them and shook his head.

Jace swallowed hard, furious, lowering his gaze to the stone floor beneath his feet.

None of them came up to greet his niece; only little Joffrey ran up to her and burst into tears screaming that she had left them alone.

They resented her for the side she had chosen in their minds.

She was the only reason they were both still alive, he thought with a sneer.

His half-sister, seeing the look on his face and sensing the tension that reigned around them, decided to take pity on them and suggested that they make themselves comfortable in the chamber that had previously belonged to his wife.

He accepted her words with relief.

As they stepped inside he felt a squeeze in his throat − her quarters were modest, filled with her scent, the windows of her room facing the open sea, the sound of which he could clearly hear. He walked deeper in, looking around her chests of drawers and wardrobes, her wooden bookcases filled to the brim with books, before his gaze finally settled on an ornate oak desk.

He swallowed hard imagining her seated figure bent over parchment.

"− is this here? −" He asked casually, running his fingers over the table top, noticing with a pained heart that it was dusty.

A sign of how long she had not been here.

His niece looked at him surprised and blushed, as if the mere mention embarrassed her.

"− yes −"

He sat down in the chair she sat in every time she wished to convey her thoughts to him, to put them on paper, which then flew all the way to King's Landing to reach his hands. He glanced towards the windows, wondering how many times she had deliberated on choosing the right words while observing exactly the same view.

He thought he was touched.

"− we should rest, husband − if that's what you wish, we'll have supper alone −" She said softly, her voice trembling with excitement and joy.

She couldn't believe she was home again.

He nodded, not knowing what more he could answer.

He had felt the tension all evening; his wife had shown him various books she had read over the years, which she had told him about in her letters. He tried to listen to her and nod, stroking her arm with the tips of his fingers as she sat beside him, flicking through page after page of one of the volumes, looking for the quote she had mentioned to him. Her question pulled him out of his musings.

"− uncle − will you tell me what troubles you? −"

He looked at her horrified and swallowed with difficulty − he only grunted, not knowing what he should answer like a child caught in the act.

"I'm tired." He replied acknowledging that this was partly true. She nodded in understanding, he closed his eyelids as her hand gently stroked his cheek.

"Let's go to bed."

He wasn't going to fight her.

He wanted to leave this place as soon as possible and get away from Daemon's disturbing gaze.

His wife pressed her lips together, seeing that he had put a dagger under his pillow before he lay down − however, she said nothing, knowing he might trust her, but certainly not her family.

He lay down beside her, sighing heavily, and closed his eyes, figuring that perhaps when he woke up the next day and realised that tragedy had been avoided due to his decision, his conscience would have a little more mercy for him.

He murmured contentedly as he felt her arms embrace him, cuddling his face between her breasts, the warmth of her body, her scent filling his entire lungs. He tightened his hands on her back, trying to focus only on the touch of her hands, on her fingers combing gently through his hair, on the lullaby she hummed softly under her breath, and from which his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

When the moon rises

over the dark sky

When you hear from afar

my bitter cry

Know that I long

When the sun rises

over the bright sky

When you hear from afar

my joyful cry

Know that I'm home

And then sleep fell over him.

His lips clung to her soft, long neck, sweaty from exertion, heavy, drawn-out sighs full of pleasure left his lips as his hips with sure, deep, quick thrusts pounded again and again into her hot, fleshy interior.

"− forgive me − I've missed you − oh, my sweetest −" He breathed out, quickening his pace, sinking his nose into her dark curls, her moans muffled by the pillow she was cuddling her face into. Her body, though different, was just as warm, her scent, though different, was similar to hers.

It didn't matter to him, because she was there for him, because she had forgiven him.

"− I love you − oh fuck, Rhaenys −" He muttered, clenching his eyes, coming inside her at last, experiencing such immense relief that he cursed for another moment, rocking his hips inside her. He swallowed hard, worried that she wasn't saying anything, his fingers took strands of her hair from her face wanting to see her eyes and then he saw it.

Green irises, luscious as grass.

"− is it true? − is she carrying your child? −" He heard her voice as if from afar and suddenly he was standing in front of her in his chamber in King's Landing, feeling his heart pounding like mad, a cold sweat running down his back.

He felt a strong gag reflex and held it back with the remnants of his strong will.

He couldn't get anything out of himself.

What had he done?

"− answer me − is she carrying your child? −" His wife, his Rhaenys muttered in a voice breaking with pain and despair, her cheeks red from tears, her eyebrows arched in rage, in her gaze something he feared most.

Disgust.

"− I − I don't know −" He mumbled, trying to remember what had actually happened, how he could have done it when, after all, he had promised himself it would never, never happen.

He thought about how he hadn't touched her in so long, how he had missed her so much.

When she discovered that he had hidden the truth from her, what his grandfather had planned, that he knew what could have happened to them in the Eyrie but hadn't told her, she hadn't slept in his chamber, hadn't eaten supper with him, hadn't spoken to him or looked at him even though he had tried so hard to please her.

"− don't you know? − don't you know if you put your bastard inside her? −" She mumbled and burst out into a loud, miserable sob, hiding her face in her hands − he looked at her, panting hard, shaking all over, not knowing what he was supposed to say, what he was supposed to do.

"− HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!? −" She almost screamed, falling to her knees as if without strength, whining loudly like some kind of animal, her whole being trembling and twitching in convulsions − he approached her quickly, kneeling beside her, trying to touch her, but she pushed him away.

"− my beloved − please − I was possessed by madness, I swear − I − I thought it was you −" He muttered, not knowing how he could explain such a betrayal, such humiliation she suffered because of him.

"− you thought it was me? − you fucked another woman and thought it was me? − gods, Aemond, don't touch me! − don't touch me −" She howled, her voice at once enraged, full of pain, suffering and grief, her eyes red with tears, her whole body quivering.

He was the reason for this.

He had done this to her.

"− my Prince − my Prince, quickly, your wife! −" He heard someone shout – he shuddered as he sat by the fireplace, gazing in horror at the figure of the guard who had rushed into his chamber.

As he stepped out into the corridor he heard someone's loud sobs and screams tearing at his heart; as he ran inside he froze noticing the figure of Rheaenyra kneeling on the floor, covering her mouth with her hand − his wife, and her daughter, was hanging from a rope tied to the frame of her bed, which was tightened around her neck, her dark hair covering her bowed head, her feet not touching the floor.

He ran to her trying to lift her, trying to pull her down, but he knew, felt, that it was too late, her body cold, numb, empty.

His face sank into her flesh covered only by the material of her nightgown muffling his loud, desperate scream.

"Uncle! Uncle, please, wake up!"

He opened his eyes and pulled himself up to sit down, panting heavily, feeling his heart pounding like mad – he could see nothing through the tears that one by one ran down his face, his body twitching all over in convulsions as if it had gone into a state of absolute panic.

"− easy, my love − breathe −" He heard someone's voice beside him, her voice – he looked at her as if he didn't recognise her, her eyes wide in terror, her hand stroking his shoulder reassuringly.

"− Rhaenys − Rhaenys −" He mumbled out like a small child calling out to its mother, bursting into sobs of relief and terror that shook his body − he snuggled into her breast, clasping his fingers on her back so tightly that she hissed in pain – however, she did not push him away and her arms enclosed him in a tight, secure embrace.

"− I'm here, my love − I'm here −" She whispered, again and again placing warm, moist kisses on the top of his head, combing her fingers through his hair.

For a moment he merely wept and quivered, unable to catch his breath, trying to calm himself, listening to her whisper, breathing in her scent, enjoying her closeness, the touch of her hand.

It seemed to him that it was hours before he began to breathe normally, before he realised that all he had seen was just a nightmare, that he was lying with his wife in her bed in Dragonstone.

That all was not yet lost.

He swallowed hard and clenched his eyes shut.

"− there's something − there's something I want to tell you −"

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gremlingottoosilly · 1 year ago

Text

The Horror and The Wild [Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader] Medieval Fantasy AU (ch.4)

You had a nice, simple life. Serve the princess, obey the princess, protect the princess with your life. You never thought that this nice, simple life would bring you to be kidnapped by the infamous Northern Emperor. Konig never thought that kidnapping a wife would be much easier than courting one.

CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2| Chapter 3| Chapter 4| you're here! AO3 Word count: 3469 Tags/Warnings: Medieval fantasy/Alternative European history AU, Age gap, Enemies(one-sided)to lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Forced marriage, Size difference(Konig is absolutely huge), Somewhat one-sided slow burn, Yandere Konig Warnings for this chapter: Dub-con oral sex(f!receiving), outdated views regarding sex

— Now, dear princess, your husband will expect certain…qualities of his wife. Please, you must listen to this as closely as possible if we want to avoid…traumas.

You pout, eating the apple that was provided to you by a group of servants who looked way too scared to be appointed to a princess. If Her Highness saw this, she would order them whipped – a servant shall never look unhappy in front of their patron, as not to invoke nasty feelings of sadness, misery, and empathy in the royal rulers. Princess made you smile and laugh through hours of her extensive, albeit a bit improvised and amateur, singing. You were to hold her hair while she was doing it, listening to the melodies of desire to escape the castle.

The servants in front of you were sent by the Emperor – König, to…teach you something. You were not too interested in his, way too invested in weird fruits from foreign countries that they provided – still, you are too well-mannered to ignore them.

— Traumas? Is his Emperor’s Illustrosicy going to torture me?

Servants look over at each other, nervous. You tilt your head to the side, trying to see if you can decipher their gazes – but you see nothing but sympathy. Sad, miserable kind. Your blood runs cold as you get another bite of that apple.

— You’re as innocent as Emperor said, your Majesty.

You weren’t, in reality – you’re a liar, a traitor to your nation, the only one of the servants who was too scared to die alongside the royal family and performed that foolish gamble in order for a chance to save your hide. Such silly things like an untouchable hymen between your legs or lack of knowledge of intimacy, saved for a few books, are nothing compared to the life you are saving in your mind, There is nothing innocent about you or your actions.

— W…well, you see…you are of child-bearing age.

That was up for discussion. You might be an adult by all standards, a bit too ripe even, too sheltered for the age in which young men are already taking their family’s businesses and women are giving birth to their second and third children, but it doesn’t mean you want to bear someone’s kid. Definitely not conceive from a man who destroyed your future.

— I won’t do it.

You act like a princess would – bratty and pouty, all the new dresses and the room they place you in acting like a perpetuar of your ego.

— My Lady, this isn’t up for discussion. Please, we need to…we need to teach you how to do it, in order to prevent…accidents.

— What accidents?

The other servant, an older lady with tired eyes and snappy gestures, took out a pile of drawings from the bag she was holding. Quite a lot of drawings. Quite detailed drawings. Quite nasty drawings.

Quite…bloody drawings.

Gods, is this what a woman must endure during lovemaking? Is this even lovemaking, or is this a dissection straight from the medical book? The drawings are lewd and horrifying – whoever was the artist, they didn’t spare the details of the act. Pain, blood, torn flesh…god, if they wanted you to learn how to take your husband properly, they did a horrible job – now you don’t ever want to see him again. Not without armor plates protecting…that thing.

— I w…won’t do it. Behead me this instant.

Your voice is weak, horrified. Servants look equally scared.

— Your Majesty, you must know that it’s just…the worst outcome. If you listen to your lessons and relax, you will escape such a fate.

— How could a living being relax while they are being impaled on a spear?!

— With certain balms and extracts, such fate can be escaped.

— How can a balm prevent this?! Too angry to ever listen to the servants, you drip the drawings from your hands, along with a half-eaten apple. Un-ladylike, but you need to preserve your life – and your dignity – before they would show you even more horrifying things that would never let you sleep again. Tugging on the heaviness of your skirt, you ran to the nearest hallway as soon as possible.

The emperor’s palace is disgustingly big and dark – you’d say it was magnificent in that scary, gothic style, but you don’t have the time to think about all the artistic choices that the architects made by installing so many dark hallways in a place that suppose to protect Emperor from possible assassins. Still, you drop to the nearest dark corner, hoping that no one will follow you.

With a calm sigh, you brush the dust from your skirts. God, you had to bring that apple with you – it was delicious.

— I never heard anyone calling my cock a spear before, Liebling. You’re full of surprises.

Big, gloved hands are enveloping your waist, putting you in the hug you didn’t want. This embrace is all too familiar and too terrifying – you forget that this castle serves the only true owner, and your desire to escape will never be considered an option. Like a rabbit in the wolf’s mouth, you freeze. The worst company you could expect after such a horrifying lesson – your only hope is that, like men from the novels you and Princess were reading sometimes, The Emperor was into his comrades more than he would be into you.

His warm hands, pulling you into a tight hug against his body, however, make you think otherwise.

— Let go of me! Pl…please.

You plead because the drawings installed a new fear into your body. You're not afraid of death – if anything, you wish for it. However, the fait of constant pain and suffering which each nightly visit makes you more terrified than any death sentence would.

König only laughs, holding you as close to him as possible. A warm hand grazes over your stomach, making you shiver from anticipation. You don’t know what he is thinking about – you also don’t want to.

— Why would I let go of my precious wife?

— I’m not your wife yet.

— And won’t be for quite a while, considering the lessons my servants taught you?

Blood drains from your face. Even the slightest reminder makes you whimper – like a puppy without its mother, you let go of a pathetic little sound, and your face finds comfort in the armor plates that Knog wears even in many of his castles. Cold metal makes you slightly calmer, and you can force the dreams of touching his chest instead of deep in your mind. Bane to all the lewdness, as you saw the amount of blood it would drain from your body.

— I will never succumb to such fate.

— I promise it won’t be that bad. I can whip my servants for installing fear in you if you want to, little princess.

No matter how scared they made you feel, you will never bestow such fate on any of the servants – you, perhaps, the only one who knows how hard and horrible work as a lady in waiting might be. You might not be the perfect princess, but you certainly aren’t a cruel one.

— No. They…they shall not be harmed, Your Majesty.

He chuckles, pushing a hand on your face. A few tears fall down your cheeks – he drains them with his gloved finger, making you whimper only more. God, you look divine like this – eyes are glistening with tears, the face is hot from fear and embarrassment, the mouth is open with a sweet little pout…it takes every last inch of his self-control not to simply pick you up and bring you to his bedroom before you could say anything.

— You’re kind for a princess.

There is suspicion in his voice – but you quickly try to brush it away by forcing yourself out of his embrace. Unfortunately, he only holds you tighter, making you bury your face in his armor again. To be honest, it’s not the worst place to be.

— Shouldn’t you be in the courtroom?

— I ran. Never liked to greet new people.

You almost choke on your breath. Is he serious?! His face betrays his emotions – despite how confident his mask is, you can see that his eyes are colder than usual. More nervous than usual. His hands are shaking, if only for a little bit, holding you tight, as you can simply escape through his fingers like sand. You’d love to have such powers.

— I thought the Emperor had responded.

— I do. And an army of men to do these responsibilities for me.

— You’re hiding from my country’s Ambassadors?

— Collaborators and traitors of your people, yes. The only ambassador I care about is in my hands.

With this, he quickly pushes you up in his hands, forcing you to sit on the cold stone ledge. The new dress design makes it possible to manipulate and move the skirt as he pleases – you hate this new fashion because it makes it ridiculously easy for König to simply push your skirt upwards, revealing your legs and your dignity, concealed by only a pair of short, frilly white underpants with so many bows and ribbons, it feels obscene.

You try to kick him in the face, but he catches your ankle before you can do anything. He was a horrible, terrible man – totally unfit for the ruler of half of the world, you have no idea how a man this villainous could still be held in high regard for his people. This place is just as barbaric as their ruler, you presume – no dignity or sense of taste as König holds your skirt up, tearing apart the delicate fabric. God, it probably cost a fortune!

Emerald green fabric lays like green ocean waves under your legs. You must admit, even the cold of the inner parts of the palace does not make you feel uncomfortable – if anything, this moment of exposure of your legs makes you feel a bit more comfortable and fresh. The light breeze caresses your legs, and you almost want to close your eyes and just enjoy wearing clothes without the stuffiness of the full gown.

With your corset, torn skirt, and underpants, you almost feel like you’re wearing pants – an obscene picture, you assume, a lady should never show her ankles to anyone but her husband…and you would do everything to stop him from being marked as one. Still, König places his large imposing body between your legs, and you panic immediately – is this monster terrible enough to show you what those illustrations meant, not even in the comfort of a marriage bed, but in the coldness of the stone hallway? You close your eyes, kicking him to your heart’s content – and he is laughing every time you’re trying to resist, only catching both of your ankles in his grip and forcing them open. God, this is the end. Torture that you never wanted to experience will be bestowed upon you right about…

His tongue goes to rub you through the rough fabric of your underpants. Dispute all the layers of expensive material, your maidenhood feels like it had been set on fire.

You are suddenly aware of the silly things you have between your legs. You can feel them too well right now – every second of movement of his tongue against sensitive flesh makes your legs kick him less and less. Your nails are trying to dig into the stone of a small ledge you were sitting on – but you can’t do anything to stop this sweet torture he is perpetuating. You want for everything to stop this instant, and you want for him to finally take off your undergarments.

— Wh…wha…what are you doing?! You don’t scream as loud as you can, only because you know that the maids are nearby and you don’t want to be making a scene. Putting the emperor back in his place and revealing him as a pervert would be nice, of course – but it wasn’t as nice as having your dignity saved. You bite your lips, feeble attempts to save at least parts of yourself – still, you feel like you’re being boiled alive by his masterful tongue, without even the need to bring your pants down and feel him on your flesh directly.

— I want to show you how nice this could be.

— How nice what could be?! You are still kicking your legs, and he is slowly taking down the fabric of your underpants. You wish he had exposed hair so you could tug on it – you wish he wasn’t afraid of showing you his face, just so you could break it properly. A lady should always protect her virginity from a man with evil intentions, and König was certainly the most evil person of them all.

Still, his tongue felt so good, circling around the parts you were only finding accidentally, blindly searching for pleasure like a dumb kitten, trying every little button in your body to see what would make you squirm. He is masterful at this, every action is deliberate and strong – every little thing in his movements makes you wonder just how many women he bedded.

You can still feel the little tremble in his hands, his fingers that supported you and kept your legs apart are trembling, if only just a bit – you wonder if he truly is nervous about everything he is doing or if he just wants to make everything perfect. His touch leaves a trail of bruises on your inner thighs and you never thought that you’d yearn for a man whose touch is literally hurting you.

— I know how to make… consumation go painless, little princess. Certainly have the experience for this.

— Is fondling my undergarments a part of this experience, Your Highness?

— If you wish for me to lost my control, little princess.

Before you could say anything else about not wanting for him to simply take off your underpants and throw them on the cold floor of the castle, he had already lowered them to hang around your ankles – revealing your sensitive folds, already glossy and wet from all the fondling he performed to make you nice and ready for him.

König knew he shouldn’t be doing this – losing control would be too easy in this case. Little princess, out of her own depth, can barely stop him when he wants to take something precious from her – still, he wanted to at least try to be slower, softer, to make everything perfect and make her his precious trophy. Her dread over bedding him would prove horrible for their marriage – if she didn’t wish for the workers to be saved, he would already sent those dumb maids away.

Princess is adult enough to learn the pleasures of being a woman – still, he understood why a king would want to hide a precious flower like this. You don’t behave like a spoiled brat would, no matter how much you want to make him think you were nothing but a pouty face and frowned brows, and he wants to see your true self – your inner nature, revealing itself in front of him. And he knows just a way to do this…

Your cunt is perfect – he is a soldier, a man of war and little romance, he can’t sing you a song of how beautiful and perfect your maidenhood is, but he can lick it and tease it and make you come on his tongue more than you ever could with that dainty fingers of yours.

He isn’t ashamed of touching your sweetness when he is burning his face between your legs. Not even caring that his hood, which he had to draw back as fast as possible, is going to get messy with all o your juices, he licks and tugs on your clit, your folds, on every sensitive bit of skin of your body.

And, by god, are you sensitive?

Soon, your little cries of pleasure are turning into moans that you are pathetically trying to hide. Soon you are marking his rough, rugged face wet with your juices – his nose is pressed on your clit constantly, and that well-mannered, perfectly bred royal woman in your body is moaning like a common whore.

König isn’t trying to be too gentle – his mind is filled with that boyish nerves and anxiety, the fear of getting spotted not because anyone would have anything to say to the literally fucking emperor, but because he doesn’t want anyone else to see how easily he can drown little princess in pleasure. She is a perfect girl, so pretty for him, so nice and wet when he pushes his tongue in and out.

He forgot the last time he experienced such pleasure – his dick only grows with each gentle stroke of tongue in your folds, and he doesn’t even need to touch himself. You’re perfect for him, writhing under his touch, he had to force himself to stop putting too much pressure on your poor swollen clit. König almost forgot just how sensitive you are – he had to introduce you slowly to the world of pleasure, not pushing you into the depths before you could even get married, but…well, he was never one to follow the rules – and you, as his precious bride, deserved something nice outside of the wedlock.

— St…stop, it’s t’ much…

You are mumbling, holding his hood in your hands, and he is almost afraid you are going to pull it to reveal his face even more – but even your ruined skirt is enough of a cover to make his identity concealed, and he isn’t afraid of pushing your gummy walls with his tongue, gently caressing your insides.

You are clenching around his tongue, the intrusion is unfamiliar to you – he makes sure he kisses your clit from time to time, holding the sensitive bud between his teeth so as to threaten you gently. He usually involves a lot more biting and would love to put some permanent marks on your thighs and soft lower tummy, but if you were scared of the drawings those dumb maids put on to you, he doesn’t want to fuel your fear any further. He could try later, making your perfect body into a canvas for his desire.

— Patience is a grace for a princess, ja? Be patient, Meine Liebe.

— Pl…please, stop, I don’t…

— What is it?

— It’s too much, you shouldn’t…

— I’m not claiming you yet. God won’t be against a bit of fun, Schatzi.

— I’m against it…

— Your moans tell another story, little princess.

He knows you don’t want to be patient – he tugs at every nerve inside your body, his tongue swings in and out, and his lips caress your soft folds, collecting any juice that might be escaping. He will have to gift you another dress after this – but he is so used to seeing you in torn clothes it becomes a thing that stirs his manhood again and again. You look perfect when you’re not perfect – by god, he is unable to control himself.

You whine lightly as he presses a final kiss to your clit, catching your orgasm and drinking your pleasure. He is a messy eater through and through – his stubble makes you whimper from sensitivity, you sob lightly as he pushes back, a hood returning to conceal his face before your dazed eyes would be able to catch him.

Hell, you look precious.

Panting, with sweat beads glossy on your skin, with your lips open and moans escaping it – with your face completely turned into an expression of enormous pleasure, he doesn’t know what to do with himself as he watches you breathe heavily, chest going up and down. If he could, he would chain you to a bed in his bedroom, not ever allowing your precious figure to escape.

He might just do this when you’re married.

You whimper under him, your eyes are still glazed with that pleasurable expression, making him smile under his hood. You may hate him all you want, but he sees the truth – knows just how perfect you are in your stubborn desire to defy him.

— Wh…what was it?

You are still shocked but regain some of your senses – you take on your underpants quickly, stubbornness spreading across your warm, embarrassed face. How he loves that expression.

— I wanted to show you that our wedding night wouldn’t be as bad.

— I would rather live without a wedding night, Your Majesty.

— Now, was it that bad?

You tilt your head to the side.

— I am not here to feed your ego.

— You’re sure it is feeding my other senses.

He brushes his hand over your face. You allow him to – not because you wanted his touch, but because you needed some time to think, and his touch was gentle enough to ignore. Yes. That is the truth.

#cod #konig x reader #yandere konig #konig #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #yandere cod #konig mw2 #reader insert

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