#he no longer serves the inquisition

[lordcaptains]

:(

:)

[rederiswrites]

Okay so I'm giving @corseque 's super-important audio of all Solas' comments about the Blight a second (or fifteenth, whatever) listen and taking notes as I go.

Solas doesn't think for a second that once the archdemons are gone the Blight will be gone. Which really makes sense because it's the Blight that makes them an archdemon, not the other way around. Supposedly, they're blighted when the darkspawn reach and corrupt them. But of course that begs the question of why it's only darkspawn (and uh, honorary darkspawn like the Wardens) that hear their call. Anyway, the way he says it, it sounds more like the archdemons are a limiting factor than a driving factor.

Varric: "What's so confusing about endless darkspawn?" Solas: "A great deal!" So yeah, whatever the plan was, he didn't foresee darkspawn as a consequence. So did he not foresee them existing at all, or not foresee them being free to cause problems? Worth noting that it's really clear both in general and in Descent that dwarves as a whole were a huge blind spot for him.

He is really really surprised that the Western Approach ever recovered from the Blight. Pretty clear he didn't think that was possible.

He thinks that everything the Wardens have done up til now is a deeply misguided effort that's served (mostly accidentally) as a delaying tactic. Gotta say, with the information we have at hand, this point pairs about as well with the last as a nice dry red with spicy pickles. If the Wardens shouldn't have done what they've done, but he didn't think recovery from the Blight was possible, I'd love to hear what he thought the alternative was.

Same dialogue as above, but when Solas talks about stopping the Blight and when Blackwall and Varric talk about it, one gets the distinct impression that they're talking at cross purposes, because Varric and Blackwall are talking about the experience of Blights, as in, periodic events, whereas I think Solas is talking about THE Blight, that is, its true nature, which is yet untouched.

He thinks Erimond is dumb as shit, which is fair and valid. "That's madness! For all we know, killing the Old Gods could make things even worse!" he says. Well, he knows a lot more than "we" know, but it's entirely possible that he doesn't for sure know this. Increasingly clear that he thinks it, though.

I'd forgotten just how pissed off he was about the Grey Warden plan to kill the Old Gods before they were corrupted. It really doesn't give "hey you're killing my relatives" energy. It really gives "wow that would fuck us all" vibes.

Of course, with a side of my remembering that Solas' besetting flaw was always thinking people should know better even though they don't have access to the knowledge he has. That flaw I WILL grant. He displays it repeatedly--you could even say the writers went out of their way to make the point.

"The Blight is the real problem"

"The fools who first unleashed the Blight on this world thought they were unlocking ultimate power." Anyway yeah those are the absolute core of everything here. The Blight is the real problem and the Blight was deliberate. Deliberately made or deliberately freed.

Even during the events of Inquisition, Solas obviously sees Corypheus as secondary to the Blight as a danger.

Cassandra suggests that the archdemons were really just dragons--"Pets to those who no longer exist", by which she probably means the Old Gods, not specifically the gods of Elvhen, just because of her cultural background. Solas finds this suggestion amusingly wrong--a quiet snort, and "I would not go so far as that."

Last notes: he doesn't sound like he thinks the Blight can be stopped, and he's adamant that it can't be controlled. Which is presumably why he broke the world in an attempt to contain it, assuming I'm right that that was the underlying reason for the Veil. That it didn't quite work the way he'd hoped is also pretty evident, though I wanna be clear that I assume he was working from a place of desperation, and that not knowing every possible outcome of an action is not a condemnation of having taken it.

[notoh-dev]

The Doctrine of Perseverance Plot Summary and Main Characters Reveal

Story

The city of Noxton takes its name from one of the eight founding families, the Noxton family. Renowned publicly for their contributions to the city, privately, they are linked to the mysterious 'Drift.' Tragedy strikes the family on Melrose Noxton’s thirteenth birthday, marked by a horrific house fire following the appearance of the titular doctrine in the guesthouse. Three years later, the mystery remains unsolved, and life seemingly moves on, but not for Melrose – she remembers everything.

This story unfolds on Melrose’s sixteenth birthday, where you will uncover the inescapable horrors of the doctrine, unravel the secrets of the Noxton family, and confront the spirits of the 'Drift' that relentlessly seek to butcher anyone in their path. Happy Birthday, Melrose.

Main Characters

An old soul and reserved girl. Her birthday serves as a haunting reminder of the house fire and acts as the catalyst for the story.

A mischievous girl with a cheerful exterior. She is a close friend of Melrose and Dace’s daughter.

An unfiltered and hot-headed boy. His family harbors distrust towards the ‘founding families' in the city of Noxton.

A well-mannered and intelligent boy, slated to be the next head of the Noxton family. He is the son of Josie and Klaas, and also Melrose’s cousin.

An introverted and inquisitive boy. He is Melrose’s childhood friend and is from another founding family, the Skallow family.

A calm and warmhearted woman. She is Melrose's aunt and Milton's mom. Her and Florence were in a state of no contact for years prior to the fire.

A composed and educated man, he is Suzetta's dad and a long-time close friend of Florence before the fire. He works for the Noxton Police Department.

A brisk and 'rough around the edges' kind of man, he is the current head of the Noxton family and the uncle of Melrose and Milton.

A diligent and zestful man, he is Milton's dad and works for the Noxton Police Department.

Developer's Note

Bios and artwork are subject to change before the final release of the game, and this post may be updated.

I currently have about an hour of content done, this is with all of the dialogue, and knowledge on how to proceed in-game. I imagine it'll be longer for new players. Currently working on the next portion. I'm hoping to have chapter zero available to play early 2024 on RMN, Steam, and Itch.io.

I've also been posting youtube shorts, I'd be super appreciative to anyone who likes/comments on them!

Affiliated Links

Youtube Twitter RMN Tiktok (Posts are being Processed)

[slavonicrhapsody]

ok so I watched Vaati’s new video on Rykard, really liked it overall but I wanted to go into more detail about what I liked and what I disagreed with. 

Gonna start with a list of the things I loved/found super interesting:

The way he laid out the evidence for Rykard’s inquisition having been on behalf of Leyndell was really really well laid out!!! 

I laughed at the “FAMILEEE” soundbyte 

His discussion about the origins of “hexes” was super cool 

I had never heard of the cut item description linking the Serpent Arrows to Shaded Castle! 

The idea that poison was involved in Rykard’s desecration of the Minor Erdtree… he didn’t mention this, but this idea could explain why there’s sickly greenish growths at its base?  

(Gelmir Minor Erdtree vs. Consecrated Snowfield Minor Erdtree)

Talked about the idea that the Great Serpent grew because of the sacrifices it was fed, then was killed, then came back as a normal-sized snake, that Rykard fed himself to and then grew large due to once again devouring sacrifices

Pointed out that the snakes inside the Abductor Virgins look like metal!!! I thought I was crazy for thinking this

1.0 Daedicar mentioned ‼️

His overall characterization of Rykard and his motivations is really good. he gets it

Now here’s some arguments he made that I disagree with:

Early in the video, Vaati makes the argument that the blue-robed Officials originate from House Marais because the blue robes are a part of Maleigh Marais’s garb as head of the House, because Inquisitor Ghiza wears bandages, suggesting that he’s “sickly born” like the rest of the Marais family, and because the unnamed guy in the Volcano Manor portrait also wears a metal mask like Maleigh Marais. He argues that House Marais were assimilated into Erdtree society, and presumably that the Official’s blue robes were a precursor to the other robes associated with the nobility (the Ruler’s robe, the Upper Class attire, and the Consort’s robe). 

There are several reasons why I disagree with this theory:

Masks aren’t unique to the Marais family: the Ruler’s set comes with a Ruler’s mask, said to be “customary dress among lords,” and Tanith also wears a mask with her Consort’s robe. I speculated that masks are simply part of the noble fashion alongside the particular style of robe. 

I don’t think it makes a ton of sense for pompous noblemen to have adapted their style of dress from a robe associated with a family of executioners carrying out “the darkest duties of mankind”

The Volcano Manor portrait guy does not have bandages under his mask like Maleigh does.

Maleigh and Ghiza don't really look alike at all:

Also, a different explanation for Ghiza’s bandages could be that he’s a remnant of the 1.0 version of Daedicar, a torturer in Rykard’s inquisition: “he would test new methods of torture first upon himself."

Overall I think a better explanation for the Marais attire is that, since their ancestral duty was serving as executioners on behalf of the Erdtree's justice system, they simply incorporated the Official's attire (worn by magisterial officials carrying out "surveillance, executions, gruesome rituals") into the garb of the head of their house.

I absolutely think House Marais is connected to Volcano Manor though; I've suggested that as executioners they serve as a branch of the Erdtree justice system working in tandem with Rykard's inquisition.

2. Later in the video, Vaati makes the argument that the Abductor Virgins were made after Rykard snakeified himself. I personally think that they were made before the snakening, but I can see the evidence for the contrary and I definitely think it’s possible. However, Vaati later says that the Abductors were used to transport people to the Underground Inquisition Chamber to be interrogated, which contradicts his argument that they were made after Rykard’s snakening… if Rykard is now a serpent, no longer a Praetor, what use is there for interrogation? And who is doing the interrogating, if Tanith was the only human left loyal to Rykard, and his inquisitors have long abandoned him? If the Abductors were made after Rykard became the serpent, the victims are probably just being fed to him. 

3. Towards the end of the video, Vaati says that the serpent displayed in the Temple of Eiglay is the flayed skin of the Great Serpent, and that might explain the Godskin’s presence there. But it’s not the flayed skin of a snake, it’s a snake shed:

It’s a pale, milky, almost translucent color, with some ragged edges and holes. Snakes shed their skin as they grow, and we know the Great Serpent “devours, grows, and lives eternally.” Rykard even has some shed skin stuck to his body and tail:

4. Lastly, I’ve beat this horse to death but you can’t say with 100% certainty that Rykard was born with red hair because he has pale hair in the present day. I will die on this hill

[wishluc]

Oh god please elaborate on the Express Eatery thing! I love having Luocha as a customer

Going over this with Luocha, Yukong, Jing Yuan and Blade!

CW: yandere characters

So you work at the Express Eatery, and you start to notice that Luocha comes in every day with a new menu item he wants to try out. While waiting for his order he asks about your time on the Express and the meals you like and how you're finding the Luofu so far. He refuses to elaborate on the coffin he carries around or on anything else about his job apart from the "traveling merchant" line, but you let it slide because he's nice enough otherwise. He also tips very generously, and leaves glowing reviews, which may or may not play a role in you liking him despite how suspicious he can be at times. After he's cycled through all the items, however, he starts asking for other things; snacks you like to eat, whatever you usually have for breakfast, a dessert you're craving for, etc. And he starts bringing in dishes that he likes, and asks for you to eat them with him during your break (even waits outside your stall until you take your break, if you try and lie your way out of it). And when the day comes that you have to pack up and leave your short-lived stall behind, you do so without informing your number 1 customer, which doesn't go across well.

But how were you to know Luocha had also met Dan Heng before, and would be visiting the Express the very next day?

Other customers you meet include Yukong, who's sweet and has the most interesting stories for you. She offers to pilot a Starskiff for you (and promises that she's not a reckless driver anymore, unlike the stories of her youth she may have told you about), invites you to lively parties once you're done for the day, and even shows you around the Luofo herself. You do notice, however, that her eyes dim and her smile fades when you mention leaving the Luofo, even if you don't comment on it. Coming up to the days before you close the stall, she takes you on increasingly exciting trips around the Luofo, all the while assuring you that there is still much to see, as though to entice you into stay longer...

There's also Jing Yuan, who stays for long periods whenever he stops by. He stands by your stall with a languid smile, talking to you while eating. He has a habit of distracting you with sudden questions when ever you notice just how long he's been standing around, asking you about your thoughts on a dish or how long you've been with the Crew. And while his exterior is perfectly relaxed with you, if anyone else dares approach while he's there, all it takes is one inquisitive look from him to send the intruder scurrying away. You've never thought the General to be that frightening, but you supposed his position warranted some extent of fear. Normally, you would be a little irritated about how he was obstructing business, but there was no doubt his pleasant conversation and generous hand made for far better company than a queue of customers in a rush to their next stop.

But a few days before you're set to close the stall, you get approached by a group of officials who warn you that doing business without a permit is illegal. Apparently, whatever documents March got for your little side business wasn't enough, and you were missing some important components. Fortunately, Jing Yuan steps in and offers to help you settle the problem at once, and as you gratefully accept his assistance (with a promise to treat him to a serving of Cosmic Fried Rice on the house sometime). To your surprise, however, you're told that you're required to stay and continue doing business on the Luofu for another few weeks before the license is granted, and you find yourself having no choice but to comply. At least, the General is here to keep you company, right?

At first Blade stopped by only to pick up a serving or two before leaving right after, never indulging in conversation unlike your other patrons. Even his reviews were short and to the point, simply leaving a rating of 5 stars along with his moniker—but as long as it was a good review, you had no complaints. However, as time went by and you saw him increasingly more often (though you took note of the fact that he'd only ever come by when the shade fell across your stall just right and there were little to no other customers), he'd comment on your methods and packaging, with odd lines such as "The box didn't come apart even after a fight," and begin ordering in advance for the next day—he claimed this was a far more efficient system, and offered to pay extra as a booking fee.

He comes off a little strange at times, with his unnerving smile and his peculiar comments, but you think that Blade's one of your better customers. He's patient and his requests are simple, and he deals swiftly with any troublemakers around your stall. Surprisingly, him swinging around his sword threateningly doesn't discourage new customers from checking your stall out. So when the day comes that you have to inform him that there was no tomorrow for his order to be prepared in advance, Blade only regards you with a pensive look and the smallest of nods, before leaving. You would miss him, despite his oddities.

And then you're told that you have to accommodate for a temporary addition on the Astral Express, someone sent by Kafka, and who awaits you in the parlor car but Blade himself?

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

[canisalbus]

It's probably fair to say that, as a child, Machete's goal was to just survive. Even as a young adult, survival obviously remained a principle goal.

But slowly, over time, he gained power, and is now a cardinal. He no longer struggles to fend off death (weakened constitution notwithstanding.) He probably still sees himself as trying to survive day-to-day, but clearly it becomes more than that, even if he's not fully cognizant of it.

I guess what I'm wondering is, besides "survival", what are Machete's goals? As a cardinal or otherwise. What prevents him from leaving or resigning his post? Does he have aspirations other than Vasco? Does he see himself as subservient to God, or is it something else?

I'd say his aspirations are pretty mundane. Security and stability are probably the biggest priorities overall, financially and health-wise. He doesn't thrive in unreliable and unpredictable surroundings. The fact that he knows he will have his basic needs met for the foreseeable future, there are people ready to prepare him a warm bath at a moment's notice, a reputable doctor to look after him, and armed guards that are never too far away, eases his mind considerably. A large part of his work revolves around routine, carefully crafted plans and immutable etiquette, with relatively few unpleasant surprises. He's so high in the hierarchy that very few people can treat him disrespectfully and get away with it.

He wants to prove that he's capable, competent and useful. His deeply rooted inferiority complex (that largely stems from the demeaning and belittling way his mentor treated him when he was his apprentice) has made him a lifelong overachiever, which in turn has served him well in his career. He's ambitious and driven but I wouldn't call him power-hungry in an egoistical way, he can come across as overbearing but it's because he's a perfectionist control freak who's obsessed with doing his job well and has a tendency to think most people around him aren't up to the task. He isn't in it for fame and wealth in itself, it's more about having a purpose that makes you worthy of respect.

On a more personal level he's passionate about reading, studying and learning. Partly because he's inquisitive and genuinely enjoys it, knows he's good at it and feels good about being good at it, but also because he wants to be the most learned, most cultured and most academic person in the room. Not necessarily for bragging rights, but to feel like being smart will always keep him one step ahead of the others and that way no one can pull the rug from under his feet.

He would never be able to afford the things he wears and the luxuries he has access to if his life hadn't taken the exact turns it did. He spent his early childhood in a monastery and was trained by a priest who valued asceticism and self-denial so he didn't have a lot of nice things growing up. Now as a high ranking church official he has more spending money than he could've imagined, and while he has an expensive taste, he oftentimes fails to enjoy the benefits of his status properly. He has a comfortable home with a massive bed, but it's not uncommon for him to sleep in his office or forgo rest completely. Even though he could be savoring the rarest most complex dishes every day, there aren't a lot of foods he likes eating. He would like to look pretty but even his outlandishly costly and carefully tailored silk garments can't redeem the fact he doesn't feel comfortable in his skin.

He can't resign because his sense of self-worth and lifestyle are tied to his job. It's the one thing he's demonstrably skilled at. He's worked himself to the bone to get where he is now and the prospect of losing it is simply unfathomable. He doesn't have ties to his biological family and his friends are few and far between, if he gave up his position he'd have functionally no one to rely on but Vasco. On top of that he does feel like he owes his life to the church and serving it to his best ability is his lot in life. His state of faith and relationship with God is complicated at best but he's nonetheless terrified of what might happen and how he might be punished if he ever chose to abandon his post.

[dawn-moths]

Wriothesley x Female Reader

word count: 3000+

(Even after serving your time in the Fortress of Meropide and deciding to return to your life in Fontaine, you still have good reason to drop in and give the Duke a visit from time to time.)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! smut, reader is handcuffed with a belt, sub/dom dynamics, fingering, doggy-style (vaginal sex), aftercare.

*ao3 mirror*

***

As Wriothesley tugged his belt free from the loops in his trousers, slow and methodical, he cracked a smirk and huffed out a short breath of a laugh, his voice echoing faintly throughout the room when he said, “Hey, you like magic tricks, don’t you?”

He knows you do. You wouldn’t stop talking about Lyney and Lynette’s latest performance— the deadly precision, the dazzling display of showmanship, the subversion of expectation that left you wonderstruck each and every time. So, when you gave a cute little smile and an eager nod, perking up at the prospect of potential entertainment, well…

The Duke just couldn’t help himself.

He was standing at the bottom of the staircase, biding his time, having enjoyed the view of you immersed deep into some fantasy world between a bundle of dog-eared pages, not a care or concern in the world other than what would become of the fictional characters you’d quickly grown attached to. About an hour or so ago, he’d told you to entertain yourself while he went off to attend to some urgent business, “Shouldn’t take long,” he’d said, and had slipped back into his office without you even noticing. Now, as you stared at him with awaiting, curious eyes, he flexed the belt in his hands, gently testing its strength and give. 

With a playful, beckoning wave of a gloved hand, he said, “Come ‘ere. I wanna show you something…” and you obediently obliged, rising from your seat behind his big desk, leaving your latest literary adventure lying open-faced on the tabletop, to follow after him down the winding spiral staircase and into the bedroom that was hidden below. Wriothesley gripped the strap of burgundy leather tightly in his hands, his fists flexing over it as if trying to contain his eagerness once you were standing before him by the bed, hands lightly clasped behind your back, staring up at him with those big, innocent doe-eyes that made him go a little insane inside.

“Now, watch very closely…” the Duke instructed, though with an air of light mockery as he pretended to sound like the magicians you were so taken by as of late. You hummed out a little giggle at his imitation and watched as he slipped the end of the belt back through the buckle, tugging it through and threading it back around to repeat the first motion, creating a sort of figure 8 design before wrapping the remainder of the leather all the way around and securing it through the middle of the buckle one final time. “Now, hold out your hands.” 

You gave him an inquisitive yet distrusting look, but even before your brain could finish coming up with possible outcomes of where this trick might lead, you were obeying his command and presenting him with both of your wrists side by side out in front of you.

The moment he slipped the widened gaps of the contraption he’d created around your delicate wrists, quickly pulling the loose end he’d looped through the buckle last to cinch the leather flush against your skin, you realized you’d walked right into his trap.

You let out a startled gasp and made small sounds of struggle as you tried to tug your wrists free, but to no avail. Wriothesley let out another one of those silky, sonorous chuckles that sent the flock of butterflies in your tummy aflutter, despite the fact you felt a little betrayed by him weaponizing your naivety against you.

“Really walked into that one, didn’t ya?” he rhetorically asked, crossing his arms and allowing himself to watch your pitiful attempts at escape for a little longer.

“This isn’t magic, it’s just a trick!” you accused, brows pinched slightly in an irritated scowl, still helpless against the worn leather.

“Ah, but, if you’d been paying attention,” Wriothesley began, holding up a finger in accentuation as he strode a few smooth paces closer, “you’d recall I never said I was showing you a magic trick. I simply asked if you liked magic tricks, then said I wanted to show you something.” He looped his extended pointer finger into one of the gaps, lightly pulling your bound wrists and, along with them, yourself, closer toward him.

Lowing his voice to what sounded like nearly a growl, some kind of sinister satisfaction flashing behind his silver gaze, he said, “See what happens when you make baseless assumptions?”

Honestly, Wriothesley was impossible sometimes. Whether it was his mind games or technicalities, he always seemed to find new ways of getting you right where he wanted you while making you do most of the work.

“Ok, show’s over,” you droned, giving him a blatantly unamused look now. “Let me go.”

To this, the Duke merely scoffed.

“Let you go?” he repeated, as if the notion was the most preposterous thing he’d heard all week. He clicked his tongue, shook his head, giving the cuffs another teasing tug, lips splitting into a crookedly amused grin when you let out a quiet, helpless gasp. “Now where’s the fun in that? Besides, I think you know better than most…” He leaned in, lips right beside your ear, and whispered, low and husky, “My prisoners are treated rather well here…”

“I’m not your prisoner,” you reminded him. “At least… Not anymore.”

Because, yes, while you’d once lived under his rule and his reign for the crime you’d committed, those days were now behind you. You’d served your sentence and then chosen to return to the outside world. You’d rather missed your friends and family in Fontaine and, while you’d considered yourself lucky to have gotten into good company with the Duke, you also felt you couldn’t just leave your old life completely behind you.

Hence why you only made trips down into the depths of the Fortress of Meropide for these very special, though oftentimes short visits. You’d gotten a taste of something in this place that the outside world just didn’t have to offer. But, if anyone else had ever been in your position, you doubted they could blame you for indulging the addiction.

“Ok then,” Wriothesley bartered. “Why don’t we make a deal then? You have the next five minutes to get out of these, and if you do, I’ll give you a special prize…” He narrowed his gunmetal gaze at you, something playfully cruel shimmering amidst all that mischievous silver. “But if you can’t, well—” He gave a nonchalant shrug and finished with a rather confident, “then I guess you’ll have to give me something instead.”

“Alright,” you agreed, lifting one eyebrow and now wearing a smirk yourself. “Challenge accepted.” And when you’d entered willingly into his little game, you’d really thought you’d stood a chance. How hard could it be to get out of handcuffs made of leather anyway? It’s not like he’d clapped the metal ones you knew he always kept on his person around your wrists instead. Those, as you’d experienced first hand, were absolutely inescapable.

But as the minutes passed, you struggling more and more with each one that ticked by, Wriothesley keeping an eye on his watch as he leaned back against the wall opposite the bed, eyes flicking up to watch you writhe and grunt as you tried and failed to pull your wrists free, you were beginning to regret being so cocky.

Besides, Wriothesley had never been one to let someone beat him at his own game.

“And… Three… Two… One,” Wriothelsey announced, marking the end of the challenge and your loss of the bet. “Better luck next time, hon,” he said through a mocking pout, looking only half apologetic for a second before approaching you again. “Guess it’s time you give the winner his prize.”

His tall shadow swallowed your form, eyes staring up at him in that delectably pleading, helpless way he’d grown so addicted to back when you were one of his inmates. Your face said you were awaiting punishment but your body was anticipating pleasure, that warm, rolling feeling of arousal tightening in your lower belly.

“Oh…” you rolled your eyes as Wriothesley pinned you to his bed, cuffed wrists clasped in one of his big, rough hands above your head. “And to think,” you teased, “that you’d be so predictable now.”

Wriothesley flashed you a dangerous look, one of a sharp-toothed smirk and half-lidded eyes that almost seemed to glow in the dim light, clicking his tongue as if disappointed in you, increasing his grip on the cuffs while he began to undo the button on his trousers with the other.

“So mouthy today,” he remarked, that familiar growl laced into his tone. The one that warned you you were on thin fucking ice. The one that you often ignored, kept on pushing just to see how far he’d let you go. More often than not, this earned you double the original punishment he’d had in store for you, but secretly, you liked that. Once Wriothesley had caught onto that fact, it hadn’t stopped him. He’d just learned how to twist things so he got to have a little fun too. “Guess I’ll have to remind you what happens when you talk back…”

Cock already hard and aching as he gripped it in his hand, you gasped when he roughly hiked up your skirt and grinded his erection against your dampening panties, your breath hitching in your chest every time his velvety tip brushed against your swollen, sensitive little clit, wanting more, needing more.

And Wriothesley knew he’d soon have you exactly where he wanted you. That defiant attitude of yours reduced to nothing more than a chorus of pathetic whines and pleading for him to “get inside me, please— Please, Wrio, I need it!”

And he’d give you what he wanted. No matter how much he tried to act cold and callous you knew he had a soft spot just for you. But before he did, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t use the opportunity to make you squirm just for the hell of it.

“Awww, what’s the matter, sweetheart?” the Duke cooed, words dripping with saccharine condensation. He used both hands to secure your hips as he grinded down against you harsher than before, nearly knocking the breath from his own lungs as he sighed out a strained, “Suddenly— fuck— at a loss for words?”

You were desperately trying to cant your hips upwards to gain more friction, but his firm grip on you made that impossible. You’d completely forgotten he’d let go of your wrists, though they were still securely bound, merely chasing the fleeting pleasure he was reluctantly granting you.

“Ok… Ok, Wrio, please—” you finally broke, sentence clipped off into a delicate, musical little mewl, soft as a feather floating on a breeze. “Please, I’ll be good, just— Please—”

Wriothesley couldn’t take much more of this either, so, per your unclarified request, he swiftly pushed your soaked panties aside and slipped two of his thick digits into your weeping cunt, sucking in a small hiss of a breath through clenched teeth when he curled his fingers inside and felt how tight your pussy was trying to squeeze him, craving something bigger to fill it up.

You shivered, already beginning to feel that tight coil in your core pulling taut, mouth hanging open in silent ecstasy, huffing out panting little breaths and eyes rolling beautifully as your back began to arch off the firm mattress. Wriothesley’s skilled fingers worked you over like it’s what they’d been designed to do, the calloused pad of his thumb rubbing rough circles over your pulsing little bud, gaze glued to your leaking little hole, mesmerized by how gorgeous you were like this, completely bent to his will.

“Archons, baby…” He said, soft and in awe like reciting a prayer, spreading your slick around like an artist creating his next masterpiece. “What am I gonna do with you?”

Fuck me, you wanted to answer. Fuck me until all I know is you, you, and nothing but you.

Wriothesley then seemed to come to some kind of conclusion, the contemplation shining in his eyes as fast and as bright as a shooting star. Then, he was gripping your hips again and flipping you over, instructing you to stay on your elbows and knees as he lined himself up with your fluttering entrance.

“Wrio…?” you asked, his name sounding fragile and broken and confused as it left your succulent little mouth.

He hushed you, gentle and reassuring, suddenly gone all sweet and soft for you like he usually tended to do, once he was done playing his games with you. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, leaning over you to press his warm, broad chest against your back. “Just trust me.”

Slowly, carefully, he began to nudge his way into your needy little hole, wrapping his arms around you and helping you to adjust until you found the position that felt the best for the both of you. Then, once he was fully inside and you were recovered from the sweet, stinging stretch of him, Wriothesley began to move, the motion of his hips smooth and intentional, nearly pulling all the way out before pushing back in, the rhythm gaining more speed every couple of thrusts.

By now, a thin sheen of sweat had broken out on both your brows, your legs beginning to tremble when he grazed over that sweet, spongy spot deep inside you, the one you could never quite reach on your own. Still holding you close, he used one hand to massage more skillful circles onto your already overstimulated little bundle of nerves, the pressure ebbing and flowing between soft and hard, trying to keep your orgasm at bay for just a little longer.

“Wrio—” you moaned, all pliable and angelic and all his, his, his.

“Almost there, baby—? God—!” The air was punched from Wriothesley’s lungs upon his next thrust, his normally sure and even voice cracked and fissured by a strangled whine, movements beginning to become erratic as he neared his own edge. He tightened his arms around your body, trying to hold you impossibly close, truly become one with you, as if your soul could melt right into his like two pieces of candy left out too long in the sun, gooey and combined and no longer distinguishable from one another, only known henceforth as their own unique, singular entity. 

“‘M gonna—!” You suddenly gasped, your silky walls clenching around his cock hard enough to lace his next breath with a beautiful whimper, both your bodies tensing under the shared release, soaking and filling each other to the brim with each other’s balmy pleasure.

You went slack in Wriothesley’s hold, which didn’t lessen an inch until he’d found his way back to reality, temporarily blinded by the all-encompassing sensation of bliss your body always gifted him. Once his vision could focus and his brain could think, he carefully pulled out of you, allowing you to lower all the way down to the mattress, completely spent and limbs like jelly.

The Duke unfastened the belt-cuffs from around your wrists, tossing the twisted mangle of leather aside and laying across from you, tenderly taking your sore, slightly chafed wrists in his grasp and placing tender kisses along the thin, delicate skin, murmuring little praises to you that you barely registered in your fucked-out state.

“So good for me… Always so good for me…” he hummed, his chaste, closed mouth kisses traveling further up your arms as if he intended to place his lips to every inch of you. “My perfect, perfect girl…”

You were pulled back to earth by the time his lips found yours, parting them for him as if on instinct, tethered by the way his tongue refamiliarized itself with the shape of your mouth.

It was languid, messy, threatening to stir up that honey-dipped lust for him that never seemed to abate inside of you again. But then Wriothesley pulled away, only far enough to gaze lovingly into your eyes, smiling— actually smiling— to himself at the sight of you, glowing with a post-sex haze.

“Wrio…?” you spoke, voice like a butterfly’s wing.

“Hmm…?” he hummed, gently brushing the back of his knuckles along your soft cheek.

“Do you…” You hesitated then, knowing the question was one you were afraid to ask. Had been afraid to ask for a while, only because you knew his answer could possibly change the path of your fate. You swallowed hard, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to bask in his gentle touches for a few strokes longer. Then you said, “Do you ever wish I would’ve stayed?”

Wriothesley’s ministrations paused, something unreadable now swimming in all that entrancing silver. He threaded his long fingers through your hair, bringing his forehead to rest against yours, taking in a long, deep breath just to share the same air as you.

“I only wish I could go with you,” he murmured, the confession barely a whisper, so quiet, as if he were afraid the very admittance would sink the Fortress to the very bottom of the sea. Then he opened his eyes, leaned back a few inches to meet yours again, and added on a solemn, “Sometimes…”

You wrapped your arms around him then, wanting to keep him close, wanting to lay here like this with him forever. But eventually, you drifted off to sleep. When you did, Wriothesley only allowed himself to stay beside you a few minutes longer before going to tend to cleaning both of you up, wiping away the mess between your legs you two had made as gently as possible so he wouldn’t wake you. He knew, when you rose, you’d have to say your goodbyes and return to the surface.

“Not goodbye,” you’d always remind him after your parting kiss, giving him one of those innocent little smiles that made him wonder how you’d ever survived this place at all, your eyes glittering with affection. “Only until next time.”

Until next time, Wriothesley thought. And then, how lucky I am to have earned a next time.

***

(Honestly, I just saw a video of someone making handcuffs with a belt and thought, “You know who would do that… Wriothesley,” lol

But anyway, I hope you enjoyed and are having as much fun with the new Fontaine characters as I am heehee :) 

Hope everyone has a wonderful day!)

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Cockwarming.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my loves, this is a longer chapter than usual because I didn't want to split it up. Updates for a bit may be slow at the moment, but will try update you all as much as I can. Thank you all for the love and well wishes <3 Enjoy

Chapter 79: Moon Tea

Aemond stayed true to his word.

For days, you frequented the Gardens alone, and found that your peace was neither disturbed by the King or your husband. It gave you a reprieve and the chance to breathe away from it all.

A chance to collect yourself, to gather the pieces that had been violently scattered across the earth below. 

And with those days, you sat where you usually did and attempted to read the mountain of books and stories that were piled high in your shared chambers, courtesy of Aemond. Some being novels that you had read already, others being new ones that the Prince thought might spark interest. 

You had to begrudgingly admit, that he was right. 

The books that he left you did spark interest, if only you got through the first few pages before being unable to read further. Your attention span had dwindled, and even though you believed Aemond when he said he would keep the King away from you, any noise, any presence of someone walking past, a knight or servant or Lord, you would still flinch, and your heart would race in your chest. 

But still, Aegon had not been seen for days, and Aemond had been kind. 

When you woke that morning, the young Prince had been curled around you as he usually was, awake far earlier than you, but content to let you sleep for if only moment more. It was a routine that the two of you had fallen heavily into.

He would rise with the sun as he always did, and watch over you as you slept, tucked to his chest as a lazy hand would rub soft and featherlike fingertips across your skin, desperate to touch you, yet not wanting to wake you up. 

And you were thankful for it. 

For Aemond’s time away in Harrenhal left little time to sleep, or breathe, or feel safe. Aegon’s attack adding to further lack of sleep or calm, and in a shocking turn of events, you had all three in Aemond's clutches. 

You had wriggled in his hold, and the One-Eyed Prince hummed, pressing a lingering kiss atop the crown of your head. A gesture that you had previously only gotten from your mother or father. 

When you were both dressed and seated at the table, the maids had brought in your breakfast for the both of you. The usual of meats, eggs and fruit, and todays warm bread, whose crust crackled under your excited hands, had olives kneaded throughout. 

You ate together, enjoying the way the soft sponge of the bread had subtle sour bursts of flavour when a hidden slice of olive was revealed to your waiting mouth. It was different, and it was something that you decided in that moment that you liked. 

Joanna placed your tea in front of you, and you thanked her softly, pulling the small glass pot of honey towards you as you put two heaping serves into the steaming brew. As you stirred the tea, Aemond watched you with an inquisitive eye before speaking, your spoon clinking against the side of the china. 

“What are your plans for the day?” He asked, watching as you brought the teaspoon to your lips to lick the remnants of the honey off, sweetness coating the roof of your mouth before placing it back onto the matching saucer. 

“I was going to go for a stroll through the Garden, then perhaps make my way to the Library.” You picked up the steaming tea and brought it to your lips, blowing the steam away.

“I will be joining you today.”

You brought the unsipped tea away from your lips, “Oh? But haven’t you your duties to attend to?”

“I have a duty to my wife.” His eye was focused on you, “And so I have freed my day to spend it with you.”

Freed his day?

Your stomach turned, but for what reason, you did not know.

You nodded stiffly, bringing the tea to your lips to sip, tasting the tart, minty tea move hotly down the back of your throat. You blinked, a spark of familiarity bursting on your tongue. 

“And what shall we do on this fine day?” You asked him, hot tea in your hands still as you looked out to the window. 

The sun was high in the sky, and there was not a cloud in sight in Kings Landing. There was no looming storm, or brusque winds. It looked to be a beautiful day.

“It’s a surprise.”

Anxiety was what you felt. 

Surprise. 

You sipped at the tea again, eyebrows drawn as you tried to figure out why the tea you had been drinking so frequently suddenly tasted oddly familiar. 

“Are we going to see Vermithor?” You asked, knowing that you would not. 

But you so desperately wished to see him. You so desperately wished to fly again. To be by his side. To feel his bond and connect again. To assure him that you were okay. To soar high amongst the clouds, to feel free, to feel you again.

Aemond did not respond, and let the chambers bask in the silence of his answer. 

No.

You looked down and placed the tea back on the table, moving to take a star fruit onto your plate, cutting it up to eat. Aemond watched you the whole time, no longer using your hands to tear the flesh apart, and instead using the sharp knife and fork. 

“Perhaps,” Aemond began, watching your reaction, “I could take you to fly upon Vhagar’s back.”

You swallowed thickly, heart beating against your ribs, hands tightening around the cutlery. 

Vhagar. 

Arrax.

Lucerys.

Dracarys.

“I think I am perfectly content on the ground, thank you.” You grit out. 

You did not want to be anywhere near Vhagar.

You lifted the tea to help wash down the tart star fruit which seemed to have gone bad in your mouth, its sticky flesh stuck in the back of your throat.

As the steaming brew washed over your taste buds you froze again. Why was it so familiar? Tart. Minty. A hint of honey. Aemond’s eye was no longer on you, instead sheepishly looking down at his plate as he cut through a thick slice of sausage.

Familiar. 

“Please Princess, you must drink the tea.” The Dowager Queen had said quietly, the Maester beside you looking with clinical eyes, the colour from them seemingly gone, and nothing but a blank mask upon his face. 

You took another sip, letting the brew settle upon your tongue. Minty. Tart. Almost earthy in its flavour, and yet as you took another trying sip it all came together. Aemond placed some meat into his mouth to chew, eye looking back up at you. 

It was familiar. 

And now you knew why.

Moon Tea. 

It was Moon Tea. 

They were giving you Moon Tea. 

You sipped deeply on the tea in hand, draining the last of the dregs into your eager and waiting mouth. 

It was Moon Tea. 

They were giving you Moon Tea. 

You placed the tea cup back down on the table as you looked at your husband. 

Was he giving you Moon Tea?

Was this his doing?

You moved to open your mouth and ask him, but stopped. 

Aemond, would never give you Moon Tea. Aemond would never prevent his seed from taking. Because Aemond had done nothing but tell you of his desires for an heir and watching you grow with his child. 

You placed a small cut of star fruit into your mouth and chewed in thought.

Could it be them?

Could it be the King?

Was this another part of Aegon to spite his brother? 

Or was this Alicent or Otto’s doing?

No.

The Greens needed an heir to support the treaty and solidify it. 

As Aemond began to finish his meal, the maids entered the chambers to collect the plates and empty cups, Joanna’s eyes flitting to the empty tea cup. 

She was checking if it had been drunk. 

The maids.

The maids had been giving you Moon Tea.

But surely the maids were not doing it of their own volition, after all they barely know you, and if either were caught giving you such a thing, both would be killed for treason.

Aemond stood to move about the room, collecting some tomes on the side table.

But only Maesters, woods witches and brothel mistresses were skilled in making the tea. 

The Maester. 

Aemond came back over to you, books in hand. His pale fingers were wrapped tightly around a pile of three, a familiar black leather bound book that was broken on the top. Aemond looked at you and waited for you to stand. 

You stood on shaky legs, mind reeling. 

The Maester and maids were giving you Moon Tea.

You had allies. 

Kepa.

You bit the sides of your cheeks to stop the smile that attempted to wind up your face, and blinked away the tears that had begun to tickle at your eyes. 

Your mother and father had eyes on you.

The two of you walked down to the gardens together, the sun beaming warmth on the two of you. You led the way to your favourite spot, and Aemond followed, moving to sit at the small table that sat in the centre of the space.

The Targaryen Prince placed the three tomes in the centre of the table before turning to look at you. 

“The road ahead of us is not easy.” Your uncle began, voice crisp, “But I intend to pave the path with good intentions.”

Aemond kept his violet eye on you, the sun brightening the sapphire orb beside it.

Road?

“If you will let me.” He finished, waiting for your response. 

Your mouth felt dry. 

“And what road do you speak of?” You spoke slowly, unsure. 

Behind Aemond, a group of servants came towards you, silver and gold trays in hand.

You looked at Aemond, brows furrowed, before back at the servants, who began to place trays of food atop the table around the books.

Atop the silver and gold trays were cakes and pastries of all kind, rolls of puffed custard, buns with cinnamon and biscuits, all piled high and far too much for the two of you. Some more familiar, the others new to you. 

On one tiny china dish in particular, sat two lemon tarts. 

“Aem, stop!” You giggled, rushing towards your uncle as he snuck into the Keeps Kitchen, small hands grabbing piles of freshly baked lemon tarts in his own. 

“They’re your favourite!” The young boy hushed, grabbing more than his hands could hold, tucking them into his arms before turning to face you, violet eyes dancing in mischief and cheeks blush red.

“Shh! If the Septa-“ You began, smile cracking wider on your face as you turned to look around the darkened kitchen as a noise caught the both of your attention. 

Footsteps echoed down the hall, and Aemond’s eyes widened, one hand flying out to grab yours, a single lemon tart falling to the floor between you before he was pulling you with him towards a secret path, winding down the corridors. 

Your hand flew to your lips as you giggled, half running with your uncle into a dark secret passage, hidden behind a stone door covered in a painting of two lovers entertained, fire ablaze around them.

As you ran through the corridor and through the passage, two more tarts were lost on your escape, falling to the cold stone floors, forgotten by the two young children who had stolen them. 

Loud laughter pealed from the both of you as you heaved in breaths, Aemond’s hands holding the crushed tarts to his robes, sticky crumbs stuck to his green robes in the dark.

“There is a thief amongst us!” You exclaimed, nothing but joy rising in you. 

“No such thing.” Aemond responded defiantly, teeth showing in his wide grin.

“Well, give me the spoils then.” You giggled, greedy hand reaching outwards towards Aemond, who still held the tarts nestled against his chest by singular arm. 

But only two remained.

Aemond’s small hand lifted a crushed tart and held it out to you, smiling. 

You turned to look at Aemond, “Lemon tarts?”

“I remember them being your favourite.” He hummed.

You could not stop the smile that teased your lips. 

“I remember you stealing them from the kitchens.” You teased.

“And I remember you asking me to.”

You moved to sit at the table, spiced Dornish wine being poured into seperate goblets for the two of you. Aemond followed and sat opposite, back stiff as it always was. The man seemed to have a permanent stick up his spine, posture exactly like his mother.

They were more alike than either would likely think. 

“I did no such thing.” You responded contritely. 

“Hm.”

The two of you sat together and nibbled at the plates of treats, sipping from your wines as he reached across the table, picking up the broken leather tome to hand you ‘The Fourteen Flames’.

There was an undeniable shift between the two of you. 

Aemond could be an ally. 

Not only had the One-Eyed Prince stepped away from his duties for the day, he had arranged for desserts of all kinds to be brought to the two of you. He had brought three of your favourite books to read together.

And he had brought lemon tarts. 

You took the book from Aemond and flicked it open at the start, not knowing where you had gotten up to the last time, barely reading the words on the pages, instead thinking about what was to come and what was required of you. 

The two of you nibbled and read in parallel with each other, a silent affair, if not for the soft chewing, sips, or the turning of pages. On occasion, Aemond would hum as he read, and you could not help your gaze from rising to look at him. 

You let yourself observe him, if not truly for the first time since your arrival, in a way that was undisturbed or clouded by rage.

The soft round cheeks that Aemond once had, had melted away from his face, revealing sharp and high cheekbones that hollowed his face. The nose that had once been buttoned and sloped, had now grown aquiline, pointed, and angled, sharp to match the rest of his features. 

You remembered that if the days were humid, or if he had spent much time training, his hair would become wavy and frizz, the volume doubling, much like his mothers.

As a child Aemond had shoulder length hair, that he always wore in the same style, until recently. Today, his hair was pulled backwards from the sides, braided and pulled into a singular, long braid at the back of his head, the rest of his silver locks laying flatly on his back. 

A ray of light shone on one side of the man, and his silver hair seemingly glowed from the light. As though it held light itself. As though it was created for it. For Valyrian blood carried these Godly aspects, and for the first time, you looked at him and realised what it may be like for someone of non-Valyrian descent to gaze upon you. 

It looked heavenly.

Godly. 

Pure. 

Was this how he saw you?

Was this how the realm saw you all?

Was this why you were said to be closer to Gods than man?

The longer you looked, the more you noted about your husband. 

His lips were plumb, a soft pink, and curled lightly up at the sides, as though he was always smirking or on the verge of smiling. His lips, which you had seen sneer, and grin, and frown at you, naturally tilted upwards. And you were stuck with the knowledge that they were soft. 

Then there was his eye.

As children, you had loved his eyes. The way they had expressed so much, had shown so much, without the need for words. You could tell when he was younger if he was upset or excited, and despite how hard he would argue that he was neither, you always just knew. The bright violet would light up when you were near, and the two of you would excitedly talk for hours. And as he has grown, the violet seeing eye had stayed the same. 

Ever telling of his moods and desires.

But now, a large scar cut through his cheek, and the secondary eye you had loved as a child was lost, and replaced with a sapphire orb. A colour which you had once loved, the colour of the night sky when the stars lit the realm, the colour of Forget-Me-Nots in Spring, or Gentians in the late days of Summer, or even, now that you looked at it longer, the colour of blue Monkshood, flowers you knew to grow towards the North.

Sapphire had once been a colour that marked the flowers bloom for you, the stars and their tales, but now it marked a time of change. The eye that was lost was replaced, and so was that part of Aemond. 

With the loss of the young boys eye came the embodiment of the deep and grotesque scarring. The violence, the anger, the rage, and the spite. With the loss of his eye, came the Aemond that he had grown to be. 

Scarred. Tortured. Angry. 

Riddled with sorrow, animosity, and cynicism. 

And over the few days having been spent together, and the tension slowly bleeding away from the two of you, you came to realise that there were still small parts of Aemond inside that you remembered. 

Still holding on. 

Still lingering. 

The Prince’s seeing eye was a reminder of what was, and his missing one a reminder of what is. 

One violet eye. Your memories of youth together.

The sapphire orb. The new memories created.

Good and bad, both there upon his face. 

Both there within him. 

A man of complexity that even you were still trying to understand.

But he had changed.

His demeanour towards you had changed. 

Always you. 

I love you. 

Aemond was not the only one who had changed either. You had changed too. The scars on your body were similar to his eye. A reminder of what has happened. A reminder of change.

A reminder of what has been lost. 

Visual representations of the people that you had turned out to be.

And if you continued to play your cards right, if you continued to slowly gain his trust, if you continued to slowly get him to come to your side, to follow your every beck and call, to carry out his word own doing anything for you, he could help you.

Do anything for you. 

Kesan tepagon ao tolvie run. 

I will give everything to you.

It was slow work, tedious, and something that could not be rushed. Go too fast in creating the bond, and he would know something was amiss. He would know that you were not sincere in your affections or intentions.

He would know.

For Aemond was a smart man, cunning, clever. As he always had been.

But you had been working to his strengths, and his weaknesses, as well as your own, and finally, the fruits of your labour were beginning to show. 

Though there was a shadow of doubt that continued to linger in the back of your mind. 

Was he manipulating you the way you were him?

Was he aware?

For if he was, he did not show it. But after recent events, the matching black robes, his violence towards Aegon, his disdain being voiced aloud, you knew that you were succeeding in what you had known would be a long, and lengthy process. 

Aemond was already a suspicious man. Untrusting. And it would take time. And time is what you had. He would take from you, and you would take in return. 

“What are you thinking?” His voice pulled you from your thoughts. 

You felt your cheeks blush and you cleared your throat, looking down.

He had caught you staring. 

“How different you have become.” You replied, looking back to his violet eye. 

Aemond hummed and placed the book he had been reading back into his lap, closing it shut, and you mirrored him, shutting the busted tome in your own. 

“You have… grown into a man.” You continued. 

“And you, a woman.”

His gaze was so intense, the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat. His pupil almost swallowed his iris whole, and the lid of his eye was half closed, looking at you from under his lashes.

Looking at you with intent.

With desire. 

Hungrily. 

Ravenously.

You looked away, eyeing the untouched lemon tarts on the side of the table. Neither of you making the first move to eat them, instead nibbling at all the other treats around them. You even dared to eat a rhubarb tart, which flavours were not favoured by your tastebuds.

Aemond followed your gaze, and reached for the small plate, lifting it across the table and offering it to you. 

You took the tart from Aemond’s waiting hand. The darkness of the passage shrouding the both of you, a small sliver of light streaming in from an open hole on the side, shining moonlight onto the older boys hair. 

The young Prince smiled brightly at you as you bit into the tart, watching you with excited violet eyes as you hummed, enjoying the sour and sweet pastry. But the young Prince did not move to eat his tart, and instead, Aemond held it in his hand as he watched you devour yours. 

Crumbs covered your lips as you licked them clean, swiping up the lemony custard away from your lips. The young Prince’s eyes darted to your mouth, if only for a moment. A warmth spread through his body and a blush rose on his cheeks, though you could not see it in the dark. 

“They are so much better when they’re fresh.” You had grinned, chewing loudly as Aemond tried his best to not laugh at his niece who ate more like a wild animal than a Princess, but he still did not move to eat it with you.

“Aren’t you going to eat your spoils, Aem?” You had teased, confused as to why the older Prince had not moved to eat the treat that he had stolen. 

A pause. 

He was thinking. 

Aemond slowly moved his arm, tart in hand towards you, and offered you his wordlessly.

A shy smile replaced the once excited one on his lips.

You blinked at Aemond and reached across the table to grasp a tart, putting it on your plate.

Aemond’s hand lingered between the table, unsure of whether to take the plate back to himself, which he eventually did, picking up the fresh tart and placing it upon his own plate. 

You stared at each other uncertainly, waiting for the other to begin. And when Aemond made no move after a few moments past, you picked up a small fork and pressed down into the centre of the tart, cutting it in half, and then half again. Aemond watched with a keen eye as you brought it up to your lips to chew. 

The sweetness of the tart spread across your tongue, subtle hints of lemon mixing with the pastry. You could not help the smile that spread on your lips, eyes closing as you savoured what had been a favoured treat in your youth. 

“They are so much better when fresh.” You spoke, watching Aemond slowly cut into his own, though not lifting it to his mouth. 

“Are you not going to eat yours?” You asked, watching as he seemed to enjoy observing you eat.

Aemond smirked, his eye roaming slowly up and down your body, “My tastes are more inclined to things that are sweet.” 

You blushed, heat rising in your cheeks. 

Aemond was flirting.

Warm spread through your body as you shifted, rubbing your thighs together, “I think you also like the bite that comes with it…. The lemon, of course.” You said coyly, a small smirk of your own spreading on your lips.

“Truthfully, lemon tarts have never been favoured by me.”

“But you used to always eat them as a child.” You argued, brows furrowed, “You would steal large piles of them in the Kitchens for me and-“

Oh.

Aemond gave you a small, shy smile, though it short lived before he picked up his plate, and offered it across the table to you, tart cut in half, untouched beyond that. 

Uneaten. 

"Here." The young Prince handed you his tart in the dark, small smile on his lips.

"Are you sure, Aem?" You had asked, hand hovering in the air between you.

"Take it." He smiled.

An offering that you took.

“I thought you liked them.” You said, almost feeling guilty.

“I liked them because you did.”

-

That night you lay in bed beside Aemond, curled against him to sleep, the heat of his body radiating around you. You shifted, trying to get comfortable, rolling over to face your back to him as you closed your eyes.

The day had been good.

You had spoken without vitriol, ate sweets, and read together. You had walked around the Gardens, purposely avoiding the spot where the Monkshood grew, before you both had stopped at the Godswood, looking up at its bright red leaves. 

Aemond had moved to sit beneath it, but it was too much for you. Too normal. Too familiar, and you had lowered your head and walked back to the chambers, leaving a confused silver haired Prince behind. You ate dinner together quietly, and thanked him for spending the day with you, for the lemon tarts, for the walk, with a list you had compiled in your head, and he had given you a small hum in response. 

When you were readied for bed, he had not looked at you, nor had he moved to touch you like he usually did. And instead, let you crawl into bed first, and then him a while after. Writing hunched over a parchment and singular candle light before joining you. 

The hour was late, and your eyes had grown heavy, lulled by his even breathing and the warmth that he brought in the otherwise cozy chambers. 

Two large hands gripped your waist as you had rolled, pulling you back against him. 

Aemond, you quickly realised, craved physical touch. Searched for it wherever he went. Sought it out in you. Even if it was the barest of grazes of a finger on your arm, a hand through your hair. His hand in yours. Your body wrapped around his. 

Aemond craved it, and sought it out from you frequently, and you let him. 

The thin chemise that you wore did little for your modesty as you felt Aemond’s hardening cock press into the flesh of your ass. You shifted, feeling heat bloom within you at his arousal, rubbing backwards against him. 

Aemond sighed, thrusting slowly up against you as one hand held your stomach, pulling you back on him, the other worming its way beneath your head, reaching out to grip the hand that had rested beneath it. 

Long fingers intertwined with yours as he pushed forward again, anticipation building in your chest. The hand on your stomach slid over the curve of your hip, resting on the bone as he pulled you back to guide you against him, chasing his own pleasure as the chemise slowly rose up your thighs.

Reaching back, you pulled the thin silk further up your body, revealing your bare core to him, before moving back again, grasping his heavy length in the palm of your hand. Aemond groaned and thrusted up into your grip as you gave him slow pumps. 

You bit your lip, and guided the head down, feeling the leaking tip rub his arousal on your inner thighs as you lined him up with your core. The hand holding yours tightened, and you felt a puff of breath blow against the back of your head.

Rolling your hips backwards you let his cock glide through your folds, your slick coating his length. You sighed, back arching as his tip brushed against your bud, pleasure sparking within. 

Aemond’s chest vibrated with a groan as he let you arch backwards towards him, assisting in the angle as you pushed the head of his cock to the entrance of your dripping centre.

Slowly he pushed through your folds, groaning as he stretched you apart on his cock, pleasure blooming in your core as you felt every vein and ridge of him brushing your walls inside. 

There was no pain anymore when he did this. The pain had long gone, and only pleasure was in its place as you clenched around his length.

Aemond pulled out slowly before thrusting back into your heat, fingers twitching on your hip and in your hand. You mewled loudly into the room as he began to fuck you slowly, sensually, and sleepily.

You let your head roll backwards onto his shoulder as he kept a steady pace, the sound of your slick folds filling the chambers as you whined. 

The gentle pleasure bloomed within you, with the angle and the way he was moving, his cock brushed against your inner pleasure spot with each thrust. Aemond had learnt your body well, in ways that you did not know where possible. In ways that he continued to learn, and continued to show you the results. 

You let him fuck you sleepily, his hand moving to gently rub against your bud, soft, slow twists of his hand that gradually brought you closer and closer to your peak, other hand moving beneath you to grab at your breast, using it to pull you tightly against him.

Aemond did not whisper to you that evening, only soft moans and sighs leaving his lips behind you, head buried into your neck as he brought you lazily to your peak.

Pleasure rocked through you as you moaned, hips stuttering backwards as he continued his pace, fucking you through your release, slick coating your thighs and his cock as the fingers on your bud continued their ministrations.

Hot flames licked at you as he continued, his pace faltering as your walls clenched down on him tightly.

Aemond came with a grunt, pushing his cock to the hilt within you as he breathed raggedly into your shoulder, lips occasionally placing soft kisses to the skin. You felt his seed fill your core, its warmth settling inside of you hotly. 

Turning your head, Aemond captured your lips into a searing kiss, keeping himself inside of you. He kissed you until you felt out of breath, your release blanketing you in the fuzzy warmth of fatigue.

You hummed as Aemond pulled away, pulling you tightly against him, his length twitching inside of you.

You shifted, trying to tilt your hips so that his cock would slide from your folds, but Aemond only tightened his hold on you, pulling you tighter to his chest. 

“Shh. Go to sleep.” He murmured into your neck, placing another wet kiss there.

You stopped wriggling, feeling oddly full as you tried to do as he said and fall to sleep. It was distracting having him inside of you, and you would occasionally feel his cock jump within you, causing you to moan quietly and clench, and Aemond would shush you again. 

Slowly but surely, the fatigue of the day swept you to your sleep, with Aemond still buried deeply inside of you.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

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Bold is who I cannot tag!

[inhuman-obey-me]

Hello! I want to say that I love your guys work and I’m always excited every time you post something. This is actually my first time requesting so, I would like a barbatos + mc 🚪thank you! Keep up the good work and I can’t wait for your world-building and analysis posts!

Ahhh thank you so much!!! ;//u//; We hope that this can at least somewhat live up to expectations especially as your first time requesting here!!

"I feel a sickness for a home I've never been." - Barbatos/MC

Your fingertips brush the intricate pattern on the door before you, a strange sensation running across your skin as if something was trying to cocoon you in its embrace and pull you in.

“Careful, dear.” 

Barbatos’ voice in your ear nearly makes you jump, your body moving quickly to turn around and face him. He’s amused at your reaction, clear in the way his lips subtly upturn in a smirk. 

“Don’t scare me like that,” you scold, looking back over to the door. It was one of the several in Barbatos’ room, a labyrinth that seemed to slightly shift every time you entered. “...What’s on the other side of this door?”

“Always so curious,” Barbatos murmurs, his gaze briefly lingering on you before turning to the door in question. “Another world, another timeline, another universe. It depends on the day, or my mood. Wherever I will it to go, it will lead.” He pauses, turning back to you with an inquisitive look. “...But you already knew that. What is it about this one that has you so enraptured?” 

“Well,” you hesitate, controlling the urge to reach for the door again. “I…I’m not sure how to explain it, but it’s as if I feel a sickness for a home I’ve never been. Another me, another life.” You pause to wonder about the timelines you’ve jumped, of where you no longer existed. Then, quietly, you ask, “...Have you ever felt that way?” 

He doesn’t answer at first, but you can feel his dark eyes weighing on you. After a moment, he takes a few steps towards the glass wall, looking out into the Devildom night. His horns and tail have an almost iridescent sheen to them as he stands there encased in moonlight, and it is in that moment of ghostly beauty you are reminded of all that he is. 

“I do not have a home outside of this one.” 

“Is this your true timeline, then?” You dare to ask, having always pondered what it meant to be a demon that held the very threads of space-time in his grasp. How easy it would be for him to jump from one reality to the next. 

“True timeline?” He echoes with a hint of mirth. “I suppose you could say that.” 

Furrowing your brows, you move towards him. “What do you mean, you suppose?” 

“Insistent tonight, aren’t we?” There’s a hint of wariness in his tone, and you wonder if you might be pushing too much. He sighs, but continues, “I could not tell you where I truly came from, even if I wanted to. Many years have passed, and I’ve lived many lives. But, this is the only place that has felt like home.” 

You know you might be pushing your luck, but there are so many questions on the tip of your tongue, so you step closer to him and gingerly take his hand in yours. He stiffens for a moment, but soon relaxes into your touch. 

“What does home feel like to you?” You ask. 

Barbatos hums, and you can see he’s trying to find the right words. “...It’s constant, the droning of the universe. If I’m not careful, I can hear the many discordant sounds of space-time all at once, and it’s enough to drive someone mad.” A somber chuckle. “After some…particular events, I found myself facing a harsh reality. Consequences of my actions.” You remember him once speaking of atonement. “I realized what I had to do, even if it meant dealing with those maddening sounds and feelings that haunt my every step. I was prepared for it.” 

He then motions to the world outside, and you swear you can see slivers of silver running through his fingers. “And yet, here is where that cacophony of the universe turned into a melody, and I knew then that this is where I belonged. Serving Lord Diavolo, assisting in making his vision come true. Stewarding a brighter future for the Three Realms alongside the others. I found my purpose.”

There is so much more you want to ask, but before anything leaves your lips you find your gaze locking with his, and a warmth spreads through your chest at the affection held in his eyes. 

“And more recently, I heard the melody like never before. It sounds more complete, more sweet.” He lifts your hand in his, placing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “And that’s because of you.”

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Sanguine

Summary:

The wedding ring was a sweet lie that Polendina desperately clung to in order to placate the painful beating of his mechanical heart. After all, no one has ever heard of a puppet loving a human. He knows this. However, he still decided to validate these illogical emotions through the young man and his lies.

Yet when Polendina sees his fellow puppet and the young miss together, he starts to think that the ring wasn't one of Pinocchio's sweet lies after all.

Pairing: Pinocchio x Fem!reader, implied!Polendina x Antonia

tags: light angst, 3rd POV, no y/n, fluff, 2500 words

•---------•

Carried by the quiet of the night, the gramophone highlights the foyer in a gentle tune. It’s a soft instrumental that keeps Polendina and the few survivors still awake at this hour company, drowning out the ticking of the clock above the check-in desk steadily traveling closer to midnight, the many occupied sounds of pen scripting against paper, and the tinkering of designs and weapons from the far corner of the room. The voiceless melody of the instruments is accompanied by rhythmic humming replacing the missing lyrics. The voice is peaceful, only loud enough that Polendina can barely parse the highs and lows of the pitch mimicking the song from his place behind the counter. It’s an angelic sound, at least if you ask Polendina, who turns an inquisitive eye to the record player.

In the empty space between the gramophone and decorative plants, Geppetto’s puppet and the young miss are resting on the floor. It’s a tight fit but neither seems to mind when their shoulders press together. The young miss sits partially on her right hip with her legs curved to the side towards the puppet while he draws his knees up, neatly positioning himself to allow one foot to sit just in front of her ankles and the other to taper off to the side. It doesn’t seem like the most comfortable position Polendina can imagine but it’s the one the two have taken up since they first started up the turntable.

It seems the young miss is starting to feel the effects because as soon as the thought crosses his mind she shuffles, and it’s an easy adjustment to switch the sides of her position and lean more into the boy instead. As Polendina watches her, he can’t help but notice how at ease she looks.

It’s been a habit to keep an eye on her since she first moved into the hotel as nothing more than a rambunctious orphan child taken under Lady Antonia’s wing and raised in her unbridled kindness, aging into someone somewhat recognizable as a proper lady. In her childhood, his watch would be careful and purposeful, mostly to make sure nothing in the hotel would be accidentally broken. Now, it’s mostly out of concern for Lady Antonia’s daughter. One that, by extension, he almost can call his own.

As much as him, the disease that has beset the proprietor of Hotel Krat has been a source of stress for the heiress. It’s been weeks since he’s seen a modicum of consternation disappear in her practiced expressions and taut speech, and it’s only when the boy angles his head to rest on top of hers that there’s a smile. It looks like Polendina’s watch is no longer required for the time being.

However, he doesn’t turn his sight. 

��---------•

Polendina has seen many things in this world. From the first time he opened his eyes as a newly manufactured puppet fresh off the lines of the Venigni Works' assembly plant, he was privy to the many emotions of humans. Polendina has witnessed pride. It showed in the wide grin of satisfaction, a twinkle in the eye of his creator when he’s stamped with the approved insignia of the company and imprinted with the Grand Covenant, a sign that he would never stray from his duties.

A new model. The latest and greatest assistant from the Venigni line of puppetry.

It’s only by chance that he’s assigned to be the assistant serving Lady Antonia, which meant he was to work at the haunted Hotel Krat until his bolts rusted, joints creaked, and he could no longer function as well as whatever new models were to follow after him. Because of this, many would assume he doesn’t know much about the world. But Polendina can see so many things from here.

Polendina has seen the love between newlyweds. The hotel serviced many a blushing bride and a lucky gentleman. It’s his first introduction to love, an emotion he never thought would ever be the energy that keeps his heart beating and gives meaning to his life.

Polendina has seen the beauty of ball gowns across a crystal floor. He’s heard more stories whispered in between dances and music than most have probably heard their entire lives. Thus, he has also heard the stories of heartbreak. He’s seen the sullen tears draining in black down the face of a discarded lover. Polendina pondered once if oil would seep down his face in the same manner should he be discarded (a fear that he had no need for after so many years by Antonia's side), and he listened to the wails and screams of betrayed souls.

This world was harsh, it seems. But he was lucky enough to have witnessed the true beauty of it in the image of a young woman with dark blonde hair braided in bands and falling over the ear. A beautiful long pearl necklace complementing an elegantly strong neck and pale shoulders. A dress falling over a sturdy yet feminine frame in lovely layers and adorned with white bows as a feathered hat sat atop her head. The elegant gown hid what was underneath, which was an intelligent and ferocious young woman, who could play the part of a perfect lady and a bold lioness all at once. Something the portait of her hanging in the library captured and portrayed better than any clothing.

Polendina never met that young woman but he did meet her as a strong and independent matriarch, and it made it easy to fill in the blanks when his mind would drift to how it would have been to seen her then. Would she have captured his heart as easily as she did now? He'd like to think so as his love for Antonia deepened every year he spent serving at her side.

Unfortunately, Polendina never expected time to happen so fast and so severely.

It’s not age that caused her beauty to wilt but illness. It took pieces of his heart with each second his mistress had to battle this blasphemous disease. It’s a losing battle, he can tell, even though he wished to deny it.

This sense of dread was a new emotion, different from the one that would grip him with every letter of marriage that would eventually wind up at the estate even though he was aware that Lady Antonia never entertained suitors, or perhaps never found one that interested her enough. This emotion was festering, picking at whatever “soul” he possessed and its pitibiable yearning for an affection that was never meant for him to give nor to have.

Because of all the things Polendina has seen, he’s never seen another puppet that loved a human. For what puppet could ever have the capacity for genuine love, and what human – aside from that eccentric who was so thoroughly mocked – would ever entertain a relationship with a puppet, who wasn’t supposed to have illogical emotions like love in the first place?

If Lady Antonia was the exception, he’d never find out. He’d never dare tell her in the first place. It isn’t a burden he wants to place on her fragile heart.

Still, his own mechanical heart burned to tell someone, to have this desperate feeling held close and nurtured tenderly, and to have himself forgiven for this adoration for his human mistress. So, in an act of desperation, he drafted the letter. He placed it at the front desk and signed for Geppetto’s puppet.

Then, he waited.

Polendina could sense his heart beating faster when he heard the heavy steps of his friend stop in front of him. Pinocchio watched him patiently, still holding out the letter. With fear in his heart, Polendina braved to explain his situation. He explained his love for his human master and his fear of her impending death. When all that needed to be said was said, Polendina dared to ask Pinocchio, with all his knowledge of things puppet and human, “Can a puppet and human fall in love? Have you ever met a puppet who loves a human?”

The other puppet tensed, leaving an impregnable silence, which Pinocchio hardly ever spoke out loud to anyone aside from his father, Sophia, and occasionally Gemini unless absolutely necessary. So, this expected silence shouldn’t bother Polendina. But, it does. When Pinocchio finally showed a little insight into his thoughts by tilting his head and averting his gaze to his feet, Polendina knew the truth the young man wanted to say – the truth Polendina knew all along.

Pinocchio has never seen a puppet who loves a human.

Then, Pinocchio’s arm twitched, not one of his sporadic twitchy tweaks, but a hesitant one before he reached into his pocket. The boy opened a tightly clenched hand, presenting a ring delicately crafted with precious metals and with the words “forever yours” scripted into the band.

Polendina has seen a great many wedding rings during the hotel’s heyday, all excitedly shown to Lady Antonia by the many love-soaked honeymooners that would stay at the hotel and the ones gifted to Lady Antonia herself to convince her to accept a stray proposal.

Pinocchio showing him this now must mean that he’s seen it. Somehow. Somewhere. He’s seen a puppet and a human in love, and this ring was the symbol of that love. Polendina would never tell Lady Antonia his adoration for her, but it’s comforting enough to know his emotions were real and another puppet somewhere in the world experienced them as well.

Or most likely, it’s one of the boy’s sweet white lies and these feelings were the daydreams of a fool.

In the end, it’s a lie Polendina chose to believe and savor every fateful day despite never seeing the proof himself.

•---------•

As the gramophone rips and begins to play another song, the smooth humming is replaced by beautiful singing from the record. It’s a cozy and homey song; best shared by the fireplace. Feel, if he remembers the lyrics correctly. It always seems to be a favorite of the boy.

As it plays, the two in the corner look lost in their own little world. For the better part of it, at this time of night, with most retiring to sleep and Polendina himself quiet, this might as well be a world only for them. It didn’t used to be this way. The young miss would usually be held up in her room this time of night, studying the many books on medical remedies, searching failingly for a cure, and the boy hovering at his father’s side as he slept like a faithful hound.

Polendina should have picked up on this change when Pinocchio started to follow her around more often, seeking her out during the hours in between his missions. Quietly studying her humanity, like the others. Polendina is also well aware the boy can speak. Through his time here, the list of those he shared words with has grown exponentially but none more so than with the young miss.

However, that does not stop his hand from resting on the soft junction opposite her elbow. He slowly drags it up her skin, scribbling soft writings into her wrist. Polendina is unaware of what he spells, but the motions are slow and delicate, opposite the aura Pinocchio would have when he’d arrive at the hotel after a mission, tracking black oil, red blood, and blue—whatever—through the entrance, much to everyone’s dismay.

The quiet laughter from her and the small blur of confusion in Pinocchio’s expression explain all Polendina needs to know. Whatever was said was unknowingly innocent, and she traces an affectionate reply back into his palm. The necessity of this line of communication between them melted long ago and instead became a secret language that is only meant for the two of them; a convenient excuse to touch. Soothing messages dance across one another’s hands, the warm smile of a woman in love and the careful touches of a boy who hasn’t yet realized what it means to be in love.

The music plays on late into the night, far beyond the time for the hotel to retire. Polendina goes about his nightly rounds. The guests are relatively clean but there are always one or two things out of place.

When he finishes, the only people remaining in the foyer are himself and the young mistress whose head rests against the shoulder of a puppet undoubtedly adored. Pinocchio’s eyes are shut, and he lies motionless next to her but he’s surely still awake – not needing sleep as a puppet. However, he hasn’t dared to move from the spot since she fell asleep (thirty minutes judging by how many times the same song replayed).

For some reason, Polendina feels guilty for disturbing the pair.

“Pardon me,” he begins. In an instant, Pinocchio opens his eyes, but he still refuses to move, not even to lift his head to look at Polendina, but the attendant can tell the young man is alert and listening. ��I hate to interrupt but it would be best if the young miss retired to her room for the evening. I’m afraid Lady Antonia would not be lenient with either of us if she were to catch a cold on our watch.”

Understanding, Pinocchio nods.

Polendina expects him to wake you up to go to your room; but instead, Pinocchio carefully shifts and slides his humanoid arm behind your knees and the other across your back. He cradles your body in his arms, adjusting only to encourage your head to fall against his chest before he lifts you off the floor. He nods at Polendina again, this time as a bid good night. As Pinocchio walks towards the main staircase, Polendina can swear even his steps sound purposely lighter.

It's an act Polendina has not seen the boy perform before. It’s not a base function for him, Polendina believes, but he carries you up the first step anyway. Polendina can sense his heart squeezing, the ergo inside him humming with memories of a ball. Memories of a beautiful young lady in a white dress. Memories of a sweet smile and a rejected proposal:

“What need is there for me to marry at this age anyway? My dear Polendina has always been plenty.”

There’s a forgotten happiness drumming inside him. Happily, he submits without fight and allows this passionate fervor to blanket him wholeheartedly. This time there’s no regret or guilt as he watches Pinocchio turn up the stairs and disappear to the upper floor. At this moment, he thinks maybe Pinocchio didn’t tell a sweet lie after all.

For Polendina has seen many things.

He’s seen the joy of marriage and family.

He’s seen the tears of heartbreak and love lost.

He’s seen the beauty and harshness of this world.

And now, he too, has seen a puppet in love with a human.

[agustdiv1ne]

Ouuu can I request a soft dom Hongjoong and hard dom hwa with them tag teaming you? I think about it all the time. Like you could be just be relaxing on the couch and hwa just comes behind you and holds you down against the couch has Joong starts doing whatever he wants to you, and you can’t help but love every second of it.

i added consent bc consent is sexy <3 (nsfw under the cut - threesome, seonghwa is referred to as sir, brief hair pulling + choking, fingering (f receiving))

you're sprawled across the couch when you hear them sidle up behind you. two very distinct footfalls: one is heavier, the time between steps slightly longer, while the other is barely audible, soft, unassuming. your heart begins to race.

when they are quiet like this, you're in hot water.

you tense when you feel a body slip underneath your head, a lithe, muscled thigh now serving as a pillow. another, slightly thinner frame slips between your spread legs, an electric blue head of hair tickling your navel — hongjoong. that means seonghwa is the one you're laying on, a fact that's confirmed when one of his hands slides up to your throat.

"are you going to be good for us?" the man above you asks, his voice smooth. you know that this is his own way of asking for consent. you could simply say no, or your safe word, and things would stop here. instead, you nod. there has never been a time when you have felt unsafe with them — you enjoyed when they ambushed you in this way, really.

the fingers splayed across your throat press down. craning your neck, your inquisitive eyes meet seonghwa's, his own unbelievably dark. you gulp, your panties growing wetter by the second.

"use your words," he orders, and you stutter out a meek yes, sir. the pressure on your throat lessens.

hongjoong, tired of being ignored, diverts your attention to him with a hand diving under the waistband of your shorts, stripping them off of you along with your thin panties. you're rendered bare from the waist down, vulnerable to hongjoong's hungry eyes and seonghwa's domineering presence.

"so pretty for us," the man between your legs coos. his nimble hands smooth up your inner thighs as he drinks in the sight of your glistening folds. he glances up at you before his eyes trail up to seonghwa. "isn't she?"

you simply hear a soft hum in response. tired of waiting for something, anything, you whine, hips desperately bucking up a little to encourage hongjoong to touch you. the fingers around your throat slide up to grip your chin, unrelenting as seonghwa forces you to look at him again.

"be quiet, slut," he sneers, delivering a condescending squeeze to your cheeks. "or do you want to be punished?"

you shake your head in panicked conjecture until a tickle of pleasure licks up your spine. the stretch of two of hongjoong's thin fingers against your walls makes you gulp. you take a sharp intake of air as they begin pumping in and out, trying to keep your noises down to tiny little gasps that you wouldn't be disciplined for.

and you do well — for a while. even as you get closer and closer to the edge, you manage to hold it together, biting your tongue to hold your noises in.

until hongjoong's lips wrap around your clit.

you squeal in shock, your orgasm washing you a moment later. the pleasure overwhelms your senses enough for you to ignore just how badly you just fucked up. you are halfway back to earth when rough hands flip you over onto your stomach, one pair pushing your hips up and back towards them and the other pair looping into your hair and tugging hard enough for your head to jerk open. dazed, your glossy eyes find seonghwa's for another time tonight. the fire in his gaze sobers you slightly.

"you didn't listen, sweetheart," hongjoong says from behind you, tone drenched in disappointment. "even came without permission."

"you know how we don't like disobedient sluts, and yet here we are," seonghwa breathes, leering down at you, your head between his thighs — so close to his cock, and yet you're frozen under his laser-like gaze. a tight, painful grip on your hair is a reminder of your impending fate. seonghwa's other free hand moves to the zipper of his jeans, hard cock straining against the dark fabric. as he pulls the zipper down, the head of hongjoong's cock pressing against your awaiting entrance, a thumb teasing your other hole. you close your eyes, awaiting the stretch.

a snap of fingers from behind comes as a silent order to focus. you open your eyes immediately, though your newfound obedience does little to soften seonghwa's wrath nor hongjoong's willingness to go with it. the man in front of you wears an evil smirk as he pumps his rod-straight, red-tipped cock just inches away from your face. you fear the words that he speaks next.

"you're gonna take both of us, and don't even think that we'll let you cum."

oh, you're fucked.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Barbed. Yan!E.Jack x Reader. Cw: Mentions of blood, mild physical harm, suicidal ideation, talk about death.

It was barbed. Jack's tongue, dragging slowly across your throat in a consistent pattern, was painfully barbed, much more so than any regular cat. The barbs were longer, thicker, and more dangerous than any regular feline's, and they served as a reminder of the predator that had you trapped in its literal claws. Said claws were currently dangerously close to digging into your back, as the pads on his palms and fingertips gently pressed into you, you could feel the pointed tips of his claws twitching above them, twitching in excitement as he dragged his tongue along your skin.

He said it always calmed him down, and so it had become a nightly routine in your imprisoned house to lay down and allow him to lick at your most vulnerable area for attack. The smell of your blood, the taste of your flesh, it tempted him and satisfied him at the same time, and it always caused your heart to race in fear as he held you down. A growled purr slipped out of him as he continued to lap at your skin, and you shivered underneath him, his claws poking into your skin.

"Don't you want to eat me?" Your question is timid but brave. You rarely speak at these times, and it's even rarer for you to ask such a question, but you feel a numbness spreading over you tonight that pushes you to ask the thing that's been on your mind since he kidnapped you all those months ago. His tail swished behind him, the fur coating it puffing up in mild annoyance at you interrupting him.

"…Yes. But, I won't. It would be a waste to eat you, unless in small portions." His words were said in a bluntly honest tone, and it only further spread your numbness. His hands traced over them, those bandaged bitemarks on your body that were the 'smaller portions'. You swallowed deeply. He would always answer anything you asked him, even if it annoyed him or he didn't want to. He resumed licking at your neck, and you sighed beneath him.

"If you wanted to eat me, would you kill me? Eat all of me?" An even bolder question poured from your lips, dripping in disguised venom and apathy. He licked firmly at your throat at that, dragging off a layer of your skin as he went intentionally, warning you.

"No." His voice was firm, and he pulled back to stare at you with his eyes that could only see you by your heat signature (an unfortunate thing when trying to hide from him), you swallowed nervously as you stared up at him, his claws sinking deeper into your back.

"I don't know why you're feeling so inquisitive tonight, but you're pushing it." His tail swished angrily behind him, his ears perched back in annoyance. You didn't know why, but you felt the need to not back down.

"I'm just curious, is all. Considering my life is in your hands, and you've already tasted me before." He growled lowly at your statement, not appreciating your attitude, and he leaned back down to continue licking at your skin, trying to calm his heightened nerves.

You wanted to push him one more time, for all of the things he'd put you through.

"I think it would be nice, to die. To be freed from these shackles."

"Stop it."

"Perhaps in death, I could be outside again, and run through a field all by myself."

"Stop it."

"I could finally be away from you. Although I'd be trapped with you forever, you'd like that. I'd be inside of you since you'd eat all of me, and I'd be a part of you."

"Stop it!"

"The release of death just sounds so wonderful, to be granted release from all of this--"

"STOP IT! STOP IT RIGHT THIS MOMENT!" He screamed at you louder than he ever had before, and for the first time in a while, you felt fear coursing through you as he grabbed onto your shoulders, sinking his claws deep inside of you.

"YOU'RE NEVER LEAVING ME! YOU'RE NEVER LEAVING THIS HOUSE, YOU'RE NEVER LEAVING MY SIDE, YOU ARE NEVER GETTING AWAY FROM HERE!" He continued to scream, his demonic tones coming out, causing you to tremble beneath him, and as tears and a stray whimper left you, he snapped back into focus. He took one of his bloodied hands from your trembling shoulders and stroked your cheek, gathering your tears as they mixed with the blood on your skin. He leaned down, licking the tears and newly added blood from your face, before nuzzling into you gently.

"You know I don't mean to scream at you, Little Rabbit. You just… You just kept pushing me, and you know I get worked up when you discuss these topics." He spoke as though he was chastising a toddler about stealing a cookie from a jar, and you laid beneath him, numbness replaced with the bitter fear you'd forgotten these last few weeks. He leaned away from you, looking at your face again, and he said your name in a firm and serious tone.

"Do not ever speak like that again. I will not allow you to die, and I will not allow you to leave me, do you understand me?" His face was cold and firm, deep-seated anger he was holding in dancing on his features.

"…Yes, I understand." Was your quiet answer as you shrunk under his gaze, averting your eyes so you didn't have to stare at him anymore.

"Good. Now let me bandage you up, I don't want your body getting infected." He pulled you up forcefully, dragging you to the medical area of your prison-like house.

He would clean you with his mouth, taking stray bites here and there, but he would bandage you and disinfect you as best he could, and you would heal. You would heal, and this cycle would repeat again and again until the day you finally died. A day you wished would come sooner rather than later.

[iamjucie]

Pet (18+) pt. 4 of 4

Ascended Astarion x f!reader

Chapter Four: Pink

I suggest reading the first three of the series before this, there is a bit of a plot in the porn. Just a little.

Summary: Master Astarion takes away your hurt and allows you to enjoy the sweet nothing of enthrallment.

WARNINGS: Smut, Extremely dubious consent, Mind control/manipulation, Orgasm control, Abusive relationship, Stockholm Syndrome, Physical Abuse

I do not say this lightly- Astarion is evil in this. This is an extremely toxic relationship. You have been warned!

(AO3 Link)

When he goes to lift your hips from him, you flinch and groan. So overwhelmed with sensitivity from both of your earth shattering orgasms.

He notices this and tuts, “Darling, I do expect you know I am not finished with you yet. Are you feeling…” he moves his hand down, pushing two fingers inside and allowing his wrist to graze your clit, drawing a scream from your lips. “...Sensitive?”

“Y-yes master I- Ah” he begins to massage inside you while you talk to him. He loves to see you struggle. “I-I don't think I can manage any more master… I-It- it hurts.”

“My poor child,” he coos while still massaging winces and hisses from your lips. “What are we meant to do about that, hm?”

You are struggling to think through the assault on your senses, rendering your brain struggling to focus on anything the pain he is bringing onto you “I-I don’t know…” you stutter pathetically, “C-can you make it stop hurting? Maybe I- You- M-Make it feel good.”

Astarion stops in his conquest to destroy your senses and places a hand on his cheek, feigning surprise. “Darling, are you asking me to compel you to enjoy it?”

“Y-yes. No, I-I don’t know. I only want to make you feel good, that is my purpose. Would that be bad? ” you inquired, genuinely confused.

“Absolutely not my dearest!” he chuckles as he reaches to caress your cheeks, as if you were a child embarrassed that she said something wrong. “I would be happy to oblige.”

You settle yourself into position ready for your master to take the wheel. Gods, you loved when he did this. You love having him in your mind, controlling your every move, your every reaction. When thinking is all you ever do, it’s blissful to not have a thought in your head.

The feeling of him entering your mind is akin to laying in a fresh set of silk sheets. Fog drapes over your thoughts and everything seems far away. Wrapping your brain in a warm, silky coating. You are no longer in your body, you are elsewhere. Here, everything is quiet.

Everything except him, and he is all that matters.

“Okay, Pet.” you hear his voice ring in your mind amidst the fog. You tilt your head inquisitively, awaiting your command. You can’t wait, you are so very eager to serve. “All I want you to do is feel good for me. Can you do that? Nod if you can do that.”

You nod. 

The fog suddenly lifts slightly and you are back in your body with Astarion. Everything has a slight tint of pink to it, but that’s ok. Pink is a very good color. It makes you feel very good.

“Sigh, Look at what has become of you dear.” he reaches his hand to caress your cheek. “So utterly pathetic.”

You smile at him, the fog makes words jumble in your mind but you can hear your master’s voice. Master’s voice is so beautiful. You reach your hand to grip his on your face, nuzzling your face into it. It makes you feel very good.

He flips you onto your back, your giddiness is palpable. You giggle as he caresses you. Everything tickles a little, it feels good.

“Gods, you’re giggling like a gods-damned child.” he scoffs, “You’re a shell of the powerful woman you once were. Do you know why, love?”

You don’t quite understand what he’s saying to you but you get the impression he is expecting a response. You tilt your head with an inquisitive expression, replaying what he said to try to understand. All you can do is think about how good his voice makes you feel.

A more prominent voice comes into your mind. He has a command for you.

“Say, ‘Why, Master?’ for me, love” it echoes in your brain until it is fulfilled.

“Why, master?” you say with no thought or intention behind it. You look at him with the deepest form of affection known to man; enthrallment.

He grabs you and pulls your ear to his lips. “Because I took it from you.” he hisses, hand moving down to your clit to massage it. “I stole your strength, your talent, your mind from you.” he smiles at you.

He’s so pretty when he smiles.

“You put up quite the fight for a bit but in the end, I won. I always do.”

His fingering in your cunt gets more aggressive, he loves making you feel good. He feels so good inside you, and his voice is like music in your clouded mind.

“I beat you, fucked you, isolated you until you were exactly the way I want you.” He scoffs, “Proof that my power is strong enough to turn the strongest heroes into whores that only exist to be my cumslut. The hero of Baldur’s Gate, locked in a bedroom in my palace for me to fuck when I please.”

He starts to laugh, he must have told a joke. Master is so funny. You laugh along with him.

He lifts your hips onto his cock once more. You feel a rush of pleasure drawing a languid moan from your lips. This is what hurt before? No no- it must have been something else that was hurting. This- this is too profound to hurt.

You start to bounce on his cock, pulling him in and out fully the way your body knows he likes. It feels so good. 

“You’re a fucking idiot do you know that?” he through pants as he ferociously fucks you. “Thinking you would ever be my ‘Dark Consort’, thinking I would let you in on the glory? Please.”

His voice sounds like a symphony.

“I knew from the moment I met you, you were just a desperate, stupid slut. Just needed some coaxing out by my hand.” he continues, “Say you’re nothing but a desperate slut and nothing without me inside you.”

Again, you have the feeling he is expecting a response from you but you don’t quite know what to say. You feel so good wrapped around his cock. Everything is so perfect. 

He slaps you across the face and puts his hand around your neck. 

The heat of the hit goes straight to your cunt. Waves of pleasure rush over your mind. It feels. So. Damn. Good. You’re on the cusp of the biggest orgasm of your undead life. 

He enters your mind with a command, “I said, say you’re nothing but a desperate slut and nothing without me inside you.”

“Ah- I-I’m a desperate slut!” you try to use your voice between moans, “a-and I’m n-nothing without you i-inside me-e!”

You don’t even know what you’re saying, you’re so fucking close. 

“Gods…“ Astarion is on the edge of coming inside you. “Fucking-“

He enters your mind. “Come when I say. I need to feel you clench around my cock as I have you spilling with me.”

“Three…”

Your body starts to prepare for the hit of chemicals your brain is about to receive.

“Two…”

You’re so fucking close, you’re under his thumb. He just needs to lift it ever so slightly and you’re riding this wave together. 

“One. Come for me”

Your body obeys. Your scream could easily be mistaken for him killing you if this routine wasn’t so practiced. You convulse and clench around his member inside of you, milking his spend for all you can. You lay in a pleasurable bliss. A numbness like no other, with your master’s spend leaking from your cunt. Fucked beyond measure. 

***

The pink fog of your vision lifts for the most part. The fog is still clouding your thoughts, it usually does until master is gone for a long while.  

After a brief respite, Astarion begins to put his clothes back on. Gazing at his reflection to ensure there’s no imperfections in his appearance. 

He turns on his heels to face you and clasps his hands together. “Well my love, I’m afraid I need to head out.” he explained with an exaggerated frown. “I have a very very important meeting out of town I need to attend.”

“Again? But you just came back from a trip…” you pout. 

“Darling,” his eyes glow slightly in your gaze, “that was 2 weeks ago!”

You scrunch your face. Has it been that long? You concentrate on remembering the past two weeks. 

He places a hand on your forehead to check for a fever. “Are you feeling unwell?”

Think… Oh! How could you have forgotten? You helped to decide the warpath of where to expand the empire you two have built. Yes, yes. How could you forget? Time does fly when you have fun.

You lay naked on the bed, watching as your master makes his way to leave your shared chambers to go on yet another important trip. You love that your master is such an important man, that is what he always wanted and what he deserves. But, selfishly, you hate that he always needs to go away. Oh well. You should be grateful you had such an eventful two weeks with him. 

He knocks 3 times on the chamber door with no handles. Did that always have no door knob? You can’t bring yourself to recall, your mind and body spent beyond their limit. 

Master’s assistant- whose name is lost on you- opens the door for him. As he is beginning to make his way out the door, you call out to him.

“Wait master!”

He turns to you. “Hm? Yes, pet?”

“Where is your business trip located? I forgot to ask, I like to know so I can imagine us going there together one day.”

He tilts his head in endearment and smiles at you.

“Neverwinter, my lovely. I must be going, the carriage is waiting. Now, you know the routine by now? Think of me while I’m gone.”

The images he wants you to imagine flow into your mind like a tidal wave. You hear him in your mind telling you not to touch yourself and that you can’t climax without permission. 

“Of course, master. I will behave myself”

“Good girl. I will see you before you know it, my pet”

“I love you, master”

“Yes, I know. And I you.” he says as the door is shut

***

“Sire, just to ensure I’m not mistaken,”  Astarion’s assistant asks shortly after the door to the vault is locked shut as she walks beside him down the hall, “your soonest business meeting is six months from now? In Waterdeep?” 

“You would be correct. If you need me, I’ll be in my office.”

“Of course, sire.”

***

You are sitting in the lavish master chamber of the ornate palace you call home. Gazing into your reflection in the vanity mirror combing your unnaturally long black hair, getting lost in thought. It’s really all there is to do when Master Astarion is away on extended business trips like this.

It does help, too, that before he left he told you to think of him while he was gone. It was a command. So you obey. And you think.

The End

I hope you enjoyed my very first time writing fanfiction!! If you like my style and have any ideas or suggestions, let me know! This was so much fun to write and I can't wait to write more!

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 05 Chapter 05 | awakening force⌟

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The thrill of your newfound power lingered as you walked home. A shiver danced down your spine—a delicious mix of fear and exhilaration.

You were no longer just Y/N. You were something more, something... powerful.

Reaching your house, the murmur of conversation drifted from the kitchen.

Inside, you found your mom chatting with a couple perched at the table—Hiro and Shisuki, your parents' old high school friends.

You vaguely remembered them stopping by a few weeks ago to celebrate your dad's promotion.

Hiro, tall and tan with a shock of lime-green hair and light brown eyes, flashed a friendly grin. Shisuki, his wife, offered a wan smile. She was pale and slender, her lavender hair mirroring the color of her eyes.

You noticed something subtly off about them. You couldn't quite put your finger on it.

Your mom, ever watchful, intercepted you before you could linger. "Y/N! There you are, sweetie. Let me see those hands." Her voice held a familiar edge of worry as she inspected the scrapes from your encounter with Bakugo.

Before you could protest, she whisked you upstairs, muttering about "rough-housing" and "being careful."

With a sigh, you resigned yourself to a quick bath. Wrapping a towel around your head, you picked up a rag and began drying your hair as your mom hurried downstairs, called upon by your dad to help entertain the guests while dinner simmered.

Alone in your room, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the floor, you replayed the scene in your mind.

The memory of your helpless rage, the shove that sent Bakugo sprawling— it all felt distant now, overshadowed by the chilling realization of what happened next.

The way Bakugo crumpled, his whimpers replaced by a strange, terrified silence—it was like you'd flicked a switch, taking control of him not with your body, but with your will.

Suddenly, the image in your mind flickered. Bakugo's tear-streaked face contorted, morphing into an older visage. Golden-brown eyes, framed by a mess of unruly blond hair, stared up at you with an unsettling intensity. A wide, toothy grin stretched across his face, revealing a chipped canine tooth.

The boy—no, the young man—held a chainsaw in one hand, the whirring blade a constant hum against the silence. Yet, despite the weapon and the wildness in his eyes, the most unsettling aspect was the way he looked at you.

It wasn't just fear or submission; it was a kind of god-worship, a bizarre adoration that promised nothing but utter obedience.

The distorted voice echoed in your mind, the words spoken with a reverence that bordered on obsession. "You... have control..."

You blinked, the mental image dissolving like smoke. Your heart hammered against your ribs, the echo of the phantom voice lingering in your ears.

The room seemed to vibrate with your nervous energy. You grabbed a stray pillow, squeezing it until your knuckles turned white.

This power... it was intoxicating, a forbidden fruit that promised both dominion and danger.

The memory of Bakugo's terrified face warred with the strange, exhilarated feeling of controlling the distorted figure in your mind. It felt wrong, alien, yet strangely exhilarating.

You practiced the word in your mind, a mantra of your newfound power: "Control." The word resonated within you, a dark promise of possibilities. Curiosity gnawed at you. Could you do it again?

Glancing out the window, you saw a familiar sight—a plump robin perched on the sill, its head tilted inquisitively.

This little visitor often graced your window ledge, a welcome distraction from the monotony of your days.

Today, however, it served a different purpose. It was a test subject, a pawn in the game you were starting to play with your own abilities.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you pushed the window open a fraction. The robin cocked its head again, then with a bold chirp, hopped inside.

It fluttered around the room for a moment, its bright red breast a splash of color against the now-beige walls (you utterly despised the pretty-pink-princess aesthetic and threw an absolute fit until it was gone).

A cruel amusement bubbled within you.

This was your domain now, and this little creature was subject to your will.

You focused your mind, picturing the bird in your control. "Fly." You willed the bird to take flight.

It obeyed instantly, launching itself from the floor in a flurry of feathers. You guided it through the air with your thoughts, a puppeteer manipulating its movements.

The bird performed aerial flips, swooped low to the ground, then ascended again in dizzying spirals.

A giddy smile stretched across your face as you willed the robin to perform another daring maneuver. It swooped low to the ground, skimming the throw rug with its wings before launching into a spectacular corkscrew climb.

You felt a surge of exhilaration, a sense of power you'd never known before.

This—this was your Quirk!

Suddenly, the urge to share your newfound ability with your parents overwhelmed you.

You bolted for the stairs, the excited chirp of the robin echoing in your wake. Reaching the top of the stairs, you paused.

Your parents were in the living room, your mom topping off two glasses of whiskey for their guests.

"So, how's Y/N doing these days? Anything new?" you heard Hiro ask, his voice laced with a hint of amusement.

"Oh, you know," Wino replied, his tone dismissive.  "Same old, same old. Still no sign of a Quirk manifesting."

A bitter taste filled your mouth.

Here you were, bursting with the revelation of your newfound power, only to be dismissed by your own father.

Hiro chuckled, the sound sharp and unpleasant.  "Poor kid. Stuck being Quirkless in a world like this.  Rough luck."

Your father laughed along, a hollow sound that grated on your nerves.

Mei, ever perceptive, picked up on the shift in the conversation.  "Dinner will be ready soon," she announced, her voice laced with annoyance.  "Wino, please try not to discuss such sensitive topics about our daughter while I'm here." With a huff, she turned and stalked back towards the kitchen.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.

You stood frozen on the stairs, the joy of your discovery replaced by a cold anger. They didn't believe in you.

They pitied you.

You stared at them, a cold emptiness settling in your chest. Their flippant dismissal of your prior Quirklessness, the way they treated it like a minor inconvenience, stung more than you cared to admit.

Without a word, you turned and retreated back up the stairs, the robin fluttering after you with a soft chirp.

Reaching your room, you sank onto the bed, the bird landing gently on your shoulder. Staring down at the bird, a flicker of defiance sparked in your eyes.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. You reached out a hand, gently rubbing its soft feathers.  Focusing on the bird, you willed it to fly away.  "Fly," you whispered the order once more.

The robin launched itself into the air, soaring effortlessly around your room. A surge of satisfaction coursed through you. You could do it again.

You were powerful.

For the next hour, you spent time honing your newfound ability. It was like playing a video game, but with a living creature as your avatar.

You sent the bird on dizzying spirals, weaving through furniture and dodging obstacles with practiced ease. But as minutes turned into an hour, the thrill began to wane.

The bird, once curious, now fluttered erratically, its tiny body exhausted by your relentless commands.

You released your control, and with a tired chirp, the robin landed on your outstretched finger. You stroked its soft feathers, a sense of boredom replacing your amusement.

A different idea took root. You remembered the innate feeling that nearly swallowed you as you willed Bakugo under your control.

With a deep breath, you focused on the bird, visualizing a pressure building within its tiny body. Staring intently at the robin, you willed that invisible force to constrict its organs.

The bird froze, its bright eyes filled with sudden fear. You broke eye contact and released the pressure. It chirped weakly, its body trembling.

You hadn't seen any outside physical harm, but the raw terror in the bird's eyes was enough.

The robin let out a relieved chirp and took shook its feathers, before looking up at you, waiting for its next command.

As the bird sat before you, a surge of exhilaration washed over you.

You hadn't just controlled something; you'd inflicted pain, a mere taste of the power you now wielded.

A chilling realization settled in your stomach—this wasn't just dominance; it was manipulation on a terrifying level.

Suddenly, a familiar voice jolted you from your introspection. "Y/N! Dinner's ready, honey!" It was your mother's voice, laced with a warmth that seemed to pierce the fog of darkness clouding your mind.

With a sigh that carried the weight of the world, you sat the bird down and pushed yourself off the bed, heading downstairs. Every step felt heavy, a chore rather than a movement.

As you reached the bottom stair, something strange caught your attention.

It was a smell. Not unpleasant, but amplified.

Your mom's familiar scent of lavender soap and cinnamon rolls mingled with the sharp tang of cleaning supplies. But these were just base notes. A new layer of perception had been added.

You could smell everything with a startling clarity.

Your father's cologne, a cloying mix of citrus and musk, suddenly seemed overpowering.

Shisuki's perfume was a sickly sweet floral that made your stomach churn. Hiro's scent was worse—a combination of stale beer and something vaguely acrid, like sweat that hadn't quite dried.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, you came to a screeching halt. The world smelled different, and not necessarily in a good way.

Then came sight.

You recognized the scene unfolding before you—your mother setting dishes, your father laughing with a man by the TV. But a chilling disconnect settled in your gut.

You knew who these people were supposed to be—your parents and their friends, Hiro and Shisuki. Yet, their appearances seemed...wrong.

Your mother turned, her smile widening at the sight of you. "There you are, sweetie! Come sit down, dinner's ready."  She gestured towards the table, her familiar voice a grounding presence amidst the sensory overload.

You shuffled forward, eyes glued to the couple beside your parents.

Hiro, you vaguely remembered, was tall and tan with brown eyes and lime green hair. Shisuki, his wife, was pale and slender and had hair the color of lavender with matching eyes.

But staring at them now, their features seemed blurry, their colors muted.  Like someone had smeared their image with dirty fingers.

You tried to focus, to etch their appearances into your memory.  But the harder you concentrated, the more their forms dissolved, details slipping through your grasp like sand through your fingers.

Panic clawed at your throat.  What was happening?  Why couldn't you remember their faces?

A sudden realization dawned on you. The heightened sense of smell came at a cost. You could now only distinguish people by their scent, but your ability to differentiate faces seemed to have dulled.

It was a strange trade-off, one that mirrored how a dog identifies others through scent.

You had gained a quirk, yes, but it came with a price—quickly, you darted your eyes down to your plate, unable to bear looking at the distorted couple any longer.  But even that small movement seemed to draw attention.

"Honey, is everything alright?" Mei's voice filled the room, laced with concern.

You wanted to scream, to blurt out your questions: Were those really Hiro and Shisuki?  Was your mind playing tricks on you?  But the words wouldn't come.  The fear was paralyzing.

Stealing another glance at the couple before forcing your eyes back to your plate, you mumbled, "I don't feel very hungry anymore."

Your mother's eyes widened significantly, a hint of worry flickering across her face.  "Oh, sweetie," she began, her voice taking on that fretful tone you knew all too well.  "Is there something wrong? Maybe you don't like what I made? I could fix you something else—"

Before she could launch into a full-blown worry spiral, your father cut in.  "Y/N," he started, his voice heavy with irritation, "stop acting childish and just eat your dinner."

The room fell silent.

You felt a prickle of defiance rise within you, but it was quickly squashed by the overwhelming confusion and fear.

You stared up blankly at your father, then reached across the table for your water glass, taking a slow sip before setting it back down with a clink.

"You know what—" your father started, his voice rising in anger.

But before he could explode, Shisuki interjected, her voice firm but strangely calm.  "Wino," she said, clearing her throat slightly, "why don't you take a breather? Maybe go outside for a smoke or something?"

A beat of silence followed, then Hiro spoke up, his voice warm and friendly.  "Yeah, man. Take twenty.  We'll keep an eye on things."

With a heavy sigh, and a final glare in your direction, your father pushed himself away from the table.  "Fine," he grumbled. "But someone's gotta go get some dessert. There's nothing decent in this house."

Without waiting for a response, he stormed out, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

As soon as the front door slammed shut, the air crackled with a tension you hadn't noticed before.

Shisuki, with a cruel edge creeping into her previously saccharine voice, leaned towards your mother and remarked, "Honestly, I don't know how you two deal with it, Mei. All that screaming and tantrums—it's no wonder people are rethinking having kids these days. It honestly makes us so grateful we don't have to deal with any of that with Yumi."

Hiro, previously sporting a smug smirk, let out a bark of laughter that grated on your nerves.  "Yeah, Shisuki's right. Yumi's such a sweet, well-adjusted child. Always top of her class, never a complaint," he chimed in, his voice laced with a smugness that turned your stomach.  "Y/N? She's a walking advertisement for abstinence if I ever saw one."

The words struck you like a physical blow.  Your breath hitched, and a hot ember of anger ignited in your chest, growing with each passing insult.

You clenched your fists so tightly your nails dug into your palms, but it wasn't enough to contain the surge of power that threatened to erupt from within.

Your mother, bless her heart, attempted a feeble defense. "She's just going through a tough phase, that's all," she stammered, her voice wavering. "She'll grow out of it."

Shisuki scoffed, the sound harsh and dismissive. "Oh, honey, this is more than just a phase," she condescended, her eyes flickering towards you with a cold, calculating gleam. "What you need to do is take her to a professional. There are specialists who can deal with these...issues."  Her voice dripped with a false sympathy that made your skin crawl.  "After all, I am a child psychologist. I've seen my fair share of troubled youngsters."

Wino's absence hung heavy in the air, his departure emboldening the couple like vultures sensing weakness.  They felt free to dissect you like a lab rat, their words slicing deeper with each cruel pronouncement.

Mei, clearly struggling, could only stammer a weak response, overwhelmed by their condescending assault.

Then, a horrifying realization dawned on you. They weren't just talking about you—they pitied your parents for having you, while in the same breath, celebrating their own perfect child.

A dangerous glint flickered in your eyes, mirroring the growing inferno within your chest.  The memory of Bakugo's compliance surfaced, a chillingly sweet reminder of your newfound power; the image of the robin, tweeting in alarm, hapless and in your mercy.

For a terrifying split second, the world seemed to blink. Shisuki was crumpled sideways, her head lolling at an unnatural angle as crimson bloom spread across her once-pristine white blouse, a silent scream trapped behind her lips.

Hiro slumped forward, his chair clattered onto the floor, eyes wide with terror as a similar stain blossomed on his lime-green shirt. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, a sickening counterpoint to their choked gasps and desperate clawing at empty air.

Their bodies convulsed into a grotesque form of flesh and bones, their lives draining away before your very eyes.

The image was so vivid, so real, that you almost choked on a gasp. Your breath hitched, the taste of iron flooding your mouth. But before you could succumb to the darkness, a flicker of self-preservation sparked within you.

No, they won't get the better of you.

With a deep breath, you wrestled the power back in, forcing it down into the churning depths of your being.

Slamming your fork down on the table, the harsh clang echoed through the room, effectively halting the conversation.  All eyes turned to you, surprise etched on their faces.

"I'm not hungry anymore," you declared, your voice surprisingly steady despite the tremor running through you.  "Good night."  Without waiting for a response, you pushed yourself away from the table and headed towards the stairs.

"Honey, wait!" your mother called after you, her voice laced with concern.  "Are you sure you're alright?  Maybe I can make you a sandwich..."

You paused on the bottom step, the sound of her fretting already starting to grate on your nerves.  "No, really, I'm fine," you said, forcing a smile.  "Thanks anyway."

As you ascended the stairs, you could hear your mother's voice trailing behind you, a mixture of concern and indecision.

Reaching your door, you spared a final glance back at the scene unfolding downstairs.  Shisuki and Hiro were engrossed in conversation again, their faces devoid of any worry about your abrupt departure.

The moment you were out of sight, however, the conversation shifted.  Their voices, though lowered, were still audible.

"Honestly," Hiro scoffed, "what a useless child.  Quirkless and a constant burden."

Your mother gasped, a sound of wounded pride. "Hiro!" she protested.  "That's not fair.  And besides, Wino and I are Quirkless too, remember?"

Shisuki, her voice dripping with condescension once again, waved her off dismissively.  "Darling, at least you two contribute to society. Your husband's a decent accountant, and you tutor those college kids on the side. But what good is that girl?  She's a walking black hole of wasted potential. Honestly, she'd probably be better off in some kind of...  well, you know."

Their words hung heavy in the air, the unspoken implication a sledgehammer blow to your already fragile ego.

Your hand instinctively closed around the doorknob, knuckles turning white. A cold fury burned in your gut, fueled by their callous disregard for your feelings.

As the last of their conversation faded away, you finally closed the door, the sound a small act of defiance.

Slumping against the cool wood, you slid down to the floor, knees pulled tight to your chest.  Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palm until a crescent moon of pain bloomed.

The heat in your chest bubbled over, a volcanic rage threatening to erupt.  Your body trembled, wracked with a potent mix of anger and fear.

Flashes of the power you wielded, the intoxicating satisfaction of controlling Bakugo and toying with the bird, looped through your mind like a cruel highlight reel.

"I...need it," you muttered, the words barely a whisper.  The urge to unleash that power, to silence the voices that taunted and belittled you, was overwhelming.

But then, a soft chirp pierced the storm raging within you.  You glanced up to see the robin perched on your desk, its head cocked inquisitively.

The sight of the small creature, so full of life and innocence, was a much-needed anchor.

Taking a shaky breath, you pushed yourself to your feet, legs wobbly like a newborn foal.

Stumbling towards the bird, you reached out a hand.  It chirped again, a single, questioning note, before hopping onto your outstretched palm.

Walking over to the window, bathed in the soft glow of the twilight sky, you gently stroked the bird's head.  Below, you could see your parents saying their goodbyes to Shisuki and Hiro.

Their laughter, strained and forced, grated on your nerves.

Eyes going blank, you entered a state of intense focus. The world narrowed, the air crackling with invisible energy. Walking back to your bed, the small bird remained motionless on your finger.

You settled against the pillows, propping yourself up for a better view. "Fly." With a chirp, the bird nestled in your hand took flight around your room once again. Its tiny wings beat a silent rhythm as it zipped and zagged.

With a sigh, you dropped your hands, severing the mental connection.

Well, kind of.

The moment the bird was outside of your window, a harsh caw ripped through the air.

"Caw!" You recognized it instantly—the hunting call of the large falcon that had been terrorizing the smaller birds lately.

Right on cue, a blur of feathered fury streaked into view, diving for its prey

Just as the falcon was about to snatch the smaller bird in its talons, you clenched your fists, focusing your power inwards. It was a forceful contraction, like crumpling a piece of paper with your mind.

Staring intently at your clenched fist, you imagined the falcon instead. You envisioned every detail, its sharp beak, powerful wings, and piercing eyes.

Then, with a flick of your wrist, you imagined it crushed, its body crumpled like the paper you'd envisioned earlier.

A beat later, a sickening thud echoed from outside, followed by a strangled cry.

You scrambled to your window, flinging it open despite the cool night air.  Below, on the sidewalk in front of your house, a gruesome scene unfolded.

Shisuki and Hiro, caught completely off guard, stood frozen in shock.  Blood splattered across their clothes, a horrifying reminder of the falcon that lay lifeless at their feet, its body mangled beyond recognition.

You stared, the image searing itself into your memory. A wave of apathy, as familiar as an old friend, washed over you.

The dream, the impossible dream, of a life with Pochita—a family built on fear and adoration, flickered through your mind.

Even if you'd been devoured by Chainsaw Man himself, even if you'd been granted a twisted rebirth in that blood-soaked world, the machinations would have continued.

Schemes and plots would have brewed in the dark corners of your mind, always focused on the same objective: eliminating the blonde parasite, Denji, and securing your place at Pochita's side.

But here, in this mundane reality, such grand ambitions felt pointless.

With a sigh that carried the weight of extinguished dreams, you slumped back against the pillows.  The power you possessed was a burden, a constant reminder of the darkness that lurked within you.

Maybe, you thought with a flicker of morbid curiosity, there was a way to use it for good.

But for now, the allure of apathy was far too strong to resist.  You closed your eyes, the image of the lifeless falcon and the horrified faces of Shisuki and Hiro swirling behind your eyelids.

The future is now stretched before you, an uncertain path riddled with both possibilities and perils.

Would you become a conqueror, wielding your power for dominion? Or could you learn to control not just others, but yourself?

Who knows? But there one thing you do know...

The game had just begun, and the choice was yours.

A/N: Ahh, denji my bby 😭❤️

[lychniis]

❝ i know who i am when i'm alone, i'm something else when i see you. you don't understand, you should never know, how easy you are to need. ❞

HOZIER , IT WILL COME BACK

WELCOME TO ATTAR

the perfumery shall open shortly. please register here [ taglist ], to book an appointment. CLICK HERE TO VIEW UPDATES.

fandoms : genshin impact, honkai star rail

i. WITH THE COMING OF OCTOBER, it's time to set forth kinktober '23! i really appreciate the amount of support i have received from you guys over the past year spent in this blog and i've decided to dip my toes into posting some mature content alongside my usual sfw works!

ii. LET MONSTERS AND HORROR serve our theme, where i hope to entice you with smut ( that has too much plot *shivers in qinxing in the mountain* ), all presented with an array of perfumes to chose from. many thanks to @crystalflygeo for prompt ideas kjhgvbhnj.

iii. PLEASE NOTE THAT THE SCHEDULE IS NOT A FIXED DATE. due to my own projects and college hounding me, the fics will be posted at my own time, though i will endeavor to try and keep them within the constraints of october. they might end up far longer than i would have originally intended.

COMING SOON ON OCTOBER

( note ) : the content linked below is unsuitable for minors. by clicking 'view more', you are verifying yourself as a consenting adult. if you are not of consenting age, then please dni with this post.

SCENT ONE : ( GARDENIA ) ❝ ARARE LITUS ❞ feat. neuvillette.

people round the port have gone missing in the recent weeks, their bodies found by the beaches, clearly having drowned to their miserable ends. neuvillette questions the motives of the person behind it, till he notices the presence of an inquisitive oceanfolk beneath the waters.

⚠︎ CW : mermaid ! reader, dragon ! neuvillete, mentioned murder, reader being very naïve in terms of how humans work, angst / hurt / comfort, fluff domesticity, give these guys a hug, canon compliant, first time, lingerie, temperature play, gentle sex, mutual masturbation, body worship, overstimulation.

SCENT TWO : ( PEONY ) ❝ RARA AVIS IN TERRUS ❞ feat. zhongli.

the world was a dangerous place, for one like you. as the hunters draw close, you seek refuge in a dragon's lair, hoping to find a way to live. the dragon in question lingers close and tolerates your presence. you wonder when he'd demand for more. birds, after all, were so easily torn apart by claws and fangs.

⚠︎ CW : bird hybrid ! reader, dragon ! zhongli, monsterfucking, trafficking and hunting, reader had a pretty rough past prior to this, angst / hurt / comfort, fluff, some attempts at world building, canon divergent / au, mating cycles / heat, breeding kink, orgasm denial, size kink, biting / scratching, bondage, sensory deprivation.

SCENT THREE : ( ORCHID ) ❝ TANQUAM EX UNGUE LEONEM ❞ feat. jing yuan

you try to live your life the best you can. you try to be a good person despite the world wearing you down. however, upon stumbling into abcast away angel with liquid madness running through his veins, the loneliness your four walls bring is replaced with something else. meanwhile jing yuan learns of human fragility and how simple it is, for memories to fade away.

⚠︎ CW : canon divergent, angel ! jing yuan, mara plays a part here, talks about mortality and existentialism, reader is terrified and touchstarved, angst and tragedy, bittersweet ending i suppose, sacrifices, face sitting, electrostimulation, strip tease, mirror sex, praise kink, blindfolds, dom / sub.

SCENT FOUR : ( HYDRANGEA ) ❝ ABYSSUS ABYSSUM INVOCAT ❞ feat. childe

you needed to run, run far away lest the monster beneath your bed devours you whole. childe, however, keeps the chase, for he hungers. he was a charming man, that you could agree with; but the demon he hides away scares you and his undying loyalty to the tsaritsa shall be your undoing.

⚠︎ CW : canon compliant, slight foul legacy ! childe, angst and betrayal, bittersweet ending, reader and childe are childhood friends, making a choice, self sacrifice, breath play, masochism, bruises, predator / prey, against a wall, rough sex, dry humping.

taglist — @silentmoths @crystalflygeo @moraxsthrone @hiraethsdesires @dustofthedailylife @celestewritestoomuch @genshinboys @kaelily @ofoceansandtombsanew

AINE | 2023. do no plagiarize, repost or rework this piece.

[pettypiastri]

my boyfriend's boyfriend

jamie drysdale x fem reader ft. trevor zegras

requested by @corneliaskates: "okay in light of these photos… I’m making you write jamie for me what about like moving in with him but like moving in with him also means moving in with trevor and… chaos ensues"

wc: 2.3k

warnings: blood in the context of undercooked food and also minor injury, reference to Jamie's shoulder injury and doctors offices, swearing, mention of drugs in a medical context, chaos, buffoonary

a/n: just some fun casual writing for a collection of scenes that i think you’d likely see upon moving into the zegras/drysdale household, pls enjoy the chaos! lots of this unhinged behavior we already knew about the 2 of them but a few details came from the recent "The Players Lounge" podcast episodes with jamie and trevor so go listen! (also would the homies wanna see me write for mason mctavish cause i really would love to do so)

Jamie stares blankly at the doctor as he continues to come to. He doesn’t hear the inquisition the doctor made. The first thought on his mind is the only thought he's had since he skated off the ice, his left shoulder in a dead hang: his season is over, there’s no way around it. 

“Mr. Drysdale?” The physician tries to get Jamie’s attention. 

“Yes, umm I’ll be there to help him. I’ve taken time off work.” Jamie turns his head slowly to look at you. He barely registers what you’ve said. He almost wants to ask you to repeat it but he knows he heard you right. The doctor shifts toward you, flipping through the aftercare instructions and various medications Jamie will have to take. You’re collected, attentive, and receptive all the while Jamie’s eyes bore into your profile, trying to understand. He’s still drowning in self-wallowing and frustration and now is trying to parse through the funny sort of feeling in his heart watching you prepare yourself to be a part time caretaker for him. Not only are you here right now, you’ve just admitted out loud, without any previous discussion between the two of you that you are not just willing but going to help him during his recovery?? He feels an intensity to communicate his love and appreciation for you that he’s not used to but ends up manifesting as,

“Will you move in with me?” The door to the exam room has just barely clicked shut from the doctor’s exit. Your spine is rod straight now from where you were previously collecting your purse and coat. Jamie’s always been a fiddler, twitching and messing with loose skin on his finger or the belt loop of your jeans, but now he sits perfectly still as he stares at you. 

“Where’s the big red button, I think they gave you too much of something bud.” Humor always serves as a great deflection tactic for you but Jamie won’t let you off the hook.

“No no, I’m serious. Do you want to move in with me?” Your expression remains slightly standoffish as you draw closer to the bed. As you prop yourself on the hospital bed, you notice his eyes are inviting, stoic: a safe place to land. Lazy fingers reach to soothe Jamie’s uninjured arm. 

“Would you have asked me if you hadn’t torn your shoulder?” Jamie’s nod is emphatic. 

“Yes, it probably just would’ve taken me a bit longer to ask. You still make me nervous-- but like in a good way, in a good way.” Jamie stumbling over his words endears you like nothing else. “I kind of hate being without you, not in a weird codependent way, I just really like who I am when you’re around.” 

Your mind is already made up after Jamie’s unbridled honesty but you still have to ask,

“Shouldn’t you run this by Trev first maybe?” He is a member of the household, though not much of a contributing one. To sell his conviction, Jamie’s eyes don’t leave yours as he reaches for his phone in the back pocket of the jeans he thinks he’s wearing. He gets an awful fright meeting bare skin under the hospital gown. Creasing at the waist with laughter doesn’t hinder you too much as you dig for his phone in your purse. He takes it sheepishly from your grasp. As he dials Trevor’s number, you urge him to put it on speaker phone.

“Jimmy! How high are you, man??”

“Z, Y/N’s gonna move in with us.”

“I thought she already lived here?”

—

Since the moment of Jamie’s injury you’ve been practically inseparable. Surgeon consultations, post op, helping him dress, cooking for him, you’ve truly been there for it all for Jamie. Now that he’s several months post op and regained most all of his range of motion, he’s been eager to pick up some slack. 

“Are they closed?” 

“Jamie my love, yes. I’ve literally had them closed every time you’ve asked in the last 15 minutes.” You sigh, patience thinning at both the frequent reminders and… well… how goddamn slow Jamie’s being. To pass the time, you’ve taken to concocting a game with the yellow spots on the inside of your closed eyelids.

“Dude it’s been fucking hours would you hurry up already?” 

“Trevor, no one asked you.” Jamie snips at his childish best friend. It’s date night tonight and Jamie wanted to cook for you. Trevor decided, because he is cripplingly codependent, that he just had to sit on the living room couch to scroll Instagram. You’ve mentally taken the under on Trevor stealing some of your bread with olive oil within the first five minutes of it being in front of you because ‘Jimmy why didn’t you make any for me too?’

“Okay it's ready, you can open!” Slowly doing as you’re told to readjust to the well lit dining room, you catch Jamie scurrying around to his side of the table. His face holds an adorably pleased expression, you can tell he’s very proud of himself. The spread in front of you is barbequed steak, bread with olive oil, and a green salad; a shockingly balanced meal. A normally restless boy, Jamie vibrates with excitement even more now as he waits for your appraisal. 

“Jamie baby, it looks amazing! Thank you!” Crows' feet emerge to compensate for his smile becoming impossibly wider, yet he’s still a bit shy, bashful after your praise.

“I’d hope so, it took you long enough Jimbo,” the peanut gallery croons again. You don’t even acknowledge Trevor as you begin to saw through your steak… until red liquid begins to pour out… Stunned and surprised, your mouth gapes for a moment, finding the gentlest way to put things.

“Jamie,” drawing out the final vowel, your eyes flick to his. His expression is eager with eyebrows raised in question.

“How long was this steak on the barbeque for?” 

“Like 10 minutes I think? Why?” Jamie pales slightly at your question.

“I think the heat was too high babe.” Jamie observes his steak with a close eye and then oggles yours from across the table before reaching for his knife. 

“What do you mean? You said it looks amazing, I mean look at those char marks!” 

“Jamie baby, it's practically still moo’ing…” Trevor bursts out laughing, his stupid wheeze accompanying Jamie’s panic. As his knife breaches the admittedly lovely crust, bloody liquid pours out of Jamie’s steak as well. The color of his cheeks grows to match that of what's on his plate. Jamie starts to say something but it’s Trevor’s voice you both hear instead.

“Just put it in the microwave.” 

—

The team returned last night from the East coast road trip. You and Jamie have been in denial about Trevor’s return, trying to stretch out the silence with a lazy day on the couch. Trevor however has had other plans.

“Why do I have the least blanket right now? I’m literally the tallest of us three.” 

“Because no one invited you to join?” You shove at Trevor’s toes that are digging into your thigh from how you’re sardine-d on the couch. He whines as you do so, pushing at you back. Harder. “Ow Trevor stop!” 

“What I’m not fucking doing anything!” 

“Guys! I can’t hear what they’re saying!” Jamie bursts, effectively shutting you both up. Trevor glares at you as you snuggle further into Jamie’s chest, Jamie's arm visibly tightening around you. The face you give Trevor is smug. 

“Fine, I’ll just go somewhere else then.” As he stands from the couch he makes an equally childish display of flipping the blanket up and over your head, messing up your hair and covering your eyes.

Jamie coos quietly at you not to say anything or react so you remain calm and settle in to watch the rest of the current episode of Yellowstone with your boyfriend.

A few minutes later when there is a distinct cacophony of falling caps, banging metal doors, and at least a liter container of liquid (hopefully closed) hitting the floor, it’s not hard to tell Trevor has decided to do his laundry. He comes back upstairs acting as if nothing was afoot. 

It’s not until an hour later when Trevor has made the switch to the dryer that you notice something actually might be off. Wafting up from downstairs is a distinct smell of burning. You pause to be sure your nose isn’t confusing something else before voicing your worry.

“Do you smell that?” Jamie sniffs violently enough to be audible. 

“What are you– oh shit!” Jamie moves from behind your back leaving you flopping onto yours from his quickness. “Trevor!!” He shouts while bounding down the stairs. “I told you, you have to clean the lint trap every single time you use the dryer!” His voice grows inaudible the farther downstairs he gets. Trevor peeks his head out from his room. 

“Was he talking to me?” You can’t help but laugh, hands covering your face in disbelief.

“Why are we friends with you?” 

“I’m fucking awesome, duh.”

—

“Okay don’t panic–” Is all you hear before you start to panic. “But umm Z might’ve slipped on the roof…” 

“Tell me you’re joking. Why are you calling me? Oh my god Jamie, call the trainer or something! Is he hurt?” It’s brisk in the shade where you stepped out of your office to answer the incessant calls from your boyfriend. You’re still not off for another hour. 

“I think he’s okay. Definitely tore open his leg but we put some stuff on it. He’s still complaining about it but you know him, he’s always complaining about something so I think he’s okay.” As Jamie finishes, your phone vibrates with a text. “I sent you a picture of it.” The picture reveals a shallow cut about 6 inches long down the front of Trevor’s calf. There’s still remnants of blood around the cut itself and more notably about 12 normal sized bandaids placed like a patchwork quilt over the area of interest. Idiots. “We didn’t wanna get in trouble with the team…” Jamie says softly, decidedly embarrassed.

“I see. Okay well great job with the band aids you guys. I’ll pick some more up on the way home and some other supplies. Why were you up there?” 

“I was playing guitar and Trevor came up to tell me he could do it better and then promptly took it from me.” There’s a pouty lilt to Jamie’s voice that makes you wonder if Trevor’s really the one that got hurt. 

“Did he damage your guitar Jim Jam?” A shiver rakes your body as you’re desperate to get back inside the office.

“No, thank god.” He’s quiet, waiting for your reply. 

“You’re doing great Jamie, it’s really coming along baby.” He chirps a thank you, easily excited by your dismissal of Trevor’s insult. The two of you say your goodbye’s over Trevor’s whining in the background. 

On your way home, as promised, you stop at a drugstore to grab some gauze and larger wraps for Trevor’s ‘injury.’ You send a snarky picture of two contending boxes of Band Aids side by side to Trevor. Your caption ‘Mandalorian or Tangled?’ Something tells you Trevor’s reply is completely serious when your phone lights up with ‘Flynn Rider.’

—

Jamie slips into your shared bathroom as you’re fanning gently at your face. He smiles kindly but doesn’t start a conversation. Instead he reaches for his toothbrush and sets to brushing his teeth. The two of you don’t normally get ready for bed together at the exact same time. Typically one of you is asleep on the couch and being prodded at by the other to come to bed. Well, you normally prod at Jamie while he normally gallantly carries you to bed without disturbing your sleep. As he brushes his teeth, Jamie observes you as his entertainment. He steadies himself with a hip popped against the counter and one foot crossed in front of the other. 

Jamie’s attention does not bother you. Being the type not to speak until prompted, Jamie’s stays silent, his watchful gaze comforting if anything. That is until his lips form a small smile around his toothbrush that begins to grow. Finally you flick your eyes over to him in the mirror and notice toothpaste beginning to trickle down his chin. A drop that was lingering ominously begins to fall so you lurch forward to catch it in the palm of your hand, not wanting to risk the white carpet square Jamie’s standing on. 

“If you keep smiling like that you’re gonna get toothpaste on yourself Jamie. Be careful.” The toothpaste in your palm is flicked into the sink before you promptly rinse your hand. Jamie heeds your warning, deciding it's time for him to rinse as well. After his hands are towel dried he moves to hug you from behind. The smile is still on his face.

“Seriously, what are you smiling about, mister?” A giggle escapes your chest. You feel Jamie’s shrug against your back as you dig for another product in the drawer next to you. 

“Dunno, I’m just so happy you’re here.” Around you, Jamie’s never shied away from honesty and it’s something you’ve always appreciated. The last few months living with Jamie and Trevor has been chaos, hell at times, and insanely stressful but you’ve still found joy in every moment. So you meet Jamie’s honesty with some of your own when you say,

“There’s no place I’d rather be.” 

Later, when the two of you find yourselves curled around each other in bed, under an excessive number of blankets, it’s like Trevor has ESP for when he’s being left out of affections. A knock on the conjoining wall confirms this theory. His voice is muffled but you can still make it out.

“I love you guys.” Jamie chuckles and kisses your forehead, shaking with laughter of your own.

“We love you too Trevor.”