#you are all welcome to read them or try to rather

[venmondiese]

(UN)WANTED DESIRES

-ˋˏ| summary: Aemond hasn't consummated his marriage with his wife, and he doesn't plan to.

✧ | Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x wife!Original Female Character

✧ | word count: 2.2k

✧ | Warnings: MDNI 18+, masturbation (m), age gap (aemond is older than his wife), aemond is definitely a perv....

✧ | notes: to the last day of age gap april.... here's my offer to yall...

“YOU MISSED SUPPER” Her words to him are not unfamiliar, Aemond was her spouse after all. He had grown to welcome her presence in his life.

He had a thick book on his lap, as he read in his chmabers mostly alone at this hour. Aemond took no great interest in her, even if he was a dutiful husband. Almost dutiful. 

Younger than him, of only twenty years of life. He wasn’t much older, yet old enough for him to feel strange.  

She was what tales would call a little lady of the tower, living mostly protected by her parents, in a little castle and away from the real world. He even knew her first kiss had been at her wedding with him, giving him a peck rather than a proper kiss for someone her age.

“I apologise” he mutters, his index finger against his lips as he then turns to face her. He was never harsh with her, instead trying his best to be gentle “You ate alone?”

“yes” her tone is soft as she nods. She sometimes hanged around his chambers, sewing sat in the couch or reading a book alongside him.

“Send a servant to remind me” he says reflecting and he adds. “I can lose track of time. I didn't mean to keep you waiting.”

“It was okay, do not trouble yourself…”

The two of them had known each other for… maybe four months. Or five, he couldn’t recall. She was quite the lady, smart and brilliant with people, yet cautious enough. He thought of her as a kitten, or maybe a bunny, but he wasn’t as gentle with animals, or with someone sweet like her.

Aemond leaves the book on the little table nearby, and he stands up, to serve himself more wine and serve his wife some as well. 

“What are you reading?” her tone is lively.

“Something about Oldtown. I doubt it would be of your interest. It is a bit dull to your taste” he says plainly.

When he looks at her, he sees that she was wearing that slightly sheer nightgown. It was more like a robe, but he truly didn’t know of what gowns she owned for the night. He had barely slept by her side, he could count their nights together with his hand. 

“I’ll serve you some wine.” He says softly. “You must be shivering from the cold”

He can hear the soft paddling of the feet against the cold stone of the floor, as she turns to watch him. 

“I…” the words start softly, as if gaining courage. “Husband, we… we have been married for almost three moons” 

He hums, taking another cup, filling it with wine. Then he fills the other, as he hears the stammering. 

“and… we haven’t consummated the marriage, and it makes me wonder…”

“My lady…”

“It is lonely, and…”

“The castle is full of servants, and you have ladies-in-waiting.” He reminds me, not harshly, but somewhat gentle. “And you know you can confide in me with…”

He hears the soft sound the robe makes in the ground as she takes it off. He then learns of the not so innocent intentions. 

He didn’t deem his wife capable of such things, yet here they were. 

“Look, you are a lovely girl…” he sighs, rubbing his forehead slightly, leaving down the two cups of wine next to the jar. “But truly, there is no need for this.”

“There is!” she says in somewhat a loud tone, which makes him blink slightly. 

“I am not a green boy, led by base desires with no control at all.” He starts solemnly, trying not to look at her bare body. “You don’t have to.”

“But I want to” he raises his eyebrows as her tone is slightly more desperate, getting closer to him rather quickly. She was trying every tactic she knew, he was sure.

Aemond isn’t exactly sure how his wife manages to get him sitting on the chair with her atop of him, in his lap. He could notice she was a bit self aware of being naked in front of him, surely because she was not used to it. He had never asked of her anything expected from marriage, barely acknowledging her presence in his life, his young and lively wife; yet she was eager to be his wife, to be truly his wife in the eyes of the Gods, for their marriage to be consummated. 

If the situation wasn’t so serious for him, he’d be amused by the absurdity, rolling his eyes and chuckling. Instead, his eyes wander for a few moments on her body, taking in how soft she looks. She smells kind of nice, so she probably took a bath before coming here. 

“I want you to” she says to him, leaning closer to him as he looks away for a moment, recomposing himself to not give in to the temptations “I am your wife.”

“You are my wife, but you forget that you are a maiden” His tone is not as warm (if it could even name it like that) “I have no intention of defiling you like some common whore.”

“I do not want to be a married maiden. I have a duty, to give your heirs and fulfill your desires… It is my duty before the Gods, for that’s why they invented marriage and…” 

“Enough. Look, when the time comes for us to unite like man and wife, we will do it calmly and take our time. It will not be rushed, you hear me? I have respect for your times, for your innocence and purity. It is not an easy task for women to do what you are asking for…”

He can almost see how the gears turn behind her eyes, trying to understand his words and planning the next move. He wasn’t exactly sure why she was desperate all of the sudden, maybe because of court pressure, because it was dangerous to her position as his wife or even by the questions of his mother, Gods forbid. 

He knew his wife was a pious lady, he had joined her in praying before eating, and how much she read, the Seven pointed Star or any other book. ‘Gods have granted us with the capability of learning and curiosity, and I do love to learn new things’ she had said to his questioning. 

She was quick with movements, or perhaps he is a bit slower due to his exhaustion from the day, and the late hour. She takes his hand, her grip not strong but firm, as she moves his hands quickly to place them in her breasts. 

The sudden touch, the feeling of her skin into his hands, the supple flesh as he could hear her soft sigh. She was, surprisingly, warm, unlike the coldness that the night brought. 

“Don’t you find me desirable?” she begs softly, as she makes sure to press his hands on her flesh “not even a little bit?” 

“Look…”

“Take me” she says, not in a demand, but in a desperate attempt. She moves his hand along with hers, trying to fondle her breasts and he followed the movement for a bit, enjoying how she whimpered slightly“Husband, please” 

“It is not a matter of...” he says, taking his hands away “if I like you or not, it’s a principle. You are not ready.”

“I am! I am an old maiden already”

“You are not old…” he insists. “Go to bed, it will calm…”

“I have a duty to you” she says, taking his hands once again, pressing them against her breasts. “I want this. I am ready.” she says, yet he could see her hesitation.

“No. Enough.” He says, taking his hands away and standing up, grabbing her so she doesn’t fall, and leaving her on her feet. “It is not the moment. We’ll speak about, we’ll do many things before consummating our marriage. You might have a duty, to have my heirs. And it will happen, when I deem ready” 

He leans to grab her robe, and extends it to her, taking a quick peek of her body but ultimately turning his gaze away “I will not repeat myself, go to your chambers. Rest well, wife” he says, not before sitting in his chair in front of the fire once again.

He can see her disappointment, as her face turns into that pout expression that women made involuntarily, as she puts on her robe before walking quickly away, closing the doors of his chambers. 

He sighs, waiting a time or two before allowing himself to react properly. 

He hisses softly, moving his hips slightly. Who would have thought. He thinks, almost amused.

His hand drifted down to the forming bulge on his breeches, as he thinks of how brazen his wife was. Taking off her robe, presenting herself nude to him as if to tempt him…  she was witty, yet she lacked the experience. 

His cock throbbed at the memory, the feeling of her skin against his hands, and how demanding she tried to be. Perhaps she was indeed ready, perhaps not. He has grown fond of her, and he knows how painful bedding could be. He wishes not to harm her in any way. 

He unfastened his breeches with a bit of desperation, freeing his aching cock, already hard and as demanding of attention as his lady wife. He tries not to smirk, thinking how much this was what she wanted to see and feel. The tip was slightly reddish, swollen and getting slicker by the moment. 

He moves his hand to stroke his dick, starting by the base, yet stroking all the length. He groaned, his head falling back at the exquisite sensation he needed so much.

He isn’t particularly fond of thinking of his wife in these moments, yet his mind drifts to her. Her nude body, how she presented herself to him, for his use and delight. He groaned loudly, stroking himself more firmly. It was driving him insane, she was driving him insane.

Even if he ached for it, he knew he could not fuck his wife, not yet. His balls grow heavy to the thought, but he remains firm in his position: not yet. 

But how he wants to. He craves to have her under him and hear the whimpers she would let out. It drives him insane to think about it, because he had not even taken her on their wedding night, he simply discarded the bedding ceremony before it was even proposed, and sent her to sleep. It is a bittersweet feeling, but he knew that when he finally took her, it would be when she was ready, when he deem her capable to understand what the coupling entails. Until then… His hand will have to do. 

“Fuck…” Aemond hisses. His cock jerked in his hand, the burning around the base feels delicious as he moves his hips to thrust softly into his own palm. His other hand wanders lower, grabbing his balls and tugging them just slightly, the way he liked. 

He wondered if his wife would try to pleasure his cock, if she got the chance. He was pretty sure that the idea would surprise her, to use her hands or mouth to do so, but he would teach her about it. And he will die the day she makes her best to please him from her inexperience. It will drive him mad. 

His mouth gapes open, as he mutters a series of ‘fucks’ and other words that he cannot even make sense of them. He groans at the debauched images of his head, his hips rocking forward as he fucked his own fist. 

And more so while remembering the little scene she made, to get his attention. He wondered if she knew what she was asking for, if she knew what the implications of her request were. Maybe she did understand in theory, how it worked and what happened, but he knows it is very different in practice, and sometimes, like himself the first time, one could not be ready even when knowing. 

But it doesn’t stop him from remembering her soft flesh against his fingers, how her body felt pressed against his as she squirmed on his lap for his attention. It drove him insane to know that, that she wanted him too. He remembers the feeling of her breasts, he thinks that perhaps it was an enjoyable, and new, feeling to her.  His hand strokes his length faster, remembering how her nipples stiffened to his touch, at her wanton display of need. 

If she was like this now, how would she be normally? He curses lowly, as his hand strokes him in swifter motions, as he can already feel his balls tighten up in the impending release. 

He knows he won’t last longer, so he simply decides to indulge himself in his primal desires. In the aftermath, it will be shameful, he does know, but yet he will be back at it again. 

He cums hard into his fist, the feeling making him go dizzy as he clenches his jaw in an attempt not to moan too loudly, because the tightness around his balls and base feels delicious, and his cock twitches on its own as it releases rope after rope of cum. 

He leans back against the chair, panting hard after his orgasm. He cleans his hand with whatever he had in hand, and he lets his cock twitch with the last remains of his orgasm. His orgasm was as exquisite as his wife’s visit was. 

He tucks himself into his breeches, as he knows that at least, one day, his fantasies will become a reality that he would explore with his beloved wife.

[elainsgirl]

Oh no Azriel called Elain the third sister 😭😭😭

Gods how did you survive? Do you need therapy? Azriel didn’t tell Rhysand all his love to Elain and asked his permission to marry Elain in the limited bonus chapter that exists only in one language (not even my mother tongue, idc about BC)?? But Azriel saying aloud for the first time those words? In the heat of a moment? Mhh, he sure as fuck should’ve… idk ignore Gwyn’s questions, shut her up with a distraction from his attraction and desire for Elain and fury at Rhysand…

Oh YEAH THAT ROMANTIC INTERACTION 😍😍 His shadows reacted like Nesta’s shadows? HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT A SA SURVIVOR COULD BE ANY EVIL!! YOU ARE NKT GIRL’S GIRL BITCH

Oh, Rhysand who was raped for 50 years? He’s the biggest evil in the series. #TeamTamTam and LuLu (I hate this nicknames, nothing against Lucien). Feyre who was SA under the mountain (based on some comments, idc I liked Feysand in the series; not fanon twisted shit — like with Gwyn who is being put into every hole, trying to be the MC by fandom)?? SHE IS EVIL!! Nesta is the Queen and she should take Nyx, but I don’t want Nesta to be a mother. Maybe if it’s Eris’s baby. Because she should leave Night Court, like everyone else. Mor was SA and hurt? SHE IS A SUS BITCH HATE HER. But Moriel 😍😍 Emerie #nextMC (again in the NC that we hate; ofc after Gwynriel in the Night Court 🤣)

Thank you for reading my rant. I need it after I saw another Reddit post about BC for the 273883 times. You don’t have a job? Just read all Tumblr posts since 2021, bro.

”oh no! How dare Az call Elain the third sister even though he referred to Nesta and Feyre as two sisters! The absolute audacity he has! He’s toxic and only sees Elain as an object! Blah blah blah 😡”

Imagine if we had actual gotten Azriels love confession in a bonus chapter…that was limited edition? No author would do such a huge thing in a bonus that isnt a required read nor part of the standard edition of the book. Like…obviously mass is saving the huge love confession for…elriel’s book…as with most romances. Its rlly not that hard to understand 😭

Omg…how dare anyone try to insinuate that Gwyn is anything other then the perfect, flawless character she is. How dare elriels add depth and complexity to Gwyns character! But its totalllllly ok for those same people to theorise Rhys is evil and manipulative etc etc because…idk. Poor baby lulu he’s just everyones victim, they all use him as a punching bag, horrible ic! I hope Mass disbandles them and instead focuses on the valkryies and band of exiles! Thats the story we want!!!!!! Feyre is so stupid and shouldn’t be a highlady yet Nesta who has 0 political knowledge and hasnt shown leader skills until late and has only began emotionally healing herself definitely deserves to be QUEEN! This is why she needs to leave the toxic, disgusting nc and start her own court with her friends! Dont get me started on Mor,

you’re welcome anon, thats what Im here for. We all need to rant and let it out at times, its the only way to survive the fandom. I posted on reddit twice and just saw how much….”unique” interpretations there where and simply left. I do not need to deal with that headache. When are they going to let that poor bonus chapter which has been forgotten by the majority go 😭 I understand its the only form of content they have but still.

I’d rather get a job then read through all that bs.

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Eighteen: Reprieve (Rex POV Part Two)

Chapter WC: 6,545

Chapter Tags/Warnings: fluff and angst, Rex being a cutie, Fives being a good brother, the usual amount of existentialism

A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Rex POV, following chapter 18 and occurring the morning before their Not-Date #2 in chapter 19. If you saw me post this on Wednesday no you didn't!!

As I've mentioned before, I normally write these as things for myself to read and get into the right headspace, so it may be a little incoherent. Also Goldie is only referred to her as she/her in this one, but be warned the next one may not be like that. I am nothing if not inconsistent.

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Coruscant, 21 BBY

The next morning, Rex shoots out of bed at 0600 hours, a bundle of nervous energy.

He gets dressed quickly and heads out, a spring in his step, the datachip in his pocket. It's early enough that he’s one of the first to arrive at the Resolute’s mess hall for breakfast, and he returns the nods and friendly, tired smiles from the night crew as he fills his tray. He takes his usual spot at a table by the viewport and sits down, the chair creaking beneath him, his head down and focused on his datapad.

Rereading her messages is a welcome distraction from the tasteless gruel on his tray. She hasn't replied to his latest note yet, but that's not unusual. She's probably sleeping. He hopes she is, anyway.

Rex picks at his breakfast and reads the messages over and over again, his lips curving upwards into a small smile. The conversations are short, and they're not particularly interesting, but he finds himself reliving them, reading between the lines, trying to interpret the meaning behind each sentence. Is there a double-meaning? Are the words hiding an unspoken truth?

It's pathetic.

He knows that.

He's acting like a lovestruck teenager, not a clone captain who has better things to be doing. Like planning their next mission. Or reading his intel reports. Or actually eating his breakfast.

It's not like him, and Rex knows that. He's not this type of man. He's never been this type of man.

But then again, no one has ever made him feel this way.

No one.

And Rex is finding that he rather likes it.

He’s halfway through a particularly long and amusing message about her recent argument with Skywalker, given a codename in their correspondence because, well, it's not exactly protocol, when the chair across from him scrapes across the floor and a heavy thud follows.

"Mornin'," Fives drawls, his tone thick with fatigue.

"Morning," Rex replies without looking up. He taps the screen and scrolls down, skimming the paragraph, trying to find where he left off, and he feels a smile threaten when he rereads the words. She certainly knows how to paint a picture. It's not surprising. He's read enough of her reports to know her flair for the dramatic doesn't stop at battle.

"Did you sleep?"

"Hm? Yeah," Rex says distractedly, his spoon held halfway between his mouth and his tray. He reaches the end of the message and clicks the button, moving onto the next one.

"Really? You look awful."

"Thanks." Rex lets out a low snort and finally takes a bite, swallowing. "I was up late."

"Yeah? Doin' what?"

Rex pauses and lifts his head. He opens his mouth to respond, but then he remembers the datachip, and the files, and his plans for the day, and he shuts his mouth with an audible click.

"Working," he answers instead.

"Of course you were." Fives shakes his head and starts to mix his vegetable and protein rations together, creating a brown, gooey mixture that Rex would never dare put near his mouth. "You're gonna work yourself to death, you know that?"

"I'll be fine." 

Rex shrugs and turns his attention back to the datapad. She's been sending him a lot of pictures lately, mostly of tookas, and though he’d had to ask her to stop, he hadn’t deleted a single one.

Instead, he's saved them, all of them, and he finds himself scrolling through them when he has a free moment, a smile on his lips. This one, he can see her reflection in the shop window, her nose scrunched in concentration as she tries to get a good shot. He resists the urge to zoom in and moves onto the next message.

"If you say so, Captain," Fives hums.

Rex ignores the comment and continues to read, his eyes moving across the words, the corner of his mouth twitching. He's about halfway through her rant about the Council, and he has to fight the urge to laugh.

They're driving me insane. Literally. I swear, they're trying to kill me. Either that, or they're actively trying to ruin my life. There is no other explanation.

It's a dramatic statement, and a little over-the-top, but it's so typical of her that Rex doesn't mind. He'd never admit it, not in a million years, but he finds it kind of cute. Her dramatics. Her overreactions. Her tendency to exaggerate. He likes it.

He likes her.

It's not his fault, really. He can't help it.

If you hear screaming from up here, it's me. Just ignore it. Or, you know, come save me. That'd be nice.

Fives sighs, and the chair creaks as he leans back. Rex hears him take a long sip of his caf and swallow, but he's too engrossed in his datapad to look up. He doesn't have to. He's seen the face his brother is making a hundred times. He's seen him make that face every morning. It's a routine they've both fallen into.

Fives drinks his caf in three big gulps and then sets the cup down on the table. The cup thuds against the durasteel surface, and the chair creaks again as Fives leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. There's a moment of silence, and then his brother sighs again, louder this time.

"Something interesting?" Fives asks innocently.

"Hm? Yeah."

"Really?"

"Just some reports," Rex mutters, his thumb scrolling down the screen. "Nothing special."

"Oh yeah?" Fives hums, and he props his chin up in his palm, giving Rex a sly look as he leans forward, forcing himself into his line of sight. "You don't usually smile like that when you're reading reports."

Rex blinks and lifts his head. He raises an eyebrow and meets his brother's gaze, trying his best to appear unruffled, even as his stomach flutters, his pulse jumping.

"Smile like what?" he asks warily.

Fives leans back and gestures to his face, mimicking a dopey, lovesick grin. Rex can't deny its accuracy. They have the same face. He'd be a fool to try.

He is, though. A fool, that is. And he's going to play the part.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rex deflects, and he tries not to think about how stupid he sounds.

"You're a bad liar," Fives points out with a laugh. He picks up his spoon and starts mixing his rations together again, the spoon scraping against the metal tray. "You sure you didn't stay up all night writing love letters?"

Rex feels the heat rise to his cheeks, and his eyes widen, his heart stuttering. He glances around the room, but the few troopers in the mess are engrossed in their own conversations, and no one is paying them any mind.

The screen goes dark as he drops the datapad to the table. A faint beep echoes through the space, and Rex clears his throat, shifting in his seat. He takes a deep breath and forces his shoulders to relax, trying his best to appear calm. Unfazed. Unaffected.

"Fives, I have no idea what you're talking about," he says slowly, enunciating every syllable.

"You've been spending a lot of time with your comm lately. And your datapad," Fives muses, his tone casual. He shrugs and shoves a heaping spoonful into his mouth, and then, with a full mouth, adds, "More than usual. And you missed sabacc last night. And the night before."

He gives Rex a pointed look, and he frowns, the realization sinking in. He has missed the past few card games. It hadn't occurred to him. It hadn't even crossed his mind. He'd been so focused on getting the intel, and finding a way to tell her, and planning how the whole thing was going to go, that he hadn't realized the implications.

But he's been careful. He's covered his tracks, and he's sure no one has seen him sneaking away to answer messages or send them. Or at least, he'd thought no one had seen him. It was late. And he was tired. He might've been a little careless. But it's not a big deal. It's nothing.

Except it is something.

And he can tell by the smug look on his brother's face that Fives knows it.

Rex scoffs. "What, you're keeping track of my schedule now?"

"Nope." Fives swallows and grins. "Echo is."

Rex's expression hardens, and his lips thin. He should’ve known better than to think the two of them wouldn’t compare notes. He'd underestimated their interest in his personal life, and he can tell by the gleam in Fives' eyes that it's going to come back and bite him.

A tense silence falls between them as Rex stabs at the lump of green protein, a muscle twitching in his jaw. The metal clinks against the plate as he drags the spoon through the mass of rations, the food sticking to the utensil. It's an unfortunate sight, and he tries not to think about the food awaiting him later this afternoon as he forces a bite into his mouth. The last time, they'd gotten so much food that he'd felt guilty. He'll have to tell her not to this time, though he doesn't want her to think that he doesn't appreciate it. It's the opposite.

The look on her face as she watched him try nearly every food Dex had to offer is something he'll never forget. She'd been delighted. He'd never seen her like that before. It was so...real. So genuine. So open. And seeing her that way...

Well, it had made him feel like someone had grabbed his heart and squeezed.

Hard.

It still does.

"What are you trying to get at?" Rex finally asks, and Fives shrugs.

"Nothing. Just curious."

He scowls and spears another bit of protein, ignoring the look his brother is giving him.

"Right," he drawls.

“You're spending a lot of time in your bunk, and we've all noticed." Fives leans back in his chair and points his spoon at Rex. "And when we have downtime, you're not here. Which means you're either working, or..."

"Or?" Rex challenges, his tone flat.

"Or, you're doing something else."

Fives smirks and leans forward again, his gaze intent, a knowing look in his eyes. It's the same look he gives him every time he catches him staring at her. It's a look that always makes his chest tighten and his stomach twist, and Rex finds himself holding his breath, his muscles tensing.

He waggles his eyebrows, and Rex lets out a soft snort, rolling his eyes.

"That's a bold assumption," he mutters.

"Not really," Fives chuckles, and there's a hint of mischief in his voice that Rex doesn't like. "Because I have a feeling I know exactly what's keeping you up at night."

Rex stares at his brother for a moment, and then, in a sudden surge of panic, he looks around the room again. Thankfully, the troopers are still deep in their conversations, and the officers at the other end of the room are too engrossed in their datapads to notice. But still, he lowers his voice, his brow furrowing, his tone wary.

"Yeah?" he says slowly, his hand gripping the spoon a little tighter than necessary.

"Yeah," Fives replies confidently. "You're finally taking my advice."

Rex blinks. "What?"

"My advice. About talking to her," Fives explains, and he gestures towards Rex's pocket, a sly smile on his lips. “I’m happy for you, vod. She's a looker. If I was in your position, I'd be smiling like that, too."

The food turns to ash in Rex's mouth, and his stomach plummets, his pulse pounding in his ears. He chews quickly and forces himself to swallow, the lump burning a path down his throat as he sets his utensils down carefully. The metal clinks against the tray before he folds his hands together, resting his elbows on the table. He takes a slow breath and meets his brother's gaze.

"I'm sorry," Rex says slowly, his tone even. "Who?"

Fives grins and leans forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"General Anathorn," he hisses. "Who else?"

The blood drains from his face, and his eyes go wide, the weight in his stomach twisting and churning. His mind spins, trying to think of a response, but his thoughts are a jumbled mess, and all he can manage is a blank stare.

"I...What?" he manages to croak.

"Don't worry, I get it," Fives says, and his lips curve upwards, a smug smile on his face. "You've been flirting with her for months, and she's hot, and you're stressed. Makes sense that you'd try and relieve some tension. Not exactly by the book, but, hey, what's a little fun between friends?"

"Wait, hold on," Rex says quickly, his hand rising in a placating gesture. "Back up. You think...what?"

Fives laughs. He picks up his cup and takes a long sip of his caf. Then, he leans back, his elbows resting on the armrests, his legs stretched out beneath the table, a smirk tugging at his lips. His gaze sweeps over the room and then comes back to rest on Rex.

"Come on, Captain, there's no need to be shy," Fives teases. "You don't have to be embarrassed. We all know."

Rex's mind comes to a screeching halt as the world goes quiet around him. Everything fades into the background, the sounds muffled, the colors dimmed to a haze of grey and white. All he can see is Fives, sitting across from him, grinning at him, teasing him, and all he can feel is the cold weight of dread that's settling in the pit of his stomach, a nauseous chill spreading throughout his body.

They know. They all know. And they all think...

It's the worst possible scenario. He's been careful. So careful. And yet, he'd let his guard down, and they'd figured it out. How long have they known? How many of them know? Are they all laughing at him behind his back? What are they going to do?

This is the kind of thing that could get him decommissioned, reprogrammed, or worse. This is the kind of thing that could ruin everything, and the thought of losing her, of being separated from her, is enough to make him want to throw up.

If they know about his feelings for her, they must know about his conversations with her, too. What else had they noticed? Does he talk in his sleep? Had they seen him drag her into the alcove on Kamino and break down in front of her? Had they watched his hands linger, or his eyes trace the curves of her body, or the way he smiles when she walks into the room?

Has it always been this obvious, or had he just gotten sloppy?

Rex doesn't know.

"Relax," Fives says, waving his hand. "We're all cool with it."

"Cool with what?"

Rex's voice comes out in a choked rasp, and he tries not to flinch. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, his pulse racing, his thoughts a jumbled mess. This is bad. This is so bad.

He's been reckless. He's been stupid. He's put himself, and her, in danger.

"The two of you," Fives explains, oblivious to the panic swirling inside Rex, threatening to choke him. "It's cute. We're rooting for you."

"I...you..."

Rex opens his mouth and then closes it. He tries to form words, but nothing comes out.

"You're lucky,” Fives continues with a laugh. He takes another sip of his caf and adds, his tone casual, "If any of us tried half the shit you do with her, we'd have our necks snapped. But you...she seems to like it. You've got some game. I didn't think you had it in you."

"Fives,” Rex says, the only word his brain is able to form.

"I'm serious," Fives chuckles, and he reaches across the table, snatching up the datapad. 

Rex lunges for it, but Fives is faster, and he pulls the device out of reach, his eyes scanning the screen. Rex grits his teeth and leans across the table, his hand wrapping around his brother's other wrist and keeping it pinned to the surface. His empty cup turns on its side, a trickle of caf spilling out, but he's too focused on Fives to right it.

"Give it back."

"Hold on," Fives says, squinting at the screen. His eyebrows shoot up, his lips parting in a mock-shock. "Is this a joke? Are you two trading jokes? Wow, Captain."

"Fives," Rex hisses.

"Huh. This is pretty tame," he muses.

"Fives."

"And you're using codenames," Fives adds. "Interesting."

"Give it back," Rex growls, his grip tightening.

Fives ignores him and continues to scroll through the messages.

"These are...actually pretty boring," Fives mutters, his brow furrowing. He pauses and taps the screen, skimming through the texts, a curious look on his face. "Why are you smiling so much? This is just a conversation about caf. How is that romantic?"

"Fives," Rex warns, squeezing his wrist, and he holds his hand out. His tone is sharp and commanding, the kind of voice he uses when the troopers are disobeying orders, but Fives doesn't seem bothered. He's still scrolling, his expression thoughtful, his lips pursed in concentration, and Rex can feel the vein in his forehead pulsing. "You have three seconds."

"What, before you deck me?"

Fives chuckles and glances up, a twinkle in his eye. At the sight of Rex's expression, his amusement fades.

"Whoa," he breathes. He sits up, his face sobering. "Rex, I'm kidding. Calm down."

"Then stop," Rex hisses, his eyes darting around the room. They're being too loud, and too obvious, and he knows the other clones are starting to notice. There's a murmur of curiosity from the other tables, and he can feel the heat rise to his cheeks as the attention starts to shift to him. "Just give it back, okay? And stop looking."

"Relax," Fives scoffs, rolling his eyes. "They're not gonna care."

"Give me the damn datapad."

"Fine." Fives hands the device over, and Rex snatches it, turning it off and slipping it into his pocket. “I’m sorry.”

Rex scowls and rights his cup, and he stares down at his plate. The rations have gone cold, and the color has faded from the protein cubes, leaving them a dull grey, and the smell is even more revolting than usual. It makes his stomach twist, and he has to force himself not to gag.

He feels exposed, vulnerable, and his heart is pounding, his palms clammy. The others will be filing in soon, and the mess will fill with chatter and laughter and jokes. But all Rex wants is to be alone, so he can calm down, and try to think.

He'd been an idiot.

And he needs to figure out what to do about it.

"So," Fives says slowly. He stirs his own food around and glances up. "You and the General?"

"There is no me and the General," Rex snaps, his gaze focused on his tray. "It's not like that."

"Yeah? Then what's it like?"

"I don't know." He shakes his head and runs a hand over his mouth, a muscle working in his jaw. "It's not. I don't know."

"It's not?" Fives asks, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Rex says firmly. He glances up and meets his brother's eyes. "She's my friend."

"Right." Fives lets out a low snort and looks away, taking another sip of his caf. "But you wish it was more."

Rex closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He lets out a long exhale, his shoulders sagging. There's no point in lying. Fives already knows about his...feelings toward her, and it's not worth the trouble of trying to cover it up. Denying it is only going to make things worse.

"I can't have more," he admits, and he hears his brother sigh.

"Why not?"

"You know why not."

"Yeah, but...you two have been dancing around this for months now." Fives pauses, and his voice grows softer. "And she clearly cares about you. A lot."

"She cares about all of us," Rex points out. "That doesn't mean anything."

"Yeah, but not like that," Fives says gently. "You've gotta give her a little credit. She doesn't talk to us the way she talks to you. She's different with you."

"I'm her friend," Rex replies, his tone flat. "She treats all her friends differently. She has different relationships with all of us."

"No, it's not like that," Fives protests, and Rex feels his temper flare. He clenches his jaw and grips his spoon tighter, the metal creaking beneath his fingers. "You should've seen her on Saleucami when we found out you were injured. She was worried. And pissed."

That catches his attention. She’d seemed shaken up the next morning, and she was quieter than usual, but he thought it was because of her injury. But the way she'd ran to him, the tears in her eyes, the relief on her face...it had sent his pulse racing, his thoughts spiraling, and he'd almost said something, almost given it all away.

He'd chalked it up to exhaustion, the haze and frayed nerves that come after a hard-fought battle. It was a near-death experience for him, for them both. It makes sense that she would've been upset.

But what if...

"Yeah?" Rex hums, trying to keep his tone casual. He keeps his eyes down, his thumb tracing the handle of his spoon. "How mad was she?"

"Mad enough to try to pull a ship out of the sky, vod," Fives says with a chuckle. He shakes his head. "It was kinda scary. I mean, you’ve heard the stories. The woman has a temper."

"She does," Rex agrees, and his lips curve upwards into a small smile despite himself. He props his chin up on his fist and sighs, his mind starting to drift. He knows exactly how she looks when she's angry. It's a sight that's always left him speechless. She's stunning when she's passionate, and there's something about the fire in her eyes, the flush on her cheeks, that's always made his heart skip a beat.

He knows he should be concerned about the fact that she's dangerous. He's heard the rumors about her, and he's seen the proof with his own eyes. She's reckless. Recklessness gets people killed. But her recklessness has saved his life. And her anger has kept her alive. He can't fault her for that.

He wouldn't want her any other way.

"She's something else," Rex murmurs, more to himself than his brother. He lets out a long sigh and shakes his head. "You know what she did the other day? She—"

Rex catches himself and stops when he sees the look on Fives' face. He clears his throat and looks away, his face heating up. He should know better than to let himself get caught up like this.

"Never mind," Rex mumbles.

"No, no," Fives chuckles. "Please. Continue. I'd love to hear about her."

"Don't be an ass."

"I'm not," Fives protests, and he grins, his tone light. "I'm serious. I wanna know."

Rex stares at his brother and then glances around the room, making sure the other clones aren't paying them any mind. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly in an attempt to ease the tension from his body, and he meets his brother's gaze, his expression stern.

"If I tell you," Rex mutters through clenched teeth. "Will you shut up about it? Will you let me deal with this my own way?"

"Deal." Fives nods. "I won't say anything. To anyone. I promise."

Rex stares at him for a moment, searching his face, looking for any hint of dishonesty or insincerity, but he finds none. There's only an eager curiosity, and a sincere desire to help, and Rex's expression softens.

He can trust his brother. That much he knows. Even if the others have their suspicions, he's sure Fives will keep his word. And he's not about to pass up the opportunity to talk about her. He never passes up the opportunity to talk about her.

He'd be an idiot to do so.

"Okay." Rex nods. He lets out a long sigh and shoves his tray aside, folding his hands on the table. He takes a deep breath and leans forward, his voice low, the words coming out in a rush. "We talk. Every day, sometimes a few times a day. Since Kamino. We just started talking, and we've just sort of kept going, and it's...it's good."

"What do you talk about?" Fives asks.

"Everything," Rex replies honestly. He can feel the heat rising to his cheeks, but he ignores it, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He looks down and taps his fingers on the table in a slow rhythm. "We talked on the holo for the first time last night. She said that, uh...well, she said..."

He trails off, his eyes landing on the viewport, the stars blurring into white streaks as they streak by. He can still hear her voice, the warmth and tenderness, and his heart aches, a pang of longing surging through him.

“We're going to meet for lunch today," he blurts, his face heating up as he thinks about what else she'd said. "I...I asked her."

Rex glances at Fives and holds his breath, waiting for a reaction. But his brother doesn't move. He's still sitting there, staring at him, his eyebrows raised, his eyes wide.

"Did you hear me?" Rex asks warily.

"Yeah," Fives says, blinking. He shakes his head, as if snapping himself out of a trance, and he smirks. "You...you're going on a date."

"No. Yes. I mean, no," Rex stammers, and he lets out a long exhale, his fingers flexing, his nerves starting to get the better of him. "It's not a date. We're just going to eat. Together."

"At a restaurant."

"Yes."

"That's a date."

"No." Rex frowns. "No, it's not."

"Oh, it's totally a date," Fives laughs.

"It's not a date," Rex insists, and his face grows even warmer, the tips of his ears burning. "It's just two friends. Eating. Together. I have some intel she needs. It's...it's a work thing."

Fives gives him a long look. Then he shakes his head and leans back, folding his arms across his chest. He raises an eyebrow, his tone skeptical.

"You have some intel she needs," Fives echoes. “And you couldn’t just…give it to her over the comm? Wait until the next time we see her? It had to be in person? At a restaurant? You really expect me to buy that, Captain?"

"It's the truth," Rex grumbles, and he glances around the room. "And keep your voice down."

"No, the truth is that you've been in love with her for months, and now you finally have a chance to get closer to her, so you're taking it," Fives counters, his voice laced with amusement. He leans forward and rests his forearms on the table, giving Rex a pointed look. "And it's not a bad plan. I'm impressed."

"Don't be," Rex grumbles, and he pushes his tray aside, surrendering to his lost appetite. He crosses his arms and slumps down in his seat, and he tries to ignore the churning in his stomach. "Because it's not gonna happen."

"Why not?"

"You know why," he sighs. Rex runs a hand over his head and frowns. "There's no future here. Not for me. And I'm not willing to risk what we already have. It's not worth it."

"That's a copout," Fives declares, and he sits back, folding his arms across his chest. "You're a soldier. You've risked your life for less."

"That's different," Rex argues. He waves a hand at the viewport, gesturing to the stars. "This is bigger than me. Bigger than her. I'm not about to jeopardize everything for my own selfish reasons. That's not how it works. It never has."

"Maybe it should," Fives says gently. "You can't spend the rest of your life fighting a war and never get to live your life. It's not right."

"Maybe not. But it's not my choice."

Rex lets out a long exhale and rests his head against the chair, his eyes closing. It's a conversation he's had countless times, both with himself and with his brothers. It's not his choice. It's never been his choice. But that doesn't stop the regret. The longing. The guilt. 

He knows it's selfish. He knows he shouldn't be thinking about the possibility. And yet, every time he sees her, his heart aches. He thinks about the future, the things he'll never have, the things she'll never have. And he wishes things were different. He wishes they could have a chance.

Meeting Cut and his family on Saleucami had shifted something in him, and it's a realization that has made the past few weeks agonizing. The domesticity. The family. The warmth and comfort. It had awakened a desire that had lain dormant within him, and it's a hunger that has only grown since he'd seen them, a yearning for more than a lonely bunk and a war that has no end.

And it's a longing he's sure she shares. He's seen the way her eyes light up when she's around children, the soft smile on her face, the way her features relax and her posture slumps. It's not often. She's always careful not to show her hand. But he's caught glimpses. Brief moments of vulnerability and longing and a quiet, desperate sadness that makes his heart ache.

She wants more. They all do. But it's not the kind of thing they can have. And especially not with each other.

"You've already jeopardized everything," Fives says, and Rex opens his eyes, glancing over at him. His brother shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Why not go for broke?"

"Fives," Rex warns.

"No, I'm serious. You're talking to her. You're meeting her in person. You're sharing secrets. You're putting your life in her hands," Fives points out, and he waves a hand at him. "I'd say you've already passed the point of no return. What difference is a little bit more going to make?"

"A lot of difference," Rex replies, his tone harsh. He sits up and meets his brother's gaze. "And that's not fair. We're friends. That's it."

"Friends," Fives repeats, his tone flat. "Yeah, I know."

"Don't give me that look."

"I'm not giving you any look," Fives laughs, and he stands up, placing his empty mug on his tray. Rex does the same with a forlorn look to his half-finished breakfast. "I'm just saying that, if I were you, I'd go for it."

"You'd be an idiot," Rex mutters.

"Maybe. But I'd be happy. And you would be too."

Fives pats him on the shoulder before he picks up his tray and starts walking away, and Rex follows, his steps slow and reluctant. They reach the chute, and he lets the tray fall through the hole, the metal clanging loudly and drawing a wince from Rex.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Fives asks as they walk towards the door.

"What's the worst?" Rex echoes incredulously. "What's the worst?"

"Yeah," Fives says. He holds the door open and ushers Rex through, and they step into the hallway, the sounds of the mess fading behind them. "So you get rejected. Big deal. It happens to the best of us."

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

Rex stops, his boots coming to a halt on the tile with a sharp squeak, and he turns to face his brother, his lips thinning, his eyes narrowed.

"I'm a clone, Fives," he says quietly. "And so are you."

"Yeah, I know."

"The clones have a place," Rex explains, his tone sharp. He's not sure if it's the lack of sleep, or the stress, or the sheer audacity of his brother, but his patience is quickly waning, and the frustration is beginning to rise within him. He can't believe he'd even suggest something like that. As if he hasn't spent months agonizing over the very thing Fives is asking him about. "We have our job. We have our role. And that's it. There is no other option."

"Rex—"

"No," he interrupts, and he shakes his head, his expression hardening. "We've been over this. We've talked about this. Multiple times. You know damn well what the worst is."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Fives mutters, rolling his eyes. "They'll decommission you. But they wouldn't do that."

"They would," Rex insists, and his hand twitches. He wants to grab his brother by the shoulders and shake some sense into him, but he restrains himself, his tone growing more agitated. "You think they wouldn't? If they knew about this, they would. And I wouldn't blame them. It's unprofessional, and irresponsible, and completely unnecessary. This is not a joke, Fives. This is our life."

"But—"

"I am not going to be a liability," Rex snaps, and his jaw clenches, his eyes flashing with anger. "And I am not going to be responsible for ruining her life. She's been through enough, and the last thing she needs is to have to choose between me and her duty. So stop."

Fives looks up at him and then down the hallway, his eyes landing on the group of clones heading their way. They're talking among themselves, and laughing, and there's no sign that they're paying them any mind, but the two of them fall silent anyway. Fives takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, his expression sobering.

"Look, I'm sorry. That was stupid. I know," he apologizes, his tone sincere. "I wasn't thinking."

"Then why are you doing this?" Rex demands. He lowers his voice and adds, with no small amount of pleading, "Why are you trying to get me worked up? It's not funny."

"I'm not trying to," Fives says, his shoulders sagging, and he gives Rex a concerned look. "I'm just...You need a push. Or a kick in the shebs."

"Not this kind of push," Rex replies, and he lets out a frustrated huff. "Just stop. Please."

Fives' face falls, and he looks genuinely sorry. It's not an expression he sees often, and it's not one he's ever seen aimed at him, and Rex finds himself feeling slightly guilty for being so harsh.

"This isn't easy," Rex sighs, and he scrubs a hand over his face. "And it's not simple. There's no happy ending here. There's nothing good that can come of this."

"Nothing good?" Fives repeats, his eyebrows raising, and Rex rears back, his eyes narrowing, his stomach clenching. "Really?"

"What?" Rex asks warily, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"You're not serious. Are you serious?"

"What?"

Fives stares at him, a dumbfounded look on his face. He shakes his head and gives him a pitying smile, and Rex feels his face heat up, a sick feeling swirling in his stomach. He hates that look.

"What?" Rex asks again, and Fives shakes his head.

"I don't know whether to be jealous or worried about you," Fives sighs, his voice laced with sympathy, his eyebrows rising higher. "How can you say there's nothing good that can come of this? She's...well, you know. I don't have to tell you."

"I..." Rex stammers, the words catching in his throat, and he looks away, a blush rising to his cheeks. He clears his throat and crosses his arms, his shoulders hunched. "I'm aware."

"And you think that's not worth it? Worth the risk?" Fives scoffs, and Rex scowls. "If I had the chance, I'd take it."

"Of course you would," Rex mutters, and he rolls his eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

"You're an idiot," Fives says, shaking his head, and Rex shrugs, not denying it. "You're an idiot who's in love with a woman who is definitely into you, and you're going to miss your chance because you're a damn martyr."

Rex glances over his shoulder, and then back at his brother, and he sighs, running a hand over his face. A few clones walk past them, and he waits until they're gone before he answers, his tone weary.

"Maybe," he says finally. "But it's the right thing to do. And you know it."

Fives gives him a sad look, but he doesn't say anything more. Instead, he puts a hand on Rex's shoulder and gives him a small, encouraging smile.

“Alright then,” he says softly. He squeezes his shoulder. "Let me know if you change your mind."

"I won't," Rex mutters, and Fives chuckles.

"We'll see," he says, and he gives Rex one last pat before he turns to walk away. “Enjoy your date, vod."

"It's not a—" Rex stops when he sees the smirk on his brother's face, and he lets out an exasperated huff, a smile tugging at his lips as he shakes his head. "You're a di'kut."

"Takes one to know one," Fives calls over his shoulder.

Rex rolls his eyes and watches Fives disappear around the corner, waiting until he's gone before he moves. His steps are slow, and hesitant, and the weight in his stomach grows heavier with every passing moment. He knows he should feel relieved, and he does, a little, but it's not nearly as comforting as it should be.

He wants her. Badly. He can admit that much to himself. He'd never imagined falling in love, and certainly not with a Jedi, and yet, it had happened so effortlessly that he hadn't even noticed it until it was too late. Now, all he can think about is how happy he is to talk to her, and how much better he feels after a single conversation, and the warmth and comfort and peace he feels whenever she's nearby.

It's a nice thought. A tempting thought. One that leaves him yearning for things he'll never have, and a future that will never be, and he closes his eyes, a long exhale escaping him as the pain in his chest swells.

As much as he hates to admit it, Fives is right. He needs a push, or a kick, or a slap in the face. Something. Anything. Because if he doesn't, he's not going to be able to keep this up. He's not going to be able to keep pushing his feelings aside and burying them under protocol and duty and honor.

He's crossed the line already. He's been crossing the line for months now. He's in too deep. And he needs to figure out how to get himself back out.

Or, if Fives is right, maybe he needs to stop trying to swim against the current and just let himself sink.

He can't decide which option would be worse.

But either way, he needs to figure it out. Soon.

He's got a lot of thinking to do, and only a few hours left until his lunch with her. And if the last few months have taught him anything, it's that a few hours is not a lot of time.

Not when he's dealing with her.

taglist: @cyaretra @kindalonleystars @totallyunidentified @lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @etod @puppetscenario @umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano @burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear @thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bunny7567 @lostqueenofegypt @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @maniacalbooper @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @julli-bee @moonychicky @sonicrainbooms @dustmusings @webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @deerspringdreams @cw80831

[dream-louder]

Hi! I'm a trans man in the SCA!

I have felt completely loved and welcomed since I first joined back in March 2024.

I can't speak to what things are like elsewhere - I've only played in Atlantia and briefly visited the East and Aethelmearc. In Atlantia and elsewhere I frequently see people wearing pronoun pins/trim, pride flag belts, blue feathers and other visible signals of queerness. I know of at least a few openly queer "shiny hats" (former royals, barons/baronesses, peers, etc).

People do forget my pronouns, but often I don't even have to correct them myself because others around me will lean in and whisper. Multiple people have had the talk with me where they come up quietly and say, "if anyone gives you trouble, let me know, I will fight them," to the point where I am beginning to worry I really don't need the power to sic a small army of medieval warriors on someone.

Almost all tournaments are open to anyone of any gender, so you don't have to deal with issues of people questioning whether you should be competing against men or women. There are some women's tournaments, probably the only time I've had an issue was spending wayyyy too much time trying to get clarification on whether a tournament was "women only" or "women and nonbinary" or "open to all gender minorities", but for the most part we all just fight each other.

Some armour designs and fighting techniques will be based on your body shape but people have generally been pretty good about talking about eg. "techniques for smaller fighters" or "armour for people with wider hips" rather than "girl techniques" or "girl armour". It's a little harder to find loaner armour that is built for bodies with larger hips/chest but people have been enthusiastic about helping me build my own and learn to adapt custom armour for my body.

We do have a heraldry system which lets you register a historical medieval name for your persona - so, for example if you want to be Ancient Greek you can register an Ancient Greek name. These have to be based on historical evidence, so if we don't have any historical evidence for gender-neutral or nonbinary names in Old Norse, you can't have a Viking name that is gender-neutral. If your herald tells you this means you can't register a good nonbinary name, get a different herald!! I've helped nonbinary people find options they were happy with; you can register two names (a masculine and feminine one) and use them interchangeably, or you can register a name that would've been masculine to medieval people but is used as a feminine name today (or vice versa), or you can register a long feminine name and shorten it to a masculine nickname (or vice versa), and so on. There's also an allowance for using part of your legal name to make your medieval name. I don't know if any of that is relevant to you but it's definitely something I've run into a few times.

Anyone can wear any clothing they like and you'll tend to see lots of both genders wearing a very similar generic "tunic over trousers and maybe a cloak" setup. This is awesome for trans people who want to be more stealth or just don't want to commit to gendered clothing, but DOES mean it's harder to use your clothing to signal what gender you'd like to be read as. I recommend wearing a pronoun pin if it's important to you - I wear one sometimes and people tend to respect it when they notice it / apologise for not noticing it.

That's basically all the negatives and drawbacks I'm able to think of. I think it's important to be honest about them, both because it helps you be prepared (which always reduces anxiety for me, ymmv), and because it really does highlight the absence of more major/glaring issues. I haven't experienced bullying or harassment at all and people tend to be very, very supportive and kind and generous.

It's one of the most welcoming organizations I've ever belonged to. I do strongly recommend getting involved!

sca-nerd is a lovely aunt. And if anyone is mean to you, I'll bite them.

Hello! So my husband and I are really interested in getting into SCA and might actually get around to it this summer. But we are a gay trans couple and, especially right now, it can be pretty nerve wracking to enter into a new community like that. I'm wondering if the SCA community tends to be the open minded welcoming people I'm hoping they are? I realize that attitudes towards trans queers specifically can vary from region to region, but im curious to know if you've got any insight or opinions on that. Anything to help my anxiety 😅

Hello and welcome to the dream!

The SCA, as a society is inclusive, with a lot of work done by some very passionate people in different Kingdoms to ensure that all feel welcomed and valued. As you said, though, mileage may vary with individuals.

I can't speak to the queer experience, but I know that several of my mutuals can. I can only tell you what I do know and have experienced as an ally.

My household and I always have a place for anyone who needs a spot to feel welcomed and treated with dignity. Our Kingdom recognizes three titles: Lord, Lady and Noble in order to be able to identify as you wish. There is a women and minority fighter group to offer support for non-male identifying fighters. There's also the Blue Feathers (The Blue Feather Clan) that has done a lot for the lgbtq+ community in the Society.

I will hand this off to others who can speak more closely to this matter, but I want to say that I truly hope you give this a try and that you have a positive experience. If not, fuck them - I'm your SCA Aunt now, and you can come play with me and mine. 💚🤍

[cinderflower]

Originally this started as an attempt to organize my notes that got way out of hand so I might as well post it here to also be easier for me to reference. So let's get into my rebirth theory and the direction I originally thought Elden Ring was going with Miquella and Malenia's characters and the Age of Abundance.

So here it is, my Miquella & Ancestral Followers lore theory as well as my broader Haligtree theory. This is what I thought the base game was leading up to with Miquella's character, not... what we got.

I've done frankly too much lore digging since beginning writing Field of Reeds in earnest and in trying to have a solid enough lore foundation to make sure how I write the fic is grounded in the base game lore. There's a lot I plan to cover in that fic that I won't be covering here so for those interested, you can check it out here.

So with that said, my main theory for base-game Miquella (not including how he's presented in the DLC since this theory was based almost entirely on the base-game info) has always been that his goal was to break the cycle of Erdtree-controlled rebirth in the Lands Between that's currently controlled by the Erdtree.

To read the pre-theory lore & item crawl setup, scroll down to "ADDITIONAL INFO" in big, bold, blue letters. As I said before, this was mostly to get my own notes in order, so I'm going to try my best to make this make sense in how I present it.

Let's actually start with starlight shards for both and the ties between the stars and fate. We know which are collected in various astrolabes and a great many can be found in Manus Celes, but there's quite a lot to starlight as a concept in Elden Ring and these overall themes.

Starlight Shards - An ephemeral sliver that gives off a pale blue glow. What remains of a passing flash of starlight. A prized item that was once used in the Eternal City as an ingredient in intoxicating draughts.

Celestial Dew - A hidden Tear found in the Eternal City. Also known as a Night Tear. Once upon a time, the stars of the night sky guided fate, and this is a recollection of those times.

Seluvis's Potion - Used to turn someone into a puppet, created from starlight shards - Small flask received from Preceptor Seluvis containing a cloudy tonic of bluish black.

Amber Starlight - An ephemeral sliver that gives off a pale amber glow. What remains of a passing flash of starlight. If the stars command our fates, then amber-hued stars must command the fates of the god. Such is the belief that inspired the use of these shards to prepare a most special draught.

Notably, the amber starlight is found at a statue of Miquella and Malenia, the same found in the Haligtree. This implies that the starlight shard is one of their fates - or perhaps Godwyn's. But it more likely points to Miquella's given his preparation to shed himself of his body and all things golden.

We also see the influence of starlight elsewhere in some ingredients, namely the boluses created with dew-kissed herba. Most boluses use only normal herba, but it is the deadly afflictions of madness, rot, and death-blight (Outer God/Death based) that require specifically dew-kissed herba.

Dew-kissed Herba - A herb that grows in the false night in and around the Eternal City. Soaked in arcane dew, it gives off the faint glow of starlight.

Clarifying Boluses - Dew-kissed Herba | Crystal Cave Moss | Eye of Yelough - Alleviates madness buildup.

Rejuvinating Boluses - Dew-kissed Herba | Crystal Cave Moss | Golden Centipede - Alleviates death blight buildup.

Preserving Boluses - Dew-kissed Herba | Crystal Cave Moss | Sacramental Bud - Alleviates scarlet rot buildup and cures rot aliment.

Now hold on a minute, let's look at that last one that specifically helps scarlet rot. It uses sacramental blood to alleviate rot which is all but confirmed to be Miquella's blood (or a derivative of it at least) as it is also used in the bewitching branch.

Sacramental Bud - An immature bud containing fresh blood. Believed to originate long ago from a strain of buds cultivated with youthful, sacramental blood.

So if, somehow, Miquella found out that this combination worked together with his blood, then that would be something which could at least provide some relief to Malenia, though it wouldn't be able to cure her entirely since her rot is at the influence of the rot god directly.

This of course is just the tip of the iceberg of Miquella's blood but we know first and foremost that Miquella used his blood to try and water the Haligtree and grow it into a full-fledged Erdtree, an effort which was unsuccessful.

Haligtree Knight Armor - Though watered with Miquella's own blood since it was a sapling, the Haligtree ultimately failed to grow into an Erdtree.

We know in addition to his blood, Miquella also has his unalloyed gold lilies.

Miquella's lily - A delicate water lily of unalloyed gold that has started to fade and wilt. A flower signifying faith in the Haligtree. Thought to be beloved by the Empyrean Miquella in his youth.*

*I theorize that the lilies were grown by Miquella's blood because how could he love them in his youth if he was the one to create unalloyed gold???? It also lends some tie between the sacramental bud and unalloyed gold for why it is able to treat scarlet rot.

Unalloyed gold is important with regards to Malenia's rot through the needle we learn helps her curb the rot and also in use of her prosthetics to similarly prevent the rot from taking over.

Malenia's Gauntlet - Gauntlet made of unalloyed gold.

Hand of Malenia - Blade built into Malenia's prosthetic arm. Through consecration it is resistant to rot.

Radagon's Rings of Light - And yet, the young Miquella abandoned fundamentalism, for it could do nothing to treat Malenia's accursed rot. This was the beginning of unalloyed gold.

There's multiple forms of the Unalloyed Gold Needle as well which I want to cover the differences of:

Snapped Needle - An intricately crafted needle of unalloyed gold, snapped in half. A ritual implement crafted to ward away the meddling of outer gods, it is thought capable of forestalling the incurable rotting sickness. Sage Gowry has designs for this needle.

Repaired Needle - An intricately crafted needle of unalloyed gold. Once snapped in half, it has been repaired by Sage Gowry.

Curious here, we can see what looks to be blood used to repair the needle - though who's blood is unknown. I suspect Miquella's using the sacramental buds we have no definitive answer.

Restored Needle - An intricately crafted needle of unalloyed gold. Removed by Millicent from her flesh. Bears no trace of befouled blood, but is faintly moist with dew.

More dew references, which we can see even on the needle itself. This truly begs the question: what is dew? Dew is used to reference the starlight dew on dew-kissed herba, but it's also used in the blessed dew talisman description:

Blessed Dew Talisman - Talisman depicting a drop of the Erdtree's sap, a blessed boon. It was once thought that the blessed sap of the Erdtree would drip from its boughs forever-but that age of plenty swiftly came to a close, and with time, the Erdtree became more an object of faith.

So presumable dew/sap/amber are all interchangeable for life. This would also make sense with the amber egg containing the Rune of the Unborn that Rennala has in her possession. I have a previous post where I go into the concept of dew theory specifically in more detail here.

So after Millicent uses the needle, it's covered in dew, not blood. This would potentially put Millicent in the bloodless category above if she doesn't truly bleed and is considered an artificial life like albinaurics or the oracle envoys. Before we get into that, back to the needle.

Miquella's Needle - One of the unalloyed gold needles that Miquella crafted to ward away the meddling of outer gods. Capable of subduing the flame of frenzy if inherited, allowing one to cheat fate and avoid becoming Lord of Frenzied Flame. However, the needle is as yet unfinished and can only be used in the heart of the storm beyond time said to be found in Farum Azula.

This version of the needle is only possible after defeating Malenia and interacting with the scarlet aeonia she leaves behind. This finalized version of the needle is intricately detailed and the shape more closely resembles the Haligtree seal used during incantations. It also includes small braids and either dew similar to Millicents or strands of hair, but also small little sprouts.

We know Malenia doesn't have her needle through Millicent's quest dialogue, meaning this is once again the evolution of the needle. So why does the joining of the unalloyed gold needle, Millicent's dew, and Malenia's scarlet aeonia fully form this incomplete needle? My speculation is that its from the symbiotic relationship between Miquella and Malenia's conditions, combined with the concept of "dew" aka life. The harmony of life and death, the original abundance and decay the game was setting up.

Here's where we actually start to get into my Haligtree theory: I purport that Miquella's goal was to create a new Erdtree to replace the existing Erdtree, one which created a new cycle of rebirth completely detached from the necessity for grace. I haven't fully settled on the exact details of what this cycle looks like in it's entirety, but I believe it likely went through a few iterations.

The first iteration was likely the pursuit to grow the Erdtree not only because he could, but also because it would be an Erdtree of unalloyed gold. It's why it has to be watered with his own blood. It's why we don't find any other bodies being fed into it in the same way we do the Erdtree above - but I theorize that was the eventual intent of it.

Circling back to the seal symbols, let's also look at two others, the Erdtree seal and the Crucible seal:

Comparing with the Haligtree seal above, there's a lot more similarities with the Crucible seal than with the Haligtree seal. Dipping my toe briefly into the DLC lore, we know Enir-Ilim powered the Gate of Divinity with the power of the Crucible, meaning Marika essentially harnessed and reshaped the power of the Crucible to form her age of the Erdtree and subsequent Golden Order which is why the Erdtree symbol looks like a more minimalist version of the Crucible seal with a focus on the Elden Ring in the center. The Golden Order Fundamentalism seal takes it a step further entirely by removing all iconography of the tree and focuses entirely on the Elden Ring. The Haligtree symbol does the opposite, it removes the inclusion of the Elden Ring and shifts the iconography back to that of the tree itself.

With this in mind, it becomes a lot easier to imagine that Miquella is looking to recreate the heart of what the Crucible was capable of but without the Elden Ring. The problem with that however is the fact that the influence of the Erdtree is quite literally everywhere in the Land's Between because that was the whole point of the Land's Between's creation - only those with the Erdtree's grace are permitted, the rest are either outcast, persecuted, tortured, and/or killed.

So, Miquella has to turn to the very small subpopulation that don't have grace in order to begin the new cycle of rebirth. Or - potentially - to begin the new cycle of rebirth specifically under his unalloyed golden grace. In theory since the unalloyed gold is able to ward off the meddling of Outer Gods, why should that same concept not also apply to the Greater Will? Or to Marika? And if his blood is what can create unalloyed gold, then feeding his blood to the Haligtree should inherently be the same as graceless blood.

I think we can even still see the remnants of the unalloyed gold of the tree he was able to achieve still at the roots of the Haligtree where he embedded his cocoon:

The rest of the tree is a husk, covered in rot, but in this one part where Malenia rests and the cocoon once was we see the gold still persists.

Compare this noticeable shade of gold in the roots now to the color of the Erdtree beneath the false-luminescence - notice how it's actually closer to the false gold in color than the actual Erdtree is?

Let's look at a couple other interesting images from the Haligtree:

More tree iconography, flanked by griffons and what I think is the lily shape.

This one has always especially intrigues me due to the humanoid figures connecting the tree together. Seems familiar doesn't it?

But there's also the bulbs that are attached to it, by their shape they could be some sort of fruit - but I doubt that given everything else - or perhaps cocoons, like the ones we see the albinaurics encapsulated in.

Or, my theory, which is they're the same as the aeonia blooms we can see in Caelid:

If that is the case, this then shows the desire for a symbiosis to be formed.

Regardless of if those are intended to be aeonia blooms, it does bring up the concept of symbiosis between the Haligtree and the scarlet rot fungi. There is some real-world basis for this if we look towards some botanical concepts. I specifically want to look at the botanical concept of Mycorrhizae which are fungi that have a symbiotic relationship with the root system of plants - namely trees. With mycorrhizae, a plant has a more robust root system which helps not hinders the plant and assists in getting water and nutrients into the plant's system.

If we consider this, it becomes more interesting for Malenia to be in the root system of the Haligtree of all places to rest. If they'd been concerned about her infecting the Haligtree after all, surely they would have put her elsewhere even if she wished to be by Miquella's side. It's also curious that the rest of the Haligtree is being consumed by rot and at alarming rate, but not in the root system, not in the heart of it. In fact, we see more non-fungal flora closer to the root system than elsewhere even while we also see the mini-lake of rot right above it as well.

The other thought to consider here is if the Haligtree was meant to replace the Erdtree, if it was intended to create a new cycle of rebirth, then both Miquella and Malenia's placement in the root system would make sense if they both intended to be reborn through the Haligtree and be cured of their various afflictions through this rebirth. That's why Malenia had to be carried back to the Haligtree no matter what is my theory, so if she did succumb to the rot, she could potentially be absorbed into the Haligtree roots and given a chance to be reborn through unalloyed gold and be reborn free of the Outer God influence.

One other point for this is actually in Miquella's cocoon itself. Miquella is very much moth-coded in the game rather than butterfly-coded and as such his cocoon reflects this.

Chrysalises are usually found hanging from a structure, while cocoons are typically buried in the ground or in leaf litter or attached to the side of a structure.  [x]

One other interesting parallelism I found in the Haligtree was outside the building leading to the Haligtree roots, in the graveyard (curious in and of itself).

On one side of the building we have Miquella's lilies and various soliders.

On the other we have ghost (not grave) glovewort and Kindred of Rot.

So we have the concept of symbiosis being achieved between Miquella's abundance and Malenia's decay - how do the Ancestral Followers tie in?

Remember the Crucible vs Haligtree seal discussion? Well, if Miquella is looking to imitate the ability to cultivate primordial life like the Crucible (while not actually being the crucible, but an even further cleaned version), there's a group that exist that already follow in the footsteps of the Crucible in terms of worship - specifically the Ancestral Followers.

We can see some similarities with the Crucible in their items, but also stark differences. For example, they wear crowns of horns which but into new life, very derivative of the Crucible while also being surprisingly detached from it. Where the Crucible horns are almost always horns like what Omen have, the horns that the Ancestral Followers wear are more akin to elk, moose, etc. We see this very well on the actual Regal Ancestor body itself:

We can also see here that it's "buds" aren't more horns but seemingly plant-like buds, like leaves.

Curiously we see something similar in a sense on the Cleanrot Knights which seem to be sprouting plants.

BUT we also see the same on the Malenia and Miquella statues in the Haligtree with sprouts carved into their very likeness:

You know where else we've seen plants/roots growing out of a person too? In the statues found all over the ancient Uhl and Uld palace ruins. In fact, it's one of the very statues Mohg's followers are gathered before.

I couldn't help but draw similarities between these statues and the ones we also see in the Haligtree - though in two very different contexts.

This second version surrounded by corpses is only seen in the section of the Haligtree where the scarlet rot is. Draw what conclusions you will, but I think the difference and the different locations where it appears speaks for itself.

We also know that the concept of death in the Lands Between gets completely upturned overnight after the Night of the Black Knives, after which Miquella desperately seeks to return Godwyn's soul to his body in order for him to die a "true death".

This is actually a concept we see in one other place where the game shows other wandering corpses that aren't considered undead but haven't truly died.

Putrid Corpse - True death does not come easily for them. Despite their appearances, are not undead and are not weak to holy. Most are vulnerable to bleed and fire damage.

True death seems to imply the death of the body and the death of the spirit - which is how Ranni was able to kill her flesh and Godwyn's soul in the same moment to circumvent true death for both of them. And, in the era of Destined Death being sealed, true death can only be granted by returning to the Erdtree or by being slain with holy incantations.

With the reintroduction of death though and the assumption that Miquella is attempting to start a new cycle of rebirth, the Ancestral Spirit philosophy would undoubtedly be appealing:

Ancestral spirits exist as a phenomenon beyond the purview of the Erdtree. Life sprouts from death, as it does from birth. Such is the way of the living.

Seemingly, these Ancestral spirits have found a way to already exist outside the bounds of the Erdtree's cycle of rebirth.

We also find these Ancestral Followers in a few odd locations outside of their usual Nokron/Nokstella locations related to Malenia and Miquella. Two in particular of note:

Lake of Rot

Consecrated Snowfields

Coincidence? Maybe, but there's very little in the Consecrated Snowfields not related to Miquella/Malenia or the Haligtree. The main exception is the pocket of madness tainted worshipers.

They also have connections to higher resistance stats through their gear and the fact that they guard the various horn talismans that raise these stats. But also, noticably, is the fact that nascent butterflies are also only used to created Dappled Cured Meat and Dappled Cured White Meat - both of which are only used to greatly raise resistances.

If we take this all a few small steps further into a leap of logic for the sake of theorizing, there's a few more parallels we could make.

Torrent - assuming Miquella was Torrent's former owner and is a "spectral steed" the baby buds on his head lend some credence to the theory that he is a juvenile ancestor spirit, another connection with Miquella

Spirit Calling Bell - again, assuming the above is true, that would mean Miquella gave this bell to Ranni and further ties him to spirits as well

I also suspect that the primeval current and primordial life of the crucible are two halves of the same whole - something somewhat backed up by concepts like Yggdrasil which isn't just the concept of life and death but is a tree which also spans into the cosmos and has the influence of the cosmos. We kind of see this in a few item descriptions as well:

Dweller Arrow - Arrow in which the spirits of small animals are thought to dwell. (Deals magic damage.)

Sellen's Primal Glintstone - Glintstone from within the sorceress Sellen's body. Seemingly half-alive, blood vessels are visible within. In essence, a primal glintstone is a sorcerer's soul. If transplanted into a compatible new body after their original body dies, the sorcerer will rise again.

This also seems to tie in well with the Ancestral Spirits and some of the sorceries we see used in the Haligtree and by the Albinaurics all only being these glintstone sorceries, never anything like meteors or gravity, etc.

Back to the Ranni bit, it's still incredibly unclear what Miquella and Ranni's relationship was and how it developed, because there's several things that I have no clear cut explanation for at the end of the day.

Black Knife Assassins in Ordina - Seems to be protecting the Haligtree entrance given the fact that they're in the goal along with the albinaurics, but why?

Black Knife Assassins in Sage Cave - A handful of ties in this cave to Miquella but another assassin here, why?

Crystilians in the Haligtree - They do fall into the graceless category but why are they in the Haligtree? Primal glintstone?

Haima Conspectus (adjudicator) Sorcerers in the Haligtree - ???

A few other interesting things of note:

The cocooned albinaurics resemble in some ways the rooms of ant eggs & we do see ants on the Haligtree (also in the deeproot depths and outside the lake of rot).

The lake of rot is a much brighter hue and tone than the one we find in the Haligtree and Caelid and there's less plant variety (I hit the image limit but trust me).

ADDITIONAL INFO (misc)

To close this all out, here's some additional supporting/supplemental information.

To get a lore of base lore notes out of the way regarding basic concepts and item info, let's start with gold, silver, and grace.

Gold = Light = Life = Red/Gold hues

Silver = Shadow = Death = Blue/Black/Silver hues

Grace = Vestiges of gold granted by Marika/Erdtree to those in the Lands Between; takes shape in the eyes

The Crucible is one of the most notable examples of a red hue representing life; specifically primordial life. There's another primordial that the game references as well: the Primordial current. We'll circle back to that when talking about the Carians.

Sap/Dew/Amber are also concepts which represent life, but seemingly in a more abstract way at times and range between gold/red hues to silver/blue hues depending on if they're contextually in the overworld of the Lands Between or the underworld. More on this later.

Spirits are essentially exclusively blue hues though there are variations of spirits we need to consider:

Spirit Ashes - the actual ashen remains that can be utilized by the spirit-summoning bell to briefly bring forth their spirit

Puppet - it's unclear exactly what puppet summons are because we have the physical puppets we can see in Seluvis's quest, but the actual summons both the player uses and the puppets we see in the Caria Manor are all blue hued like spirits

Ancestral Spirits - These seem to be the spirits of animals most often but also the Ancestral Followers, all taking on a brighter almost greener blue tone

Roaming Spirits - Blue spirits roaming the Lands Between in graveyards most often (jellyfish in shape)

One interesting thing to note about spirit ashes is they all cost FP with a few very curious exceptions which cost HP instead:

Mimic Tear

Land Squirts

Miranda Sprout

Soldjars

Bloodfiend (DLC only)

We know the Mimic Tear is a silver tear and thus born outside of the Erdtree's circle of life (see below), thus it makes sense to have to sacrifice life for life, but what about the others? Curiously enough, these are all bloodless creatures, and we find not just these but many more bloodless creatures in close proximity to the Haligtree as well as inside of it (Miranda Sprouts).

We also have a LOT of death associated blues by way of the Ghostflame wielded by the Death Rite Birds which used to be used to "burn away death" which is a practice no longer used with the introduction of the Golden Order upon the removal of Destined Death and all life begins to get cycled through the Erdtree's roots. We can see this in all the catacombs across the Lands Between with the bodies being taken back through the roots.

In the same catacombs, we also find both Grave Glovewort and Ghost Glovewort where the grave-variety is the common variety while the ghost-variety is rarer.

Grave Glovewort - White flower that blooms in catacombs. Each a soundless bell used to summon spirits.

Ghost Glovewort - White flower that blooms in catacombs. A spirit nestles close to it. (see below)

So all death and all re-birth is controlled through the Erdtree, all things are returned back to the Erdtree upon death, right? Not quite. There's other life in the Lands Between that has either been created without the Erdtree's grace or has been stripped of it.

Confirmed graceless creatures are as-follows:

Omen - Though born one of the graceless Omen, Morgott took it upon himself to become the Erdtree's protector

Silver Tears - The Silver Tear makes mockery of life, reborn again and again into imitation. Perhaps, one day, it will be reborn a lord...

Albinaurics (1st gen) - Albinaurics are lifeforms made by human hands. Thus, many believe them to live impure lives, untouched by the Erdtree's grace.

Albinaurics (2nd gen) - The ornamentation represents the primordial drop of dew from which they are said to have been created. The Albinaurics' most formidable foes were sorcerers, after all.

Crystilians - The Crystalians are inorganic beings, yet they live. They cleave close to the ideals of the primeval current, and as such, they are revered guests of the sorcerers..

Suspected Graceless:

Misbegotten: The misbegotten are held to be a punishment for making contact with the Crucible, and from birth they are treated as slaves, or worse.

Interestingly, demi-humans and other variants don't seem to fall under the graceless category.

The silver tears and albinaurics also are very interesting when taken into context of the motivations of the different characters because we can see variations of how they're treated in different areas:

Silver Tears: Created by the Nox as an imitation of life, rarely seen above ground.

Nokron

Nokstella

Hidden Path to the Haligtree - suggest more connections to the Nox with Miquella/the Haligtree than just the Black Knives (more on this later)

Albinaurics (1st gen - males): Seen rapidly aging and losing the use of their legs as they fade out of existence - the legs on these 1st gen albinaurics quite literally are translucent and have no hitbox. These are seen in a lot of places. Some noteable locations:

Liurnia (Albinauric Village) - previously a home, we find them being slaughtered by an Omen Killer and Depraved Perfumer

Liurnia (Caria Manor) - Pidia is a known 1st gen albinauric who also serves as the puppet-keeper; a curious thing considering the Caria Manor connection with puppets and the Nox's hand in creating albinaurics and puppets

Volcano Manor - Tortured likely as a result of Rykard's role as Praetor and Inquisitor

Leyndell - Tortured

Castle Sol - Tortured

Haligtree - Cocooned (more on this later)

Albinaurics (1st gen - females): Not aging like their male counterparts and they seem to have a strong companionship with wolves, almost mimicing the Empyrean/Shadowbound dynamic in a way. They are likewise lose the use of their legs, but theirs are not fading in the same way as the male's are. Only found in two locations:

Liurnia - We find Latenna in her quest towards the Haligtree

Consecrated Snowfields (Ordina Town) - They appear pre-goal in spirit form, but in the goal they are life-like and dressed in the same blue-silver as the Nox as they seemingly protect the path to the Haligtree. We also find Phillia here where Latenna gives her a birthing droplet.

Albinaurics (2nd gen): More frog-like in their shape and less humanoid, these are the more common variant to come across, but usually in different locations:

Lirunia - Found around Raya Lucaria as well as various graveyards, we know they are hunted by the Knights of the Cuckoo - the same knights that rebelled against Rennala and the Carian Royal Family.

Volcano Manor - Tortured

Mohgwyn Palace - Normal and Omen Blood variants can be found throughout

Consecrated Snowfield (teleporter) - A single albinauric can be found outside the teleporter leading to Mohgwyn palace

The way the 1st and 2nd generation albinaurics seem to fail to overlap in locations throughout the course of the game is very interesting and I can't help but wonder when exactly the 2nd generation albinaurics were introduced since they seem to operate in an entirely different manner to the 1st generation. Where the 1st generation is undoubtedly humanoid in nature and can even talk, cast sorceries, and have motivations, the 2nd generation seems to lack all of these features.

We can infer that the Golden Order saw the albinaurics as an affront to their Order in a similar way they do the omens as seen by the Omenkiller present in the albinauric village. So then why does Ranni have one at Caria Manor? It doesn't seem to be a Caria Royal Family thing either because we have Rykard over in volcano manor torturing them and nothing with Radahn, implying he is there with Ranni's permission specifically. His role in maintaining the puppets is also interesting when considering the coup of Rennala that happened and the subsequent siege on Caria Manor where we find the results of the fight with Knights of the Cuckoo turned into puppets reanimated and forced to defend the manor. So what is Ranni and the Caria relationship with the albinaurics?

More importantly - what is their relationship with the Nox?

There's no apparent ties between Rykard and the Nox that I've found or dug into, so we'll skip him.

Radahn does have some loose ties to the Nox through Sellia which has strong ties to the Nox in their specific flavor of assassin sorceries derived from the Night. But since Radahn does not use these same sorceries and uses only gravitational magic (whether by limitation or preference is unclear) from his teachings from the Alabastor Lord, there's no further ties.

Ranni has not only the ties with Pidia, but also Loretta who's shield resembles the dew drop and leads to the rumor of her being an Albinauric and thus derived from the Nox as well. More than any of that, we know Ranni did have very close ties with the Nox with the orchestration of the Night of the Black Knives - though this relationship seems to turn sour afterwards. The Nox also have the fingerslayer blade Ranni seeks in order to kill her own Two Fingers to continue on with her plans. But the most glaring of all the connections I think is her connection with the Dark Moon which influences not only Ranni's ambitions but also her sorceries.

Ranni's Dark Moon - The moon was encountered by a young Ranni, led by the hand of her mother, Rennala. What she beheld was cold, dark and veiled in occult mystery.

Moon of Nokstella - This talisman represents the lost black moon. The moon of Nokstella was the guide of countless stars.

Memory Stone - Said to be a fragment of the black moon that once hung above the Eternal City.

There's a very strong overlap between sorcerers and astrologers as well - another feature that ties directly back to the Nox.

Nightmaiden Twin Crown - Long ago, the Nox invoked the ire of the Greater Will, and were banished deep underground. Now they live under a false night sky, in eternal anticipation of their liege. Of the coming age of the stars. And their Lord of Night.

Ranni's Age of Stars Ending - Now cometh the age of the stars. A thousand year voyage under the wisdom of the Moon. Here beginneth the chill night that encompasses all, reaching the great beyond.

I have SO much more I could add but good god I doubt anyone made it this far as it is. This is what happens when I don't let myself look at other lore theories, local idiot fic writer goes insane trying to piece lore together all by her lonesome to avoid being influence by other's theories.

[ohcaptains]

knuckle velvet

synopsis. he walks you home, then lets himself in.

pairing. logan howlett x f!reader. tags. [18+] dubious consent, vaginal penetration, female receiving oral sex, spitting. honey don't feed it, it'll come back type beat.

Some deep part of Canada, where everything was white. Snowstorms that swarmed through the sky, and the only warmth you could find came from the bottom of a bottle.

The wood floor of the sticky bar you worked in was soaked from frost covered boots – haphazardly scraped across the welcome mat, owners preoccupied with getting their first drink than keeping the place tidy.

You existed there, behind the bar that patrons lent against, like a metal cage with leering onlookers. They paid in drinks, but you took the money home as tips, your warmth stoked in a fireplace.

How you’d ended up there in that forgotten part of the world, you didn’t know.

Perhaps you’d followed a narrow path, one strung out with thorns and rubbish, but the money was okay.

When it got slow, and there wasn’t much else to do, your boss let you read a bit, too, while you sipped on your endless supply of Coca-Cola.

At the end of your shift, your teeth were fuzzy from all the sugar. 

An easy existence, but some nights, the patrons got too friendly.

They were fresh off their trucks, looking for some place warm to bury for the night, but you weren’t offering.

So, you’d peer at them, watch them make a fool of themselves as they spewed putrid words in your general direction – alcohol and lack of sleep causing the floor to sway from beneath their feet.

It was always the new boys who would try it.

Risk it all for a chance between your thighs, unaware of the hound sitting at the end of the bar, nursing a whiskey and a vendetta.

The first time he fought for you, the air had changed. Gone cloudy with the chance of a brawl – that sixth sense that all bartenders have switching on.

“Lady said no, ain’t she?” he bellowed from across the bar.

The voice thick with smoke and alcohol, you recognised him as the guy who’d been drinking whiskey all night, but he was as sober as a nun. No stumble to his step, or slur to his cadence, either.

He was built like an oak tree. You noticed when you served him. Slid him his drink and gazed at the sheer bulk of him. At the weathered, handsome age to his face, to the spray of grey in his brown hair.

His thick arms were snugly buried under a button up shirt, and you didn’t see, but rather imagined, the way his muscular legs were stuffed into jeans, and the way his size 12’s rested against the hardwood.

His eyes though, were hiding something. Milky brown concealing his curiosity – easily done with the hard panes of his face.

You imagined letting him take you home, and you thought about being friendly, before a whisper in the back of your cranium told you to back off.

Perhaps safer.

You didn’t know where this man had come from, let alone where he’d been. So, you continued to serve him drinks, and tried to ignore the quiet hum of his presence, until the hum turned to a crash.

The patron was scorned. He paused, and turned to the end of the bar, where the brown eyed stranger was waiting. “What’s it to you?” he slurred.

But the man with the whiskey wasn’t looking to him. He sipped his drink, and said, “she said no. You don’t remember your manners?”

The bar adorned an eerie quiet. Nerves sat low in your belly, heart picking up speed.   “This guy serious?” he asked you.

You went to say something, but he was already throwing words at the stranger.

“She yours or something?” “It matter?” “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” The stranger scoffed, and brought his drink to his lips, “whatever bub.”

“We got a problem?” the man uttered, stalking towards him, but his friend took him by the arm and whispered something in his ear, forcing him to deflate.

You wondered what he’d uttered. Whether there were rumours about the guy – a reputation you didn’t know about.

Brown eyes didn’t bat an eye when the man and his buddy slid out the door, cold filling the room before the door slammed shut.

The bar exhaled.

People went back to their business, and you thought about it, you really did. Thought about leaving him alone. Going back to your measly existence. Your home – the pit for all of your things.

But it didn’t win over in the end.

You topped up his drink. He took it, and glanced at you, brown eyes ringed with mystery.

“That happen often?” he uttered, voice a gruff grunt.

You put the bottle down, and looked away, thinking back to last week when you nearly fought a guy for staring for too long. You glanced back to him. “Sometimes.” “Your boss is an asshole for letting you work here alone.” “That so?” you laughed, shocked at his candour. He nodded and downed his drink, eyeing you from over the rim.

Finished, he put the glass down on the bar, and shrugged his jacket on. He got up to leave, and you felt a chasm begin to open up in your chest.

You went to say something. Anything, to make him stay. But he paused and looked over his shoulder.

His jaw was clenched when he tentatively offered, “be safe.”

When you locked up, he was waiting for you. 

It didn’t scare you. Really, it should, but when you left the bar and saw him standing there, toking on a cigar in the cold, all it did was make you pause. He stood there, gazing at you, eyes clouded by smoke. 

“You waiting for me?” you uttered, making it real, even if the light drift of snow was giving the world a dream like quality. 

He shrugged. “Just waiting.” 

You nodded, and put the bar keys in your bag, ignoring the chasm get wider. If he was going to rob the place, he’d have to get through layers of receipts and tissues to get in. But you knew the bar wasn’t what he was after. Something about his posture, the luring look in his brown eyes — curious, like he was trying to figure something out. 

You began to walk past him, but when he didn’t follow, you paused. You peered over your shoulder, and he was still looking at you. 

Taking you in. “Well,” you started, hitching your bag up your arm, “you gonna walk me home, or what?” 

He followed you in comfortable silence.

Just you, the night, and the crunch of dirt under his boots. His cigar smoke drifted by, and it wafted through your subconscious, followed by pine, and crisp scent of the snow.

He sounded like the noise of the woods — ever present in these parts. A comfort, if one had adapted to its unpredictability. When you got to your familiar walkway, you opened the gate, but he didn’t follow you through.

Instead, he stood by the entrance, watching you unlock your door like he’d just dropped you off from a date. it was when you were halfway through that he spoke up. “You work every night?”

“Yeah,” you started quickly, looking to him. “Apart from Wednesday and Sunday.” He considered you, then gave you a sharp nod, and turned to leave.

That’s how you ended up with a wolf at your door.

Every night, he was the last one left, then he silently walked you home.

Some nights, you’d find him leaning against the entrance, and he’d quietly peel away from the door and follow you. At first, he simply walked closely behind, a looming shadow, until he began walking beside you.

Then one night, you let him in.

Made him a cup of coffee to fight off all the liquor he consumed, and he sat at your kitchen table, and drank every drop.

Watched you in the low, fluorescent lighting, and you did the same. Curiously studied him. He looked different in your home. In your kitchen. Looked a little softer around the edges, even if he couldn’t relax completely.

It went like that for a while. It was on one of these nights that he gave you his name, followed by a shitty cup of coffee. Sometimes two. Maybe a biscuit, or a piece of cake. Leftovers turned into home cooked meals. Sat at the kitchen table and watched him eat. Roast beef. Mashed potatoes. Lasagna. Sipped at your cup of tea as he slopped up his pasta, using the back of his hand to wipe the sauce off his mouth.

You left him finishing off his plate to get ready for bed, and it was when you were sorting your hair out, that he came into your bedroom and began taking his boots off.

You stood at your mirror and watched him place them near your door.

Then he reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt.

One by one, you watched his thick fingers reach the bottom. He took it off, revealing a white tank off and broad chest, and hung the shirt up on your door frame.

Jeans next.

Popped the button and shucked them to his feet -- threw them with his boots and dragged himself towards your bed.  

You went to say something. Anything.

But he looked so exhausted as he crashed onto your frilly bed, that all you could manage was, “You lock the door?”

Logan nodded. His eyes were already closed, and he was hugging the pillow when he uttered, “you coming to bed, or what?”

You let him stay the night.

Maybe it was raining, maybe he was too tired – it didn’t matter. All that mattered, was that he was warm, and sometimes, when you woke and felt the terrifying ache of being alive, he’d be there to quiet the pain.

Hush you with the soft swell of his lips and wandering hands.

You’d come with a hushed whisper, hot and sticky over his calloused fingers -- drowsy from how high he took you. Then he’d kiss you, fix your clothes, and go back to sleep.

Always the middle of the night. When it was dark and quiet out, and it felt as if you were the last people alive.

His skilled hands bringing you to the brink, a soft kiss, then back to bed.

You would wait for it. Watch him nurse his whiskey at the end of the bar, the night dragging with every drink you poured. Then, he watched you lock up.

Waited at the door for you, so you could walk home together, wordlessly taking the familiar trail.

He’d eat, you’d watch, then leave for your room.

Once, you woke to his head between your thighs. The night was quiet, room dark – slither of moonlight from your window cutting a line through your bodies.

You were slick with sweat, and as you flexed your taunt muscles, they fizzled and singed. Hot heat pushed low in your belly, rooted between your thighs.

Logan hummed, and you reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, whimpering his name to grab his attention.

He had palm fulls of you. Fists of your thighs, soft of your belly, leaving marks with his desire – desperation. The first thing he did was apologise. Muttered a hoarse, m’sorry, into your soaking cunt, but continued tasting you.

You used his hair as leverage, and hitched your hips up an inch, causing his nose to bump into your sensitive clit, and you hissed, as if in pain, but the sound trailed off into something similar to his name, and Logan grunted, moving your hips further up so he could twist a thick finger inside.

You took all he gave.

Moaned into the pillow beside you as you rocked your hips against his face, soaking his nose and mouth. Said shit you didn’t mean, but meant all the same, and Logan got off on it.

This mysterious man who had taken over your life, grunted your name like it belonged to him. Made you come on his thick beard and puffy lips, then made you taste yourself as he kissed you.

You hugged his sweat slick frame to you, fingers scratching his scalp, mindlessly grinding against his clothed cock. You were content to just kiss him, until he dragged his fingers between your thighs again.

You startled, gasping into his hot mouth, but Logan hummed, near smiling against your lips.

“’think there’s another in there for me,” he drawled.

When he fucked you, there was so much of him that you went blind with it. Eyes half lidded, delirious as he pushed inside, making himself fit. Stuffing you full, then pulling out, just to feel it all over again.

Again and again. You moaned his name into his soaked, scarred chest. Felt yourself leave your body, so hot, so wet, that it was all sensation. Just the slap of his hips against yours, the feel of his hands on your tits, in your mouth, telling you to open wide.

He spat, and when he missed, he smeared the mess off of your chin and rubbed it into your cunt.

Made you come, then filled you with his own. Leant back, and watched it drip out of you. You were so consumed by him, that you didn’t have enough energy to feel self-conscious.

No, when he had his wild eyes on you, you reached between your thighs and stuffed it back inside.

The next evening, and he was back at the bar, waiting for you to bring him his whiskey. When you placed it in front of him, those wild eyes were on you again.

Waiting. Always waiting.

Waiting to play out your usual routine.

masterlist | ask | reblogs appreciated endlessly

[tteokdoroki]

✎ᝰ. OCT 1ST ★ BONDAGE - satoru gojo .ᐟ

[CHAPTER ONE RAPUNZEL] satoru gojo as flynn rider + bondage. once upon a time, a girl trapped in a tower with nothing but her extremely lavish, long hair as company decides…fuck it and sleeps with a handsome stranger to get what she wants ( 9.1K ).

✧ chapter contents - minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, rapunzel!au, strangers to lovers, role reversal & switching, orgasm control, sensory deprivation, edging, thigh riding, spit kink, outer-course, begging, handjobs (m!recieving), reader's hair has blonde streaks but colour remains ambigous, rapunzel + fem!reader, flynn rider!satoru gojo.

✧ fairy godmother's note - yippieee!! kickstarting spooky season with this hefty boy. we have our glorious blue eyed king welcoming you all to our fourth annual tteokdoroki kinktober - i hope you all like what's planned this year and enjoy this piece to start with !! kissies hehe <3 - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ☆

“you’re going to take me to see the floating lights. or else.” 

“or else, what, honey?” 

ever since satoru gojo climbed the wooden lattice sewn to your tower by blooming, overgrown weeds and winding vines effectively invading the safest space in the world ( according to mother ), he’s been a pain in your fucking ass. when he’d first arrived, a towering and unfamiliar figure creeping about the main floor — your heart had dropped to the base of your stomach, pulsing rapidly with fear while he scoped the scene. you’d never come across a man before, mother had made sure of that, warning you of their cruelty and ugliness both inside and out. except satoru looked nothing like the descriptions your mother had left you with, you’d say that the man was stunning. not that you had much to compare him to.

his hair was a crisp white, appearing soft to the touch much like the snowfall that came in the winter months (something about playing in it. contrastingly, his eyes were a beautiful shade of baby blue — eerily similar to that of a summer sky free of cloudiness. he was too good looking to be human, for it to be natural, almost as if satoru had strolled straight out of one of the many fairytale books mother purchased for you from the markets. although, over the years you’ve probably read each book cover to cover a million times and not one fictional prince could even match this stranger’s sheer beauty.

though for now, this handsome stranger’s looks would get him nowhere with you. strangers always came with dangers, and since all you’d known throughout your years of living were these four walls, you weren’t going to take any chances with satoru and whatever problems he’d have brought with him.  initially and out of an unfamiliar fear, you’d  taken the nearest weapon to you (a frying pan) and cracked it right over his skull — watching the hunk of a human collapse to his knees and eventually black right out. if mother were around, she would have been proud. you’d tried not to feel any guilt trying to stuff his limp, lengthy limbs in your closet or under your bed because… well, what business does this stranger have with you? what the fuck is a man doing here? how did he get here? why is he here? 

your whole life you’ve been convinced that the outside word was treacherous and that you had to stay inside, where it was safe, because people were horrible and selfish — intent on hunting you down for the powers that lay intertwined in the coils of your hair. those specific streaks that glow a valuable gold between the usual  colour of your locks whenever you sang. mother would style them the way you liked every night — so long as you sung for her. you weren’t about to let mother down, nor risk the little life you built here together.

but, as it turns out, satoru wasn’t looking for the magic sprouting from your crown and entangled in your hair. it almost seemed like he had no idea about them either. rather, the moonlit haired man was looking for a place to lay low and hide after being chased through the forest for his satchel that seemingly carries something valuable. a crown… jewels that have a weight familiar to your head and sparkle like something you’ve seen before in a distant memory. 

“come to think of it, honey, where is my satchel?” cocking his head to the side, sky blue eyes peer up at you with a charm that sends a foreign swarm of butterflies ripping through your stomach.

you frown, accusingly pointing your weapon of choice at gojo’s head and puffing out your chest to appear as intimidating as possible while giving him your name. “i’ve hidden it in a secure location—“ 

“it’s in that pot…isn’t it?” 

as best as he can in the handcuffs he can call locks of your hair, the tower’s newfound infiltrator gestures towards a colourful pot in the corner of tne room. what? all you could think of in the moment is restraining him against the chair and why waste perfectly good rope when you’ve got such length to your own hair? the pot was the closest spot too.you knock him out swiftly after his guess, not giving gojo the satisfaction of finding his precious purse.

now, with the satchel hidden once more, satoru gojo semi-concussed and conscious once again — you realise that for the first time in your life, you have some kind of leverage to bargain with. you need someone to take you to see the floating lights that illuminate the sky on your birthday, every year. satoru needs his… crown? that so obviously doesn’t belong to him. of course, he would have stolen it, mother always said men were no good and always take what isn’t theirs (oh the irony). nonetheless, it  was the perfect match of desires.

this way, you could prove to mother that you weren’t weak like she said you were. that you could cope by yourself and go explore the outside world. it wouldn’t be how it usually is with mother — where you ask for something and instantly get denied because she believes you to be too naive to function in a world outside of her. not this time. this time you have a bargaining chip. a satchel containing a valuable so rare that satoru was willing to risk his life for.

your captive wriggles against the restraints of your hair, woven around the chair like tough knots of a rope to keep him at bay. while the silver haired fox may not have canines like your mother suggested, you have no idea how powerful he could be. contrastingly, gojo finds your hair to be soft against his skin, ticklish along the veins of his arms despite how secure it has him strapped down. he’s forced to listen and to follow your every move across the floor plan, guided by the strength of your hair tugging him about.

“i have a proposition for you. come, look.” drawing back a curtain to reveal a painting from earlier — you recite your plan to your intruder. tomorrow evening, he will take you to see the floating lights … ahem…lanterns that drift across the sky on your birthday every year and then, return you safely to the tower before mother returns. it’s an easy deal.  “i won’t give your satchel back until then,” you stutter out fiercely, adjusting your height and the grip you have on the cool metal frying pan. “you won’t get it back until you’ve taken me to see the lights.” 

“oh whatever, i can just take it back, honey,” satoru goads, cockily ripping his head back in patronising laughter. even though the melodious sound makes irritation bubble hot underneath your skin, you can’t help the way your eyes are immediately drawn to the man’s Adam’s apple as it bobs delectably along with his chuckles. “as soon as i get out of this…hair? hair.” pale blue eyes flicker up to your face when gojo fixes himself in the seat he’s fixed to. they bore deeply into your soul, reading you with as much ease as you have flicking through the same three books that you own. you feel the weight of your hair shift around satoru’s shoulders as he gestures down to it nearly wrapped around his bulging forearms (not that you’d been paying attention). “this is kinda freaky, hon. don’cha think?” a slow sexy smirk tugs at the corners of gojo’s plush, glossy lips, or rather, he smoulders attempting to woo you into giving him what he wants. “you don’t seem like the freaky type, sweetheart.”

once more, a frustrated flame flares up in the middle of your chest — you’d feel offended for sure if you know what gojo meant. “freaky?” 

“as in like… dubious?” he grins in response, running the pink tip of his tongue over his straight, perfectly white teeth. “this is basically bondage, yanno?”

you blink once. confused.

“improper?” 

nothing, not one of these synonyms or explanations from the smiling idiot makes any more sense to you — bringing you to tilt your head to the side, innocently like a puppy that makes satoru laugh once more. this time it actually does something to you. sends weird butterflies fluttering in your tummy.

with a shake of snow white locks and an inhale that sounds amused as it goes, your hostage clicks his tongue — letting those cooling blue eyes slink up and down your virtuous frame . the swell of his lower lip trapped between pretty perfect teeth. “as in sexy, sweet thing.” satoru’s sickly sweet and powdered sugar coo slips through one ear and out of the other like hot, viscous molasses, you immediately shudder — flustered down to the meat on your bones, curling in on yourself as your faux intimidation tactics melt from your body and slip between the floorboards beneath your bare feet. “gosh! you’re so innocent,” his gaze rips away from you, and you fight back an unexpected whimper, missing the intruder’s gaze on you. “guess that’s what being trapped in a place like this does to a darlin’ thing like you. you wouldn’t last a day out there.” 

he’s patronising you. speaking to you as though you’re no more than a child. however, being talked over and down on is all you’ve ever known, especially from your mother… but the way he acts reminds you of all of the advice she’s bestowed upon you over the years. mother tells you all the time, how naive and silly you are. how people will try and take advantage of your looks and your kindness. and so you decide to use your mother’s advice — if all humans, act like dogs, you’ll throw one a bone and wait for them to come back for more. 

steeling yourself, you use a loop of your hair to drag gojo’s chair toward you — positioning him like a puppet beneath your cold, hard stare. he man spreads on the chair as best as he can in his restraints, leaning back while his seat tilts backwards on a forty-five degree angle — drawing your eyes from his face to his thick thighs momentarily. “you are going to take me to see the lights. it’s a promise, not a threat,” you whisper into the air that buzzes with tension between you both, leaning down and pinning gojo in place. you’re so close, so little proximity between your faces, that you can practically feel his warm breath lingering on the damp skin of your lips. “and i promise, i’ll make this worth your while.” 

your voice lowers an octave, smooth and buttery and just right. like a snare for a wild white rabbit or bait on a hook — it peaks satoru’s interest, illicit thoughts and desires flashing behind his pupils like lightbulb ideas. “oh, honey. i can make you see stars alright,” he looks up at you then, with an expression of heat and thirst, dragging you into a pool of shining blue eyes that you barely manage to free yourself from. drowning in his attention once more. you stand over him proudly, between his legs smugly and all he wants to do is wipe the winning smile from your face and show you a real good time. 

if he could, gojo would reach up and grab at your hips possessively, if he could he’d cup your neck and let his fingers toy with your baby hairs to pull you into a sloppy kiss. he can’t help the way white hot desire spreads through his system like throwing gasoline on an open fire and pile of wood. he grins mischievously, and in response, a brand new sensation stirs within your lower tummy — blistering hot as it zips between your chest and your core.

you sense the change in the atmosphere and gojo does too. both of you dying to scratch the itch on the part of your brain that is the control centre for lust. but you remind yourself what this is truly about, tell yourself not to get lost in the haze of it all, and will yourself to throw a loop of your hair over daring blue eyes like a blindfold — acting fast to secure a seat in an unsuspecting satoru gojo’s vacant lap.

he grunts in surprise, flinches when he realises one out of five of his senses are down. “what the fuck—?” gojo spits, cocky smirk melting away. 

“shhh,” you taunt the man under your breath, leaning forward so that your voice coasts over the shell of his ear like a summery breeze. it invokes a sense of pride within your chest when your hostage tilts his head to follow your voice — his own breathing erratic and increasingly shallow with how he begins to struggle against your restraint on him. “you won’t get a chance to make me see those lights. not if i get you to see them first.” 

in truth, you've got nothing planned. you’ve never been in the same room as a man, let alone pleasure them the way that you’ve read in books you’d borrowed from your mother. 

the reality of the scene before you is daunting, giving up part of your virtue just to prove a point and get to see the floating lights like you’ve always wanted…but at the same time — it’s your one chance at freedom that’s at stake here. “you don’t sound so sure about that, sweetheart,” satoru taunts you with the peaks in his voice coltishly high. he continues to wrestle against the restraints of your hair — he’s strong and with a little more force he could escape but it’s like he senses your hesitancy. 

like he knows for certain you won’t make good on your promise. just like mother. 

that much is evident in the way his smooth, glossy lips tick upwards into an arrogant smirk. 

your determination to prove him wrong grows more and more by the second, so before you succumb to your nerves again, you let your free hand claw with way over gojo’s right shoulder — steadying him, forcing him to sit still as you make a comfortable seat out of his widespread lap. he tenses at first, unable to see you move, but his grin remains, you have no idea if it’s because he’s proud of you or doubting you — but the expression only serves to piss you off even more.

“what’s next, sweetheart?” 

a strangled growl is your only reply, the most menacing sound you can muster as you lift head upwards and his pool of loose silver-moon locks fall out of place. with a shuddering breath and a hold of gojo’s restraints, you press your lips to his in a shaky kiss — still unsure of where your lips go and what to do with your teeth and how to move your tongue. the captive beneath you knows it and takes advantage of your weakness, nipping at the swell of your lower lip gently — hardly enough to draw blood. satoru is testing you, telling you to be brave and take from him. prove to him that you’re willing to do whatever you want for him to make your silly childhood dream come true.

he allows you to fight back, despite this being your idea, lets you forcefully grab his angular jaw and capture him in a proper spit-swapping kiss. if he really wanted to, he’d find a way to escape from the tight bounds of your lengthy hair. but he doesn’t. gojo lets you swallow him down; push your tongue exploratively into his mouth and lap at his foreign flavour. he wants your tongue to take dominance from his, pink appendages sloppily rolling over one another, slipping and sliding as you take and take from satoru.

the kiss, already uncoordinated from your lack of experience, becomes hurried and hungry and wet the more you steal from satoru. you take and take and take until his glass his half full and his brain slowly becomes devoid of all logical thought. he comes the prey to your predatory mouth, missing the way your hand frees his pale cheek and fingers fluidly traverse down his broad shoulders, over his marble sculpted body to find purchase in the belt loops of his bothersome pants. now curious, you feel your way down the front of the fabric and grin into the hot and heavy kiss when satoru’s lets out a breathy, staggered moan into your open mouth. 

his swelling erection twitches in response to your inquisitive hand, slender hips involuntarily jumping upwards.

“fuuuck,” satoru chuckles airily, words featherlight as they breeze along your lips. his head keens upwards too, chasing the weight of your hot sticky tongue in his mouth — desperate to be closer, craving the feeling of your nose knocking against his and your breath on his cheek from just how pressed up against each other you are. “fuck baby that’s it. kiss me more, touch me harder…” he’s addicted before he even knows what you have to offer, what he’s getting himself into. if you could see his eyes from under his binding, you’d bare witness to pleading blue pools swirling with a painful desire as he twitches beneath you, wriggling his wrists to get free. “c’mon, touch me.” he adds between sloppy pecks.

backing your face out of satoru’s reach, you break the drooly lip lock — letting your lungs fill with oxygen it had once missed, while your heaving chest syncs up with the intruder you have strapped  to a chair. you pull away, connected to the man by not just your hair, but a string of saliva glazed across your lips — cautiously, your tongue dart out to break the the between your eager mouths, two sets of uneven panting filling the quiet air. 

the two of you remain unmoving and unwilling to back down while you catch your breath; but your hand remains in the centre of gojo’s lap — rocking it back and forth, back and forth over his growing bulge. you stare at him, observing the reactions that he tries so hard to control. little twitches to his pink swollen lips and the flare of his nostrils whenever your palm makes contact with a sensitive spot. all this waiting is agony, the white haired captive might die if he doesn’t get more from you soon. 

satoru whines impatiently as a result, knowing full well what you want and you won’t ask him again — not when you’re tauntingly squeezing his cock for a second, third, fourth, fifth time. he doesn’t fucking know — overwhelmed by waves of lust-infested blood rushes to its blistering hot tip. “fuck! okay, okay fine. i’ll take you! just—“ the chair rattles from the force of gojo’s struggle against your restraints, which hardly covers the low moan that escapes from between his plush glossy lips while his length pulses against the inside of his pants. “just fuck me. touch me. anything.”

something about his tone being all desperate and high activates a part of you that you never even knew existed. a part of you that knows what to do next… even if you haven’t acted it out, you’ve enough books to remember what the erotic ones say.

only then, after he pleads, do you use your shaky hands to tug down the garment — pulling them towards his knees as best as you can against your hair until the button pops free. the zipper follows easily and the waistband falls away from starlight skin and slender hips. everything gets hotter; any fresh air between your bodies becoming tinged with the need for sex as the scorching ghost of your fingertips leaves burn marks against satoru’s pelvis, and sends heatwaves of ardour from the base of his spine to the top of his skull.

satoru’s squirming pauses while he waits with uneven breathing for your next move — tongue pressing up against the barricade of his white teeth to prevent himself from taunting you further or perhaps to stop himself from belting out another pathetic set of whimpers. he wishes he could see you, those sweet innocent eyes looking down at him as you peel back the last layer of fabric stopping you from accessing his painfully hard erection. his underwear. 

when you gasp in shock, pride weaves itself between the bones that protect his heart and lungs like an uninvited weed, he knows that he’s decent. longer than he is thick, bright red at his mushroomed tip and leaky from just how turned on he is. there’s a trail of silver moon hair that leads you down a path from his belly button to the thickest part of his dick too. but oh, how satoru gojo wishes he could see.. the way you lick your lips as drool drowns your tongue, mouth watering at the sight of his length slapping against his clothed stomach while he manspreads for you. the way your pupils dilate, the colour in your eyes swallowed by a dark veil of carnality. 

this is a hunger you’ve never experienced before, a type of starvation that makes your hand lurch forward before your brain can control it, gripping satoru at the base of his milky, slender shaft. it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a cock; let alone held one between your tiny fingers — it’s much warmer than you anticipated, tacky to the touch from dribbles of precum running down from his untouched tip, but you like it. the weight, the wet sound it makes when you slightly flick your wrist around satoru. not to mention the stuttered groan he lets out, his head falling against the support of the chair and yanking slightly on the blindfold made of hair that covers his eyes.

if you weren’t sitting in his lap, you’d want him in your drooling mouth. you’d sink down to your knees like the girls in your naughty books and take him down your virgin throat, just so you could look up at satoru and watch the sweat bead down his jawline and run a track over his bobbing adam’s apple. but you’re not and you’ve got a point to prove, so you loop your hair around your other wrist to tighten his restraints and extend a thumb upward from his base to his seedy tip, jamming the pad of it through the slit where he pre forms in thick, creamy pearls. as white as those that come from an oyster.

“that’s it gorgeous, just like that…” satoru leers up at you huskily, voice tinged with neediness that he fails to mask. he seems to like the way you touch him and you’re sure to use a delicate hand when you smooth the supple pad of your thumb over the pad of his sensitive tip, rubbing his opaque precum into it sweetly. “touch me s’more? you can do it… i know you’re shy, can hear your breathing ‘n how heavy it is. shit, you’re new at this.” saliva slows down satoru’s salacious words as he rambles to you with swollen lips and rosy cheeks, angling his head in whatever direction your breath seems to be coming from. 

he’s in tatters, destroyed by a few simple touches with his hard on smearing white across the front of his clothes. you roll your palm over his mushroomed cockhead next to test the waters and take pleasure in admiring the way he trembles, grasping at the arms of the chair you have him strapped to in order to ground himself. it’s torture for satoru to be this patient, killing him slowly from the inside out like a virus spreading across his brain and other vital organs — but it doesn’t mean you’re in any better state. practically dripping in his lap with your panties dampening more and more every time satoru so much as whimpers. past the point of being turned on by the sight of a strong, powerful man weak and blindfolded underneath you.

satoru bucks upward at your command, sucking in a breath as his sensitive, seedy slit bumps your palm once more. “s-shit… please.”

the improper ness of the entire situation sends a zap of electricity to your swelling clit. you’ve only ever imagined being with someone like this as you have seeing the floating lights — touching yourself beneath your skirts and under your painted ceilings whenever you were brave enough. now you’re here, spread over the thick thighs of a possible thief who begs you to jerk him off. “s-shut up,” you hiss as embarrassment and  inexperience begins to shine through the deal you’ve struck with gojo, the fact that he can tell as much and still wants this has you soaked all the way through and aching for friction as well. 

you’ve never been in possession of so much power in your life. mother never let you have it. but right now, you can taste it sparking between you and gojo, smell it in the air teeming mixed with a cocktail of your arousals. in the moment you realise that the silver haired man would cling onto every one of your sugar-coated words (no matter how nervous) if it meant he got the fuck he wanted in the end. and you would get to see your lights too.

“just… tell me what to do,” you say without realising how husky your own voice has gotten. “i promised you your crown, to make you feel good if you took me to see the lights. and i never go back on a promise. s-so tell me.” talking yourself into it and building up some more confidence, you circle over satoru’s bulbous cockhead again — gaze laser focused on the burning bright red colour as it oozes. you know that he likes it and it makes his head spin so much that he starts to fight against the restraint of your hair again. “i won’t let you go, not until this is over. so tell me what i can do to make you cum.” 

despite not being able to see his entire face, gojo’s smug smile says it all — his perfect teeth cheerily on display, contrasting with the flustered pink tint to his cheeks. “cup it, make a fist around my cock so you can jerk me off’a little bit,” a haughty moan scratches at the walls of your captive’s throat when you follow his guidance and finally grip him fully, soft and supple hands easily dwarfed by the size of him. satoru’s shaft may be a little thinner, but he’s thick enough to fill your own throat and cause a stretch to your quivering hole with his balls being round, plump and full of white hot seed saved up just for you. “christ, squeeze my base a lil’ before you get movin’,” at first contact, satoru’s thighs tremble deliciously against your mound, blood rushing to your clit and through the forked veins that spiral down his length. 

your senses are overwhelmed, he smells so good — of peppermint and a musky twang of sex act like dangerous smelling salts or fumes. you could get addicted if you weren’t careful. you’re super aware of each ridge and firm vein that decorates him and as you start to palm satoru steadily, you notice just how sticky your hand is — movements guided by the wet cream of his cock. slipping and sliding as your closed fist moves up and down, up and down, occasionally squeezing the base of him just like he asked. your knuckles brushing the soft bush of pubic hair at his pelvis. you can only imagine how everything feels for him, not being able to see at all.

the thought just barely crosses your mind — too focused on speeding up your soiled hand around gojo just to hear more of his angelic gripes and groans that rise and fall from his heaving chest. how good all of this must feel for the man without being able to see. every touch must make him tick and drip and throb achingly. he must feel weak too, completely vulnerable to anything you might do to him while blindfolded and unable to touch you because of bonds formed by your hair. 

once you set a steady rhythm to your closed fist to jerk him off with, gojo takes a breather to announce his next command — head shaking side to side with moonlight locks sticking to his forehead in an attempt to alleviate the inferno of desire spreading through of his limbs. “now spit on it,” he states bluntly, an obvious dip to the octave in his voice. you can’t possibly imagine why he’d need spit; your hand is already glossed with a shiny layer of precum, tainting your knuckles from the viscosity. 

you swallow thickly, but don’t dare stop pleasuring your captive stranger. “w-what?” 

“are you kidding me just—“ leaning forward as best as he can while held back by the strong locks of your hair, like rope around his wrists. dopamine crackles over your brain like fireworks in an enclosed space at the scene that unfolds next, satoru pursing his lips to spit onto his own milky dick — letting the frothy mix from mouth join the mess that lubes the both of you up where connected. “just spit on it, honey. thought you wanted me to feel it.”  

licking your lips, you rub down satoru’s girth far enough to drag the glob of spit down to his tender weighty balls, that pulse at your gentle touch. the feeling makes satoru’s entire body jolt like an electric shock — a gargled groan clambering out from the depths of his panting chest as his jaw goes slack and mouth falls open. “please. please spit on it, honey. god please.. need you to wet my cock. i need it so bad, promise i’ll be fucking good.” blind but with his remaining senses in tact, gojo remains largely vulnerable to your touch, his entire world tilting on one axis when you grip his dick a little harder at his request. causing a ring of white to gather where the circle of your wrist envelopes him.

at his begging. which you swear makes you gush like a small, erotic stream — your juices sloshing about in the gusset of your panties while your sex goes unattended.

so you nod obediently, tilting your head forward and parting your swollen lips to let a thick, syrupy string of your own spit ooze onto his plump and sore balls, stroking him rapidly to spread it over his creamy tip as well. your spit is contrastingly cool in comparison to the natural lubricant smeared all over your captive’s palpitating dick — causing it to grow impossibly harder. it slickens up your hand, evidence of the silver haired man’s arousal seeping through the fabric of his crumpled shirt and coils of your restrictive hair. neither of you can bring yourselves to care in the moment — all you can think to do is relish in gojo’s size.

he’s so big, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t wondered how satoru fit entirely inside your tight hole, stretching you out in the new future — earning yourself a fresh wave of liquid lava hot essence to your ruined panties. you dare to dream onwards, picturing the azure eyed stranger fucking you against the walls of the tower in every way the man knew possible… you have no idea what he’s capable of when untied. but the sight of him lazily thrusting into your filthied fist like it’s instinct, following it like a moth to a candle flame, is enough dream fuel to last you a lifetime. even after the deal is complete and the lights are just a distant memory. 

eventually, you decide to pull off of satoru to give your wrist a break — walking your fingers up the broad expanse of his built chest to tweak his nipples between your tingling bodies. his entire frame is wracked with a case of shivers, mouth parting in a high-pitched, whiny whimper with strings of saliva connecting its roof to his tongue. you’re so pathetically turned on, drool pooling on your tongue like a hot flash flood. 

it’s why you tighten your grip on your hair and thus his restraints, resulting in satoru staggering forward. closer, panting like a damn dog in rut. drawing your free hand up towards your lips and away from his pecs, the proximity between you becomes so little that satoru can practically smell the musky evidence of sex that you lick from your hand. “oh… you taste so good,” you lament in a dulcet tone, failing to miss the way gojo’s dangerous azure eyes dart about beneath his makeshift blindfold, probably dying to see you get a taste of him.

“d-don’t say that, you’ll make me fuckin’ cum, honey.” he gulps, involuntarily pumping his hips into the air, chasing your hand which he needs so desperately to feel good. “please don’t stop.” while begging you — satoru is the perfect picture of a ruined man, though you’re sure he would say the same about you if you hadn’t strapped your hair over his line of vision. his milky skin glistens as though it’s the very source of light for the silvery moon — illuminated by droplets of sweat from the exertion off fucking your fist like a squelching, welcoming pussy. his cheeks glow warmly with a dusty shade of pink and there’s a red ring forming around his lips from where he’s bitten them to control his wails of ecstasy.

succumbing to the obscenity of it all,  you reach forward and lick a stripe into his hellfire hot mouth. effectively sharing the saltine flavour of gojo’s own precum with him while he languidly sucks all the tang from your pink appendage. his angel white lashes flutter shut at the heaviness of your tongue against his own. the kiss is messy and mismatched, saliva seeps from the corners of your mouth and drags a sticky train down your chin. parting briefly, you spit it into the middle of your palm — happily taking satoru’s cock back into your talented hold and providing a solace to soothe its passionate ache. 

“ngh… i can feel you. f-fuck. feel you tryin’ not to grind against me, sweetheart.” somehow, gojo finds pockets of air to taunt you in — his voice an arousing mix of a raspy whine and cocky tone. “so wet, i can smell you too. so sweet. dripping all over your panties while you jerk me off. do you need that needy pussy taken care of?”

everything he’s said is true, while the man with the sweaty silver locks fought to escape the prison of your hair — desperate to see how you pleased him, you fought the growing pit in your stomach. the urge to use satoru for release. you’d never hit your peak with another person before, only your smaller-than-his fingers whenever mother left for more than a day or two. 

you admit to nothing, continuing to stroke satoru to his own high — his panted moans accompanied by the sound of skin slapping skin from your hand fisting him to the high heavens.  “please baby, i wanna help get you off. feel that wet little cunt. let me go, i’ll be so good to you if you let me touch your sweet c—“ 

“n-no! we had a deal. my rules.” you stutter, denying yourself. denying him.

“c’mon sweetheart,” a strained and petulant whine echoes throughout the tower — satoru thrusting shallowly through your closed hand in order to match his rhythm to the flick of your wrist. “please, god, baby. if you won’t let me touch you, or at least see you, then can you put that pretty pussy on my thigh? ride it real good? wanna know how you sound when you’re being pleasured…when you give into it all. please honey, give me somethin’ to work with. anythin’…”

gojo presses, like a disciple begging their god for mercy. begging you for mercy. there’s never been this much power in your reach, the ability to control a man who could easily over power you with your sex makes your mind feel egotistically weighty. your resolve crumbles just a tad, satoru’s neediness  chipping away at its foundation until your hips instinctively position themselves perfectly over the swell of his right thigh. how bad could it be? giving him an inch when you’ve taken a mile from him. mother says you’ve never been good at lying and right now, you can no longer pretend like your hips aren’t dying to slide back and forth over your capture like a desperate whore. 

like you don’t want to use him for more than just the floating lights, but to soothe the fire lit in your lower stomach — trailblazing down to your throbbing clit.

something clicks in your mind, all of your inhibitions are dashed from the tower as you briefly release satoru’s pathetically wet cock and restraints to pull up the skirts of your silk purple dress, exposing a slither of supple fat at your thighs. hurried movements deliver the same treatment to satoru’s pants. “this… this doesn’t change anything. doesn’t mean i’m letting you go just yet. it won’t affect our deal.” you warn the intruder but all sense of venom and authority is lost, evaporating into the temperate air and ending up as a piteous, meek mewl when your exposed mound makes first contact with man’s naked thigh.

if the sound of ruffling fabric hadn’t caught your hostage’s attention; the heat of your sopping sex against his moonlit skin definitely did. “fuck…that’s it. there we go, honey. put it on me,” a tinge of amusement lays evident in his gravelly voice, sets of slender digits peeking out of their hairy restraints to map out your doughy thighs and crawl their way up to the source of your essence. “i just knew you were wet for me, can feel how turned on you are.” as best as he can, gojo shifts until his knee is able to bump your clit — cooing in satisfaction when you ooze against him in response. you almost despise the way he laughs up at you condescendingly, as if he’s the one in control irregardless or the fact that you’re on top. 

maybe it’s the dopamine rush that makes your dynamic unclear — neither of you wanting to give up or take the lead. the lust fizzing in the cracks and crevices of your brain make you cute and pliant for gojo but hair woven over his body keeps him subdued and thirsty for you. 

like a gravitational pull, you buck downwards on the silver haired stranger’s toned thigh and smear the beginnings of your arousal all over him. you’ve barely been touched, oozing in viscous waves as you lose control over your body, rutting harder and faster. “watch your mouth.” you cry out, volume barely above a whisper, bottom lip trembling because it feels so good to use someone this way. 

resuming your hold on his dripping cock again as you rock your hips — you rearrange the loop of hair keeping gojo in place, covering his eyes just as your hair begins  to glow gold in time with your symphony of moans. “right, right, sorry. this doesn’t change things,” he flexes his thigh underneath your syrupy sex, strawberry tongue slipping out to wet his lips while your words fade away into a pretty little sigh. “but you wanna smack that messy clit all over my thigh, don’cha wanna make it creamy… even messier?” satoru all but jeers, the wisps of a smirk rising on the horizon of his lips now that your hips have formed their own rhythm over his leg.

they speed up their passionate dance on him, beads of glistening essence pearling between your two fat pussy lips. the slick smack of your naked cunt against his muscular thigh caused his dick to twitch in your hand — gojo thrusting up when you thrust down. he tilts his head down, catching a whiff of your heavenly scent in the air between you both. you hate that he’s right just as much as he hates not being able to see you and touch you properly — only catching glimpses of the golden light sparkling within your hair like a halo from underneath his makeshift blindfold.

you feel like you might be going insane, trapped underneath a non existent touch. like being pulled under waves of euphoria with aching lungs that don’t get enough air. near angelic screams of delight rip through the base of your throat contrast with the way you sinfully hump satoru and jerk him off to the point of his dick forming a creaminess in your hand. he bounces his thigh faster the higher you moan, rewarding you for all the hard work you put in to make this deal worth it.

“you’re no better… you’re filthy,” 

“that’s right honey, so dirty. all cause of you. messy with you, why won’t you let me see?”  the captive rambles, torn between fighting to break out of the bondage and listening to the lewd sticky noises your mound makes when gliding smoothly over his paled skin. satoru growls at how roughly your body moves above his own, face contorting lecherously, cheeks red and lips puffy — a mess from how long he’s been holding out for you. he’s a mess. it’s true. he won’t even deny it. “now fuckin’ stroke it baby, stroke me to the rhythm of your pussy bouncing up and down for me…please…” 

simpering slightly, gojo’s fingers twitch against the arm of the chair — itching to grab at your ass and slam you down against his shaky thigh. if you palm him more, grip him tighter… he can better imagine the warmth of your cunt if he got the chance to slip inside. for now, you oblige his request, pulling tighter on the bindings of your hair while you them use as leverage — throwing yourself down on satoru as the lewd pap of your drooling pussy fills the musky tower air. “that’s it honey, up ‘n down. uppp ‘n  down. keep goin’ just like that.” 

you don’t have the energy to chide him, jostling about in satoru’s lap with wet whimpers bubbling up on the seams of your lips. pleasure begins to twist nice and tightly in your tummy, scalding you from the inside out and burning any logical thought from your brain. head beginning to roll to the side, you think about fully submitting to your capture. letting go entirely — you’d be satisfied. you’d get to cum. your deal might fall through but at least you’d get to see a different kind of light. 

easily, you could just give up. it wouldn’t be hard to, not  when gojo firmly plants his feet into the tiled floor and the power from his hips has hip rutting upwards to chase your fleshlight-like fist. a beefy cry battles its way out of his broad chest, vibrating through you as his quivering thigh juts your pretty, syrupy cunt every time you lift off of him. 

it’s the perfect cycle; the ideal push and pull. you squeal in ecstasy, the hood of your clit dragged back so that your sensitive bundle of nerves is exposed to the blistering heat of satoru’s cool toned skin — taking you closer and closer to your high. streaks of your hair glow brighter than before, more intensely the louder you moan and just like they would if you were singing to help mother or while she brushed your hair. despite the strength in the light of your hair, everything else about you weakens, your grip on your hair, the pace of your hand as you palm satoru to the high heavens. you can’t think to care about any of it when you’re this close. 

if mother could see you now, you don’t think you’d mind if she was disappointed in you. 

but then you’re ripped away from the edge of cloud nine. satoru stops just short of the dam threatening to break. his thigh completely still with your juices splattering against him once your own hips come to a hault. a petulant howl echoes through the flower, frustrated tears stinging in your waterline as you feel your orgasm slip away from you cruelly. “what the fuck satoru?” 

“sorry honey….” he laughs heartily, a slight rasp coating each syllable from each word that leaves his mouth. “don’t think i like this deal very much. just ‘cause you feel good doesn’t mean you can forget about me,” gesturing to the way you gush on and stain his thigh, the captive with the silver moon hair shrugs. “you don’t get to cum or see the lights unless i get to see you.”

gojo’s been good so far, hardly challenging you this whole time and instead, goading you into a world of pleasure you would have never experienced under mother’s watchful eye. instead, he was content to have his cock touched and his name wailed a hundred different ways — he’d shown no indication of breaking your deal aside from this. so in turn, you halfheartedly let go of the loop of hair that kept his sapphire stained eyes away from the world and held his wrists down to the arms of his chair.  the restraints loosen just enough to please him and do what he needs to do. not enough to give him complete freedom. 

“fuck the deal.” you cast it all to the side, relentlessly resuming grinding all over gojo — pushing your hips back as far as his knee to smother your swollen pleasure against it.

this time, satoru is able witness the way your bambi doe eyes roll back into your emptying skull. 

with newfound motivation, the intruder begins quickly blinking away any darkness that caused a fuzz at the edge of his vision, gojo’s gaze immediately trickles down to your clenching hole, a treasure kept safe between your nectar glossed thighs; watching you ride him. “god, if i had my hands on you i’d rub that clit until you were squirting… i bet you’d like that, if i ruined that pussy. made her mine — you'd like that.” gojo’s stare returns to your eyes, flashing you his pearly whites through a condescending smile. his rushed and rambled teasing words make your creamy cunt wetter; body betraying you to violently shake above him. 

though you find strength to keep up your end of the bargain. you’d sworn to make satoru see stars, encapsulating his rigid, sloppy dick between your nimble fingers once more. you even spit on it, earning a haughty bleat from between the man’s pretty (yet chatty) mouth. his sturdy body seizes underneath your touch as you take a firmer grip on him, palming him faster and faster — seedy, hot precum webbing over your knuckles once more. that’s when you finally get to see it. how murky and dark your captive’s vibrant eyes grow, like a pond, swimming with desire for you and only you.

the rapture that had once melted away from you like butter in a pan begins to blossom within you once again — willing you to beg for a chance at a real orgasm. “yes satoru! oh, yes please!” you squeak, short of breath and not entirely sure or what you’re even begging for. the golden light emitting from strands of your hair flare up again and your pussy throbs with an aching need to hit release. “please…”

a self congratulatory thread of cobalt lust weaves its way between the darkening midnight flecks in this eyes. “now look who’s begging,” clicking his tongue, gojo cocks his head to the side, relishing in his ability to finally look at you. drink in the way your chest bounces beneath the bodice of your lace orchid gown. it’s completely fucked, darkened by a crude mix of your arousals but it’s the most beautiful thing satoru has ever seen — only serving to rial him up even more… his own orgasm coming up over the hill. it burns at his internal organs, the lining of his stomach and the only way to alleviate this almost painful yet delectable twinge to his system is through you. “bet you’re only being nice ‘cause you’re close. well guess what? me too, be a good girl, honey, and cum for me.” he says, voice rising in both pitch and breathiness through his gritted teeth. 

he’s going to cum. 

and you’re too far gone to form a response with words just yet. you stop your own ministrations, payback for edging you earlier. his own cock dribbles pitifully as you rip his high away from him like pulling a rug from beneath his feet. gojo thrashes in his hair in response, azure eyes wild and almost wet with a sheen of tears — just as desperate to cum ad you are. “wh-what the fuck was that for?” he winges as though he’s a child on punishment, slender hips rising up to chase your soiled hand and perfect grip — shaft standing needily at attention. “honey…”

“you don’t get to cum until i get to cum. so either you work with me, satoru, or we’ll go all day.” you snap, slowly working your drenched cunt over the meat of his thigh once again, your puffy folds spread either side of it — squelching with the way you salaciously wind your hips all over him. 

satoru basks in the sight, tongue poking out tauntingly between his teeth as he decides to test the waters. “fine, but at least let me help,” he suggests, watching eagerly as you throw your head back in the purest form of pleasure and grind on him harder. it’s clear as day that you need just as much of a push to cum as he does and he plans on giving it to you in just one condition. “untie me.”

“deal.” chewing on your lower lip, you let more of your hair unwind your glowing hair from all points that keep gojo strapped to the chair. enough for more of his hands to escape. then, he’s on you within a flash, hot tongue swirling its way over your clothed bosom and biting at your peaked nipples while his hands shoot to the globes of your ass so that he can drag you in harsh circles across his lap. he’s ravenous, out of control, as if he’s been waiting for this moment the entire time. 

somewhere along the way, in one final burst of passion, your mouths find each other again — swapping streams of saliva as you lose yourselves to sex crazed minds teaming with lust hormones. with your lips smacking and bodies moving against each other in a delicious bump and grind — satoru forces a large hand between you both, fumbling against your cotton panties. the sound he lets out when he finally, finally gets his hands on your puffy clit is glutoral and animalistic, the simple touch sending a shock wave of electricity across every one of your synapses. dazing you for good. 

you bear witness to the silver haired stranger losing his mind, falling from grace like an angel with blackened wings. and for you, he does the same, commiting the sight of your glowing halo-like strands of hair to memory — the coils that shine brighter the more you sing and sin for him.

he can’t stop gabbling, gargling on the spit you pour into one another — followed by howls and screams of pleasure. “oh you like that, hm? i bet that feels so good… so sweet ‘n wet under my touch.” hot fingers belonging to satoru pick up the pace between your sticky folds, flicking your clit feverishly and writing his claim against your cunt at the same time that you jam a thumb into the tricking slit of his dirty red cockhead. the pair of you jolt in one another’s arms, taking one too many steps towards the edge of cloud nine before you’re even ready for you.  

“oh sweetheart, listen to you, sound so good. wish i could have you on my fat cock instead of my thigh. next time yeah? you’re gonna cum like this, aren’t you? gonna get my thigh nice and wet?” gojo growls, voice hoarse and layering perfectly over your whistle tone whines. his digits slow and start their greedy assault on your sex, edging you further and further as you wriggle and writhe at his words. 

the world escapes you, the knot of lust that had been warping within you finally coming undone. “gods… s-satoru! please!” you shriek as though your voice is a  gust of stormy wind — reverberating off of painted cobblestone walls. your free hand (no longer trapped by loops of your own hair) darts out to grab the intruder’s wrist, thighs locking around the hand that works you through an earth shattering high. the dam finally bursts, forcing open floodgates as your pussy releases streams of clear arousal in small spurts that soaks his entire lap and clothes.

gojo has no idea where to look, the smallest glimpse of your orgasm sending him hurtling over the edge as well — he doesn’t relent, viciously circling your precious pleasure mug and drawing out your release to match his own. his thick length spasms in your tiny hand, plump balls no longer able to contain the viscous, hot seed he has saved up all for you. just for you. he cums with a shout, abdomen contracting under your never-ending supple touch, ropes of white hot endlessly shoot from his overstimulated tip almost as though he’s a faucet that’s never been turned off.

he swears he almost blacks out, a white and sweaty mop of hair collapsing onto your shoulder as you slump in gojo’s lap — exhausted. as the air in the room cools, your hair no longer glowing and your chests syncing up to heave in an even rise and fall — you bring a lazy hand to the back of satoru’s head, toying with coils of his baby hair to help you both calm down.

a moment of quiet passes before you find the energy to whisper. “will you take me to see those floating lights now?” 

your innocent question causes satoru to snort sleepily, pressing a wet chaste kiss to your sweaty cheek as the sound breaks free from his cherry-bitten lips. “a deal’s a deal, honey. as soon as you untie me… we’ll hit the road.” 

neither of you move a muscle, however, still recovering from the sinful act you had just shared. 

you use the time to reflect, a sense of excitement dawning on you. you were going to leave the tower. you were going to see the floating lights on your birthday. and most importantly, you were directly disobeying your mother to prove your capableness. and all you had to do to get your fairytale happy ending was give a handjob to a very handsome, very willing stranger. 

the end.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[qiyuearning]

IMAGINE . . . the lads LIs playing an otome game ?!

what would it be like if the love and deepspace love interests played an otome game in which YOU were the love interest instead? ⸺ heavily HEAVILY inspired by a thread on twt by @/Myaurxra_ on the same prompt!!

zayne who is strictly f2p. i cannot imagine this man spending money on the game. he occasionally plays during his breaks. he listens to the tender moments as background noise while he works. he has your affinity level at about 68 which is the culmination of many months checking in and mostly doing his dailies.

zayne who actually uses the ‘remind me’ feature to help him get some rest. nothing beats your sweet voice telling him he’s working too hard and that he needs to go to bed!!

zayne who seems like he’d be a very casual player who enjoys the sweet, soft cards. however, tomorrow’s catch-22 drops and he is a changed man!! <3

xavier who is somehow incredibly lucky without even trying?? he’s pulling your 5 star memories left and right, early pity. definitely posts his pulls on social media, which is the envy of everyone else.

xavier who enjoys the combat system the most. he clears abyssal chaos and the hunter contest with ease. it comes quite easy to him, the protocores, the substats, the playstyles.

xavier who only pays for the aurum pass, but that’s about it when it comes to his spending. he’s living off a hunter’s salary and can only offer so much to his virtual wife…

rafayel who is glint photobooth’s greatest enemy. he has all of your outfits and accessories unlocked. he didn’t buy those all for nothing. he’s spending hours on glint photobooth and snapshot, capturing your beauty just right. he’d post it on social media like the masterpiece you are <3

rafayel who actually takes the time to play the stories and read the lore. his assistant is calling him, but he couldn’t care less. he needs to know what happens next. he’s laying in bed, kicking around like a schoolgirl with a crush. he’s currently sobbing over your backstory and getting pissed off on your behalf when another character wrongs you.

rafayel who has your affinity level already maxed out. he’s flexing the ring on every outfit he dresses you up in. he’s cleared out all the story content there is to offer, besides the combat levels. he rarely plays the hunter contest, but he occasionally does abyssal chaos to read the stories and interactions.

sylus who is an absolute whale. we all know it. he is R3’ing all of your memories. lost a 50/50? doesn’t matter, his card is already out and ready to be used.

sylus who finds the game to be a rather endearing past time. you’re a welcome break in his busy day. luke and kieran will find him at his desk, looking rather amused as he pokes his phone for maybe the hundredth time tonight.

sylus who sends luke and kieran out to buy merch for him when he’s busy, sending them in his stead to fan events. he advises them to stop at nothing. online bid? he’s already won. limited edition merch item? he got it three weeks before it was even announced with his connections. on his desk, you’ll probably find a small acrylic stand of you by his computer.

caleb who actually has horrible luck. he has most of your standard 5 star memories maxed out, mostly due to losing so many 50/50s. at first he was like “psh. it’s just a game. i won’t have to spend any money.” but, then he lost the 50/50 on the anniversary banner and the flood gates opened. now, he’s willing to drop large amounts of money at a time if it means getting your precious memories.

caleb who takes full advantage of the ‘quality time’ feature. mostly to unlock your workout outfit, but he likes to have you cheering him on by the side while he completes his regimen.

caleb who gets oddly competitive during kitty cards? like he’s about to crash out the moment you cancel out one of his assist cards. his hands are gripping the phone, his palms are sweating, his breath is hitching, he’s grunting in frustration. someone looks over his shoulder to see what the hell is stressing him out so much… you just changed his teacup color from red to blue…

[eraenaa]

Virginal Whore

Aemond Targaryen x Celtigar Reader

Synopsis: Prince Aemond sets out to find a whore to warm his bed; he finds a virgin instead. 

Warnings: Dub-Con, Oral Sex (f receiving), Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Not Proof Read

Word Count: 3,345

Sequel: Prince's Whore

Strife, suffering, and sorrow are all the Prince now feel— perhaps even then. He could no longer stomach the tolls of the war that was reigning havoc on the lands of Westeros. He sought a moment of reprieve, solace in the arms of a lover that he could take into his bed. Harrenhall was bent to his will; everyone was taken and at his mercy. He had women in his grasp, serving girls and some highborn ladies, even a bastard of House Strong, yet as comely and shapely as they were, none were able to stir the need brewing deep inside him. He could not find the want to take them into his bed and warm his cock.

He was, for a moment, entranced by a witch who held the name Rivers. The sorceress tried to seduce him with her lingering glances and mysterious presence, and he was ready to give in, to take her to his bed, but he had caught her placing her spell upon him. Slipping a vial of an unknown substance into his wine, Aemond could not tolerate such acts. He invited her into his chambers, luring her in with the pretense that he had succumbed to her charms, and as she sank to her knees before him, his cock in her mouth, and he was on the verge of spilling his seed in her throat, he took a dagger and slit her throat— him coming undone as her lifeless body fell and her blood pooled onto the floor. 

That sufficed the need in Aemond for a short moment, but just a few days later, he found himself in want of release again— something that would quench the ache in his loins and the fire in his veins. Not just a mouth around his cock but a cunt as well.

He blended into the night and reached town; slipping into a whore house, he heard a few of the soldiers muttering about. When he entered the establishment, nothing of note came into view. It was the same as any houses of pleasure he had stumbled upon during the night. He was in desperate need of company. Scattered around him were the perfumed bodies that masked the smell of vile scents wafted about the room. His eye searched for something that could possibly sedate his raging cock. 

He peeled away his hood, uncaring that the whores and their patrons could see his silvery locks; surely they have more pleasing matters to attend to rather than his presence. As he announced himself, he was quickly approached by a rather well-dressed man who he supposed was the owner. “My prince, welcome… you honor us with your presence.” He bowed lowly, and Aemond simply scanned his eye about the room once more. Without another word, the owner snapped his finger, and Aemond saw some workers hastily running across the establishment, surely readying themselves for him. 

Aemond was led deeper into the den of depravity and into a secluded room where a bed waited along with a line of whores on their knees, waiting for the prince to take his pick. Aemond still paid no mind to the owner as he tried to sell the girls. Aemond assessed each one of them, presenting him with their seductive gazes and trying to allure them with their smiles, pushing together their breasts in the hope that would press even further desire into the prince. 

He sneered as he almost finished assessing the lines of girls, ready to demand the owner to present him with a new batch, but his gaze was then caught by a cowering figure. Her eyes were planted on the floor, and she had used her long, flowing hair to cover her body, trying to display at least one ounce of modesty. 

Aemond strayed closer to you, his curiosity peaking. When the owner’s gaze noticed the prince had focused on you, he quickly stood by your side, who was kneeling at the end of the line. “A newcomer, my prince,” He said and forcefully yanked the back of your head in order to raise your face so the prince could see your features. “I think you would like her, my prince… the prettiest one we have.” 

Aemond said no word nor made any reaction, only studying the way your lips quivered and your eyes pooled with tears as you tried to avoid his gaze. “If her face does not please you enough, I am inclined to tell you that she is a highborn lady snatched away from her traitorous lord father’s care at the start of the war,” He added in pride. It was most beneficial for his business to have an asset such as yourself. Pretty, filled with youth, and had the blood of nobles coursing through your veins. 

Aemond blinked as he felt his cock strain further into his trousers. You were certainly far from his usual type, but only you had stirred such a need in him that he had not felt in many moons. “And if that still isn’t enough to please you, your highness… I shall as well inform you that she is a virgin. Untouched by any man… but I do warn you that may not be the case in a short while.” The owner heinously laughed. Aemond did not know how to take such facts. He was accustomed to experienced hands bringing him pleasure and comfort… but there was just something in your innocence that he found wholly more appealing. 

He turned to the owner and gave a nod. You breathed sharply as the room quickly emptied out, leaving you alone in the presence of a cruel prince. You were still on your knees, and your gaze quickly panted themselves on the floor once more. Aemond placed his hood by a chair and assessed your trembling frame that still knelt on the cold floor. “What house do you come from?” He questioned and brought a chalice already filled with wine to his lips. He drank two sips from it, but you still have not answered his query. “Speak, girl. Are you a mute?” He questioned, stepping before you. “N— no… my prince,” You say, ever so silently. He reached to grab your face in his hands, his fingers squeezing your soft cheeks together, a horrified expression screaming in your eyes. 

“What traitorous house do you come from?” He almost spat. “House… House C—Celtigar, your Highness,” You almost cried, and Aemond was silently surprised. The blood that coursed through your veins was not from any plain noble house; the blood in your veins was the blood of Old Valyria. “Hm,” Aemond hummed as his fingers that held your cheeks savored the way your soft flesh felt. “And how have they taken you?” He questioned and raised the cup of wine to his lips once more, waiting for your answer. 

“I was to be sent to Essos, but they— they commandeered the ship and slain the captain, and I was— was sold off from one man to another.” You explained, your hands clenching at the sheer fabric they made you wear, the material so thin that it did nothing to hide your body. 

You boldly raised your gaze at the prince, hoping to find at least one speck of empathy in his lone eye, but you paled further as you saw a sinister smirk rise to his lips. How fortunate was Aemond to stumbled to the whorehouse at this moment, having the pick of the litter. An overly pretty, untouched noblewoman is now kneeling before him; the gods seem to take pity on his needing state that had plagued him for moons that had left him restless and irritated. “Stand,” he commanded and finally let go of his hold on your cheeks. Watching as you slowly and wobbly obeyed and stood on your feet. 

He raked his eye upon your body, from your pretty face to the apex of your neck to your breast that hid behind the curtain of your hair. His gaze continued to travel downward from the curves of your hips and waist to your sex that was hidden by a dark shadow and to your plush thighs— as he saw the limbs of lavish flesh, a deeper sense of lust overcame him. He placed the chalice down and stepped closer to you. Aemond’s smirk widened as he heard a whimper leave your lips and your eyes tightly closed as he tore away the sheer fabric they made you wear. 

He threaded closer and brushed away the hair that covered your frame, feeling you shiver beneath his touch as his hand trailed to the small of your waist, then upward to your ample tit, your nipple pebbling beneath his cold and calloused touch. He lowered his head and placed it in the nook of your neck, inhaling your scent that was not riddled with the generic perfume that they bathed the whores with. Compared to them— you were a breath of fresh air. 

You gasped and turned stiff as the prince, without warning, pushed you upon the silk-covered bed. You cowered towards the headboard, petrified at the sinister smirk on the prince’s lip, completely enjoying your fear. “I must admit… I’ve never fucked a virgin before,” He said lowly as he took off his tunic, and you looked away as you felt your cheeks heat. “I’ve always preferred my women to be ones with experience… but there is, I suppose, something appealing in being the one first to taint a maiden— perhaps that is why my brother could smell them from a mile away,” Aemond said, a bit amused as he now realized the reason for his brother’s preference of seeking out virgins to be brought to his bed. 

Aemond undid his trousers, standing bare before you as you curled into a ball at the head of the bed. Aemond relished in your cry for help as he pulled you toward the edge of the bed— thrashing upon his hold. You feel your tears slip from your eyes as the prince spreads your legs, and your cunt is fully exposed before him. You inhaled a sharp breath as you felt his breath fanning your folds, assessing you. Aemond bore witness to the truth that you truly were a virgin, your maidenhead still intact and just waiting for him to be ruined. 

He thought about how to proceed; usually, he would have a maiden on their knees or on her stomach and take her from behind— no tenderness or foreplay, simply taking what he wanted and be done with all the bother. But somehow, your cunt was calling for his lips. He never found the appeal of it, feasting on a cunt that had been used and abused by differing men, sullying himself with the taste of other men on the body of a woman. However, you were untouched, and Aemond indulged himself with an act he was rather more curious about. 

You froze as you felt the prince’s fingers trace along the slit of your cunt, the sensation new and disturbing as no one had ever touched you in such a place before. You felt his hand press your fold together, his eye on every movement you made. Aemond marveled at your cunt, never truly assessing one before— he never thought a cunt could be so… captivating. When he ran his fingers in the middle of your slit again, he chuckled darkly as he felt wetness gathering in them; despite your reluctance and defiance, your cunt was begging to be touched. Aemond’s mouth salivated at the thought. 

A gasp left your lips, and you tried to close your legs as you felt the prince’s tongue replace his finger and lick a clean stripe in the middle of your folds. Aemond could not help but moan at the taste of you, tart and sweet, and he began to wonder if this was how his depravity would begin, with a taste of a virginal whore.

You bit your tongue as you felt his lips latch on the sensitive pearl, his tongue darting out and licking you further, teasing your hole and bringing further wetness. “Stop acting so demure and coy; you enjoy this, do you not, my lady?” He menacingly said against you, refusing to let his lips stray away from the sweet nectar of your womanhood. 

You shook your head and felt your tears fall further, but any denial you do did nothing to stop the arousal dripping from your cunt. Aemond chuckled and used his tongue to tease you further, slipping it into the void of pleasure. 

You finally let out a moan, one that was unexpected, and you felt shame as you found pleasure in such actions. That spurred further determination in the prince, darting his tongue in and out of you, his fingers sinking into your plush thighs as he, too, was overwhelmed by the pleasure of feasting on your cunt. Your sensitive pearl rubbed itself against the high bridge of his nose, your blood alight, your skin glimmering with a thin sheet of sweat, and your body ready to succumb to pleasure. Aemond felt it too, that you were close to what he concluded to be the first climax of your life, your body agitated and uncertain, your moans wry and held fear. He was debating if he should let you come undone now or wait when until his cock was buried deep inside your cunt. He was straying towards the latter, but as the thought of tasting you further infiltrated his mind, the prince obliged you to reach your peak and taste your orgasm. Your uncertain moans turned loud and sure, and your hands instinctively clutched the silver locks of the prince’s hair as you came undone by his tongue. 

Aemond hummed in content, feeling his cock weeping at the taste of you. “I’ve never thought a cunt could taste so delectable,” He mused and planted his weight on his knees, staring down at your bare, flushed body and your face that was still trying to comprehend your first taste of pleasure. 

The prince did not give you much time to grasp what had happened as his rough hands found home on your waist, and his cock was aligned against your dripping entrance. Your pleasured-clad face morphed into one of pain as you felt his length penetrating your undefiled hole. It was mean and sadistic, but Aemond found pleasure in taking away your innocence. He was filled with further satisfaction as he glanced down and saw how his cock was tainted with red, your maidenhead taken by him. 

“What lord will have you now, my lady? Now that you’re the prince’s whore?” He grunted as his cock was fully sheathed inside you, the tip of it brushing a spot he knew all too well. “Are those tears of pain or pleasure?” Aemond taunted as he bent down closer to your face, his fingers brushing away the salty water that spilled from your eyes. “If it is the former, I will try not to take it as an offense. There are worst fates than being my whore, my lady— just ask the girls that served my brother,” He smirked and kissed away your tears, his lips straying further to yours.

He never found much pleasure in the act; he would only sometimes oblige the old madame in his once-favored whorehouse with the act because she seemed quite keen on it, but he never liked the way she tasted on his tongue after. But you, gods, was it too much if he would say that just one taste of you has had him on the verge of addiction?

You took in sharp breaths of pain as the prince thrust into you; he was kind enough to slow down his movements, letting you accustom yourself to his length, but by the second, Aemond was growing impatient. His moves started to move at a faster, almost violent pace, ignoring your cries of pain as he was certain they would soon turn into cries of pleasure. He had never had a cunt as tight as yours before; he had never truly paid enough attention to every fluter, every clench, every movement of the woman he was fucking, but now he could not help but focus on anything that you did underneath him. 

He savored every moan and sigh that left your lips, every line on your furrowed brows, every scratch of your nail on his back as you felt his length rutting inside you. Aemond let out a groan as the moons of need started to overwhelm him. He was close to the peak he desperately sought, but he was genteel enough to coax one out of you first; you were a noble lady; after all, it would be terribly rude of him to leave you need and unsatisfied. 

Aemond straightened his back and felt his cock twitch as he saw the site of you laid before him, your legs on his shoulder, his fingers sinking on your soft thighs, and your tits bouncing at his every thrust. You watched through hazy and pleasured-filled eyes as the prince licked his thumb and placed it flat against your nubbin, and his other hand pressed down on your lower stomach and spurred you further into pleasure. Your lips spewed out his name as you came undone, and the prince was quick to follow you. Filling your cunt with his seed, and finally, Aemond felt relief and satisfaction over him. 

The prince panted heavily as he tried to regain his thoughts; he removed his length from your cunt and felt a lazy grin come to his lips as he saw the essence of both of you spill from your hole. Through your haze, you did not expect the prince to dip down and capture your lips into a kiss once again; tongue sought entrance, and you could not find it in yourself to deny him. 

Both of you panted as your lips parted. You stared into the unique lilac eye of the Targaryen prince and were soon overcome with the implications of what had just happened. Your cheeks further turned red as you avoided his gaze once more, ashamed at how you relished and had enjoyed being defiled by him. 

Aemond smirked and collapsed atop of you, savoring the feel of your intertwined bodies for a moment. You just lay there beneath him, and somehow, that was enough for him. But as he felt your hands wrap around him and your hand went to comb through his hair, he let out a further satisfied sigh at the feeling of comfort he never thought he could find in another. 

It did not take long before Aemond had drifted into slumber. The cacophony of his release, fatigue, and you lulled him into a deep yet quick slumber. When he woke, he found you asleep beath him as well, looking so peaceful with your tear-stained cheeks and plush parted lips. Aemond delicately removed himself from you and silently walked out of the room. 

When you woke, you found a pouch filled with coins by your side and the distant sound of moans and footsteps approaching. You raised the sheet of the bed to cover your naked frame as the curtain was lifted, revealing the silver prince. You stared in confusion as he tossed the dress you wore when you were abducted on the bed. “Get dressed,” You could only stare at him in further confusion, your limbs refusing to move. 

Aemond smirked as the fear returned in your eyes. He was halfway through his return to Harrenhall, but the thought of you haunted him. He finally found the release he sought, and it would be foolish of him to let it wander free. Aemond was a selfish man. He could not oblige the others and let them have a taste of the pleasure that only you could present.  

“Get dressed. I have brought you from your master. You’re all mine now, my lady.” 

[harryspet]

rough hands, soft chains [3] r.cameron

[warnings] dark!rancher!rafe x bimbo!cowgirl!reader, arranged marriage, rancher au, manipulation, size difference, DUBCON, rafe is HUGE, pain with sex, fingering, breeding kink, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

In which you're not sure you truly have what it takes to "accommodate" your new fiancé.

word count: 4.2k

rough hands, soft chains masterlist

“Why do you insist on stealing my fiance?” 

Wheezie looked up at her brother from her place on the carpet. You were placing the last hair roller around her freshly curled hair, pinning it place. The two of you had spent the last two hours giving each other spa treatments, evidenced by the face mask on Wheezie’s face, and the under eye patches on yours. It seemed obvious to you what you were up to but Rafe’s face scrunched in confusion, maybe even annoyance, at the sight before him. 

“We’re having a girls night!” Wheezie protested, “Get out!” 

You blinked, glancing between the two siblings, trying to gauge whether this was actual tension or just their usual back-and-forth. Navigating the Cameron family dynamic was a constant puzzle, and you hated feeling caught in the middle of it. You genuinely liked all of them in different ways.

Well, almost all of them.

You weren’t sure what it was that you felt for Rafe. He seemed to force all the feelings out of you, prying his way into your brain and into your heart. 

“You can’t hold her hostage, Wheeze,” Her brother raised his voice back, “I need to talk to her, you know, about adult things. Shit you wouldn’t get.”

“Adult things, gross,” You could practically hear Wheezie’s smirk, “I’m sure Y/N would rather hang out with me than do adult things with you.” 

The meaning initially passed over your head. You looked at Rafe innocently, “Y/N?” His shift in focus to you made you panic for a moment. 

“Oh, well … we were going to do some meditation before bed too.” 

Rafe’s lips quirked into a smile that couldn’t possibly be genuine, “Fine, just come get me when you’re done.” 

The way he slammed Wheezie’s door shut also gave you the impression that he wasn’t happy. 

“Ignore him,” Wheezie said quickly. You admired her defiance sometimes. Rafe didn’t ever to seem to really rattle her the way he did to you. 

Over the past few weeks, she had become your guide to surviving life in this house. Out of everyone, she understood Rafe best. Sarah barely came around, and when she did, the way she looked at you—pitying, almost regretful—made you uncomfortable. You hated it. You’d rather spend time with Rose, who had taken you wedding dress shopping just the day before, only to scold you for picking something too “revealing.” She’d given you a long-winded speech about modesty and the importance of upholding the Cameron image. You were marrying into an exceptionally wealthy family, after all. You had to act like it.

But Wheezie? Wheezie was simply happy to have you there, to welcome you into her world. And slowly, you were beginning to imagine this as your new life. The thought didn’t seem so terrible when you pictured Wheezie as your sister.

It all came crashing down on you a few days after the incident with Rafe in the barn. You weren’t allowed to sleep in the same bed until you were officially married, Rose’s rule, but that didn’t keep Rafe from your bedroom in the middle of the night.

And when you woke, sore and spent, the weight of something unfamiliar pressed against your left hand.

A diamond.

Wheezie was fast asleep when you finally slipped out of her bedroom. In pink, fuzzy socks, you padded across the hallway towards Rafe’s room. You only knocked once before the door was opened and you were stepping inside. 

In contrast to yours, Rafe’s room was dark and brooding with darker woods and deep navy walls. A sturdy mahogony desk perched in the corner next to a leather armchair. There were no dainty florals or soft touches. His bed, much larger than yours, had the sheets strewn about, a possible indication of sleepless nights or …other activities. A few forgotten whiskey glasses sat on in nightstand. The only source of light in the room was from the soft, yellow glow of his desk lamp. 

It always felt intimate being in Rafe’s room, like you were completely in his world. Your gaze lifted, drawn to him as if by instinct. Shirtless, his toned chest and broad shoulders were carved in the dim light, his presence overwhelming in a way that sent a shiver through you.

“Turn around, darlin’.” 

Innocently, you obeyed his command. You were only confused for a moment. You yelped, feeling the cool air against the back of your legs as Rafe slipped down your long, silk pajamas. 

You should’ve known Rafe didn’t actually need to talk to you. 

Lifting you by your waist, Rafe carried you over to the bed swiftly, leaving your bottoms behind. He always laid you down gently but the firmness of his grip left no room for discussion. He knew exactly where he wanted your body, what position he desired to have you in. You were starting to get used to his routine. He undressed you, placed you where he wanted, and it wasn’t long before he was inside of you. 

Tonight, he wanted you on your stomach, your head resting at the edge of the bed. You didn’t dare look back at him, it always unsettled you more when you caught a glimpse of just how imposing he was. Instead, you kept your gaze forward, fixated on the shadows and darkness in the window. You felt the weight of his legs straddling yours, his hands kneading the soft flesh of your bottom before delivering a few sharp, deliberate slaps. A shiver ran through you as his fingers hooked into your panties, dragging them aside with ease, exposing you to him entirely.

He spit into his hand and you jumped again when you felt his fingers teasing your warm center. For an excruciatinly long time, he placed a strong hand on your upper back, keeping you pinned as he sunk his fingers inside of you. He had called it 'warming you up' the last time. His pace was slow, deliberate. You were biting down onto the comforter by the time his third digit pushed inside. Now, you could happily take two of his fingers. You’d like sex with Rafe much more if it simply involved two of his fingers pushing in an out of you. When he added that circling motion on your sensitive bud, you could reach that beautiful peak quickly. But the third finger was the closest thing he could use to prepare you for his size. 

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his voice smooth yet firm, a response to your soft whimpers, “Relax. You make it worse when you’re so tense.”

“Sorry,” You rushed out before you bit down on your lip hard, “Rafe, um, can you…” 

He pushed deeper and you reached out to grab the wooden bed frame in front of you, “Can I what, darlin’?”

“T-Touch me?” You asked, unsure, wincing as the feeling of being stretched, “Please.” 

In response, he adjusted your hips, pulling them up from the bed, still three fingers deep inside of you, before he started to circle your clit with the thumb of his other hand. You took in rapid breaths as you adjusted to the sensation, the pleasure now beginning to mix in with the discomfort. 

“Think you can come like this, baby?” 

“Uh,” You pressed your face into the mattress, your words failing you, and soon all that was left were sobs. 

“Try, baby,” You heard him say, “Squeeze my fingers.”

You had never considered that "down there" was a muscle—until Rafe. Obeying his command, you imagined yourself squeezing his fingers, and the response was immediate. Your body reacted instinctively, heightening your pleasure and pushing you toward release. It was overwhelming. Almost painful. But an orgasm nonetheless. Your first one with Rafe had taken you so much by surprise that Rafe had to cover your face with a pillow to keep you from waking up the entire house. 

Tonight, you muffled your own screaming, pressing your face further into the blankets. He left you no time to recover. As soon as your body was more … accepting, he started to push himself inside of you. Panicked, you reached back to push at his hip, an attempt at requesting for him to slow his pace. He felt even larger in this position, and it didn’t take long to realize he was pressing against a barrier deep inside you.

You had to accommodate him. He was your future husband and you had be able to lie with him. He deserved pleasure too and how else would you be able to have kids one day? You wanted a family again, right? 

One day, it would get easier. Rafe would make sure of it. He would help you, guide you, until your body learned to take him without resistance.

By the time Rafe reached his climax, you were a sweaty, tear-streaked mess. He had promised it would get easier, yet once again, you were left aching and sore. When he finally lifted his weight off you, your body remained frozen in place.

“Fuck,” he muttered, shifting to the other end of the bed. You heard the rustle of sheets as he settled in, his head hitting the pillow.

“Y/N?”

“Y-Yes?” you replied, your voice shaky.

“Go pee,” he ordered, his tone firm yet drowsy.

“Why?”

“Just go,” he repeated, exhaling sharply. “I’m fucking tired.”

It took every ounce of strength, but you pushed yourself up from the bed. You felt his eyes on you as you waddled to his bathroom door, still able to feel him inside of you, white stuff dripping down your thighs. 

Inside, you flipped on the bathroom light, squinting as your eyes attempted to adjust. Your legs trembled as you lowered yourself onto the toilet. You heard Rafe shifting in bed, the sheets rustling as he got comfortable. He was already drifting off, unbothered, while you sat there, trying to collect yourself. 

After a moment, you reached for some toilet paper, dabbing at the mess between your thighs. Your body still felt raw, stretched beyond what you thought possible. Flushing the toilet, you moved to the sink, cupping cold water in your hands and splashing it on your face. 

You turned off the light and stepped back into the bedroom. Still glistening with a layer of sweat, he laid down with an arm over his face as he breathed steadily and quietly. You found your pajama bottoms sitting by the door and carefully put them back over your legs. 

“Y/N?” You were reaching for the handle of his bedroom door and paused. 

“Yeah?”

“Stay in here with me.”

“We’re not supposed to–”

“I’m a grown man and you’re my fucking fiance.”

He always spoke so sharply and in a way that left no room for arguing. Sometimes, that anger and frustration wasn’t directed at you but that didn’t make you immune from feeling it. The last thing you wanted was to cause any problem’s with his parents. They’d made it very clear that they expected the two of you to sleep separately until the wedding. 

Slowly, you turned to face him. He was still sprawled across the bed, the sheets tangled around his waist, his bare chest rising and falling. 

“Stay,” he repeated, softer this time, the demand still there.

Silently, you padded over to his bed again. He lifted the sheets and carefully, you climbed into the bed, beside him. 

“There you go, darlin’” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple as he tucked you beneath him, his weight pinning you into place. “Right where you belong.”

Seeing how much happier Juliet was at the Cameron ranch made you question why you didn’t feel the same as her. 

Late afternoon sun bathed the Cameron state in warm gold as you rode beside Sarah Cameron. Juliet moved beneath you with ease, but every step sent a dull ache through your thighs. You winced, shifting slightly in the saddle in an attempt to ease the soreness.

Sarah, riding beside you on her white mare, caught it immediately, “You good?” She asked, concern on her face. 

You nodded quickly, “Oh, I’m fine. I just haven’t rode in awhile.” 

It hurt to even slide on your tight jeans that morning thanks to the bruising on your inner thighs and the soreness in your middle. You turned your head, watching as the barn got farther from your view. You and Sarah had left John B. and Rafe hunched over a work bench, repairing worn bridles and saddles. 

Rafe had let you tag along for the day, surprising you both when you found Sarah already there with John B., leaning against a stall with her arms crossed. The moment she saw you, she swung effortlessly onto her horse, flashing you a grin. “Come on. Juliet is yours, right?,” she urged, nudging her mare forward. “Let’s leave the boys to their busy work."

You looked to Rafe for permission, of course, and took his rolled eyes and quick dismissal as a yes. 

Now, she caught your quick glances back towards the barn, “My brother isn’t hurting you, is he?” 

Her words took you by complete surprise. Your fingers tensed on Juliet’s reins, pulling too sharply, and for a moment, the mare tossed her head in protest, “Sorry, Julie,” You said, “Uhm, what? N-no. Why … why would you think that?” 

She gave you a look that was hard to read and your horses continued alongside each other, “I’m sure you’ve gotten to know what he’s like,” She said, “Do you … think he’s a nice guy?”

“He’s…” You rushed to answer, wanting to reassure her, but the words got tangled in your head. “He’s nice to me,” you finally said, nodding like that would make it more true. “Sometimes he, like, talks really directly? In a way that… I don’t know, kinda hurts my feelings? But I know he doesn’t mean to be mean.”

“Huh,” Sarah took in your words, and you smiled, trying to ease the tension in the conversation, “He’s a lot for most people. To be honest, I don’t know if you’re what I pictured for the girl he’d finally settle down with.”

“Oh,” You said, trying to not to let the way your heart panged with hurt show on your face, “Yeah, maybe. I guess I’m not very strong… or the smartest person.” 

Sarah’s eyes softened, her expression shifting from the guarded look she’d worn before. “Hey, that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly, pulling her horse a little closer to yours. “I just... I know what it’s like to lose a parent. I know how confusing and lonely it is. And it might make you feel better to get wrapped up with Rafe but it’s also good to have your own life. Maybe your own friends?”

She searched your gaze and you felt your throat tighten and tears threatening to escape, “Wheezie’s my friend, at least.”

“Wheezie’s great,” Sarah said which made you smile sadly, “I have some friends. John B and I do. They live on the otherside of Kildare but I always try to meet up with them. They’re cool and they’re actually our age. I’d love to introduce you to them.”

Your heart gave a small, hesitant flutter. “That would be fun,” you said quietly, and for the first time in a while, you entertained the thought of something else, something new. 

“Do you drink?” She asked after a moment of just enjoying the breeze and watching the tall, swaying grass. 

“I have before,” You said feeling a little sheepish, “Just not enough to say I like it, I guess. Why?”

“When I go over there, we usually drink, watch a movie, play games, that kind of thing. It’s really fun. You don’t have to drink but I think you’ll like it.” 

“Does Rafe know your friends?”

Sarah snorted, “Uh, yeah. He wouldn’t want to come with us. Don’t mention it to him yet, though, okay?”

“Oh, okay,” You agreed, “Sarah, do you think you could come next time I go dress shopping? Rose is a little…”

“Uptight,” She finished, “Yeah, sure. That would be fun.”

Your opinion of Sarah Cameron had shifted quickly and for the better. 

“Like I said before, you’re moving too fast with her, Rafe.” 

Rafe should’ve known that his father didn’t invite him to breakfast at the diner in town for father-son bonding time. Nor was it a business meeting. He would’ve preferred either over a lecture. He was stuck, unable to really raise his voice, due to the public setting which Ward knew undoubtedly. The diner was a small place, the kind of spot where everyone knew each other’s names and half the town seemed to gather before heading off to the fields or pastures. 

It was when they got back into Ward’s SUV that Rafe could finally say what he felt. “This is micromanagement. You’re fucking micromanaging me, Dad! I did what you wanted and you’re upset because I’m not doing it exactly the way you want.”

Ward’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tight Rafe thought it might break. “I need you to get it through your thick skull that you don’t know everything, Rafe.”

“This is just Rose and her bullshit–”

“It’s disrespectful and you know that. We’re being woken up at all times of the night. Not to mention the girl is walking around with hickies and bruising. What’s that gonna look like to people in town? We took in that girl! People will think we’re using her. It’s not a good look.” 

Ward started up the car and pulled away quickly, the tires kicking up dust as they left the quiet, small-town streets behind. Kildare was a ranching community, where everyone’s business was their business. Rafe couldn’t do anything without people noticing. 

“None of this will matter after the wedding. I don’t know, Dad, I guess I just don’t give a shit anymore what other people think.”

“You won’t take over the business if that’s how you see things.”

“Dad–”

“And you won’t get the Ironwood house. We’ve talked about this endlessly,” Rafe’s fist hit the paneling of the car door and he squeezed his eyes tightly as the anger passed through him, radiating through him, warming his skin, “You get the house under the conditions that Rose and I set.” 

“That house is mine. You know that Mom wanted it that way,” Rafe argued with clenched fists, “You don’t get to control that, Dad.” Rafe’s voice was sharp, raw, but there was a tremor beneath the surface. The Ironwood house had been promised to him, but Ward had always been the one to hold the strings, dangling that future in front of him like a carrot on a stick. “I earned that house. I’ve worked for it. You can’t just take it away.”

About twenty miles from the Cameron estate, nestled along a winding dirt road that cut through the sprawling countryside, sat the Ironwood house. The house wasn’t as grand as the Cameron estate it had a quiet but rugged charm. It had once belonged to a competitor before the Cameron family had purchased the land after his passing.

Ward’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles pale in the dim light. “I’m not taking anything from you, Rafe. But if you want to go off and make mistakes, you know, like getting that girl pregnant just a few weeks after you met her or embarrassing our family, then there will be consequences.”

Rafe nodded his head though inside he was seething, “I got it, Dad,” Rafe rubbed his face in his hands, his jaw clenched tightly, “You win.” 

You fucking win, Rafe thought, for now. 

Oh, you were perfect for him. Rafe kept quiet throughout dinner that night but that was because he was intently watching you. The way you confidently wore that pink, gingham dress that was cut way too low, to the point that your breasts were practically spilling from it. When you caught Rafe glancing at you, you’d flash him a shy smile. Lips shining with gloss and sparkles, Rafe imagined smudging all your makeup. 

He’d been working on training your hole to take him, he hadn’t considered training your mouth yet. You seemed more comfortable, making conversation with both Wheezie and Sarah. The way you carried yourself, effortlessly making them laugh, was different, more natural.

It would be good if you liked this family but Rafe couldn’t help that his mind wandered to the family he would make. His father's attempts to control him, especially in the bedroom, only made things worse. It triggered something deep within him. It was his god-given right as a man to fuck you in all the ways he wanted, with or without protection. You were his. That had been true ever since he put a ring on your left hand. 

After dinner, Rafe pulled you upstairs into Ward’s office. It was reckless, he knew that, but he was clinging onto that sense of control. 

“What are we doing in here?”

“I’m going to fuck you,” Rafe replied, his eyes tracking the shift in your expression as the realization hit. The fear in your face made him harder than he already was, and he had to undo his belt. “Go sit on the desk,” he instructed, gesturing to the large mahogany desk in the center of the room.

“But that’s your dad’s desk,” you hesitated, a frown tugging at your lips. “Isn’t that, like, weird?”

Rafe shot you a warning look, and without another word, you scrambled across the room toward his desk. He followed closely, closing the distance between you. “It’s your fault,” he muttered, his voice rough as he crossed the room too. “Look at what you're wearing. You’re practically begging to get fucked.”

“I wasn’t—” you started to protest.

“You were,” Rafe cut you off, his tone final. “You wore that dress for me, didn’t you? Or were you looking for attention from someone else?”

“I wasn’t—”

“You weren’t what?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Rafe loved the panic he saw in your eyes, the way the few thoughts you could hold in your head seemed to swirl, struggling to make sense of what was happening.

“I …I didn’t wear it for anyone else.”

“You wore it for me, then.”

“It was for you,” You spoke in a hesitant whisper. Your head tilted, and Rafe could see the uncertainty in your eyes. Still, the words sent a rush of heat through him. Rafe lifted you up by your hips, placing you on the desk, right on top of manila folders and Ward’s important paperwork. 

"Good girl, baby," he murmured, his hand finding the hem of your dress, lifting it. "Now, don’t act like you don’t want this." 

“Rafe, I’m still sore,” You said as Rafe slid your panties down your thigh.

“I’ll be quick,” Rafe assured you, “I’ve been halfway there since you walked in the dining room earlier.”

It wasn’t that Rafe didn’t understand the toll that he took on your body. He cared, he certainly didn’t want to break you, but he also knew that you could handle more than you could wrap your mind around. Maybe, he was a bit selfish and enjoyed the sight of him slowly fucking you, his huge girth sliding in and out of you, stretching you to the point of sobbing. 

He wanted you to feel empty without him. He wanted you to become so used to him that another man or even your own tiny fingers couldn’t satisfy your needs. 

“Relax,” Rafe said, watching the ways your eyes darted between his blue ones and then back down to his length, “You’re okay, darlin’.”

Rafe pushed your shoulders down until your elbows were propped up against the desk before he grabbed your legs, tilting your hips up. He spit directly against your hole before spitting into his palm, coating his hard length with his own saliva. 

He watched the way your face scrunched in pain as he started to push inside of you. Like he taught you before, you started to take deep breaths in and out, “Good girl, just like I taught you. You’re okay,” Rafe cooed as you squeezed him tight. 

Those deep breaths quickly became shallow ones as he stretched you. “I can’t, I can’t, it’s too big–” You spoke suddenly, shaking your head, “I’m sorry, please. Please, Rafe.” 

“Baby, it’s okay-”

“Please, please, please. Please. Please. Not okay. Not okay. I can’t, I can’t.”

Rafe surprised even himself when he paused. The look on your face reminded him of the time in the car, the first day you met. It was hard to watch. He’d pushed you too far, you were starting to have a panic attack. His chest tightened as he pulled back, his mind scrambling. He tucked himself back into his briefs. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Slowly, he reached for your shoulder, lifting it carefully to help you sit up. 

“Shit, we can stop, okay?” Rafe said in a voice he didn’t recognize, “Fuck, you need to breathe, Y/N.” 

He pulled you closer, letting your head rest on his chest, as you tried to control your hiccups and heavy breathing. Listening to it made his own breath feel tight in his lungs. Stroking your back, he tried to quell the storm inside of you. Rafe’s heart pounded in his chest as he held you close, the guilt gnawing at him, “Jesus …I’m sorry, baby.”

reblog WITH a comment about the chapter to be added to the taglist :)

[obsessivevoidkitten]

That Time You Got Yeeted Into Another World, Mistaken as a God-Sent Gift, and Used as a Prize in an Arena

Yandere Bear-Man Dilf x Gender Neutral Reader

CW: Noncon, framed for a crime, language barrier, eaten out like it's groceries, biting, scent marking, musk, combat, general yandere behavior

Word Count: 765

(Speed written out of nowhere because I had the idea suddenly, not beta read so please forgive any mistakes. I hope you guys like this ficlet. Also forgive the title, in a game I was playing there was a crossover with "That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime" and I liked the vibe of the title.)

You were framed for a crime you didn't commit and in your village the punishment for that crime was immediate exile via being shoved down a steep crater in the center of which is a one-way portal to what is thought to be Hell.

What no one on your side of the portal knew was that on the other side was just another world. A world that celebrated with a great holiday anytime a human came through the portal. It was also a world populated entirely, with the exception of humans who crossed over, by human-like beast hybrids.

Driders, lion hybrids, nagas, aqrabuamelu (scorpion-men), harpies, dog people, centaurs, minotaurs, gnolls, and many other races that seemed to be part human. 

They have a connecting portal in their universe, but any who try to go into it are spat back out. The current went only in one direction.

Every few years, a human would be flung forth from the portal, a gift from the gods! But only the worthy can keep such a gift. So whenever a human comes to the realm from the watcher of the portal will ring the bells and all the warriors assemble and a grand tournament is held at the arena. Whoever wins gets to keep the human and gains enough wealth to care for them properly.

Things are no different when you arrive, you are immediately ushered away, examined, and pampered like a prize doll with no agency. Despite your objections. It seems like only the keeper of the portal has any rudimentary undestanding of your language, not that it helped you. He didn't explain much and his speech wasn't that great. Something about... a big game?

You were naturally frightened beyond all reason, seeing all these beast-men, but it didn't seem like you were being harmed. It really wasn't what you thought hell was going to be like. 

On the day of the big tournament, you were dressed in the finest silks, given a tiny crown of silver, and taken to the best seat in the arena. One where everyone could see you. A cushioned throne was provided for you to sit upon. You figured that this must be a ceremony to welcome people from the portal.

You watched as all the combatants sparred. At first you were horrified, but it became evident that people could yield and death was, almost always, avoided. There were combatants of every variety. 

Even from the start the best seemed to be a naga woman named Eeris and a bear-man named Brakwen. As they advanced through the fights they both finally made it to the finals where they'd clash. Eeris favored twin daggers and fangs while Brakwen used claws and brute strength. He had a sword but had not resorted to using it. 

It was a mighty battle but Brakwen the bear-man managed to win. You still did not yet realize you were the prize. Not until you were escorted down to him and were carried bridal style out of the arena with the crowd cheering. Brakwen had won the god's favor!

From close up he looked even more imposing. He seemed to be in his late 30s to early 40s. He mostly looked like a hairy man from far away though up close his massive size, sharp teeth, claws, thick fur covering his arms and quite frankly adorable bear ears, gave him away. He was rugged but admittedly rather handsome. You knew there was nothing you could do so you let him carry you away. 

Despite the language barrier, Brakwen did his best to please his god-given prize. He could tell you feared him. Especially since you tried to run off a few times. But Brakwen didn't get angry. You never even managed to get past the door. Even if you did there were two gates outside the house. You were far too valuable to let wander off. 

Eventually when you had stopped running off, and when his rut demanded he wait no longer, he began acting a bot more aggressove and sexual towards you. 

Though you tried to stop him it ended with him stretching out your hole with his powerful tongue, lubing you up with his copious amounts of drool, and sliding into you with his massive musky cock.

That's what your life was now. Being treated like a fragile precious gem most of the time and then for one week out of every month you were fucked full of hot bear cum in every possible position, bitten possessively, and scent marked by being forced to wear his oversized clothing. 

[teojira]

[Dance with The Devil] [movie!Shadow x reader headcanons]

Summary: a collection of random headcanons/small scenarios based on my "Click Click Boom" post for Shadow!

Word count: 1.5k

Disclaimer (1): Harkness scale people, he is of age and can consent and is sentient. I'm allowed to want to kiss the hedgehog.

Disclaimer (2): This can be read as Romantic or Platonic! Though I did write it to be implied romance.

A/N: Yall asked for more, who am I to deny the people (I imagine kissing him every second of the day). I tried to hit a lot of asks all in one to give eveyrone what they asked for! I hope y'all enjoy! Reblogs and comments are super appreciated and motivate me to write more <3

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Shadow is so extremely overprotective of you, borderline to an unhealthy agree but is it really when you're welcoming to it??

You, by all means, shouldn't encourage him. He's one of the strongest beings on the planet. He can't just make threats, God knows if he'll act out on them.

You can't help but let it happen though, a warm fuzzy feeling deep in your chest clouds your judgment for a few moments. Knowing that Shadow sees you as someone worth protecting, of caring for.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Shadow baring his fangs at Sonic and fucking growling is new though.

"Shadow did you just- did you just fucking growl?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sonic was just trying to hug me dude, relax.'

"He'll get his scent all over you. No."

Shadow turns his back on you, so he misses the blush that overtakes your entire face.

He has an inkling though, if the strangled cry from your throat is any indication.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Riding ! With ! Him !!! He takes you on drives all the time, it helps him clear his head and it's his way of asking for physical contact without giving you idea, feeling you against his back and your body pressed up against his does wonder for his mental health, he'll purposefully take longer routes and side roads at night to keep you close.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

If you fall asleep on the couch, Shadow isn't gonna curl up with you, but he's next to the couch, head propped up against the arm rest as he watches over you. He's well aware he could just teleport you both to your room, but you look too peaceful :( and he knows he takes up all your time and energy, so he rather let you rest.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Shadow always walks behind you. It's a nervous habit. If he wanders behind, he has the perfect view to scan for threats.

You go to tell him he's being paranoid, but stop yourself. The last person he cared for died, the girl who gave him a purpose. You shut your joke down fast, shaking your head when Shadow raises an eye bridge at your expression.

"Do you want to hold my hand?" You go with that instead.

"Absolutely not."

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Please god can you imagine shopping for him, getting his leather jackets and what not bc he fucking deserves it, especially when you nervously claim that he needs the correct gear for riding his motorcycle and he hits you with:

"That's useless, I can easily chaos control if need be."

BUT HE DOESN'T RIDE WITHOUT IT EVER !!!! You even got it monogrammed, and he runs his thumb across it often, scoffing at himself when he realizes, snatching his hand away.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Shadow likes to be useful, even though you tell him again and again that he doesn't owe you anything, he doesn't listen.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

If you wear makeup and ever fall asleep in it, you can't ever seem to remember if it was you who took it off, your memories jumbling up together to the point you're not sure.

It was Shadow, he knows you don't like showing others your bare face, which he thinks is ridiculous as shit, he likes you as you are, whether with makeup or bare, you're you.

Please I could cry imagining him so gently taking a makeup wipe and rubbing small circles to get that waterproof eyeliner off of you, eyes laser focused into his task. I'm gonna throw up.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

In the colder months, he's susceptible to being more mellow and relaxed. Despite being the ultimate life form and having fur, he still gets cold and hates the feeling.

This brings me to the fact that bro steals your blankets, he has no remorse and will walk right into your room to take your heated blanket. He's an asshole.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Fully believes that nicknames are stupid and that they don't matter, the best he's gonna do for you is call you by your first Intial (ex: Teddy = T) It's rare that he'll do call you by it regardless, but beggers cannot be choosers.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Getting matching bangles to match his inhibitor rings!! Makes him go stupid for a second, brain computing that oh??? You want to match him?? He's gonna tease you, but when you threaten to just take them off, he immediately goes quiet.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The subject of being sick came up often in asks, and he struggles really hard with it. It's not obvious, but if you look closely, his quills are pin straight, and he's easily more agitated.

He's not mad at you, it's not your fault, it's just that seeing you curl up into bed brings back so many bad memories of when Maria has flare ups and couldn't leave her bed.

It made him feel useless. His whole reason for being was to help cure illness, maybe not the common cold. He's aware of that, but the point remains.

Shadow gets more docile, even going to ask Maddie what to do. The woman offers to come over and take care of you instead, but Shadow shuts her down quickly. He's more than capable, and he's a little overprotective.

"Are you sure? I don't mind, I don't have anything going on."

"That isn't necessary."

"But it might be better if it's m-"

"I can take care of them."

It's hard to argue with a 5ft hedgehog that can easily snap your neck, so she regents and hands him over some cold and flu medicine along with painkillers and vaporub and instructions. He looks so silly with all of it in his arms, Gatorade, water, the medicine, some food, but it warms your heart. You haven't had anyone really look after you when you were sick, always left to fend for yourself, so it's nice.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

For my period havers, I am on mine, so this made it in:

Shadow using his hands as personal heating pads for your stomach or the small of your back, you can't seem to remember where you put your heating pad so he sits there with you and just, shoves his hand onto your skin, it's added comfort due to his fur.

"Oh my god, that feels good."

You groan into your pillow, curling up into a ball, your back facing the ultimate lifeform.

"Is it really that bad?"

Shadow hums, moving to ever so slightly knead the skin, smirking to himself when you damn near moan at the feeling.

"You know damn fucking well it's that bad."

Shadow snorts.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Once you're both closer, he allows you to touch him alot more, so long as you ask him first if you can run your fingers over his quills, he finds it soothing, it's common to find you both on the couch, fast asleep together with the TV set to come true crime YouTube video.

Sonic takes a million pictures, to which he sends to Shadow later. The black hedgehog doesn't say anything, but he secretly saves each one.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Speaking of the others, you try and force him to spend time with team Sonic to varying degrees of success. Mainly the success being if you will also be there and be by his side. The team likes you well enough, always playfully telling you that they can handle Shadow if he ever hurts you.

Which gets them Shadow staring them down, his eyes lighting up as a warning.

You'd think they'd learn that this man doesn't play when it comes to you, but they're a bit stupid.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

When it comes to any insecurities you may have, he shuts that shit down IMMEDIATELY, you think it's because he genuinely doesn't give a fuck, but no, it's because he cares about you and will logically tell you facts. Does it help? It's varying, but he still tries.

Issue with your weight. He doesn't care. Are you healthy? That's all that matters. He's strong enough to lift you up, and he'll demonstrate it on you if need be. He doesn't know who put it into your head that there's any issue with it, but he'll fix it.

"Shadow, can I ask you something?"

"Go on."

"Does my weight ever bother you?"

"I am not like human men."

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You're insecure about talking about your interests/hyperfixations? He actively will sit down and listen, eyes intense as he takes in every single word you're saying. He'll nod and hum, but his ears are flicked towards you, and Shadow will ask questions pertaining about the characters.

The motherfucker is healing you slowly but surely, mentally and sometimes physically.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

No one thinks that Shadow would be a good companion and will make jokes offhandily that they're sorry that YOU'RE stuck with him, and you don't correct them. They don't deserve to know him.

They don't get to know how the lifeform curls up next to you on his bad days, seeking your affection.

The hedgehog who helps you dry the dishes after every meal with a way too focused look on his face.

The Shadow that always cracks dry ass jokes in hopes to make you smile after a long day.

It's your little secret, and it's one you gladly keep to yourself.

"Oh, he's stuck with me." You wave them off with a smug smirk on your face.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

[possesseddesiress]

Brother's Issues

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes.

If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Brother's Issues (English Version)

My older brother was infuriating. A guy with more ego than brains, but who had such an enviable body that it further reinforced his smug attitude.

The fights in my house were constant, the idiot left his clothes all over the place and hardly showered! He was always bragging about his "man smell"; and of course, being the oldest, my parents let him do whatever he wanted. He always got away with it, and I could only die of envy.

Mark was the big brother while I just made do with the scraps, I don't think I'm unattractive, but when you compare a river to the sea, clearly the sea is going to win.

He always got everyone's attention: teachers, family, even my ex-boyfriends; even if he wasn't gay, they always ended up confessing to me that what they wanted was to be near him.

And I was fed up.

I had been lost on the Internet for at least two hours in the wee hours of the morning, not seeing anything interesting until an email seemed to arrive.

"Want to be someone else? Read this email."

The first thing I did was close the message. It was ridiculous, sure it was some kind of spam mail. But the more time passed, an extra curiosity began to tingle in me, until I couldn't take it anymore. I ended up opening it and reading it.

It had a series of instructions on how to prepare a concoction with rather curious ingredients, but that would cause two people to change their bodies when they drank it.

Again I thought it was all stupidity, when I heard something crashing again and again against my wall from my brother's room, and the excited screams of a girl who was probably his fling today, like almost every night.

I had reached my limit.

The next morning, I set about gathering all the ingredients, until I finally came up with the last one: the other person's sweat, I thought it would be difficult, but I remembered that my brother left his sweaty underwear everywhere in the house. That morning, he was out, so I thought it would be easy to sneak into his room to steal some boxers.

No sooner had I entered his room than I had filled my nostrils with a pungent odor, the whole stench of my brother was quite strong. It looked like he hadn't cleaned his room in years and it just smelled like sweat and his fluids, it stank...

I was going through his dirty clothes when I heard the thunder of the wood on his door, my skin crawled, expecting a knock. But my brother wasn't standing in the frame, but his best friend: Theo.

— What are you doing here, buddy?

Theo was a nice guy, I didn't know how he was friends with my brother. His blond hair was silky, his smile was bright...

And I'd had a crush on him for as long as I could remember.

I didn't know if it was because he treated me well, because he was a good person and kind, or all together. But gosh, he sure drove me crazy.

— N-nothing. I was about to pick up Mark's laundry.

— Is he making you do his laundry again?

I swallowed hard right then and there.

— Uh, yeah, yeah.

— Let me help you.

He came over to me to lift the basket and carry it to the laundry room, my heart was beating fast.

I didn't know if it was because I was afraid Mark would come in at any moment and notice the absence of his sweaty clothes, or if it was from being with Theo.

— Well, buddy, there's the laundry. I'll wait for your brother in his room, see you.

He waved his hands, disappearing. As soon as he left, I dived into the pile of stinky clothes, trying to find the freshest thing possible. I grabbed a pair of red underpants, they felt wet and smelly, I tried not to smell them but ended up stuffing them in my face. Soon that would be my smell...

I gathered the rest of the ingredients, prepared it in a jar and when I squeezed the sweat out of it, I swear I saw how it shined.

I let it sit until the next morning. I knew my brother was going out to work out as usual, so I always prepared his protein for the gym; before he went out, I opened the glass to pour half of the liquid and run back to my room.

The rest of the time passed slowly, I didn't know whether to drink the rest of the concoction, what if something went wrong, what if I ended up doing something bad to my brother?

Thousands of questions tormented me, but I caught a glimpse of my brother's body: Tall, stocky, with his stinky armpits, his strong legs, how his arms swelled or his big pecs. All that could be mine, at last not just the puny brother, I could be the big one.

I ended up drinking all the concoction, up to the last drop; for an instant I felt nothing, until suddenly I felt a cramp accompanied by an intense pain and dizziness, I fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, feeling my whole body trembling and my vision went black.

In less than a second, I could see light again. However, something felt strange from the moment I blinked. Maybe it was the aroma I was now emanating, the place where I was now or the noise of weights and sports machinery being used.

I looked down, noticing my tanned skin, my thick pecs and muscles, yes I was strong!

I couldn't help but let out an excited laugh and dropped the weights my brother was carrying moments before, I almost looked like a schoolgirl with emotions running high.

I immediately dropped everything, walking uncertainly towards the bathrooms or the locker room. As soon as I saw my new reflection, it was like feeling an adrenaline rush, I was seeing my brother's reflection! I flexed his arms, enjoying how my arms and chest were swelling up. Gosh, yes!

I lifted my armpit, beginning to lick and sniff, enjoying the aroma. I clutched my nose against my new hairy armpit, panting loudly as if unhinged.I caressed every inch of my new skin, bristling at the slightest touch. I smiled smugly.

— Oh yes, my name is Mark.... – I murmured, taking the opportunity to touch the relief of my brother's pecs, letting out a squeal from the sensitivity – I'm the star athlete of my high school, a real casanova – I was loving every second, seeing how what I was saying, my brother was making exact copy of it – I used to like girls but now.... I don't know, bro. I think I'll only like boys.

I was drunk with power. I ended up leaving the gym after finding my brother's stuff, I didn't even change, I enjoyed feeling how the wet clothes stuck against my skin, the stench my body gave off, even how other guys saw me.

I ended up getting home, I didn't hear any noise, everything was quiet. I knew my parents were at work, so I went upstairs, straight to my room.

I was scared to find my brother in my body, awake. My heart was pounding... but when I opened the door, I could see my old body lying on the floor, asleep.

I smiled, I couldn't help but scoff inwardly, I even moved him slightly to see if he would react.

—You're not so strong anymore, are you, little brother? – I said teasingly.

I simply turned around, closing the door to go to my brother's room. I lifted my armpit, smiling at the scent; now I understood why he was addicted to smelling that bad.

I started rummaging through his closet, beginning to try on all of his clothes. There was something exciting about it that made my skin crawl.

I put on everything I could get my hands on: Sport shirts, shorts, skinny jeans, leather jackets. It was fun, until I found something in a drawer that made my new member firm up instantly. It was a smelly sports spandex, it was my brother's wrestling uniform. I suddenly took off my clothes to put that on instead, I smiled as I saw it fit perfectly on my body, all in place.

My fat legs encased in the tight fabric, leaving nothing to the imagination. I sat in a chair my brother had in front of his mirror, leaning back.

Loving the way I looked, I picked up his phone to start taking pictures of myself, letting my strong muscles show, or my armpits, I even made the occasional silly face.

I was a brainless jock now, wasn't I?

I sniffed hard at my new masculinity, taking advantage of the friction to drive me crazy. I was waving my hand frantically when someone entered the room, it was Theo.

— Shit! – I muttered, covering myself. He just raised his eyebrow.

— What are you doing? - he asked without giving it much importance.

— Nothing, nothing. I wasn't expecting you – I mumbled, trying to avoid his gaze.

— I told you yesterday I'd come today, are you running out of brain cells from so much protein? – He joked. I felt a warm feeling in my stomach when I heard him laugh – What are you wearing?

— My wrestling uniform, what else? – I tried to diminish the strangeness of the moment, I had to be more like Mark – it drives girls crazy, don't you think? – I muttered, flexing my arms for him.

Theo let out a friendly laugh, nodding.

— Sure, dude.

We talked for a while, at first he caught me off guard but the more I talked to him, I felt my brother's knowledge and tastes seep in. Suddenly he was talking about his subjects, his other friends, video games that only he knew about, even what sports games were coming up.

— Mark, do you want to go play video games at my house? I bought something new and we can go try it out.

— Sure, bro – I felt natural with every step and every sentence. I changed my clothes so we could go without looking ridiculous, that would be for later – Let me let my annoying brother know.

I ended up walking to my old room, still lying my body on the floor. I went out with Theo, walking down the street and enjoying the sun.

— Sometimes you're too hard on him.

— With who? – I said a bit confused.

— With your younger brother, I remember when you used to get along with him.

I felt some guilt for what he made me remember, there was a time when Mark was protective of me, and I was always hanging out with him and Theo, until.... Wow, I don't know what happened.

— He's such a loser.

— I like him, he's really nice.

I smiled to myself to hear my crush say such a thing. We ended up arriving at his house, apparently no one was home. We went up to Theo's room where we played for at least two hours, the afternoon went by fast; we kept talking about trivial topics but I couldn't help looking at him from time to time.

I felt a connection with him, natural because of my brother's friendship with Theo, but there was something that also seeped out of me, that I liked. The way he laughed, or his hair falling on his forehead, his skin, fuck, fuck...

— Come on, dude. I'm kicking your ass! – I could see how my character ended up being defeated, I was silent, just listening to his laughter, which confused him, he turned to look at me. – Mark... Are you ok?

And I couldn't hold it in any longer.

I approached him to kiss him softly, I was afraid he wouldn't kiss me back, but he immediately started kissing me again.

It was a chaos of kisses, my hands wandering awkwardly through his hair.

— Jesus, Mark...

— Don't you love it?

— I love it, man...

We ended up kissing like crazy. There were a lot of questions in me, So Theo was gay? Did he always have feelings for Mark? Was this the relationship they had? What was going on here?

But the more kisses he gave me, the less I cared. In a matter of mere seconds again we were kissing intensely and passionately. I had everything I wanted, the body I deserved, the boy of my dreams? At last everything was in place.

Theo climbed on top of me, still kissing me, even tenderly.

— Do you want me to take good care of you, big guy?

He whispered in a tone I never thought I'd hear him speak. He caressed my chest and then my abs.

— Theo...

I murmured.

— Shh...

I immediately quieted down. And gosh... He sure knew how to use his mouth, my eyes rolled to white from just feeling how over and over again he acted greedily. I was lost in the sensation until I could feel my new phone vibrating like crazy, I preferred to ignore it, but I kept getting notifications.

I reluctantly picked up the phone, only to see notifications from my old number. Apparently my brother had already woken up, there were endless messages:

"What did you do, midget!? Where are you!?"

And more messages from him, completely hysterical, although there was one in particular that made me trace a wide smile on my face:

"Are you with Theo?! Stay away from my best friend!"

I immediately activated the camera to send him some pictures. Which infuriated him even more.

I was about to burst out laughing when I heard Theo's phone start ringing.

— Mfh... Wait a minute, buddy – he sat back up and picked up his phone to check who was calling – That's weird, your brother is calling me.

— Don't answer it - I tried to sound natural.

But Theo seemed to ignore me, he answered and not only that, he put it on speaker.

— Hello?

There was silence, until Mark finally exploded with my squeaky voice.

— Theo, it's Mark! My idiot brother did something and now I'm in his body! That asshole is using my body, you have to do something!

Theo looked at me strangely, scowling, I couldn't even hold his gaze.

— Didn't you hear, Theo?! That's not me that's with you! You have to do something!

I guess the luck had lasted only a few seconds, now Theo would reject me or even hate me.

— I know, Mark – I looked up quickly, I could see the boy of my dreams with a cold profile, but not for me exactly – And I like it that way.

My old voice sounded hysterical and annoyed over the speaker until Theo cut the call.

— So... You know?

— Yes, I do.

— Was I too obvious?

— A little, but it wasn't really about that.

Without warning he kissed me again.

— But Theo...

— Who do you think sent you the mail?

He let out a laugh to kiss me intensely, I had to restrain myself from kissing him for hours or putting my hands on his body.

— Why?

— Because I've seen you, buddy - he smiled, then I realized that I always use the nickname he used to call me - I know how you look at me, I know how much you liked it. And although I felt something similar, I couldn't reciprocate you, I saw you as my little brother, it felt... wrong. Your brother's body, though, I could certainly mess with it an infinite number of times.

He caressed my smooth abs.

— So you like that I'm Mark?

— I love it. The goofy jock look suits you.

He grabbed my pecs to weigh them, then without warning lunged against my armpits to lick and sniff like crazy.

After a few weeks, I ended up adapting to my brother's life perfectly. I continued playing his sports, improved his grades, got along with his friends... The only change was when “he” came out as openly gay, my parents had to accept it and my younger brother... Well, he has no choice but to watch me bring my cute boyfriend, formerly best friend, into my room every night.

---

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages.

This will be my new account, I hope you like the stories that are coming soon. See you in the next story... Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

---

[earthtooz]

in which: alhaitham resorts to lying on top of you in order to get you speaking to him again.

quick alhaitham thought i needed to get off my mind, making out at the end lol, potentially ooc

there were a lot of things you didn’t expect when entering a relationship with alhaitham. you didn't expect him to have kaveh as a roommate, you didn’t expect him to overthrow the government, and you didn’t expect him to resort to pettiness in order to end the silent treatment you were giving him.

it’s suffocating beneath him, squished into his soft mattress with his body weight, muscles wrapped around you like a python whilst one arm is extended outwards, balancing a book. you wonder if he’s actually reading it, but you can tell he’s enjoying himself regardless, evident through the way he often turns his head to place a kiss on your exposed collarbone, burying his face into your warmth from here to there. 

for the umpteenth time, you grunt, losing your mind just a little. his body warmth was getting too much, and you’ve been lying here for who knows how long, just staring at the ceiling of his bedroom.

you want to protest, berate him for flattening you before shoving him off, but that would mean surrendering, and this time, you want alhaitham to be the one to give up first. 

as if hearing your thoughts, your grey-haired lover then glances up at you, sleepy gaze filtered through messy strands of hair that have fallen in front of his eyes. you almost cave at the domesticity of it all, only just stopping yourself from brushing his bangs away. 

“still upset?” he murmurs, putting his book face-down to wrap his arms tighter around your torso. “fine. have it your way, i’m going to nap.”

“no-” he perks up at the sound of your voice, raising an eyebrow as a mask of smugness gleams over his face. you shut your mouth immediately, cursing at yourself to slip up so easily, but you really needed to stretch out your legs and the other discomforts of lying like an unmoving plank beneath alhaitham. 

“what was that?” challenges your boyfriend. you don’t answer him, merely staring him down as he sits back, grabbing your wrists. “oh come on, i know you want to say something, out with it.” 

shaking your head, he scoffs at your stubbornness as if his isn’t just as frustrating, and gently caresses your hand. his touch is tantalising, urging you to give in, and paired with that lidded look of his, it’s practically impossible not to.

not many people get to see alhaitham like this, you realise. most know him as an indifferent, closed off, and unapproachable scribe, turned grand sage, turned scribe, yet you get the honour of seeing him as this. “talk to me already,” he demands gently, not letting his grip waver even as you keep trying to pull your hands away, only slipping away so far before he’s holding you again.

there aren’t many battles you can win against him, you know that, and one of them was a battle of strength. as he holds your wrists tight to your sides, his face so close to yours, you feel his earlier playfulness melting into something sincere. 

“are you still mad?” asks alhaitham, furrowing his eyebrows slightly as a pout appears along his lips. the response you give him is a petulant turn of your head. he sighs through his nose. “i’m sorry, okay? i was out of line, i should have listened to you, alright?”

his tone is uncharacteristically kind and warm, warm enough for you to give in to his pleas.

“you mean it?” you tease, grinning widely at him. in the blink of an eye, the tension from alhaitham’s shoulder seeps away like sand, and he sighs with relief before agreeing, a solid ‘yes’ slipping through his mouth. “then i accept your apology.”

“you minx, enjoying the sight of me like this, aren't you-” he murmurs, and you swallow his brewing snide remarks with a kiss, closing the gap by firmly pressing your lips against his. alhaitham is not surprised by your sudden affection. rather, he welcomes it, melts into you wholly as a hand holds the back of your neck to keep you against him. you're warm and precious and everything he could ever desire, so he can't help but let his hands wander, searching for more.

as your mouths slot together, there’s a delicate exchange of apologies that words cannot express; ironic, since alhaitham knows of several ways to apologise in a multitude of languages. nevertheless, he thinks that this is the best method.

with the way you move in sync with him, he can tell that this is your favourite too. 

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[prythianpages]

But the Worms | Azriel

Azriel x Green Witch | Azriel is woken up by your daughter in the middle of the night to answer some of her questions.

warnings: fluff, dad Az

word count: 943

a/n: Just a short little fic that can be read as a stand alone. This was inspired by a scene from Bob's Burgers lol.

Rain pattered against the window steadily, accompanied by the distant rumble of thunder. Every so often, the sky would flare with a streak of lightning, briefly illuminating the room with a blue light before plunging it back into shadow. The storm was a familiar, comforting backdrop to Azriel’s slumber.

But his shadows, ever vigilant, stirred with a whisper of unease.

Azriel’s eyes fluttered open, drawn by the shift in his shadows. That’s when he heard them. The faint, hurried sound of small footsteps. His shadows fluttered toward the door as they sensed the hesitant shuffle against the wooden floor.

He didn't need his shadows to tell him who was on the other side. Had it been his first born, he'd never hear the steps as she loved to sneak up on him,. The door would've been open abruptly with no hesitation whatsoever but it's been years since she last had a nightmare. A nightmare she didn't welcome, at least.

That was not the case tonight. It was his second-born. Sweet little Alora, who, true to her name, should be dreaming of unicorns and rainbows as she loved to recount to him every morning, rather than being awake.

His gaze flickered to you. While Azriel was a light sleeper, you were a heavy sleeper and truth be told, you were sound asleep, back turned toward him. A shadow tenderly caressed your back before he shifted his attention back to the door. He was already sitting up in the bed, blinking away the sleep or at least trying when the door opened quietly, muted with the help of his shadows.

Alora stood at the door. Her hair, the exact shade of yours, was disheveled, the bangs she cut herself last week splayed over her forehead awkwardly. A rite of passage, you had called it, reminding him that your first born had done the same.

Her eyes, the exact shade of his, were wide and glistening, and there was a pout on her face.

Azriel’s chest tightened at the sight, wanting nothing more than to soothe whatever troubled her, despite his fatigue. He extended his arms out, and Alora ran right into them, her small frame immediately enveloped by his.

Cradling her to his chest, he pushed her bangs back and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple. “Did you have a nightmare?” He asked, voice still heavy with sleep.

“No. I haven’t slept at all,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Azriel frowned, glancing at the clock. It was well past midnight, and his eyes were begging for sleep, lulled by the rain falling outside. “Is it the storm?”

Alora placed her hands on his chest, pushing herself up slightly. She spared a glance to your sleeping form before leaning in closer to her father, careful not to wake you with her voice. Though, Azriel doubted you'd wake at all.

Her hazel eyes, so innocent and pure, stared into his own. “Do you think worms have dreams too?”

Azriel's heart softened further. Her worries were so small, so wonderfully trivial compared to the burdens he had carried as a child.

“I’m sure they dream,” he murmured, gently pulling his daughter's head back to his chest, wishing for her to always have such simple worries. He also hoped she’d be content with his answer and finally drift off to sleep herself.

“But what do they dream?”

“The same things you do.” He replied, trying to stifle a yawn. He snuck a glance at you, still oblivious to your daughter’s insatiable curiosity.

“Do they get nightmares too?” 

Azriel fought back his groan. He loved his daughters deeply and strongly. He would go through all ends of the world for them. Any other time, he would entertain this conversation fully, but it was late, and Alora should be fast asleep like her sister. 

“Mel says worms come out when it storms so that we don’t hear their cries.”

Speak of the little devil herself. Mel was sure to get an earful from him. Tomorrow morning, or rather, in a couple of hours. Azriel took a deep breath, trying to muster the energy to explain, his body aching for rest.

Azriel could hear the thoughts swirling through her mind as she continued. “Why would they cry? Is it because of the bad dreams?”

“Don’t listen to your sister,” he said gently, running a hand through Alora’s tousled hair.

“But you told me to listen to her yesterday morning.”

“I did,” Azriel replied with a slight grimace, regretting that decision immensely at this very moment. Granted, he had said that after Mel told Lor to stop riling up Sprinkles, her pet scorpion. “But that’s different.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain tomorrow,” he said, his voice a mix of patience and weariness.

“But the worms–”

“The worms don’t have nightmares and they come out during storms because they love the rain. Now, go to sleep. Please.”

Alora let out a small gasp, her hand losing its tension against his chest. “You promise?”

“Yes.” Azriel replied quickly, not certain what exactly he was promising. He'd deal with it later.

“Okay.”

When he finally felt her body relax in his arms, he let out a breath of relief. He held her tighter in his arms, shifting them to face in your direction before settling Alora between you both. He didn’t have the energy to take her back to her bed.

He gladly gave in to the heaviness of his eyelids, his eyes closing shut and ready to embrace sleep under the comfort of the rain once more--

"Daddy?"

He didn't bother opening his eyes. "Yes?"

"I love you."

His lips tugged up into a smile. "I love you too, my sweets."

Alora snuggled closer to him, tiny hands grasping onto his larger one and placing it over her face. She always found comfort in his touch, despite the scars that marred his hands. It was something that never failed to make his chest swell with warmth. Along with the way both his daughters always looked up to him, eyes full of affection and admiration.

His thumb caressed her cheek, soothing her as his shadows settled back into their corner of the room, curling into the bed Alora had gotten them for Solstice this year.

For centuries, his shadows had slept among other shadows, usually underneath the bed or in the corners of rooms. But Alora had felt bad for them one night, and when shopping for Solstice this year, she had asked you to take her to the pet store and picked out the softest bed for Azriel’s shadows.

Though his shadows had never complained or shown any interest in comfier sleeping habits, they had vibrated with excitement at the sight of the gift. Now, they slept there every night, happy and content, snuggling amongst one another and curling into a ball.

As his thoughts began to blur and drift, the world around him softened, the edges of his awareness becoming fuzzy and indistinct. Now that he knew your daughter was okay and her curiosity satiated, he could go back to sleep.

His breathing slowed, deep and even, matching the gentle rise and fall of your own breath. Just as he was about to give in to the sweet embrace of sleep–

“Daddy?”

He could barely manage a grunt in response.

“Would you still love me if I were a worm?”

Oh, this was definitely your daughter.

series tag list:@fxckmiup, @aria-chikage

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human, @mrsjna

[ithebookhoarder]

(BAU Headcanons) If you fell asleep on them

A/N: So... guess who fell into another fandom? I blame everyone on here and their amazing fics for convincing me I need to give this show and wonderful cast a chance. I may have binged 13 seasons in like a month... oops? I'm also looking at my fav BAU bunch here but I'm open to writing for other characters from the show

Aaron Hotchner

Just like some of the other members of his team, Hotch has a hard exterior that very few people manage to crack through. 

If you and he are in a relationship then I can bet you’ve already had to chip away at it, so you’re already pretty intimate with one another. Falling asleep on him is nothing to bat an eyelid at. If anything, he would welcome the opportunity to relax and hold you close to him.  

It also gives him an excuse to steal a few moments of sleep himself, not daring to move and wake you from your rest. 

He loves holding you close, letting himself listen to the steady beating of you heart as it gently lulls him to become calm enough to shut his eyes. 

However, if you weren’t in a relationship or if it happened in front of the others at the BAU then you know he’d immediately react by saying something about ‘work place conduct’. 

However, he’s clearly saying it for the sake of it as he’d make no effort to wake you or remove you from him. 

In fact, he makes sure to stay still and let you rest peacefully, making sure your neck isn’t bent so you don’t wake up in pain. 

He’d also make sure to lay his jacket over the top of you, a clear sign that you are not to be disturbed - under pain of death. 

David Rossi 

Rossi would be the first to complain if you ever fell asleep on him but it’s all good natured. In fact, he only ever complains about it to you after you’ve woken up and only as a joke between the two of you.

“What am I? Just a pillow to you? Are you trying to say my cooking has made me plump?” 

It’s hard to resist his charming smile, especially when he actually is rather comfortable to lean on. His expensive shirts are always soft to the touch, and the cologne you’d brought him last Christmas lingers as you nestle in close. 

He always make you feel safe, and that is an honour greater than any he’d ever been awarded. 

If it happened in front of the others you know he’d roll his eyes and mutter about the cheek of it all. However, his smile would be enough to tell the others he didn’t mean it. 

“I started reading my manuscript and this is what happens… guess that’s one way to leave a review.” 

He’d be sure to shoot daggers with his eyes at anyone else nearby who looked like they would wake you up. 

He’d also shoot down any possible jokes being made at your expense, his parental nature coming out in full force. 

Derek Morgan

This boy would be so smug if you ever fell asleep on him. Like, if you imagine a Labrador’s tail wagging with one of those big dopey grins, then that’s what he is. 

He is keen to try and capture the moment with a picture, setting it as his phone background to prove to himself it really happened. 

If it happens in front of the rest of the team then you know he is going to keep reminding you and everyone else whenever he gets the chance. 

However, you know that for all the bragging and teasing Morgan is actually super touched by the fact you fell asleep on him and he is keen to offer you a place to lay your head whenever you look like you need to take a beat. 

He even has a blanket and pillow in his go-bag especially for you. 

“Only the best for you, hot stuff.” 

He will never complain about it and - considering how much torture and pain we know this man can endure - he is more than capable of handling any cramp or pins and needles he gets as a result of you lying against him. 

Eventually, he would take the opportunity to try and sleep as well. With his job and his manic lifestyle, if he gets the chance to close his eyes he knows better than to waste it. 

Emily Prentiss

She would be shocked at first, especially if it’s early-on in your relationship. She isn’t really used to public displays of affection and you sleeping with your head on her shoulder is pretty public. 

She would stay as still as possible, though, scared of disturbing you or ruining the moment. She’d also probably be panicking internally, unsure what she was supposed to do. 

However, she soon takes a breath and relaxes. After all, you look so cute when you’re asleep and she is honoured you feel comfortable enough to relax around her like this. 

She doesn’t often get the chance to just sit and be peaceful so she savours the moment you’ve given her. 

She’d end up watching you for a while before relaxing and trying to adjust you so that you’re both comfortable. 

She would also take the opportunity to be affectionate, loving that she can run her hands through your hair and kiss your head without any fear of being embarrassed or rejected. 

After all, we know Emily has a soft centre underneath her tough, bad-ass exterior. She just needs to know she is able to express it. 

JJ

JJ is such a mom to everyone including you, so is over the moon the first time you fall asleep on her. She welcomes it with open arms, happy to melt into the embrace. 

It doesn’t matter if you’ve been together long or not, or if you’re in public. Either way, it feels like a personal badge of honour to be trusted in such a way, whether or not you meant to do it. 

She has enough patience not to move a muscle in case she disturbs you and ruins the moment. She knows that if you fell asleep like this then you probably need the rest. 

JJ would totally form a blanket cocoon around you to keep you warm and toasty as you sleep, wrapping her arms around you and cradling you close.

She’d smile the whole time, pressing kisses to the crown of your head and gently murmuring in your ear whenever you seem to stir. 

“Ssssh, Sleepyhead. It’s ok. I got you. Go back to sleep, honey.”   

If it was just the two of you then she’d be sure to try and move you somewhere more comfortable after a while, like the sofa or your bed. 

However, if you were in public then she would turn into a full mama bear and threaten anyone who came close or tried to disturb you. She has that angry mom look down to a fine art and has made grown men wither with it.

Penelope Garcia 

This beautiful baby angel would be so delighted if you fell asleep against her that she’d probably wake you up by accident after squealing a little too loudly. 

“Oh, oh, sorry. Sorry! Go back to sleep. I’m staying as still as a statue, you precious angel, I promise. So you just close your eyes and let me hold you.”

She’d probably manage like five minutes before she moves again and wakes you up, but it was enough time for her to steal a few private photos to commemorate the moment. 

They will most definitely be the background on her computer the following morning, and possibly yours too.

She would also be sure to make sure she has a blanket and pillow stashed away for you if you ever felt like taking an impromptu nap again when you weren’t at home. 

If you worked at the BAU they’d be kept in her lair - or your private napping room, as she tells you. 

They’d also be brightly coloured and super soft, chosen specifically by Penelope to make you as comfortable and as happy as possible, even whilst at the government building. 

“Just so you know, I gave them a spritz with this gorgeous lavender mist spray to help you knock right out the moment your pretty head hits the pillow. So, sweet dreams honeybun.” 

Dr Spencer Reid

Spencer is a precious boy and would be utterly baffled at first if he looked down and realised you had fallen asleep on him. 

He would be surprised he hadn’t noticed you drooping against him sooner, or that your breathing had slowed as you fell asleep. 

At first he thinks it must be a mistake, immediately trying to ease you off of him. After all, he wasn’t the most comfortable person to sleep on and people are far more likely to find his company irksome rather than soothing. 

However, after you start doing it more often he realises that isn’t the case. 

In fact, he feels rather proud that you’ve got the point in your relationship where you aren’t afraid to relax around him. 

He also learns how not to let it over-stimulate him. It takes some time to train his mind to not think about the possible pathogens that could be passing between you or the way your hair tickles his face. He’s also able to talk to you about positions to curl up in if you ever want to sleep against him again, that he feels more relaxed in. 

He’d also totally be happy to tell you all about whatever his latest hyper-fixation is, knowing the sound of his voice helps you settle better than any lullaby. 

Masterlist