#it feels like she must have been in more!
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yandere!ceo with villainess!reader scenario [part two]
warnings: implied infidelity, implication of obsessive thoughts or love, workplace toxicity, non consensual surveillance.
There might be potential triggers in this piece. If you do not feel comfortable with reading it, please hit the 'back' button on your phone or laptop and find something much more pleasant to read than a potential series of unfortunate events.
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Reblog to support content creators! ❤️
Hey guys, and welcome to part two of my new original yandere oc x series, featuring the good-looking prick and CEO of his family's conglomerate, Yeo Jung-Hwa.
This is a collaboration between me and the incredibly talented @deathmetalunicorn1. Special thanks to @pinkgoldweebgirl for their honest feedback on the earlier drafts of this project and @impeakcharacterdesign for being my beta-reader for the final draft.
I definitely was not expecting such positive feedback on the first part in less than a week, so thank you all for reblogging, liking, and commenting your thoughts on it, they really made some of my more stressful days in the medical field a little brighter :)
Also, if the lofi vibes nor are the clothes written in here aren’t your thing, feel free to insert whatever is your preferred interior theme and fashion/clothing style.
So with that being said, sit back, relax, and enjoy the drama being unfolded on the stage.
Part one
Yeo Jung-Hwa was unhappy with the series of events that had occurred at the office. Hyueng Mun-Hee had bursted into his office with tears streaming down her bright red face, sobbing about how she cannot stand being bullied by the team manager of her department any longer. Who was the team manager?
You. His fiancee. The woman he must marry. A promise between his father and yours that would be beneficial to everyone involved - everyone except him. Wasn’t he entitled to experience pure joy of being loved and in love? To be with someone who wasn’t tiresome and annoyed him all the time?
Meeting Hyeung Mun-Hee had felt like seeking the sky for the first time. She was a breath of fresh air to his stifling world. Hearing your most recent act of cruelty towards her had been the final straw. And like any self-respecting CEO, he texted the CFO to look into it before all hell had broken loose. He was receiving emails from the managers of all the other departments left and right, all with the same attachment. Botched up documents. And the one who had sent it was none other than Hyeung Mun-Hee.
But he didn’t believe it at first.
He truly thought it was another underhanded trick you had created to get Hyeung Mun-Hee fired because that’s exactly the sort of person you are to him; a dishonest, greedy, arrogant woman whose saving grace as a human being is an excellent work ethic. Once he had calmed his darling, drying her tears with his handkerchief, he marched into the Finance Department and demanded answers from you as soon as he got off of the phone with his panicked CFO. Instead of apologizing for what you did, you explained how Hyeung Mun-Hee made mistakes and you gave her a chance to fix them, but she did not correct them. She completed the required training. She knows how to calculate and make spreadsheets, so why is she pushing her work onto others?
More importantly, you fixed her mistakes and sent out the correct ones to the other departments. Everything has been resolved, but you wanted Hyeung Mun-Hee to attend the company’s financial seminars to ensure that this embarrassing incident does not happen again. As much as he despised you, every point you made was correct…especially after he retreated to his office and compared the budget allocations on his monitors; Hyeung Mun-Hee’s on the left and yours on the right. The numbers in his darling’s work were completely off, and they could have cost the company hundreds of thousands if the situation hadn’t been resolved.
He was certain that it was sheer dumb luck.
Just because you had prevented a major internal disaster from occurring doesn’t mean he would ever look at you as he looked at Hyeung Mun-Hee. In a cesspool filled with hypocrites and liars, his darling is a breath of fresh air. Pure, kind-hearted, committed. Loving. So many qualities you lacked. Yet is it all that it seems? He thought, sitting alone in his home office late at night. If Hyeung Mun-Hee made these mistakes, why didn’t she just admit it instead of coming to me?
He wanted to believe she was telling the truth, yet the proof is right there on his computer. Like his predecessors, he needed to take on the responsibility of a leader and make sure that the conglomerate’s integrity remained intact. However, he also desired to shelter his darling from the world’s cruelty. Remove her from the department and secretly marry her so that they could be together at last. He is selfish, but he has the right to bask in his own happiness. Unlike some people.
Well, if he can’t outright get the truth from you…then he’ll just have to call in a favor from a certain someone in the underworld. The person in question could set up cameras in your bedroom by slipping in and out of your estate as a groundskeeper or pest control and no one would be the wiser. He could do it for a price and make sure that nothing could be traced back to him. The last thing Yeo Jung-Hwa wanted is to be arrested for illegally filming someone without their consent.
Not when this is an opportunity to sever ties with you completely, once and for all.
Two days later, he received an email and an attachment. When he clicked on it, four camera angles appeared on his desktop. All of them were in your room. But is this really your room? He expected it to be clean with sleek, wooden floors covered by monochrome carpeting and a walk-in closet filled to the brim with extravagant clothes, shoes, purses that she wouldn’t wear twice in her life. The uninspiring minimalist bougie interior design that is being coveted amongst the upper classes. Your taste was much more comforting. It appeared cozy, with soft lighting and warm blankets.
Strings of fairy lights strung up across the ceiling. A full bookshelf was near the bed. The floor was decorated with knitted ottomans and candles. You lit them all back up as soon as you returned from the company, much later in the evening and when he was in his home office, cradling a cup of black coffee.
You disappeared into the back for a moment, returning in a two-piece fleece loungewear with mushrooms and plants on them. Something he had expected to see Hyeung Mun-Hee dressed in, but not you. Were you trying to copy his lover’s tastes so he would pay attention to you? How shameless!
When he flipped the audio on the cameras, he expected to hear snide remarks about Hyeung Mun-Hee or see you talking to someone on the phone about sabotaging the new project coming up soon so that you would take all the credit. Instead, you were…shopping on a furniture site?
“I don’t need another bookcase, or it’ll look too cluttered. I can’t get any more potted plants either. I’ve already done enough renovations here to make it cozy and relaxing. What about…a salt thingy? What’s it called?” You typed a few words in the search engine, [Eye Color] irises brightening in realization. “Oh right, Himalayan salt lamp! That’s not a terrible price for this one! And yarn. I need more yarn to complete that gift for Caretaker Lee’s birthday. Speaking of which, I could work on that tonight. Give my eyes a break from staring at screens all damned day.” You scooted over to the edge of the bed, pulling one drawer outward. You then reached inside, removing knitting needles, yarn and dark red clumps of something. You put on headphones and began to knit.
You, the proud and arrogant Park Seo-yun, was knitting.
You didn’t move from that spot at all, completely focused on your project when a knock came from the bedroom door. A fleeting, fearful look appeared on your face before you frantically shoved all of your materials back in the drawer, sputtering to wait one moment that you weren’t decent before putting on a bored expression, scrolling through your phone and reclining back like a lazy cat. You told them to come in, and an elderly woman in an apron walked in with a wooden tray filled with assorted foodstuff, carefully setting it down on one of the ottomans.
“Thank you for preparing my midnight snack, Caretaker Lee. I’m sorry it’s been such an inconvenience while I’m reviewing these documents for tomorrow.” You said with a smile. Caretaker Lee shook her head, walking over to your bed. You scooted over so she wouldn’t fall over the edge (presumably, because this entire situation is bizarre to Yeo Jung-Hwa), and she sat down. She smiled down at you, stroking the top of your head.
“This humble one is honored to serve the Park family, especially the hard-working young miss. It cannot be easy, with the current circumstances. Young miss…please forgive me for speaking outright…but are you certain about going through with this engagement? It seems that you have never spent any time with him outside of working at his conglomerate, and any time he has is spent with someone else.”
Yeo Jung-Hwa expected you to hit her, to punish Caretaker Lee for speaking out of turn and to mind her own business. Instead, you stared at her for a long moment, wide-eyed and mouth slightly parted…before your lips curled into a melancholy smile, eyes softening.
“I thank you for your concern, Caretaker Lee. But this is an engagement between my father and the conglomerate’s predecessor. It’s not something that can be broken off so easily with benefits for both parties.” You said. “This is the price to be part of the elite. To sacrifice your happiness for the sake of business.” You then leaned forward, pulling Caretaker Lee into a hug. “It’ll be okay, really. I’m Park Seo-yun. I can take care of myself. And you should be in bed. You’ve got a long drive to see your grandchildren tomorrow morning. Enjoy the weekend, and I’ll see you on Monday.”
“But-”
“I’ll bring the tray down the kitchen when I’m finished.”
“Miss-”
“Nope.”
You then shooed her out of the room, telling Caretaker Lee to send your mother a text as soon as she got to her destination. The old woman smiled sheepishly, wishing you good night and asked you to not stay up too late. Once she was out of the room and the door was closed, you walked back to the bed, shoulders sagging and suddenly looking incredibly tired before you fell face first onto the blankets, legs dangling from the edge. You remained like that for a moment, then picked yourself up and curled up your lower body, grabbing one of the blankets and putting it over your legs. You retrieved your hidden supplies, resuming your knitting, taking five minute breaks in between to eat from the tray. Three more hours passed until you decided to call it a night, blowing out the candles and switching the fairy lights to a lower setting before disappearing into the bathroom. You came back out, grabbed the tray, and vanished.
This isn’t real. It can’t be real. You are a haughty, greedy woman who could care less about commoners, much less servants. You love shopping at boutiques and only want the best of the best in anything. Even in an arranged marriage. He could never be happy with someone like you.
But is all of that true? A nasty little voice in the back of Yeo Jung-Hwa’s mind hissed. Those were rumors created by other women who weren’t pleased that they weren’t good enough to marry you. Park Seo-yun is a stranger to you. You never bothered to know nor care to. Why would you when you have someone you love, Hyeung Mun-Hee?
He didn’t need to, and the fact that he wanted to know the truth about you of all people terrified him. He’s not supposed to care, not to be curious or even concerned about your well-being. This was a strategic engagement, not one born out of mutual affection. He has a role to play in this world after all.
Three weeks had passed since he had the cameras installed, and all Yeo Jung-Hwa had discovered or even learned is that you were a completely different person in your home than at the office.
You work Monday through Fridays, always on time and never staying late unless it was necessary. You returned to your family estate late on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursdays because there was a spinning class at the company gym after your shift on those days. Friday evenings were spent in either your room, holed up and completely focused on knitting or doing something else that helped relax you. If you were staying up late, the servants would provide a midnight snack for you. The portions increased on the days you were at the gym, alluding that you possessed an enormous appetite due to a high metabolism instead of being a glutton as Hyeung Mun-Hee has told him time and time again. You talked to yourself when you were alone, or at least your thoughts before making a decision on something. When he remotely hacked into your laptop to see if he could find any evidence of foul play there, he saw your browsing history contained only decoration aesthetics ideas, healthier snacks to eat at night, local beginner yoga instructors, and shopping at small businesses on Crafty plus one or two high-end boutiques for business casual outfits. Nothing incriminating on any level whatsoever. But he was not going to let you off of the hook that easily.
At work he ignored you entirely, focusing his attention on Hyeung Mun-Hee and blocked your calls so that he didn’t have to talk to you outside of business hours. There was not a single text message or voicemail from you on his cellphone when he unblocked your number yesterday morning after coming into the office. Understandably frustrated and cranky from a lack of proper sleep, he decided to change the deadline for the quarterly income statements and the inspections of the company’s financial software, including reinforcing the firewalls and ensuring there was no fraudulent activity in the company’s transactions to Monday morning.
With this amount of work, he was absolutely certain that it would be your slip-up. That you’d push your assigned tasks to Hyeung Mun-Hee so you could keep working on your knitting projects. Today is Saturday, and you left your house at seven o’clock to go to the office. You stayed awake until midnight typing away on your company laptop, looking over spreadsheets while talking to the head of IT on speaker, arranging a test run on the firewalls on Sunday evening.
Instead of helping the team prepare for everything to be finished at the beginning of the week, Hyeung Mun-Hee was sitting across from him inside a coffee shop, beaming and utterly happy that they were finally out on a date after not being on one for so long, she was getting worried about him. Well…perhaps. Yeo Jung-Hwa glanced down at the shopping bags by their feet. They had gone to trendy high end streets and luxury department stores earlier this morning, with Hyeung Mun-Hee desiring…no, more like insisting that she had at least eight new work outfits so that she would represent his company properly as a team member of the Finance Department.
If that’s true, then why are you here using my black card to shop instead of working at the office? He thought behind a smile as his supposed lover’s words went from one ear and out the other. If you were here with him, he’d probably have been more accepting of indulging in your vices and insisting on paying for everything instead of you, even when you were just as wealthy as he is.
“I’m sure that you will find out why Park Seo-yun is acting so suspiciously!” Hyeung Mun-Hee said in a hushed voice. “I can’t believe you are even associated with such a vile person.She can’t get away with talking down to others like that! She may be rich, but she doesn’t know how to truly appreciate what she has right now!” She giggled. “It’s funny, isn’t it? She has everything, but she still clings to your engagement like a sad puppy! If she truly loves you, then she should have convinced her father to call everything off so that you can be happy. But the rich think differently I guess, right?”
His smile tightened. “Perhaps.” He said, languidly sipping the java chip mocha frappuccino that she bought for him even though he preferred to have his coffee black with no sugar and he’s told her this little tidbit many times. “She is extravagant, but you also have luxurious taste, Hyeung Mun-Hee.”
He watched her eyes widen in surprise and embarrassment, sputtering for a moment before she asked. “W-What are you saying, Yeo Jung-Hwa? You know me! If I had been given a choice to meet up, I would have chosen the downtown area so you could try the street vendors I’ve been talking about!”
And risk my health by getting food poison from reused cooking oil, poorly washed utensils, and ingesting noodles that are too greasy or salty? Absolutely not. He thought with slight irritation.
“Maybe, but we both know that we must be discreet in our interactions, as I’ve told you before.That’s why I suggested we come here, but instead of sampling delicious foods at the restaurants I recommended, you wanted to come here instead after shopping. If I remember correctly, your department is supposed to be presenting a big project on Monday. Why are you here, shopping to your hearts’ content instead of being at the office and helping out the team?”
“W-Why should I be there?” Hyeung Mun-Hee countered, bolting up from her seat as she stared at him in shock. “If I go there, Park Seo-yun will harass me! I can’t work in an environment like that! I did those seminars she told me to do and passed the tests! Can’t I enjoy a day off?!” Fat tears began to build up behind her hazel eyes. “I’ve been working hard enough!”
But you are the one who is putting in the overtime needed to finish the job. You are leading the team to do what needs to be done. Hyeung Mun-Hee is just enjoying the perks of being by his side. Have you eaten lunch yet? Perhaps he can stop by somewhere that allows take-out and bring some to your office under the excuse that he needs to get some work done as well. Dinner too, perhaps?
“ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME, YEO JUNG-HWA?!”
He glared at her. “Sit down, Hyeung Mun-Hee.” He hissed, displeased that her shrill voice had attracted unwanted attention from customers who were either sitting at tables or waiting on orders to finish up at the pick-up area. “Finish your drink, and take a taxi back to the city, to your home.”
“It’s still early in the day, we haven’t been out in a while!”
“And I’m tired from the shopping. I don’t need to see what you bought because I already have seen them all at the shops.” He replied tersely. “I need to stop by the office and take care of a few things at the office before I need to go home.”
Hyeung Mun-Hee’s face is a dark shade of purple. Consumed by anger, her mouth hung open, on the brink of another explosive tantrum, as the coffee shop door swung open, exposing its next patron. You.
You stepped up to the pick-up area, looking at the various drinks with a pensive expression before waving down a barista. “Excuse me.” You said. “I’m here to pick up a mobile order for several drinks under Park. When will they be ready? I need to hurry back to the office with caffeine for my employees or things are going to get ugly.” The handbag hung from your wrist as you fished out your phone, presumably showing the online order to the young man. He looked at you before smiling at you.
“We’ll have it done in just a moment, ma’am.”
Is it wrong for Yeo Jung-Hwa to desire the bright smile you gave to that insignificant commoner when you did not know he was here with Hyeung Mun-Hee?
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Congratulations, Congratulations, Congratulations!
Important things must be said three times.
The viewership score for Episode 52 has arrived!
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#forbidden-sunlight#yandere male#yandere x reader#yandere#ns.fw#yandere manhwa x reader#yandere oc x reader#yandere oc#yandere!ceo#cw obsessive behavior#tw obsessive behavior#cw noncon#tw noncon#cw cheating#tw cheating#cw work toxicity#tw work toxicity
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I Heard Your Voice in a Dream
Pairing: Azriel x Reader
Summary: Reader’s village in the Spring Court is destroyed by Hybern (F U Tampon), and she is on her own until Azriel finds her. She feels instantly connected to him, but is not sure why, until one morning when he tells her everything.
(Also my first attempt at duel POV)
Warnings: a smutty ending
Word Count: 6.4k
You were running for your life when Azriel found you.
After the High Lord of the Spring Court made a deal with the devil to bring back his love that fled from him, life looked much different for you.
Hybern had attacked your village, destroyed your home and everything you had ever known. Your High Lord was nowhere to be found. Most of the people you knew didn’t make it out. Somehow, you had, but you couldn’t help but wonder… at what cost?
You spent your time wandering the endless green spring, not sure what to do. You had missed the evacuation. Nobody knew you were injured or where you were. By the time you were well enough to walk, you were alone.
The panic was made worse by the fact that you knew what was in these lands -- monsters that you had no hope of beating should they target you.
And eventually, they did target you.
You weren’t sure what kind of creature it was -- just knew that those teeth could rip you to shreds and you wouldn’t be able to outrun it for long.
But you did run, because what other choice did you have? You ran and ran, not daring to look back. You could hear it gaining on you with every step, until you felt, more than heard, the ground shaking beneath you.
Suddenly, it was silent, the terrible feet of the monster no longer sounding behind you. You risked a glance back, and saw who must have been a warrior, with enormous black wings spread behind him, wiping off his bloody blade on the grass next to the carcass of the beast.
You stopped running, turning around slowly, studying him as he looked up at you. He was the most beautiful male you had ever seen, with dark black hair and a completely stoic face, giving away absolutely nothing about what he was thinking. The hard lines of that face terrified you as much as they intrigued you. You realized you were shaking as he walked toward you slowly, as if approaching an injured animal. He was wearing some kind of armor -- all black, with gleaming, glowing circles attached to several points of his body. There were dark tendrils of what looked like smoke circling his arms, his hands. He sheathed his gleaming black blade as he approached you.
He held his hands out, severely scarred, you noticed, palms facing you as he got closer. “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” His deep, commanding voice seemed to echo through the now quiet woods.
You couldn’t stop trembling, couldn’t bring your voice to speak.
“What’s your name?” he said softly when he stopped a few feet from you.
You told him, your voice barely above a whisper.
The warrior repeated your name quietly, his hazel eyes softening, then said “I’m Azriel. Are you hurt?”
“I-- I don’t think so.”
Azriel nodded, his eyes scanning your body, as if to confirm it. “What are you doing out here alone?”
You couldn’t help but think that the soft, gentle voice he was now using with you was such a juxtaposition to the fierceness of his armor, his no doubt rock solid body, his massive wings. “I have nowhere to go,” you finally choked out.
His brow furrowed, his eyes swimming with emotion you couldn’t quite place. “Your family?”
You couldn’t bring yourself to say it. The expression on your face seemed to say enough. His jaw tightened as he swallowed.
“Your home?” he asked, his voice husky.
“Destroyed,” you whispered.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he said, his expression softening as he studied your face. You could almost see the wheels turning in his head, but you couldn’t imagine what he was contemplating.
“Thank you,” you croaked out eventually. “For saving my life.”
You turned to go, not wanting to inconvenience him further, but his hand grasped your wrist. As you turned around, you noticed his demeanor had completely changed. He staggered back a step, still holding onto you, pulling you forward a bit. Where before he was confident and calming, his eyes were now wide, his mouth open in what could only be shock.
“What is it?” you asked.
Azriel shook his head slightly, as if trying to clear it. “Come with me.”
You didn’t try to hide your surprise. “You don’t have to do that, I’ll manage.”
He moved his grip from your wrist to your hand, holding it carefully in his, as he gazed at your face, his eyes pleading. “You won’t survive out here. My home -- it’s safe. You’ll be safe.”
Contemplating this, you tried to weigh your options. You knew he was right, that you wouldn’t make it for much longer alone out here. You could try to make it to another court, but how long would that take? And what would happen to you if you got there? But, his home, the one he claimed was safe… you had never seen anyone like him before. Never seen anyone as intimidating. Finally, you asked. “Who… are you?”
His cheeks dusted red as he seemed to grapple for the right words. “I work for the High Lord of the Night Court,” he said carefully.
Unconsciously, you took a step back, pulling your hand from his grasp.
Azriel’s eyes flared. If you didn’t know better you would think it was panic. “It’s not what you think,” he said, his voice steady despite his body language.
“The Night Court?” you felt your heart beating faster. Why did your savior have to be from there, of all places? The only thing worse than these woods would be the Court of Nightmares, where not just the High Lord, but the people were brutal and malicious.
“If you just saw it, you would understand,” he said, taking a careful step towards you again. “I will keep you safe, I swear it.” His eyes remained pleading in a way that you couldn’t comprehend.
“Why?” you asked, trying to make sense of this warrior before you. “Why do you care so much?”
He hesitated, his eyes searching yours. Finally, he said with all the sincerity in the world, “I couldn’t live with myself if I just left you here.”
You sighed, trying to think. As if reading your thoughts he said, “You either trust me or be eaten by something out here.”
He was right. You knew he was. Still, you couldn’t stop the fear that lodged in your throat as you turned back to him and said resignedly, “Okay. Take me with you.”
---
Azriel tried to keep his breathing steady as the two of you made it to the townhouse in Velaris. He knew he would have a lot of explaining to do.
He watched your eyes widen as you took in the sight around you. Children laughing, people walking and talking, seemingly without a care in the world. A bustling city nestled between the mountains of the Night Court.
“Where… are we?” you asked. Your voice had not yet risen to a normal volume in the short time that he had known you.
Azriel didn’t know how much to tell you. He would likely already be in hot water just for bringing you here. “The Night Court,” he said, trying to keep his voice bland. “Sort of.”
You gaped at him.
Azriel winced as you neared the front door. “I hate to do this. But, I need you to wait out here.”
Your eyes only widened. “You’re going to leave me?”
His heart cracked a bit at your words. “It should only be a few minutes. I told you, it’s safe here.”
You scowled, crossing your arms, but finally said, “Okay.”
Azriel nodded once, took a deep breath, and walked inside. Cassian, Feyre, and Rhysand were all in the living room. Rhys was laughing at something Feyre said. All eyes looked to you as you stepped into the threshold.
“You’re back early,” Rhys said.
“I need to talk to you,” Azriel said to Rhysand, his voice sounding off, even to his own ears. “Alone.”
The others looked between the two of you curiously. Rhysand rose, masking his surprise, and gestured to his study.
When they were alone, Azriel didn’t know what to say, how to start. Finally, Rhysand had to say “What’s going on, Az?”
Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “When I got to the Spring Court, there was a woman. Running through the woods, from a bogge.”
“Okay,” Rhys drawled.
“I saved her, obviously. But, Rhys, you should have seen her. She was terrified and alone. I think she’s from the village that Hybern attacked.”
Rhysand raised an eyebrow. “And?”
Azriel held his gaze. “She’s my mate, Rhys.”
The High Lord swore. “You brought her here, didn’t you?”
“What was I supposed to do? She would’ve died out there.”
Rhysand nodded, processing the information. “It was a risk, bringing her here.”
“I know it was,” Azriel said, unwilling to apologize, not for saving his mate’s life.
Despite the danger Azriel had put them in, Rhysand smiled at his brother. “You found your mate.”
Azriel nodded. He hadn’t really processed the information yet.
“Does she know?” Rhys asked.
“No. She’s going through enough right now.”
Rhysand nodded again. “Just be careful. You know how it went when Feyre found out before I told her.”
“I know.”
“So,” Rhys said, leaning against his desk. “I guess we let her stay in the House of Wind. She can find her own place later, if she wants.”
Azriel breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Really.”
---
True to his word, Azriel was back a few minutes later. You were still shocked, trying to make sense of the day. How could this place be a part of the Night Court?
“I can take you to your room now, if you’re ready,” he said by way of greeting.
“My room?” What, in his house?
“Unless you want a tour of the city first? I figured you’d be tired,” he said naturally, as if he were speaking about the weather.
You couldn’t help but gawk at him. “I get a room?”
“Yes,” he said, as if it were obvious.
“Okay,” you said cautiously. “Sure, let’s go to… my room.”
He cleared his throat, taking a tentative step toward you. “We’ll have to fly.”
You just blinked at him. Surely, he didn’t mean…?
He motioned toward you. “May I?”
Resolved, you said, “At this point, why not?”
The ghost of a smile appeared on his lips before carefully, he swept you up in his arms, glancing at your face before flapping his mighty wings, taking the two of you up over the city, toward a large mountain.
You clung to him, your stomach twisting in knots, until he landed gently on a balcony on the top of the mountain.
“Are you okay?” he asked as he set you on the ground.
You nodded, looking past him into the formal dining room inside. “Where are we?”
“This is one of the High Lord’s residences in the city. He doesn’t really stay here with us,” he said, opening the door and leading you inside.
“Us?”
“Me and a few others that you’ll meet. His inner circle.”
Again, you felt that fear spike through your body. The High Lord of the Night Court. His inner circle. What had you gotten yourself into?
As if sensing your fear, he stopped and faced you, looking at you intently. “The stories you’ve heard… they’re not real. At least, not in the context that you think.”
You couldn’t bring yourself to form a response. But, surprisingly, you wanted to trust him, this man who saved your life.
When he realized that you weren’t going to say anything, he cocked his head, motioning for you to follow him through the house. You silently obeyed, his heavy footsteps echoing through the empty hallways.
Finally, he stopped before a room, shouldering the door open and gesturing for you to step inside first. It was more lavish than any room you’d seen in your village in the Spring Court. The four poster bed was huge in the center of the room. To the right was a sitting area with two chairs and a couch, cozy looking rugs, and through an open door you could see a washroom. It was more inviting than you had expected.
“Will this be alright?” Azriel asked as you surveyed the room.
You couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, this should be just fine.”
He smiled faintly. “I’m just a few doors down, if you need anything.”
“You’re leaving?” you asked, for the second time that day.
Hesitating by the door, he said, “I thought you’d like some time to unwind. I imagine it’s been quite a day for you.”
You nodded, but couldn’t help the pang you felt at being left alone again. Azriel was starting to feel like all you had in the world.
After studying you for a beat, he said, “I can come back in an hour? Give you some time to settle in?”
You couldn’t stop the small smi']le that tugged at your lips. “Okay.”
---
An hour later, Azriel was knocking on your door, wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into. This morning, he was leaving for the Spring Court to check on how Tamlin had been handling things, and now his mate was staying a few doors down, with no idea where she was or anything about him.
The breath was knocked right out of him as you opened the door. You had changed into leggings and a sweater, the shape of your legs on full display, your hair, slightly damp, was falling loose in ringlets over your shoulders.
An angel, he thought. You looked like an angel.
“I’m glad you gave me that hour,” you admitted, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. Azriel felt faint. “I haven’t had a real bath in ages.”
Clarity struck his brain again at the reminder of what you had been through, how you had been living since the attack on your home. His heart ached for you. He wanted to rip Hybern apart with his bare hands.
“Do you want the tour?” he asked, dumbly, trying to stomp down his emotions,
You agreed, and he led you through the halls, the tug in his chest dazing him. He ached to reach for your hand, to bring your body into his. How had Rhys endured all that time with Feyre, feeling like this?
As you walked through the house, you started asking questions, and Azriel answered to the best of his ability. He told you about Velaris, how secret it was, why it had been kept a secret. The Court of Nightmares, the lies they had to spin. He explained that he was the Night Court’s spymaster, explained his shadows, his shadowsinger abilities, his wings. He didn’t give a ton of details, not wanting to overwhelm you, but not wanting to lie either.
You told him of your past, too. Of your life with your family before Hybern, your cottage, your friends. None of them had survived the attack. Azriel clenched his fists as you spoke, marveling at how kind and reserved you were, despite the horrors that you had been through.
Suddenly, there was a commotion in the direction of the dining room and he winced. He would have to bring you to dinner, to face the entire group. Azriel knew that Rhys had relayed the information by now about his… guest. That was why they had all insisted on coming to dinner, to scope you out.
He felt guilty about keeping you out of the loop, that everyone would know that you were his mate. But you knew how much pressure could be put on females to give into their mates. He would never do that to you, he wanted you to have a choice.
He would just have to wait until you were settled, until you knew that you were safe with him.
You looked at him questioningly, and he simply said, “Are you hungry? It’s almost time for dinner.”
“Dinner…” you trailed off, a question in your eyes.
“With everyone. Yeah.”
Your eyes widened and he couldn’t help himself. He took your hand in his like he did in the woods, what had made the bond snap into place. “It’ll be okay. They’re good people.”
You looked skeptical, but nodded, moving a bit closer to him. He swore he felt his heart miss a beat.
Azriel led you to the dining room, still holding your hand. At the threshold of the room, you dropped his hand and stood behind him, peaking around his shoulder at the loud group. He could tell you were frightened, and wanted desperately to hold you, to take the fear away.
He cleared his throat, catching the attention of everyone in the room. He looked at his friends sternly, willing them to behave, at least for tonight, before he introduced you to them.
You remained behind him, creeping out the littlest bit, placing your hand gently on his bicep. He looked back at you, trying to calm you down like he had in the woods.
“Come on,” he murmured, lightly placing his hand on your arm and guiding you to your seat. You followed, your body taut.
Azriel introduced you to Cassian, Mor, Elain, Nesta, and Amren. You stayed silent, wide eyed, no doubt realizing the power in the people around you. Finally, he gestured to Rhys and Feyre. “And this is the High Lord and Lady.”
Your eyes widened further then, taking in Feyre. “High Lady,” you murmured, in awe.
Right. The High Lady. Feyre was the one who had tore the Spring Court apart from the inside out. Azriel hadn’t even thought of that, and watched your reaction.
Feyre smiled at you kindly and Rhys looked extremely proud. “Honestly, that… that’s amazing. A High Lady,” you repeated. Azriel let out the breath he was holding.
“We sure think so,” Rhys smirked, his eyes sliding warmly to Feyre.
Azriel could feel some of the tension leave your body, and he nearly slumped with relief.
Your reaction seemed to please his friends, too. Azriel couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride.
Throughout the course of dinner, you had remained silent, your doe eyes taking in everything before you. Azriel was hyper aware of you beside him, trying to sense your every reaction.
After dinner, Azriel walked you back to your room, pausing at the door. “How are you doing?” he asked.
“I think I’m okay,” you said. “It’s not what I expected.”
Azriel nodded. “In a good way?”
You smiled lightly up at him. He nearly fell over. “Everyone seems… normal. Like a family.”
Azriel smiled faintly. “They are. We are a family.”
Studying his face, you stayed silent for a moment. “Thank you,” you whispered.
He squeezed your shoulder gently, feeling his heart constrict at your vulnerability. “Sleep well. Come get me if you need anything, okay?”
You nodded, still smiling slightly as you went inside and gently closed the door behind you.
---
Despite your exhaustion, you lay awake, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, your mind spinning. A family. That’s what this was, all of these powerful fae in one room, the mightiest warriors, the most fearsome High Lord… talking and teasing and laughing at dinner.
You had felt Azriel’s eyes on you, gauging your reactions.
Azriel. He was what was truly keeping you up, you thought. The most beautiful man with the scarred hands and the siphons, you had learned, that helped him harness his unbelievable power, the apparently legendary blade at his side. And yet, the way he watched you, the way his voice changed when he spoke to you…
You couldn’t help but trust him, feeling safe next to him. He had saved your life, after all. It was that thought that was wisping through your mind as you finally drifted off to sleep.
---
The first night in your new bed, you had slept through the night once you were finally able to sleep, too exhausted from the events of the day to be chased by monsters in your dreams.
The second night was a different story.
You didn’t even realize you had been screaming until scarred hands were shaking you awake, hazel eyes so close to yours, full of worry and protectiveness, saying your name over and over until your eyes cleared.
Azriel’s fingers were rubbing soothing circles on your shoulders. “It’s okay, you’re safe. It was just a dream,” he said softly, cupping your cheek in his rough hand when you had stopped trembling.
“I’m sorry,” you croaked, tears springing to your eyes.
He gently wiped the tears away with his thumb, not taking his eyes off you for a second. “For what?” his voice was husky from sleep.
“Waking you,” you whispered, captivated by his hands on you, his eyes swimming with emotion.
“Don’t be sorry,” he said gently, his thumb still absently stroking your cheek. “Are you okay?”
You nodded, not trusting your voice to be audible enough for him to hear.
“Do you want -- I can stay. If you want. Until you fall back to sleep,” he said hesitantly. You hadn’t known him long, but you imagined it was rare for him to stumble over his words like this.
“You don’t have to do that,” you said quietly, though you felt your heart swell at the offer. “I appreciate it, but… I’m sure the spymaster needs sleep.”
The corner of his mouth turned up into a faint smile as he pulled back from you, settling in the armchair against the wall. “I’m used to staying up because I’m the spymaster,” he said, humor lining his voice.
“You’ve already done so much for me--”
His voice was still soft, but added a commanding edge as he cut you off. “Sleep, my lady. I don’t mind.”
You considered protesting again, but knew it wouldn’t get you anywhere. And honestly… it did make you feel better to have his comforting presence in the room, chasing away all of your invisible demons.
---
It didn’t take long for your breathing to go steady, lost in a deep sleep. Azriel couldn’t bring himself to leave you yet, though.
The sound of your terrified shrieks ran over and over in his mind. He had been protective of people before, of course, but this. The terror he could feel radiating off of you, the tears streaming down your face, the look in your eyes before you realized where you were… his hands gripped the armrests so tightly that he worried you might not have a chair in your room tomorrow.
He focused on you now: your peaceful face, your hair draped across the pillow, your breathing even. It calmed him down slightly, but not enough.
Azriel wanted to stay. Just to be sure that you were alright, to ensure that he would be able to stop the nightmares before they escalated this time, but he did not want to invade your privacy. He knew that you probably wouldn’t be happy to find him still sitting there in the morning.
So, after you had been sleeping peacefully for quite some time, he dragged himself out of the chair and silently went to his own room, where he could not sleep at all, those screams rattling around in his mind.
---
Azriel stayed by your side for weeks after you arrived in the Night Court, only leaving, seemingly, when he absolutely had to. The two of you would relax in the library, raid the kitchen, wander around the streets in Velaris that seemed endless to you, in the best way. Despite everything that you had heard of the Night Court and its inhabitants, you were starting to feel at home there. Though you still were extremely intimidated by everyone except Azriel, and couldn’t imagine spending time with any one of them if he wasn’t present.
Though you were starting to adjust to your new life, you continued to wake Azriel so consistently with your nightmares that you wondered if you should just offer to let him sleep next to you. Of course, you knew you couldn’t possibly do that. Your cheeks flushed at just the thought. Guilt gnawed at you though, for being the reason for his lack of sleep, so much so that you offered to switch rooms, somewhere further from him, but he would hear none of it. Nearly every night he came into your room, shaking you awake, then soothing you back to sleep. You couldn’t imagine how he was functioning on so little rest.
One night was particularly bad. You dreamt of the attack on your village, the bloodshed you saw, the terror you felt. You knew Azriel could sense that it was worse than usual, as he wouldn’t take his soothing hands from your arms until you had stopped trembling, which took significantly longer than it normally did. His eyes were filled with more worry than you had seen before, and when he pulled away from you, you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out and gently grabbing his wrist.
His eyes widened a bit in surprise as he turned back to face you, but he said nothing.
“Can you come here?” Your quiet voice cracked on the last word and his jaw ticked at the sound.
He approached you slowly, like he didn’t want to do the wrong thing. “What can I do?” he murmured.
“Can you -- I mean, would it be too weird…” you flushed, unable to get the words out.
Comprehension flooded his expression and you were so embarrassed that you wanted to take it all back, but then his eyes softened with so much warmth that you wanted to cry. “You want me to lay with you for a bit?”
You bit your lip. “Would you?”
The ghost of a smile. Your heart melted.
You scooched over to the far side of the bed before he settled into next to you, agonizingly slowly. He faced you, propping his cheek on his fist. “Is this okay?”
You could only nod, concealing half your face with your sheets in an attempt to hide how red your cheeks had no doubt become. The heat radiated off his body, his shadows nowhere to be found in the dim light.
He smiled faintly as you looked at him. He murmured, “you have to close your eyes to sleep, you know.”
More heat rose to your cheeks. “You could sleep too. You don’t have to stay up and guard me.”
His smile grew. “Isn’t that literally what I’m here for?”
“You’re here for…” you contemplated how much you should tell him. “Your comforting presence,” you finally said.
“You find my presence comforting?” he said, his voice losing that teasing note he had been using moments before.
“Of course I do,” you said, slightly mesmerized by those hazel eyes that rarely left yours.
His expression was unreadable as he studied you for another moment before laying down and murmuring, “Go to sleep.”
So, you did.
---
Azriel could not sleep.
His mate. His mate, who flooded his thoughts day in and day out, whose tug on him drove him mad every waking moment, was in bed with him. And she had no idea what she was. Or what he desperately wanted to do to her.
Your comforting presence.
The words drifted around his mind ceaselessly. He was willing to bet that his mate was one of the only people who would ever feel that way. Most people feared him, or were at least wary of the near-silent shadowsinger.
But, his mate…
Azriel’s eyes whipped to you as your breathing changed, ready to wake you up again if need be. He watched the rise and fall of your chest carefully, before it evened out again and he relaxed back against the mattress.
He would have to tell you. Soon. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this, without having any idea how you felt about him.
He thought of you, as he always did lately, when he finally drifted off to sleep.
---
Strong arms were holding you when you awoke. Before you were fully conscious, you snuggled further into the warmth. Mother only knew how long it had been since you had felt that safe.
It wasn’t until you heard the grumble of a sleepy male behind you that your eyes sprung open and you realized where you were. You were in your bed, faint sunlight shining through the curtains. And the shadowsinger was behind you, his arms wrapped around your middle, your bodies flush together, his breath tickling your neck.
You were spooning. Azriel was spooning you.
And he wasn’t awake yet.
Mother above and Cauldron save me.
Should you pull away? You didn’t exactly want to. And it had been so long since he had gotten a good night’s rest, thanks to you.
Selfishly, you couldn’t bear to leave those arms. So, you did what any rational person would do. You pretended you were still asleep and savored the feeling of the strong warrior’s body pressed against yours.
It was a little while later when he shifted and stiffened. He was awake.
Carefully, he untangled himself from you, backing up to where he had started the night. After a moment, you turned around, to face him, feigning grogginess.
He was gazing at you, his expression more open than you had ever seen it. His eyes swimmed with something that looked like longing. Or maybe that’s just what you hoped it was.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asked, his voice gravelly from sleep. It made your toes curl beneath the sheets.
“I slept really well, actually,” you said, honestly. “Did you get to sleep?”
He nodded, his expression smoothing back to that unreadable blankness.
“Thank you for staying,” you said softly. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Azriel’s eyes softened. “I don’t know what I would do without you, either.”
You sat up a bit, propping yourself up on one elbow. “Me? What do you mean?”
He furrowed his brow, as if he were contemplating whether to tell you something or not.
“Is something wrong?” you asked.
He swallowed, his jaw clenched slightly. “There’s something I should tell you.”
You just waited, gazing at that beautiful face.
Taking a deep breath, his eyes not wavering from yours, he said, “That day, when I touched you in the woods, I realized that you’re my mate.”
If you weren’t in your bed, you’re sure you would have fallen over. Your heart started pounding and you sat up fully, now very aware of the thin night clothes you were wearing.
Azriel sat up too, studying, trying to gauge your reaction.
“That’s why you were so adamant about bringing me with you,” you said quietly, your mind reeling.
He nodded. “To be fair, I might have done that anyway, but… yes. I couldn’t leave you there.”
You watched his hazel eyes looking back at you. You had been right before, you could see that now. He wanted you. Longed to be close to you.
“That’s why I feel so connected to you,” you whispered, noting that tug in your chest that is always leading you to him. “Why you always make me feel so safe.”
His expression flooded with emotion. “You really feel that way around me?”
“Of course I do. Since the very beginning,” you said, inching closer to him, so your legs were almost touching. You couldn’t quite believe it.
Azriel was your mate. The sweet, mysterious, strong spymaster from the Night Court who saved your life. Who had given you a home.
He was your home, you realized with a start.
“Are you…happy?” Azriel asked, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.
He had been worried, you realized. Worried that you would be upset, or wouldn’t return his feelings.
Without a word, you leaned forward, cupping his face in your hands, and kissed him.
You felt the relief rush through his body as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you to him. You settled on his lap, straddling him, deepening the kiss.
He moaned quietly into your mouth as he slipped his tongue inside and you tightened your grip on him, raking your nails down his back. You felt his hardness pressing against your leg, and flushed at that feeling of being wanted.
His rough hands trailed up your bare thighs, toying with the hem of your nightdress. He stopped kissing you long enough to pull back, a silent question in his eyes. You nodded, smiling, and kissed him fiercely before he slowly pulled the dress up and over your head, his eyes raking your body, now completely bare save for your underwear.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, his eyes twinkling, before he kissed sensually down your neck. Then lower and lower…
You gasped as he took your nipple in his mouth, biting gently before soothing over the peak with his tongue.
“Azriel,” you moaned, and he growled in response, tightening an arm around your waist and flipping you onto your back, pressing your body into the mattress with his.
“You never answered my question,” he said, his voice husky, desperate. He toyed with one of your breasts while he devoured your neck, biting and licking and kissing.
“What… what was the question?” you panted, your mind spinning.
He laughed into your skin, low and sensual, making your back arch. “Are you happy?”
You took your face in his hands, guiding him to look at you. His fingers stopped, his eyes open and yearning. “I’m home, Az. You’re my home. I’ve never been happier.”
His smile lit up his entire face, and he kissed you sweetly. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that,” he murmured.
He continued kissing you slowly and lovingly before the two of you got heated again. You tugged at his shirt and he helped you peel it off. He leaned against you, and you reveled in the feeling of his skin against yours, the feel of his muscled back under your fingers.
Your breath got stuck in your throat as he kissed down your body while sliding your panties down your legs, eventually settling his face in between your legs, his mouth hovering an inch from where you needed him.
“Az,” you groaned, twining your fingers in his hair.
You could’ve sworn you heard a soft grunt before his mouth connected with your center and you had to bite your lip to keep from screaming.
“We’re the only ones here, you know,” he said, eyeing you mischievously, sliding a finger into you while his mouth was occupied.
“Meaning?” you panted.
He smirked, sliding another finger into you. You gasped, your back arching off the mattress. “You don’t have to be quiet,” he said, his voice velvet.
Before you could react, he ducked his head back down, sucking hard on your clit, while pumping his fingers in and out of you.
You couldn’t stop the scream that erupted from you, tugging at his hair, pulling him further into you.
Laughing into your skin, he splayed his free hand over your stomach to stop your squirming and continued devouring you.
Eventually, you needed more. “Azriel?”
“Hmm?” he hummed against you, his mouth still working.
“If you don’t take your pants off right now, I might die,” you said, your voice breathy.
He finally took his mouth off you, leaning his head back and laughing louder than you’d ever seen from him. The sound was deep, filling the room. It made your heart swell.
Sliding off the bed, his eyes laser focused on you, he said “I suppose I can’t allow that, can I?”
He held your gaze as he slowly slid his pants off. When he was naked before you, he stalked towards you, his eyes predatory.
You gulped, trying not to show how surprised you were at the size of him.
Azriel was smirking, more smug than you’d ever seen him. He placed his elbows on either side of your head, hovering over you. “Was there something you wanted?” he teased as you wrapped your arms around his neck, trying to pull him closer, but he wouldn’t budge.
You scowled at him and he grinned. “You know what I want,” you groaned.
He cocked his head, feigning ignorance.
“You were so much nicer before,” you mumbled, still trying and failing to pull his muscled body on top of yours.
Leaning his lips down so they were hovering just over yours, he whispered, “I want you to say it.”
Your mouth fell open. “I can’t,” you squeaked.
He smirked. “I’m your mate. You can tell me anything.”
Sighing, you looked to the ceiling, unable to look him in the eyes. “I want you.”
“You already have me,” he said, lightly nipping at your throat. “What do you want me to do?”
“Azriel.”
He laughed lightly. “Okay, fine. I’ll just have to take a guess then.”
Before you could respond, he slid into you, groaning as he did so.
He leaned his forehead against yours, forcing you to look up at him. He gave you a moment to adjust to him, saying “Did I guess correctly?”
Biting your lip, you nodded and he grinned.
“Ready for more?”
You groaned in response, unable to speak.
Slowly, he started moving in and out of you. The two of you moaned in unison.
He groaned, “You feel --”
“So good,” you finished, and he let out a breathy laugh, moving his hips faster.
Azriel was gazing at you with so much love and affection as he was moving in and out of you, you could barely breathe. You placed your hands on his cheeks and pulled him into a kiss. He smiled against your mouth, his breathing ragged.
You couldn’t believe you had eternity to do this with your mate.
---
Azriel did not leave your bedroom that day. Frankly, he never wanted to leave it again.
He knew he probably could’ve kept going long into the night, but he could tell that you needed a break, so the two of you had settled against the pillows. You were now asleep, your head on his chest, your fingers lightly gripping his waist.
His heart swelled as he lightly ran his fingers through your hair, savoring the feeling of being in love and having you close to him.
He never wanted to let go.
#acotar#acotar fic#acotar one shot#acotar x reader#azriel#azriel acotar#azriel x reader#azriel one shot#azriel x you#azriel fluff#ACOTAR smut#ACOTAR fanfiction#acotar fanfic#azriel fanfic#azriel smut
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which one’s toshiro and whys he autistic?
[ID: full body colored illustration of toshiro from the dungeon meshi manga. /End ID]
THIS FREAKIN GUY!!!! anyway
[ID: anonymous tumblr ask: "would def love to hear ur autistic shuro thoughts". /End ID]
awesome. rant under the cut because it will be long
So before we understand why Toshiro is the way he is we must first understand two things abt him:
1. his household situation is a very traditional clan of warriors type situation. his father is very strict and he left his homeland to go to the Island and explore the dungeon to train and become a warrior to be someone suited as the family head
2. Eastern and Western cultures of respect/propriety are different, and Ryoko Kui highlights it well even in her fantasy world.
With that in mind, heres some bullet point rapid fire thoughts that consume my current state of dunmeshi brain:
Toshiro has an avoidant personality. He fears upsetting others due to his upbringing, and rarely tells others how he feels not because he thinks they would simply understand him but because he doesn't want to seem rude and imposing / cause offense to others especially since he's not in his own homeland / hes a foreigner that should respect the land's customs, not his own wishes.
Setting boundaries is hard for everyone, but especially autistic (and some other ND, like those with Avoidant Personality Disorder) people. Those with ASD, at least in my experience, don't want to be isolated from others. So they mask.
They mask what? their desires. their true selves. their opinions. their discomfort. all for the sake of pleasing others (who are often neurotypical)
With that in mind, suddenly, what Maizuru said abt him as a child makes sense. Due to his strict upbringing, Toshiro had to more or less hide his preferences and force himself to adapt to the rigid constraints of his culture and the pressure to be the next family head, this responsibility is his burden to bear and he cannot be someone who expresses his selfish desires instead of focusing on being a strong warrior and leader
"Why did he say he hate Laios and that it should've been obvious that he disliked/found Laios' treatment of him uncomfortable??" BECAUSE IT SHOULD BE OBVIOUS. I'm not going to write off Laios' autism/autistic coding, but its baffling (note: definitely racism and bias for white autistic ppl) to me that a lot of ppl don't see Toshiro's perspective and straight up ignores it. This is a lack of wanting to be rude by speaking up that is based on culture difference on Toshiro's part, and straight up ignorant of his microagressions/racism and lack of self awareness on Laios' end. They were both right, they were both wrong too. This is a complicated conflict that cannot be boiled down to simple ableist/the NT vs ND divide. There's something called . intersectionality. Which brings me to the next point
Toshiro never actually hated Laios. He found him uncomfortable, yes. But he didn't /hate/ him, he was speaking out because he's had enough!!! he's done tolerating Laios' racist bullshit, and he's done following the arbitrary Eastern rules of respecting others and not being rude!!! He. Wants. Laios. To Understand. What. He. Was. Feeling. Because he just had enough!!!!! alright!!! he's at his limit hes at his breaking point, the one he loves is now probably beyond saving, and this is a good time as any to break the news to Laios that he thinks that Laios is impulsive and doesn't fully understand how his actions have consequences!!! Hes right abt this. His feelings on this is valid, just as valid as Laios'
General autistic traits I find from Toshiro: his admiration of Falin's indifference towards insects ("woah shes so brave and gentle!! just like me, fr!!!"), His lack of regard for his own needs and wants (needing to sleep and eat and drink) because he was super focused on saving Falin, His lack of like drastic expression changes, his discomfort with physical touch when it's initiated without consent (see: Laios hugging ppl extra bonus art by Ryoko Kui), his manner of like speaking short and concise, people pleasing tendencies, his like quick way of combat, rule upholder/routine following enjoyer, he seems distant from others even those he consider family not cuz of like any terrible reason but hes just. someone who enjoys his own time alone like. yeah
aannnnndd. thats abt it? i think.
Big part of this is definitely me relating to Shiro as an Asian (specifically chinese indonesian) person who is probably Autistic lmao. I hope this brings more insight on why Toshiro is actually one of the silliest and epiccest dunmeshi characters ever I love him
#asks#dungeon meshi#toshiro nakamoto#dunmeshi#L 👁️🗨️🌫️ !#shuro dunmeshi#(help)#idk if he has tags. does he have fans here. pls say he does
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You'll be okay
Alexia Putellas x reader
Part 4 to that awkward smile
You struggle with your concussion recovery but Alexia's there to help you.
A short little one to finish up this series!
I Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3 I
Masterlist
The morning after your concussion, you were woken up by the intense pounding in your head, just as bad as it was when you first went down on the pitch. The pain meds given to you by the physios had apparently worn off and now it was catching up with you. You instinctively had buried your face in your pillow as if it could make it all better, letting out a whiny sob that you had fought so hard to hold in. Your girlfriend was a light sleeper and was always even worse after a game day, that combined with your injury, had her barely sleeping at all that night, instantly awake as soon as you made a sound.
You didn’t notice her wake up until you felt her hand gently running up and down your back as you cried into your pillow. Of course the crying only increased your pain but at this point you couldn’t stop. “Amor, I’ve got you, okay? You’ll be alright.” Her voice was rough from sleep, normally something that would leave you instantly distracted from whatever was going on in your mind, but not able to overcome the pain you were currently feeling, causing you to cry even harder.
Alexia must have realized that your sudden increase in pain was due to your medication wearing off, as she quickly tried to get up to get you another dose, only being stopped by your tight grip on her t-shirt. “Don’t go, I need you.” It broke her heart to hear the way you cried for her, showing a side of you that she hadn’t seen for many years.
“I’m just going to get you some more pain meds, I’ll be right back, I promise. I really think it’ll help, okay?” You didn’t really respond, just lightening the hold you had on her shirt so that she could get up while you continued to sob hard in complete agony.
It felt like ages even though it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes until your girlfriend returned to your side, water bottle in one hand, medication bottle in the other. At this point you had only spiraled further, gasping for breath as you continued to make yourself feel worse and worse. Alexia knew you were struggling but had no idea how bad it was until she saw you now, somehow even more worked up than when she left you just a few minutes before. “Hey, hey, it’s me. You’re okay, you’re gonna be just fine.” She pulled you over so your head was laying on her lap, allowing her to run her fingers through your hair and try to calm you down. “See if you can take a deep breath for me, I’ve got you now.”
“I- I can’t-” You continued to gasp for breath, only freaking yourself out more and causing you to start shaking your head quickly, as if you could almost will it all to go away.
“Hey, don’t do that you’ll hurt yourself, amor. It’s okay, it’s okay, just look at me.” You finally opened your eyes, the first attempt you had made at calming down. “There you go, you’re doing so good. See if you can breathe with me.” The blonde held eye contact with you, taking exaggerated deep breaths in hopes that you would follow her. Her one hand remained on the side of your face, gently stroking it with her thumb, while her other hand laced her fingers with yours, letting you squeeze it as hard as you wanted to help cope with the pain.
After a few minutes, your breathing had slowed significantly, returning to quiet cries. The second you had slightly calmed, Alexia helped you sit up so you could take your meds, trying to get them in your system as soon as possible. She had never seen you so broken before, and it had left her unsure of just how to help you, especially as she watched you continue to cry, completely helpless. “How can I help you, amor?” Her voice was much softer than you had heard from her before, filled with uncertainty once again.
“Can you just hold me please and tell me it’ll be okay?” Your girlfriend immediately opened her arms to allow you to collapse into her chest as you still continued to cry, breaking her heart even further over your reaction.
“You’ll be okay, mi amor. Your head will start feeling better any minute now when your meds kick in. The doctors said, this is the worst of it, remember? It’ll only get better from here, and I’m not going anywhere, I’ve got you.” She rocked you slightly, just saying anything she could think of to make you feel better.
“It hurts, Ale.” You whimpered into her shoulder yet again as she held you tightly.
“I know, amor, I know. But it’ll get better, you’ll be okay. Let’s see if you can fall back asleep for a while, I think it’ll help.” You gave her a slight nod, but started to climb off her lap and back to your side of the bed, causing Alexia to scrunch up her eyebrows in confusion. “What are you-”
“Ale, I woke you up. I know you’d rather get up and make some breakfast instead of laying in bed all day, you don’t have to stay here with me.” She just shook her head at you, while she pulled you back into her arms.
“It’s okay baby, I couldn’t sleep anyways. You know I barely sleep after games, so do you really think I could sleep knowing you were concussed next to me?” You remained silent, unsure of if you believed her or if she was just being nice to take care of you, but of course she saw straight through your silence. “Sleep. I’ll keep you safe, I’ll be right here. If I fall asleep you can wake me up whenever you want, even if you don’t have a reason to.”
You finally allowed yourself to get comfortable once again in her arms, knowing there was no way she’d take no for an answer. As you fell back to sleep, you could’ve sworn you heard her mutter a “te amo” just before you drifted off.
Last one of this series! Would love to hear any feedback or requests for what you'd like to see next!
Masterlist
#barcelona femeni#woso imagines#barca femeni#fcb femini#woso one shot#woso#woso x reader#woso imagine#espwnt x reader#alexia putellas x reader#alexia putellas#alexia putellas imagine#alexia x reader#wosoreading24/7#wosoreadingalexia#espwnt#woso fanfics
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Eepies
Self indulgent, based on THIS request that I've already written lol
Norlestappen x reader
Warnings: talks of anxiety, mentions of dom/sub dynamics (no smut)
Max and Charles were like two large, overprotective dogs. Especially when it came to their partners. The scene was always the same, she and Lando walking along in front of them or doing something goofy with Max and Charles behind them, watching over them.
(Max and Charles stood there, arms folded over their chests as they watched Lando give an interview. It was unprofessional to have her there with him while he was being interviewed, but nobody could deny them of each other. It took everything in Max and Charles to let them do it alone, to not step in and take control of the conversation when it turned to their relationship).
Their protective nature wasn't just reserved for the track. It happened in their Monaco apartment, too. Like when she was climbing on the counter to get something out of the cupboards, or when Lando fell asleep while he was gaming (usually found by Max, who stayed up later than any of them). Or when she was feeling that mysterious sense of anxiety that she couldn't understand.
She didn't need to understand it, because they were happy to take care of it for her. It was always the same routine when she was feeling like this, Charles holding her on the couch, keeping the fluffy blanket wrapped around her shoulders while Max made her something to eat. Lando did whatever she needed of him, usually following Max and Charles's lead.
They loved their partners, loved being protective over them. But, with the boys driving for different teams, it wasn’t always possible.
She was more attached to Lando. It wasn't that she loved Max and Charles any less than she loved him. It was just easier to trail after Lando than it was to trail after Max and Charles.
(Maybe it was because, when it came to sex, she and Lando were submissive compared to Max and Charles. Sometimes they let them 'take control', but it wasn’t real control. It was easy to let those dynamics slip out of their sex life, especially with how protective Charles and Max were.)
She followed Lando to the McLaren garage. Charles and Max weren't offended. They kissed their heads and sent them on their way, with the promise to meet outside of the McLaren garage after the practice session.
They were too busy during the practice session to see each other, even to exchange a quick kiss. But they could see them stood together when Lando wasn't in the car.
They were so goddamm cute, Max and Charles couldn't help but feel their hearts swell.
The service practice session really took it out of the both of them. Even if she wasn't driving, she was still yawning as she sat in Lando's drivers room.
He yawned with her, falling on the sofa beside him. "We need to go meet Maxie and Charlie," she mumbled as she leaned against him, pulling her knees up to her chest.
Lando kissed the top of her head. "In a minute," he mumbled, wrapping his arms around her.
They quickly fell asleep. Neither of them had meant to, but they'd been so tired, so comfortable leaning against each other. Lando snored softly against the top of her head and she gripped his shirt and drooled against his chest.
They couldn't know that Max and Charles were desperately running around searching for them. Max and Charles knew how sleepy the both of them got (they'd started calling it 'Eepie', which drove Max and Charles crazy), knew they must have been sleeping somewhere.
But they couldn't get into the McLaren garage to check. The employees at McLaren wouldn't let them in to check. As desperate as they were to find their sleeping partner, they couldn't well storm into the garage.
But then a member of staff found them sleeping in Landos drivers room, curled up against each other. The staff at McLaren realised that, in order to get her and Lando back to their hotel room, they needed Max and Charles.
So, Max and Charles were led through to Lando's drivers room. Max knocked softly on the door and pushing it open.
"They look like angels," Charles whispered as he leaned against Max. Max nodded in agreement. They really did look like angel, but they couldn't have been comfortable.
As they usually did, Max and Charles played a game of rock paper scissors to decide who carried who. The loser attempted to carry Lando.
Charles grinned as he scooped her into his arms. It had taken a moment to get her to let go of Lando but, as soon as she was in Charles arms, she was holding his shirt.
Max took several attempts to pick Lando up. He was small, but he was packed with muscle and he wasn't light. Max tried several different ways of carrying him before he settled him over his shoulder.
"Let's get our angels home," he said and leaned forward to give Charles a kiss.
The wonderful, incredible @biancathecool has requested more about their dynamics so expect that later lol.
#max verstappen#max verstappen imagine#max verstaplen x reader#max verstappen fluff#max verstappen x you#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc x you#lando norris#lando norris imagine#lando norris x reader#lando norris fluff#lando norris x you#norlestappen imagine#norlestappen x reader#norlestappen#f1#formula one#f1 imagine#formula 1#f1 x reader#formula one imagine#formula one x reader#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#poly!f1
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Experimenting // C. Sturniolo x Reader.
SYNOPSIS: You and Chris are two teenagers who started dating a few months ago, curiously beginning to experience new things together.
WARNINGS: Adolescents, groping, porn, inappropriate language, obscene descriptions, among others.
NOTES: My first language is not English, so if you find any grammatical errors you already know why :)
MASTERLIST!!
I was standing in front of the refrigerator, leaning on the door. No matter how hard you search, the inside of the refrigerator would still be empty. I couldn't believe that my mother goes to work and forgets that she has a daughter to feed. what a bummer. My stomach growls with hunger and my moody face grows bigger. I remember that there was half of the bread I had for breakfast in the morning left in the cupboard, so I head over there and take a good bite. End of the month was always difficult in my house, my parents' salary was not enough.
I sit at the table and look out through the window. Since I left school at noon it seemed like a terrible rain was coming and it didn't take long to wait. The drops were pattering against the glass and the sky was dark. She still had her backpack on from having just arrived while she chewed the little bread I had left. I distract myself with some TV and settle down at the table, leaving my backpack aside. A few minutes pass until I hear a knock on the door. It's a little hard for me to see who it is because the rain soaked through the window, but I see a figure standing at my door.
I can't figure out who it is but I get up from my place to run to the door anyway, If someone is getting wet in the storm there must be a reason. Once I opened the door it's not hard for me to know it's Chris, so I smile excitedly, I don't even mind getting soaked in the rain. We had already seen each other at school all day, but I love seeing him again.
"Hurry up, stop looking at me and open up to me, I'm getting wet." Chris speaks, pretending to be angry as I open the door for him and we run towards the house. He has a bag in his hand with a Pepsi bottle peeking out of it.
Once inside the house I leave him a short kiss on the lips and go in search of a towel. When he returns to the kitchen he is obviously already quite comfortable at the table, as if it were his home.
"What's the matter that you came, honey?" I asked for. Every time I say a pet name to him I get butterflies in my stomach, a mix between shame and happiness to be able to call it that. We have been dating for a very short time.
He begins to dry himself with the towel and leaves it on the back of the chair.
"Your mom told me she didn't leave you anything for lunch." he finally says. He points to the bag he brought that has two hamburgers in it. My eyes lit up and he pulled me on top of him to hug him and fill his face with kisses. "Oh my God ma, You're seriously very hungry." He says laughing as he tries to reciprocate the kisses I give him on the mouth.
"I love you I love you I love you" I stayed sitting between his legs and got ready to eat, I was very hungry. Chris repeats my action and takes a good bite.
We started talking about trivial things and every so often we gave each other a couple of kisses. It makes me very happy to spend time with him outside of school because everything feels a little more intimate. He is very good company and he always knows what to say to me to make me laugh, I had a great time with him because in addition to being boyfriends, we are best friends.
"Bro, you don't know what Nate told me" Chris says with a gossipy lady tone. "Do you remember the girl who was chasing him?"
"Ema?" She asked with her eyebrows furrowed, he nods quickly with the burger in his mouth.
"He says they went to a boring party and out of nowhere Ema took him to the darkness and gave him a blowjob" He starts laughing out loud and I can't help but laugh with him. Not only about what he tells me, but about how he spoke with his entire mouth full.
"Oh Chris, you are disgusting."
"She is the disgusting one, how is she going to give him a damn oral, what if someone sees them?. I would die of shame."
Although I know that it is very easy for Chris to talk about that topic, I still feel sorry for him. We've been dating for a very short time and I know that this topic should be a little more normal for both of us, but I can't help but get nervous when I think about it.
"You already know what she is like, She is a slut looking for male attention, she must be more than fucked" say, trying to handle the situation and pretending that I understand everything.
Chris shrugs his shoulders and finishes his burger.
"Anyway ma, Aren't you ashamed of that?" He sees my confused face and adds "You know, stupid, to do it in places that can discover you."
Chris' comment makes me think he has no idea what he's talking about.
I laugh and deny.
"Did you do it?"
I pray to all the saints that their answer is no. If he answers that a woman touched him before me, I'm capable of fainting right there. Chris and me "We went out" since we were twelve years old, when we had our first kiss. But since we were both very little we wanted to try what it would be like to be together until he asked me recently and we made it official. So, he had all the freedom in the world to do whatever he wanted, And since he was quite shameless, I don't doubt that some girl jumped on him.
He takes a while to respond and that catches my attention. It makes me tender when I see him blush and I can't help but laugh.
"What's wrong Chris?" I ask laughing. I approach him and hug him tenderly.
"I thought it was obvious that not..." he answers quite embarrassed. I separate myself from him to look at his face and he is indeed quite nervous.
"oh fool, You don't have to get like that because of that. It's not that there is an age to do it, Just because others do it at your age doesn't mean you're obligated to do it."
He looks to the side, avoiding looking at me, he always does that when he's very embarrassed. My boy, I want to fill him with kisses. He turns to me again and crosses his arms, now not only is he embarrassed, but he seems offended.
"Do you?"
"Don't be stupid Chris" I approach and give him a kiss. "You know how I am, I've always been in love with you, how can you imagine that I could even touch a hair of another boy other than you."
"I don't know about the hair but the cock..." He responds laughing, he is no longer offended.. "Weren't you there because you didn't want to or because the moment didn't happen?"
I think about the answer a little, remembering a couple of random situations.
"You already know what Madi and Sofía are like." I remember him, referring to the fact that both have a long history. "They always tried to get me to have something with some random guy, but I always refused."
It seems that my answer gave him peace, I guess he must have been thinking the same thing as me, that no one has been with me before him.
"And you would like it...?" I notice again how the color rises to his cheeks. Although it makes me tender, it also provokes different things in me. The conversation has me quite comfortable and thinking about those things makes me start to become delirious.
"Yeah, could be..." I look the other way "And you?"
"Yeah, I don't know..." respond too, embarrassing "And have you looked at... any of that?"
We both avoid saying "the word", After all, we are two teenagers who are just learning about everything.
"You mean porn?" I go straight to the point, tired of your turns. It's not usually like this, but you can see that he really got nervous. He nods his head. "Oh yes, but I don't like the men's and women's ones very much."
"No? And what are you looking at?" He seems quite confused.
"of girls" I answer timidly. He seems surprised and laughs.
"Seriously you are...?"
"No, Chris. But I like what girls do to each other, it seems more normal to me, I don't know... Boys are more aggressive with girls, and I don't feel like they enjoy it very much."
"Oh yeah, it's true. The kids say that's cool, but I don't think so."
"Yes, they suffocate or hurt them, I don't know if that's the case."
"How do girls do it if they don't have dicks?"
"Do not be stupid, Chris" I laugh. "You have never seen?" denies. "They didn't show you either?" deny again. "That's strange, boys always like it."
"I heard but never saw" raises his shoulders.
An idea crosses my head, but I'm not sure how good it is. We look at each other while we are both silent, thoughtful..
"Shall we look?" We asked in unison and laughed at the coincidence.
We both nod and I get up to go get the laptop. I go back to the kitchen, I clean the table a little and sit on my boyfriend's lap again. I open the computer, I search and put one of the videos. I look at Chris, he's curious and I smile because I know he's going to like it. The video starts playing, the girls talk and soon they are on the couch kissing.
"It's the way they do it, You understand?" I tell him, without taking my eyes off the video. "They do it as if they both enjoy it."
Chris is quiet, attentive. We see how they begin to take off their clothes, one of the girls is on top of the other and moves slowly on top of her. I like the way they tempt each other, how they play in some way, they don't go "direct" to the fact, but they enjoy all of the above. I wanted to see this just because I wanted Chris to see what it was about, but I didn't think it would turn me on even though I was with him. And while the girl is getting rid of the clothes that cover her opponent, I think about how good it would feel to have Chris's hands doing the same. Sliding his fingers into the straps of my bra to move them over my shoulders, squeezing my tits and even kissing them. I feel something strong on the mount of Venus that descends a little further to my femininity. It's the same thing I feel when I watch those videos alone, but it's enhanced a thousand times more.
Chris's heavy breathing hits the back of my neck and makes me fantasize some more. The girls, now naked, begin to rub against each other, moaning. I imagine how good it would feel to do that same thing on Chris's leg, or on top of his hand, or even on top of him. So, how I'm sitting now, moving. I have to bite my lower lip a little hard, I can't pay enough attention to the video anymore because I'm already lost in my thoughts. How good it must feel to do all that with him.
When one of the girls starts fingering the other, Chris pauses the video, throwing me off. I turned to see him confused, I didn't want to think about how he didn't like it or how he was angry about what I showed him..
"I need to go to the bathroom, ma..." He speaks with a serious tone that leaves me hypnotized for a few seconds. He never spoke to me with that hoarse voice, nor did he look at me with eyes tinted a darker color. I blink a few times and lick my lips nervously. He tries to push me off his lap but I stay still on top of him.
"Because?" I came to ask, without even getting out of how hypnotized it has left me. We stare into each other's eyes and I feel quite hot. I'm still trying to figure out all these new sensations we're experiencing.
"Because..." He looks down and I do the same as him, seeing how his erection is still visible above his gray pants. I had never seen it like that, so I was quite scared. "I'm sorry."
He smiled at her, shaking his head.
"Why are you apologizing? You haven't done anything."
"I don't want to make you uncomfortable, forgive me" he rests his forehead on my shoulder.
"I'm hot too" I say out of nowhere, without thinking, completely on impulse. Although it's true, I don't know if it's okay to say it like that. He raises his head and looks at me with a raised eyebrow, making a mischievous smile that I had never seen before either.
"Oh really?" he asked surprised. "And what made you like this?"
"The video... and you."
"I?"
"Yes, because I've started thinking about you doing those things to me."
I don't know where I got the courage from, but the truths come out one after another from my mouth. I guess that's how it is when you trust someone to tell them what's happening to you. He runs the tip of his tongue over his lips slowly and deliberately, making me focus on that action. It doesn't go unnoticed by me how quickly his chest rises and falls and I have a hard time not looking down at his erection. His hands find a place on my waist and squeeze each side of it, making my breath hitch. I still have my back turned to him, he can barely see my face in profile. He raises one of his hands, caressing my back until he reaches my hair and pushes it aside, leaving my neck and part of my neck exposed.
"Would you like it...?" he asks close to my ear, shuddering. "Would you like me to do all those things to you?"
"Mhm..." I respond with difficulty, feeling how he begins to distribute kisses on the side of my neck. I feel so many things that I don't know how to explain each one.
"Have you ever fingered yourself?" I shake my head slightly. "And you rubbed like them?" This time I nod. His hands caress my waist with such slowness that it sends shocks throughout my body. "Can you imagine if I touched you like that?" His new deep voice makes me bite my lips just imagining what he proposes. His hands travel to my thighs and gently squeeze the area, giving light caresses. I shift a little, involuntarily bumping my butt against his member. "Jesus..." He presses harder on my thighs and makes a deep sigh leave my lips. I try the movement I made again and I feel the hardness beneath me again that makes me want to move more. I repeat this a couple more times and pull myself back, crashing my back into his chest. I turn my head and begin to kiss him, deepening it with our tongues and feeling some sounds interfere with the kiss.
From afar I hear the key making its way into the lock and I startle, quickly getting up from Chris's lap. I take the first seat I can find and forcefully close the computer. My mother walks through the door and looks at us both with a smile.
"They don't know who they let out early today." she says excitedly, but when he sees us both agitated he frowns. She is all soaked from the terrible storm that continues outside, so she takes off her coat while looking at us confused. "And those faces?"
Chris opens his mouth to answer but I rush to speak because I know his excuses are terrible.
"I just thought you were dad, you know how he gets when he sees that Chris and I are alone."
"Oh yes, it's exaggerated, you know they are children" she says, heading to the kitchen to get a glass and pour herself a glass of juice.
Chris and I looked at each other knowingly and laughed silently, looking at the ground.
NOTES: Remember to hit the heart and share it with your friends! Thanks for reading^^ If you want to be part of the taglist leave a comment!
TAGLIST: @luverboychris @alexandernvr @prisciliin @sturncakez @imwetforyourmom @hotreaderliin @tillies33ssss
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Moon Song | One Shot
Text Divider by @saradika-graphics
SUMMARY | He killed Lucerys, but Aemond sees the ghost of his nephew wherever he goes - especially in his sweet wife's eyes.
WARNINGS | 18+; Smut; ANGST; Delusions; Incest; Dark Themes; Kinslaying; DD;DNE!
WORD COUNT | 6.6k
A/N | Originally written as a birthday gift for @humanpurposes. Nothing says happy birthday like a dark fic about madness and murder I guess? :)
RAIN-SOAKED AND WEARY, AEMOND TRUDGES THROUGH the murky streets of King's Landing, his cold and damp riding leathers offering no respite. Each step echoes with the haunting images of Vhagar's reckless attack on Luke, the small, agonizing details etched into his mind like a deep carving. The city, shrouded in an eerie mist, seems to mourn his nephew in silent empathy.
A scared face. The cracking of jaws. The sight of Arrax’s wing flapping aimlessly down into the sea. Luke, falling free through the skies…
The Red Keep looms ahead, its imposing towers piercing the darkened sky. Aemond ascends the ancient stone steps in silence, his solitude a curtain shrouding the tempest raging within him. The guards watch him cautiously, sensing the palpable storm that accompanies the one-eyed Prince’s return. As he passes, the torches on the wall flicker, casting grotesque shadows that dance along the corridor walls.
Entering the shared chambers, Aemond's presence goes unnoticed at first. His wife awaits him, her gaze filled with a mixture of concern and anticipation as she sits at the edge of the bed, finding his gaze and immediately making note of his distress. He can feel her scrutiny, her eyes seeking answers he isn't ready to give. With how disappointed she may be, he is not sure that he’ll ever want her to know. But he knows she must, and that he’d rather it come from him than anyone else.
Words remain unspoken as Aemond, drenched and disheveled, closes the distance between them. She hasn’t moved, holding onto him by the waist as he encloses his cold hands onto the back of her head, finding some semblance of comfort in the warmth of her hair. His wife's face softened, ready to welcome him, oblivious to his guilt and agony. In the silence that hung thick in the air, he braced himself for the storm about to engulf their world.
“You’re cold, Aemond. Let me find you something warm to wear,” she says. He doesn’t let her leave him; he will not let her leave him, ever. In heavy times like these, he’s always quite liked having her to hold - and right now, it seems like she understands it just as well as she always does. She is a part of him, made to be by his side.
She’s my twin. She is mine. Her place is by my side, and nobody else’s!
He remembers the words. It was the night he had come to, after his eye had been slashed out. The marriage pact had been brokered in the aftermath, a compensation for the losses suffered. His nephew's tantrum and those venomous words had sown the seeds of a bitter possession, one that manifested in the subtle manipulative gestures that followed.
He had reveled in taunting Luke, relishing in the knowledge that he had triumphed over his nephew in more ways than one. Aemond had married his niece, a Princess of Targaryen blood, a strategic move with which he had alleviated the stain of bastardy off of her. He’d spend years taunting Luke over his wins, and he’d finally taken his life too. And now, his wife was about to cast him aside for it.
As he confessed to his wife, his eye, haunted by the accident, bore into hers, seeking understanding, pleading for empathy. The air grew dense, the chasm between them widening like an insurmountable abyss, a reflection of the irreversible consequences that now consumed them.
I need you to believe me.
In the flicker of candlelight, hope clung to Aemond like a shadow, a desperate desire for his wife to see beyond the tragedy. Yet, her features twisted in disbelief, mirroring the horror within him. He had not expected any less, but to see it happen is like a dagger twisting in his heart.
He’s losing her. He cannot lose her. As she tries to draw away, he lets desperation take over him. He would be damned if he let her slip away over something that he did not mean to happen.
His grip on her tightens to the point of choking, her eyes widening as she realizes that she is trapped. Not just in his hold, but in this marriage with a man that would stop at nothing, and is not even above killing family to survive. How long before he kills me too, she probably thinks.
He longs to assure her that he wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head, but she is angry. She does not want to hear from him, so he will settle for her forced presence for now. Surely she’ll see. He cannot bear for her to look scared and fearful - she looks too much like her twin when she does. The last thing Aemond needs is to be reminded of him.
Her sobs soak through his already damp clothes. She tries to push him away, but he is like a never-ending nightmare - the more she tries, the tighter his hold becomes, refusing to give her the solitude she craves. He wants to, he is simply scared - what if she never chooses to welcome him again?
Why?
His touch, once a source of comfort, now repulses her, but he remains oblivious to her inner turmoil. In the midst of her agony, he lowers her gently onto the bed, attempting to offer solace through caresses and kisses, unaware that his touch has become a reminder, a brand of her brother's murderer. She refuses to believe that it was an accident, and he is further pained at the dark realization that he may not be above killing her if she tries to betray and leave him over this. After all, if he cannot have her, no one else will.
"Stay with me, wife. Stay with me, and you will be kept alive and safe.” Try to leave me, and you will not live to see the next sunrise.
The unspoken threat hangs in the air, a chilling promise that holds its own through his silence and her sobs. She closes her eyes, her unease palpable, a fear of the man she shares her bed and heart with. Aemond, too, watches her drift away, inch by agonizing inch, knowing he will have to learn to endure. He’ll have to, if her place is by Aemond’s side - and the day he married her, he’d solidified that.
What he won’t quite get used to is realizing how much like Luke she looks in fear, and how her eyes make it seem as though he is boring into his nephew’s instead. The resemblance unnerves him as he is taken back to the skies of Storm’s End in his mind once again - Luke had looked just as fearful for his life in his last moments. She is a reminder of what he’s done, of the half of her who is now lost.
How could he have expected that his own living, breathing wife would haunt him so?
THE LIBRARY IS CLOAKED IN A HUSHED DARKNESS as Aemond buries himself in his book, the words flying over his head as he tries to comprehend them. The oppressive silence of the night presses upon him, mirroring the strain in his heart. His worry for his wife weighs heavily on his mind, a persistent ache that refuses to be ignored. She has withdrawn from him, choosing silence over conversation, and the void between them grows deeper with each passing day.
In dreams, Luke sits atop his fledgling dragon, looking at him with a somber expression that makes him appear at peace. They are in the skies of Storm’s End again, only this time, neither of them is involved in a chase. They face each other, and each time, Luke talks, and Aemond seems to have no choice but to listen.
This did not have to happen, uncle, he would say. You could have let me live.
Every time, he wakes and resists the urge to slam his fists and pull his spun silver hair out as he wills the fragments of Lucerys to leave him be. He had initially blamed the shock, but even as he gains his bearings, the visions, dreams, and voices only seem to become louder, stronger, and sharper. It would seem that the more desensitized and ready to face war he becomes, the more his nephew insists on haunting him - reminding him that he is no war god, but simply a boy forced to grow into a man too soon.
This did not have to happen, uncle. You made a terrible mistake.
“Leave me in peace bastard, be gone!” He would scream as he slams his fist into the table and sends parchment flying.
Aemond's torment continues unabated, the ghost of Luke lingering in every corner of his life, a silent spirit that refuses to be exorcized. Late at night, as Aemond lies in bed, he catches glimpses of Luke's face in the shadows that dance on the walls, his eyes hauntingly fixed upon him. The weight of his gaze bears down on Aemond's soul, making sleep an elusive and tormenting escape.
In the courtyard, where the echoes of laughter resound, Aemond finds himself frozen in place, the air heavy with Luke's presence. The wind carries whispers that seem to be the soft murmur of Luke's voice, leaving Aemond questioning his sanity. He can almost feel Luke's hand on his shoulder, a touch that sends shivers down his spine and leaves him grasping at the emptiness.
During war strategy sessions, Aemond's mind plays cruel tricks on him. As he pores over maps of wargrounds and fortified keeps, Luke's reflection materializes beside him, scrutinizing terrains with an otherworldly knowledge. Aemond's fingers tremble as he traces the borders, half-expecting Luke to offer his uninvited and foolish insights, but the silence remains.
In the Great Hall, where feasts were once lively celebrations, Aemond finds himself unable to escape the ghostly presence. The sound of revelry - that Aegon insists upon as they celebrate Luke’s death - becomes a haunting cacophony, and he can almost hear Luke's laughter intermingling with the echoes of those who celebrate his demise. Aemond often finds himself raising his goblet in a futile toast, the wine swirling like a macabre dance, mirroring the torment within him.
Even in the solace of nature, where one would hope to find peace, Aemond can't escape the ghostly reminders. Trees cast shadows that resemble Luke's silhouette as Aemond and Vhagar fly overhead, and the chilly air seems to whisper secrets that he strains to understand.
As he closes the book, a phantom chill creeps into the room. A sense of unease claws at him as he tries to erase the recollections from mind, as though doing so would remove the occurrences altogether. The chilly night air outside intensifies, causing the candle flame to dance wildly before it sputters and extinguishes with a subtle hiss. Aemond dismisses the notion, attributing it to a mere draft, and turns away from the now darkened candle.
As he turns, his reflection in the ornate mirror catches his eye, but instead of his own weary countenance, the mirror unveils the ghostly image of Luke. Aemond's breath catches in his throat as he stares into the haunted eyes of his nephew. The dim light casts an eerie glow on his ethereal almost-figure, and the air in the library seems charged with an otherworldly energy. The weight of guilt and the eerie manifestations converged, leaving Aemond paralyzed in the haunting stillness of the library, caught between the realms of the living and the departed.
"This did not have to happen, uncle," Luke's voice carries a weight of unspoken sorrow, each word etched with the regret of an untimely departure. The ghostly echoes linger in the air, weaving through the ancient shelves of books that stand as silent witnesses to this mad exchange.
Aemond - his breath catching in his throat - struggles to find the right response. The weight of guilt presses upon him as he gazes into Luke, dazed. The regret, palpable and suffocating, threatens to consume him. Luke lingers, a reminder of all his irreversible choices. Caught in the grip of the moment, Aemond feels a lump forming in his throat. "I never wanted it to end this way," he whispers, his voice tinged with regret that he would never have admitted to feeling if he hadn't had to voice it out loud.
"You made a terrible mistake," Luke's voice echoes, the accusatory tone cutting through the oppressive silence of the library.
Aemond's eye meets the hollow gaze of his nephew. "I am aware, and I am burdened by it… by you." He confesses, the weight of guilt hanging heavily upon him. Memories of happier days in his marriage pass his mind, and he is once again left with the gnawing pain of not knowing if she will ever seek him out again. Is he going to be made to live with this chasm between them forever? How could she live without him?
And immediately, as thoughts of his sweet wife cross his mind, the image of Luke transforms into when he was much younger, his curls a lot more prominent and his face a bit more round. He says the words again, the same words that Aemond had heard him say about his marriage - and it is all he can do to not fall apart. "She's my twin. She is mine. Her place is by my side, and nobody else's!" Luke's words resonated in the stillness, each repetition intensifying the haunting atmosphere.
The air crackles with unresolved tension as the words loop, a haunting refrain that refuses to fade. Each spoken phrase intertwines with the musty scent of ancient books, filling the room with a lingering sense of melancholy. As the words pass through the room, the library stands witness to the unfolding chaos. Dust motes, disturbed by the weight of the conversation, hang suspended in the air like transient memories. The ambient firelight, filtered through the stained glass windows, casts a surreal glow on the troubled face of a man who desperately tries to escape the consequences of his actions. The words create ripples in the stillness of the library, a transient disturbance.
His fists clench, and with a roar of frustration, he lashes out at the mirror. The impact shatters the haunting reflection, the fractured pieces falling like a cascade of broken memories. Aemond, panting and wild-eyed, stares at the shattered remnants of the mirror as drops of his blood stain them all an angry, bloody red.
ON A DARK, EERIE MORNING, Aemond decides he will seek refuge in combat training with Cole. The rhythmic clash of steel on steel promises a momentary escape from the haunting of his tormented mind. In these fleeting moments, he clings to the hope that the precision demanded by the dance of death will anchor his thoughts, keeping them disciplined and resolute.
But the training ground transforms, and the air shimmers with the echoes of unsheathed swords. In the midst of training, Luke materializes. The world blurs as Aemond's gaze locks onto his nephew's phantom form, the arrogance etched upon his face mirroring the smirk that haunts him. A tempest of confusion descends, and in the blink of an eye, he lunges forward, sword clashing against an illusion.
Reality slips away, and he finds himself ensnared in a mirage - a realm where the dead dance with the living, taunting them with all they have left. In the throbbing aftermath, the truth bears down on him like a relentless storm.
He killed him. The admission echoes in the hollow chambers of his conscience, overtaking him completely. The clash of blades morphs into a funeral dirge, and as he stands amidst the lingering consequences of his actions, the training ground transforms into a graveyard of memories. The air hangs heavy with the scent of remorse, and the phantom of Luke lingers, a silent witness to the torment that now possesses Aemond.
How he wills for his nephew to leave him alone. How he wishes he could turn back time, to a day when his wife was happy with him, when he was not the object of repulsion in her eyes. How he wishes she would welcome him with open arms again...
But why would she, uncle? Why would she, when you have slain her twin and taken me away from her? Her true other half?
He swings his sword once more, the blade cutting through the air with a desperate force. Each slash is a fervent plea, hoping that the slashes would tear up the ghost of his bastard nephew to ribbons that fly away with the wind. Even in death, his nephew is a stain on his life that refuses to let him live in peace. First his eye, now his wife.
Her place is by my side, uncle. And by killing me, you only reminded her of that.
The echoes of Luke's haunting words reverberate through the empty training ground, as Aemond battles not only the illusions before him but also the relentless demons within. The weight of his actions, the echoes of his nephew's voice, and the damning truth merge into a haunting symphony that accompanies each swing of his sword, forming an enemy much more dangerous than the Blacks that he’d sworn to kill.
The air is thick with the acrid scent of remorse. Aemond's movements become more desperate, as if trying to carve out a safe haven from the phantoms that encircle him. The blade slices through him, yet Luke's voice persists, an unyielding reminder of the havoc wrought upon not just his life but everyone’s around him.
Amidst his violent dance with illusions, Aemond longs for the solace that has eluded him since that fateful day at Storm's End. His sword becomes an extension of his anguish, a vessel through which he hopes to banish the nightmares that torment his every waking moment. The words resonate, mocking his attempts to escape the repercussions of his actions.
Aemond's grip tightens on the hilt of the sword, the struggle etched across his face as he battles the intangible. The illusion persists, refusing to be vanquished, a testament to the indomitable force of guilt and regret.
He lowers his sword and the ghostly echoes of Luke's voice linger. The training ground falls silent, a wave of unresolved grief as Aemond grapples with the realization that, even in death, his nephew remains an inescapable presence in the twisted tapestry of his existence.
Luke smiles once more, and Aemond slams the tip of his sword into the gravel, watching it fall to the side as he screams. Luke’s reflection is a sharp image on his blade, but when he looks up, the ground is empty, save for a worried mentor that watches him from the side. What must he do to gain solitude again?
The air in the training ground seems to thicken further as Aemond walks away to put his sword aside. The haunting memories of his past misdeeds cling to him like a shroud, and the distant echoes of Luke's words continue to reverberate in his mind. The once-familiar grounds feel like a journey through a desolate and forsaken landscape as he somehow registers the distant sounds of Cole calling out his name in worry.
As Aemond picks up the sheath, he senses an eerie silence enveloping the surroundings. The wind carries whispers of his regrets, and the atmosphere is charged with an unsettling energy. He looks up to see his wife standing at one of the windows, her gaze fixed on a seemingly endless point beyond the horizon. The pain of a fractured marriage weighs heavily on his shoulders, and his arrogance, once a shield, now crumbles under the weight of remorse.
Their eyes meet, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. He reads the emptiness in her eyes, an emptiness that reflects the void he has created between them. Aemond's heart sinks, realizing that his mistakes have irreparably damaged the bond he once took for granted. The echo of Luke's haunting voice intertwines with the desolation that surrounds him.
She is his, but he does not want to have her like this; unwilling. Unable to withstand the haunting gaze, Aemond turns away. The clang of metal against metal resonates in the air as he sheathed his sword. The once-sharp blade now feels heavy, burdened with the weight of his own sins.
Before he leaves, compelled by an unseen force, Aemond looks up at the tower once more. But this time, it is not his wife who meets his gaze. Instead, the window frames the ghostly figure of Luke, staring back with fear etched on his face. Before he can further contemplate the vision, she is right there again, looking away. With the many sightings of Luke that he is subjected to, Aemond is not fazed anymore. But he is once more reminded of how similar his nephew and wife look in fear. He does not like seeing her this way.
A shiver courses down Aemond's spine as his gaze meets the ghostly visage of his nephew. Before he can avert his eyes, the apparition transforms into his wife, each manifestation carrying an accusing, sorrowful, and frightened expression. The visions alternate with unsettling speed, a haunting dance where Luke and his wife exchange places in the blink of an eye.
Aemond is unnerved by the rapidity with which the pair appears almost indistinguishable, their features blending into an eerie resemblance that sends chills through his soul. The accusatory eyes of Luke and the sorrowful gaze of his wife interchange with a disorienting fluidity, leaving Aemond trapped in a whirlwind of regret, fear, and a gnawing sense of the uncanny.
He walks away, steps definitive and terror-struck as he steps into the tower. The silence is deafening, broken only by the echoes of regrets and the distant wind. Aemond, haunted by the consequences of his actions, contemplates the surreal encounter. The armor-laden grounds, once a place of training, now serve as the stage for the haunting manifestations of his past. The ghost of Luke remains and so does his remembrance of a happier wife - who, for reasons he cannot fathom, reminds him of his biggest mistake. A constant reminder that redemption may be forever out of reach.
THE WORD HOLDS TOO MUCH EMOTION than he can bear to pour into his voice, but he says it all the same.
“Wife.”
As Aemond approaches her, he takes in the sight of her, a weak vision of House Strong's distinct features marked by dark hair and blue eyes. The vibrant happiness that once defined her has been replaced by weariness, one that seems to have settled into the very core of her being.
Her brown hair, once a shiny cascade, now hangs in loose tendrils, lacking the luster it once possessed. The dim light highlights her fatigue, revealing the toll that the sorrow of losing her brother has taken on her. The lines etched upon her face speak of countless nights spent wrestling nightmares and the strain of unanswered questions. Her eyes, once bright and expressive, now carry a perpetual sadness and seem to bear the weight of all her losses.
Does she grieve for them too? For their marriage? For him and all the time they’ve lost?
As Aemond gathers the courage to approach, he can't help but feel a pang of regret for the role he played in casting this shadow over the woman he once knew and still loves. The air around her seems heavy with declarations unmade, the room echoing with the quiet desperation of a fractured connection that he is grasping at to mend. Aemond, yearning for reconciliation, steels himself to bridge the gap that has grown between them, hoping to heal not just their relationship, but her as well.
She turns to look at him, the faint moonlight from the window hitting her face as she assesses the man that stands before her. Not her husband, no - Aemond knows how she looked at him when she loved him. Now she simply stares through him, understanding that it’s her brother’s killer that she is facing. He doesn’t know what hurts him more - her grief, or her cluelessness.
She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t walk away either, empowering him to take a few steps further. He reaches out to her and takes her hand, and smiles by the corner of his lips when she doesn’t grab her hand back.
“Are you… well?”
The idiocy of the question while he sees how tired she is does not escape him, but in all honesty, she has him tongue-tied. Aemond has missed her touch, and simply getting to hold her hand again has set a fire ablaze in him that he cannot seem to quell.
“As well as one can be, considering the circumstances.”
Time stands still as he takes in the sound of her voice, hoarse from not having said much in a long while. His mother tries with her, but even the Queen can’t make his grief-stricken wife budge - she would stay until she couldn’t, leaving his wife to her thoughts. What could she say to make things better anyhow? I’m sorry my son killed your brother? I’m sorry you’re caught in a war that is not of your making? I’m sorry you cannot look at your husband with anything but disdain?
He is rendered well and truly silent as he tries to measure her feelings, but she beats him to it as she speaks again - addressing the elephant in the room as quickly as she is able. “Are you here to apologize for murdering my brother?”
“It was an accident.”
He knows he shouldn’t be arguing, but what was he to do? He’d let the world speak cruelly of him and brand him a kinslayer, but he cannot have his own wife hate him so. His defense of his actions only seem to spur her further as she pushes her free hand into his chest, and he holds onto her hand tighter, unwilling to let her go like she wants to.
“Don’t demean yourself by justifying your venom, Aemond. You have hated Luke your entire life, and I’d rather you not make years of hatred seem like nothing in your pursuit to make a better name for yourself with me now. You’re well past that, valzȳrys.” She spits out the last word, making him feel hurt and horrendously out of place. husband
“You don’t believe me.”
“You killed him!”
She sobs, her tears making it very clear that he is a lot less in her eyes now than he used to be. He fights the urge to scream, to hold her by the shoulders and shake sense into her. He wants to remind her that he is not what she thinks him to be, and that he genuinely would never do anything to hurt her. But he has. And he is now facing the consequences of weighing the choices and choosing wrong. How he wishes he’d simply let Luke leave - Aemond had won, why didn’t he?
Her sobs echo in the strained silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken grievances. In a moment of raw vulnerability, she hits him square on his chest - each strike of her closed fists carrying the weight of accumulated sorrow, an outward manifestation of the tumultuous emotions that have festered within. Aemond, initially taken aback, winces.
Yet, even as the blows intensify, Aemond doesn't recoil. Instead, he envelops her in a desperate embrace, a gesture born not out of defiance but of a shared longing for understanding. The chamber becomes a battleground of emotions, the struggle to make sense of their fractured marriage playing out in light of all that has taken place.
“I want to hate you so much.” She says, the words choked out as her voice comes out muffled. Her lips are branded onto his chest as she mouths the words over the leathers he wears. “I want to. You’re a monster, that's all I see. I hate you so much.”
He pretends to not hear any of the damning words, for fear of hurting her in the anger that they rouse in him. She looks up at him, and all he wants is to crush her in his hold as he feels the anger creep up on him. But what she says next knocks the wind out of him, reminding him of why he has taken the trouble to come here to try and repair their marriage.
“But I love you all the same, and I don’t know if I hate you or the love I hold more.”
It is all the confirmation he needs. She is not out of reach just yet. Aemond, grappling with the weight of her words, feels a heavy tension in the air as her lips remain pressed against his chest, the muffled admissions still hanging in the space between them.
As she lifts her head, her eyes, red and swollen, meet his. Aemond sees the internal conflict etched into the lines of her face, torn between the desire to loathe him and the persistent, undeniable love that refuses to be extinguished. He remains silent, understanding the gravity of her admission, aware that any response from him could tip the fragile balance they are trying to restore.
In a moment suspended between resentment and longing, she tentatively reaches up to touch his face, her fingertips tracing the contours of his jaw. Aemond, still holding back the urge to speak, feels the warmth of her touch, a gesture that speaks volumes. Then, as if guided by an invisible force, their lips meet in a hesitant, exploratory kiss. It is not a fiery embrace born out of passion; rather, it is a delicate connection, an attempt to bridge the emotional distance that has grown between them.
And then Luke surfaces, yet again.
He holds her tighter and kisses her deep, his tongue begging for entrance as he fights the ghost of Luke, staring right at him as he tries to make his wife forgive him. With every movement of their joined lips, he refutes his dead nephew’s words. He is hers, and she is his. From this day, till the end of their days.
Not Luke’s. His.
“Mine,” he mumbles in between kisses. Over and over until the blasted bastard’s spirit hears and lets him live. But why should he, when Aemond did not offer him the same courtesy? “You’re mine. No one else’s.”
“What?” He doesn’t answer her murmured question, not quite ready to make her privy to the haunting of his mind by her twin. He does not want to let him ruin this moment for them, not any more than he already has. His hands involuntarily find her skirts, pushing them up as he lowers his lips to kiss her neck.
The skin of her thighs are as soft as he’d remembered, his hands relishing in the touch as it disappears under her dress. She clings to him, a slight whine escaping her lips as his fingertips graze her skin, holding onto her backside as he lifts her up effortlessly, feet carrying them both and pushing her into the nearest wall. The kiss is never ending, and he’d not have it any other way.He presses into her, his hands holding her by the hip so tight that he’s probably bruising her, but he is too far gone to care. He needs to prove his nephew wrong, and with each moment he believes he is closer to vanquishing the ghost of the Strong pup from his consciousness.
“Take me,” she says. He hears her, but he is not quite sure he is listening. However, he does as she says. He has wanted this for long, having missed her touch for long, having missed her wanting him for long. He has wanted this for too long to do anything otherwise, and so he does. He growls as he bites her neck, while she unlaces his breeches and lets his cock spring free. The weeping tip is erect and stands proud, and he hopes she can see what she could have had in the time that she pushed him away. No matter, she’s here now.
He is taken aback by how tight she is, how warm and inviting she is despite it all. Her wetness engulfs him as he thrusts into her, making up for wasted time. With each thrust and with each moan that she lets out, he hopes and prays that their marriage will endure - but the phantom of his nephew is never ending as he refuses to fade. Aemond claims her as is his right, but as he does, he realizes his true goal is to simply remind the ghost in his head that she is his, and no one else’s.
“Mine.”
She leans into him, meeting his forehead with hers as her hair falls around them. Her panting breaths and heaving chest has him in a tight chokehold, and it almost keeps him from being haunted by her twin. Almost.
She peaks with a shuddering moan, and as she falls into him - limp and willing - he chases his pleasure. He brings her down to stand and mindlessly thrusts into her as he chants mine, mine, mine over and over again and when he does spill in her, he wants to be able to only experience pleasure, and nothing else.
Surely his mind is playing tricks on him, or Luke has simply taken over Aemond in a capacity far beyond his control - for he is certain he sees him in her eyes for just a moment, taunting him and reveling in his misery.
The memory hits him like whiplash, and it is all he can think of.
Aemond’s hands encircle her delicate throat, pressing her frail form against the unforgiving stone wall, as though he intends to merge her essence with its cold surface. The echoes of her labored panting reverberate in the air, a desperate struggle for breath, while he, consumed by an unrelenting force, cannot cease his actions.
Her blue eyes roll back in agony, and the veins on her neck stand out more prominently than usual, appearing blue in certain lights and green in others - details he might have discerned if not blinded by rage and madness.
He sees clearly, he always does. But in this moment, the intensity of his anger clouds his judgment, rendering him as blind as he is perceptive in moments of calm. Her pallor intensifies, and her hands futilely attempt to pry his fingers from her skin, seeking reprieve - he wants to let go, but he cannot. How could he?
His nephew has haunted him for years, much like the famed phantom of Harrenhal. Luke may have only been nine years of age when he took Aemond’s eye, but it has wielded a malevolent influence throughout his journey from boyhood to manhood. It has been the root cause for a lot of what he’s done - right from marrying her, to now killing her so she can join her brother wherever he is.
He needs to banish the haunting memory of his nephew from his tormented consciousness. He wants so badly for the words to stop playing in his head, weaving a harsh thread of thoughts that he cannot seem to find his way out of. Her life hangs by a thread, one that he stretches taut until she snaps.
As much as he resents acknowledging it, perhaps Lucerys was right. He isn't killing her; he is merely guiding her to where she belongs, by his side. “Aemond…” Her plea is feeble, choked, and nearly devoid of a voice. “Husband, please…” He hears his sweet wife’s last words, but he refuses to listen.
As the light in her eyes slowly dims, he watches as she struggles to keep her eyes open. Her hold on his choking hand loosens and loses its fight, and she gives in. It is almost as though they are back to how they were, in the days when they were happier, and his hands had been around her neck in much more sensual moments - always just enough, never as tight and deadly as this.
She looks almost peaceful in this state, in the last moments where she’s accepted that she has outrun her course. He cannot have her this way, does not want her this way - where she fears him and what he has truly become; where every moment that she looks at him with mixed emotions, he is reminded of his nephew and the day he died.
Cursed bastard.
Her once kind smiles, the very essence that once distinguished her from her twin, have undergone a haunting transformation. Her face has since been etched with an unspoken terror, a fear that clings to her like a shroud of impending doom. Every glance she casts seems laden with an eerie anticipation, as if she is poised to deliver a fatal blow.
In those harrowing moments, the resemblance between them becomes a grotesque mirror, reflecting a likeness he cannot bear to acknowledge. The weight of her presence - his presence - is suffocating, an unsettling reminder of his own recklessness. He cannot afford the luxury of a wavering mind, not in the midst of a relentless war that demands his unwavering focus.
This connection has become an unbearable burden, stoking a fury within him that knows no bounds. All he craves is the dissolution of his nephew's haunting memory, an obliteration that refuses to comply with the confines of his subconscious. Instead, it lingers, an ominous specter that shadows his every waking moment, intensifying the horrors that plague him day and night.
And then, her breathing ceases.
The chilling realization of what he’s done crashes over him like a wave, dragging him into the abyss of his own making. The haunting echoes of his nephew's voice, the relentless specter that had tormented his every waking moment ever since the fateful day at Storm’s End, had finally ceased. However, the newfound silence is shattered by the ghastly thud of her lifeless form crumpling to the floor, unleashing an eerie force that wraps its tendrils around his soul.
She seems liberated from the oppressive shackles of fear and her lifeless face descends into an eerie calm that chills the marrow of his bones. In death, she appears more tranquil than any moment he witnessed in life since her twin’s passing. The grotesque disparity between her and Lucerys’ final moments sends a shiver down his spine, the air thick with the stench of regret and the palpable weight of his transgressions.
With a trembling hand, he reaches out to touch her slowly chilling forehead, pressing a sorrowful kiss upon it. The chamber becomes suffocating, the air thickening with an oppressive calm that clings to the shadows. In that macabre stillness, a chilling certainty takes hold — Lucerys will no longer haunt him, but the cost is etched in the lines of his lovely wife’s lifeless face.
As the reality of his irreversible choice seeps into his bones, a haunting question claws at the edges of his conscience: Was the liberation from the phantom of his nephew's influence worth the mad ending of his wife's life? The Seven bear witness to another one of his kinslaying crimes and the heavy silence that follows - a testament to the darkness that now envelopes his soul, as the shadows of the hearth themselves seem to recoil from the stench of blood that stains the very fabric of the air.
Now the twins are together in death, by each other’s side.
Aemond is free.
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#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen x female reader#aemond targaryen fanfic#aemond targaryen smut#ewan mitchell#aemond x fem!reader#aemond x you#aemond x reader#aemond x y/n#aemond smut#aemond fanfic#aemond targaryen fic#house of the dragon#aemond targaryen imagine#aemond fanfiction#aemond one eye#prince aemond targaryen#prince aemond#aemond targaryen x ofc#aemond targaryen x oc#aemond targaryen fan fiction#aemond fic#aemond#pro aemond targaryen#aemond stannies#aemond angst#aemond targaryen angst#aemond targaryen fanfiction
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ohhh i may have an idea for your polyamorous thing, what about the reader trying to soft launch her relationship with carlando but people keep thinking they’re just a group of very close friends or they think that she is only dating one of them and the other is just their friend so she gets tired of people not taking the hint and just ends up hard launching? maybe at a grand prix weekend?
captions ⋆ carlando smau
pairing: carlando x reader
summary: carlos, lando and you had been dating and soft launching each other for almost two years, and carlos just got bored of people thinking you're just friends.
warnings: some suggestive comments
a/n: not the biggest fan of lando EXCEPT when carlos is around so i loved doing this so much. also, it's my first smau, pls tell me what you guys think about it <3
masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd
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yourusername spent a few days watching this two drive in circles very fast (+ kiki)
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user1 NEW CARLANDO PHOTO JUST POSTED
user2 thank u y/n for feeding us with all this carlando content
landonorris dry ass caption
yourusername at least i post you you dumbass
user1 never beating couple allegations
user3 carlos must be so tired of third wheeling them
user4 THAT IS THE CUTEST DOG I'VE EVER SEEN
francisca.cgomes i'll never forgive you for naming your dog almost like me
yourusername it's my love language ok
landonorris you could've named it lando or smth
yourusername i'll change her name to nowins 💋
landonorris wait wat
carlossainz55 👑
landonorris ok i'll correct myself THIS is dry
carlossainz55 you muppet
yourusername at least he comments good things ??
user5 their friendship is top tier
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user1 here before y/n
user2 NOT LANDO SOFT LAUNCHING CARLOS
user3 i'm dying
user4 i don't wanna start something but that aren't lando's arms in the third picture
user5 it scares me that you can recognize lando's arms...
user6 girl go touch some grass
yourusername and i'm the one getting called dry
landonorris i didn't want you to feel bad bout you're boring caption 💛
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yourusername you guys could've win at least
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landonorris isn't a podium not enough for you?
yourusername no
landonorris yeah idc what you think
yourusername THEN WHY U ASK i'm changing to red bull they'll give me more emotional stability
maxverstappen1 please stay there i don't want to have lando in the garage looking for you
user1 cute cute cute friendship
user2 call me crazy but...
user3 but WHAT GIRL?
user2 lando soft launching carlos and posting the picture of y/n with another boy (definitely carlos), and them posting each other anytime they can
user4 girl they're just friends
user5 yeah they've been knowing each other for a long time, they're just very close
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yourusername always 💛
user2 OUR biggest supporter? them using the same heart lando used in a previous post?
user6 paranoid
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user1 WAIT OMFG
user2 CARLOS HARD LAUNCHING LANDO AND Y/N I TOLD U GUYS
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user4 isn't that obvious
yourusername cute dog
carlossainz55 Hermosa we talked about calling Lando our dog
landonorris she meant kiki you muppet
yourusername no i actually meant you baby
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carlossainz55 I'm going to ban Lando from this app
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carlossainz55 First
landonorris he's so obsessed
carlossainz55 Yeah
landonorris now THAT is a good caption
francisca.cgomes ok cutiess
danielricciardo Y/N blink twice if you need help
landonorris shut the fuck up she's totally fine with us
yourusername save me pls
user2 does she even have a job?
landonorris serving cunt?
carlossainz55 Being the most beautiful woman in the world?
yourusername i'm a publicist but yeah mostly what they said
user3 you're so iconic for this
#f1#formula 1#f1 fanfic#f1 fluff#noraverse 🫧#formula 1 one shot#f1 x oc#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#f1 x female reader#f1 fic#f1 imagine#carlos sainz#lando norris#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz one shot#carlos sainz jr#carlos sainz imagine#smau#f1 smau#carlos sainz smau#carlos sainz x you#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris x y/n#carlos sainz x y/n#ln4#ln4 x reader#ln4 imagine
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Chapter 49 of human Bill Cipher being such a miserable prisoner even the Pines are starting to feel bad for him: The Eclipse: Epilogue.
####
"The heck did you do to that poor woman?" Tate asked, staring out the window. Bill was sitting on the pier, legs dangling in the water, staring blankly into the depths. He was still muddy and trembling. "She looks more traumatized than when y'all left."
Ford couldn't meet Tate's gaze under the brim of his hat, but he could feel Tate raising a brow when he spotted Dipper pacing back and forth on the pier behind Bill, muttering furiously.
"We've had a very bad day," Ford said.
"Uh-huh."
"Could I borrow your phone to call my brother?"
Outside, Dipper was oblivious to everything except the one line he'd managed to remember from the Axolotl, the words he'd picked out as they crossed the lake. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes,'" Dipper murmured. He knew that much. It was a poem. It was a rhyme. He couldn't remember the rest. What did it mean? He murmured it over and over to himself as he walked, trying to remember the next line, "'Sixty degrees that come in threes,' 'sixty degrees that come in threes'... breeze, freeze, ease, lease, knees—" He couldn't remember the rhyme.
Bill was considering grabbing Dipper by the ankle and dragging him off the pier just to shut him up when whatsisname, the younger McGucket came out of the shop. "Hello there? Miss Goldie?"
Human. Strange human. Human that Bill could get on his side. Be charming. He tried to remember how to be charming. He offered a feeble smile. "Yello?"
"I wanted to make sure you're all right," Tate said. "You look like you, uh... you've had a hard time."
Bill laughed ruefully. "Well, I've been dragged all over the mountain, I'm hungry, exhausted, and half-drowned, and I can barely walk—but I'm not currently dead. Allegedly. I'll take what I can get."
The corners of Tate's mouth twitched down in a concerned frown. "Is there anything you need? A..." He floundered for a moment, "A water, or...?"
"I've had enough water to last me a lifetime." He wondered idly whether he could claim he was too exhausted to make it all the way home—there was a sofa in the staff room, Tate would probably let the poor bedraggled "woman" take a nap, if Bill got that bit of distance between himself and the Pines maybe he could... maybe he could... do something with it? But he couldn't think of anything more definite than that and now Ford was coming back and the window of opportunity closed. He shrugged wearily. "Just need to get back to the shack. Thanks." He half heartedly used the lake water to wash the drying mud off his lower legs and knees.
"Stan will be here in about twenty minutes," Ford said, and tried to ignore the dirty look Tate gave him.
"I'll be just inside if you need anything else," Tate said. "Watching." He headed inside—and then, indeed, stood at the shop window and watched.
Ford was never going to get on Tate's good side. He suspected Tate would be a little less sympathetic to the poor woman on the pier if he knew who he really was; but it certainly wouldn't make Tate like Ford any better for keeping him around.
"Nothing to do now but wait." Ford unloaded the rest of their supplies from the borrowed motor boat. He dropped Soos's Monster-Mon backpack beside Bill—it was heavy, Bill must have just shoved his clothes and bedsheet straight in without bothering to wring out the water—and the plastic bag of snacks Dipper had bought. "You ought to eat more while we wait." Ford nudged the snack bag.
Bill sneered at it. "I don't want that trash."
"What?" Ford examined the bag's contents. Jerky, chips, candy, cups of marshmallow cereal... "This is ninety percent of what you eat."
"Ninety percent of what I eat is what I can scavenge from the counters."
Ford looked through the bag again. Ah. Right. So it was. "If you want something else, you know you can ask us to..."
"Mac and cheese."
Maybe Ford had better stop talking. He sighed and glanced at Dipper to see how he was doing.
It didn't look like Dipper had even registered Ford's return, too busy pacing and muttering to himself. Ford frowned. "Dipper?"
"Axolotl," Bill explained. "He's obsessing over him. Didn't I tell you that meeting that thing would drive him insane?" He tilted his head toward Dipper. "Look at that, he's already mumbling to himself. Don't suppose you have his therapist's number, do you? I doubt that would save him, but it might slow the process—"
Ford shushed him.
Dipper had briefly tuned back into the conversation when he heard Bill say Axolotl; and now he grit his teeth and stubbornly tuned it back out. No. He was not going insane. Dipper would figure this out. If he just remembered the rest he'd be fine. He tried to go through all the potential rhymes alphabetically, "—bees, cease, d—deez?" That wasn't a word. "Fees, geese, he's..." and on and on, "seas, tees, uh... vees? Wheeze..."
"I've had enough of you trying to convince that boy he's about to go mad," Ford muttered to Bill. "What do you get out saying that? Even if you do convince him he's insane, it won't make him start trusting anything else you say."
"I'm not lying," Bill said heatedly. "You ought to know that, you've been in the multiverse, you've seen plenty of maddening sights. You saw them before you even left the Nightmare Realm."
Ford hesitated before responding; was Bill trying to persuade Ford he was insane? But he could still remember those first few moments of terror in the Nightmare Realm: the creatures that had seemed to move and shift in impossible ways as they swam in and out of dimensions Ford couldn't see, the lights and colors that throbbed like an inverted migraine, Bill himself seemingly suspended a million light years away and a foot in front of Ford's face at the same time. Until Ford had latched onto his quest to destroy Bill and let that focus him, his mind had felt like an unraveling sock. "You were chief among those maddening sights."
"I was," Bill acknowledged neutrally.
"But I didn't go insane."
"Because you knew when to look away." He cast a sideways glance at Dipper, an implicit unlike him. "I know you used to read cosmic horror. Do you know why the narrator always goes mad just from looking at some giant beast? It's not because it's too ugly to take. It's because once you meet something, you try to understand it; but if you want to understand the reality something like that comes from," he rolled an eye up toward where the invisible Axolotl had hung in the sky, "you have to lose your understanding of your own reality. They're incompatible. Like the lunatics who escaped Plato's cave and came back ranting about nonsense like sunlight and colors."
It was a twisted interpretation of the cave allegory. Plato had meant it as a metaphor for education: that learning about the true nature of reality was enlightening, but alienated you from your peers.
Perhaps to Bill, enlightenment and insanity were the same thing.
Ford murmured, "Once your eyes have been too dazzled by the sunlight to see the dim shadows, you'll never be awed by a candle again."
"You have been there before."
Ford didn't answer.
"Once you've seen something like that, if you let yourself dwell on the significance of it all, you're doomed. Better to tell yourself it's unimportant and try to forget it ever happened."
Ford thought of Fiddleford.
Bill twisted around to snap tiredly at Dipper, "So stop staring at the sun before you go blind, moron."
"Shut up." Dipper had been trying to mentally drown out Bill's dire predictions by grasping for more rhymes—"disease, unease, Socrates"—but enough filtered through to make his stomach churn with nervousness. What if Bill was right? What if he never remembered what the Axolotl told him—what if he drove himself mad trying? What if this turned into a lifelong obsession—but he'd be fine and could let it go once he remembered—was that the trap? Was whatever it had told him impossible for a human to remember? Was it something so incomprehensible a human couldn't remember it without going crazy?
But he'd seen plenty of stuff last summer that was supposed to make humans go "insane." Bill had to be messing with him. He remembered the first line—surely that meant he could remember the rest—but was that part of the trap? "'Sixty degrees that come in threes'... come on, there's something else, I know it, what is it? 'Sixty degrees that come in threes'—"
Bill sighed irritably. "'Watches through the eyes in trees.'"
Dipper stopped pacing. He hadn't realized he'd raised his voice enough to be audible. "What?"
"What?" Bill said.
"What's the rest of it?"
"What rest of it? It's a couplet. That's all," Bill said. "Is that what he told you? He gets rhymey when he feels self-important, it's no big deal. Maybe you're lucky. Put it out of your head and you'll be fine."
Dipper turned the words over in his head. Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches through the eyes in trees... "That's not exactly right," he said slowly. "It was 'watches from within birch trees.'"
"Is that how he translated it? I've never heard it in English before. I got close, though, I knew it'd rhyme."
Ford echoed, "'Sixty degrees that come in threes.' Like a triangle?"
Dipper gave him a perplexed look. "What?"
"You're taking geometry next year, aren't you? The inner angles of polygons always have the same number of degrees; and a triangle has a hundred and eighty degrees. Three angles of sixty degrees forms... an equilateral triangle."
Dipper and Ford stared at Bill.
Bill gave them a tired, unreadable look. "What?" he said. "Don't look at me. I'm not the only equilateral triangle in the universe."
Well, now Dipper was sure there was more to the poem than just a couplet. "How many other equilateral triangles spy on people through birch trees?"
"Lay off," Bill said crabbily. "I didn't have to tell you that line. Don't make me regret it." He planted his elbows on his knees, laced his hands together, pressed his forehead to them, and massaged his eyelids with his thumbs.
He tilted slightly to the right, keeping the weight of his head off his left arm.
####
"Nice shirt," Stan said, eyeing Ford's anger management t-shirt.
"If you like it, you can have it."
"What happened to your coat?"
"Somewhere at the bottom of the lake," Ford sighed.
"How...?"
"I'll fill you in later."
Bill's trembling was almost unnoticeable by the time Stan arrived. Or, at least, it was slight enough that he could stand and make the short walk from the pier to the car without an obvious struggle.
He climbed into the back seat, slid across the bench, leaned against the door, wrapped his arms around his Monster-Mon backpack, fell asleep, and didn't wake up for the entire drive home.
Dipper and Ford fell silent when they noticed; and, sensing the heavy atmosphere, Stan followed suit.
####
The event organizers for Higher Dimensional Gate had arranged for the Magister Mentium's audience to surround him in a circle with as large a circumference as possible, so that as many shapes as possible could pack into the first few rows where they could see him. Even so, the crowd was much too large for everyone to be in the first few rows. Speakers had to be planted throughout the crowd so that they'd all be able to hear the Magister speak. Most of his audience couldn't see him.
But he, with his all-seeing eye, could see all of them.
The crowd extended back, row after row after row, in every direction like flecks of multicolor confetti filling the air all the way to the horizon. He'd never spoken to such a large crowd before. He didn't think he'd ever seen such a large crowd before.
Not all of them were his worshipers. He didn't have that many worshipers. The rest were drawn in by his boast—to be the first shape outside of legends to predict an eclipse, over six months ahead of schedule. They were here for a spectacle. He meant to give them one.
If he succeeded, all these spectators would become his worshipers, he was sure of it. If he didn't succeed, he lost everything. The whole nation knew about his bet. He'd be financially ruined. His worshipers would abandon him. There would be no fleeing to a new town and starting over; everyone everywhere knew who he was. His life would be over.
This would be only the third eclipse he could recall. There's no way to neatly map shape ages onto human ages. Different year lengths, different aging speeds, different mental and physical milestones. But approximately, compared to a human, he was scarcely over fifteen years old.
But he wouldn't fail. He pushed all his fears aside. He didn't even want to think about them. He wouldn't, because he couldn't, because he could see what nobody else saw. He could see the eclipse's approach.
It was traveling across the vast empty gulf outside the world.
The only other third dimensional objects he'd ever seen were the sun—which looked to him like a circle—and the stars—which seemed to be mere points. He assumed all third dimensional objects were fundamentally just second dimensional objects, moving on a strange plane. He had no capacity to model a 3D object in his mind.
But the eclipse was a beast that twirled and gyrated around impossible axes, moving and rotating in ways his eye couldn't even comprehend. To him, it looked as though the living creature—he assumed it was a living creature, sometimes it manifested a couple of limbs or an eye—was constantly shapeshifting, its perimeter moving and altering. Its uncanny undulations had haunted his nightmares for months after he first watched it, so young he'd barely started school. It wasn't any less nightmarish now.
But as incomprehensible and terrifying as it was, he could see it, and nobody else here could, and that was all that mattered. He could watch it on the horizon and publicly announce that it would cross the sun in two weeks—and then in about three days—and then, to his humiliation, not tomorrow but today, guaranteed, as the creature sped up and threw off his estimate. His worshipers and bemused spectators had taken over the square to while away the time. They'd quickly gathered around him to wait after he'd declared it would arrive within the hour
That had been almost an hour and a half ago. The stupid thing had slowed down.
The triangle was terrified.
In every direction, shapes were staring at him. Waiting. His father was watching him—his stare seemed to grow heavier by the minute. He could see reporters in the crowd taking notes.
He had to fight not to pace, not to cringe, not to show any nerves in front of the hundreds of eyes.
Now. It had to be now. It was so close. Please don't let him be wrong. Every cord in his body quivered in terror as he grabbed his microphone and announced: "Lines, bis, tris—quads, quints, and more! My dear students and beloved believers, and my—" he cut off the urge to say something nastier, "—curious visitors, who I hope will join our quest for enlightenment. This is the moment you've been waiting for! The eclipse is upon us! In less than a minute, it will begin!" He had to keep his gaze forward as he spoke, looking at his audience. (His mother had always said the way his eye went white when he was looking at the third dimension unnerved people.) "Soon—you won't have to take all my claims about the third dimension on faith. You'll be able to see for yourself the effect of the third dimension on the plane."
The crowd murmured excitedly. He could see his father relax. He stared up-but-not-north, gnawing nervously on his eyelid until he caught himself. The beast above glowed a warm pink in the light of the nearby sun.
And the stupid thing. Slowed. Again.
He stared in disbelief.
"Sixty seconds," his father whispered, out of range of the microphone.
His stomach flopped. He was dead.
"One minute, fifteen seconds. What's going—?"
He held his microphone away and hissed, "The eclipse decided to zigzag."
"Eclipses can zigzag?"
"Shhh!" He'd already failed. He'd already shown everyone he was wrong. He could hear the murmurs. His eye hurt from staring at the sun and from straining for so long to turn so far upward-not-northward, go faster faster faster—
There! The snout of the eclipse was this close to kissing the perimeter of the sun. He cried triumphantly, "Now!"
The wretched beast did a loop-the-loop around the sun and missed it entirely.
The triangle felt the last strands of his fraying self-composure snap.
He howled in rage.
He could hear laughs from the crowd. They felt like daggers in his sides.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" He was bellowing into outer space as if he thought it might hear him, "Do your think this is a game?! Is this funny?! Are you trying to humiliate me in front of the whole world!" His father put a hand on his arm; the triangle shoved him away. "Get back here right now! You thick, brainless, blobby, pink, feeler-faced two-eyed freak of nature! GET BACK HERE and LOOK ME IN THE EYE!" He was a lunatic, everyone would know it, their leader raving in a direction no one could actually see about some big pink delusion, what did he care, no one would ever take him seriously again anyway—
And the thing in the sky.
Stopped.
And looped back.
And came closer, and closer, and bigger, and bigger—it just kept getting bigger, how far away had it been before, how large was it, how large was the sun?
He hardly noticed the crowd's gasp as the creature twirled between them and the sun—the light shone through its body, pink with blood—and then out of the way, and then in again, and out—until finally it was so close that its perimeter completely engulfed the sun. He'd taken a field trip to the planet's surface once—an enormous solid mass of stone and crystal. Until now, he'd never seen another solid objects so large. To his limited understanding of 3D objects, it looked as though there were no organs inside its perimeter—just a layer of solid, uninterrupted flesh. He didn't know how it could even move.
It stopped straight over him.
He was sure the two black circles embedded inside its body must be its eyes. His whole life he'd heard psychic powers—psychic powers like his own—described as having an "inner eye." But he'd thought the phrase was just a metaphor. An eye on the inside of a body instead of on its perimeter would be useless to most people. He'd never seen a creature with an eye literally on the inside of its body. But the eclipse had two.
And they were looking at him.
A giant ever-shapeshifting cosmic horror from outside of reality, staring through the veil separating the sane world from outerplanar space, and it was looking—at—him.
He was terrified.
He heard an alien voice in his head, vast and deep and slow as distant whale song:
"Hello there!" It was overjoyed. It was tickled pink. "I've never been spoken to by a shape on the wall before. I didn't know you could see off of it!"
Weakly, the triangle repeated, "'A shape on the'...?"
"Yes, this wall of yours." The eclipse gestured with its tail at—everything. A single sweep that took in an entire dimension. "I've probably commuted past this wall billions of times, and nothing's ever called to me before. I didn't know shadows could do that!"
"'Shadows'?" the triangle echoed again. That was all they were? An eclipse's shadows?
"I'm absolutely delighted," the eclipse said. "First contact from a lower-dimensional species! I've watched you for eons and never imagined. Isn't this exciting! How charming of you! Tell me who you are."
Him? "Me?"
"Of course. Who else?" It stared at him. Only him. A shapeshifting force of nature the size of a planet with two inner eyes, an eclipse that saw him as a shadow—and it was looking only at him.
Weakly, he said, "I'm... the Magister Mentium."
The eclipse thought that over. Its tone was a tad dubious and not terribly impressed (why should it be impressed? he was embarrassed at himself for giving his silly puffed-up title)—but it said, "Yes, I suppose that's true. I am the Axolotl. It's been a pleasure meeting you." It began to shapeshift again—its eyes slid sideways through its body, until one reached its perimeter and disappeared.
It dawned on the triangle, in its first immature understanding of third dimensional objects, that its eye had disappeared because the Axolotl was turning away. "Wait!" he cried. "Why..." Why answer him? Why focused on him so completely, if he was just a shadow? Why ask who he was like he mattered? He didn't even know how to put those questions to words in his own mind, much less out loud. "Why are you here so early?"
The Axolotl turned back to the triangle. "Oh! I had to go back for some documents I forgot at the office. Big case in the morning," it said. "You shadows know my schedule?"
"You... pass in front of the sun."
The Axolotl turned away, eyes disappearing and frills fluttering, to look at the sun. "So I do! How funny." It turned toward the triangle and gave him a strange, grotesque look that—by the tone of its psychic voice—he suspected was a smile. "I must get going. I'll be heading into the office a few hours late tomorrow, but perhaps I'll see you again then." And it turned away. It felt like it took forever for the enormous body to sail over-not-north-of the triangle—and pass, at last, out of the sun's path.
The triangle didn't look down-but-not-south until someone shook his side—his father. He lowered his dazed gaze to the crowd—the cheering, applauding crowd. Ma-gi-ster, Ma-gi-ster. A sea of multicolor confetti shapes that filled the air to the horizon.
Shadows.
His father shook him again—"Go on, say something. They're waiting"—and the triangle held up his mic as though he were in a dream. He tried to remember what he was supposed to say. "I was right," he said flatly. "Just like I always told you. I can see the third dimension. The realm of dreams—of colors, of light, and..." The lies left a sick taste in the back of his eye. He couldn't say them. Points of light in darkness and pink nightmares.
"I'm s— You'll all have to excuse me," he said, his voice childish and small. "I can't—I've had a... a... profound... spiritual experience. I must meditate on the revelations I've received." The words felt like woo-woo mumbo-jumbo. "The next eclipse will be a few months after the new year." It seemed important, for some reason, to pass that information on. Wasn't that what he always said he did? Share the wisdom of third dimensional spirits with his followers? "I... have to go now."
His father took his elbow. "This is your moment," he whispered. "Come on, son—you don't want to lose your chance to speak directly to them, do you?"
He shoved the microphone in his father's side. "You speak to them."
"But—"
"I can't," he said. "I can't."
He cut through the crowd as fast as it would part for him—if they were any slower, he'd have started stabbing his way through—haunted the whole way by their applause.
####
And that was it.
From the Axolotl's perspective, he had just had a brief pleasant exchange with a precocious tadpole in a sidewalk puddle.
From the triangle's perspective, he might as well have been standing on the boat deck watching as Cthulhu rose from his millennia of dead slumber at the bottom of the ocean, turned to the fragile vessel bobbing on the waves, and said, "Good morning! Glorious weather we're having, isn't it?"
And from the perspective of the Higher Dimensional Gate, their Magister Mentium had predicted an eclipse, been rightfully insulted when it didn't come the exact second he ordered it, and furiously summoned down an eclipse darker and swifter and longer than any in recorded history.
Up until then, he had been seen as, at best, an oracle. A prophet. A messenger to share the secrets of the third dimension, but that was all he could do. But now, he had commanded forces in an unseen dimension, creating an eclipse months before it was natural. He had made it flicker on and off like he had his finger on the sun's light switch. News reports and the most unimpeachable scientific authorities reported that the eclipse had centered on the location of the Higher Dimensional Gate rally, narrowed down to an inexplicably small radius around that point, and then remained unchanged for several long minutes, long enough for anyone in its shadow to grow fatigued from the missing sunshine. Nothing like that had ever happened before. It defied every known fact about the science of eclipses.
People around the gathering—even people who had known nothing about the Higher Dimensional Gate rally—reported that during the eclipse, they'd become inexplicably disoriented, unable to tell compass directions, and had felt themselves fall toward the darkness—as if gravity's pull had suddenly moved from the south to the epicenter of the eclipse. Public building inspections confirmed that somehow the entire town had shifted, ever so slightly, closer to the epicenter. Closer to the Magister.
Never mind prophecy; as far as the Magister's rapidly-increasing followers were concerned, he might have been a god.
It was the greatest triumph a baby cult leader could ask for.
He barely noticed.
####
For days, he could hardly sleep, speak, or think. He kept losing track of conversations to stare into space. Now, it awed his followers when his eye turned an empty white—he must have been communing with something in a higher dimension.
He didn't argue. It was better than letting them know he was losing his mind.
He spent his time alone locked in his room, pacing back and forth, trying not to look up-but-not-north and failing. Dwelling on the significance of it all. Feeling like he'd never figure it out.
He used to love cosmic horror stories, back when he had time to read. They followed a reliable pattern: the hero travels farther than any rational shape ever should, meets something big, and goes mad from the realization.
And what was it that the hero always realized? That he was a dust fleck in the firmament. That he was insignificant. That he didn't matter. That there were things out there he'd never seen before and would never truly understand, and that they cared not for mere shadows on the wall like him, and that in the grand scheme of the cosmos he was nothing. That he was utterly unimportant.
In moments of what felt like lucidity in between the shivering horror, the triangle wryly acknowledged that it was no surprise he'd ended up in a cosmic horror story. He could see into another dimension. In the stories he'd read, that made it all but inevitable.
But all the authors had gotten the maddening revelation wrong. He could have handled knowing he was nothing. It almost would have been a relief.
True horror was knowing he mattered.
He'd spent the majority of his young life selling the idea that he was oh-so-important, as part of a big con to trick gullible idiots into liking him and flinging cash at his rotten undeserving family—and he'd only been able to do it because when the guilt got to him, when his conscience asked what would become of the shapes forking over their life savings on false promises of divine secrets, he could look out into bleak black space and tell himself that nothing really mattered, nothing was important, nothing he'd ever do would really make a difference, and the people he manipulated didn't matter any more than he did. He meant everything to his worshipers, and nothing to the universe. He could do anything and it didn't matter.
For a moment, a vast mind-melting shape-shifting incomprehensible eldritch god had focused its full attention on him—of all the universe, of all the dimensions beyond the known universe, it had looked at him and only him—a mere shadow on the wall, and yet in that moment, it found him interesting. It found him worthy of notice. He had screamed into the cold uncaring void, and the void had cared. For a moment, he'd held cosmic importance. He mattered. His actions mattered.
He'd felt it see him as important, but why? What was so important about him? There had to have been something significant he'd done, something he showed it, something in what he said. He replayed their conversation in his mind over and over and over and over, trying to remember what he'd done that proved he mattered.
He didn't know what it was. He couldn't find it. All he could remember was just... being.
The writers were wrong. Cosmic horror wasn't when an elder god's eyes slid past you without noticing you existed. It was when the elder god gazed down at you at your lowest and bleakest, during your most petty and selfish act of mass swindling, from a dimension where not even slamming the door and shutting your eye could shield you from its gaze—and it decided you were worth caring about. Cosmic horror was when you encountered a colossal alien that planted the incomprehensibly alien idea in your head that you had an inherent worth just because you existed. Cosmic horror was when a force of nature asked the name of a shadow on the wall.
If it was true... if it all mattered... then what was he doing? How could he? What had he done?
####
He was lucky—he was lucky that his parents had raised him to think so clearly about issues like morality and money and easy marks. His only saving grace was that he was too rational to seriously entertain the Axolotl's mad ideas.
And yet, his mind boiled with mad regret. It blazed with insane guilt. The heat of it could burn him out. It was months before he could continue his public sermons without feeling sick—and even once he did, he could still feel the delusion that what he did mattered, festering in his mind.
It would fester for the next trillion years.
####
(And that concludes this plot arc! I hope y'all enjoyed it!! I'd love to hear what y'all thought of the whole thing—especially now that we've looped back to the original eclipse. 😁)
#bill cipher#the axolotl#(for the art)#human bill cipher#(for the fic)#gravity falls#gravity falls fic#gravity falls fanart#fanart#my art#my writing#bill goldilocks cipher
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Emergency contact
word count; 1047 – f!reader
“I don’t mean to be rude but, why are you here?” Semi asked you, one hand clutching his head and the other rubbing his eyes. He couldn’t quite believe his eyes right now.
“I could ask you the same thing. Apparently, I’m your emergency contact.”
The cogs were slowly turning in his head with the help of that single brain cell he always seemed to rely on. “Ohh... the drinking game.”
“You played a drinking game with emergency contacts? Do you know how serious that is?” you scolded him. That’s the y/n he remembered from high school. Diligent y/n, student president and his seemingly hopeless crush. Too different to hang out in high school, when everyone had their circles and stuck to them. He even dramatically told his friends you were the one that got away when there was liquor in his system, yet here you were. Back in his life as his emergency contact after he fell off stage.
When he went out for drinks with some old teammates from Shiratorizawa to catch up, they asked if he ever got your number before graduation. He proudly presented the contact like it was a treasure, which led to someone daring him to put you as his emergency contact. Crazy, right?
He ignored your concern, waving his hand in hopes you’d drop it. “Remind me what happened, please. Was it cool?”
“A light fixture fell on your thick head and then you fell off stage.”
He smiled sheepishly but held up a rock sign with his hand. “I’m a rockstar.” The small laugh under your breath made him happy, but happiness made his head hurt again so he winced instead. You carefully sat on the edge of the hospital bed.
“Why wouldn’t they call your parents?”
“I’m not in contact with them anymore.” A silence fell over you and you looked at him sympathetically, but still managed a small smile. He seemed to be getting tired again already, you couldn’t even imagine how much his head must hurt. The doctor said he was lucky it didn’t hit him harder, or with a sharp edge. No broken bones either, so he just had to stay until the concussion was under control.
“Because you’re a rockstar?” you whispered, making him smile again and nod. You hummed at his confirmation, watching as his eyes fell closed and he went back to sleep again.
He’s still so pretty, you thought. His hair was a bit messier and his face a bit more lived in but still the pretty setter you remember. Some sweet pick-up line would leave his lips every time he passed you back then, and you would frown and tell him to focus on school. You never figured out if he knew how flustered he made you. Surely, he must have known with that stupid smirk on his face.
When Semi woke up again, he wondered if you had actually been there or if it was all some weird dream. He slowly opened his eyes, nervous to see who he heard shuffling around. Someone was there, but it wasn’t you, and his face fell along with his chest as he let out the breath he held in anticipation.
“Hello, love,” the older nurse said, coming over to check his reaction time and other standard things. Semi let her, not really conversing while she checked him. Maybe she was never here…
He cleared his throat, looking up at the woman. “Was there a girl, uh sorry, a woman here earlier?”
“Right!” she said and Semi could swear he felt anticipation clutching onto his heart. “She had to make some calls so she’s in the cafeteria waiting for you. When you feel stable enough to get up, please have two painkillers with this glass of water and then you are free to leave as you wish.”
Semi smiled. He smiled so brightly like the nurse had told him she cured some terrible sickness. “Thank you,” he said, bowing as well as he could from where he lay in the hospital bed. After she left, he slowly started sitting up, clutching the edge of the bed to stabilise himself. You’re waiting for him.
Semi walked into the cafeteria after signing out and getting a prescription for painkillers from the main desk. He had his concert clothes back on, looking around for a familiar face. And he found you, rigged up with your computer and notepad with a phone resting between your shoulder and ear. You were frowning while talking to someone on the phone and Semi shouldn’t think it’s so hot, but he did.
He walked over and sat across from you, leaning his chin on the top of the screen. You made eye contact and huffed, telling whoever was on the line that you would get back to them tomorrow. “Hey there, rockstar,” you cooed, leaning on your hand with your elbow resting on the table.
“You stayed,” was all he answered.
“Someone needs to drive you home,” you sighed. You leaned forward and held out your hand, planting your pointer finger under his chin. He was high on painkillers and could swear the two of you were about to kiss despite not seeing each other for years, but then you just flicked his chin up a bit to close the computer. “Let’s go, pretty boy.”
If Semi liked you before, this new confidence you grew into had him on his knees. Not literally, but he was watching your every move as you packed up your stuff and finally stood up. Semi got up with you, quickly reaching out and grabbing the strap of your bag so he could hoist it up on his shoulder with a cheeky smile. There was still a low beat playing in his head from the earlier headache, but he did his best to ignore it. You huffed and turned around, leading him to the car while repeating everything the nurse told him to remember earlier while he just pretended to listen. Again, you wondered if he knew you were flustered.
Surely, he knew with a smirk like that. Maybe you should make sure he gets safely into his apartment and then kiss the stupid smirk off his face. That sounds like a good plan.
masterlist
/for Semi-lover @cosmiicdust <3
#haikyu x reader#haikyu#haikyuu#hq x reader#fanfiction#haikyuu x reader#hq#haikyuu fluff#haikyu fluff#haikyuu x you#semi eita#semi x reader#semi x you
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The List ~Pt. 7 - Condemnation~
Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Reader
Summary: As you try to cope with Alastor's absence, you find solace with the King of Hell, who presents an interesting offer. However, some unexpected news from Husk forces you to rethink your plans.
Themes: The usual angst, mystery (Alastor), sassiness, cursing, fluff, eventual smut, actual plot, Lucifer is a cunning shit, slow burn, Husk is going to be in trouble, and of course 18+
3.2k Words
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five
Part Six Part Seven (You're on it!)
**sentences in italics are internal thoughts of the reader
The last few days (weeks?) have been a blur. It was a weird switch going from sleeping terribly because you longed to be near him - to sleeping constantly so you didn’t have to feel your body long from him. Anyone who came to your door was just told you weren’t feeling good. “Just caught a stomach bug, don’t come in! I would hate for you to catch it.”
Today you decided it’s time to finally leave your room. Charlie needs help and there are things around the hotel that need to be done before her meeting with Heaven. You aren’t one to let others down just because of your own emotional baggage.
You throw some makeup on to try to brighten your face. Usually, you wouldn’t be bothered but all the crying significantly darkened your eyes. I’d rather not let them see me like this. The less questions the better. Plastering a smile on your face, you head down to the lobby to get the list of ‘to-dos’ from Charlie. Surprisingly she isn’t there when you arrive, so you take a seat next to Angel on the floor. You lean your head against his leg as a silent ‘hello’.
“Hey toots, how ya feeling?” he says without looking up from his phone. “Better, thanks.” You say cheerfully.
“Good! Guess you and Smiles must have shared cooties ‘cause he ain’t been seen or heard from since Lucifer’s visit.” A pang hits your chest, but you try to brush it off. He’s probably just pissed off.
Charlie rushes down the stairs and scoops you into a lung crushing hug, “So so so soooooooo glad you’re feeling better! I didn’t realize how much you did around here! Could you do me a huge favor and go pick up a few things from the city and take them to my dad? He said he can meet you at this address. I have to go pack - Thank you!” Just as quickly as she came down the stairs, she hurries back, leaving you with a short list and an address.
For the first time in weeks, you leave the hotel without Alastor or his shadow close by. It’s not that you’re afraid of going out alone, but you realize you enjoyed his company more than you thought. You glance up at the radio tower as you walk away from the hotel and can make out a dark figure with glowing red eyes staring down from the window. Well at least that’s confirmation he’s still around.
You pick up the few things from a local shop and walk across the city to the address Charlie gave you. This doesn’t look right. The building you walk up to is more of an abandoned warehouse for a drug deal rather than a cozy meetup with the King of Hell. Cautiously you walk through the door which looked like it had been kicked in already. Just as expected, it’s an empty building with piles of trash scattered about. Graffiti and posters plaster the inner walls. You triple check the address on the small paper and it matches.
Sooo now what?
After waiting and pacing for a few minutes, you hear someone call out to you. You turn to see Lucifer standing outside a portal in the middle of the building.
“You didn’t actually think I stayed within the city, did you?” he chuckles as he motions for you to enter into the portal with him. Once inside you look around to see a large open room filled with…ducks? And this guy was trying to give me a hard time?
“Is – is this your office, sir?”
He boots a few ducks out of his path. “Yes, this is where I work on – important – matters. Also, no need for formalities, Lucifer is fine. Those bags for me?”
You almost forgot why you were even standing in the King’s office. All the piles of rubber ducks grabbed your attention and now you wanted to look through them out of pure curiosity. Handing over the bags, you keep scanning around the room. Lucifer notices your curious glances, “Would you – like to see my most recent project?” he asks nervously. You feel your face light up at the offer and he can’t help but mirror your excitement.
He starts to show you all the ducks he’s created, their names, what they can do. His eyes glimmer excitedly every time you display even the slightest interest in one. What feels like a mere fifteen minutes ends up becoming a couple hours. As he shows you the last of his collection, a solemn look crosses his face.
“Thank you for this. I don’t get a lot of visitors and haven’t really been able to share my work since Charlie…grew up. Plus, it’s nice to see you smile, especially after our first encounter.”
Your breath catches at the memory of that night. Not so much the crying in the arms of the devil part - rather the grief you felt shortly after. “Oh – thank you for taking the time to show me. Truthfully, I haven’t had much reason to smile lately so it’s a lovely change.”
His smile drops. There's a long pause as he fights with himself to find the right words, “Did he…Alastor I mean…hurt you that night? You can tell me. I know Charlie is close with him, so you probably don’t feel comfortable -”
“He didn’t hurt me. At least not in the physical sense.” Frowning, you curse at yourself for being too honest. You can’t help but feel at ease in his presence. He was Lucifer, King of Hell and easily the most powerful in all the seven rings. What ulterior motives could he possibly have or need? He has no reason to be anything other than genuine in his worry for you. He made it all too easy to tell him anything. Rule #1 Never trust another Overlord/Demon
He looks at you pitifully. I hate when someone looks at me like that. “I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.” You force a smile then hang your head towards the floor to hide the truth. The wounds were too fresh. The last thing you want is another breakdown in front of him. He’s seen enough tears from me.
Two fingers pull your chin up to his gaze, “Your eyes tell me a much different story. Tell me, does he know of your power?” he asks delicately.
Weird, Alastor never really asked me to show him what I could do. He always just said he could ‘sense’ it. Your brows gather at the realization, “Not exactly. He knows I have it, just not what I can do fully.”
He lets go of you with a sigh of relief, “Probably for the best.”
“Wait, do you – “
“I do not know, though I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little curious. You must have something special to survive down here.” He flashes a devilish grin that makes heat rise to your cheeks.
Rule #2 Never tell a soul what (or how much) power you have. Can’t hurt for the King to know, right? “Well you were gracious enough to show me your special collection. Let me show you something that’s special to me in return.”
Taking his hand, you lead him to his chair and motion for him to sit down. “Do you have anything sharp?” you ask. He hesitates slightly before grabbing a small knife from his workbench.
“So - I don’t know how this will work with the whole ‘fallen angel’ thing but...trust me?”
His worried eyes are surpassed by a warm smile, nodding for you to continue. You kneel in front of him and take his hand palm side up, “Sorry, this might hurt a little.” He flinches as you slice into his skin and golden fluid gushes from the wound. I didn’t know angelic blood was so beautiful.
Flipping his hand over, you press your lips to his knuckles. A hiss leaves your throat from the sting as the cut heals and blood disappears. Lucifer pulls his hand away to inspect his palm. “Wow…that is…..definitely something,” he breathed in amazement. His hands find yours as he stands to help you up from the floor, but he doesn't let go. Eyes widened in curiosity, “Do you feel anything when it happens?”
You shrug, “Depends on the wound. Stuff like that just stings. Other times it feels like my body is getting ripped apart.”
Lucifer hums, drawing nervous little circles in your palms with his thumbs, “The gift of healing is something truly amazing.” He seems to lose himself in thought but continues to ghost across your skin. The light touch from his tracing sends you into full body chills.
“You're beautiful.” he whispers under his breath.
You catch his attention to pull him out of his own mind. “I’m sorry?”
“IT’S beautiful - the gift. I mean you’re beautiful too I just - I mean …” You try to hide your giggles as he continues to stammer like a schoolboy. It was refreshing to see him flustered like this, vulnerable and unsure of himself. He stops to take a breath and recollect his thoughts, “I'm sorry I’m just trying to figure out what you, of all people, could possibly want or need from that…demon.” His voice sharpened bitterly at the word. He really likes to poke the sore subjects doesn’t he.
“I didn’t need anything. And I wanted…it doesn’t matter what I wanted. He made his intentions clear that night that I was only some tool for him. He never cared. And I knew better but yet here I am - “
“Heartbroken…?”
Tears swell in your eyes as he said the word. Uhg not again…Rule #4 Never let your weaknesses show.
Lucifer wraps his hands around your waist and pulls you against him. He softly presses a kiss to your forehead then to each cheek, taking your fallen tears with his lips. Your body freezes at the sudden affection. This feels wrong…
“Look, I know things are getting bad out there, but I can promise you safety - true safety. You can stay here. Away from the sinners, the exorcists, him…you can be here with me and away from all the evil that floods the streets –“
“No!” you interject louder than you mean to. He cocks his head at your sudden outburst, looking offended but softens when he sees tears continue down your face. “I see why Charlie likes you so much my dear. You both try so hard to see the best in everyone and want to help. It’s unfortunate such kind souls like yours are taken advantage of far too often.” You feel his grip tighten at your waist as he presses a hand to your cheek. This feels so very wrong…Rule #3 Never bring anyone too close
You grab his wrists, not to move them away but rather to make sure they don’t travel your body any further, “I have ways of keeping myself safe, Lucifer. I appreciate your offer but I can’t…I won’t…hide away. I refuse to be caged when there are people out there that need help.”
He lets out a low chuckle and rests his forehead on yours. His eyes close as he sighs, “Your determination and stubbornness remind me so much of her…”
“Who?” you whisper.
His lips hover above yours, “Lillith.”
This IS wrong. “Luci –“
Before you can say anything else his lips interrupt yours. His kiss is gentle yet unwavering. Your body aches from how tense your body has become. Any other sinner would kill to be in your position right now, but your mind is only focused on one person – and it isn’t the one kissing you. I hate this...
Like a saving grace, Lucifer’s phone begins ringing with Charlie’s adorable baby picture lighting up the screen. He pulls away and answers it reluctantly, “Heeeey you! How’d the m – oh? Yes, we will be right there.” He hangs up with a groan and intertwines his fingers with yours, “We will have to put this to the side for now. Apparently, the meeting with Heaven didn’t go well. Charlie needs us back at the hotel.” With his free hand he opens a portal into the hotel lobby and pulls you alongside him.
Stepping into the lobby, his hand keeps a firm grip on yours. You walk in just in time to see Charlie bursting into tears and running upstairs with Vaggie and Alastor trailing close behind her.
“Charlie wait – “ Vaggie tries to stop her but halts at the banister, knowing she is far too upset to talk right now. Lucifer finally lets go of you and rushes to follow his daughter, shoving Alastor to the side as he makes his way up the stairs.
His face twists into a snarl at the King’s boorishness. Realizing he wasn’t alone Alastor glances over his shoulder to see you staring. A strange mixture of hurt and relief fills your body seeing him for the first time since that night. He didn’t look like his usually pristine self. He looked…tired? Disheveled? Why does he look like he’s been worse off than me? As if he’s suffered just as much? You notice his smile falter as he looks back at you before turning to see Lucifer making his way back down the stairs.
“She seems to need some time alone.” Lucifer announces with a hint of hurt in his voice. Ignoring Alastor, he walks over to you and takes your hips forcefully, making you flinch at his grip. “I think it’s best I take my leave for now. Promise you’ll at least consider my offer, please? I’d hate for you to..” he glares back at Alastor to ensure he was watching, “…get hurt in any way. You’re worth protecting my dear.” He places a long kiss to your forehead and vanishes in a stream of red ribbon.
You rub your sides where he had grabbed you to take away the sting. Your face contorts uncomfortably at the remnants of his touch and kiss. Alastor takes a step towards you almost unconsciously. You snap to his eyes, silently begging for him not to come closer. You want nothing more than to run to him, to feel his touch, his warmth, his safety but you know it'd just hurt more. He stops, offering a nod as he dissipates into his shadow without a word.
Vaggie fills you in on what happened in the meeting with Heaven. Your stomach turns at the idea of the Exorcists targeting the hotel and your friends. You know you’re going to be needed more than ever come that day. I need to be stronger; they’ll need all the help they can get.
You lay down for the evening hoping sleep would come easy but find your eyes only burning into the ceiling. The Extermination, Lucifer’s offer, Alastor…Your mind didn’t know what problem to try and figure out first. After lying awake for a couple hours, you give up and decide to go for a walk to clear your thoughts. As you walk through the lobby you give a quick smile to Husk who was closing up the bar for the night.
“And where are you off to so late?” he hollers, making you jump from the sudden break in silence.
“Just need to clear my head, Husk. Have a good evening.” you continue walking towards the front doors. He quickly catches up and puts a paw on your shoulder, “Mind if I join? Some fresh air sounds pretty good right now.” You shake your head and step to the side for him to lead the way.
The two of you walk in a comfortable silence around the small path circling the building. Distant yells and car horns fill the air from the city below. “Quite an exit from the King this afternoon. Sure got Al riled up.” Husk says casually. You stop dead in your tracks at the comment, “What do you mean?”
“If Al comes for a drink, it’s just that. A single drink. Tonight you would have thought he was trying to drown himself.”
“If you came along to try to guilt trip me, don’t bother. He did this to himself.” you bite, continuing down the path in hopes he would drop the subject.
Husk stops you again, “I ain’t trying to get in between whatever messed up relationship you two have, but as someone who is usually at the brunt of his bad moods, he hasn’t once bitten my head off since you came around. You have an…interesting…effect on that evil bastard.”
You shake off his hand, frustrated at the continued prodding. “That’s exactly what he is. Nothing more than a selfish, heartless -”
“He can’t be too heartless considering...” Husk stops himself seeing your head whip around. You walk back towards him, keeping your voice low, “Considering?”
He rubs the back of his neck nervously and takes a deep breath, “Look he never confides in me. I mean he barely speaks to me other than when he needs something. The liquor really did a number -”
You grab his shoulders to stop his rambling, “What did he say?”
“I - I didn’t even know he had the word in his vocabulary -”
“HUSK!?”
“He said…he loves you.”
If it wasn’t pounding so loudly in your ears, you could have sworn your heart stopped. Any air in your lungs felt as though it was sucked out, “What…”
“That was all he said before leaving for the radio tower. It about broke him seeing Lucifer with you. I never thought he’d say something like that out loud.” Husk says quietly, as if afraid someone else would hear the confession. You stare at him for a while, trying to process what he was saying. Your head starts to spin. Is he just trying to lie his way back to me? Why would he even tell Husk anything? Did he really lose his tongue from the liquor? “I - I need to s-sit down.” your knees buckle but Husk grabs you before you hit the ground.
“Woahh - alright yeah let’s get you inside.”
He helps you inside and sits you on the lounge chair in the lobby, “You okay kid?”
You finally catch your breath and rest your head in your hands, “Yeah, just a lot to take in today. Thanks Husk. I’ll be good.” He takes the hint that you need a few minutes to yourself and starts to head to his room.
“Actually wait - mind pouring me a double real quick?” you try to ask but it sounds more like a demand. Husk reluctantly walks back to the bar to pour your usual, “You uh - sure this is a good idea?”
No but fuck it.
“Yes, it’s fine. Thank you again.” you slam back the drink, not letting a drop go to waste. You needed to feel the burn to ground yourself and prepare for what you were about to do.
Husk leaves you in the lobby. You wait a few moments to allow the liquid courage to burn through your veins, then make your way to Alastor’s radio tower.
Here we go.
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#hazbin hotel#alastor#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor the radio demon#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel lucifer#alastor x reader#lucifer morningstar#alastor smut#angel dust#hazbin#hazbin hotel x you#alastor x you#slow burn#female reader#fem reader#x reader#reader insert#husk#hazbin husk#hazbin hotel husk#husk hazbin hotel#fanfic#lucifer x reader#hazbin lucifer#hazbin hotel lucifer x reader#lucifer hazbin hotel#angst
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the girl next door 5
Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.
Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.
Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.
This lewk but silverfox
As your mother waits in her chair, watching the window, dolled up in her nicest skirt, with her hair pressed and her eyes lined, you follow the directions on the containers of the premade grocer meals. Roast the potatoes, veggies too, and heat up the chicken. It’s very easy, even for you.
You set the table as the oven warms up and put out the nice plates you never touch. You fold napkins under the cutlery like you’ve seen on television and in restaurants, not that you ever go anywhere by the drive thru. It looks nice. Sort of.
You hear the recliner creak and your mother get up. The doorbell rings and you jump. You rush into the entry way as your mother looms in the front archway. You look at her and she sends back and expression with deadly venom. You go to the door and steady yourself, slowly turning the latch.
You pull it open and muster a smile which must appear closer to a cringe, “hello, uh, hi.”
“Hello,” Steve smiles, a bouquet of sunflowers in his hands. “How are you?”
“Mm, good,” you mumble.
“Great, I brought you ladies some flowers,” he looks between you and your mother as she steps into the hallway. “Something to brighten up the place.”
“Oh my, thank you, Steve,” your mother rushes forward, her left foot thumping a bit heavier than the other, “that is so sweet of you.”
As she snatches the bouquet, a petal flies loose from her tremor. She brings them to her nose, nearly crushing them into her face as her cheek quivers. She’s overexcited and her symptoms more obvious. You step aside as she beckons in your guest.
“You two look nice,” Steve comments as she stops to remove his shoes. His hair is combed tidy back and he wears an oceanic button-up with khakis. He is indiscernible from any other suburban dweller.
“Thank you,” your mother preens and you echo her softly. “Please, come in. I think dinner’s almost ready.”
She glances at you and you nod, “yes, uh, I’ll... go do that.”
You feel Steve watching you. You shrink down and cross your arm over your middle and back away. You turn and shuffle down to the kitchen. You feel how the skirt and sweater let in the breeze around your thighs and reach to tug the hem.
“Grab a vase for the flowers too, honey.”
You let her words trail after you. Honey. The epithet isn’t dripping in her usual poison. You go and open the stove, letting out the aroma of seasoning. It should be almost there.
You search under the sink and find an old mint green vase. You wash it out and fill it with cool water. You bring it out to the dining room and set it on the table. You can hear your mother and Steve in the next room.
She shoves the flowers at you before you can say a word. You take them as she keeps her attention on your guest.
“How’s the house coming along?” She asks in a singsong, “you’ve been doing so much work, I’m surprised you could make the time for us.”
“Of course. Nice to have a few friendly faces around. Not gonna lie though, I do have fridge full of casseroles already.”
You go back to place the stems in the vase. You linger there, safely away from their conversation. You have nothing to add anyway. You’re best to keep an eye on the food.
“Ugh, really? Let me warn you about this place, those bleach blondes aren’t as chipper as they put on,” your mother sneers as you wait for the gravy to simmer.
You don’t think the people around the neighbourhood are bad. They’re just different. Besides, you can’t blame them for their judgment. You might feel the same if you were like them. If you were pretty and perfect and rich.
You hover by the stove and stop the timer before it can buzz. You take out each pan and transfer the contents to thick porcelain serving dishes. You bring them to the table, one at a time.
“Mom, er, Steve?” You peer into the front room, “dinner is ready.”
“Oh, finally, I’m starving,” your mom sighs.
“Smells good. What are we having?” Steve gestures your mom ahead of him, waiting patiently as she moves stiffly. You can see the struggle in the stitch between the brows as how she stops herself from bracing her hip. She’s embarrassed.
“Roast chicken, potatoes, and grilled broccoli,” you explain, watching awkwardly as he pulls out the chair for your mom.
Your mom sits and Steve tucks the chair in. He surprises you as he rounds the table towards you and slides out another chair. You stare at him and your lips part.
“The gravy,” you squeak.
You quickly retreat to the kitchen. You pour the gravy into the spouted dish and balance it by the handle. You carry it carefully through the door and trip on the slightly crooked divider on the floor. The contents slosh and a splatter lands on your white sweater.
You frown and put the grave dish on the table. Steve lingers as he was. You look down at your sweater and he reaches for one of the spare napkins, holding it out to you. You thank him and sit, letting him push the chair in under you. You dab at your sweater but the brown stains remain.
As he sits, just by your mother, she was sure to sit where she would be next to him, you put the crumpled napkin by your plate. Your mother arches her brow at the front of your sweater. You raise your shoulders and give an apologetic look as you slip the cardigan off. You untangle your arms from the fabric and let it droop to the seat.
Steve smiles at you again. Your face is on fire, your chest too. The dress really doesn’t fit right.
“You made all this?” He asks.
“Heh, she bought it and put it in the oven,” your mom tuts. “She’s not the most gifted cook and... and my hands aren’t steady enough for that anymore.”
“Ah, well, food is food,” he shrugs, “regardless, it looks delicious.” He reaches for the plates of chicken and catches the tongs before the can fall, “may I?”
Your mother’s lips curl and she nods, “by all means.”
He puts a piece on her plate, then his own. He sets it back before he grabs the bowl of potatoes and scoops up a heap besides the marinated breast. Finally, he shovels on the broccoli.
You meekly fill your own plate, though you leave it sparse. Just a piece of chicken, a tiny bit of potatoes, and some broccoli. Your stomach is uneasy. You’re not used to company. You poke around with your fork.
“You know, Holly, I finally got all the furniture where I want it but I don’t know,” Steve begins, cutting into his chicken, “I think it needs something... a woman’s touch, maybe?”
“Mmm,” your mother nods and squints.
“I wouldn’t mind picking your brain. Maybe you have some suggestions. I got all these paintings but not really sure where to put them, you know?”
“Right,” she put a sliced potato in her mouth and chews thoughtfully. She swallows and takes her napkin, shakingly blotting around her coloured lips, “well, suppose I could give you a few tips.”
“Really?” He asks, “that would be amazing.”
“Not a problem at all,” she grins, “I could drop by tomorrow.”
“Yeah, that will be nice,” he agrees.
You sit quietly, keeping your face blank. You won’t mention how your mother complained when you tried to hang some of your drawings just in your same room. She always said art was a waste of time. No, you’ll say nothing. You’re better off that way.
“And uh, you’re welcome too,” Steve offers across the table and your eyes flick up to meet his, “if you want. Don’t want to leave you out.”
You glance at your mother. Her eyes narrow and you gulp, nearly choking on the potatoes. You take a breath and push your shoulders up, “actually, I was planning on... uh, I’m busy.”
You can’t even come up with a lie. Not a solid one. Just busy. Busy being alone. Busy hiding.
“Ah, that’s too bad. Well, how about once I get the barbecue fired up, you both come over for a cookout?”
“Lovely,” your mother chimes. “But tomorrow, I’ll swing by,” she squeezes her fork as it tings against the plate. Her tremor is getting bad. “Be nice to get out.”
#steve rogers#dark steve rogers#dark!steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#the girl next door#drabbles#series#au#silverfox au#mcu#marvel#captain america
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I know the König x secret admirer reader is not gonna be officially continued but I was wondering if you could maybe explore part of it😭 there’s a part that mentioned that König gets laid in the military and I was wondering how angsty it would be if reader found out?🤭
Yes of course! ^^ It would be angsty... and fluffy! These two are the silliest people who ever lived tbh 🩷🐥
König is young in this AU (around his early 20s) and wildly inexperienced compared to some of the other recruits his age.
His first time was with a girl who joined the army when König had been there for about 1.5 years already. Desperate as he was with hiding the fact that he’s still a virgin, he tumbled into bed with this lady after a night out at the bar. She thoroughly seduced him, and König’s instincts told him she was only looking for fun, but he went with her anyway because, well. Loneliness can kill you, you know?!
He tried to woo her a bit after that until it became quite clear that this woman was not planning to settle down anytime soon. If anything, she was looking for a new conquest – and it’s fine, totally fine, except that König had surrendered a tiny piece of his heart to her along with his dick... That’s just how he is, and it took him more than a few months to get over the fact that it was “just a shag” and he “shouldn’t take things so seriously”.
That’s also why he closed off from people again, decided to concentrate on work and training and gym – until our cute little angel stumbled into his life like the prettiest saving grace! König was a goner from the start because this girl's approach was very different, so gentle and sweet compared to grimy shot glasses and smudgy lipstick and raunchy jokes. It’s a given that he was a little shocked when she sent her that pic 🙄 reminding him of promiscuous women who are not looking for a soul but a body, but because he is what he is the first thing he did was crank things up a notch and send her a dick pic back…
Yes, he’s desperate, but he’s also an go hard or go home man and this time, König is relatively sure he’s dealing with a lovely, delicate soul. Someone who wouldn’t just leave him out in the cold after getting what she wants.
And everything is like a fairytale between these two until she finds out he’s not a virgin despite he seemed a bit… like one… (in this scenario I think reader is a virgin and she thought König was one too because of obvious reasons? lol) And it’s fine, totally fine for her as well, except that the image of König having the night of his life with some military babe is haunting her from dusk till dawn.
There’s bound to be some drama when she starts asking timidly whether she’s still there… Whether they see each other every day. If they talk to each other, if he trains with her, etc. What if they test rifles together, or go out again with the sniper crew and get drunk and König feels… a little lonely?
She knows he would never cheat on her, not in a million years, but knowing how much of a wet dog he is she can’t promise that she’ll be all calm and relaxed during weekends, knowing her boyfriend is out there, full of testosterone and heart, his heart somewhat susceptible to female influence… Maybe even good old seduction…
And what’s even worse is the jealousy, the envy.
What if she’s more badass than her? That doesn't take much... She must be fierce if she’s in the military, something completely different, a forbidden apple König might want to taste again. It’s maddening, and when she finally opens up about it to him, spitting it out one night when he asks what’s bugging his sweet angel, there’s a big fat silence that follows.
König can't even believe she has torn her heart to pieces over something like this, alone and upset and ashamed when she's a literal angel. He sits her nice and pretty in his lap and talks her ear off about how he has nothing against this woman, truly, but that she is nothing compared to his first (and hopefully last!) girlfriend. Their love could never be compared to what happened between him and that girl, these things can’t even be spoken together in the same sentence. If he’s completely honest, his first time was... disappointing. Awkward, humbling, a total drunken mess of which he remembers nothing except that the woman wasn’t completely present either and that he was ashamed that his first time had to be like this.
Honestly, he felt like he lost his virginity on the night when he came to see her. She’s everything he’s ever dreamed of, all he thinks about these days... It’s quite annoying, actually, because he’s supposed to concentrate on how the wind blows and that the ammo doesn’t get wet and that he’s properly concealed.
He could be lying in a ditch with dummy rounds whirling past him and all he could think about are her eyes and lips and giggling and tits and, and… that. How warm it is, how nice it is, how he would just want to curl himself next to her when he hops back to his bunk in the evening. Her smile is the last thing he sees before he dreams, her voice is what he hears. All the things she said, all those sweet, silly little things, chime in his ear before he sleeps.
And all the precious moments they’ve already spent together, the times he made love to her under the trees... There’s nothing like that in the whole world and if she thinks something else can top that she's even sillier than he thought. He could comb through all the continents and he would never find a girl like her.
So tell him again... Why would he go to a shot glass of saltwater when he has a jar of wild honey right here at home?
#lmao what könig doesn’t tell her probablyyy is that the lady is not interested in him either#she just hops from D to D so she barely remembers König even exists#he’s only a co-star in some stories she tells her friends#like “Ooh yeah that one guy had a horse cock but he fussed around with the condom so much I almost fell asleep haha”#“what was his name again? shit I can’t remember”#meanwhile our angel reader is ascending to the 7th plane with the help of the horse cock in question like “Köniii T^T”#always the funniest thing when a secret admirer gets jealous of his object of obsession who’s actually fucking enamored with their no 1 fan#König gets jettisoned to the sun everytime she so much as *looks* his way#like are you both completely utterly dense or were you just born this way…#<3 sillies
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I'm not the only one - 5
Leto Atreides x reader
Word Count: 1,2K
Warning: angst, age difference, arranged marriage, mention of infidelity, misogyny, reader is kind of toxic.
series masterlist | next chapter
Leaning further over the dark stone railing of your bedroom balcony, you rubbed your face with your hands in a frustrated movement. When you looked up, you stared at the large rugged stones that formed the shield wall.
You didn't know why you were so angry, it shouldn't surprise you, Jessica's pregnancy, after all, that's her purpose inside the castle, to sleep with him. But it didn't matter, you were very upset, furious, so before she could answer your question you continued chewing and the rest of the meal passed in silence. When you were done, you quietly left the table.
This happened a few days ago and you once again trapped yourself in the comfort of your quarters, not wanting to interact with anyone. You knew you might be acting childish, but you were too angry to even think straight. To make your mood even worse, you remembered your father and let out a disgruntled groan, hiding your face in your hands again.
Your father would make your life hell, through letters, when he found out that the duke's concubine was pregnant and you weren't, even though you explained a thousand times before you got married that the possibility of having an heir with him was minimal, since he already had one as an adult. Your father didn't care. 'It is a woman's duty to give children to her lord husband' was what he said.
You didn't really have any opinion to give, Leto was in charge of the castle, and he could do whatever he wanted. You were nothing compared to him. A soft knock sounded on the thick door of your quarters and you let yourself in without looking back, a huge danger, Thufir would kill you if he saw that.
"Milady Duchess, you must prepare for dinner with the Duke." Raja's serious voice spoke from behind you and you looked over your shoulder.
"Did he demand my presence?"
"The duke says it's your obligation as a wife, my lady." she replied and you had to remember all the etiquette lessons you had to not frown and send Raja away.
"Right." you replied and left the porch, walking in measured steps to the bed. "Help me, yes?"
"What dress would you like, my lady?" she asked.
"Choose it yourself." you replied in a tired voice.
"But, duchess–"
She stopped talking at the tired and serious look you gave her, turned and walked to the closet. It took a few minutes until she returned with a burgundy dress, made of soft material and with sleeves glued to the arms, gathered at the bust and near the skirts.
Raja dressed you and fixed your hair, she also ran a soft cloth over your face to improve the exhausted look, you hoped it worked. Holding back your sighs of irritation and discontent, you walked to the dining room and the guards opened the large doors, you walked through them and entered the large room.
"My lord." you greeted Leto, who was sitting at the end of the table, before starting to walk to the other end, but he cleared his throat.
"Not today, I want you to sit here next to me." he said, in a way that you couldn't decipher what he felt.
Using more of your etiquette training, you suppressed the urge to distort your face into an expression of disgust and gracefully walked to the seat next to his, sat down, and dinner began to be served. You ate silently, you had already learned to keep your mouth closed during dinners, just the soft noise of the cutlery.
"You locked yourself in your quarters again, from what I've been told." his voice cut through the silence.
Feeling your brow furrow in irritation, you couldn't help yourself:
"You are constantly informed about my every step, you never see it with your own eyes.”
The Duke looked up, but you kept your eyes on the wine glass that was next to your plate.
"I have to spend more time in the landing pad tower, I moved the staff meetings there." he said after clearing his throat. "I wish I could spend more time here."
It seems to me that you had plenty of time to put a baby in Lady Jessica, you thought venomously, but remained silent.
"I don't like that, our coexistence was better." he started again. "Tell me your thoughts, regarding my concubine's pregnancy."
"I have no opinion to express, sire." you replied, lowering your face.
"Don't call me sire, I'm your husband." his tone sounded slightly irritated. "I'm trying hard to treat you properly but you don't cooperate with me."
"My opinion is that the fact that she is pregnant is a huge disrespect to me, I know that our union is political but you must respect me at least in public." you spat, feeling the back of your neck heat up.
"A disrespect? I respect you, I have respected you since the day we got married." he replied, his brow furrowing slightly.
"It's not exactly an act of respect to impregnate your bedmate while I still have no heirs." you blurted out.
"I don't accept you talking about my lifemate like that." he scolded and you closed your hands into fists under the table. "And I made it very clear that I wouldn't have any children with you the first time we had dinner together."
"Is that why you started the conversation? To mistreat me like you always do?”
"I didn't mistreat you, I'm making your place in this union and in this castle very clear. Jessica has been my partner for sixteen years and is the mother of my son. You are nothing more than title and obligation." he finished speaking and took a deep breath, he seemed tired from the effort of saying everything in one breath.
His words carried so much truth that you raised your face and stared at the duke's troubled expression for a few minutes, before wiping your mouth with your napkin and asking for permission to leave.
Your stomach dropped as you walked into the hallway of your quarters and saw Lady Jessica standing near the door, her hands braided in front of her, her body draped in a simple black dress, her hair tied up in a bun, not a single strand of hair outside the top. place. Leto was right, you weren't even close to her.
"Lady Jessica, what are you doing here?" you asked when you got close to her. She swallowed hard and bowed to you.
"I was hoping to speak to you for a moment, Duchess." she replied softly.
"It's too late, we can talk tomorrow." you replied and surprisingly you weren't being venomous, it was really too late and you were exhausted.
"I do not wish to disturb you, my lady, I just want to clarify–"
"Tomorrow, Lady Jessica." you replied, feeling your head throbbing. "You should go and keep my husband company, he should already be in his quarters."
Passing by the catatonic figure, you entered your room and closed the door, leaning against it for a moment, closing your eyes and sighing heavily.
Leto's words wouldn't leave your mind anytime soon.
#writing#writers on tumblr#dune fanfiction#fem reader#leto atreides x reader angst#duke leto x reader#duke leto#leto atreides#dune fanfic#dune fic#leto atreides x reader#leto atreides x you
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Warm Blood
Gale / Astarion x F! Tav
(Warm Water part 3, can be read alone)
18+ miscommunication, misplaced anger, sex as a tool, yearning, confessed feelings, urgent sex, restraint, dom Gale, oral (f!), fingering (f!), masturbation (m!), marking, a little silliness
With a sanguine competitor now circling with the large druid, Gale can no longer put off his advances...
Masterlist, Prev Chapter
-
She hissed gently as he readjusted his hold. He would have to find a new vein it seemed. Even with him closing her wounds, their nightly feeding sessions left her skin tender to touch.
Her generosity staggered him. His body feeling far better in these last few weeks than it had in centuries. Lithe and strong. The bone aching cold he had resigned himself to thawed by her warm blood, her molten body pressed against his when he fed. Her rich blood nourishing him to his core.
Though, their arrangement made him uncomfortable on a fundamental level. She not only didn't gain anything in this exchange, she actively lost something. It was too unbalanced, and he'd be a fool if he thought the other shoe wasn't poised to drop. She would want something in return eventually, and there was only one thing he could offer.
Taking slow mouthfuls, he wound his hands around her waist. Kneading the flesh languidly.
It had baffled him when she had politely turned him down at the tiefling party. She was so handsy and touch driven, he was sure seducing her would have been rather easy. Though, there was still time. As far as he could tell she wasn't tied to anyone yet, though there were several circling already.
He slid the movements of his mouth from purely practical to sensual. Kissing and suckling gently as he drank.
She hummed, stroking his hair through her fingers.
Finding that encouraging, he slid one hand around her hip. The other rising to her ribcage, heading north.
She froze then. "Astarion, what are you doing?"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" He purred, licking her wound closed with far more tongue than needed. Dragging a flat line up her neck. "Tasting you, darling."
"Why?" Her tone genuinely curious.
He scoffed, pulling back. "What do you mean why? You're beautiful."
"I am, but that doesn't answer my question."
Gods she was aggravating. Heat rose to his neck, her blood fueling the rush.
"Is it so unbelievable that I would want you? You must know your company is highly sought after." He tried for more compliments to loosen her up. But no dice.
"Huh, interesting." She narrowed her eyes slightly at him, lips pursing in thought. "So it's out of obligation."
He threw his hands up, eyes rising to the roof of his tent. His frustration breaking his mask.
"Of course it's out of obligation!"
Far too late, he realized what he said. Eyes lowering to hers slowly. Anxiety throttling his spine.
She only tilted her head at him slightly.
"It's okay. You don't have to, Astarion." She held her hand palm up. "Are you still hungry?"
He blinked at her. Anger flaring through him again. Though for what he couldn't pinpoint.
"So I just drink you dry every night, and you get nothing in return?" He retorted.
"How do you figure I get nothing out of this?" She asked in that aggravating curious tone, not matching his anger at all.
"Gods, don't give me that." His voice rose, standing and starting to pace. "That's not how the world works! There is give and take, and all I've done is take!"
She watched him continue to tirade quietly, appearing to just be listening. Somehow, that made him more heated.
Soon he slowed, his rant winding down. She watched patiently, open and waiting for him.
"Are you ready to hear what I think?" The question genuine and not rhetorical.
He huffed, breath still hard from his efforts.
"Fine. What?" He sniped, aware that he was being childish but too wound up to stop.
"I think you and I have a lot more in common than you realize, and I think I understand more than you give me credit for."
She paused, gathering her thoughts. "When all you get from people is pain, that's what you come to find in them. Even when it's not there. And when you don't get it, it's frightening. Yes?"
The air vanished from his lungs. Her eyebrows raised slightly, seeing that she had gotten through to him.
"In the Underdark, the only hand that reached for you was painful." She pulled up her sleeve, the tapestry of scars criss-crossing her dark skin revealed to him. "So that's what you naturally associate touch with. Anger. Fear of the flesh is survival."
She smoothed her fingers in a self soothing arc across the deep tissue. "You think I seek out touch because I'm naive, or even easy."
She looked up at him, those topaz eyes cutting straight through him. "But I know pain, Astarion. Intimately. I understand deeply why you have come to where you are, why you need to push others away. It's safe that way, yeah?"
He could only nod.
"You're right. It is safer." She conceded, smiling. Pulling her sleeve down. "Can't fault you for that. But I'm greedy, I want more than just safe. And touch is so much more than pain when you let it be."
His jaw clenched, biting back the lump that had risen in his throat. Wanting to retort, but finding no words that could validate him.
His hand shot forward, pulling her into him. Her soft lips sliding against his. Pulsing out his frustration into her plush mouth, needing so much more than he had taken.
She kissed him back tenderly, saying her piece. Not falling into his angry pit for a moment. Her soft touch in clear defiance to his inciting.
He pulled away, hearing footsteps approaching.
"Everything alright? I heard shouting." Gale lifted the flap of his tent. Making eye contact with her punctured throat with clear distaste.
"It's okay, thank you for checking." She responded warmly.
Astarion glared at him over her shoulder, the wizard giving him an equally leveling look.
"I think we could use some space, actually." She said impartially, turning to him. "Are you okay to stop for the night? I could give you a few bottles."
He sighed, rolling his eyes. "I think I can manage not withering away without this copious doting, darling."
She patted his arm, nodding. "I'll bring the bottles."
"Has anyone ever told you you're infuriating?"
She only smiled at him, turning to take Gale's upturned hand. Rising out of his tent. The flap falling closed on him alone again.
He flopped face down, groaning.
-
After she quietly dropped off two bottles of blood at the entertance to the crimson tent, Gale took her small warm hand in his. Leading her to the view overlooking the edge of the city. They were so close, the precipice at their fingertips.
She sighed wistfully, pulling him to sit with her on the grass.
"Baldur's Gate." She mused dreamily. "I wonder if it's as awful as I've heard."
He barked out a laugh. "Oh, I'm sure it's just atrocious. We're sure to hate it."
She laughed too, then gave a little thoughtful wince. "Ooh, Halsin is definitely going to hate it."
He was sure the druid was a fine person, but given his leanings, Gale was less concerned.
"Well, he can always stay outside. Who knows how much room our new camp will have anyway..."
She rolled her eyes at him, knocking her knee against his.
He caught her knee in his hand before she could pull it back. Rubbing his thumb in slow circles.
She slid up flush to him easily, leaning her head into the curve his shoulder.
"How are you feeling?" She whispered, the backs of her knuckles gently knocking on his chest.
"Ah, that." He chuckled, slightly embarrassed at her concern. "Oh, you know. Heartache is nothing new to me."
She leaned her head back and sighed dramatically at his joke, the edge of a smile on her lips.
"Just awful. I'm never asking again." She shook her head in solemn jest.
"Oh, please do. The healing touch of your disdain is tantamount to mending my heart."
He paused then, nerves fraying. The smell of his lavender in her hair bolstering him in a soft smile.
"I have been meaning to speak to you. About matters of the heart."
She turned to him, topaz eyes bright in the moonlight. Thick spirals of dark hair cascading down her back. Gods, she was so beautiful it made him dizzy.
He turned his gaze to the ground, picking up a smooth stone and turning it over in his palm. Having something to touch always helped him think.
"I've come to fancy you. Quite a lot. Though this is not the proper way I would have preferred to court you. In the dirt and blood." He sighed, wishing things were different.
"You must know you're... you're very special to me. I hope I'm special to you too, but if I'm misguided just say the word and I'll back off."
The words tumbled out of him, a vexing blush rising to his cheeks. Feeling like a school boy confessing a crush.
Her body shifted, standing on knees. In one fluid motion she hooked her leg around and straddled his lap. Bringing his eyes to hers in a hand tenderly cupping his face.
His breath was entirely taken, dropping the stone he had been holding with a soft thunk.
"Took you long enough." She teased, her dimpled smile making his heart rush.
"I fancy you too, Gale. And I'd like to show you that, if you'll let me." She hushed, her body heat radiating into his torso.
He could only nod, all blood rushing away from unimportant higher functions. Hands gripping her wide hips in a groan, the sensation far better than he ever could have imagined.
Her hands wound into his hair, pushing a heady kiss into him with a little whimper.
His eyes rolled up into his lids, just the kiss sending him under. Hand rising to the small of her back. Her lips pulsing into his with slick need. Tongue dancing along the seam of his lips in question.
He opened happily, a hungry moan leaving him when their tongues twisted. Both hands palming her ass greedily. The ample globes of flesh kneading in his fingers, her smothered mewl sending impossibly more blood to his already straining cock.
All of her touch spun around him in a lustful haze, far too much and not nearly enough.
He pulled his shirt over his head in a whip, only leaving her lips for a single moment. Her hands finding his trousers, palming him over his sleep pants.
"Fuck," He hissed, it felt too good already. Precum pooling far too soon for his liking. His body touch starved and hungrier than it had any right to be. Trying to force the tunnel vision of promised release open again.
He pushed forward, twisting her down onto her back. His hands rising under her sleep shirt to caress the unbearably soft curve of her waist.
"By the Weave..." He muttered, her body far too intoxicating. Cock throbbing insistently.
He felt completely lost, head nothing but liquid desire. Leaning down to kiss sloppily along her waist. Pushing her shirt up to her clavicle.
She squirmed under him, breath fast pants. Pulling his hair back in a fist, watching him with lust blown eyes and kiss swollen lips.
Gods, how was he already close. He couldn't be this down bad, could he?
Oh who was he kidding, of course he was.
He pulled her bralette down, her breasts springing free. A growl vibrated in his chest at the sight, gripping the front of the band, pulling it down onto her ribs.
He pulled back to slip her leggings off of her, revealing her arching hips, hip bones sliding underneath. Thighs wide and plush, dipping into her hips. Her legs falling back open, the curve of her ass teasing under her. Slick pooling from her gleaming cunt.
"Oh, come on..." He huffed, just the sight stroking down his cock in a rush. "That's not fair."
"You're one to talk. Why do you look like that wizard?" She scoffed. "All those muscles, for what? Seducing poor quivering maidens in the grass..."
"Oh, we'll get to the quivering." He smiled dangerously, leaning down to lick a stripe up her hip bone.
She whined, arching her hips up more into his mouth. The heat coming off of her cunt soaking his clavicle.
Gods below and above spare him.
Trailing his mouth down, his cock twitched in anticipation. His practiced mouth about to be seated where it longed to be. Where it belonged.
He breathed in a deep pull of her, nose nuzzling into her curls. Gods, she was divine. Her sweet musk making his mouth salivate. Truly he had been deprived before this moment.
Her hips starting rolling impatiently, and he pushed a forceful hand flat to her lower belly in response. No, he was going to savor this.
She moaned under his hold, bringing a smile to his lips. So she liked it like that...
He breathed a warm wave of air on her cunt, watching it twitch in what he knew was a clench in a devious smile.
"You bastard..." She groaned, the need apparent in her voice sending a shiver down his back.
"Language..." He chuckled. The lack of touch making her writhe deliciously under his hold.
"I'll show you language." She scoffed.
Grabbing both sides of his face she pulled his eyes up to hers.
"Bite me, choke me. Hold me down and spit in my mouth. Tongue fuck me like a whore, wizard."
His pelvis clenched, eyes rolling up into the back of his head. Hand clawing into her thigh.
"Oh Gods." He groaned, finally diving on her cunt.
He lapped his tongue in undulating waves, slurping her clit into his lips.
"Fuck!" She cried out, gripping his hair hard in her fist.
He suckled down hard, suctioning his lips around the bundle. Tongue pulsing wet curved pulls. Hands keeping her thighs forced open as they tried to clamp shut around his head.
Her high keening whines melded beautifully with the slurping sounds of his hungry mouth.
Her hips bucked helplessly against his hands, ribs arching up. Only the underside of her jaw visible above him.
He smiled into her cunt, releasing one thigh and pushing his forearm into the apex of her thighs. A bar holding her open still, his two fingers sliding slowly into her. Humming into her clit in pleasure, fingers spreading eagerly into the velvet slick pouring up into his palm.
Her head shot up, staring down at him almost in disbelief. Hand bracing her at her side.
When he began strong and slow thrusts of his fingers, her head fell back sharply. Voice only mewling calls. Thoroughly tamed, warm and pliant under his devotion.
He knew this was as close to the heavens as he had ever gotten. Harnessing all of his senses to bottle this into his everlasting memory. Though he imagined it would be very hard to forget.
He curved his fingers up, stroking that ridged bump in hard thrusts. Clamping down on her clit again, lapping his tongue in hollow pulls, like slurping soup.
"Oh Gods," She whined.
He groaned hot into her, chasing her hips up as they tried to squirm away. Free hand grabbing her waist and pulling her back down hard. He was not even close to done.
Fingers arcing into her in vicious thrusts, unrestrained. He wrenched his head quickly side to side, sucking down in popping wet pulses of his lips.
She cried out, her pelvis tremoring hard. Unable to hold her thighs open anymore as they arched up and clenched down around his head. Muffling around his ears. Cunt clenching in hard flutters around his fingers. He looked up, drinking in her arching ribcage and scrambling hands. A strike of fluid striking his jaw. Sending his eyes up into his skull.
His hips fucked into the ground, unable to still them any longer. Removing his fingers to slurp her cum into his mouth uninhibited. Pushing out of her in creamy pulses. Greedily lapping all he could catch, rubbing into her clit to encourage more.
She let out indignant pleading whines, but he wasn't done yet. His cunt slicked fingers gripping around his cock. Drinking her cum as he fucked into his fist.
Only two or three thrusts and he was gone, wrenching ropes up his belly. Pelvis clenching in vicious pulses, shooting pleasure through his body in teeth gritting waves. The endless ache behind his navel firing out in tortuous strikes. Hand bracing next to her hip in the dirt desperately.
His mouth slowed then stopped, panting hard into her thigh. Resting his head into the seam of her hip, thoroughly spent.
"That good huh?" She teased, her own breath telling of equal pleasure.
Head still down, he held his finger up in a signal to give him a minute.
She giggled, thoroughly pleased. "My, my, Gale at a loss for words. Wait until camp hears about this..."
He looked up, glaring at her in jest. "Don't you dare."
She smiled wide. "Hmm, I dont know... It's a pretty monumental thing to go unnoted. It would be a shame to keep to myself."
He trailed up her body, balancing on elbows above her. She gave him a pout, eyes wide in mock pleading.
"How else is everyone suppose to know I'm yours?"
His cock stirred again, huffing out a groan.
"Tav, you're killing me." He admonished. She only bit her lip in a smile at him.
"Well, if you don't want me telling everyone, you better leave your mark on me." She purred, turning her chin up. Eyes sparkling mischievously.
"Oh, that I can do." He smiled, angling his head down to her neck. Pulling the soft flesh between his teeth.
She laughed then moaned, that little whimper he was already addicted to in her throat again.
Oh, it was hopeless. They were going to be here all night.
~
~
~
#back once again with dom gale propaganda and ill never be sorry#gale x tav#astarion x tav#gale smut#bg3 smut#screenshots by @cybersdead and @dailygale#lyrics from: gods country - ethel cain
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The Bad Batch Finale and Joel Aron’s cryptic tweet
Okay so Joel Aron, Director of Cinematography Lighting & VFX at Lucasfilm, tweeted this:
Initially, I thought that this was going to be the runtime of S3E15 The Cavalry Has Arrived. This episode being longer would make sense as it’s the finale of the show and it’s close in length to S1E1 Aftermath. However, I saw a screenshot floating around the other day that says the runtime of the final episode “spans 24 to 25 minutes”.
If this episode is the typical length then this timestamp must be referring to a different piece of media. The question is, what media? In an effort to determine what could happen in the finale, I went to that point in the films to see what I would find. None of them strike as much fear in me as what’s happening in A New Hope.
The Phantom Menace - Anakin has just won the pod race and they are celebrating his victory.
Attack of the Clones - Jango Fett and Boba Fett have just attacked Obi-Wan with seismic charges.
Revenge of the Sith - Anakin is looking out over Coruscant from the Jedi Council room. He has just revealed to Mace Windu that Palpatine is a Sith.
A New Hope - Before leaving to disable the tractor beam on the Death Star, Obi-Wan delivers a line which may foreshadow what’s to come in The Bad Batch.
Empire Strikes Back - Luke is trying to lift the ship out of the swamp on Dagobah.
Return of the Jedi - Luke, Han, and Chewbacca, along with the droids, are captured by the Ewoks.
Star Wars: The Clone Wars - Anakin and Ahsoka are heading towards Tatooine to deliver Jabba’s son back to him.
At 01:09:56:01 in A New Hope, or as close to it as I could get (Disney+ sucks) this is what we see:
Sorry it’s a photo of my computer, I don’t know how y’all take screenshots of Disney+.
“Your destiny lies along a different path from mine.”
Many people have been theorising that the show could end with the Batch and Omega surviving but being separated, either by choice or by circumstance. This line from A New Hope, as well as the fact that Omega’s voice actor, Michelle Ang, has described the ending as “bittersweet”, definitely make that a solid theory.
Maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree though. There’s also speculation about whether Omega is force sensitive, so maybe Luke using the force in Empire Strikes Back is the real clue. Despite Ventress not believing Omega to have a high m-count, and her not being one of Hemlock’s designated m-count specimens, we have seen characters with a low m-count who were capable of wielding the force. Sabine Wren, for example.
Still, Omega being force sensitive doesn’t prevent the theory that she gets separated from the Batch from being true. It could actually be a reason for that separation because she may pursue training or decide that her proximity to the Batch endangers them.
But wait, there’s more!
At this timestamp in S1E1 Aftermath, Omega is on the Marauder with the Bad Batch (minus Crosshair) and they’re setting off on what will be her first big adventure. Omega’s Theme is playing and she’s gazing out at space with child-like wonder. While they’ve just parted ways with Crosshair, the overall feeling in this scene is hopeful.
If the tweet is referring to this episode, it could mean that we get a wholesome Bad Batch family moment. Whether Tech is there or not may rely on CX-2 being unmasked. Perhaps it’s bittersweet because Tech truly is dead or because he’s alive but they cannot save him from the Empire. Or maybe it’s bittersweet for a whole host of other reasons.
Honourable mention
@kiffobaby also looked into what is happening at this timestamp if you combine the runtimes (including credits) of all episodes in clone relevant story arcs and didn’t really find anything of note. If credits were removed then it would put at us a different point in the arc, however it’s unlikely that we’d be looking for a timestamp in an arcs combined duration anyway.
If you’ve read this far, I love you and don’t worry, we’re almost done.
Secret 16th episode?
Seasons 1 and 2 each had 16 episodes which leads me to speculate that this timestamp could actually be the runtime of the final episode, a secret 16th episode.
Is it likely? No. Can I dream? Yes.
#star wars#star wars the bad batch#star wars the clone wars#the bad batch#tbb#bad batch#sw tbb#tbb spoilers#the clone wars#the bad batch spoilers#star wars rebels#the bad batch speculation#star wars the phantom menace#star wars attack of the clones#star wars revenge of the sith#star wars a new hope#star wars empire strikes back#star wars return of the jedi#hunter tbb#hunter the bad batch#tech the bad batch#tech tbb#echo the bad batch#echo tbb#wrecker the bad batch#wrecker tbb#crosshair the bad batch#crosshair tbb#omega the bad batch#omega tbb
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