#derivative of root x

[rosenyras]

The Night of Feud and Desire

Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon ( Strong ) Female Reader

Summary: After Aemond stirs up the Dragon’s Dinner with his taunts, you go and search for him to give him a piece of your mind. However, the night ends very differently than you had planned.

Warnings: Nsfw, typical Targaryen inc*st, language, slight violence, slight choking, Aemond is rough, overstimulation

Notes: I used a Valyrian translator so apologies if it’s not correct!

To be truthful, you were just about done with every one of your family members.

Your brothers - more so Lucerys - despite being your bestest of friends had never irked you more so than tonight. You had wanted so badly for this dinner to go smoothly, especially after the heartfelt speeches both Alicent and your mother spoke towards the other. But the men in the family clearly had other plans.

By the time you had seen Lucerys’ teasing smirk towards Aemond, your foot kicking into his leg to abruptly stop him came too late and the long haired blonde had already embarked on his disguised digs towards Rhaenyra’s children. His part towards you, however, was slightly different - if not a bit basic - even though the obvious reference to Harwin Strong applied to you as well.

“To my beautiful niece, Y/N, I hope the days ahead of you treat you with kindness. And to my nephews …” And the night fell in sure swiftness after the rest of his words were alight in the air.

When the boys began their scuffle, you had originally wanted to intervene more so to get Aegon’s hands off your little brother. Though he was a nuisance, you were quite protective of him. However, a hand on your arm and a warning look belonging to your great uncle, Daemon, refrained you from doing so.

After all of you were dismissed to your separate bed chambers, only an hour had passed before you decided to leave. You did not blame Aemond for the retaliation in his own right, but the constant digs that he threw you and your brothers about being bastards over the last couple of years had rooted itself in your gut and would not ease unless you confronted him about it.

Aemond and your brothers war of words were one thing, to be entirely truthful you did not forget how Aemond was often tormented as a child, but most of that was derived from Aegon, and he did not show that same aggression towards his brother. And to you - you did not understand it.

You and Aemond were so very close as children, being outsiders in your own right - you, a girl amongst brothers and him, a dragonless child that was often picked on. You defended him from Aegon, and your brothers knew when to quiet so not to face your wrath. You also allowed Aemond to be close to your dragon, Rhyxia, so he could at least satisfy his yearning for a dragon.

In turn, he taught you the way of a sword - in secret of course. You were not allowed to join public practice due to the sole reason of your gender, so he would use whatever he learned in lessons to teach you how to defend yourself. The two of you had an undisclosed agreement of sorts, yet you had never been happier than when you were together.

And then, the distance grew when your mother announced your family would inhabit Dragonstone. Once the year passed and you and Aemond were reunited once more by way of Laena Velaryon’s funeral, it was as if no time had passed at all. Until your brothers and cousins engaged in a fight that took his eye.

You were not there during the attack, but you knew when you heard of the word he had chose to spit in the face of Luke and Jace - and by extension, you - your childhood bonding would be forever fractured. And as he stood with his mother and you yours, you never imagined yourself alone with Aemond again. Until now.

As you shut your door, you were instantly met with your assigned guard. He was a lovely young man, but as your eyes lay on him irritation grew within your bones. “Princess Y/N, where are you headed at such a late hour?”

Biting your lip, you deigned him a response that would indeed be unsatisfactory. “Ser Rolland, I just wish to go for a stroll alone, if you’ll excuse me…”

As you made to take a step, he placed a hand in front of you. “Your mother instructed I stay with you, I’m sorry, my lady.”

You loved your mother dearly, but right now you had to refrain from rolling your eyes at her overprotectiveness.

“Well, we best get a move on then, Ser Rolland.”

As you strolled the hallways, the sound of moving armour dawned each of your steps. It soon became clear to you in your want to keep the secrecy on where you were headed would be of no use, and besides, you couldn’t exactly remember where Aemond’s quarters were now, especially if his rooms had changed.

Turning to your guard, you placed a small smile upon your lips. “If you may, Ser, could you please escort me to Prince Aemond’s chambers?”

A single blink was all you received in terms of facial expression as your guard responded. “Of course, my lady.”

As he took charge, you followed Ser Rolland for quite a distance until he stopped outside a door that held a guard posted outside. So Aemond had changed his rooms. Interesting.

As you approached the door, you decided a knock would be more pleasant than simply barging in on your uncle, no matter how much you wished to do so. If he were to be indecent and you stumbled upon him with no clothes … you shook your head to get rid of those thoughts as your face warmed with embarrassment.

A faint call of ‘Enter’ was your only preparation before you opened and stepped inside Aemond’s room.

You noticed him immediately, sitting in front of a fireplace, his back towards you. You could only see the slightest hint of his face, his eyepatch calling to you as if serving you of a memory you would much rather forget.

“How may I help you, niece?”

His voice spoke louder than the crackling embers dancing in front of him. You clasped your hands behind your back, deigning your voice to remain as steady as possible. “How come you know it is me, uncle?”

Aemond’s head turned towards you in the slightest move that he might not have even moved at all. “Only you knock in such a pattern, Y/N. I have not forgotten.”

You couldn’t help but scoff slightly. “Yet it seems you have forgotten what I once was to you. Are you often in the company of remembering the knock patterns of bastards?”

Silence fell, the tension so heavy that you could easily slice it. And just as suddenly, Aemond stood, as if he couldn’t help but remind you that he towered over you even from afar. As he spoke, he crept closer and closer towards you - as if a magnetic pull was driving the two of you closer.

“You know those insults irk your brothers more so than you, it is why I speak them. Did you not say as a child you had no care for who your father was and by extension that word had no effect over you?”

Well. Damn.

To be truthful you did not expect him to remember such a throwaway comment and in such detail, perhaps you should know better than to underestimate Aemond Targaryen.

“You are right, but perhaps my expectations that you would have forgotten about this childhood melodrama were foolish-”

Not a second passed after those words left your mouth that Aemond had grabbed hold of your waist and pushed you up against the closest wall. Your back thudded with the impact, more so shock from not expecting such a move.

It was a low blow, of course it was, but you had not forgotten that Aemond had not even looked at you the night his eye was taken, as if acknowledging your presence was beneath him from that point forward.

Aemond placed a hand next to your head, caging you in with both his body and his glare. “Your brother took my eye and I swear, I will take revenge for that. You should be content that I did not do more tonight.”

Your eyes briefly flicked down to his lips but you forced yourself to keep eye contact with him, not allowing yourself to flinch away. Instead of replying in English, you flicked your tongue to Valyrian. “Ao would ōdrikagon nyke, Aemond?” You would hurt me, Aemond?

Aemond slightly tilted his head downwards before raising his eyes towards yours. “Daor ao, aōha brothers.” Not you, your brothers.

“Naejot ōdrikagon ñuha brothers iksis naejot ōdrikagon nyke.” To hurt my brothers is to hurt me.

Aemond immediately drew himself closer, his breath mingling with yours as he lifted his right hand up to your throat, to do what, you did not know.

All you replied with was a small whisper. “Kostilus, Aemond.” Please, Aemond.

And that seemed to break him.

Closing the short distance between your lips, Aemond crashed his mouth upon yours, not caring about the smashing of teeth - almost like he was desiring the slight pain. His left hand remain caged against your head while his right enclosed around your throat with the slightest pressure as if it was in every inch of his desire to control you.

A slight whimper escaped you, the heat of anger and wanting building up inside you as you tried your best to convey that within the kiss. Once your mouth departed with that slight noise, Aemond didn’t miss a chance before slipping his tongue inside your mouth, your tongues not so much as dancing but instead his just completely dominating yours.

You lifted your hand against his cheek, the rough leather on the straps of his eyes patch rubbing against your skin. And as suddenly as you had placed it there, Aemond used the hand that was against your head to grab both of yours, lifting your arms up and holding them against the wall.

The sudden impact caused you to gasp, moving your hips subconsciously forward, instantly feeling the effect you were having on Aemond with his hardness stretching tight against his pants. In return, Aemond let the slightest of sighs slip between his lips as he moved his mouth towards your neck, tugging on your earlobe and using his tongue to run its way up and down your skin.

“I’ve wanted you since we were young, Y/N. My heart has always belonged to you.” His right hand moved from your neck to cup your cheek. “Ziry va moriot kessa.” It always will.

“Aemond, I-” before you had a chance to finish your sentence, Aemond took ahold of your arms and dragged you towards his bed, placing you on it before making his way on top of you so the two of you were eye to eye.

“I need to hear you say it, Y/N, that you want this.”

“I do,” you breathed, your words no more than whispers. “I want you, Aemond.”

Giving you one final look, Aemond began moving his way down your body until he was face to face with your clothed lower half. Your dress for the night had been one that was easy to slip on and so you had no other expectations as Aemond quickly slipped it off and with it your undergarments. As you lay completely naked, your nipples hardening with the fresh air, Aemond’s eyes rove over every inch of your body, as if you were a meal he wished to take his time with.

As he lifted his hands towards your thighs, separating them to get a good view of your cunt, slight whines escaped your mouth with the need to be touched. Aemond’s fingers circled around your inner thighs, drawing closer and closer with such a teasing touch.

“Seven hells, Aemond, please just-”

Your whine was soon cut off with his lips upon yours and with it, his fingers finally found your cunt. Considering how wet you were, it took you by no surprise as he easily found his way to your clit, circling it with such ease that you nearly exploded right then and there. His mouth managed to silence most of your moans, but they soon were unleashed as Aemond moved to one of your nipples and began licking and softly biting at it.

It was soon after that he slipped a finger inside your entrance, moving with such efficiency that an added second wasn’t far behind. He soon moved to your other nipple, continuing the same movements. It was after he fitted a third finger inside did he speak.

“Jaelan naejot rȳbagon skorkydoso olvie ao jorrāelagon nyke, isse Valyrīha.” I want to hear how much you need me, in Valyrian.

You whined in defiance slightly, but you were too far gone to refuse altogether.

“Ao gīmigon skorkydoso olvie nyke desire ao, Aemond. Emā va moriot known ziry. Just, please-” You know how much I desire you, Aemond. You’ve always known.

Suddenly, Aemond removed his fingers from you, making you annoyed with displeasure. His raised his hands to his lips, tasting you while remaining eye contact. Having enough of being the only presence in the room without clothes, you quickly tore at his leathers to get rid of them. You just wanted to be close to him.

Once he was rid of his clothes, he hooked your leg around his body, lowering you on the bed as he hovered over you, the two of you simply staring at each other was enough to make you content in the moment. As you lifted your hand to his face, you spoke in a hushed tone. “Take me, Aemond. Make me yours.”

And that he did. Aemond placed a singular kiss on your lips as he directed his cock towards your entrance, pushing in as he rested his forehead on yours. His hand that wasn’t fisted in the sheets beside your head made its way to your clit, circling it to relieve some of the pain.

Your breaths were getting louder by the minute, slowly turning into moans as Aemond moved back and forwards, easing into you more with each thrust. As you wrapped your hands around his shoulders, pulling him even more closer to you - if that was possible - you breathed out, “Aemond… please.”

Taking that as a sign to go faster, he began moving with more urgency with every thrust. It was as if he was conveying how much passion he had for you with how direct he was with snapping his hips against yours. As the seconds pass and your moans became louder and louder, both of your release on the edge, you couldn’t help but slip out, “I love you.”

Aemond’s head was buried in the crook of your neck, his hitched breaths and slight sighs abruptly stopped, but his hips sure didn’t. Aemond began thrusting with sudden urgency, the bed creaking against the wall. The hand that was gripping your thigh began pressing harder, something that was surely going to leave bruises the next morning.

Your release crept up without warning, exploding with such urgency that you couldn’t help but yelp. Aemond, however, didn’t let up on his pace. At first you thought he was helping you ride out your orgasm, but then it became clear he had no intention of stopping. “Aemond-“

“Did you mean it?” His hips slowed to a steady pace as he raised his head to look you in the eye, his only sign of pleasure was his hitched breaths. You instantly knew what he meant and you didn’t even try to deny it during the midst of such pleasure.

“Yes, fuck, yes I meant it.” Your nails began raking down his back as you couldn’t help but chase after another orgasm. Aemond didn’t waste a second before fastening his pace, wanting you to reach the height of your pleasure before he came.

“Fuck, Aemond!” You would feel sorry for every pair of ears in close proximity to you, but right now the only focus was your second orgasm rippling through every part of your body. You soon felt Aemond cum inside you, his only hint of outward pleasure was a low grunt escaping his lips.

Still inside you, Aemond once again placed his forehead upon yours, placing his lips on yours with such contrasted gentleness to the pace of his hips moments before. He made sure to look you in the eyes before speaking.

“It is true for me too, I love you with every inch of my being, Y/N.”

[assriels]

gravity

pairing: lucien x reader

summary: falling in love with lucien felt like trying to resist gravity and realizing it’s a futile pursuit. slowly, and then all at once.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: none/mostly fluff!

a/n: i played around a little bit with my writing style and i really enjoyed it :’) also i’m only capable of writing fluff for lucien i think lol

masterlist

banners by @/cafekitsune !

lucien: derived from the Latin root word lux, meaning light. 

When you had first felt yourself falling for Lucien Vanserra some odd years ago, you had been keeping a watchful eye on him — per Rhys’s request — upon his initial arrival to the Night Court under the guise that you would help him research ways to persuade the human queens to your cause against Hybern. 

Initially, it had been just that. A favor for your High Lord, your friend. 

But what had once felt like a vague indifference for the youngest Vanserra brother quickly devolved into a genuine appreciation for him. The more time you spent with Lucien, the more you glimpsed the light peeking out from beneath his guarded exterior.

(You nearly laughed at how aptly Lucien lived up to the brightness belying the meaning of his name.)

It had started with friendly teasing, then secret smiles over piles of textbooks, then not so accidental touches in the quiet of the townhouse. With each evolution of your relationship with Lucien, the more and more you found yourself wanting to be around him, seeking each other out with flimsy excuses that would guarantee a day’s worth of cherished company. 

The inextricable desire you had to be near him that was growing exponentially with every subtle glance he stole had made you nervous. Wary, even. 

You were an academic – the coveted researcher for the Night Court – relying heavily on concepts you could study, could quantify. Well-evidenced theory informed much of your advice to Rhys and his court, and you were often the first point of contact when anyone had any questions about…anything; your wealth of knowledge was endless.

But Lucien — his undeniable magnetism — was an enigma; you could never quite understand why you’d felt so drawn to him, could never formulate an accurate hypothesis for how easily he could coax a smile to your lips and make butterfly wings tickle your stomach.

But it was becoming increasingly evident that he felt the same indisputable pull that you did. He had spent much of his time in your presence, bringing you tea in the late hours of the nights you spent in the townhouse’s reading room, poring over tomes and texts that you and Amren had thought might be useful. Lucien always made the excuse that he made too much tea and didn’t want it to go to waste. 

(Later, you’d find out that he didn’t even really like the tea he brought you every night, only brewing an excessive amount of it because Feyre had offhandedly mentioned it was your favorite.) 

He was rarely there to give his opinions, merely lingering to offer his quiet companionship, situating himself in a comfortable lounge chair in your periphery as he perused the pages of his book of choice. More often than not, he’d fall asleep in what had to be a supremely uncomfortable position, untouched tea cooling on the table. 

It was in those sweet and fragile beginnings of your relationship with Lucien that you had begun to contemplate the potential cosmic underpinnings of your mutual fondness for each other, and what that could mean for you and your future. 

Orbiting each other like stars caught in the same gravitational field, you and Lucien were on a steady course of stellar collision, sure to erupt in some unexplainable astral phenomenon that would certainly result in your doom. Or your salvation. 

(It was the latter.)

The same way you could track the trajectory of an apple falling from a tree and calculate the force with which it would hit the ground, you could guess — with near one hundred percent accuracy — how hard you would fall for Lucien. It was a dangerous descent, you knew, but one that you could hardly fight against. 

Despite being quite the closet romantic — how could you not be, with the knowledge of endless possibilities at your fingertips? — you had been hesitant to pursue anything more with Lucien, wanting to preserve the innocent, lighthearted flirtations that had come so easily between you. You’d been hurt before, been wickedly tricked into the dangerous downward spiral of broken promises and fleeting loyalty of lovers past. And you’d be damned if you’d let yourself make that mistake again. 

But Lucien…

Lucien was all of things your previous paramours had not been. He was kind and gentle and genuine. Funny and insufferably sweet. He was a wonderfully fresh breath of air in an otherwise stagnant atmosphere. 

He had his darkness — he’d admitted as much to you himself. But he had never hidden it from you, had even allowed you the privilege of holding the most tender parts of his past in your hands to examine, always providing ample opportunities for you to deny him, decide that you didn’t want all the pieces of his whole after all.

You had never been afraid of the dark, though, not in the literal or metaphorical sense. It was comforting, quiet, familiar. Besides, before Lucien, you had never found a light bright enough to fear the return of the dark. 

But when faced with the sheer enormity of the warmth his light provided, suddenly you were afraid of its absence. You wanted only to spend your time basking beneath the sun you had discovered beneath Lucien Vanserra’s ribs. 

It was torturously paradoxical, how the more you chased Lucien’s light the more you were plunged into the dark unknown of what loving him would mean, and how afraid you had become. But resisting Lucien’s solar gravity was like trying to defy the very laws that governed the universe you were lucky enough to live in with him: near impossible. 

The way he so effortlessly drew you to him, enticed you to trust him, open yourself to him was something that the greatest physicists of your time could never explain. It was a mystery you weren’t sure you wanted solved for fear that once discovered, he’d be taken from you; you selfishly wanted to keep Lucien’s impossibly beautiful energy to yourself. 

He was undefinable in his unwavering loyalty and limitless consideration. Lucien’s love for you seemed to be as intrinsically written into his existence with the same certainty that you knew the sun would rise over the horizon every morning. It was with that same certainty that you knew falling in love with him was inevitable, and fighting it was a futile resistance of gravity.

So you had let yourself fall, let yourself dive deep into the unknown, praying – begging, really – to whatever gods that were listening that this wasn’t another funnel towards heartbreak. 

You fell with maddening speed and Lucien caught you – having already fallen long ago – with all of the warmth of the sun that his name promised.

If your past self had ever doubted the stability of loving Lucien Vanserra (read: you did), none of that doubt existed in you now. Especially in moments like this: skin to skin in the morning light of the first spring day in the Night Court. Three years since you and Lucien (separate) became you and Lucien (duo), you could hardly believe that you ever considered any other choice but him.

The sun was warm on your back as you lay on your side, arm tucked comfortably beneath your head as you listened to Lucien give you his annual spiel about how the springs in the Spring Court were unbeatable, though the Night Court did have some acceptable weather sometimes. You giggled at his remarkable consistency, love and fondness filling the space between your ribs, momentarily seizing your heart to flutter giddily.

“Okay, Lu,” you responded in mock exasperation. “And then in the fall –”

“Autumn,” he corrected, just to jest further.

“ – you’re going to tell me that the Autumn Court has the best autumns.”

“Naturally.” His grin was blinding as he teased you, pressing a firm kiss between your brows. 

You rolled your eyes but gave in, leaning in towards him – always leaning in towards him (that pesky gravity again).

“But I guess your court,” he continued, “has us beat as far as stargazing goes.”

“Naturally,” you mimicked, winking.

His laugh was a resounding bell of warmth and you took the opportunity to drink him in, warm skin tinted pink with joy and the heat of the morning sun. His hair was disheveled with sleep, but he was impossibly effortless in his beauty.  

The freckles on his cheeks reminded you a lot of the stars that illuminated the streets of Velaris, and you spent the next few hours of the early morning drawing constellations on his skin and fabricating stories of their origin while Lucien’s own fingers drew matching patterns onto your back.

He whispered cheesy lines about how you outshone all of the stars in your beloved Night Court, and then his cheeks dimpled — beautiful craters of mirth — as he smiled at your feigned incredulity. He kissed you then, and you once again found yourself at the mercy of his gravitational pull, your body arching almost instinctively against his in an effort to satisfy your craving for the feel of his skin against yours. 

Lucien – as always – indulged you, snaking a muscled arm around your waist to pull your body flush against his as he whispered in your ear about how he had heard once that freckles were the spots that past life lovers had kissed the most. In an act of petulant pseudo jealousy at the idea that someone had the privilege of loving Lucien before you, you spent the rest of the morning peppering his skin in a thousand kisses. 

“No need to be jealous, my love,” he said as you anchored your lips to the apple of his cheek. “I’m certain that in every life before this one, I enjoyed the pleasure of your affections. And I will continue to find you in every one after.”

Maybe that was it. Maybe the undeniable, visceral need to have him, be with him, love him was written into your bones by the infinite previous lives you spent within each others’ orbit. Your devotion to Lucien seemed as intrinsic as the laws of the universe; there was no life in which you did not feel the warmth of his yearning. 

You hummed in contented agreement, feeling as though you’ve just discovered the unthinkable as you continued your quest, reveling in the gentle shiver you earned with a well placed kiss to the junction of his jaw and neck. For a brief moment, you made a mental note to thank whatever force – physical, cosmic, celestial – that had bound you and Lucien together.

[sapper-in-the-wire]

So bungie made this post, and it’s getting dog piled by reactionary morons. Latinx derives from Chicano movements incorporating a Nahua ‘X’ into modern Spanish (Chicano can be rendered as Xicano with almost the same pronunciation). Chicanx was a way to incorporate a linguistic heritage that was almost wiped out by the Spaniards, challenge Spaniard led linguistic rigidity in gendered language, and also speak to the American relationship with the letter ‘x’ (Malcom X, the usage of X to mark slave cargo etc).

It’s a regional thing, invented by those that that thought it worked for them. If it doesn’t apply to a Hispanic or Latino because they don’t have a Nahua ancestral root, cool! It wasn’t supposed to be all encompassing. And yet the response is just pure smoothbrain reactionary - especially for something which is just a regional thing. What? Chifa isn’t a word because it’s only in Peru?

If you use Twitter, go mark that stupid community note as unsourced and incorrect.

https://x.com/bungie/status/1708886230492967428?s=46&t=gD2LFCz8QzvT16bpU8LsQA

[strwberryblast]

hey kitten… licks lips… i’m requesting 😝

𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 | Monoma x Fem!Reader

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••

It was no surprise to anyone that Monoma had a strong dislike for Class 1-A, regularly belittling and taunting them out of spite. You were particularly aware of this, as he seemed to target you the most, often making you his prime victim whenever you were around.

You were certain he had it out for you, but what you didn’t realize was that Monoma actually fallen for you. He thought that by provoking you and drawing your attention, he might get you to notice him in return. After all, any attention, even if it was negative, was still attention in his eyes.

Monoma’s relentless taunting had become a daily routine. As a short-tempered girl, you often fought back against Monoma, resulting in frequent clashes that needed to be separated by Kendo. Despite your best efforts to ignore him, you found it nearly impossible. You wanted nothing more than to wipe that taunting smirk off his face, though he found your face adorable during these exchanges when you’d cross your arms and furrow your brows at him, with an annoyed look etched on your face.

"Haha, why do you look so mad?" Monoma would tease, poking at you with a grin that only seemed to infuriate you more.

You’d groan and shoot him a look of frustration. "Why do you look like that?" you’d retort snarkily, causing him to laugh even harder.

The dynamic between you and Monoma was anything but ordinary. His provocations, though seemingly rooted in rivalry, masked his true feelings for you. Each snide comment and each mocking laugh was, in his twisted way, a way to draw you in. He had hoped that by irritating you, he would get you to notice him more, perhaps even to care about him in some way.

It was a frustrating cycle. Every day, you found yourself caught between your desire to ignore him and the irresistible urge to engage with his provocations. His taunts seemed to hit a nerve, making it all the more difficult to remain indifferent. Kendo, who often found herself playing the role of peacemaker, would regularly step in to defuse the tension between you two, often consisting of her knocking Monoma, apologizing before dragging him away.

Despite the antagonistic interactions, there was an undeniable undercurrent to your exchanges. The way Monoma would focus intently on your reactions, the way he seemed to derive a certain satisfaction from your every response—it completely infuriated you, but part of you found joy in these exchanges, finding the bicker amusing.

As the weeks passed, Monoma’s behavior became more nuanced. While he still taunted you, there was a noticeable shift in his approach. His comments, though still sharp, carried a hint of something else—something that was less about aggravation and more about trying to get under your skin in a way that felt oddly personal.

The more you interacted with him, the more you began to see glimpses of the person behind the mask of hostility. It wasn’t that his behavior became entirely friendly or accommodating, but there was a certain awkward sincerity that started to emerge. He would occasionally offer a begrudging compliment or make an effort to engage with you in a way that was less about confrontation and more about connection.

One afternoon, after another of his usual jabs, Monoma found himself alone, reflecting on his behavior. He had observed you from a distance, noting the way you carried yourself with a resilience that both impressed and frustrated him. It struck him then how much he admired your strength and determination. This realization made him question whether his method of drawing attention was really the best approach.

In a rare moment of introspection, Monoma decided he needed to try a different tactic. He approached you, not with the usual barrage of insults but with a more genuine attempt at conversation. His compliment, though awkwardly phrased, was sincere. “You did well today,” he said, his tone lacking its usual edge.

You were taken aback by the change. It wasn’t the typical antagonism you had come to expect from him. You looked at him with a puzzled expression, trying to reconcile the shift in his demeanor with the usual dynamic between you.

“What did you do to Monoma?” you asked with a smirk, raising an eyebrow and adopting a mock-serious tone. “Did you get a personality transplant or something?”

Monoma blinked at you, clearly caught off guard by your question. He gave you a confused look, as if trying to process whether you were joking or genuinely concerned. “Uh, no? I’m still me. Why do you ask?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his reaction. “Well, it’s just… you’re acting all nice and stuff. Did someone put a spell on you or are you secretly a nice guy now?”

Monoma’s eyes widened slightly, and he scratched his head, looking genuinely puzzled. “I promise, no spells involved. Maybe I just figured out that being less of a jerk might be a good idea.”

You laughed outright at his attempt to explain himself. “Wow, is this a new Monoma era? Should I prepare for world domination or just get used to the idea of you being less insufferable?”

Monoma smirked, letting his teasing behavior peek through. “Hey, don’t get used to it. I might just go back to being a pain in the ass if you start enjoying it too much.”

You shook your head, still smiling. “I’ll take the nice Monoma while I can. It’s a refreshing change of pace.”

Monoma’s smirk softened into a genuine smile. “Good to know. I guess I’ll keep this up then—at least for a little while.”

•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•••·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·•·••

please read request rules before requesting ! :)

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[1eoness]

CHANGE.

cw: re4remake leon... just a lil more rude than usual. covers very sensitive topics: theft and surrogate prostitution (not mentioned), SUPERRR NOT CANON.

nsfw cw: DUBCON i think? (always practice safe and consensual sex) (slight-enemy smut idfk) dom!re4remake leon kennedy x sub! fem/afab-reader. size kink, creampie?? spit kink?? squirting?? mild degradation, pet names, feminine terms... straight up porn tbh i dont even know BRUHH WTFI DONT EVEN KNOW THE THINGS I WRITE

[to clarify, i am a minor (17). anyone <17 and anyone >17 uncomfortable with interacting pls dni]

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

synopsis :

your job is simple. as long as you exploit and delude the men at the top of the social pyramid, ada sponsored you with her safety and training. though, your naivete made it easy for ada to convince you that you weren't just some dirty pawn stationed in a particular estate—which happens to be leon's next mission area.

when he encounters you to perform your arrest, leon prays to any god up there that he has the patience not to mess you over for turning into the person you've become today.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿

"— just listen to me, damn it!" leon scolded as he tugged onto the metal that strung your cuffed wrists together, cutting your retorts off with your abrupt grit of pain. your insistence of denying his chances without hearing him out made you more irritable than you already were. "you have no idea what you're carrying. you're gonna start a fucking epidemic if you take that anywhere near ada, you understand?"

it was understandable. you were carrying a formula. some unethical, potent 'opium' derived from a variant of the t-virus. freshly baked by some ex-umbrella geeks, it was marketed to be an effective drug, planned to be distributed to some sort of paramilitary in spain to modify their strength to inexplicable heights (which was proved to be false, yet some arrogant virologists insisted it had potential, so unethical 'scientists' wanted to get their hands on improving it). that's all you know about it, anyway.

leon's true nature behind his words rooted from the fact that he was fucking worried for you and it's not only because of the position that ada put you in right now. that enigmatic woman, treating you like some guinea pig and you couldn't even see it. it surprised leon that you were even alive.

leon knew you way before ada discovered you in that dark junction, before you dropped out of police academy without a word and went back to your old ways of 'getting through life'.

leon was your role model. he was the first one to make friends with you while you stood 'incompetent' in that academy.

but people dug their eyes in you because of your history. all it takes is a few facebook searches and some names for the other fellow cadets to define you using your past. and when the awareness rose to leon, he was the first one to defend you.

the eidetic memory of you; you were sat on a hall bench with his jacket hung loosely over your dropping shoulders, gripping an unopened water bottle that turned lukewarm. your fingers felt numb from the tremors of anxiety, and the broodingly saddened look in your eyes.

he was knelt in front of his dear friend, trying to reassure you that people can change, and you were already making those efforts. his thumbs held your palms when with a serious tone, encouraged you into promising him that you will never change; because you are a sweet girl and you never deserved to be shamed for something you thought was your survival. within this promise, he also promised you that as long as you kept your self-faith you will never go back to what you hated being. you should've seen how genuine his smile look when you chuckled sheepishly, the flush on your cheeks earning a double reasoning.

and now, it pained him more to realize that he regrets not making another promise, one he held back from saying that night. don't leave him.

a very selfish, unwarranted yet passionate part of him believes that you'd been so cruel to him, abandoning him like that. and now you want to leave again?

now you're being reprimanded by the cop who you looked at like he was a hero.

where was the bright cadet in those eyes, the one that looked up to him?

and it was just great of you to articulate further on how much he underestimated your stubbornness."i'm slowing you down. if it's not me (who will escort the sample), it's gonna be ada. you thought she was a one-man job? that you can somehow negotiate with her because you guys fucked once? my god, have you ever changed?-" out of being so naive? but the words don't follow because he knows you were going to say it.

leon's hand slid from your back to grip harshly at the back collar of your shirt, lifting your chest up from the table abruptly. he locked eyes with you, hidden tension bubbling the air like odorless toxins. he scoffs, and his low voice turned deliberate as he tried to spell the irony out for you. "ada. doesn't. work with people. she uses them, and you're not some 'special exception'."

and it's true, he knows it all too well..

"she uses... people like you." you were quick to correct him indignantly with a struggling breath. leon knew nothing about you and ada. ada was like a big sister to you. she taught you what you couldn't learn at police academy. she understood where you came from, and she knows the lowest moments in your life. but leon knew all of that too, didn't he?

"you know why?"

he scoffs. "enlighten me." and there was a subtle increase of tightness in his grip, eyes narrowing down at your bent-over body in anticipation.

"'cause you're a fuck up, kennedy."

upon hearing your quips, he thought maybe he should add a small noise of pain to it, because he flushed you further against the surface with a force that hinted irritation. he had enough of this pointless hissing. "listen, y'little bitch..." he gruffed with the mere frustration surging his voice. he's probably never addressed a woman like that, but oh, how people can shift within the span of their emotion. "you have the sample, now tell me where it is. and if you have it, then you know what to do."

leon wasn't confident that you had the item on you, knowing ada was most likely using you as a decoy. he didn't want to hurt you. even if you've looked like you've changed; to him, you haven't..

of course you were holding the "formula", leon was just dumb enough to think you actually had it on you. your eyes fluttered before you laughed emptily in heavy breaths, peeking over your shoulder whilst he did not let up on you. your torso was starting to fucking hurt. but so was your pride. "then come get it, rookie." you baited.

you ignited an internal burn he didn't even know he had. one that reached the peak of its abrasion.

"..fuck you." he growled inaudibly before you yelped, feet off the ground. and fuck ada, too.

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ ♡ ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿

if you were gonna keep acting like a brat, he was going to fuck you like one.

his hand came behind your head, locking your hair in a tight grip while you felt his tongue glide against yours in a messy kiss. an overwhelming amount of affectionate frustration surged as he propped you up firmer on that desk. he ate your whines as he tired your damp mouth out, the rising feeling of grudge-rooted sexual frustration pining somewhere inside him hotly.

"why do you hate me so much, mmm?" he gasped quietly for a breath, his hand letting go of your hair and holding both sides of your hips, hastily pulling your pants up mid-thigh. he needed to be inside you, he just needed it so bad..

"cause you're .. hhah.. y-you've become too cocky f'your own good, kennedy-" leon scoffs at the sight of you drooled up with the trails of mixed saliva. you're sure that's not you? you could've fooled him, you were fucking sopping—trails of your essence sticking to your underwear. it made him moan low in desperation. he wanted to lick it all up. "is that right.." he muttered with utter lack of amusement as his cold thumb glided over your fluids absentmindedly, spreading one fold apart slightly to get a better look. his eyes soften, breath hitching knowing it's gonna feel so good inside you.

"d-definitely too cocky!-" you insisted with a contrast whine that emitted from your sweet voice, expecting him to start off with letting you adjust to his tip first. but you're hopeless for thinking leon would ever go soft on you just because you only remember the "naive" version of him years ago. people change, right?

you were suddenly squirming when you felt him fill and thrust into you thickly, humbling your little cunny as it pulsated. dumb little bunny, leon thinks to himself, watching you start to fluster and retort weakly beneath him with your ankles on his shoulders.

his hand comes up to your head, smacking your cheek swiftly. "shut up. shut the fuck up." he growls, eyes narrowing mildly, holding your cheeks with one hand as he pried your little mouth open. his thoughts were so guiltily dirty, wondering how cute your throat would look filled with his cock. he'll have to try another time, though, wouldn't he? for now his ring and middle finger deliberately slide into your tongue, savoring the minor 'hhnnn' that lolled out of your sticky tongue as your eyes peered up at him glassily.

the words 'fuck me' were written all over your eyes when his gaze locks down to yours. and could he resist such a pretty baby?- why were you so pretty?

it's a shame that you made so much effort to treat him indifferently, calling him by his last name and all...

your vision felt cloudy given that you were full of leon. but you catch glimpse of the way he smirks at himself before he leans down much closer to your face, folding your legs over and not giving a fuck if it hurts. the simple shift in angle had you crying out as his tip grazed over the right spots.

he spits a string of saliva down into your forced-open mouth, hoping it would furtherly aid in getting you to shut up over something so trivial. "so fucking dirty..." his fingers gently traced your bottom lip while he whispers with mock-disgust, yet it's laced with affection- a twisted pair of feelings that has him needing you at incalculable rates.

his hands come down to the exposed flesh of your hips, fingers dipping into your skin as he holds you still on his girth. it felt even better when you could feel his bulging size rub up inside you hastily— the way he was fucking you fervently and not letting you get away. you're never fucking leaving his sight, or his mind.

"h-how's this for.. uhh-..nngh.. being cocky? huh?" he groaned roughly after stammering with the embers of his frustration. leon's frustrated that he can't speak without stammering, so he takes it out on you with punishing thrusts that have you sobbing louder, mending his ego by ruining yours. he's stripping your pride away with each push into your sweet spots.

you gave in, vulnerable as you started to blabber from the way you were getting your breath knocked up. "hnggghh.... ahh!-.. l-leon!~ n-not there!-"

"there it is.." he mutters to himself sweetly mid-fucking-you-full. you're finally talking to him properly, how cute.. "more, baby?" he taunts with a struggling moan but he doesn't let you react; the only reaction he wants is you reducing beneath him, proving it by his fingers bruising your skin as he rammed into you in a desperate pace. "ngghh uhh.. fuck-" he whines loudly, your hole squelching uncontrollably as he fucks the juices out of you with every sweet drag of his sensitive shaft.

you turn him so soft he hates you for it.. he has such a soft spot for you, doesn't he?

"fuuck, this pussy's.. so good.." his eyes were half-lidded, moaning adorably before whining about the fact that he's about to spill a load inside you. "f-fuck, 'so good, please- mnnnnghh- aahh!~" his voice wavered, still driving his cock into you as he breaks through his limits and makes himself whimper gently, tears softening his eyes.

oh but his poor baby, creaming around his shaft so quickly and relentlessly, only to continue being rutted into like a little toy ♡. he coats your sweet little hole with his cum, flooding and painting it all over as his tip poured deep inside of you with a thick, milky warmth that pooled on the varnished wood.

you weren't even speaking anymore, your words melting on your tongue. he doesn't understand a damn thing you're saying but he doesn't need you to speak, he just needs you to feel good.

"fuck... uhhhnn!~.. fuck me, please, baby.." he blathers before he found himself whining at the way your cunt pulsates, eyes teasing at you subtly while he holds your cheeks together in his domineering hand. he doesn't even pull out much, just shoving and grinding his girth into your creamed-up cunny and making you endure the crushing pleasure. his hands scramble to push against the back of your thighs, folding them to let him fully fill up into your already deflowered, milky vulva.

"n-no, g'nna- leon!" your mind goes into total shudder as your back arched, having him hold your hips in place as you started to gush all over his stuffy girth.

"ohh, mhmm.. that's it, sweet girl.." leon knows you feel good, seeing you cry flusteredly while he still thrusted in you to lengthen the feeling of you cumming. he tore at your pride, pulling out the vulnerable version of yourself he hasn't seen in a long time. especially when you reach up for him like you wanted a hug. that did it for him.

he leans down to pick you up, your legs dangle tiredly around his waist. he's sorry to whoever's bed it was that he laid you down on. he whimpered softly into the fabric of your shoulder while trying to regain his stability. you could faintly feel him pepper tame, short kisses on it mindlessly.

he nuzzles into your skin. "you wanna be a good girl f'me?" he murmurs into your neck breathily.

"mhmm.."

"then get on your knees." leon lets go from holding you—letting you scramble onto all fours.

he stuffs himself back inside your sensitive hole like he's aching for it, making you wail with struggle. with your legs aimlessly sprawled on either side of him, he makes sure you don't stray from him by holding your hips again. the flesh spilling between his fingers as he pulls you closer like he's scared you'll run away. his hips move irrationally, wanting to make sure he's hitting it good, all the right spots again, just for his baby. he's so sensitive it starts to throb, masochistic urges as he overstimulates himself ceaselessly.

"hhhngh... you can't just.. come around- and then leave- like it's nothing!-" leon babbled whiningly between his forceful thrusts, his pace increasing with incessant speed. you could feel his fingers nimbly moving through your scalp, leon's hand holding the back of your head down onto the fluff surface where your cute little cries of pleasure went in vain.

you couldn't take it but leon made you, his constant rutting inside you even after cumming doesn't pause. he's suffocating this way but he doesn't even care. he's so loud behind you, fucking into your messy cunt like it hurts real good.

his attention is divulged slightly when he sees a little glow on the pocket of your shirt. how didn't he spot that? his hand snakes over your breast, fingertips swiftly snagging the high-tech vial and shoving it somewhere in his remaining clothing.

you yelped. ada was going to kill you. "h-hey!-" he notices you trying to look behind you but his hand is quicker, turning your head forwards with a gentle grip of his hand. he muffled your face into the sheets with the force of his hand holding your head, and he snaps his hips faster just to have you all adorable and crying for him again. "y'c-can't take tha-" oh, but what were you going to do about it?

he starts deliberately making up mistranslations of what you wanted to say. "mm, what's that, sweet girl? you want more?... oh, i know, baby, oh shh.. i got'chu, you're so good, huh? uhhuh.." he encouraged amidst fucking you back into a state of distraction, a hazy smile to himself while he considers his mission accomplished.

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Blood of Eden

|Lucifer!Aemond Targaryen x Eve!Reader|

Short Story

Masterlist of Works

Summary: Life in Eden was perfect. You lived in harmony with your husband, Adam, and all other creatures. Nothing negative ever got past the guardian cherubs at the gates, forever protected by the angels and God's love. Until one day, when you stood at the roots of the Tree of Knowledge, a serpent appeared before you. Its green body blended into the grass beneath your feet, and its amber eyes locked onto yours as it spoke words that would lead you astray and down a path of sin.

Author's Note: Let's start with this idea being unoriginal. There have been a million different retellings of the fall of Adam and Eve in fanfiction. However, I did put a lot of original thoughts into it and gave it a spin of my own. I'm not religious at all, though I was raised Methodist in a very rural and religious state. I really don't care if anyone is offended by what I wrote because what I wrote is not really about God but more so about the expectations of women, abandonment of those who claim to love you, and blind faith. It's not only applicable to religion but to everyday life with the government and other people in positions of authority in your life. With all that being said, just enjoy this for what it is... raunchy smut.

Warnings: sexism, misogyny, noncon bordering onto rape, sacrilege, religious guilt, manipulation, breeding kink (kinda?), Aemond feasts like it's the last supper, it's literally a fanfic retelling of Adam and Eve.

Word Count: 9.6k

Also, I recommend you listen to the song The Devil Is Human by Aurora or The Fruits by Paris Paloma. Both are applicable.

In the beginning, God created heaven and the Earth. The Earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep. The Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters, and God said, "Let there be light," and there was light. God saw the light as good and divided the light from the darkness.

And he was there. There, beside the Lord with the rest of his brothers and sisters, he watched his God create life as he knew it.

They called him another name then and spoke of him differently, filling him with such fury and vengeance in memory. He was no longer Aemond, the morning star, God's favorite angel in his host. He was the vilest of beings, cast down into the depths of Hell with all others who followed him in punishment for his defiance against his Lord.

They said Lucifer was vain. That Satan fell from the heavens due to his great pride in his perfection, but that was untrue. There was more to the tale than just the folly of pride, than just the wickedness that so poisoned his heart against God.

Aemond believed in knowledge and free will. He disagreed with God's authoritarian control of the creatures he architected. God's creations had no control over their lives, set mindlessly on his chosen path. He kept hidden the knowledge of the Earth and psyche and all it had to give. Aemond believed he had no right to do so, for a life in blind ignorance was none at all.

He first poisoned the creature they called Adam with the emotion of loneliness despite the lush greenery and breathing life surrounding him. Then, he gathered all his fellow angels who shared his belief to rebel against their Lord. God knew that Aemond stirred the mind of his creation, Adam, and cut out his eye as he cast him and all who agreed with the now Satan below the Earth as punishment. Aemond was angered and scorned at the benevolent creator's decision.

From that moment on, he swore he would forever spurn God, devoting his existence to the opposite of his.

As a consequence of Aemond's actions and the intoxication of Adam's mind with thoughts of loneliness, God created another being. A companion to the man, derived from his rib, called woman, and her name was Eve.

Eve was beautiful. She was more beautiful than Aemond before his eye was stolen, and God doted on her with an intensity Aemond felt was purposeful. He grew mad with envy at the realization. What kind of Father would do such a thing to his son? How dare he? A benign God created a being more beautiful than the one cast out for it.

Satan was furious. He was enraged at God and the woman Eve. He spent all his days attempting to corrupt the innocent woman in their perfect Garden of Eden as retaliation.

It was a bothersome task. Eve was quite loyal to her God and her husband, Adam, for they were connected, and God's love was too strong to penetrate. Until one day, when Satan spied on the Lord and his children, hidden as a serpent within the lush green grass, and God told them there was one rule, the only sin they could commit.

The Tree of Knowledge. Its Fruit was golden, juicy, and ripe, begging the beings to sink their teeth into its soft flesh, but they could not, for their Lord forbade it.

Satan knew then that he had found a weakness within the perfect creatures and set out to exploit their flaw.

Life within Eden was joyful. You wanted for nothing and asked for nothing because God provided. You lived in harmony with your husband and all other living creatures. The lions resided in peace with the gazelles, the crocodiles on the shores with the zebras, and the wolves with the sheep. Everything worked per God's will. Worry was not a thought within your mind. Nothing negative ever got past the guardian cherubs at the gates of Eden, forever protected by the angels and your Lord's love.

God instructed you and Adam a few commands to follow within the Garden. One, you must serve your husband, for you are an extension of him, and second, you must never eat from the Tree of Knowledge. They were simple guidelines to follow.

You catered to your husband's every wish, ensuring he desired naught as you did. When Adam's mouth dried, you quenched his thirst from the babbling brooks. When his stomach rumbled with hunger, you satisfied him with the food from the Earth. It was what you desired, what gave you fulfillment and great happiness to serve your husband, as was God's will.

You were content in the Garden of Eden, yet one thought hung within your mind. It was only a whisper at first, the slight rustle of the breeze commanding one thing, and you busied yourself within the Lord's expectations in response. But it grew stronger until you could no longer ignore it and found yourself staring at the hanging aureate Fruit at the foot of the Tree.

You confided in Adam as to your troubles, but he dismissed you.

"Do not worry your little head about such things, dear Eve. God has a plan for us all and will not lead you into temptation."

You trusted him, just as you trusted the Father, but you soon forgot your once limitless bliss. More often than not, you would wake at the roots of the forbidden Tree with no recollection of how you got there, suddenly awoken, as if from a trance to the tale end of a deep timbre at the shell of your ear, demanding that you take one bite.

You prayed. You prayed, and you prayed, and you prayed until God finally deigned his presence to you, answering your pleas. In him, you confided your doubts of the memory lapses that brought you such agony until tears flowed from your eyes.

"Do you not have trust in me that I will protect you from your sins?"

"No, Father!" you exclaimed, quickly resending the words in error. "Yes, Father, of course I trust you."

"Then you must worry naught, sweet Eve, for you are a creation of me and my will. You must have trust in your devotion and obey my commands no matter the temptation."

You merely nodded at his words, an uneasy feeling churning in the pit of your stomach.

It was your fault, you soon realized, for not praying enough, for spending too much time caring for your own needs and not God's and Adam's. So, without hesitation, you threw yourself into the Lord's commands. You put your faith in him more than before and focused your time on God when not spent with your husband.

But it did not work.

You no longer felt the same joy when serving Adam and the Father; the fulfillment was replaced with bitterness and resentment for those you catered to for not helping you in your time of need. Thoughts of what would happen should you eat the Forbidden Fruit rattled in your head, infecting you with doubts as to what God's motives were in keeping you from it.

One day, when the sun was shining as it always did, warming your skin and filling the air with something sweet and floral, a serpent, greener and brightly scaled than you had ever seen, came slithering down the brown bark of the Tree of Knowledge.

You grinned at the creature, delighted to have the company of one of God's creations as you grasped it, allowing it to slide across your arms and legs until it wrapped around your torso, head resting between the mounds of flesh on your chest. Its pink, forked tongue tickled the sensitive skin there, causing giggles as it ventured further up until its emerald body wound around your neck and shoulders, smooth scales caressing the skin.

"Did God say, 'You must not eat from any tree in the garden'?" asked the serpent, and you were startled.

No animal had ever spoken to you before, and it sent a jolt of surprise through your limbs at something so foreign and unusual within your serene garden.

"We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, but God did say, we must not eat fruit from the one that is in the middle of it, and we must not touch it, or we will die," you answered thoughtfully, a smile on your face as the snake's tongue tickled the shell of your ear.

You attempted to pull it away, slightly uncomfortable but still joyful with how close it was to your face, but the animal only swirled around your countenance and into your hair and nestled on the opposite side.

"You will not certainly die," the serpent said to you, voice sure. "For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like him, knowing good and evil."

Gazing at the Fruit, then back to the slit, amber eyes of the snake, you faltered. Undoubtedly, the Lord would never bar you from something like this. He loved you. You and Adam were his creations. He would never keep you from something good for you. Why would God lie if the serpent's words were valid?

"There is much wonder ahead of you, little Eve. All you must do is only take one bite."

His words were convincing, poisoning your already tainted mind into disobeying God's commands. Still, you shook your head, trying to pry the snake off, but it only slithered down your body, nestling between the flesh of your legs, small head resting on the thatch of dark hair as it peered up at you.

"No, snake," you declared with defiance, brows furrowed and plump lips pouted. "He said we would die. Why would God lie to us? He loves us!"

Aemond thought you looked so beautiful then, even more beautiful than himself with the ethereal glow that radiated from your form, but he swiftly pushed the notion aside.

"Because, if you eat the Fruit in which he commanded you not to, your eyes will be opened for what the world is. You'll understand right from wrong. You will be like him," the snake whispered, his forked tongue flicking with every sentence. "If God truly loved you, he wouldn't keep all this knowledge to himself."

Aemond could see the defiance slowly leave your expression, considering what he declared the truth. "He'll never know, little lamb. I shall never tell him. You have my word." He knew you needed one more push, the correct phrases to convince you to commit the only sin you could. "You deserve to understand. You deserve to be free from the self-sacrificing chains that bind you."

Aemond moved his scaly body from yours, sliding within the knee-high grass and into the Tree. He bit into the flesh of the Fruit as he turned to your uncertain form. He swallowed the chunk into his throat, the juice sliding down his fangs as his amber eyes stared into your wide ones.

Trepidation began to leave your mind, taking a tentative step forward as you saw that the serpent did not perish. The snake took another bite, wrapping its veridian tail around a winding branch, holding the piece out, wordlessly telling you to have a taste. You inhaled a shaky breath, an emotion you had never experienced before warming your gut and the place betwixt your thighs as you leaned, taking the golden fruit from it with your teeth.

The sweet flavor washed over your tongue, some juice dribbling past your lips and sliding down your chin as your eyes shut. You felt your mind become free, a moan breaking from the confines of your chest. Opening your eyes, the Fruit slid down your throat and settled into your stomach as you gazed at the world around you.

Suddenly, you understood everything.

Why water fell from the sky, why the grass grew, why the day always followed the night, why God told you never to eat the Fruit. You did not become his omnipotent equal as the serpent claimed. You became knowledgeable. You could comprehend the vast questions of the universe that the only answer you were told was God. You now had the free will to choose what you thought and what you did. You could decide who and what you worshiped.

God could no longer control you, so he forbade you from eating the Fruits on the Tree of Knowledge.

The snake was no longer in its place; instead stood a man with features not of this world. He adorned a crown of silver longer than your own, a pale stomach chiseled and defined with muscles and scars, a light dusting of hair trailing down to where his manhood was covered with weaved fig leaves. A long, pink scar sliced the left side of his face, the socket in which his eye should be a bright blue sapphire gem complimenting the near obsidian of the other.

Abruptly, you realized you were naked in front of an unknown man, quickly covering your breasts with your arms as he only observed.

"Who-" you stuttered, warmth filling your cheeks, "who are you?"

The man smirked, the grin pulling at his cheeks in a malicious, knowing manner that sent chills down your spine. "He never told you, did he?" the man questioned with the proud quirk of his brow, stepping closer to your trembling form. "I am called many names, sweet lamb. Satan, Lucifer, Devil, the Morning Star, Beelzebub, Mephistopheles, Iblis, the Father of Lies, and much more, but you," he answered, his now single tongue licking his white teeth, "may call me Aemond."

Your lungs shuttered, legs threatening to give out as he stood nearly a hair's breadth away. You extended an arm out, preventing him from coming closer, palm touching the smooth planes of his abdomen as you cowered under his dark gaze.

"Please, do not come any closer. I am ashamed," you implored, voice quivering as tears collected at the brim of your lashes.

"What for, little lamb? Are you now feeling the shame of having disobeyed your God, now knowing he will never love you again?" You tasted the briny water on your tongue before you felt them, whimpering and flinching as Aemond brought his thumb to your cheek, stroking the tears that clumped your lashes. "I shall love you, Eve, more than your God ever could."

A scream scratched your throat as Satan's hands grabbed your waist, fingers digging into the soft skin until you were sure they would burrow through, your bare breasts touching his sculpted chest.

"You-you tricked me!" you sobbed, head moving far away from him as he licked a stripe of saltwater on your temple, groaning at the erotic taste.

"Tricked you?" he guffawed, snatching your hair. "No, sweet lamb, I saved you."

"No! No! You said I would be as God! You lied to me!" Words poured from your lips like the tears from your eyes, choking you with their excess wetness. How could you have been so foolish as to believe a talking snake? The Lord was above all and only cared for you. He provided all that you needed, yet you still gave into temptation.

"Is it power that you desire, my ignorant lamb?" he questioned, a smirk pulling at his thin, pink lips. "Do not fret, for I shall give you all that you desire and more."

Aemond's mouth slotted with yours, spearing his tongue into the wetness and exploring the soft flesh your lips kept hidden. You struggled against him in vain, nails clawing at his chest and face until they left red welts on his porcelain skin. He merely chuckled against you, grinning into the kiss as his knee made it home between your legs. You vehemently shook your skull, attempting to break from his vice-like grip on your hair.

You now understood where this was going as Aemond released you with a sickening pop only when he decided you had enough.

"Stop. I do not want this," you protested, pulling your face away from his against the force of his hand.

"But, dear Eve, you are positively wet down there. It would be a sin to leave it untouched." You could sense Aemond's grin against your skin, his lips trailing down your jaw and onto the sensitive skin of your neck, inhaling the aromatic scent of your flesh.

It had been millennia since he last had the taste of sex. He spent all that time either within the solitude of his own making or that of his fellow fallen angels. He knew that those times would not be as fulfilling as now, and a part of Aemond, deep within himself, understood that he would never wish to live without it again.

He left damp patches in his wake, unceasing in his movements until he reached the tender globe of your breast, wrapping his lips around the pert nipple and suckling like a child. The jolt of pleasure that wracked through your body was paralyzing, causing you to momentarily drop your defenses as he forced you into the tall grass below. Aemond's body weight trapped you under him, feeling every ridge and curve of his body on your own. His manhood poked at your thigh, thumping in time to the beat of your erratic heart.

"Please, have mercy on me," you cried into the heavens, hearing nothing but Satan's heavy breathing on your bosom as he moved to the other, fingers snaking down to toy at the place between your legs. "Do not touch me there! That is a place for my husband only!"

Aemond grunted, the sound vibrating your chest as he unlatched with a half-lidded expression. "And who told you that, little lamb? Your God? The same God who kept you from all the world has to offer?"

You couldn't deny his words, gazing away from the beast before you. Aemond's arms wound themselves around your legs, keeping you at his mercy as he brought your womanhood onto his watering mouth. You shuddered uncontrollably with every lick he placed onto your throbbing core, unable to silence the high-pitched mewls that escaped your throat at the actions.

His tongue was so warm and soft, involuntarily making your muscles relax in his embrace as he lapped at your folds, moldable lips curling around the bud at the top to lav it in particular attention. It felt so good you could not help but buck your hips into him, curling your digits into his hair and back arching as the wet muscle slid into your entrance. Aemond's tongue caressed your insides with the tenderness of a butterfly's kiss, stroking along a rough patch that had you seeing the stars above.

You were unsure of what came over you. The only thought in your mind and nerves being more, more, more as your movements became greedy. You ground your womanhood onto his face and shoved his nose further into you, the bridge of it providing delicious friction onto your bud. You did not care if he could breathe. It felt like a beast had possessed you, puppeteering your movements with only one goal.

Release.

You grew impervious if God or Adam heard your cries of pleasure, knowing only of the Devil betwixt your thighs that now suckled your bud as if it were your breast, causing your heels to dig into the soft soil. At this moment, you did not regret taking a bite from the Forbidden Fruit. It brought you the knowledge of ecstasy you had no idea existed. If all sins brought you the promise of this pleasure, then you would gladly and unthinkingly commit them.

A fist formed within your stomach, tensing your gut as Aemond opened his jaw wider to incorporate all of your meat into his mouth, swallowing your juices as he did to the Fruit.

He knew he had you hooked, his cock thudding painfully with arousal as he rutted in the dirt. This was just as gratifying for him as it was for you. Not only did he have the satisfaction of corrupting God's favorite in the Garden of his creation, but he also had her begging and wanton within the palm of his hand, ripe for the taking. Aemond understood there was only one last thing he must do before he could finally destroy God's most precious creation.

He knew you were close. You only needed one more push, as you did before, to finally fall off the edge so you could become his in sin. He doubled his efforts, slurping obscenely at your puffy cunt until it nearly drowned out your moans.

You couldn't breathe, your breath coming out in pants as your legs clamped down on Aemond's perfect silver head, shrieking into the skies as you felt your first peak crash into you. Wave after wave hit your body as never before, tears leaking onto your temples as your back arched in ecstasy. It felt like honey had been poured into your veins, leaking onto Aemond's face as you spasmed around him.

His thumbs delicately stroked the skin of your thighs as you became lax against him, body trembling. A smirk wound its way onto his lips as he let you go, licking your release from his lips as he eyed your drooling cunt. It was simply begging to be filled, the hole weeping for him to enter as he situated his legs under yours, settling on his haunches and tearing the fig leaves from his groin.

You were too blissed out to comprehend the happenings around you, head lulled to the side and eyes shut as he parted your glistening folds with his thumbs. Finally, you looked down at Aemond's ruddy cockhead kissing your entrance. Long-forgotten fear suddenly filled your chest, replacing the pleasure you had found before.

You did not want him to take you. While you had gone against your husband and God with his mouth on your flesh, you did not desire for your virtue to be stolen by him. It was still Adam's right to do so, and you quickly squirmed beneath him, attempting to slide your back along the flattened grass. Aemond grunted in admonishment, pulling your hips back to his own as he locked them around his waist.

"You run from me still," he stated more than asked with a curious tilt of his head. If you had not known better, you would've sensed the slight hurt laced under the bass of his voice. "There is nowhere for you to go, sweet Eve. Your God will not possibly love you after what you have committed here."

Tears, not from pleasure, welled in your eyes as you stared up at him. His face was impassive, concentrating on lining his cock with your virginal hole. When Aemond finally breached the tight entrance, your cries were heard in the heavens, causing the unseen eyes of God to search for you.

It hurt, impossibly so, and the pain did not stay within the assaulted area, traveling through your walls and down to the tips of your toes. You sobbed uncontrollably, vision blurred from agony and tears as he tore through you to the hilt.

"Oh, God, please," you blubbered, unable to withhold your sobs of torment any longer. "Please, have mercy, I beg of you."

"Does it hurt?" Aemond asked saccharine, disregarding your pain with a mock tenderness in his tone. You nodded, weakly pushing at his pelvis as another stretch of pain speared you. "Do not worry. It shall only last for a moment. It will be nothing compared to the hundreds I have spent locked away within the depths of Hell, cast out as no longer one of God's favorites."

You whimpered, tears leaking from your eyes and muddying the ground below. You felt a dampness between your legs, different from the previous sensation, and trained your gaze onto Aemond's manhood. Blood covered his shaft and porcelain thighs, smearing the viscous liquid across his pelvis and staining the light dusting of hair there red.

Aemond wanted this to be painful for you-wanted you to feel every ounce of heart-wrenching agony he felt when his Father cast him out of the heavens. It was the closest he could get to hurting the one he desired.

"Please, stop," you choked, attempting in vain to free yourself once more. "It's too much. I-I cannot take it." You felt your head become full, a disorientating wave rolling through your mind as your vision darkened.

Aemond did not let you stay in that unfeeling state for long, moving his digits to rub circles over your swollen bud and sparking your body back to life with a drawn-out whine. He could not have you unconscious for this. He wanted you to feel everything-every shiver that ran up your spine, every touch of his skin on yours, every begrudging clench of your suffocating walls around his girth as he rutted into you.

Soon, that familiar tingle within your stomach began to grow, causing a wet clicking sound to emanate from your womanhood and a creamy, white ring to form around the base of his cock. The shame mixed with slowly rising high fogged your brain, unable to focus on anything other than the moist slap, slap, slap of Aemond's hips against yours.

You could no longer stand the sight of his sculpted body above yours, sun rays shining behind his silver hair in a juxtaposing halo as you turned your vision to the swaying blades of grass beside you. He cooed tenderly at your disgrace, bow lips forming a mock pout and grabbing your jaw to return your misty eyes to his.

"So pretty. Prettier than me," Aemond murmured to himself rather than you, cheeks squished underneath the pressure of his digits. "God did well with you, I am loathed to confess."

You struggled to remove your face from his grip, his fingers digging in meanly in response to your resistance as pleasure mounted with every kiss of his head to your sweet spot. Hiccuping in time with his thrusts, you sobbed, eyes rolling into their sockets as Aemond continued to swirl your abused nub until more wetness was released from inside.

"Poor thing," he purred, an uneasy grin wrinkling the blushed scar on his face. "Sweet little lamb, there is no use resisting the evils of this world. Give in to me once more, and you shall be free from all that ails you. Free from a God who does not love you... not like I can."

You tried to deny his words, refuting his claims internally with a shake of your head. God's love was unyielding; it was more bountiful than the fruits and vegetables in the Garden of Eden. Satan could not possibly love you more than him-accept you more than your creator did. He was a liar. Aemond was a snake. He deceived you once before, and he was doing it again.

Only God could love you unconditionally for who you were, sins and all. You trusted that he would see your innocence in all this and allow you a chance of forgiveness. He would absolve you of your transgressions here today, for he was a benevolent being who understood you were the victim of Satan's trickery.

That was the only fact in which consoled you enough for your walls to finally release, gushing your second peak all over Aemond's glistening, scarlet cock. It enveloped you in rapture, causing you to shriek and uncontrollably quiver as it ran through your bones like the stampede of wild horses that frolicked in the Garden.

Aemond sang your praises from above, reminding you of the hymns the angels recited as his movements became rougher, more frantic as if to chase something. It prolonged your high just that much longer, and you were powerless to hold still with the animalistic positioning of his hips, both fists burrowing into your waist as his strength rubbed your back raw on the flattened foliage.

Aemond came with a shuddering growl, thrusting into you to extend his peak to the fullest. "Yes, take it. Fucking take my seed and give me my army like the good little lamb you are."

Your limbs twitched as the aftershocks of your release wore through you, his words lost on your ears. Mind numb and form pliant his movements slowed, noiseless groans rumbling the hollow of Aemond's chest. He had not felt this fulfilled since the day he was constructed, observing the pearly liquid leak from your overfilled cunt as he parted your folds with his thumbs.

You indeed were a sight to behold, and although he abhorred the notion, he believed you were God's most extraordinary conception, above even that of himself. His pride would never allow him to admit such a thing aloud, and he was content with the idea that no one but himself would ever know of it.

Aemond pulled out of your abused heat with a squelch and a quiet whimper from you, observing his seed as it ran to the ground below. He had planted in more ways than one and was content with the thought as he slipped into the shadows of his serpentine form. Still there as before, always watching yet unseen with a grin crinkling the corners of his vision.

His exit went unnoticed by you, too blissed to realize he had abandoned you despite your fragile state. Your chest heaved as you regained your breath, wiping away the sweat at the back of your brow as you slowly return your gaze to between your legs, finally understanding that Aemond was no longer within your presence. It caused a sinking feeling at the pit of your stomach, a frown adorning your once glowing features as you looked to the uninhabited Garden, confusion furrowing your brow.

Why had Aemond abandoned you? Had you done something wrong?

You could not help the feeling of loneliness that crept up your body, caging you within its dark claws. Releasing a shuddering breath, you sniffled, steeling your will as you attempted to stand, seeking the physical and spiritual comfort that only Adam and God could provide. A sharp, burning sensation radiated from your womanhood and caused you to crumble to your knees. You did not withhold your tears as they stung your eyes, wincing in great pain as you tried to stand once more, only to fail.

The sound of the softly crunching grass perked your ears, revealing that you were soon not alone. Hastily, you hid behind a tree, its tall trunk obscuring your naked body from the visitor.

"Where are you?" the voice of God called out, searching for his beloved creation. You swallowed the lump in your throat, mouth becoming dry as anxiety cinched your heart.

The air no longer held its same warmth, filling you with unease.

"Here, my Lord," you answered shakily, voice softer than the breeze that swept through your locks as you poked your head from behind the tree.

"Why are you hiding?" he asked kindly, and with no hint that he knew what you had done, the smell of incense wafting into your nose.

"I heard you in the Garden, and I was afraid because I was naked," you responded demurely, eye focused on the ground below, "so I hid."

God's silence scared you enough to bring your tearful gaze to his, body shrinking into itself as he observed you. "Who told you that you were naked? Have you ate from the Tree in which I commanded you not to?"

You did not answer him right away, inhaling a shaky breath of aromatic wind as you hugged your arms closer to your body. Shame filled you to your core, having lost the confidence in God's forgiveness now that you were met face to face.

"The serpent deceived me, and I ate," you cried, falling at his bare feet in humiliation. "I fell into temptation and disobeyed your command. Please, forgive me, Father, for I have sinned in the only way you told me not to!" you begged, hands clasped into a fist, uncaring of your bare form before his eyes.

God no longer looked at you with the same love and adoration as you were accustomed to, eyes now filled with fury and hate you never knew him capable of. He turned away from you, vision trained on something within the lush, knee-high grass you could not see.

"Because you have done this, cursed are you above all livestock and all wild animals! You will crawl on your belly, and you will eat dust all the days of your life!" he raged at the emerald serpent, who only stared at him with unblinking, slanted, amber eyes.

So Aemond had not abandoned you, you realized fleetingly, a flame of hope and gratitude flickering in your chest before God turned to you again.

"I will make your pains in childbearing very severe; with painful labor, you will give birth to children. Adam shall not receive the punishment I bestow upon you, and your desire will be for your husband, who will rule over you," he seethed, index finger pointing accusingly. "Cursed is the ground because of you! Through painful toil, you will eat food from it all the days of your life. It will produce thorns and thistles for you, and you will eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your brow, you will consume your food until you return to the ground since you were taken from it!"

You wailed, helplessly so, crumbling on your knees before God as you prayed the forgiveness he claimed his love rought but received none. "For dust you are, and to dust you will return," he declared, a roar of thunder clapping through the sky despite the blue of it as he vanished as quickly as he came.

You collapsed on all fours, digging your fingers into the soil, sod sticking under your nails as you sobbed. Cries of despair shook your body, clawing your throat raw as your tears watered the grass below.

God had abandoned you when you needed him most. He scorned you as blood stained your thighs and bruises littered your skin. You felt hopeless-helpless in your isolation that combined with bitterness in your broken heart.

What kind of God disregarded those who worshiped the ground he walked on? You devoted your existence to glorifying him, you put your undying trust into him, and when you needed him most, he punished you. This was his fault.

You confided your troubles to the Father, who dismissed you, blaming you for your plights and saying that the only solution would be sacrificing more of yourself until nothing was left. And you listened ignorantly. You followed the shepherd God like the lamb Satan claimed you to be, and this is where he left you. Alone with only the sounds of chirping birds and crickets with the scent of mud clinging to your flesh.

Fury scratched its way out of your soul as you screamed, pounding your fists again and again and again into the dampened sod until you left impactions in your wake. You mourned for the loss of the life you once knew, now replaced with hardship and permanent subservience to your already king husband.

You hated Adam for dismissing you. You hated God for condemning you. An inferno of emotions you had never felt burned at your insides, charring them until nothing was left but blackened rot.

You felt the familiar smooth scales of a snake wind itself across your torso in an almost comforting manner, slithering down your arm and raising gooseflesh before you quickly snatched it by the hinge of its jaw.

You stared into the tan color of its iris, your tears drying and cracking your cheeks. "I should kill you," you spat, meanly pinching the vertebrae behind the serpent's glimmering green head.

"Do it, little lamb. Kill me," he hissed, a challenging gleam in his beady stare. He knew you could not do it just as you did, but it did not quell the anger in your heart.

You glared at Aemond in rage, eyes puffy and red as your chin trembled. The idea ran through your head as if it happened before you, smashing his small arrow-shaped skull with a stone until his bones and brains were mush. It gave you great joy to imagine, envisioning the smell of his coppery blood as it stained the ground as your tears did, yet you did not move. You stared at Aemond, teeth clenched as you observed the rosey flicking of his forked tongue.

"Show yourself to me," you declared, placing his slender body on the ground as your brows set in a firm line.

Slowly, before your eyes, you no longer saw a serpent but a man. The same man who stole your virtue and surrendered you to ensure the wrath of God alone, kneeling in front of you.

"You left me." The words weighed on your tongue like rocks, not fully admitting what you wanted to say due to your pride.

Aemond's gaze flicked over your naked form, taking note of the welts and essence he left behind. "I did," he replied, voice impassive.

You let the silence hang, ire still evident in your expressions as you observed his stoic face. What would ending his life do? While it would give you great pleasure to seek revenge on someone, it would not change God's decision or your fate. It would not make Adam see you as an equal and not a being less than him.

As if Aemond could sense your inner turmoil, he took your shaking hand in his, steadying it with a gentleness you did not know him capable of. It startled you, causing you to flinch, but he held firm. Was this the true Aemond or another side of him? Was he as wicked and cruel as he was when he stole your virtue, or was that simply a response to the same abandonment he felt from the Lord?

Suddenly, you understood him. You were both creatures victim of a callus and vengeful God who only found love in blind obedience-a God who did not want his ultimate authority ever brought into question. He did not like those who did not follow him in unthinking faith. He wanted lambs, not autonomous beings with thoughts and ideals. He desired those who would serve him and his teachings without question, no matter the harm it would do.

You would serve no God or man but yourself.

Swiftly, you shoved Aemond onto his back with a thud, straddling his waist as you pinned his wrists beside his fanned-out silver hair. You gazed into his eyes, a completely black obsidian orb and an expressionless sapphire one staring back, searching for something as you leaned over his sculpted face, your breath fanning across his skin. Slotting your nose with his, you felt a surge of possession overcome you, poking your moist tongue from between your lips and licking a stripe up the raised flesh of his scar.

Aemond shuddered beneath you, his hardening cock stirring to life between your folds. It felt empowering to know that you affected him as much as he did you, and a smile graced your wet mouth at the realization. You removed yourself from him, observing the way his glistening chest heaved, gradually forming a blush to the pale flesh from the heat of your body.

The dried blood and spent coating your thighs flaked annoyingly on your skin, sticking onto Aemond's hips in brittle chunks as a smirk adorned your features. "You ought to clean me up after what you did," you jeered, sliding your palms down his arms. "It is disgraceful to leave the woman you fucked in such a disheveled state."

Aemond watched you in what only could be described as wonder as you brought your womanhood to hover over his visage, hands now digging into your plush waist. His mouth watered at the sight before him, the blood coating your groin, his seed still weeping from your entrance. He was proud to have left his mark on your perfect body, spoiling you against God.

Oh, how you had changed from the sweet, innocent, unknowing little lamb he met you as...

You arched a quizzical brow, lips in a thin line as you waited for Aemond to stop his ogling and give what you asked. "Go on," you urged with the tilt of your head, voice holding a coldness you had never heard.

Aemond did not hesitate, bringing your core to his mouth as warmth spread throughout your body. He followed your commands earnestly, eagerly cleaning the mess as that familiar pleasure sprouted. You had not realized there was a tenseness to your muscles until his tongue forced you to relax, laving the crust of his seed and your essence around your cunt.

The sheer dominance at having the Devil himself betwixt your legs was intoxicating, releasing guttural, wanton moans as his aquiline nose brushed against your throbbing bud. Aemond let out a contented sound at the salty and coppery taste sliding down his throat, believing he had never had such a divine essence in his mouth until now.

"You are God's most vile creation, tricking and tempting innocents into your desires," you snarled, undulating your hips across his mouth. "Now, it is time for me to treat you the same."

You could see your blood staining the area around his mouth and nose, creating the most beautiful, debauched shade of scarlet on his skin as he focused his efforts on the button at the top of your mound. Uncaring whether Aemond could breathe, you dug your fingers into his hair, pulling at the roots as your legs tightened around his head.

He began to lap at your entrance, his spit stinging the raw skin and creating a delicious burn of pain and pleasure as he stroked the rough patch between your walls. You were in control, the vicelike grip around Aemond's skull giving him no choice but to bring you the ecstasy, the thought setting your nerves a light. It filled you with more satisfaction than when he was there previously, having him at your mercy. You were his God now. He worshiped your cunt as you did the Lord every moment of your life.

Removing your fingers from Ameond's hair, you intertwined them with yours, guiding them to your neglected breasts as you continued to grind against his face. He pinched and flicked your nipples taught, sending jolts of bliss through your veins and straight to your aching cunt.

The musky scent of sweat and bodies hung in the once-floral environment, infecting the air with your shared sins. Aemond's darkness infiltrated your head, the toxic sludge poisoning your mind further into wanting things only the most despicable creatures desired. You hoped for Adam to happen upon you both, to see what he was missing under God's thumb, to have him realize that you were not less than simply because the Lord told him so.

The same knot as before wound inside your stomach, your body trembling and tensing all over as Aemond's fists left your soft breasts and landed on your hips, pushing your core further onto his mouth. Your muscles went slack at the intensity of his movements, leaning back and balancing your weight on your palms on both sides of him.

Aemond's cock flickered at the edge of your vision, a ruddy and almost angry-looking head weeping a pearlescent liquid. You had not seen his cock in its full glory until now, bluish veins running along the underside of his long, flesh-colored shaft as it twitched with every flick of his tongue.

The sight made your mouth water, wishing to take him as he did you, but could not from this angle. You instead held a shaking arm out, grasping his member in your delicate hand. Aemond's hips bucked in response, surprise covering his chiseled, angelic features, focus unfaltering. You pumped him experimentally a few times, observing which strokes and squeezes made his toes curl and legs bend.

You eventually discovered a pace and grip that had him moaning into your core, sending a gratifying vibration through you, watching as Aemond's slit leaked more milky liquid, nearly disappearing under the blanket of his blushed foreskin. His ministrations plucked at the knotted threads one by one, leading you closer and closer to your release before you stopped yourself short, lungs stuttering at the loss of ecstasy.

Hastily, you removed your cunt from his mouth, his lips and tongue chasing after it in want. You smiled at the slight frown on his glistening lips, placing your womanhood on the throbbing heat of his cock and leisurely grinding your hips against him. Aemond groaned throatily into himself, attempting to stifle it with a thrust, palms finding themselves back on your waist to assist.

"Put it in you," he demanded, voice hoarse as his hips rolled with yours. While he wanted to give you the lead, he could only take so much, perspiration dampening his brow and testing his patience.

You ceased your movements, roughly snatching his cock in a brutal ironclad grip and gracing a reprimanding slap to his cheek as punishment for his demands. "You shall not command me," you growled, harshly stroking the smooth flesh until he hissed in discomfort. "No longer shall I wait hand and foot on men or follow those in blind faith. I will serve only myself for I am my own creation."

Aemond could not hide his lopsided smirk at your words, pride filling his chest. His plans had come to fruition. He caused God's favorite daughter to go astray and see him for what he was. Finally, another being in the vast cosmos understood his pain. It bound you to him, a realization you were gradually accepting.

"I am the neglected child that burns the village down to feel its warmth. I will spurn God and all men he creates," you hissed, positioning your hips above his cock with agonizingly slow movement.

Yes, Aemond thought. Yes, yes, yes, succumb to your dark desires.

"I will sow the seed of doubt and sin with the fruits of my labors. My children will infect their minds and bodies, inspire animosity and harm to others. They shall start wars and believe in gods that are not true," you declared, the heat of your rage warming Aemond's cold heart.

You slid him inside, your walls choking his cock with a profound sigh. He stretched you deliciously, the hurt a welcomed feeling as his head reached so far inside you felt as if it kissed your womb. You began to slowly work yourself atop him, still unaccustomed to the feeling and letting out noiseless mewls of satisfaction. Aemond's cockhead rubbed at your sweet spot with every undulation, sending webs of pleasure to stick to your bones.

Control was intoxicating, watching Aemond puff and struggle to accept that he was beneath you, helpless but to take the same pleasure he forced on you. You understand now why God kept you from the Tree. No one should have this much authority.

"No longer am I the sheep but now the wolf that kills the herd and the shepherd," you express with a prolonged breath.

Aemond sighed and nodded his head briskly, agreeing to whatever you said so long as you kept him inside your warm cunt. You continued to grind yourself against him; the combination of satisfaction within your body and on the out sent a new wave of slickness from your core. Your bud tantalizingly rubbed the firm muscle of Aemond's pubic mound, the hairs adding a different texture that spread a great heat underneath your skin.

"I will supply you an army of my blood and your seed. We shall wreak vengeance on God. He will know the pain he has caused ten-fold," you gasped, moving yourself up and down with the muscles of your abdomen and thighs.

Aemond wished for you to go slower, yet faster. The sensation of just laying there, taking it, unable to regain control he had grappled with all his life, was mind-numbing. Your words kindled the flames that licked his gut. The idea of you creating life with your flesh, the unspoken sacrifice of excruciating agony you would willingly put yours through, made him combust, his hot seed sprouting and planting into your walls at an embarrassing speed.

You grinned at the feeling of his spend taking home inside you, having only been riding him for mere moments before he came. It stoked your ego, inflating it into a size that rivaled Aemond's as he whimpered below you, curling into himself. You refused to stop despite his pleas of overstimulation. You had not reached your fulfillment yet, and you had no intention of halting it.

Men like him deserved to suffer, albeit pleasurably. If Aemond meant what he said when he convinced you to eat the Fruit, that you would have the power you subconsciously craved, this would be a consequence. You would push him to the brink of painful ecstasy to ensure your end, as he certainly would for you. It was equality, after all.

"Does it hurt?" you cooed, repeating his words as you leaned over his heaving body, continuing your ministrations. "Now you know how it feels to be so helpless to your body, to the pleasures of the flesh one can give you."

Aemond understood with the voice in the back of his mind that he could easily overwhelm you. Your physical strengths were no match for him, but he wanted you to have a taste of the power beings like him and God possessed.

You stroked the delicate skin of Aemond's visage tenderly, contrasting the intricate movements of your hips as you greedily chased your high. You were smashing your lips against his, creating a mess of teeth and moans as you led his hand down to the apex of your thighs, wordlessly commanding him. Aemond bucked and twitched, unable to control himself as he felt another agonizing release crest at his lower back. If Aemond wanted this torture to be over, he would have to earn it.

You forced his fingers to draw firm, sloppy circles around your swollen bud, groaning as a shudder wracked your body, your release winding right in your stomach. Finally, you removed your mouth from Aemond's, sucking in a ragged breath of air as you shuddered over him. Your hips gradually began to stall, the muscles within your thighs burning with inexperienced exertion as Aemond gazed at your damp face with besotted amazement.

Your ethereal glow had vanished, no doubt as punishment for your disobedience, but he did not believe it affected your beauty. You were divine in Aemond's eyes, not only in appearance but in representation. The Lord could create things out of dust, but you, you could make things out of your essence. While God still could raise his creations with love and dominance, they could always reject their Father, for they were made from nothing, but your children could not escape you, their mother's blood. This was a power God would never possess, a strength he had kept hidden from you until Aemond opened your eyes.

He believed that the Lord purposely kept you blind from this quality of yourself. It was partially the reason why he groomed you to think you were less than him and Adam, for if you knew the true power that was made into the very biological code of your being, you would understand that you and God were equal. There is no influence as powerful as a mother's, and even God could not deny that.

You felt your peak rising with every swipe of Aemond's digits and every tremble of your legs, chest heaving and sweat dripping down your sternum. Eventually, Aemond's overstimulation gave way to pleasure, helpless and near lightheaded as he attempted to chase the salty droplets on your breasts. He licked and sucked at your nipples, rolling them between his tongue and teeth with every groan.

Finally, you came with an Earth-shattering cry, your walls subconsciously milking Aemond for all his worth as his movements continued on your bud. You shivered and shuddered as your climax seized your muscles, lungs unable to inhale a grounding breath as each wave crashed into you and rattled your bones. He wanted to prolong your high, seeking gratification in your own until he busted, cock once again filling your womb with his seed. He whimpered underneath you, back arching and legs bowing, the sound like the sticky, saccharine honey you licked from your fingers for breakfast every morning.

Collapsing into Aemond's hard chest, you felt his spend leak from your cunt. You had never felt so complete, so unequivocally stuffed and sated, that you felt yourself drift into a plane of the unknown existence. Perhaps this was what heaven felt like? The thought rattled in your brain as you blinked leisurely, gaze fuzzy. Perhaps pleasure like this was what God wanted to protect you from, not autonomy and sentience. Maybe he knew that if you or Adam ate the Forbidden Fruit, your mind and body would be opened to vices of the flesh.

It did not matter now. What was done was done. God abandoned you and condemned you to a life of hardship, subservience, and mental and physical anguish. He left you without a care for your well-being, with blood between your legs and your innocence stolen.

Resentment reignited in your chest, pushing yourself off Aemond with a subdued grunt. He eyed you with a quirked brow, his seeing-eye now a prominent blue matching the sapphire that reflected the sun's rays in a caleidoscope of cerulean across your countenance.

You stood over Aemond's prone form, his arms winding behind his head as he gazed up at you quizzically. You could not help but admire his lithe form, body toned, the muscles of his arms and legs sculpted around his bones, tendons rippling as he stretched lazily. He was the most magnificently shaped being you had ever seen, and Aemond knew it, smirking beside himself as he watched your gaze drift to his softened member.

He suddenly seemed so much more human, the realization flicking a switch inside your mind. Aemond was an angel, yes, God's former morning star, but you did not see him above you anymore. He was no longer Lucifer, Satan, or Mephistopheles, the ruler of Hell, God's fallen attendant. To you, he was simply Aemond, a being that had titles that meant nothing now.

Yet you were no longer just Eve, for that name felt like the title of a dead woman, a woman who was blind, reedy, and ignorant to the reality of what the world had to offer, a woman who lived with blinders on her face until a serpent opened her mind. You would not thank Aemond for doing so. He did not do it out of the goodness of his heart. Just like now, how you vowed to repudiate God's will, you were a part of his plan, though you did not believe he thought it would end in this turn of events.

Aemond smiled above at you, his scar wrinkling as he raised his arm in your direction, an invitation to join him at his side. You stared at his offering with reservation, swallowing a lump you didn't realize had formed. You understood that this action was more than just an invitation to touch, your future weighing heavily in his palm. He was wordlessly giving you the option to turn away from the road ahead, to run back into the comfort of the known and away from the discomfort of the unknown. He placed before you autonomy and control of your fate, and it caused you to pause.

What would life be with the Devil at your side? Would he force you to become his servant as God did? You gave Aemond your body and womb, parts of you that you did not realize you could provide to others, and he used it to further his agenda. Yes, you were enraged that he treated you as a tool, but you knew you could do the same for him as quickly. If not for you, Aemond wouldn't have his army. He would still be stuck in the fire and brimstone below, fuming and plotting the perfect moment for his vengeance.

"I will be your equal, not your disciple." Your voice rang out through the Garden, now smooth and authoritative, reminding you of your vindictive God.

Aemond only smiled. He looked as if he was the one who resided on Earth, and you were the fallen angel, curling his toes and lengthening his torso as he adjusted atop the flattened grass.

"Did I imply you would not be?" he inquired with a raised, lightly colored brow.

You took Aemond's hand in yours, intertwining them together. He was surprisingly warm, tucking you into his side as a noiseless gasp escaped your lips, wrapping a possessive arm around your waist. The action sent a shudder down your spine, having never been in a purely soft, intimate position with a man, even Adam, as your body relaxed.

From your blood, you would create the demons of the world. The thoughts inside your fellow human heads that told them to steal that toy from your friend simply because you wanted it. You would never forgive God for what he did. Those who claimed to understand what was best for you-loved you did not punish you with pain and suffering for actions that were not your own.

Your eyes flitted across his toned abdomen, eyes drifting down his stomach and to his fleshy cock, pink and beating with life.

No longer would you be subservient to others; you would raise your children with loving yet gentle hands, allowing them to choose how they conducted their business and protecting them from those who sought harm. Your love would be unyielding and unending, unlike your so-called benevolent God, and then, he would finally see the depths of which the true devotion of love could bring.

Masterlist of Works

Thank you so much for reading, and make sure to leave a comment on what you think!

And now, back to our regularly scheduled fanfics...

May God have mercy on our souls.

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

⋆˙⟡♡ Redamancy ⋆˙⟡♡ Pt1 - Amo

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Jisung x Fem!Reader

Anon Request: I hope you enjoy, sunshine <3.

Warnings: Slight Cursing, Slightly Suggestive

Word Count: 3.5k

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Stemmed from the New Latin word "redamantia" which is derived from the Classic Latin word "redamō" which translates to "I requite love"; Redamancy is used as a term translated to "a love returned in full, loving the one that loves you". Or in the simplest form - the opposite of unrequited love.

Redamancy: a love returned in full, loving the one that loves you.

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Amo: root word. it means "love". lots of languages use it, most commonly seen in romance languages...te amo...mi amor... mon amour...

♡ Amo: root word. stage one. the art of falling for you. ♡

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Jisung had always considered himself a words guy. The amount of time he spent sitting anxiously led him to be an observer in certain circumstances; and the one thing he always observed was words.

Language was a funny thing to him. How a few letters could change the entire meaning of a word. Or a few words could change the entire meanings of sentences, and sentences monologues, and monologues stories. And how a wrench was thrown into that based on the tone someone was to deliver certain things in.

It was fascinating to him. And it was also fascinating to see how things could change by not saying a few simple words.

It was something he was living through first hand.

In a sense, it felt scandalous to him. Being so close to you, breathing in your scent, having the warmth of your body pressed against his, his hand delicately resting on the curve of your hip, as you prattled on about something that had happened that day.

He could only focus on your lips. He could only imagine how it would feel to have his own connect with yours; they looked so kissable, painted a beautiful powder pink due to the job interview you were in the middle of telling him about.

He adored moments like these, where he could delude himself into believing that you guys weren't just friends. But he had to be careful with delusion, because soon enough delusion would become action, and he didn't think he could easily take back the action of shoving his tongue down your throat while you were in the middle of telling him about having to explain the difference between a buyer persona and a target audience as one of your interview questions.

He hummed in acknowledgement of your words, and you shifted in his embrace, the area of his shoulder you rested on being a bit too bony for your comfort.

"I think I got the job. Although, I already know Jiwon is going to be a bitch." You mumbled. "Making comments about foreigners and saying we're incompetent. Excuse me but I don't think you can speak five languages, babo. Pinche cabrón. Cadela. Uderay, iserablemay, insufferableay, itchbay.

The incompetent woman couldn't even understand basic English phrases. Before dissing an entire language maybe try understanding it first. I don't see how it's my fault you can't understand grammar rules and slang. Maybe study harder, isn't that what you're teaching your kids- cause that's how it's portrayed in the dramas! The ironic thing was I actually could have told her that and you she wouldn't have understood any of it." You sighed and then looked up at the ceiling. While your best friend's focus was still on your mouth.

You bit your lip slightly, the place you your front tooth connected with turning slightly red. Han wanted to reach out and pull your bottom lip from your gentle bite. You had drawn blood before, no need for you to do it again.

"That was rude of me I apologize." Your eyes met him through you lashes and oh was Jisung so tempted to lean closer to you, with the dumb excuse of counting each of those long lashes.

Fuck, what are you doing Han Jisung look away.

You watched as his face morphed into something that looked like pain? Disgust, perhaps? And he turned his big boba eyes away from you.

You tensed slightly in his arms, your mind focusing on the wrong things. Like the burning feel of his hand on you hip, your shirt riding up just slightly to where you could feel exaclty where each of his fingertips rested.

The same word that had come up in Jisung's inner thoughts had come up in yours.

Scandalous. Should you have been so aware of your best friend's touch. So...happy being up close to him? Feeling his warm skin against your temple. Smelling his laundry detergent and shampoo so closely it was a smell that you could just conjure up on a dime?

There was so many words you wanted to say...so many things you wanted to tell the chubby cheeked boy in front of you.

But how could you? How could you tell your friend of many years that you wanted to discontinue whatever it was between you and turn it into something more. Something more meaningful. Not that your friendship with him wasn't meaningful.

Rather the contrary. Maybe it was something too meaningful. Was it okay for you to be picking apart every interaction, and weaving in your own little fantasies with them to the point where you yearned for the feel of a reality that wasn't existent?

You couldn't bring yourself to speak any of it out loud. It would be odd of you; to confess. It wasn't something that someone of your status could do, to someone of the magnitude Han Jisung was at. It hurt. Because you ached for his touch to be something more than friendly gesture.

And Jisung ached for other things.

The amount of times you referred to him as a casanova of some sorts.

The way he perfectly formed lyrics, and simple things into grand poetic gestures. Would you like it if it was aimed at you? He wondered.

Would you like it if he spoke his thoughts on a whim?

If he told you everything he noticed; even the slightest differences in neon and bold, ringing alarms in his head and becoming his new hyperfixation until something else about you caught his eye.

You changed your perfume. You always wore warm smells, yet this time there was a slight sweetness to your scent. It was a delicious change. A spark to the primal urges you probably didn't want him to direct at you. Not that he wanted to...he was rather...vanilla, he concluded. The thought of being able to intertwine his fingers into your hand; or giving you forehead kisses, or hugging you from behind, or braiding your hair, or even laying in a bed with a pillow fort separating you did things to his stomach that were 100x more powerful than they should be for a 23 year old man. It was almost childish...but...he loved that thought of chaste moments with you. He would proudly admit that it was the simple, innocent things; the fleeting glances and touches that made the desire grow in him; that turned him on for lack of better phrase. Would you find that strange coming from him?

It was moments like these that the world felt as if it had stopped moving. When Han's overthinking went into overdrive.

He was enamored.

Irreversibly so.

Holding you wasn't doing him any good either. Just fueling his craze.

"How do you feel about a movie night tonight?" Jisung wondered aloud.

You felt him pull away from you slightly so he could gauge your response.

"Will the rest of the guys be joining?" You ask, a smile working its way into your voice. Jisung could tell it was that one particular smile. Where the left side of your mouth upturned just slightly more than the right side.

"Yes. Minho has actually been wondering about you..." The quokka boy hummed in thought. "He said I've been hogging you. I never have known Minho-hyung to be one to step outside of his comfort zone; or even really let people step inside of it. But he really loves you for some reason."

You look at him with raised eyebrows and a smug expression as you pull back.

"It's because I'm simply the greatest person to ever exist." You tease, bringing out yet another type of smile.

The slightly gummy smile that mimicked the boy in front of you's slightly.

I want to kiss her.

Instead he smiled.

Your heart fluttered at his heart shaped smile. The way his eyes narrowed as the fat in his cheeks pushed upwards as his lips did the same. His brilliant white teeth reminding you of his representative animal; possessing you with the urge to take your hands and squish his face further.

Would his eyes widen? Becoming rounder than they already were? Round with wonder, or surprise, or shock...or affection? Admiration? Dreaminess or anything of the sort?

Or would you get to hear that glorious little giggle you loved so much. The giggle you would catch like a firefly and put in a jar if you could?

"You are Y/N." He said with a light chuckle dancing in the tone of his word. "Undoubtedly."

You felt your cheeks warm up, as you searched for any hidden meaning in his words.

We're just friends. He couldn't have meant that as anything more than a tease. Is it bad that I'm so enamored right now?

You got up from your couch. "I'm assuming we're headed to your dorms then? For movie night."

Jisung nodded once. "We should probably stop for some snacks on the way there. I know Lix made brownies but I'm not sure if we have anything around the house."

You smiled, a warm smile.

Your eyes were a little more soft with this smile. Your warm smile...my favorite. Especially when you speak warmly as well... It was little thought like this that Jisung could never seem to keep himself from thinking.

He only had the power to keep himself from speaking.

"It'll be nice to see the guys. Lixxie, Channie, Hyune, BinBin, MongMong, Jeonjeon, Minnie..." You sang out lazily as you pranced to the other end of the room, grabbing your hoodie off of your love seat and headed towards your room.

Your voice was the slightest bit softer when you referred to Minho.

Jisung would normally smile at your interactions with his hyung. He found it endearing how much Minho cared for you. Like you were his little...sister.

As you changed Jisung rested his head back against your couch, against the makeshift padding you had due to your aversion of putting your hoodies away whenever you stripped yourself of them.

He couldn't help but turn his head into it slightly, breathing in the faintest whisper of you.

I love her.

The thought crossed him suddenly; yet he was self-aware enough to know that it was ineveitable for himself to reach this conclusion.

Its as if the l-word was just a waterfall at the end of a river of pent up emotion.

He could see the current taking him to inescapable fall. Yet he allowed himself to float merrily along without focusing to much on the semantics of such.

I know I love her...I just didn't label it as love until now...but who am I fooling?

He sighed as he brought the sleeve of the burgundy hoodie to his face, as if it was some sort of safety blanket; as if it could hide the ever growing warmness of his face.

You don't think these things of your best friend unless it's love. I don't care what anyone says...its just...semantics...

His eyes were half lidded as he focused on the few pieces of stray string attached to the sleeve.

He picked at them mindlessley, one thought in the forefront of his strangely still mind-

It's love. Simple as that.

You thought as you stared at yourself in your bathroom mirror.

"What are you thinking, Y/N..." You mumbled to yourself as you washed your face. You met your own eyes in your slightly grimy mirror. Little flecks of eyeliner and foundation that had somehow managed to find their way onto the mirror glaring back at you.

You had known you were in love with Jisung for a while. Most people couldn't exactly pinpoint the moment they had fallen in love with another; but that wasn't the case for you.

Those stupid kdrama cliches.

Tying your shoe for you while your hands were full with snacks on a night similar to this. You guys had been headed towards the dorms for a movie marathon.

It had rained earlier, and Jisung being the slight airhead he was had knelt down straight into a murky puddle while wearing light wash ripped jeans.

You didn't even give a second thought to falling for your best friend.

As he softly sung that stupid shoelace song from Shrek while knotting the laces.

In an angelic voice that did not fit such a childish song.

While kneeling down in a puddle of extremely dirty rainwater.

Such a simple moment. That most any would forget.

But you remembered it so vividly. You could remember the exact angle the light of the convenience store was hitting him. The exact feel of the night time breeze. You could even remember the exact amount of pressure he had applied while tying you shoes. And if you thought hard enough you could remember exactly where you felt the warmth of his skin through your canvas shoes as he finished the knot with a soft little pat.

"All done. Double knot. Just like our song."

That was a year ago. How had I held my affections in that moment? You had thought to yourself.

You made your way out of your room and saw Jisung standing at the door. He shook his keys. A little flash of burgundy under his gray sleeve.

"Ready to go?" He asked.

You nodded, feeling a strange tension in the air.

It seemed to only intensify in the confined space of Chan's borrowed car.

It was all you could focus on.

Something is different...Is it because I'm accepting it?

Jisung was resolute in that. It had to feel this way only because he decided to acknowledge that his feelings for you were nothing close to being platonic.

But he wouldn't say anything.

You wouldn't say anything either.

Instead you both were decided in silently suffering.

And struggling to navigate the art of falling.

⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙⟡♡⋆˙

Amo: root word. it means "love". lots of languages use it, most commonly seen in romance languages...te amo...mi amor... mon amour...

♡ Amo: root word. the feeling that you feel for Jisung; the feeling that Jisung feels for you; the feeling that both of you are unwilling to share with one another ♡

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@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel

[thisblogisaboutabook]

hi! i saw that you were writing acotar fics inspired by taylor’s songs (which i both love so this is amazing), do you think you can write a fic based on “ivy” ? it always makes me think about the acotar world for some reason. maybe with azriel if you’re okay with that ?

Am I okay with that?? I’m more than okay with that! Perhaps even elated! Azriel is my fav and I had the pleasure of seeing Taylor and Aaron perform Ivy together at the Eras Tour. Thank you so much for the incredible ask!

Ivy (covered in you)

An ACOTAR oneshot inspired by Taylor Swift

Azriel x Reader

Update: Find the bonus chapter here: Solstice Tree Farm (Christmas Tree Farm)

warnings: attempted SA, dub-con, suggestive, language

Warm lips pressed against my forehead as calloused fingertips deftly pushed aside the stray hairs that had slipped over my face.

We’d been wrapped up here for hours. An incandescent glow emanating from us that had nothing to do with the warm fire shrouding us in its flickering light. A plush blanket draped over our naked forms as my hands roamed freely underneath. His skin was warm, heavenly, every sacred inch of it bringing solace to my frigid heart. His own heart responsible for melting away the frost that covered it most of the time.

I leaned up to look at him, this male whom I loved with every ounce of my being. Looked into those golden-flecked hazel eyes that bore straight into my soul, seeing all of me, every cursed inch.

“You’re mine.” I whispered, pulling a large scarred hand over my breast, letting him feel the heart that beat so effortlessly in his presence. “Always mine, right in here.”

His hand lingered there, eyes filled with reverence as he absorbed each beat of my heart, every thought that filled my head, the entirety of my soul that was consumed with him - screamed that it loved him, desired him, belonged to him. Minutes passed like that. My fingers tracing soothing lines around those beautiful scars, scars derived from the ugliest of places. He was my reminder, my hope, that beauty could grow from the ugliest places. He survived the unspeakable horrors of his childhood and became this wonderful male before me. A beacon of hope rooted so deeply into my soul, filling it with rays of love that flooded out the darkness within me. The darkness that-

A hideous laugh cracked through the memory, like lightning jolting my thoughts back to this waste of a reality. My husband sharing some crass tale that he’d recycled with the audiences of various court functions over the years.

I threw back the glass of wine in my hand just in time to catch the attention of an attendant strolling by, placing the empty glass on his tray and snagging two more glasses off of it. I’d need them both to get through his pompous storytelling.

I resented the male with every fiber of my being. I wanted to hate him but told myself he wasn’t that bad. He didn’t hit or threaten violence against me. I had every physical item I could ask for. I even had blissful breaks from his presence, free to roam where I chose in his absence - so long as I didn’t leave Vallahan and maintained a modest, ladylike presence.

He didn’t have the brain to challenge any of the bigoted views instilled in him growing up: belief in the separation of “lesser-fae” and “high fae”, a wife’s place was to sit obediently by his side and look pretty, females didn’t have a place in court politics. I would have never married him, given the choice. But what is choice in a place like Vallahan? I wished Mor were here to suffer through the evening with me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

My life changed the night I met Morrigan - an emissary from Prythian. We instantly hit it off. My husband dismissing her presence as she was merely a female, waving me off to “entertain” her. I led her to my library where we spoke for hours. I could not remember the last time I laughed like I did that night, had I ever?

From the start, I informed her that spending time with me was a futile effort. I had no sway in the court or even with my husband. I once had hope that he’d come around, see me as an equal who was worthy of his consideration. But that was a long time ago and I’d since given up - biding my time with wine, books, and spending his money.

I made a difference in the ways I could without getting cut off from the liberties of leaving the estate. I spent his money in less affluent areas of our city where I knew that it would make a difference. I tipped any server well and even tipped the shopkeepers and clerks, donated gifts my husband had given me that he’d since forgotten about, “accidentally” dropped gold marks as I walked past buskers and beggars in the street. Vallahan was incredibly wealthy. There was no excuse for the poverty that its royalty allowed to befall its “lesser” denizens.

Mor had simply waived off my efforts in sending her back out to network with the nobility and spent the duration of that event with me. We swapped tales of our lands, risqué jokes, of our families. Her family had been much worse than mine but elements were quite relatable. My family saw me as nothing more than a bargaining chip, marrying me off to the highest bidder, having nothing to do with me unless they needed an invitation to an event that could advance their social standing. I couldn’t relate, however, to her chosen family. I had nobody. She smiled, mentioning of a friend in her chosen family that I would love. She claimed we both held silent, observant statures in public settings, and let our true light shine when we were alone with friends. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that this was the first time in a century I’d truly let the light break through.

We began seeking eachother out at the functions she attended as emissary. Using my silent presence, I would garner information that could aid Mor in her peace treaty efforts. She never once asked such a thing of me. It was my choice to offer the information, a chance to make a difference. My idiot husband never once considering that her and I could be talking about anything other than classic literature and the latest fashions.

It was months later that I sat in our manor’s great room, quietly reading a book whilst sipping on a blend of spiced tea Mor had gifted me from Prythian. The sun shone through the windows, keeping the room illuminated enough while leaving shadowed corners perfect for going unnoticed and unbothered in.

Hushed voices interrupted my reading as my husband and a stern looking red-headed male entered the opposite end of the room, seating themselves in front of the fireplace - their chairs facing away from me. Without noticing my presence, they began speaking of communications between his court and the mortal queens. My ears perked at the mention of Koschei and something about an alliance. The males were interrupted by a house attendant informing them that their private lunch was prepared and awaiting them in the dining room.

The next time I spoke with Mor, her brows furrowed at the mention of the conversation, asking me to describe the male as best I could. I gave her the best description I could including his red hair, cold expression and baritone voice. Her jaw slackened, mouth forming an “Oh” before she muttered, “Fucking Beron.”

My eyes widened at the name. Beron Vanserra, the High Lord of Prythian’s Autumn Court.

From there, Mor asked if I remembered the friend she’d mentioned before, the observant one with quiet wit. As I nodded, she placed a gentle hand on my leg, quietly stating, “I need your help.”

We made a plan to meet up with her friend the following week as my husband traveled to Rask for meetings. I met Mor at the quarters she stayed at while on the continent. The room smelled of her and an intoxicating aroma of chilled mist and cedar. Mor hugged me before saying, “Y/N, meet Azriel. Spymaster of the Night Court.”

Any expectations I had of the “friend” Mor mentioned flew out the window. I never thought to question whether her friend was male or female, if they were high-fae, what they looked like… maybe I should have. I had to look like a fool as I gaped at the gorgeous male stepping out of the shadows and into the room’s light. Gold-flecked hazel eyes met mine as I marveled at the towering male before me. Raven-black hair, tan skin with tattoos peaking over the top of his black tunic, and the wings, oh they were incredible. The sun highlighting the subtle hues of red undertones throughout their massive form. An Illyrian. I’d read of the Illyrian warriors of Prythian in texts but I’d never seen one in person.

His jaw dropped for a moment as he looked to my feet where shadows were swirling. He apologized profusely as they ignored his command to return to him, stating that they had never done this before. I gave him a puzzled look before he continued, telling me that he was a Shadowsinger.

A Shadowsinger. I thought they were myths but here he was. This gorgeous, living, breathing male before me. As real as the palpitations I felt in my heart under his gaze.

Quickly I regained my composure as the three of us sat to discuss the information I’d gleaned from Beron and my husband. And from there, we worked together. The more information regarding a potential alliance we had, the more efficiently plans could be made to prevent it. Both Mor and Azriel respectfully ensured that I was comfortable with an increased spy presence as I worked with them. The risks of infiltrating were numerous but the risk of a potential alliance with Koschei outweighed any risk on our ends.

Azriel would sneak into court functions with Mor as she attended her standard emissary business - his shadows shrouding him from view, and I would meet with either Azriel or Mor anytime my husband was traveling on business to discuss the latest information from around the manor.

While my husband was completely oblivious, his family was dangerous. An elite family of nobility who dealt in bloodshed and blackmail. I was truly fortunate to not have been married off to one of his brothers - my husband being the least terrible of them all.

That night as I lay in bed, I found my heart racing. Not from fear but from…. Excitement. Azriel’s presence made me feel hopeful, giddy. He continued bringing up his concern for my safety during our meeting to which I insisted that I could handle myself. His persistence enough that by the end, I allowed him to send a shadow to accompany me for the time being.

I came to find the little shadow comforting. I knew from my studies that they were to be feared, yet I couldn’t help but enjoy its company. I began talking to it when nobody was around going as far as reading to the thing. Gods, had I really become so lonely that a shadow brought me joy?

The first time I met with Azriel alone, he gave me a mischevious grin. When asked what it was for, he just shook his head with a little blush rising to his cheeks. I shared my newest information while his eyes held a playful glint the entire time he listened. I finally elbowed him and insisted he tell me what he found so amusing.

Finally he spoke, “I enjoyed the smut you read to my shadow”

“WHAT!?” I asked, embarrassment rising to my face in an unflattering shade of red.

“My shadows… they tell me everything.” He quipped.

I looked at the shadow now cowering behind my ankles, “You traitorous little shit. I thought we were friends!”

Azriel laughed as the shadow wound up my body and nuzzled my face, a plea for forgiveness. I laughed knowing I should have expected it to relay the information to him.

I smirked, “I forgive you.”

The shadow danced joyfully in response.

Azriel leaned closer, “You seem to have made quite the friend out of that one.”

I nodded in agreement. Blushing at the closeness between our faces.

He smiled. “I’d like to be your friend too.”

Before I could give it a second thought, I closed the distance between us. I had just met this male, barely knew him, but something inside me tugged. Pulled me toward him. I couldn’t hold myself back. It was instinct. My lips needed to be on his, belonged there.

For a moment, he pulled back and looked at me. His eyes searching deep within mine, second guessing, searching for any doubt, seeking permission though I was the one to initiate the kiss.

It was wrong. I knew it was so wrong. I didn’t care. I never had a choice in my marriage but this, it was something I was choosing for myself. So long as Azriel wanted it too.

“Please” I whispered.

It was all he needed to hear before his lips were crashing into mine again.

That was the night the bond snapped into place and my soul became his entirely. Every fiber of my being belonged to him regardless of wherever my physical presence may be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

As days and weeks flew by, I snuck out to him anytime I could, and when I wasn’t with him - a shadow always kept me company.

Azriel purchased a small cottage in the forest with a stone foundation, just large enough for the two of us. Ivy wound up the sides of the dated building and it’s shutters hung loosely. Most would look upon the home and turn their nose up to the state of it. But to me - to me it was everything.

We made love day and night, any time the coast was clear I sought him out. We shared our deepest secrets, held each other as we shared the heartbreaking traumas of our past. Mor met with me less and less, certainly Azriel’s own doing. Though she always sent her regards. I missed her but couldn’t resist the relief I felt at the increased opportunities to meet with Azriel.

This home felt so inviting. I never wanted to leave the cozy embrace of it, or Azriel. The places I had lived in my life were grand by any standards but they were not home, only large shells of loneliness with the sole purpose of containing bodies and furniture for those bodies.

But this, this small cottage, it was home. Azriel was home. Love and warmth encompassed me as soon as I’d walk through the doors and into his strong arms. Our scents intermingled, bodies intertwined, his love rooting itself like Ivy deeper and deeper within the cracks of my stone encompassed soul, tethering us together until I didn’t know where I ended and he began.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Weeks turned to months and my resentment towards my husband only grew. I began sneaking off to my home even when my husband wasn’t traveling. The fact that he didn’t notice my frequent absence was both a relief and infuriating. He thought so little of me that he’d never once considered what I could be doing behind his back.

I hated the nights he sought me out. Azriel and I both knew it was inevitable and in order to prevent any suspicion I complied. The entire time I’d close my eyes and picture the corded muscles of Azriel’s arms pressing on either side of my head, warm breath heating my neck as he peppered kisses and nipped down it and across my collarbone, wings cocooning us until we were the only two people in the world.

The times my husband would reach for my hand were rare as it was and now his touch just felt invasive, wrong. I longed for the feeling of Azriel’s freezing hands holding mine as we walked in from the snowy wood, the way he’d place a hand on my cheek allowing me to rest my weary head as I cried over our circumstances. I wanted nothing more than to flee with him but if we were caught….. a gods damned blaze would ensue.

Bond or no bond, my husband’s father would never forgive such an injustice toward his son, deeming it an insult to his entire family. He had enough pull with Vallahan’s Leaders that peace treaty talks had the potential to fall apart under his guidance. I was just one female and not one that a war would be started over, however, it could be the final straw leading to an alliance between the mortal queens, Koschei, Vallahan, and Beron’s people. The alliance being what started a war.

This fire we started together, the fire he started when he came into my life, the one that I fueled with a single kiss, it could burn so much more than just us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I once again was brought from reflecting by my husband’s nails-on-a-chalkboard voice. Gods, I was tired. Tired in every sense. Azriel and I had argued the previous night. He had insisted that he would not sneak into tonight’s event, sensing an increased possibility of us being caught. I knew he was right but it was one of those nights where I selfishly wanted nothing more than to run away with him.

My husband’s family traveled to our estate for the weekend, his mother had passed long ago, so it was just his father and miserable brothers visiting. Their attendance escalating risks but also offering the potential of pertinent information being exchanged.

I longed to feel his presence but no sign of his scent filled the air, no sign of his shadows grazing the nape of my neck in greeting aside from my one constant companion. As the evening’s festivities died down I bid the remainder of the party goodnight. I joined my husband’s side to let him know that I was retiring to my chambers, pressing a hand to my forehead, citing a headache. He scoffed in return.

“You are drinking too much. It is a poor reflection on my status as head of this household if you cannot control your alcohol consumption.” I rolled my eyes, turning to retreat as he grabbed my arm firmly, yanking me back to him, “You are lucky we have an audience right now. You would be wise to show me respect.” He was always like this when his family was present. Another mark on the long list of qualities I despised about him.

I said nothing more and wound through the corridors toward my chambers when hushed tones caught my ear. The gravelly voices of my father and brothers-in-law carrying to me. I halted my steps, silently padding closer to the room they occupied.

His father spoke first, “We will approach the King when we return home, regarding the pressing nature of the alliance. Between that whore emissary nosing around and the overgrown bat, we can certainly allude to the benefits of an alliance with Koschei and the queens. Prythian nosing around in the affairs of our kingdom will only work to our advantage.”

The eldest brother chimed in, “Do you think Koschei will hold to his end of the bargain - that we will each receive a territory to overrule in Prythian once it’s been conquered?”

“Considering we have the key to freeing him from the lake he’s confined to, he’ll do anything for us, and when we capture the bat - it will only enhance the deal. Think of what could be achieved with the Shadowsinger under his control.” His father replied.

Shit

I needed to get to Azriel now. How did they even think they could capture him? The fools were so sure of themselves, fueled by pure male arrogance. Quietly I turned around taking a few silent steps away before quickening my pace. I left Azriel’s single shadow that still kept an eye on me to spy on the rest of the conversation.

Rounding a corner toward the cloakroom I crashed into a body. I looked up to find my husband staring at me. “Where are you going?” He murmured. Clearly drunk.

“I needed fresh air, my stomach is hurting.” I lied.

“That can wait. You’re coming with me.” He stated flatly. Lust clouding his eyes.

Shit!

I couldn’t turn him down without raising suspicion. Finding Azriel would have to wait until he was asleep.

I turned to stride down the hall alongside him. Silence filling the air, his scent gagging me.

We entered his chamber and he locked the door behind him before pushing me back toward the bed. Once the backs of my knees met the mattress he shoved me back onto it, not even bothering to remove my dress. He simply raised my skirts, fumbling with the laces of his own pants.

I felt sick. I hated contact with him, the resentment I felt burning like a living flame inside of me - forging itself into pure, solid hate.

“Look your husband in the eyes, wife. Is it not enough that I clothe you, feed you, give you a home only outdone by a castle?”

My brows furrowed as he continued, still fumbling with those laces.

And I was the one who couldn’t control my alcohol consumption

“You seek the company of a lesser fae? Allowing yourself be sullied by that beast?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked innocently. It was then that he backhanded me and spat “Don’t play dumb now, whore.” I cried out at the surprise of the lashing. “Since you’re going to act like a whore I’ll treat you like one.”

“It’s a shame that you couldn’t control yourself. You almost got away with it until you were spotted with that thing yesterday - spotted by my own brother.” Sneering, he continued, “Oh but they have plans for that brute and you are the key.”

With that he pulled out a knife, holding it just above my throat, his hand slightly shaking. Panic started to fill me as the realization sunk in that he was going to use me as a lure to capture Azriel. I swallowed that rising panic praying he hadn’t felt it through the bond.

I had to act now. Turning my head, nearly nicking the flesh of my neck on the blade, I gasped as if I saw something - someone - enter the room. The drunken idiot fell for the rouse. I grabbed his wrist, shoving the knife back and kneed him with all the force I could muster right in the balls.

He rolled off of me and I swiped the knife from his hand. Before he could call for help, I took the opportunity to press it to his neck. Azriel’s shadow returning to me just in time to bind his arms together.

”You thought you could assault me? You couldn’t even handle the laces of your pants, let alone a dagger.”

He looked at me, eyes wide, that lust in his eyes taken over by fear.

“I thought you to be better than your father and brothers but I see your true colors now.”

He opened his mouth to cry for help but I sliced the dagger across his neck before he could make a sound.

“Fool.” I muttered and walked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The manor burned in flames behind me. My body clothed in spare garb kept in the staff supply room as to not attract any suspicious eyes in the streets. The staff had all returned to their own homes for the night with our essential staff returning to their on-ground quarters, separate from the manor. I stashed as many jewels and gold marks as I could into my clothing. I would find a way to distribute the wealth to displaced staff once I found a safe way to do so.

But now all I could think of was the path ahead. My husband was gone. His awful father and brothers too. Gone before they could ever share their suspicions of Az and Mor with the king. Gone before they could further influence the forming of an alliance. Their remaining ashes would be nothing but dust in the king’s ear by the time the fire burned out. Prying eyes would assume I had died in the blaze as well.

The realization hit me as I made my way through the streets: I was free. For the first time in my life, I had the choice to follow my own path and I knew exactly who that chosen path led to.

All that remained was to run away to him. I sent a gentle tug on our bond but a certain shadow had already went out ahead of me. And out of the dark cover of night, he emerged. His shadows shrouding us like the Ivy on our cottage. Home. He was my home.

~~~~~~~

EPILOGUE

The dining room filled with laughter. Mor sipped her glass of the expensive wine that she insisted she were entitled to after all of the chaos her family -our family- subjected her to. Azriel’s arm rested on the chair behind me as he sat in contented silence, those ever observant eyes taking in his family seated all together. It had been ten years today since we fled Vallahan. Nine years eleven months and thirty days since we’d accepted the bond, and the rest had been bliss. Of course there was always some challenge to arise but nothing that Azriel and I couldn’t take on as a team, as equals.

In the time that had passed, Beron’s son Eris took over his throne after the High Lord died from a mysterious illness with symptoms very similar to the effects of bloodbane.

After I left the room that fateful night in Vallahan, my favorite little shadow picked up very important information regarding the key to freeing Koschei that had been alluded to. It was now safely hidden away under extensive wards in the Night Court, far away from Koschei or the Mortal Queens.

For now, we were safe. We were free. We could conquer anything with this Court of Dreams.

“Where’d you go?” Az whispered, his beautiful voice bringing chills of the best kind to me as his lips brushed across my forehead. I gave him a smile sending waves of contentment and joy through the bond.

“Hey!” Mor said. “Where’s your wine? Az! How could you forget to pour a glass for your lady.” She threw a playful wink in my direction. “I swear, I’m going to steal her from you if you keep this up.”

I said nothing as I looked to Mor, resting a hand gently across the light swelling of my abdomen.

Azriel’s eyes sparkled and he quipped, “I’m taking a break from wine duty, Mor.”

“Chocolate duty would be great though.” I said, looking back to Az. He gave a nod and I dropped the shield that masked my scent from our family.

Cheers of happiness and laughter erupted around the room. Mor let out a high-pitched squeal like I’d never heard as she embraced me. I smiled, absorbing all of the love that filled the room.

This love. This life. It was home. Not a magnificent curse but the ivy roots of my dreamland covering me in love, in him.

[baby-tini]

soooooooooo, fem! shuji hanma! x fem! reader?? 👉🏻👈🏻 (thank u for answer btw!! i will request later some emma headcanons heheh)

-She's so tall, standing at about 5'11, she's much taller then most of the men she fights and she finds it too be so funny. She's got a really nice figure as well, tiny waist with long legs and the prettiest hands that have knuckles that are always covered in blood and bruises

-She's so fucking mean, too literally everyone, and she's so cocky about everything. Especially about, men specifically, underestimating her because she's a girl. So when a man gets handsy with her, she beats his ass. As the man lays bloody and bruised on the floor, his face twisted in disbelief as she laughs in his face.

-She gets her nails done, but never long because she can't fight as well and she always complains about how she really doesn't understand how people wipe their ass with nails that long. She does like when you drag those claws down her back though, the pain makes her head all foggy.

-She's so mean when she sits on your face, because she doesn't just sit, she fucks. She will fuck your face, with no break, she only lets up when she's cum. She'll grab the back of your head and push you closer as she rides your tongue, saying the meanest things to you as she feels your tongue slip inside of her.

-Her hair is pretty too, she has that kind of e-girl style, her hair brown with blonde strands in the front, she lets them hang out when she ties her hair back, she does add more blond streaks later on because she likes it so much. While she likes too keep her hair short, she grew it out because she liked when you pulled on it. She always has you bleach her roots for her because she doesn't know what's she doing and her hair has fallen out when she fell asleep with the bleach in before.

-She's the meanest on her period, her cramps get so bad too the point where she can't walk so she likes too have you take care of her. Her period is pretty short but it's always so bad. She also thinks it's kinda cute when your period sinks up with hers. She derives a sick kind of pleasure when you suffer with her.

-She doesn't wear skirts, dresses on nice occasions, but she hates skirts. They're so uncomfortable for her, she much rather prefer too wear sweats and leggings. They're easy for her too move around in and she fights better, have you ever tried too smash someones teeth down their throat in a skirt? Well, she has and she couldn't move around at all, she also hates heels, again for special occasions but even then she quickly grows tired of them and always has slides in the car.

-She loves using straps on you, she knows she fucks you good already, but when your face twists into pure ecstasy, it makes her fuck you harder, and it's so much fun for her. With the different lengths girths, she doesn't just fuck you with it though, she makes you suck it off. Watching your lips wrap around the silicone head as she fucks your throat with it, the harness around her waist as you sit between her legs, her hand bobbing your head as she throws her back, it's as if she can really feel it.

-It's so easy for her too go into the dressing room with you, and people are none-the-wiser as she has her finger deep in your soft cunt, your hands against the mirror as your face is squished against the glass, her other hand covering your mouth too prevent you from being too loud.

[grandmother-goblin]

Apotheosis - Chapter 2

Ao3 - Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Halsin deals with the Flaming Fist that picked a fight with him in Sharess' Caress and gets a confession from Zilvira.

Relationships: Halsin x Female!Tav

Rating: Explicit (18+) for eventual smut.

Word Count: 4.4k

Chapter Tags: Non-consensual drug use (not between the main characters), physical violence, the Drow Twins make an appearance, smoking, drow!Tav.

Notes: A big, huge, thank you to @bhaalbaaby for beta-reading!

The Flaming Fist scrambled backward, falling flat on his backside as Halsin’s paws crashed against the hardwood floor, caging the vile man beneath him. Before he could attempt to throw another punch, Halsin pinned both arms to the floor and snarled.

Halsin hadn’t anticipated getting into a fight, nor had he anticipated releasing the bear, for that matter. But everything happened so quickly. Wildshaping wasn’t a calculated move, but it was effective — it got the man away from Zilvira.

Sprawled on the ground just a few feet away, Zilvira had managed to get herself to her hands and knees. She swayed as she pushed herself into a sitting position and caught his gaze for just a moment. Her wine-red eyes were glassy and filled with an emotion that Halsin seldom saw on her: fear.

Damn it, he should have stepped in sooner. The conversation appeared amicable when he first spotted the blond man chatting with her from across the room. She had been smiling and laughing, and the man seemed genuinely interested in her. Though Halsin had wanted to speak with her, he hadn’t wanted to interrupt. If she had found someone to spend the night with, who was he to get in the way? She was free to do what she liked.

Yet, his reluctance to interfere dissipated the moment Zilvira stumbled out of her chair.

As a monk, she was one of the most agile and athletic people Halsin had ever met. She fought with the swiftness of the wind and moved with the grace of a feline. Even drunk, she had entertained others around the campfire by walking on her hands, smoothly transitioning to her feet, and pirouetting away to fetch more wine.

Even more concerning was the look on the young man’s face. An air of expectation hung heavily around him, and his once charming, boyish smile turned greasy.

Pleased, even.

There wasn’t an ounce of concern in his expression as he wrapped his arm around her like a constrictor about to squeeze the life from a mouse.

The Fist looked like a man who felt like everything was going exactly how he planned.

Yet, Halsin couldn’t accuse the man of anything outright. He couldn’t just charge in and demand the man to release Zilvira. No matter how his instincts screamed at him, he had to give the man the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps Halsin has just misread the man’s expression, or perhaps it was just a trick of the light.

Then he smelt it.

A distinctive and faintly recognizable scent that grew stronger as Zilvira and the Fist approached. Halsin was well acquainted with the scent due to his years as a healer, but not one that ever belonged in a brothel. With the myriad of odors permeating the air — tobacco, sweat, ale, and sex — it was difficult to determine the origin. But the pit in Halsin’s stomach told him that he knew exactly where the scent was coming from.

It wafted when the man gesticulated as he spoke and sharpened to an unmistakable point when his hand stuck Halsin’s jaw.

The Fist’s reeked of Ilmater’s Mercy.

Ilmater’s Mercy was a concentrated medicinal powder, often used as an anesthetic and sedative, which was derived from a root colloquially known as the Hands of Ilmater. As one of the most potent natural painkillers available in the Realms, anyone well-versed in medicine and healing would be familiar with it.

Just a pinch of it was enough to ease anxiety and promote sleep. A teaspoon was enough to effectively sedate someone before minor surgery or even ease the pain of childbirth. In higher quantities, it could cause complete disorientation and memory loss. Shar’s Oblivion, criminals and miscreants would call it.

A perfect way to subdue a victim.

To most people, it was completely odorless. Undetectable. Tasteless.

But Halsin? Halsin could smell it just fine.

And from what he could tell, the Fist’s entire palm was coated with powder.

Zilvira wasn’t drunk.

She was drugged.

“Get the fuck off of me!” The Flaming Fist writhed beneath the immense weight of the bear to no avail. Terror shined in his pale blue eyes as he scowled up at him — putting on a tough face despite being indisputably outmatched.

Halsin’s lips curled back, showing off teeth the length of a man’s finger and as deadly as an executioner’s ax. The Flaming Fist had asked for a fight, and Halsin wasn’t about to let him go so easily.

Not until he taught him a lesson

All manner of thoughts raced through Halsin’s mind, each one darker and more sinister than the last. What would have happened to Zilvira if he hadn’t shown up when he did? What had the Flaming Fist planned on doing with her?

Had he planned on killing her?

Worse?

Whatever the answer, it couldn’t have been anything good. Though Halsin tried to give people the benefit of the doubt, the man had quickly proven himself unworthy of such a courtesy. Hells, the man was barely worthy of the air he breathed.

It would have been so easy to crush him. To press his front paws down until he heard the snap of bones. To make the man beg for mercy.

Rage boiled in Halsin’s blood, but he held himself back; it wasn’t his place to be judge, jury, and executioner. This wasn’t the Emerald Grove and Halsin’s status as Archdruid meant nothing in the city. No matter how badly he wanted to, he had no right to take punishment into his own hands.

The bear wanted blood, but the man would have to settle for bruises.

As Fist struggled beneath the weight of Halsin’s paws, the hem of a silken black dress and a pair of leather sandals approached with quick, confident steps entered his periphery.

“Hey!” A dainty foot with shiny, pink painted nails nudged Halsin’s paw like he was merely a house cat. “Let him up. I’ll take care of this.”

His eyes flickered to where another drow woman stood, her hands on her hips and a deep furrow to her brow. Nym, if he remembered correctly. Mamzell Amira had attempted to compensate Zilvira for finding her missing employee by offering her a discount on the services Nym and her brother, Sorn, provided.

Although Halsin had been a bit curious, Zilvira was decidedly less so. However, she considered a conversation with the twins to be payment enough since hadn’t gotten many opportunities to talk with more friendly drow like herself. From what he could tell, she seemed fond of them and they seemed to like her in turn.

Nym frowned at Halsin as if he were a misbehaving dog rather than a cave bear. A quiet tendril of self-consciousness slithered through him. The look on her face reminded him of a Menzoberranyr matriarch; she was not going to ask him twice.

Maybe her interruption was for the best. Zilvira needed his help, and Halsin didn’t need the Flaming Fist’s blood on his hands.

With more force than necessary, Halsin pushed himself off of the man and dismissed his wildshape in a shimmer of golden magic. As his back paws returned to booted feet and he shed his fur, Halsin stepped away from the man but didn’t take his eyes off him for a second.

“Consider yourself lucky,” Halsin said through gritted teeth, his anger simmering just beneath the surface of his skin. “Touch her again, and it will be the last thing you do. Understand?”

Indignation and fury colored the Fist’s face as he scrambled to his feet. “You just threatened and assaulted a member of the Flaming Fist,” he retaliated. “I’m placing you under arrest. Keep your hands off your weapons and keep the bear… away.”

Halsin fought the urge to roll his eyes. The man couldn’t be serious, could he?

While what the Fist said was technically true, only someone exceedingly confident or incredibly stupid would attempt to bait a man who could turn into a bear.

Yet, the man stood before him, holding Halsin’s gaze with his hands balled into fists, unwilling to back down and accept his defeat.

By Silvanus, he was completely serious.

Halsin furrowed his brow and blinked at the man once. “Are you dense?”

“Don’t make this difficult for me. I — ”

Nym stepped between the two of them, her spine straight and her expression fierce. “We all saw you throw the first punch, dumbass,” she said as she jabbed a manicured finger at Fist’s armored chest. “The druid had every right to defend himself.”

The Fist sputtered, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping like a fish on land. “The druid was harassing that poor woman,” he said as he gestured roughly toward Zilvira, who had been helped into a sitting position by Sorn. “He tried to grab her, and I protected her. What the Hells was I supposed to do?”

Gods, he was still trying to convince people of that lie?

Halsin clenched his teeth. “That’s not what happened, and you know it.”

“She doesn’t even know you! She — ”

“Halsin?” Zilvira said, shattering the Fist’s lie before he could even finish telling it. Her words were slurred and sleepy. Her normally bright, inquisitive eyes were dull and unfocused, her head propped up by Sorn’s shoulder.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “Halsin, I’m scared.”

Those three words were like a knife to his heart and hurt more than the blossoming bruise on his jaw.

Zilvira had survived being kidnapped by mindflayers, taking on a camp full of goblins, navigating the Underdark, traversing the Shadow-Cursed lands, and fighting everything from Githyanki, cultists, undead, Illithids, and even an avatar of a god. In every circumstance, she wore a brave and stoic face. If there was an ounce of fear within her, she did not let it show.

But in all of those instances, she could fight. She could run. She could see and think clearly.

The Fist took all of that away from her. With just a dash of Shar’s Oblivion, he had taken away her every means to defend herself. And for what?

What did the Fist want with Zilvira?

What would have happened if Halsin had shown up just a few minutes later?

The bear rumbled in his chest, clawing at his ribcage in desperation. Wanting to be released once more so it could finish the job and let the Fist face the full fury of nature’s wrath.

Halsin’s nails bit into his palms as he glared contemptuously down his nose. “I don’t know what you were trying to do with her, but I know protecting her was the last thing on your mind,” he said, his words low and deliberate. “Your palm is coated with Shar’s Oblivion — I could smell it on you — and it seems my friend is suffering the effects. If you value your hide, you’ll get out of my sight.”

Color drained from the man’s face. His expression faltered as he took a single step back. “That’s quite the accusation,” he said, unable to hide a slight tremor in his voice. “What the Hells do you mean you could smell — whatever you said it was? There — ”

Nym made a pinching gesture with two fingers as if threatening to pin the man’s mouth herself. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll listen to him and leave at once.”

The Fist sputtered. “You’re not kicking me out, are you? Over the flimsy accusation of some creep? Do you think that will hold up when I call the other Fist?”

“I’m kicking you out for assaulting another patron.”

“I was defending an innocent woman,” he tried again, somehow sounding like he was actually buying into his own story as he encroached on Nym. “If anyone should be kicked out, it should be that ogre there, and if you weren’t such a stupid bitch — ”

A sharp slap rang through the room, and the Fist clutched his cheek.

Nym flicked her wrist a few times as if trying to wave away the sting from her hand. “Call the Flaming Fist, and everyone in this room can tell them how you made a colossal ass of yourself.”

The crowd of people that had gathered around them, most of whom were glaring at Halsin just a moment ago, turned their ire toward the Fist. Not one of them looked at the man with an ounce of sympathy.

Halsin may have caused the bigger disturbance by wildshaping, but the Fist had committed a far greater crime.

From what little Halsin knew of the Flaming Fist as a whole, the corruption within their ranks ran deep. Unfortunate as it was, the man was unlikely to face any real consequences for his actions simply due to the uniform he wore.

Public embarrassment might be the only punishment the Fist suffered, but it was better than nothing at all.

The Fist’s jaw ticked, irritation and humiliation evident on his face. “I’ll have you both arrested,” he sneered. “I know where to find you.”

With that, the Fist clipped Halsin’s shoulder and stormed past him. Nym immediately followed behind the man, likely to be certain the coward actually walked out the doors.

Some of the customers trailed behind Nym, likely hoping for a little more drama to spice up their evening, while most of the others went back to their business. Whatever happened to the Fist was no longer Halsin's concern. Not for now, at least.

Zilivra was far, far more important than anything else at that moment.

He knelt down beside Zilvira and Sorn and took her wrist in his hand without really thinking about it, checking her pulse. Slow, but not slow enough to be dangerous. Thank Silvanus.

“She’s a bit of a deadweight,” Sorn commented as he adjusted his hold on her, making it apparent that he wanted Halsin to take her off his hands. “I’ve been trying to keep her awake, but I don’t know — ”

Halsin placed a hand on Sorn’s bare shoulder in reassurance. “Thank you, truly,” he said, carefully gathering Zilvira in his arms. “I’ll take care of her from here. Is there somewhere more private nearby where I can evaluate her condition?”

Sorn nodded and stood. “Take Ffion’s old room. It was just cleaned this afternoon, and it hasn’t been reassigned. I’ll get you the key.”

Cradling Zilvira against his chest, Halsin rose to his feet with ease. He hoped she couldn’t hear the way his heart hammered against his ribs or the shakiness of his breath. The adrenaline in his veins hadn’t subsided, but it was important that he appeared calm and collected—just for her sake.

The last thing someone in need of medical attention needed to see was the healer panicking.

“You’re going to be alright,” he said and took a few steps after Sorn. “Can you talk to me while we walk?”

She blinked at him, bleary-eyed but with a pinched brow. “Talk?”

“I just want to keep you awake a bit longer.” Just long enough so he could monitor her symptoms. Once he knew any sort of danger had passed, he’d let her sleep it off.

Her face scrunched. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she replied, burying her face into his leathers, having nowhere else to hide from him.

Despite what she had said, her ability to string together a sentence of more than two words filled him with a sense of relief. It wasn’t any sort of definitive proof that she would be okay, but it was reassurance.

Fatalities or any long-term effects due to Ilmater’s Mercy were rare but not unheard of. If Halsin caught any problems early enough, his magic could reverse them without much trouble.

“You’ve made that abundantly clear if the last few days were any indication.” He kept his tone light and matter-of-fact. Curiosity still gnawed at him like a hungry rat, eager for answers as to why she didn’t want to talk to him. But it wasn’t the best time to have that particular discussion.

Not after everything that just happened, and certainly not while she wasn’t completely in her right mind.

People sometimes said odd things, or behaved in ways they never would otherwise, while under the influence of Ilmater’s Mercy. Halsin once had a patient who began sobbing uncontrollably because Drizzt Do’Urdon had not come to her wedding, despite how she had never been married and had just turned twelve.

Anything words that came out of Zilvira’s mouth would have to be taken with a grain of salt.

Sorn returned just a moment later. “The Mamzell says you can use the room as long as you need — no charge,” he said, handing Halsin a key decorated with a silky red ribbon. “Follow me.”

Patrons stared at them as Halsin carried Zilvira through the establishment and up two flights of stairs. Sorn made a flirtatious comment about Halsin’s stamina, seemingly in an attempt to lighten the mood, but Halsin was too focused on the task at hand to say anything witty in response.

Sorn led them to a room modeled after a library — if one ignored the paddles, whips, and handcuffs lovingly hung on the wall. But like Sorn had said, the room had been freshly cleaned. The smell of laundry soap, vinegar, and lemon lingered in the air, mixing with the sea air blowing in from the open window. The wooden floors gleamed as Sorn lit the oil lamps on the walls, casting the room in dim orange light.

Carefully, Halsin lowered Zilvira onto a raised bed in the corner of the room, propping her upright with pillows just to make it harder for her to fall asleep.

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” Sorn asked as he lingered in the doorway once he had lit the last lantern, concern etched into his handsome face.

Halsin nodded. “She’ll be fine. Maybe a little confused come tomorrow, but I don’t suspect there will be any lasting effects.”

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Sorn excused himself, saying he would send someone to the room with some food and water. Halsin thanked him — not just for the generous offer but for keeping an eye on Zilvira.

With Sorn gone, Halsin sat at the edge of the bed and ran his hands through his hair, and exhaled slowly through his nose.

It was an extraordinary stroke of luck that he got to Sharess’ Caress when he did — only the gods knew what would have happened if he had only been a few minutes later. Where Zilvira could have been, what that might have done to her…

He pushed the thoughts aside before they started down a dark path again. She was safe now, and that was what really mattered.

Bed sheets rustled beneath him when he shifted to face her, partly kneeling on the bed with one foot still on the floor. “I’m going to use a restoration spell on you,” he said as golden magic shimmered around his fingertips and down to his wrists. “This is going to take a few minutes.”

Without a word or so much as looking him in the eye, Zilvira nodded. It was reassuring, he supposed, that she was still present enough to remember she was angry with him.

Placing one hand on the side of her head and the other on her sternum, he carefully let the healing magic at his fingertips flow into her like a slow, warm, calming summer stream. It only took him a few seconds to confirm, without a shadow of a doubt, what he already knew — she had a hefty dose of Shar’s Oblivion in her system. Not enough to be fatal, thank Silvanus, but enough that she probably couldn’t physically feel much of anything.

Silence fell between them like a thick fog as Halsin worked. The soft even sounds of her breath synced with his own. From the open window, the sounds of the sea and the distant chatter of people barely reached his ears.

After what felt like an eternity, Zilvira finally looked at him. Really looked at him. Not just a cursory glance over his face, but she was staring into his eyes like they held some sort of dark secret.

Moisture gathered in the corners of her eyes the longer she stared. Her lip quivered, and she sucked in a deep breath as two tears rolled down her cheeks. “I wish I could have you.”

The words gripped at his heart just as much as they muddled his mind. “You have me,” he replied carefully, unsure what she meant. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Another tear cascaded down her face. “You won’t have me. You don’t want me. Not the way I want you.”

Halsin swallowed, trying to keep his mind on the healing spell before it ran away with her words. As much as he wanted to have this conversation with her, she couldn’t be held accountable for anything she said at the moment.

“Shh.” The magic faded from his fingertips and he withdrew his hands despite the sudden urge he had to touch her. To caress her cheek and press his forehead to hers and assure her that he wanted her too.

Gods, how could she ever think he didn’t want her?

The Shadow-Curse had preoccupied his mind for a long time. That much was true, but he thought he had made his feelings toward her perfectly clear. Between their long conversations, the innuendos and flirtations, how he let her lean her head against his shoulder almost every night when they sat around the campfire, how he made sure never to miss their morning tea, and all of the times he had called her beautiful…. How could she think anything else?

Still, it was a conversation best left for when she had a clear head. “Get some rest,” he said, adjusting the pillow behind her so she could recline comfortably. “We can talk more when you wake up.”

She sniffled and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said. “I already feel stupid enough as it is.”

“Rest, Zilvira,” he replied gently, brushing a lock of hair behind her pointed ear so it didn’t tickle her nose in the way that she always hated.

Just as he moved to stand, her hand flopped onto his forearm, her fingers clenching as if to grab him. “Don’t leave me,” she said, a twinge of fear sneaking into her hushed tone. “Please.”

He took her hand in his and gave her an affectionate squeeze, knowing well that it was unlikely she could feel his touch. “I’ll be right here.”

A sad smile tugged at her red lips as she closed her eyes. “You’re going to make it impossible for me to fall out of love with you.”

The only things Halsin could be glad for in that moment was that she was safe and she couldn’t see the look on his face. Confusion wrinkled his brow, a frown pulled at his lips, as his cheeks heated with the implication of her words.

Zilvira was in love with him?

Every fiber of his being wanted to believe her, but he knew he couldn’t. Not at that moment and not while she was in such a condition.

Even still, his heart soared with the hope that his feelings were reciprocated, that perhaps she cared for him the same way he cared for her. That she wanted him just as badly.

But if that was the case, why had she avoided him? And why did she say it would be hard to fall out of love with him like it was something she was determined to do?

Once he was certain she had fallen asleep — truly asleep rather than a trance — he carefully let go of her hand. She likely wouldn’t respond well to him lingering at her bedside when she woke up. Perhaps a few days ago, Halsin might have stayed right at her side until the drugs wore off. Then again, a few days ago he was confident she would have been happy to see his face when she awoke.

As things were, it was best to give her space. He wouldn’t dare leave her in the room alone, but he didn’t need to crowd her.

Nym stopped by a few minutes later, bringing a pitcher of water and a basket of fresh fruit, bread, and cheese from the kitchen. She also informed him that the Flaming Fist was a bar regular at Sharess’ Caress, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to leave with company for the night, but she didn’t know if the previous company had been given the same treatment as Zilvira had. It was very possible that the Fist had done this exact thing dozens of times, and it was only because Halsin was there that he didn’t get away with yet another victim.

Just the thought that Zilvira wasn’t even the man’s first victim reignited his fury. Gods, perhaps he shouldn’t have held himself back. The Flaming Fist was still out there — and he had said he knew where to find them.

It was most likely an empty threat, but Halsin wasn’t about to let Zilvira out of his sight. And if Zilvira didn’t accept his sentinel, then he would ask one of the others to keep an eye on her.

She could handle herself, but the man had managed to drug her and almost got away with it. Halsin wasn’t about to underestimate him.

Halsin crossed the room, pulled a cushy, burgundy leather chair up to the open window and took a seat. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his smoking pipe and a satchel of tobacco and prepared it as he listened to the soothing sounds of distant waves.

Now that the danger had passed, he needed a moment to breathe.

Smoking always helped him relax. The taste and the smell of his favorite tobacco, the simple exercise of focusing on his breath. It brought back pleasant memories of his father, who had given him his first pipe, much to his mother’s chagrin. Halsin had crafted his current pipe himself, and painstakingly carved little oak leaves into the dark wood over the course of a few nights.

One night, in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, Zilvira had asked to try his pipe and ended up having a coughing fit while Wyll and Shadowheart laughed at her. Her red lipstick had stained the wood, and Halsin didn’t bother to wipe it away, letting it fade on its own.

He kicked his feet up on the windowsill and closed his eyes, keeping his ears trained in Zilvira’s direction as he began to meditate.

She was safe. He had gotten to her in time.

And, gods willing, they could figure out everything tomorrow.

---

Beginning

[prettyboykatsuki]

uhh idk if this rlly writing advice but you know i do think fanon has value but only if you can understand how it breaks down over time. fanon is like one very long game of telephone. so there is genuinely a lot of valuable information in understanding what a characters fanon is depsite what other people might tell you. if you trace it back far enough - you can see what character traits popular fanon is born from.

but more importantly, you can also see what derivative of a character people seem disagree or agree on the most. and you can then discern what aspects of that align or don't with your own understanding of a character. a lot of things in fanfiction (especially of the shonen chara x reader sort) have to be taken or pulled from how people act in canon but there's no way of actually knowing what that character would act romantically

so fanon becomes an interesting tool because you see more directly what people are hoping to derive or extract from a characters canon. why do people like a character like megumi or gojo? what aspects of them have been exaggerated and what flaws have been underplayed? when you get a clear grasp of those things it becomes much easier to understand a characters base traits in a way you can't from canon in my opinion. canon can tell you a lot of course, but translating these character traits can be a tall order sometimes when it comes to romance

so its helpful to observe how other people have done it. there's value in being able to trace back fanon to its roots and understanding a character through several lenses and thus, more clearly understand them through your own.

[doromoni]

Hunting Affections

Charles Leclerc x photographer! reader

Max Verstappen x photographer! reader

Part 5.

fanfic + smau fic

y/n faceclaim : Hwang Eunbi

warning : swearing , manipulation, stalking , violence

A/N : UP FOR EDITING 🤍

<previous next>

Summary; Love is but a concept — just connections of neurons that take part in the brain … and yet, why is it the most painful when one falls alone?

or

Loving someone who doesn’t love you back , until you can’t no more. Maybe then they’ll actually know what they’ve lost.

Relentless and persistent are two different adjectives that are often mistakenly interchanged . Persistence is defined as continuing firmly in a course of action despite difficulty , while being relentless means to do something and refuse to give up, even if what they are doing is unpleasant or cruel.

You are nothing but the latter, your actions are derived from cruel and revolting motivations— you have deluded yourself into thinking that your actions are for the goodness of others.

Everything was quiet , the only noise was the crashing waves of the Monegasque sea. The quietness and the soft waves have brought me peace and calmness , yet at this point in time it only added to the anxiousness that bubbled at the depths of my stomach … because there laid in the distance, the screen of my phone violently glowing luminescent , as your instagram post displayed on my feed . The memories that used to hunt my sleep every night came crashing in yet again, the times where I then cried endlessly thinking what was wrong with me, if I lacked something, or If I was never enough.

Do you find happiness in my suffering? why must you always find ways to make my life miserable.

The palms of my hands grew restless, hearing the pounding of my heart in my eardrums. Shit… I’m starting to spiral again, everything was turning foggy ,my vision starting to blur as my breath was starting to catch up on me making me choke on the tears that streamed down my face. The bedroom had started to feel like its enclosing in it self.

Just then, the piercing sound of a phone ringtone filled the air.

“Liebling , I just saw what the bastard posted . Are you alright, Love? Do you need company? Should I go back there?” Oh Max , how can I be so lucky with you? You didn’t even doubt my innocence.

“M-Max..” I said struggling to speak.

“Y/N?? What happened? Are you alright??“ His voice sounded so worried and panicked, is it wrong that I find it soothing?

“It almost happened again, love … I started to spiral” I managed to choke out , running my hand through my hair ; feeling it still damp from the shower I took before.

“Verdammt noch mal! I’m gonna kill that bastard! Wait for me , Liebling. Im coming over. Give me 10 minutes”

“Mhm , thank you Max . Please know that I really do love you…” Fear started to envelop my heart at the thought of Max leaving me because of all this mess.

“I never doubted your love, Liebling… not one bit. I love you more. I’ll be there quickly. Call me if your you need anything else. Bye for now dear”

And the line went dead and the air was again filled with silence. Thoughts have again started to fill my head , but this time it was of rage and my body shook , seething in anger.

Then cutting through the silence, came the sound of my doorbell. It couldn’t be Max , I already gave him a key to the apartment. Slowly walking towards the front door and looking through the camera … there stood at the other side of my door, the root of my problem. Charles Leclerc.

“Please open the door,Y/N” that voice used to bring me joy and giddy anticipation , now it only brought un believable amounts of contempt and disgust.

His knocks where endless, just as I had said , he is relentless. Finally having enough from him, I swung the door open ; revealing the angelic face that brought me hell.

“The fucking nerve you have to show your face to me, Leclerc . “ I spat with venom laced in every word , as my blood started to boil over at the sight of him.

He started to walk forward and reaching out his hand , intending to hold mine. Yet before he could even lay a finger — a stood back , with a piercing glare permanently set on my face.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” Charles could only recoil , how does it feel to finally be at that end of the stick , huh?

“Y/N please , let’s talk . Babe I- Look, i’m sorry for being a shitty boyfri-“ As his words started to spill out , I could only scoff at the absurdity of him.

“I’m not your babe , and before you even start, I never was your girlfriend . You’re focusing on your career, remember?! We we’re never together. You just fucking played me the left me whenever you liked. Oh you were shitty alright, but you were never my boyfriend! ”

“You don’t mean that . Remember all the things we’ve done together, the trips and all the family dinners. Y/N … babe , I miss having you and getting to hold you in my arms at our special spot. Y/N , please , I love you and I know you still love me “

“YOU DON’T GET TO SAY THAT AFTER EVERYTHING YOU’VE PUT ME THROUGH ! IM ALREADY FUCKING HAPPY! “ I shouted as my throat burned and my eyes started to tear up from anger and frustration.

“You’re so fucking cruel. Yes! I did love you then! But what did you do with it huh?! You fucking cheated on me and took me for granted.You embarrassed me in-front of everyone! You made me fucking doubt everything about myself , you fucking bastard! I’m already content without you in my life. Charles, please just leave me alone. Let me go, I’m very happy with Max… I love him. Please , I beg of you , don’t ruin this for me” Tears are now streaming down my cheeks .

As I said those words, the warmth and affection in his eyes drained as it was replaced with vexation and contempt. His face turned blank , and all to quickly his lips were pulled into a smirk.

“We both know that you’re just using him to get to me. Really , y/n? Max? my childhood enemy? Couldn’t you think of a better way to make me jealous? A bit pathetic, but I’ll let it go. I’m already here, break up with the loser already.” The smugness and arrogance of his words drew out the worst in me as my hand flew directly at his cheek , slapping him with all the aggression and hatred I had for the driver.

“FUCK YOU , CHARLES! HOW ARROGANT CAN YOU GET?! SELFISH PRAT! IM FUCKING OVER YOU! YOU HAVE NO FUCKING RIGHT TO SAY WHAT MAX AND I HAVE — YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT LOVE IS YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! I-i, just leave . I have nothing more to say to you.GO! LEAVE!!” My throat now burned even further as i wiped the tears off my face with my hand.

“I’ll go for now Y/N . But , I will not stop. you are mine Y/n l/n. YOU.ARE.MINE.” His words were ringing in my ears as he drove off the distance. Fresh tears now spilling over as my body was wrecked into uncontrollable sobs. My knees buckling beneath me making me fall to the floor — not bothering to stand up as I stared emptily at the floor.

Not long after , I felt the familiar warmth that I could only get from the embrace of the person I loved.

“Liebling?! Why are you on the floor? my Schatz , what happened?” Max’s voice brought peace and stability to my anxiety. I drew myself even closer to his embrace.

“Liebling?”

“Charles… he came here, Max . He said that he won’t stop until I go back to him. Max… I’m scared”

I looked up to see fury written over his face, feeling his hold on me tighten.

“Max , please don’t leave me. Please…” I begged, clutching his torso even more . Feeling his fingers running through my hair , He said“Don’t be scared, my Schatz . I love you and I promise not to leave you. Don’t be scared, I’m here” the softness in his voice and the, revealed the exhaustion in my body as I had started to lose consciousness… but not until I heard him say

“You’ll pay for everything, Leclerc… everything” and all turned into nothing.

Formula 1 Ferrari Driver Charles Leclerc seen leaving the apartment of Red Bull Senior Director Y/N L/N.

Article by : Mary Hankson

Formula 1 driver , Charles Leclerc was spotted leaving the Korean born photographer Y/N L/N’s apartment at 4 am in the morning, just a few hours after his cryptic instagram post with the caption “originally mine , I refuse to give up”.

Sources had said that the visit of the Ferrari driver had occurred right after the birthday celebration of the Red Bull Design Director, in which the Monegasque was said not to be invited, this, and possibly for more reasons , was not taken well by the driver— as Charles was seen storming out of the apartment with a fuming snarl on his face as he drove off in his Ferrari Pista.

Even before such event, fans are already puzzled with Charles and Y/N’ behavior. Their once warm treatment of each other have quickly turned sour once Y/N left the Italian team to pursue a career with Sky Sports . The air between the driver and photographer had been in tension since then— with L/N opting to associate with The English , Australian, and Dutch formula 1 drivers while Leclerc had been with the Alpine driver and best friend Pierre Gasly. What had exactly happened to create such thick tension among the two?

Could the mysterious woman in the Monegasque’s post be about L/N? The two have already been romantically linked together in past — as Y/N L/Y had been spotted with the driver and his family in several occasions looking quite familiar with each other. Yet nothing was confirmed by either Leclerc or L/N.

Y/N L/N is currently in a romantic relationship with the reigning WDC champion, Max Verstappen. The length of the relationship is relatively new , yet it cannot be argued that both are not embarrassed to share their passion for each other — whether cameras are present or not.

Nevertheless, Leclerc and L/N are longer acquainted and have spent great amounts of time together during the period of internship of the korean photographer in Ferrari . The hearsay between the Charles Leclerc and Y/N L/N also cannot be dismissed entirely — for fans have speculated that the two haven’t establish a relationship before due to Ferrari’s no colleague fraternization clause. The argument with Leclerc and L/N’s relationship rumors are once again put into light with the recent developments — but with Max Verstappen in the scene, things get even more complicated.

Tension continues to rise among the parties involved. Will such tension be left off the track or will we see the Verstappen and Leclerc rivalry stronger than ever? And will the new relationship of Y/N L/N and Max Verstappen survive such issues so early on the relationship?

————

F1wags

Liked by y/n_stills., user1, user2 , and 156,425 others

F1wags Even amidst rumors between Y/N L/N and Charles Leclerc , Max and Y/N are looking to be stronger and even happier together!

The new couple was seen to be going out for breakfast , hours after the article of Charles Leclerc leaving the home of Y/N at 4 am at the morning. At the looks of it, Max is more protective and even more doting on the Red Bull director/photographer, as was reported by fans that the dutch driver’s arms are never away from Y/N. By the looks of things, Max and Y/N is staying longer.

But what is the meaning of the instagram post of Charles? We could only hope for an explanation from the Ferrari Driver. Because Red Bull wag y/n is here to stay!

user1 y/n is collecting drivers like infinity stones … cannot blame her tho, if I looked that pretty I would too.

user2 It hasn’t been a week since y/n has been an official wag but she’s already the star.

user3 Lmao, chaos follows her tbh

user4 @user3 she is chaos , chaos is her.

user5 All hail Y/N , queen of the Wags

user6 When we eat the rich , y/n is exempted.

user5 HAHAHAHAHA

user7 what is Charles doing? explain yourself sir?? drop a statement or something… I refuse to let go of Soft Max.

user8 @user7 why should charles do it? Why couldn’t y/n explain herself?

user7 are you fr @user8 was it y/n who posted , was it y/n who went to his apartment? No, I think the f not.

user9 ikr? Like wth is he doing? Y/N is already happily taken by Max … bruhhh

user9 I don’t doubt y/n’s loyalty to Max at all. They make each other so happy. Why the hell would she drop that for a driver as red flagged as his team color. And did y’all listen to the song she made for him? shiz got me crying blood.

liked by y/n_stills.

user9 oh hi mother @y/n_stills.

user10 oof y/n is here dropping the shade along with the tea.

user11 Hi there mother of all mothers @y/n_stills.

y/n_stills. Hi children~

user9 OMG HI HAHAHHA

user12 Max really does love y/n , they’re out for breakfast when Max is usually very early at the ring even when its media Thursday .

user13 Man is whipped.

user14 pls y/n never let this man go.

redbullracing

Liked by y/n_stills, maxvertappen1, landonorris, and 1,672,916 others

redbullracing Welcome to the family @y/n_stills! 🎉

interview will be posted after the race 🤭

y/n_stills. Thank you so much 🤍 So excited to work with the team ! But remember our negotiations @redbullracing, unlimited snack… else im walking out 😬.

maxverstappen1 ahh already the boss, I see.

y/n_stills. Oh shush , you love it when I’m bossy. 🙄

maxverstappen1 that I do😘

danielricciardo ugh you two are gross , get a room

landonorris HR will be hearing a lot of you 2

redbullracing @landonorris ,you said it .

maxverstappen1 Stoked to work with you , colleague!

y/n_stills. Ew, Emilian stop! Cringing over here 😫

maxverstappen1 noted, you’re the boss 🫡

oscarpiastri Congratulations y/n!! give them hell, mom🧡

y/n_stills. Thank you little papaya 🤍, Still, I’m always rooting for you!

arthur_leclerc @oscarpiastri stop hogging y/n!

olliebearman @y/n_stills. Give us attention too :((

y/n_stills. I’ll think about it @olliebearman 😜

carlossainz55 Good luck niña, I will always be supporting you and your journey! Always.

y/n_stills. thank you chili 🥺

carlossainz55 I’m always your friend first and a driver second, niña . remember that.

liked by y/n_stills.

scuderiaferrari good luck on your journey @y/n_stills.!

y/n_stills. Thanks! You’re still my favorite team to beef with @scuderiaferrari ❤️

user1 bruh the grid is causing chaos in the redbullracing comment section HAHAHAHHA

user2 ikr? HAHAHAHAH

user3 my popcorn is ready!

*ting!*

“Max are you really ok if I hung out with Arthur?”

We were currently in his car on our way to the circuit for media day.

“Yeah , I’m ok with it. He’s a good kid” I stared at him in both awe and disbelief

“Liebling, what’s the stare for?” He chuckled as he focused on driving, a hand on my thigh ; his fingers drumming to the beat of cruel summer that played on the radio.

“He is, but he’s also the brother of my ex!” I said exasperated.

“I trust you completely, Liebling” He replied gently squeezing my thigh. Affection uncontrollably rushed over me.

“I love you, Max Emilian Verstappen.Do you know that?”

“Yes , I do Schatz , and I love you more” A smile both on our faces as the circuit came closer.

“Oh! How bout you go with me?” I excitedly tapped his hand at the amazing idea I had… which didn’t look as amazing to the dutch, as his face held confusion

“What? Why?”

“Come on I want you there! I’ll invite oscar and ollie~ its time you to spend time with your sons”

“Woah woah, last I remember we only have Oscar.” He joked , and there and then the car was filled with our laughter — forgetting all the drama that surrounded us.

y/n_stills.

Liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, danielricciardo, and 2,836,817 others

y/n_stills. A Red Bull Wag , through and through. Ironically, I’m already tired ,nobody warned me this shiz is hard 🙄. I blame @maxverstappen1 .

maxverstappen1 I’m sorry i forgot to brief you, my bad liebling.

y/n_stills. Be thankful that I love you.

landonorris aren’t you supposed to be working @y/n_stills?

y/n_stills. It’s called tactical marketing, kinder. Know your terminology gosh.

landonorris is that what you call it? hmm sure

georgerussell63 isn’t today your first official day as a wag?

y/n_stills. and what is your point russell george?

georgerussell63 nothing, nothing ~ 😁

lilymhe Girl! See you later , I missed you >:((

y/n_stills. Babe , we literally saw each other yesterday.

lilymhe Yeah? And?

y/n_stills. quoting russell george , nothing, nothing ~ 😁

user1 BRO Y/N IS SO PRETTY! I saw her and Max walking to the Red Bull motorhome , she was glowing! I swear I saw an angel

user2 RIGHT?! She’s literally blooming , how can someone be so pretty >:((

user3 she’s also so nice! They were walking when I asked for a picture with Max , y/n offered to take the picture. I swear I melted when she smiled at me.

user4 y/n suites the blue and red 😏

user5 indeed, she found her colors >:)) , the plain red was getting boring.

———

“Liebling, I need to go. Im scheduled for the press conference” I looked up from my laptop setting my eyes to the dutch driver as he walked towards were I was.

“Mhm , I know~ who do you think put you there?” I smiled mischievously up at him as he towered over my side.

“You vixen~ you do realize who’s also up there right?” A grin played at his lips , where I only shrugged

“Gotta keep you on your toes, champion”

“If i punch the bastard’s face will that be alright?” Max replied as he tucked my hair to my ears, a hand gently holding my chin

“I mean, bad publicity is still publicity, you are the expert at it , my love” I joked lovingly , a grin now present on my face.

“Aren’t you cheeky, Schatz~” his grip on my chin slightly tightened as he bent down and captured my lips in his. Angling my face to deepen the kiss , as Max’s other hand found it way to the back of my neck, holding me still. Before the kiss grew too heated, I pulled away knowing that he cannot be late because of me.

“Nu uh, mister~ you have a media event to get to. “ Max groaned , as I tried to fix his hair that I had somehow ruined.

“Off you go, my love~ good luck and play nice. I love you~” I said as I pulled him out of my office and pushed him out the door

“Yeah, yeah~ love you more” He said walking away, not before stealing another kiss.

“See you later Schatz~” He yelled at the distance. the people outside my office only chuckled and shake their heads— seeing their number 1 driver act petulantly.

———

“Welcome back lads! Its been quite a long month of summer vacation, i might say! And welcome everyone, today we have here with us a mixture of driver experiences in the grid. We have Lewis Hamilton , Max Verstappen, Oscar Piastri , Charles Leclerc and Daniel Ricciardo here with us today~ our two Aussies are here!”

“ And speaking of Aussies, let’s start of with our youngest driver on the grid! Oscar, how was your experience in the half of your first season in formula 1 and how are you handling the effects of your collision with Sainz during the Spa race?”

“The First half of the season is not easy, I cannot lie, specially at the start of the season, but recently the car has been a great drive and We are really looking forward for this week’s race. Uhm… uh, mentally speaking , I am alright, a bit down but I’m eager to get back into the car and race.

“Are there people you look towards for comfort or advice when facing circumstances like this? — you were captured hugging a woman after your retirement last race and if we have it correct it was Red Bull’s current Designs Director , Y/N L/N, is that true?”

The young driver was suddenly flustered taken aback by the question. Max drew an assuring pat on the back to the Australian driver, making sure that it wasn’t shown on camera.

“Yes, that was Y/N. She went to our garage and made sure that I was ok and assured me that mistakes happen and that I should’t hold it against myself”

“Well aren’t you two close” Leclerc suddenly butted in , all eyes suddenly went to him— some with disguised annoyance.

But without missing a beat Oscar replied

“We are! Y/N is very caring and very supportive towards me. She is also very mother like — we have this running joke with Max here, that they are my parents and I’m their son”

“Correction, adopted son” Max joked lifting the mood.

“While on that note, Max! I assume that the rumors are true? That you are indeed dating your team’s Design Director, Y/N L/N ? “

“Yes, I am in a relationship with Y/N”

“Would you care to elaborate on that, Max?”

“ Isn’t that question a bit too personal? Shouldn’t we talk about racing?” Charles again interrupted before anybody could say a word

“No, it’s alright. I’ll gladly talk about Y/N given the chance. Well we were friends first, then along the road I came to like her and thank the heavens she liked me back. Then we made things official this summer break, oh! we also adopted oscar here during the break. So lots of milestones for me this summer break.” Chuckles filled the conference room as Max finished speaking

“Thank you for that Max , uh let’s move on to Charles! You are also busy with your summer break! Would you like to enlighten us on that?”

“No, not really … Im here to race, that’s all. I don’t have time to waste on meaningless pursuits” He replied dryly

Max’s hands balled into firsts , on Charle’s insinuation when he said meaningless pursuits.

“Oh, well alright! Moving on to Lewis”

The tension was thick in the air as 2 drivers continued to giving each other subtle glares all throughout the conference .

The conference rest of the conference went off without an issue. That was until the end where everyone was backstage when the tension broke loose and anger exploded

“WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM LECLERC?!” Max came storming towards the Ferrari driver —driving a hard punches on the jaw of the Ferrari driver, then forcefully clutching the collar of his shirt as blood spilled out of the Monegasque’s lips

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME DICKHEAD!” Charles shouted as he struggled to get max’s grip off him.

Daniel and Oscar quickly came to separate the two drivers apart. Holding each of them back.

“LEAVE Y/N ALONE ,BASTARD! CANT YOU FUCKING SEE THAT YOU’RE HURTING HER?!? YOURE THE FUCKING PROBLEM”

“ IF YOU WERE’NT IN THE PICTURE Y/N WILL STILL BE MINE! YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A PERSON WHO PICKS UP OTHER PEOPLE’S SCRAPS!! SHE LOVES ME!”

“FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT ! YOU DARE CALL Y/N SCRAPS?! YOU FUCKING TREAT HER LIKE SHIT THEN YOU EXPECT HER TO COME BACK TO YOU?!“

“guys , please stop it! there are cameras outside that door” Daniel tried to calm both the drivers down, as Max tried to get away from his grip and land another strike at Leclerc.

“Get this through your head, Leclerc. I will do my everything to keep y/n and the championship title away from you. As long as I am here you will never taste the victory of being number 1 again. I swear that on my life. You’ve hurt y/n, prepare to fucking suffer”

successfully removing Daniel’s grip, Max then stormed out the room, leaving the three drivers in shock.

[plscallmeeren]

O H , H A R R Y

Hermione Jean Granger x Luna Lovegood x Reader

Request: yes

Summary: you have been friends with the trio since first year and you've always been enthralled by Hermione and Luna, but only now in sixth year (for legal reasons everyone's an adult) are confessions made...... btw it's potions class and Harry has a crush on you (potions facts r all correct)

Warnings: Swearing; nipple play; magic strap-on/fake p; fisting; finger f; face f; power dynamics; bondage; top!reader; biting; anatomy ig; dirty talk of all kinds; threesome; anal; semi-public sex; porn with hardly any plot; out of character Hermione; damn idk stuff

Word Count: 3.6K+

You stared miserably at your cauldron in lieu of Snape's arrival. Luna sat next to you, doodling something in a notebook, completely unaware of your thoughts entangling with her.

In front of you, Harry and Ron were placed side by side, whispering about something. Hermione sat a way off, poring over her potions book as if she needed preparation for the lesson. Your heart nestled into your stomach mockingly as Ron looked her way adoringly.

What were you thinking? How could you be into two girls? Wasn't one bad enough? And what on Earth possessed you to think you had a chance?

But you had to tell them. At some point. For your own sake. So that you could move on. At least Luna, because Hermione would be harder to escape if things went south, considering you were in the same group of friends.

Your gaze wandered helplessly toward the Ravenclaw girl, searching her profile for something that might comfort you. Whatever that meant, you found it, because the sheer sight of her brought some joy to you - every single time.

Eventually Snape strode in, dramatic as always, impatiently beginning his lesson void of introduction, as if he weren't the one who had come too late.

"Valerian - recognising it. How tall-"

"One to two meters, sir," Hermione cut in enthusiastically, recoiling at the look he sent her in return.

"And are the blossoms or the leaves edible?" he continued, ignoring her. Apparently his gaze lingered on Luna for too long, however, because she answered easily: "Both. The leaves are harvested between May and June, the blossoms between June and July."

"That's not what I asked," he snarled, "and I don't recall calling on you, could that be, Miss Lovegood?" She held his stare better than anyone.

"Right. (Y/l/n), is the root dried before the common tincture is derived from its essence?" Snape sounded smug. Usually that was bad.

"No, it's not. And the tincture is said to be repellent of cruel spirits and similar." For a second you felt smug yourself. Then you remembered it was still bad.

"Also not my question. Now; who can tell me what real potion Valerian roots are essentially to-"

Hermione's hand was raised. Snape stared at her, looking almost surprised that she should suddenly be present and also have the nerve to remind him of this. She withered under his scrutiny, finally choosing to answer as he wasn't moving: "Draught of the living death, sir. I think, sir."

"I don't think I like your attitude, Miss Granger. Or yours, for that matter," he added meaningfully, glaring at you and Luna in turn. "Detention. All three of you. You'll be cleaning up the doubtless mess that will arise this lesson due to the jumping beans. No leaving after class."

You wished you could protest with the fact that you had a lesson the next period, but you didn't have one, just this once, and by the looks of it, neither did your friends. Harry and Ron looked at you pitifully.

This is the time. This is the day, a surprisingly loud voice inside you said. You gulped. Maybe it was. 

The lesson dragged as fitful bursts of imagination illustrated to you exactly which ways you could be explicitly shunned and exiled, while others portrayed perfect scenarios of reciprocation that partly led to some crazy classroom threesome. You felt almost guilty for thinking about them that way, but you were the last one encouraging these thoughts after all.

Finally, not that you had noticed, the two hours of anticipation faded away with the distant coaster of students packing their things. Snape loomed over Hermione, supposedly giving instructions. She winced at something he said and you were overcome with a strange sort of second-hand rage. Not the kind that made you move out your blood boil, but the kind that twisted some vital organ you couldn't place, deep down inside your gut.

He left, cape swooshing, and there you were.

You. Hermione. Luna.

You all looked at each other for a moment before Hermione began relaying Snape's tricks for catching the beans. They sounded awfully implausible. You all suspected they were only supposed to mistake it harder, but quiet prevailed as you got to work.

It was awkward silence. And you had no idea why.

This was not as usual. The three of you were quite close, or at least you were with both of them, and there was never any tension unless Luna brought up an unusual creature and stubbornly disallowed anyone from changing the subject.

Eventually you couldn't stand it any longer. "I have something to tell you. Both of you. To get off my chest."

They looked at you expectantly, abandoning the hopeless search for bouncing legumes.

"What is it?" Hermione, oh clever Hermione, with wit and smarts and pride.

"Yes?" Luna, lovely Luna, with daydreams and understanding and interest.

"I don't expect you to react to this," you continued uneasily, watching them exchange an unreadable look. "I really don't. I don't want it to change. Us. Anything. But it's not getting better, so this is the only way I can think of."

You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes for a second to regain your composure. "I like you. Both of you. And I know that's weird. I know we're friends and I shouldn't but I really do. It's only become more with time, so... I don't know what else to do but tell you and..."

Hermione beamed. Luna laughed. Your brow furrowed.

"Oh, but that's wonderful!" Hermione exclaimed, flinging herself at you so that you had to half catch her, not letting you finish.

"Wait- What do you mean, that's wonderful?" You asked, confused.

Luna smiled. "(Y/n), you can't imagine how wonderful this is," she started, approaching the part of the room where Hermione leaned against your frame. "Recently I admitted to Hermione that I felt for you also, and at first she was disturbed, because she had the same feelings, but then we realized that if you hypothetically felt back, there was no reason we couldn't share you. Or, more likely, that whoever you liked should have total allowance to act on their wishes."

You stared at her. This was a dream, right? Sure, Luna could be direct, but still...

You pinched your arm, simultaneously ecstatic and disturbed when it hurt. You looked at them both in turn again, Hermione pulling away a little from her impractical position. "So... the three of us? Together?"

"Yes."

"If you can handle both."

"Right." You clicked your tongue, eyes involuntarily roaming Hermione's body as she stood so close to you. "I don't know what to say now."

"What were you going to say?" Luna asked slyly, siding up to you as well.

"Well... I'm always thinking of you. In the library, when we study together," you lock eyes with Hermione, "and when we hang out. You're just never absent from my mind."

Hermione giggled, and your brows rose when you realized what she was thinking. Luna smiled coyly also, making you smirk. "Not really what I meant, but sure."

"Don't you think we should celebrate? Instead of moderately awkward sexual tension, I mean," Luna asked, keeping an entirely straight face.

"Oh, yes," Hermione agreed, grinning, lighting up as if she had just arrived at a spectacular idea. "I think I'll just pick up that bean."

She paced about two steps before leaning over slowly in a way that would never be suitable for catching something, showing off the perfect silhouette of her ass and legs. "Oops," she murmured when it jumped away.

You bit your lip, turning to Luna instead. Your hand found the nape of her neck where your fingers could reach the roots of her hair, your other securing her waist as you leaned in, kissing her slowly.

It was better than you had imagined it. More natural, more believable. It felt like melting into her. Your heart sunk between your legs.

Hermione, looking almost jealous, swung her hips as she walked, wrapping an arm around your waist and the other through your hair as if to drag you away.

You pulled back, eyeing her playfully before moving the hand that had resided on Luna's hip to the other girl's side, slowly finding your way to cup her ass. She gasped.

You couldn't believe this was happening. Each arm around a beautiful girl.

"You can do her first," the Ravenclaw whispered. "I don't mind watching."

"I wouldn't want to keep you out of the fun," you smiled wickedly. "Why don't you sit on that desk there, love?"

She obeyed easily, leaving a panting Hermione before you to focus on. "Sweet girl... why don't you cast a silencing and locking charm, will you?"

She nodded frantically, quickly pulling out her wand to do just that. Before she could, however, your mouth was on her neck, inducing a moan - more surprised than anything.

"S-Silencio," she stuttered, chest rising and falling fast as you slid the robe off her shoulders onto the floor.

You kissed her on the mouth then, her wand arm faltering as you muffled her groans, pulling off her jumper and top in one. Her wand clattered on the ground.

Next came her skirt and tights, ripped off her without a second thought, leaving her in black lacy underwear. You grinned. "Luna, honey, I'll need you to undress, too."

She nodded from the desk, immediately setting to work. You looked back at Hermione as she stared up at you, practically awaiting judgement. "Pretty girl," you cooed, "if only I had known you'd been hiding this under all those clothes." She blushed. Blue and purple spots were already taking form on her neck.

You cupped her breasts carefully, massaging them with the palms of your hands until you could see her hardened nipples through the fabric. You unclasped the lingerie, diving down to her cleavage, sucking and biting and eliciting guttural moans and whimpers from her. A distant whining came from the direction of the desk also.

"P-Please, mommy, I want more-"

"Mommy, huh? Interesting," you interrupted her. "And what exactly would that entail?"

She only whined, resulting in a shrewd pinch of her left nipple. "I- I, uh... down there..."

"Use your big girl words, darling."

"I- I want you to f-fuck me."

"That's more like it," you purred. "But you'll have to wait a moment."

Turning to Luna, you raised your wand, catching her off guard as charmed ropes snaked around her wrists and ankles, finally grasping the table legs with considerable force. She panted in anticipation.

"Bet you're wondering where I learned that trick," you cooed, but didn't elaborate as you led Hermione with a hand on the small of her back towards Luna, gently applying pressure to her shoulders until she caught on, sliding to her knees before her friend's bare cunt with wide eyes.

"I'm gonna need you to eat her out, kitten. Can you do that for mommy?" You tilted your head mockingly.

"I, I've never done that before," she stuttered, "but I'll try..." Her mouth collided with Luna's pussy, ass naturally drifting upwards as she elicited soft moans from the blonde, who writhed against her magical bindings with a flawlessly arched spine.

You rounded on Luna, licking your lips at the sight of her plush breasts and perked nipples. You touched her right with the tip of your wand experimentally, relishing her passionate gasps as its cold effect startled her. You continued for about a minute, maybe more, playing with irregular hot and cold touches all over her cleavage.

She was moaning and whining more and more, hips bucking up into Hermione's face more often than not.

You returned to Hermione, standing behind her calmly before running a finger up one thigh, then the other. She groaned into Luna, causing a chain reaction. The same finger roamed around her pussy, poking at her lips once or twice before venturing up to her ass, circling her other hole. She whined as you pushed into her carefully, curling and uncurling a few times before retracting again, leaving her pussy heaving, longing. "Such a good girl."

"Please," she whimpered, muffled by the Ravenclaw's folds. You wanted to tease her, but couldn't find it in you to delay.

"You're so wet for me, it's adorable." Two of your fingers rubbed sidelong up her cunt, slowly edging deeper and deeper until you were inside her, searching for her g-spot, finding it, pounding against it so that she had to come away from Luna to breathe, whine, moan. The sinful sounds were so high they sounded fake, but the movements of her needy hips proved otherwise.

"Quiet, now, kitten," you mocked, only thrusting into her harder as Luna groaned from afar. "Or do you need more?"

She nodded quickly, but you weren't going to let her get away so easily.

"I need to hear you say it. C'mon, use that pretty voice of yours."

"I need more," she whimpered, hardly able to catch a breath long enough to speak. You grinned, groaning a guttural 'good girl' that sent Hermione over the edge. Her juices flowed freely over your fingers, but you didn't stop, merely slowing down a second before adding another finger, then another, so that the majority of your hand thrust in and out of her with every frantic intake of breath.

"You ready?" you purred, smiling as she nodded. The remaining thumb glided into her, your entire fist now hitting all the right places in her cunt.

"Oh, Merlyn, please-"

She slumped forwards into Luna's pussy, sending vibrations through the blonde girl. With one guttural moan, clenching around nothing, she came again, writhing in her bindings as Hermione's face remained attached to her slick, almost sliding away at any given time, swaying back and forth with every push of your joined digits.

You could feel her gripping your hand harder and harder, threatening to spill, to arrive-

You drew your fist out, eliciting a pathetic whine from the Gryffindor. "Good girl," you said softly, presenting your hand to her face, which she eagerly licked clean of her own juices. "I'm gonna need you to..." You leaned in close, whispering in her ear so that Luna could only strain to hear you. Hermione nodded eagerly, still breathing hard.

You held up your wand, closing your eyes in concentration to remember some of the charms your cousin (oh, the irony) had showed you a while ago. Finally, pointing down, you muttered the words, watching as an unfamiliar bulge formed in your pants. You pulled the trousers down, letting it spring up, ignoring the girls as you set to work again, finally managing to have the wand vibrate heavily in your hand.

When you turned back around, Hermione was obeying your first ask, tickling Luna all over her body as her already aroused cunt pulsated and clenched, her nipples going stiff. She jerked and spasmed on the very desk she had just before contemplated potions class.

You handed the brunette your buzzing wand, letting her place it on the Ravenclaw's clit. She shuddered, struggling to hold still. Your fingers ran over her middle, tracing the outline of her beautiful face and the roots of her silver hair. Thumbs gliding to the corners of her mouth where her head hung over the edge, gently prompting her to open up, meaningfully catching her eye. An endless string of whines and moans poured from her now that her lips were parted.

Slowly, she took your fake dick, gagging on it in a way that brought immense pleasure to you through this unreal sequence of nerves. Luna started sliding up and down it with those voluptuous lips, and before you knew it, it was you who was pushing down her throat again and again, the blonde giddy with stimulation and slight lack of air.

"You can come now, honey. Come from mommy fucking your face like the sweet girl you are," you said sweetly, and then she was gasping, her face better than any pornographic scenery, and then Hermione was whimpering at the sheer jealousy of another's orgasm, and you were so impossibly turned on that you couldn't stop yourself. Your own orgasm exploded in Luna's mouth, some leaking out onto her face as you pulled away, sorry you hadn't asked, but she looked so ecstatic you could have come again.

The angelic image; Luna, wise Luna, white flecks dripping down her cleavage and face, swallowing the same as she licked her perfect lips. Hair a mess, spread-eagle on the table where she would have to sit and learn the next day, mildly cross-eyed, pussy and breasts on full, parted display, a blunt portrait of pleasure.

You took the wand from Hermione, Luna sagging at the loss of stimulation. A simple flick and those gentle but stubborn ropes snaked back into the air, vanishing as their deed was done. "Why don't you get dressed, love? We'll go to my dorm and get comfortable," you suggested, but your grin was too curious to be innocent.

She reached for her wand on the neighboring desk among her discarded clothes, but you interrupted her actions. "Don't clean up here. Put your clothes on over it all." She glanced down at her dripping wet thighs, soaked pussy, thought of the cum on her face and cleavage - then smiled just as wickedly.

Your lips crashed against hers before she could proceed, however, removing her more obvious decor as they travelled to her chin, her cheeks, cleaning her up in a way so inherently harmless she laughed. You had always loved her laugh. "Go ahead."

You held out a hand to Hermione, who was resting on the stone floor, helping her up and sitting down on the next table before Luna. She intuitively sat down on your lap, groaning as she slipped onto your cock. She sat there, 'adjusting', as you both watched Luna get dressed.

"See her legs? All wet under her stockings, even as she'll walk through the castle. Think how many other people will see her like that, unaware of all the dirty things my girls have been up to," you murmur in her ear, earning a groan of frustration. She lifted herself up as if to fuck herself on your lap, but you pushed her back down again. "Don't tell me you still haven't had enough of being fucked, sweet girl? You still want more?"

She whimpered, bucking her hips against you as you rested your head on her shoulder carefully, kissing the side of her neck. Luna pulled up her skirt, awkwardly setting bra over wet skin.

"What would other students say, knowing you're so needy? That you and Luna both have drenched cunts and wanna be fucked? Have been fucked?"

Apparently movement wasn't necessary, because that was the moment Hermione squirted for the first time in her life.

"Good girl," you whispered one more time, one last shudder of approval, before lifting her off of you and charming away your helpful illusion.

She started getting dressed over her post-sex anatomy, managing to clasp on a bra and stockings. You were just buttoning up your trousers when the door creaked open. Hermione yelped, scurrying behind you automatically, Luna standing sagely, now fully dressed.

Harry and Ron stood paralyzed by the wooden door, staring. The former looked livid.

"How dare you? I thought you were my friends!" he yelled, glaring at Hermione and Luna in turn, noting the slick around the Gryffindor's face as well. "(Y/n) was mine! You knew I liked her, didn't you? How could you take her from me?"

"Oh, Harry," you sighed, effectively inaudible over his ongoing accusations and claims.

"Please, Harry," you said louder, making him stop, "I didn't realize. I'm sorry for hurting you. But I was never yours, or only as a friend. I'm sorry. But I can be with who I want, and that's nothing to take up with Hermione or Luna, either."

He was practically quivering with... what? Rage? Sadness? Frustration? Envy?

"Well, I think it's great, y'know," Ron intervened awkwardly. "The whole... being-with-you-want-thing. Real good. You should all be happy, is what I'm saying, I suppose. Although I do find that hard to say in the dungeons, but y'know. 'Is what it is."

He wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders, turning him around slowly. "C'mon, mate. Uh, he's sorry and all, I think is fair to say. Just outta sorts, is all."

Harry seemed unable to withstand his friend's kind tug, dragging his feet over the dark stone in the opposite direction.

Hermione emerged from behind you, hand clapped over her mouth. "I can't believe I forgot to do a locking spell."

"Maybe you've forgotten, but that wasn't entirely your fault."

"Anyway," Luna interrupted as the Gryffindor appeared to be searching her memory, "let's hope nothing will go out of its way to stand between us anymore. Not even our friends."

"We won't let them either way," Hermione added, smiling brightly.

"Good to know." You grinned. This detention was certainly worth it.

[ronearoundblindly]

ALSO from the kiss list: ransom and #45, 46, or 47???? ur ransom from the root of all ransom is so 😩😩🫠🫠🫠🫠

Ransom Drysdale x rich!Reader from The Root of All Ransom series

Out of Spite, one of my Valentine's Fics for 2024

Summary: Ransom's childhood home gets sold in his parents' divorce. The first time you see it is the last time he ever will.

Warnings for cursing and dirty memories from our boi. DEEP FEELS. If you've never read any RoAR, that's fine! You just need to know that Ransom is a filthy, bitter man who used to defile his parent's house any chance he got. Oh! And that Harlan did tell Linda (Ran's mom) about Richard's (Ran's dad) cheating. MINORS DNI. There's plenty for you on my Light Masterlist, but this one is not for you! WC 1746

He didn’t think he’d feel this way.

Everything is different but exactly the same.

Ransom can remember when this house was a happy place. Of course, it felt that way only when he was very young and really stupid. He actually thought his parents loved each other back then.

Fucking idiot.

He learned quickly though. Once he paid attention, that’s when he saw. His father didn’t look at his mother that way; Richard looked timid or indifferent, waiting for the money decisions he floated to be approved, waiting to make sure Linda hadn’t stumbled on some evidence of his indiscretions. Meanwhile, Linda…worked. That was it. She just worked.

A child sees that. Whether they are ready to or not, a child sees.

Ransom didn’t understood why that sort of relationship was so fucking infuriating—because if that’s your relationship, don’t have a fucking child,—but he saw.

Just like fashion and furniture and people, he can tell in one look what he doesn’t want.

He doesn’t want…whatever the fuck this was.

Ran drags his hand over the polished wood banister to lead you upstairs to his old bedroom. It’s now a gym, and in a month, who knows, because in his parents’ divorce, the house is getting sold. His dad has ten more days to move out.

Unsurprisingly, nothing has been packed yet. Richard pays someone else to do that, like he and Linda paid someone else (many other people) to raise Ransom.

He didn’t think he’d feel this way on the last occasion he’d ever be in this house.

He’s hated it a long, long time. He used every opportunity he could to taint and tarnish everything from floor to decor, invisible marks of defiance that his parents never saw, or if they saw, they never understood.

Ransom doesn’t lack respect completely; he just lacks respect for them.

And yeah, to be fair, there are less than a handful of people on the planet he’s found he can respect, but he is capable. They just aren’t worthy, and he doesn’t fucking care.

He thought he’d feel anger or bitterness. He thought he’d feel a sense of justice, maybe, because this veneer of unity is finally being stripped away. He thought, at very least, he’d feel a marked disappointment because they could have done better. His parents are capable of better. They just fucking weren’t.

He feels…nothing.

He feels nothing when you two walk past the railing where his prom date, Candace, almost took a short drop and a sudden stop because she’s an adrenaline junkie and wanted him to fuck her while she held on with nothing but her acrylics. Ransom had to fake coming because he was so distracted by the thought of having to clean up that bitch’s brain from the foyer.

He feels nothing as you two traverse the hall where he terrorized the nannies, throwing whatever he could get his grubby fucking paws on and aiming for them every time.

He was awful; why doesn’t he feel awful?

He still feels nothing when he flicks on the light at the southernmost room and sees…no trace of the first nineteen years of his life. Maybe he feels nothing because there is nothing?

Ran told his mother, point blank, that she could burn anything he left behind for all he cared, and at the time, he didn’t care one iota. Those memories were not worth one red penny to him. He derived more joy from knowing what he’d done here and left for them to clean up than he did from any of the actual stuff.

That’s the thing. Even if the stuff didn’t bring him joy, that was all he had for nineteen years. Possessions hold value to him because emotions didn’t fucking exist in this house, unless you count denial, arrogance, and willful ignorance.

He’s so caught up in his emptiness, he’s forgotten all about speaking during this little tour.

You follow him around, silently, from room to room in a too big house that unsuccessfully contained the egos of only three people. No one was fucking happy. No one wanted to be there. Everyone had to be there, for appearances.

You rest your arm on his shoulder and run your fingers through the short hair at his neck, but you don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. He feels nothing.

And so you two head down to dinner with Richard, a bizarrely familial toast to the house before it’s on the market.

Ran’s father hasn’t cooked, mind you, because that would really be the cherry on the weird shit sundae. No, it’s a catered meal for three fucking people in a house owned by none of these three people.

However, if there’s one skill passed down through generations of Thrombeys and Drysdales alike, it’s ignoring anything going on around you that you don’t care about (and the not caring in the first place, so two skills). Ransom is a really skilled Thrombey and Drysdale.

He has no fucking idea what the conversation is about over the course—courses—of the meal, but he watches you in an awe that makes him feel sorta queazy. How can you still smile and nod at Richard? Ran reached his limit weeks ago, and you’re still barreling through what he can only imagine is the finest, superficial bullshittery the whole county has to offer.

Why?

Why are you here?

This place is not a fucking home. 

Why are you putting up with this? Why put up with him, for fuck’s sake?

But the emptiness swallows that outrage as fast as his mind can churn it out.

“Ya know, I think I’ll take my plate in,” you say sweetly to his father, standing, so there’s no argument to stop you. “I never got to peek at the kitchen.”

The help part like the sea for you.

Richard chuckles, leaning back in his chair with his drink. “Not sure I ever really peeked in there myself,” he mutters. 

“Please, allow me,” he hears you encourage from around the corner. “I’d like to look out the window.”

Ran mouths ‘window’ questioningly to Richard, who suddenly remembers that they redid the deck and added a pergola eight months ago. Ransom vaguely remembers his mother griping about contractors, but he didn’t listen to the details. He didn’t fucking care.

He’s up and heading for the kitchen before his father can offer to have dessert served outside.

Ransom, clearly in a mood, tells the caterers and wait staff fuck off to a different room when steps in. He has no clue if he knows them previous events. It doesn’t matter.

He’s engrossed, watching you rinse a plate in the sink, something so simple it hurts.

Because the kitchen, Ran thinks, is where you prove you can stand another person—you trust them with your food, they can know what you like, and you aren’t afraid of them in a small space with knives. This is the place where couples work together. They spend time getting things for each other, making things for each other, even when they don’t have to.

In that sense, this is not and never has been a kitchen. It’s a showroom, but tonight it showcases you.

He walks over and looks where you look. Beyond the reflective pane with your faces is a canopy of lights overlooking an open space the length of the house.

It’s beautiful, just one of many helpful additions made after he left. Some other family will get it now. Some other kid will enjoy it. For once, Ran wishes people he doesn’t know a happiness he never had. That’s new, too, that feeling.

Pride swells in Ransom. No one can take that from him.

He is not a good man, but he’s proud as fuck not to be his parents despite their indifference. It’s a miracle he isn’t exactly the same as Ol’ Dick in the dining room, alone, scared for what the future holds when the money runs out.

That was a near miss of fate, Ran remembers, because if he’d been backed into the same corner, if you hadn’t been there to offer a lifeline, he would have fought. He would have killed to survive.

That’s what he knew. That’s what he learned in this house. Fight. Kill. Show no emotion. It doesn’t matter anyway. Each man, woman, and child for themselves.

Richard and Linda live with the consequences of their actions; Ransom lives with the consequences of his parents.

He turns to you, a hand on your hip, and sees you warp you mouth in apology.

“Needed a break,” you admit quietly.

Ran snorts. “I hear that.”

“Just dessert and then home,” you hum. “No drinks outside, okay?”

Then it dawns on him. When he bought his current house, its true beauty was not being this one, but that’s not all anymore. Ran can make a house into a home. He can make himself into the home you deserve, the one he would have killed for.

This house may hold bad memories, but he can make new ones. Houses can be expanded, lit, and warmed. Space can be made to fit the needs of those using it.

His mind can do that, too. Ran can do that.

So, out of pure spite for the wretched monument all around him, he leans over with a smile and kisses you fiercely.

Such a simple thing. A new memory. One happy memory to bury in this dead place and leave forever.

He’ll go back to his home, with you, and get you water from the kitchen even if he doesn’t want any. He’ll watch you cook, and you’ll ask him to taste it or hand you things just a few feet away. You’ll sit in ‘his’ spot on the couch because the new place for him is with his head resting in your lap. He sees it all very clearly.

His parents were right about something: it doesn’t fucking matter. This house doesn’t have to matter to him. Only his real home should do that.

When dinner is over and you two shut yourselves into the Beamer, he looks back one final time.

He doesn’t have to care. He doesn’t have to feel anything. There will be empty spaces in his life, but that’s okay. That’s a consequence of living.

You voice Ransom’s innermost thoughts just before he turns the key in the ignition.

“Good fucking riddance.”

Jimmy Dobyne and a kiss in public ⬅️ ➡️ Steve Rogers and a kiss where it hurts

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @starkleila @tenaciousperfectionunknown @rogersbarber @spectre-posts @ellethespaceunicorn

[phillippadgettwrites]

Sense, Chapter 4: Touch

Rated X / 887 words / posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

He hadn’t realized how starved he was. How desperate. How achingly in need of connection. He knew he was lonely, and definitely horny, but he didn’t know he needed this. He didn’t even really know it existed, at least not in this way. Not this pure. Not this real. 

She likes to undress him. To push his shirt up, running her hands over his torso as she peels it off. To slowly unbutton his fly and draw the zipper down, grazing her knuckles over his lower belly. She grabs his ass over his boxers, and then under them, wraps her hand around his balls and tugs gently. She sucks his dick like it’s her last meal, like she’s never tasted anything so delicious, and he finds himself begging for mercy so he can last long enough to fuck her. 

As incredible as the sex is, it surprises him how close to her it makes him feel when she touches him just for the sake of doing it, with no end goal in mind. When they’re kissing in bed and she grabs the back of his thigh to tug him closer. When they’re watching TV and she slips her hand into his. When she makes it clear she’s after more than his mouth and his cock. She pets him like he’s a damn cat. Rakes her fingers through his hair, absently strokes his forearm, drags her nails across his back. He fucking loves it. He loves the way she grabs his bicep for leverage when she pops up on her tiptoes to kiss him goodbye, loves her arms snaking around his waist and the press of her hugging him from behind, loves that she smiles and reaches for him when he says something that pleases her. It makes him feel so wanted. So safe. So unbelievably good. 

“I’m exhausted,” he tells her when she snuggles up next to him in bed, naked and shower-warm. 

“I know,” she says, kissing his cheek. “You had a long day.”

She nuzzles her nose into the crook of his neck, draping her leg over his thigh. He can feel the heat of her cunt and his cock jumps a little, but he’s too worn out to consider indulging. She runs her palm down the length of his arm, strokes his chest, pets the trail of hair on his belly. It relaxes him, soothing his frayed nerves, and he sighs deeply. 

“May I?” she asks, running the tips of her fingers under the waist of his boxers. 

“I’m beat, Scully,” he says regretfully. 

She lifts her head and brushes her lips over the shell of his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. 

“Let me take care of you,” she whispers, and immediately his lap feels heavy. 

It feels impossible, the way she loves him. The way she gives without expectation of reciprocity, the way she cares about his well being as much as her own. She kisses his neck and nibbles on his ear as she slips her hand under his boxers and gently strokes him to life, not in any hurry to get it over with. She hums when a rush of blood makes his cock lurch in her hand, moans as she smears precum over the head with her thumb. Despite the immense amount of pleasure he derives from getting her off, it’s hard for him to accept that this isn’t a chore for her. That she wants it for him as much as he wants it for himself. 

Previous to her, a handjob is not something he’d be particularly excited about. They were always too slow or too fast, too loose or too tight, and in the end he’d rather just do it himself. But Scully touches him in ways he never knew he wanted to be touched. She plays with pressure and speed, alternating stroking him from root to tip and massaging the head until he whimpers with overwhelm. She squeezes his balls, teases the skin behind them with one curious finger, makes his hips jump up off the bed impatiently until she returns her attention to his needy cock. All the while she’s curled around him, her lips at his neck or his ear, her silky warm skin draped over one side of his body. 

“Are you gonna come for me?”

It hits him suddenly and forcefully. His balls tighten and his dick stiffens in her hand, and she throws back the blankets. He barely has time to register what she’s doing before he’s coming down her throat, fisting the sheets and moaning loudly. She swallows him down, licking up a stray drop before it lands in his pubic hair, then carefully tucks him back into his boxers. 

“Thank you,” he says, lust drunk and already on the verge of sleep, and she laughs as she snuggles back up to him and pulls the blankets over them both. He can smell his own cum on her breath, which is oddly intimate. She doesn’t even get up to rinse her mouth out or brush her teeth. 

“Goodnight,” she says, and kisses him on the cheek.

He thinks he says it back, but he isn’t sure. He’s somewhere between cloud 9 and the realm of dreams, tethered to reality by only the heat of her body wrapped around his.

[nebmia]

Reviewing every rpg book on my shelf: 8, A Folklore Bestiary

From the same team that bring you KNOCK! magazine, which I have reviewed previously, This is an excellent collection of folkloric creatures. What this brings, in contrast to your usual monster manual, is creatures which are still deeply connected to their stories and also much more grounded in an environment and in connection to the people who live there. These are not monsters stat blocks to lift and populate any random dungeon with.

The stat blocks that there are, which tend to make up a relatively small part of each entry, are for old school essentials so will be suitable for and b/x derived game. But the real value here is in everything else there is for each creature, so the content can be useful for a pretty wide range of games (I have even used one for a blades in the dark one shot). There is also a 5e edition of the book, but I cannot in good conscience recommend 5e content on my blog.

Each entry begins with one or more narratives to introduce the creature, often relating to different people interacting with the creatures but sometimes a more straightforward backstory if the creature has a more singular origin and story. These are great for introducing the creature, but also for giving you inspiration for how to run them in ways other than 'you turn up in its lair and murder it')

The other two things each entry has is a beautiful illustration by Letty Wilson and a number of hooks for possible adventures relating to the creature. From there on the content diverges to an array of useful sidebars and additional content specific to each creature. There are tables for things like motivations, loot, other people who might be hunting the creature, reactions or specific examples of the creature you might meet . On the weightier end some creatures have dungeons, hex maps, or short adventures associated with them and a few have a new character class.

On top of the general value of the folkloric approach to monsters the book takes, there is a specific joy in finiding the creatures that are rooted in your own region. This is much more likely if you are from europe (and even more so if you are from france) as that is where the book primarily draws from. For me this joy came from the scucca, which draws from the east anglian legend of black shuck, as I have even seen the supposed burnt paw print on a church door that is referenced in the text (It doesn't look much like a paw print).

All in all a great little book and an excellent source if you wanted to run a 'monster of the week' campaign travelling between locations and dealing with specific issues with monsters that are deeply tied to those locations.